Young Jaguar, The

  The Young Jaguar

  Pre-Aztec Trilogy, book #1

  by

  Zoe Saadia

  Copyrights 2012 by Zoe Saadia

  License Notes

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  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED By Zoe Saadia on Amazon

  ISBN 978 -1476209715

  All rights reserved

  Table of contents:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Chapter 1

  “Come on. Hurry up!”

  The youth swung his legs over the border stones and jumped down the wide platform. His companions were already there, whispering excitedly.

  “Shut up,” he said. “They’ll hear us.”

  All three peered into the night, listening intently. A gust of wind swept dry leaves across the road down below. Obviously, the night cleaners had not done their job properly. The road was supposed to be clean of anything; the Night Spirits deserved as much.

  “Do we jump or do we go back?” whispered the second youth. He was taller than the rest, and the plain garb of a calmecac pupil sat well upon his wide, muscled shoulders.

  A drumming poured from the nearby temple.

  “We jump,” said the first youth. He squinted against the flickering lights. “Just pass me the bundle when I’m down and don’t make any noise.”

  The wall was not very high, but he felt the impact in his knees, and it pleased him to land gracefully. Like a jaguar.

  One day he would make it into the elite caste of warriors, he thought. The warriors, who wore brilliant blue cotton cloaks and were allowed to carry obsidian swords and dine with the royal family at the Palace. The finest, the swiftest, the toughest; the best of the nation. A mere handful of chosen ones, capable of defeating hordes of enemies. His father was one of them and, with a little luck, if he could excel beyond being a good student, so one of the veterans responsible for the military training would express a wish to take him along into a battle as a shield bearer, he’d be admitted into those exclusive ranks. Ah, but for such an opportunity!

  He could hear the flask rubbing against the cold stones, lowered carefully with a rope attached to its neck. Receiving the bundle, he gestured to his companions to jump. They would get into grave trouble wandering around the city without permission. But it might be nothing compared to being caught drinking octli!

  He shivered. The punishment for consuming the spicy beverage could very well result in being expelled from school and maybe even worse. They would be sure to get severely beaten, and their heads might be shaved. Still, it was not the first time they’d sneaked out like that. Drinking octli was a thrill. That, and wandering around the marketplace after the sunset.

  “Let’s go,” he whispered and led the way along the stone platform.

  The wall towered ahead. It was only two-story high and belonged to a pyramid dedicated to Chalchiuhtlicue, goddess of water, a counterpart of the mighty Tlaloc.

  They pressed against the cold stones, feeling their way along the narrowing ledge. Shreds of conversations reached them from the wide avenue down below, the voices of passersby carrying clearly on the night breeze.

  “Atolli, wait.”

  The first youth did not turn his head. “Quiet!” he whispered angrily and squeezed his way past the temple.

  Their destination towered a few hundred paces ahead–a temple of Coatlicue, the Mother of Gods, located right above the western corner of the marketplace.

  The clamor below grew and so did the light. Torches fixed into the walls dispersed some of the darkness, and the shadows danced wildly above the clusters of straw mats.

  Many warriors reclined upon those mats, eating and drinking, watching the women waiting upon them, laughing with each other. Some wore not even a breechcloth, sprawling drunkenly, and only by their disheveled topknots could one have guessed their status. The women rushed between them, distributing pottery cups and bowls, prominent in their colorful attire.

  Atolli stepped back, sinking deeper into the shadows.

  “All right, boys,” he whispered. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

  His friends shifted uneasily.

  “Come on,” he said louder, suppressing his own fear. “They are too drunk to hear us and too busy with those loose women.”

  He slipped along the smooth stones of the temple’s wall, wondering at its cold touch, taking the flask out. The spicy beverage rolled down his throat, smooth and warm, leaving a burning sensation in its wake.

  “Am I going to drink it all by myself, you pair of silly women?”

  They squatted beside him, and he thrust the gourd flask into Mecatl’s hands, smiling derisively, challenging his best friend. They had grown up together, playing on the roofs or the adjacent grounds of their families’ estates, both sons of prominent leaders, the elite warriors, the noblest of the noble. Although while Mecatl’s mother was a noblewoman of Azcapotzalco’s origins, Atolli was born by a savage woman from the Far North his father had brought along while still a young warrior.

  Atolli loved his mother, but often had wondered why his father would not rectify the matter by taking another wife of some very exalted, preferably Toltec, bloodline. A half-brother or sister of an impeccable origin would serve him well. Mecatl had two of them. His friend’s father was sensible enough to add a Toltec woman to the collection of his numerous wives and concubines.

  However, some fathers did act strangely, thought Atolli, taking another swig from the flask when it was returned to him.

  “I think the Goddess will get angry with us,” murmured the third youth.

