Young Jaguar, The (5 page)

His father’s gaze swept over the various weapons
decorating the walls, dwelled upon the stand with the row of human skulls. “You
will have to work very hard to redeem your name in
my
eyes. The evidence
of your deeds will have to mount before I respect you again. That is, if I’m
able to persuade some veteran to take you as his shield bearer.” The gaze bore
into Atolli, stern and full of pain. “In only a season or two many veteran
warriors would have been competing to have you as their shield bearer, one of
the best
calmecac
students. But now?” He sighed, raised the rough weathered
palm in dismissal. “You may go.”

“Father.”

The man turned back quickly; too quickly. Did he
expect some explanation, justification, maybe a pleading to be forgiven?

“I… I’m grateful for what you are willing to do for
me. I don’t deserve it, I know.” He licked his lips and wished he could drink a
whole flask of cool water. Or even a tepid, putrid one. He had been offered no
food or drink since last night, and his throat was so dry he felt its walls
clinging to each other. “I would never have you humiliate yourself. I’m sorry I
disgraced you. I don’t want you to humiliate yourself any further. Don’t ask
anyone, please.”

He could see the dark eyes focusing, reflecting a flicker
of a genuine interest. “What would you do, then? They are sure to expel you
from
calmecac
.”

“We will enlist as commoners, I and Mecatl. We will
prove our worth the harder way.”

The expressionless face remained still, but the dark
eyes changed somehow, still boring into him, but changed.

“We have the advantage of our training. We are
better than any enlisting commoner. We can redeem our reputations this way.”

A hint of a smile dawned. “I see.” The stern gaze
left Atolli’s face, brushed past the plate and the woven dais. “I’ll think
about it. In the meanwhile, go and take a bath. Let your mother use some of her
herbs against your cuts and bruises. I’ll talk to you again in the morning.”

He saw the smile widening and almost cried with
relief. The detachment was gone out of the stern gaze. The man was his father
once again.

Chapter 5

Sakuna watched him, helped by the moonlight pouring
through the opening in the wall. She loved watching him sleeping, his face open
and unguarded, almost childish in its calm sincerity.

He had so much to worry about, so many
responsibilities to bear, always busy, instructing, organizing,
listening
.
She’d never thought a leading warrior would have to do so much listening. She
thought the warlord of a victorious nation would bark orders and move to
conquer. But it turned out he had to listen a great deal, be attentive to the
people he led.

She caressed his chest lightly, running her fingers
along his stomach, then sliding then up again, careful not to disturb his sleep
but only to let the pleasant sensation enter his dreams. During the day she had
to share him with many important people, but while asleep he was hers alone.

She sighed. Oh, how she wished to take him away.
Away from the clamor of the beautiful capital, away from its spoiling
magnificence, its riches, its tension, its dangers.

He was worried, she knew. The looming death of the Emperor
affected him more than he cared to admit. She could see that. It preyed on his
nerves and ruined his homecoming. Why was he so troubled about it? The Chief
Warlord should not be affected by the succession of rulers. Or should he? He
was not an adviser, not a close person to the mighty Emperor. He’d always kept
away from the Palace’s politics, maintaining he was not cunning enough to
mingle in those circles.

Well, a new emperor should not interfere with the
ways his Chief Warlord managed campaigns. Why would he? Tecpatl was always
good, always successful. The new ruler would appreciate him, would let him
continue his raids.   

And then there was the trouble with Atolli. Her
stomach turned at the thought of her son. The look in the youth’s eyes had made
her heart sink.

After the interview with his father, the boy went
straight to his rooms, refusing to go out for any reason, brushing aside her
offering of food or herbal treatment. The cuts and bruises were nothing,
although she winced remembering how bad his back had looked when he came out of
the bath. But the look in his eyes! So drawn and strained, black with repressed
anger, with desperation.

She bit her lower lip. Her son had grown up through
this day, she knew. He was not a boy anymore.

I wish I could take them all away
, she
thought. Atolli, his father, and the rest of the children. Find a pastoral
village somewhere in the forest or on the slopes of the magnificent mountains
around the Great Lake. Tecpatl would hunt, and she would run their simple
household, with the children helping. They would eat simply and drink only water,
and they would bathe in streams and forget all about the elaborate steam baths
of Azcapotzalco. Away from the city and its demands.   

Tecpatl stirred and murmured, his face no longer
calm. Caressing with more intensity, her fingers willed him back into
peacefulness.

