"My name is Teomitl. I'm studying in the boys' calmecac."
Teomitl. Arrow of the Gods. He was well-named, as straight and as eager to spill blood as an arrow. I would have placed him in a House of Youth with the other novice warriors, not in a school. But of course the calmecacs didn't only educate priests: they also served as schools for the children of the wealthy. Given the richness of his garb, he could only be a nobleman's son.
"You saw Eleuia?"
He pursed his lips. For the first time, he looked embarrassed. "I– I was assigned to sweep the courtyards of the girls' calmecac ten days ago. As a penance." His gaze defied me to mock him.
I wasn't about to, though I guessed why they would send him to sweep the girls' courtyards. Some of that pride clearly needed toning down. "And you saw Eleuia?"
Teomitl nodded. "Often. She was…" His eyes unfocused for a moment. "Beautiful. Alluring, strong."
The Duality preserve us. Another man in love with Eleuia? Was there no end to her influence? I suppressed an inward sigh. "Her beauty doesn't have a bearing on what happened to her."
"It might," Teomitl said – a shrewder observation than I'd expected from him. "I was in the courtyard yesterday, before sunset. I saw her walk past. She looked nervous."
"Scared?" I asked.
Teomitl shrugged. "Maybe. She had a knife in her belt, and her hand kept wrapping around the hilt. But she'd been afraid for long before that."
"How long?"
"Seven days," Teomitl said. "Maybe more."
Afraid of whom? Of Zollin? Of Neutemoc? Of someone else? Huitzilpochtli cut me down, the suspects kept appearing, and I still had no lead that would explain anything. "And that's all you saw?" It was interesting, but surely not worth sending him to me?
"I saw other things. How they didn't know what to make of her. All the priestesses and the students, they tiptoed around her, because they'd never met her like. She was intense."
His eyes were glazed, and his face had softened imperceptibly. He had obviously been completely infatuated by her. Although I couldn't help feeling slightly suspicious. "What's your date of birth?" I asked.
He looked at me, blankly. "Ten Rabbit in the Year Ten Reed. Why?"
He could have been pretending, but his reaction sounded sincere. I debated over whether to tell him the truth, but I saw no reason not to. "Because nahual magic was used to abduct Eleuia. A jaguar-spirit."
Startled, he looked at me. "Surely you don't think–" The first stirring of anger, clouding his face.
"No," I said. "But I had to make sure."
Teomitl looked at me for a while. "You'll find her?"
"I don't know," I said. Deep down, I feared too much time had elapsed. "I can't promise anything."
"No," Teomitl said. "But…" He checked himself, started to speak again. "I'd like to help."
So that was why Ceyaxochitl had sent him to me: another pair of hands, ready to do my unsavoury work. But I just couldn't take on another apprentice, not another responsibility for another's life. "I don't think…"
He said nothing. He stood watching me. In his eager face I saw Payaxin, my first and only apprentice, for whom every spell had been a delight, every ritual a curiosity to be dissected. Payaxin, who had attempted a summoning without my help, and died for his failure.
I closed my eyes. I couldn't get involved again. It would have been unseemly for a High Priest; I had no time, nothing I could teach him, and I would only lead him into dangers he wouldn't be able to face.
"I can't–" I started, but the next words came unbidden. "Just for a little while, then." A small thing. A task of little importance, that will make him feel useful. And then no more. He wouldn't go the way of Payaxin.
Teomitl nodded.
I went back into the shrine, Teomitl in tow, and hunted around the chests for maguey paper and a writing-reed. Carefully, I wrote down the name of everyone I'd met or heard of, connected with Eleuia.
"Go to the registers," I said. "Check the birthdates of every one of those people."
Teomitl took the paper. He looked relieved, as if he'd leapt over a huge obstacle and found nothing but flat terrain after that. "To see whether they can summon a nahual?"
He was quick; eager to prove himself. He reminded me of Payaxin. Too much.
"Yes," I said. "Also–"
The entrance curtain was wrenched aside; a jarring sound echoed under the wooden rafters of the shrine's roof, as all the bells crashed into each other.
"Acatl-tzin." It was Ichtaca, his face uncannily grim.
"What's the matter?" I asked, a hollow deepening in the pit of my stomach.
"The novice priests have come back from the marketplace. I think there's something outside you need to see."
"Why?" I asked.
"Your brother has been formally charged with the murder of Priestess Eleuia. He's on display in front of the Imperial Palace now, awaiting trial."
In a heartbeat, I was up on my feet, and running out of the shrine.
FIVE
The Caged Man
It was past midday, and the usual throng filled the plaza of the Sacred Precinct. I had to elbow my way through the press of pilgrims and priests to make my way to the Northern Gate and the Tepeyaca causeway. What I had intended as a rush slowed down to a painful crawl.
As always when I passed nearby, I found my gaze drawn to the Great Temple. It was hard to ignore it: the bulk of its double pyramid towered over all the other temples. Celebrants were crowding on its platform.
Even from afar, it was easy to see the way of things. The right half of the platform, devoted to the God of War, Huitzilpochtli, was awash with noblemen, and the blood of numerous sacrifices had made the sacred vessels overflow. The left half of the platform, the temple to Tlaloc, God of Rain, was almost empty, with perhaps half a dozen priests shedding their blood.
Things change, the Quetzal Flower had said. People believe in war and in the sun, more than they believe in rain or in love. And we – the old ones, the gods of the Earth and of the Corn, We who were here first, who watched over your first steps – We fade.
As always, that sight inspired a complex mixture of feelings. My parents had both been peasants: but the true glory of life, they had always told me, lay in war. And wasn't it fitting that the God of War should reign supreme over the Fifth World? Yet I had chosen the path of a humble priesthood over that of the warrior, leaving the glory to my brother. Had it truly been the best choice I could make?
Enough. I couldn't afford melancholy at a time like this.
I tore my gaze away from the Great Temple. Unfortunately, I did so too late to avoid crashing into a group of priests flanking a sacrificial victim: a man with a chalk-whitened face, lips painted in grey. "Sorry."
The victim looked at me with a touch of annoyance, angry at being impeded on his way to a glorious death. The priests just nodded, as one craftsman to another. I resumed my crawl towards the exit.