Even though the afternoon is warm, we curl together. It feels safer that way. I close my eyes. How can I possibly rest when time is burning in the flames of Tenochtitlan?
When I open my eyes again Zolan is already awake, staring out into the night.
“Do you think we will make it?” he asks.
“We have to,” I say.
In the darkness my eyes pick out the shapes of the nightmare spirits. Grotesque ghostly forms that mutate and grow more frightening with each change. Above them floats Tlaloc, enormous and hideous, lord of the rains. He raises his arms and the thunder thumps even louder.
Lali stirs and clutches my arm in fear. Zolan’s lip is pinched against his teeth.
“It’s all right,” I say. “We’re protected in here.”
Tlaloc turns, his one huge eye staring at me. The snakes above his mouth curl and wriggle, as his jaw opens and I look into the bottomless pit. But I am not afraid. I saw more frightening visions in yesterday’s nightmare.
Inside me the jaguar wakes, arches it spine and spits. The shape laughs soundlessly as it melts into fog.
The storm gathers its strength for one last assault. Spear thrusts of rain drive deep into the earth. A new more fearsome apparition forms. Black Tezcatlipoca, lord of the smoking mirror, the dreaded Night Wind himself. Even death runs from his sight as the sky fills with the unearthly clang of his battle axe. Skull cradled in his right hand, his huge headless body blocks any escape from the cave.
Every child knows the story of the Night Wind’s challenge. It is a bedtime tale often whispered into frightened ears. I’ve heard Ichtaca tell it many times to the royal children.
“If you stand and face the Night Wind, and you are found to be brave enough, then your greatest wish will be granted.” The Royal Storyteller’s voice rustled and slithered like a snake through dry leaves. “But if you fail … disaster will strike where you stand,” he hissed. “The cowardly man should take the safe path and run away.”
I’m not that kind of runner. I am going to Purépecha because I have to. And I am not afraid of the Night Owl or the Night Wind. Not even the Serpent-Sun god scares me any more.
I pull my cloak tight, wrap my fingers around Ichtaca’s token and step into the rain. Tezcatlipoca lifts his severed head high to face me and his golden eyes drill gaps in the darkness between us. Thunder bellows and the jaguar roars back.
“I have no fear of you.” I step forward and slam my fist against the air.
Lightning slices as sharp as twice-honed obsidian, to land sizzling at my feet. The night flares eerie and bright as day. Almost too easy. One action of defiance and Tezcatlipoca is gone, his axe silent. The ghostly challenge is over.
“You faced the Night Wind and won.” Lali’s voice is shaking with relief but there’s a new admiration in her eyes. “I’m proud of you.”
Zolan slaps me on the arm. It means the same thing.
An owl swoops low, dragging its shadow across us. It drops a feather into the burnt leaves at Zolan’s feet.
“Our sacrifice has been accepted,” he murmurs.
I’m not so sure of that but I have my wish ready. I wish for the day when we can run with no one chasing us and no one waiting for us. When we will run just to feel our feet fly, as if on owl wings.
I pick up the feather. I feel the power in its quill. “It’s yours,” I say as I pass it to Zolan.
“Thanks.” He tucks it in his waist pouch.
This is not the first time the Night Owl has come to my aid. A feather saved me from the Captain once. But can it keep us safe all the way to Purépecha?
Run, run, the night birds trill. They probably say that every time it rains. But the birds are right about one thing. We need to move quickly. Too much time has already been lost.
It’s not possible to run in the sodden darkness. At least it will slow down the Captain too. The path is climbing the mountain now, winding itself like a liana around a great evergreen oak. Mud sucks at our feet. Fog descends to wrap its thick blanket across our eyes. Rain pounds its fists against my back and every leaf we pass flicks droplets into our faces.
We clutch at plants for handholds and brace our feet against rocks. Anything to keep upright as we squelch, half blind, through the slippery sludge.
It’s not enough.
“Whoa,” Zolan yells as he slides down.
“Eeee!” Lali follows after him.
