Master of the House of Darts: Obsidian and Blood Book 3

by Aliette Bodard

  "Further evidence of your charms?" I asked.

  He shook his head, impatiently. "Behave, Acatl. This isn't a time for levity. I've brought my Consort, as you asked."

  The woman bowed to me. Up close, the lines on her face were clearly visible – she would never be called beautiful, but she was striking as only priestesses could be, secure in her identity and power, which gave her a place in society above the common folk. Two black lines ran on her cheeks, calling to mind the face of the goddess Herself – whom I had seen once, more than a year before, when Teomitl had been granted his powers. "Greetings, Acatl-tzin. I am Cozolli, priestess of Chalciuhtlicue, and Consort of Tlaloc."

  "No need to be formal," I said. Acamapichtli shot me a quick look; I didn't know what he thought of the position of women in the clergy – who, save for the Guardian, could only ever be the inferior of their male homologues.

  "Fine, fine," Acamapichtli said. "We can dispense with the idle chit-chat, Acatl. We've come here because we have news."

  "And from the look on your face, not good," Mihmatini interjected.

  Acamapichtli turned in the direction of her voice. He was silent for a moment. "Oh, I see. The Guardian. What a pleasure." I expected him to be mocking, but Mihmatini's strength must now be evident, and he had always been a man to respect that.

  Mihmatini looked less happy – much as if she'd swallowed live eels. "Acamapichtli." She made no pretence of respect to him, though, and to my surprise he nodded, as one equal to another. "What do you want?"

  "The boundaries are breached, Acatl. That's why the gods are so scared."

  Even blind, he must have felt by our silence he wasn't achieving quite the effect he'd intended. "We know this," I said, wearily. "We're working on how to fix this. If you're here, you can confirm something for me."

  Acamapichtli turned his face towards his consort; who said nothing. "Go ahead."

  The entrance-curtain tinkled, letting Ichtaca through. He had changed out of the formal regalia, and his hands were now clean of the sacrifice's blood. He nodded, curtly, towards Acamapichtli and Cozolli, and sat cross-legged, patiently waiting for us to finish.

  "I need to know if your god had Moquihuix-tzin's soul in His keeping."

  "The Revered Speaker of Tlatelolco?" Acamapichtli looked surprised. He shrugged. "How would I know this?" But his consort nodded.

  "He died by the noose," she said, curtly. "Every priest knows that."

  The jab completely bypassed Acamapichtli. "And how does this help us, exactly?"

  "It doesn't, per se," I said, slowly. Why was I bothering with this? There was only one thing which should have mattered to me. "We need to close the boundary." I turned to Ichtaca, who had remained silent until then. "You had started working on that."

  Ichtaca grimaced. "Yes. It's far from being a simple problem. The gates need to be drawn close without being shut – leaving just enough magic for Tizoc-tzin to exist, but not enough for widespread ghosts."

  And even that would still leave a risk – summoners would find it slightly easier to work, and there would be more creatures slipping through the cracks. But it was still better than star-demons.

  Pretty much anything was.

  "And?" Mihmatini asked.

  "I think–" Ichtaca said, slowly, "that it would take the three High Priests, again – as it took them to open it in the first place."

  Three High Priests. I had a mental vision of trying to convince Quenami he needed to work with us. "It won't work," I said. "Even if Quenami is still here. We need mastery, and subtlety." And, while he might be a fine diplomat, the events of the previous days had proved, quite unequivocally, that he didn't have much magical expertise.

  But Ichtaca was right – what had taken three to do couldn't be undone by two. We needed… someone to stand in for Quenami. Someone linked to life, virility and good fortune.

  "If you want to keep it open, you can't close it from the Fifth World," Acamapichtli said, acidly. "You have to be on both sides, to keep control over what you're doing."

  "On three sides," I corrected, distractedly. "To rebuild the tumbled one, you do need three people. One in the Fifth World, one in the underworld. And one astride the wall."

  Mihmatini's gaze was harsh. "Why do I get the feeling you're going to be the one astride the wall?"

  "Look, that's not what matters."

  "What about the Heavens?" the Consort Cozolli asked. "They're also open."

  "Symbolically, it's a single boundary," I said gently. "Between the Fifth World and the world above, the world below. All you need is one person outside that boundary."

  "Hmm." She didn't appear wholly convinced, but I was.

  "We need a third person. Mihmatini–"

  She shook her head. "I stand for all gods, and none. I can't complete your triad."

  Then – I looked at Cozolli – she was only a Consort, and was symbolically tied to Tlaloc through her worship of Chalchiutlicue. No, she wouldn't do either. "Then it'll have to be Quenami. " I stopped, then, thinking of someone else who stood for a god – who might as well be High Priest, given his close relation to his patron. "The breath of sickness in the Fifth World," I said. "Death astride the wall. And the breath of life in the underworld."

  The breath of life. The wind, Ehecatl-Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent. "Nezahual-tzin." Mihmatini's voice was grim. "Fine – if he hasn't run away as well. And what about our troublesome ghost?"

