Lorenzo touched the medallion under his shirt. May the Father, the Mother, and the Son spare me such a fate as the macuahuitl.
As the wagon rolled past, he looked over the side at the sleeping mound of Atoq. The great cat would sleep most of the day before wandering out at evening to hunt. Beside him and their bags of clothing and food, the two small cages clacked and thumped against the far side of the wagon. Inside them, the two saber-toothed cubs swatted at each other through the bars. Behind them, Lorenzo saw the strange ripple in the grassy ditch still bending toward them against the wind.
Who can it be now? Do they mean to rob us, or worse?
Ariel’s pale face drifted across his mind’s eye, and for a moment he couldn’t tell if he had really seen her or only imagined it. He swallowed and blinked back the sudden tears.
Ariel, can you see me? Are you watching over me in this strange land?
Only the wind answered him. Lorenzo turned his mare back up the road and came alongside Qhora. “I’d like to put some distance between us and the city before the morning travelers come out. I’d rather they not see us. They might be tempted to rob us, and I’d rather not leave a trail bodies from Tingis to Orossa.”
“If the queen of Marrakesh knew how to provide for her people, or how to police her people, we wouldn’t have to leave a trail of bodies wherever we go,” Qhora said. She glanced at him and her face softened. “But we are here in the name of Prince Valero. For his sake, we will try not to kill too many Mazighs.”
“Thank you, my love.” He nudged his mare into a quick trot just as Wayra broke into a sprint and dashed away down the road with a squawk and a hiss. Glancing back, he saw Xiuhcoatl whip his draft horse into a slightly quicker pace, which would leave him far behind both the hidalgo and the princess in just a few minutes. Lorenzo sighed and lashed his mare into a gallop. “Qhora!”
It took almost three minutes to catch up to the giant bird and catch the princess’s attention. She reined in Wayra and stared down at her escort as he explained the need to stay together with the wagon. As he spoke, he could see the impatience and frustration in her narrowed eyes and pressed lips, but she did not argue as she turned back to join the wagon, which was now hidden by another rise in the highway.
A deep-throated growl echoed across the plain and Lorenzo kicked his horse into another gallop as they passed back over the last hill and saw the old Aztec standing in the wagon’s seat, his obsidian sword glinting in the early morning light. The saber-toothed cat crouched on the ground beside the wagon, terrifying the draft horse into a constant stream of whinnies and sidesteps, slowly pulling the wagon away to escape the growling cat. At the opposite side of the road, two men in faded brown uniforms stood knee-deep in the grass with shining revolvers in their hands.
Lorenzo swallowed. Guns. “Qhora, stay back!” He charged down the hillside and whipped his espada free. Oh Ariel, if I survive this I swear I will never leave home again!
Xiuhcoatl shouted something in Nahuatl that no one within four thousand miles could understand as he jumped down to the ground beside Atoq, brandishing his weapon in a two-handed grip. The huge cat dashed forward to swipe at the first gunman, who stumbled back and fell into the ditch, disappearing under the tall grass. Atoq snarled and paced back to the wagon.
The yards quickly vanished beneath his horse’s hooves and Lorenzo passed his sword to his left hand. With a flick of his wrist, the hidalgo slashed the gunman’s shoulder as he galloped by and heard the revolver clatter on the hard-packed dirt and gravel of the road. Wheeling around, Lorenzo saw the man clutching his arm and jumping back down into the ditch, and the two men scrambled back the way they had come through the waving grasses. When they were out of sight, Lorenzo sheathed his espada and trotted back to the wagon, pausing to hop down and retrieve the dropped revolver. Xiuhcoatl was roughly stroking the cat’s head and patting his side. Atoq purred, butting his head against the man’s hand. And then the cat circled to the back of the wagon, leapt up into the straw, and flopped down again beside the caged cubs.
To his relief, Lorenzo saw that the princess had stayed at the top of the hill, sitting in her strange saddle on her strange beast, the feathers of her cloak fluttering in the cool morning breeze.
The old Aztec warrior dropped onto his seat, picked up the reins, and got the wagon moving again. Lorenzo rode beside him to the top of the rise and Lady Qhora fell into step beside him.
After a moment she said, “They had guns.”
“Soldiers, judging from their uniforms,” he said. “Deserters, maybe.”
“They had guns, Enzo.” She glanced at him. “They might have killed you. We’ve talked about this. You need to be more careful. You can’t fight guns with a sword.”
He said, “No, but I can fight men with a sword.”
“You didn’t kill them. You should have.” Her voice quavered, or at least he thought it did. “Deserters are traitors. Killing them would have been a service to the Mazigh queen.”
Was she this bloodthirsty when we first met? I don’t remember. But that was another life for both of us, in another world. So much has happened, so much has changed. I could never explain to her why I spared these two, or those three men last night. She wouldn’t understand.
Lorenzo reached up to touch the triquetra medallion beneath his shirt. “Perhaps.”
She saw his hand on his chest. “Does it trouble your faith to kill these people? They’re not your people. And they’re not even decent people.”
“It troubles my faith to kill any people. And they are decent people. They’re just going through a difficult time,” Lorenzo said. Do I even believe that? I’ve been hungry, cold, and frightened. I lived on the streets of Tartessos, in the winter, surviving on the charity of others for half a year and never robbed anyone. I crawled through ten miles of vermin-infested jungle with a bullet in my leg and never robbed anyone. “The last time I came here, ten years ago, it was to sing in a choir in Port Chellah. It was different then.”
“You were a boy then. You saw it differently. I doubt the country itself has changed at all.”
He nodded. “You’re probably right. More’s the pity.”
As they continued down the highway, Lorenzo caught sight of a few plowed fields high in the hills to his left, and a few delicate tendrils of smoke from some farmer’s house. Far from the madness of politics. The hidalgo dropped his hand from his medallion. How did life ever become so complicated?
If only I hadn’t met her. He stole a glimpse of Qhora and couldn’t help but smile at the young lady’s profile glowing in the morning sunlight. No, I can’t imagine that.
If only I hadn’t brought her back with me. No, her cousin would have sacrificed her.
If only she would convert, then I could marry her. But that would keep me at court. I would have to keep fighting, and teaching others to fight, and finding myself in these places, forced to kill or be killed.
If only Ariel had never come to me, had never shown me the true path, had never shown me the brokenness of my old life. I could have gone on living with Qhora, loving her, enjoying her, blissful in our sin.
If only.
His eyes darted over to the young woman beside him, her beautiful face so proud and defiant, her glorious feathered cloak shining in the early morning light.