Obsidian Puma (The Aztec Chronicles Book 1) Page 3

  “Me? What does any of it have to do with me? I can go wherever I want to as of now. You are the one who will stay to bake here in all this heat, buried between the braziers, unless permitted to go out.”

  Grinding his teeth, Miztli admitted the truth of this statement. He was the prisoner here, not the smug telpochcalli boy. “You wanted me to come somewhere,” he muttered, not sounding too convincing. “It was your idea.”

  “Yes, but I don’t need you to come. I just suggested it.” The youth made a face, relating it all in one single grimace. “And I’m not yet sure that I will let you join me at all. I’ve yet to see if your company is worth it. You are just a boy. I thought you were older.”

  “I’m old enough!” cried out Miztli, offended. This one was barely one summer older than he was, and just who did he think he was to lord it over him like that? If forced to fight, he would take this one easily, the skinny forest mouse that he was. “I can fight and I was in enough brawls, and I can take telpochcalli boys if they fight fair, one on one and not all of them together.” The memory of his single experience of roaming Tenochtitlan’s streets all alone wasn’t uplifting. Apparently, there were some neighborhoods near the wharves and behind the marketplace one was wise to avoid altogether.

  The squinting eyes were measuring him again. “Then come,” said the youth finally, seemingly impressed but not enough to treat him with more respect than curtly tossed orders. But he had had enough of those since arriving in the magnificent island capital! “We’ll find Acatlo or his brother on our way and I’ll ask them for you, maybe.” The thin lips were twisting in an annoyingly overbearing manner again. “But you will owe me for this, a big favor too. Here,” a square cloth flew at him, thrown with barely enough force to reach him in order to catch it comfortably, “wipe your face and hands and come. We haven’t much time and you do look no better than a slave from one of the villages. The calmecac boys will run away in disgust.”

  What calmecac boys? he wondered, concentrating on something that had nothing to do with the helplessness of his anger. The stupid nephew was not his master or superior and it would be a pleasure to give him a black eye at the very least. However, if he did this, he would be in trouble, and the prospect of touring that huge capital as opposed to being stuck in the airless backroom, either slaving or kicking his heels, was alluring to say the least. To run these unknown alleys, accompanied by a boy who knew his way around; oh, but for this, he could put up with some patronizing. Well, at least for the duration of this one tempting afternoon.

  Chapter 3

  Chantli was hard put not to stare. The splendor of the temple was like nothing she had seen before, not even close. Those towering walls, a celebration of colors and ornaments upon the smoothest of plasters, the whole wall as slick as a brick of shiny copper sheet from Father’s workshop after he had hammered it and heated it and then hammered it again for many rounds and tries. The temples in their part of the city weren’t shabby or unworthy, not in her private opinion; still, those looked like cane-and-reed houses of the lowest of commoners compared to this wonder.

  “The ornaments will be required in great quantity,” the man in a dark garment was saying, strolling ahead of Father and the rest of their party, ten men in all, minor priests and a few others, the temple’s servants or officials, was Chantli’s wild guess. “Our house of worship and the adjacent facilities will require the entire amount by the time of the Mountains Celebration. However, it should be delivered at least a market interval earlier.” The proud head turned abruptly, presenting Chantli with its eagle-like profile and the rich mane of elaborately knotted hair.

  Shivering, she moved away, huddling next to the magnificent statue of the Beautiful Serpent, Quetzalcoatl, sometimes called Feathered Serpent as well, even though those were no stone feathers adorning his sleek grandiose body but ears of maize – feather-like looking, indeed – as appropriate for the deity responsible for something as important as creation of life in this current World of the Fifth Sun. It felt safer to be shielded by such a benevolent deity. Quetzalcoatl was a merciful god, even though it wasn’t his temple they had let into this time.

