Burning Tower (47 page)

“N
ow,” Coyote's priest said. Clever Squirrel felt his hands gently guiding her to the low table. His voice was urgent as he said, “The Supreme One is ready.”

The death of Thundercloud felt like a nightmare; she wasn't sure how much was real. She poured sand with unsteady hands.

The image didn't look much like Willow. It was all angles and arcs, distortions and shiftings, and the colors were off: she'd misjudged the bags of sand. She touched the sand with her fingertips, moving the patterns.

It wasn't coming out right. The image wouldn't come alive. She tried again. Whandall Feathersnake's picture emerged like Willow's, like a face slashed in straight lines, ear and eyes and nose jumbled almost at random, a style that wouldn't be seen again for fourteen thousand years. She heard a laugh quickly suppressed.

She poured fresh sand into the distorted image of Whandall Feathersnake. Lavender sand trickled up the figure's forearm, upper arm and shoulder, and splashed across his face. Then red, yellow, green, a shape growing clearer, shaping itself: the gaudy image of Whandall's Atlantean tattoo, a great feathered serpent that wound from his eye down his arm. The serpent's eye was coincident with Whandall's, and as she added detail, Whandall's eyes opened. Then Willow's opened too.

“Hail!” Whandall said. “Great One, we see only the image of Coyote.”

The Emperor nodded with understanding. “Bid them welcome,” he said.

Coyote's priest spoke in imperial tones. “Welcome to Aztlan, Willow and Whandall. The House of Feathersnake is known even here, and the Supreme One bids me tell you that you need only appear at the gates to be welcomed into the city.

“And today we have tasks of great joy. The Supreme One himself has consented to marry the lovely daughter of your house of Feathersnake, Burning Tower, sister of the daughter of Coyote, and Lord Sandry of Lordshills, Fire Commander and Great Officer of the City of Yangin-Atep! Rejoice, people of Road's End and New Castle. Rejoice, people of Aztlan!”

R
egapisk stood in the shadows, well out of the blazing light at the center of the platform. Over on the rock wall of the mesa itself, a sliver of sunlight approached the shadowed center of a spiral carved into the rock. The Sun Dagger, one of the priests had explained at dinner last night. Today that dagger would touch the center of the spiral, making this a day of great fortune. Jaguar's priest had explained their great fortune to Sandry and Burning Tower. “It is the Day of the Sun Dagger in the Year of Jaguar.”

“People of Aztlan, witness the bounty of your Emperor,” Jaguar's priest proclaimed.

“People of Aztlan, the gods are pleased!” The maskless priest bowed to the Emperor, then to the sun.

“Coyote is well pleased.”

“Blessings on this union of an heiress of the Bison Tribe!” Buffalo Woman shouted. “I bear witness: this morning Burning Tower placed a golden bridle on the great stallion one-horn, according to the customs of her tribe.”

One by one, all the priests of all the gods blessed the marriage.

“Hail to a great warrior prince,” Arshur the king shouted. A priest knelt to Arshur and handed him a bronze goblet. It wasn't large. The king drained it in a gulp, handed it to the priest to be refilled, then handed it to Sandry.

Regapisk smiled thinly. Sandry had no choice but to drain that cup, and when it was given to Tower, she did the same. He glanced at Clever Squirrel, who was trying to stay awake at the sand-painting table, and wondered if they'd get Tower that drunk today. No one seemed to be offering him anything to drink. There wasn't even food up here. The feast would be down below, in the
kivas,
he supposed.

The Emperor said something, and there was a laugh from Whandall Feathersnake's image. Arshur roared with delight.

Then there were contracts, read to Whandall and Willow, signed by Burning Tower and Sandry, witnessed by Regapisk and Clever Squirrel. Squirrel's signing was a crooked squiggle that would never have been accepted by even a junior Witness Clerk. Regapisk was going to mention that, but Sandry gave him a hard look. This could be corrected another time. Sandry looked as if he wanted to scream,
Get on with it!
Regapisk gave him a look of sympathy, but Sandry wasn't watching.

Then Whandall and Willow Feathersnake spoke of the joys and hopes they held for their youngest daughter.
Youngest,
Regapisk thought.
Are they making it clear that she is not the heiress?
Lords thought that way. Lordkin never thought of such things at all. He didn't know the ways of kinless.

And none of it mattered.
Sandry is rich; they're both rich.
Wagonloads of charged talismans would be a good way toward Crescent City now, and Green Stone was already on the Hemp Road. Sandry and Tower would never want anything.

I'm rich too,
Regapisk thought.

When Whandall's image spoke glowingly of the wagon and team that was Burning Tower's dower gift, Sandry smiled. Regapisk nodded. It was clear that Whandall Feathersnake was more Bison Tribe than Lordkin now.

“Squirrel, dear, did your mother give you something for the wedding?” Willow asked.