“Are you all right?” Even I can’t see through the layers of darkness, fog and rain.
Lali giggles.
“We haven’t got time for fooling around and we shouldn’t be making a noise,” I snap. “We …”
I slide after them.
“Time-waster,” whispers Lali.
“I lost my footing,” I protest.
“And I know where your foot is,” complains Zolan. “It’s on my head.”
Carefully, I move it out of the way, only to bump against something else. Lali’s head. She laughs again. I try not to join in. But when Zolan begins to chuckle in my ear, the dam breaks. Like a waterfall, our shared laughter splashes over us, again and again.
I wish we could stay here forever in this muddy camaraderie but there are noises ringing in my ears. The crackle of flames and the cries of children. The marching slap of the Captain’s sandals. We need to keep running. We’re ahead now but we need to make sure it stays that way. No more distractions, I promise myself.
Help me, a small voice cries.
“Did you hear that?” I ask.
“Hear what?” whispers Lali. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Someone yelled out for help.”
“I thought I heard a dog bark,” says Zolan. “But it was very faint.”
Help me. I’m lost and alone, the voice calls again.
“Come on.” I jump up and drag Lali with me. “Someone is in trouble. And he’s not far from here.”
Zolan staggers awkwardly to his feet. He knocks into me and sends all three of us slithering back into the mud.
But there’s no laughter second time down. Even though my friends didn’t hear the cry for help, they heard the urgency in my voice and they trust my ears.
We haul ourselves up the slope. Grass tuft by grass tuft, vine by vine. Finally, the mud thins and we can move faster.
Help. The call is much closer.
“We’re coming,” I answer. “Hold on – we’re almost there.”
Crouched under the broad leaf of a bromeliad is a small brown hairless dog, the sort priests sacrifice in the temple and beggars sometimes eat.
“How did you get here?” I hold out my hand.
The dog steps gingerly towards me. He sniffs my hand and wags his tail. His sleek coat glistens in the rain; his stomach is round and well fed. He hasn’t been alone for very long.
“Perhaps he followed the leper priest,” suggests Zolan. “I saw many dogs like this in the main temple of Purépecha when I was there with the merchant last summer.”
“We can’t keep him you know,” Lali says.
“Why not?” I demand. “You’re not in charge.”
She shrugs. “We’ll make a group decision. This involves all of us.”
“Okay.” I slump into the mud, daring her to sit in the slush beside me.
Lali doesn’t hesitate; she drops with a wet squelch. “What if we need to hide? The dog might bark and then my father will know where we are hiding.”
“A dog will alert us to danger,” I counter. “He will tell us when the Captain is near.”
“Has he spoken to you? Did he say that?” questions Lali.
“No,” I admit. “I can’t make an animal talk to me. I just listen. The dog hasn’t said anything since he first called to me.”
I scratch the dog behind the ears, willing him to speak.
Plop, plop.
He thumps his tail in the sludge but he keeps his mouth still and shut.
“That doesn’t tell us much.” Lali smirks.
“I don’t think it matters,” Zolan say
s. “It’s easy to understand a dog’s warning bark.”
“A dog is an extra mouth to feed,” insists Lali. “We might run out of food.”
“We could always eat him then.” Zolan grins.
I glare at him.
“What are you staring at me like that for?” he says. “I’m helping you to convince Lali. I’m not really going to eat him.”
“Maybe the Night Owl or some other god has sent him to me. We’ll offend them if we don’t take him with us,” I say. Not that I believe that for one moment. The gods don’t care about me and they don’t care about this dog. All they care about is spilling our blood.
“Now you’re being stupid,” snorts Lali. “You can’t twist the will of the gods to suit yourself.”
But this is a smart dog that doesn’t need Zolan or me or even the gods to defend him. He curls across Lali’s feet and stares soulfully into her eyes. I can see her softening as she strokes his muzzle.
“Let’s vote,” I say quickly. “We haven’t got time to waste arguing. I want to take him with us to Purépecha.”
“Me too,” agrees Zolan.
Sometimes even Lali decides with her heart. “So do I,” she admits, the dog now nestled close against her ankles.
