by Zoe Saadia
He pondered it for another heartbeat. “There are no other side entrances, but you can go in where we came from. When the priests leave.”
“Will they do that soon?” She remembered ascending the previous larger and rounder temple’s stairs, awed beyond reason. Yet somehow, with this boy by her side, the sensation of amazement and fright retreated, giving way to curiosity – thanks to this one, oh yes, but she wasn’t about to let him know that – still, the glances of occasional passersby made her uneasy, singling her out, and not in a good way. They were so well dressed, these people, all clad in colorful cotton and glittering jewelry, their sandals a celebration of luster and spark, like her companion’s merrily glittering shoes, their straps wide, climbing high around his the heel, adorned with pieces of turquoise connecting to the decorated bands surrounding his ankles, making those look like a part of the fancy wear. Her own sandals were simple pieces of leather tying the protective maguey-woven sole to her foot, not entirely fitting as her feet kept growing along with her body, but still in a reasonable condition mainly because she rarely wore them at all. Which reflected on the state of her actual feet, she realized, embarrassed.
“My brother is not impatient or impulsive,” the boy was saying, paying no attention to the state of her clothing apparently. “And he is wise, very wise. He is the best Emperor our altepetl ever saw!”
She processed his words carefully. They didn’t make sense. Perturbed by her own mounting predicament, she glanced at the temple’s wall again.
“He warred in that valley beyond the western highlands and he beat their warriors and took prisoners and his victories were great!” Her companion still carried on, oblivious of anything else it seemed. “He brought plenty of slaves and warriors to sacrifice.”
“Who?” she asked absently.
“Axayacatl. He is the greatest warrior and leader.”
“The Emperor?”
“Yes!” That came out triumphantly, as though proving his point.
“What has that to do with anything?” He was truly too funny, that one, puffing up again. Did he do anything besides argue?
“They said he was impatient and not wise.”
“Oh, the people in the temple?”
“Yes!” Another emphatic statement.
She tried to remember what they said. “The Emperor is young. They said he has seen barely twenty summers.”
“Twenty one! And it isn’t young.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
She laughed in his face, unconcerned. “You are the funniest boy I ever met. Do you do anything besides pick fights with everyone?”
He thought her question over, glowering.
“Do you have any friends?”
This brought the aggressive turkey back. “By twenties,” he declared. “By many twenties!”
“But not in calmecac,” she said shrewdly, knowing the signs. He was lonely, this boy, hungry for company, but too proud to admit that. Just like the village boy. It was difficult to make the villager talk in more than short sentences too, even though she didn’t have much chance to develop any sort of conversation with him working day and night, never out of the melting room.
The boy in front of her frowned, but this time not angrily. “I have friends in calmecac, yes. But…” His teeth were making a mess out of his lower lip. “It’s just that the city boys are not of my age. They can go out on afternoons, right after the lessons. But we are not allowed to do that.”
“Why not? Because you are too young?” She pondered his words over. “Why did they put you in school before you are fourteen?”
He shrugged. “Because that’s what they do. My brothers were in calmecac too, when they were of the same age. And my other half-brothers and cousins are here. Everyone!”
“And the city boys?” she asked, mainly to keep him talking, sensing his need to do that. It was boring back in the temple, and he was a nice boy. Also, who were those ‘city boys’?
“No!” he cried out, bringing his arms up, as though trying to ward off the unreasonableness of her suggestion. “They come to calmecac later. When they are twelve or more. They are not noble enough.” He nodded thoughtfully, as though agreeing with himself. “Not like me and my brothers and cousins.”
Not offended by his snobbery, she made a face. “Not noble, but free to run around and have a good time.” His face fell again and she felt bad for this jab. “Do you know where they went?”
As on cue, his eyes lit with renewed enthusiasm. “Yes, I do! I overheard them and they were so silly that they never noticed. That boy from old Yaotzin’s class, he played ball so badly today. He is no good at all. He just thinks that he is the best would-be warrior ever.” Suddenly, his eyes fixed on her, filling with surprising mischief, even anticipation. “Do you know where the old causeway is?”
