'I'm not lying.' I still stood in the entrance; and He still did not strike me down, although it was only a matter of time before He grew bored with me.
'You are protecting her,' the Wind of Knives said, 'because she is of your blood.'
'She isn't of my blood,' I said. But as I said it, I realised that all I had given Him, all my reasons for His not killing Huei, were indeed just convenient lies. If I dug deep enough, the real reason didn't have anything to do with the investigation: it was that I couldn't face the thought of Huei's death. It wasn't just. There could be no exceptions. But I could not let Him pass. I could not let Him kill Huei. It went beyond reason.
I stood as tall as I could; and I raised the knife that Mictlantecuhtli had blessed, feeling the power of the underworld seep into my flesh. 'I cannot let you pass,' I whispered.
He came, again, to stand in front of me. Once more the wind keened into my ears; once more, I heard an endless lament for the dead, echoing in my mind.
'This knife?' He said. He reached out, plucked it from my fingers, and snapped it in two. 'You're not Mictlantecuhtli's agent, Acatl. You have scraps of His power, but not enough to stop Me. And it is as it should be.'
Before I could break out of my shocked stupor, He'd reached out again and enfolded me into His embrace. The obsidian shards dug into my flesh, each a source of fiery pain that spread outwards. I gritted my teeth not to scream and bit my tongue, so hard that blood flowed into my mouth.
He lifted me upwards effortlessly, gaining speed as He did so. In a brief, panicked moment, as I spun under the pitiless gaze of the stars, I saw what He was going to do: throw me out of His way like a sack of useless refuse.
I tried to grope for a hold, anything I could use to slow Him down. But my good hand closed only on cold, cutting shards, which I couldn't hold. His hands opened, releasing me. I fell, the lament of Mictlan's souls rising in my ears as the ground got closer and closer.
I had time to think on how thoughtless I had been, seconds before the Wind's hands closed again, catching me a hand-span from the ground. Pain blossomed everywhere He touched me, in my left leg, in my left hand, rising to meld with that coming from my chest.
Almost gently, the Wind of Knives laid me on the ground. 'You serve well. But do not presume to interfere,' He said, even as He walked away into the house.
I lay on the ground, amidst the discarded bandages. The smell of pulque rose to fill my nostrils. I struggled to get up. Blood ran down my chest: the beast's wounds had re-opened. Teomitl would be angry, I thought, with a short, wry laugh. But even that slight contraction of my abdominal muscles hurt. Every movement I made was constrained by pain. After one or two attempts, I gave up, and fell back onto the ground. I lay there, feeling pain rise within me like the steady beat of drums at the sacrifices.
He was in the house now, killing Huei. Things were as they should be, as He had said. I thought of Neutemoc in his cage – and of Huei's proud, bitter face as she told me about her family's future – and a different pain took hold in my chest.
What a fool I had been. The underworld's justice could not be swayed, or even delayed. In my mind, the familiar pressure of the Wind of Knives receded: giving way before the pain, I thought, dizzily.
'Acatl?' A familiar voice: my sister's, I realised. My head turned towards her, instinctively. Pain shot up my neck, but it was almost muted compared to the pain in my chest.
All I could see of Mihmatini were her sandals, and then her deerembroidered skirt, as she knelt on the ground. 'You're hurt.'
'Tell me something else,' I whispered.
She snorted. 'Men! Why must you always be heroes?'
'I didn't–' My reasons were too much work to articulate.
'It looks like you did try,' she said, then: 'Can you bring some maguey sap?' I presumed she was speaking to a slave.
'What happened?' I asked. 'The Wind–'
'He's gone, Acatl.'
Gone? Then that was the real reason why the pressure in my mind had lessened.
Mihmatini's fingers ran over my chest, slowly, with the efficiency of a healer: gestures she'd probably learnt in school. For all that, I still couldn't help sucking in my breath as she probed the beast's claw-marks.
'Sorry,' she said. 'I'll go more carefully. Where in the Fifth World did you get those?'
'The beast of shadows,' I said, curtly. 'Huei.'
'She's gone, too,' Mihmatini said. 'While you were outside temporising with the Wind, she left by the back door. The Wind is chasing her. She's slightly ahead of him; but she cast some kind of spell before leaving. It certainly seemed to slow Him down.' She sounded halfway between horror and admiration. Her hands held me, effortlessly, as I struggled to rise. 'Don't be a fool. You're leaking blood all over the courtyard. You won't go far.'
'I need to–'
'You need some bandages, and rest.' She sighed. 'Knowing you, I'll settle for the bandages. Don't worry. We'll get you healed.' More feet in my field of view: naked this time, with calluses. Slaves.
'Here,' Mihmatini said.
That was all the advance warning I got: for the second time this night, maguey sap was poured onto my wounds, and the pain that spread from the contact points was almost worse than before. Tears filled my eyes by the time they were finished applying the lotion.
'Here,' Mihmatini said at last, and hands lifted me, propped me upright. 'Don't move.'
I wasn't planning on that.
She was silent as the slaves dressed my wounds and splinted my arm again: Teomitl's makeshift device had got broken in my aborted fall.
When they were finished, the slaves left. I was feeling more and more like a funeral bundle: bandages tightened around my whole chest, and spread downwards on my left leg. But at least I could move – not much, the bandages constrained me tightly – and I was ready to leave. Mihmatini helped me to my feet.
