"And then?" Nezahual-tzin raised an eyebrow.
Mihmatini crouched on the other side of Teomitl's body – straight ahead of Nezahual-tzin. She brought her hands together and twisted them together, as if wringing a rabbit's neck. "Then I'll destroy it. But I can't do anything so long as he protects it with his flesh and with his blood."
Nezahual-tzin nodded. He was still watching Teomitl – listening to the delirium as if he could find some sense within. I wondered how he felt – those two had never liked each other, Nezahual-tzin's detached, almost sarcastic attitude and focus on philosophy and knowledge at utter odds with Teomitl's desire to live in the present and prove his valour on the battlefield.
"So?" I asked. "Can you do something?"
"I can always do something," Nezahual-tzin said. "What's the thing inside him?"
"We're not sure," Mihmatini said – her voice making it all too clear she was losing patience.
Nezahual flashed her his most dazzling smile – a pity it would never work on her. "We'll have to improvise, then. Can you bring me butterflies?"
Mihmatini sent to the Wind Tower, the temple of Quetzalcoatl, for what Nezahual-tzin needed. While the priests of the Duality were gathering cages and drawing blood-patterns on the floor, I retreated towards the entrance-curtain. My presence here, as representative of Mictlantecuhtli Lord Death, was likely to do more harm than good.
Outside, the Fifth Sun beat down on the cracked earth – as if nothing were wrong, as if Teomitl's life didn't hang in the balance by a thread. I struggled to find peace or acceptance; it had been easier the year before, when my own life had been in danger, but this… this was different. He was my student, my brother by alliance, and my responsibility through and through – and yet I had failed him on every level.
Whoever was propagating this illness, they would pay – they would face the curved obsidian blade of justice, and be pierced by darts, and choked by mud until they had paid full price for their offence.
From within came chanting – Nezahual's grave voice, measured and pure, intoning a hymn, as if each word were a flower slowly blooming.
"Down into the darkness You go,
In the place where the bones are broken,
When the flutes and the drums are silent…"
There was a sound like a flag unfurling: thousands of beating wings, sending the entrance-curtain billowing in the damp breeze – and the butterflies flew out of the room, a widening stream of iridescent colours missing me by a hair's breadth, like a continuation of the cotton cloth, their touch on my skin soft and delicate, a reminder of the god who was always there, watching over us, as He had ever done since the moment He'd brought humanity's bones back from the underworld.
"I pierce myself, I make myself bleed, aya!
Burn down the paper stained with my blood,
Return the gift that was given,
I pierce him, I make him bleed, aya!
Burn down the paper stained with his blood,
Wash away the touch of the evil one,
The breath of the sorcerer…"
I heard another sound – a moan that started low, and grew – only to break into a dry, shuddering cough. Mihmatini cried out; I clenched my fingers, my nails digging into the palms of my hands. If I went inside, I would be of no use. I had to remember that – had to–
A duller sound – something large and wet hitting the ground, and Mihmatini's voice, raised in anger.
Then silence. The last of the butterflies lingered in the courtyard, its wings catching the light of the Fifth Sun and breaking it down into four hundred breathtaking colours. I did not move – not even when the entrance-curtain was lifted, and Mihmatini walked into the courtyard, carrying a crushed black thing which looked for all the world like the remnants of a caterpillar.
"This is it? Should you be touching it?" I asked.
"It's nothing," Mihmatini said. Her face was glowing – her cheekbones lit from within with a light like that of the moon, save stronger. Instead of washing away her features, it seemed to make everything sharper, better defined, underlying her gesture with a solemnity that made her seem far, far older than her twenty years. "It's the sorcerer's influence, given body and pulled out of him. By itself, it has no power."
Nezahual-tzin's face was pale. "But it's not the whole of the influence. There is something else inside him, but I can't get it out. You should have asked someone else."
"We asked you." Mihmatini's voice was low and intense. "Acatl trusted you."
"I haven't said I was giving up." Nezahual-tzin's face was set in a determined, most uncharacteristic grimace. "In the meantime… this is for you, Acatl. No doubt you'll find it entertaining." His voice was mocking again.
"Come," he said to Mihmatini – for a moment, he looked as though he was going to offer her his arm, like a man to his wife, but in the face of Mihmatini's glower, he opted instead for a simple, nonchalant wave of his hand.
I knelt, and peered at the black thing. It stank – not the rank, deep smell of the altar of sacrifices, but something closer to a bloated corpse left in the sun for too long. It looked like a lizard – save that it seemed to have little to no tail.
I'd expected magic, but when I extended my priestsenses towards it, I felt – almost nothing. A faint, residual beat perhaps, but one that would take true sight to be prised apart. It looked like–
Southern Hummingbird strike me, I'd seen this before – not the blackness or the stench, but this vague curledup shape, almost small and pathetic.
A symbol, that was what it was. It wouldn't give sickness: it was just the shadows which had been given a physical body, a physical reality Mihmatini and Nezahual could expel from Teomitl's body.
