priests, Acatl. We don't deal in magic.'
I shook my head. 'I know. But I still need swords, and men to wield them. Your armoury has magical obsidian.' I'd borrowed some of Mictlan's knives from it.
Ixtli sighed. He looked at the warriors again: only two men were still fighting. 'I can spare two dozen men,' he said.
It wasn't much, but it would have to do. 'Can you gather them in the barracks? I'm going to find some priests to put on our side.'
Ixtli smiled. 'That would be good. We'll gather our weapons and get ready.'
I left the barracks and stood in the rain outside the Duality House. Each drop slid on my skin, trying to replace my protections with the Storm Lord's magic.
That wasn't the most attractive prospect: I only had to think of the old woman in Mazatl's house, and of the suffocating sensation of wrongness emanating from her, in order to know the consequences of such an event.
The Sacred Precinct was deserted: a deeper, subtler sense of wrongness. There should have been pilgrims. There should have been priests, and the dull thud of sacrifices' bodies, hitting the bottom of the pyramid's steps. Instead, there was only the soft pattern of rain, drop after drop falling like tears, sinking into the muddy earth.
Through the veil of rain shone the twin lights of the Great Temple: one for Huitzilpochtli, one for Tlaloc. There, I would find help. But the priests of Tlaloc weren't on my side, and the priests of the Southern Hummingbird would be at the palace, defending the Imperial Family.
My protection was dwindling with every moment I spent outside. Both Neutemoc and Teomitl would be waiting for my purported reinforcements. I had to make a decision, and soon.
The Duality House was empty; the Jaguar Knights were dead. I could go to the Eagle Knights, but even assuming they weren't at the palace, they had no magic to help. The temple of Tezcatlipoca shimmered in the moonlight – but His priests were closely associated with the Imperial Family, and they would also be at the palace.
That left…
I turned right, towards the weakest light: that of my own temple.
I wasn't looking forward to the next few moments. But there was no choice. The more time passed, the more Teomitl and Neutemoc would grow impatient. And, knowing them, they'd then rush in, without any regard for danger.
I walked through the gates of my temple – and, as Tezcatlipoca's Fate would have it, met Ichtaca under the arcades, rising from a kneeling position. At his feet were the remains of a quincunx, the magic already fading. He had no wards, and the rain had soaked into his bones, into his skin, seeking to twist his whole being out of shape. Teomitl had been right: the Storm Lord's rule wouldn't be gentle, but rather make us all into what we were not.
'Acatl-tzin.' His voice was lightly ironic. 'I had an idea you might come. Can I help you?'
I stared at him – at the drawn eyebrows; brows, ready for a further rebuke; at the faint smile on his lips. And he was right. I had stolen through the temple like a beast of shadows among men, taking what I needed and never giving anything back. I had no claim on Ichtaca, nor on anyone within the temple – and I would never have one, for I wasn't ready to be what he wanted.
I had been wrong. It wasn't in my temple that I was going to find help. 'No,' I said, finally, 'I don't think you can help me. How do things go?'
His face didn't move. 'As well as can be, considering.' He raised his gaze to the grey skies. 'The rain isn't natural, is it?'
Surprised that he'd turn to me for answers, I blurted out, 'Why do you ask me?'
He smiled. 'You look like you might know.'
I sighed. 'No, it's not natural. Now, if you'll excuse me…'
Ichtaca looked at me for a while; and at the remnants of his quincunx. Then he said softly, with the edge of a drawn knife, 'Running away again, are we?'
How dare he? 'I have no time,' I said.
'Haven't you? You came for something, didn't you?'
'There's no need for it any more,' I snapped. If I tarried too much, Teomitl and Neutemoc would lose their patience and rush in. I had no time to fence with Ichtaca. I needed to find some other place for reinforcements…
Ichtaca's face was a mask of weariness. 'I think there is. Again – what did you want?'
Exasperated, I flung into his face, 'I came to ask for help against creatures of Tlaloc. But you were right. I have no claim on this temple, or on anyone within.'
Ichtaca was silent for a while, but some of the irony was gone from his features. 'That's not what I told you,' he said.
'No,' I said. 'But I can't do what you want. I'm no leader of men.'
Ichtaca traced the outlines of his quincunx with the point of his sandal; staring at the ground. 'No,' he said. 'But where will you find your help?'
'There are other places,' I said, knowing that there weren't.
'I don't think you'd have come here if there had been.' Ichtaca finished retracing his quincunx, and looked up. 'I'm no fool, Acatltzin. Whatever the rain is, it's not on our side. And a spell of this magnitude can only mean one thing: that the Fifth World is in danger.' His lips had tightened to threads of pale pink. 'I'm no fool,' he repeated. 'Whatever I think of you can have no bearing on our duty. If you need help, I won't deny you.'
'You don't understand,' I said, still trying to take in what he was saying. 'I have no guarantee–'
'That we'll survive.' Ichtaca's face was grim. 'Do we ever have one? Lord Death takes whom He pleases, when He pleases.'
'Then–' I could hardly believe what I was hearing.
