"I see," I said. "You found tracks near the calmecac?"
"No," Ixtli said. "No tracks. We were searching houses at random, on no more than instinct." He fingered the jade amulet around his neck, and said, "There was no chance we would find her."
"I see," I said. "Are you going to stop the search?"
Ixtli shrugged. "No, not yet. But I don't think you should depend on us."
No. I didn't think I should.
"The priestess," Ixtli said. "Do you think she's still alive?"
I shook my head. "I think it's too late."
His gaze held me, unblinkingly. "So do I. Will you be needing any more help?"
I searched my mind for something he could give me, but there didn't seem to be anything. "No, I don't think so. You can take off the jade amulets," I said. "Not much use against a nahual, anyway."
Ixtli smiled. "Better be safe. I'll go reassure my wife, and then I'll go back to the Duality House. Come there if you need us," he said, and then he turned on his heel and left.
Palli had gathered the offerings near the storehouse door. "You mean to go out again?" he asked.
I looked up at the sky. The night had well and truly fallen this time: there would be vigils to take, and offerings to make at the proper times. The Quetzal Flower would certainly not want to receive me at this late hour; and I had seen already what would happen if I tried to enter uninvited. I did want to help Neutemoc; but angering a goddess was not going to arrange matters.
"No," I said, with a sigh. "I'll go tomorrow morning."
I was not, by any means, looking forward to the morrow. One interview with Xochiquetzal had been affecting enough; this one looked set to be even worse.
SEVEN
The Chalca Wars
The following morning, I woke up, made my offerings of blood to Lord Death, and went back to my temple. The priests seemed to have all disappeared. After a cursory search, I found them gathered in one of the largest rooms, watching Ichtaca examine the body of a dead woman: the older offering priests in front, the novice priests a little way behind – and, all the way at the back of the room, a handful of calmecac students, their pale faces fascinated.
"No blood," Ichtaca was saying, pointing at the livid face. "She's been in that position for a while…"
He'd be cutting her open next, if he wasn't satisfied, trying to determine if her death had been natural or provoked. It was a common enough event in the temple. I'd done a few such examinations myself, but thankfully I'd never had the whole clergy in attendance.
I withdrew quietly from the doorframe, and went to the storehouse to collect Palli's offerings. Then I walked back to Xochiquetzal's house.
In the courtyard, the same insolent slave was waiting for me, lounging against the trunk of a pine tree like a man who had all the time in the world.
"Back again, priest? You must really love Her."
I said, "I'd like to see Her, if it's not too much trouble." That last, because I couldn't quite contain my anger.
He shrugged, fully aware of my impatience, basking in it. "Probably not. But then who knows?"
He sauntered into the main room, closing the entrance-curtain behind him; and came back with a satisfied smile on his face.
"So?" I asked. The quetzal birds softly called to each other as the cage rocked in my hands.
He smiled, wider this time. "You may see Her, priest." His gaze took in the offerings I was laden with, and he pursed his lips. "And pray that what you bring is sufficient."
Inside, all was the same: the musky darkness, with the copal incense covering a rank smell that might have been, unsurprisingly, mingled sweat and sex; the goddess shining in the gloom, lounging on Her chair.
"Acatl," She said, and even my name on Her lips was alluring.
My fingers clenched around the handle of the cage. "I've brought you what you asked for."
She smiled. One of Her hands went, absent-mindedly, to rub at Her eyes, and something glistening fell to the floor. A tear, perhaps? But gods didn't cry. "And you thought you could just drop them on the floor and be done?"
I had hoped, but known it wouldn't be enough. "No," I said.
I laid the cage, the rattle and the wrapped jade earrings on the floor, and slowly divested myself of my cloak. Around my wrists hung bracelets of sea-shells: an odd feeling for me, since my usual worship did not include music. I tried to forget how foolish I looked – Neutemoc, I did this for Neutemoc – and slowly started singing the words of the hymn:
"You were born in Paradise
You come from the Place of Flowers
You, the only flower, the new, the glorious one
Dwelling in the House of Dawn, a new, a glorious flower…"
As I sang, I moved my wrists, so that the clinking sounds of the sea-shells accompanied the words I uttered, filling the silences with their voice.
"Go forth to the dancing-place, to the place of water,
To the houses of Tamoanchan…"
Xochiquetzal shifted on Her chair. Was it just my impression, or had She grown larger? Her eyes shone in the gloom, like those of a jaguar about to leap. And Her smile… Her smile was dazzling, revealing teeth as neat and as sharp as those of sharks.
"Hear the call of the quetzal bird, o youths,
Hear its flute along the river, o women,
Go forth to the dancing-place, to the place of water,
To the houses of Tamoanchan…"
She'd risen from Her chair, was walking towards me, growing larger and larger with each step, until Her shadow entirely enfolded me – and She kept smiling: the same smile that sent a thrill running through me – fear or desire I didn't know, I couldn't separate them, it was all I could do to keep singing…
"Hear… it calling out to the gods…"
And then She was by my side, kneeling to touch the cage of the quetzal birds. It burst apart in a shower of sparks, and the male ascended into the air, a streak of emerald-green and blood-red. It kept flying upwards, even though I knew it should have hit the rafters of the ceiling; but the room had changed, become vast and unknowable, its walls the dense undergrowth of the jungle, the dais a brackish pool, smelling of mud and fragrant herbs.
At the apex of its flight, the male quetzal folded its wings and plummeted downwards, its long green tail streaming behind it like the unbound hair of a courtesan. It sang as it dived: a hollow, highpitched sound that seemed to meld with its descent, and that sent a thrill through my bones, as if I were the one courting the female, I the one with lust raging through my veins.
The female bird, still on the ground, raised its eyes. At the last possible moment, the male broke out of the dive and came to perch on the remnants of the cage, cocking its head questioningly. The female made a quick, nodding movement. And, in a blur of green and blue they were upon each other, mating with the desperation of butterflies about to die.