Jaguar Princess (23 page)

How well they would rule and how wisely, for they would have the heritage of their mother’s line combined with the gentleness and scholarship of their father’s.

Then Wise Coyote remembered Mixcatl in the grip of her beginning transformation.

Would I want any child of mine to have to endure that
?

He could create the dynasty he dreamed of and he could watch his progeny struggle with the threat of transformation. What had life been like for the original jaguar-blooded ones? Had they rejoiced in the freedom to run wild as beasts, or had they dreaded the change that seized them?

Perhaps the reward would be great enough to overshadow the cost. Perhaps not.

Wise Coyote knew that the timidity of the Deer had held him back too long. It had cost him his elder son and threatened to cost him his throne. He had to act. Begetting a new heir would not be enough; the boy, if the child was a son, would have no time to come of age. Indeed, he probably would not even have time to be born before the Aztecs took Texcoco.

And there was also the question of legitimacy. If a son by Mixcatl were to be chosen as his heir, she would have to displace Ant Flower as his primary wife and queen. Such a thing could be done, but it would take time and care.

If he displayed her ability to his own people and they accepted her as divine, then the change would be easy. Texcoco would be eager for its ruler to wed a goddess and acclaim her child as a demigod.

As for the Aztecs, witnessing Mixcatl’s transformation would convince them of his alliance with a divine power. They would have no choice but to back off or risk divine wrath. The rise of a real goddess could shake Tenochtitlan down to its blood-soaked foundations!

And perhaps the homage paid to one of their own kind would bring others of the Jaguar’s Children out of hiding. They might be useful allies if the Aztecs chose to be foolish.

Wise Coyote was starting to smile sleepily to himself when another problem occurred to him.

He had yet to see Mixcatl shed her human skin completely to take on animal shape. Could she
really do it?

THE BRIGHTNESS OF
morning helped to chase the lingering dream shadows from Wise Coyote’s mind. Yawning and stretching, he got up from his sleeping mat. He felt a bit foolish about his maunderings the night before. Despair and hope had gotten the best of him.

Now, refreshed and strengthened by sleep, he could examine events with a more detached and scholarly attitude.

As servants laid out his garments and brought his morning meal of amaranth cakes and chocolatl he thought about what he had learned about Mixcatl and decided that it was not enough. He might be better acquainted with her probable background and heritage than she was, but he knew little of her character.

Well, he had given her the book by the outcast scholar who claimed that Obsidian Serpent had deliberately falsified Aztec records. Her reaction to that might give some insight.

With that in mind, the king sent word by his servants that he wished to speak with Mixcatl. This time he would see her in an empty chamber adjacent to the scribes’ quarters. Nine-Lizard, working on the history, would not be in the room, but near enough to be summoned. Wise

Coyote decided to have men discretely posted outside the room, but none inside.

As a last precaution, he reluctantly tucked an obsidian-bladed dagger into the band of his loincloth and hid it beneath the folds of his shoulder-cloak. If the young woman should suffer a seizure and turn on him, he wanted protection. It was for her sake as well that he had assumed his own defense. If something did happen and guards were present, they might slay the girl in their haste. He, on the other hand, could wound to disable without killing.

The meeting chamber was much the same as the scribes’ quarters, having a low table where manuscripts could be laid out and studied. Mixcatl was there waiting for him, the folded text underneath her arm and a serious look on her face. She also bore slight shadows under her eyes, making Wise Coyote wonder if her sleep had been as delayed or as restless as his.

At his entrance, she greeted him in the formal way, but before she could stoop to touch her forehead to his sandaled feet, he raised her up. Touching her skin and inhaling the musky sweetness of her scent brought back the previous night’s dream with a rush. With difficulty, he let her hands go.

As if she sensed his disquiet, she cast her gaze down, although he noticed that she glanced up every once in a while, as if measuring the effect her presence had. For an instant the king wondered if she would dare to entice him. The notion outraged his sense of propriety even as it tempted. A noble might proposition a slave, but he could not imagine the situation being reversed.

Mixcatl broke the awkward moment by kneeling down with the book she carried and unfolding it on the table. “I am grateful that you showed me this, tlatoani.”

“I am surprised at your gratitude. If I were you, I would find this text unsettling. Unless, of
course, I did not accept it.”

She flushed slightly, color deepening the bronze of her cheeks. He wondered if the cause was anger or embarrassment at being caught in a polite lie. She said, “I might not accept the author’s accusation if this text stood alone, but the other evidence supports him.” She paused and he could not help hearing a slight sigh in her words. “As you say, Obsidian Serpent must have burned the old books and replaced them with false texts.”

“Does knowing this trouble you?”