There was no chance they could enjoy her dream.
Someone would attack their quiet village. His people or their enemies. There
was no peaceful existence in these lands. But then, was there such a thing
anywhere?

Once upon a time, she hadn’t been aware of any of
this, growing up in the Far North, her city, Great Houses, so large and
formidable, the center of the whole region, their stone constructions towering
and imposing. She hadn’t known anything about war. Her people were peaceful and
happy. But now? 

Now Great Houses no longer existed. Michin, the
leading Azcapotzalco’s trader, had told her so a few summers ago, upon his
return from her region. She remembered the way his eyes had measured her,
compassionate and calm. The man had not relished being the bearer of such news.
He was not a bad man. Yet, he had told her he had found Great Houses completely
abandoned, with not a soul living among the stone ruins. Her home was now an
ancient ruin.
Her people
! Not some distant ancestors.

She felt the tears welling and blinked them away.
There was no point in mourning the place she had abandoned more than fifteen
summers ago. She went away and did not look back, happy and in love. She had no
right to mourn it now. But the tears ran of their own accord, and then
Tecpatl’s arms were around her and she could hide in his warmth and the
familiar muscular smell of his.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“Nothing,” she sobbed. “It’s nothing.” Then clung to
him letting him rock her back to sleep.

***

Acolnahuacatl, the mighty Emperor, was dead. He had
entered the realm of the gods in those misty pre-dawn hours when the sick and
the old and the very young ones would leave, not destined to walk this world of
the Fifth Sun any longer.

Although expecting this outcome, Azcapotzalco was in
an uproar. The most exalted of the nobility flooded the Palace, while the rest
filled the adjacent grounds, with the commoners jamming the roads all the way
down to the marketplace.    

From one of the artificial hills at the Palace’s
gardens, Atolli watched the road nearest to the wall, packed with people of all
classes. Dressed in their best attire, they waited for the funeral rituals to
begin, not looking too mournful or troubled. Most likely, the commoners were
just happy to get a day off from their usual occupations, to loiter about and
watch the magnificent ceremonies, he reflected.

Bother this! He wished his father had not made him
come along. The side glances of the nobles congregating around the Palace made
him uncomfortable. Obviously, most of them knew about his blunders, some
curious, some compassionate, some smirking, happy the son of the Chief Warlord
had embarrassed his powerful father.

He saw the gate clearing momentarily and fought the
urge to sneak away. But he remembered what his father had told him this
morning.

“You are coming along, and you are putting this
nonsense out of your mind,” the formidable man had said when Atolli tried to
protest. “You will come, and you will look as proud as you can, as if nothing
happened. If you feel bad about it, it’ll show. Appear angry and frustrated, or
scared and guilty, and they will classify you as such. Whatever the charges
against you, whatever the rumors, you have to brush them aside when you appear
in public. Feel bad and guilty in the privacy of your room if you must. But
outside be sure of yourself, remember who you are, remember your merits. Hold
your head high and most people will receive and accept your message. Whatever
the charges against you, whatever the law says.

“How do you think a captured warrior feels when he
is hauled up the pyramid for all the crowds to see? They all know he has
committed the worst of blunders by letting himself be captured alive. Moreover,
they are his enemies, they hate his guts. Yet, if he remains unafraid, arrogant
and disdainful, they will calm down and watch him die with respect. No one will
jeer, and no one will throw rotten vegetables at him. They will cheer him and
name their children after him. But what do you think happens to a warrior who
shows fear or uncertainty?” The stern gaze lingered upon Atolli’s face, dark
and heavy with meaning. “Think about today as more of your training. Show me
that you can make the accusing crowd respect you in spite of what happened. Go
to this trial aloof and arrogant; show them the world is still yours for the
taking. If you know it, they’ll know it too.”

Ah, but it was so much easier back at home, having
his father’s strength to rely upon. He straightened his shoulders and looked
around with all the pride he could muster, returning people’s gazes, making
them drop theirs. When someone tugged at his cloak, he whirled so fiercely, the
man backed away. But it was only one of the Palace’s slaves.

 “Master, would you be so kind as to follow,
please?” mumbled the slave in confusion.

“Where to?” asked Atolli curtly, enjoying the man’s
fear. Yes, this technique was working, he thought with a surge of sudden
pleasure.

“Please, follow. I was ordered to bring you along.”

He fought the urge to frighten the fellow some more,
aware that to vent his frustration on slaves was not an admirable urge.

“All right, lead the way.”

They headed down the hill, passing by the
beautifully arranged beds of rare flowers. Was it Father who had sent for him?

