Ahead was a thin beam of light, which didn't seem to grow any closer – and I was finding it hard to breathe, struggling to put one foot after the other; it was if I were moving through thick sludge, as if I breathed in only mud…
"Acatl-tzin!"
I trudged on. Teomitl's silhouette wavered and danced within my field of vision, and – just when I thought I couldn't take it any longer, that I would have to sit down and recover some of my strength – the light abruptly flared, and grew larger – and I stumbled out, into a world washed orange by the late afternoon sun.
We were in a street I didn't recognise: the back of the palace; not the Sacred Precinct, just an expanse of dirt with a canal running alongside it. It was deserted, both the canal and the streets, with not a boat or a pedestrian to be seen.
"Let's – not – tarry – here," I said. Each word hurt like a burning coal in my throat.
"Get your breath back." Teomitl was scanning the street. "Curses. I was hoping there'd be a boatman."
"So you could commandeer it?" I asked. "That would be hardly discreet."
"If we're going to your brother's, it's quite likely Acamapichtli will figure it out sooner or later."
"I'd rather it were later," I said. "It would give me time to ask questions." I'd forgotten, in the months when the army was gone, Teomitl's tendency to rush in first and ask questions later. It was all well and good for the battlefield, but elsewhere it tended to be a little less efficient, and a little more likely to hinder us, or make us enemies.
Teomitl sighed. "As you wish. We can walk."
• • • •
Since neither I nor Teomitl had changed out of our regalia, we made an imposing sight on the way: about half the people we crossed stopped, unsure whether to bow. As we went deeper into Moyotlan, one of the four districts of Tenochtitlan, I reflected somewhat sadly that for once he'd been right. Acamapichtli would likely find out where we'd gone in a heartbeat.
However… it was approaching evening, the streets slowly growing darker and the first parties of night-visitors coming out with lit pine-torches, going to a banquet, or a celebration of a birth, of a wedding, or even a party for the return of the warriors. The first snatches of flute music filled our ears, along with voices raised in speeches, and the distant beating of temple gongs in the clan-wards. With the sun gone, the weather was markedly colder and I was glad for the thick cloak of my High Priest's regalia. Teomitl, of course, barely seemed to notice anything so trivial as the change in temperature.
Neutemoc's house was brightly lit, the leaping jaguars on its façade seeming almost alive. But there were no more torches than usuaclass="underline" no visitors, then. I wasn't altogether surprised. Neutemoc's reputation had been badly damaged a year before, when he'd been accused of murder and had lost his wife in a matter of days. Neutemoc himself hadn't been the same – less given to boisterous parties, or even to participating in the clan's daily life. He might have regained some of that on the march, but the damage went too deep to be removed at one stroke.
The burly slave at the entrance knew both Teomitl and I, and gestured for us to go inside.
The reception room was more sober than it had been the year before: gone were the feather fans, and the silver and jade ornaments had been put away, presumably in the wicker chests against the wall. The only things that hadn't changed were the huge frescoes of Huiztilpochtli, the Southern Hummingbird and the Mexica protector god, trampling bound enemies underfoot.
"Teomitl! Acatl!" My sister Mihmatini rose from where she was sitting. She wore the simple garb of a priestess: an embroidered tunic over a skirt, with the fused-lovers symbol of the Duality set over her heart. She positively glowed – not all of it was my imagination, or my pride as her brother. A faint, radiant thread snaked from her feet to Teomitl – who stood, smiling at her.
"You're not at the palace anymore?"
Technically, they were married: Tizoc-tzin himself had set up the betrothal banquet, and had brought the stone axe to the priests – the axe which signified Teomitl's release from the education owed a youth, and his entrance into adult life. The wedding itself had been a grand, lavish ceremony, performed just before the army had left for the coronation war. Mihmatini herself had a room in the women's quarters, but of a common accord, she and Teomitl had moved into the Duality House, where Mihmatini continued her training as Guardian. I wondered how much of this was due to Tizoc-tzin's presence.
Mihmatini grimaced. "I've had enough of the palace. The atmosphere is so tense I'd rather be out, honestly. And banquets are all well and good, but they won't protect the Fifth World."
Teomitl shrugged, though he looked unhappy.
"I know it's hard, but things will sort themselves out. Don't let that get to you." "I know, but…"
"Come here."
I left the two lovers locked in an embrace and turned to face my brother.
Neutemoc looked better than before the army had left: a little less gaunt, a little more smiling, his broad face almost back to its boyish look, though his eyes would always give the lie to that. He'd gone through too much to pretend everything was fine. "Acatl."
The children had risen, and were waiting, warily, for the adults to finish greeting one another: Necalli, the only one of Neutemoc's children to be educated in the House of Youth, was calm and dignified, almost more like a priest-in-training than a boisterous warrior, and he'd obviously passed on some of that attitude to his younger sister, Mazatl, who stood quivering with impatience but not moving. I couldn't see Ollin, Neutemoc's youngest son, but I presumed he'd be sleeping with the female slave who nursed him.
"You look better," I said.
"I'd be surprised." Neutemoc gestured towards the mat, on which was spread the evening meaclass="underline" white fish with red pepper, and sweet potatoes baked in honey. "You, on the other hand, look–"
"–regal. I know." I made a brief, stabbing gesture. "I didn't think up the regalia."
Neutemoc's lips twitched into a smile. "You look like a proper High Priest, is what I wanted to say. Come on, sit down."
I hugged the children first. Mazatl was all but leaping up and down. "Uncle Acatl, Uncle Acatl! Can I try on the mask?"
I shook my head. "It's the god's face. I don't think He meant it to be a toy."
Mazatl's face fell. "Can I touch it?" she asked and squealed when her hand met the smooth surface of bone.
"You're such a kid," Necalli said, but Mazatl didn't react to his jibe.
"Children," Neutemoc said, firmly. "Your uncle, your aunt and I have to talk. Be quiet, please."
They fell silent instantly. Neutemoc's authority had always been strong, and with his wife gone, it had grown stronger. Mihmatini and I had both urged him to take another spouse – it wasn't healthy, to have a household run only by a man – but he wouldn't hear of it.
Teomitl, who'd finished embracing Mihmatini, sat down, and removed his feather headdress – casually putting it down on the ground, within reach of the children. He glanced at Mazatl with a smile and a nod – she extended a trembling hand, and touched the feathers as if they might bite. I wasn't altogether sure she needed the encouragement: she was wilder than Mihmatini at her age, and undisciplined girls would have a hard time later on in school.