Obsidian & Blood (72 page)

  "Xahuia…" Tizoc-tzin rolled the word in his mouth, as if breathing in its taste. "She destroyed most of the women's quarters in her escape."
  "Yes," I said, not knowing what else to say.

  "I see." Tizoc-tzin's voice was distant again. "Whoever it is, they seek to undermine us, to make us as nothing. Never forget that they are dangerous, Acatl-tzin."

  It was dishonest, it was disloyal, but I couldn't help compare this nervous man who presumed to give me curt orders as if he were Revered Speaker already to Axayacatl-tzin's graceful thanks and amused humility, his deep understanding of the rituals that had shaped his life. The Duality curse me, I just couldn't do otherwise. Manatzpa-tzin, for all his faults, had had the most accurate judgment of him, Tizoc-tzin didn't have the stature of a Revered Speaker. 

  "I will not forget," I said.

  "Good." He nodded, as abruptly as a disjointed sacrifice. "Sometimes, better to take them dead than to run the risk of coming to further harm."

  Surely he was not suggesting. "My Lord… " We would never find out the ramifications of the summoning that way, if we killed on sight. 

  "You heard what I said." He nodded – again, that movement so abrupt it seemed barely human. "Who else is involved?" 

  My lips formed the answer though my mind was elsewhere. "Councilman Manatzpa-tzin knew, but he is dead." 

  "How convenient."

  No, not convenient. He had been killed for it, and so had Echichilli, because they had known
something.

  I had to ask, the Storm Lord blind me. Even if he arrested me for that, I was High Priest for the Dead, and it was my duty. No, it was my duty as a mortal of the Fifth World. "Echichilli died because of what he called duty," I said, carefully. "We thought that you might have an idea…" I let the sentence trail, braced myself for further abuse. 

  But Tizoc-tzin merely shook his head. "He wasn't a supporter of mine."

  He
had
been a supporter of Axayacatl-tzin, though, hadn't he? Wouldn't he at least support the former Revered Speaker's choice of heir. "He did serve your brother," I said.

  "He never liked me." Tizoc-tzin's voice was bitter. "Never mind, priest. This isn't something I can help you with." 

  "And Ocome?"

  "Ocome. He was mine indeed. A poor kind of supporter, truth be told, bending to whoever shone brightest. Not a great loss." 

  I took in a deep breath, and said, "Xahuia claimed she had turned him to her side."

  Something flashed in his gaze, a light in the hollows – anger, rage, guilt?

  "Perhaps. I wouldn't have known." I could have detected the lie, even in a worse state than I currently was.

  "There have been three deaths. One of the dead men had betrayed his allegiance to you," I said. "Another was neutral, and the third was your deadliest enemy."

  "You accuse me?" There was something niggling at me, coiled at the back of my mind like a snake. Something obviously wrong, other than the sick fear, other than the diminishing of his whole being, But, try as I might…

  "All we want is answers," Teomitl said, a little too hastily. "Brother, please. Crimes cannot go unpunished."

  Tizoc-tzin's face was a death-mask. "Crimes? I am the Master of the House of Darts, priest. I answer to no one – certainly not to the priests who swarm around this court like flies, polluting us with their pretences of humility." 

  "You can at least explain to us…"

  "Get out." Tizoc-tzin's voice was bright and false, with the same edge as a chipped blade. "I don't have to explain myself. Get out before I have you arrested, all of you."

  I didn't need to be told twice. I carefully retreated, pushing Mihmatini ahead of me. Teomitl remained for a while, staring at Tizoc-tzin with pity on his face.

  It wasn't until he joined us outside that I realised what had been staring me in the face all along. It was almost evening, the sky was pink and red, but the stars were already out, visible through the dome of the Duality's protection. "Star-demons," I said. 

  "What?" Mihmatini asked.

  "He reeked of magic, as if he'd brushed one recently."

  "That would explain his state," Teomitl said, curtly. "A narrow brush with death…"

  It could have been that, a perfectly plausible explanation. But there was an equally plausible one, that he smelled of them only because he had consorted with them, and that the whole thing was a feint to purge the council, force them into a vote from which he would emerge the victor.

