Serpent and Storm

by Marella Sands

  Whiskers-of-Rat started up the steps. Sky Knife relaxed and closed his eyes.

  The next thing he knew, he was being lowered to the ground. He opened his eyes. “Tired already?” he asked the guide.

  “See for yourself,” said Whiskers-of-Rat, panting heavily. “We’re at the top.”

  Sky Knife glanced around. Whiskers-of-Rat had carried Sky Knife right up the pyramid to the whitewashed temple at its summit. Far below, the fire in the palace burned brightly orange and red. Black smoke rose into the air blown eastward by a strong west wind. The fire itself had spread to several neighboring buildings.

  West. The direction of darkness and night.

  “Is the wind usually from this direction?” asked Sky Knife.

  “No,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “It is worrisome, eh?”

  “Yes,” said Sky Knife. “And the fire—will it take the whole city?”

  “No,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “The buildings do not burn easily—they are stone and plaster, after all. Just one fire will not do a great deal of damage. But if Dark Lightning’s people set a number of fires, the city will be endangered.”

  “Surely Dark Lightning doesn’t want that,” said Sky Knife. “Why be king of a burnt-out city?”

  “I don’t know,” said Whiskers-of-Rat, “though interestingly enough it would be a boon to Grasping Fire and his Construction Guild. Come, let’s get you inside.”

  Whiskers-of-Rat helped Sky Knife stand on shaky legs and led him through the narrow doorway into the temple beyond. Inside, the stark white plaster walls were relieved by brilliantly colored snakes twining in a border around the top of the wall. Dancing Bear and Rabbit sat on separate benches on opposite sides of the room.

  “Where’s Deer?” asked Sky Knife.

  “Here,” said Talking Storm from a small side room.

  Sky Knife hobbled over and peered in. Deer lay on a low bench. His eyes were closed and he was almost as pale as the white plaster walls.

  “Is he…” began Sky Knife, afraid to even speak so dreadful a thing.

  “No, he’s not dead,” said Talking Storm. “They cauterized the wounds so he didn’t bleed to death. But the shock—on top of being separated from Black Coyote—probably should have killed him.”

  Sky Knife stumbled into the room, fell to his knees, and laid a hand on Deer’s shoulder.

  “We have to get him to the boy,” said Talking Storm. “Only I don’t know where Grasping Fire and the others have fled. They had planned to come here if they had to leave the palace, but the palace is burning and they are not here.”

  “I know where they are,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “Dancing Bear and I left them when the palace was attacked, but we were all to meet in the Valley of Shadow. I wouldn’t leave without Sky Knife, though, and Dancing Bear decided not to leave without me.”

  “Outside the city? Grasping Fire has abandoned the city?” asked Talking Storm. “Why?”

  “Dark Lightning’s forces hold many of the neighborhoods. Grasping Fire felt making a stand outside the city in the open would be best. Apparently, Dark Lightning felt so, too. He’s agreed to meet on the field tomorrow at dawn,” said Whiskers-of-Rat.

  “Showing himself a fool,” said Dancing Bear. “He cannot hope to defeat Grasping Fire in the open. But that’s good for Grasping Fire. As long as Dark Lightning does foolish things, he’ll have an easier time quelling this uprising.”

  “How are we to get to Grasping Fire’s camp?” asked Sky Knife.

  “You let me worry about that,” said Talking Storm. “We’ll get there. My acolytes are many. We might as well use their strong backs and arms—the Storm God knows their brains aren’t always useful. Even so, the Storm God will keep us safe.”

  “Good,” said Sky Knife softly. “I’m glad somebody will.”

  Sky Knife laid his head down on the bench next to Deer’s shoulder. He was asleep immediately.

  27

  Sky Knife woke slowly. His limbs felt heavy; it was as if a warm, heavy blanket covered him. It was so pleasant, so peaceful.

  “Sky Knife—can you hear me?” asked a woman.

  Sky Knife knew the voice, but his mind refused to attach any name or importance to it. It was merely familiar, comforting. It reminded him of his wife.

  “Jade Flute?” he asked. Perhaps the king had requested an audience with him—Storm Cloud sometimes wanted to meet with him in the quiet hours before dawn.

  “What did he say?” asked a man.

