by Clare Bell
Even if I do keep her, Wise Coyote thought, I will have only her body and the beast that lies within it. Huetzin has her love, though it will do him no good. I wanted her affection and loyalty, but I have earned only her hatred.
He saw Nine-Lizard eyeing him, as if the old scribe could read the thoughts on his face.
Nine-lizard spoke softly. “Let her go, my king. The Jaguar’s Children can help her and they need her. And now, it is more important than ever that she be sent to her own people.”
“Why?”
“Her attack on Huetzin has revealed something new about her. It is something I did not know at first. Even now, I am not sure.”
Wise Coyote waited, wondering what this revelation would be.
The scribe was studying him again. “Before I tell you what I suspect, I must ask you again about the attack. It is, of course, your privilege, as king, not to answer.”
Wise Coyote felt a tendril of cold start to creep up his back toward a point between his shoulders. Did Nine-Lizard suspect he had lied in his account of the incident? Had the old man found evidence, perhaps even the knife that he had used to slash Huetzin’s face? No, that could not be. The streams that poured down from the hills through the grounds of Tezcotzinco would have carried the weapon far away.
He let nothing show on his face, which he kept in a relaxed and pleasant expression. “If my answers will aid you in helping Mixcatl, I am willing to give them.” He indicated a sitting-mat and he sat down cross-legged opposite the scribe.
“I will make this brief,” said the scribe. “I know that you pulled Mixcatl away from Huetzin. Did you actually see her wound him?”
“Why else would I have wrenched her away with a rope about her neck,” Wise Coyote said. “I nearly throttled her—she collapsed in a faint.”
“Then you did see the attack.”
Wise Coyote knew that he could choose to stay with his lie or abandon it. To confess the truth now meant admitting to both Nine-Lizard and himself that he was not the gentle scholar-king that both his subject and he had come to believe. In Nine-Lizard’s eyes and his own, he would be no less cruel and ruthless than Ilhuicamina. It would not matter that his intent was more noble; it would make no difference. Somehow he could not bear the thought.
Whatever gods there are in this world, give me strength, he thought. To Nine-Lizard he said calmly, “Yes. She leaped on him, slashed his face and then bit his right hand when he raised it to defend himself.”
At his words, Nine-Lizard seemed to slump. “Did she even check herself when she ran at him? Did she show any signs that she recognized him?”
“No,” Wise Coyote said, baffled by the question and wondering what all this was leading up to.
“Then my fears are true.” Nine-Lizard closed his eyes, as if in pain.
Wise Coyote started to ask what he meant, but abruptly the old scribe opened his eyes again and began to speak. “I have told you a little about the Jaguar’s Children. Now I must tell you more. You already know that Mixcatl is one of that line. The power of her gift is greater than any I have ever seen. She is the leader that they have been waiting for.
“But the strength of her gift opens a danger that only the most powerful among the Jaguar’s Children face. This is a flaw inherent in their natures, the reason why they have remained few and almost powerless.”
Nine-Lizard paused, as if measuring his listener. Slowly he said, “You would think that someone who transforms into an animal would lose all memory of their humanity and act only upon their animal impulses. Such is not true. When the Jaguar’s Children take the shape of the beast, they retain the guiding and directing ability of the human mind.
“Yet the more powerful and dominant the animal side becomes, the stronger the personality needed to control it. For some among the Jaguar’s Children, the animal is too strong. For them, transformation is a descent into unknowing savagery.”
Wise Coyote stared at Nine-Lizard. “How do you know this?”
The scribe’s answering gaze was level. “I have studied these people all my life.”
“And you fear that Mixcatl is flawed in the way that you describe.”
Wise Coyote saw the veined old fist close in helpless anger. “She felt strongly about your son. Even if she was driven wild by pain, she should have recognized him.”
“There was no light. She could not have seen him well enough,” the king protested.
“I or you could not have seen him, but her eyes were becoming a jaguar’s. Even if she could not see him, she would have known him by smell.” Nine-Lizard brought his fist down on his bony knee. “No. The fact that she attacked someone she should have known is a bad sign.”
