term could be applied to Her. 'But if you reject it…' She made a sweeping gesture with Her hands, and the room, too, seemed to shrink.
'I… am not Your servant.'
'No.' Her voice was angry, or perhaps bitter? 'You never were. Go bury yourself with the dead, Acatl, if you can't deal with what makes us alive.'
'I–' I started, slowly, wondering why her accusation cut me to the core.
Xochiquetzal smiled, a sated cat once more; but I could feel the undercurrent of frustration in her stance. Next to me, the two quetzal birds had grown still, devouring each other with their gazes.
'The baby's father?' Xochiquetzal asked.
'Give me his name,' I whispered. 'The proper offerings have been made. The hymn was sung, and the dance was right, every step of it.'
The Quetzal Flower let go of the jade bracelets. They crashed to the ground, shattered into a thousand pieces. I could have wept at Her casual rejection; but those weren't my thoughts, they were Hers. I was – a priest, first and foremost – a man with an indicted brother. I had no desires of my own: no lovers, no children, no mark on the world.
No.
Still Her thoughts.
'Give me his name,' I said, again, articulating each syllable, letting the familiar sounds anchor me to the Fifth World.
On Her chair, the Quetzal Flower hissed. But finally she spoke. 'His name? He was a man who loved her. A warrior she met in the Chalca Wars, and who understood her like no one else could.' She paused, rubbed at Her eyes, and She was no goddess, just a middle-aged woman with an ailment that wouldn't go away. 'You never understood her, Acatl. You went right and left, and you think you can encompass her.'
'No,' I said, and it was the truth. 'I know nothing about her. But there's no time. I need the father's name.'
'There always is time,' Xochiquetzal said, shaking Her head. And She went on as if I hadn't spoken. 'Her parents had to sell her during the Great Famine, did you know? Because they were poor and couldn't feed her, they offered her to the first rich man who came along.'
'I don't see what this has to do…' A name. I needed a name that I could give to Pinahui-tzin, so that Neutemoc would be free. A name, so that I could know the truth.
'He was a bully,' the Quetzal Flower said. She shook her head. 'He bought her because he needed a slave on whom to release his anger, and he beat her every time she did something out of turn.'
'Slaves aren't treated that badly,' I said. 'She could have complained–'
'To whom? She was eight at the time, Acatl. She didn't know better.'
'It's interesting, but–'
'She wanted to be safe,' Xochiquetzal said. 'After the Great Famine was over, and her parents bought her back, she swore to herself that her family wouldn't ever starve again, that she would have enough power to be sheltered from harm. But in this world, there's no such thing.' She smiled. 'She swore Herself to me, because priests never go hungry.'
Safe. All that, to be hated and despised by everyone?
As if She'd read my thoughts, the Quetzal Flower said, 'But a woman shouldn't grasp for power. It's unseemly, isn't it? Her superiors thought her over-ambitious. Her peers thought her obsessed. Her lovers – and she had many – thought her uncanny. Such is the price.'
'Please…' I said. 'There's no time…'
'In the Chalca Wars, she met a man. A warrior who made no claim on her, who didn't judge her. A good man, who would fight to see that the proper sacrifices were offered, although he was too hot-headed at times.'
Neutemoc. It sounded far too much like Neutemoc. Please, Duality, no.
'She bore his child, and would have raised him, too, if he hadn't died at birth.'
'Stop going around in circles. His name,' I said. Her story was over. There was nothing else She could add. She had to give me his name, to banish my doubts.
She watched me, uncannily serene. 'Mahuizoh of the Coatlan calpulli.'
'He isn't here,' the Jaguar guard said, angrily. 'How many times do I have to tell you?'
The warrior of the Duality who headed my detachment – Ixtli, the same one who'd headed the unsuccessful search parties – put a hand on his macuahitl sword. 'We have the right to search this house.'
If the guard hadn't had both hands full, one around the shellgrip of his spear, one holding his feathered shield, he'd have thrown them in the air. 'You can search all you want. What I'm telling you is that I haven't seen Mahuizoh come here. And I've been on guard duty since noon.'
'So where is he?' I asked, intervening before matters turned sour.
The guard shrugged. 'I'm not a calendar priest. I don't do divination. All I know is–'
'Yes. We understood that, I think.' Ixtli turned to me. 'Do you want us to search the House?'
I was about to nod, not caring overmuch about making enemies of the Jaguar Knights at this juncture. But someone interrupted us.
'What seems to be the problem here?' a voice asked, behind me.
I turned. My gaze met that of a Knight in Jaguar regalia, but somehow different. The plume behind the jaguar's head was made of emerald-green quetzal tail-feathers, enough to be worth a fortune; the sword at his belt was decorated with turquoise, carnelian and lapis in addition to obsidian shards. His hands, tanned and callused, bore several rings, all of good craftsmanship.
'This man wants to search the Jaguar House, Commander Quiyahuayo.'
