Secret of the Moon Conch, page 18
My father leans over and pats my hand. “Oh, there’ll be plenty of time for that,” he says. “We can talk this afternoon, when Joey and Frankie take their nap.”
Glancing at Samantha’s furious features, I mutter in Nahuatl, “I have so much to tell you, Father.”
His eyes go wide. “My goodness! I had no idea you could speak the old tongue so well.”
Samantha slaps her hand against the arm of the couch and stands up. “Spanish or English, please! None of that weird dialect of yours.”
I glare up at her. “It’s not a dialect. It’s a language.”
My father puts a finger to his lips. “Ya. Enough. Tonight, after dinner, we can sit out on the deck for a while and talk before bed.”
“Enrique?” Samantha’s voice is quiet, but there is an unmistakable chill in it. “She can’t stay here. We don’t have the space.”
“We have a spare bedroom,” my father says, frowning.
Samantha puts her hands on her hips. Her sharp claws dig into the tight fabric at her waist, and I look down at her nice high heels.
“I don’t want to be an inconvenience,” I whisper.
“Exactly.” Samantha glares at my father. “She’s not a child, Enrique. She’s a full-grown woman. She doesn’t need a daddy anymore.”
My madrina clears her throat. “Sitlali’s seventeen. She needs guidance, an education. Enrique needs to enroll her in school. Buy her supplies, clothes, all of that!”
Samantha’s face goes beet red. My father’s large brown eyes glisten as he stares up at her. “It’s true,” he says. “We need to discuss this.”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Samantha says, staring my father down before she shifts her cold green eyes on me. “Moving in here is not an option. School doesn’t start for a few months. There’s time to make other arrangements.”
I cry all the way back to my madrina’s house, silent tears that I keep swiping angrily away from my face because I don’t want to dwell on this.
“Give her time,” my madrina says, when we heat up tortillas to eat with our homemade soup at her kitchenette. “She’ll come around. This caught her by surprise.”
After lunch, I go back to my room. Calizto is there, pacing around in circles. His hands are on his hips, so it is clear he is deep in thought.
“I’m sorry,” I say, closing the door quietly behind me. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“I didn’t want to disturb your lunch. They’ve moved us to better quarters, but our fate will depend on our meeting with Cuauhtemoc. Does this new city you are in have a historical archive you can consult? We need to find specifics about what is to come. He needs actionable intelligence to turn the tide.”
With Calizto sitting close by, I get on the computer and pour through website after website, intent on finding something specific we can give Cuauhtemoc when we meet with him.
I am engrossed in my studies when Calizto stands up and bows. I can see him talking to someone, but I can’t hear what he is saying.
Suddenly, his mood changes.
Sitlali, he calls out with his mind, without looking over at me. The serious tone of his voice puts me on alert, and I abandon the keyboard.
“What is it?” I ask.
My empress.
The way he says her title, using the possessive pronoun, makes my heart turn into a little knot that wrings itself inward, getting tighter and tighter inside my chest, until I have to admit it.
I’m jealous.
“What about her?” I ask.
She wishes to speak with you, he says.
“Right now?” My heart loosens, deflates. My knees tremble, and I put my hands on them to keep them from knocking together. “No . . . I can’t . . .”
She insists. Just improvise, as you did yesterday.
I look around frantically, trying to figure out how to stage this unexpected meeting.
My eyes fall on the stuff on my desk. Grabbing my phone, I switch on the flashlight and hop up onto the desk, sitting cross-legged. My hands on my lap, I point the light at my face and take a deep breath.
Then, before I can say anything else, Calizto stands before me, his body turned sideways, gripping the conch in both hands. Another hand materializes upon the conch, and then I get my first glimpse of the beautiful young Tecuichpo.
Standing inches from the boy I love, she is exquisite. Prideful and haughty and breathtaking . . . everything I could never be. Before I can betray my feelings of inadequacy, the empress lowers her gaze, bends her head, and says, “Moon Goddess! You honor us with your presence.”