“The one that leads to Tlatelolco? Of course. It’s not far away from the wharves, behind the marketplace plaza and all the way down the canal. They grow turkeys there. And dogs. You can’t miss that smell.”
He nodded eagerly. “They went to sneak into some underground temple there.”
“Where? Near that Tlatelolco causeway?”
“Yes.” His eyes shone with triumph. “That’s where they went. They said there is an old temple there or something. They said it has a tunnel. Necalli, this conceited good-for-nothing, said he has some commoner telpochcalli boy to show them this thing.”
For a wild moment, she thought to ask if it was Patli, this ‘commoner telpochcalli boy.’ That would fit the description perfectly, with Patli, street rodent that he was, sniffing around mysterious places, knowing the city’s pathways and alleys better than the locals.
A glance at the brilliance of the outside light made her worried again. Father would be coming back from the inner rooms of this temple soon, and he would be mighty upset with her going out on her own, consulting no one, not waiting, even though he said nothing to that effect. No exact words demanding that she stick around or trail behind. Actually, when he had told her to run into the house and change to her very best clothes, even to put her sandals on – an unheard-of demand – he didn’t explain why she was required to do this, he who would sometimes talk to her at length, usually through this or that cozy evening, after an especially tiring day. He would tell her stories and she would listen, enthralled. But this time, he just told her to come along, and now here she was, stuck in the middle of the uncomfortably noble crowd, all cotton and jewelry, sticking out like a torch in midnight, stared at and with no way back into the relative privacy of the temple. They won’t let her in just like that, that much was obvious.
“If you know where it is,” the boy was saying, tugging at her arm once again, unceremoniously at that, “maybe we could go there now, follow them, see this thing for ourselves.”
“No, we can’t. Well, I can’t.” But as she said that, she knew that the temptation was great, difficult to battle. He claimed knowledge of a mysterious place in the part of the city she thought she knew well enough. It would be amusing to prove him silly, this haughty, argumentative beast. As for a chance to discover some secret temple with a tunnel she didn’t know a thing about – oh, but that would give her such an edge over Patli, something to flaunt, something to tell him and maybe, only maybe, if he behaved, to take him there. That boy boasted too much knowledge over all sorts of strange places since joining telpochcalli, and he made her jealous. Well, just a little bit. In the beginning, it was she who had shown him everywhere. He had never been to a city as large as Tenochtitlan, not even half as large. He even admitted that himself.
“Maybe another time,” she offered, not wishing to disappoint her current company. He was a cute little thing, after all. “How about that?”
“When?”
“I don’t know. If they take me to serve in this temple like you said, maybe we’ll meet all the time.”
“Not all the time,” he corrected her gravely. “We are not brought to the t
emple that often. But,” his eyes lit again, “I can sneak here whenever I like. Also, the girls take classes in our calmecac as well. All those cousins of mine, they have a classroom of their own.” He shrugged. “Maybe they’ll let you join those.”
She pondered it over. “Like girls who attend telpochcalli?”
“No, not like the commoners!” He snickered, amused by the very thought. “But some gifted commoner boys get admitted to our school, so maybe the girls are too. Are you gifted?”
“I don’t know,” she said, again wondering about his talk and his clothing. Could he truly belong to the royal family, that one? She never spoke to a person nobler than the traders’ children, never meeting an offspring of the warriors’ class, let alone someone belonging to the royal family. “Do you truly live in the Palace?”
He nodded absently, again sinking into his gloomy thoughts, his forehead furrowing direfully. “My brother is not too young or too impatient, and my sister is not a spoiled brat. These men had no right to talk about them in such a way, stinking temple servants that they are. Honorable Teohuatzin isn’t this way, I know he isn’t! He is loyal to the Emperor, truly loyal.”
“I don’t believe that our Emperor is your brother!” But as she said that, she knew that it might be true after all. He was certainly too richly dressed, his sandals especially – so many beautifully polished pieces of turquoise stones – and he kept getting offended on behalf of this same badmouthed ruler, time after time. It could not be just wild mischief on his part. “And who is that sister of yours?” she demanded before he had time to start arguing, protesting his family ties. His forehead was creasing in painfully familiar fashion, boding no good for her patience with him.
