Harbinger of the Storm

by Aliette de Bodard

  You came, You made them whole

  The broken bones, made whole through Your penance…"

  Abruptly, everything faded out and I came to in the vapourfilled room, the unpleasant prickle of an obsidian blade against my back.

  The attendants had retreated, Nezahual-tzin had risen, regal and wrathful. "What is the meaning of this?"

  "You can't possibly–" Teomitl said.

  I turned, slowly. Three warriors stood with their macuahitl swords pointed at me; and Quenami was with them, smiling from ear to ear. "I don't understand," I said, though I did perfectly. My time had just run out. "Teomitl is right. You have no authority."

  "Oh, I don't do this on my authority," Quenami said. He smiled even more widely. I hadn't thought that was possible, but the son of a dog managed it. "Tizoc-tzin is the one who gave the order."

  "On what motive?" I asked.

  Quenami jerked his chin in Nezahual-tzin's direction. "Conspiracy with foreigners against the good of the Mexica Empire should do, for the moment."

  Meaning there was another reason, and that, given enough time, he'd find a way to present it before the judges, whoever they might be. "I see." I threw a glance at my two companions who now stood apart, as if to make it clear they'd have nothing to do with each other. It might have been amusing in other circumstances.

  Teomitl was working himself up to a speech; I silenced him with a brief shake of my head, and hoped to the gods he'd have the wits to remain silent. It was highly doubtful anyone would arrest Nezahual-tzin, who was Revered Speaker of an allied city, but Teomitl did not have such protections. I didn't think Tizoc-tzin would want any harm to come to him, not unless the fool spoke up for me.

  Luck must have been with me, for Teomitl remained silent, his eyes wide in his dark face, as if not quite sure what had happened.

  "Oh, don't look so glum, Acatl," Quenami said as the guards took me away from the sweatbath. "We should have a new Revered Speaker to decide your fate."

  Oh yes. And we both knew what he would be, and what he would decide.

  SIXTEEN

  In Enemy Territory

  The cell was small, a square of beaten earth surrounded by four adobe walls, with barely enough space for me to lie down, and a mangy reed mat as its only furniture.

  But still, as far as cells went, it was comfortable. A year ago my brother Neutemoc, a respected Jaguar Knight, had awaited his judgement in a wooden cage on the platform before the palace, out in the midday sun. At least I was in the shade, and they had even given me a few maize flatbreads.

  The ground under my feet was slightly warm, impregnated with a magic I wasn't quite sure where to place, faint and distant, like the echo of something vast.

  The first thing I tried after they'd drawn the entrance-curtain closed was to cast a spell. The remnants of that were still on the ground, my blood a duller shade than the earth, stubbornly refusing to quicken. It was as if something were blocking me – perhaps the other High Priests? I hadn't imagined they had that much power.

  With nothing much to do, I sat against the wall furthest from the entrance, watching the quincunx I'd drawn on the ground recede further into the shadows as the blood sank into the earth.

  Everything seemed to grow fainter as time passed. Emptiness crawled across my limbs – a terrible sensation of dislocation like a maize stalk uprooted from the field. I tried moving my fingers, and it was as if my body no longer knew how to answer.

  The flatbreads. Was that the same poison that had killed Ceyaxochitl? But no, I was a paranoid fool. Manatzpa had admitted to that, the only thing he had turned out to be responsible for, in the long string of magical offences that had brought me here.

  But still…

  Still, I felt as if I was rising in and out of consciousness – sleeping a restless sleep, waking up gasping and no longer quite sure of where I was, as if whatever they had put in here was eating at me, gnawing at my spirit little by little.

  With faltering hands, I reached for my obsidian knife, hoping for the comfort of Lord Death's power arcing through me, the aching, stretched emptiness that was my province, but they had taken that away from me, too.

  The Duality curse me, I needed to focus. I couldn't let it end like this, not with the star-demons the gods knew where, not with Teomitl still vulnerable against the intrigues of his brother. I needed to–

  My hand fell back on the ground, limp, and somehow I couldn't muster the strength to lift it again. Shadows flickered at the edge of my vision, like the smoke of the She-Snake's ritual, slowly spreading to cover the world.

  There is a temple, in the Sacred Precinct, the walls of which are painted black…

  I needed to get up, I needed to…

  The name of that temple is Tlillan. Darkness.

  Just one moment. A moment's rest, that was all that I needed, a moment with my eyes closed, thinking of nothing but the bare walls, a moment here on the earth, warmed up by its touch. I needed…

  The entrance-curtain was drawn aside with a jarring sound. I knew that sound, I thought, but it seemed too far away to be recovered, too much of a struggle to retrieve; like lifting my hands, like clenching my fingers. Like…

  Footsteps echoed on the beaten earth, and a dark silhouette came to stand over me, its features moving in and out of focus in the shadows.

  "Well, aren't you a sight. Pathetic, Acatl."

  Acamapichtli? I'd expected Quenami with more accusations, or promises of what punishments Tizoc-tzin would push for; but why Acamapichtli? He hadn't even been in the palace recently. He was in disgrace, according to the She-Snake. Why?