Carefully, using the tip of one of my obsidian blades, I prised the thing apart – it had vestigial limbs, which I carefully disengaged from the body, and what I'd taken to be a tail were in fact two legs, all but fused together by the violence of Mihmatini's spell. I had seen this before – where had I–?
A human child.
True, the head was wrong – flat rather than round, and slightly too small – but the rest – the rest was unmistakable: the small limbs just starting to branch into fingers and toes, the sharp edge of the spine with its vertebra. I hadn't attended many vigils for premature children, but several times, I had had cause to examine a woman who had died in childbirth with the child still in her womb – praying all the while that her spirit was at rest, that she wouldn't see the indignity of knives tearing her open from the Heavens where she now dwelled.
That made no sense – carefully, I lifted the thing again, but saw only the same resemblance.
And then I remembered, with a chill – that Xochiquetzal, the goddess who watched over the courtesan Xiloxoch, was not only Goddess of Lust and Desire, but also watched over childbirth.
TWELVE
Recovery
I must have remained there for an eternity, staring at the thing – and not knowing what to do.
Xochiquetzal's magic. And Tlaloc's influence. I had been right: it looked like the plague came from those two – seeking to damage the Fifth World once again. And Xiloxoch had been the self-confessed worshipper of the goddess – doing Her will in Tenochtitlan in Her absence. But still…
Still, all this for revenge?
Xochiquetzal would not remember the Mexica, or Tizoc-tzin, kindly. Neither would She blink at slaughtering dozens to make Her point.
Before rushing out to the temple of Xochiquetzal, I needed – confirmation. Some evidence that the thing had indeed been the result of a spell which called on Xochiquetzal. I needed to cast a spell of true sight, and look for magical traces.
A shadow fell over me – the priests of the Duality? Perhaps even the people we'd sent to Chipahua's house, with more information on what had happened?
The shadow did belong to one of the priests; what I had not expected was that they wouldn't be alone: leaning on their shoulders were two Jaguar warriors – the same ones that
Teomitl had so peremptorily recruited on the way out of the palace.
"What happened?" I asked the priests.
They had little to report. The bodies of Chipahua and his household had been taken to a remote spot on the edge of Tenochtitlan, past the Floating Gardens, where Ichtaca and the other priests of my order could conduct more thorough examinations – hopefully with a reduced risk of contagion.
The Jaguar warriors looked pale, and probably felt as bad I did; but appeared unharmed otherwise. I wondered about the sickness – it didn't seem to take time to show symptoms, but its progress seemed… erratic, to say the least? It didn't look natural at all.
"I need you to do one thing," I said.
They looked at each other – with an eagerness I found troubling. "When you go back to the palace, can you arrange for the other bodies – Eptli and his prisoner – to be taken with the others? My order will need to examine this."
"Of course, my Lord."
The entrance-curtain tinkled again: Nezahual-tzin, his face set in a careful mask. He looked angry, or contemptuous, I wasn't sure. "Acatl," he said. "You have to see this."
The first thing I saw when I entered was Teomitl. He was awake, sitting propped against the wall, pale and wan, his eyes dark wells in the beige oval of his face, his hands clenched within his lap in a way that was anything but natural – it was obvious that if he released them, they would start shaking. Mihmatini was by his side, crushing his hand in hers – her face a mixture of elation and relief. The luminous thread between them was all but gone now, faded enough to become part of the beaten earth.
"You're awake," I said.
Teomitl's face twisted; it would have been a carefree smile, if it hadn't suddenly seemed so old. A white light played on his cheeks and forehead – the same one that had been on Mihmatini's face, save that on him, it made his skin recede, until I could see the arch of his cheekbones, the empty holes of his eye-sockets.
Like Tizoc-tzin – but I caught and crushed the thought before it could wound. "As you can see." His voice was toneless.
"So it worked, then," I said.
"It didn't." Nezahual-tzin was standing away from all of us – leaning against the wall near the entrance, his head level with a fresco of a snake emerging from a man's open mouth. His arms were crossed, in that familiar nonchalant attitude which belied the seriousness of his words.
"You're obviously better at healing than you think," Teomitl said. His voice shook, but the sarcasm was unmistakable.
"I know my weaknesses. There was something left within you, something the spell couldn't catch."
"And yet here I am."
"Teomitl," Mihmatini said. "You're not in any state to make coherent contributions to the conversation."
"I almost died," Teomitl said. He'd obviously meant it as a joke, but his voice caught on the words. "I won't put off things any more. Time is playing against us, isn't it, Acatl-tzin?" His shadowed eyes, roaming, caught Nezahual-tzin – and then moved on to the two Jaguar Knights, who had followed us inside but said nothing so far.
There was a moment of silence. One of the warriors started to bow, but Teomitl shook his head imperiously. "This isn't the time or the place. I apologise for dragging you into this."
"It is we who should apologise, my Lord," the eldest warrior said. "We ran away when we saw the shadows over the house. You could have died."
