By the pebbled incline, the wind was stronger, bringing along an unpleasantly heavy odor that made him remember his village and the hunting parties Father would bring him and his brothers along. Sometimes the men were lucky to shoot quite a few deer, and then the heavy aroma of meat juices would haunt one’s nostrils, penetrating and sticking around, in one’s hair and clothes, and even the skin itself, it seemed.
“Come, let’s get down there,” he breathed, relieved to glimpse Chantli surfacing close by. But this girl was a survivor! How could one guess that from the mere look of her, so sweet and demure, running between the house and the workshop, exuding niceness? Three moons of working in her father’s workshop, seeing her every day, peeking in to greet him with a cheerful niltze or sneak him an occasional tasty treat, a still warm tamale or a bowl of maize gruel, and he hadn’t known her at all, either the outspoken argumentative fowl of two nights before, meddling in royal affairs, arguing with calmecac nobles, running all over the nighttime Tenochtitlan, or feeling at home in the aggressive crowds of Tlatelolco, coming after him on a rescue mission, a foreigner no one cared for or worried about. But he still needed time to think it all through.
“We are still alive,” muttered Tlemilli wonderingly, stirring under his arm, forgotten there for a brief moment so comfortably she snuggled there, very fitting. “Aren’t we?”
He smiled at her from above, suddenly terribly uncomfortable hugging her like that, and in front of so many possibly staring eyes.
As though sensing his thoughts, she pulled away quickly. “But it was scary in there! So many people. I got hurt all over!” Hastily, she turned away, inspecting her limbs in question. Too hastily. He saw Chantli grinning briefly, with puzzling superiority and even some condescension thrown in.
“Look what I got!” She beamed before he could start wondering about that puzzling look of hers, beaming with happiness, her previous distressed lack of confidence forgotten. A decorated strap of leather connected with sturdily woven maguey on each side looked impressive and unmistakable, clutched tightly in her raised hand.
“A sling? But where…” He found himself stammering. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it.” She pulled her arm away, as though afraid he might try to snatch it. “Down there, under everyone’s feet.” Victoriously, she waved it again, spinning the flexible strap above her head, her excitement spilling. Yet just as he pondered her newly found treasure, wishing to ask to hold it but daring not, Tlemilli came back to life with a strangled cry.
“Father,” she squeaked. “There, by the shore. Over there! Can’t you see him? He is coming this way!” Her palm clutched his arm forcefully, squeezing hard. He paid it no attention, his eyes leaping toward her pointing finger, his heart thumping.
The greenish incline she indicated spread to their left, away from the commotion upon the main shore, sliding down and toward the water, it seemed, impossible to see from their vantage point. The men that hurried alongside it were just turning away, disappearing behind the slanting side, the cloak of the one in the lead swaying in the strengthening breeze, its design colorful, catching the eye.
“Was that your father?” He tried to disregard the shivers, the urge to turn and run in the opposite direction welling, overwhelming. “Are you sure?”
“Yes!” She was staring at him, wide-eyed, blinking in confusion. “His cloak, you know, the insignia of the Head Adviser. It’s him!” Her slender eyebrows were flying high above the round helplessness of her eyes, so atypical to her vigorous fiery self – her name Tlemilli meant Field of Fire, so very fitting. “But why would he leave the Emperor like that? In the middle of the speech and the ceremony of rewarding the best shooters and all. It doesn’t, it doesn’t make much sense. Why?”
“Who is her father?” Chantli was asking, tugging at his arm in her turn. “Why is he important to us now?”
But he paid both girls no attention, thinking fast. That same frightening Teconal, scampering away and in the middle of a relatively important ceremony. The head adviser or whatever this man’s title was; it didn’t make sense, unless…
“He went to interrogate the calmecac boy.” The words, even though his own, coming out of his own mouth, made his heart lurch in fright. Abruptly, he turned around. “Come!”
They stared at him, stunned, but as he broke into a run toward the incline that the ominous men disappeared behind, he could hear their footsteps, following, trying to keep up. Both of them! But shouldn’t he have left at least Tlemilli out of it?
