The Seventh Sun

by Lani Forbes

  Their sun had been destroyed six times. First by water, then by fire, then famine, sickness, beasts, and storms. After each apocalypse, the creator goddess Ometeotl allowed one of her divine children to sacrifice themselves to save civilization. The gods paid their blood as the price for the lives of the people, and the people owed them blood in return. The compulsion to repay that debt was ever present in their culture, even though it had been hundreds of calendar cycles since the last sun was destroyed. And there was an undercurrent continually whispering at the edge of Ahkin’s mind …

  When would this world end?

  Chapter

  2

  Mayana never looked forward to the days when her family must sacrifice their blood to bring the rains, especially when it was her turn. The sacrifice took place every three months, but with so many family members, Mayana had years before she’d have to pay her tribute again. She just needed to make it until sundown. Taking a breath, she gently sliced the palm of her hand with a long, thin shard of obsidian. The sharper the blade, the more painless the cut, and there was nothing in this world sharper than obsidian fire-glass from the volcano at Papatlaca. She didn’t even flinch this time.

  She shook her hand over the bone-white strips of paper and sprinkles of her blood dotted them like crimson drops of rain. Her father, Oztoc, the lord and high priest of Atl, nodded his approval, enormous blue and green feathers on his headdress quivering in response. The ceremonial beads and ornaments draped around his neck rattled against one another like dried beans in a gourd.

  Other members of the noble family hovered around the altar dressed in the jewel-toned feathers and fabrics of their ceremonial costumes. They reminded her of hummingbirds. Mayana bit her lip to suppress a laugh at the sight of her youngest brother, Tenoch, wearing a headpiece designed to resemble the head of a toucan. Tenoch’s excited eyes peeked out from under the large orange beak that extended from his forehead. Laughing in the middle of a bloodletting ceremony was sure to trigger a stern reprimand from her father.

  She approached the great stone bowl where a large fire burned and dropped the speckled papers into the flames. They turned brown and then black, curling into a pungent smoke that dissipated into the hot, humid air. A sense of pride coursed through her, and every muscle in Mayana’s body relaxed—at least until she noticed the look of immense relief on her father’s face. Had he really doubted her that much?

  When she had been younger, Mayana had cried to no avail when it was her turn to sacrifice her own blood. The sting of piercing her own flesh, the rust and salt smell of her life’s essence seeping out of her—she hated everything about it. But now that she was older, she did a better job of hiding it.

  The lord of Atl’s commanding voice rang out across the plaza like the call of a howler monkey, echoing down the steps of their stone temple pyramid. “The Mother goddess is now pleased. Our sacrifice of blood honors the sacrifice her daughter, Atlacoya, made to save us after the first sun was destroyed by water. Her blood, which lives on through our family, can continue to pay the price for our survival. Never again shall the waters sweep the Chicome away, nor shall Mother Ometeotl withhold the rains that nourish our lands.”

  The mass of people gathered below cheered so loudly that flocks of birds took flight from the jungle canopy. Mayana focused her gaze toward them, trying very hard not to think about the ritual that would come later that evening—the ritual she dreaded above all others.

  A solitary flash of red splashed against the blue of the sky and distracted her from the twitching shadows of the birds. It looked like a comet, barely visible on the horizon, but with a tail that glowed the color of blood. A shiver crept down her spine. She had never seen anything like it before. White stars falling in a burst of light across the heavens—those were not uncommon. But red? In the middle of the day? Could it be some kind of omen?

  The noble family chorused “never again” in unison, drawing her focus back to the ceremony. Mayana gave her head a little shake. Her brothers began their descent down the steps to partake in the festivities with the rest of Atl. She tore her gaze away from the bleeding star and joined them. She knew better than to disrupt the ceremony.

