Sky Knife smiled. “Are you allowed to keep your name now? Aren’t you now the king?”
Deer shrugged. “Yes and no. Ritually, we are the king.” Deer waved toward the boy. “And our souls are one. But for the next five days, people are going to have to call me something. Might as well stay Deer for five days more.”
The boy, Black Coyote, ran to Deer. “Bibi,” he gasped in his child’s voice. “Can we go see the puppies later? You promised.”
Deer nodded. “Yes, of course, Little Weed.” Black Coyote giggled and ran to his mother, who finished brushing most of the chalk off his skin.
“Little Weed?” asked Sky Knife. “Have you known him long?”
Deer cracked off the chalk from his torso. “Since he was born. I was sold as a slave to pay my father’s debts when I was about his age. Jaguar’s Daughter’s father owned me then. When he heard his daughter had borne a son to the king, he sent me to her to be a companion for the little one. That was five years ago.”
In the background, Sky Knife heard Black Coyote telling his mother all about the puppies. Jaguar’s Daughter said, “That’s nice, dearest.”
“So he grew up calling me Bibi, which doesn’t mean anything. It’s just child’s talk,” continued Deer. He rubbed his hair vigorously. Chalk dust flew out into the room. Sky Knife breathed a whiff of it and sneezed.
“Sorry,” said Deer. “Anyway, when the king died, the Corn Priest looked around and figured I was the best one to be the boy’s twin. After all, we’re seldom apart. We’ve spent part of every day of his life together. Here, give me a hand, will you?”
Sky Knife reluctantly brushed chalk off Deer’s back, still resisting an urge to abase himself before the mouthpiece of the gods. He had to remind himself that was Mayan custom, not Teotihuacano. “But you were chosen?” asked Sky Knife. “You’re not a volunteer?”
“Doesn’t really matter in the end, I suppose,” said Deer. “A slave doesn’t get to make his own choices in life—I learned that long ago. Besides, I’ve had a good life. I’ve always had enough to eat, and for the past five years I’ve had nothing to do but be companion to a wonderful little boy and I love him as if he were my own. If a jaguar were to threaten the boy, I’d certainly throw myself before it to save him. What’s so different about this?”
Sky Knife frowned. At home, only a volunteer could be sacrificed. But perhaps Deer was right. If the dwarf felt he would willingly lay down his life under other circumstances for the boy, was this really that different?
“Who will sacrifice you?” asked Sky Knife. He patted the last bit of chalk away from Deer’s shoulders. Sky Knife backed up a step, uncomfortable with the way he loomed over the dwarf. Here in Teotihuacan, he had had to look up to everyone except Jaguar’s Daughter and Talking Storm. But Deer came up barely to Sky Knife’s belly.
“It’s the Corn Priest’s job,” said Deer softly. He shrugged. “Never cared for the man myself, but I suppose the gods chose him for a reason.”
“Does it matter?”
Deer laughed and gestured for Sky Knife to come closer. Sky Knife stepped forward and knelt to be eye to eye with the slave. Deer put a hand on his shoulder and leaned close. His chalk-outlined eyes burned with some inner passion.
“In five days, I’ll be sacrificed,” he said. “My heart will be taken from me. Then my skin. Then my body. I shall be set free from it all so that our soul—the king’s soul—can be in both worlds at the same time.”
Deer closed his eyes a moment, then went on, his voice rough with sadness. “In five days, the last thing I’ll see is the face of the man who’ll take my heart. You ask me if it’s important who the man is—how could it not be? It’s the most important thing in the world to me because, right now, I’m scared out of my mind. If I have to look at anyone, I’d rather see a friend on the other end of the knife.”
Sky Knife nodded in understanding and placed his hand on top of the dwarf’s. “Is there no one else who can do the ceremony?” he asked.
“It’s the Corn Priest’s job,” said Deer again. He sighed. “So it’ll be him after all.” The dwarf looked into Sky Knife’s eyes. “But there’s something different about you, Sky Knife. I like you. You’ll be there, won’t you? You’ll be there for me?”
“Of course,” said Sky Knife, moved by the panic in the other’s voice. “I swear it.”
