Serpent and Storm

by Marella Sands

  “What is it?” asked Deer. “Sky Knife—what startled you?”

  “A serpent,” he said. “I heard it rattle.” Sky Knife continued to peer around the courtyard, but he couldn’t find the source of the rattle.

  “No,” mumbled Talking Storm. His eyes were clear, his face no longer swollen. A trickle of blood still ran from his nose, but otherwise, the other priest seemed fine. He struggled to sit. Deer put an arm under Talking Storm’s shoulder and helped him. “Not a serpent,” said Talking Storm. “The Storm God.”

  “What?” asked Sky Knife as he replaced the Hand of God in its deerskin bag. “The Storm God himself?”

  “Yes,” said Talking Storm. “He heard your prayer and aided your god. I felt his power brush against my mind just before he left.” Talking Storm stared at Sky Knife. “Who are you, Maya, that can call the Storm God?”

  Sky Knife shrugged, but was spared the burden of a reply by the sudden arrival of three tall warriors.

  In their padded helmets, beaded sandals, and purple skirts, the warriors looked alike at first. But their bare chests were tattooed with the images of different animals: a mouse, a peccary, and an eagle. Sky Knife, Deer, and Talking Storm climbed to their feet.

  Across the courtyard, Grasping Fire and Amaranth reappeared, fully clothed. Grasping Fire stepped into the courtyard.

  The mouse-tattooed man stepped forward and knelt before Grasping Fire.

  “Lord,” he said, “I have bad news to report.”

  “Yes, Commander … Grass, isn’t it?”

  “I am Grass, yes,” said the warrior. “The others with me are Mirror and Streak-of-Mist. We have come to report that some of the army has deserted.”

  “Deserted?” bellowed Grasping Fire. “The army is the king’s right hand—who else would dare lead them?”

  Grass glanced up toward Jaguar’s Daughter. “Her brother,” he said. “Dark Lightning and the ballplayers claim he has a right to the throne. Apparently many of the warriors believe this nonsense.”

  Jaguar’s Daughter bowed her head. “It is not nonsense,” she said. “Not in our home village. Where we’re from, inheritance may only pass through the woman’s line. Dark Lightning feels that I now rule Teotihuacan and that to rule with me, he must marry me.”

  Sky Knife shivered in disgust. Marriage of siblings was strictly forbidden by the gods—surely even Dark Lightning’s gods did not condone such behavior.

  From the look on Grass’ face, he was thinking much the same thing. He turned away from Jaguar’s Daughter.

  “Lord,” he said to Grasping Fire, “the ballplayers say they have the king. Is this true?”

  “Yes,” said Grasping Fire. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Then you are king,” said Grass. “If Dark Lightning thinks to be king, he will have to kill more than the boy.”

  “Perhaps,” said Grasping Fire. “Though he has offered to spare the boy’s life.”

  “He what?” asked Amaranth. She stepped up beside Grasping Fire. “There’s hope, then.”

  “Perhaps,” said Grasping Fire again. “I don’t know. I never would have expected something like this from Dark Lightning. He never seemed unhappy with his lot before. Now suddenly he wants to be king?”

  “Lord,” said Grass, “he has a lot of support among the warriors in the army. He must have been planning this for some time.”

  “How much of the army has shown support for Dark Lightning?” asked Sky Knife.

  Grass did not turn to him or answer.

  Grasping Fire crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, Grass. Answer the question. How much of the army is disloyal? And how many of the commanders are with them?”

  “More than half of the spearmen and their officers,” said Grass. “But only a few of the dartmen. And none of their officers. Nor have any of the high command joined the usurper.”

  “Well, then, where are they?” asked Grasping Fire.

  “They have hidden themselves in some of the city neighborhoods,” said Grass. “Some loyal men have been killed already trying to get at them.”

  “And the king?”

  “No one has seen him,” said Grass. “We were not even sure if we should believe they had him. We felt the Storm God would not have allowed it.”

  Talking Storm barked out a laugh. “Well, he did. And I’m sure he had his reasons. Even so, with Grasping Fire alive, we have a king. They have not taken the royal line from us.”