“I learned glyphs from copying the records in the House of Scribes. I know them well—they are old friends.” She shrugged. “If old friends prove false, I will make new ones. It is better to know now than later.”

“And your faith?”

“What beliefs I have, lord king, are not changed by this. The sacred books are written by men, not gods. Finding that the texts are false does not mean the gods have lied.”

He found himself surprised and oddly pleased by her response.

“You are telling me that your belief does not rest on a foundation so weak that it can be easily undercut,” he said.

“No.” She eyed him. “Does yours?”

The question was unexpected and caught him off balance. As a king speaking to a subject, he had the right to ignore Mixcatl’s inquiry, but somehow there was something about this woman that placed her outside established roles and beyond those boundaries.

“I do not place my faith entirely in the gods,” he answered, and was relieved when she accepted that and did not ask him to explain further.

She gathered up the text spread on the table, folded it and wrapped it with its cord. “I will return this to the library, tlatoani. I am finished with it.”

“Wait,” he said. She halted, her eyes widening. He took the book from her hands and laid it back on the table.

“The text is safe here. Take my arm. We will walk in the garden.”

“I should resume work on the history,” she faltered.

“Nine-Lizard is working on it. Come.” He offered her his elbow—the one opposite the side where the dagger was hidden in his loincloth. With a hesitant smile, she slid her arm through his.

Together they left the room, going down the tiled hallways, down the bluestone steps and out into the garden.

The trees and bushes were brilliant with flowers, some tiny and delicate, others large and lush. Bumblebees and butterflies flitted above them, through air made rich and hazy by their perfume.
As he escorted Mixcatl along the flagstoned walkways, he showed her the plants that he was most proud of, for they had been brought long distances from their native lands and carefully tended so that they might thrive. Here stood a dark-leafed tree bearing aromatic red-brown beans. It had been brought from the far south, a range of hills beyond the borders of the Aztec Empire. There, shaded from harsh sunlight were tiny belled flowers mixed with buds of a glowing orange-gold. Those had been brought from the seacoast far to the west. And those orchids whose roots wove into the bark of a jungle tree had been carefully transported from the hot wet lands to the east.

Wise Coyote watched his companion as she smiled at the flowers, inhaled their fragrance and often touched them gently. Though she was clearly enjoying the walk, she said little. Was she just shy, he wondered. What did she think of him? Did she look upon him as a savior? After all, he had given her refuge from the dangers in Tenochtitlan. Or did she fear him? Even a benevolent king still had the power of life or death over the subjects of his household if they displeased him.

“Have you found life here pleasant?” he asked, at last.

“Yes. Nine-Lizard and I spend the mornings working on the history. In the afternoon sometimes I go in the gardens near the house. I have never seen so many different flowers.” Then she added, with a little daring in her voice, “Someday I will paint them.”

Wise Coyote glanced at her, puzzled. He didn’t understand. What did she mean by “painting”? Making glyphs for the flowers? As far as he knew, there were none, since signs for exotic flowers were not required for official documents.

“My pictures are not glyphs,” said Mixcatl awkwardly and he sensed that she regretted bringing the subject up at all. Yet he was intrigued. The idea of making images that were not part of a document or map, of making lines on paper for the sake of beauty alone, was an idea that had occurred to him, but he had not yet dared to try it. If the girl was dabbling in untried arts, she might have even more to her than he suspected.

“Will you show the pictures to me later?” he asked.

“If you wish, tlatoani.” Her answer was guarded, as if she sensed that she was talking of things forbidden to most people. He decided not to push her. He would learn more later.

He noticed that, as Mixcatl walked, she sniffed the air and her brows came together. It was not the expression of someone just enjoying the aroma of the gardens. He tested the air, but could find nothing.

“Is some ill scent spoiling the fragrance?” he asked affably.

“No, tlatoani. It is the absence of a scent that puzzles me.”

“What do you find missing? A creeping vine of your homeland, perhaps?”

She demurred, saying that it did not matter/but when he pressed her she said, “I noticed that when you met Nine-lizard and me, you had guards in the room and outside in the hallway. This morning, when you met me, you brought no guards into the room, but seven armed men stayed
in rooms nearby. That is something I expected to find in your royal household,” she added hastily. “Here in the garden, there are no men in hiding. That is what I find puzzling.”

Wise Coyote felt intrigued, with a tiny warning edge of alarm. How did she know how many warriors he had hidden near the chamber? His household guards were well trained in stealth and moved without making any sound. And even more puzzling, how could she know that hidden watchers were absent from the garden?

“My nose, tlatoani, can do far more than detect the authenticity of a sacred text. I caught the odor of your men. Each is different, so I could tell how many there were.”

