The Highlander

by Zoe Saadia

  The Warlord turned his head and looked at Kuini, eyes distant and cold, but in their depths the amusement was flickering, too obvious to miss.

  “Come here, boy.”

  Kuini hesitated. Maybe he could still dash up the empty road.

  The eyes measuring him sparkled. “Are you afraid? You fought well, and I thought you were braver than this.”

  The mocking gleam in the man’s gaze made Kuini’s heart leap. How dare he? Concentrating on his steps, trying to walk as steadily as he could, although his head was still spinning, Kuini came closer, looking straight into the broad dignified face, seething. The man might have been handsome when young, he reflected, watching the strong, wrinkled face, but nevertheless he was an arrogant bastard.

  The eyes crinkled with amusement as if reading Kuini’s thoughts. “Some warrior you are, boy,” The generous lips quivered. “How old are you?”

  Kuini swallowed. “Fifteen summers.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve seen fifteen summers.”

  “Almost a warrior.”

  “I am a warrior.”

  The man winked. “Give it another summer or two in your telpochcalli.”

  Kuini gulped, suddenly weak with relief. Afraid to say anything that would give him away, he just nodded.

  “So, what’s your name?”

  “Ku..” He was hardly able to stop himself from blurting his real name out. If his tattoos were not enough, his foreign sounding name would reveal his identity for certain. He licked his lips, trying to slam his mind into working.

  “Well?” The amusement spilled out of the large eyes. Like his father, this man was clearly prone to laughter, which seemed somehow inappropriate for his advanced age.

  What name? Any word in Nahuatl would do, he thought, nauseated. His eyes leaped toward the stalls, desperate, taking in the ropes tying the wide beams of the construction. Rope, mecatl, could be a good shortened name.

  “Mecatl,” he said, voice breaking. He cleared his throat. “Mecatl.”

  “What?” The amusement fled from the dark eyes as the face of the man drained of blood. He frowned; cleared his throat too. “Is that your name?”

  “Err, well, no,” mumbled Kuini, heart thumping in his ears. The stupid word was clearly not one used to name people. Not with the manure-eaters of the Lowlands, apparently, although what was wrong with the word ‘rope’? Back at home, he had a friend called Twisted Rope. He swallowed. “It’s not my name, but my family and friends call me that.”

  The man shook his head. “I haven’t met anyone called that for many, many summers! Curious.” He peered at Kuini as if searching for something in his face. “You do remind me of someone. Not the Mecatl I knew, but someone.” The large eyes narrowed. “Let me guess. You live in the Tepanec district of Texcoco.”

  Kuini’s heart made some strange leaps inside his chest. “Yes,” he said, mouth dry.

  “Thought so.” The edge of the generous mouth lifted in a crooked sort of a grin. “What’s with the piercings and the tattoos?”

  His heart stopped leaping and now went completely still. One heartbeat, then another. That’s it. He was done for.

  “Well?” The grin of the man widened.

  “I… my father is not a Tepanec. Only my mother is.”

  “Oh,” The man nodded. “Any of her family still in Azcapotzalco?”

  Kuini shook his head, afraid to say anything. He tried to remember. Azcapotzalco? What’s that?

  “Well, it was an interesting encounter. Lots of forgotten memories.” The man grinned. “Run along, boy, and next time don’t pick fights with warriors so readily. Not until you have finished your training and get your sword attached to your girdle.”

  Kuini watched the wide back entering the litter with the easy grace of a younger man. This one was obviously older than Father even, he thought, and Father was almost fifty summers old. A strange man.

  The dark glares of the warriors tore him out of his reverie. Shivering, he retreated into the crowd that had watched the incident as though spellbound. He clenched his teeth to stop his body from trembling, the aftershock of the confrontation dawning.

  As the litter took off, the crowd began breathing again. People moved, turned about, their quiet conversations picking back up, turning into the loud ones. The marketplace gradually returned to its previous state.