Deep inside, I feel the jaguar uncurl to look out through my eyes. The hairs on my neck tingle and the dog’s hackles rise. He growls softly. My own throat rumbles in answer.
Lali and Zolan say nothing. They’re used to the jaguar running with us. This is an encounter between ancient enemies. Will the jaguar allow the dog to stay? Will the dog want to? It’s not our decision after all.
No one moves. Finally, the dog lays his head on his front paws and the jaguar curls into a ball. They’ve decided to run together.
“Come on then, boy,” I say. I get to my feet and slap my hand against my thigh. The dog struggles up, takes a step forward, then drops, cringing, back to the ground.
“Come on,” Zolan encourages and nudges the dog’s belly with his toe. “Don’t you want to come with us?”
Whimpering, the dog hauls himself up again.
“But I didn’t push hard,” Zolan protests as Lali glares at him.
Slowly, the dog limps towards me. “There’s something wrong with his paw.” I inspect the pad. A small sharp stone is lodged hard against the fleshy skin.
“I can fix that.” Lali has the longest fingernails, and the smallest, gentlest hands. She’s a natural healer. No wonder the merchant readily believed she was a doctor’s daughter.
“Easy, boy,” I soothe him as she works to remove the stone.
She hands it to Zolan who lobs it down the mountain path. Plink, plink. The echo bounces back. From her pack she takes a sprig of herbs and crumbles it between her rain-dampened hands.
“If you’re coming with us, you need a name,” Lali says to the dog as she smears the salve on his wound.
“Dog,” he barks.
When I repeat the word, Zolan laughs at my choice. “You’re going to call him Dog?”
“I have to. He said so. It’s his name.”
No one argues with that.
“Let’s go then. Come on, Dog.” Lali smiles. She doesn’t seem to mind that I got my own way.
But it’s much more than that. She doesn’t realise how high I’m stacking any future arguments against her. Two boys versus one girl. And now I’ve got Dog too.
Except Dog doesn’t see it that way at all. He licks Lali’s hand and trots close beside her.
I begin to walk faster until the pulse of the run beats in my blood. But we can’t keep running through the night without sleep and it’s important to make sure we don’t get blisters on our feet.
“First safe place to rest, we’ll stop,” I puff.
“Good,” says Lali. “I’m exhausted. Even the Captain would have to rest by now. Especially if he took a long detour.”
Zolan doesn’t speak but his laboured breathing answers for him.
Dog bounds happily beside us. He’s not tired. He could run all day. It’s a good thing too because tomorrow he will have to.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE CAPTAIN
How could I be so foolish? Deceived by mere children.
Huemac is frustrated that the boy has escaped again. But he is even angrier with himself for the time wasted following a false trail. He fears he may have lost at least a day. An Eagle Warrior should know better than to chase after a rock.
The sodden ground and drizzling rain make it difficult to move quickly. Already too many days have been squandered. This time he will not bother to set a trap. This time he will stalk and pounce. Like an eagle. He imagines the boy cringing before him.
The Captain of the Temple Guard studies the remains of the dismembered owl. Confused, he tries to understand its meaning. What have those children done? What favour are they trying to solicit from heaven?
A soldier understands the battle, the cut and thrust, the flank and rout. But not this. Huemac accepts he is not a clever man. But he is not stupid either. He gives his heart to the Serpent-Sun god in good faith and the patron god of all warriors, great and small, has always looked kindly on him.
The dead priest curled up further down the track could have explained the butchered bird. But temple priests are tricksters and Huemac doesn’t trust them. The common people were fooled by Ichtaca’s feather stunt, but not the keen eyes of the Eagle Warrior. “The best priest is a dead one and two dead priests is an excellent omen,” he mutters.
Huemac has no doubts about his quest. He knows the boy must be returned for sacrifice. Only then will the Serpent-Sun god rise more powerful than ever and rear to strike a killing blow against the Spanish. If the boy is allowed to live, Mexica will fall and its people will be slaughtered.
