I knew. "Can you…" I'd done enough damage to my family: to Huei, to Neutemoc. Or, more accurately, we'd done enough damage to each other, but I'd still dealt Huitzilpochtli's share of it. "Can you do anything?"
Teomitl frowned. "I? No. The Jade Skirt, perhaps. But you know there will be a price."
"I'll pay it," I said.
Teomitl smiled, without joy. He seemed to have grown up immeasurably since taking on Chalchiutlicue's blessing, turning from a boy into a bitter adult in a matter of hours. "Always ask what the price is before accepting a bargain, Acatl-tzin. Have you learnt nothing?"
No, not much. Things about myself; about Father and Neutemoc; that was all. Teomitl was right. An adult, in all the ways that mattered. I didn't think he'd be needing any advice any more.
Teomitl laid his hands on Neutemoc's chest again, pushed down, hard. Light blazed from his fingers, wrapped itself around my brother's body: a green luminescence much like the reflections of light on jade, which uneasily called to mind the depths of Tlalocan, and the memory of the pulsing roots, and of Father, laid out among them like a living offering.
I heard Chalchiutlicue laugh, in my mind. Priest, She whispered, and suddenly She stood behind Teomitl, Her hands outstretched to cover his head, a mocking parody of the Storm Lord's position at Popoxatl's side.
You used Teomitl. But then we'd all used each other.
"He's in My land," the Jade Skirt whispered, and Her voice was the lament of the wind over the stormy lake. "But not so far gone. I can give him back to you."
"I'll pay the price," I whispered, again.
She laughed. "Such impatience. You owe Me a favour, priest. One day, I'll come and claim it from you."
And then She was gone, and Teomitl's magic had sunk down to nothing again. And Neutemoc was coughing up stale water, struggling to rise. I'd never thought I'd be so happy to see him moving.
"Acatl?" Neutemoc asked, his voice rasping in his throat.
I took his hand, pulled him to a sitting position. "Welcome back."
Neutemoc grimaced. "So is the Fifth World over?" He stared at the sky, and at the gathered priests. On the lake, a flotilla of boats was making its way towards us. In the prow of the first one was the familiar figure of Ceyaxochitl. "I guess not."
"No," I said.
Neutemoc closed his eyes. "I remember Father…"
I waited for him to remember the rest, how I'd almost let go of him in my selfish urge to judge him. But at length he said, "I guess I owe you."
I shrugged. "Nothing much." Chalchiutlicue would claim Her debt, but there was nothing I could do about that.
Neutemoc sat in the mud, watching the lake. I made my way towards the altar, and found Ezamahual tending to Palli. "How is he?" I asked.
"Nothing serious," Ezamahual said. "He hit his head when the boat capsized. He'll survive."
"And the others?" I asked, slowly, already knowing the answer.
Ezamahual's gaze was distant. "Two novice priests are dead. And some of them won't live out the night."
"I see."
"They gave their lives for the Fifth World," Ezamahual said, his voice toneless, as if reciting something learnt by rote. "It's our only destiny."
It was. But it didn't mean we wouldn't mourn them. Like Quechomitl, like Commander Quiya-huayo, they would ascend into the Heaven of the Sun, to find their afterlife far more pleasant than the toil of this world. But we would still miss them.
I, more than anyone: for I had used them, barely knowing them. I knelt, slowly, by the altar and Ixtli's body, and whispered the first words of a prayer for the Dead:
"We leave this earth
This world of jade and flowers
The quetzal feathers, the silver…"
When the flotilla of boats reached the island, Ceyaxochitl was the first on the ground. Accompanied by Yaotl, she made her way towards me with her usual energy, and a frown on her face which told me I would have a number of explanations to give her.
"I see you're alive," Ceyaxochitl said, with a snort. Her eyes took in my priests, slumped on the ground; Ichtaca, who still hadn't opened his eyes; Neutemoc, sitting cross-legged in the mud; and Teomitl, standing by my brother's side, oozing Chalchiutlicue's magic. "And I see you've had some interesting adventures."
"I'll–"
She raised an unsteady hand. Suddenly, I saw how tired she looked; how pale was her face, and how she'd wrapped her left hand tightly around her cane's pommel, to prevent it from shaking. Tending to the Emperor had taken a heavy toll on her.
"We'll get you back," Yaotl said. His face in the dim light was expressionless. "We can see about the rest later."
We had to leave most of the bodies in the water. The ahuizotls were feeding, and not even Teomitl's commands could make them abandon their grisly meals. Out of about thirty dead on our side, and the priests of Tlaloc on the other, we'd retrieved only four: two of my novice priests, one Duality warrior, and Ixtli.
On the way back, I found myself riding in the same boat as Neutemoc, watching the water part around the prow.
My brother was silent, as he had been on our journey to Amecameca. But this time the silence wasn't filled with pent-up aggressiveness, or things we'd failed to say to each other.
"You'll be fine?" I asked.
He said nothing. He watched the water, moodily. "I don't know."
"You can't go back," I said, finally.
"No," Neutemoc said. "You never can. But you can always dream of what could have been."
"And destroy your life?" I asked, more vehemently than I'd meant to. "Sorry."
Neutemoc shook his head. He dipped his hand in the water, watching the droplets part on his skin. "It doesn't matter," he said. He sighed. "Huei–"
"There's no need to talk about her," I said, more embarrassed than I'd thought.
Neutemoc didn't speak. "She told me to forget her," he said. "To find myself another wife, to raise the children."
"She told you that?" There would be no divorce, but nothing prevented him from taking on a second wife. He'd be more than able to support her.
"In the temple," Neutemoc said. "I don't know what I'll do."
My chest contracted. "You don't have to decide right now."
"No," Neutemoc said. "I guess not. What will you do?"
"I don't know," I said, truthfully. There would be accounts to make to Ceyaxochitl – vigils for Ixtli and the dead priests – and life would, I guessed, go on much as it had always done.
Neutemoc snorted. "A fine pair we make." His face closed again. "So you killed the child?"
"Yes," I said, curtly. And Eleuia, too; and perhaps Father. I wasn't sure.
"Going down alone into Tlalocan… You'd have made a good warrior, you know."
I shrugged. "Some things aren't made to be."