  Great waterfalls gushed on either side of the steep staircase, muffling the sounds of the celebrations below. Music swelled through the plaza and dancers emerged from a smaller temple in the shadow of the great stone pyramid, taking the crowd’s attention away from her family’s slow march down the side of the temple. Panic sent her heart thudding against her ribcage harder than deer hooves against the earth. Mayana always had a terrible fear that she would trip on one of the impossibly narrow stone steps with the entire city-state watching and plummet to a painful and very public death.

  After all, as a descendant of the goddess Atlacoya, goddess of drought and patron of Atl, her blood was a precious treasure.

  The muscles of Mayana’s legs burned by the time she reached the plaza floor. Her eyes found her father, and she shrank back, feeling utterly insignificant.

  He looked like a true descendant of the gods, a tall stone pillar of serenity. How could the man walk down hundreds of stairs in this heat and not perspire? Not a single drop. She gripped her aching side, a clumsy impostor in comparison. All five of her brothers at least panted along with her, sweat pouring down their faces and tanned chests.

  Mayana’s crown of blue-and-gold feathers slid down her forehead, pulling strands of her long, dark hair into her face with it. She reached up with one hand to push it back, the blood still seeping through the gash in her skin. She longed to use the divine power of her exposed blood to summon a mist from one of the many rivers and waterfalls that cascaded through the ancient city, but she could already imagine her father’s face if she were to ask for permission.

  The lord of Atl glanced back at his family, and Mayana and her brothers all straightened up, attempting, unsuccessfully, to hide their fatigue. He waved his hand, beaded bracelets of jade sliding down his wrist, before dismissing them to enjoy the festival.

  “You will all return to the palace before sundown for the feast,” he called after the retreating backs of his five sons. His brow creased when they didn’t respond and he let out a familiar grunt of disapproval. Before he could call them back, servants arrived with an elaborately carved wooden throne suspended between them on thick poles. They dropped the chair beside him and he paused, as though deciding whether a lecture was warranted or not, before he fanned his multicolored cloak out behind him and took his seat.

  “Mayana.” Her father’s ebony eyes narrowed, and her stomach dropped as though she’d missed a step on the side of the temple. “You will obey the rituals exactly as they are written in the codex this time.” It was a command—and a warning.

  “Yes, Father, exactly as they are written.” Her mind’s eye flashed to the stacks of folded sheets of paper filled with colorful hieroglyphs that contained the detailed instructions for every Chicome ritual. The headdress slipped again and she bowed her head to catch it.

  He sighed, shaking his head. The servants lifted the poles onto their shoulders, hoisting him high above her head. Mayana’s cheeks flooded with heat. Sometimes it was impossible not to disappoint her father. She threw back her shoulders with an air of determination. Maybe if she did everything else right, he’d let her forgo the final ritual tonight. Maybe.

  Her father disappeared into the crowd, and she turned to find the hunched, wizened form of Nemi, the royal healer of Atl, pushing toward her. The old healer rummaged in the folds of her red cotton dress and withdrew a single stingray spine. She plunged the barb into the tip of her thumb, exposing a tiny crimson drop. Royal healers like Nemi hailed from the city-state of Pahtia and used the power of the divine blood in their veins to repair the human body.

  The old woman grabbed Mayana’s hand rather roughly and yanked it toward her. Nemi was, ironically, not known for her gentleness.

  “Woul
d it be alright if I use the blood first?” Mayana pulled her arm back, cradling it against her chest.

  Nemi threw her hands into the air with an exasperated sigh before wiping the small drop of blood off her thumb. Her only response was an incoherent grumbling.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you waste—” Mayana began, but Nemi turned on the spot and waddled away, her hunched shoulders disappearing into the suffocating mass of bodies without so much as a backward glance. Mayana smiled. The healer could be surlier than her father sometimes, and that was not an easy task to accomplish.

  She pressed herself into the swelling crowd, a servant chaperone silently trailing along behind her. The sounds and jostling of the celebrations were disorienting. The plaza was a great sprawling marketplace, but every three months the entire city of Atl celebrated her family’s bloodletting ritual. There were dances, costumes, dramatic performances, and ball games—all culminating in the great feast at sunset.

