by Wes Markin
No windows? No friendly squeeze of light under the door of this room?
The dark continued. The clunking of the radiator continued. Her tears continued.
Tezcacoatl could hear Rachel’s screams from the cellar. His house was semi-detached, so he knew that it would be heard next door. Fortunately, Brandon was out at the moment; Rachel had told him that. However, he would have to shut her up before he arrived home.
He stared at his image, or at least a likeness of him, on the television screen. Gillian Arnold’s escape could now expose him. But he had no choice, he must continue; he was too close to stop now.
He channel-hopped to a soap opera and paused to watch the macehualtin – the commoners – engage in some frivolous behaviours. Then, he turned to a channel on which a young Asian boy was being pulled from the rubble of an earthquake. Seeing this image reminded him of the rain which fell on the small African village during the night he offered Jessica Brookes. He knew of this because he kept careful track of the world and its changing weather patterns on the internet.
Nourishing the deities did nourish the earth.
His eyes found the television screen again. The camera had settled onto a limp Asian hand; this reminded him of the hoot of the owl that morning.
He paused for a moment, wondering if the unsatisfied deity, Huitzilopochtli, would accept his nourishment today? After all, the girl below, Rachel, was also a slave to sadness – just like Gillian had been. She was beholden to a man who treated her like dirt.
Yes, it was unconventional, but when he checked his watch, he realised he still had time before work. He also had all his equipment ready from the previous night. Down there, on the cold stone floor, he could do what needed to be done and leave the mess for later when he returned from work.
He turned the television off. He would consult Tezcatlipoca, the Lord of the Smoking Mirror, and let him command.
Rachel worked hard against the strap. It hurt, but she’d seen a movie once, in which someone made their wrists bleed, and then slipped free.
How she craved light and how desperately she craved Brandon. Her partner for five long years. Usually protective and warm. Last night a mere blip on their long union.
He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t have meant it. He doesn’t have it in him to hurt me.
The evidence – her bruised face – was to the contrary. Still, it was a blip. She would forgive him and they would reunite and the strange man next door, with the monstrous ears, who had locked her in his basement for looking at his sea-creature, would be nothing but a memory.
A bad memory.
A door opened and the barren cellar was flooded with light.
Brandon, come to rescue her?
She watched the tall man with the long black hair come slowly down the steps towards her. He held a large black duffel bag in one hand.
She strained against the straps around her wrists and started to scream again.
He turned and slammed the cellar door shut.
The laptop hummed into life.
Yorke looked at Jake whose tired eyes were fixed on the glowing white screen.
When Yorke looked at the screen himself, he was surprised to see that there was no login request; they’d been sent straight through to the welcome screen.
‘No, password?’ Yorke said. ‘Really?’
‘Let’s pause to appreciate this moment,’ Jake said. ‘We caught a break.’
‘It’s a break we need to be keeping quiet about, Jake, we should be logging this in as evidence, right now.’
‘We should be, sir.’
‘But that might get you in trouble and slow everything down further. What if he plans to come back again tonight? Make up for last night’s fuck-up?’
Once the laptop had booted, he clicked the email symbol on the Google homepage.
Another break. Billy had instructed the computer to save his username and his password, which was represented by nine thick dots.
Billy, like most people, had an inbox full of junk and subscriptions. Yorke looked down the e-mail folders on the left-hand side of the screen. There was a folder named Tezcacoatl.
‘Shit,’ Yorke said. ‘There are ten emails here! Get your phone out Jake and take photos as I look through them. We’re getting so close to the killer, I can feel him breathing on me.’
They started to read the e-mails. Tezcacoatl was clearly well-educated; he wrote passionately with accuracy and flair. His arguments were thoughtful and engaging, and his justifications for the Second Age were well-constructed.
‘Great,’ Yorke said. ‘We really do have a highly intelligent maniac here.’
Billy, on the other hand, had been anything but intelligent. His replies were brief, badly worded and spoke of an individual with low self-worth and confidence.
‘He was an easy target,’ Jake said. ‘If you had to convince anyone that a year with three prostitutes was worth dying for, you’d definitely start here.’
Yorke hit an email that described the process of worshipping a Mesoamerican deity. All you needed was a makeshift altar, a picture or model of your deity, some incense and a sharp object to let your own blood.
‘Shit, and they do that through the ears?’ Jake said.
‘Utter said you could use a variety of body parts – even the penis.’
‘What? You didn’t just say that!’
‘Unfortunately, I did.’
‘And you said Utter does all this too?’
‘He worships a different deity to Tezcacoatl, but yes, he does. He told me about his pride and joy – a sacred space in his spare room.’
‘And you trust this man?’
‘I trust him more than Wikipedia. Utter lives this weird shit. I still believe he will get us where we need to be.’
They continued to read the emails. The exchanges regarding the purchase of specialist medical equipment were present, as were the exchanges regarding the Blue-Ringed Octopus.
One email mentioned the other name used by Tezcatlipoca – Tezcacoatl’s beloved deity.
The Lord of the Smoking Mirror.
Yorke had heard this mentioned before by Utter, but it hadn’t sent a bullet of curiosity through his brain like it did now. Mirror?