“Thank you,” whispered Deer. “I’ll be glad to have one friend there at least.”
Deer walked back to the others, leaving Sky Knife kneeling on the floor of the temple, already grieving for the friend who had just been found, and would soon be lost.
6
A servant showed Sky Knife to a room in the palace where Jaguar’s Daughter had said he could stay. Wearily, he sat down on the low bench that abutted the southern wall of the room. A stone carving of the Fire God, depicted as a bent old man with a brazier on his back, sat against the eastern wall. The murals around the walls depicted joyous scenes of people dancing in fields by clear streams of water. The open eye motif was repeated again and again in the streams. It still made Sky Knife feel as though he were being watched, but he didn’t know by what. Or by whom.
In the corner of the room was a ceramic vase with a strange pinched-in shape. Seashell designs had been incised into the ceramic. Various other ceramic bits and pieces lay scattered around it. Sky Knife looked over the pieces but couldn’t determine their purpose and so left them where they lay.
Sky Knife removed his sandals, yawned, and leaned against the brightly painted wall. His head spun with all that had happened in a single day.
Tomorrow he would ask to speak with Talking Storm, the Corn Priest, and Lily-on-the-Water. They were the first priests he had encountered since leaving home. Besides any information they might have concerning who might have killed the king and why, Sky Knife would be glad to have other priests around him once again. He had become too used, he supposed, to being able to discuss matters of the gods and of faith with others.
When peasants came to him looking for an answer, or when Storm Cloud wanted counsel, they didn’t want to hear an elaborate argument on the whys of their beliefs. In the five years since he had become a priest, Sky Knife had learned to appreciate the insight that could be gained from meditation and discussion. He had been able to do neither properly while on the road. Here in the Jewel of the North, he would like to do both again.
Sky Knife ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair, glad to be alone for the first time all day. He supposed the Teotihuacanos, accustomed to living in a city of a hundred thousand or more, were used to being shoulder to shoulder and hand in hand all day long. But it would take some getting used to.
The high thin scream of a child pierced Sky Knife’s reverie. He jumped off the bench and ran to the hallway.
“Help!” shouted a deep voice.
“The king!” screamed someone else. It sounded like Dark Lightning.
Sky Knife raced down the corridor toward the voices. Grasping Fire darted out of a room in front of him and they both went down in a tangle of limbs and long skirts. Sky Knife’s elbow slapped the stone floor hard. The sudden pain brought tears to his eyes.
“Out of my way, you fool!” shouted Grasping Fire. “The king is in trouble.”
“I know,” said Sky Knife. He rolled away and jumped to his feet. Grasping Fire did the same. Amaranth came out of the room behind Grasping Fire, drawing her dress around her shoulders.
Sky Knife swallowed his surprise and ran down the hall to the sound of another scream, followed by Grasping Fire and Amaranth. Sky Knife rounded a corner to find Dark Lightning and Jaguar’s Daughter standing in front of a doorway. Dark Lightning beat the wall next to him with his fist while his sister screamed.
“What’s going on?” asked Sky Knife. He grabbed Jaguar’s Daughter’s shoulder and pushed her aside.
“Sky Knife,” said Deer from within the room. “Help us!”
“Talking Storm—get Talking Storm,” gasped Jaguar’s
Daughter. A servant rushed to obey her.
Sky Knife stepped into the room, still looking for the source of danger. A sound like the rattle of a gourd stopped him.
A cotton blanket lay in a pile in the middle of the floor. Behind it, just inches away from Black Coyote’s small foot, a large brown snake lay coiled. Its triangular, almost fist-sized, head turned to face Sky Knife and its tongue flicked in and out.
“Don’t,” whispered Grasping Fire. “If you anger it, it will strike the boy.”
Slowly, Sky Knife knelt. The snake’s eyes never left his. The rainbow serpent tattoo around Sky Knife’s neck tingled with power. Sky Knife leaned forward just enough to place his palm on the stone floor.
The snake jerked back. Jaguar’s Daughter screamed.
“Don’t move, Little Weed. Little Weed, don’t move at all,” breathed Deer. “It will be all right.”
“Bibi, I’m scared,” said Black Coyote.
“I know,” said Deer. “But Sky Knife will help us.”
From where he stood in the far corner of the room, Deer was in no immediate danger. But Sky Knife knew the dwarf feared for the boy more than Sky Knife. Deer had been friend, companion, confidant, playmate for all of Black Coyote’s five years. And now he was twin and sacrifice as well.
Sky Knife let the warmth from the tattoo flow down his arm, through his hand, to the floor. The snake, its hooded eyes unblinking, stared at him. It rattled again.
The snake dipped its nose and flicked out its tongue more quickly, until its tongue was just a blur. Slowly, it eased its head onto the floor and slithered away from Black Coyote.
The boy jumped back. Deer caught him and the boy sobbed into the dwarf’s shoulder. But Sky Knife had eyes only for the snake. It crawled straight to him. When it got to him, it stopped.
Sky Knife picked up the snake carefully. Its scales were rough, its body so large around that his hands could not encircle it. It weighed more than he expected, as much as a year-old child perhaps.
Sky Knife turned to face those still in the doorway. Jaguar’s Daughter eased her way past him and ran to her son.
“Dearest,” she sobbed. “Oh, my baby.”
Grasping Fire just stared at Sky Knife.
“What should I do with it?” asked Sky Knife. “Where did it come from?”
“I don’t know,” said Dark Lightning from behind Grasping Fire. “They’re usually found to the north of here. There aren’t many near the city at all.”
“They’re the servants of the Rain God,” said Deer from behind Sky Knife. “Talking Storm could tell you more.”
Grasping Fire stepped back. “I … I don’t know what to do with it,” he said. “Would it be proper to give it to Talking Storm? He and the snake serve the same god. But maybe we should just kill it.”
“What’s going on?” Talking Storm’s voice echoed down the hallway.
“See for yourself,” said Dark Lightning. “Priest. Can you explain this?”
Talking Storm swung around the doorway into the room and stopped short. His eyes widened in surprise.
“Here, I think this belongs to you more than to me,” said Sky Knife. He held the snake out to the other priest, glad of a chance to get rid of it. Sky Knife’s arms were beginning to shake from the weight of the thing.
Talking Storm grabbed the snake disdainfully with one hand. “It was in here?” he asked. “How did it get here?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Jaguar’s Daughter. “Maybe you can tell us.”
“Me?” Talking Storm’s voice squeaked. “You think I brought a snake to kill my king?”
“Who else could have?” asked Jaguar’s Daughter, her voice rising in anger.
“Wait, wait,” said Sky Knife. “No one’s saying you did anything, Talking Storm. Someone else might have brought the snake here. But you have more knowledge of the animal—perhaps you could think on how someone else might have accomplished this.”
Talking Storm nodded slowly. “I will think on it. But think on this, Mayan priest—you, too, handled the snake. Maybe you put it here.”
Talking Storm spun on his heel and walked off. Both Grasping Fire and Dark Lightning jumped back and gave the snake and the priest holding it a wide berth.
A hand touched Sky Knife’s arm. He looked down into the black eyes of Deer.
“I knew you’d help us,” said the dwarf. “Thank you.”
Sky Knife nodded. “You are both all right, aren’t you? The snake didn’t bite anyone before I got here?”
Deer shook his head. “No. As soon as I heard it, I told Weed to stand still, and he did. The snake didn’t attack.”
“I was brave,” exclaimed Black Coyote. He left his mother’s embrace and ran to Deer. “Wasn’t I, Bibi?”
“Yes, of course you were brave. You are a brave boy,” said Deer. Black Coyote beamed.
“Why did you say Talking Storm might not have done this?” asked Grasping Fire. “He is the obvious one.”
“Yes, he is,” said Sky Knife. “As he should know. He doesn’t seem a stupid man. Why do something that would point so directly to him?”
“He’s not stupid,” said Jaguar’s Daughter. “But he may think we are.”
Sky Knife shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said.
“You have five days to find out,” said Jaguar’s Daughter. She reached out to her son. “Come, dearest, you must go to sleep.”
“I don’t want to,” protested the boy. “I’m the king now—I can do whatever I want!”
