In the chest cavity, where the heart should have been, there was only a small hole, like that of a flute. Acamapichtli moved away to stand at the base of the body, and left the way wide open for me.
Quenami inclined his head. I walked through the circle to the dead soul and carried it back to the dough figure. Then, bending over, I carefully laid one atop the other. Tizoc-tzin sank into the dough like a man swallowed by quicksand, and the dough shifted, the manikin taking on his features, the bloodied mouth closed in a scowl, an eerie resemblance to the man’s favourite expression. It almost seemed as though he was going to speak up; to accuse us all of slighting him. But the only sound was that of our breaths, slow and regular, and Itzpapalotl’s claws raking the stone to the rhythm of some unheard hymn.
Quenami placed himself over the opening in the chest, Acamapichtli near the crotch, and I at the head, over the blood-filled mouth.
“We leave this earth
This world of jade and flowers
The quetzal feathers, the silver
Down into the darkness we must go…”
The words that came to me were the ones I had spoken to the She-Snake a lifetime ago, and they were out of my mouth before I could call them back.
“Let the Revered Speaker be no exception.”
I bit my lip, but it was too late. Quenami hissed, his gaze narrowing in my direction, but he couldn’t speak for fear of breaking the ritual.
I went on regardless, less assured. I hadn’t thought it was possible, but I was shaking as hard as if Itzpapalotl had been looking at me with the full force of Her gaze.
“But some return
With sunlight shining on them
With moonlight and starlight to show the way
Some return, some go back home
To the three-legged hearth, to Old Man Fire’s face
And the song of maidens, and the laughter of children…”
I knelt and pressed my lips against the dough. It was cool, like something that had rested in the shade for far too long, with the faint, acrid taste of rot. I was vaguely aware of Quenami and Acamapichtli getting ready for the rest of the ritual, for giving the body life, and tying the soul back to it, but even that faded away, as the dough breathed back into me, and harsh light flooded the chamber, until the underground room seemed but a memory.
Over me towered the round, grinning face of Tonatiuh the Fifth Sun – bloodied tongue lolling out, His red hair framed by the signs of the calendar, giant stone glyphs arrayed around Him like a crown. His gaze, His endlessly burning gaze, rested on me, and I slowly became aware that I held Tizoc-tzin’s soul in my arms.
It was small and misshapen, like the body, and the light of the Fifth Sun made it seem transparent, as if it would wash it out of existence at any moment.
Somewhere beyond me was Acamapichtli, carrying the living body. Quenami stood in the centre, waiting for us. “Now, Acatl.”
I walked, or flew, to him, and so did Acamapichtli, and we were as one. They were pressing against me, Quenami with his insufferable arrogance and conviction that the universe owed him everything, and Acamapichtli, already thinking of ways to turn the situation to his advantage. There was an overambitious priest in his temple that he needed to get rid of, and this would be the perfect opportunity…
And Tizoc-tzin.
Small and pathetic and made of fears, of envy, of an uncontrollable ambition that had, as Teomitl had said, eaten him alive. I sought for a man, cowering behind that mask, and could find nothing. No face, no heart. Doubts and fears and suspicion, was this the man we had raised as Revered Speaker? No wonder Itzpapalotl was still waiting, waiting for the Empire to fall, for Her mistress to be free. There was no other place he could take us, he and Quenami and Acamapichtli, all working for their own gain.
Something was wrong. Something…
They were calling my name from far away, and I still held the soul clutched tightly in my grasp, in the Fifth Sun’s light, a light that was growing in intensity, promising the heat of the desert, the scouring touch of pyres. What was I thinking? It was the Fifth World at stake. Surely I could force myself to–
But I couldn’t. Here, in this time, in this place, in the heart of our strength, no lies were left. I couldn’t be one with the other priests, for they were my enemies, and I couldn’t bring Tizoc-tzin back, for I had despised him beyond words when he had been alive.
