Obsidian & Blood (13 page)

  "A priestess," I said to Huacqui. "Which one?"

  He shrugged. "Priestess of Xochiquetzal. I don't remember her name. But he was jealous of all the men she kept flirting with, all the young warriors she'd eye like potential lovers." His face was sly.

  Neutemoc had said that Eleuia had flirted with him, quite ostentatiously. If Mahuizoh had been her lover, and if he was indeed a jealous man, then he had motive both to kill her and to make sure my brother was indicted for her murder. "Priestess Eleuia?" I asked. 

  The guard winced; Huacqui burst out laughing, with a malevolent expression. "So it's come out, hasn't it? Yes, our dear little Jaguar Knight and his whore–"

  The butt of the guard's spear caught Huacqui in the face, throwing him to the ground. "You – will – be – silent," the guard said, accentuating every word of the sentence. "You will stop spreading such filth, or I might just be tempted to do more than strike you." 

  Huacqui, lying on the ground with blood pouring into his eyes, just laughed and laughed. He knew the damage had already been done. 

  I knelt by him; I hesitated to grab him, as he was so filthy, but he pulled himself upward without my help. "Will you swear to that in court?" I asked.

  He smiled, a truly unpleasant expression. "If it brings him down, I'll swear to anything."
  "You've seen them together?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "But I'll find you people who have."

  I was afraid he'd bribe them, but I didn't think he was wrong about Mahuizoh's relationship with Eleuia. Mahuizoh had reacted far too strongly to her disappearance.

  I drew Huacqui away from the Jaguar House, gave him a few cacao beans, and got his address. He also gave me a description of Mahuizoh, distinctive enough to recognise him if I saw him. It wasn't much, but it was more than I'd previously had.

  Now I needed to see Xochiquetzal, and find out who the father of Eleuia's baby was. Hopefully, it wouldn't be Neutemoc. Please, Duality, let it not be my brother, I didn't need any more damaging evidence. I shook myself. I was making progress. There was hope for Neutemoc.

  I just wished I could be sure that he was innocent of Eleuia's abduction.

 

I walked back into my temple in the gathering darkness, and headed straight for the storehouse. Ezamahual had gone, presumably to join one of the vigils, the death-hymns of which echoed through the courtyard; Palli had taken his place.

  I needed suitable offerings for the Quetzal Flower, and I didn't remember what those would be. I could have asked the ever-useful Ichtaca, but I didn't want to lower myself in his esteem yet another time.

  "Good evening, Palli," I said. "Watching the storehouse again?" 

  Palli shrugged. "I like it. It's quiet out here."

  We had offerings, but not enough to tempt a thief; not when there were larger, richer temples within a spear's throw. 

  "I need to look in there."

  Palli nodded. He wasn't going to question me, in any case. "Help yourself."

  Inside, the storehouse was as dark and crowded as ever: owls screeched in protest as the light of my lamp fell on them; scuffling sounds came from the rabbit cages. The combined smells of copal, cedar oil and alum made my head spin. We'd have to sweep the place clean one of these days, before someone fainted in here.

  Xochiquetzal… It had been a long time since I'd gone to calmecac, a long time since I'd learnt the hymns and proper offerings for all the gods. I remembered those for the gods I dealt with in everyday life: Mictlantecuhtli, Lord Death, and Mixcoatl, Lord of the Hunt. Xochiquetzal I'd never had many dealings with, for obvious reasons: She was hardly associated with death.

  The light of my torch fell on an array of quetzal feathers, stacked near a pile of copal incense cones. Feathers? They were symbols of beauty, but they were not distinctive: I could think of a dozen gods who would accept that particular offering.

  For Xochiquetzal, what I needed was some kind of flowers…

  Palli's shadow fell across the doorway, casting me in darkness. "Do you know what you're looking for, Acatl-tzin?"