  “I don’t know. I don’t speak his language,” said the woman.

  “Sky Knife—come on, time to wake up,” said the man.

  A hand grasped his shoulder and shook him. Sky Knife opened his eyes. Above him hovered the faces of Rabbit and Whiskers-of-Rat.

  Suddenly, everything rushed in on him: Deer, the Guardian, Dark Lightning, Mirror. Sky Knife gasped and sat up. His vision swam for a moment. He closed his eyes until the spinning in his head settled down.

  Whiskers-of-Rat patted him on the shoulder. “Better now, eh?” he asked.

  Sky Knife nodded. He did feel better. The pain in his feet and leg had vanished. He rubbed his chest and felt only a slight ache. “What happened?” he asked. “Where are we?”

  “Grasping Fire’s camp,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “The Corn Priest has tended you. He has healing magic.”

  Sky Knife looked around. He was inside a fabric dwelling of some kind. Poles of wood had been set into the ground and orange-dyed cotton blankets had been draped over them. Light, diffused by the cotton, filtered in around Sky Knife, coloring everything orange.

  “What is this?” asked Sky Knife.

  “It’s a tent,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “You don’t have anything similar?”

  “No,” said Sky Knife. “Although traveling merchants visiting our city use something like it, especially during the rainy season.”

  Someone threw one of the blankets aside. Late afternoon sun flooded into the tent. Sky Knife blinked against the glare.

  “How is he doing?” asked Grasping Fire.

  “I’m well,” said Sky Knife. “How fares the king?”

  Grasping Fire stepped into the tent. “Not well,” he said. “Deer has not regained consciousness, though he breathes easier now that the boy is with him. But Black Coyote is upset about … well, about Deer’s hands. He has cried ever since Deer was brought back. Jaguar’s Daughter is afraid he will make himself sick.”

  Sky Knife drew back the blanket that covered him, but blushed as he realized he was naked. He wrapped the blanket around himself hastily. Was it the goal of everyone in this city to see him without his clothes?

  “Where are my clothes?” he asked.

  “The Corn Priest took them,” said Grasping Fire. “I’ll send some others in, and some food, too. There’s a meeting I’d like you to attend at dusk—do you feel well enough to come?” Grasping Fire’s tone was awkward, as if he didn’t know how to treat Sky Knife anymore.

  “I’ll be there,” said Sky Knife. “As long as I’ve got some clothes to wear.”

  Grasping Fire let the cloth flap fall back down and walked away. His shadow marched along the wall of the tent, oddly distorted by the setting sun.

  Sky Knife sighed. “Does Dark Lightning have the city now?”

  “More or less,” said Whiskers-of-Rat, “though it’s a wonder he has anything at all. But he seems to know where each of our patrols is positioned.”

  “They have an informant,” said Sky Knife. “A woman, but I don’t know who. What women among us know enough to betray us so thoroughly?”

  “Not many,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. The tall man crossed his legs and leaned forward. “Jaguar’s Daughter, of course. Lily-on-the-Water. Amaranth. But they’ve been busy all day with duties Grasping Fire has assigned them, or, in Jaguar’s Daughter’s case, with the king. Someone would have seen them if they were slipping away to give information to Dark Lightning.”

  Sky Knife sighed. “Perhaps this informant is another woman, a go-b
etween. Who else knows Grasping Fire’s plans?”

  “Take your pick,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “The commanders of the army, the Corn Priest, Grasping Fire himself…”

  “What if Grasping Fire were behind it?” asked Sky Knife slowly. “You said yourself, Rabbit, that the war would be a boon to the Construction Guild. What if he doesn’t want to be king—what if he wants the work for his guild?”

  Whiskers-of-Rat laughed. “Now you’re thinking like a Teotihuacano,” he said. “Yes, Grasping Fire’s a good choice.”

  “Is he?” mused Sky Knife. “Two people have told me he’s not because, they say, he’s a murderer.”

  Whiskers-of-Rat’s eyes widened. “That’s news,” he said. “Do you know if it is true?”

  “No,” said Sky Knife. “And how do I ask him such a thing?”

  The cloth doorway was moved aside again. A servant entered, carrying clothing. He set it down in front of Sky Knife and retreated, lowering the blanket back into place.

