by Adara Wolf
“And he said—” his mother’s voice shook, and when he looked up he saw that she was in tears, “—and he said that he wanted your name to be remembered by all for years to come.”
Ahmiki was shocked to find himself crying too. He hadn’t been close to his father. Whatever feelings he’d had about his father’s death, he thought he’d put them aside already. But to know that his father had cared about him moved him, and he grieved for the man he hadn’t truly known.
“I don’t—” Ahmiki choked back a sob. “I don’t need everybody to remember me, mother. It is enough that you and Yaoxochitl remember. It is enough that you know, that father knew, that I have served Xochititlan well.”
~*~*~
The day before the New Year, the priests took him to the temple of Teska’atl. Usually Ahmiki would only come before he left on a journey, to pray for good health along the way.
On this day, many priests and servants and even citizens crowded along the temple courtyard. Some darted inside to arrange offerings or give a prayer.
At the very top, where few but priests ever went, was where the current ixiptla would be sent to the cosmic heavens, and Ahmiki would be given the mantle for the next year.
“Come along, my lord, don’t dawdle,” Ahmiki’s guide said. Instead of entering one of the public areas, they moved around the pyramid and headed towards a smaller building near the edge of the forest. The building was little more than a receiving room. In the back there was a hole near the floor, which Ahmiki was ushered into.
The air was damp and cool, and Ahmiki followed the narrow path downwards until he reached a wide clearing. A hole in the cave above them filtered light in and reflected off the pool of water.
A cenote, kept off limits from the public.
Two slaves were already waiting down there. The female slave had her head bowed, her long hair trailing down and partially covering her nude breasts. The way she held her hands, she appeared to be attempting to cover the rest of her nudity somewhat, but Ahmiki couldn’t tell if the reason was shame or cold.
The other slave, the male one, stood tall and proud despite his nudity. It was not a pose Ahmiki would have associated with a slave, and he wondered if this one was recently captured. Perhaps from one of the campaigns that had brought the eastern cities to heel.
They were both, of course, the utmost beautiful specimens. Nothing else would do to serve the next ixiptla.
“Masatl and Sentewa will wash and purify you,” the priest said. “The only thing required of you is that you remain utterly silent throughout the task.”
Ahmiki nodded. He could think of worse things in life than getting bathed by two beautiful people. The man especially: he had strong muscles that shone with a light sweat. Should there ever be a need for the two of them to wrestle, Ahmiki was not sure that he would come out on top. But if he were wrestling with a man so handsome, he wasn’t sure he would want to win anyway.
The female slave, Sentewa, stepped forward when Ahmiki spread his arms out and began removing all of his jewelry and clothes. She put them aside in a basket the priest had brought along.
When Ahmiki was as naked as the two slaves, the priest motioned for him to step into the water of the cenote.
The male slave, Masatl, placed his hand on Ahmiki’s shoulder and guided him to sit on an outcropping in the water. Once Ahmiki was half submerged, Sentewa filled a clay bucket with water and gently poured it over Ahmiki.
He closed his eyes and reveled in the sensation. Masatl’s coarser fingers massaged sweet-smelling oils into Ahmiki’s hair, while Sentewa’s gentle fingers rubbed a cloth across his skin, to remove all dirt.
Between the two of them, they massaged Ahmiki into a state of complete relaxation. Perhaps purification meant letting go of his worries and allowing himself to simply feel good.
He opened his eyes when he felt Masatl gently coax his arm up. Sentewa motioned for him to lie down on a blanket, arranging him with his head pointing towards the cenote.
She then began oiling his entire body, especially the areas that had hair. Although Ahmiki was not particularly attracted to her, he felt his member stirring anyway when she took care to oil his pubic hair and balls. She even reached further back, making sure to coat every last bit of skin. He was tempted to spread his legs just a bit, to give her better access, but thought better of it.
Then Masatl approached with the knife. It was an ornate ceremonial dagger, the kind that Ahmiki would never have thought to use in day-to-day business. It was formed of jade, with gold plating around the edge of it. The handle was adorned with the long green tail feather of a quetzal bird. Ahmiki watched warily. He knew he wasn’t in any danger, but still he tensed.
Masatl sat down next to him and tilted Ahmiki’s head up. He placed the blade against the underside of Ahmiki’s chin, and scraped the oil, and any hairs, off. The spots where Masatl held Ahmiki’s face burned, and each pass of the blade made Ahmiki’s skin prickle.
The process of shaving went slowly. Masatl took his time, each stroke deliberate. His hands were so steady that Ahmiki never felt at risk of even a single cut. At times, Sentewa would add more oil. Once Ahmiki’s face was completely clean-shaven, the dagger was applied on Ahmiki’s chest. On his arms. On his legs.
And of course, along his pelvis. His cock took entirely too much interest in the way Masatl touched him.
There was no acknowledgment from either slave of Ahmiki’s arousal. Perhaps it was expected for the ixiptla to react like this. More likely, they were simply used to these sorts of situations. He wondered if any of the priests had made use of their bodies; he decided it was unlikely they would give the ixiptla well-used slaves. They must have been new, and instructed on these procedures very carefully.
Sentewa coaxed Ahmiki’s legs apart, and Masatl reached for his balls. Ahmiki almost groaned, before remembering the priest’s admonition to remain perfectly silent.
That was hard on several levels. He found himself trembling a bit in fear. He didn’t relish the idea of a sharp device so close to such a sensitive area. Yet his erection hadn’t ceased either, more than happy to revel in the attention it was getting. For the past two weeks, Colsatsli as well as Tlanextic and the rest of the priests had kept him too busy to seek out a lover, and the touch of another simply felt too good.
