Jaguar Princess (31 page)

“With great regret, I must tell you that the girl has already been slain and her corpse burned. It was, of course, the eagerness of my men in following Ilhuicamina’s edict that suspected sorcerers must be utterly destroyed.”

“But there will be no sacrifice for the ground-breaking,” the high priest fumed. ‘This is not what we had been led to expect.”

“I assume that a suitable replacement can be found, even if it means postponing the ceremony by a few days,” said Wise Coyote smoothly. “Unless you wish to omit the shedding of blood into the first trenches.”

The high priest’s brow darkened. “That would be sacrilege. It would cast ill favor on the work. The god would not be pleased.”

“Then you will allow the time necessary to please him.” Wise Coyote caught himself before the cultivated smoothness in his voice became mocking. He shot a quick glance at Nine-Lizard to see how the scribe was reacting. Of course the old man had been told about the ruse, but he did not know where Mixcatl was hidden so that torture would be of no use, should the priests decide to examine him. Nine-lizard was also not aware of the exact details, since Wise Coyote was improvising them a bit as he went along.

He was finding, to his dismay, that he had a distinct talent for lying.

The priests gathered into a little huddle on the quay, muttering among themselves. Then they motioned several scribes and their warrior escort into the conference. Wise Coyote and Nine-Lizard were pointedly left out.

At last the impromptu meeting ended, just as Wise Coyote was getting ready to clear his throat in an irritated manner to remind them of whose territory they were now on.

Abruptly the high priest stepped forward, flanked by two armed warriors. “Bind that man,” he ordered, gesturing at Nine-Lizard. “He has been a companion to the girl since they were both in the House of Scribes. He can tell us what has happened.”

The warriors seized Nine-Lizard, pulled his arms behind his back and began wrapping his crossed wrists with rawhide strips. The old man sent an alarmed and bewildered look to the king of Texcoco. This surely was not part of the ruse.

“Release the scribe,” said Wise Coyote sharply.

The high priest raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I did not think you would see fit to object. King of Texcoco. You promised our lord that you would return this man once his service was complete.”

“I will return him to the House of Scribes in a manner befitting his status as a scholar. To be sure that he arrives there safely I will send him in my own barge with my own men. If necessary, I will have my men take him directly to Tlacopan.”

“I fear the matter is out of your hands.”

“He will prove useless to you. He knows nothing,” Wise Coyote argued.

“We will discover that for ourselves when we question him in Tenochtitlan,” said the high priest, both his eyes and his voice hardening. “If you expect us to be fooled by your claim that the girl has been killed, you insult us. Produce her at once, or we take the old man now.”

“You are asking for the impossible. She was slain and the corpse burned. I can show you what remains.”

“What you have could be the bones of any woman taken from your household. No.” The high priest folded his arms and gave the king a withering look. “Put the old man in the boat,” he snapped sharply over his shoulder. He whirled to face Wise Coyote as the king strode forward, his glass-edged sword drawn, his own warriors close behind him.

The high priest made a swift hand motion to a man near the barge. To Wise Coyote’s dismay, more warriors, armed with swords and lances, rose up from beneath hides laid in the bottom of the boat.

Now the opposing force outnumbered his. Wise Coyote knew he could summon help, but before enough men could rush down the narrow stairway cut into the cliffs, he would be overwhelmed, perhaps slain.

The king gave a sharp hand signal to his men, moving back with them along the quay. He cursed himself for not scenting treachery.

“So you show the wisdom for which you are so well known,” said the high priest, lapsing back into that unctuous tone that Wise Coyote had already begun to hate. “That is well. Had you attacked me or any of my party, your beautiful retreat in the hills above would have been destroyed before the day ended. Our lord in Tenochtitlan is eager to strike. All he needs is sufficient provocation.”

Wise Coyote had no doubt of that. Already Ilhuicamina must be gathering forces to march against him. Behind the islands dotting the lake, there might be war canoes, filled with archers and Eagle Knights, eager to taste blood in combat.

And if he died here on the quay in a skirmish, Tenochtitlan would only have to walk in and take his lands. He must not be such a fool.

He lowered and sheathed his weapon, signaling his men to do the same. “I do not wish to provide such provocation.”

The high priest laughed, showing teeth that had been hollowed and then filled with precious jewels.

Wise Coyote put a rein on his temper, knowing that the high priest was deliberately trying to goad him into rash action.

Nine-Lizard rose to his feet in the rocking barge. “I think it best to do as the high priest wishes, tlatoani. Doing otherwise could cause my death and yours.”

