The shelter turned out to be a room in the Duality House, where Mihmatini tended to my wounds with an exasperated sigh. My cloak was ruined; my belt had frayed in the battle, and my knives were gone: the obsidian blessed by Mictlantecuhtli had disintegrated in the rush of the Hummingbird's magic.
'Acatl,' Mihmatini said, shaking her head.
Teomitl was leaning against one of the walls, watching me. 'Ceyaxochitl thought you might need help getting out of the Jaguar House,' he said.
Imperial help. The words were on my lips, but wouldn't get out.
'There,' Mihmatini said, tying the last of the bandages into place. 'I've put a minor spell of healing on it, but it won't hold if you overexert yourself.' She stared curiously at Teomitl. 'And thank you for getting him out of trouble.'
Teomitl's smile was radiant. 'My pleasure. I am Teomitl.' He bowed slightly.
'Mihmatini. I'm his sister.' She rolled her eyes upwards. 'And designated healer, obviously. Sometimes, I wonder why I bother. You're a priest, too?'
'Not exactly,' Teomitl said. 'I'm training to be a warrior. I hope to be a worthy one.'
Mihmatini smiled at him again. 'I'm sure you will.' There was an uncomfortable silence.
No, not quite uncomfortable. I realised, with a shock, that she and Teomitl were both staring at each other with an interest that was obvious, and my presence here was superfluous, except as a chaperone.
I cleared my throat, startling both of them out of their trance. 'We should join Neutemoc.'
He was waiting for us in the next room, seated on a reed mat. Mihmatini hesitated on the doorstep, staring at both of us. Finally she shrugged. 'I'll see you afterwards,' she said to Teomitl, smiling again.
Teomitl bowed to her. 'I hope so.' I shook my head, amused in spite of myself.
Slaves brought us hot chocolate. I cradled the clay glass in my hand, feeling the warmth dissipate the last of the creatures' numbness.
Teomitl sat cross-legged between Neutemoc and me, taking on the role of shield without realising it. Neutemoc's hands rested in his lap; clenched into fists. 'What is happening, Acatl?' he asked in a tone that clearly implied I should be able to explain everything.
'I don't know,' I said. Rain was pelting the roof above our heads. But it was more than rain. Each drop that fell down was mingled with magic: a bittersweet tang that I could smell, even from inside. 'Tlaloc is coming,' I said.
For revenge. For faith, Commander Quiyahuayo had said.
A brief tinkle of bells, soon muffled, heralded Yaotl's arrival. He leant against one of the walls, his back digging into the stylised frescoes of fused lovers.
Beside me, Teomitl was silent for a while, pondering, an uncharacteristically mature expression on his face. 'My brother is weak,' he said. 'And as his health wanes, so does Huitzilpochtli's ability to protect us.'
Neutemoc stared at his glass of chocolate as if it held deep secrets. He said, finally, 'I'd much rather believe that you're both mad.'
Teomitl said nothing.
'But something is going on. Something unnatural,' Neutemoc went on. He looked at me. Despite his grievance towards me, still believing that I could set right anything magical.
'Tlaloc,' I said. 'His child – the one he and the Quetzal Flower fashioned, the one Eleuia bore within her womb – the tool for His coup. But we're not strong enough to find him. Ceyaxochitl…'
She was the agent of the Duality in the Fifth World. She would have some powers, constrained by her human nature, but hopefully still enough to do some damage.
Yaotl spoke up. 'She's at the palace. I don't know about what you're saying. But Mistress Ceyaxochitl agrees with you: this isn't normal rain.'
She was the Guardian for the Sacred Precinct. How could she be away when such a thing happened? 'She has to know–' I started.
Yaotl shook his head. 'She felt it, Acatl. But she has to remain where she is.'
'Why?' I asked, at the same moment as Neutemoc said, 'The Emperor.'
Of course. The ailing Emperor: the last remnants of the Southern Hummingbird's power, our last defence against Tlaloc. If he died, nothing would protect us.
From what? Would one god replacing another really be that disastrous? After all, Huitzilpochtli had done nothing in particular for me or mine. I thought of the creatures, mindlessly gorging on power, and of Jaguar Knights lying dead in their own Houses. The Storm Lord's rule would not be gentle.
Teomitl was watching me, his gaze disturbingly shrewd. 'The Southern Hummingbird protects us. Tlaloc is one of the Old Ones. He brings drought and floods on a whim.'
'He brings famine,' I said, remembering how Eleuia had suffered during the Great Famine.
Teomitl said, 'Do you want to gamble everything on the Storm Lord's gentleness?'
On a god's… humanity? 'No,' I said. 'I would rather keep the old order.' To gods and goddesses such as Xochiquetzal, we'd always be toys: easily subjugated, easily broken. 'But we're still nothing compared to His powers. And you forget: we don't know where the child is.'
Obviously not at the palace, or the panic would be stronger than that. Commander Quiyahuayo and the Jaguar Knights had known. But they were dead now, all of them.
'How long do you think we have?' Neutemoc asked.
I stifled a bitter laugh. Who could tell what went on in the mind of a god?
