Each of the goblets held the inscription The Fighting Fortieth.
“This is the finest octli we have,” Itzcoatl said. “Brewed and aged in casks of oak for many years. There is no drink better, and now we should take it and all honor dead. And swear to the future. For us all.”
He handed the nearest goblet on the tray to Jak, then passed them to everyone at his table, taking the last one for himself.
“To Coatlicue, mother of all gods.” He raised the drink in front of him, holding the silver cup firmly in both hands, gesturing for everyone to follow his example. “And to the ever-young warrior, Huitziopochtli, who others, have sometimes called the Hummingbird Wizard. They reside with all the gods of our people on the Mountain of the Star, Citlaltepetl. All united in the place of the gods, Teotihuacan.”
The mouth-filling, sonorous names in the ancient language rolled from his tongue, swelling into the stillness of the smoky heart of the village.
“Now all drink!”
Everyone lifted the goblets and drank. At a warning glance from his father, Dean took only a small sip of the burning liquid, managing to stifle a choking cough. The others drained the octli , savoring its fire and its sweetness.
Ryan noticed that Itzcoatl and the jade-eyed masks of the other elders had all turned to watch Jak, as though they were linked by a single cord.
There was an inexplicable tension for those few seconds, which eased the moment the white-haired teenager laid his goblet back on the table, empty.
IT WAS AN HOUR or so shy of midnight.
Ryan had suggested that they should rise before dawn and get ready to leave, telling Itzcoatl and the other natives of their intentions only at the last moment.
“Less argument then. So, we could all do with an early night. Any problems?”
Jak slowly put up his hand. “Don’t feel good, Ryan. Gut burns. Sweating. Feel sick. Throat tight. Head aches as bad as I can remember.”
Mildred stood to go over to him. “Could be something you ate or drank, Jak.”
The voice from the doorway interrupted her, stopping her in midstride. “You are right on the ball, lady,” Itzcoatl said. “The god is sick because of something he had drinking.”
“How’s that?” Ryan said, feeling the beginning of anger, overlaid with something that might have been fear. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that Jak has been given poison. By me. In a half day the god will be dead.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Poisoned?”
Itzcoatl nodded. He had discarded the ornamental mask, but still wore the long ceremonial robes that rustled as he moved a couple of steps away, toward the door.
Ryan swallowed hard, finding that the SIG-Sauer was already in his hand, the barrel pointing at the head of the retreating native. “You poisoned Jak? Just him? None of the rest of us?”
“Do any of you feel sick?” The dark eyes moved from face to face around the hut. “No? That’s your best fortune. We wish no harm to any of you.”
Jak moved a few faltering strides toward the chief, resting his hands on the low bed. “Why chill me? Tell me! I’m your fuckin’ god!”
“That is the answer. Gods speak in questions and answers. We have given you a secret poison for that reasoning. You are our god. We can’t let you go from us.”
“How does it help having a dead god?” Ryan asked, waving the blaster at J.B., who’d been circling behind the native. “What’s the point?”
Itzcoatl shook his head. “No, Ryan. You don’t understand me and my words.”
“So tell me.” His control was cracking. “Or I swear I’ll put your brains all over the wall.”
“Be gentle, Ryan. This is our plan. We can cure Jak. We have the herbs to do it. There is time for this.”
Ryan sighed. “Oh, I get it. Yeah, clever, Itzcoatl. You want Jak to stay behind and the rest of us to go. We go and you give Jak the antidote.”
The chief beamed broadly. “That is the word! Antidote . Nobody of us could remember it. Yes, you are right. You go now. Back to your homes. Jak stays. We cure him.”