Young Jaguar, The (14 page)

Despite her shock, she melted against him, raising
her face to his, expecting a kiss. The kiss didn’t come. He just peered into
her face, and all she could see were his eyes, as black as her obsidian mirror.

She shivered, blinking back the welling tears. The
sadness she sensed behind his rage squeezed her chest, cutting into her heart
as a priest with a sacrificial dagger would.

“Tecpatl.” She raised her arms, taking hold of his
shoulders. “It’s going to be all right, you know. We’ll take care of this
trouble. I’ll make it right for all of us. You’ll see.”

He pushed her arms away. “Where have you been?” he
repeated, voice low.

“I can’t tell you now, but you’ll see it will help
us.”

He laughed - a low bitter sound. “So,” he said,
still laughing. “My wife is busy arranging things behind my back. The Chief
Warlord is not an exalted enough man for you anymore, eh Sakuna? After all
those summers you decided to better your fortune, I see. Amazing how alike you
and your son are thinking!”

She stared at him in disbelief. How dared he to
think something like that!

“Well, my sweet little noblewoman of the Great
Capital, I have some news for you. We were leading unusual life, weren’t we?
Away from the Palace’s politics, away from the other nobles. No other wives, no
concubines, all this freedom to go about. We were playing against the rules,
but we were happy about it. Were we not?” He grabbed her shoulder once again.
“Answer me! Weren’t you happy?” He shook her violently as she stared at him,
still speechless, still unable to think, still unafraid. “Answer me!”

She saw the hand with the flask raising. Unable to
believe it, she watched it raising higher and higher, the remnants of the thick
liquid beginning to trickle from the elegantly prolonged beak.

Her thoughts swirled about. He was going to strike
her. No, he would never do this. He couldn’t…

Lightning flashed again. She stared into his eyes,
seeing the enlarged pupils, the white around them so glaringly bright and red
rimmed.

As they were thrust back into the darkness, the
deafening thunder rolled by and she saw his silhouette leaping backwards,
hitting the pole of the wide entrance. She could hear his heavy breathing. Her
eyes tried to penetrate the darkness. The rain was pounding on the roof as if
enraged along with the Master of the House.

“You know,” he said hoarsely, and she could see his
silhouette leaning against the pole, shoulders sagging. “Women have no rights.
They are their husbands’ or their fathers’ property, to use as their masters
see fit. You are my property, Sakuna. Like the last of the slaves, if you think
of it. I can kill you, if it pleases me. The law says I can. And you don’t even
have a powerful family to try to talk me out of it. Infidelity is a very
serious crime, you see?” He raised the hand with the flask once again. “See
this flask? It is very pretty and valuable. You must have paid a high enough
price while buying it. These things are usually costly, such beautiful pottery.
See this flask, Sakuna?” He thrust it closer to her face so she could see the
elaborate patterns, even if the beautiful coloring was swallowed by the
darkness. “This is my property, Sakuna. And if I am displeased with it…”

In another flash of lightning she watched his
fingers tightening, his knuckles white against the beautiful patterns. The
vessel screeched hollowly, cracking. His fist kept pressing, crushing the
fragments. Mesmerized, she watched the blood,
his
blood, seeping between
his fingers, thick and black in the darkness.

He watched it too, as fascinated. When he looked up,
her heart missed a beat, then leaped wildly inside her chest. The pain in his
face made her want to gather him into her arms. She rushed toward him.

“Don’t!” he cried, shooting his hands forward as if
trying to stop her. “Don’t come near me. I don’t want to hurt you!”

She clutched his stretched hand, tried to press it
against her chest. He shook it off violently.

“Go, Sakuna. Please go now. I don’t want to hurt
you!” He backed away, sliding along the wall. “Go to your rooms and stay there.
You are not allowed to leave this house.”

He was gone, the sound of his footsteps swallowed by
the beating rain.

Chapter 14

Atolli watched the lightning, half hoping it would
strike down a tree or maybe hit at some of the low roofs around the Palace.