  Whiskers-of-Rat and Rabbit turned away as Sky Knife dressed—Rabbit not without rolling her eyes and grinning at him. Sky Knife dressed in the long black skirt, black tunic, and black sash quickly. Sandals completed the outfit.

  Sky Knife felt strange in the unrelentingly black outfit. Black was the color of night, and death, and evil. He had no idea why Grasping Fire would send such clothes to him. Only his white deerskin bag relieved the darkness.

  Whiskers-of-Rat peeked over his shoulder. “He’s finished,” he said. Whiskers-of-Rat and his cousin turned back around.

  “Impressive,” said Rabbit. “You’re quite handsome in that. Have you ever thought of not wearing blue so much?”

  “I have no desire to trade blue for black,” said Sky Knife. “This is a strange color to wear.”

  “True,” said Rabbit, “it’s not worn often—and then usually only a sash or a tunic. But only the king’s highest advisors may wear an entire outfit of black. Grasping Fire has honored you.”

  Another servant entered the tent and placed a tray of tamales and meat in front of Sky Knife. The servant abased himself on the ground.

  “Get up,” said Sky Knife. “That will be all. Thank you.”

  The servant backed out of the tent. As soon as the blanket had dropped back over the opening, the shadow of the servant flitted along the wall of the tent accompanied by the sound of running footsteps.

  “Impressive?” asked Sky Knife. “Looks like terrifying is more accurate.”

  “Not to me,” said Rabbit.

  Sky Knife sat down again, hunger overcoming every other consideration. He put some meat on a tamale and rolled it up. He had finished three tamales before he realized Whiskers-of-Rat and Rabbit weren’t eating. He looked up guiltily.

  “Don’t you want to eat?” he asked, mouth full.

  Whiskers-of-Rat grinned. “When it’s so much more fun to watch you?”

  Rabbit elbowed her cousin in the ribs. “We already ate,” she said. “This is just for you.”

  “I think I’ve had enough,” Sky Knife said. “But I’d like some water.”

  Rabbit got up and brought back a deep drinking bowl filled with water. Sky Knife took it and drank gratefully.

  “Thank you. Well,” he said as he put the bowl down, “perhaps I should get to that meeting now.”

  “It isn’t quite dusk,” said Rabbit, “but you’re probably right.”

  Sky Knife went to the entrance of the tent and brushed the blanket aside. Outside was a forest of tents, and hundreds of warriors, milled about.

  “Um, do you know where this meeting might be?” asked Sky Knife.

  “Just look for the king’s banner,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “It’s the feathered cape flying from a tall pole.”

  Sky Knife turned around. Both his friends remained seated. “I’ll … I’ll see you later,” he said. “Thanks for everything.”

  Whiskers-of-Rat shrugged, though he looked pleased. “You owe me payment still,” he said. “I know we’ll see each other again soon. I have to keep you to your bargain, eh?”

  Sky Knife smiled and stepped out of the tent. A warrior rushing by caught a glimpse of him and stopped in his tracks. He bowed and did not rise.

  Wearing black was going to cause more problems than it solved, Sky Knife decided, if it meant everyone who saw him had to stop what they were doing to pay homage to him.

  “Ah, carry on,” he said to the warrior.

  The warrior went about his business, but didn’t raise his eyes to meet Sky Knife’s.

  Sky Knife walked through the camp carefully—equipment lay scattered all over in small piles as if gathered quickly from many places. Everyone who saw him bowed, but only those within a few yards of him waited for Sky Knife to address them before returning to what they were doing.

  At the far eastern end of the camp flew the king’s banner. The last rays of the setting sun touched the western mountains and spilled onto the green feathers of the cape. Beneath the cape stood Grasping Fire, Talking Storm, and several warriors. As Sky Knife got closer, he recognized one of them as Streak-of-Mist.

  Grasping Fire glanced up and saw Sky Knife. He waved the Mayan priest closer. The warriors made room for him, bowing slightly as he came up to them.

  “What’s going on?” asked Sky Knife as the last rays of sunlight died when the sun slipped behind the mountains.

  “Dusk,” announced Grasping Fire. “You’re prompt. Good. Let’s get started.”

  “No!” A screaming child rushed past Sky Knife.

  Jaguar’s Daughter ran out of the tent. “Where did he go?” she asked.