“My sister was given to Moquihuixtli, that good-for-nothing scum, the would-be great Emperor of Tlatelolco. She is supposed to be his Chief Wife, of course, but she complains that she isn’t.” He shrugged. “My mother keeps talking about that. She wants my brother to interfere.”
“Your brother the Emperor?”
“Yes.” He made a face. “My brother says that he won’t be running around, solving his sister’s marital problems.”
Against her will, Chantli snickered. “Wise man.”
His chuckle rang with matching mischief. “That’s what my father says too.” Then he glanced at the small opening they had emerged from before. “I think they are gone. You can go back in now.” A heartbeat of hesitation. “I’ll go with you halfway.”
“Thank you!” She felt like hugging him. Maybe she’d manage to get back without trouble after all, with them not noticing her absence. “What’s your name anyway?”
“Ahuitzotl.”
“The Water Monster?” she repeated, amused and taken aback at the same time. “What kind of name is that?”
“The Water Thorny One,” he corrected her gravely, not amused in the least. “The mysterious creature out of our Great Lake, yes. When I was born, my calendar suggested that, the most outstanding name of them all.”
For good measure, she made a face at him. “We’ll see about that. See how brave you would be if meeting those things for real one day.”
As he grimaced back, curiously not offended, his tongue stuck out far, daring her to return the grimace.
Chapter 4
The corridor stretched ahead, more of a tunnel, a passageway, invisible in the darkness, but there. It greeted them with its musky odor, rancid and dank. It was easier to pay the smell little attention when the soft afternoon light was still on their side, but now, with the last of the sunrays dissolving behind their backs, it assaulted their nostrils viciously, as though warning not to proceed.
Pressing his lips tight, Necalli pushed on, stepping with care upon the slippery floor, his hands groping the damp stones of the walls, thrusting so close that he didn’t need to stretch his arms in order to reach their support. He felt his warriors-like lock – but he would have to retie it before they got out, before anyone saw him imitating the warriors in such an unlawful way – brushing against the wetness of the ceiling stones. Were they closer now than before, the walls and the ceiling? He shuddered and fought the impulse to rush back toward the friendliness of the light.
“Are you sure it leads anywhere?” he whispered as loudly as he dared, annoyed with the necessity to trail after their guide. Usually he would be the one in the lead, especially when a visit to places they should not be at was involved.
No answer came from the moldy depths. He hastened his step, annoyed with the presence of another boy, a barefoot commoner from the worst of Tenochtitlan’s slums, someone Patli, their stupid telpochcalli accomplice, bothered to bring along for reasons unknown. When introduced to the soot-smeared newcomer with no sandals, Necalli didn’t even bother to listen to his name or the explained connection – an apprentice at the workshop or something. Still, the commoner trudged along, breathing with an irritating ease as opposed to Axolin’s rasping, which was beginning to wear on Necalli’s nerves. If only he had thought of bringing along a torch. Not that he knew where to get such thing, aside from trying to steal one from their sleeping quarters at school.
“It’s getting narrower.” Axolin’s thundering whisper startled him into stopping for good, his heart pounding.
The commoner boy bumped into them both, surprised by the sudden halt. Using his shoulder, Necalli shoved him aside.
“Watch it!” He heard the sharpness of his exclamation bouncing against the stony walls, echoing eerily, exaggeratedly loud. Drawing a deep breath to calm his nerves didn’t help. The air was so moldy, repulsively damp. “We’ll go on for a little longer. If it keeps getting narrower, we’ll turn back.” He hated the sound and the urgency of his whispering. It had a clear ring of panic to it. “Where in the name of every Underworld creature is Patli?” That came out better. Growing angry always helped.
“Still here in the tunnel, obviously.” The commoner volunteered his comment readily, as though asked for his opinion, annoyingly in control as opposed to the wariness he had displayed outside, when they had walked toward the causeway and behind the wharves, clearly ready to fight or bolt away or do both. He didn’t speak a word back then. “Where would he go but forward?”
