“And you?” she asked, peering at him from above. He could feel her eyes boring at him, drilling holes in his skin.
“I’ll deal with them. It won’t be difficult.” He forced his shoulders into a breezy shrug. “There are too many people still wandering all over, up there and down the main shore. You saw them too. It’ll be difficult to chase me out there, not like in nighttime Tenochtitlan.”
Another heartbeat of strained silence. “Did they get you back there at night? When you were on your way home?” Her voice dropped to a mere whisper.
He shrugged again, shifting to get a better look at their prospective target, his stomach as tight as a wooden ball. The cloaked man wasn’t pacing anymore. Standing with his legs wide apart and his hand shielding his eyes, he was peering in their direction in a pose like that of a predator, ready to pounce. Miztli’s heart missed a beat, then threw itself wildly against his ribs. Did the man see them somehow? Did he guess?
The answer presented itself readily, not calming but letting him breathe again. Tlemilli’s prettily bright garment was fluttering not far away from the shore, her arms flailing as though greeting, or maybe just enhancing her run. She must be badly out of breath now, he reflected randomly. Would she manage?
“He saw her,” observed Chantli, herself looking like an animal, hovering on all fours, leaning as far out as she dared, supported by her arms, ready to spring into action. “He is looking this way!”
I can see that, he thought, keeping his peace, not wishing to snap at her. She was a good girl and a true friend, even though she was so foul-mouthed about Tlemilli.
“I think you should go now. Crawl around those bushes and then down the slope.” A brief glance to his right reassured him, enough vegetation in their immediate proximity and further down. “The moment she takes him away, I better start shooting. Then it will all go very fast, I suppose.”
She nodded readily. “Promise that you won’t stay to face them all here.”
The corner of his mouth quivered almost against his will. “I won’t. I promise.” It was difficult to hold the snicker in. “If I don’t hit your calmecac boy instead of his attackers, I’ll join you down there, somehow. But you need to hurry now. The moment she leaves, I’d better start swinging that sling.”
Down by the shore, Tlemilli seemed to be talking rapidly, waving her hands as profusely as their orating Emperor did before, not sparing on broad gesturing. The cloaked man looked up and toward the crowded incline, and so did the rest of them, even the prisoners.
“You don’t believe she’ll manage to take them all away.” Chantli’s whisper trailed after her, disappearing behind the next cluster of bushes, as nimble and as matter-of-fact as she was.
“What she’ll manage will be more than enough,” he grunted louder than he wished, incensed once again. But why did she have to pick on the Tlatelolcan girl all the time?
By the shore, the agitation was increasing, with the cloaked man talking now, gesturing curtly. Unlike his emperor or his lively daughter, that one seemed to be sure enough of his words without reinforcing those with gesticulation. Tlemilli was hopping nearby, exuding nervous impatience, still talking, or trying to, judging by the movements of her thin arms. He willed her to shut up and run away. What if they wouldn’t leave at all, not even her and her father?
Chantli’s rustling somewhere further down the incline frayed his nerves. But maybe he shouldn’t have sent her to approach that shore all alone. What if they caught her sniffing around?
As though anxious to either allay or increase his fears, the cloaked man began walking, turning his head as though scanning his surroundings. It was easy to imagine his eagle-like frown and the squinted eyes. As opposed to her father, Tlemilli was bouncing like a spirited itzcuintli on a leash, indeed resembling those slick hairless dogs the people of his village kept for various uses and people of Tenochtitlan grew mainly for food, bred or herded not far away from the troublesome causeway, making much noise. He felt his palm going rigid around the first perfect missile. But what if…
The cloaked man turned abruptly, breaking into a swift walk up the incline, storming it with much forcefulness. Miztli’s heart stopped once again. One heartbeat, then another. Nothing happened in his chest, while he struggled to drag himself onto his feet, knowing that he had to do something, anything. To try shooting his sling? Oh yes, he must have enough time for that. It would be easier, maybe, if he managed to hit this man, the main enemy, with this one closing the distance, making it easier… Easier to do what? He didn’t know. As though in a dream, he began to get up, twenty heartbeats spent on each movement, so unbearably slow.