  Impersonations of toucans, jaguars, eagles, wolves, and deer twirled around Mayana in a blur of color. The loud music of drums and flutes vibrated within her chest. She knew the river was close, but the chaos of the festival made it difficult to gauge her surroundings. So, she held her injured hand out in front of her and closed her eyes—feeling for the quickest path to the river. A cool awareness across her skin told her that the river rushed to her right, not far away. She opened them, and through a gap between what looked like a blue crocodile and a feathered serpent, she finally found the small bridge she was searching for.

  Waterfalls flowing from the top of the temple fed the river that framed the plaza. It circled around and through the city before plunging deep into the aqueducts that supplied water to every fountain, bath, and canal in Atl. Mayana approached the flowing river, anticipating the cool water against her flushed, overheated skin. Crouching low and partially hidden by the shade provided by the small stone bridge, she removed her feathered headdress and placed it beside her foot. Her hand reached toward the water, willing it toward her with a beckoning finger.

  The water rose like a shining silver snake poised to strike. Molding the water into a transparent sphere, Mayana let it hover between her hands for just a moment, enjoying the light sparkling and reflecting off its shining surface. She never tired of seeing the power of her divine ancestor coaxing the water to obey her every whim. Lifting it high above her, Mayana released it to splash over her head. The relief was cool and sweet and—

  A throat cleared loudly behind her.

  She spun to find Nemi with arms crossed over her massive, sagging bosom and a frown of disapproval etched upon her face.

  “Alright, alright, I’m done. I just wanted to cool off.” Mayana thrust her hand out to the healer. Her father forbade the family from spilling any blood unnecessarily, so she rarely got to use her abilities. She tried to take advantage every time she got the chance.

  For the second time, Nemi pricked her own finger and moved a hand slowly over Mayana’s injured palm. The skin knit itself together like a weaver working thread—leaving fresh, healed skin where the gash had been moments before. Even the sting had vanished along with the blood.

  Mayana took back her hand and sighed. Now that it was healed, she would have to get water from the river the common way.

  So much for enjoying what little she could before the sacrifice.

  Chapter

  3

  Ahkin closed his eyes and savored the warmth of the newly risen sun. It felt like a gentle embrace from his father, a reminder of the long line of emperors he descended from. He wished he could hide here all morning, enjoying the last connection he had to his father. But he could avoid reality for only so long. He now had an empire to manage.

  Making his way down the steep steps of the temple, he took a deep breath and turned to Olli. “Summon the council to meet. I want every advisor and elder ready to discuss our plans to move forward.”

  The servant jogged along beside him, trying to match Ahkin’s long strides with his own stubby little legs. Ahkin couldn’t help but notice that the man’s short stature would make him a terrible warrior. “The elders are already waiting for you.”

  A jolt of panic shot through him like an arrow. “How long have they been waiting?” He increased his pace. Olli had to nearly run to keep up.

  “They convened as soon as news of your father’s death spread throughout the palace. They knew you would be busy with the morning sun ceremony, so I assure you they will not mind your lateness, my prince.” The smaller man panted like a dog as they crossed the main plaza of the palace. The light of the newly risen sun reflected off the golden pillars and pyramids of the royal residence. The effect of its brilliance was almost blinding.

  Tardiness would not be the best start to his first meeting with his advisors. Ahkin needed to make a good impression upon the collection of religious, noble, and military leaders. He flung the curtain aside, and the deep rumblings of male voices silenced at his sudden appearance.

  The men seated on benches and cushions in the large meeting room all clambered to their feet and bowed, headdresses and ornaments flashing and clattering at their swift movements.

  Ahkin adjusted his own golden chestpiece to make sure it hung straight across his shoulders. He felt like a child interrupting one of his father’s important meetings.

  A low wooden table stretched between them bearing platters of grains, bowls overflowing with brightly colored fruits, and drinks spiced with chilies and honey. The smell of the food drew Ahkin in, and his stomach rumbled.

