Serpent and Storm

by Marella Sands

  “All I know,” said Dancing Bear, “is that I will never enter the true inner circle until you die. I have been promised your death. I will have it.”

  “Who promised you?” asked Sky Knife. “Dark Lightning?”

  “Never mind,” said Dancing Bear. “Now, back up.”

  “Why?” asked Sky Knife. “You’re going to kill the boy anyway, right?”

  Dancing Bear edged toward the opening of the tent. “Come on, Dark Lightning,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  “I give the orders here, girl,” he said.

  “Fine. Then give the order to go.”

  Dark Lightning hesitated, looking from Dancing Bear to Grasping Fire. “Follow us and the boy dies.”

  “And if we let you go, the boy dies,” said Grasping Fire. “I don’t think you understand, Dark Lightning. I’m not letting you out of this tent. You have only this choice: kill the boy or let him go. If you kill him, we will take you and make sure you die as slowly as possible. Perhaps we will let you suffer as you made the holy twin and our Mayan friend suffer.”

  Dark Lightning blanched at that, but said nothing.

  “Let the boy go,” continued Grasping Fire, “and we will take you and kill you quickly.”

  The Corn Priest burst into the tent, Amaranth and Talking Storm on his heels.

  “What’s going on?” demanded Talking Storm. “You, girl, let that boy go.”

  “I am no girl to you, Talking Storm,” said Dancing Bear. “I am a priestess of the Masked One. You are nothing. Your feathered serpent’s reign here is over.”

  “The Masked One’s reign here has never been in danger,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “If you had any understanding of our goddess at all, you would know that.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me about the goddess!” screamed Dancing Bear. She pressed the blade against Black Coyote’s neck. The boy whimpered.

  “Bibi,” he whispered.

  “Stand still, Little Weed,” said Deer. “Stand very still.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Dancing Bear. “Stand still and let the brave Mayan priest rescue you.” She stared at Sky Knife, naked hatred on her face. “You’ve ruined everything. You must think you’re blessed by the gods. But that’s over, too.” She glanced to Dark Lightning. “You had your part and you failed at every turn. You don’t tell me what to do. I decide!”

  Dancing Bear’s voice rose in hysteria. “I decide!” she said. “The goddess is in me, not in any man!”

  Sky Knife dove for Dancing Bear before she could slash the blade through Black Coyote’s tender skin. Dancing Bear grunted as he connected. Black Coyote screamed and they all fell to the ground.

  Dancing Bear thrust up with her blade and caught Sky Knife in the shoulder. He gasped at the sudden pain and reached for the knife with his free hand.

  “Get the boy!” he shouted.

  Someone grabbed Black Coyote. Suddenly, Dancing Bear relaxed. Sky Knife stared at her, expecting her to renew her attack, but she lay still, her eyes closed, her breathing ragged.

  Sky Knife got up. Lily-on-the-Water knelt by him. “She will die for this,” said the priestess.

  Tears rolled out of Dancing Bear’s closed eyes. Dust from the ground, stirred up by the struggle, settled on her face and hair.

  “Yes,” agreed Sky Knife, though he had no pleasure from the thought. His arm throbbed again, competing with his shoulder for his attention.

  “Corn Priest,” said Grasping Fire. “Sky Knife is injured. See to him.”

  “Yes, Lord,” said the Corn Priest.

  Sky Knife sat back and looked around the tent. Dark Lightning lay still on the ground, the haft of a knife sticking out of his chest. His sister knelt by him, sobbing and rocking back and forth.

  The Corn Priest came to Sky Knife as Lily-on-the-Water and Amaranth attempted to get Dancing Bear up off the ground.

  Dancing Bear sprang to life. She wriggled out of the other women’s grasp. Amaranth grabbed the knife, but Dancing Bear wrested it from her and scratched Amaranth’s arm. Amaranth jerked back. Dancing Bear grabbed the Corn Priest.

  “Now,” she said as she pressed her blade against his neck. “I am leaving this camp, and you will not follow me. Or the last Corn Priest dies. Think on that.”

  33

  “No,” said Grasping Fire. “What I said before is still true. We will not let you leave here. You can kill the Corn Priest and die slowly. Or you can let him go and we will kill you in a more merciful manner.”

