By a garden filled with the most splendid flowers in all of Aztlan stood two pyramids.
They were nearly identical. The only notable difference was that one was much smaller and surrounded by pink orchids. Before it knelt a young man, deep in prayer. He wore a maxtlatl and a cloak of the finest cotton.
"Itzcoatl!"
The man addressed turned his head and spoke to the figure behind him.
"Tizoc, my elder brother and royal administrator, it is unbecoming to raise your voice before a temple."
"I've called you six times already, and you've done nothing but pray."
His brother gave him a sidelong glance. "Finish up—Cuathli is waiting."
Itzcoatl took a moment to end his prayer, then rose to his feet. He inhaled deeply; the fragrance of flowers filled his lungs. The dry season had passed, and the blossoms had returned. For a fleeting moment, unpleasant memories resurfaced.
"Itzcoatl, pull yourself together already."
"With what, exactly?" He looked at him questioningly.
"You're seriously asking that? It's been half a year since Xochi Huetzi, and all you do is train or pray."
"That is hardly strange."
"Not strange?! You come here and pray every day—to that flutist."
Itzcoatl shot him a cold glare.
"He is now the guardian spirit of our city. Show some respect, Tizoc."
"I'm not done yet. Those training sessions of yours…"
"Sharpening one's skills is a noble's duty."
Now it was Tizoc's turn to laugh.
"Sharpening? You're overdoing it. You train harder than the students of telpochcalli and calmecac put together. Let's be honest—you should go see a healer, a real one, not—"
He fell silent mid-sentence, trembling. Itzcoatl didn't even need to turn to know why.
"Tizoc, mind your tongue. Quarreling before the temple is unseemly for young nobles."
Citalli—the High Priestess of Tlacotzin. The most terrifying woman he knew. Despite her beauty and the healing of her heart, she had lost none of the power of the damned, demonic being she had once been.
"Itzcoatl," she said evenly, "you should rest. You work too hard. On behalf of Tlacotzin, I thank you for all the offerings you have made—but you must also find time for yourself. Your friend would be happy to see you take better care of yourself."
Itzcoatl bowed and tried to change the subject.
"How are the holy wives feeling?"
Citalli smiled faintly.
"The pregnancies are progressing well. They've had to limit their temple duties."
Then Tizoc spoke again.
"See? Even she says you need to relax."
This time, Itzcoatl didn't respond.
"Someone ought to hit you over the head. Maybe that would help."
Itzcoatl just snorted in amusement.
"Actually, why are we the ones going to collect this tribute? They lease our land, don't they? Shouldn't they be the ones bringing the offerings?"
Tizoc looked surprised.
"The Lechites are different from us. According to Cuathli—very different. Their city is said to be worth seeing. Speaking of which," Citalli turned to Itzcoatl, "everything is ready for the journey."
"I understand."
"Good luck, Itzcoatl. Have a safe journey."
As they parted, Tizoc called after his brother, "And try to get yourself together!"
The two made their way to where Cuathli and the rest of the delegation awaited. Itzcoatl climbed into his litter. The bearers lifted it, and the journey began.
As befitted a nobleman, Itzcoatl traveled in a litter, as did Cuathli and Citalli. During the journey, his thoughts drifted to what Cuathli had told him about the interdimensional gates—mystical passages between distant realms. He didn't know much, only that they had a spiritual or magical nature. No one had ever fully understood them.
Near one such gate in Aztlan, the people from the other side had founded a city. According to the agreement, they were required to pay a lease tribute. It was for this tribute that Cuathli, Citalli, and Itzcoatl now traveled.
During a rest stop, Itzcoatl asked Cuathli about the city.
"Are you sure this arrangement benefits them? They have no objections?"
He had heard of other gates—where the foreigners beyond them were hostile. Conflicts were frequent, almost constant. From what he knew, one of the greatest points of contention had been the matter of blood sacrifices. Those outsiders could never be persuaded, and eventually all negotiations between them had ceased.
In answer to his question, Cuathli smiled.
"As they themselves say, it's a good arrangement for them. Around their city they grow many crops that are highly valued in their own lands—especially when they trade them further. It's cheaper and easier to pay tribute than to risk war."
"A nation of merchants, then?"
"And not only that. Don't underestimate them. They may not wage war against us, but they know how to fight. We'll be there by tomorrow."