  He was not as well developed as the other two, his calmecac gown hanging vacantly upon his thin shoulders. He was trained to be a priest and not a warrior, yet he came along on a sudden impulse, wanting to prove he did not lack his share of courage, and now he was regretting the futile gesture. They should not have been out there, drinking octli and watching warriors taking the whores of this dubious part of the marketplace. They were sure to get caught.

  “Try to relax and enjoy yourself.” Atolli laughed and bent over the border stones.

  Below, the warriors on the nearby group of mats, laughed loudly, obviously having gulped more than their share of the spicy beverage.

  The colorful garbs of the women, bringing more pottery cups, fluttered with the slight breeze, the embroidered cotton moving gracefully around their legs as they knelt in front of the drunken men.

  Atolli stared at the generous cleavage of one of the women, taking in the way the flickering light of a nearby torch reflected off the golden skin. He wished he was a warrior already.

  “Take a look at this one!”

  Mecatl’s hands pulled him back. “Are you insane? They’ll see you.”

  Atolli laughed and wrenched the flask back from his friend. “We came here to watch, didn’t we?”

  “To watch carefully!” Now it was Mecatl�
��s turn to lean over the edge. “You know what I keep thinking?” he asked, turning back and squatting comfortably against the stone wall. “I keep thinking how embarrassing it would be to spot my own father among this particular crowd.”

  Atolli choked on his drink. “Your father is just the man to come here,” he cried out when able to speak. “With all his wives and concubines, he may just like a little diversion.”

  Even the third youth giggled.

  Mecatl raised his eyebrows. “I think your father is more likely to visit those ladies, having only one wife. Just imagine that.”

  Atolli’s face darkened. He didn’t like this particular subject. “He likes it that way.”

  “But the custom dictates that he take more than one wife,” said the third youth gravely, his priestly training taking over.

  “So what? It’s only a custom.”

  The future priest narrowed his eyes. “Customs should be observed. We are a civilized nation. Not like savages from all kind of places.”

  Atolli’s hand shot forward, grabbing the cotton material around the thinner boy’s chest.

  “What are you trying to say?” he hissed, pulling so hard the future priest lost his balance and almost toppled over the edge.

  “Are you crazy?” cried Mecatl, leaping to his feet. He grasped his friend’s arm. “Let him go. Have you lost your mind?”

  “Maybe I’ll just drop him down there, to see how civilized he’ll look landing among this crowd.” His hands trembled so hard he could see the terrified face of his offender jerking up and down.

  Mecatl thrust himself between the two boys, putting his considerable weight against his friend’s leaner frame.

  “Let him go,” he repeated, composed now. “You’ll get us all into trouble.”

  Atolli made an effort to control the wild tide of his rage. He was still unable to unclench his fists, but, at least, he seemed capable of thinking once again.

  He eased his grip slowly.

  “You mention savages to me once again, and you are a dead man!” he said, crushing the thin boy against the temple’s wall.

  The assaulted youth slid down the wide stones and remained seated, legs and arms spread, breath coming out in gasps. A heavy silence prevailed.

  Atolli turned away to watch the marketplace below, the lack of his former interest obvious. His chest hurt. The taste of the spicy beverage was suddenly nauseating. How dare he, this slim son of a whore?

  He ground his teeth. How dare he imply Atolli’s father had not observed tradition by marrying a savage? His mother’s origins may have been dubious, but she was an impeccable woman. There was nothing savage about her. Or was there?

  “I think we’d better go back,” said Mecatl. “I guess we’ve had enough for one night.”

  Atolli shrugged. “You two go back. I didn’t even begin to enjoy myself. Thanks to this worm!”

  The third youth, back on his feet by now, edged away carefully.

  “I’m going back,” he said quietly. “I never believed when they said how crazy you can get, but now I do!” He took a few additional steps to get out of Atolli’s possible reach. “I will not tell anyone what you two have been up to, but you will never touch me again.” He turned away, the unadorned back of his calmecac garb soon swallowed by the darkness.

  “Congratulations on making another enemy,” murmured Mecatl. “What’s wrong with you? Why do you get so annoying and bad-tempered at times?”

  Atolli shrugged once again. “I can’t stand the priests, you know? Always holier than the gods, always think they know better. This worm is so slim, so weak, so insignificant. How dare he judge a leader of my father’s virtue?”

  “He just said the customs were important, that’s all. He didn’t say a thing about your father.”

  “Oh, forget it!” Atolli picked up the flask and took another swig of the spicy drink. Its taste gave him no pleasure this time. He thrust the gourd cup into his friend’s hand. “Have some.”

  The women below were talking rapidly. Some pointed in the direction of their wall. One of the warriors straightened up, peering into the darkness above.

  “You, boys, get out of there!” shouted a woman shrilly.

  Atolli grasped his friend’s hand and pulled him into the darkness of the temple’s wall. The din down below grew rapidly as more agitated voices joined in. A stone crashed against the temple, followed by another one. The laughter of the drunken warriors was infectious.

