Jaguar Warrior

by Sandy Fussell

  I try to read the tired lines on her face, searching for a glimmer of hope.

  “He’s playing with us. Like a puma with a rat. He’ll do everything he can to make sure you die, Atl,” she says miserably. “And without the message, Tenochtitlan will be lost.”

  “If anything happens to me, you must both continue on to Purépecha.”

  “I’ll try,” Lali promises.

  She looks worried. Maybe I won’t make it after all.

  Zolan grins, unconcerned. “I’ve got a better idea. We will have to convince the Captain that Atl is already dead.”

  That would be perfect. But the Captain of the Temple Guard is a skilled interrogator. Even Lali’s lily-honey tongue is no match for her father’s ability to slice the truth from any witness. And whatever happens, I’m not going to lie down and play dead in front of him. He’s sure to check with a quick lance thrust to the heart.

  “The Captain is afraid of small dark places. Is there some other weakness we can exploit? Think hard, Lali,” I plead. “He’s your father.”

  For once I wish the silence was filled with her know-it-all chatter. I want to hear ideas and plans. I want her to tell me what to do.

  “Look into your memories,” suggests Zolan. “Last time you did, it saved our lives.”

  I nod encouragingly, willing her to find something else.

  Her shoulders droop. “I can’t remember anything useful. My father and I spent so little time together.”

  “But what did you do with him? Tell stories? Play games–”

  “We played hide-and-seek,” Lali interrupts, her face flushed. “That’s it. Once I climbed a tree and my father wouldn’t come up and get me.”

  “He’s afraid of heights?” asks Zolan.

  “Yes. I can’t believe I forgot. He used to say it was his greatest disgrace. He said that an Eagle Warrior should not be afraid to fly. I’ve got an idea. If we fell off the cliff, he wouldn’t even climb down to check whether we were injured or dead.”

  It’s a good plan with one enormous flaw.

  “I don’t see how throwing myself off a cliff is going to help me survive,” I say.

  “It’s perfect.” Zolan whistles in praise.

  He must be crazy. “What? Falling off a cliff? It’s deadly dangerous.”

  Lali clicks her teeth against her tongue. “We’re not really going to fall off. We’ll find a steep place to climb down and make it appear we were killed when we fell. I can even mix up a paste that will look like blood.”

  “I don’t think we’ll have to wait long. The Captain must be close now. But if we have to wait all day, we will,” Zolan says.

  I understand. It might just work. Lying motionless won’t be hard. I’m exhausted enough to sleep like I’m dead, even in bright sunlight on a cliffside.

  “Tonight is the full moon so it won’t be too dark to find the right place.” I’m grinning too now. I think this plan will work. “See, I can count the phases of the moon,” I tell Lali. “I’m just as smart as you are.”

  She thumps me affectionately on the arm. Zolan laughs. Dog lifts his snout to howl in unison.

  Tired and nervous, we pick our way up the mountain. Dog pads faithfully behind us. It’s impossible to run through the sticky mud.

  Night is a time of deep silence. Until the monkey howls or the parrot screams and then we startle and scrunch closer together. Each time the silence returns, it’s deeper than before. A person walking alone could get lost in it. But the night won’t swallow us when we’ve got each other to talk to.

  We keep our voices low. Whispering. Sound can travel much faster than feet. We don’t want our voices racing back to the Captain.

  “What about here?” Zolan stops where the cliff edge is torn ragged by falling rocks.

  It looks exactly like the place where three children would stumble and fall in the dark.

  “Not high enough,” insists Lali.

  Looking down, my stomach and I don’t agree with her. But I’m happy to put as much distance as possible between our play-act and the Captain’s eagle eyes.

  The path winds and curls like a tree python wrapped around a giant ceiba trunk. Gingerly, we work our way along the green, leaf-littered coils.

  “What about here?” I suggest. We’re much higher now.

  Lali snorts. “Too easy. It’s not steep enough. I could climb that with my eyes closed.”

  Further along, when Dog barks, Lali looks over the edge and approves.