  “My workshop can guarantee timely delivery of these goods, oh Honorable Teohuatzin. In the exact amount you demand and more than this, if you wish it to be so.” Her father stumbled over his words, his speech pouring out eagerly, almost frantically, in an atypical manner for a person who always talked with deliberate slowness, even when in the middle of his rare spells of rage. Oh, but did he sound eager and overwhelmed! Chantli held her breath, slightly disappointed. Father was a respectable citizen and their neighborhood was no shabby slum. A member of Tenochtitlan’s artisan guild, he held a prestigious enough position among his neighbors and peers, other metal, wood, feather, and stone workers, all those well-off craftsmen who could afford to run a workshop of their own; his ways always somber, dignified, putting him slightly above his chattering, shrilling peers. She always thought that he was too good for his surroundings. Well, now it felt the other way around, and it was a disquieting feeling.

  The man in the dark cloak pursed his lips in too obvious a fashion, his bushy eyebrows climbing slightly, not aiming to reach the pulled-away hairline. “My assistants will prepare list of items. Make your promises after you look at it, tradesman.” The last word came outright contemptuous, not pronounced or stressed, but there. Was there something wrong with being a trader, a whole class above craftsmen and artisans?

  The servants, clearly minor priestly officials who came to Father’s workshop to summon them here, drifted closer, probably wishing to hear without being too obvious about it. Chantli breathed with relief and stayed where she was, huddling yet closer to the mighty deity’s statue. It was so beautiful and somehow reassuring, as high as two men who would have to stand on the shoulders of one another, and so wonderfully detailed, the ornaments upon the thick serpent’s body beckoning with their glossiness, inviting to touch. Shyly, she did just that, enjoying the smoothness of the stone and the light bulges of the glittering metal ornaments beneath her fingers, such a familiar sensation, a good one.

  “You can’t touch Revered Quetzalcoatl just like that!”

  The words made her flinch, her heart pounding in a wild tempo. Spoken in a high childish voice, they still caused her to leap away quite a few steps. Blinking, she stared at the boy, taking in the way he stood, straight-backed and preachy, younger than she, obviously, but very sure of himself, at home in this place. His eyes were large and nicely spaced in the broadness of his face, their challenging defiance fitting. It was as though he dared her to argue with him, to tell him to be off, ready to fight for his right to be here and say what he said. For some reason, it reassured her.

  “Who are you to tell me that?” she demanded, making sure her voice did not rise above loud whispering. The people who had brought them here might be back, dragging her off the precious statue, backing the little brat on his claims.

  His chin rose yet higher, even though it was anything but lowered before. “And who are you to sneak into the temple of our calmecac? You sneaked here, you did!” he called out, triumphant, then hurried to lower his voice as well, shooting a furtive glance around. Was he guilty of the same transgression he accused her of? she wondered.

  “I didn’t sneak here,” she stated with as much dignity as she could muster. “My father was invited to meet the important priest and he brought me along, because this is what he wanted to do.”

  It came out well, with enough nerve and aplomb. She tossed her head as high as he did, a stupid boy of barely her youngest brother’s age, although wearing a prettily decorated cloak and sandals adorned with glittering stones. Why would his parents bother to clothe him in all this splendor?

  His eyes measured her with an unconcealed curiosity, his forehead furrowing with what looked like thousand creases. “He brought you here because he wants them to accept you in our school’s temple,” he announced in the end, solemn and matter-of-fact now, his lip
s pursed importantly.

  “Accept me to do what?” she asked, puzzled. The voices were drawing away, even those belonging to her escorts. Father and his important converser were heading toward the plastered columns of the other side, she surmised, a quick glance confirming her assumption. To write the list of the mentioned items?

  “To serve your time in the temple, you silly.” The boy made a face, looking funny in his half amused irritation. “All girls do that.” Another contemplative grimace. “How old are you?”

  “Fourteen,” she said. “I have seen fourteen summers and some moons. More than you, surely!” It was too tempting to put him in his place. He was so sure of himself, that snotty temple boy.