  Yet, the space around him was still clear. He could feel their gazes piercing his skin. He was still not out of danger. Slowly, he became aware of the pain pulsing above his nape, and his shoulder hurt too. He brought his palm up to feel it, wincing at the familiar touch of the sticky dampness.

  “Are you all right, boy?” asked the stall owner, the one who had haggled with the girl about the colorful cloths. “You don’t look well.”

  He stared at the man.

  “He gave quite a show, this one,” said someone else. “You are not from here, are you?”

  “He is not from Tepanecapan. The stupid Aztec got it all wrong.”

  Kuini tried to push his way back toward the road when a hand grabbed his arm.

  “Come, you need to drink something. And to clean the blood too.”

  He pulled his arm away. “I have to go,” he mumbled, near panic now. It all was happening too fast. One moment he was safe and anonymous in the crowd, the next he’d nearly gotten killed by the Aztecs, and now they were all staring at him, wondering, asking questions. He needed to get away from this place.

  “You are not well, boy,” insisted yet another person.

  He pushed his way through urgently, but people were everywhere, blocking his way, trying to talk to him. He could not get enough air.

  Another hand grabbed his shoulder, but this one was small and gentle.

  “I know where he lives. I’ll take him home,” said the girl firmly.

  He stared at her, recognizing the smooth broad face, the unusually dark eyes, one cheek still red and swollen, her lower lip cut.

  “Come,” repeated the girl, frowning.

  He followed her, still dazed, his mind refusing to work.

  She peered into the alleys that crossed the main road. “I think I know how we get out of here, but I’m not sure,” she mumbled. “It’s supposed to look like an alley, but a broad one. Maybe this.”

  She clutched his arm once again, pulling him into the relative quiet of a dusty alley. “Come!”

  They went up the sloping road, making their way between low, one-story buildings. The clamor of the market began to fade.

  “Do you know the way to the Palace?” she asked finally.

  He stared at her. “Me? No.”

  “Oh, too bad. So do you really live at Tepanecapan?”

  “What?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, you are a strange one. Is that from the blow on your head, or are you always this dense?”

  “Who are you?” he asked, exasperated. “What do you want?”

  She frowned, clearly offended. “I took you away from that crowd. You looked too uncomfortable and like you were about to faint.” She pursed her lips. “You can thank me for that, you know.”

  He gasped at her impudence. “You can thank me too, for stopping that warrior from beating you up.”

  “Oh, yes.” Her frown deepened. “Of course I’m grateful for that.”

  “Why did you attack him?”

  “He was the one to attack me!” exclaimed the girl, eyes sparking. “He pushed me, made me fall.”

  “Well, you have to move away quicker than that. The rest of the marketplace managed to.”

  She looked as if about to burst. “I didn’t have to move away. Who did they think they were this bunch of filthy warriors, with that filthy Chief Warlord of theirs? Some nobility!”

  He could not fight his amusement. “You are the strange one, you know?” he said, laughing.

  She glared at him, attractive in her righteous anger.

  “So, where are you from?” he asked, mostly to keep her from turning and storming away. She looked like
she might do just that.

  As she pondered her answer, he studied her face. Shaped in a sort of rectangle, her wide, sculpted cheekbones narrowed toward her gently pointed chin. A beautifully carved, perfectly polished, wooden mask, with a generously applied layer of copper, and two large obsidians for eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter where I come from. I can find my way home,” she said finally. “And I do thank you for saving me. You were very brave.” Her face twisted. “They are such savages, those Aztecs.”

  “Are all of them like that?” he asked, curious, yet not liking the word savages.

  “Most of them, yes. Warriors, commoners, they are all the same. A wild, unpredictable lot.”

  “That Chief Warlord of theirs looked like a sensible man,” commented Kuini thoughtfully, remembering the broad, noble-looking face.

  “Oh, he is the most unpredictable of them all! He has had the reputation for ruthlessness and unpredictability for summers upon summers, since before any of us were even born.”

  “Did he come to join your upcoming war against the Tepanecs?”