She’s just a girl. Younger than me. But her voice is older, wiser, and when she looks at me again, I can see that she’s distracted by my clothing. So I position the flashlight away from my upper body, drawing her gaze to my face. If I’ve calculated right, to her I appear as a glowing being, floating cross-legged in the air a few feet above her.
I throw my shoulders back, lift my chin, and look at her through half-closed eyes. But I don’t speak, leaving her to think about how she is inconveniencing me, forcing her to find the courage to ask her questions.
“Calizto says you are working hard with him to protect us. We are most grateful.”
“Yet you imprisoned him—my chosen warrior.”
“A misunderstanding. But we have made amends.” The empress looks at Calizto. Her eyes glisten as she smiles at him. “He is in our personal care now.”
Bitch.
My face must betray my fury. I consider standing, looming over her smaller frame, making it clear to her who has the greater claim on him. I shift.
She flinches but remains silent. Then I understand. She has no questions. She just didn’t believe them. She demanded to touch the moon conch to see if this was yet another trick perpetrated by her husband, the man who’s already taken so much from her.
My heart softens.
“Child, Calizto is under ‘our’ personal care,” I say, speaking about myself in the plural, for emphasis. “You would be wise to care for him too . . . from a distance.”
“As it is requested, so will it be done,” the empress says.
Because of my internet reading, I know so much about her future. All the pain she will suffer before she finds a semblance of peace saddens me, and I afford her a small smile.
“You must trust us, Tecuichpotzin,” I say, in a calm voice. “You will survive these trials. And you and I will meet again. Both of us will have new names, but I will watch over you then as I have always done. Now go.”
“Blessed Mother,” she says, bowing her head. Then she lifts her hands from the conch and fades into nothing.
I let out a long-held breath. Relieved. Shaken by the experience.
Is she gone? I ask Calizto.
“Yes. Apologies, Sitlali. She grew suspicious. I had to prove your presence to her.”
“Well, I hope that satisfied her,” I say. “Because I don’t want to ever do that again.”
“Until you meet with Cuauhtemoc, tomorrow,” Calizto reminds me.
“Yes! We can’t forget that,” I say.
My madrina opens the door. “Dinner’s ready,” she announces with a gentle smile.
I leave Calizto and go join her in the kitchen.
“You shouldn’t let this get to you,” my madrina says, and I realize I’ve been sitting here eating my chicken tacos and staring off into space without saying a word to her.
“I’m sorry,” I say, leaning over to give her a quick hug. “I just have a lot of things on my mind.”
“Just remember you have a place to live, here, with me, for as long as you need it.” My madrina kisses my cheek. “I’ll help you find a job and put you in school. You’ll see. Soon, you’ll be dating, and then you’ll find a good man, someone worth marrying. You’re young. You have the rest of your life ahead of you.”
“Dating?” I shake my head, vehemently, because I can’t imagine that. No. I couldn’t.
My heart is taken.
After dinner, I go back to the book I was reading online and find a shocking fact.
“I’ve got something!” I tell Calizto, calling to him from across the room. But even as I say the words, I know that revealing this information means two more men will be put to death. This will devastate the young empress.
“What is it?” Calizto asks, coming to stand beside me at the computer.
In a split second, I decide that saving Calizto’s life is far more important than breaking the empress’s heart.
“Moteuczoma’s sons are plotting against Cuauhtemoc.” I say the words quickly, before I can change my mind.
“Axayaca and Xoxopehualoc?” Calizto asks.
“Yes. The empress’s brothers are in league with the Spanish.”
“This is grave news. They will be executed. It will . . .”
“Destroy her.” I finish his thought.
Calizto looks downright wounded, and I wonder. Does he have feelings for her? Has the little empress stolen my Calizto’s heart? Or is this just some strange loyalty I can’t understand?
“Can I tell him this?”
“I am not sure.” Calizto tugs at his hair and takes a few deep breaths. “The emotional distress might be unbearable. Tecuichpotzin is so young, so fragile. So betrayed already. By her father, who turned her over to Cortés. By her husband, who has already commanded four of her brothers be slain, including the child of her own mother. This might break her.”
“I can try to find something else,” I say. “This is . . .”
“A hard choice,” Calizto whispers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Calizto
Day 4-Vulture of the Year 3-House (June 25, 1521)
By morning we’ve decided. Archives in Sitlali’s time indicate that Cuauhtemoc discovers the plot and kills Moteuczoma’s sons. We are but tools the gods will use to ensure that fate.
Guards escort me alone to the audience chamber. The emperor sits on his throne, flanked by his prime minister and his top generals.
“Approach, Calizto,” Cuauhtemoc commands. “Bring that trumpet closer. We are at our most desperate hour. Has the goddess decided to help us, now that we have shown you hospitality?”
I lower my eyes. “She has, Your Imperial Majesty. You need but place your hand on the moon conch, and she will reveal important truths to you.”
Halfway up the steps, I pause. The emperor has stood, reaching out.
Sitlali is standing on the bed of her temporary bedroom, but appears to be floating a rod above the floor, wearing a gown she has borrowed from her godmother’s closet.
She is beautiful.
Cuauhtemoc, my child. You have shown respect to my chosen champion. Therefore, I warn you: a plot is brewing in your palace. Axayaca and Xoxopehualoc, sons of Moteuczoma, have gathered discontent nobles to their side. They have sent word to Cortés already, expressing their desire to parlay. Treason is their goal. To allow the enemy entrance into Tlatelolco and to hand you over.
“Bastards,” Cuauhtemoc spits. “This day will be their last.”
Do what must be done, child.
“Divine Coyolxauhqui, ye of the silver bells, is there naught else you can reveal?”
My champion has experienced much hardship and loss to stand at your side, Cuauhtemoc. When I see that you have fully compensated his unrivaled bravery, I shall speak to you again. Lift your hand, child. We are done for the moment.
The emperor steps back, severing his connection.
What are you doing?
Getting you a better deal. Be thankful, Calizto.
Cuauhtemoc shakes the surprise from his face and looks at the guards. “Escort this warrior back to his quarters. Be sure he and his companion get a decent meal.”
As I leave, I can hear the emperor begin shouting commands.
“Find Moteuczoma’s sons, all of them, and drag them here before me!”
When I’m back with Ofirin, Sitlali has changed into the “pants” and “T-shirt” that fit her so well. She’s attempting communication on her “phone.”
Whom are you contacting? I ask.
My father. We barely had time to catch up yesterday. But that bitch Samantha keeps picking up. She says he’s “not available.” Which is bullshit.
Is there a way of conducting reconnaissance so that you can learn his new wife’s schedule? Armed with knowledge of her normal times of absence, you can more readily meet with your father.
Hmm. Stalking them . . . maybe as a last resort.
I catch Ofirin up on the latest, and then we are brought a feast of deer stew, fresh tortillas, and wine.
After a restless night spent weighing possible courses of action with Sitlali, the meal makes me drowsy, so I lie on my sleeping mat for a brief nap.
Several hours later, there is a loud knock, and Prime Minister Tlacotzin enters. I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“Come. The emperor requests your presence.” He looks over at Ofirin, scrawling on bits of amatl paper. “You stay here.”
As we walk together, Tlacotzin addresses me with bemused wonder. “I have no idea how you managed this ruse. I assume you learned of the plot before we caught you fleeing. Perhaps you are part of it. Yet both the emperor and empress have been completely fooled by whatever sleight of hand you employ to make them hallucinate a goddess.”
I sigh. “It is no sleight of hand, Your Excellency. The conch is indeed a divine conduit.”
Sitlali, walking beside us, smiles. No lie detected.
Where are you headed? I ask.
To an interview. My madrina bugged me all morning. There’s a job opening at a little taquería on the south side of the city. Helping in the kitchen. She spoke to the owner. He understands my situation and wants to chat.