The breeze coming from the waterside refreshed him, made his thoughts organize. With the local ruler making the most out of his dubious competition, enjoying himself and his flowery speeches, his closest adviser and right arm could surely not absent himself for a long period of time. Not enough to extract information, make prisoners talk by scary ways and hurtful means. There was simply not enough time for this and not enough privacy anywhere around. And if so, they’d follow the man now, find out where the calmecac boy and the other one were held, stay until the hasty interrogation ended, and then either try to free them immediately, if possible, or track their new whereabouts and free them then.
A simple plan, but Father said that plans, no matter which or what, should be always kept as simple and as uncomplicated as they came, as there would be enough factors to complicate matters later on. The thought of Father encouraged him. They would manage, somehow. There was no reason they wouldn’t.
“Where are we going?” demanded Chantli, catching up with him at long last. “Do you think these men will bring us to where Necalli and Ahuitzotl might be held?”
He nodded briefly, sneaking a quick glance behind his shoulder. Tlemilli was panting quite a few paces away, running cumbersomely, waving her thin arms in a funny manner. No runner, this one. He slowed his step.
“Who is her father?”
“This same Head Adviser, the man you said the warriors dragged the calmecac boy to for interrogation.”
Her gasp tore the air as her palm locked around his arm, slowing his progress even further. “Then why did you let her come with us?”
He shrugged. “She is not her father.”
Tlemilli was gasping for breath, her usually pale face glowing red, glistening with sweat, making her look less like an intricately carved mask and more of a human being.
“Stay here until we come back,” he told her, anxious to go on. But what if they lost sight of these people, what if they weren’t about to stay down there on the shore, easy to spot? They disappeared from their sight quite a few heartbeats ago, didn’t they? “Wait here.”
She shook her head violently, too out of breath to articulate her protests in words. He felt a brief smile sneaking out on its own. If she obeyed, it would be disappointing. Motioning her to keep up, he broke into a renewed run, only to trip on the loose sandal’s strap, the stupid thongs trailing after him since leaving the plaza, trying to fail his step ever since. Cursing, he kicked the annoying garb away, liberated, relishing the familiar touch of the earth upon his bare soles.
A hard round ball rolled away along with the discarded shoe. Without thinking, he picked it up, then rushed on, feeling better by the moment. But was it good to move without the stupid leather flopping around, challenging his every step!
The top of the incline offered nothing outstanding, reinforcing his fears. Shielding his eyes, his heart fluttering at the awareness of the exposed nature of their new vantage point, both girls panting beside him, catching their breaths, he surveyed the view of the spreading tracks of grass and gravel, trampled on and soiled badly, dotted with people and crumbled gruesome fowl remnants. So many carcasses! Some of the fallen birds were still fluttering, picked up by the determined seekers, bands of barefoot people wandering in the reeds.
The group of cloaked figures was still there, hurrying along the vegetated shoreline now, following its twists. The reeds would be helpful in this matter, he reflected, charging down the trampled incline. Both girls kept
close behind, volunteering no comments. What bliss!
By the pebbled strip of land, shielded from the clamor of the shoreline by thick vegetation, his eyes picked out several figures crowding the reed-covered inlet, some gesturing, others just standing. Six or maybe eight all in all, his eyes informed him, relishing the advantages of his elevated position but knowing that he could do nothing from such a distance, nothing at all.
“Keep down!” he whispered, pulling the Tlatelolcan girl behind the coverage of unsatisfactorily low bushes along with himself, counting on Chantli to follow the example. She did so promptly and it pleased him. But what a fighter this one was! “You two stay here,” he added in a louder whisper. “I’ll go take a closer look.”
Both started to protest, but he shot them a warning glance, then dove into the thicker reeds, hating the memories of the monster from the other side of the causeway their rustling brought or the sense of helplessness the thoughts of his next step induced. What was he to do upon reaching these people? What could he do? Hesitating, he listened to the uneven murmuring of the dry twigs.
“Go back,” he hissed without turning his head, indifferent to the question of which one of the girls was ignoring his instructions. He knew the answer to that. Both!