  The girl shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. With those Aztecs, one never knows.” She peered at him, lifting one pointed eyebrow. “And what are you so excited about? Those are your Tepanecs we would be warring against.”

  “I’m no Tepanec!” he cried. “Why does everyone keep assuming that?”

  “No Tepanec? But you do look like one. Except for the tattoos of the savages.” She frowned. “And I heard you saying to the Aztec that you are from Tepanecapan.”

  “Where is this Tepanecapan?”

  “Here in Texcoco. Where else?” She narrowed her eyes. “You are not from there, are you?”

  He tensed. “It doesn’t matter where I am from. I have to get out of the city. Can you show me the way to the Great Pyramid? I’ll find my way from there.”

  She studied him carefully. “All right. I kind of lost my way too, but the Great Pyramid is a good landmark. We’ll find it together. I’ll know my way from there too.”

  “All right.” He pressed his palms against his forehead. The clubs pounding inside his skull grew worse by the moment. “Let’s go.”

  “So you won’t tell me where you come from?” the girl asked as they made their way back toward the main road.

  “No.”

  “Then I won’t tell you where I’m from either.”

  He glanced at her, amused once again. “There is nothing to tell. You are from Texcoco, it’s obvious.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Texcoco is not a village. There are four large districts here. Tepanecapan is one of them. Where do you think I live? Guess!” He liked the way her eyes danced.

  “In this same Tepanecapan.” He said laughing. “Or anyway, somewhere away from this marketplace. Aren’t you supposed to know your way around here?”

  “Oh, this is the first time I came here on foot, silly. I visit the marketplace from time to time, but in a litter. With servants.”

  He grinned. “Of course.”

  “You don’t believe me?” She stopped abruptly, all sorts of expressions chasing each other across her face. He was hard put not to laugh the way her eyes flickered, undecided, offended and amused at once. There was something about this girl, something frolicsome and mischievous.

  He laughed. “What do you want? I don’t see this litter or that army of slaves anywhere around.”

  “Well, you would just have to believe me on that,” she said, her imperious tone not sitting well with the bruised face and the dirtied maguey blouse.

  The river of people gushed past them, circumventing her with angry glares and rude words.

  “Come,” he said, pointing at the crowds. “You are blocking the road.” He shielded his eyes against the glow of the afternoon sun. “If we follow this road we will get to the pyramid eventually.”

  “No, not necessarily,” she said, shielding her eyes in her turn. “See, the Pyramid is to our right, so if the road will go on like it does now, we’ll have to leave at one point.”

  “All right. We’ll try more alleys and turn when we see it exactly to our right.”

  “So, where did you learn to fight like a wild ocelot?” she asked, following him. “You gave quite a show back there with the Aztecs.” She giggled. “I’m sure they don’t teach you that in telpochcalli, the way you broke that warrior’s knee.”

  “I didn’t break it. He would scream like a coyote with twenty arrows in it, if his knee was really broken, and he would never be able to walk away.”

  “He limped badly as he went.”

  “I wish I had broken it. The filthy bastard!”

  “Yes, me too. I would like to watch you breaking his neck as well.”

  He glanced at her, amused. “Blood-thirsty, aren’t you?”

  “Me? No. Not really. I've never seen anyone get killed.”

  “You don’t want to see it either. Not a pretty sight, in most cases.”

  “How do you know?”

  He frowned, irritated. “I’ve been to wars.”

  “No way. You are still a telpochcalli boy.” She peered at him. “Or were you admitted to calmecac? Were you?”

  He compressed his lips. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does! Are you in calmecac or are you not?”

  He hastened his step. “Forget it. Let us get to the Plaza.”

  “I’m dying of thirst,” she said after a while. “And I’m hungry too.” She sniffed the air, turning toward the aroma of cooked meat that lingered in the air, coming out of a small alley. “Let us stop to eat something.”

  He hesitated, recalling the stuffed tortillas he’d eaten earlier with Coyotl. And the octli. His stomach rumbled, but his thirst was the worst. He remembered the bag with those small beans his friend tried to give him. “Do you have any of those things they want you to give them for the food?”