Where had he heard a mirror mentioned before?
He chewed his lip, rubbed his forehead, but the curiosity remained just that, curiosity. He couldn’t find the answer.
They then moved onto another email that was particularly interesting. In this email, Tezcacoatl refers to one of his defining moments:
‘And in this dream, I beheld a beautiful creature with a yellow, spotted body which could move quickly and preyed with great stealth. A jaguar. And when I awoke, I knew, immediately, that the jaguar was my lord, Tezcatlipoca’s companion spirit.’
Then, it hit Yorke.
The jaguar … the mirror … he remembered where he’d heard about these before.
Rachel looked at the lightbulb swinging from the ceiling. At least, it was no longer dark. This peculiar creature had spared her that much.
But, he had not spared her his attention. He sat in front of her on a wooden chair, watching her.
‘Who are you? Why are you doing this?’ she said.
‘My name is Tezcacoatl.’
His voice sounded gentle but it didn’t soften the impact of his peculiar name.
‘I don’t understand that name,’ she said.
‘In your language, it means the Repenting Serpent.’
She gulped and felt a sudden flurry of tears. ‘Please let me go.’
‘I can’t do that I’m afraid, Rachel.’ Again, a gentle voice, but the words carried such impact.
‘Brandon will come, he knows …’
‘Knows what, Rachel? You already told me that he thinks you’ve gone away. Left him. And why would you want to go back to him? Look what he did to you.’
‘At least he didn’t tie me to a fucking radiator.’ Only after finishing, did she realise that she’d shouted thes
e words. She cried hard for several minutes while he sat and observed her.
‘My work is so important, Rachel. So important.’
He reached into the large black duffel bag and pulled out a huge manuscript. He flicked through it until he found the page he was looking for and then showed her a mass of handwritten notes and images of buildings. ‘I drew these earlier. These are schools Rachel. Schools necessary for all of our macehualtin children to learn to function in the age that is coming. These ones here, attached to the temples, are for the lower classes. Girls will be taught to serve deities and cults here; whereas, the boys will be given military training. And… ’ He continued to flick through the manuscript and turned it to show her again. ‘These are the schools for the higher classes – or those commoners with exceptional minds, like myself. These will be leaders in the military, religion and politics. They will finish the work that I have started. They will ensure that the calendars are adhered to; the festivals are celebrated and the deities are repaid with Uemmana.’
‘I don’t know what that means—’
‘Sacrifice,’ Tezcacoatl said.
She took a deep breath.
‘You are shocked?’ he said.
She paused to try and get control of her fear, and after another deep breath, said, ‘It sounds … wonderful. It really does, but I don’t know how I can help you with that.’
‘You can’t. It’s just good to show someone. You’re the first person to see these, Rachel. One day, everybody will see them.’
‘Thanks for showing me. Please, I won’t tell anyone what happened, no one will ever know—’
‘But they would,’ he said. ‘You would tell them. And they wouldn’t take the time to look as you have looked. They would judge and condemn me before all of this is finished. They see only death; they do not see nourishment and the healing of the world. They do not see the wonders that have already come from Jessica’s offering.’
‘Jessica? The woman in the newspaper?’
Tezcacoatl nodded.
Rachel vomited.
Yorke explained to Jake everything that he had overheard at Mary Chapman on the day he’d accompanied Brookes to see his dying mother-in-law. How she had behaved in an extraordinary way the night before and emerged from a near catatonic state to issue warnings.
‘So, Jessica’s mother, the night of her daughter’s death, starts to talk about mirrors and jaguars?’
‘Yes,’ Yorke said. ‘I didn’t write it down, obviously, how was it relevant? Now, I wonder, is this just a coincidence?’
‘Can you remember more?’
‘No, but don’t worry, I’ll be getting in touch shortly with someone who took detailed notes. Dr Reiner. He’s full-time at the facility.’ Yorke paused to think. ‘She said something about the jaguar waiting in the trees and having blood all over it. And flesh on its teeth.’
‘Well, didn’t Utter suggest that Tezcacoatl may have eaten the flesh he took from her thighs?’
‘Yes, but come on, Jake? Dreams? We are here, in reality!’
‘And the mirror?’
‘It was something about a mirror seeing inside you.’
‘And Tezcatlipoca is Lord of the Smoking Mirror.’
‘Apparently,’ Yorke said, ‘whatever that means. Look, we’ll get Utter in here to discuss it shortly, let’s just check this last email, which was sent this morning. It’s unopened. Billy never read it.’
Yorke clicked the email.
They both read it with their mouths open.
‘Get Utter in here right now, Jake.’
Tezcacoatl, the Repenting Serpent, dressed for work and then sat for a moment. He closed his eyes and turned his attention to the Second Age and his coronation.
He saw himself as the Tlatoani, seated on a throne decorated with eagle feathers and jaguar-hides. He wore a crown of green stones; emeralds in the septum of his nose; and anklets decorated with large golden bells. His sandals were made of jaguar skins and he wore a shiny cloak, gilded with intricate pictures.
He then saw himself using a jaguar’s claw to offer blood from his ears and legs to the huge round stone that recorded the four ages and suns that existed before this one.
