Serpent and Storm

by Marella Sands

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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Part II

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Part III

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Part IV

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Part V

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Also by Marella Sands from Tom Doherty Associates

  Copyright

  For Mom & Dad

  This one belongs to them.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks, first of all, to the Alternate Historians: Mark Sumner, Thomas Drennan, Deborah Millitello, N. L. Drew, Laurell K. Hamilton, Rett MacPherson, Sharon Shinn, and W. Augustus Elliott. Without a great critique group like this I never would have sold anything. Nor would I have gotten the wonderful surprise of a chocolate cake sculpture of Teotihuacan. Thanks, Mark! Friends are definitely one of life’s greatest joys.

  Thanks to my agent, Shawna McCarthy, and my editor, Claire Eddy, for getting Sky Knife’s adventures into print.

  Thanks to Keith Berdak, for doing a favor for a friend. My mother and I appreciate it very much.

  Shokran to Aziz Ben, our guide in Morocco, who gave me insights into Whiskers-of-Rat.

  A warm hello and many [[[]]] to all the folks on the Dominion with whom I trade posts. And a big thank-you-very-much to those who have stopped by my web site and have said nice things about it.

  Finally, it would be hard to write without the help of my little furry rat friends. Whether they’re snoozing on my shoulder, putting nose prints on my monitor, or pressing the ESC or CAPS LOCK key at exactly the wrong time, they are always a delight. So I say au revoir and thanks to those who have brightened my life but have moved on:

  Chiek—I’ll miss you always; Rascal & Tirza—shine together forever; Salome—you were a jewel. And welcome to Smudge, Snip, and Kelsa. I hope we have years to write and play together. (You can press that old CAPS LOCK key anytime you feel like it.)

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Many of the ideas about Teotihuacan life presented in this book, such as the importance of a masked goddess of the Pyramid of the Sun and a Storm God of the Pyramid of the Moon, can be found in Teotihuacan: Art from the City of the Gods by Kathleen Berrin and Esther Pasztory. Other important sources for ideas such as king-twins and the stick ballgame were The Flayed God: The Mesoamerican Mythological Tradition by Roberta H. Markman and Peter T. Markman, and The Mesoamerican Ballgame, edited by Vernon L. Scarborough and David R. Wilcox. Of course, I changed the ideas presented in these works, and others, to suit my own ends.

  I

  My Lord sits under the ceiba tree,

  Itzamna sits under the sacred ceiba tree

  And listens to my prayer.

  So many souls have fled to you, Lord.

  Soul of my father, soul of my mother,

  Soul of my brother, soul of my firstborn.

  Shelter them in your green land,

  Support the fruits that bring them delight,

  And let their laughter bubble forth from the stream.

  Sky Knife, His Prayer

  1

  Sky Knife, Chief Priest of the god Itzamna of the Mayan city of Tikal, looked up the slight rise ahead of him, excitement overriding the aching in his feet and back. On the other side of the rise was the valley of Teotihuacan. Teotihuacan! Jewel of the North. The most splendid city in the world.

  Sky Knife’s excitement at arriving at his destination was marred by homesickness. His wife, Jade Flute, was due to deliver their second child in the month of Pop, which started in twelve days. Sky Knife’s heart clenched in sadness—he, the father, should be there to cut the newborn infant’s cord and spread the blood over the red corn cob. Also, his child’s birth might be his only chance to meet his child. His firstborn had lived only a day before the tiny spirit had moved on to a new home in another world.

  Sky Knife did not want to miss knowing his second child, not even for a day, though it could not be helped. He was High Priest, Ah men and Ah kin, Sacrificer and Diviner, subject to the will of the king. Storm Cloud had ordered him to Teotihuacan, and he had gone. For the past five years, since the rogue priest Stone Jaguar had killed a Teotihuacano merchant, no other Teotihuacano merchants had come to Tikal, although they visited the surrounding cities. Tikal could not afford to be left out of the main trade routes much longer. Not and maintain her sway over the cities near her. The mission was important enough that Storm Cloud had felt sending his Chief Priest was the way to underscore his seriousness in the matter.

  Sky Knife only hoped he could talk to the Teotihuacano king about resuming trade relations and return to Tikal quickly. If his child did not live the several months it would take him to complete his task and return home, then he would never meet his child. That was a grief he did not wish to bear.

  Sky Knife took a deep breath, shouldered his small pack, and trudged up the hill.

  “Itzamna,” whispered Sky Knife as he caught sight of what lay beyond. He caught his foot on something and almost tripped, but barely noticed, for in front of him, under a bright morning sky, was Teotihuacan. Never, never had Sky Knife’s imagination been adequate in picturing the city.

  The gleaming white city of Teotihuacan stretched for miles through its valley and up the slopes of the surrounding hills. The city glittered in the sunlight like a giant crystal. In the center of the city rose two massive earthen pyramids. The largest, Sky Knife knew, was dedicated to the mysterious goddess worshipped by the Teotihuacanos. The smaller was dedicated to the god of storms, who watched over the rulers of the city. On top of the pyramids sat gleaming white temples. Their bases were surrounded with white buildings striped in red.

