A Magic of Dawn

Niente

The flap of Niente’s tent was thrust back, and Atl came stalking through. He was holding a brass scrying bowl-a new one, the metal still bright-and it dripped water onto the trampled grass at his feet.

“You lied, Taat,” he said. There was as much dismay in his voice as anger. “Axat has let me look at the path you’ve set us on. I looked at it again and again, and there is no victory for us down that road. None.”

“Then you’ve seen wrongly,” Niente told him, even though fear shivered through him. “That is not what Axat has shown me.”

“Then take out your bowl now,” Atl insisted. “Take it out and let us look together. Prove to me that you’re leading the Tecuhtli to where he wishes to go. Prove it, and I’ll be silent.” Niente could hear desperation in his son’s voice, and he rose from the blankets, using his spell-staff to steady him. He went to Atl, who was standing at the tent’s entrance like a bronzed statue. Outside, he could hear the army stirring in the early morning, striking the tents to prepare for the day’s march. The rain from the day before had ended; the air smelled fresh and clean.

Atl stared down at Niente as he approached. He clasped his son’s arm with his free hand, bringing him close. He could feel the young man resisting, then yielding to the embrace. “Atl,” he said quietly, finally releasing him and taking a step back. “I ask you to trust me: as your Taat, as your Nahual. Trust that I would not lead the Tehuantin to death. Trust that I want what you want: I want our people to prosper and to be safe. I love you; I love your brothers and sister, your mother. I love Tlaxcala and the lands of our home. I would not see those I love hurt or the land I know so well destroyed. Why would I want that? Why would I do that to you and to the Tehuantin?”

Atl was shaking his head. “I don’t know, Taat. It makes no sense to me either.” He lifted the bowl in his hand, and his voice was full of anguish and confusion. “But I know what I’ve seen. It was as clear as if I saw it happening before me. I had to tell the Tecuhtli what I saw. I had to, because you wouldn’t listen to me, and Axat was showing me what you insisted wasn’t true.”

“I know,” Niente told him, nodding. “You only did as I would have done in your place. I’m not angry with you.”

“I don’t care if you’re angry or not, Taat. You keep telling me that I’m not seeing correctly, but I know I have the far-sight. I know it.”

“You do,” Niente told him. “Though that makes me more sad than pleased. It’s a terrible gift to have, Atl. You don’t believe that now, but in time you will.”

“Yes, yes,” Atl waved the bowl between them. “ ‘Look at what it did to me,’ You keep saying that, but you had years before it disfigured you so badly. I remember, Taat. I remember what you looked like when I was young. I know the pain of it; I’ve already felt it, and I can bear it. If you’re going to insist that I’m not seeing correctly, then show me! ” The final words were nearly a shout through clenched teeth. He closed his eyes, opened them, and his voice was a soft plea. “Damn it, Taat, show me. Please…”

He had seen this moment in the scrying bowl. He had seen his son’s fury, his disbelief. He had heard the accusations flung at him, had seen Atl rushing to Tecuhtli Citlali and telling him all-and he had seen where that path led. Yet the other path, the other choice he could make here, was far less clear, clouded with blood and the haze on the long sight, and he could only hope that somewhere in the mist was the Long Path he wanted.

There is no certainty to the future. There is only Possibility. It was what old Mahri had told Niente when he’d first begun to use Axat’s gift, before Tecuhtli Necalli had sent Mahri to Nessantico. Then, Niente had been much like Atl, scoffing at Mahri’s warnings, not quite believing the older man. He was young, he was invincible, he knew better than those who had come before him, who were timid and frail.

After all, Tecuhtli Necalli had raised Niente to the title of Nahual after he’d sent Mahri away-but only after forcing him to confront the nahualli who currently held that title: Ohtli, whom Niente had killed.

Tecuhtli Citlali, who had in turn killed Tecuhtli Zolin in challenge, would likely do the same with the next Nahual: force challenge on Niente. He had seen that in visions, also, and he was afraid that he knew the mist-clothed person who stood over his broken body. He was terrified to see that face, and he would turn his eyes from the scrying bowl before the mists cleared.

“Get your bowl, Taat,” Atl said again, “or use mine, but let’s do this together. Show me what you say I fail to see. Prove it to me.”

“No,” Niente said. It was the only answer he could give.

“No? By the seven mountains, Taat, is that the only answer you can give me? ‘No’-just that single word?”

“I’ve given you my answer. Be content with it.” He turned and started to pack his things for the day’s march.

“Is that my Taat’s answer, or is that the Nahual’s answer?” Atl looked deliberately at the golden band on Niente’s forearm.

“It is both.”

“It’s not sufficient. I’m sorry, Taat. It’s not. Don’t do this. I beg you.”

“It’s time for us to break camp,” Niente answered, not looking at him. He couldn’t-if he did, he’d be lost. “Go, and prepare yourself.”

“Taat-”

Niente was holding his own scrying bowl. His hands were trembling around the incised rim, the animals carved there seeming to move of their own accord. He thrust the bowl into his bag. “Go,” he repeated.

He could feel Atl staring at him, could feel the anger rising in him. “Why are you forcing this on me?”

“I’m not forcing anything on you, Atl.” He turned, finally. He wanted to weep at the look on his son’s face. “You must make your own choices. All I’m asking is that you believe in me as you once did.”

“I want to do that, Taat. I want that more than anything. And all I’m asking is that you show me that I should. I want to learn from you. I want that more than anything. Teach me.”

“I have,” Niente told him. “And if I’ve taught you well, then you know to obey me.”

Atl’s face changed then. It went stern and closed, as if Niente were staring at a stranger. “There are other authorities I have to obey, Taat,” he said. “I’ll ask only once more. Take out your bowl. Show me.”

Niente only shook his head. Atl’s face went to stone. His hands tightened around his own bowl. “Then you leave me no choice, Taat. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you take us down to defeat. I can’t let the deaths of thousands of good warriors be on your head, and on mine because of my silence. I can’t…”

With that, Atl turned. “Atl, wait!” Niente called after him, but he was already through the flap of the tent and gone. “Atl…”

Niente sagged to the ground. He prayed to Axat to take him now, to end his stay here and carry him up to the starheavens. But that was nothing he had ever seen in the bowl, and Axat remained silent.