Wise Coyote lifted his voice to speak in reply, then fell silent. Nine-Lizard was right. The king stepped back, breathing heavily, swearing at himself for a fool. He should have known that the high priest would not be easily duped and that he would have men hidden in the barge. That would have made no difference up in the palace or the city, where Wise Coyote could outnumber the high priest’s men with warriors of his own. But here, on the narrow dock beneath the cliffs, he had placed himself at a disadvantage.

He wondered if he was perhaps too numb from what had already happened to think straight. Several warriors and lesser priests boarded the barge with Nine-Lizard, leaving the high priest with a smaller but sufficient party on the quay. Wise Coyote watched the barge pull away, knowing that he had made a costly mistake.

“Now that the misunderstanding is over,” said the high priest archly, “you may show us to our quarters. Put down your weapons,” he added to the warriors who still surrounded him as a cloud of disturbed bees swarms about the hive. “The Speaker-King of Texcoco expects us to behave as guests.”

Wise Coyote saw the old scribe raise one hand to him as if in salutation. Slowly he waved back, then let his hand drop to his side. Without Nine-Lizard, it was going to be much more difficult to handle Mixcatl. And how would he know who the contact from the Jaguar’s Children would be? How would they find Mixcatl since he now had her so well hidden beneath the false bottom of the cistern? Would they even come at all, now that Nine-Lizard was no longer there to act as liaison?

Too many questions and no answers. For now he had the high priest and his retinue to deal with. Surrounded by his own party to make sure that no one from the high priest’s men would try a quick assassination stroke, he led the way back up the stone stairs toward his palace.

DURING THE LONG
hours of hiding, Mixcatl could only paint by fluttering lamplight with a tile on her knees, curl up and sleep on her blankets or eat the food stored with her. Though she knew that less than a day had passed since she had entered her refuge, it felt much longer. In the cramped space beneath the false bottom of the cistern, she had barely enough room to sit up and she found herself thinking almost longingly of her wooden cage.

Often she felt herself growing angry. Wise Coyote had said she was being hidden for her own safety, but he had said that her imprisonment in the wooden chamber was also for her own good. That was in part a lie—he had caged her like a young beast and waited for her to grow the talents that he could use. But it was also in part the truth. By attacking Huetzin, she had wounded herself.

No, she should not think of Huetzin now. The grief would return, with its pain, making her want to scream aloud. And that, surely, would lead the priests to her. And the anger too was dangerous, for if she gave herself to rage, she felt the transformation creeping over her. So far she had managed to fend it off by painting, but she had already run out of tiles.

She glanced at the curved ceramic walls of the cistern, where she had begun her mural. If Wise Coyote did not let her out soon, he would lift the false bottom to find the chamber filled with wild figures and rioting colors. The only blank space would be where she sat or lay.

He did not come and soon the need to fight the threatening change seized her again. She was painting in a frenzy of brushstrokes when she heard the sound of water being drained away from above. She went rigid and extinguished her lamp. Had Wise Coyote returned to free her, or had other searchers discovered her refuge? Then it came, three raps, a pause and another rap. Again she hesitated before answering in kind. The priests might have also wrung that code from Wise Coyote as well.

There was nothing she could do except curl herself at the bottom of the chamber and wait as the false-bottomed clay basin was drained and lifted. She breathed, open-mouthed, feeling sweat crawl down her forehead and back, despite the clammy cold of the chamber. If an unfamiliar face peered over the lip she would lunge and strike, calling on the jaguar within to possess her.

Even as that fierce hope surged up in her, she felt it sink back down again. She knew that the change wouldn’t be fast enough. She would still be in its grip when the lid was lifted.

The rough ceramic grated as it rose above her head. She squinted for a glimpse of the one who was freeing her and strained for the sound of familiar or unfamiliar voices. The echoes in the stone room and the sound of running water below distorted the whisper when it came, but Mixcatl was sure that it had been Wise Coyote’s.

“Out,” he said. Ignoring her stiffness, she scrambled up and over the lip of the cistern. She badly needed to use the water room for its intended purpose, for she had restrained herself from using the pisspot that had been provided. The smell, in such a confined space, would have been unbearable.

But before allowing herself even that small luxury, she turned a questioning gaze on Wise
Coyote.

“Yes, we are safe now. I sent the party of priests on to the city, where they are quartered in my other palace.”

She cleared the chamber of all her belongings; paints, tiles, blankets, food bundles, empty pisspot. He helped her in her task, glancing in amazement at the decorated inner walls.