  “Good boy, Dog.” She tickles under his chin and holds his muzzle closed. “No more barking. We need to be quiet.”

  I glance over the edge too. Whoa. I pull back. I’m certain the Captain won’t climb down there and I’m not even sure I can.

  “It’s not easy but it’s possible. We’re going to need a rope.” Zolan peers into the valley.

  I look at Lali sheepishly.

  She pulls the vine rope from her pack and waves it in my direction. “Ha! I told you we would need it eventually.”

  Friendship with Lali is hard to understand. Sometimes she niggles like an insect bite. But that’s okay. It feels good to scratch lightly. But when the bite itches and nags, scratching it hard really hurts and I wish I’d never met her at all.

  Now I’m scratching, but just a little.

  Expertly, Lali loops the rope around a conifer stump and tugs it tight.

  “I’ll go first,” Zolan volunteers.

  “No, let me,” I offer. “You’ve already gone for a slide in the mud.” I don’t want to lead the way but even more, I don’t want to watch Zolan tumble down the cliff.

  “Don’t worry.” He smiles. “I’m really good at climbing, especially when my life depends on it. The merchant always made me test the dangerous sections of any path before he set foot on it.”

  That leaves only one problem unsolved. Dogs can’t climb down a rope.

  “What about Dog?” I ask.

  “What about him?” Lali giggles and points.

  Dog is already part of the way down.

  “It’s a strong rope. As strong as maguey fibre and it will take the weight of all of us,” Lali promises. “You go next, Atl.”

  For once I don’t argue. I want to get started before my head starts spinning in protest.

  When Zolan is two body lengths along the rope, I begin my descent. Hand over hand. My knuckles turn white.

  I try not to look down but my eyes are drawn to the spiralling valley below.

  “Not much further.” Zolan’s hands cut across my line of vision and rescue me from an imagined freefall to the bottom.

  Gritting my teeth, I’m determined not to look down again. So I look up instead. Above me, Lali climbs quickly and confidently, like a forest monkey. Looking up is scary too. I can see it’s a long, dangerous climb back to the path.

  My arms ache and my hands chafe from grasping the rope. Over and over. But the climb can’t last too much longer. The rope is coming to its end.

  Zolan stops on a flat rocky ledge. “This should be far enough. We’re almost out of rope. No arrow could reach this distance and no man could see where it went.”

  “My father is the best archer of all the Eagle Warriors in Mexica,” Lali says. “And he has excellent eyesight. He sees everything.”

  Just like his daughter.

  “This isn’t far enough,” she insists. “We’ll have to climb without the rope.”

  My heart plummets to the bottom without me. I force myself to continue on. I am more afraid of the Captain than I am of falling.

  We climb on. Slowly, carefully, painfully. When we reach a second ledge, Lali finally nods. “This will do.”

  “It’s where a rolling body would stop,” I agree.

  “Perfect,” says Zolan. “The Captain will think one of us slipped and caused the rest to fall and leave the rope still hanging there.”

  “What if the Captain climbs down the rope?” I ask.

  Lali shakes her head. “He won’t. I’m sure.”


  We practise being dead. Zolan tucks his leg beneath him. I bend in the middle, curved like a baby in the womb. Lali flops, a broken doll. Dog sits puzzled and then, no longer trying to understand, he licks our noses and drips slobber onto our faces. It’s hard to stay dead and laugh at the same time.

  The laughter fades into a solemn silence. If Zolan’s plan doesn’t work, this will be the last evening we share.

  Overhead, the stars wink and somewhere in the darkness, the god of smoke and mirrors dares another to accept his challenge. The Night Wind owes me a wish – that one day Lali, Zolan and I will run free. Surely we have to survive to do that?

  “Sometimes I miss Tenochtitlan,” Lali mumbles into her blanket.

  “You wouldn’t if you were the one imprisoned in a box waiting to die.” Nothing much has changed for me. I’m still waiting to see whether I live or not.

  “Why are you running to save the people of a city that treated you so badly?” asks Zolan.

