"There," Mihmatini said, tying the last of the bandages into place. "I've put a minor spell of healing on it, but it won't hold if you overexert yourself." She stared curiously at Teomitl. "And thank you for getting him out of trouble."
Teomitl's smile was radiant. "My pleasure. I am Teomitl." He bowed slightly.
"Mihmatini. I'm his sister." She rolled her eyes upwards. "And designated healer, obviously. Sometimes, I wonder why I bother. You're a priest, too?"
"Not exactly," Teomitl said. "I'm training to be a warrior. I hope to be a worthy one."
Mihmatini smiled at him again. "I'm sure you will." There was an uncomfortable silence.
No, not quite uncomfortable. I realised, with a shock, that she and Teomitl were both staring at each other with an interest that was obvious, and my presence here was superfluous, except as a chaperone.
I cleared my throat, startling both of them out of their trance. "We should join Neutemoc."
He was waiting for us in the next room, seated on a reed mat. Mihmatini hesitated on the doorstep, staring at both of us. Finally she shrugged. "I'll see you afterwards," she said to Teomitl, smiling again.
Teomitl bowed to her. "I hope so." I shook my head, amused in spite of myself.
Slaves brought us hot chocolate. I cradled the clay glass in my hand, feeling the warmth dissipate the last of the creatures' numbness.
Teomitl sat cross-legged between Neutemoc and me, taking on the role of shield without realising it. Neutemoc's hands rested in his lap; clenched into fists. "What is happening, Acatl?" he asked in a tone that clearly implied I should be able to explain everything.
"I don't know," I said. Rain was pelting the roof above our heads. But it was more than rain. Each drop that fell down was mingled with magic: a bittersweet tang that I could smell, even from inside. "Tlaloc is coming," I said.
For revenge. For faith, Commander Quiyahuayo had said.
A brief tinkle of bells, soon muffled, heralded Yaotl's arrival. He leant against one of the walls, his back digging into the stylised frescoes of fused lovers.
Beside me, Teomitl was silent for a while, pondering, an uncharacteristically mature expression on his face. "My brother is weak," he said. "And as his health wanes, so does Huitzilpochtli's ability to protect us."
Neutemoc stared at his glass of chocolate as if it held deep secrets. He said, finally, "I'd much rather believe that you're both mad."
Teomitl said nothing.
"But something is going on. Something unnatural," Neutemoc went on. He looked at me. Despite his grievance towards me, still believing that I could set right anything magical.
"Tlaloc," I said. "His child – the one he and the Quetzal Flower fashioned, the one Eleuia bore within her womb – the tool for His coup. But we're not strong enough to find him. Ceyaxochitl…"
She was the agent of the Duality in the Fifth World. She would have some powers, constrained by her human nature, but hopefully still enough to do some damage.
Yaotl spoke up. "She's at the palace. I don't know about what you're saying. But Mistress Ceyaxochitl agrees with you: this isn't normal rain."
She was the Guardian for the Sacred Precinct. How could she be away when such a thing happened? "She has to know–" I started.
Yaotl shook his head. "She felt it, Acatl. But she has to remain where she is."
"Why?" I asked, at the same moment as Neutemoc said, "The Emperor."
Of course. The ailing Emperor: the last remnants of the Southern Hummingbird's power, our last defence against Tlaloc. If he died, nothing would protect us.
From what? Would one god replacing another really be that disastrous? After all, Huitzilpochtli had done nothing in particular for me or mine. I thought of the creatures, mindlessly gorging on power, and of Jaguar Knights lying dead in their own Houses. The Storm Lord's rule would not be gentle.
Teomitl was watching me, his gaze disturbingly shrewd. "The Southern Hummingbird protects us. Tlaloc is one of the Old Ones. He brings drought and floods on a whim."
"He brings famine," I said, remembering how Eleuia had suffered during the Great Famine.
Teomitl said, "Do you want to gamble everything on the Storm Lord's gentleness?"
On a god's… humanity? "No," I said. "I would rather keep the old order." To gods and goddesses such as Xochiquetzal, we'd always be toys: easily subjugated, easily broken. "But we're still nothing compared to His powers. And you forget: we don't know where the child is."
Obviously not at the palace, or the panic would be stronger than that. Commander Quiyahuayo and the Jaguar Knights had known. But they were dead now, all of them.
"How long do you think we have?" Neutemoc asked.
I stifled a bitter laugh. Who could tell what went on in the mind of a god?
Yaotl detached himself from the wall. His scarred face was thoughtful. "Still some time, I'd say. If everything had been ready–"
"Yes," I said. If everything had been ready, and the attack launched on the Imperial Palace, there would have been no need to kill the Jaguar Knights. If the creatures had done so, it was because Commander Quiyahuayo still posed a danger to them. Because the child was still vulnerable.
"We have to find him," Teomitl said, voicing what we both thought. I wasn't sure what Neutemoc thought: if he still believed we were crazy to impugn Eleuia, to imagine wild stories of gods taking over the world.
Yaotl's voice was grave. "Easily said."
"Commander Quiyahuayo knew…" Neutemoc started, and then he shook his head. "He died in battle. He'll be in the Heavens, won't he? Out of your influence."
"Yes," I said. And I wasn't fool enough to attempt another summoning without divine favour. "We need–" Help. We needed help, and from someone who both had some idea of what Tlaloc was up to, and who would be favourable to us. We needed divine powers on our side, no matter the price we had to pay. "We need to find a god," I said.
Teomitl nodded. "Which one?" he asked, simply, never thinking of what the price or the difficulty would be.
Not Huitzilpochtli: He was as weak as the dying Emperor, and as ignorant. Not the Quetzal Flower: She was on Tlaloc's side, and without Ceyaxochitl we would get no answers from her. Not Lord Death: my patron had made it clear that He would take no part in the Fifth World's affairs.
Who would stand against the Storm Lord?
I remembered Commander Quiyahuayo's words: I didn't kill her. The bitch escaped.
An ahuizotl had killed Eleuia, dragging her down into the muddy depths of the lake, and feasting on her eyes and fingernails. An ahuizotclass="underline" a creature of Chalchiutlicue, Tlaloc's wife. His wife. And Tlaloc's child, which wasn't Hers, but Eleuia's. I doubted the Jade Skirt would have been happy about the whole affair.
"I think I know who we can try to see," I said. "Chalchiutlicue."
"The Storm Lord's wife?" Teomitl asked. "Why not?"
Neutemoc grimaced. "You have no idea how to summon Her, do you?"