  Dimly, as if from a great distance, I saw him bend over me. Something glinted in the darkness, coming to rest by my side and gradually, as the fog across my vision lifted, I made out its shape – a polished jaguar fang, carved with images of seashells and frogs, shimmering with the blue-green magic of Tlaloc the Storm Lord. A slim piece of paper wrapped around it, steeped in a dark, pulsing colour I knew all too well – fresh blood.

  Acamapichtli had withdrawn, was once more towering above me. "I inscribed this with the blood of a human sacrifice before coming here. It won't last. But at least we'll have a more coherent conversation."

  I struggled to bring my mind back from the boundaries of the Fifth World, where it seemed to have fled. "I don't understand–"

  "You're a fool," Acamapichtli said. "That's all there is to say." He did not move, watching me pull myself into a more upright position. Saliva had run down my chin, staining my cloak and I tasted blood in my mouth. I must have bitten my tongue as I sank into oblivion.

  "Tlaloc," I said. My thoughts seemed to be a hundred scattered shards, the pieces of a broken mirror. "Lord Death. I–" I had been stretched out, as thin as though I was deprived of sustenance – dying, perhaps? If they left me longer in here, I would come out a drooling idiot. "What is this place?"

  "Finally." In the dim light, I guessed more than saw his smile, as predatory as that of his god. "No longer the Fifth World, Acatl."

  A god's world. A land where both my magic, which came from Lord Death, and that of Acamapichtli, which came from the Storm Lord, were uninvited guests. "The Southern Hummingbird," I said. "This is land consecrated to Him."

  "Not quite. It's His land, Acatl, a portal into a small part of His heartland. Whatever you've done, they want to make sure you remain silent, badly enough to spend so much power on your prison."

  The heartland. The seven caves. Aztlan, the White Place where we had all come from, the centre of Huitzilpochtli's power. "I have done nothing," I said, still struggling to reorder my thoughts. "Yet." Too late, I remembered the snatches I'd heard in Tizoc-tzin's rooms, about removing the opposition. I should have thought a little more on who they'd consider against them.

  Acamapichtli smiled again. "That's why they want you in here."

  "And I suppose…" I paused, gathering my thoughts. "I suppose you're with them?" I could see no other reason for him to be back at Court so soon.<
br />
  "Don't be a fool." He snorted.

  "You came back…"

  He shrugged, a thoughtless, arrogant gesture. "I needed some time to make myself forgotten, but it seems events are moving faster than I foresaw."

  "You're out of the game," I said.

  "Xahuia-tzin is out of the game," Acamapichtli said, thoughtfully. "That doesn't mean I am. But I don't have Quenami's powers, alas."

  His face had the same haughty cast as when he'd told Teomitl the envoys weren't his. "That's a lie, isn't it?" Gingerly, I pulled myself upwards, careful to remain near the jaguar's fang. My head brushed against the ceiling and, up there, further away from the magic, I could feel it, the skittering at the edge of my mind, the force that wanted to erode my whole being. How could Acamapichtli stand it?

  No doubt he had his own protections. No doubt he had planned for it. He was not the prisoner here.

  He was still watching me. The shadows sculpted his face, made it seem as distant as that of a carved statue in the darkness of a shrine. "That's a lie, isn't it?" I repeated. "You're more than strong enough to blast us all out of the Fifth World."

  "Perhaps." He bent his head sideways, as if considering me in a new light. Without a doubt, I was no longer the High Priest that he had seen in the corridors, perhaps no longer his peer. I had no doubt he'd cast me aside without a moment's doubt if I was no longer useful to him.

  But still, he had come to visit me. He had spent the power of a human sacrifice to speak with me. Just to gloat? "What do you want?"

  "What I've always wanted," Acamapichtli said. "The Fifth World to survive, and our new Revered Speaker to lead us to glory." He cocked his head again. "One that would remember that the Great Temple is more than the Southern Hummingbird's territory."

  Finally, we were there, at the crux of the matter. "You had influence before," I said. "Before the Storm Lord tried to seize power."

  "I'm not responsible for His actions." He sounded almost annoyed at that, as if he could pretend to control the will of his god.

  "And you think I can help you?"

  "No," Acamapichtli said. "Of course you can't, Acatl. Let's be honest here. You blunder into Court day after day, doing your best to follow intrigues you are utterly ignorant of."

  "What compliments," I said. My vision had started to fade again, but I wasn't fool enough to touch one of Tlaloc's artefacts without any protection of my own. Much like Huitzilpochtli's spells, that magic was opposite to my own.

  "You're admirable, in your own way." He snorted, but with much of the usual aggressiveness gone. "Choosing not to meddle in what you can't grasp. You know your own limits."

  If I'd had more strength, I wasn't quite sure of what I'd have done. For all his arrogance and hasty judgments, he had a point. I had never been made for politics, or for the post of High Priest; I weathered as best as I could, did my best to rise up to the occasion. But I would never breathe it in as Quenami did, as Acamapichtli did, as all the birth-noblemen did, the ones who had watched their parents and grandparents swim in the currents of politics like children in the waters of Chalchiuhtlicue's streams and lakes. "He who remains bound by his own limits is the worst kind of prisoner," I said.