  “Unless Grasping Fire is a target,” said Sky Knife. “He should be protected until we find out what has happened to Black Coyote.”

  “He will be protected,” said Grass. “The loyal ones among us shall see to it with our lives. We are the moths of the Storm God. We shall immolate ourselves in this flame to show our devotion to his glory and the glory of his king.”

  “Fine,” said Sky Knife. “In the meantime, we should find out what have become of Black Coyote.”

  “Yes, we should,” said a low, lilting voice. Lily-on-the-Water entered the courtyard, clothed once again in the white robes she had worn in the ballcourt. A dozen priestesses followed her, each dressed similarly. Sky Knife spotted Dancing Bear behind her mistress.

  “Do you know where he has been taken?” asked Grasping Fire.

  “I asked the Masked One to show me,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “But she is in pain—her womb has been violated. The evildoers gather in the Center of All.”

  “The Center?” asked Deer. “Then they’re in the cave?”

  “It would seem so.” Lily-on-the-Water glanced toward Sky Knife. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face swollen. “The Masked One says the Center must be penetrated by a powerful man. A man of strong belief and strong protection. For the Center is a dangerous place.” Lily-on-the-Water drew out a long thin obsidian blade and pointed it toward Sky Knife. “She has chosen you, Mayan priest. Go to her, quickly. Retrieve the king from the evil that has taken him.”

  Sky Knife stepped back, surprised, but Deer nodded approval.

  “Let’s go,” said Deer.

  “You were not chosen,” said Lily-on-the-Water.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” said Deer. “I’m the twin—wherever the boy is, that’s where I should be. If he’s in the cave, I’m going, too.”

  “Your fear stands between you and the Masked One,” hissed Lily-on-the-Water. “Do not mock her by entering her holy passage.”

  Deer blanched. “Never mind that,” he said. “I must go to my Little Weed.”

  Deer turned to Sky Knife. Slowly, everyone else’s eyes, including Grass’, turned to him. Sky Knife bowed to them all.

  “I will retrieve the king,” he said. “Itzamna willing. And I would be grateful to Deer if he would accompany me.”

  “Then we’re wasting time,” said Deer. “Come on!”

  “The Storm God’s protection go with you both,” said Talking Storm.

  Lily-on-the-Water bristled. “The Storm God has no power in the domain of the Masked One.”

  Talking Storm smiled. “Perhaps not. But his goodwill should not be spurned.”

  Sky Knife nodded to Talking Storm and left the courtyard, following Deer closely. He was still unsure how well he could find his way out of the palace without help.

  “Wait,” said Sky Knife as the jade and hematite beads around his neck clacked together. “I should remove all this jewelry. It will only tell Dark Lightning’s people where we are.”

  Deer shook his head. “No,” he said. “You should look as imposing as you can. It will help you bargain with them if there’s bargaining to do. They won’t dare anger your god unnecessarily.”

  “They don’t seem to care about the Storm God.”

  Deer took them out onto the street. “Yes, but they think the Masked One has been slighted by the Storm God. They’re ready to dare his anger for his disrespect to the Masked One.”

  The sun had set over the western mountains and few people were left on the street. Sky Knife breathed a sigh of relief not to have to fi
ght the crowds. But those few on the street who saw him gave him a wide berth this time, averting their eyes.

  The street was eerily silent. Sky Knife had gotten used to the constant rumble of human voices and the sounds of activity. It was more quiet now than it had been since his entrance to the city. Yesterday it would have been welcome. Today it seemed ominous.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry, my friends, eh?” asked a familiar voice.

  Sky Knife turned to the tall figure of Whiskers-of-Rat. Whiskers-of-Rat’s mouth dropped open when he saw Sky Knife. “I think Rabbit did better than she knew,” he said.

  “Don’t you have anything to do besides shadow me?” asked Sky Knife.

  Whiskers-of-Rat grinned. “I heard the rumors of a king taken and an army in rebellion. I figured if I found you, you would be in the heart of it.”

  “You’re a fool if you want any part of this,” said Sky Knife. “Men have already died.”

  “And the king might if we don’t hurry,” urged Deer.

  “Then I will come with you,” said Whiskers-of-Rat.

