"And you believe he should rule, until such time as he dies?"
"No." The truth, out of my mouth before I could call it back. "But I can't condone this, Teomitl. I can't – one doesn't become Revered Speaker or receive the blessing of the Southern Hummingbird by feats of arms."
"Ask the coyote's son," Teomitl said, with a small curl of his lips. I could feel Nezahual-tzin's presence behind me, but he was silent – as if this were merely between Teomitl and I. He had said, many times, that he wouldn't interfere. "He who came to his mat borne on the shoulders of Tenochtitlan's warriors."
"That's–" I took in a deep breath. He – I thought of Tizoc-tzin again, of the paltry forty prisoners, who hadn't even been sacrificed; of the confirmation that wouldn't even have the semblance of a real war, coming on the heels of a failed coronation war and a failed investiture ceremony. But I was High Priest; I served the Mexica and the Revered Speaker – it had been one thing to oppose Tizoc-tzin when he had been Master of the House of Darts, but now that he was Revered Speaker my loyalty was to him, and, like the She-Snake, I might disagree with his actions, and try to steer him back to the right path, but to conspire in order to depose him? It would have been against any order, any
balance that I served. Teomitl was wrong: this was no way to solve the problem.
"I–"
I thought of the star-demons; of the plague; of Moquihuix-Coatl and the chaos in the city. Did I really want this – more souls creeping back through the cracks in the world, creatures of the underworld amongst us? I kept the balance – which was my duty, my destiny.
Just as ruling the Mexica Empire was Teomitl's destiny.
As he had said, there was no solution – no clean, clear-cut way out of this tangle we'd worked ourselves into. Seeking to preserve the balance had led us to opening the rift, and this in turn had led to the plague.
We did it, Acamapichtli had said. I'd said we'd done the right thing, and not believed a word of it. Teomitl wasn't blameless, but it was also our insistence on preserving the balance at all costs, our fear of breaking the Fifth World's equilibrium, which had led us to this.
And, really, how long could we continue like this?
"You'll rule," I said, to Teomitl. "She's right, it's your destiny."
He grimaced. "If it's to tell me to wait, I've heard it all."
"I'm not asking you to wait for Tizoc-tzin's death." The words were lead on my tongue. "Let it pass, Teomitl. Wait until Tizoc-tzin is confirmed as the Revered Speaker – until he has a stable reign." And pray, all the while, that there would be no other major disaster. The breach was diminished, and the likelihood of this ever happening again was low – but low didn't mean non-existent.
"You're asking this as my teacher?"
I could have said yes, and we both would have known it for the lie it was. "No. You haven't been my student for a while." All children grew, and went astray – unable to fulfil their parents' dearest dreams. All students became men, and young girls grew and changed, too.
You're such a fool, Acatl, my sister's voice said in my mind. Always blind to change.
"I'm asking this as one man to another," I said.
Teomitl looked from me to the warriors – and then to Mihmatini, who still stood rigid, with her hands clenched into fists. "You're my wife. You wouldn't–" he said, and then shook his head again, recognising that she would. "Everything came together so beautifully."
"No. You only thought it was coming together. We saw everything coming apart." Mihmatini's voice was low and intense. "If you take one more step, I'll fight you, I'll swear."
I said nothing. My own position was already abundantly clear.
Teomitl looked from us to the old woman, who stood defiantly, her wrinkled face alight with a fierce passion. "You have to seize the moment, or you'll never amount to anything. You know it." Her voice rose, dark with hatred and spite. "He asks you to wait, but will you ever have such a great opportunity again? Tizoc has fled the city with the priests of Huitzilpochtli, the clergy of Tlaloc and of Mictlantecuhtli are busy with the breach, and you have warriors behind you. Such a situation will not occur again, you know it. They never do."
Teomitl was silent, for a while. At length, he looked up – at the Fifth Sun resplendent in the sky. "No," he said. "You're right. It won't happen again."
Her face split, in a wide, unpleasant grin of triumph, but Teomitl went on, "But I'll make it happen. Someday."
"You can't–"
He raised a hand, and even from where I stood I felt the pressure of Chalchiuhtlicue's magic – a shockwave that all but sent her sprawling against the pillars of the patio. "Don't think of telling me what I can and can't do."
The old woman sprang up, the magic of Toci rising around her in a tide. The shadows that rippled around her were the colour of earth, as brown as cacao beans or pinolli. "You–"
Teomitl's lips quirked up. "You wield the magic of Grandmother Earth, but I have other ones. And do you truly think the army would follow you, Chalchiuhunenetl?"
For a moment, they stared at each other, and then the old woman looked down with a grimace. "You win this. For now. Don't mock Grandmother Earth, boy. She'll come for you, too."
"In the end, we all come to Her embrace," Teomitl said. He appeared unperturbed.
"My Lord? " the leader of the warriors said.
"You heard," Teomitl said. "Go back. Tizoc-tzin is the rightful Revered Speaker. I'll take no action against that – for now." His eyes drifted, for a moment, in my direction: they were jade from end to end, the cornea drowned in murky reflections.
"You mean we came here for nothing?" The other warriors nodded, staring at each other with a definitely hostile mood.
Teomitl drew himself up, the jade-coloured light spreading from his eyes onto his face until he seemed a statue – and further, the whole courtyard dancing on the rhythm of underwater waves, everything smelling of brackish water and churned mud. "There will be no battle today," he said, and his voice, ageless, malicious, was no longer wholly his. "Leave this place."
The warriors looked from him to the old woman – whom they clearly didn't appreciate. Their faces were drained of colour in the light of Jade Skirt's magic, like those of drowned men, and they breathed heavily, as if something were constricting their lungs.
Faster than I'd thought possible, the courtyard emptied, until we were the only ones remaining – and Teomitl, still in the thrall of the goddess.
"Well, well," Nezahual-tzin said, speaking up. "Allow me to congratulate you on a wise decision."
Teomitl looked at him, as if unsure whether to strike him down.
"Teomitl!" Mihmatini said, sharply. "Let go."
He shivered, and sank to one knee, the divinity draining out of him like blood from a torn vein. His eyes rolled up, became brown once more. "Don't toy with me," he said to Nezahual-tzin, rising up in a fluid movement.
"Of course I wouldn't dream of it."
"Acatl-tzin. Nezahual. Acamapichtli." He bowed to us, and then, very stiffly, to Mihmatini. "If you'll excuse us."