  I shrugged, unwilling to admit to weakness. What a poor High Priest I made. "I'm fine," I started, and then thought of Neutemoc. Hmm. I changed my mind. "I need suitable offerings for Xochiquetzal," I said. "Would you remember what those are, by any chance?" 

  Limned by sunlight, Palli's face was unreadable. "For the Goddess of Beauty? Any flowers, but poinsettias are Her favourites." 

  A flower as red as the blood of sacrifices. I bit back on a snort. How unsubtle some gods could be. 

  "Anything else?"

  "Butterflies," Palli said. "But we don't have those here. You can find the flowers in the temple gardens, but living butterflies… I could send to the marketplace."

  The animal marketplace would be closed, and wouldn't reopen until late tomorrow morning. "I'm not sure we have time," I said. "Anything else?"

  "Jade earrings. And" – I heard Palli tap the mace at his side – "quetzals would do. Live ones, not feathers." 

  "Do you have any of those?"

  "The jade earrings, yes. Quetzals… I think we have a pair somewhere at the back." He stepped into the storehouse with a torch in his hand. "Let me see. We got a rattle and drum from the vigil of that woman, four days ago. They're for Her Consort, but She's also patron of music, when the mood takes Her…"

  He was going through the rows of aligned offerings with the ease of experience, picking up small items and discarding them after no more than a casual glance. I felt… not entirely useless, but close. I strolled back to the door of the storehouse and waited in the darkness. 

  Which was why I saw Ixtli, the head of the search parties, walk into the temple courtyard with a grim expression on his face. 

  My stomach sank. Whatever news there could be, it would not be good. I detached myself from the wall. "Ixtli!" I called out. 

  He bowed to me. "Acatl-tzin." In the gathering darkness, he looked even worse: his face drained of colour, his gnarled hands crooked like the claws of an animal. 

  "Any news?"

  "Only bad." Ixtli shook his head, apparently annoyed. Suddenly he reminded me of an older Teomitl, still unwilling to forgive his own failures. "We searched all four districts of Tenochtitlan. Then we went further, into the Floating Gardens. But there was no track of that beast. It's as if it has vanished from the surface of the earth." 

  As it had vanished from within an enclosed calmecac. Something wasn't right about that nahual. What had I missed?

  "I see," I said. "You found tracks near the calmecac?"

  "No," Ixtli said. "No tracks. We were searching houses at random, on no more than instinct." He fingered the jade amulet around his neck, and said, "There was no chance we would find her." 

  "I see," I said. "Are you going to stop the search?"

  Ixtli shrugged. "No, not yet. But I don't think you should depend on us."
  No. I didn't think I should.

  "The priestess," Ixtli said. "Do you think she's still alive?" 

  I shook my head. "I think it's too late."

  His gaze held me, unblinkingly. "So do I. Will you be needing any more help?"

  I searched my mind for something he could give me, but there didn't seem to be anything. "No, I don't think so. You can take off the jade amulets," I said. "Not much use against a nahual, anyway." 

  Ixtli smiled. "Better be safe. I'll go reassure my wife, and then I'll go back to the Duality House. Come there if you need us," he said, and then he turned on his heel and left.

  Palli had gathered the offerings near the storehouse door. "You mean to go out again?" he asked.

  I looked up at the sky. The night had well and truly fallen this time: there would be vigils to take, and offerings to make at the proper times. The Quetzal Flower would certainly not want to receive me at this late hour; and I had seen already what would happen if I tried to enter uninvited. I did want to help Neutemoc; but angering a goddess was not going to arrange matters. 

  "No," I said, with a sigh. "I'll go tomorrow morning."

  I was not, by any means, looking forward to the morrow. One interview with Xochiquetzal had been affecting enough; this one looked set to be even worse.

 

 

The following morning, I woke up, made my offerings of blood to Lord Death, and went back to my temple. The priests seemed to have all disappeared. After a cursory search, I found them gathered in one of the largest rooms, watching Ichtaca examine the body of a dead woman: the older offering priests in front, the novice priests a little way behind – and, all the way at the back of the room, a handful of calmecac students, their pale faces fascinated. 

