Sky Knife stared at the butterflies warily. The butterflies hovered in the air, reflecting the bright light of the sun like a thousand blue jewels.
“Get back,” said Bone Splinter.
“What?” asked Sky Knife.
“Get back,” Bone Splinter repeated. “The jaguar came for you—perhaps the butterflies are meant for you as well.”
Sky Knife walked backwards a few steps, but the butterflies didn’t follow him. Instead, they floated higher and higher into the sky until they were above the Great Pyramid. Then the cloud dispersed. Butterflies flew everywhere, in every direction.
A few flew down toward Sky Knife and flapped up into his face. He batted at them. Where he touched them, his hands stung as if he’d angered a bee. Bone Splinter grabbed the butterflies attacking Sky Knife and crushed them in his hands, only a grimace betraying the pain they caused him.
“Itzamna,” hissed Stone Jaguar. “They’ll spread throughout the city. No one will be safe! Death Smoke—come!”
Stone Jaguar jogged back to the southern acropolis, Death Smoke at his heels. A sprinkling of butterflies trailed them, but no more remained to bother Sky Knife or Bone Splinter. Sky Knife felt a surge of relief. The priests would be able to handle the threat. Their power was great. Sky Knife took a deep breath. His shoulder throbbed and his head ached. He wanted to sit down, drink some water, and try to forget his pain.
“Come,” said Bone Splinter. He walked east past the Great Pyramid, toward the House of the Warriors. Sky Knife walked close behind him.
7
Two warriors stood straight and tall on the patio in front of the House of the Warriors. They nodded to Bone Splinter, but looked askance at Sky Knife.
“He has the king’s grace,” said Bone Splinter. The warriors’ faces cleared and they bowed to Sky Knife. Sky Knife fidgeted, embarrassed.
Bone Splinter entered the building and walked down several narrow, windowless corridors. Sky Knife struggled to keep up with the warrior. His eyes felt gritty and tired, and he ached all over.
Bone Splinter walked into a garden enclosed within the building. Sky Knife gasped, his pain momentarily forgotten. He’d never suspected the House of the Warriors contained such a place.
Vines dripped down the walls and flowers bobbed in the faint breeze. Small shrubs of a type Sky Knife had never seen before lined the garden. Several warriors sat in the center of the garden, the leaves of a ceiba tree shading them from the early afternoon sun.
Bone Splinter approached the warriors. Sky Knife gritted his teeth and stumbled after him. The warriors cheered, and Sky Knife heard the sound of dry bones cracking against each other. The warriors were apparently throwing bones in a game of chance.
“Brothers,” said Bone Splinter. The others looked over to him. One of them stood.
“You must be Sky Knife,” said the standing warrior. He was not as tall as Bone Splinter, but his arms and chest were as big as two men’s. Sky Knife had never seen such a massive person before. “I am Kan Flower. You are welcome here.”
Sky Knife nodded and stood still, fighting to stay on his feet.
“Come, sit,” said Bone Splinter. He latched onto one of Sky Knife’s elbows and guided him to a low bench. Sky Knife sank onto it, knees trembling, grief over the death of Claw Skull and the remains of his fear clutching at him.
“He is tired and injured,” said Bone Splinter. “There was a black jaguar in the plaza. Sky Knife leapt onto its back to try to save another’s life.”
“Bone Splinter killed it,” Sky Knife said. “And he killed the butterflies, too.”
“Butterflies?” asked Kan Flower. He knelt in front of Sky Knife.
“You’ve been killing butterflies?” laughed one of the others. “Did you chase them down in the fields and bite them in two like a dog?”
Bone Splinter held out his hands. Sky Knife gasped. Bone Splinter’s palms were crisscrossed with small, round bites that oozed blood.
Kan Flower grabbed Sky Knife’s hands and turned them palms up. Sky Knife’s palms were marred by several bites, but the pain from them was drowned out by the throbbing in his shoulder and head.
“Looks like you killed a few of them yourself,” said Kan Flower softly. “Itzamna!”
The other warriors crowded around. “Some butterflies,” said the one who had laughed earlier.