  "If we find him, we'll work out how to deal with him," I said. The truth was, I had no idea how you killed a ghost. I could banish them – but that just sent them back into the Heavens, ready to come back again.

  Unless…

  Every ghost disappeared before the throne of Lord Death – if it came to that, we might be able to do something.

  Save that it was a favour, and I had no wish to incur more debts with my god.

  "It might not work, Acatl-tzin."

  "I–" Ichtaca looked at me, halfway between admiration and horror – not an expression I felt altogether comfortable with.

  As usual, he'd managed to make his doubt evident while outwardly agreeing with me. I shrugged, and spread out my hands. "The boundaries have to be closed. That's our role. Do you have a better idea?"

  Ichtaca looked dubious. "No," he said at last. "You're going to require the help of the order."

  I smiled. "I wouldn't have had it any other way."

  Mihmatini looked wistfully at her feet – where the pale trace of the thread tying her to Teomitl coiled on the ground. Then she sighed. "I have to come with you. I can help to make the spell stronger."

  "Are you sure?"

  "No," she said, curtly. "Don't ask, or I might just change my mind. I hope it's going to work, but it's really uncertain." Mihmatini pursed her lips. Clearly, she didn't much care for asking Nezahual-tzin's help once again. She looked back and forth, from Acamapichtli and Cozolli to me. "How come your order doesn't have a Consort anyway?" Mihmatini asked. "You seem to be the only exclusively male priesthood in the Empire."

  Ichtaca jerked as if stung; I merely nodded, looking slightly away from her. Acamapichtli just looked smug. It was public knowledge, but still, never brought out in such an open fashion – like pointing out to an aged relative that they were senile. "There was… a problem with the Consort, a dozen years ago. She did – let's just say she got involved in activities she shouldn't have."

  Meaning that she'd dabbled in the wrong kind of magics, made the wrong kind of alliances, and set herself to fold the entire Fifth World into Mictlan.

  Mihmatini grimaced. "And she was killed? And the female priests?"

  Ichtaca spoke, slowly, measuredly. "Not killed – exiled. And the corruption went deep into the clergy. It was, ah, cleaner to remove the branch than try to prune sprig by sprig."

  Mihmatini grimaced. "I've heard it said you're sick people, but this is the first proof I had." She shook her head, as if removing water from her hair. "Never mind, that's all pretty unimportant right now. A
catl?"

  I shrugged. "I don't have a better idea."

  "If you need someone in the underworld and someone on the boundary, you'll need a gate into Mictlan. Opening one isn't cheap or easy," Ichtaca said.

  "No, but we can manage." Provided nothing went wrong.

  Ha ha. I knew the answer to that one, too.

  Finding Nezahual-tzin turned out to be more difficult than we'd foreseen. He wasn't in his quarters, which lay empty and deserted, like those of the Revered Speaker. He wasn't in the steambath, or in the various Houses of Joy, and neither was he in the tribunal, listening to the various magistrates argue in search of truth.

  I could tell Neutemoc was starting to get frustrated – no wonder, he was a warrior, and such footwork was merely the prelude to the fight – and even Mihmatini's temper was close to fraying. Acamapichtli, to my surprise, was more equable, in fact, he and his Consort were worryingly silent, following us with alert faces, their gazes moving, as if they could track dead spirits.

  And perhaps they could, too. Knowing Acamapichtli, he wouldn't have chosen a weak or ineffective Consort.

  The priests behind me, Palli and Matlaelel – who carried the supplies we'd need for the spell – didn't look enthusiastic, either.

  "He didn't exit the palace," I said at last, as we looped through the same deserted courtyard for the fifth time. "The guards didn't see him."

  Neutemoc grimaced. "I'm not convinced they'd have seen him."

  "The Revered Speaker of Texcoco?" Mihmatini shook her head. "No, they'd have seen him. If only to warn Tizoc-tzin." She grimaced. "And with the number of people left…"

  I said nothing. The atmosphere in the palace was somehow different – there were still people wandering the corridors, from magistrates to noblemen, from featherworkers to officials. But still…

  Still, it was like a man with a removed heart – he might flop and writhe for a bare moment on the sacrificial altar, but there was no doubt that he was already dead.

  Had Nezahual-tzin left the palace? He'd proved before that he came and went as he chose – sometimes in disguise, if there was need. He might have gone past the guards…

  Something stopped me – a thought that slipped into the tangle of my mind like a sharpened knife. We were all acting as if the palace was impervious, and the guarded entrance was the only one – but the truth was, it wasn't anymore. Not if you could brave the power of Chalchiuhtlicue and enter the tunnel Teomitl had created – in the women's quarters.

  And the gods knew Nezahual-tzin liked his women.

  I bit back a curse. "Let's go."

  "Where?" "Women's quarters. I'll explain later."

  The women's quarters did not give off the same atmosphere as the rest of the palace: in the courtyards, life seemed to go on as it had always done, with the regular clacking of weaving looms as the girls learned to spin cotton and maguey fibre, and the subdued laughter of conversations drifting to us, about servants and men, and impending births. A woman I'd already seen, her belly heavy with child, was coming out of the steambath – walking slowly with her attendants, glaring at us for daring to impugn on her dominion.