The king was frankly skeptical that a sense of smell could be so acute. Her pride evidently stung despite her deference to his royal status, Mixcatl suggested that he give her a challenge to prove her claim.

“What does my own smell reveal?” Wise Coyote asked.

“You slept badly, you ate amaranth for breakfast and…” She halted, as if her next pronouncement might be too bold.

“What else?” he prompted.

“You are carrying a weapon with an oiled wooden handle.”

Slowly Wise Coyote’s hand touched the haft of his dagger. It had been carefully treated with pumpkin-seed oil to prevent splitting, but the smell had long since dissipated. At least to his nose.

“Can you scent the very depths of a man’s soul?” he asked, showing her the weapon and trying not to show that he was shaken. She paled as if she feared she had been too bold with him. “Where do you come by this strange gift?”

“I do not know. It is part of me in the same way that my glyph-painting, peeling sickness and strange fits are a part of me.” She hesitated. “Is that why you carried the dagger? For fear I would fall into a fit? You are right to do so, for I know I have tried to hurt others when the strangeness seizes me.”

Wondering how much she knew about her heritage, he asked, “Do you understand this ‘strangeness’?”

She looked away, and when she spoke again, her voice was strained. “No. The only thing I know is that when the peeling sickness happens, I start to feel…as if I am becoming something else…. There is a part of me inside that wants to creep on four feet, to bite and tear and then run away.”

There was a desperation in her eyes akin to the feeling that he often had when faced by the threats closing in about him. It made him want to touch her gently, draw her to his breast and comfort her with an embrace.

Why hasn’t Nine-Lizard told her more?
he wondered.
He must have a reason. Perhaps she already knows, deep down, what she is
.

Mixcatl was speaking again, staring away over the flowers, her voice remote. “Keep your dagger close, lord king, and keep your men always about you when you are with me, in case I should be taken by the strangeness.”

Wise Coyote took her hand, holding it firmly when she tried to withdraw. “I do not fear the strangeness,” he said, but he was careful to keep his dagger hand free.

Her fingers stayed in his as they continued the walk.

“Huetzin tells me that you and Nine-Lizard have made good use of my library,” he said, again trying to break the uneasy quiet that had grown between them.

She turned her head as if she had been distracted by something and had to pull her attention back to him. At the mention of Huetzin, a fleeting smile crossed her lips. “He is nice,” she said hesitantly. “He looks very much like you.”

“He resembles me in face, but differs from me in temperament,” said Wise Coyote lightly.

“He spoke to me one day in the library,” she said and her words came easier as if she was feeling more comfortable. “One thing he said puzzled me. He said that he was trying to make an image of a god who has none. He said that it was to be a gift for you.”

Wise Coyote chuckled gently. “That is one example of how he differs from me. I only try to do what is nearly impossible. He tries to do what is completely impossible.”

“I think he will do it,” said Mixcatl stubbornly.

Wise Coyote gave her a sidelong glance. The sudden defense and the loyalty shown in those words suggested that this young woman understood more about his son than a casual encounter would suggest.

“Well, Huetzin has plenty of time yet. The temple that is to house the image has been delayed. I have another project to complete.”

“I have never heard of a god that has no image,” Mixcatl said. “Since you do not speak of him by name, does he lack that too?”

“You have not heard of Tloque Nahaque, the God of the Near and By, because he has been forgotten in Te-nochtitlan. Some religious scholars claim that he is an aspect of Smoking Mirror.”

He was surprised at the animation that lighted Mixcatl’s face at the mention of Smoking Mirror. It was the same expression he had seen when he had spoken of Huetzin.

Smiling, she said, “I know Smoking Mirror well. I made my first drawing of him while I was a child. To me he looked like a dancing jaguar wearing plumes and gold. I was disappointed when my teacher said that the image was supposed to represent a man clothed in a spotted pelt.” She sighed. “I never could bring myself to give up the idea that he really was a great cat, even though I know better.”

“Perhaps your first impression was not wrong/’ said Wise Coyote. “I have searched for the
origins of the gods. Smoking Mirror may have arisen from an ancient rain god who was worshipped in the form of a jaguar.”

“Would you show me the texts?” Mixcatl asked eagerly. “I would so much like to see them for myself.”

Yes, for you are drawn to knowledge of your own kind
, the king thought.

He promised her that he would share his sources as they continued their stroll between the lush foliage and exotic flowers of the garden.

Mixcatl spoke thoughtfully. “It is strange that the sacred jaguar has given birth to Smoking Mirror, who has in turn given birth to Tloque Nahaque. He is the one you call your gentle god, isn’t he?”