I thought of Ceyaxochitl, making her slow way into darkness. It wasn’t fair. Why was Tizoc-tzin – as unworthy of an exception as they came – chosen to be lifted out of death, while she remained in Mictlan? Why did he get to have everything he wanted, in spite of all the damage he had done, all the lives he had carelessly spent, from Ceyaxochitl’s to Echichilli’s?
Why?
I couldn’t.
”Acatl!”
I–
Surely there had to be a way, something I could do. I tried to release Tizoc-tzin’s soul, but it wouldn’t budge. I tried going to Quenami and felt everything that separated us, every reason I despised him, he who had intrigued and schemed and thrown me into jail and almost executed me. I tried going to Acamapichtli, and saw his power-games and how little he cared about human life, that he would sacrifice anyone and anything standing between him and what he wanted, including my own brother. And I couldn’t forgive either of them, or even claim to understand their acts.
In that place, in that time, I sank to my knees with Tizoctzin cradled against me, watching as if from a great distance, watching the Fifth Sun’s grin grow wider and wider, as if He had always known I would fail, feeling, distant and cruel, Itzpapalotl’s amusement, and Teomitl’s frantic attempts to understand what was going wrong.
Surely I could set my feelings aside, for the sake of the Fifth World?
Surely.
But I had no lies or accommodations left, and my contempt was destroying everything. All I had to do was to believe in what I was doing, to see Tizoc-tzin as our worthy Revered Speaker, Quenami as our leader, and Acamapichtli as a peer. Only that, and I would rise, I would give back the breath that was in my body, and everything would be as it should with the world.
But Tizoc-tzin had cast my sister aside as nothing, Quenami had thrown me in jail, and Acamapichtli had tried to kill my brother. In the end, it was the pettiest things that defined me.
The Fifth Sun’s light washed over us, strong and unforgiving, like a wave in a storm. I dug my heels in, but I could feel its strength, and knew that it was going to throw me out of the circle.
Too late.
My whole body tingled in the wash of light… No, that wasn’t it. There was something that ached more, a dull pain throbbing in my hand. I looked down at Acamapichtli’s mark, grey and diminished against the light’s onslaught. A jaguar fang, perfectly formed, and the blood of a human sacrifice, all freely given to me. It had been for his own gain, as he had blithely admitted, but still, he had helped me. Still…
I saw again Quenami, his fists clenched, about to get himself killed against Itzpapalotl. He had dragged me to the top of the hill, I and Acamapichtli, even though he’d laughed and suggested we leave the weak behind.
Acamapichtli was smiling in my mind. “We will endure,” he whispered. “We will do what needs to be done. We will–”
I hated them. I despised them for their beliefs, and for everything they had done in the name of gain and greed.
But, in the end…
In the end, Teomitl had allied himself with Nezahual-tzin, and I with Acamapichtli. In the end…
In the end, they were my peers and my equals, and the only ones who could see this through. In the end, when push came to shove and the Fifth World tottered on the brink of extinction – when even they could see the price of failure – I could trust them to do what needed to be done.
And that was the only truth.
”Acatl!”
”I am here,” I whispered, and, gently, very gently, breathed out Tizoc-tzin’s soul, back into the Fifth World, before joining my fellow High Priests for the rest of the ritual.
TWENTY-FIVE
The Fifth World
Tizoc-tzin’s formal designation was a small and subdued affair. With his brother’s funeral over, and him still in a state of weakness, he simply opted for a quiet ceremony with the governors and the magistrates. The Revered Speakers of Texcoco and Tlacopan, his fellow rulers in the Triple Alliance, offered him congratulations, and sacrificed quails to mark the beginning of an auspicious reign.
Tizoc-tzin wasn’t quite yet crowned, of course. That would come after the coronation war, when he had brought back enough prisoners and slaves for a true celebration. But, nevertheless, he was already invested, with enough power to keep us all safe.
