“We’ve slept half the day away.” Frantically, I throw my pack together and head for the cave mouth. “Come on,” I call.
Zolan grabs my arm. “The Captain might be waiting to ambush us. We need to be cautious.”
Reluctantly, I agree. I turn my ear towards the entrance. Nothing. “It’s safe. Now let’s go.”
I set a fast pace. Lali plods behind me but Zolan has no trouble keeping up. The herbs have done their work.
Shafts of early-afternoon sun spear through the gaps in the forest canopy. They scrape against our skin but we don’t stop. There are more dangerous arrows behind us, where the earth echoes with the march of the Captain’s boots.
My feet ache. My sandals are hot and sweaty. Scratches itch mercilessly. My stomach growls and my forehead tightens. Everything hurts but we push on. We wage our own war against the sun as we race it to the horizon.
When the sun begins to descend I signal for rest. “We’ll stop here to eat and drink.”
“Good,” pants Zolan. “My mouth feels like sand.”
Lali passes him a water flask. “You get the food,” she instructs me.
Once I would have bristled and refused. I would have said, “I’m not your slave.” But friendship has its own duties and obligations.
I unpack strips of dried mango and peaches. Corn tortilla cakes and a handful of raisins. While I prepare the mid-afternoon meal, Lali mixes a paste of herbs and water.
“This will soothe the soles of our feet and ensure we don’t get blisters,” she says.
Zolan’s feet must be as sore as mine. He hasn’t complained but he smears the paste from toe to heel.
The corn cake is so stale it crumbles at my touch but like hungry finches, we swoop on the crumbs.
Before my last mouthful is swallowed, Lali has the bags repacked.
“Let’s go,” she says. “We still have a long way to run.”
Bits of bread clog in my throat like birdseed. What if we don’t make it? And if we do, what if we’re too late? Mine isn’t the only blood in danger of being spilled.
I drag myself to my feet, overwhelmed by the task ahead.
“What’s wrong?” asks Lali.
“Nothing,” I mumble.
“We’ve run well,” Zolan says. “But now we will race. You two will need to pull up your sandal straps to catch me. I think I will even outrun Atl.”
Anyone could easily see through Zolan’s attempt to lift my spirits but I can’t resist a dare.
The forest echoes with the thump of our feet, the pounding of our hearts and the sigh of our breathing.
Zolan is strong and resourceful. Smart too. But he doesn’t seem to be worried about the Captain. Maybe he doesn’t realise how much danger we are in. The Captain wouldn’t hesitate to kill three children. Even his own daughter isn’t safe.
Perhaps Zolan doesn’t care, as long as the cruelty is behind him.
Our sandals slap softly against the path. The rhythm of the run has returned. We jump over rocks and scatter the forest leaves. Surely even the Captain couldn’t keep up with us now.
Night is a welcome change from the heat of the day. A chance to rest and eat again before running on. Moonlight trails though the milky tunnel the night wind has dug across the sky.
“The moon is much brighter tonight,” I observe.
Zolan counts his fingers. “In three days it will be round like the sun.”
“How do you know that?” Ichtaca knew many things about the night sky but a slave was not allowed such privileged knowledge. Every time I asked a question he shook his head and didn’t answer.
“When you travel with a merchant, life is ruled by counting the days between the wax and wane of the moon. It wouldn’t be good for business if the conch shell necklaces were not delivered in time for the festival dance. Or the new jaguar skins arrived after the warriors had already left for war.” He laughs again. “They wouldn’t need as many when they got back.”
He swipes me playfully across the ear. “It’s all about strategy and planning. We have to outsmart the Captain.”
The boy who cowered beneath the jaguar is completely gone. This new boy is quick-witted and brave, already thinking further ahead than Lali and me. The change in Zolan reminds me of the morning Ichtaca sent me to help in the City Armoury. “In the mountains of Michoacán they create wonderful things out of metal,” the Royal Weapons Maker told me. “They make it strong by beating it, over and over.”