His curiosity welled. Would he be allowed to enter
the Palace? He had never been there before, but maybe Father had arranged an
elite warrior to take him as a shield bearer after all?

That morning, the formidable Warlord had made him
understand he’d respected his son’s decision to face the consequences of his
misdeeds, to fight it all the harder but the more independent way.

Since their evening conversation, the attitude of the
Master of the House had changed dramatically. The respect had returned. Once
again the man was his father, formidable but kind, full of priceless advice.
Not too warm or too friendly, but then he was always like that, relaxing only
with Atolli’s mother and only when he thought no one was watching.

The path delved deeper into the artificial forest.
He listened to the birds chirping among the rare trees.

“Are we not going to the Palace?”

The slave shook his head, puzzled. “I was asked to
help you find your way around the gardens, Master,” he said, sweating.

So not the Palace; therefore nothing to do with his
father. Ashamed by the wave of acute disappointment, Atolli frowned.
Have
you been hoping to get the easier way of the shield-bearer after all?
he
asked himself, furious.

“Here you are, Master.” The slave melted away before
Atolli had a chance to thank him, had he wished to do so.

He looked around, consumed with curiosity. A hooded
figure on the edge of the mosaic pond looked familiar. She sat there, throwing
flowers into the clear water that abounded with small, sparkling fish.

“Well, well, if it is not our drunken warrior?”

The familiar husky voice made Atolli clench his
teeth. He took a deep breath and said nothing, composing his thoughts.

As she raised her head, he could see she was as
beautiful by daylight, even more so, displaying the perfect Toltec cheekbones
and the large, doe-like eyes, adorned by the thick eyelashes that seemed as if
some dark color had been applied to them. He tore his gaze off her full lovely
mouth.

“So,” said the girl, tossing her head. “How are
you?”

“Good. Couldn’t be better,” he stated, his
irritation mounting. Just like the previous night, she made his nerves prickle.
“Well, it could be better, but thanks to you it is not!”

Some of her amusement fled. “How dare you speak to
me like that?” she demanded, the frown not sitting well with her lovely
features. “And anyway, it has nothing to do with me. I was not the one to sneak
out of school. It was not me who had drunk
octli
and broken into the
temple’s grounds.”

“We did not break into the temple! You, of all
people, should know that. We fell over the wall and only tried to find our way
out without disturbing anyone. You knew it well enough. But what did you do?
You told them the drunken
calmecac
boys broke in and attacked you.” He
clenched his fists and was pleased to see her eyes turning angry, losing some
of their haughtiness.

“You were drunk. You were caught with a flask of
octli
.
A half empty flask!”

“A half flask would not make you lose your senses to
the point of breaking into a temple in an attempt to force a princess.”

She winced, and her cheeks flooded with color. “If
you talk to me like that once again, I’ll make sure you will be punished so
severely, your current situation will look like the realm of the gods to you.”
She measured his face with a glance, taking in the bruises. “Evidently the
beating you took in
calmecac
was not sufficient.”

He knew he should leave, but he could not, he was
too angry. “What are you going to do? Call the servants and tell them I was
trying to attack you –
to force you
– once again?”

She glared at him, breathing heavily, obviously searching
for the correct words to squash him. The bright cotton blouse peeking from
under her cloak revealed her neck, the light material setting off the golden
shade of her skin.    

 “Why did you bring me here?” he asked, mostly to
make some progress, to enable him to ease away with some of his pride still
intact. He did not want to turn and leave, in case she might think he was
afraid of her.

She made a visible effort to calm down. “I wanted to
know if your father found a warrior willing to take you on your first
campaign,” she said, still frowning.

“No.”

“Why not? Has the Chief Warlord not enough
influence?” The disdain was back in her voice, in full control once again.

“Of course he has enough influence. He has enough
influence to find
you
a warrior willing to take
you
on a
campaign.” He wanted to strangle her right there by the pond. “But I won’t have
it. I will not make my father humiliate himself.”

Now she was genuinely surprised. “What? Why-ever
not? What sort of humiliation is that, to ask a friend to take his son along,
one of the best
calmecac
pupils anyway?”

“I’m not one of the best anymore, remember? Thanks
to you I’m a drunkard, famous only for his insubordination. My father does not
deserve this.”

She considered his words. “I understand. But then
what are you going to do?”

“Enlist as a commoner. It’ll take me a little longer
to reach the top, but reach it I will.”

The large eyes narrowed. “It would be a terrible
waste.” Her face brightened. “I’ll talk to
my
Father.”