“You’ve come to the right place,” Kan Flower said. “We’ll take care of these for you. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Sky Knife nodded. The warrior probed his face and head gently. Sky Knife winced as pain shot through his skull.
“That’s quite a knot on your head,” said the warrior. He felt Sky Knife’s shoulder. Sky Knife jerked as a sharp pain sliced through his shoulder and down his side.
“Here,” said Bone Splinter.
Sky Knife looked up. Bone Splinter held out a wooden bowl full of water. Sky Knife took it and gulped it down gratefully.
“Come on, now,” urged Kan Flower. “Lie down here.”
The warriors moved the bones they had been throwing, while Kan Flower helped Sky Knife lie down on a cotton throw. Sky Knife tried to relax as Kan Flower probed his injuries again. He concentrated on the gentle waving of the ceiba leaves overhead. They appeared fuzzy, out of focus. Sky Knife squinted, but the pain in his head grew worse and he stopped.
“Bone Splinter, you too,” said Kan Flower.
“I am not badly injured,” protested Bone Splinter.
“You’re supposed to protect Sky Knife. To do that, you need two good hands. Now lie down.” Kan Flower sounded angry, but it seemed far away to Sky Knife.
Sky Knife couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. The weariness in his bones leeched into his mind. He sighed and relaxed. Even the throbbing of his injuries seemed to lessen in importance. He felt Bone Splinter lie down beside him.
The sharp cracking sound surprised him. Sky Knife jerked, heart pounding, then relaxed as he realized one of the warriors had merely pounded a stick onto the head of a small wooden drum. The sour taste of fear sat on the back of his tongue.
“Easy,” urged Kan Flower. “We are going to sing the healing chant.”
Sky Knife blinked, surprised again. A healing chant? He’d never known warriors could do such things.
The drum sounded again and Kan Flower laid his hands on Sky Knife’s chest. He began chanting in a low, slow tone. Sky Knife shivered, though curiosity began to get the better of his fear. He felt as if thousands of insects were crawling over and under his skin. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. The feeling wasn’t painful, but it made him want to brush the insects off, to get up and get away from the crawly feeling of his skin. He could feel their feet, all their tiny, tiny feet.…
Sky Knife held his breath while the urge to run or scream overwhelmed him. He balled up his fists and screwed his eyes shut. He would not scream. He would not!
Kan Flower shrieked an impossibly high note and lifted his hands off of Sky Knife. Sky Knife let out his breath in a rush, suddenly free of the terrible crawling sensation.
Sky Knife opened his eyes. The ceiba tree leaves nodded back and forth in the slight breeze just as they had before, but this time, he could see them clearly. His vision was no longer cloudy, and his shoulder and head didn’t pain him. Cautiously, he sat up.
The warriors sat in a circle around him and Bone Splinter. Bone Splinter grabbed Sky Knife’s hand and examined the palm. The butterfly stings had healed without scars.
“Good,” he said.
“What about you?” asked Sky Knife.
Bone Splinter displayed his own palms, which had also healed.
“I never knew warriors could do healing magic,” said Sky Knife. He flexed his shoulders, but not even a twinge of pain remained.
“No one outside the House of the Warriors knows,” said Kan Flower. “And no one ever will. This is our secret, as secret as the existence of this garden.”
“You have the king’s grace,” said the laughing
warrior. “So we must trust you with our secrets.”
“I will tell no one,” said Sky Knife, suddenly uneasy. He would never want any of these men angry with him. He could imagine that no one who told the secret lived long.
“Now, tell us about this jaguar,” said Kan Flower.
“And the butterflies,” added another warrior.
“Food first,” said Bone Splinter. “He is our guest.”
“Yes, of course,” said Kan Flower. He and another warrior got up and left. The others retrieved their throwing bones.
The bones had been carved with glyphs depicting the twenty day names. Sky Knife leaned closer for a better look.
The warrior holding the bones threw them down in front of Sky Knife.
“Today is Ahau,” he said. “See—here it is, next to Cauac.”
“But how do you play?” asked Sky Knife.
The warrior laughed.
“To train you in the game would take as long as it would take to train you with a sword or a sling,” said the warrior. “Everything depends on the pattern of the bones when they fall, and which days touch, overlap, or cross the others.”