“I ran out of tiles,” Mixcatl said, feeling awkward.

“The work is beautiful! I only wish you had done it in a more accessible place. Try not to mar it as you climb out,” he added.

He went outside while she relieved herself through the opening in the water room floor. Then she helped him slide the false bottom back into the cistern. They lowered it so that it again fit snugly on a ridge that ran around the inside wall of the water tank.

He moved a trough so that the water cascading down from a higher basin would refill the cistern. She noticed that he arranged it so that the flow would run silently down the side of the ceramic wall, not fall and splash noisily.

Leaning against the outside wall of the tank, the king gave a weary sigh. “Those arrogant wretches are gone, but before they left they went over every stone of this palace. I thought they would tear apart my library. They even forced their way into Huetzin’s chambers, but when they saw that he was lost in despair, they quickly left.”

“So we are safe,” said Mixcatl, trying not to think of Huetzin. She wanted to see him so badly, yet she feared it would only harm him more.

“For the moment.” The torchlight flickered across Wise Coyote’s face, deepening the lines that worry had already created. “Come,” he said, leading the way out.

“I thought Nine-Lizard would be with you,” she said.

Did his face twitch suddenly in a spasm of pain or regret? His voice, when he spoke, was level, even, controlled. “He is no longer in Texcoco. That is why we need to talk.”

He hurried her along the shadowed corridors to his own chambers. There a fire was burning on an open hearth and Mixcatl leaned gratefully toward it to warm her hands, which had become stiff from the clammy cold beneath the cistern. He draped a cloak about her shoulders and wrapped one about his own before inviting her to sit on a mat before the welcome blaze.

“Nine-Lizard was removed this morning by the priests when they arrived,” he said before Mixcatl could ask any questions. “I did not foresee that when they could not find you, they would take him for questioning.”

Nine-Lizard taken! Despite her closeness to the fire, cold began to seep through Mixcatl, fear for the old scribe who had been her mentor and friend.

“Do they hold him now? Will they kill him at the temple ground-breaking just as you said they would kill me?”

“No. They put him on the barge under armed guard, along with the historical document you both prepared. The barge departed for Tenochtitlan.”

“And you…just let him go?” The words slipped out, angry, accusing.

Wise Coyote sighed. In that breath, Mixcatl heard the weariness of a man who had been pushed nearly to his limit and who knew he would be asked for even more. She also understood that as ruler he did not have to justify his actions to anyone. For an instant, she thought he would use that privilege as a shield and stay silent.

Then, as she looked into his face, she realized that he wanted her understanding if not her support. Behind his calmness, he was frightened, shaken, and most of all lonely. Nine-Lizard might not have been his friend, but the old man had been a companion during the terrible events over the last few days. She did not want to remember that she had played a key part in those events.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I did not mean it to sound so harsh.”

He gave her an odd steady look. “Only one such as you could scold a king. Perhaps I deserve it.” Then he too put his hands out to the fire. “Perhaps this is wishful thinking, but I do not believe that Nine-Lizard is in any immediate danger. Though the priests told me he was to be interrogated, I believe he is a hostage. Ilhuicamina will treat Nine-Lizard carefully until the old man has fulfilled his purpose.”

“And that purpose?” Mixcatl asked carefully.

“To lure me out of my burrow and into the halls of Tenochtitlan. The Aztec knows that I will attempt to intercede to save Nine-Lizard. My family is known for our loyalty to those of my household, even those who are not permanent members. With the rumors of sorcery at my court now flying about Tenochtitlan, it is likely that I will be charged with heresy and given to the priests of Hummingbird. With the stroke that opens my breast, he will have Texcoco without having to fight a troublesome war.” Wise Coyote spoke in a flat voice, as if it were someone else’s fate that he was reciting.

“Since you are clever enough to see the trap, you will not walk into it.”

“Is that a kind way of saying that I will choose to preserve my own skin by casting Nine-Lizard to the vultures?” Wise Coyote asked bitterly. “There was once a time when I upheld the family tradition of loyalty to the household.” He sighed and buried his face in his hands. “I swear by Tloque Nahaque and Quetzalcoatl that I wish I could bring those days back again, those days before my deer’s heart deprived me of my eldest son and then the respect of all around me.” He lifted his face from his hands and gazed steadily at Mixcatl. “I would bring those days back again. I will put my fear aside and go to Tenochtitlan for Nine-Lizard’s sake. I only wish I had some hope of success.”

Mixcatl stared at him in surprise. This was a move she had not expected from him. She could see at once that it was no feint or lie. There was a naked openness on his face that would allow no more lies. If he said he would risk his life to save Nine-Lizard’s, he would do so.

