A Magic of Dawn (56 page)

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Authors: S. L. Farrell

BOOK: A Magic of Dawn
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Mahri and Talis had learned that, to their doom. Perhaps it was now Niente’s own turn to be given the lesson.
Citlali was smiling, an expression that Niente had never liked in the man’s face, since what amused the Tecuhtli was often unpleasant for others. Tototl was watching also, though the High Warrior’s face was stoic—whatever he was thinking, it was hidden from Niente. “Perhaps we should let Axat decide, then,” the Tecuhtli said. “You should demonstrate your strength for me, if you’re to remain Nahual. And if not . . .” Citlali shrugged then, broadly, the tattoos on his body moving like painted shadows. “. . . then perhaps Atl will be the Nahual.”
Niente saw his son’s eyes widen as he realized the implication of what Citlali had just said. “Tecuhtli, this is not why I came to you.” He glanced toward Niente, shaking his head.
“Perhaps, but it’s what I’m asking of you. You’ve your spell-staff, and Niente has his. Let us see who is stronger. Let us see who Axat wishes to be Nahual—now, while there’s still time.”
Atl looked over at Niente desperately again. “I can’t. Taat, this isn’t—”
“You’ve no choice now,” Citlali answered, and his voice was firm but not unkind. “That’s the way of things: the weak fall to the stronger, as Necalli fell to Zolin, and when Zolin fell, the red eagle came to me.” He touched his skull, where the blood-hued bird was inked. Tototl glanced at it as well. “As one day, I will fall. Or are you telling me that Nahual Niente is correct, and that you’ve not seen correctly?”
Atl was shaking his head, and Niente saw him caught, snared like a rabbit between truth and his love for Niente. “Taat,” he said, “I ask you, for our love, for the good of all the warriors here, to give up the golden band and your bowl.”
Niente could feel himself standing at a crossroads. Even without the scrying bowl, the air around him seemed to be filled with the emerald mist of Axat, waiting for him to choose. There: he could lay down the bowl, take off the armband, and simply become Niente who had once been a nahualli, letting Atl come into his legacy. Or he could refuse . . . And down that road there was only mist and confusion and uncertainty. He wasn’t certain he had either the strength or the will to defeat Atl, not when it would almost certainly mean the death of one or the other of them.
Yet it had come to this. There were no other paths open.
Axat, why have you given me this burden? Xaria, could you ever forgive me for this, for killing our son?
“Niente?” Citlali said. “Atl awaits your answer, as do I.”
In the mists, his son standing in his way, barring the entrance to the path . . .
Strangely, there were no tears, even though the sorrow seemed to press on his shoulders as if he bore the Teocalli Axat itself there. His spine bowed under the weight. He could barely lift his head, and his voice was as faint as the voice of the stars.
There is no certainty that you can succeed now, even if you sacrifice Atl. The path has grown faint and difficult to find. It could all be wasted . . .
“I am Nahual,” Niente said. “I see the way.” He looked at his son, wondering if Atl could see the bleak despair in his face. “I’m sorry, Atl.”
Atl looked away, as if there might be an answer written in the clouds above them.
“Then tonight, under Axat’s gaze, the two of you will settle this, so that I can make my decision as Tecuhtli,” Citlali declared. He rose from his nest of cushions. Tototl and the other High Warriors snapped to attention. “Go, and prepare yourselves,” Citlali told them.
 