  As expected, he reared like a turkey surprised into confrontation, all feathers and aggression and rage. There were plenty such birds roaming near the wharves, grown there for the nobility to have their meals fresh and tasty. The rest of Tenochtitlan did with an occasionally imported meat hunted in the mainland, but mainly with the foodstuff fished near the shores of the Great Lake.

  “I have seen enough summers,” he cried out, finding his tongue at long last. “I’ve been to calmecac for many, many moons. More than you can count!”

  Good for you, she thought, pleased with herself, but a glance at the backs of her previous escorts made her worried. They slowed their step and seemed to be vacillating, undecided as to their next move. Of Father and the important priest, there was no sight.

  “They are coming back,” she observed without thinking, suddenly worried. Would they scold her for picking arguments with local boys or for touching the statue, for that matter? The little turkey could tell on her, couldn’t he?

  To her surprise, he reacted by grabbing her arm. “Here!” His pull was strong, surprisingly forceful, not violent but convincing in its earnestness, signaling the urgency of his sudden decision.

  Startled a little, she complied, diving behind the statue, catching sight of a small opening hiding behind it, dusty but not frightening or unfriendly. The corridor it presented reminded her of certain marketplace allies, walled areas between warehouses that she wasn’t allowed to sneak along, the places she wouldn’t have discovered but for Patli and his unquenched thirst for everything unknown and new. Not a native of Tenochtitlan, he had come to live with them upon the death of his family somewhere out there beyond the northern shores of the Great Lake, in the town called Coacalco, where reportedly Toltec people still lived, not far away from Teotihuacan, the City of Gods. Did it make Patli into a noble Toltec? Was that why Father insisted on treating him as a special family member and not just a nephew he barely knew before? Patli certainly wasn’t forced to work as hard in the workshop, neither as both her older half-brothers, nor as the new apprentice, that nice village boy with the impressive name ItzMiztli, Obsidian Puma, from the opposite, southern side of the Great Lake. Out of the two, she liked the southern boy better, uncouth villager or not. If it were up to her, she would have sent him to school and let him have plenty of free time. But Patli was not that bad either.

  “It’ll bring us back to calmecac,” whispered her companion, leading their way in the narrowing passage. “Straight away into the room with weapons and shields.”

  That made her stop her progress, abruptly at that. “I can’t enter calmecac!”

  “Oh.” Halting his step in his turn, he pondered her words, comically undecided. “There is another opening out here. It leads outside, beneath the temple’s staircase.”

  “I can’t go outside just like that too,” she insisted, feeling silly about this entire argument. “I have to go back in. They’ll be looking for me.” Still hesitating, she peered at him through the semidarkness. “You sneaked out of school, didn’t you?”

  He shrugged, not looking worried.

  “Why did you do that?”

  Another lift of his shoulders came as no surprise. “I do that all the time,” he said, as though that explained it all, clearly pleased with himself.

  “Why do you have to creep around like that? Can’t you just go out? My brothers came home to eat meals every evening when they were at school.”

  “Every evening?” The face he made was predictable by now. “Why would they?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “Maybe the food at home is better.”

  “They have tasty food in calmecac,” he stated, raising his eyebrows high, again annoyingly smug, making her wish to put him back in his place. “The boys from the city have to prepare their meals, of course, so maybe it isn’t that tasty. But they do have slaves to cook for us, and it tastes good. Just like in the Palace.”

  “Like in the Palace?” She didn’t try to hold her laughter in, the derisiveness of it. “As though you would know what they eat in the Palace.” As he began puffing up again, glowing with indignation, she laughed yet harder. “Also, my brothers’ school was not far away from home. It’s just behind the second marketplace main alley, near the square with the pool. They didn’t have to go far to reach those meals. Maybe if they were here in your calmecac, they would have thought twice before setting out to run all over the city for the taste of my mother’s tortillas and porridge.”

  This time, his eyes turned round with astonishment. “They weren’t in calmecac? They were in the commoners’ school?” Even his voice peaked, squeaking with pure shock.

  “So what…” she began, but the voices coming from the shimmering rectangle they had left behind cut her short. The silhouettes of the people seemed to hover there, clearly visible but not moving, not stepping into the corridor.