  “What? That’s impossible,” said Sky Knife.

  “Why?”

  “Well, because…” Sky Knife stopped, without an answer.

  “Perhaps it will be dangerous and perhaps not,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “But certainly it will be an adventure. And what else does a guide live for?”

  “Come on,” said Deer. “Whether he comes or not isn’t important. Only Little Weed is.”

  “Fine, let’s go,” said Sky Knife. He followed Deer down the street toward the looming dark shape of the pyramid of the Masked One. Whiskers-of-Rat fell into step beside him.

  Sky Knife said a silent prayer to Itzamna that the boy was still alive and Dark Lightning as good as his word.

  Then he said a second prayer, hoping, if he was chosen by the Masked One, she had chosen truly. Let him not fail the king!

  17

  “So, where are we going?” asked Whiskers-of-Rat.

  “To the cave under the Masked One’s pyramid,” said Deer. “I’m Deer,” he added.

  “Ah, the holy twin,” said the guide. “And I am Whiskers-of-Rat, a mere guide. If any holiness has touched me, it has had to rub off from my friend Sky Knife here.”

  “He has plenty to spare,” said Deer. “I just hope his courage rubs off as easily.”

  Sky Knife blushed, glad the darkness hid his face.

  “Does the Masked One know what we’re doing?” asked Whiskers-of-Rat. “I’d hate to think we were going to get on such intimate terms with her without her permission.”

  Deer said, “Lily-on-the-Water said the Masked One herself had chosen Sky Knife to enter her cave.”

  Whiskers-of-Rat clapped Sky Knife on the shoulder. “I can see why you passed on my cousin, then. What man would want a mere prostitute when he could have the Masked One?”

  Sky Knife shrugged off Whiskers-of-Rat’s hand. “The goddess sends me into the cave to get the king,” he said.

  “Well, of course,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “There is a king to be saved. But you think the Masked One would allow just anyone into her sanctum?”

  “It appears she already has,” said Sky Knife, “if the boy has been taken there.”

  Sky Knife stopped and looked up. The great earthenwork structure of the Masked One’s pyramid loomed above them.

  “Where is this entrance?” asked Sky Knife.

  “It is supposed to be here on the western side,” said Deer. “Near the main stairwell.”

  “Ah, you planned to go into a cave without light?” asked Whiskers-of-Rat. “Shall I run and fetch a torch or a lamp?”

  “There is no need,” said Sky Knife. He closed his eyes and concentrated on a point a few feet above his head. A brilliant ball of blue light sprang into existence there.

  “Feathers of the Masked One!” shouted Whiskers-of-Rat.

  Deer jumped but didn’t say anything. He glanced at Sky Knife with awe.

  Whiskers-of-Rat stretched out a hand toward the ball of light. “It’s not hot,” he said. “Just warm. Well. I suppose we really don’t need a torch then.”

  Sky Knife pushed the light ahead of them with a thought. The ball skipped around, shining its blue rays down on the street and the base of the pyramid. Briefly, it illuminated what looked like a deep pit.

  “Here,” said Sky Knife. He ran to the lip of the pit and glanced down.

  Rough-hewn stairs had been carved in the bedrock, but the otherwise circular shape of the tunnel showed no signs of having been fashioned by man. This was a natural cave. The womb of the Masked One.

  Sky Knife shivered. Caves were always holy. He knelt briefly and pressed his forehead to the lip of the pit. Then he stood.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s go in.” Sky Knife stepped onto the first step. Then the second.

  Deer followed him. Whiskers-of-Rat came in last. The guide was so tall he had to duck his head on the way down or risk banging it against the ceiling of the tunnel.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the tunnel proceeded slightly north of east. Sky Knife sent the ball of light ahead a few feet to illuminate whatever might be waiting for them.

  The remains of an adobe wall jutted out from each side of the tunnel. Sky Knife hesitated, but the remains of the wall weren’t large enough for anyone to be hiding behind. He stepped on past.

  A thump came from behind him. A string of words from Whiskers-of-Rat that Sky Knife didn’t understand followed.

  “It seems it’s a good thing to be short sometimes,” said Deer.

