'What I think of Neutemoc has nothing to do with any of this,' I snapped. 'He's family – my own flesh and blood.'
'Your parents' pride,' Popoxatl whispered. 'Among all the children, the brightest, the most successful.'
'He chose his way,' I said, unwilling to admit that the child's words hurt me more than they should have. 'It led to glory. I don't begrudge–'
'Don't you?' Popoxatl asked. 'Don't you, Acatl?'
Tlaloc's shadowy figure bent closer to his child-puppet. Between Popoxatl's outstretched hands, a dark shadow coalesced: a coiled mass of writhing threads.
In my hands, Neutemoc stirred. His eyes fluttered, but remained closed.
'Such a worthy man, is your brother. So much the pride of his children. Lusting after a priestess,' Popoxatl whispered, and behind him came Eleuia's body, changing as it became closer to us, gaining flesh and colour and life – until she stood next to Popoxatl, her head cocked at a mischievous angle, her regenerated eyes sparkling with dark joy.
She started to dance: slowly weaving her way, with unbelievable grace, through the steps of some ritual. But in her eyes shone greed, and an unhealthy hunger.
The Duality curse her. Why did she have to tempt my brother?
Why did he have to be foolish enough to yield?
I backed nearer to the tree's roots, still clutching Neutemoc close to me.
Popoxatl laughed. 'Such a whore, wasn't she?'
I said nothing. I could make no answer to this. I kept my gaze fixed upwards, towards the tree's trunk, which broke the surface just a few handspans away from me.
All I had to do was swim. But I couldn't. Neutemoc held me down there, as surely as I held him in my arms.
Come on, Neutemoc. Wake up.
'And still you cling to him,' Popoxatl whispered, amused. 'Still you make amends for him. Is he worth this, Acatl? Worth the wounds you suffered for him?'
I remembered battling the beast of shadows – the claws, sinking into my flesh. I remembered standing in the Imperial Court, withstanding Tizoc-tzin's amused stare. I remembered the Wind of Knives, lifting me high above Him, throwing me on the ground.
It was worth it. Neutemoc was my brother. My flesh and blood.
But I did not love him.
'He is–' I whispered. Everything I could not be. My parents' hope for the future. The perfect son.
Popoxatl opened his hands wide, and the dark shadows rushed towards me, wrapped themselves around me until they blotted out the world.
In my mind's eye I saw Neutemoc: not the bright, valiant warrior I'd always imagined, but a man mortally afraid – yearning for the bright simplicity of his warrior's life, never seeing that the past couldn't be called back.
I saw the hundred petty hurts Neutemoc delivered Huei – how he ran away from her in the birthing-room, as he had run away from Mother's death – how he sat away from her at banquets, his head turned towards his guests – how he heard but did not listen to what she said. I saw him turn away from his own children – too afraid of losing them to show them the least affection. I saw him walk into the darkness, willing himself to find the courage to end it all – never finding it.
He couldn't find it. He couldn't find anything.
Was this the man I had worshipped, the pride of my parents' eyes? This coward?
I saw him meet Eleuia, and how he made ready to betray his marriage without the slightest hint of regret – never thinking of what it would do to Huei, or to his children – never seeing how much Huei suffered from his pettiness.
In the end, he was the only one responsible for the failure of his marriage.
'Such a good man,' Popoxatl whispered, his voice mocking. 'Worth every wound, every injury, Acatl.'
Worth… nothing.
It would be so easy, to open my hands. So easy to let him sink into the depths of the lake; and to rise myself, my knife in my hand, doing what had to be done to save the Fifth World.
What was a life, compared to what was at stake?
All I had to do was open my hands.
'The pride of your father's eyes.' Popoxatl's voice was the thunder of the storm. 'Such a strong man.'
'Eleuia…' Neutemoc's eyes were open. He was staring at the corpse of Eleuia, his eyes mirroring the hunger in her gaze.
My hands tightened around him, as nausea welled up, harsh, uncontrollable. Could he see nothing but his lust?
He had grown heavier still, so heavy he was dragging me down. I arched my body, in a foolish attempt to resist his weight. But it was no use. I was sinking, going back to where I had come from, into the depths of Tlalocan.
'Eleuia is dead, Huitzilpochtli cut you down!' I screamed, shaking him like a rag doll. 'Eaten by the ahuizotl. Dead and buried!'
'Eleuia…'
Everything shrank, in a mosaic of nightmare images: Popoxatl's smiling face, whispering of Huei's and Neutemoc's cankered marriage – Eleuia's uninterrupted, obscene dancing – Neutemoc's glazed eyes, still filled with that unquenchable, unreasonable hunger – images of him running away into the night, in unending cowardice – of Huei, standing straight and tall and unashamed of what she'd done.