Up at long last, he adjusted the sling, then blinked. The group was ascending the hill, drifting away and far to his left, walking briskly, not interested in his side of it in the least. Except the girl. She was sneaking covert glances, of that he was sure. Against his will, his eyes lingered, enjoying the sight of her, so breezy and bouncy, so out of place and not in accordance with the forceful firmness of her escorts. He could bet she was looking his way.
Before his instincts made him dive back behind the protection of the bushes, he glanced at the shore, then went numb all over again. Eerily empty, the place that until now was full of pacing or angry or violent people was gleaming peacefully, abandoned in the light of the afternoon sun. Blinking, he tried to understand, his eyes darting around, picking another group, this one drawing away along the shoreline, six in all, walking briskly, or forced to do so, an obvious case with the smaller boy. His calmecac fellow was walking on his own, proudly but with obvious difficulty, pushed by one of the men, roughly at that. Of Chantli there was no sight.
Slipping behind the following bushes in the direction the girl disappeared earlier, Miztli tried to think reasonably, the urge to break into a wild run overwhelming. What if they disappeared from his view for good? What if he didn’t manage to catch up with them crawling like that? If it took him too long, that scary Teconal would be back, with her attempt to take him away coming to nothing, resulting in no action, a futile thing.
Daring to straighten up again, he sighted the entire group not far away, progressing slower than his crawling apparently. And with good reason. The calmecac boy wasn’t cooperating anymore, struggling to break free, fighting with desperation, kicking viciously, overwhelmed but not giving up even when pressed to the ground by the weight of two of his captors. The third man was kneeling nearby, leaning forward like a priest preparing for a ritual, deliberate and slow. The thrust of his right arm could not be mistaken.
Miztli fought his misgivings no more. The cherished clay ball slipped easily into the leather base of his slingshot, his right arm already shooting upwards, enjoying the motion. A familiar feeling but better than he remembered, with this real warriors’ weapon being sturdier but easier to handle, to push into a strong spin, nothing like the homemade woven straps he used to hunt with.
His mind went perfectly clear and his hand enjoyed every round, knowing that it was its decision when to let the missile go, nothing to do with his mind but only his instincts. When it finally flew, it did so in a viciously powerful swish, crashing into its intended target – no running rabbits or flying birds this one – sending the kneeling warrior down and away to slam onto the ground and lie there still in a heap of limbs.
The others froze in surprise. Even their struggling victim stopped his mad wriggling. Still in control, relishing the sensation, Miztli groped for another stone, his previously assembled arsenal forgotten back in the bushes. His next shot wasn’t as good, crashing against the second man’s shoulder, making him merely sway, in the process of springing to his feet, leaving his perch upon his victim’s chest readily, too readily. In less than a heartbeat, he was already charging uphill, determined like a whirlwind, not about to be stopped. There was no point in searching for a new missile. Still, Miztli darted toward another temptingly round stone.
By the time he pushed it into its leather bed, the man was almost upon
him, charging recklessly, blind with fury. The ragged obsidian of his knife glowed dully, reflecting the sun. For a moment, he followed it with his gaze, fascinated. Then the sling was twirling again, not to hurl but to hit. He didn’t realize this was his intention himself until it happened. And so did his attacker. The spinning leather caught the man in mid-leap, crushing against his temple as though planted there at leisure, with perfect accuracy.
Swaying from the impact, the recoil his arms had absorbed, Miztli fought for his balance, his mind exceedingly clear, noting the details – the brownish slough of the damp earth, the remnants of the trampled grass, the crimson splashing upon it, coming from the half open mouth, the rest of the crumbled limbs inert, indifferent, just sprawling there, a part of the scenery.