He ran through the other rituals in his coronation, before sitting on his throne once again for the conclusion of the investiture. He ran through the Ceremony of Speeches in his head; he knew the speeches off by heart. He particularly enjoyed the one given by the high priest who honoured him:
Now thou art deified. Although thou art human, as are we, although thou art our son, our younger brother, no more art thou human, as we are; we do not look upon thee as human. Already thou repentest, thou replacest one. Thou callest out to, thou speakest in a strange tongue to the god, the lord of the near, of the high. And within thee he calleth out to thee; he is within thee; he speaketh forth from thy mouth. Thou art his lips, thou art his jaw, thou art his tongue, thou art his eyes, thou art his ears. He hast provided thee thy fangs, thy claws.
A tear ran down the serpent’s cheek.
Utter sat in front of the laptop. Yorke and Jake hovered behind him.
‘And this email came to Billy Shine this morning.’
‘Yes,’ Yorke said, ‘It sounds like Billy Shine’s christening or something?’
‘Let me read it,’ Utter said.
Tepiltzin,
I hope you like your new name. It was not a difficult choice, especially after your last message, when you graciously referred to me as ‘father’. To act as I must gives me no time for reflection and feeling. However, your attempts to compliment and touch me in such a way, honour me. I repay you with a name that has been a long time coming:
Tepiltzin.
It means ‘my privileged son’.
It has been only two weeks since you delivered Matlalihuitl, my precious blue-green feather, to me, but he has served our Lord well, as have you. The festival of Panquetzaliztli was not as successful as it should have been. Huitzilopochtli was nourished once, rather than the two times demanded of me by Lord Tezcatlipoca. This was through no fault of yours, Tepiltzin, or Matlalihuitl’s. It was my fault alone. Last night, in my back garden, I heard an owl hoot and realise that I cannot fail again. I do not worry, because Tezcatlipoca has already looked inside me with his smoking mirror and he knows that I exist only to serve him. This failure will become a thing of the past when he sees the greatness of our successes.
My deeds, and your deeds, Tepiltzin, will echo throughout history. The changes we bring about will ignite the Second Age and our gods will be brought out of obscurity. The macehualtin, know not what they ignore, but He has looked inside all of them, and He knows the capacity for change is there. He has told me so in my dreams.
Today, we enter the festival of Atemoztli. We must decapitate the mountains and let the water gush forth! I can feel the festivities of our ancestors shaking the very ground we walk on! One day, the people will dance again. Tonight, I offer nourishment to Tlaloc, god of the mountain of sustenance, and the rebuilding will continue. I will use Tezcatlipoca’s new temple this time - the temple from which the Second Age will begin and will grow.
The money you will need has been deposited in your account. Revel in the pleasure it brings! To hold back on pleasure, is to hold back on what is owed to Tezcatlipoca.
I fear that Matlalihuitl does not have long left. I may have to call on you again very soon.
Tepiltzin, my privileged son, we will be in contact again soon.
Your father,
Tezcacoatl
Jake looked at Utter. ‘My first question is: what the fuck?’
‘It’s actually quite clear,’ Utter said. ‘Unfortunately.’
‘Okay, now why don’t I like the sound of that?’ Yorke said.
‘He’s following an Aztec calendar. In the Xiuhpohualli, there were eighteen months, so eighteen festivals. Each festival would celebrate a different deity. So, he chose Jessica and Gillian for the last festival – Panquetzaliztli which translates as The
Raising of the flags. This festival honoured the god Huitzilopochtli; the deity that originally led the Mexica through dreams to the eagle on the cactus.’
‘Where they built the city of Tenochtitlan – now known as Mexico City?’ Yorke said.
Jake looked at Yorke in disbelief.
‘Wikipedia,’ Yorke said.
‘There would be sacrifices on a large scale during this month; literally, football fields full of prisoners. Fortunately, Tezcacoatl is working on a much smaller scale at the moment.’
Not fortunate for Jessica Brookes though, thought Yorke.
Utter checked the calendar on his phone. ‘Yes, the new festival begins today. Atemoztli, which means the Descending of the Water.’
‘So a new festival means new sacrifices?’ Jake said.
Utter nodded. ‘And in this instance, most definitely on the first day.’
‘Today?’ Yorke straightened up. ‘Tonight?’
Utter grimaced. ‘But that’s not the worst of it.’
‘Go on.’
‘He will sacrifice to honour Tlaloc, god of the mountain of sustenance, who represents the rain, water and sky. He’s the one on that image you told me you didn’t like, detective. The goggle-eyed one with the huge knife. He’s one of the most fearful deities. He strikes villages with disease if neglected. He really must be appeased.’
‘Okay, so where do we look?’ Panic crept into Yorke’s voice.
‘Do you have children?’ Utter said, the colour draining from his face.
‘No, why?’
‘I do,’ Jake said. ‘He’s two.’
‘Might be too young.’
‘What are you talking about Mr Utter?’ Yorke said.
Utter trembled and then looked up. ‘The Aztecs chose children for the festival and made them wet the earth with their tears on the way to sacrifice.’