After the ceremony he received us in his private quarters. There were no slaves and no noblemen, just Teomitl, Acamapichtli, Nezahual-tzin and I, standing barefoot amidst the luxurious decorations, and the exquisitely carved columns. Fine feathers fans and gold ornaments were casually strewn across the room.
Quenami was beside his master, richly attired, with coloured heron plumes at his belt, blue-and-black paint, and a stylised fire-serpent winding its way across the hem of his tunic. The air smelled faintly of pine needles and copal incense, and there was the faintest hint of smoke, causing my eyes to itch.
”I am given to understand that we owe you a debt,” Tizoctzin said. His eyes were sunken deep, his skin a pale brown, almost waxy, and he stumbled a little on his words. I wasn’t sure if it was because something was wrong with his speech, if my delay in the ritual had cost him something, or if it was simply because he disliked uttering them. By the scowl on his face, there was at least some of the latter.
Nezahual-tzin shrugged. “I’m glad to see proper diplomatic relations restored between Tenochtitlan and Texcoco. I shall look forward to your coronation, my lord.”
”I see.” Tizoc-tzin bent to look at Nezahual-tzin, as if not quite sure what to make of him. “Perhaps you do,” he said grudgingly.
”It’s in our best interests.” Nezahual-tzin’s smile was wide and dazzling, that of a carefree sixteen year-old. I wasn’t fooled.
”And you.” Tizoc-tzin turned his attention back to Acamapichtli and me.
”We did our duty,” Acamapichtli said. “To the Revered Speaker and to the Empire.” One of his arms, the one that had thrown the blade at Itzpapalotl, was a little stiff, and I didn’t think it would ever move smoothly again. My own legs ached whenever I rose. Whatever Huitzilpochtli had said, there had been a price for entering the heartland. There was always a price.
Tizoc-tzin was silent for a while. His gaze moved from Acamapichtli to me and back again. “Then I am assured of your loyalty.”
Not surprising, I guessed. A little saddening, but then I had known when we had brought him back to life. Death had changed nothing in him, no lessons had been learnt.
”You’ve always had our loyalty,” Acamapichtli said effortlessly.
”I have pledged service to the Revered Speaker of the Mexica Empire,” I said.
He noticed the omission of his name, that much was clear. His eyes narrowed. I fully expected him to demand something more of me, some show of obeisance, but he didn’t.
”I see,” he said, again. “So that’s how things are.” He leant back, his back straight once more, and turned back to Quenami. “The council is still empty, and we have to see about appointments. Teomitl?”
Teomitl rose from his crouch. For a moment, he and Tizoc-tzin faced each other, and I wasn’t quite sure what I read in their gazes. It wasn’t love, or even respect. Perhaps simply what my brother Neutemoc and I shared – the knowledge that, no matter how distant we might be, how difficult we might find getting on together, we still shared the same blood.
At length Tizoc-tzin nodded. “I need a Master of the House of Darts.”
”I don’t think–” Teomitl started.
”Nonsense. You’ll do fine,” Tizoc-tzin said. “If I can’t trust family–”
”That’s not the problem.” Teomitl’s face hovered on the edge of divinity again. “You know what’s wrong.”
”Do I?” Tizoc-tzin looked at him for a while more. His pale face was unreadable; his skin pale and translucent, enough to reveal the bones and the shape of the skull. He’d died. He’d come back. We couldn’t pretend things were normal. “We’ll have to see about another appointment for her. Some gift of jewellery or perhaps a grant of land. It would be unseemly for my brother to marry beneath him.”
What? I looked at Tizoc-tzin. I had misheard. But, no, Teomitl still stood, as if struck by Tlaloc’s lightning. “Brother–”
”You have objections?”
”No, no, I don’t. But–”
”Don’t get me wrong.” Tizoc-tzin was still scowling, like an unappeased spirit back from the underworld. “I don’t like this. I don’t approve of this. I’ll stand by what I think of your priest.”
Always pleasant, I could see. But as long as he agreed…