Feathered Serpent, Dark Heart of Sky

by David Bowles

  But upon their return to the royal palace, Hunak Keel set the god’s plan in motion, shattering Sak Nikte’s joy.

  While she had dreamt of Kaan Ek, had encountered him in that glorious garden, her father had been meeting with Ah Ulil, king of Izamal. Their negotiations had lasted the better part of a day, but in the end, the two kings had reached an agreement.

  Standing together on the steps of the temple of Kukulkan, the kings announced the news.

  San Nikte was bethrothed to Ah Ulil. Their marriage would take place in thirty-nine days, heralding a renewed and tighter bond between the two nations. While Sak Nikte wept, Kaan Ek went mad with rage. He understood precisely what this alliance meant—Mayapan and Izamal intended to seize control of the Mayab, cutting Chichen Itza out of the League altogether.

  Then, of course, there was the matter of Kaan Ek’s freshly awakened heart. Seeing the object of his affections stripped from him in such a brutal fashion, the cruel stoniness of his childhood returned. When the four leaders of Chichen Itza came together to debate a course of action, Kaan Ek spoke with cold and calculated calm.

  “Even Mayapan and Izamal together have not the military might to move against us. Let Hunak Keel forge his foolish alliances. If conflict arises, we will break them, gut them, rip out their hearts.”

  Messengers from Mayapan were not long in arriving before Kaan Ek. “Our lord Hunak Keel invites his dear friend and ally to the wedding of his daughter, a feast like none the Mayab has ever seen.”

  Eyes ablaze, Kaan Ek replied, “Tell your king that I shall be present.”

  Messengers from Izamal arrived soon afterward. “Our king Ah Ulil begs your lordship’s presence at the celebration of his eternal union with Princess Sak Nikte. Stay as brother and associate there in the royal palace.”

  Sweat beading on his brown, hands twisted tight into fists, Kaan Ek sneered, “Tell your lord he will see me that day.”

  Night fell, deepening the darkness that reigned in Kaan Ek’s heart. As he stood at a window, lonely and aching, watching the stars flicker on the surface of the Sacred Cenote, the Itza ruler heard footsteps behind him.

  Standing in his chambers was an elfin being, an alux like those in the stories his mother had once told him.

  “And so, Kaan Ek, Chak Xib Chaak of Chichen Itza, breaker of butterflies and fawns, mewling little jaguar cub, is this the extent of your manly rage? That white flower trembles to be cupped in your hands—are you truly going to allow another to pluck her for himself? Come, sir. Tell me it is not so.”

  “Of course not, you damnable dwarf. I plot my revenge even now.”

  “Revenge? Oh, you will need to act before the wedding if you hope to shatter this alliance.”

  Kaan Ek scoffed. “What, do you expect me to march up to the walls of Mayapan? Hunak Keel could easily withstand a siege, and Ah Ulil would then attack me on both flanks.”

  The magical being slapped his bare feet against the stone dais. “There exist other paths into human cities, Kaan Ek. I myself used such a hidden way to enter your chambers without a single guard’s noticing. If you can assemble—with great care and secrecy—a select group of warriors, I shall take you at the right moment into my people’s tunnels, which run beneath the broken hills of Puuc. Then I shall guide you and your men into the royal palace of Hunak Keel, where you can wreak such havoc as you will.”

  Once Sak Nikte’s sorrow had abated, her indignation began. She poured out prayers to Ixchel, begging for aid. When no answer came, when no servant hurried to her with news that her father had recanted, she considered petitioning her mother, though the attempt be in vain.

  As the princess fretted over her limited options, a child-like creature emerged from the shadows of her room, bowing deeply. Its skin was golden and it wore only a white loincloth and a crown of quetzal feathers on its bald head.

  “An alux!” she cried, backing up with a start.

  “Fear not, Sak Nikte,” the being said, its voice chiming with alien joy. “I have just come from Chichen Itza, from the residence of your beloved. Even now he prepares to effect your rescue, to whisk you off with him before this ill-starred wedding can take place.”

  Sak Nikte sat heavily upon her bed, pensive. “He means to abduct me? I should think that such a rash plan will break the League of Mayapan and plunge us into war.”

