Serpent and Storm

by Marella Sands

  “I will think about it,” said Jaguar’s Daughter. “Your tongue is certainly sweet enough now.”

  “Forgive me,” the Corn Priest repeated. He rose slowly and bowed to Sky Knife.

  “Is my son ready?” asked Jaguar’s Daughter, an edge still to her voice.

  “He is, mistress,” said the Corn Priest. “We should have the ceremony as soon as possible.”

  “Good. Go to him and tell him we shall all meet in the temple when the sun touches the top of the western mountains.”

  The Corn Priest bowed and left.

  Grasping Fire came up behind Sky Knife. “The meal is prepared,” he said. “Talking Storm waits.” Grasping Fire’s voice was gruff, whether with grief or disapproval of this Talking Storm, Sky Knife couldn’t tell.

  “But … I’m not ready,” said Dark Lightning. He looked down at his attire. “I’ll … I’ll be right back.”

  Dark Lightning turned and fled the room. Jaguar’s Daughter reached out to Sky Knife. He took her hand in his.

  “Come,” she said. “This ceremony is only for family, but today, you are family to me.”

  “I am family,” said Sky Knife. “My wife is Storm Cloud’s wife’s niece.”

  Jaguar’s Daughter squeezed his hand. “Good,” she whispered. “It relieves me to know my son’s protector is also his kin.”

  Jaguar’s Daughter led Sky Knife back to the room where the dead king lay. She didn’t let go of his hand. When they entered the room, Grasping Fire was already there, along with about forty men, women, and children. Two youths stood by the bench on which the king lay. Each held a cake of chalk in his hands. A squat man in several layers of embroidered robes and a tassled headdress crowned with the beaded image of an owl, stood beside the young men.

  Sky Knife was embarrassed to come into the room hand-in-hand with Jaguar’s Daughter, but no one looked surprised.

  Jaguar’s Daughter dropped Sky Knife’s hand and went to stand by the young men with the elaborately dressed man Sky Knife supposed to be Talking Storm. Sky Knife stood to the side. He looked around but did not see Amaranth.

  “We—brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, and cousins of my husband—have come together to eat a last meal with him,” said Jaguar’s Daughter in a steady voice. “And here with us stands Sky Knife, a kinsman of my husband from faraway Tikal.” All faces in the room swung to stare at Sky Knife before returning to Jaguar’s Daughter.

  “Our new king and his twin are in seclusion with the Corn Priest until sunset,” continued Jaguar’s Daughter. “Now, let us share this last meal together.”

  Servants in long white shifts entered the room and threw down finely woven mats. Everyone in the room sat down facing the body. Jaguar’s Daughter and Grasping Fire sat closest. The others spaced themselves out behind them.

  Sky Knife sat down to the side and watched to see what the others would do.

  Servants brought in platters of tamales and meat. Children, dressed like the adult servants, brought around bowls of fruit.

  The servants presented Talking Storm, Jaguar’s Daughter, and Grasping Fire with the food first. Talking Storm took a tamale and held it above his head.

  “The corn is harvested and made new into food for our bodies. Likewise, we die so that we can be made new in the next world,” he chanted.

  The servants presented tamales to the rest of the people. Everyone took a single tamale and held it out flat.

  Dark Lightning slipped in and sat at the back. A servant brought him a tamale. He had clothed himself in a long purple skirt and a feather-and-bead chestplate. His hair had been tied up over his head with a thong. His hair was only long enough to stick five or six inches out of the thong, making his hair look strangely as if it were leaping out of the top of his head.

  Sky Knife took the tamale offered him and held it out as the others did.

  Talking Storm took a handful of meat and rolled it up in his tamale. “The deer and the dog shed their lives for us. So we shed ours for the gods.”

  The others followed Talking Storm’s actions. Talking Storm ate his tamale. Sky Knife took the meat offered him, rolled it up in his tamale, and ate it slowly as the others were doing.

  When he had finished the tamale, Talking Storm took a piece of fruit and held it out in front of him. “The tree bears the fruit. The fruit withers and dies, but from it is born a new tree. The tree reaches into the heavens. The tree reaches into the underworld. The tree stands upright as a man. And man, like the tree, gives birth to fruit, withers, dies, and becomes, in time, reborn.”

