Serpent and Storm

by Marella Sands

  It was in Itzamna’s hands now, though. Sky Knife pushed his concern from his mind. He had a task to do and only two days in which to do it.

  “Shall we go?” asked Whiskers-of-Rat, his manner suddenly cheerier. “You should see the city in the morning while the day is new. This is the center of the world, you know. Everyone comes here.” Whiskers-of-Rat stood as he talked and gestured for Sky Knife to follow him. “Not too many Maya come here—for some reason, your people don’t like to leave their cities. But the Zapotec, Huastec, Totonac, Mixtec—everyone else comes here. And the place to find them all is in the market.”

  Whiskers-of-Rat slipped into the masses on the street easily. Sky Knife kept his eyes glued to Whiskers-of-Rat’s back and plunged in after him.

  Today the confused jumble of colors and people passed like a blur on the edge of his vision. Only the gaily embroidered back of Whiskers-of-Rat’s tunic was important.

  Whiskers-of-Rat turned and grabbed Sky Knife by the elbow. “I can’t tell you about the city if you’re way back there,” he said. Whiskers-of-Rat used his free hand to gesture left toward the tall pyramid of the Masked One. The man-made mountain loomed over Sky Knife. Next to it, Itzamna’s pyramid in Tikal, which Sky Knife had always thought looked tall and grand, would look puny.

  “The first of the two pyramids to be built,” said the guide. “It’s almost five hundred years old. Its size was increased four hundred years ago to what you see today. This pyramid marks the exact center of the world.”

  “How do you know?”

  Whiskers-of-Rat bobbed his head. “So very glad you asked, Lord Priest. Well, we know that when the Masked One created the first people, she formed them from corn meal mixed with her own blood. She kneaded the dough and left it in a cave to rise. But the people were impatient and came out of the cave too early and thus were stunted in growth.”

  Sky Knife stared up at the massive earthenwork structure. A small white temple gleamed on its summit. “That doesn’t explain how you know this is the center of the world.”

  “I’m getting to that,” said Whiskers-of-Rat patiently. “You see, when the Masked One returned to the cave, the people were crying with loneliness. The Masked One came to them in a form they could understand—that of a woman. But no one may see the face of the Masked One, so she wore a cape of feathers that covered her face. The people could only see one of her eyes.”

  Sky Knife squinted against the bright glare of the morning sun toward the market at the end of the street.

  “Then that’s what the eyes are in the murals?” asked Sky Knife. “The Masked One?”

  “Yes,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “Partly. But also because her priestesses can see and hear things at a distance providing there is water at each location. So her priestesses can see from the water, you see?”

  Sky Knife nodded, impressed.

  “Anyway, the Masked One promised the people she would always protect them as long as they remained faithful,” continued Whiskers-of-Rat. “So, in celebration, the people built a hut over the mouth of the cave. They sacrificed a young girl and put her in the cave, and they did that every year thereafter, and the Masked One protected the people.”

  “And then?” asked Sky Knife. “What of the pyramid?”

  “Well, the hut fell in eventually,” said Whiskers-of-Rat, “and the entrance was becoming full of bones. The people didn’t know what to do. A wise priestess told them to build a pyramid over the cave, a pyramid that would reach into the sky. So that is why the pyramid is there—it stands over the cave where the first men were born. And every year there is still a sacrifice to the Masked One on its summit.”

  Despite himself, Sky Knife shivered. The tale Whiskers-of-Rat told was not the same he had been brought up with. The Mayan tale only said the gods made men—it didn’t specify where the first men had been made. Perhaps it really had been here. Awed, Sky Knife glanced back toward the man-made mountain.

  “That is why people from all tribes and villages are welcomed here,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “This is the true home of all men.”

  Sky Knife nodded, but never took his eyes off the Masked One’s pyramid.

  “Truly impressive, is it not?” asked Whiskers-of-Rat. “The priests of the Storm God would like their pyramid to rival it, but the servants of the Masked One would stop them if they tried. Actually, the people themselves would probably rise up and stop them, for the Storm God protects only the king, and the Masked One protects all.”