  The alux crossed its arms over its thin chest. “Do you not see? Your father already intends to shatter the peace. Even now he awaits the arrival of foreign mercenaries. Once you are married to King Ah Ulil, the two nations and their hired thugs will attack Chichen Itza, killing Kaan Ek and every other Water Witch in the Mayab.”

  The news overwhelmed the princess. That her father might do such a monstruous thing—it was unthinkable. But had he not betrothed her to a man twice her age without even a word of notice? The minds of men loomed unscrutable to her.

  “What…what would you have me do?”

  “Await my word. Show patience. The preparations for your wedding procession will provide ample distraction and cover, so we cannot act until then. Do not betray your true feelings. Obey your parents in everything they command. Soon you will be free of them.”

  But the loving couple had been deceived, for the alux sought only to rupture the alliance of men by inciting violence between Mayapan and Chichen Itza. It had first appeared to Hunak Keel, promising the ruler dominion over the Mayab if he heeded its counsel. Everything had been part of the plan they concocted together, the betrothal, the alliance.

  And now the mercenaries.

  Twenty-six days after the king’s announcement, the foreign captains arrived under cover of darkness. There were seven of them—Cinteotl, Tzontecome, Tlaxcalli, Pantemitl, Xochihuehuetl, Itzcoatl, and Cacaltecatl. Tall and rangy, lighter-complexioned than most Maya, they called themselves Mexica and promised an army of five thousand were waiting in the hills for their signal.

  Hanuk Keel assured them that the time would come soon. In the meantime he gave them many gifts and sent his most trusted men back with them, bearing food and other supplies.

  He had done as the alux had instructed him. All that was left was the inciting incident, which the elfin being had alluded to in vague terms, assuring the king that the moment would be clear to him when it came.

  In the interim, the preparations. At the heart of Izamal, on those great stellae where time is inscribed, the figure of Sak Nikte was carved and painted, never to be forgotten in the land of the Maya. At her side King Ah Ulil was placed, her eternal husband, and beneath them a series of glyphs reading, “From these comes the greatness of the Mayab. In these we find peace and earthly abundance.”

  Sak Nikte waited and waited, but no further word came from her beloved. The alux never returned. Preparations ended, and the day of the procession arrived. The princess fell into a deep, despondent trance of despair. She obeyed commands, but moved like one dead in life.

  In Chichen Itza, Kaan Ek screamed at the alux, who had returned to tell him the way into Mayapan was blocked by sorcery.

  “Be calm, Chak Xib Chaak. Another route is open to us. When the bride and groom sit at their feast, then will you arrive with your men to steal her away.”

  Though this approach was riskier by far, Kaan Ek had no choice but to agree.

  On the thirty-eighth day, from Mayapan came the princess with all the Kokom lords and her parents the king and queen. The brilliant procession stretched along the sakbe between their city and Izamal, filling it with lovely songs and laughter.

  As the stream of people approached Izamal, King Ah Ulil emerged with his nobles and warriors to receive his bride. When he caught sight of her, he saw she wept, though he imagined those were tears of joy.

  Everyone else danced and sang through the streets and plazas, happy. None of them knew what was about to happen. The streets were festooned with feathers and ribbons, with flowers and painted poles. It was time for the wedding feast, a full day of riotous celebration before the stern and serious ceremo
ny of the following morning.

  There was food and drink aplenty. As night fell, the goddess drew a full moon over the trees that shone nearly as bright as the sun. Sumptuous gifts were given by the guests, who had come from afar at the groom’s invitation: the kings or governors of Uxmal, Zama, Ichpatun, T’Ho, Copan, Motul, Chakan Putum.

  But the chieftains of Chichen Itza were late in arriving. When they came, it was without Kaan Ek. None could give a satisfactory explanation for his absence. He had been delayed, they said. They knew nothing more.

  King Ah Ulil waited for the final dance until well past nightfall, praying that Chak Xib Chaak would make an appearance. Even scouts sent toward Chichen Itza returned with no news of him or his entourage. It seemed strange. The hearts of the leaders of the League were troubled.

  Sak Nikte, however, smiled for the first time that evening. Ah Ulil felt sure she was thrilled at the coming ceremony. In truth, she was the only one present who knew what was about to occur.