“Take this!” Chantli’s whisper was equally loud, sure of itself. “You might need it.”
The woven slingshot with its quality leather base was thrust into his hand, pleasing to touch. He glanced at it briefly.
“Just in case,” she whispered again, crawling along awkwardly, thrusting her knee into his hurting ribs as she did. “Sorry!”
He wanted to tell her to go and jump into the lake, but the sling felt good, fitting in his palm perfectly, and his appreciation of her courage and her gesture was greater than the pain her clumsiness brought along.
“Yes. You are right. Thank you! I… it can be handy, this thing. Especially with this one.” Absently, he glanced at the smooth round ball still clutched in his other sweating palm. Oh, but now he knew what it was. A missile! A real quality perfect stone, or maybe a clay ball, exact replica of the things the slingers were hurling back upon the plaza while competing for the best shot. How hadn’t he realized that before?
Feeling better by the moment, he grinned at her, then, unable to fight the temptation, peeked out again. The men upon the tiny strip of land were moving about, talking with agitation. One of them rushed away and up their incline. He heard the Tlatelolcan girl gasping, atypically quiet since escaping the crowds, curiously subdued. Afraid to take his eyes off the happenings upon the shore, he reached out with his free hand, pressing her upper arm briefly, trying to reassure.
The figure in the colorful cloak moved, gesturing in the direction opposite to the waterline, clearly talking, revealing another silhouette, that one pressed between two others uncompromisingly. Their prisoner? He thought he recognized the familiar broadness of the shoulders, not cloaked or covered otherwise anymore, the disheveled topknot. The wide sweep of the cloaked man’s arm was also unmistakable, landing against the prisoner’s side of the head, making him sway in the grip of his captors. A nearby smaller figure was struggling to break free from yet another warrior, the fury of its screams reaching even their hideaway.
This time, it was Chantli’s turn to gasp. “It’s them, it’s them,” she repeated again and again in an annoyingly strident whisper. “We must get to them somehow. We must!”
He felt the pleasant roundness of the missile as his fingers closed against it, feeling it out, measuring its weight and its merits, calculating. Not close enough to achieve a good throw. He would have to come closer, much closer, lose the advantage of the elevated ground, risk the surprise. But now he had the sling. Oh, this one would reach that other shore easily, taking down its target. Which one? The evil nobleman or any of his cronies? Those who held the calmecac boy or the other spirited pilli? And would he manage to shoot accurately enough, without harming the boys he was trying to rescue? Too many questions. He studied the decorated sling for another fraction of a heartbeat.
“See if there are more of those rounded things, or even just simple stones.” Both girls were staring at him, wide-eyed. “I’d better do as much shooting as I can before they manage to reach us here.”
The faint shouting intensified, joined by more loud voices. He let the clay missile roll into the comfortable leather base.
“Wait!” This time, it was Tlemilli, her strangely husky voice pleasing his ear, encouraging. But was she quiet since escaping the crowds! “Wait!” Her fingers were closing around his arm in a familiar fashion. “I’ll go there, take my father away. I can do this.”
“You what?” He found himself staring, beyond comprehension, feeling Chantli freezing as well, not daring to breathe.
Her eyes were again brimming with mischief, excited and confident, dominating the gentle sharpness of her face. A familiar sight, pleasing and unsettling at the same time. The girl from the Tlatelolco plaza was back. “I’ll manage to take him away. And the others too. I can do it easily.” Her grip on his arm tightened, relating her typical enthusiasm. “I’ll tell them that there is trouble out there at the contest. I’ll tell him that the Emperor needs him. I won’t leave until he comes with me. I will be very insistent. I promise!” The way she beamed at him tore at his heart. Oh yes, the girl from under the podium, sure of herself and trustful, full of silly ideas, but oh so reassuring, so encouraging in her innocent confidence. “When they leave, you can go there and free your friends. It won’t be hard once my father isn’t there. You’ll see.”
