unmistakable. 'Tlaloc had His world, too. But the Storm Lord has always been greedy for more.'
'Don't you want revenge?' I asked, softly.
Chalchiutlicue's eyes were unfathomable. 'I told you. I care little either way. Huitzilpochtli will tumble, without any need for Our intervention.'
'Is there nothing that will persuade you?' I asked. 'So much is at stake…' The Imperial Family. The safety of Tenochtitlan. The balance maintained by the Duality.
Laughter, like storm-waves. 'You would sacrifice something to Me, priest? Your endless regrets? Your pitiful virginity, so carefully preserved? Your first-born child?' Her voice turned malicious. 'But of course, that's something you've given up on.'
Every word of Hers dug claws into my heart, and slowly squeezed, until the world blurred around me. 'I–'
'Your allegiance?' She said. 'You're sworn to another, and Mictlantecuhtli doesn't let go of what's His. You have nothing to give Me.'
Neutemoc's face was white, but he didn't move. He stood as if paralysed. It was another who broke the silence.
'No,' Teomitl said. 'He has nothing to give. But I have.' His face was transfigured by a harsh joy. Here was what he had been waiting for, all along: a chance to be useful, to prove his valour.
Chalchiutlicue turned towards him; the invisible claws around my chest opened one by one, freeing my heart. 'One of the Southern Hummingbird's devotees? That's an amusing thought.' Her eyes narrowed. 'You're–'
'Yes,' Teomitl said. He'd thrown back his warrior's cloak, revealing a simple glyph of turquoise on his chest: the colour of the Imperial Family. 'Will you accept my allegiance?'
The goddess's face was a mask, and I could almost hear Her calculations. Was this a trap? An opportunity She couldn't ignore? 'Your god is also jealous,' She said, finally.
'But not careful,' Teomitl said. 'He has hundreds of devotees over the land.'
Chalchiutlicue's eyes narrowed again. 'But there would be no gain, would there?'
Teomitl shrugged. 'I've always thought the Great Temple was disharmonious. There should be rooms for more gods, shouldn't there? For the peasants as well as the warriors; for the waters as well as the battles.'
'Don't lie to Me. You're a warrior,' the Jade Skirt said. 'All that matters to you is glory on the battlefield.'
Teomitl shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'The only glory comes from winning battles. But there are many battlefields.'
'In My realm?'
'Fighting currents,' Teomitl said, simply. 'Struggling not to capsize in a storm. Swimming ashore with the ahuizotls surrounding you, eager for your eyes and fingernails…'
She regarded him for a while. By Teomitl's shocked, blank gaze, She was probing into his mind, as she had into mine. 'You are sincere,' She said, finally. 'When you become Revered Speaker – will you re-establish My worship?' She didn't, I noticed, say 'if', but simply assumed it was certain that Teomitl would succeed Tizoctzin – who in turn would succeed Axayacatl-tzin.
If Teomitl noticed that, he gave no sign. 'Should I ever become Revered Speaker, I'll make You and Your husband a worthy temple: a building so great that everyone will prostrate themselves on seeing it, so magnificent that it will be the talk of the land…'
Chalchiutlicue laughed, but it was amused laughter: waves lapping at a child's feet, a stream gently gurgling over stones. 'Will it?' She asked. 'That would be something to see indeed, child of the Obsidian Snake. I should wait for it.'
'Will you accept my allegiance, then?' Teomitl asked, impatient as ever. Someone was really going to have to teach him forbearance, or he'd never survive at the Imperial Court.
The Jade Skirt watched him for a while, perhaps weighing Her choices. 'That would be interesting,' She said. 'Amusing, if nothing else. Yes, child. I'll take your offer.'
Power blazed from the heart of the lake, welling up from the earth in an irresistible geyser. It wrapped itself around Teomitl like a second mantle, sank into his skin until his bones echoed with its ponderous beat. He fell to his knees in the mud, gasping for breath.
Neutemoc, finally finding some energy, took a step towards him. I laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Wait,' I said. Intervening would just make things worse, both for Teomitl and for us.
Teomitl's head came up, in a fluid, blurred gesture that had nothing human about it. His eyes were the colour of jade: a mirror of Chalchiutlicue's triumphant gaze. His mouth opened; but all that came out was a moan, a shapeless lament.
'Feel it,' Chalchiutlicue whispered. Her voice made the ground tremble under our feet. 'Feel it, child of the Obsidian Snake…'
Teomitl closed his eyes. His head fell down again; his back slumped, as if under a burden too heavy to bear.
In the silence, all we could hear was his breath, slow and laboured. Something cold and slimy bumped against my legs: one of the ahuizotls, creeping closer to Teomitl. I bent down, instinctively, to recover my obsidian knives from the mud into which Chalchiutlicue had flung them.
'No!' Her voice was the thunderclap of the storm. 'He made his choice, priest. Let him bear the consequences.'
In the eerie silence of Chalchiutlicue's Meadows, the ahuizotls converged towards Teomitl. They formed a wide, malevolent ring, circling him like a flock of vultures, and their hypnotic song rose, slowly, faintly, ringing in my chest like a second heartbeat:
