At length, she did.
“The tongue you speak with him,” she asked in a tentative tone. “Is it the tongue of the dead?”
“No,” I said. “It is a tongue from the land of his birth. Do you think Bao is a ghost, Cusi?”
“I do not know this word.”
“Not alive?” I hazarded. “Living dead?”
She shook her head. “He died and lives. It is not the same.”
I nodded at the bronze knife she yet held. “You do not need to fear him. Bao does not mean to harm you.”
Cusi gave me a stricken look. “I know.”
Stone and sea! I could no more make sense of what was going through the child’s mind than I could fly. And so I gave up trying for the time being, and concentrated on ascertaining Temilotzin’s whereabouts. I was not worried about Eyahue—like as not the wily old fellow could look out for his own interests—but Temilotzin was a formidable warrior, and I could not bear to see him work toward the downfall of his own nation.
It was a blessing that Raphael feared me so little that I was given free access wherever I sought to go. Asking around with Cusi’s aid, I found Temilotzin overseeing men training in a vast courtyard.
In a day’s time, our Jaguar Knight had risen high in Lord Pachacuti’s estimation. If nothing else, Raphael recognized skill and sought to put it to good use. Temilotzin had traded his spotted hides and his shattered macahuitl club for steel armor and a sharp sword, drilling almost thirty similarly outfitted Quechua in their usage. Clearly, he’d learned from watching our D’Angeline fighters along the way.
He scowled at the sight of me, gesturing to the Quechua to stand down.
“Temilotzin—” I began.
“Listen well, my little warrior!” he shouted at me. “None of these men understand a word of Nahuatl! Does your maid?”
I glanced at Cusi. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Good!” Temilotzin planted his fists on his hips, glowering at me. “You will pretend we quarrel! Eyahue and I have told Lord Pachacuti that Emperor Achcuatli forced us to serve you against our will. That is the truth you will tell if asked!”
I folded my arms and glared back at him. “I understand!”
His mouth twitched in a near-smile, quickly recapturing its hard scowl. “You needed someone on the inside. Lord Pachacuti would never have trusted the others. Tell me how we may help.”
I made my voice low and bitter. “I need to know the secret of the ancestors. And if there is aught else you deem worthy, I would know it.”
Temilotzin laughed contemptuously. “I will ask, little warrior! Whatever I learn, the old man will find a way to get word to you.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Now go.”
I spat at his feet.
His mouth twitched again. “Do not make me laugh, little warrior!” the Jaguar Knight roared. “Go!”
Turning on my heel, I went, Cusi trailing behind me.
For two days, I heard nothing further from Temilotzin, no word from Eyahue. The old woman Ocllo paid me no further visits, and Cusi seemed to withdraw further into herself, quiet and introspective. She appeared grateful for my company, grateful to dispel a measure of her fear and loneliness by sharing my bed at night, but whatever secret she was guarding, she kept it stubbornly to herself.
I saw very little of Raphael, who had immersed himself in planning for the conquest, consulting with strategists. The palace bustled with activity, and laborers in the fields worked overtime to harvest the crops that would be needed to supply this undertaking, a task rendered all the more difficult by the massive army of ants that would accompany it.
Condemned to helplessness, the men of Terre d’Ange were restless and angry. Our arrival had sparked something deep within Thierry de la Courcel, and I feared that he meant to attempt some sort of rebellion. Not even the news of Temilotzin and Eyahue’s deception placated him.
“Tell him to be patient!” I pleaded with Bao in the scholar’s tongue. “Even if it weren’t for those gods-bedamned ants, there are too few of you, and too many Quechua loyal to Raphael!”
“I know.” He sighed. “And they’ve the armor and weapons we carried with such effort only to deliver them into Raphael’s hands, while we’ve nothing but digging-sticks. Believe me, I know. But it’s frustrating, Moirin.”
“I know.” I touched his cheek. “Just keep him from trying anything foolish. If there’s a time for desperate heroics, it’s not yet on us.”
Bao nodded. “Be glad that Balthasar came with us, and Captain Septimus, too. They’re good at talking sense into the prince.”
The following day, Eyahue paid me a visit in my quarters. I was so glad to see the old pochteca, I could have kissed him. Only uncertainty over how he wanted to play the encounter restrained me.
For Cusi’s benefit, Eyahue hemmed and hawed, avoiding my eyes and acting abashed. “I come to apologize, lady,” he said in careful Quechua. “And to explain. It was Temilotzin’s idea to serve Lord Pachacuti. He is a warrior. It is his right.”
“You are no warrior, old man,” I retorted.
“Yes, I am old! Too old to work in the fields!” Eyahue said in a querulous tone, holding up one skinny arm. “Look at me!”
I jerked my chin at the fine wool of his tunic. “You steal from us. Now you wear good clothes. Did you trade stolen things for them?”
“Let me explain, lady,” he wheedled. “I will explain in Nahuatl. Easier for you to understand, yes?”
Once again, I folded my arms sternly. “Go ahead.”
Taking a deep breath, Eyahue shuffled his feet. “The Jaguar Knight says that you’ll get nowhere trying to turn this tide,” he said, rapid and cajoling. “The Quechua men are eager for this battle, eager to use their new weapons in the service of the mad Ant-Lord. Prince Manco believes that one will appoint him Regent.”
“Who’s Prince Manco?” I asked.
Cusi glanced over with a flicker of interest.
Eyahue coughed into his fist. “Sorry, didn’t mean to use names. You’re a clever lass; tell the maid some lie if she asks. He’s the fellow your Ant-Lord deposed here. Stepped down willingly to serve the mad god, looks to be appointed to rule in his stead. He’s the fifth son of the Emperor, and reckons this is his best chance at getting near the throne. One way or another, this battle is coming.”
I raised my brows. “And the secret of the ancestors?”
Eyahue held out his hands palm upward and gave a helpless shrug. “No man knows, only that it is rumored to exist. It is a secret the Maidens of the Sun keep, and not even I could pry it loose.” His voice took on a hint of genuine indignation, one hand forming a fist to thump his sunken chest. “And you know how skilled I am in the ways of women!”
Gazing at the wiry old fellow, I bit the inside of my cheek in an effort to stifle a laugh. “Aye, I do.”
He drew himself up with dignity. “Do you mock me?”
“No.” I shook my head. “No, my lord Eyahue. It is clear to me that your goddess Xochiquetzal has blessed you, and you take joy in it. I laugh because it is true, and because it is better to laugh than weep.”
He bared his mostly toothless gums in a rueful smile. “True words, lady.”
I sighed. “I do not know what to do, Eyahue.”
“And I do not know what to tell you.” He patted my arm. “Do not lose heart, child. You have come too far to fail. Surely the gods are not done with you yet.” He shifted back to speaking Quechua, wheedling once more. “So, lady? Do I have your forgiveness?”
“Aye,” I said. “You do. Now go.”
Bowing, he went.
“He is no good, that one!” Cusi said fiercely after Eyahue had departed. “He asks too many questions, questions he should not know to ask! You should not forgive him, lady. He is a danger to you.”
I had the sense of a chasm looming between us.
I had promised Cusi I would not lie to her, but I had. I had deceived her twice over, first with Temilotzin, now with Eyahue. More than once, I had plotted to her face, dissembling and relying on tongues she did not speak.
And yet she sought to protect me.
A promise was not the same thing as a binding oath. But it should be. There should be no difference between the two.
None.
My diadh-anam flared in agreement. In memory, I saw the look of profound acceptance and approval in the eyes of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself. It was time to cast caution to the winds and leap into the chasm.
“Eyahue does but seek to aid me,” I said simply. “Temilotzin, too. All else is pretense.”
Cusi drew a sharp breath, studying my face. “Truly?”
I nodded. “Truly. And now you hold their fate in your hands, Cusi. Lord Pachacuti will not harm me if you tell him. He needs me. But he will punish Eyahue and Temilotzin, mayhap put them to death. The choice is yours.”
Her expression turned to one of dismay. “I do not want it! It is too big for one such as me.”