  Pushing his hunger away, Ahkin strode to the head of the low table and settled himself on the largest bench, facing the men he had always looked up to and admired as a boy growing up in his father’s shadow. The vibrant red columns surrounding them reminded him of the gravity of the circumstances and the burden of the blood in his veins.

  “Your Highness. I am saddened to hear of your father beginning his journey to the underworld so unexpectedly.” Toani, the high priest, inclined his head and folded his hands in front of his chest. Bright-red feathers extended several feet from his elaborate headpiece. His matching red cloak gave the impression that he had been soaked in blood, and a necklace of fire-glass beads with matching earrings glistened against his tanned, wizened skin. Though Toani himself was not a descendant of the gods, no man in all of the Chicome Empire had studied the codex as extensively or knew it as well. Ahkin valued him as a member of the council.

  “Thank you, Toani. We were definitely surprised. His health gave no indication of failing.”

  “Do we know how it happened, my lord?” growled Yaotl, leader of the empire’s elite Jaguar warriors and Ahkin’s personal mentor.

  “We do not.” Ahkin took a sip of cacao sweetened with honey. “It happened as he was sleeping and the body was unmarked, so Coatl believes it was something internal.” His mind flashed to the memory of his father’s body lying peacefully upon the bed mat, his mother’s blood seeping across the stone tiles of the floor. He shook his head slightly to dislodge the image.

  “The healer has already inspected the body?” Yaotl shifted his massive shoulders.

  “He has. Do you have suspicions, Yaotl?”

  The mountainous man shrugged. His voice rumbled like an active volcano.

  “I just know the Miquitz have been more active at our borders than usual. I enlisted as many naguals from Ocelotl as possible to fend off attacks.”

  “I can honestly say that I do not suspect Miquitz to be involved in my father’s death. They fear and respect our duty to ensure the sun rises. The death worshippers may capture our warriors for their sacrifices, but they would not dare to threaten the royal bloodline of Tollan.”

  “And what of Ehecatl? They continue to challenge Tollan’s authority to oversee the empire.”

  “Ehecatl should be appeased by my sister’s match to the eldest son of the Storm Lord
. Our peace with them is tenuous, but it is peace nonetheless.”

  Yaotl grunted, but did not elaborate.

  “Shall I begin preparations for Emperor Acatl’s burial?” Toani interrupted. He sounded like what Ahkin imagined the earth itself would sound like if it had a voice. Ancient, wise, deep, and endless.

  “Yes. After the mourning period, I would like my father’s burial to be as worthy of his memory as the life he lived.” Ahkin fought back the pressure settling on his shoulders again. He was not supposed to be so saddened by his father’s death. It marked the beginning of his journey through the underworld, his father’s chance to earn a place in one of the paradises by proving himself worthy through completing several trials set by the god of the underworld. He struggled to force his heart to submit to what his head already knew.

  “The crafters are already working on his effigies. I would like to sacrifice a large dog for the burial, to guide Emperor Acatl through the layers of the underworld. A dog will make a wonderful companion,” Toani said thoughtfully, as though he were planning what to have for the midday meal. “We will also sacrifice a servant, of course. His wife has already joined him, so that spares us that worry. I think I will also send priests to the city-states to collect tributes of fabrics, choice foods, and treasures to take with him. And the royal builders finished the tomb several years ago, in anticipation, of course …” Ahkin blocked out the man’s musings and signaled for a servant to bring in the royal matchmaker.

  Atanzah, like all professional matchmakers, was an elderly woman, round and soft like a ripe mango. As one of his mother’s dearest friends, she had always been a presence in his life. Her white-and-gold shawl was hung with tiny golden bells and bright feathers, making her resemble a flamboyant finch as she strode in with purpose, completely at ease in a room full of the most powerful men in the empire. She immediately flourished a hand in an elegant bow, and Ahkin tried not to wrinkle his nose at the cloud of pungent floral perfume that washed over him.