  Storm Lord blind me, was that what we were facing?

 

I left the two of them in Teomitl's room, impressing upon him to bring Mihmatini home, trying not to think of that thread stretching all the way across the city, laid over the buildings and the canals, a trail everyone would be able to see. So much for discretion. Then again, I had known about this when we had first set out to do the spell, so it wasn't as if I could complain. 

  Then I went to check on Palli.

  I found him sitting on the entrance platform of the Revered Speaker's rooms, looking despondent. "Acatl-tzin," he said. 

  I handed him one of the maize flatbreads I'd taken from a nobleman's kitchen. "Here, have some food. I take it the search isn't progressing." 

  Palli took the flatbread, but did not bite into it. "It's worse than that," he said. "We've checked almost everywhere, Acatl-tzin. The storerooms, the treasury, the armouries, the tribunals…" 

  "The women's quarters?" I asked, thinking of Xahuia.

  Palli smiled, briefly. "Those, too. But it's useless. There is nothing that looks even remotely like a summoning place."

  "You haven't finished," I said, trying to be encouraging. In truth, I wasn't feeling optimistic. If Palli thought there was nothing, then it was likely to be the case.

  Palli's eyes drifted into the courtyard, staring at the beaten earth. It was almost dark, now "It's just a handful of rooms, and they're used by everyone. If there was a summoning…"

  "I see," I said. I tried to hide my disappointment. There must be some place they had missed, some obvious location…

  But, with so many people helping out, I doubted it was the case. Which left me with a problem – how in the Fifth World were the star-demons getting past the palace wards?

  I mulled the problem over as I walked out of the palace, but could find no satisfying solution. With a sigh, I headed back to the Duality House.

  After all the animation of Mihmatini's designation, it seemed oddly deserted, as if night had robbed it of all vitality. Only a few priests were there, kneeling in the dust to beseech the Duality's favour for the Empire and the Fifth World. I found Ichtaca where I had left him, watching Ceyaxochitl's corpse. His face lit up when he saw me. "Acatl-tzin. I see you're still–"

  "Alive? I guess." He had seen me taken away by Tizoc-tzin's guards; no wonder he'd worried.

  I sighed. Now that I was back in a familiar setting, all the fatigue of the previous days was making itself felt; the lack of sleep over the previous night, the barely-healed wounds on my chest, the hasty meals – all of it came like a blow.

  Ichtaca pulled himself straighter. "I've received word from the temple, while you were out. There is something you need to know about the order of the deaths."

  "The… order?" It hadn't occurred to me that there was something to check there.

  "We checked the records. They only give the days of the religious calendar, but we can work out the correspondence with the year count." 

  He made it sound easy, but it was far from it. The religious calendar was two hundred and sixty days, while the year count followed the sun's cycle. They overlapped, but working out dates from one to the other required patience and a talent for mathematics. 

  Ichtaca was pursing his lips, as he often did when contemplating a difficult problem. "The date of birth of Ocome-tzin was the Second Day of the Ceasing of Waters, that of Echichilli-tzin the Fifteenth day of the Ceasing of Waters, and Manatzpa-tzin was born on the Third Day of The Flaying of Men. All those dates are in the first or second month of the calendar." 

  "Coincidence?"

  "I don't think so." Ichtaca rose, bowing to Ceyaxochitl's corpse, and turned to face me. "Or, if it is, too much of one. I took the liberty of checking the names of those councilmen I did know. Their dates of birth are all posterior to the dead ones."

  "Said otherwise, they're dying by chronological order." I bit my lip. As Ichtaca had said, too much of a coincidence. It might explain why Echichilli had known his death was coming.But why? 

  The year had started on the day Two Rain, a time of unpredictability, a time of divine caprices. It was heading towards its end on the day Two House, and the
nemontemi
– the five empty days – a fearful time during which children were hidden out of sight, and pregnant women locked in granaries for fear that…

  For fear that they would turn into star-demons. Oh no. "They're trying to hasten the end of the year, aren't they."

  It wasn't a question, and Ichtaca did not treat it as such. "That seems a likely explanation. The five empty days would suit them." 

  These weren't just random summonings then, but I had been suspecting that for a while. This was organised, meticulously so, part of a ritual from beginning to end.

