Acamapichtli said nothing for a while.
'You make your own decisions,' I said. 'But you'll be the one accountable for them.'
He made a brief, stabbing gesture with his hand. 'And you'll support me, of course.' It wasn't a question, and I didn't answer. 'Fine. I can waste some time to satisfy your morbid curiosity. But you'll learn nothing from it, Acatl.'
I'd expected Acamapichtli would want to prepare the spell in his quarters, to make good use of the strong foundations of magic he'd laid. But instead, he chose the courtyard to prepare his spell. He had his priests drag five braziers – one at each corner, and one at the centre. They drew lines around them to materialise the sacred quincunx, the fivefold cross that symbolised the order of the world.
Acamapichtli himself remained at the centre, muttering prayers I couldn't make out from where I was standing. He drew out his worship thorns, and stared at them, thoughtfully – but didn't make any gesture to drag them through his earlobes.
He seemed to be waiting for something, but I wasn't sure what.
A growl drew my attention away from Acamapichtli: four slaves were carrying a wooden cage, in which was the largest jaguar I'd ever seen – a mass of muscles and fangs, with a burning gaze that suggested captivity ill- suited it.
Of course, the jaguar was one of the animals sacred to Tlaloc – the god Himself had jaguar fangs, and the sound of His thunder was like the roars of the jungle felines. But still…
The slaves put the cage in the centre, a few hand-spans away from Acamapichtli – who still didn't move. They withdrew, leaving no one but him and the beast in the circle. The jaguar paced within the cage, raising its head from time to time – opening its mouth to reveal glinting fangs. Acamapichtli, seemingly oblivious to its presence, picked up his worship thorns, and drew them through his earlobes. He didn't flinch as they went in: like any priest, he'd been doing this for far too long to pay attention to the pain.
He whispered more words, with greater urgency than before. Then he planted the worship thorns, one by one – driving them into the earth halfway through.
A faint tremor shook the courtyard – as if something were rising up to meet the fresh blood.
At length Acamapichtli raised his head, and saw me, standing outside the quincunx. 'Acatl! Come inside.'
I eyed the jaguar, doubtfully. I had my obsidian knives, but even I wasn't mad enough to take on a beast like that without preparations.
Or – as the uncomfortable thought occurred to me – without live bait to distract it.
Acamapichtli snorted. 'Don't be a yellow-livered fool, Acatl. The spirit will only be visible inside the quincunx. Or do you want me to ask the questions for you?'
And feed me the information he deemed fit for my consumption? Not a chance. I drew my obsidian knife, feeling its reassuring heft and coldness against the palm of my hand – and stepped over the circle.
The earth shivered as I walked, as if it were permanently shifting – as if it didn't know whether to be mud, water or packed dust. My feet squelched every other step, but when I lifted them, nothing clung to my sandals.
I reached the centre, where Acamapichtli stood waiting. Was it just me, or had the sky overhead darkened – far faster than it should have for a late afternoon? I could have sworn…
The jaguar yawned. Its pelt had grown almost featureless in the dim light; its eyes shone yellow, and its teeth glittered like opalescent pearls. I could almost see the saliva pearling on the canines. It pressed itself against the door of the cage – and it was bending, the wood splitting up with a sound that resonated within my chest. The jaguar roared, a sound like thunder in the sky.
Acamapichtli hadn't moved. He stood with both hands empty – they were long and supple, and in contrast to the rest of his regalia, quite bare, with no rings that could have caught on anything.
'What are you afraid of?' he asked.
At this stage, I wasn't sure if it was him or the jaguar, or both. He shifted – and all of a sudden his skin shone a dark orange, and his eyes were two black pits ringed with yellow, the same as the animal within its cage. Even the fluid, confident way he moved seemed to echo the beast's.
'Acamapichtli–' I started.
The jaguar threw itself against the door of the cage, and the wood, with a final sputtering sound, gave way. The entire latticework of wood exploded, but I had no time to focus on this, because the jaguar leapt out and ran straight towards me – muscles bunching up for a leap, and all I could see was its open mouth with the fangs glinting – my hand went towards the knife, a fraction of a moment too late – the beast was almost upon me, its jaw extending to clamp around my skull…
And then, abruptly, it was on the ground in front of me, its legs scrambling for purchase, desperate to get up – and Acamapichtli stood over it, holding it down with both hands. He didn't even look to be in a sweat. The beast kicked and yowled, and made a racket strong enough to wake up the dead, and its claws raked the ground, sinking into the earth – but it made no difference. Acamapichtli still held on. He might as well have been a rock.
My heart was threatening to burst out of my chest, but I didn't move, either – -just stood there, watching.
At length, the jaguar's struggles grew weaker; its legs quieted, its whole body heaving with huge breaths that didn't seem to sustain it. Then it grew quieter still – the face, flopping back towards me, bore the unmoving glaze of the dead.
Acamapichtli stood away from the beast, withdrawing the noose he'd coiled around its neck. He didn't even spare me a glance. In the darkness, his eyes still shone yellow, and his face had lengthened, with a suggestion of a muzzle. The fingers of his hands, too, seemed to be longer and sharper.
'O Lord, Our Lord
O Provider, O Lord of Verdure
Lord of Tlalocan, Lord of the Sweet-Scented Marigold, Lord of the Smoky Copal…'
Acamapichtli withdrew the worship thorns from the earth in a single flourish, and walked back to the jaguar. He drove them into the pelt, at the height of the spine.
'In the Blessed Land of the Drowned
The dead men play at balls, they cast the reeds
They sip the nectar of numerous sweet and fragrant flowers
Grant us leave, O Lord, Beloved Lord,