Oblivious to the opaque rain that kept beating his
face, he clutched at the slippery marble of the terrace’s railing, leaning
forward, peering into the darkness, waiting for another powerful flash.

The storm pleased him, fitting perfectly the
foulness of his mood. Somehow he had managed to go through the rest of the
afternoon as if nothing had happened, pretending he was not affected by this
hideously wrong interview with his father.

They fought, switching weapons, switching
surroundings, until the darkness and the growling of the nearing storm forced
them to stop. He suspected the warriors wanted to tire him, to see what he was
made of aside from his ability to use this or that weapon. He didn’t care.
After the conversation on the patio he lost all interest, not anxious to
impress them anymore.

As a result, his fighting improved instead of
deteriorating. Carelessness suited him. He managed to draw quite a few crimson
lines upon his opponents’ skins, his own numerous cuts and scratches not
bothering him in the least.

The warriors were impressed, even the ones that had
doubted him. Sprawling upon the mats in one of the lower floor’s suite of
rooms, they devoured a rich assortment of foods and talked loudly between
themselves. They treated him almost as an equal. He didn’t care. He ate
heartily and answered politely when spoken to, craving only to reach some
private corner and be left alone.

He needed to think, to understand what had happened.
But when the opportunity had presented itself, he shrank away from the
troublesome thoughts, watching the storm, seeing nothing.

What did he have to complain of? he asked himself.
His life could not have been better arranged. Just a few days ago he had been a
calmecac
student of no importance, a youth with no rights or privileges.
But now he was a man, a warrior, admitted into the ranks of the royal guards,
allowed to go out whenever not on duty, permitted to eat whatever he liked and
drink
octli
. He was fighting with a real obsidian sword and would be
allowed to carry such one in the very near future. He had everything a young
warrior could dream of, had he not?

He stared at the darkness, waiting for another
flash. The trees beneath the terrace groaned. He wished one would fall. Or
maybe catch fire. It would be a marvelous sight to look at. How would they go
about dousing the flames? he thought randomly. A big fire might interesting to
watch. He could even sneak home for a few hours, unnoticed in the chaos that
would follow. He really needed to see his family. His mother would be worried
sick and Mecatl had not been sent for yet. And his father…

He shivered involuntarily. Would Father let him
explain? He hadn’t wanted to hurt that outstanding man by doing what he did. He
just wanted to find a way to make things right after being expelled from
school. There seemed to be no better way. He had his own life to lead, hadn’t
he? He could not always do what his father thought fit. Or could he?

He shut his eyes, trying to banish his father’s face
from his memory. This last time he’d seen him, so angered, so indignant, so
desperate
.
As formidable as always, but now like a wounded animal facing the closing
hunters – haunted, desperate, dangerous. Were they closing on him in some way?
Was it through him, his son?

He ground his teeth. Of course it was.

He could hide from the truth all he liked, but the
facts would not change. Chictli had told him they were after his father; they
wanted to persuade him to take their side. They could not do without him, so
persuade him they would.

He unclenched his palms with an effort, his fingers
numb from clutching the cold stone with such force. His father would not give
up. He knew the man well. By turning around and leaving with a few cold,
cutting words, wishing his son a good life, he had shown them that he would not
be blackmailed.

So now here he was, pledged to the people determined
to remove his father from his position by any means necessary.

He groaned, glad for another outburst of thunder
that rolled above his head, deafening any other sound.

“Here you are!”

Startled, he whirled around, his heart pounding. The
girl’s silhouette was clearly visible against the dimly lit opening. Short and
plump, she stood at the doorway, hands folded on her chest.

“Come here,” she called out. “I’m not going out into
the rain to talk to you.”

“Either come out or go away,” he said, recognizing
Kaab’s unappealing form.

“Oh, so I just go back to my mistress and tell her
you sent me away?” She sounded genuinely surprised.

“No, you tell her you were afraid to get wet, so you
did not deliver her message.”