  The roads to the city had been crowded, but even that was nothing compared to the thousands of people moving around in the city. Sky Knife felt a sudden urge to run away—the horde was too large a thing to deal with. It moved as if it were an animal. It writhed through the alleys and streets of the city like an army of wriggling centipedes.

  Sky Knife stood, his mouth open. He walked slowly toward the city, then more and more quickly, as if its gleaming soul drew him forward
like a moth to the flame. The ache in his feet spread up his legs, demanding a rest, but Sky Knife paid no heed. The city was magical, beautiful.

  Sky Knife stopped in a large plaza just inside the city and looked around. Naked children ran with small dusty brown dogs barking at their heels. Three women talked shrilly and waved their arms about their heads in what appeared to be an argument. Their long black hair hung loose down their backs and their simple cotton dresses were unadorned by any jewelry. Shawls of undyed cotton were wrapped about their shoulders. Old men in loincloths, the skin of their chests sagging and dark as cacao beans, sat in the center of the plaza and dozed. Their sparse white hair waved idly in the breeze.

  Clumps of people moved around, the crowd swirling this way and that, so that Sky Knife could see only some of the plaza at a time. People continually brushed against him. He couldn’t help but jump at the contact. Sky Knife clasped his arms together in front of him as if that could give him protection from the multitude.

  Sky Knife tried to stand his ground, but the constant bustling of people kept knocking him off balance. Breathing heavily in near-panic, Sky Knife jerked away from the people and leaned against the smooth plastered white wall of a building.

  “Come, come,” said a deep voice in the liquid sounds of the Teotihuacano language. A tall thin man stepped out of the crowd. He was taller than Sky Knife, anyway, but the same could be said for almost all Teotihuacanos. “It is a bit overwhelming, eh?”

  The man wore his hair loose but long, in the Teotihuacan style. It fell in black waves down his shoulders to touch his elbows. His red tunic draped down to his knees. Embroidered birds and deer danced across its surface in bright yellows and greens. Yellow and green tassels on the man’s sandals matched the embroidery.

  But the thing about the Teotihuacano that grabbed Sky Knife’s attention most was his nose. It was small and pointed, like a rodent’s. It made the man look very foreign in Sky Knife’s eyes.

  The man walked over to Sky Knife and patted him on the shoulder. “Come with me. I’ll show you the city. It is no problem.”

  “For a fee,” said Sky Knife, too flustered to worry that this might be offensive. Storm Cloud, his king, had taught him the Teotihuacano language and some of their customs. The king had mentioned a guild of men dedicated to showing foreigners the grandeur of the Jewel of the North. But their services were not free.

  “Well, of course,” said the man. “My name is…”

  Sky Knife’s ears refused to make sense of the string of syllables the man rattled off. He suspected in the upcoming days he would find many such holes in the vocabulary Storm Cloud had taught him. He did recognize one familiar word.

  “Rat?” he asked the man. “Your name is Rat and something I didn’t understand.” Sky Knife was tempted to guess “nose,” but he didn’t want to offend the man.

  The man smiled and twirled his fingers beside his face. “Long hairs on the face of an animal.”

  “Whiskers,” said Sky Knife in Mayan. “Your name is…”

  “Whiskers-of-Rat,” the man said slowly. This time, Sky Knife understood.

  “Sky Knife,” he said.

  “Well, Sky Knife, as I was saying, I am a guide. A professional guide. Unlike those who would merely take your money and leave you lost in some far corner of the city, I am sanctioned by the guild of professional guides to take foreigners to various places in the city. And I can provide many interesting historical facts as well.”

  “Well…” began Sky Knife.

  “The price is reasonable,” persisted Whiskers-of-Rat. “Set by the guild.”

  Sky Knife hesitated, but one more glance at the flowing rivers of people in the city streets convinced him. He had originally planned to ask someone directions to the king’s palace. But Sky Knife had no faith in his ability to follow directions in the mass confusion ahead of him.

  Itzamna! He didn’t even want to step out into the crowd again, let alone try to follow someone else’s directions through the streets of the city. What if he stumbled and fell? Visions of being trampled underfoot loomed large in Sky Knife’s mind.

  “It’s a fantastic sight, isn’t it?” the guide asked. He went on without awaiting an answer. “The city is over five hundred years old. Right back to the beginning of time!”

  “No,” said Sky Knife, glad to discuss a topic he was familiar with. He broke his gaze away from the gleaming city. “The world began on 13.0.0.0.0 4 Ahau 8 Cumku. That’s over thirty-five hundred years ago.”

  Whiskers-of-Rat smiled. If he were upset at being corrected by a foreigner, he didn’t let it show. “Of course,” he said. “But I’m sure the city has been here since the beginning. It is the center of the world. Why else would everyone want to live here?”