  "No blood," Ichtaca was saying, pointing at the livid face. "She's been in that position for a while…"

  He'd be cutting her open next, if he wasn't satisfied, trying to determine if her death had been natural or provoked. It was a common enough event in the temple. I'd done a few such examinations myself, but thankfully I'd never had the whole clergy in attendance.

  I withdrew quietly from the doorframe, and went to the storehouse to collect Palli's offerings. Then I walked back to Xochiquetzal's house.

  In the courtyard, the same insolent slave was waiting for me, lounging against the trunk of a pine tree like a man who had all the time in the world. 

  "Back again, priest? You must really love Her."

  I said, "I'd like to see Her, if it's not too much trouble." That last, because I couldn't quite contain my anger.

  He shrugged, fully aware of my impatience, basking in it. "Probably not. But then who knows?"

  He sauntered into the main room, closing the entrance-curtain behind him; and came back with a satisfied smile on his face. 

  "So?" I asked. The quetzal birds softly called to each other as the cage rocked in my hands.

  He smiled, wider this time. "You may see Her, priest." His gaze took in the offerings I was laden with, and he pursed his lips. "And pray that what you bring is sufficient."

  Inside, all was the same: the musky darkness, with the copal incense covering a rank smell that might have been, unsurprisingly, mingled sweat and sex; the goddess shining in the gloom, lounging on Her chair.

  "Acatl," She said, and even my name on Her lips was alluring. 

  My fingers clenched around the handle of the cage. "I've brought you what you asked for."

  She smiled. One of Her hands went, absent-mindedly, to rub at Her eyes, and something glistening fell to the floor. A tear, perhaps? But gods didn't cry. "And you thought you could just drop them on the floor and be done?"

  I had hoped, but known it wouldn't be enough. "No," I said.

  I laid the cage, the rattle and the wrapped jade earrings on the floor, and slowly divested myself of my cloak. Around my wrists hung bracelets of sea-shells: an odd feeling for me, since my usual worship did not include music. I tried to forget how foolish I looked – Neutemoc, I did this for Neutemoc – and slowly started singing the words of the hymn:

 

 

  As I sang, I moved my wrists, so that the clinking sounds of the sea-shells accompanied the words I uttered, filling the silences with their voice.

 

 

  Xochiquetzal shifted on Her chair. Was it just my impression, or had She grown larger? Her eyes shone in the gloom, like those of a jaguar about to leap. And Her smile… Her smile was dazzling, revealing teeth as neat and as sharp as those of sharks.

 

 

  She'd risen from Her chair, was walking towards me, growing larger and larger with each step, until Her shadow entirely enfolded me – and She kept smiling: the same smile that sent a thrill running through me – fear or desire I didn't know, I couldn't separate them, it was all I could do to keep singing…

 

 

  And then She was by my side, kneeling to touch the cage of the quetzal birds. It burst apart in a shower of sparks, and the male ascended into the air, a streak of emerald-green and blood-red. It kept flying upwards, even though I knew it should have hit the rafters of the ceiling; but the room had changed, become vast and unknowable, its walls the dense undergrowth of the jungle, the dais a brackish pool, smelling of mud and fragrant herbs.

  At the apex of its flight, the male quetzal folded its wings and plummeted downwards, its long green tail streaming behind it like the unbound hair of a courtesan. It sang as it dived: a hollow, highpitched sound that seemed to meld with its descent, and that sent a thrill through my bones, as if I were the one courting the female, I the one with lust raging through my veins.

  The female bird, still on the ground, raised its eyes. At the last possible moment, the male broke out of the dive and came to perch on the remnants of the cage, cocking its head questioningly. The female made a quick, nodding movement. And, in a blur of green and blue they were upon each other, mating with the desperation of butterflies about to die.