Her feelings were in turmoil. Once she had been prepared to hate and despise him for forcing her jaguar power on her before she was ready, and using her for his own purposes. Now she was beginning to understand why he had done so—even a noble-spirited man would turn ruthless if backed far enough into a comer. She could already see in his eyes the mute agony of having to watch the blood of his own nation being spilled on the steps of a hated temple that would soon be rising in his city.

She had to struggle to put aside her fear for Nine-Lizard, a fear that made her impatient. But urging Wise Coyote to undertake a foolhardy rescue mission would do no good to her or Nine-Lizard.

Choosing her words carefully, she said, “Nine-Lizard is probably safe for the moment and for many days to come. The fisherman will not throw away the bait until he is convinced the fish will not come to the hook. Send messengers and letters making promises and setting up arrangements. Make him think you will come soon.”

Wise Coyote gave a tight smile. “I have already done so. I am glad you made the suggestion, however. From my lips it might have had the taint of cowardly reluctance.”

“It is you who make that judgment upon yourself, tlatoani,” she answered softly. “It is a wise move and it will give us much-needed time.”

“Time for the Jaguar’s Children to come for you.” His smile softened, the light in his eyes became gentler. He took her hands and she found that she did not wish to pull away. “I do not regret…everything…that has happened, Mixcatl. Those walks in the garden, when I discovered that you shared my dream of a gentle god; they lifted up my soul in a way that not even the darkness about me now can make me forget.”

She closed her eyes. “I wish, for your sake…and Huetzin’s, that I had been just an ordinary woman. I think it would have been easier to share your dream and help you find it.”

“Most likely you would have died with me in the struggle for it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “That does not matter now. I have lost. The priests are in my city; the paper for the temple plans is on my worktable and I will draw the first lines tomorrow. I have lost, yet I must lift up my head and stand as my father did, even when he realized that he was defeated.”

“You have not lost yet,” Mixcatl said. “You can still fight.”

Wise Coyote laughed hollowly. “By my doing, Tex-coco has become a state where learning, manners and scholarship are more esteemed than skill in battle. Yes, I will fight if I am forced to, but I have no illusions about winning.”

She watched him, wishing she could somehow reach out and give him some comfort, not knowing why. He, her jailer, the one who wanted the beast inside her, the one whose jealousy had parted her from Huetzin—why did she want to offer him anything, let alone hope?

If the Jaguar’s Children came for her, she would start a new life in a new place with new people. What had happened here would drift into the past. When the dust of battle rose over Wise Coyote’s city, she would not be there to see it. When the temple stood and started to claim its
victims from among Wise Coyote’s people, she would be far away. Why did she still care?

Because he is right. A part of me does share his dream of a godworthy of human devotion. A part of me will weep when the light of Texcoco’s promise is extinguished by the bloodstained hand of Hummingbird
.

And then another thought came. He need not lose. If she changed her mind, if she used her jaguar powers to aid him, the ominous vision might be turned aside.

The words were on her lips. It would be so easy to say them.

But what would the price be if she gave herself to his cause? Waking from the entrancement of beasthood, not knowing what she had done, whom she might have killed or maimed? She could never forget what she had done to Huetzin.

Her power was too strong, too uncontrollable. Even if she wanted to help Wise Coyote, her ability was so unpredictable that she might be unable to do what he wanted. In the frenzy of transformation, she might turn upon the king himself. If she could be trained, if she could understand and use her gift, then she could aid him. But there was no time.

And there was another fear that cut deeply into her. She remembered again the feeling of her art being torn from her as the change approached. She could never forget how the skill had drained from her fingers and the joy of creation had faded from her mind as the jaguar nature threatened. The loss of her art would be little sacrifice, another might say, perhaps even Wise Coyote himself. What is daubing with paints compared to saving a king and his nation?

A little sacrifice…but one far greater than she could give.

It was Wise Coyote who said that she could not turn away from her true nature. This gift of the mind, the heart and the hands, to see beauty and attempt to capture it; that ran as deeply in her nature as her heritage from the jaguar. She must find a way to reconcile the two. If not with the Jaguar’s Children, then somewhere else.

“If you are fearing for Huetzin’s safety,” he said, evidently misreading her long silence, “do not worry. I have sent him to healers in the south, far beyond the effects of a war between Texcoco and Tenochtitlan.”

He sat up, stretching his back and shoulders. “It is late. I have much to do tomorrow.”

“Do you wish me to return to the hiding place?”