  “Has the Revered One gone to the Palace already?” someone inquired in a calm, measured voice.

  “Oh yes, it’s been some time since he left.” Another man spoke more hurriedly, in a rush. “But Tecpan Teohuatzin is still here, talking to that commoner, the craftsman. Out there, behind the altar, in one of the inner rooms.”

  “What craftsman?” asked the first man, sounding interested now. “The stone-worker? The weapon-maker?”

  “You wish!” said a new voice, trembling with a measure of mirth. “He brought here that metal worker, the one who does copper sheets. They say this one can keep up with big orders and his guild vouched for him.”

  “Copper-worker? Do we have such things in the city?”

  “Apparently.”

  “What do they have in mind? Redecoration of the temple?”

  “Maybe.”

  The boy’s hands were tugging at her arm again, pulling it firmly, with great resolve. He was a forceful beast, that one, with too much willpower. Hesitating, but only a little, as their silhouettes were blocking the light entirely now, not moving in their direction but as though about to do that, she let him lead her on, toward the opposite source of light.

  “They would do better ordering goods together with the Palace.” Oh yes, that voice definitely began moving along the corridor. Freeing her arm from her companion’s grip, she hastened her step, anxious to keep up now. How embarrassing it would be to get caught eavesdropping on the priests of the important temple near the Royal Enclosure. Oh mighty deities!

  “The Palace doesn’t order ornaments or jewelry these days. With our warlike ruler, they keep mostly the weapon-makers busy. And when not those, then the stone-workers and other crafting commoners. Those neighborhoods by the wharves are exploding with workshops these days, overflowing with activity and stench, full of boorish villagers running around, as though belonging in Tenochtitlan’s slums.”

  “Commoners!” echoed another voice, not sounding caring but probably just being polite. “But we do need all this weaponry. Especially now, with even our closest of neighbors across Tlatelolco causeway looking as though they are entertaining silly ideas.”

  “Tlatelolco will not make trouble,” stated the agitated man firmly. “They will go on sending warriors to participate in our campaigns. There is nothing unreasonable in our Emperor’s demands, the whining of his spoiled royal sister notwithstanding. She is just seeking
attention, that one.”

  “Our Emperor is young and impatient. He doesn’t phrase his requests wisely, and he does take his sister’s complaints to heart. Not to mention his mother, who still holds enough influence over her wild brood of sons.”

  “Here,” breathed the boy, diving into yet another dark opening, allaying Chantli’s growing concern.

  “Yes, the Emperor wasn’t wise to demand explanations from the ruler of an independent city-state like Tlatelolco, neighboring island or not. It’s not his business how Moquihuixtli treats his wives and in what order he visits them. Not now that his expedition in the west faltered…” The voices were drawing away, muffled, resonating against the plastered walls.

  “Those expeditions didn’t falter. They just didn’t bring the expected results.”

  The breeze of the outside was a blessing, bursting upon them in the most welcome of manners. She blinked against the strong afternoon light that slid under the huge polished staircase as though unrestrained. The boy was scowling by her side, studying the ground around their feet, very put out.

  “What’s wrong? Can’t you go back to your calmecac from some other entrance?”

  “Yes, I can,” he said, glancing at her from under his brow, puzzled.

  “Then why are you making faces?”

  “I’m not!” The argumentative beast was back, not missed in the least.

  “Yes, you are.” She grinned at him, actually liking the fierce little thing a great deal. Not like her younger brother, a boy of exactly the same age, but more like that apprentice from Father’s workshop, the village boy, even though this one was not in the position to offer arguments. “And anyway, you said I can go back into the temple from here. Do you know of a better way? Another corridor, maybe? I don’t want to mount this staircase, not in front of everyone.” He seemed as though set on arguing, no matter what the subject, so she replaced her grin with a halfhearted scowl, still in the best of moods, like always when outside. “You were the one to drag me out here, remember?”