Teomitl's face had hardened, in a curious mixture of anger and vulnerability. "Yes, I could have died. Ran out of time, like anyone else in the Fifth World." He shook his head. "I have greater things to do, before I die. Your apology is accepted – as long as you don't run away again."
"You know we won't, my Lord," the eldest warrior said.
Teomitl nodded; I hadn't expected him to be embarrassed, as I would have been had any of my priests said this to me, but I couldn't read his expression – was it anger, contempt? Perhaps merely anger at himself, for catching the sickness in the first place – it wouldn't have surprised me from a man who always strove to reach the Fifth Sun.
"What next?" Unsurprisingly, they all looked at me. But there were so many things, so much that wasn't right. With an effort, I quelled the panic, and forced my thoughts into some kind of order. "Chipahua is dead," I said. "I don't know why, but I intend to find out." That could be taken care of by my clergy. I spread out my hands, counting out matters one after the other. "Acamapichtli is under arrest." And we needed him – we needed my clergy for death, the Duality for protection, and the clergy of Tlaloc, for the epidemic itself.
I lifted the black thing Mihmatini had carried. Teomitl looked at it with curiosity. "What is it?"
"The spell that almost killed you." Mihmatini's voice was low, almost spent.
Teomitl shook his head. "I've never seen it before."
A frown had started spreading on Mihmatini's face; she looked from the thing in my hand to Teomitl – and then back to me. "Acatl–"
"Yes," I said. "It looks like a human child, except smaller."
"I don't see–"
Nezahual-tzin detached himself from the wall, the muscles in his chest rippling as he moved. I could see why he'd have no trouble finding women to marry or bed – he'd have found them even without being Revered Speaker of Texcoco. "Xochiquetzal," he said. "Goddess of childbirth."
"You said Xiloxoch worshipped her."
Teomitl's face hardened. "Let's arrest her."
"It's scant proof," I said.
"Don't be foolish." His voice was harsher than anything I'd ever heard. "We have someone killing off the warriors and the priests of the Mexica Empire. If Xiloxoch isn't involved, I'm ready to apologise to her, and pay her whatever she might want as compensation. But in the meantime, I'm not taking any risks." He made an imperious gesture with his fingers, motioning the Jaguar Knights closer.
While Teomitl was giving instructions to the two warriors, I sidled closer to Nezahual-tzin. "You said you weren't responsible for his recovery."
"I am not."
"Then–"
Nezahual-tzin nodded. His eyes were still on Teomitl. "I don't believe in miracles. If he's cured, someone must have helped."
"Chalchuihtlicue?" I asked.
"Your sister said that she'd tried summoning Her earlier, and that it had been in vain."
"But who–?"
"I don't know," Nezahual-tzin said, grudgingly. He had never liked admitting ignorance. "But I will find out." He looked at Teomitl – who seemed in the middle of an animated conversation with the warriors, with the occasional interjection from Mihmatini. "Can I speak to you outside?"
I felt, suddenly, like a conspirator. "Surely anything you have to say to me–"
"I'm afraid not. It's outside, or not at all."
I sighed, casting another glance at Teomitl. I guessed it had to do with my student – whom Nezahual-tzin had little liking for.
We walked out of the room, and back into the courtyard. The air was thick with the smell and smoke of copal incense; the altar atop the pyramid shrine covered in a mound of maize cakes. Priests with black-streaked faces were sweeping the courtyard with rush brooms, keeping it clean so the Duality would always been welcome.
"What do you want?" I asked.
Nezahual-tzin smiled. "Don't be so hostile. You know I'm working in your best interest."
"Until you decide you no longer need us." He had done it often enough, after all – last year, when I'd had a death sentence hanging over my head, he'd all but sold me back to Tizoc-tzin.
He shrugged. His eyes rolled up in their sockets, revealing the milky white of faraway stars. "You heard Teomitl. Someone is acting against the Empire."
"And?"
"You think a mere courtesan would want this?"
"Why not?" I asked. "You forget. Her goddess has enough of a grudge against the Mexica Empire."
Nezahual-tzin shook his head. "There's something wrong with this."
There was, perhaps – I still needed to examine the black creature, and see if I
could identify the traces of magic left on it. And I hated to have to arrest an innocent woman. But Teomitl had a point: the risk was great, and the time for hesitation had passed. "We're the ones investigating this, and as of this moment we don't have any other leads. If you want to investigate, please do."
I'd intended to make clear to him that barging in with his criticism wasn't appreciated, but he took me seriously. Or, knowing him, perhaps he understood and didn't care. "There was a merchant involved, I understood."
I didn't bother to ask how he knew. It was either the blessing of Quetzalcoatl the Feathered Serpent, or his preternaturally excellent network of spies. "Yayauhqui."
"Yes, Yayauhqui. You didn't ask the right questions."
Master of the House of Darts: Obsidian and Blood Book 3 Page 18
