Cuathli sat in one of the most private and peaceful places in the residence. He was surrounded by expensive fabrics portraying musicians and dancers surrounded by flowers. Many beautiful flowers adorned the room. The soft light provided a joyful atmosphere. There was a smell of flower oil in the air.
There was a table full of dishes in front of him. Roasted locust seasoned with chilli and lime. Amaranth tortillas with the best bean paste. Tamales with tomato and bean paste. Baked rabbit meat topped with mole sauce. Papayas, avocados, and pineapples cut for him. And a jug of steaming atole with the addition of cocoa and vanilla.
All served on gold and silver dishes decorated with hibiscus and orchid flowers.
All prepared by the best chef. A meal worthy of the king himself and the highest servants of the gods.
Should he not, the highest servant of Xochipilli, whose rank is higher than most mortals, consume the greatest dishes that the mortal realm has to offer?
He hadn't eaten in days. His stomach was loudly demanding to be filled. It was obvious that he should start eating. He should, as befits a high priest, eat the meal slowly, contemplating that every plant, every animal sacrificed to prepare this meal, could be born and grow by the grace of the gods. The gods were bringing life into this realm, but in order to do so, they needed the energy they drew from the sacrifices of their followers.
However, Cuathli was unable to start the meal. His heart was filled with bottomless sadness. He could still see what happened when he shared what he saw in his vision.
He wanted a clear answer. And he got it, even clearer than he thought.
To ensure the survival of the community, Tlacotzin had to die.
He had to kill someone who was like a son to him.
He could still see their faces before his eyes. Their shock and horror. He understood them. How could one not to be frightened after hearing about such an apocalyptic vision? Only the death of the sun could have been worse.
The most depressing thing was Tlacotzin's reaction. Pain, fear and sadness were shown on his face. His shoulders lowered, lifeless. His heavy head cast down. The most painful thing for him was that Tlacotzin, with a weak voice, agreed to play his role... He had agreed to give his heart to Xochipilli, and a river of tears had flowed from his eyes.
Now, as he sat there, Cuathli thought that his title was meaningless.
What could he do, really? Sacrifice? Pray to the gods? Anyone who trained long enough could do that.
Tlacotzin showed a great musical talent that no one in the city had. He doubted that someone else like him would be born during Cuathli's lifetime.
Why?
Why should an old man like him, with no special skills live, while a young man of great talent and potential must die?
He didn't understand, though he knew the reason.
A river of tears flowed from his eyes.
At that moment, he heard his name. He saw Itzcoatl at his doorstep. He gestured to the place in front of him.
A young noble sat there. His expression showed not accusation or regret, but compassion. He felt sorry for the priest whom Xochipilli had subjected to such a cruel trial.
"Please, eat, high priest. Do not mind me."
After this encouragement and another sound from his empty stomach, Cuathli finally reached for food. He grabbed the roasted locust lying on top with a trembling hand. It was a large, crispy insect sprinkled with chili and lime. Luxury appetizer. A lot of work was put into its preparation. From the farmers who made chili and lime to the chef who cooked it. Each of them drew from the grace of the gods to prepare this meal. Now, it was time to repay the gods for their mercy. He put the insect in his mouth and bit it. He heard the crunch of its armour, but he didn't feel its taste, although he knew that it was delicious.
"Nothing can be done?"
Cuathli could only shake his head in response. He knew very well that nothing could be done. Both he and Tlacotzin knew about it. They couldn't risk the whole community for the sake of one person.
Tears ran down Cuathli's cheeks again.
"There is something you can do."
"Itzcoatl, you are a young nobleman driven by honor and a desire to save your friend's life…"
He paused, not finishing his sentence. He wasn't able to say it. He didn't even want to say it.
Suddenly the young nobleman smiled.
"I know. Please, let Tlacotzin play for the council…"
Cuathli stopped him with a gesture and nodded. He realised that Itzcoatl wanted to believe that one melody could change Tlacotzin's fate. However, it was a vain hope. A lie that the young nobleman told himself and in which he truly believed. However, the music made Tlacotzin happy. There was no reason to forbid him to play the flute.
He picked up another meal.
The council would meet tomorrow, anyway. He saw no reason not to take Tlacotzin with him.