“Even kings obey their mothers,” said Deer. He bowed to Sky Knife. “I will see you tomorrow, my friend.”
Sky Knife nodded and left. Outside, only Grasping Fire remained in the hall. The other man bowed slightly. “Please, may we talk?”
“Of course,” said Sky Knife.
Grasping Fire led Sky Knife back to the large front room of the palace. Through the open doorway, Sky Knife saw the patio, lit by torches and ringed by warriors. But Grasping Fire did not leave the building. He sat on a bench against the wall. Sky Knife sat beside him and waited for the other man to speak, but Grasping Fire said nothing for some time.
“I heard what Jaguar’s Daughter said,” Grasping Fire said at last. “You have five days—I assume my brother’s widow has assigned you some task.”
“I am to discover who killed her husband and who threatens her son,” said Sky Knife.
“Mm,” said Grasping Fire absently. “Well, then, you will be asking us all questions in the next few days.”
“Yes.”
“I can take care of a few of those now,” said the other man. “A few hours ago, I would have told you I’d sooner go to the lowest underworld than let a Mayan priest meddle in my family’s affairs. I was unhappy that Jaguar’s Daughter claimed you as kin so quickly.”
“I know,” said Sky Knife. “But that was a few hours ago?”
Grasping Fire nodded. “Something is going on here. I don’t know what, but I’m beginning to believe Jaguar’s Daughter. You must have been sent here by the gods, or else why would you arrive on this day of all days?”
“Perhaps Talking Storm is right. Perhaps my arrival is a bad omen,” said Sky Knife. He couldn’t believe that Itzamna would agree for Sky Knife to be used in such a manner, but the ways of the gods were beyond him. Anything was possible.
“No,” said Grasping Fire firmly. “Your ability to call the snake away from Black Coyote is proof enough for me. Do what Jaguar’s Daughter asked of you. If there’s anything you want to know, you can ask me. If anyone refuses you, tell me and I will smooth the way for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Then let us get one thing out of the way now,” said Grasping Fire. He sighed. “With my brother the king dead, and my other brothers dead or ruling cities elsewhere, my brother’s son is king. But if anything should happen to him, I would be king. You understand? No one has more reason than I to want to harm Black Coyote.”
Grasping Fire got up and knel
t before Sky Knife. He stared directly into Sky Knife’s eyes. “But I swear in the name of the Storm God that I am innocent of this. I have never wanted to be king. I did not kill my brother or threaten my brother’s son.”
Sky Knife nodded. “All right,” he said. “I’ll remember.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“I suspect everyone will be willing to swear their innocence to me,” said Sky Knife. “Even the guilty. But I will remember what you said.”
Grasping Fire stood slowly. “I … I suppose if you truly are an omen of the gods, I must be content with that.”
“I suppose so,” said Sky Knife. “Good night.”
Sky Knife left the room. Grasping Fire did not follow.
7
Sky Knife returned to the small room he had been given. An oil lamp on a low wooden table lit the room dimly. The small cloth wick of the lamp floated in the oil and its feeble flame flickered, casting strange shadows on the walls.
A servant girl sat in the corner next to the ceramic pieces. She jumped when Sky Knife walked in.
“I beg your pardon, Lord,” she squeaked.
Sky Knife went to her and touched her on the shoulder. She trembled. “That’s quite all right, daughter,” he said. He sighed. He never got used to frightening others. Awe and fear of the gods was one thing, but Sky Knife never felt he rated such emotion. “Please, continue with your work.”
Sky Knife went and sat on the bench and picked up his pack. He rummaged through it, arranging and rearranging the few things it contained so he wouldn’t seem to be staring at the girl. But he was interested in what she was doing, so he watched and practiced appearing as if he wasn’t looking.
The girl placed several coals in the bottom of the pinched-in vase. She took up the various pieces on the floor one at a time and assembled them into an elaborate lid. The finished product looked like the mask of a god, with large ear spools and a T-shaped nose piece. Ceramic pieces made up an ornate feathered costume.
The girl placed incense and herbs in several hollow areas of the lid and the room immediately began to smell of spices and musk.
Serpent and Storm Page 5