I, on the other hand, understood very little of what you just said.
Work, Calizto. So I can make money to buy food and clothes.
Oh! I see. May the goddess guide your every word so that the outcome is favorable.
Thanks!
The prime minister shakes his head and laughs. “You are a strange young man. Your eyes get lost in the distance, as if you are daydreaming even at this crucial moment.”
“Why? What has happened?”
“Your information proved fruitful. We captured the conspirators, the princes and some of their band of traitors. They have been executed. Now the emperor wishes to bestow an unprecedented honor upon you. But know this, Calizto: I shall keep my eyes upon you, both these two in my head and the many more in my employ. If your intentions are ill, you will be discovered and punished.”
“As the law demands,” I agree. “I do not fear your vigilance, Your Excellency. I intend no harm to our city or our people.”
We’ve reached the audience chamber. It is full of noble warriors, mostly high-ranking officers of the four military orders: Jaguar Knights, Eagle Knights, Shorn Ones, and Otontin.
The emperor stands before his throne. The two chief generals flank him, various items in their arms. I cannot focus on what they hold. My chest constricts and my eyes water.
Calizto? Sitlali asks. What’s wrong? You feel . . . overwhelmed.
Ah, Little Star. You’ve no idea what you’ve wrought.
Wrought? What did I do? Are you going to be okay?
That’s a matter of perspective. Hold.
The prime minister leads me to the foot of the steps leading to the dais. Cuauhtemoc looks down with a genuine smile.
“Behold Calizto,” he announces to the gathered officers. “Son of Omaca. Telpochtlahtoh of Metztonalco. Many of you fought alongside his brother, fallen ten years ago in battle with the Tzapotecah. Against all odds he has survived, obeying what orders he received and acting wisely on behalf of the Mexica when there were no officers to command him. Because of the intelligence he has brought us, we have rooted out a conspiracy that might have meant our defeat. And he intends to continue serving us as he has, a true hero of Mexico, of Anahuac, of the empire.
“Therefore do I confer on you, my son,” he continues, “a position in the order of Otontin Knights.”
My knees threaten to buckle in shock, but I stand straighter.
A knight? Sitlali gasps. Wait.
The general to his left clears his throat. “Yours is the tasseled red ribbon, with which to bind your topknot, marking your station upon the battlefield. Yours is the blue-green uniform, marking you as divine jade to be broken at the gods’ whim.”
Solemnly, he extends his arms and deposits these items into my own. I clench my muscles to keep from trembling.
The general to the right of the emperor speaks next. “Yours is this banner of quetzal feathers and its wicker frame, signaling your companions and your enemy alike. Yours is the white shield with water-glyph design, blinding your opponent as you rush into the fray.”
He gestures to a young shield-bearer nearby. The boy rushes to stand by me, accepting the heavier items.
“And yours,” intones my emperor, switching to reverential speech, “are the white cotton sandals, forbidden to commoners, which you may wear as is your right from this day forward. I elevate you to cuauhpilli. Place them on your feet, Caliztotzin.”
Kneeling before me, he sets the sandals on the floor. I slide my feet into them, and he binds the straps to my calves.
Caliztotzin, Sitlali whispers, sitting down at a table somewhere. Don Calizto.
The sandals feel strange, as if I’m standing upon clouds. After a lifetime of going barefoot, I’m unused to the softness.
“Commander Acacihtzin,” the emperor calls. “I present to you the newest knight of your order. Caliztotzin, turn to greet your commander.”
The head of the Otontin Knights steps from the ranks. With my free hand, I salute him, fist against my heart.
He is holding my father’s sword.
“This has been yours, Caliztotzin,” he says, extending the pommel. “Wielded by your brave father and then by your noble brother. May many more enemies fall beneath its obsidian blades.”
I receive the sword in its unique scabbard. Kneeling quickly, I scoop dust from the stones and eat it.