 The girl muttered something that sounded Mayan and
obscene.

“You are really pushing it,” she ended in Nahuatl.

Hurriedly, she ran toward him, her pudgy arm
attempting to shield her head from the rain.

“My mistress is on the terrace upstairs.” She
pointed upwards. “She wishes to see you.”

He turned to the door.

“Not that way!” There was an unconcealed glee in the
maid’s voice now.

He turned around. “What way then?”

“That one.” She pointed upwards once again,
indicating the stony floor of the terrace above. “Over the railing and up the
wall.” She smiled broadly, enjoying herself. “These were my mistress’s orders,”
she added, seeing his stare.

“That’s what she said?”

“Word for word. Over the railing and up the wall.”
The naked triumph in the girl’s eyes made him want to strangle her.

“If you are lying, I will kill you,” he said.
“Nothing will save you if it was not what she said.”

He turned around and went back to the railing,
trying to drop over it as gracefully as he could, knowing the cheeky maid would
be watching, wishing him to disgrace himself.

The exercise of climbing was harder than the
previous night, the wet surface making it difficult not to slip, the persistent
rain obscuring his vision, making him blink.

When he clung to the upper railing, gathering his
strength to toss himself over, he had enough time to regret accepting the
mysterious invitation. What if she wasn’t there? Why would she wait outside in
the rain?

But she was waiting, leaning over the railing,
peering into the furious sky, her hair wet and flowing, her blouse soaked and
clinging to her body.

“Isn’t this storm just wonderful?” she asked, not
turning her head, but probably hearing him slipping over the marble stones.

 He stared at the wet material outlining her body,
unable to shift his eyes. She didn’t wear any cloak, just the light blouse and
a skirt with no girdle.

“Don’t you love storms?” She was still watching the
sky, waiting for the next flash of lightning, perhaps.

“Sometimes,” he said. “I love this one.”

“Why?”

“All sorts of reasons.”

She turned to watch him as the lightning flashed.
Her face shone brightly in a dark frame of the wet, plastered hair, her eyes
glittering, happy and unreserved. Water trickled down the perfect cheekbones,
gleaming around her generous mouth. The darkness returned, and he was grateful
for it, as he was finding it difficult to tear his eyes off the roundness of
her breasts outlined by the wet cotton.

“So you climbed my terrace once again.” She made it
a statement, the lightness of her laughter teasing.

He shifted uncomfortably, aware of the waves of
excitement running down his stomach. “You invited me this time.”

“Did I?”

“If your insolent maid is to be believed.”

“Oh, Kaab doesn’t like you either. She thinks you
are wild and arrogant. She tried to talk me out of inviting you.”

“And what do you think?”

“Me? I never share my thoughts.” The dark lips
stretched into half a smile. “Come here and see the lightning. It’s beautiful
from up here.”

The gardens down below and the glittering roofs,
indeed, looked better from her terrace. He leaned over the railing.

“Did you see me down there,” he asked.

“No, of course not!” she exclaimed, and he knew she
was lying. He could see his previous vantage spot clearly.

So
, he thought, suddenly surer of himself.
She
had watched him from here, and then she had asked him up.

“Do you always greet the rain like that?”

“No, not always.” She was calming down, in control
once again. “I love storms, real storms. Like this one. I wish there were more
summer storms around our Capital.”

“Maybe in Coatepec they have more storms.”

Her playful mood was gone once again. “I’m not sure
we’ll reach Coatepec any time soon.”

“Why not?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Since I’m a figurine in this game, I guess I’m
entitled to know.”

“Not all figurines are important enough to be
entitled to anything.”

He tensed. “So which figurine am I?”

She turned to watch him, her glance appraising him,
teasing and amused. “You are a valuable, nicely polished piece of jade in a
very grand bean game.”

“Tell me about this particular game.”

“As I said, it’s a very grand game. The stakes are
so high some players have forgotten why they began playing in the first place.
But our jade figurines have kicked out many of the opposite ones already. I
think we’ve just passed the dangerous squires in the middle of the field. So
now it’s just a matter of time.”