  “The seed is life. The seed is death,” responded the others. “For death and life are ever and always the same.”

  The servants passed out the fruit and everyone took one to eat.

  When she had finished the fruit, Jaguar’s Daughter bowed toward her husband. “Today, a body has died, but the spirit continues,” she said as she sat erect once again. “The spirit leaps forth from the body to be born in the next world. It wails like a child at birth, in joy at its new state.”

  “So does the corn leap to the heavens at the death of the kernel,” said Grasping Fire. “And the new tree spring forth from the seed when it dies.”

  “Life is eternal,” said Talking Storm. “And death is but another step on the journey. Now for the last time I call the name of the dead. Tattoed Serpent! You will go forth in glory to the land where your ancestors dwell in the heavens. Yet for a little while you must wait. Your name shall not be mentioned again until a new king sits upon the mat and your soul is freed to fly forth.”

  Jaguar’s Daughter’s shoulders shook. Suddenly, she wailed out her grief. Her keening took Sky Knife by surprise and he jumped, gooseflesh rising up his spine. The hairs on his neck stood up as Grasping Fire and the rest took up the wail.

  Sky Knife did not join in their grief, but merely sat still and respectful as the others vented their emotions.

  After a few minutes, the others fell silent. Jaguar’s Daughter sniffed once, and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

  The two youths took the cakes of chalk and sprinkled the body with it. They bowed once to the body, and again to Jaguar’s Daughter. Then they left.

  Grasping Fire stood and held out a hand to her. Jaguar’s Daughter took it and allowed her husband’s brother to pull her up.

  The others filed out, their tears still fresh on their faces.

  Jaguar’s Daughter, Grasping Fire, and Talking Storm stood by the body a few moments. Grasping Fire said something Sky Knife couldn’t hear. Jaguar’s Daughter nodded.

  Talking Storm raised his hands, caught sight of Sky Knife, and stopped.

  “Leave here,” he said. “Family or not, you are not allowed to see all the mysteries.”

  Sky Knife bowed and turned to go.

  “No, wait,” said Jaguar’s Daughter. “He stays.”

  “Mistress…” protested Talking Storm.

  “He stays,” she repeated firmly. “I have the right to choose a family member to stand by me.”

  Sky Knife took a step toward the group, but a vicious glance from Talking Storm stopped him.

  “Yes, you do,” said Grasping Fire, “but he’s a foreigner. Sister, think about this a minute, and you’ll see Talking Storm’s right. Ask Dark Lightning to be with you—he’s closer kin to you.”

  “This man stays,” insisted Jaguar’s Daughter. “He’s an omen, don’t you see? Whether it’s his god or the Spotted Jaguar that has sent him, I don’t know. But he was sent. Why else would he arrive today? This man is chosen, and he’s kin. He stays with me.”

  “Mistress, he could indeed be an omen—else why should he arrive on this day of all days,” argued Talking Storm. “Which would seem to indicate that he’s a bad omen. Do not ask him to stay.”

  Jaguar’s Daughter held her ground and Talking Storm finally bowed to her. Neither of the men protested again. Sky Knife walked up to stand by Jaguar’s Daughter. Grasping Fire looked at him, but his glance was more respectful
than before. Talking Storm ignored him.

  Talking Storm raised his hands again and clapped them together. A brilliant red light burst forth from his hands. Sky Knife blinked in surprise and suppressed a yelp.

  “God of Storm, God of Rain, take your son to yourself!” shouted Talking Storm.

  The light died with a rumble of thunder. Sky Knife swayed, his vision spotted with red stars.

  In a few seconds, the stars faded. Sky Knife glanced down to the body of the king.

  All that was left were the bones.

  5

  Sky Knife waited while Talking Storm collected the king’s bones in a red cotton sack. Jaguar’s Daughter leaned against him and he put a hand on her shoulder. Grasping Fire saw and looked away, uninterested, but Talking Storm’s jaw clenched in anger.

  If he had time later, Sky Knife would talk to Talking Storm. Perhaps the other priest would have his own ideas on who might want the king dead and why. Assuming Talking Storm would talk to Sky Knife about any suspicions he might have.

