‘I don’t believe it!’ I cried ‘He’s set fire to the temple!’
9
I stood transfixed, my eyes fixed on the sight of the burning temple. I knew, without asking, that anyone else who saw what I was looking at would be feeling the same as I. Shock, fear and despair tumbled into and out of my mind, leaving behind them only a kind of hollowness.
The thatched roof of the shrine had caught now. The crackling had become a roar, as the flames reared up, lighting up the plaza and the surrounding streets. As I watched, there came a loud crash and a sheet of yellow fire enveloped the top of the pyramid: the roof had collapsed.
This was more than an audacious act of vandalism, more even than sacrilege. The captain and the sorcerer had burned the temple. It was the gesture that ended wars, for to seize and destroy your enemy’s temple signalled to both friend and foe that the fighting was over. No Aztec, certainly no man who had ever served in an army, could see it without knowing at once what had happened or to whom the day belonged. That was why they had started the fire. The otomi wanted us to know that he had won, and that there was nothing we could do now but settle with him on whatever terms he allowed.
It was no use hoping someone in authority would notice the fire and come to put it out. Everyone would assume that the parish police would deal with it, or call for help if they could not. But the parish police were helpless, as mesmerised as I was by the sight of their temple in flames. The first sign of movement that distracted my eyes from the leaping flames was the men around me in the courtyard relinquishing their posts to stand together in the middle of the entrance, staring up at the blaze while their shadows danced behind them.
Then came the sound of laughter.
It was unearthly. It was laughter unlike anything I had ever heard before, like a girlish giggle but deep, as if it came from a throat large enough to give it a hollow ring.
I stared at the middle of the plaza.
There was a solitary figure there, plainly visible now in the spreading firelight. He stood quite still, as though rooted, directly in front of the entrance to the parish hall. Only his long shadow moved with the flickering flames. No more words came from him but his unmoving presence was like a challenge. It was as if he were daring us to come out and fight him.
I watched, appalled, as Lion prepared to take up the dare.
I did not hear the order. The first I knew of it was when my brother was through the courtyard and racing out into the open, the plaza ringing with his war-cry. The others were close behind him and then, caught by the same urgency that drove them, by the same pent-up anger and fear, so was I, the scream of rage tearing itself free of my throat as I ran.
Nobody remembered their orders. Instead of spreading out, we all ran straight ahead, converging on the lone figure in the plaza like wasps on a honeycomb. Incredibly, we seemed to have taken our foe by surprise. He made no move, even when Lion was upon him, swinging his sword and then leaping backwards to avoid the counter-blow while first one and then the other of his followers ran in to the attack. For a moment our enemy was the eye of a storm of whirling blades and flying blood. Before I got to him he had fallen, hitting the ground with an audible crash.
‘We got him!’ Lion’s cry of triumph rang in my ears as I ran up my comrades. My footsteps slowed as I stared at the scene, taking it in with a mounting horror that made itself known by the churning in my guts and a small, helpless noise forcing itself out of my throat.
Handy yelled: ‘We did it, Yaotl! We…’
I pushed my way through into the middle of the little group around the dead man. I stared at the corpse. It was badly mangled but the face, contorted with agony though it was, was unmistakable. So were the ropes that had been used to secure it and the wooden frame it had been tied to.
I whiled to face Lion. ‘That’s not the otomi!’ I yelled. ‘Where is he?’
My brother stared blankly at me. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘It’s Huitztic! It’s old Black Feathers’ steward! They killed him and left him here as a decoy!’ I screamed. ‘Now where’s the otomi? And where’s the sorcerer?’
Even as I posed the question, I knew it was too late.
He had stationed himself against the outer wall of the parish hall, just paces away from where my brother and I had been crouching. Now, while we stared stupidly at the decoy he had set up for us, he sprang his trap.
He did not look like a human. He was a dark shape, casting a shadow that could have been made by an animal, a tree, a tower or a god. But he was moving with more purpose than any animal, coming across the plaza with a measured tread that showed contempt for his enemies in every step he took.
I had never seen him in his full uniform before.
It was not merely a means of distinguishing himself from others or rallying the men under his