  “Come on!” Atolli grabbed his friend’s shoulder, and they burst into an awkward run along the uneven surface of the wall.

  Panic-stricken, instead of disappearing into the merciful darkness in the direction they had come, they ran on toward the flickering lights of the marketplace, clearly visible now against the illumination of the temple’s torches.

  More stones followed them, accompanied by roars of drunken laughter. The warriors clearly welcomed an unexpected diversion from their usual activities. They might decide to try to hunt the intruders down, thought Atolli in panic.

  A small stone smashed against his shoulder, causing him to waver and fight to regain his balance. He almost toppled onto the other side of the wall, into the grounds of the goddess’s temple.

  As he regained his footing, he felt more than saw Mecatl’s bulky figure swaying, his broad palms waving, trying to grab the empty air. It was a funny sight, and under different circumstances he would have doubled over with laughter. Instead, he caught his friend’s wrist, pulling him back from the brink.

  Another stone hit him below his knee.

  “Jump!” he cried and saw Mecatl nodding urgently. It was always like that. Atolli made the decisions and Mecatl would follow, never questioning his friend’s judgment.

  The dry grass of the temple’s ground rubbed against their skin as they rolled over to soften their landing, small pebbles scratching their limbs. Mecatl cried out but was quick to silence himself. More stones came flying over the wall.

  “Let’s get out of here. Quick!” breathed Atolli. The priests were sure to come out to check what was amiss.

  He leaped to his feet, but Mecatl just groaned and lost his balance once again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. I think I hurt my stupid ankle or something.”

  Atolli cursed. “All right, lean on me, and I’ll get us out of here.” He placed his friend’s arm above his shoulders. The gourd flask hit his upper back. “You kept the flask!” He smiled. “I can’t believe it! You are a worthy warrior.”

  They burst out laughing, each taking a swig in his turn. This time the wine tasted good.

  Atolli looked around. “First, let’s get to the opposite wall. Then, we’ll think of the way to get us over it with this stupid ankle of yours.”

  Mecatl cursed. “Get me another swig, so it’ll hurt less.”

  A figure with a small torch materialized out of the darkness. The small light flickered warily, hesitantly. “Who is there?”

  Startled by the voice, Atolli straightened up. Had they jumped onto the wrong side of the wall? The girl’s voice was melodious, its accent lilting like that of the highest nobility, her figure obscured by the long unadorned robe. He tried to see her face.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” The girl’s voice rose.

  “Nothing,” he said, sensing her welling panic. “Nothing at all. We were just leaving. It was an accident.” He leaned over to help Mecatl onto his feet. “There is no need to be afraid. We were just leaving.”

  “How?” As she shifted her grasp on the small torch, the outline of her high, perfectly Toltec cheekbones became more visible. Her eyes were large and widely spaced.

  “I don’t know yet. We’ll find a way. Please don’t tell anyone.”

  “But I have to!” Her voice took a more formal tone. “To break into the temple’s grounds is a serious crime.”

  “We did not break into the temple’s grounds. It happened by accident, and we were just about to leave. You
can pretend you never saw us.”

  She studied them more carefully, taking in their calmecac gowns. “Another crime is to leave your school without permission.”

  “We know the law. We don’t need you to tell us!” He stared at her, irritated by her arrogance.

  “Would you please help us?” interrupted Mecatl before the girl had a chance to grow yet angrier. “We won’t leave our school without permission anymore. We really need your help.”

  Her gaze softened. “I won’t tell, but only if you and your insolent friend would promise not to do it again.”

  Mecatl’s elbow stuck into Atolli’s ribs. “We won’t. We promise.”

  The girl peered at them haughtily, then turned around. “Follow me.”

  “Where to?” burst Atolli, irritated by the necessity to be led by her.

  “To the gate, of course! Where would you want me to take you?” The small flame of her torch flickered angrily.

  Another elbowing in his ribs. “We appreciate that. Thank you!” Mecatl’s smile was all innocence.

  Struggling under his friend’s weight, Atolli followed the elegant gait of her priestly gown.

  “Had you got into a fight with cuicacalli school boys?” asked the girl as they crossed the small temple’s plaza and neared the opposite wall.

  “Yes,” answered Mecatl without hesitation. “We really should not have left the school.”

  “I wonder if any of my brothers sneak out as you do.”

  “Your brothers learn in our calmecac?”

  “The two younger ones, yes.”

  “What are their names?”

  “They are not trained with you, surely.”

  “Why-ever not?” It was Atolli’s turn to burst into the conversation.

  “You can’t be noble enough.”

  “You might be surprised.”

  “If you were of the royal family, I would recognize you.”

  The two youths exchanged glances. There was an unmistakable twinkle in Mecatl’s eyes, but Atolli was not amused. There was something about this girl, something extremely irritating.