“How can that be?” I asked. I tried to imagine bashing an oak lance. It wouldn’t last more than a few hammer blows before it splintered into bits.
Now I understand. Zolan is made of metal not wood. Even the merchant’s cruel battering could not break him. In the end it just made him stronger.
“You’re right,” I agree. “We don’t want to risk another ambush.”
“We might not be so lucky next time,” Lali adds.
Lali has a quiet strength. Every time I look at her I see something that was not there before. She is like the feathers in the quetzal bird’s tail that shimmer different colours depending on where you stand. Sometimes Lali makes me so angry I want to shake her. Other times she is clever, kind and brave, the best companion I could imagine. Like the quetzal’s tail, she’s pretty to look at too.
“We’ve got to keep moving,” I say. “We’ll think of something.”
We have to. If we don’t outpace the Captain, everything will be lost. Dead people don’t t deliver messages.
Our pace quickens. It’s the only plan we’ve got so far. To keep going even faster than before. Eventually, our jog shifts into the familiar rhythm of long-distance running.
A light drizzle falls on my shoulders. Normally it takes the tears of children to end the dry season. The pale lords prevented the child sacrifices at this year’s festival but the rain has still come. Perhaps Ichtaca’s dancing was enough.
Water is the blood of the gods given in return for the bright red flow from the sacrificial table.
Angry, I spit the drops from my lips. I’ll drink nothing but tomato juice if I have to. I don’t need the Serpent-Sun god to rise again. Ever. I like it here beneath the moon.
Beside me Zolan hums in tune with the frog chorus. Stomach twisting, I realise you don’t have to sacrifice a child to make him cry. How many times in the past did Zolan’s tears bring the summer rain?
But the moon is a much kinder sun. Lali glows ethereal in its feathery light and Zolan’s voice melts into the warm night breeze. Everything is all right. As long as we keep running.
We run through the sunrise and into the morning. Our aching muscles will need to rest soon. It’s a fine line between giving as much as you can and giving too much. The line wraps itself around my tired feet.
I see him first: a small man curled up on a rock, like a squatting leaf frog. He opens one frog eye and we’re meshed in his stare.
“Welcome, young travellers.” His croaking voice is dry and raspy beneath the rain.
I cringe at the white puffy patches of loose skin and the blood-encrusted limbs. I’ve heard stories of lepers driven into the forest to die.
Unclean, my mind shouts in alarm, and I step back.
Not Lali. She throws me a look that would wither a field of maize flowers, and reaches boldly to take his hand. “Are you in pain? I have some medicinal herbs which might help.”
“Nothing can cure me but it’s kind of you to offer. Sickness is a gift from the gods. When the Night Owl calls your name, there is nothing to do but wait. My waiting is almost over.” He rearranges his legs to hide his disfigured toes. “Aah.” He opens his mouth wide to catch raindrops.
“Can I get you a drink?” Zolan offers.
The man nods. “Thank you. My hands cannot manage easily any more.”
Light rain runs from our noses to our chins. Cool. Refreshing. But not enough to quench the leper’s thirst or wash away the taint of disease.
Lali passes her water bottle and cup to Zolan, who pours the m
an a drink.
Yet I’m the one the man bares his grinning yellowed teeth at, daring me closer. “I don’t blame you, boy. It’s a strange sickness that some suffer and some don’t. Of the twenty priests in my temple only two fell sick. Are you feeling lucky?”
I have been lucky so far and I don’t want my friends to think I’m afraid. I step forward.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.” His gums gape into a smile. “Ignorant people say the skin peels in chunks. That’s not true. I just can’t feel where my body ends so I am always injuring my hands and feet. Twice this week, I cut off a finger while peeling a mango.”
He uncurls his hand to show two stumps. I step back again. My stomach is not that brave.
“We’re on our way to Purépecha,” Lali volunteers. “The Spanish have risen against Tenochtitlan and our city needs help.”
I glare. She wouldn’t tell the merchant anything, but she immediately trusts this man enough to tell him about my secret mission. Maybe because he won’t live long enough to cause us any trouble.