  “So the priests of the Storm God and the priestesses of the Masked One do not necessarily agree on many things,” said Sky Knife.

  “True, true,” said Whiskers-of-Rat with undisguised glee. “You should see the way the priests’ faces pinch up when a priestess walks by.” Whiskers-of-Rat screwed up his own face in imitation. If anything, the comical expression only made his long nose look longer and more rodentlike. Sky Knife laughed at the ridiculousness of it. “But sometimes,” said Whiskers-of-Rat, “a particular priest and priestess will agree on something. There have been children born to a servant of the Masked One and a servant of the Storm God.”

  Sky Knife’s good humor disappeared and he shuddered with disgust. He hadn’t forgotten about the promiscuity of Teotihuacano priestesses and he still didn’t understand how it could be allowed.

  “Even a lowly guide like me can hope. There is one whose beauty is like the dawn. If she would but look at me I could die happy.” Whiskers-of-Rat sighed, but his smile turned into a frown. “No, I couldn’t. It sounds nice, though, doesn’t it? But I want to feel her skin against my skin. I want to put my hand—”

  “I think we’re almost at the market,” interrupted Sky Knife.

  “You are far from home,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “Perhaps you will find a priestess of your own for a while, eh?” The guide laughed good-naturedly, but Sky Knife flinched.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Never.”

  Whiskers-of-Rat shrugged. “Whatever you say. I haven’t met many Maya, so I don’t know your customs well. But as long as you’re here, why not try our customs?”

  Sky Knife said nothing.

  “Ah, I have offended you,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “I apologize greatly for any insult. I only wish you to enjoy your stay in our city.”

  Sky Knife took a deep breath. “I understand,” he said. “But for a woman of my city, it’s death to stray from a marriage bed. And for a man … the punishment can be worse.”

  Whiskers-of-Rat cocked his head. “Interesting. Well, here we are.”

  Sky Knife was too short to see over the walled area of the market, but the loud hubbub of voices carried to him.

  Sky Knife stepped in front of Whiskers-of-Rat and went inside.

  9

  Sky Knife had only a glimpse of the huge Teotihuacano market before a brilliant green parrot flew toward his head. He ducked quickly and it passed over him. A man shouting curses in a language Sky Knife didn’t recognize ran after the bird. The man bumped into Sky Knife in his haste, sending Sky Knife sprawling.

  Sky Knife landed on his elbow and gasped at the pain. He’d scraped this elbow last night when Grasping Fire had run into him. Sky Knife rolled over and grabbed his elbow, and this time, it was slick with blood.

  Whiskers-of-Rat shouted something Sky Knife didn’t understand, then knelt by him. “Lord Priest—are you all right? Here, let me help you.” The guide held out a small square of white cotton. Sky Knife took it and pressed it to his elbow. “Someone get some water, eh?” shouted Whiskers-of-Rat.

  “What’s going on here?” asked a deep, gruff voice.

  “Vendors running amuck, sir,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “One of them apparently allowed his wares to get loose and shoved this priest down in his haste to reclaim it.”

  “It?”

  Sky Knife glanced up. A skinny man in a bright yellow robe and a strange necklace composed of … well, it looked like human teeth … stood next to Whiskers-of-Rat. The man’s hair was tied behind his head with a
thick yellow cord that fell down to his ankles.

  “A parrot, sir,” said Whiskers-of-Rat.

  “A parrot. All right. And this is a priest?”

  Whiskers-of-Rat and the man turned to stare at Sky Knife. Whiskers-of-Rat grabbed a small bowl of water and rag a woman brought to him and began dabbing blood from Sky Knife’s arm.

  “Of course he’s a priest,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “You see the long blue skirt and that deerskin bag at his waist? That careless vendor has spilled holy blood on the market pavement.”

  Sky Knife almost protested the bit about holy blood, but decided to let Whiskers-of-Rat handle the other man, who must be some sort of official. Whiskers-of-Rat grunted, apparently satisfied in his work, and handed the bowl and rag back to the woman.