“You see, Sky Knife,” said Bone Splinter, “this is what mighty warriors do with their lives.”
The other warrior appeared insulted. “That’s not all we do,” he said to Sky Knife. “We guard the king, and fight his wars, too.”
“And have poetry contests,” offered another. “Bone Splinter is one of our best poets.”
“Poetry?” asked Sky Knife. Could it be true? Did the king’s personal guard actually compose poetry on long, sleepy afternoons? Sky Knife had always assumed the warriors discussed, well, fighting, and wars. Battles won and battles lost. Hearts taken, blood spilled. Sky Knife couldn’t help but smile.
“Poetry is the heart of a warrior,” said Bone Splinter. “Or it should be.” He leveled a disdainful gaze on the laughing warrior.
“Poetry is merely a bunch of pretty words,” said the other. “A sword is what is important. A spear, a shield, a knife. Feeling an enemy’s blood run across your fingers. Hearing his screams. Seeing the life bleed out of his eyes.”
“There is more to life than violence,” said Bone Splinter. “A warrior is more than one who kills.”
Sky Knife sat quietly and listened. Bone Splinter and the other warrior spoke without passion, as if they had had this discussion a hundred times before. Perhaps they had.
Kan Flower returned with bowls of fruit, breadnuts, and cornbread. The warrior behind him carried an entire baked turkey.
“Pulque is coming,” said Kan Flower. He set the bowls down in the center of the group. Sky Knife’s stomach growled and his mouth watered at the sight of the food. The warriors sat down, but didn’t reach for the food.
Bone Splinter gestured toward the bowls. “Sky Knife, you must eat first. You are our guest.”
Sky Knife blushed, embarrassed that the king’s personal guard would defer to him. He reached for a chunk of cornbread and ripped a leg off the turkey. The warriors smiled approvingly and reached for their own helpings.
“Now,” said Kan Flower, “tell us about the jaguar.”
“And the butterflies,” piped in a warrior with a high, squeaky voice.
Bone Splinter told the tale, but it didn’t seem to agree with what Sky Knife remembered. For one thing, Bone Splinter ascribed more courage to Sky Knife than he could recall displaying. For another, Bone Splinter did not see Stone Jaguar and Death Smoke’s flight as a heroic attempt to save the city, but a cowardly retreat that left the body of their friend and companion Claw Skull behind on the plaza tiles.
Sky Knife fidgeted—he, too, had left Claw Skull’s body behind without a thought. Suddenly, the food did not seem as appetizing. Sky Knife put down the remainder of the turkey leg and the bread.
“It’s got to be the work of that sun-rotted king of Uaxactun,” said Kan Flower. “Mark my words—he’ll be here with an army before the rains.”
“I don’t think so,” said the warrior of the squeaky voice. “I think it’s the work of that Teotihuacano—what’s his name?”
“Red Spider,” answered Bone Splinter.
“Oh, him,” said Kan Flower. He tapped his fingers on his thigh. “Could be. Storm Cloud’s the youngest of his brothers and the only one besides the eldest to be a king. The others might want to come here and take his place. Red Spider could be here as an advance scout. He could have brought charms and spells with him to give us bad luck.”
The others nodded. Sky Knife frowned. There was something wrong with the idea that Red Spider was behind the bad luck. Sky Knife had not liked Red Spider, but still, something wasn’t right.
“Red Spider is from Teotihuacan, like Storm Cloud,” he said. “Why bring a Teotihuacano king bad luck on behalf of some minor noble who wants to be king?”
“He’s a merchant. Wealth is important to him,” said Kan Flower. “He could be paid to do it.”
“He’s a warrior, too,” said Sky Knife. “Would you accept wealth as a substitute for honor?”
Kan Flower tensed. The cords in his neck stood out. “Not I!” he said. The others echoed him.
“Merchants have no honor,” hissed the laughing warrior. “Warrior or no, Red Spider is a filthy, stinking merchant.”
“Uaxactun still seems a better bet,” said Sky Knife. “It’s only one day’s walk—anyone could have come from there and be in Tikal now, and we’d never know.”
“True enough,” said Kan Flower.
