Obsidian Puma (The Aztec Chronicles Book 1)

by Zoe Saadia

  “I… yes, well yes, I’ll do it. Of course.” To admit that some silly girl from a workshop knew better than he, a calmecac student instructed in the ways of the deities as much as in history, mathematics, and martial matters, hurt. “I know I should consult one of the tlaloque. I was going to.”

  “Tlaloc’s temple is on your way to the Plaza,” she offered briskly, missing the undercurrents again. Her eyebrows knitting in a thoughtful frown, her gaze brushed past Patli. “It’ll be just on your way.”

  “Yes,” muttered the skinny youth, his lack of enthusiasm on display.

  Axolin shifted impatiently, his wide forehead adorned with too many creases as well. “Then we should go. No point in talking on and on in this gods-forsaken alley, is there?” His narrowed eyes brushed past the workshop boy. “He should come with us, though. He got bitten too.”

  The girl’s gasp tore the silence that momentarily prevailed, with no one, not even that same Miztli boy, offering anything else in response.

  “I didn’t get bitten,” muttered the commoner in the end.

  Axolin’s face was settling into a familiar mask. “Yes, you did. If you bother to feel your stupid head, you’ll find plenty of blood there. One can see it from the distance of a ball court. It’s not all mud, you can be sure of that.”

  The boy flashed Axolin a quick glance that heralded the coming of another violent exchange. Necalli exhaled loudly. “Come, let us go. You too, Miztli-boy. Better come with us. Let the priests do their work. They are good at those things.”

  “And what about her? Who’ll be taking her home?” demanded Patli, suddenly the role model of responsibility.

  Necalli shot him a morose glance. “Is your father’s workshop far from here?”

  It was unseemly to let her find her way home all alone, unescorted and unprotected at such a dubious part of the evening. And yet, they needed to detour through the marketplace and this Tlaloc temple. There could be no doubt about the necessity to do so, and its location was promising, conveniently away from school, with a fairly high chance for their teachers not to learn anything about anything.

  Also, speaking of school, the calmecac authorities’ rage might reach a boiling point if they didn’t hurry. After missing the evening rites and if still not around, he knew, their superiors’ ability to resist the urge of making example out of them would plummet lower with every passing heartbeat. And, oh, but was their exclusive aristocratic school famous for harshness of its punishments. Against his will, he shuddered.

  The girl tossed her head high, making her disheveled braids jump. “Maybe I should come with you. I want to see how they do it, the tlaloque, how they deal with such things. And anyway, you won’t manage to find that temple as fast or as easy without me.” Another challenging toss, the flash of the large eyes. “Are you coming?”

  Chapter 8

  Are you coming, indeed. Where had he heard that before?

  Miztli couldn’t help but smirk, watching the calmecac boy – not such a bad person after all – staring at her back, wide-eyed. Oh yes, Chantli turned out to be a force of nature. Even now, she was already drawing away, so very determined. In the corner of his vision, he saw Patli rolling his eyes, shrugging with acceptance. That one knew her more than everyone, of course.

  Miztli tried to pay no attention to the heavy pounding in his head, the exhaustion creeping up his limbs, welling with every step. But he shouldn’t be coming with them, scary monsters and their bites or not. He was so tired, and old Tlaquitoc might notice his absence and start asking questions, or worse yet, get angry, not letting him explain, should a good explanation occur to him. What to tell?

  “Let us go.” Necalli, their self-appointed leader, was again spewing brisk orders, taking the lead, apparently already over his initial startle. “We haven’t got all night to wander about.”

  “Don’t we?” The other calmecac boy, a rotten piece of meat, that one, made a face that could rival depictions of deities on old scrolls, not a pretty sight. “It actually does look as though we are about to wander the whole night, with our company getting stranger and our trouble with school authorities graver.”

  “Shut up,” was the anticipated response. “Where is that temple exactly?” This was addressed to Patli, who seemed to try to fold into himself, hiding inside his hunched shoulders. If Chantli got caught wandering the night in this way, or worse yet, got in trouble on account of it, the spoiled youth wouldn’t fare well, favorite nephew or not.