  It’s a good question. I have learned many things since I left the temple. I am no longer bitter. I understand now that we can’t always choose to do what we want. Even if we are free.

  “I left many friends behind in Tenochtitlan. I don’t want to see anyone enslaved. Not even those who enslaved me. I don’t hate the Serpent-Sun god any more,” I admit. “I want the sun to rise every day. I just don’t believe anyone has to die to make it happen.”

  “There’s a new thought.” Lali giggles. “Maybe the sun just comes up anyway. Maybe it always will.”

  “Some people do believe that.” Zolan has travelled far and seen things Lali and I can only imagine. “Away from the Mexica Valley, people think differently.”

  “Then that’s where I’m going,” I announce. “I’ll build a new city with no slaves and no temples for sacrifice. Everyone will be free.”

  “I’m coming too,” Zolan says. “Count me in.”

  “And me,” adds Lali.

  I would never have believed it but, I’m glad to know she’ll stay with Zolan and me after I deliver Ichtaca’s message.

  Now that I’ve made my peace with the Serpent-Sun god, I’m looking forward to the warm rays on my back. But tonight the mountain air is cold. We huddle together while Dog lies contented across our feet.

  “You know how I always said you were as thick as a mud brick?” Lali asks.

  Ha! She’s going to admit she was wrong.

  “It seems you have learned something. You are only as thick as a clump of wet chinampa weed.” She laughs.

  I’d like to give her a kick under the blanket but then I would disturb Dog. And anyway, I think it’s a compliment, coming from Lali. So I laugh with her.

  “I don’t miss my old life,” Zolan interrupts my thoughts. “I haven’t forgiven the merchant or my parents.”

  “Won’t you visit them when we reach Purépecha?” asks Lali, surprised.

  “No. I hope they’re dead,” Zolan snaps.

  “Sometimes you have to forgive.” Lali’s voice is soft and wistful. “Otherwise you can never let go. The memories will haunt you forever.”

  “You should talk. What about your father?” I demand. “No one would ever forgive him for what he did.”

  “I already have,” she says. “I’ve been thinking about it while we ran. He did what he thought was best for all the people of Tenochtitlan. Even if it wasn’t best for me.”

  She’s so much stronger than I am.

  Overhead the stars shine brighter than ever, charting changes to the patterns of our lives.

  “I’ve heard the history of all our peoples, past and future, is written in the night sky,” I murmur.

  “Maybe there are stories about us, how we raised the armies of Purépecha.” Zolan lifts his arm in victory.

  I wish I felt that confident. It’s hard to imagine such old enemies working together. “What if they won’t let us in? We’ll need another plan.” I look at Zolan expectantly.

  “They have to open the gate. You’re the runner. You have the key to the city,” he says.

  I shake my head. I wish I did. A key would solve the problem but my hands are empty. I reach for the token in my waist pouch, wrapping my fingers around it for comfort.

  “Don’t worry, Atl. I know Ichtaca has given you the key and you will find it when the time comes.” Lali’s eyes dance. “Perhaps he thought you would lose it if you knew what it was.”

  Her words give me hope. “The gods are on our side,” she says. “We won’t fail.”

  Stretched out here under heaven, I almost feel it too.

  “Do you really want to build a new city?” Zolan asks.

  “Yes.” I’m very sure of that.

  “Aztlán, where our peoples first came from, was a place of great peace and learning until the people argued, and left to go their own warring ways,” says Lali.

  “But it’s only a story.” Zolan sounds wishful. “There’s no such place.”

  “That’s why we have to build it,” I say.

  Lali reaches out to touch us both. “Anything you believe in is real. You know what I believe? I believe we’re going to make it safely into Tzintzuntzan. And then we’re going to find Aztlán. We should try to get some sleep. We might not have long to wait.”

  The night wind blows softly, like Tezcatlipoca’s flute through the trees. It tugs at the forest leaves and with gentle fingers, pulls my eyelids shut.

  Dawn breaks to spill the morning hot and sticky all over us. Sweat drips down the back of my neck. Insects niggle behind my ears. Beside me Lali fidgets and Zolan wriggles enough to dislodge a stick. Excited that finally something is happening, Dog races after it. He returns, tail wagging, to place it at my feet.