He still stared at her, his heart beating fast. “Will you do this for us?” The need to clear his throat became urgent. “I mean…”
“Yes, I just told you so. Aren’t you listening? Is it back to the Plaza and all, with you acting strange?” Her giggle warmed the air, uncomfortably loud. He fought the urge to tell her to lower her voice. “I liked you better now, around here, leader-like and all that.”
He shook his head, fighting his smile no longer. “If you do this for us, I will… I’ll find a way to repay you. You’ll see.”
Her entire face lit like a brazier at which twenty straw pipes blew all at once. “You will? You will find me later on? You promise?”
He just nodded, bereft of words.
“Then I’ll be off.” Springing to her feet with her typical bouncy vigor, she shot down the incline with no additional glance. One moment there, the other gone. Blinking, he stared at the place her face was peering at him from such close proximity only a heartbeat or two before. His mind refused to process any of it.
“He is not hitting him anymore.” Chantli’s voice tore him from the stupefied staring, ringing with urgency. Half crouching half squatting, she was leaning forward and away from the protective screen of the bushes, as far as she dared, looking like a forest fox, ready to bolt for cover at the slightest sight of danger. “Think she’ll manage to do something?”
He just shrugged, busy with observations of his own. The cloaked man was strolling back and forth now, gesticulating, addressing the younger boy, judging by that one’s wary pose and the pause in the furious yelling. Tlemilli’s flying garments bounced down the grassy incline, not far enough yet, progressing in a funny gait. Oh yes, a runner she was not. The warmth in his chest spread along with his worry. What if she got punished for this diversion? And would she be successful? While facing her oblique, widely open, sparkling eyes and the boundless enthusiasm her entire being exuded, it was easy to believe her that her father would turn around and go away, swallowing her hastily concocted lies, leaving his prisoners behind, carelessly unwatched. What silliness!
He shook his head forcefully, furious with himself. What a stupid assumption. The ruthless, violent, evidently highly experienced in all sorts of shady dealings man, the noble dignitary, the Emperor’s Head Adviser and all, furious with one escaping prisoner by now surely, why, such a man would not leave his new prisoners unattended with no adequate guard and whatnot.
>
Narrowing his eyes, he let his gaze wander, scanning the ground nearest to their hideaway, satisfied with the amount of midsize rocks and pebbles it offered. More than enough for one desperate attempt. He clenched his clay treasure tighter in his sweaty palm. This would be the first one, the most important, the shot that would seal their fate. Hastily, he dropped to his knees, crawling as far as he dared without leaving the safety of their cover, picking up the best-looking rocks.
“She is running really fast now.” Another observation from Chantli, this time in a calmer voice. She seemed to be amused. Why would she be? “Where did you find that bizarre-looking fowl?”
“She is not bizarre-looking,” he muttered, curiously incensed. Tlemilli looked or behaved anything but ordinary, didn’t she? But bizarre? No. Just different, nicely at that.
“Oh well.” There was a peculiar note to the girl’s voice and he glanced at her briefly, puzzled. What troubled that one? Besides their current troubles, that is. “She is strange and bizarre, and if you don’t see it, then maybe we shouldn’t have trusted your judgment and got her involved at the first place. How do you know she won’t be telling about us the moment she reaches that dear father of hers?”
“She won’t,” he grunted, his stomach twisting violently. Not with warmth this time. And what if Chantli was right? How did he know that he could trust the girl he had just met and under the oddest circumstances? “Stop talking and let me think.”
To concentrate on sorting out his improvised ammunition helped. He did so with an exaggerated care, picking up the best fitting rocks, five in all, enough for the first concentrated attack. He wouldn’t be able to shoot any more than this before all those warriors broke into a wild run, trying to catch them here, or wherever.
“When I tell you, try to sneak away and toward the shore if you can,” he said, eyes still on his unimpressive arsenal, not daring to face her, not yet. Not until Tlemilli had proven her worth. “When I start hurling those stones, they’ll be coming here fast enough. In the meanwhile, if you are anywhere closer to where they are now held, you may be able to sneak in and free them somehow. It may be possible. Maybe they’ll all run here. Let’s hope they do.” He sighed. “We can’t do any better anyway.”