  Dancing Bear hesitated and the knife lowered a fraction of an inch.

  “Let him go,” said Sky Knife. “His death will do nothing for you.”

  Dancing Bear looked at Sky Knife. “I wish it were you here under my knife,” she said. “For shaming me, for refusing the goddess, you deserve to die.”

  Lily-on-the-Water said, “There is no shame for Sky Knife. You knew last night what you were doing. By choosing him, you doomed the Water Ceremony to failure. You wanted it to fail. You planned for it to fail.”

  “He’s a man. You should blame him, not me,” said Dancing Bear.

  “The Masked One is mother to men as well as women. Something you don’t seem to understand. Do you wonder why you never rose in our ranks? You never understood even the simplest things,” said Lily-on-the-Water.

  “I understand enough,” said Dancing Bear. “I understand that I won’t leave this tent alive.”

  “Then let the Corn Priest go,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “You have Grasping Fire’s assurance you will be treated as mercifully as possible.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Dancing Bear. “I’ll take at least one of you with me to the underworlds.”

  Dancing Bear drove the knife into the Corn Priest’s neck. Blood spurted from the wound all over Sky Knife and Lily-on-the-Water. Blood rushed out of the Corn Priest’s neck and his mouth. Dancing Bear stabbed him a second time and the Corn Priest sank from her grasp into a puddle of blood on the ground.

  Talking Storm leaped over the Corn Priest and grabbed Dancing Bear, but she did not struggle. She dropped her knife and stood straight and tall, defiant.

  Sky Knife knelt by the Corn Priest and touched the old man on the shoulder. The flow of blood from the wounds on the other man’s neck continued. The Corn Priest’s eyes were closed and he was limp.

  Sky Knife took out his knife and touched it to the Corn Priest’s wounds. “Itzamna guide you on your journey,” he said softly. “And lead you to a quiet place where you can find the peace you seek.”

  The knife glowed blue. Sky Knife held it over the Corn Priest’s body as the glow got brighter. “Short be your journey, easy be your way, quiet be your soul,” said Sky Knife in his formal priest voice. “Itzamna guard you, guide you, preserve you, keep you. May your way be swift and may you be content in the fields where your ancestors dwell.”

  The knife’s glow died. The shiny black blade was clean. The blood that had stained it—and Sky Knife—was gone.

  Sky Knife stood shakily. His shoulder and arm throbbed in time with his heartbeat and he swayed slightly. Grasping Fire laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “Thank you for blessing our friend the Corn Priest,” said Grasping Fire. “Lily-on-the-Water will handle things from here.”

  Lily-on-the-Water nodded. “I thank you as well,” she said. “Your god has great power—that is obvious. His blessing will certainly mean only good for the Corn Priest.”

  Talking Storm held both of Dancing Bear’s arms behind her. She still stood defiantly, chin high, eyes staring just over the heads of the rest of the people in the tent.

  “What would you have me do with her?” Grasping Fire asked Lily-on-the-Water.

  Lily-on-the-Water lifted the Corn Priest in her arms and walked out of the tent. “She is no concern of mine,” she said as she disappeared out the entrance.

  “Kneel before your Lord,” said Talking Storm. He forced Dancing Bear to her knees in front of Grasping Fire.

  “How should we go about this,
Talking Storm?” asked Grasping Fire. “A public execution? And how do we kill her—I promised her a slow death.”

  “There is no need to debate it,” said Talking Storm. “The penalty for treason to the gods should be sufficient. I think we can send scouts out to find a suitable place.”

  Dancing Bear blanched but said nothing.

  Sky Knife sat down in front of her. She didn’t look at him. “What was your part in this?” he asked. “Did you set the spell this morning to bring the feathered serpent? Did you kill the king? Are you the informant of whom Dark Lightning spoke?”

  Talking Storm tightened his grip and Dancing Bear winced. “Think on your answer carefully,” he said. “Even dying slow, there are better ways and worse ways. I could be persuaded to have some mercy on you if you cooperate with us now.”

  Dancing Bear looked at Sky Knife. “No,” she said. “No, I didn’t call up the serpent this morning. Lily-on-the-Water was having me watched. She could tell you.”

  “But you were the spy,” said Sky Knife.