  Talking Storm hefted the bag of bones gently and led the way out of the room. “It is almost sunset,” he said as he passed Jaguar’s Daughter.

  Sky Knife felt the truth of that in his bones. One could not be a priest—watching the skies day after day and night after night—and not know where the sun was in the sky. Even though here, far from home, the sun traveled a slightly different path, Sky Knife felt the tug of it in his soul. He did not have to see to know the sun would set over the western mountains soon.

  Grasping Fire followed Talking Storm. Jaguar’s Daughter followed her husband’s brother, but did not move away from Sky Knife.

  It might be proper here, but Sky Knife was becoming more and more uncomfortable with the close contact the women of Teotihuacan seemed to find normal.

  Talking Storm led the way out of the palace through a side entrance that was separated from the street by a high wall. Over the wall came the cries and groans of thousands of people. Sky Knife shivered, glad not to have to negotiate his way through the multitude.

  At the extreme north end of the street stood the pyramid of the Storm God. It was smaller than the great pyramid dedicated to the Teotihuacano’s mysterious Masked One, but still larger than anything in Tikal. Sky Knife gazed up at the white temple at the top. With the sun setting behind it, the entire structure was silhouetted, a bright orange glow shining around the temple itself.

  But Talking Storm did not go to the pyramid. Instead, he went to a temple sitting on top of a much smaller pyramid on its eastern flank. Slowly, he ascended the steps past the small knot of family that stood by the lowest step. Sky Knife recognized Dark Lightning and the other relatives of the king from the ceremony in the palace. When Talking Storm, Grasping Fire, Jaguar’s Daughter, and Sky Knife were all on the platform in front of the temple some forty steps above the ground, Talking Storm turned.

  Sky Knife turned as well and gasped. The entire street was filled with people. There were ten times as many people here as had been at the ballgame, maybe more. Sky Knife’s head spun with the sheer magnitude of the crowd in front of him. How many people stood there—fifty thousand? Eighty? The sea of people was so immense, Sky Knife glanced down to his feet to avoid looking at it for a moment. He had known there were at least a hundred thousand people living in Teotihuacan, but he had never been able to grasp the idea of seeing that many people all at once. Fear pushed Sky Knife’s heartbeat faster and he was suddenly glad that Jaguar’s Daughter stood so close. At least her he knew. Not like the nameless thousands upon thousands stretched out along the miles of the great avenue.

  As Talking Storm lifted the red bag, the throng fell silent. Then Talking Storm turned and went into the temple behind him. Jaguar’s Daughter took Sky Knife’s hand and together they followed the others into the temple. The pungent smell of burning copal wrapped around Sky Knife. He breathed deeply of the familiar scent.

  The interior of the temple was plain stone painted red. As in the palace, the ceiling was low, flat, and made of wood. Strange brown paperlike objects hung from the rafters along the back wall.

  In the center of the room was a stone brazier full of glowing coals. The Corn Priest set down his bundle carefully, picked up a handful of incense, threw it on the coals. The copal flashed briefly against the coals and an aromatic gray cloud rose up from the brazier. It dispersed slowly around the room.

  “The time has come for the new king to stand forth,” said the Corn Priest.

  Two boys stepped out from behind the paper wall hangings. Sky Knife got a brief glimpse of a dark, small room hidden behind the paper objects.

  Jaguar’s Daughter let go of Sky Knife’s hand and ran to the boys. She hugged them both.

  “My son,” she said. “My son and my king.”

  The boys, both barefoot and dressed only in short white skirts, returned the hug. One of the boys wore a braided leather cord upon which dangled a wooden bead in the shape of the quincunx. Sky Knife frowned, confused. He had been told that such items were worn only by slaves. How could a slave be Jaguar’s Daughter’s son, even if only ceremonially?

  The slave boy stepped back and let Jaguar’s Daughter hug the other boy. He looked up at Sky Knife.

  Sky Knife took a step back, surprised. Now that he had a good look at the boy, he could see the tattoos of a man on the boy’s shoulders and neck. Nor did the proportions of the boy’s head, body, and limbs seem right. And the long, measuring look the boy gave him was not that of a child. This was a man grown. A dwarf.