“She attacked me inside the cage before escaping,” Wise Coyote said, remembering. “But her rage was human…and I cannot claim that I did not deserve it.”
“Everything indicates that her power rules her, which it should not.” Nine-Lizard gave a heavy sigh. “Too many times I have seen this. The young ones are rare enough, especially when they show such promise as she. But then the taint shows itself and strikes the gifted aside before they can rise to leadership. So many times and now, again!” He shook his head. “Thus those who carry the ancient blood dwindle and die out.”
Wise Coyote felt as if he had unwillingly been given a part in an ancient tragedy that well might condemn Mixcatl. By giving up his lie, he could reverse Nine-Lizard’s conclusion, but at what cost to himself? No. Though his conscience pained him, he could not take down the fortress of untruth which was starting to rise higher about him. The first sacrifice was the hardest. The second might be easier.
“It is possible that I might have misjudged her,” said
Nine-Lizard solemnly. “That is another reason why she must go. The people at the refuge can test her and evaluate her. Perhaps even if she does have the flaw I fear, they have some way to deal with it.”
The last words sounded faint, as though Nine-Lizard had no real hope.
In a warning voice. Wise Coyote said, “I have many misgivings about this, old man. Nevertheless, what I have learned from you requires thought. I will let you know of my decision whether to release Mixcatl if and when anyone comes for her. Until then, she will remain where she is.”
“Then I can ask no more of you, lord king,” said Nine-lizard. Bowing once, he departed.
That may be the last that anyone can ask of me once Ilhuicamina hears what has happened. Wise Coyote thought gloomily.
He remembered the spears and swords that his slain elder son had stored at his palace. He should go and look them over. If he was any judge of Tenochtitlan’s reaction to the charge that he was meddling in forbidden things, he would soon have use for the weapons.
Three days after he had dispatched a messenger via boat to Tenochtitlan to let the Aztec ruler know that the history had been completed, the answer returned.
Wise Coyote brought the envoy into his private chambers and gave him refreshment. Then he sat in his reed icpalli and listened as the messenger spoke.
Ilhuicamina was eager to inspect the completed document and was dispatching an escort to fetch it back along with the two borrowed scribes. But, as Wise Coyote feared, there was more. The escort would contain not only scribes charged with transporting the document and warriors to guard it but a party of high priests and all their attendants. Among their tasks was to oversee the consanction of the temple to Hummingbird on the Left, which Wise Coyote was ordered to commence at once.
In order to begin the project on an auspicious note, Ilhuicamina added, the priests would bless the groundbreaking by a sacrifice to the war god. In accordance with Ilhuicamina’s tolerance and leniency toward his fellow sovereign in Texcoco, only one victim would be needed and she had been chosen. Indeed, the priests of Hummingbird had already requested this particular victim, for it was thought that her sorcerous gift would make her a powerful offering. It would be most convenient for everyone involved.
The envoy’s voice and f
ace carried the same arrogance as the message, but Wise Coyote only nodded at appropriate intervals and sent the man away, saying that he had heard and understood.
Then, as soon as the envoy was safely away from Tezcotzinco, Wise Coyote clenched his fist in rage. Te-nochtitlan assumed he would crumple at once; he would show them otherwise. That Ilhuicamina did not anticipate any real resistance showed in the fact that he had made his intentions clear.
He thinks so little of me and my nation that he cares nothing for what I might do.
He sat and pondered. There was always the swift and brutal method of surrounding the party of priests with warriors once the escort had departed with the document. The priests could die swiftly and silently and their orders could be forgotten.
Such an act would bring retribution on Texcoco before Wise Coyote had prepared himself and his people for war. No. Better to take another, more devious road. He already had much practice in such doings. He would welcome the priests, make them comfortable in his palace and cheerfully embark upon the plans for their temple. But the sacrificial victim they required for the ground-breaking ceremony would be spirited away, hidden in one of the secret chinks of Tezcotzinco.
