Beneath Huemac’s broken body the stone splits and a butterfly emerges. The warrior soul is finally released from its duty. Huemac has been given a second chance.
He flaps his black-and-gold wings with joy. A butterfly’s life is short but perfect, a gift from the gods. There is no time for regret but in this moment he would trade everything to ensure his daughter lived. And in the same moment, he sees the Serpent-Sun god’s wisdom. The boy will help her. The boy will escape. He always does.
Run, children, run. He wishes them wings like his own. And he has one last request. Look after her for me, boy.
The breeze tugs at Huemac gently and with the smell of nectar strong in his antennae, he flies out the window in search of the nearest orchid.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
NEW WORLD
“There’s got to be a way out.” Lali looks towards the high windows.
That’s useless. We don’t have a ladder.
Zolan pulls on the door handle.
Useless too. It’s bolted from the other side.
Drained, I crumple onto the floor.
I haven’t saved the children of Tenochtitlan. I haven’t even saved myself and worst of all, I’ve led my friends to their death.
“It’s hopeless,” I mutter. “I am back where I started, imprisoned and about to be sacrificed. I have run around in a circle. I’m no smarter than a dog chasing its tail.”
Dog growls.
“Stop whining,” Lali says. “You’re not dead yet. You’ve already escaped one temple so get up and start looking for a way to do it again.”
I shake my head. “We’d be lucky to find another tunnel in here.”
“We should still look.” Lali waves a finger at me. “Remember what I told you? The priests always have a tunnel out of the city. It’s how they travel and meet in secret without the army knowing.”
I’m not convinced. “As if the tunnel entrance would be in this room anyway.”
“It might be.” Zolan carefully works his way around the wall, examining cracks and breaks in the mortar. “We just need a bit of luck.”
Hopeful, I lift my head. Up until now I have been lucky. And I’m still lucky to have Lali and Zolan as friends. They haven’t given up.
Lali drops to her knees, searching for faults where the wall meets the paved stone floor. Dog noses in to slobber and help.
“Stop it.” She pushes his nose away. “Go and cheer up Atl.”
But I am not in the mood to smile so I ruffle Dog’s ears and send him away too. Miserable, I watch my friends explore. Carefully at first, more desperate as time passes.
Lali holds up her hand; it’s bleeding from scraping against rock. For the first time ever she looks defeated.
Oblivious to our sombre mood, Dog sniffs eagerly around the statue and pushes at it with his paw.
The stone moves a fraction.
Or did it?
I’m not sure but the jaguar sees even the flap of a butterfly wing in slow motion. It growls softly at my disbelief.
“Dog found the exit,” I yell, jumping to my feet. “You were right, Lali. It’s through the statue, just like in Ichtaca’s temple.”
The three of us push together. Frantically. Who knows how much time we have or what alarm the stone will trigger. The sound of rock scraping against the floor echoes loud and ominous. Surely the priests will hear?
Zolan scoops up Dog and arms linked, we step into the darkness.
Behind us the stone slides back into place. How did it do that? There’s no time to spend wondering. I’m in a tunnel running for my life. Again.
But this is not like the narrow passageway below the Serpent-Sun Temple of Tenochtitlan. A rabbit warren of choices fans in front of me. I skid to a halt. We could get lost forever under here.
“Which way should we go?” Zolan asks.
Even Lali turns to me for an answer. I’m the runner and I’m supposed to know these things. If there was time, maybe the jaguar could sniff for fresh air. But I’ll have to guess.
Dog doesn’t wait for me to choose. He trots into the left-hand passage. Follow me.
“This way,” I point after him.
Above us the jaguar hears the sound of voices raised in anger. Hunted again, we race with feet kicking clods of soft dirt against the passageway walls.
“Someone check inside the tunnel entrance. See if they went in.” The High Priest’s orders rumble downwards.
“I’ll do it,” offers the priest who spoke in support of Ichtaca.
I won’t forget his voice for a long time.
Our feet thump as we run. Blood pounds against my forehead and the rush of my breathing roars through both ears.
“No one here,” the priest calls. “The children didn’t escape this way. They must have climbed the walls.”
Run, children, run.
We’ve been given a second chance.
“Ouch.” Zolan stumbles as he reaches down to remove something from his sandal. He holds it up for us to see.
“It’s a piece of bone,” exclaims Lali. “These tunnels must be old burial chambers.”
I look around nervously. The ghosts of sacrificial victims are here in the catacombs with us. And if I was one of them, I would not be happy to see visitors from the room above. Or to see them escaping when I could not.
I run as fast as I can, almost tripping over my own feet. Dog leads without hesitation. Perhaps the old leper priest travelled this tunnel with his dog by his side.
We follow Dog until he leads us into a dead end.
“Now what?” I ask.
The tunnel has up-ended to climb skywards. A dark, narrow shaft, slithery with slime. We can’t possibly scale it.