  “It should be on the nearest side of the marketplace, where the food alleys and the healers are.”

  “Yes, don’t you remember?” contributed the annoying one called Axolin, hastening his step, clearly not put out with being offered to shut up. “That’s where Acoatl stole the tortillas during the midwinter celebrations. It was just behind the temple, in that smelly food alley.”

  His friend burst out laughing. “I remember that!” he gasped, doubling over while holding his injured arm in the grip of his other hand. “He was running so fast, and then he just tripped. Oh mighty deities, that was a scene worth watching.”

  “You were stealing from sellers of food?” inquired Chantli, slowing her down while turning to face them. “Why would you do this?”

  The calmecac boys smirked happily.

  “It wasn’t us, me or Axolin. It was another boy.”

  “From your calmecac?”

  “Of course. Can’t imagine this one anywhere but in calmecac. Acoatl is the snottiest noble, related to the royal family and ever so proud of it, as though he was the Emperor himself, or the next one in line.”

  Axolin chuckled loudly. “Like you wouldn’t.”

  “No, not me. And certainly not like that. They think themselves better than reverent deities, those royal relatives. Yuck!”

  He could hear Chantli giggling softly. “They are not that bad, not all of them.”

  But what did she mean by that? Miztli tried to see her better through the blinding agony of his headache. But he truly should not drag along with this bunch. They weren’t acting reasonably now, Chantli more than anyone, and she seemed such a levelheaded girl before. What had gotten into her?

  “You can’t possibly know royal family members,” the calmecac boy Necalli was saying, apparently as startled with her statement and the unreasonableness of it all.

  “You may be surprised,” she chortled, very pleased with herself.

  Puzzled, Miztli tried to make out her expression in the darkness.

  “Who do you know, then?” demanded Necalli, challenging. That one was changing too fast, not always for the best; one moment snapping and cursing, the other all patience and good will, less snobbish or violent than his companion, but not by much. Well, this island-city’s nobles were such a pain. Back in his native village, one rarely saw any aristocracy and never from up close. The farmers worked the land belonging to Tenochtitlan nobility or dug up its treasures in the mountains that also had to do with the huge island capital, but the tribute collectors located in Taxco, far enough removed, were the only ones to appear every now and then, collecting what was due. The owners of the land didn’t bother.

  “Ahuitzotl?” The loud exclamation tore him from his bittersweet memories, from the pictures his mind was panting too vividly – the dusty pathways and the simple one-story adobe houses with endless rows of edible goods grown all around, those tasty treats, fruits and vegetables. Even the mines looked like a better place to spend one’s time at than this clamoring, unfriendly monster of a city.

  “Oh yes,” he heard Chantli crooning happily, bursting with aplomb. “That boy. He is nice and chatty and fun to run around with. He showed me some interesting places that I bet you didn’t even know exist.” The purr in her voice was impossible to miss now. “Right around your noble school it was.”

  “Why would the snotty little beast do that?” cried out both their calmecac companions in unison, their eyes as narrow as slits, ridiculously alike, like a pair of twins.

  “
I don’t know. Maybe he thought it was better to run around with me than with his snotty calmecac friends.”

  “He is no friend of ours. He is a conceited little nothing.” This time it was Necalli, all bursting with indignation.

  But the second boy’s eyes sparkled again with already familiar taunting mischief. “He is not. He just pissed you off when he talked about the ball game in which you played badly. That’s all. He is a passable little thing, not as snotty as the royal family offspring go.”

  “Oh please!”

  “Yes, he is a good boy,” contributed Chantli, paying no attention to their once-again skeptical glances. “He told me that his sister with the pretty name Noble Jade Doll was given to the Tlatelolco ruler, whatever his name is, and that he has been treating her badly.”

  “Moquihuixtli.” Patli, skulking in the shadows, his shoulders still folded unhappily, stirred to life wearily.

  “What?”

  “The Tlatelolco ruler, he is called Moquihuixtli.”