“Then perhaps we should start looking for such people,” said Bone Splinter. “And find out if they’re here or not.”
Kan Flower and the other warriors nodded. “We’ll start today,” he said. “With all the trouble, no one will think twice about a few extra warriors patrolling the city. We’ll report anything we find to the king, and to you.”
“Good,” said Sky Knife. Whether it was the food, the healing, or the support of the warriors, he didn’t know, but he felt sure now that the answer would be easily found. Whoever the king of Uaxactun had sent to curse Tikal would be found out, and the bad luck would be dealt with. Sky Knife felt more hopeful than he had since seeing Cizin on the temple.
“This calls for a poem,” said the warrior of the squeaky voice. “Bone Splinter?”
Bone Splinter smiled a tight smile. He closed his eyes a moment. Finally, he took a deep breath.
“Cizin
On the temple
Sneezes bad luck
Out his nose.”
Sky Knife joined the warriors in laughter. It felt good to ridicule the death god rather than to fear him. Bone Splinter didn’t laugh, but he did nod approvingly at the response to his poem.
Sky Knife and Bone Splinter took their leave of the warriors. As they walked out of the garden, Kan Flower spoke.
“Sky Knife goes
Bone Splinter follows—
Bad luck, beware!”
Sky Knife felt heartened and honored by their confidence in him, their willingness to share their secrets with a mere temple attendant. The House of the Warriors was nothing like he had expected it to be—strength could be found within, but so too could beauty.
Outside in the street stood a temple attendant, one of those who had been with Sky Knife on the pyramid the night before.
The attendant ignored Bone Splinter and gestured to Sky Knife.
“Hurry,” he said. “Death Smoke says you and I must come to the northern acropolis.”
“Why?” asked Sky Knife.
The attendant shook his head. He seemed agitated. “I don’t know,” he said. “Hurry!”
The attendant dashed off in the direction of the northern acropolis. Sky Knife ran after him, Bone Splinter in his wake.
8
Sky Knife hesitated in the plaza just short of the patio of the northern acropolis. The low stone building had been built so long ago that no one except the priests knew what gods had been worshipped there. The trees of the jungle crowded the
structure; vines covered part of it. The building was supposed to be haunted by the spirits of dead and forgotten gods. No one but priests could enter and expect to exit safely.
Death Smoke had undoubtedly extended whatever protection was required to Sky Knife, but Sky Knife doubted Death Smoke would consent to protect Bone Splinter. He turned to the warrior.
“Perhaps you should stay here,” he said.
Bone Splinter frowned.
“I’ll be safe enough with the priests,” said Sky Knife. “They’ll know how to deal with the ghosts that walk here.”
The warrior nodded and glanced around at the people that occupied the plaza. “I’ll look for anything unusual out here,” he said. “Not that anything in the plaza will look usual today.”
Sky Knife scanned the plaza and saw what Bone Splinter meant. Although the bodies of Claw Skull, the hunters, and the black jaguar were gone, few merchants had returned to the plaza. And very, very few people had come back to look at their merchandise. The plaza more closely resembled Uayeb—the Five Unlucky Days—than the first day of a new katun.
Sky Knife looked, but didn’t see Red Spider among the merchants in the plaza this afternoon.
“See if you can find Red Spider,” Sky Knife said. “I’m interested in knowing how he’s reacting to the bad luck.”
Bone Splinter nodded. Sky Knife turned back to the acropolis and walked across the cracked patio toward the largest of three doors. The patio was uneven; roots had pushed their way up and around the tiles. Sky Knife stepped carefully, heart pounding. The roots resembled dried and shrunken fingers. It was easy to imagine angry spirits of the jungle stretching out their fingers over the centuries, reclaiming this area for the trees, grabbing the ankles of anyone unlucky enough to come across them.
The entrance was dark. Sky Knife took a deep breath, clenched his fists, then plunged inside. The moment he stepped inside, he was in darkness, as if no light from the outside could pass the entrance.
“Death Smoke?” he shouted. “Stone Jaguar?”
“Come on, boy,” croaked the thin voice of Death Smoke. “A few steps in the dark won’t hurt you.”
Sky Knife Page 6