“So you’re Ichtaca’s messengers.” His eyes blink and stare into mine. “And you must be the runner.”
“How do you know Ichtaca?” I blurt.
“The priesthoods in all the cities of Mexica are in regular contact. We could never leave such important work in the hands of the army. I have served as a priest ever since I was a boy – in Tzintzuntzan, place of the hummingbirds.” The man snorts. “Was there ever a more foolish name? Silly birds that flap and flap to stay in the same place. A lot of effort spent going nowhere.”
I decide I like this man too.
When I watch hummingbirds I think the same thing.
The priest’s gaze sweeps from my face to Lali. “Ichtaca is a stubborn man. We have had many long arguments, as good friends often do.”
“See, I told you the priests in different cities talked to each other and you wouldn’t believe me,” gloats Lali.
If arguments are a measure of friendship, then Lali is my friend for life.
I am ashamed that I hesitated to help. “Perhaps we can offer you something tastier than water to drink. Would you like some chocolatl?”
The priest licks his lip and beads of saliva melt into the rain. Chocolatl is the nectar of the gods. Only the wealthy and powerful, such as priests and nobility, ever get to taste it.
“I don’t know how to prepare the drink,” admits Lali.
Neither do I, but I was sure she would. She knows everything else.
“I can,” Zolan says with a flourish. “A merchant’s slave always demonstrates his master’s wares. But I’ll need some honey and spices.”
Lali’s eyes twinkle as she pulls the ingredients and a pottery cup and bowl from her pack. “I knew what we would need. Just not what to do with it.”
Zolan adds a little water to grind the beans and spices into a paste. Drips of sweet-smelling honey swirl through the mixture. Zolan holds the bowl high and pours the liquid down into the cup. Not one drop is spilled but the cup is covered with a layer of rich foam.
The priest inhales, then drinks deeply.
“Please share the remainder with me.” He gestures to the half-empty bowl.
I wish I could. “We’re not allowed,” I say.
“It’s against the law,” Lali adds.
The priest should know that.
“I’ll try it,” says Zolan. He shrugs and smiles. “It would be rude to refuse what might be a priest’s last request.”
The priest guffaws and almost wastes an entire mouthful.
Lali produces another cup from her pack and soon it froths with the remainder of the chocolatl. Lali sips first. Sighs. Then Zolan. And me.
“Mmm.” The whirl in my brain runs excitedly down to my toes and out to my fingers.
“So why did the Serpent-Sun god choose you as Mexica’s runner?” the priest asks me. “It is never enough to be fast. There’s always something more.”
“The Serpent-Sun god didn’t choose me. Ichtaca did and only because he had no choice,” I mutter.
And I’m not running for either of them. I’m running for the children like me, caught in slavery’s web.
“There is always a choice.” The old priest smiles through rotten teeth. “But not all your friends will make the choice you think they should.”
“Ichtaca is not my friend.” I spit the words at his feet.
“I wonder why he chose you?” The priest is not even listening to me.
“Atl talks to animals.” Lali speaks before I can respond.
“Sort of,” I admit. “I just listen to what they tell me.”
The priest nods approvingly. “If you listen, you will learn the things you need to know. Now I will give you all some advice.” The priest scratches behind his ear and the skin reddens and bleeds.
We crowd close to listen.
“You must make an animal sacrifice and ask the gods for guidance.”
“No.” I shake my head emphatically. Not that. Never.
“Come here and let me see the problem with your eyes,” the priest says.
I shake my head again. There’s nothing wrong with my eyes. Since the jaguar spoke to me, I can easily count the legs on a midge.
“Neither Ichtaca nor the Serpent-Sun god would have chosen a stupid runner so I want to check why you cannot see what is under your nose.”
I can see what’s under my nose. A meddling priest. “I won’t do it. For seven days I was imprisoned in a box waiting to die. I don’t trust any god that demands a blood sacrifice for looking after his own people.”
