Obsidian & Blood

  The Duality curse him.

  Open your hands…

  All I had to do…

  Save yourself…

  He's deserved it…

  The weight of the water was on my shoulders; and my hands burnt with the strain of Neutemoc's semi- conscious burden. He was dragging me back into the depths, he and his accursed lust and inability to see that you couldn't call back the past.

  Open your hands…

  Sometimes, you had to make a choice. My fingers opened, almost of their own volition, and Neutemoc started slipping downwards, even as I rose.

  For a moment – a split, endless moment as we hung suspended by the pulsing roots – our eyes met. In his was lust and hunger and an impossible desire for what he couldn't have, a desire that could only be ended by death…

  And in my gaze, reflected in his…

  The same.

  The same hunger for the past, the same wish to turn back the flow of time, to have my parents' admiration; to be a warrior and the pride of my family.

  A true man stands by the consequences of his acts, I had told Teomitl, and he had laughed at me, seeing what I had not been able to admit: that deep, deep down, I and Neutemoc were the same.

  I hated him so much; but it wasn't him. It had never been him.

  In less than a heartbeat, I dived, and our hands met, and clasped.

  He was too heavy; he was still dragging me down. 'You have to swim,' I said.

  His gaze was a mixture of hunger and confusion. 'Eleuia?' he whispered, like a bewildered child.

  'Swim!' I screamed.

  He still wouldn't move.

  So I did the only thing that would save us both: arching my body, I pushed him straight into the tree. He gasped as his body wedged itself in the hollow between two roots: nestling comfortably in the tangle of pulsing bark, sinking until his feet finally came to rest on a thicker root.

  As best I could – not an easy thing given his unresponsiveness – I wrapped his hands around another buttress.

  'Stay here,' I whispered.

  'Acatl?'

  'Stay here.' And, kicking upwards, I went back to Father and Eleuia – and Popoxatl. They would, I knew, be waiting for me.

  As I rose, I drew the second-to-last of my obsidian knives, and the pulsing emptiness of Mictlan filled me; and the amused echo of the Jade Skirt's voice, booming like underwater drums.

  A gift, priest.

  Father was still crucified among the roots, still watching me with that sad, disappointed gaze. But it wasn't real. Everything was Tlaloc's little game, as was Eleuia's slow dancing. Popoxatl was waiting for me, a smile stretched across his face. The Storm Lord, too, whispering words of poison in his puppet's ears.

  'I see you've shed your burden,' he said.

  'What harm has he done you?' I asked, though I knew. Before Popoxatl had come into his power, Neutemoc's knowledge had been as dangerous as Commander Quiyahuayo's: what he knew about Eleuia might have stopped Tlaloc from achieving His aims. Now it was just endless malice.

  'Don't you see, Acatl?' Popoxatl whispered, and his voice was that of a child. 'He has no place in the new order. Warriors shouldn't rule the world. It's peasants who keep us going – and priests, shedding their blood to feed the sun.'

  I swam closer, knife at the ready, and Popoxatl watched me, dryly amused.

  'Aren't you tired of the thoughtless arrogance of warriors? Of their endless staggering across our streets, conquering lands we have no use for?'

  I thought of Mahuizoh's cavalier treatment of Ceyaxochitl and me – and of my parents' endless worship of war, slighting their own work to sing the praise of the battlefields. But it was not the way to change. It would never be the right way.

  I was close now, almost close enough to strike, and still neither Tlaloc nor Popoxatl did anything. They just watched me. 'What do you want?' I asked. 'My collaboration? You don't need that.'

  Unhealthy hunger dilated Popoxatl's pupils, making me sick to the core. 'Belief,' he whispered. 'I am the supreme god of the Mexica Empire. Everyone will abase themselves, and make their offerings of blood to keep me strong.'

  Belief. Commander Quiyahuayo had been right.

  I swam closer; and when nothing happened, I sank my knife to the hilt into Popoxatl's chest.

  Or tried to. The blade shattered, breaking on an invisible obstacle. And Popoxatl laughed, echoing the Storm Lord's amusement. 'Did you think it would be so easy?'

  It should have been. For all his powers, Popoxatl was only a god's agent, only a mortal. Surely a knife blessed by Mictlantecuhtli and Chalchiutlicue would kill a mere child?

  Unless…

  I pulled away, avoiding the child's outstretched arms. To my left, Eleuia had stopped dancing, and was coming for me with a sickening smile on her face.

  I closed my eyes and extended my priest-senses.

  And saw what I had missed.