In the far corner, Dog barks softly to attract the jaguar’s attention. With night eyes, I see what we have missed. Against the wall, almost hidden by shadows, is a thin rope ladder. Its ends are part buried in a thigh-high pile of bones.
But it’s still a long way up and there’s no exit in sight. My feet ache. I’m exhausted. My arms and legs refuse to bend. “It’s too high. I can’t do it,” I say.
“Of course you can,” encourages Zolan. “You climbed down the cliff face to fool the Captain.”
“And that didn’t work anyway.” I look up again.
“Don’t be stupid, Atl. Do you want your skeleton added to this heap?” Lali snaps.
When Lali lectures, her voice can cut through anything, even the glue that binds my feet to the floor.
I shake my head, still uncertain. “This is even worse than the mountain. It’s too slippery.”
“You have to try,” Lali says, softer now. “There’s no choice this time.”
Zolan goes first with Dog tucked into his pack. Then Lali. Then me. I force myself to climb. The rope is mouldy and damp, frayed in places. I’m sure any moment it will tear, sending me hurtling to the floor. My head spins. If I had a free hand, I would reach for my token.
If I still had a token. Even that comfort is gone.
Hand over hand. Don’t look down. I catch my breath and cling to the rope. Hand over hand. Don’t look up.
“Come on, Atl.” Zolan stretches to help me. I’m almost at the top. As I lift my head out of the shaft, Lali reaches towards me too. With friends like these to hold my hand, I no longer need my token.
Away from the gloom, the sun is warm and golden on my face. The Serpent-Sun god coils protectively around us. We’re free.
If only we didn’t fail. Everything would be perfect.
“Both Tenochtitlan and Purépecha are lost,” I moan.
“It’s not our fault. We did the best we could,” comforts Zolan.
“But I was the runner.” I hang my head to hide the misery I feel. “I had a mission to complete.”
“Do you think the gods need your puny legs to help them save two cities?” Lali places an arm around my shoulder. “They could do that without even lifting a finger. I think our journey was about something else. We have to move on.”
&
nbsp; Lali usually knows what she’s talking about but this time she’s not making much sense. If she’s right, then what were we running for? Why did Ichtaca send me all this way to deliver a futile message?
“Maybe it’s not about the old world we left behind,” Zolan says.
“Perhaps we need to start again,” Lali suggests. “Somewhere new.”
Could that be it? A place without sacrifice and slavery?
“Look.” Zolan points.
A magnificent black-and-gold butterfly is perched regally on top of my pack.
“Warrior’s soul,” Lali whispers.
Our people believe if a warrior is a good man and serves his king well, he will return for a brief lifetime as a butterfly. Perfectly free, his obligation discharged, his duty complete.
“I hope my father has found such peace.” Lali sighs.
“I’m sure he has,” I say. “He died with honour. He tried to save your life.”
In my new world I want everyone to be free. Even the Captain.
Lali claps her hands and the butterfly soars skyward. To float and flit before flying home to heaven. “What next?” she asks.
I hoist my pack onto my shoulder. “I know.”
The Night Wind made me a promise and I’m going to make sure it’s kept.
Zolan grins and Lali smiles. Dog barks and wags his tail expectantly.
“Let’s run,” I shout. “Race you to Aztlán.”
“Not fair, you had a head start.” Lali pounds after me.
Zolan laughs. “There’s no such place, I tell you.” But he runs as fast as he can to catch up.
We run because we are free and because finally, it feels like flying. We don’t care that we’re running towards somewhere that may not even exist.
We’ll build it when we get there.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I am always thankful for my very own “people of the book”. My boys Jackson and Cassidy – great to have a family fan base! My colleagues and friends who keep me focused: Di Bates and Bill Condon, Mo Johnson, Barbara Brown, Sally Hall, Jeff Doherty, Vicki Stanton, Anke Seib, Chris McTrustry and Sue Stephenson. My wonderful, wonderful editor, Sue Whiting (who always knows exactly what I really mean to say when I don’t get it quite right). The ever-so-supportive people at Walker Books Australia. I feel lucky to have them all on my team.
Published in 2010
by Walker Books Australia Pty Ltd
Locked Bag 22, Newtown
NSW 2042 Australia
www.walkerbooks.com.au
This ebook edition published in 2014
The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted.
Text © 2010 Sandy Fussell
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise – without the prior written permission of the publisher.
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Fussell, Sandy, author.
Jaguar warrior / Sandy Fussell.
For children.
Subjects: Jaguar – Juvenile fiction.
A823.4
ISBN: 978-1-921977-35-0 (ePub)
ISBN: 978-1-921977-34-3 (e-PDF)
ISBN: 978-1-925081-73-2 (.PRC)
Cover image © iStockphoto.com/sensitive2light
For Rheannon, Paris and Connor
Jaguar Warrior Page 12