“Taat, I don’t want this.”
“Then you should have considered what going to Tecuhtli Citlali a second time would mean,” Niente told Atl. “Didn’t you see
that
in the scrying bowl?” It was difficult to keep the concern and irritation from his voice.
The sun was setting in the west behind the army, sending golden shafts of light down on the encampment. The warmth was a mockery. Niente sat cross-legged in front of his tent, his spell-staff laid across his lap. The warriors pretended to ignore the two; the other nahualli had vanished; he’d seen none of them since the sun had started to fall. They would be waiting to see how this ended, and where it might leave them.
The moon would rise soon. Axat’s Eye.
“I’m not mistaken about what I saw, Taat,” Atl insisted. “The signs and portents were terrible for the path you’ve set us on. I saw the banner of the red eagle trampled on the ground. I saw hundreds of dead warriors. I saw you, Taat; I saw you dead as well.” He was shaking his head, his nostrils flaring with emotion. “I
saw
it. There was no mistake. What Axat showed me couldn’t have been victory.”
“And down
your
path?” Niente asked.
“That way has become clouded,” he admitted, “and it has become more uncertain each day we move forward. But the first time, I saw it clearly: with the army split, with speed, we reached the great city before an army coming from the east could help them. I saw our banners above their towers.”
Niente nodded.
Yes, he does see true . . .
“And afterward,” he asked his son. “What did you see beyond that? What did you see when that eastern army came to Nessantico?”
Atl shook his head. “The mists were confusing there. I saw many possibilities, and many shadows. But I’m certain at least some of them would lead to victory as well.”
They do, some of them, though nearly all are still grim and deadly for us. Yet the path I saw . . .
Niente sighed. “Atl, my son, my beloved . . .” He took a long breath. “You have seen truly.”
Atl took a step back, his hand slicing air. “You admit that? Then you’ll give up the band of the Nahual and the bowl? We can go to Tecuhtli Citlali and tell him that we’ve reached agreement?”
“No,” Niente answered. “Not yet, anyway. You see correctly but you don’t see far enough. No, listen to me and be silent—this is something I will say only to you and I’ll deny having said it if you repeat it. You’re right, Atl. The path I’ve put us on will probably not lead to victory in Nessantico.”
Atl blinked, stunned. His mouth hung open like a fish gasping for air. “I . . . I don’t understand. How . . . If that’s true, why . . . why would you give the Tecuhtli this advice?”
“Because Axat has let me see further. Atl, if we
were
to take Nessantico, then the full fury of the Easterners will fall on us. It won’t be enough for them to crush us here—they will pursue us back to our homes in the west, and they won’t rest until Tlaxcala lies as tumbled stones in Lake Ixtapatl, a mirror of Nessantico. There is no peace in that future, there is only death and more death, ruin and more ruin. A temporary victory is no victory at all, Atl.”
“So you would have us defeated—because in the mists you believe you see more war?” Atl scowled. “That makes no sense. I
know
Axat’s visions, Taat, and I know that the further you go from now, the more paths there are and it becomes less clear where they lead. How do you know that
you
have seen correctly? There
must
be other ways. This dire future of yours can’t be the only outcome.”
“No. There are worse . . . And there may be better, yes, but the way to them is dark to me. What I have seen is the most likely outcome.”
“So you say. I say it’s your own despair that is coloring the visions. You’ve told me yourself, Taat—you’ve said that the far-seer’s mood can shape Axat’s vision. This is what’s happened to you.”
“I’ve seen what happens if we
fall
here, Atl. If we fall, then I’ve seen West and East eventually reconcile. I’ve seen ships going back and forth between our lands with goods. I’ve seen a generation of peace.”
“Peace forever?” Atl scoffed. “There’s no such thing, Taat. Never has been, never will. How do you know that this lovely future of yours doesn’t just lead to an even greater war and even more death for the Tehuantin? You don’t—I see it in your face. You could be sacrificing all our warriors and nahualli here for nothing. Don’t you see that?”
Niente wanted to shake his head. He wanted to rage and deny what Atl had said. Back in Tlaxcala the vision had been so clear, so certain, so definite. But now . . . He hadn’t seen it so clearly since they’d left their own land, and what he saw now was wrapped in doubt and uncertainty, with only tantalizing, mocking glimpses of the future he’d seen. Now, he found he wasn’t so certain.
Can you do this? Are you willing to kill Atl for a possibility?
Only the tip of the sun was visible over the trees on the horizon. The sky in the east was already purple, with the evening star that was the gate to the afterlife already visible. The eye of Axat would be peering over the rim of the world soon.
“Go, and prepare yourself,” he told Atl. “There isn’t much time.”
All the hope in Atl’s face collapsed. He clamped his lips together and nodded, then turned on the balls of his toes and strode away. Niente watched him go. When he could no longer see Atl, he reached into his pouch and pulled out his scrying bowl.
He knew that the lesser nahualli would be watching. “Bring me clean water,” he called out loudly into the evening. “Quickly!”
 
Varina ca’Pallo
 
S
HE WASN’T CERTAIN WHY SHE DID THIS. She only knew that she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t. “I know Nico deserves death for what he’s done,” she told Allesandra. She glanced quickly at Erik ca’Vikej, seated in a chair just behind the Kraljica; she didn’t like the man’s presence, but Allesandra had made no move to ask him to leave. Varina was seated herself, with an untouched plate of pastries and a steaming cup on the table next to her. “But I’m asking that you spare him. I ask it for our friendship, Allesandra.”
Allesandra was pacing, not looking at Varina. She passed in front of the fireplace, glancing up at the portrait of Kraljica Marguerite that was placed there, then going to the balcony. Varina could see the vista outside. The dome of the Old Temple rose above the intervening buildings on the Isle a’Kralji, and she could see the streaks of soot from the fires still marring the gilded curves. It would be months, perhaps a year or more, before the Old Temple could be restored and the damage to it repaired. But the memories . . . Those could never be erased.
“I don’t understand,” Allesandra said. “Morel has condemned himself. He knew the consequences of his actions and he went ahead with them. There were hands upon hands of people killed, Varina. We lost A’Téni ca’Paim, and Commandant cu’Ingres has been gravely injured. You were nearly killed yourself.”
“And so were the Kraljica and I,” ca’Vikej interjected. When Allesandra turned—with what Varina thought was an odd glare—he shrugged. “It’s only the truth,” he said.
“In any case, there’s not only my judgment involved, but that of the Faith,” Allesandra continued. Her gaze stayed on ca’Vikej for several moment before returning to her contemplation of the scene outside the balcony. “They will insist on his hands and tongue for using the Ilmodo, and his life for A’Téni ca’Paim. The citizens of Nessantico will also insist on his life for the lives of our own that he’s killed.”
“Many of those same citizens supported him when he talked about the Faith, when he said that the Faith should be less about accumulating wealth to itself and more about helping its people, when he said that the téni should pay more attention to the Toustour and less to their purses.”
Allesandra’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “And those same citizens also cheered when he talked about how the Faith shouldn’t tolerate heretics, or are you forgetting that?”
Varina shook her head. “No, I’m not. It’s just . . . I don’t want to give up on Nico. He’s been gifted with a great power, and I hate to see that wasted.”
“He’s not the sweet child you remember, Varina. He’s using that great power against you. And me.”
“I know that. But I also want to believe that he’s not the person he should have become. Given the right—or wrong—circumstances, any of us could end up the way he has. And his abilities . . .” Varina shook her head slowly. “I’ve never,
never,
seen someone do what he’s doing. It’s as if he just reaches into the Second World with his mind and pulls out the power, without any spell at all. If nothing else, that’s worthy of study.” Varina lifted the cup of tea at her side from the saucer, then set it down again without taking a sip. The sound of porcelain on porcelain was loud in the room. “I’m not asking you to release him. He deserves punishment. I’m asking that you don’t kill him.”

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