Clever Squirrel blinked in the sunlight, frowned, and dug into the pouch at her waist. She took out a roll of willow leaves. “Yes, Willow.”

“I gave it to your mother when she left with Burning Tower, in anticipation of a wedding I both hoped for and feared. Give it to the couple now. It is the tears of a mother, shed for her wedding.”

Squirrel held herself in an iron grip, clearly determined not to spoil this moment. Somehow she got across the platform to Burning Tower to deliver Willow's gift. Tower burst into tears. She held the willow leaves until Sandry gently took them from her and put them inside his breastplate.

 

As Burning Tower took her place in the glaring sunlight of the platform, the walls of flowers on both sides turned to mirrors. She could see herself, gossamer white silks floating in the bright sun.
I'm really pretty,
she thought.

Her world changed, like a dream. She was enormous, standing on the great piazza below and looking down at the people of Aztlan in their seats, but she was here on this platform, standing beside the man she loved.
I do love him. I do.
And around her were the priests and Clever Squirrel and that strange cousin of Sandry's—
my cousin now
—and in front of her was the Emperor, the Son of the Sun. He looked like a twisted god. To one side was Arshur the king, on a golden throne, looking like a great king. They were all there on the temple platform with her, but they were not in her waking dream. That she shared only with Sandry and the Emperor.

The crowd gasped as her image grew. She could feel herself getting closer to them even though she hadn't moved from the heights of the Temple Mesa. She stood with Sandry and the Emperor, towering above the crowd.

And they were all looking at her. She felt ten thousand and more eyes on her. The mirrors showed what they saw. The silks billowed.
I'll never look this good again.

Sandry took her hand. She guided his hand to his breastplate.
Mother's tears. I never knew,
Tower thought.

Music swelled from below. Voices now, choruses in languages she didn't quite know, the languages of the gods. We've been blessed by all the gods. Witnessed and signed, the Lords say. There has never been a marriage more witnessed than this!

“The Dagger of the Sun!” a priest behind her was shouting. “The Sun Dagger! It is time, it is time!”

The crowd cheered again.

The Emperor stood before her.

“Sandry, Fire Chief of Lordshills and the City of Yangin-Atep, Lord Witness of Lordshills, warrior and advisor to King Arshur, guest of Aztlan, will you have this woman, Burning Tower of the House of Feathersnake and the Bison Tribe, as your wife, according to the laws and customs of the Lords Witness?”

“I will!”

“Lord Regapisk, companion of King Arshur, companion and countryman of Lord Sandry, do you witness this marriage and swear to bear witness to all who shall ask it of you?”

“I shall!”

“Burning Tower of the House of Feathersnake, you stand before the people of Aztlan. Do you choose this man Sandry of Lordshills to marry, according to the laws and customs of the Bison Tribe?”

“I do!”

A gentle wind came up from nowhere, and from the walls of flowers came butterflies of every color. They settled on Tower's gossamer sleeves and cape and veils, until she was a swirl of living color.

Sandry! His face beamed. He'd never looked at her this way before. Had any man ever looked at a woman that way? Love, astonishment. And the Emperor smiled. Burning Tower felt her heart would burst.

“Burning Tower of the House of Feathersnake, you now know the favor of the Emperor and gods of Aztlan, of all the tribes of gods! At this moment you may choose anything you desire. Is it your wish that you be married to this man, Lord Sandry?”

Far below she heard a familiar nicker. Spike. He could see her. Everyone in Aztlan could see her. And soon she'd have to give Spike to the Emperor, and after tonight, he would have nothing to do with her. Her friend and protector.

And Sandry looked afraid! He was really scared!

And this was cruel. “Son of the Sun, it is my greatest wish to be married to Sandry,” Tower said.

“So be it,” the Emperor intoned. “So be it known to all, in the presence of the gods, in the presence of the people of Aztlan, in the presence of your father and your mother, throughout our domains and throughout the world, you are now married. Join forever, Sandry and Burning Tower.”

The music swelled and filled her heart, as Sandry gathered her to him, gently, fearful of crushing butterflies. Butterflies swirled about them, and the people of Aztlan, ten thousand and more, cheered.

S
andry stood with Burning Tower. His vision blurred as they seemed to grow enormous yet stayed in place.

In Lordshills, this would all be over. In Lordshills, the contracts were all that mattered, disposition of land and houses and wealth and servants, what the heirs would have and what would be forfeit if the couple separated, what would pass to sons and what to daughters. When that was settled, all was settled. But Lordshills was a city without gods and magic, and this was a far different world.

Buffalo Woman spoke: Burning Tower had bridled the bonehead.
Yesss.
That was Sandry's triumph too, and it had been hard! A year with this girl, a year of wanting her. Now that was over.
Thank you, gods!
And that too was a strange thought. The Lords believed that the gods existed for others, but they had never had much importance in Tep's Town.