  “I hope the market administration will take a dim view of important visitors being treated in such a fashion,” said Whiskers-of-Rat as he retrieved his own rag from Sky Knife. He stood, extended a hand, and helped Sky Knife to his feet. Sky Knife nodded his thanks.

  The yellow-clad man regarded Sky Knife evenly. “Do you speak our language?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Sky Knife, privately hoping the other man didn’t come up with words he didn’t know, the way Whiskers-of-Rat did.

  “Is this what happened?”

  “Yes—I just stepped into the market area and the man ran out after a parrot.”

  “Do you know the rules of our marketplace?”

  “No.”

  The other man turned to the small crowd that had gathered. “Move on, people. Now.” The crowd scattered and the man turned back to Sky Knife. “It is the law of the market that no one may harm another. Any disagreements must be handled by the market’s central administration bureau. This is a place to trade, not to fight.” The man shrugged. “Not to run over people, either. When the vendor returns, he will be brought before the central administration judge. You will need to be there to identify him.”

  “I understand,” said Sky Knife, “but my duties may require me to be back at the king’s palace before long.”

  The other man’s eyes widened. “The palace, eh?” he asked. A slight breeze caused one end of his yellow hair cord to brush against his elbow. The man grabbed it absently and toyed with it, seemingly nervous now. “You should have said you were here on official business. By all means, go wherever your duty requires you to go. We will handle this incident for you.”

  The other man bowed to Sky Knife and backed away several steps, then melted into the crowd.

  “That was good—’I may have to return to the palace soon,’” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “That caught him off-guard.”

  “What?” asked Sky Knife.

  “Lord Priest—Sky Knife—you have to realize this is a city of a hundred thousand people,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. He looked at Sky Knife’s elbow. “Looks all right,” he said. “Anyway—where you’re from, you may know everyone by name, but here, nobody knows more than their own small circle of relatives and friends. One is likely to go months, even years, without even talking to a local priest, much less a foreign one. And a foreign priest with business in the palace—that makes you somebody, you see? And you didn’t even have to tell him you’re related to the king.”

  “But this is the market,” said Sky Knife with some irritation. “Surely everyone, including important foreigners, comes here.”

  “Maybe,” said Whiskers-of-Rat, “but not always. And not every foreigner gets trampled by a vendor.”

  “So what will happen to him?” Sky Knife moved away, practicing his new moving-through-a-large-crowd walk without Whiskers-of-Rat in front of him. Sky Knife had discovered that if he just pushed his way through the crowd, and didn’t jump back from contact with the other people, he could get through relatively easily. He didn’t like pushing people, but no one seemed to mind, and Sky Knife felt a little better knowing his chances of being trampled had significantly diminished.

  “The vendor? Oh, I would suppose a fine,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “Probably he will be evicted from the market for today at least, perhaps for longer. Don’t worry about him. The market judge will hit him right where it will hurt him most—his purse.”

  “Still, it seems a bit harsh…”

  “Now, now,” said Whiskers-of-Rat, “do you have any idea how many hundreds of thousands of people come to the market every year? What would happen if they were all allowed to knock each other down or get into fights?”

  “And the men in yellow?” Now that he was standing, Sky Knife could see other men dressed in the yellow tunic and cord uniform scattered in the crowd.

  “Stands out, doesn’t it? They’re called Observers. They watch what goes on in the market and report any disturbances to the market administration. They’re sworn to report only the truth—you see those necklaces they all wear?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re carvings of teeth made from mussel shells. It’s said if an Observer tells a lie, the teeth will become real and wrap around his throat and chew his head off.” Whiskers-of-Rat laughed, apparently amused by the thought. “Now, let’s see the market, shall we?”

  Sky Knife nodded agreement, though not without hesitation. The market was huge. Sky Knife glanced around, convinced the entire city of Tikal would fit inside quite easily. But in this city, where everything was of gargantuan proportions, should he really be surprised?

  Sky Knife stopped at the nearest vending stall, where a short man displayed baskets full of colorful spices. The smell coming from the yellow, orange, and brown piles was nearly overwhelming. It made Sky Knife’s mouth water.