The priest snorts. “A boy cannot expect to understand the intricacies of heaven. Nothing is ever as simple as it seems.”
“That’s all right for you to say. Nobody wanted to cut out your heart.”
“Some would say the gods have handed me an even crueller sentence. We all die. But only when heaven is ready for us. Who do you think kept you safe in the box until it was time for you to carry the message? The Serpent-Sun god itself.” The priest shifts his weight painfully. “Never underestimate the power of the gods, boy.”
I’m not convinced, but I can see Lali and Zolan want to follow the priest’s advice.
“For my friends then,” I concede. “What should we do?”
This time the priest laughs. “I have already told you the answer. You must make your own choices.”
“What if we get it wrong?” Zolan asks. “Performing a sacrifice is much harder than making chocolatl.”
“If our actions are misinterpreted, we will offend heaven.” Lali is concerned too.
“The gods don’t interpret. They will see what is in your heart. Only men interpret.” The priest sighs. “And they so often get it wrong. The runner boy,” he points his half finger at me, “he knows what to do. A temple slave has seen it done often enough.”
I nod. It’s true although I wish it wasn’t.
“Leave me now,” the priest commands. “I need to rest, for soon I will be climbing the steps to heaven. Time is seeping like blood and Ichtaca’s message cannot wait.”
He swivels to face away from us and curls back into a brown frog-like hump. A stone man.
As soon as we are on our way, Lali is talking again. “What will we sacrifice?”
“You need to stop talking so Atl can listen. The forest will tell him,” Zolan says.
I smile. This should be interesting. Zolan never tells Lali what to do. I wait for her to snap in anger. But instead she laughs, a soft sound like running water. Zolan laughs too. A deep belly rumble that frightens the bats from the nearest trees. It doesn’t stop until I slap him on the back.
“If you two have finished making a noise, I might be able to hear something,” I remind them.
We stand still and close. I can hear the trees breathe, the soil alive with grubs, the soft daytime hoot of an owl. Calling the priest’s name.
“I can hear an owl,” I say.
Could that be right? To sacrifice one of the Night Owl
’s own spirits?
Through the drizzle, I scan the trees for the dim shadow of an owl. It’s not long before I find one. Lali unhooks her bow and fits a feathered arrow to the string. Pfft. A muffled thud marks exactly where the bird has fallen.
“Follow me.” I plunge from the path into the forest.
We stand awkwardly around the little body. Zolan kneels and scoops it up with his hands. He passes it to Lali, who holds its downy feathers against her cheek.
Then she hands it to me. The body is warm and soft. I feel nervous. Will what we are about to do make me no better than the gods I despise? Is this how Ichtaca felt, torn between two choices? Soul-searching will have to wait. Zolan points to a nearby rock. Green and mossy, it will make a good sacrificial stone. Quickly, I slice the owl’s chest open from throat to belly. I cup its heart in my palm and tear it free. Blood dripping, still shuddering, the heart dies. I place it on the stone beside the body.
Lali takes a small pebble from her waist pouch and rests it where the heart once beat. Together we kneel.
Heaven opens and a flash of brilliant light streaks above us. Thunder cracks loud enough to rip the forest apart. The rain pummels our backs and gouges deep pockets in the earth.
What have we done?
Nearby a tree stump smoulders where the lightning snake buried its fangs.
“Let’s go,” Zolan yells.
“We need to find shelter,” Lali screams.
We’re running again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NIGHT OF THE DOG
Huddled together, we cower in the first cave we find. No arguments this time. Voom. Voom. Thunder belts across the sky to ram itself against the walls of our shelter. The air rings with the echo of storm against rock. Lightning hisses, cutting heaven into great chunks.
“We should try and rest,” counsels Lali. “Maybe that’s what the gods are telling us. We haven’t slept since yesterday morning. A few hours sleep will make us run faster.”
“I agree,” Zolan says. “The Captain will need to shelter from the lightning storm too.”
It’s good advice but I don’t believe it came from the gods. It’s just common sense.
Jaguar Warrior Page 7