  By midnight, most of the guests were thoroughly besotted. Many had slipped from their seats to slumber on the ground or stumble off to their chambers. Musicians struck up the final song, and the princess stood before her parents and future husband to dance her last dance as a maiden.

  Of course, what has not happened in a thousand years may yet happen in a blink of an eye. All that is required is for a god to breathe, and the wind can change its course. As Sak Nikte moved her limbs, she thought of her freshly born beloved, of the variegated wings of his wakened soul.

  In that instant, Kaan Ek arrived at last.

  He burst from the sand at the center of the feast, emerging from a gaping hole in the ground with three dozen of his most faithful warriors. Pushing musicians and priests aside, he rushed toward the dancing princess. He was garbed as a warrior, the insignia of the Itza emblazoned on his breast.

  His men, roaring a battle cry, leapt onto tables and brandished their obsidian swords. Those warriors of Mayapan and Izamal not overcome by drink stumbled to call the sentries from the gates, but by the time these could return, the deed was done.

  Rushing to Sak Nikte like a blazing wind, Kaan Ek seized the princess and lifted her in his arms. Everyone looked on in dumbfounded horror. Nothing could be done to stop him. On such an auspicious day, what man dared bear arms?

  Extinguishing the lamps, the Itza slipped into the dark. When the kings began to bellow orders, to demand the invaders be stopped, Kaan Ek and his men were gone. The gaping tunnel had sealed itself up as if never there.

  Ah Ulil had the other three leaders of the Itza seized. One by one he dragged them up the ten levels of the great pyramid and beheaded them beneath the glowing smear of the Milky Way, kicking their lifeless skulls back down those many steps.

  The magic of the alux shortened the return trip. Kaan Ek and Sak Nikte stood embracing in the chambers of the Chak Xib Chaak long before dawn. Their love was forbidden, of course, dangerous to everyone. But for the span of a few hours, they contrived to forget the rest of the world. As the stars wheeled slowly overhead, the gods blessed them with the solitude of young love.

  Perhaps it was a curse.

  The city itself drifted into dreams. For a moment, every inhabitant felt perfect, untrammeled peace.

  It would be the last restful night for many months to come.

  The abduction was the rain god’s sign. Hunak Keel sent runners to the hills. By morning the Mexica mercenaries had joined the warriors of both Mayapan and Izamal. The force marched toward Chichen Itza, a city whose final hour had come at last.

  Hatred boiled in Hunak Keel’s heart. He cursed the alux. He cursed Chaak almighty. They had given him his vengeance, but imperiled the life of his only daughter in the process.

  Dust rose in clouds from the gleaming sakbe. Shouts and battle cries joined the shrill of rattles and cymbals, the thunder of war drums, the blast of the conch.

  Chichen Itza, drowsy in the dream of its young chief, was unprepared for the onslaught. The invaders burst through the defenses, slaughtering every man, woman, and child they encountered.

  For the first time since their ancestors had arrived in the Mayab and learned the wonders of Kukulkan, the Itza abandoned their homeland, fleeing death at the hand of the Kokom and the Mexica. They went weeping, single file, with what divine statues and codices they could carry.

  Bringing up the rear, ensuring the safety of the people they had put in danger, came Kaan Ek and Sak Nikte. From a vantage point upon a ziggurat, Hanuk Keel caught sight of them, notched an arrow, and sent it whistling through the morning light.

  The obsidian tip found its mark, tearing through the young man’s back and piercing his heart. Kaan Ek, last ruler of Chichen Itza, tumbled into the dust, his eyes closed forever.

  Sak Nikte stifled a scream, dropping to her knees to embrace the cooling body of her beloved—her true husband, bound to her by the gods themselves.

  Ahead of her stretched his tribe, thousands of Itza robbed of their homes.

  Behind her stood the warriors of her nation, weapons at the ready, willing to mow the innocents down.

  The choice was clear.

  The princess pulled her beloved’s white mantle from his unmoving shoulders, draped it across her own. She took the insignia from his breast, lifting it over her head as she made her way down the line of weeping men, children and women till she stood at their head.

  “Follow me, revered Itza,” she cried, “for I loved Kaan Ek as did you all. In his name I will lead you to a better home!”