  “Serpent and storm,” said Grasping Fire. “Can’t you keep him under control?”

  “I’ll get him,” said Sky Knife. He jogged in the direction Black Coyote had taken.

  The boy had hidden himself between a pile of rolled-up leather shields and a tent. In the fading dusk light, it was hard to see him, but the boy gave himself away by constantly peeking over the pile.

  “Black Coyote?” he asked.

  The boy made no move. Sky Knife sat down on the other side of the pile of shields.

  “You know,” said Sky Knife after a few moments, “at times like this, I always get scared. What about you?”

  Black Coyote rustled around behind the pile but didn’t answer.

  “When I was little,” said Sky Knife, “my father would come into the house smelling like sweat and dust. And when something happened to frighten me, he’d come over and tell me that Itzamna watched out over little boys and would make sure I was all right.”

  Black Coyote peeked around the pile. Sky Knife didn’t look directly at him.

  “When my father died, I thought that meant Itzamna didn’t care about me,” said Sky Knife. “But I was wrong.”

  “My father died,” said Black Coyote.

  Sky Knife’s heart ached for the boy. Not only had he lost his father, but his mother’s brother sought the mat, and his best friend would be sacrificed before his eyes very, very soon. Sky Knife hoped the Corn Priest and Jaguar’s Daughter had done their best to prepare Black Coyote for his ascension to the mat of rulership.

  The Corn Priest walked up, anger in every move of his tall thin frame. His gray braids looked orange in the light of the torches held by the servants that surrounded him. “There you are,” he said upon spying Black Coyote. “You’re a bad boy to frighten your mother like that. Come out at once.”

  Black Coyote crept out of his hiding place. The Corn Priest grabbed the boy’s wrist and pulled him along after him. Black Coyote turned back and kept his eyes on Sky Knife.

  Sky Knife watched them go and wished there was something he could do to comfort the boy. But he had no idea what that something might be. He sighed, got up, and walked back to the tent where Grasping Fire’s meeting was being held.

  28

  The warriors at the entrance to the tent bowed to Sky Knife. One of them pulled the flap of the tent back and Sky Knife went in.

  Seat
ed on pillows in a circle were Talking Storm, Lily-on-the-Water, Jaguar’s Daughter, Amaranth, Grasping Fire, the Corn Priest, and the two remaining army commanders, Grass and Streak-of-Mist. An empty pillow remained to the right of Grasping Fire.

  Sky Knife sat on the pillow, uneasy at taking such a place of honor, but no one else seemed to think it strange. He nodded to the others.

  Grasping Fire turned to him and laid his hand on Sky Knife’s shoulder. “I’m glad you could join us, my friend. We have not had the opportunity to thank you for your rescue of the king and the twin, although we haven’t yet had a chance to ask you how you came to accomplish it. Your guide has not been able to give us many details, and Deer has not awakened since he was brought in. I hope you will feel well enough when this is all over to tell us about it.”

  “Certainly,” said Sky Knife. “Much happened that I don’t understand. I hope Talking Storm and Lily-on-the-Water will be able to help me.”

  Talking Storm, looking pleased, bowed slightly. Lily-on-the-Water nodded.

  “Good. But now for the task at hand. Dark Lightning has agreed to meet us on the field of battle, with honor, just after dawn,” said Grasping Fire. “This much you know.” Grasping Fire glanced toward Sky Knife and made it a question. Sky Knife nodded.

  “It’s folly,” said Talking Storm. “In the open he can’t hope to defeat you. He has to have some trick in mind.”

  “My brother knows about honor,” said Jaguar’s Daughter.

  “It is apparent he does not, Mistress,” said Amaranth, “or we would not be here discussing a battle.”

  Jaguar’s Daughter looked about to protest, but the Corn Priest laid a hand on her arm and she said nothing.

  “Indeed,” said Grasping Fire. “Your pardon, Jaguar’s Daughter, but your brother has never had much sense. And don’t forget, he has claimed you as a wife—he must be mad.”

  “Mad or not, we’ll be meeting him tomorrow on the field,” said Grass.

  “Are your warriors ready?” asked Grasping Fire.

  “They are,” said Grass. “Streak-of-Mist and I will position the dart men in front with the spear men behind.”