  She halted again. “The cocoa beans? Don’t you have any?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” Her open disappointment made him feel worthless.

  “And you? You told that man with the clothes you have plenty of beans.”

  “Well, I lied. I don’t have any. The slaves bring some, every time they go to the marketplace. Even when allowed to go along, I’m not allowed to get out of the litter. Imagine that?” She frowned. “They just bring me and make me tell them what I like, and then they go back and pay for it.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” he said, puzzled. Was she still making these things up? She sounded sincere, mostly in her open resentment of the procedure. “At least you get to choose what you like.”

  “It’s bad. Believe me, it’s bad.” Her arms flopped in the air angrily. “I still like it better running around like that, even if it means I have to move away when the filthy Aztecs want to pass.”

  He watched her smooth, gentle palms, her nails long and polished. “I’m almost tempted to believe you,” he muttered.

  “To believe me about what?”

  “That you have this army of slaves and that you don’t have to do any work by yourself.”

  “I told you so!” She looked up at him, eyes flickering. “And now your turn. Where do you really come from?”

  “I won’t tell you now, so just leave it alone.” He pondered. “Maybe I’ll send you a note telling you who I am.”

  “A note?”

  “Yes, a note. People do that, you know? People who can read and draw. Educated people.”

  “I can read and draw. They make us girls draw all the time. When we are not required to spin cotton. It’s such a bore!” She slowed her step before another stand with tortillas. “What if we steal one?”

  “What?”

  “Can’t you grab a tortilla and run? You can fight, so why can’t you make a raid on one of those stands?” Her eyes danced, and he felt the urge to grab her shoulders and pull her closer. To do what? To shake her or to kiss her? The thought made him uncomfortable.

  “Come on,” he said, frowning. “Let’s go
.”

  She still stood there, watching him expectantly. He knew her eyes would lose their spark, should he insist on going away.

  “You know what? All right. Go and talk to that man. Make him look the other way.”

  The way her eyes lit made his stomach twist. He eyed the warriors playing beans. Other people seemed to be watching them too. He drifted nearer to the roughly tied beams of the stall. Now what?

  The tortillas piled on the dirty surface, thrown there carelessly, gathering dust, cold and not rolled around anything. Just a pastry, and not freshly baked at that. Yet, on the other side, nearer to the stand owner, he spotted a plate with hot rolls, stuffed with something. A delicious aroma wafted on the breeze.

  He drifted closer, noticing her trying to talk to the owner. As clumsy as with the seller of cloths, she didn’t seem able to hold the man’s attention. Kuini watched the man answering her rudely, ordering her to move along. But just as her nostrils widened angrily, a roar arose from the bean players. Several of the diners, as well as the owner of the tortillas, turned and looked at the warriors.

  Kuini saw his chance. In one leap he neared the stall, grabbing a few pastries with one hand, and her arm with another. The hot tortillas scorched his palms, but he held onto them, while pulling her along, away from the stand. She got her clue, and together they dashed back toward the main road, the outraged cries of the stall owner following them, making them run faster.

  The crowds enveloped them again, but he still pushed their way urgently, afraid of the warriors that might be tempted to take a challenge.

  ‘We… don’t… have to run… all the way to the Palace,” she gasped, panting beside him.

  He slowed, then pulled her into a small alley. “It was all your idea, remember?” he said, laughing.

  She dropped down on a fallen pole, breathing heavily, her face red and glittering. He eyed their loot. The tortillas were squashed a little, their stuffing - avocado and other vegetables - smeared upon his burning palms.

  “Here,” he said. “Our reward.”

  She beamed at him, snatching one of the tortillas. “The avocado stuffing is my most absolutely favorite thing!” she cried, eyes shining. “You are incredible.”

  Ridiculously pleased, he dropped down beside her, sinking his teeth into the pastry, enjoying it more than any food he had eaten in his entire life.