'I'm saying what we all know. Teomitl has always been frustrated by his brother's behaviour. I wouldn't blame him for attempting to displace him, but I can't condone the attempt.'
'I can't either,' I said. 'I want him stopped before this foolishness takes its course.' I wasn't even sure if that was the reason he had disappeared; if my worst fears were true and he had finally set himself irrevocably on this – at odds with the safety of the Fifth World – and with me. I–
'As I said–' Nezahual-tzin shook his head. 'I can't take part in this.'
Because – because, when and if the dust settled, and we had a new Revered Speaker, he needed to have remained neutral in order to ingratiate himself to whoever it turned out to be. 'You have neither face nor heart.' The words – the insult – were out of my mouth before I could think.
Nezahual-tzin watched me, and said nothing. 'Will that be all?'
Why had I ever thought he could help in anything? I bowed, sarcastically, before my temper could fray any further. 'That will be all, my Lord.'
I was so annoyed by the conversation with Nezahual-tzin that we went through several courtyards before I became aware the world was swimming again around me.
Oh no, not again. What was wrong with me? This time, Lord Death hadn't touched me, and there were no shadows nearby.
And yet… I had the same hollow in my stomach, the same slight sense of nausea, as if the Fifth World would tear itself apart at any moment – as if we danced on the brink of the abyss, unaware that the slightest step out of place would send us all tumbling down into darkness.
Ezamahual seemed unconcerned – in all likelihood, he wasn't sensitive enough; he hadn't been there last year atop the Great Temple, when the hole in the Fifth World had gaped open, and I'd almost collapsed.
But why here, of all places?
Xiloxoch was not among the young warriors laughing and lounging near the steambaths. For that matter, neither was Teomitl, though the startled looks I got when asking about them looked slightly too guilty for my own peace of mind.
One warrior, though, remembered Xiloxoch had come by, and had walked off in the direction of the prisoners' quarters – which was a better lead than no lead at all.
As we walked back to the prisoners' quarters, leaving behind the bustle of the various courts, the sense of oppression didn't diminish. If anything, it became worse, pressing against my chest, making the air in my lungs sear. I felt as if my skin were sloughing off, coming away in flakes and whole pieces, and there was a vague sense of something, just beyond the borders of my perception – something huge and unspeakable that would swoop in at any moment, taking me with it.
'Ezamahual?' I asked through gritted teeth.
His face swam out of the darkness, eyes wide open in concern. 'Is something wrong, Acatl-tzin?'
Yes. No. Why was I the only one to feel this? 'Yes. I need – to – stop for a while.'
I staggered into the nearest courtyard – which was next to the book-house and, at this late hour of the day, filled only with a few astronomers, staring thoughtfully at papers laid on the ground.
'Forgive my imprudence,' I said to the one who seemed the eldest – a wizened old man who was tracing glyphs within the grid of a calendar. 'I need to cast a spell.' Even the cane felt heavy in my hand. 'It's – somewhat pressing.'
He looked up at me. 'To Lord Death?' I nodded. 'Just do it away from the book-house, will you?'
We walked away from the book-house, to a relatively quiet part of the courtyard. One of the astronomers got up, throwing me a sympathetic glance, and went to sit closer to his companion.
I laid the cane aside for the spell; to my surprise, I could stand well enough without it, with barely a tremor in my legs. Then I slashed my earlobes with my obsidian knife, and carefully drew a circle on the ground in my own blood, calling on Lord Death to bless this place – where my blood met the ground, the stone hissed like a scalded jaguar – the magic of Mictlantecuhtli Lord Death meeting that of the Southern Hummingbird.
Silence seemed to spread from within the circle, along with a green, sickly light which oozed from beneath the ground, like sulphur from the cracks of a volcano. And when it touched me – when it wrapped itself around me, cocooning me in a magic as familiar as my own blood, my own skin – I breathed in a sigh of relief.
We set out from the courtyard. I was still leaning on the cane for support, but I found it much easier to breathe. The familiar magic of the underworld wrapped around me, as intoxicating as
Even so, the pressure remained: a thickening of the air, a slight buzzing in my ears that got worse as we approached the prisoners' quarters.
Within, the atmosphere – reverent, distant – remained the same; the prisoners watched us warily, as if our mere presence was enough to shatter the peace. One of them was playing the flute, a simple, haunting sound which climbed higher and higher like a cry of devotion.
All of this lasted for no more than a handful of breaths – and then the piece was shattered by loud voices. A man and a woman – the woman was Xiloxoch, but I couldn't place the second voice, though I knew I'd heard it before. They both came from within a building – in fact, the very building that had hosted the unfortunate Zoquitl; the conversation sounded… animated, to say the least.
'I know my rights.' Xiloxoch's voice was low and almost toneless. 'You should go away.'
'And why would I do that?' The man's voice whipped through the air like a sword's blade.
If there was an answer, I didn't wait to hear it. I flung open the entrance-curtain with as much force as I could muster – gods, I hated melodramatic entrances, but I had to concede they weren't without effect.