However much Mixcatl had angered Wise Coyote by refusing to aid him with her powers, and however much grief she had caused by abandoning him for Huetzin, he was not yet ready to give her up. Better the misty uncertainties of the Jaguar’s Children than the bloody altar of Hummingbird.
And, although he would not dare admit it, buried deep within him was the hope that she might, once her life had been preserved, change her affection back to him.
When the bluestone palace had first been built. Wise Coyote had foreseen the need for hidden chambers and passageways. There was one small bolthole located under the floor in the water room. Ostensibly it had been built as an extra cistern, but it had a false bottom beneath the water chamber. No one dabbling their fingers and peering down into the water had any idea that beneath the shallow basin might lie another chamber large enough for a young woman to lie in. And the sounds of the stream rushing past would drown out any sound she might make.
Wise Coyote told Mixcatl about the priests’ intent and showed her the refuge beneath the false bottom of the cistern. It could be padded and carefully vented. She could have food, water and even a cautious amount of light if she so wished. It was certain that a party of priests and their assistants would not be able to find her once she was hidden here.
She had shrugged, saying that one cage was no different than another. If the messenger from the Jaguar’s Children arrived, she would go with them, but until that time she would stay in hiding and be quiet. It would help, she said, if she could once again have paints and tiles, for if the change threatened again while she was entombed in the cistern’s false chamber, the noise she might make would lead the searchers to her.
Wise Coyote agreed and handled all the arrangements himself. Not even Nine-lizard was to know where Mixcatl was hidden, lest the priests become impatient and try to extract information by torture. The only ones immune from their interrogations would be Wise Coyote himself and his family. This, thankfully, included Huetzin, even though Wise Coyote knew that the wounded youth’s ravings would be of little aid to the priests. He would have to move rapidly, however. Once Hummingbird’s priesthood arrived, he did not know how long his own immunity might last.
The high priests and the escort for the completed document arrived in a high-prowed barge nearly as splendid as the one used by Ilhuicamina on his previous journey to Tezcotzinco. Wise Coyote was on the stone quay beneath the cliffs to receive the party.
He wore full royal regalia, shimmering gold and green cloak, a plume of quetzal feathers. He had donned gold ear and nose plugs along with his traditional turquoise circlet. Nine-Lizard too was dressed more splendidly than usual, though not so much so that he might be accused of dressing above his station as a slave-scribe.
Nine-Lizard carried the bound volume of the official history, ready to accompany it back to the House of Scribes in Tenochtitlan. The other version had been hidden in the library.
Wise Coyote was reluctant to let Nine-Lizard depart, but he could see no alternative. Keeping Mixcatl by trickery would cause enough provocation, but her life was endangered. There had been no such threat against Nine-Lizard. He should be allowed to return peacefully to Tlacopan.
The king smelled the party before their barge reached his quay. The onshore wind from the lake brought the stink of tangled and filthy hair mingling with the blood that still stiffened their robes. He tried to judge how many men were in the boat to be sure that his own escort was large enough to counter any threat the priests might bring. From a distance the party appeared small.
As the barge neared the quay, he caught the smell again. It angered him that they would step ashore onto his land with the stains of sacrifice tainting their garments. The leader, who was dressed in gold pectoral, wristlets and black bodypaint, addressed Wise Coyote in the formal words of greeting; but they were tossed off with such carelessness that it was as if the priest were addressing one of his minions, not the king of an allied state.
“You have a great reputation as an engineer and builder,” said the high priest as he stepped from the barge onto the quay. “I will look forward to seeing the temple rise under your guidance. Have you chosen the land on which it will be sited?”
“A site has been chosen. It is the center of the city, which should please you.” Wise Coyote refrained from mentioning that his choice for a site would be a place where refuse was carted from the city and dumped. The air about the dump already stank and carrion birds frequented it; they would not have to move if the charnel house of Hummingbird was erected there.
“And of course, the victim for the ground-breaking sacrifice,” said the high priest, as others of his party disembarked and stood in a group about him. “I trust you are preparing her well.”
“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.”