  “Yes, we know that, you brilliant history teacher,” muttered Necalli, beginning to walk again, setting their step, aiming to reach a broader alley but pausing to examine his arm in the generous moonlight that was pouring here unrestrained. Curious, Miztli leaned to see better, forced either to stop or to detour, the youth’s broad figure blocking his way. What if his neck looked no better? Involuntarily, he reached for it, his fingers encountering nothing but the stiffness of the matted hair. Bother this! At least one could see one’s arm.

  Necalli was again muttering curses. “The damn thing hurts like the Underworld passage.”

  “It’s not bleeding anymore.”

  “Yes, working boy. But it still hurts, and the healers will be busy making it bleed again, you can be sure of that.”

  “Why would they?”

  “To wash the bad things out of it.”

  Chantli was pushing her way in. “Let me see.” Touching in her usual earnestness, she bent until her thick braids were falling over the mangled limb, blocking it from its only source of illumination. She tossed those backwards again and again, in a nicely impatient gesture. “It doesn’t look so bad. The swollenness is almost gone.”

  Her patient seemed to be fascinated with her gestures more than he was with his injured limb. What’s the point? wondered Miztli, irritated beyond reason. Why did they crowd this stupid alley instead of going to their various homes and be done with it? If eager to reach this or that Tlaloc’s temple, why did they keep stopping and gossiping about things that had nothing to do with their current predicament? He contemplated turning around and leaving, either openly or by sneaking away. But then, of course, old Tlaquitoc would demand to know where he had been wandering the entire afternoon and evening, and if questioned about Chantli or Patli, what would he tell? What could he?

  As though echoing his thoughts, Axolin snorted. “You are no healer and no priest, pretty girl. And I tell you all that we either go on looking for that temple wherever it is in a hurry or we go back to calmecac. I don’t fancy any more punishments than I am already due, not for silly gossiping in a dubious alley.” Snorting against the united front of two indignant faces, he turned around resolutely, beginning to walk again. “That business with the Emperor’s sister and that stupid Tlatelolco ruler is no secret. Everyone knows that she was making plenty of fuss, plaguing our glorious ruler with messengers aplenty, begging for attention. No news this thing.”

  Chantli waved her free hand in the air. “Ahuitzotl says that it will bring war between Tenochtitlan and Tlatelolco, if that Moquihuixtli doesn’t start treating his sister well.”

  “He doesn’t treat her badly. She is a spoiled piece of work, that one. Haughty and impossible to please, just like her revered mother. My uncle says so and he would know, with all this dining at the royal chambers.”

  “That’s not what Ahuitzotl says,” insisted Chantli, ridiculously offended, walking beside her new admirer, oblivious of anything else. Both he and Patli could not have existed at all at this point, reflected Miztli, not caring even a little bit. The stupidest moment of this day was when he went to plead with the annoying Acatlo, asking for permission to go with Patli, the most foolish, absurd impulse of them all. What had he been thinking? Even Chantli, always the nicest and the most reasonable of this altepetl’s dwellers, lost some of these much admired qualities, turning as unreasonable as they come. It was embarrassing, the way she kept pushing herself in the midst of their ventures and conversations, like a boy and not a girl of an advanced enough age, bragging about some dubious contacts she somehow made with some snotty children of the royal house. As though it was realistic or even possible. It was easy to see how embarrassed Patli felt since the moment she had imposed her presence on them. Everyone but the calmecac boy Necalli wished she was now safely home and busy with womanly things.

  “Ahuitzotl is nothing but a coyote cub with his mother’s milk still smeared around his mouth,” this same Necalli was protesting, hurrying to keep up with both her and his friend, clutching his bad arm with the good one. Not a whiny type. Miztli shook his head grudgingly.

  Patli drew closer, not an especially welcome presence. “When we reach that temple, I’ll take Chantli home. We can’t wait there for ages. Her mother will be furious as it is.”

  Miztli just shrugged, not inclined to talk, not with this one.