  “Sorry, boy,” I whisper. “I can’t play now.”

  We have to wait. And wait.

  My ears are first to catch the footfall of sandals marching through the leaves.

  “He’s coming,” I hiss.

  Silence drops like a sack over us. It chafes thick and heavy against my skin. I want to scream. I struggle to breathe and my nose itches.

  But I dare not move.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE CAPTAIN

  The Captain’s probing gaze easily picks the bodies from the cliff side. The boy, still and lifeless. The other boy, crumpled in a pitiful heap. His daughter, her torso broken and leg twisted beneath her.

  Something in Huemac’s chest tightens. He never got the chance to say goodbye to Citlali. It surprises him to find he wants to. He looks down again.

  Only the dog moves. Sniffing between the corpses.

  Huemac knows he should go and check. His training insists on it, but he is afraid. The fear is unreasonable and a good soldier knows you can’t fight that. So Huemac kept it well hidden. Until now. The slope is steep and treacherous, and such a long way down. He doesn’t trust the rope. It did not keep the children safe.

  “It doesn’t matter any more,” he whispers. “I have failed.”

  Without the boy’s sacrifice, Tenochtitlan will fall, and the Golden King will never again call Huemac “my great warrior captain”. Huemac takes the four eagle feathers from his belt and releases them one by one. He watches as they float down the cliff face – to where his courage could not take him.

  Head bowed, Huemac turns away, dragging the quetzal feather behind him in the mud. What use is a king’s gift when there is no king to give it to? It is all my fault.

  His feet turn away from the cliff. Sludge sucks at the soles of his sandals. Pain pulls at his heart. He has failed his city, his king and his daughter. Life’s delicate balance has shifted forever.

  His foot slips. Down the wet path, he rolls and twists. He pulls himself upright only to collapse, clutching his ankle. Through the gaping gash, he can see bone. But what does it matter now when everything is lost?

  One last look. To be certain.

  He crawls to the cliff edge. Something moves on the slope below. When he looks again, the stillness has returned. But Huemac knows w
hat he saw. An Eagle Warrior does not make first-time scout mistakes.

  A grin stretches across his face.

  The children are still alive. There is hope for Huemac and for Mexica.

  But now Huemac has a new problem. He can’t march quickly any more and if he doesn’t care for his ankle properly, the wound will fester and perhaps the doctor will have to cut his foot off. He didn’t bring any medicinal supplies. All he can do is tear a strip from his cloak and bind the gash together.

  Huemac grits his teeth against the throbbing pain. There is no time to search for the herbs he needs. It is his urgent duty to bring the boy back.

  Now Huemac will be the one to trick with a false trail. With a large branch, he begins to sweep away the marks he doesn’t want them to see. He leaves his downward slide in place. Huemac has a new advantage. The children won’t know he is still tracking them. They will think he has returned home.

  Huemac will wait and follow behind. It is not a race any more but even limping, he will find a way to corner and capture them. An Eagle Warrior only needs one talon to strike.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  INTO TZINTZUNTZAN

  My heart pumping with exhilaration, the climb upwards is almost easy. Victorious, we stand together at the top of the cliff. Half our battle is over.

  “Hurrah! Hurrah!” I shout and punch the air.

  The day stretches its arms before me, full of promise. A careful check of the surrounding area shows Zolan’s plan has worked perfectly.

  “Look at this,” Lali calls.

  The mud has a new story to tell this morning. We can see the Captain’s footprints clearly, where he slipped and fell as he turned away thinking we were dead. All I have to do now is deliver Ichtaca’s message. I’ll mention his name and like a key in a lock, the gates of Tzintzuntzan will open wide and the children of Tenochtitlan will be saved.

  Suddenly, it seems so easy.

  Maybe I’ll rest in Purépecha for a cycle of the moon. Perhaps aunts and uncles wait to welcome me and like the hummingbird, I’ll be happy to flap my wings and stay in one spot for a while.