  With the insignia she bore she pointed the way, and every soul followed in her wake.

  Their journey was long and arduous, but at the end they reached a green and tranquil place beside a still lagoon. It was the first day of the month of Muwan. Sak Nikte looked down from a hill into those waters, holding the baby that had been born to her during the difficult trek, the true son of Kaan Ek.

  As she smiled at her reflection on the surface of the lagoon, flowers began to bloom.

  With their new queen to guide them, the Itza lifted homes and temples and pyramids, far from other nations. Peten, they named the city. It would be the very last to one day fall beneath the Spanish steel.

  Hunak Keel and Ah Ulil, enraged at the loss of Sak Nikte, had stood in the deathly silence of the empty streets of Chichen Itza and ordered the destruction of every altar, every wooden structure, every stela lifted to revere the Water Witches.

  Thus did Chichen Itza meet its end.

  But that was not all. The events of that day had repercussions down the years. Discontent flowered in Izamal and Mayapan. An aging Hunak Keel watched as seven noblemen of the Tutul-Xiu tribe led a revolt within the walls of his city that razed it to the ground.

  As they stretched the king out for sacrifice, he swore he could hear mocking laughter from the dark thunderclouds that had begun to pile high upon the horizon.

  The Tale of Xtabay

  As the last kingdoms of the Mayab fell, people moved to smaller villages. These were nestled among the wooded hills near the empty cities that nature had already begun to reclaim. Here the people lived simple lives in obedience to the gods, tending to their milpas and families with care.

  But families can be so very diverse, even in the smallest, most united of communities, and those who do not conform to their assigned social roles often come in conflict with those who do. In one village of the northern Maya lowlands, two girls were born who would forever be remembered for the lessons their differences teach us.

  Xtabay, a hunter’s daughter, was named in honor of the noose-wielding goddess of the hunt. A free spirit from an early age, she was encouraged by her family to be loving toward all and generous in giving of herself. For Xtabay, this generosity would come to include her very flesh. She was devoted to the Protector in her aspect of Ixchel, midwife, and fertility goddess, and she learned from the priestesses that her body could be a tool of worship and fellowship.

  Her many lovers regaled her with jewels and feat
hers, costly blouses and skirts. Xtabay enjoyed these gifts for a time, but she invariably gave them away to women less fortunate than she or sold them to help the poor and infirm. Despite the attentions she received from men of power, she remained humble and simple, never looking down her nose at others, treating everyone with dignity and respect.

  Yet Xtabay was despised all the same.

  The name of her nemesis has been lost to us. Likely she was called as a child by her day sign, as was the custom in those times. But after years of piety, of rectitude, of virginal purity, she earned herself the moniker Utz Kolel—virtuous woman.

  Ironically, Utz Kolel—while superficially chaste and good—harbored evil of every kind in her heart. She despised the people in her town, saw those in poverty and sickness as beneath her, envied the good fortune of those above her. Cold and proud, she could not stand to hear her neighbors extol the virtues of Xtabay.

  “She is well-named,” Utz Kolel observed. “She ensnares men with her wiles like the goddess does her forest prey. Still, there is something sacrilegious about her bearing such a holy name. Better we should call her Xkeban—for she is indeed a ‘shameless tart.’ My sisters, how long will you continue to allow her to frolic sinfully with your brothers and husbands and fathers? When will you see past her sweet façade to the rot that lies within?”

  So began a campaign of lies and character destruction. One by one the women of the village were swayed by the attacks of Utz Kolel. Xtabay made no public outcry, leaving her fate in the hands of the gods. Instead, she continued to live her life as she believed she should. Her ongoing charity kept the poorest members of her community loyal to her.

  Still, most people turned on her, convinced that an upstanding woman like Utz Kolel must be trusted. Gradually Xtabay’s name faded, replaced by the hurtful epithet, until even the leaders of the village referred to her as Xkeban. Her once gentle lovers were cruel and rough, withholding further gifts.

  Saddened but undaunted, Xtabay began to spend her days in the wild, finding comfort in the bounty of the earth, plants and animals that did not judge, that accepted her as part and parcel of the sprawl of creation. Her nights she spent alone in her humble nah, sleeping peacefully despite the ill will of her neighbors.