  A large basket contained hundreds of chili peppers, while another was full of ripe red tomatoes. Several small clay figures stood in front of the baskets. More of the figurines lay in a heap behind the man.

  “Spices?” asked the man in a heavy accent Sky Knife couldn’t identify. “Some from very far away. You buy, I make you a deal.”

  “No thanks,” said Sky Knife, “but it smells wonderful.”

  Sky Knife started to walk away, but the vendor persisted. “Just for you, I make a deal. You buy? I got chili, I got—”

  “No, thank you,” said Sky Knife. “I’m not here to buy anything.”

  “Not in the market to buy anything,” repeated the man. “Very funny. Come, come, you see, my prices best. I make you a deal.”

  Sky Knife would have responded, but Whiskers-of-Rat pushed him toward the next stall. “If you keep talking to him,” said the guide, “he’ll keep talking to you. Trust me, they’re very persistent. Once you look at their wares, you’re fair game, and they won’t let you go without a struggle.”

  The next stall was laden with clay bowls. Next to the profusion of color and opulence displayed in the rest of the marketplace, the unadorned, unglazed pottery looked shabby. But the color …

  Sky Knife couldn’t help reaching out to touch one of the brilliant orange bowls.

  “Very good choice, sir,” said a high girlish voice. A young woman dressed in a simple brown tunic sat behind her wares. “We don’t make much of this to sell outside the city.”

  Sky Knife picked up one of the bowls. It was deep and wide, large enough to hold an entire family’s meal. But it wasn’t as heavy as Sky Knife had expected. He ran his finger over the rim. The wall of the bowl was very thin.

  “I can see why,” he said. “I’d be afraid to break it.”

  “Oh, it’s fairly tough,” said the girl. “But not very popular with other peoples. Still, enough people want samples of Teotihuacan pottery to make it worth my while to sit here a few days a year.”

  “Where do you sell the rest?”

  “You must really be new here,” said the girl. Sky Knife bristled slightly, but the girl’s tone was friendly, not snide.

  “Yes,” he said. “I just arrived yesterday.” Sky Knife replaced the bowl on the pile.

  “Everyone here uses the orangeware pottery,” said the girl. “You won’t find many households in town without at le
ast one piece.”

  “It’s not even decorated,” said Sky Knife, far more used to the intricately painted bowls of Tikal.

  “Of course not,” said the girl, indignant. “The clay is so beautiful when fired that we wouldn’t debase it by trying to add to its natural beauty.”

  “I see,” said Sky Knife, though he didn’t. The orange color of the pottery was certainly interesting, but now that he’d seen it up close, he decided he preferred painted ceramics.

  “Are you interested?” asked the girl.

  “No,” said Sky Knife, “but it’s very interesting.”

  “Come back if you change your mind.”

  Sky Knife nodded and moved off. He and Whiskers-of-Rat walked through the market past vendors selling everything imaginable. Sky Knife had never even seen many of the styles of clothing, jewelry, and pottery before. Here was a Huastec weaver selling skirts and a Totonac sculptor with stone carvings to bring good luck to a house. At another stall was a woman selling dogs with cacao bean markings and next to her another woman selling iguana meat. In Tikal, the oddly marked dogs would have been sacred to Ek Chueh, the long-nosed god of merchants, but Sky Knife supposed even that custom was different here.

  Sky Knife stopped and looked around slowly.

  “Is something wrong?” asked Whiskers-of-Rat. “Do you want to go?”

  “No,” said Sky Knife. “But perhaps I should buy something.”

  Whiskers-of-Rat grinned widely. “Anything you want can be found here.”

  “Not for me,” said Sky Knife. “For my wife. She will give birth to our second child next month.”

  “Perhaps the skirts?” asked Whiskers-of-Rat. “Or jewelry?”

  “Maybe,” said Sky Knife. “I probably shouldn’t think about it until after the king has ascended his mat, though. Will the market be closed during Uayeb?”

  “What is that?”

  “The unlucky days at the end of the year,” said Sky Knife.

  “Oh, that,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “No, the market never closes. Not for unlucky days, not even for a king’s death—as you can see.”