“How many figurines does the other side still have?”

“Not many.”

“My father?”

She hesitated. “We don’t know yet.”

“You don’t know if he was kicked out of the game or
you don’t know if he is still might be of some use?”

She looked at him searchingly. “I really don’t know.
I’d tell you if I knew.”

He bit his lips. “He won’t be persuaded. Your people
should leave him alone.”

“They are your people now too.”

He sighed and stared at the opaque wall of rain.

“Don’t be so sad,” she said softly. “You did very
well today. They were impressed.”

He continued staring at the rain.

“You know, you can go back now,” she said suddenly.
“I didn’t invite you here to talk politics and mourn the past. Now, because of
you, all the magic is gone.” Her voice shook with anger. “I just feel soaked
for no reason. And it’s all your fault.” Her eyes were black in the darkness,
staring at him, her plucked brows forming a straight line, adding to the
effect. “Go away the way you came.”

His gloominess evaporated. He caught her wrist as
she turned to go.

She pulled her hand angrily. “Don’t you dare! I’m
not your market girl.”

He laughed, suddenly elated. “You are definitely not
a market girl. They are never as beautiful, as smart, as
powerful
.” He
could feel the blood pulsating in the delicate arm inside his palm. “But all
the same. You watched me from your terrace, and you invited me up.”

She pulled at her hand once again, obviously not put
out with her lack of success.

“You think so much of yourself. You are not that
appealing.”

But she did not renew her attempts to leave. The
lightning struck again, and he saw her eyes, the anger, the doubt, the
anticipation…and more.

Her soaked hair was sticking to her face, framing it. 
One wet tendril ran across her cheek. He reached out and removed it gently, his
fingers catching the feel of her skin, sending waves of warmth down his
stomach.

Then, suddenly she stepped forward and was in
control once again.

“So, what do warriors do after climbing princesses’
balconies?” she whispered.

His legs felt weak, glued to the glittering floor.
He hadn’t expected anything like that. She was right, she was no market girl.
He could sense her impatience, and her uncertainty.

Hesitantly, he pulled her closer. She did not
resist, but her body was tense against his.

Their kiss was awkward, artificial. In this aspect
the market girls put her behind. He had kissed those aplenty. He had even lain
with one such. Not a very uplifting incident, both of them so frightened and
inexperienced. Then, there had been a maid, responsible for cleaning and
laundry. A grown woman. Oh, how flattered he was when, in the previous summer,
she took notice of him. There was no silly talking or flirting. The woman just
sneaked into his room and did wonderful things that made the market girls pale
into insignificance. He left his market trips for the rest of that summer until
the maid was sold away, apparently not as good at doing the laundry. Or maybe
his parents had found out, not appreciating the additional task the woman had
taken upon herself. He was sorry when she left.

Chictli’s hands pushed him away. “That’s better,”
she whispered, apparently satisfied with the prosaic kiss. “Fancy talking
politics in such a wonderful storm.”

He pulled her back, but she resisted this time.

“Enough of that. Time we go back.”

She beamed at him, her eyes shining as if
challenging. Through her soaked blouse he could feel the warmth of her body. As
she moved to break away, her breasts brushed against his chest, leaving a
burning sensation in their wake.

He pulled her back, forcefully now. He didn’t dare
to kiss her again, but he could not let her go, not yet.

He could see her eyes changing. Wide open now and
startled, they stared at him, almost the same level as his. Her breath came in
gasps. The full lips parted slightly, indecisively, gaping at him. He could
smell sweetmeats on her breath.

He couldn’t help it. He had to kiss her, and this
time with no reservations.

His lips opened hers, forceful, eager, his tongue
seeking. She fought him. He could feel her fists beating at his chest, her
palms clawing his cloak. It felt as if the next lightning bolt sizzled through
him, setting his body on fire, his limbs out of control. His arms were locked
around her; he could not set her free even if he wanted to.