“Shut up!” For good measure, Necalli pushed the unasked-for adviser with his shoulder again, not violently but firmly, relaying a message. “We go on, catch up with the stupid telpochcalli boy. This tunnel can’t be that long. It has to end soon, or it’ll dive right into the lake.”
“It could be leading under the lake’s waters.” Not getting the message or not impressed by it, the workshop boy didn’t move, standing his ground, irritatingly not intimidated, or maybe hiding his uneasiness well. “There are tunnels that long and longer, and if there is a bit of land anywhere around –”
“And you would know all about it.” Contemplating his next move – to discipline the pushy commoner with something violent like a punch or to let the insolence go unanswered? – Necalli turned to go. “Come, Axolin. Don’t fall behind. If it doesn’t end in another hundred heartbeats, we turn back. But it’ll bring us somewhere before that happens. I know it will. And it will not be the bottom of the lake,” he added testily, pushing their unwanted company aside in a deliberate manner while turning to go.
A muttered sentence in a tongue he did not understand sounded vicious and obscene. He rolled his eyes and cursed as colorfully, this time meaning Patli as well. The telpochcalli boy was the one to initiate this adventure, discovering this tunnel and diving into it with such eagerness he didn’t even bother to wait for the rest of them to catch up. Tucked in the courtyard of a smallish abandoned temple, it might lead them to a treasure hidden somewhere there underneath. This was Patli’s claim, not such a baseless, farfetched assumption.
Even though not a native of Tenochtitlan – just like this barefoot commoner, come to think of it – that boy was like a city rodent, not noble in his bearing, even though his Nahuatl sounded like that of the Acolhua people from the eastern shores of the Grea
t Lake, where aristocratic Texcoco, the capital of the Acolhua and the equal partner of Tenochtitlan in the invincible Triple Alliance, stood aloof and somewhat apart, not conquering as lavishly but not humbling itself either. Just towering there, sporting pretty pyramids and lavish libraries, looking down their long aristocratic noses, indulging in arts and poetry and engineering feats, participating but only in important campaigns, with promised rich picking. Or so Father would say, remembered Necalli, reflecting on the same sense of resentment shared by the entire island-capital, or so it seemed.
Still Patli’s accent was noble and some said that this boy had already been interviewed by the calmecac authorities, maybe even by Tecpan Teohuatzin personally, the high priest from the round Quetzalcoatl’s temple, among whose responsibilities was the task of supervising the noble school, if not running it. There were a few such boys, admitted to the exclusive establishment for their outstanding abilities; gifted, most promising youths from various commoner telpochcalli that dotted every city’s district. Oh yes, those who showed exceptional talent combined with enough diligence or promise were examined by the educational institution of the Royal Enclosure, the one that produced future leaders, governors, great priests, and great warriors. Tenochtitlan’s nobles weren’t snobs. Or so the people of the highest nobility claimed.
Resuming his walk, Necalli snorted into the moldy darkness. Born into a noble family himself, with his mother being an offspring of one of Tenochtitlan’s most influential elders of their district, he never forgot something his older siblings did not care to remember or face. His father, while being a great warrior and a prominent former leader, had not always been one of the nobles. Far from it! When close to thirty summers earlier Tenochtitlan was fighting for its life, resisting the oppression of the evil Tepanec Empire, Necalli’s father, then just a young warrior, had distinguished himself mightily in the battles around the western side of the Great Lake, before and after Azcapotzalco, the mighty Tepanec Capital, fell. Performing feats of courage, undaunted and unafraid, he had earned the notice of his superiors, promoted into minor leaders’ ranks and then eventually taken into the presence of the Emperor himself upon his return to the city. Taking of more than two captives did this, always the surest way to earn the respect of not only the rulers, but of the deities to whom those captives were to be sacrificed. Outstanding bravery was to be rewarded, lavishly at that, with gifts and titles, and even some lands to rule, the sign of a person becoming one of the nobility. A good turn for a brave warrior; and for his offspring as well. He, Necalli, could have been born into a commoner family, trader or maybe a craftsman, mighty deities forbid such a possibility.
