Harbinger of the Storm - By Aliette De Bodard Page 0,116

shook his head, refusing to meet my gaze. Fine. I could do the telling myself.

It was a long story, but Nezahual-tzin didn’t interrupt me once. Neither did Teomitl, although his face grew darker and darker as I progressed.

”You’re sure about this?” Nezahual-tzin asked, to my welcome surprise. I’d expected him to protest or argue with the same usual enigmatic expression on his face. Instead, he unfolded his lanky frame, and walked closer to Pezotic, who all but hung between two of the warriors like a children’s boneless doll. He studied the man for a while. I couldn’t see his expression, but I knew he’d be showing nothing of what he felt.

”I won’t ask you whether this is true.” There was an edge of contempt to his voice I’d never heard before. “Seeing that you’d probably twist the truth any way you saw fit. This is your source, Acatl?”

I nodded. Nezahual-tzin turned back to me. “And you trust him.”

”Not at all,” I said. “I wish I could discard everything he’s told me. But it fits the facts all too well.”

Nezahual-tzin cursed under his breath. “I don’t see how getting to Tenochtitlan is going to improve matters.”

”If we can arrive before Tizoc-tzin is formally invested…” Before they finished the ritual, cemented the link between the Revered Speaker and Huitzilpochtli.

Nezahual-tzin shook his head. “Not going to happen.” He raised his gaze heavenwards; his eyes rolled up, revealing the whiteness of nacre. Neither Teomitl or I said anything, all the pawns were on the board now, all the bean dice thrown down, and all that remained to see was how we’d move.

After a while, Nezahual-tzin said, “I still don’t see what we can do about it, but you’re right. Being at the centre of things is the most important matter right now. We can argue over what to do when we get there.”

He looked young and bewildered, an unsettling reminder that, like Teomitl, he was about half my age. For all their connections with their patron gods and goddesses, they had power, but not the wisdom that came with living.

But nevertheless they were my only allies, and the only hope of staving off the Southern Hummingbird’s anger.

I caught up to Teomitl on the way to the boats. “You’re intending to summon the ahuizotls again.” A statement, not a question.

”Yes. It’s the only way we’ll go back to Tenochtitlan in less than a day.” He looked at me, curiously. “Why do you ask?”

I bit my lips, hating what I was about to say. I should have been ruthless, caring for nothing else but the survival of the Fifth World. But– “Last time exhausted you far more than normal. You can’t–”

”I know how far I can take it,” Teomitl said. “Don’t mother me, please, Acatl-tzin. This isn’t the time.”

”We might not have time any more, anyway,” I said. “Nezahual-tzin is right. We might not make a difference.”

”We might not. And we might. I’ll take that chance. If we don’t believe in ourselves, who is going to?”

Even with such grave dangers hovering over our heads, he was still unchanged, still holding himself to exacting standards, still trusting in me as his teacher. “I don’t know.” It occurred to me that there might not be much more I could teach him, not anymore.

”Then let me try. Or I’ll feel I’ve done nothing useful.”

”You’ve done plenty. I’m the one–”

Teomitl shook his head. “You and Nezahual-tzin are going to be sitting in that boat, working out a way to salvage what we can out of this situation.” He smiled, utterly confident, though I could still see the darkness in his eyes. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”

I hoped so. But I couldn’t find anything like his confidence in myself, and by Nezahual-tzin’s sombre demeanour I could tell he didn’t have any, either.

Somehow I doubted Teomitl’s enthusiasm was going to be enough for all of us.

TWENTY-ONE

The Lord of Men

The journey back seemed to take the whole of an age. Teomitl was at the prow, growing paler and paler; Nezahual-tzin by my side, looking thoughtfully into the water, his group of warriors at our back scowling at us, and the shores of Lake Texcoco never seemed to be growing closer. Before us was Nezahualcoyotl’s Dyke. Once there, we would be almost in Tenochtitlan; but it remained a thin grey line against the clear blue skies, never solidifying into anything familiar.

We had left Pezotic under guard in Teotihuacan. As Nezahualtzin had put it, he couldn’t bring much in the way of proof, and he would