  “Of course. A great thing,” mumbled Whiskers-of-Rat. “The first people must have been very short to walk through this to get to the surface of the earth.”

  Ahead of them, the passageway narrowed and the ceiling came down to a point even with Sky Knife’s waist.

  “Time to crawl,” said Whiskers-of-Rat.

  “Wait,” said Deer. He scrambled forward awkwardly over the uneven floor. He bent to retrieve something. He held it out to Sky Knife.

  It was a small rope of seeds strung together by sinew.

  “It belongs to my Little Weed,” said Deer. He tied the strand around his neck, where it lay against his slave’s torque. “They have brought him here, but he did not come willingly.”

  “Then let’s go find him and bring him out quickly,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “This is not a place to stay any longer than necessary.”

  “You wanted to come,” said Deer.

  Sky Knife hitched his long blue skirt above his knees and knelt. The gritty, crumbly surface of the tunnel cut his knees and palms. Sky Knife eased his way forward through the crawlspace.

  The crawlspace was only a few yards long. Sky Knife breathed in relief when he was able to stand upright again. He brushed the sand and small sharp pebbles off his knees.

  Deer, who had only had to bend over slightly, came out right behind Sky Knife. Whiskers-of-Rat did not appear, but Sky Knife heard him grunting and complaining.

  Sky Knife bent down and looked back through the crawlspace. Whiskers-of-Rat had come about halfway.

  “Come on,” Sky Knife urged. “It’s not very far.”

  “Watch your tongue, mortal,” said a deep male voice. Sky Knife whirled, but he could have sworn the voice came from the crawlspace.

  “What was that?” asked Deer.

  “I don’t know,” said Sky Knife. He leaned down again. This time, he sent the ball of light down the crawlspace to the guide.

  “Whiskers-of-Rat, are you all right?” he asked.

  Whiskers-of-Rat nodded and waved. “Oh, I’m fine,” he said. “I live for adventure, remember?”

  “Did you hear that voice?”

  Whiskers-of-Rat pulled himself the last few feet and stood up. “Voice?” he asked as he brushed sand away from his legs and robes.

  “Never mind,” said Deer. “Let’s go on.”

  Sky Knife sent the ball above his head again. Here, the ceiling stood higher than Whiskers-of-
Rat’s head. But the passageway had split into three.

  “Now what?” asked Deer.

  “Straight,” said Sky Knife. “We should not be distracted from the center path.”

  Deer glanced down the left passage. “Looks like there’s no way out, anyway.”

  Sky Knife glanced to his right. A ruined adobe wall stood between him and the passage. He walked to it and looked past. On the other side was not a tunnel as he had supposed but an oblong room. A pile of skeletons lay in the center.

  “I suppose this is where all those young women ended up,” he said.

  Whiskers-of-Rat glanced over his shoulder. “It seems so. Fitting place, though. In the womb of the Masked One they found their birth into the next world.”

  “Time to move on,” said Sky Knife.

  “So far this has not been very dangerous,” said Deer. “I thought the Center would be filled with creatures from the underworlds—or even the dead. But all we’ve seen are their skeletons.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way,” said Sky Knife. “We’ve got trouble enough without adding monsters to it.”

  “This is the Center of All,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “And that’s danger enough.”

  Sky Knife walked down the passage, now wide enough for the three of them to walk abreast if they chose. But the others kept their places behind him.

  The passage curved gently to the right. After twenty or thirty yards, it narrowed and curved back on itself to the left. Sky Knife hesitated and listened, but all he heard was his own breathing.

  Sky Knife turned around. His companions remained behind him, staring at him expectantly. Sky Knife regarded the curve again. He sent the ball of light ahead around the curve, then followed it slowly.

  Around the curve the walls of the tunnel were wet and a deep musky odor filled the air.

  “We grow closer to the Center,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “The birthplace of all men.”

  Sky Knife walked slowly forward. The air became heavy and dank with moisture.

  “Mother of All,” whispered Deer.

  Ahead, the wet walls gave off a thin orange fog. The tendrils of fog fell slowly to the floor and curled around the pebbles that lay on the floor of the tunnel. A few of the tendrils stretched out and touched Sky Knife’s feet. The cool breath of the fog chilled his toes.