  Whiskers-of-Rat turned and walked toward the city, maintaining a slow pace. Sky Knife followed him, not bothering to watch where he put his feet. He just stared at the city.

  And the people—Sky Knife had never seen so many. They were everywhere, their clothing, their hair, their arms constantly brushing against Sky Knife, bumping the small pack he had with him. Sky Knife clutched his pack and concentrated on Whiskers-of-Rat’s back, his fear pushing his heartbeat ever faster. Scents, both familiar and exotic, assaulted his nose. The odors of sweat and charcoal mixed with sharp, tangy smells Sky Knife couldn’t identify. Even the crumbling plaster of the buildings, crushed underfoot by the passing thousands and wafting around the street in an everpresent white cloud, smelled strange, a sharp, dry scent that made Sky Knife sneeze.

  As they approached the center of the city, the road became more and more crammed with people. Tall men in yellow-and-orange robes and jade ear spools touched shoulders with old people in rags while warriors in purple skirts watched impassively from the sides of the street.

  A woman in a brilliant yellow dress, her hair bunched up on top of her head, brushed against Sky Knife. He stumbled back and mumbled an apology. The woman didn’t even glance at him, but the green parrot riding her shoulder nipped at him and screeched in earsplitting tones.

  Sky Knife felt a slight tug at his waist. He glanced away from Whiskers-of-Rat’s tall form to see what was happening. A child of no more than ten or twelve had untied one of the knots that held a leather bag to Sky Knife’s waist sash. The bag contained Sky Knife’s sacrificial blade. The child fumbled with the second knot.

  “What are you doing?” asked Sky Knife after a moment’s hesitation. Mayan children would have known what was in the bag. Not even the bravest would have dared touch it. Sky Knife was simply surprised by the audacity of the boy.

  The child gave up on the knots and bolted into the crowd. Sky Knife looked around helplessly, utterly stunned at the number of people that pressed against him from every side. The bright red, yellow, and green of their clothing assaulted his eyes, and the loud hubbub of voices buzzed in his ears. The white plaster dust in the air choked him.

  Sky Knife shook and fought back a scream. He could no longer see Whiskers-of-Rat. Sky Knife looked around, but he was shorter than most of the men on the street.

  A pretty young woman approached him. Her white dress exposed more than it covered. The wooden beads of her necklace were painted red, green, yellow, and blue. Her hair had been braided simply and coiled on each side of her head above her ears. The sweet scent of flowers surrounded her.

  The woman touched Sky Knife on the arm in a confident manner. “Lost?” she asked. “Need a friend?”

  “I … what?” asked Sky Knife, trying not to look down the front of the woman’s dress. “I seem to have lost my guide. But it looks to me like you need a friend more than I.”

  The woman laughed, although Sky Knife couldn’t understand what was so funny. In a strange way, this woman reminded him of Jade Flute. Jade Flute, too, seemed to find humor in situations Sky Knife found confusing or irritating. The woman’s body, too, reminded him of Jade Flute. Sky Knife looked away, embarrassed.

  “That’s a new one,” said the woman. “C
ome on, I’ll show you my place.”

  “Your place?” Sky Knife glanced around, but in the crowd he could not see Whiskers-of-Rat. He gasped, short of breath with fear, and clutched his pack even tighter.

  “Or are you staying somewhere in the city? We could go there.”

  “Go there … and then what? Do you need some help?” asked Sky Knife.

  The woman pressed her body against Sky Knife’s. “Well, the guild does set the prices, but there’s no reason you couldn’t give a girl a little bit extra.” The woman stroked Sky Knife’s cheek with a long delicate finger.

  “Prices for what?” asked Sky Knife. He wanted to get away from this woman, but didn’t know how to reenter the churning mass of bodies in the street.

  “Nice tattoos,” said the woman.

  Sky Knife pushed the woman’s hand away. His tattoos, two blue lines from his mouth to his ear and a blue-and-green spiral on his chin, had been given him on the occasion of his wedding. No Mayan man could wear a tattoo who was not married, although Sky Knife had acquired the serpent tattoo around his neck when he was single. But that was an unusual case.

  Someone touched Sky Knife on the back. He yelped.

  “It is only I,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “You should relax. I see you have made a friend. Should I come back later?”

  That Whiskers-of-Rat apparently knew what was going on irritated him. Sky Knife stepped away from both the woman and the guide.

  “No,” he said, letting the warm anger in his heart replace the confusion. “I do not know what this lady wants, nor does she explain. If there’s help I can give, let her ask for it. Otherwise, I have business to attend to.”

  The woman frowned. Whiskers-of-Rat laughed. “First time in the city,” he said to the woman. “Go on, find someone else.”

  The woman shrugged and left. Sky Knife took a deep breath and tried to relax. “What was that all about?” he asked.

  “She’s a prostitute.” Whiskers-of-Rat babbled on in Teotihuacano, but Sky Knife didn’t understand.

  “A what?” he asked.