attend the Imperial Audience, I can go. But you cannot detach yourself from what we do.'
'I do the vigils,' I said finally, still surprised that he'd judge me. I had not paid enough attention to him, seeing him as part of responsibilities I didn't want to accept. My mistake.
Ichtaca shook his head. The conch-shell around his neck clinked, softly, against his necklace of jade. 'This isn't about vigils. It's about–' He pushed both hands into the ground, obviously frustrated at his inability to find the right words. He said, finally, 'Someone has to stand for what we do. Someone has to make us into more than individual priests: into the clergy of Mictlantecuhtli.'
'I'm not a leader,' I said.
'Then be a figurehead,' Ichtaca said. He sounded – not angry, but desperate. 'Most priests in this temple haven't even seen your face. You keep to your house. You keep to yourself. It can't work. If all you wanted was this, you should have stayed in Coyoacan.'
'Understand this,' I said, annoyed now. 'I didn't ask to be posted here. I wanted to stay in Coyoacan.' Doing what I had always done: caring for the small, the forgotten; those who could not attain the glorious ends of warriors, but who would still be mourned.
Ichtaca made a grimace. Plainly, he didn't believe me. 'It's a political appointment.'
'Yes,' I snapped. 'The Guardian campaigned for it.'
'You had to–'
'Refuse? How do you refuse an Imperial Edict?'
He knew, as I well did, that you couldn't.
Ichtaca was silent for a while. 'You may not have wanted it, but it doesn't change anything. Everyone needs someone to look up to, and you're not filling this space.'
'I can't,' I said. 'You know I can't.'
Ichtaca's face tightened. 'Be there. In this temple. Know what goes on. Speak to everyone, offering priest or novice priest. I can do the rest.'
'And that's all you want?'
'No,' Ichtaca said. 'I want you to lead us. But it will have to do, for the time being.'
'That's not…'
'It is possible,' Ichtaca said.
'Not right now,' I said, obscurely embarrassed. 'I have to leave on a journey.'
Ichtaca's face didn't move, but I knew the expression. Disappointment. Anger. It was the one Father had borne all his life; and even in the blankness of death I'd still seen it engraved on his face.
'When I come back…' I said.
Ichtaca smiled, half-sadly, half-angrily. He didn't believe me. And I couldn't blame him. But I'd never been meant for this place, for this function. Everything in this temple confirmed that I was just a fraud.
If only I could resign. But it wasn't a possibility.
'I'll be gone for six days,' I said.
Ichtaca smiled, though there was no joy in it. 'On an official journey?'
'No, not quite,' I said, embarrassed. 'It has to do with Priestess Eleuia.'
Ichtaca pursed his lips. I didn't like the light that had come into his eyes. 'It's an official journey, then. Take two of the priests with you.'
'But–'
'I won't let it be said that our High Priest has no escort when he goes on temple business.'
He looked at me: like Teomitl, waiting for me to defy him, to contradict his authority. Knowing that I couldn't. 'Very well,' I said. 'I'll take the priests. We'll talk about the rest when I come back.'
I was once more avoiding confrontation, but there was no other way. Huei had to be avenged; and I had to understand who was threatening Neutemoc, who was threatening Mihmatini and my nephews and nieces.
Because they were the only priests I knew, I asked Ezamahual and Palli to come with us. Both of them looked surprised by the request. In fact, knowing their taste for staying inside the temple, I would have expected them to refuse. But of course, no one could refuse their High Priest.
'Where are we going?' Ezamahual asked.
'Chalca. And then to the foot of Popocatepetl's volcano.'
'I'll take some supplies,' Palli said.
He also took along Ezamahual, who as a novice priest was beneath him in the hierarchy of the temple. When they both came out of the storehouse, Ezamahual was burdened with equipment: he carried several cages containing macaws and owls, and a heavy bag that Palli would not let me open. 'You never know what you might need, Acatl-tzin.'
We went back to Neutemoc's house. My brother was waiting for us in the courtyard, with one slave by his side: a tall, dour fellow by the name of Tepalotl, who carried my brother's bag.
'Priests?' Neutemoc asked, looking sceptically at Ezamahual and Palli.
Palli bristled. 'The High Priest's escort,' he said.
'I see,' was all Neutemoc would say. 'Mihmatini said she had something to give us.'
My sister finally emerged from the house, with a bundle of maize flatbread. 'You'll need that,' she said, handing it to Palli. The smell of spices wafted from her callused hands – and for an eerie moment she was the image of Mother, standing in the courtyard, watching Father go out to the fields, in those bygone days when Neutemoc and I had still been children, daring each other to dive in the lake.
I shook my head, still hearing Ceyaxochitl's voice.
'Anything wrong?' Mihmatini asked.
She'd always been perceptive. Too much, perhaps. 'No, nothing. Thank you,' I said.
