Читать книгу The Emperor's Men 8: Stormy Heavens - Dirk van den Boom, Emmanuel Henné - Страница 8

Ixchel’s sister Nicte cried quietly. Aktul put a hand gently on her mouth, which immediately silenced the girl. Ixchel narrowed her eyes after nodding encouragingly at her sister. Nicte didn’t cry out of fear, but out of exhaustion. Ixchel would never dream of reproaching her for that.

From the edge of the forest they could see the first farmsteads that surrounded the city in a wide circle. It was early morning, the chill of the night was still in their bones. They had waited for the darkness on a tree, sitting in the mighty branches, half asleep, half awake, a reason for Nicte’s exhaustion and her helpless reaction to it. They had already been on the road for days to make sure that pursuers kept their distance. They had fed on what the forest had provided, and Aktul was an experienced hunter-gatherer. They weren’t hungry, but they were dirty, tired, and especially the little one cried often. A bad environment to deal with the violent death of one’s mother, the shock of flight, the struggles, the insecurity, and fear. Ixchel dreamed violently every night when she got some sleep, and the horror of the visions terrified her. Nevertheless, she did not wake up crying but with a quiet determination not to suppress the violence of these images, but to use it instead. Her goal had to be to use the power behind it to turn it against those responsible for their misery.

And she had to be strong for Nicte. Strong for the old Aktul, who struggled admirably with the sudden responsibility for the two princesses, but who could not use any additional crying or despair. Ixchel had to show him her strength so that he could use his moderately. Her survival was dependent on this.

And thus the precondition for Ixchel to be able to inflict terrible revenge on the murderers.

She had her guess who those might be.

Her legs and feet ached. It was incomprehensible to her how old Aktul had mastered the strength to march so extensively, often with her little sister in his arms. Unimaginable energy prevailed in the warrior, who now had to take care of the two girls and didn’t even complain or seem to struggle. He was very determined and had given Ixchel several suggestions for a safe haven, which she had all considered well. Last but not least, it was the news that her mother received shortly before she left that prompted her to make a decision.

Now it would prove whether it was the right one.

“How do we do it, Aktul?” she whispered. The door of a mud hut was knocked aside, and a woman stepped outside, an empty calabash in one hand and in the other a little boy, who was still rubbing sleep from his eyes. The woman looked around, seemed to take in the peaceful morning before heading for their own well, which spoke of the wealth of this farmer. It could even be a low noble, considering the size of the hut and the adjoining buildings, definitely someone of a certain rank, who had built so generously out here at the city limits, because he was also watching the border for his masters. From here the road went straight to the center, and a fast runner could quickly announce any visitors – peaceful or hostile.

“We have to prevent people from not taking us seriously. We look like homeless people, like vagabonds. And we have to gain access to the right people. So we only have one chance.”

Ixchel did not say that not only did they look like vagabonds, that was basically what they were, an insight that, a thought which, however, would not strengthen their confidence.

“Will he listen to us?”

“If we get the chance to speak to him in person –”

“It shouldn’t be that difficult.”

Aktul laughed softly. “He’s a fickle man, I heard. Your grandfather wasn’t always sure if he could trust him. He delivered both truth and lies. It was not always easy to separate one from the other, as I’ve heard.”

“Still, he remained in my grandfather’s service.”

“He somehow did, one way or another.”

“Then he’s committed to Mutal.”

Aktul shook his head. “I don’t think he has ever felt really committed to anyone or anything. Besides its own convenience and safety, maybe. We’re a threat to both, Princess.”

Ixchel understood that. But there was no alternative, and they had decided. “You speak.”

“That won’t be enough.” Aktul fixed the girl with a steady glance. “You will have to convince him, my dove. It depends more on you than on me.”

Ixchel nodded. She was not afraid. Since the death of her mother, she felt full of a holy determination, a strong courage. She would remove all obstacles, that was her goal. A fickle spy who sometimes served Mutal and sometimes his actual masters, and who did not consider loyalty an outstanding personality trait was not an obstacle, not even a challenge. He was no more than a flight of stairs on their way up, toward the completion of their mission, her retaliation.

If the step turned out to be brittle, she would simply skip it.

“Then we shouldn’t wait any longer,” Ixchel decided, and the old warrior bowed instinctively. There was no doubt in his mind that she was the princess, his master’s daughter, and no matter how big the age difference, he knew that Ixchel was an extraordinary young lady.

And that had become even clearer in the days of flight than before.

He seemingly served her with joy.

They left the edge of the forest and went into the open. They walked the first hundred yards without paying any attention, but then the woman saw them both as she looked up from the well to watch the little boy who had started his morning toilet. The sudden distrust in her eyes was somewhat alleviated by the fact that Ixchel’s little sister hurried straight to the well without further ado, crouched next to the astonished looking boy and used the water to wash the sleep from last night out of her eyes – and the dirt that spread across her face.

Children had something soothing. Nevertheless, the woman opened her mouth and shouted, “Agun!”

Aktul and Ixchel stopped near the woman, at a safe distance so as not to appear threatening. The woman’s eyes saw the weapons, the man’s spear and his atlatl, then, with astonishment, not only the girl’s atlatl, but also the strange apparatus she carried with her, the messenger’s magic killing device.

“Agun!” The shout had been a little more urgent this time.

“Don’t be afraid, woman,” Aktul said softly. “We are friends of Agun and would like to talk to him.”

“Friends?” The distrust was so clearly audible that it almost jumped at the visitors. “At this time … what friends?”

“Let me talk to –”

“What’s happening?” came a male voice. “I’m not awake enough to –”

All eyes turned to the entrance of the mud house, from which now came a wiry, slightly leaning forward man who was a good ten years older than the woman, only dressed in a cloth that he had wrapped around his loins. The man interrupted himself, came out completely, and then walked fearlessly toward the visitors. He might be older, maybe as old as Aktul, but he shared the watchful gaze and the almost dissecting powers of observation with the soldier, something that Ixchel saw as a good sign. No one who panicked about anything.

“Who are you?” he asked and stopped in front of the two, not unfriendly, but with a good deal of suspicion in his voice.

“They want to see you, Agun!” the woman said, shaking her head from behind.

“Me? Who are you?”

The question was addressed to Aktul, who bowed slightly.

“My name is Aktul, warrior of the Chitam, protector of Ixchel, the king’s daughter.”

“Mutal?” The question had come in a whisper, and Ixchel watched the man’s nimble gaze flick to the right and left, the way his wife put a hand over her mouth, and took her boy by the hand.

“Mutal. We have to talk, Agun.”

The man’s gaze now focused on Ixchel and her sister, and recognition shimmered in his eyes. “You are the princess – you are both the daughters of Chitam, the daughters of Lady Tzutz.”

“Why don’t you let us in, Agun?” Ixchel said, also not unkindly, but in the attitude of a young woman who might one day have the right to ascend the great throne of Mutal.

The man looked at his wife, then nodded hastily.

“Quickly, before the neighbors wake up. Your visit is surprising and, above all, disturbing given the news one hears from Mutal.”

Aktul took hold of the man’s forearm. “Wait until you hear what I have to say, Agun from B’aakal. Your surprise will increase, as will your dismay.”

Agun looked at the warrior first, then at Ixchel. “So you need my help.”

Ixchel smiled cheerlessly. She hadn’t missed the lurking in the man’s voice. She followed him inside the hut and knew exactly what was going to happen. It was, as always, when people appeared at court and had something to offer that their grandfather might have wanted but couldn’t force.

Negotiations started.

She would not need Aktul’s help for that.

She could do that herself.