Extract - Chapter One: Boy in the Box
“Why isn’t that boy dead yet?” When the Captain shouts, even the temple walls shiver.
Death is scary enough, without the Captain of the Temple Guard yelling about it. I’ve seen battalions of warriors cringe and cower beneath his bellowed orders. But I’m not afraid of the Captain and he doesn’t frighten the temple High Priest either. Ichtaca won’t let the Captain kill me. The priest is saving that task for himself.
For seven days I have been imprisoned in this windowless box, waiting to die. But I haven’t given up. Every morning I sharpen my fingernails against the wooden walls. My heart is strong like a jungle cat and when the box is finally opened, I’ll claw and bite the hand that holds me.
I was born on the day 3 Ocelotl, the day of the spotted jaguar. Deep inside, I feel the power of its spirit reaching out to help me.
“I will tell you when the sacrifice has been made.” Ichtaca’s voice is blunt but his authority is razor-sharp. I imagine the Captain glowering. Only the Golden King is more powerful than Ichtaca. Even a mighty Eagle Warrior must listen and obey the High Priest of the Serpent-Sun god.
I can’t see either man. But I know both well and in the darkness, I listen until every word is chiselled inside my head. Like now. I know the Captain’s thin lips have curled into a snarl. He despises me more than ever.
The hatred began long ago. It was only a small thing but in the Captain’s eyes, the insult to his honour was great and cut deep into his pride. Under the Mexica sun, a wound quickly festers and turns rotten.
When I was seven I dropped a serving bowl and hot turtle soup splashed onto the Captain’s bare leg. I will never forget that day. A slave cannot afford to make mistakes. Especially here, where clumsiness is paid for with blood.
“You stupid Purepechan idiot!” The Captain raised his sword to strike.
I knelt, head bowed before the blow.
Copyright © 2010 Sandy Fussell
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