Obsidian & Blood

  Teomitl's face was dark with something more than anger. 'I think she means exactly what she says when she's angry, Acatl-tzin. That's always been the problem. But it doesn't matter. This is a promise I intend to keep.' His hands had clenched into fists, so tightly his nails had drawn blood.

  Not for the first time, I wished – desperately – that I could believe him.

The ritual for Mihmatini's designation was a fairly lengthy one; not quite as complicated as the investiture of a new Revered Speaker, but still heavy enough to need a night and a morning to be prepared.

  We arrived at the Duality House early on the following morning. While the priests explained the ritual to Teomitl and Mihmatini, I excused myself; and went inside Ceyaxochitl's rooms to pay my respects.

  My second-in-command Ichtaca sat cross-legged on the ground by the side of the funeral mat. His lips moved, silently intoning a litany for the Dead; he looked up at me when I came in, but left me time to contemplate the corpse.

  Ceyaxochitl had been washed and garbed in many-coloured cotton. The jade bead had been threaded through her lips. In death she looked small and pathetic, her vibrancy extinguished. Yaotl had said he kept expecting her to rise and take charge. Looking at the thin, bloodless lips, at the pale, blue-tinged face, I knew she wouldn't come back. She was down there in the underworld, making her slow way to the throne of Lord Death, just as the rest of us would, someday.

  It was unfair; she had been so much more than the rest of us.

  'Acatl-tzin.' Ichtaca bowed to me.

  I nodded, briefly. 'Thank you for undertaking the vigil.'

  His gaze suggested that I didn't need to thank him; that he was doing nothing more than his work.

  'She will be missed,' Ichtaca said. His round face was grave, and he wasn't talking about sentiments.

  'I know,' I said. She had held us together. No matter how abrasive, or authoritative, she had cared for all of us.

  'You could…' He swallowed. 'You could summon her.'

  I shook my head. 'Not until her vigil is complete.' I could go down into the underworld to hunt her soul, but it was starting to be dangerous. I could feel the world, lurching slightly out of kilter. To further breach the boundaries at this stage might not be a good idea. Not to mention a summoning would force Ceyaxochitl to turn aside, slowing down her progression in the underworld. I had no wish to make her stay there longer than it had to be.

  I spoke a little more with Ichtaca, mostly over administrative matters; and left the room in a much worse mood than I'd entered it.

The shrine to the Duality was atop a pyramid, like the shrine in my own temple. From the smooth marble platform, I could see all the way into the courtyard, into the silent room, its entrance-curtain fluttering in the breeze, where Ceyaxochitl's body would be resting, washed and garbed for her funeral vigil. And, further on, into the city, the canals glittering in the afternoon sun like strings of jewels, the houses of noblemen gradually giving way to the high, steepled roofs of peasants' dwellings, all the heart and blood of our empire, as vulnerable as a jaguar with its throat bared.

  Below, in the courtyard, most of the high-ranking priests had gathered, dressed in sober blue and black, a dizzying sea of featherheaddresses and ash-stained faces.

  There were stars overhead, pinpoints of lights in the sky that were the eyes of monsters, shining in full daylight with no fear of the Fifth Sun. Yaotl was right, the end had already started.

  I was High Priest for the Dead. I could do no less, no more than I was doing. But…

  Behind me, on either side of the platform, stood Teomitl and Mihmatini. They were garbed like a couple for a wedding; Teomitl in a bright new cape, and my sister in a cotton blouse with a very simple embroidery pattern around the neckline, her hair hidden under a flowing head-cloth. Yaotl had spread cochineal red around her mouth, and given her a basket of fruit and tamales which she held with a slightly sceptical air.

  I was suddenly, absurdly glad I wasn't the only one who couldn't feel the seriousness of the occasion.

  The altar was bare, shining golden in the sun. The air seemed to shimmer with power, the priests of the Duality had been chanting for hours. The two elderly priests who had made the decision to name Mihmatini Guardian-designate stood on either side of the altar, their faces grave.

  'Acatl-tzin.' Teomitl held a jar of pulque alcohol with an utterly serious air. I was sure he was more used to attending dubious rituals.

  'I know, I know.' I was used to rituals; but it galled me to have to be a spectator on this one. At least I'd managed to bargain for the right to stay. It seemed a High Priest could attend on the pyramid platform, even if they took no part in the ceremony.

  'Look,' Mihmatini said, with an impatient shake of her head. 'If you're going to ruin my life, you might as well not keep me waiting, Acatl.'

  'I…' I couldn't. There had to be some other god, some other ritual we could call on, some other solution that would keep the star-demons at bay, that would shelter us for a while more. There had to be…

  I was grasping at maize seedlings, hoping they'd be strong enough to bear my weight. Pointless. We had already gone beyond the point when we could back out of this. Stifling a sigh, I moved to the edge of the platform, and watched the two priests officiate.

'Even as the maguey

You form a stalk, you are to ripen,

Taking root into the earth, you will hold up the sky

Your heart is jade, your heart is a precious green stone

Still virgin, pure, undefiled…'

  Mihmatini shook her head; and in a fluid gesture removed the cloth over her hair. It spilled down her back in a flood to sit like the feathers of a raven. She approached the altar, her seashell bracelets tinkling with every step,