  As we entered one of the more secluded courtyards, Mihmatini's head came up, as if scenting the air. "You're right. He's here."

  "You can feel his powers?" Neutemoc asked.

  Mihmatini laughed, briefly. "No. I know what the place looks like when there is a man around. I always thought he had guts, but to use Tizoc-tzin's absence…"

  "He's probably visiting relatives," I said, though I didn't really believe any of it.

  Mihmatini walked to one of the closed entrance-curtains, and wrenched it open without ceremony. A jarring, discordant sound of bells accompanied her inwards – we could hear a woman's voice, arguing but growing fainter, and then another sound of bells, followed by Mihmatini's voice again.

  Then silence.

  Neutemoc and I looked at each other uncomfortably. "Maybe we shouldn't be here," Neutemoc said.

  "I don't have a better plan," I said with a sigh. "But you can go home, you know."

  He grinned – his face transfigured into that of a boy. "It's more interesting here."

  The entrance-curtain tinkled again, letting through Mihmatini and Nezahual-tzin – who looked as though a jaguar cub had just pounced on him and settled down to maul him. "What is the meaning of this?"

  "The meaning of this is that we get you out," Mihmatini said, with an expansive gesture of her hands. "And then, once you're safely out of here, we can worry about explaining to Tizoc-tzin what you were doing in the women's quarters."

  "Nothing reprehensible," Nezahual-tzin protested – as smooth and arrogant as always.

  "You can be sure Tizoc-tzin isn't going to swallow this," Mihmatini said, grimly amused. "Now–"

  Something crossed the air, like the shimmering of a veil – everything seemed to ripple around us, as if we were underwater – and then it was gone, but the air was wrong.

  Mihmatini stopped; Nezahual-tzin's eyes rolled up, showing the uncanny white of pearls. "Acatl…"

  They came into the courtyard three at a time, fluid and inhuman – their bodies the black of a starless night, their faces both ageless and wrinkled, like those of drowned children; the hand at the end of their upraised tail twitching, moving and opening as if eager to rip out eyes – moving like lizards or salamanders. They fanned out, blocking both exits to the courtyard – I could see Neutemoc's lips moving, keeping track of them all, but there must have been more than a dozen of them already, watching us with white, filmy eyes – hunger and hatred in their gazes.

  Ahuizotls.

  Teomitl…

  But the one who strode into the courtyard after them wasn't my student. Rather, it was Coatl, but he moved with a grace I'd never seen from the warrior.

  "Coatl?"

  His gaze moved from one end of the courtyard to another, watching us. "A warrior. A Guardian. And priests. Is that all the Mexica will field, to defend the Triple Alliance? Where are your She-Snake, your Revered Speaker – your Master of the House of Darts?"

  Mihmatini's hand tightened around my wrist. "Acatl–"

  He had died, and been brought back to life. That was what Palli had thought; what we had all thought. But what had come back – what had walked and talked, and smiled and wept – it hadn't been Coatl at all. It had been another soul. A dead soul trapped within Tlalocan.

  "I know," I said. "Moquihuix-tzin!" I called.

  He jerked, slightly, but his attention was still fixed on Nezahual-tzin.

  Nezahual-tzin's opal-white eyes moved towards Coatl, steadily held his gaze. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

  Coatl's broad, open face turned to look at him – the eyes were more deep-set than I remembered, and dark, as if he stood within a great shadow. "You wouldn't know me, pup."

  Teomitl would have lashed out; Nezahual-tzin merely raised an eyebrow. "Pup? That's not setting up a felicitous acquaintance." His hand moved, to encompass the ahuizotls gathered in the courtyard. "Though those are hardly friendly."

  "He's here to kill us, you fool," Mihmatini said. Power was flowing to her – ward upon ward to defend herself, an impregnable force against the ahuizotls.

  "Me as well?" Nezahual-tzin looked shocked – his eyes reverting, briefly, to their clear green-grey shades. "I haven't done anything to you that I would know of."

  While they were arguing, I gestured to Palli and Matlaelel. We spread out in the courtyard, drawing obsidian knives from our belts, cutting deep into the palm of our hands – where the veins flowed all the way to the heart – and let the blood drip onto the ground, forming the first hints of a circle. I eyed the ahuizotls, which still hadn't moved. I didn't think it was going to last long.

  "Whoever gets to Nezahual-tzin first–"

  Mihmatini shook her head. "Drags him into Mictlan, yes. For that, we need your gate, Acatl."

  "And you need to stay here," I said to Acamapichtli.

  He snorted, like a Reve
red Speaker amused by a peasant's joke. "I had the general idea, don't worry. Now concentrate on your work, High Priest for the Dead."

  "You know what they say about the taint of your ancestors," Coatl hissed. "It was your father who undid us – who sided with the Tenochcas instead of following the path of justice."

  Nezahual-tzin laid a hand on his macuahitl sword – slowly, casually. Beside him, Neutemoc did the same. Acamapichtli and his Consort nodded at each other, and both simultaneously drew obsidian daggers.