The next thing he knew, he was racing madly, down the slope and toward the shore and the sounds of struggle coming from there, skidding on the slippery ground, all amok. Oh, but he needed to reach them, Chantli and the calmecac boy, if for no other reason than to have them by his side, to not feel alone anymore, pitted against terrible people, deserted and forgotten.
Chapter 18
Necalli tried to make sense out of it all, his head reeling, mouth full of bile, the side of his face where the knife slashed at it on fire, his wounded arm pumping with pain. The entire world was whirling, with footsteps running and Ahuitzotl’s shouting, cursing in his typical flowery manner. The other men’s swearing shook the air too, at least one more voice. Where were the others?
With no crushing weight upon his chest and no rock-hard arms pinning his limbs to the ground, he sprang back into an upright position as fast as his aching body allowed him, his head spinning but not too badly. Supported by his good arm, he blinked, taking in the bedlam, one of his captors still nearby, whirling back at him, wild-eyed. To roll away from the renewed charge was the best thing he could think of for the moment. Accompanied by a desperate kick, it gained him another precious heartbeat to try and regroup. Not enough but better than nothing. His sandal connected with some flesh, pleasing him greatly, but the weight was back upon him, this time worse than before, and the coarse palms wrapping around his neck did not help the disoriented sensation.
In a panic, he wriggled madly, pushing and kicking, not sparing his wounded arm an effort, not anymore. Just like before, when those people had held him while the knife was plunging toward his eye, determined to take it out because he wouldn’t tell what they wanted to know, some questions important, like the whereabouts of his friends, or accomplices, as they put it, some just silly and irrelevant, like the question of what were they doing here in Tlatelolco in the first place. It was the strangest thing of all, the way their mere presence here was considered an affront. As though Tenochtitlan citizens did not swarm Tlatelolco markets, or the other way around. The marketplace of this other island was huge, the largest and the richest among the Great Lake cities and towns. Thousands who traveled would arrive here for the market days. The stupid city was used to visitors aplenty, so what was their problem?
In desperation, he pummeled the assaulting body as hard as he could, kicking with enough force to feel his smothering hands slipping, relaxing their grip but not enough to let him breathe freely, not about to disappear for good like that knife before, when the ragged blurry obsidian slid away at the last moment, not piercing his eye but slipping downward, leaving a burning sensation. Somehow, that made the people pinning him to the ground back away too, yet now it didn’t seem as though about to happen again.
Clenching his teeth, he slammed his knee into what felt like the softness of a belly before the hands were back, groping their way toward his throat, annoyingly persistent. The world spun again, then shook with a fuzzy thud. The fingers stopped pressing, but it took him another heartbeat to push the face that slammed into his away. For some reason, it annoyed rather than stunned him, making his head clear. Pushing the weakly straggling limbs, surprised with the ease with which it came to him this time, he blinked to make his vision clear.
The next thing he knew, Chantli’s unmistakably oval face was swimming before his eyes, her hair loose and fluttering, tickling his nose, her hands tugging at his shoulders, pulling him up, not very successful, as expected.
“Oh mighty deities, are you all right? You don’t look good.” She was sobbing, stumbling over her words, sniffing loudly, pulling the air through an obviously clogged nose.
It made him want to snicker. Just don’t sneeze on me, he wanted to tell her, but the brief moment of hilarity was over before he could comment on it, banished by the sounds of struggle. Ahuitzotl, he knew, the wild beast. Who else could curse so lavishly, with so many insults put together in neatest of strings?
Pushing himself up along with her helpful efforts, her hands not strong enough but efficient, giving him power with their mere presence, her warmth encouraging, promising nothing but good, he blinked the persistent mist away, forcing his eyes to concentrate, tracing the sight of the yelling and screaming. The man was staggering up the incline, heading in the direction the scary leader had disappeared earlier, summoned by a skinny fowl with interesting looks. Burdened with the boy who was thrown over his shoulder, kicking and screaming, twisting wildly, writhing like a snake, pounding with the aid of his every limb, the would-be abductor had evidently had a hard time, making slow progress.