  “Yes.”

  “And the king?”

  Dancing Bear looked at Grasping Fire. “I killed the king,” she said. A hint of a smile played across her face. “It was so easy,” she said. “I only had to put some poison in his cup.”

  “Why?” asked Sky Knife.

  “To signal the beginning of the revolt,” said Dancing Bear as if the answer were obvious. “Dark Lightning was set to move as soon as the king died.”

  Something about that answer bothered Sky Knife, but he couldn’t decide just what it was.

  “That’s all I’ll say,” said Dancing Bear. “Because that’s all I did.”

  “All?” shouted Grasping Fire. “You killed my brother, you … you…”

  Talking Storm dragged Dancing Bear to her feet. “I’ll take care of her,” he said.

  “Get her out of here,” said Grasping Fire. “Get her out!”

  Talking Storm pushed Dancing Bear out of the tent. Grasping Fire paced back and forth. Deer, Jaguar’s Daughter, and Black Coyote watched him anxiously.

  Jaguar’s Daughter looked at Sky Knife. “You have fulfilled your vow,” she said. “You have found the murderer of my husband. I thank you.”

  Sky Knife nodded. “Dancing Bear may have murdered your husband, but she wasn’t behind the revolt.”

  “No,” said Grasping Fire. “It’s obvious Dark Lightning was. Now that he’s dead, we should have little trouble regaining control of the city. Even now, Streak-of-Mist and Grass are with their warriors rounding up the traitors.”

  “And then what?” asked Sky Knife.

  “To honor the gods, we will take some of them and sacrifice them at the king’s ascension ceremony.”

  “How many?”

  Grasping Fire shrugged. “A few. We can’t kill them all—we’d be at it for days.”

  “Ballplayers,” said Amaranth. “Sacrifice the ballplayers.”

  Grasping Fire frowned. “But all the ballplayers followed Dark Lightning. We’ll have no ballgames if they’re all dead.”

  “Surely you can train some more,” said Sky Knife.

  Jaguar’s Daughter sobbed. “No more,” she said. “No more ballplayers. No more ballgames.”

  “That’s a bit extreme,” said Grasping Fire.

  “I don’t care,” said Jaguar’s Daughter. “When Black Coyote is king, I’ll ask him to abolish the ballgame forever. I’ll ask him to have the ballcourt destroyed. Nothing will be in that spot. Nothing. I’ll curse it…” Jaguar’s Daughter dissolved into loud, heaving sobs. Black Coyote shied away from his mother, frightened. Deer leaned against the boy and whispered to him.

  Grasping Fire gestured for Sky Knife to follow him and left the tent. Sky Knife stepped out after him.

  “Let her regain her composure in private,” said Grasping Fire. “She’ll reconsider her request in time.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Sky Knife. “Why abolish the ballgame? The gods themselves instituted it.”

  “Jaguar’s Daughter never liked Dark Lightning being a ballplayer, though she kept quiet about it most of the time,” said Grasping Fire. “I suppose she feels that her darling brother couldn’t have turned traitor on his own. So she’ll blame the game, say it twisted his mind somehow.”

  Sky Knife looked out at the camp. Few warriors were in evidence. Sky Knife assumed they were out rounding up Dark Lightning’s warriors as Grasping Fire had said.

  “I don’t think she’s wrong,” said Sky Knife. “Well, not about the ballgame. I mean, I don’t think Dark Lightning turned traitor by himself. You yourself said you didn’t think he was very clever. I must say, he didn’t strike me as all that clever, either. So who planned all this if it wasn’t him?”

  Grasping Fire grunted. “He must have planned it. Who else would be foolish enough to want to take the city from the true king? Besides, he had help. He had Mirror, and Leather Apron, and Dancing Bear.”

  “What will happen to her—Dancing Bear,” asked Sky Knife. “What’s the traditional method of death for a traitor?”

  “She’ll be flayed and left for the ants,” said Grasping Fire without emotion. “There’s a hard way and an easy way to do it. If Talking Storm keeps his promise, he’ll give her the easy way. She’ll be dead by sundown just the same.”

  Sky Knife shivered in sympathy. He knew Dancing Bear’s death was just, but he had come too close to being flayed himself to have much enthusiasm over the news.