Tower seemed recovered from the shock and horror of the execution. Sandry frowned. She had hated that, but they'd made her watch. Why today? But Buffalo Woman had said this was an important day, the day the Dagger of the Sun pierced the center of that spiral. Another of the customs of people who had gods, and would such things come to Lordshills now that Yangin-Atep was myth?

Then she grew more beautiful than he had ever seen her, as the butterflies covered her. Her face shone.

“Burning Tower of the House of Feathersnake, you now know the favor of the Emperor and gods of Aztlan, of all the tribes of gods! At this moment you may choose anything you desire. Is it your wish that you be married to this man, Lord Sandry?”

He held his breath. In the silence, he heard the nicker of the one-horn and suppressed a grin of triumph over that rival. But the silence stretched on, and fear clutched his heart. Burning Tower looked at him, lovely and wonderful, and said nothing. That moment stretched forever.

Then she spoke, and the Emperor proclaimed the marriage, and he held her close as the butterflies swirled around them, and the world was wonderful.

The images of Willow and Whandall Feathersnake shouted in joy. Burning Tower stood so that her mother could see her, but suddenly the images faded and were no more than sand. As they did, Clever Squirrel collapsed across the table. Coyote's priest gently rolled her aside and swept the sand into a bag. “There is no more manna at New Castle,” he said.

Tower looked disappointed, but she was surrounded by jubilant priests.

“Can we go now?” Sandry asked.

Coyote's priest looked at him with a strange expression. “Not yet.”

They were married, but it would be a long time until the night and until they would be alone. Sandry put on his best military expression and prepared to wait.

 

The Emperor stood in the sunlight. He was joined there by Jaguar's priest. “People of Aztlan!” the masked priest shouted. “It is the Year of Jaguar and the Day of the Sun Dagger!”

There were no cheers now. The crowd below was still, waiting for something. Two priests led Arshur the king out onto the platform. Arshur swayed unsteadily. A lesser hummingbird priest knelt to Arshur and offered the golden goblet. Arshur took it and drank, and then two other priests urged Sandry out to stand next to the king.

“I show you a great prince, Sandry of Lordshills!” Jaguar shouted. “A great warrior from a far land.”

Behind him he heard Tower. “What is happening?”

And Clever Squirrel stirred behind him, trying to say something he didn't understand.

The Emperor took the cup from Arshur's hand and held it out to be filled. He gave it to the hummingbird priest, who turned, knelt, and offered it to Sandry.

Sandry hesitated. That first cup was already dizzying him. He saw disapproval in the Emperor's eyes. The Emperor's son was there too, staring intently. Everyone waited.

“My congratulations on your wedding on this day,” the Emperor said. “This is the cup of my blessing.”

And everyone stared. Behind him Squirrel said, “Nnn.”

“Do you refuse the gift of the Supreme One?” Coyote's priest said. His tone was low and urgent. “The favor of the Great Ones has its dangers, but they are nothing compared to his disapproval! Quickly, Lord Sandry, lest you anger the Son of the Sun.”

Sandry took the cup and drank.

“He accepts!” the Emperor shouted.

The crowd shouted approval.

 

The drink was pulque. Sandry tried to resist its effects. The world swooped around him as Jaguar's priest raised his arms. “People of Aztlan! This is the Day of the Sun Dagger in the Year of Jaguar, the day when we send the king to plead with the gods for us! And the gods have favored us, they have sent us Arshur the King who came following his fate! And with him they sent a mighty warrior prince.

“More than a year ago, we lost our King Halenon of the Great River, and we have been without a king, and evil has besieged Aztlan. Great wizards have wrought treason against the Son of the Sun! Cities and tribes have sought to rebel, and there was no king to deal with these evils.

“Now we send King Arshur to the gods, and we bring you King Sandry to punish the rebels!

“People of Aztlan! Rejoice! King Arshur goes to the gods!”

And the four guards hustled Arshur out to the great slab of rock. Arshur blinked but didn't resist. Whatever was in the last drink had overcome him. Listlessly he allowed himself to be spread-eagled over the slab. He looked up, saw the hummingbird priest coming with his obsidian knife, and almost tore loose from the grip of the guards.

The small priest was too fast. Before Arshur's arms tore free from the soldiers, before Sandry or anyone else could move, in one great slashing stroke the priest plunged the knife into Arshur's chest and ripped it upward. The Emperor reached into the chest cavity to remove the beating heart. He held it high for the people to see.

“King Arshur bears our messages to the gods!” The Emperor's voice roared out above the buzz of thousands cheering, and the tiny thread of an agonized scream—Regapisk.

A basket, this one silver and gold, floated to the Emperor's hand. He put the heart into it. Another basket, large, coffin shaped, covered with flowers, was brought in. The soldiers laid Arshur into it. That too floated free, down the side of the great Mesa Fajada, sinking fast. Arshur dead was still a big man.

And below, the people of Aztlan shouted their welcome to King Sandry.