Harbinger of the Storm - By Aliette De Bodard Page 0,109
chance he knew exactly what we were going to do, and a small but not insignificant one that he was somehow listening to every word we said.
”Yes,” I said finally. “We should be ready.”
We arrived in Teotihuacan, the Birthplace of the Gods, the following morning as the Fifth Sun crested the nearby mountain. The first thing we saw looming out of the morning haze were the pyramids, the towering monuments left by the gods in the beginning of this age. They were massive, as large – or even larger – than the Great Temple, mounds of ochre stone dwarfing their boundary wall, their white steps like a beacon of light.
The city itself was away from the religious complex, in a curve in the banks of a river. It was a much smaller affair than Tenochtitlan or even Texcoco, a profusion of temples and houses of adobe, with barely any ostentation. The streets were narrow but straight, set in the same grid pattern as all the cities of the valley. I kept expecting to see canals, but we were on dry land, and the only water was in the mud squelching under our sandals.
It was, and had always been, a place of pilgrimage, and as a result many residential complexes had been turned into temporary accommodation. Nezahual-tzin settled us into a mid-sized one – two courtyards, seven rooms spread around them – before dragging us out again to the nearest temples to ask if anyone had come looking for a powerful protection spell.
When we came back empty-handed, he snorted, and retired into the adjoining sweat-bath.
”The same ritual?” Teomitl asked.
”Why waste energy trying something else?” I couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
”Acatl-tzin?”
”He’s not thinking properly,” I said. “There is a much easier way of finding our missing councilman.”
Teomitl looked at me blankly. I sighed. “Think on it. Whatever happened at the palace, it had them all frightened for their lives. Pezotic came here looking for safety–”
”Oh,” Teomitl said. He walked to the gates of the compound, and stared at the pyramids in the distance. “The safest place is the religious complex, isn’t it?”
The complex was mostly pyramids, but not only that. Under the massive limestone structures the gods had buried Their physical bodies, the ones they had sacrificed to give the Fifth Sun His nourishment in blood. If any place in the Fifth World was brimming in magic, if any place was safe, under the gaze of every god in the universe, it was that complex.
”It’s huge,” Teomitl said. “We can’t possibly–”
”Magic could help.” Not the huge, strenuous magic that came straight from the gods, and that either Teomitl or Nezahual-tzin practised almost as a second nature, but the small spells, the ones anyone could learn, the faithful tools that had served me so well over the years. One in particular…
I could have waited until Nezahual-tzin was more advanced in his meditation. But, with such heavy stakes, I couldn’t afford to play games. I was no Tizoc-tzin, and no Quenami. I had sworn to uphold the balance of the universe, and so I would.
“Come on. Let’s go see him,” I said.
To say that Nezahual-tzin was less than taken by the idea would have been an understatement. His grimace grew more pronounced as I explained myself, until I came at last to a faltering halt.
”That won’t work,” he said.
”I don’t see why not,” I said.
”You’re counting on the complex being mostly empty.”
”It is,” I said. “Except for pilgrims, and it’s not the season for them.”
”Still…” Nezahual-tzin scratched his chin, as if his beard were bothering him. “The death-sight doesn’t work like that, Acatl.”
”You’ve never cast it,” I pointed out. He had so much power he didn’t bother with such small spells.
”I know.” Nezahual-tzin said. “You’ll be able to see all living beings within the radius of its effect, but that’s not going to allow you to discriminate.”
I had my own idea about this, too, but I saw no need to explain. He would have found it mad. Our Revered Speaker had grown too used to magic coming with barely any cost, to the point where he barely could envision functioning without it. As High Priest of a god who interfered very little with the mortal world, I’d learnt when to use spells, and when to refrain from shedding blood.
”Fine. If you don’t believe it will work, will you at least allow us to try?”
His eyes narrowed. I could tell what he was thinking: was this our ploy to escape him?