There were stars overhead, pinpoints of lights in the sky that were the eyes of monsters, shining in full daylight with no fear of the Fifth Sun. Yaotl was right, the end had already started.
I was High Priest for the Dead. I could do no less, no more than I was doing. But…
Behind me, on either side of the platform, stood Teomitl and Mihmatini. They were garbed like a couple for a wedding; Teomitl in a bright new cape, and my sister in a cotton blouse with a very simple embroidery pattern around the neckline, her hair hidden under a flowing head-cloth. Yaotl had spread cochineal red around her mouth, and given her a basket of fruit and tamales which she held with a slightly sceptical air.
I was suddenly, absurdly glad I wasn't the only one who couldn't feel the seriousness of the occasion.
The altar was bare, shining golden in the sun. The air seemed to shimmer with power, the priests of the Duality had been chanting for hours. The two elderly priests who had made the decision to name Mihmatini Guardian-designate stood on either side of the altar, their faces grave.
"Acatl-tzin." Teomitl held a jar of pulque alcohol with an utterly serious air. I was sure he was more used to attending dubious rituals.
"I know, I know." I was used to rituals; but it galled me to have to be a spectator on this one. At least I'd managed to bargain for the right to stay. It seemed a High Priest could attend on the pyramid platform, even if they took no part in the ceremony.
"Look," Mihmatini said, with an impatient shake of her head. "If you're going to ruin my life, you might as well not keep me waiting, Acatl."
"I…" I couldn't. There had to be some other god, some other ritual we could call on, some other solution that would keep the star-demons at bay, that would shelter us for a while more. There had to be…
I was grasping at maize seedlings, hoping they'd be strong enough to bear my weight. Pointless. We had already gone beyond the point when we could back out of this. Stifling a sigh, I moved to the edge of the platform, and watched the two priests officiate.
"Even as the maguey
You form a stalk, you are to ripen,
Taking root into the earth, you will hold up the sky
Your heart is jade, your heart is a precious green stone
Still virgin, pure, undefiled…"
Mihmatini shook her head; and in a fluid gesture removed the cloth over her hair. It spilled down her back in a flood to sit like the feathers of a raven. She approached the altar, her seashell bracelets tinkling with every step, not like the deep, ominous ringing of Coyolxauhqui's bells, but a light, airy sound like hundreds of footsteps following in her wake.
"Let us not go weeping forever
Let us not die in sorrow
Let the Fifth World be peopled, let the penance-born endure
Let us join together like the Lord and Lady of Duality…"
Teomitl set the pulque jar by the altar, whispering a prayer. Carefully he reached over to Mihmatini, and helped her into the altar. Then, still as tentatively as if every gesture would break a fragile balance, he reached out, and tied a knot between his cloak and her blouse. The sun outlined its contours, sloshed into the folds of the cloths; the knot seemed to sparkle as if studded with gold or jewels.
He paused for a while, staring at her, and it didn't seem a ritual anymore, just part of their relationship, something I had no right to intrude on. I averted my gaze, staring at the floor. Dots of lights were running along the marble, joining together to form larger stains, like blood pooling in the hollows of an altar.
"I lie down with you, I arise with you
You are the quivering in my heart
The shaking of the earth, the storm-tossed sky…"
I couldn't tell how long I stood there looking down, at stone that gradually became translucent, as if some inner light were springing to life underneath. The air was charged, heavy as before a storm, and yet it was as light and as pure as that of a winter day, smelling of cut grass and algae, and of scattered marigolds.
When I raised my eyes they were kissing, and the sun seemed to have descended into the Fifth World. The white light bathed them, outlining the shape of their clothes, their two faces, like images in some distorted mirror, the knot, into which radiance pooled like water from streams, two bodies, pressing more tightly against each other. The stains of light contracted and shuddered and, in one sweeping movement, converged on Mihmatini and Teomitl, washing away their features until all I could see were two darker silhouettes, like shadows on limestone.
Light arced from the altar into the heavens, spreading upwards, the opening of a huge flower, petal after iridescent petal shimmering into existence above us. The flower stretched, lost its shape, and the light died.
When my eyes had accustomed themselves again to the dimmer light I saw, against the Heavens, the glowing shape of a dome, and felt a faint pressure at the back of my mind, like a reminder of its weight. The stars shone in the sky, but they were only pinpoints of light, and the air still smelled fresh, like the marshes after the rain, like the first flowering of maize.
Teomitl and Mihmatini sat on the altar, pale and drained, their skin an unhealthy white. Mihmatini had closed her eyes; Teomitl sat as straight as usual, but his quivering muscles betrayed him. The two priests had taken a step back. Their faces were mostly dignified, but not without smugness.
I approached the altar, the marble warm under my sandals, the stone beating triumphantly, like a living heart.
Safe. We were safe for a few more days, if nothing more. The word beat in my chest, wove itself in my brain, over and over; a litany, a prayer.
"Can you stand?" the priestess asked.
Teomitl gently teased the knot open. Light spilled from the folds of the joined cloths, like a scattering of gemstones into a sunlit stream. He pulled himself up, one articulation at a time, with none of his usual speed. He winced as his feet touched the floor. "Mostly," he said. His face shifted from brown to the green of jade, and back to brown again. He couldn't quite control Jade Skirt's gift. He seemed to realise this, and shook his head in annoyance. "I've never had so much taken from me."
"It's because you've never asked for so much power." Mihmatini had not moved; she still sat on the altar, her hair unbound like that of a sacred courtesan, the red around her mouth smudged like the maw of a fed jaguar.
"Did it work?" she asked. Light still clung to her, a stubborn radiance that coated her skin and reflected itself into her eyes.
She frightened me more than I could put in words.
"Yes," the priest said. "Wonderfully."
"Thank the gods." Her voice was low, carefully pausing between words, as if unsure of the right one. Her hands shook. "If I'd gone through this for nothing, there would have been words, Acatl."