Harbinger of the Storm - By Aliette De Bodard Page 0,136
of the circle.
Too late.
My whole body tingled in the wash of light… No, that wasn’t it. There was something that ached more, a dull pain throbbing in my hand. I looked down at Acamapichtli’s mark, grey and diminished against the light’s onslaught. A jaguar fang, perfectly formed, and the blood of a human sacrifice, all freely given to me. It had been for his own gain, as he had blithely admitted, but still, he had helped me. Still…
I saw again Quenami, his fists clenched, about to get himself killed against Itzpapalotl. He had dragged me to the top of the hill, I and Acamapichtli, even though he’d laughed and suggested we leave the weak behind.
Acamapichtli was smiling in my mind. “We will endure,” he whispered. “We will do what needs to be done. We will–”
I hated them. I despised them for their beliefs, and for everything they had done in the name of gain and greed.
But, in the end…
In the end, Teomitl had allied himself with Nezahual-tzin, and I with Acamapichtli. In the end…
In the end, they were my peers and my equals, and the only ones who could see this through. In the end, when push came to shove and the Fifth World tottered on the brink of extinction – when even they could see the price of failure – I could trust them to do what needed to be done.
And that was the only truth.
”Acatl!”
”I am here,” I whispered, and, gently, very gently, breathed out Tizoc-tzin’s soul, back into the Fifth World, before joining my fellow High Priests for the rest of the ritual.
TWENTY-FIVE
The Fifth World
Tizoc-tzin’s formal designation was a small and subdued affair. With his brother’s funeral over, and him still in a state of weakness, he simply opted for a quiet ceremony with the governors and the magistrates. The Revered Speakers of Texcoco and Tlacopan, his fellow rulers in the Triple Alliance, offered him congratulations, and sacrificed quails to mark the beginning of an auspicious reign.
Tizoc-tzin wasn’t quite yet crowned, of course. That would come after the coronation war, when he had brought back enough prisoners and slaves for a true celebration. But, nevertheless, he was already invested, with enough power to keep us all safe.
After the ceremony he received us in his private quarters. There were no slaves and no noblemen, just Teomitl, Acamapichtli, Nezahual-tzin and I, standing barefoot amidst the luxurious decorations, and the exquisitely carved columns. Fine feathers fans and gold ornaments were casually strewn across the room.
Quenami was beside his master, richly attired, with coloured heron plumes at his belt, blue-and-black paint, and a stylised fire-serpent winding its way across the hem of his tunic. The air smelled faintly of pine needles and copal incense, and there was the faintest hint of smoke, causing my eyes to itch.
”I am given to understand that we owe you a debt,” Tizoctzin said. His eyes were sunken deep, his skin a pale brown, almost waxy, and he stumbled a little on his words. I wasn’t sure if it was because something was wrong with his speech, if my delay in the ritual had cost him something, or if it was simply because he disliked uttering them. By the scowl on his face, there was at least some of the latter.
Nezahual-tzin shrugged. “I’m glad to see proper diplomatic relations restored between Tenochtitlan and Texcoco. I shall look forward to your coronation, my lord.”
”I see.” Tizoc-tzin bent to look at Nezahual-tzin, as if not quite sure what to make of him. “Perhaps you do,” he said grudgingly.
”It’s in our best interests.” Nezahual-tzin’s smile was wide and dazzling, that of a carefree sixteen year-old. I wasn’t fooled.
”And you.” Tizoc-tzin turned his attention back to Acamapichtli and me.
”We did our duty,” Acamapichtli said. “To the Revered Speaker and to the Empire.” One of his arms, the one that had thrown the blade at Itzpapalotl, was a little stiff, and I didn’t think it would ever move smoothly again. My own legs ached whenever I rose. Whatever Huitzilpochtli had said, there had been a price for entering the heartland. There was always a price.
Tizoc-tzin was silent for a while. His gaze moved from Acamapichtli to me and back again. “Then I am assured of your loyalty.”
Not surprising, I guessed. A little saddening, but then I had known when we had brought him back to life. Death had changed nothing in him, no lessons had been learnt.
”You’ve always had our loyalty,” Acamapichtli said effortlessly.