“I will not fail you,” Huemac calls into the storm.
Inside the owl’s body is a small pebble, smooth like those sometimes found in the marsh gardens. Its unusual shape is cool and familiar in Huemac’s hand. A child’s birthstone. He puts it in his pocket.
Huemac treks through the storm. The squelch of his muddy sandals reminds him of the many campaigns where he marched ahead of his men, leading them in single file through the forest in the rain. North, east, south and west. Until the blood flowed in every direction.
He continues east. The children are tired now. It won’t be long and he will have them in his grasp.
Run. Run faster, Huemac taunts his prey. Tomorrow your feet will drag behind me in this mud.
There are new prints now. A dog. Children like animals and Huemac likes dogs too. Simmered slowly and served with a mango sauce. He imagines sucking the marrow from each canine bone, then tossing it to land beside the children’s bound feet.
His own daughter once nagged him for a dog. “No,” he told her. A pet is a sign of weakness. Love saps a person’s strength. When Nenetl died, he struggled to even get up in the morning. He vowed never to love again. “No dogs, no birds, no turtles. Nothing,” he bellowed at the girl when she asked him a second time.
He stops. The pebble in his pocket belongs to Citlali. That’s why it seemed so familiar. Huemac’s forehead tightens with anger. When Citlali was born, the midwife placed a pebble and an eagle feather on the baby’s stomach. Then she cut the umbilical cord and he buried it under the hearth, so the child would be a good daughter and one day, a dutiful army wife.
But now Huemac sees the double treachery. The eagle feather the merchant gave him was Citlali’s too. Blood pounding in his temples, he fights the urge to slam his fist into the nearest tree. His own daughter, a traitor. His own daughter, an enemy of Tenochtitlan.
“She must be punished,” he mutters. It is a mother’s duty to teach her daughter but without Nenetl’s guiding hand, the girl has lost her way. She has befriended slaves and disgraced her family.
Huemac sees a new duty stretch out before him.
“I will teach our daughter respect, my love,” he whispers. “I will make you proud of her.”
&nb
sp; The Captain knows where the children are heading. Like a coward, the boy is running home to Purépecha. Soon Huemac will overtake them, on the mountain trail. Just as they are almost within sight of their destination, he will wrench them back.
Huemac hates Purépecha. Twice he led campaigns there. Twice he failed.
“Aaargh,” the Eagle Warrior screeches in rage. More than ever, he is determined to deliver the boy to the Sun Stone and to return Citlali home to be taught a lesson. The second boy is of no consequence but will die anyway. He should have chosen his friends more carefully.
Overhead, the quetzal bird trills. Huemac spies its magnificent tail shimmering in the sunlight. Double the length of his arm, it is a gift fit for royalty. Huemac, the saviour of Tenochtitlan, will offer the brilliant plumage to the Golden King along with the returned captive and his traitorous friend.
Silent as a swooping eagle and just as deadly, Huemac creeps towards the bird.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SMOKE AND MIRRORS
Wake and eat. Eat and run. Feet aching. Lungs strained. The morning blurs into a painful, sweaty passage of time. Even words are too much effort as we force each footstep. In the afternoon we collapse into a shallow overhang of rock and tree roots.
We rouse as the sun sets and Moon Jaguar prepares to fight his way through the underworld. Only then can the sun emerge safely in the morning. But right now, I’m more concerned about my own safety.
Outside, Dog takes his sentry job seriously. Not even Lali could convince him to rest with us.
“We covered a lot of ground this morning. I estimate the Purépechan border is only a day away,” Zolan mumbles through a mouthful of corn cake.
Just as I thought. We’re almost there. And that means the danger behind us is greater then ever. Time is running out for the Captain too. He’ll be doing everything he can to recover time lost on the false trail.
“We have to run even faster tonight. Maybe if we reach the border first, the Captain will turn back,” I suggest. But I don’t really believe that and my friends don’t either.
“My father never gives up.” Lali sighs. “With every step of the hunt, he will have been planning its end. Our trick will make him more determined than ever.”
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