'I know.' Imprisoned, like Coyolxauhqui of the Silver Bells, like the star-demons.
'Why now, Acatl-tzin?'
'Because someone did not want Manatzpa to talk.' A chill had descended into my stomach and would not be banished. Because he had known something, because he would, indeed, have revealed it to me?
Whoever it was they were in the palace, and aware of what was happening in Tizoc-tzin's closest circle. Either Xahuia still had agents inside, or…
Or it was someone else entirely.
'Acatl-tzin!' Teomitl's voice was impatient. 'Come on.'
I must have looked blank, for he shook his head impatiently, the whites of his eyes shifting from jade to white and back again as he did so, an eerie effect.
'It's still in the city. We have a chance to catch up to it. Come on!'
Still in the city? Why hadn't it–
No time to think. I picked up my cloak from the ground, shook some of the mud loose, and ran after Teomitl.
As we exited the palace, running down the stairs leading up to the Serpent Wall and the Sacred Precinct, the
On ground, they looked wrong, as black and sleek as fish out of the water, crawling on their four clawed legs like salamanders or lizards, and yet still moving with a fluid, inhuman speed that seemed to surprise even Teomitl.
The star-demon was ahead of us, moving through the Sacred Precinct. The crowd fought to avoid Her, the pilgrims elbowing each other, sacrificial victims being pulled aside by their keepers, the priests hastily kneeling on the cleared-out grounds, fighting to trace quincunxes and circles in a vain attempt to slow Her down or banish Her.
Teomitl, who was younger and much fitter than me, was already ahead, the
I cast my mind out, trying to summon the Wind of Knives. Up and up it went, over the crowded plaza, over the houses of noblemen, past the canals and the islands on the outskirts, into the cenote, until His presence went up my spine, straightening it with one cold touch.
I ran after the star-demon as fast as I could, my lungs burning, my chest itching, the presence of the Wind of Knives in my mind growing larger and larger…
For all of Teomitl's speed, he never quite managed to catch up to the star-demon. She strode through the plaza of the Sacred Precinct without pause, Her gaze stubbornly fixed ahead.
There was only one place She could be heading. 'Teomitl!' I called in the eerie hush that had spread over the Sacred Precinct.
He flicked me a quick backward glance; I pointed towards the bulk of the Great Temple, yelling at the top of my voice. Teomitl nodded, and resumed the chase.
The presence in my mind grew to a spike and suddenly the Wind of Knives was there, standing by my side. 'Acatl.'
He threw one glance at the situation, and moved, fluid and inhuman, towards the Great Temple, with barely a glance backwards in my direction. Where He passed, the air seemed darker, and even the sunlight, catching the thousand obsidian shards of His body, became dimmer, shadowed by His presence.
Priests had already gathered on the steps of the Great Temple; two cohorts, one on each of the twin stairs, their obsidian knives at the ready. Magic clung to them, shimmering in their blood-matted hair, on their dusty skins, in the very structure of the temple, sunk as deep as blood into limestone. Here was our strength; here was the heart of our Empire.
The wind of Her passage brushed the priests as She headed up the stairs. Everything shattered.
The priests' hair became dull and rank, like that of filthy animals; the stone lost its lustre and became the grey of ash and dust. The veil of magic over the temple tore open like a stretched spider's web, with a sound as stilling and as deafening of that of the earth splitting itself apart.
Itzpapalotl ran, one clawed hand scattering the priests across the stairs, sending them tumbling down, as bloodied as sacrificed victims. Teomitl followed, the
I reached the bottom of the stairs, and paused for a moment to catch my breath.
One of the priests lay beside me, his blood shimmering in the sunlight, a source of power calling out to me. His eyes were open, already glazing over.
'Forgive me,' I whispered, dipping my hand in the warmth of his blood. 'She has to be stopped.'
He must have nodded: I couldn't be sure, but the blood under my fingers became warmer, beating like a living heart, like that used for a penance or daily offering.
There was little time. Itzpapalotl was almost at the top of the stairs, and Teomitl lagged behind Her. I hastily traced a quincunx around myself, and said the shortest prayer I knew, one to my patron Mictlantecuhtli.