  “You’ll find the way back, won’t you? It’s not difficult if you keep to the main alley and then the warehouses.” The sloping shoulders lifted sharply, somewhat defensively. “She can’t keep running around, at night and in the company of boys. You shouldn’t have brought her along. It’s against every custom. Even a villager like you should have known better.”

  Miztli felt the air escaping his lungs all at once. Oh the cowardly piece of dirt!

  “Leave me alone,” he growled, not caring for proper address, not anymore. “Shut up and leave me alone!”

  Back in the workshop, it was different, with him being in the position not much higher than a servant, the lowest status in contrast to this entire family, excepting one female slave that kept the workshop and the house clean and supplied with goods. And yet, after today, he could not defer to this excuse of a youth, cowardly rat that he turned out to be. They were not in old Tlaquitoc’s workshop now and he didn’t have to take insults from this one. Even the calmecac boys treated him with more respect, especially that leader-like Necalli.

  Patli straightened dangerously, his eyes taking a darker shade. Taller if not broader, he didn’t look insignificant despite his lack of wideness and the usually slouching posture. “Don’t you dare to talk to me like that,” he began, then noticed the others staring at them, stopping their royal family gossip. “Who do you think you are –”

  But Miztli had had enough. “Leave me alone, you stupid filth eater. Keep your stupid muttering to yourself!” Clenching his fists, he drew himself straighter, preparing for the attack, not about to be caught off guard like back in the lake with that annoying Axolin. They didn’t take talking back well, those rats of the huge city. Good for them. He wasn’t about to take offense for things he was not responsible for, or anything else, for that matter.

  However, telpochcalli boys appeared to be less proudly inclined than their calmecac peers. Eyes glowing dangerously, lips pressed into a very thin line, Patli hesitated for another heartbeat, glaring furiously, but making no effort to step closer or press his case otherwise.

  “Shut up yourself, you aromatic piece of provincial excrement,” he said finally, turning away. “Go back to your reeking coves and fields out there in that miserable valley with nothing but the stench of your fields to make one notice them at all.”

  “And you go back to your stinking wherever-you-came from,” retorted Miztli, wishing he could pluck flowery curses with the ease the pampered piece of excrement did.

  The calmecac boys roared with laughter, again reacting in unison, as expected. When they didn’t quarrel, those two behaved remarkably alike. Yet Chant
li did not join in their mirth.

  “Stop talking nonsense, Patli,” she admonished, her frown rivaling the darkness of the sky. “You are not such a perfect Tenochtitlan citizen yourself.”

  “Where I come from, one needn’t boast your Great Capital’s kinship,” retorted her skinny cousin.

  Necalli recovered from his fit of laughter with an evident effort. “But he does give pretty speeches, especially when pissed off. You have to give him that,” he breathed, still guffawing. “Stop picking on the workshop boy, wherever you both came from. He is worth more than you when it comes to difficult situations, I can tell you that much.” Still smirking, he motioned with his head. “Let’s go.”

  “Yes, we should hurry,” chimed in Chantli. “The temple is truly not far from here.” Her gaze brushed past him, holding a smile. “Come, Miztli. You must let the priests examine your head too.”

  He shrugged reluctantly.

  “Yes, working boy.” This time, it was Necalli, waving his hand without turning, beginning to walk briskly again. “Don’t take heed of your snotty relative. He didn’t mean a word of his pretty speech, and if he did, then he’ll regret it.” It came out good-naturedly, enough to make the other one snicker, but he saw Patli steering away, falling into their step safely behind Chantli.

  Filthy rat, he thought, seething, resuming his walk mainly in order to do something.

  “Here it is. Behind the warehouses, before the walled areas.”

  The dark mass of long one-story buildings glared at them, not inviting or friendly, anything but. Behind those, the hum of the marketplace ensued, surprisingly lively for this time of the evening. Were people still selling and buying their things there? wondered Miztli, fascinated against his will. He had never been so far into the city. Not even on an occasional errand to the marketplace when something in the workshop was missing. The youngest of the owner’s sons, a boy of barely ten summers, was lucky enough to receive such chores, or sometimes one of the older brothers. His own stance by the blazing braziers was, apparently, irreplaceable.