“I know,” I murmured. “The gods use their chosen hard, Cusi, and it seems yours have chosen you for this burden. Whatever secret it is you keep, whatever the secret of the ancestors may be, you’ve guarded it well. You keep telling me it is not for you to say, that you are not old and wise enough. Are you sure that your gods have not decreed otherwise?”
She looked away, her chin trembling. “I am afraid.”
“I know,” I repeated. “Nonetheless, you must choose.”
SIXTY
Islept, and dreamed of falling. Downward and downward, as though I’d leapt into an immense chasm, until at last I struck bottom and woke with a violent jerk, unsure if I was awake or dreaming, alive or dead.
There was a hand clamped over my mouth.
For a moment, I was confused, once again imagining myself in a tent in the Abode of the Gods with Manil Datar assaulting me; but there was no knife at my throat, no scent of his cloying perfume. I squinted in the faint moonlight filtering into my bedchamber and made out the face of the old woman Ocllo above me.
“Be still!” she hissed.
I nodded my understanding. Ocllo withdrew her hand and straightened. I sat upright to see the shadowy figures of several other women in my chamber, Cusi among them, her pretty face somber. Ocllo beckoned imperiously to her.
“Pampachayuway, lady,” Cusi whispered to me, taking a seat beside me. “I do not wish to pain you, but I must do this thing. Give me your hand.”
I hesitated.
Her dark eyes were grave, and older than her years. “You put the lives of your Nahuatl men in my hands. Will you not put your own?”
Slowly, I extended my right hand. Wrapping her fingers around my wrist, Cusi pressed the tip of her little bronze knife against the heel of my palm. With one surprisingly powerful thrust, she sliced open my palm.
Bronze does not take a point or hold an edge like steel, and it hurt a great deal more than I would have reckoned. I bit back a cry and breathed the Breath of Wind’s Sigh, willing my mind to distance itself from the pain while my cupped palm filled slowly with blood, dark and shiny in the faint light. Releasing my wrist, Cusi administered the same treatment to her own right hand, opening a gash without flinching.
“Now.” She held out her hand to me, blood dripping from it. On their sisal rope, the ball of ants stirred with interest. The other women in the chamber watched with silent concentration.
I clasped Cusi’s wounded hand with my own. It was slippery with warm blood. She returned my grip firmly. I could feel my pulse beating in my palm, and imagined I could feel hers, too, every beat a throb of dull agony.
It went on for a long time, until at last Ocllo nodded in approval and beckoned to two more women. Cusi relinquished her grip. One of the women came forward with a golden bowl full of water, kneeling and gently bathing Cusi’s and my injured hands, after which the other woman bandaged them gently.
“Now you are of one blood,” Ocllo murmured. “Now you are as sisters. Now you may enter the Temple of the Maidens of the Sun, lady.” She beckoned to me. “Come.”
After exchanging my thin sleeping-shift for a gown, I exited the palace and followed the Maidens of the Sun through the streets of Vilcabamba, accompanied by the ever-present stream of ants.
The city was quiet and sleeping, for Lord Pachacuti had no need to post sentries. His ants would respond to any intruder, or anyone seeking to flee. We were neither, and there was no one to take notice of us. We passed through the city like silent ghosts. My hand continued to throb, slow blood seeping through the bandages.
I daresay the Temple of the Maidens of the Sun was a glorious place in daylight, when the sun was meant to be worshipped. By night, it was a vast, eerie space. Low flames flickered in a firepit in the center of the main temple chamber, shedding enough light to illuminate a massive golden disk depicting the Quechua sun god Inti on the far wall, not enough to chase the shadows from the corners or the high ceilings.
More silent women awaited us, many of them young and pretty.
After the black stream of ants had finished pouring over the threshold, the doors to the temple were closed.
“So!” Ocllo’s voice echoed in the vast chamber. “You say Lord Pachacuti is not a god!”
There was a soft, murmuring echo as someone translated her words from D’Angeline into Quechua.
“I do,” I said.
She gestured at the thousands upon thousands of ants. “Yet he has great power. What other man can do such a thing?”
“None here,” I said. “Lord Pachacuti killed the only man in our company to possess the ability to understand them.”