  Sky Knife hesitated, not sure what he should do. He had been taught that a dwarf was a sign from the gods—for good or ill depended on the message the gods wished to convey. If he were back in Tikal, Sky Knife would have abased himself before the dwarf and asked the man to honor his temple by living within its walls.

  But such things were apparently not done here, for the dwarf was a slave. Sky Knife didn’t understand, but he would wait and ask Jaguar’s Daughter later. Or perhaps Amaranth, if he ever found her to ask her.

  Jaguar’s Daughter finally released the boy from her embrace and stood.

  The Corn Priest bowed to the boy and the dwarf and stepped back. Grasping Fire and Jaguar’s Daughter walked behind the brazier. Each bent down and picked up a deep bowl. The bowls, like the room, were unadorned. They were bright orange. The Corn Priest picked up a tall three-footed pitcher and poured water into each of the bowls.

  The boy and the dwarf removed their skirts and dropped them to the side. Grasping Fire knelt by the dwarf. Jaguar’s Daughter knelt by the boy. Each drew out a handful of chalk dust and rubbed the wet white mixture over the bodies of the king and his twin.

  When they had finished, only the black eyes of the boy and the dwarf showed through the chalk paint. Even their hair had been laden with chalk.

  Jaguar’s Daughter and Grasping Fire picked up their white-stained orange bowls and killed them by throwing them against the eastern wall of the temple. White-colored water dribbled down the wall onto the orange remains of the bowls.

  The boy and the dwarf picked up their skirts and replaced them.

  “Black Coyote. Timid Deer,” said the Corn Priest. “Before today, you were the son of the king and the son of a slave. But you have died to such things. Every king of Teotihuacan must have two souls joined as one, or he cannot ascend to the mat of rulership. Today, your souls have joined, your spirit has become one. Today you are no more prince and slave. You are king of Teotihuacan.”

  The Corn Priest, Jaguar’s Daughter and Grasping Fire abased themselves before the king. Sky Knife quickly did the same. The stone floor of the temple seemed unaccountably cold against his bare chest.

  Sky Knife heard the others rising and he got up. Jaguar’s Daughter and Grasping Fire went out of the temple to the platform. Below in the darkened street, the multitude waited in silence.

  Jaguar’s Daughter and Grasping Fire raised their white-coated hands and knelt. The Corn Priest urged the king out onto the platf
orm as well. Sky Knife watched from the interior of the temple.

  The crowd roared as the king—both of him—raised his hands. The sound struck Sky Knife in the gut it was so loud. The king remained on the platform for several minutes while the cheering and yelling continued.

  Finally, the Corn Priest ushered the king back inside the temple. Jaguar’s Daughter and Grasping Fire retreated inside.

  “That should raise their spirits,” said the Corn Priest. “Bad enough when a king dies after an illness, but for him to just die, just like that! The people were shaken, but they’ll be content enough now.”

  “Mama, do I have to wear this anymore? It itches,” complained the boy half of the new king.

  Jaguar’s Daughter patted his head. “No, my dearest. It’s over for now.”

  “Am I a king now, Mama?” asked the boy.

  “Yes, dearest,” said Jaguar’s Daughter. “But we won’t have the official ceremony for a few days yet. There are many preparations to be made.”

  “And we must make them quickly,” said Grasping Fire. “My brother’s death comes only five days from the Unlucky Times. We can take no more time than that.”

  Sky Knife nodded agreement. At home, the ascension of a king could take weeks. Sky Knife suspected it was the same here. But this time, there were only five days. If the new king’s ascension were not complete by then, the city would be without a king during Uayeb, and that would be disastrously unlucky.

  The dwarf brushed some of the chalk off his arms. The stuff had dried hard and cracked off in large pieces. He rubbed his hands together and chalk dust fell to the floor.

  The dwarf came over and bowed to Sky Knife. “We haven’t been introduced,” he said.

  Sky Knife bowed in return. “Sky Knife,” he said, “Chief Priest of Itzamna at Tikal.”

  “Timid Deer,” said the dwarf, “though most call me simply Deer. I’m not tall enough to have such a long name.” The dwarf laughed.