Clenching his teeth, Necalli tried to will away his dizziness. But he needed to reach them and fast! It might be enough to catch up with the kidnapper, to make him drop his cargo. The fierce cub would help him from there. Briefly, he wondered why the man didn’t knock his charge off for good, or at least make him behave with a punch or two. But did the royal pillis always have it easy.
“We must, must catch him somehow,” Chantli was murmuring, still supporting him, taking some of his weight.
“Yes.” He pulled away firmly, clenching his teeth against the nauseating sway of the shore. There was no choice but to chase them, spinning head or not. He had to…
As though in a dream, he watched another figure running down the incline, heading in their direction, racing along the wet grass in a frenzied hurry, as though all the spirits of the Underworld were after it. Not on the path of the kidnapper, the runner still halted with the abruptness matching his previous dash.
Necalli narrowed his eyes, recognizing the broad figure. Could it be? He tried to make sense of the scene, watching the youth spreading his legs wider, stabilizing himself, concentrating visibly, his right arm shooting up, the rotation of its sling monotonous, just an extension of the spinning wrist.
Sensing the danger, the man carrying the boy slowed his step, wavering under his difficult cargo, but the stone was already cutting through the air, flying with a graceful ease, crashing against the turning nape, sending its owner collapsing, headfirst, in a helpless heap.
“Miztli!” yelled Chantli, breaking into a wild run of her own.
Blinking, Necalli just stared. Upon the incline, Ahuitzotl, seemingly unhurt, was busy wriggling away from the inert body he was momentarily trapped under, scrambling to his feet with the agility of a non-aquatic creature. No real ahuitzotl, this one, reflected Necalli for the thousandth time, beginning to tread his way toward them.
But was it getting wilder and wilder – the previous night, the tunnel and the criminals in it, killing one with a training sword or at least knocking him out, then the ordeal at the lake, a terrifying experience, and now this, the mad, unfamiliar, violent Tlatelolco, not the neighboring altepetl he had visited plenty of times, sneaking along the old causeway with other boys or riding his mother’s litter when smaller, the ladies loving to visit its marketplace on the market days, such a huge happening, always. Well, now it felt as though they had wandered into the wild eastern highlands by mistake, a place full of hostile people and warriors. Not logical in the least.
By the time he reached them, they were crowding their fallen enemy, all three of them, agitated to various degrees and wild-eyed. Ahuitzotl was kicking at the inanimate
heap of limbs repeatedly, spitting colorful curses. Chantli and the workshop boy just stared.
“He is dead, isn’t he?” muttered the girl, giving Necalli a look full of frightened expectation.
He glanced at the motionless figure, then shrugged. “Ask your friend. He was the one to shoot him.” Then the full realization dawned. “You are alive, workshop boy! I can’t believe it. We thought you were dead all over.”
The badly bruised face flickered with a sort of an inverted smile, decidedly crooked. “Not all over, no.”
He felt his own lips twisting as crookedly. But it was good to see this one, looking wild and thoroughly drubbed but alive and in good enough spirits. “Good! Your coming back to life came in time, I say.” A glance at Ahuitzotl reassured him that the wild pilli wasn’t harmed or even humbled. “A nice shot. Where did you learn to shoot like that?”
As expected, a shrug was his answer.
“He took down these other people,” burst out Chantli, eyes shining. “The ones who were beating you.”
This time, he found himself staring. “You did?”
Another shrug. The man upon the ground shuddered ever so slightly.
“We need to get out of here.”
“Yes.” The urgency of their situation dawned on him again. “Come. We get down that shore, get into the reeds, ahuitzotls or not. Wade all the way back to that other shore, back to Axolin and Patli. We –”
“But we didn’t get a boat!” cried out Ahuitzotl. “We have nothing to take them back with.”
The familiar resentment with the presumptuous pilli surfaced. “You stay here and search for that boat if you like. Your last attempt at stealing one was a brilliant affair, to say the least.”