most of that day had been spent in Tlalocan, where the time was that of the gods.
The Fifth World would go on. But Neutemoc…
Surely… surely I hadn't gone all that way, done all I had, just to lose him.
Deep, deep down, I knew that the gods had their own rules, and the Duality even more so. I had made my own bargains; had saved Neutemoc from sinking into Tlalocan. But perhaps, in the end, it didn't matter. Perhaps, in the end, he would still be walking with Father in Tlalocan, basking in Father's admiration.
No. I couldn't accept that.
Neutemoc didn't move. My hands snagged on his ribs, and with every push I feared I was going to break bones. But still he didn't move. The tips of his fingers were wrinkled; and blood was starting to settle in the white oval of his face.
No.
'There's water in his lungs,' Teomitl said, kneeling by my side.
He looked as if he had been through all the levels of Mictlan: his face as pale as the waning moon, his nobleman's clothes stained with mud and blood – and his eyes as deep as abysses, shimmering with the golden colour of the ahuizotls' irises.
I raised my gaze. Ichtaca leant against the stone altar, his eyes closed. Six or seven of the priests, mostly novice priests, were still unconscious. The others – Ezamahual and the two surviving warriors of the Duality among them – were tending to the wounded.
Ixtli's body lay on the stone altar, the priest's noose still tight around his neck. I closed my eyes, briefly. Had I not gone to him, he and his men would still be alive. Had I not asked a favour from him. He had been his own man. He had made his own choices; and they had taken him away from me. There was nothing I could do. Nothing but grieve.
'Ichtaca? Palli?' I asked.
Teomitl laid his hands on Neutemoc's chest, frowning. 'Your Fire Priest is made of stone. He's full of scrapes and wounds, but I have no doubt he'll survive. The others–' he shrugged. 'They're in the hands of the Duality.'
Like Neutemoc.
Teomitl was probing at Neutemoc's bones, carefully. Magic oozed out of the pores of his skin, mingled with my brother's skin. 'And your brother?' I asked.
He shrugged again. 'Axayacatl? He probably survived. I don't think things would have held together otherwise.'
I wondered how Ceyaxochitl was faring. Quite the gossip I was turning into. But I needed something, anything, to prevent me from thinking about Neutemoc.
Teomitl sat back on his heels, his face grave. 'He's in bad shape, Acatl-tzin.'
I knew. 'Can you…' I'd done enough damage to my family: to Huei, to Neutemoc. Or, more accurately, we'd done enough damage to each other, but I'd still dealt Huitzilpochtli's share of it. 'Can you do anything?'
Teomitl frowned. 'I? No. The Jade Skirt, perhaps. But you know there will be a price.'
'I'll pay it,' I said.
Teomitl smiled, without joy. He seemed to have grown up immeasurably since taking on Chalchiutlicue's blessing, turning from a boy into a bitter adult in a matter of hours. 'Always ask what the price is before accepting a bargain, Acatl-tzin. Have you learnt nothing?'
No, not much. Things about myself; about Father and Neutemoc; that was all. Teomitl was right. An adult, in all the ways that mattered. I didn't think he'd be needing any advice any more.
Teomitl laid his hands on Neutemoc's chest again, pushed down, hard. Light blazed from his fingers, wrapped itself around my brother's body: a green luminescence much like the reflections of light on jade, which uneasily called to mind the depths of Tlalocan, and the memory of the pulsing roots, and of Father, laid out among them like a living offering.
I heard Chalchiutlicue laugh, in my mind.
You used Teomitl. But then we'd all used each other.
'He's in My land,' the Jade Skirt whispered, and Her voice was the lament of the wind over the stormy lake. 'But not so far gone. I can give him back to you.'
'I'll pay the price,' I whispered, again.
She laughed. 'Such impatience. You owe Me a favour, priest. One day, I'll come and claim it from you.'
And then She was gone, and Teomitl's magic had sunk down to nothing again. And Neutemoc was coughing up stale water, struggling to rise. I'd never thought I'd be so happy to see him moving.
'Acatl?' Neutemoc asked, his voice rasping in his throat.
I took his hand, pulled him to a sitting position. 'Welcome back.'
Neutemoc grimaced. 'So is the Fifth World over?' He stared at the sky, and at the gathered priests. On the lake, a flotilla of boats was making its way towards us. In the prow of the first one was the familiar figure of Ceyaxochitl. 'I guess not.'
'No,' I said.
Neutemoc closed his eyes. 'I remember Father…'
I waited for him to remember the rest, how I'd almost let go of him in my selfish urge to judge him. But at length he said, 'I guess I owe you.'
I shrugged. 'Nothing much.' Chalchiutlicue would claim Her debt, but there was nothing I could do about that.
Neutemoc sat in the mud, watching the lake. I made my way towards the altar, and found Ezamahual tending to Palli. 'How is he?' I asked.
'Nothing serious,' Ezamahual said. 'He hit his head when the boat capsized. He'll survive.'
'And the others?' I asked, slowly, already knowing the answer.