  "This isn't good." I breathed in, trying to still the frantic beating of my heart. "If I give you the names of all the councilmen, can you work out who comes next in the order of deaths?"

  "Yes," Ichtaca said. "But–"

  "I know. It takes time. You've already done a great deal of work." 

  "I do my duty, Acatl-tzin. As we all do. I will have all the offering priests we can spare doing calculations. That's the most I can do. The novices don't know enough about the calendars. I wish the calendar priests were available, but they're overworked as it is, planning the funeral and the coronation."

  "I see. Thank you." I gave him all the names of the council; they were not that many of them, and I had interviewed all of them. 

  Something occurred to me as I was about to walk out: the tar Palli had found in the Imperial Chambers. "Ichtaca?" 

  "Yes?"

  "What does tar evoke to you? Magically speaking."

  He looked thoughtful for a while. "Tar? It's not a common ingredient."

  "No," I said. "But I have reasons to think it was used in a ritual in the palace. Something large."

  "Tar is thick, and chokes. It can't be washed away with water." 

  "The Storm Lord?" I asked. Acamapichtli was away from Court, trying to make us forget he had supported Xahuia. But he could have done something beforehand. "Dying in the water, but not of it." The oldest rite, asking for His blessing on the crops. 

  "The Storm Lord's sacrifices tend to use rubber," Ichtaca said. "I suppose they might turn to tar, if rubber wasn't available." But he didn't sound convinced.

  I thanked him, and walked out onto the Sacred Precinct in my bleakest mood yet. It didn't seem like Tizoc-tzin was to blame, after all. If he truly wanted to become Revered Speaker, then he would not have any interest in hastening the end of the world. 

  On the other hand, he was acting most suspiciously. What was he not telling us?

  Or was there some other purpose to the order of the deaths, something I hadn't seen?

 

 

Even though I'd only been a participant, the Duality ritual – and its stressful aftermath with Tizoc-tzin – had drained more out of me than I'd expected. I went to bed at a reasonable time, for once, early on in the night, and woke up to find it was already early afternoon. 

  I reached up, touched my earlobes, which bore fresh scabs. I must have done my devotions to the Fifth Sun in a trance, barely realising what I was doing.

  Nevertheless, better to be sure. I slit my earlobes open again, and did the blood offering and the hymn singing properly this time. 

  For once no one was waiting for me in my courtyard. I might have smiled, but I didn't feel in the mood.

  Since I had a little time to myself, I went back to the Wind Tower with a chest of offerings, and asked to see the fire-priest. I was in full regalia, my owl-embroidered cloak spreading behind me like the wings of a bird, the skull-mask precariously balanced on my forehead, my sandals, as white as bone, making my tanned feet seem pale. The priest watching over the pilgrims took one look at me, bowed very deeply, and sent someone to fetch him. 

  I laid the chest by my side and waited, sitting on the platform where the Wind Tower stood. It was warm out there, with the Fifth Sun overhead, the stone glimmering in the harsh light, and the Sacred Precinct spread out before me, the mass of temples and priests' houses that made up the religious heart of the city. The canals behind the Serpent Wall seemed very distant, another world entirely, far removed from our problems.

  I hoped they would remain that way.

  "Acatl-tzin?" A tall man with pale skin and gaunt, hollowed-out cheeks, stood by my side. He wore a simple green tunic, and a long, trumpet-shaped wooden beak, which he'd set aside to talk to me, all that marked him as a priest. His hair, cropped short, was a shock of black. Unlike the other priests, he didn't mat it with blood, or weave in any kind of ornaments.

  "I am Ueman," he said, bowing. "Fire Priest of this temple. I was told you wanted to see me?"

  "Yes," I said. I didn't touch the basket by my side, and he didn't ask about it. "You're aware of the deaths in the palace." 

  "A little," he said, cautiously. "This place is far away from the centre of power."

  Since the days of Tula, centuries ago, the Feathered Serpent Quetzalcoatl had not held power in any city and, in a day and age where the gods of War and Rain watched over us, He had faded into obscurity, His benevolence gently scoffed at, treated like an aged relative with no sense of the realities of life.