  "True." Acamapichtli shifted. "But you're still a foolish man, Acatl. One does not dive into the bees' hives without knowing where the queen is."

  "If that's all you have to say, I wonder why you bothered to come at all."

  His lips curled up, in a smile without sincerity. "As I said, I'm not their ally. With you removed, they'll turn their attention to me. I've come to make sure you last as long as you can."

  More than anything, his matter-of-fact tone chilled me. "They've decided, then?"

  "They'll find a pretext," Acamapichtli said. He snorted. "They lack imagination, but it won't be hard to concoct something they can blame on you. And then the next Revered Speaker can appoint a High Priest more malleable than you are."

  There were two ways to appoint a new High Priest: when the old one was demoted, or when he died. "They won't strip me of my rank," I said. It wasn't a question.

  Acamapichtli said nothing. The cold at my nape could have been that of the underworld. Death held no secrets for me anymore, but sometimes, knowing was worse than being in the dark; it left no place for hope, none at all. Like all the souls I guided down into darkness, I would make my way to the throne of Lord Death, and dissolve into oblivion, everything left unfinished forever. There was no recourse. There had never been.

  I took a deep breath, refusing to think about the chasm yawning at my feet. "Very well. If that's the way it's going, I'll need information."

  Acamapichtli nodded, as one craftsman to another. "You'll have an audience, a closed one, with only Tizoc-tzin and perhaps a few of the faithful in attendance. They planned for you to be insensate long before this, to make it fast and short." He gestured to the fang on the ground. "This won't hold until then, but it should deflect part of the Southern Hummingbird's magic."

  "I see." I sat down again, my hand straying towards the fang. The earth was warm underneath, but I wasn't fooled. Like Grandmother Earth in the Fifth World, it was nothing but hunger, and would not rest until all the blood had left my veins. "I'm surprised they let you do this."

  He snorted again. "As I said, fools, the lot of them. They think I'm settling accounts with you for my disgrace."

  He, too, was a much better actor than he had appeared to be at first. I had underestimated him, perhaps even more so than Quenami. Never again.

  "Any defence I have wouldn't be much good, would it?" I asked.

  Acamapichtli did not move for a while. "It might. I don't know. You have one chance, Acatl, and one only. The SheSnake will be part of the audience. They won't be able to do anything but include him, since they want to expedite this before the election."

  The She-Snake? He was much too canny to be caught doing anything in favour of a convicted traitor. Not much of a chance. The hollow in my stomach wouldn't close.

  "What about Teomitl?" I asked.

  "He's not in a position to help you. Tizoc-tzin has him confined to his quarters, ostensibly for his own safety."

  "And Nezahual-tzin?"

  "Too smart to let himself be dragged into something like this," Acamapichtli said.

  I hated to admit this, but he was right. Nezahual-tzin had known how fragile his position was all along, although ironically his offer to help find Xahuia and clear his name was the one thing that would allow Tizoc-tzin to accuse him of collusion and treason.

  "I see," I said again, though all I could feel was the abyss yawning under my feet. "It's not much."

  "There isn't much I can do." Acamapichtli shifted, slightly.

  "Do you know anything about the murders of the councilmen?"

  "Do you think this is going to help you?"

  "If I have to die, then at least let it be for something I can understand."

  He snorted, almost gently. "We all die in the end, Acatl. We all drift out of the Fifth World, our destination determined by the manner of our deaths. But…" He was silent, for a while. "All I know is that the council had a frightful quarrel, five days before Axayacatl-tzin died."

  "What kind of quarrel?" And then I remembered what Echichilli and Manatzpa had told me. "Pezotic," I said. The Master on the Edge of the Water, the councilman who had been dismissed for running away. "Pezotic disappeared."

  "Yes."

  "What was the quarrel about?"

  "I don't know." Acamapichtli shook his head in an annoyed manner. "I'm not privy to the secrets of the gods. I never was. But I've heard they were threatened – badly enough to fear for their lives. They'd turned into pitiful wrecks, both of them."

  It made me feel as though I had crossed a great lake, only to see mountains ahead of me. "You're right. It's not much help."

  "Believe me. If I had any idea what they were up to in truth, I would make sure everyone else knew."

  "I have no doubt you would."

  Aca
mapichtli's lips curled up a fraction. "Good. So long as we understand each other. Any other questions, Acatl?" He'd started to move out of the cell, back towards the entrance-curtain.

  I couldn't think of any. He went out, leaving me in darkness with not a flicker of light to be seen.

  I must have slept again, watching the jaguar fang by my side. I came to with my hand wrapped around it, and a stinging pain in my palm, a trace of the Storm Lord's power engraved into my skin. My mind skittered, refused to hold on to anything.

  He had said…

  Acamapichtli had said that the audience would be soon, that they wanted this done with before it was too late. That they–