  “And the king—will he ascend to the mat tonight or tomorrow? If you wait longer than that, Uayeb will be upon us.”

  “Tomorrow,” said Grasping Fire. “The king will ascend the mat tomorrow. Now, please excuse me. I have much to think about.”

  Sky Knife bowed. Grasping Fire moved away.

  Sky Knife wandered around the camp, troubled. The warriors that remained bowed to him as he passed, but fortunately, there were no more embarrassing displays of homage. Sky Knife nodded to a warrior who bowed to him. The warrior blushed and grinned, pleased to have been noticed.

  Sky Knife did not believe that Dark Lightning had planned the revolt by himself. He remembered the shocked look on Dark Lightning’s face when he came into the palace after the news of the king’s death. What was it he had said? Something like, There’s not enough time.

  Time for what? To finalize the plans? Had Dancing Bear moved too swiftly in regard to the king’s death?

  Grasping Fire and Jaguar’s Daughter seemed certain that all the plotters were captured or dead. But even though they’d found the murderer of the king, even though Dark Lightning and his lieutenants were dead, Sky Knife was uneasy. There was at least one big question left unanswered.

  If it hadn’t been Dark Lightning or Dancing Bear, who had called the feathered serpent?

  V

  Come to me at night, my friend—

  God of the Knife.

  Remove my tears far from me,

  God of the black glass knife.

  For who else could know

  The fire in my soul?

  Timid Deer, His Song

  34

  Sky Knife awoke slowly. The pain in his arm and shoulder had subsided to a dull ache. He opened his eyes and glanced around the room.

  Since the palace had burned, the king’s family had taken up residence in the complex of buildings to the west of the Storm God’s pyramid that normally served as the living quarters of Talking Storm’s priests and servants. Since the priests were busy fasting and praying in preparation for the king’s ascension, the space was available anyway. It was the easiest solution. More permanent arrangements could be made later.

  Sky Knife had shared this room with Deer and Black Coyote. Both of them slept soundly.

  Sky Knife sat up and winced as the movement pulled at the wound in his shoulder. A field surgeon in Grass’ service had slathered his arm and shoulder with some smelly ointment and then bound the wounds. The sickly sweet smell of the ointment filled Sky Knife’s nose and he
sneezed.

  Neither Deer nor Black Coyote stirred. Only the gentle rising and falling of their blankets showed they lived.

  Amaranth came to the door. “Awake, I see,” she said with a smile. Her green eyes glittered with amusement. “We let you sleep because Talking Storm said not to disturb you. But you really should be with him and the others now. They’re planning the final details of the ascension ceremony. Jaguar’s Daughter thinks it will be bad luck for her son if you’re not there to agree to all the details.”

  “What about you?”

  Amaranth laughed. “I’m not family, silly.”

  “But you and Grasping Fire…”

  Amaranth shrugged. “Being the king’s father’s brother’s lover is not being family. Besides, I have a lot of work to do. With several neighborhoods to be rebuilt and a ballcourt to be razed, the Planning and Construction Ministries are going to be working solid for years.”

  Sky Knife got his feet under him and stood gingerly. To his surprise, he felt rested and strong. Only the aching in his shoulder and arm reminded him of yesterday. His stomach rolled and grumbled.

  Amaranth laughed again. “You can eat while you plan,” she said. “Normally, the day of ascension for the king is a fast day for everyone. But Talking Storm said the fast doesn’t apply to anyone who was wounded yesterday.”

  “If today is a fast day, I’ll fast,” said Sky Knife.

  “You’ll have to discuss that with Talking Storm,” said Amaranth. “He’s says you’re to eat so you won’t pass out at the ceremony tonight.”

  Sky Knife bit back a retort, insulted. Did Talking Storm think Itzamna never required his priests to deprive themselves of food? Or to forebear cutting their own flesh and sacrificing their own blood? Sky Knife had felt worse before. He gauged his strength. He would be all right. For today.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Besides, I won’t have an official function at the ceremony. I’ll just be watching.”

  Amaranth shrugged. “You’ll have to talk to Grasping Fire and Talking Storm about that, too. Jaguar’s Daughter, too. They all think you’re good luck and they’re determined to include you somehow.”