When Ahmiki focused on Masatl, he thought he saw a smirk. It quickly faded into professional blankness, but it was followed by a squeeze to his balls that made Ahmiki’s breath come faster.
He thought it was over there, but Masatl and Sentewa motioned for him to roll over, and the entire process was repeated on his back. They even pried his buttocks apart and shaved away the hair there, so that Ahmiki’s body was truly bare. Masatl ran his finger along Ahmiki’s crack to ensure that no hairs were left; it took a great deal of effort not to clench against the sensation.
The two slaves helped Ahmiki sit up, and Sentewa filled the clay pot again. She had him stand in the cenote so she could pour the water over him, and she used a different blanket to rub away the last traces of oil.
Ahmiki felt strangely disconnected from his body. He was still hard, but there was no real urgency behind that particular need. His limbs seemed heavy, and it was an effort to move them without guidance. Thankfully, Sentewa and Masatl were there to steady him. They directed him to sit on a smooth stone, where they began to work on his hair. Masatl shaved off the left side of his scalp, while Sentewa got to work braiding the right side into many small braids, each receiving a ribbon or bead. When Masatl was apparently satisfied with his work, he put the dagger aside and pulled out tweezers, this time pulling small hairs from Ahmiki’s eyebrows. He worked on plucking stray hairs here and there while Sentewa continued her work.
It must have taken several hours before they deemed Ahmiki clean enough. And this was just the first step in the entire process.
When Ahmiki’s hair had been completely braided, several small braids braided again into just three larger braids, all on
the left half of his scalp, they clothed him in a simple loin cloth. They lifted his feet one at a time to slip sandals on them.
“We have finished,” Masatl declared.
Ahmiki nodded and tried to shake himself out of his trance.
“We must go back to the temple, for the temaskalli,” Sentewa told him. She finished her statement by getting down onto her knees and kissing his feet.
Masatl licked his lips before he followed her example. Ahmiki was too out of it to wonder at the hesitation.
He walked back to the small receiving room, the two slaves a few feet behind him, and found the priest waiting there for him.
The priest looked somewhat startled to see him. “I hardly recognize you, Lord Ahmiki.”
When Ahmiki didn’t respond, the priest hurried on, “Come. The temaskalli awaits.”
It must have been almost halfway to evening. Ahmiki followed the priest across the courtyard to where the round, clay building stood. The air inside was oppressively sticky, particularly when the priest pulled the blanket shut across the opening.
Ahmiki settled himself along one of the benches and closed his eyes. This, at least, he was well familiar with.
The scent of incense and dried flowers wafted in the air. The priest began chanting, while Masatl and Sentewa threw water into the hot coals to make steam rise.
The words the priest spoke washed over Ahmiki. He must give his worries over to the steam, let them rise away from himself. He must not harbor any ill thoughts, lest the gods find him wanting. Ometekwtli, Tlalkwikani, Ekakoapilli, Yollotletl, and Teska’atl would all be watching him this year, although ultimately he would need to please Teska’atl.
Ahmiki drank the chocolate drink Sentewa served him, sipping the sweet beverage and letting it cool him down even while the rest of the hut was steaming hot. He sweat out the metaphysical dirt that the bath in the cenote had not been able to touch.
When the priest had finished his chanting, Masatl and Sentewa both stepped forward to guide Ahmiki out. By then it was dark outside, and the air had turned slightly cooler. It was a wonderful contrast, and it invigorated him as Masatl and Sentewa scraped off the last fleck of dirt.
The priest seemed impatient with the entire affair. He had probably performed these same cleaning rites every year, and was getting bored of them.
From their small corner of the temple grounds, Ahmiki could already hear the procession of musicians and dancers making their way down the Avenue of the Sun. They would travel from the western end of the city to the east, from the Temple of Ekakoapilli to the Temple of Teska’atl, tracing back the path the Lady Sun took during the year.
The priest led Ahmiki to the top of the grand pyramid, where Tlanextic and a procession of other priests were already waiting. Ahmiki was told to sit and wait just inside the small roofed area, outside of the view of any citizen on the street.
From his vantage point, he could see the city in almost its entirety. From this far away, the flames along the Avenue of the Sun created the impression of flickering fireflies. The fires outside of the palace, and in front of the smaller temple to Ekakoapilli, were brighter stars in the dark. The temples to Yollotletl and Tlalkwikani, still on the same square as the Teska’atl temple, were smaller pyramids in the north and south respectively, and bore their own bonfires.
The canal, which cut under the Avenue of the Sun halfway through the city, was also aglow with floating torches. If he’d been part of the crowds, Ahmiki would have been surrounded by the many flowers woven throughout the city. The people, dancing their way through their streets, looked like nothing more than ants.
At the very front of the procession was the current ixiptla. Unlike most of the previous year, the ixiptla was now dressed in nothing but a loin cloth, no jewelry or headdress, no sandals or cape. He would be playing his flute beautifully, and as he drew closer, Ahmiki was heard the song float up toward them.
The procession stopped at the foot of the temple, and the people began to feast. The ixiptla continued to play his song. Some of the lesser priests below chanted prayers to the new year, which Ahmiki didn’t bother trying to make out. Colsatsli said a few words himself, but he was moderate in his speech. The real event was yet to come.
The ixiptla began his climb.
At every step of the pyramid, the ixiptla played a single note on a small clay flute, and then shattered it on the steps. His journey up was slow-going; by the time he had reached the top and shattered all of his flutes, the sky was beginning to lighten with dawn.
The ixiptla bowed in front of Tlanextic; when he rose, the other priests brought him to lie on the large stone table.
“People of Xochititlan!” Tlanextic began. “We usher in the new year, the new era, with this gift to Teska’atl, our god of life, of death, of rebirth, he who lifts the Lady Sun from the oceans into the heavens! Just as Teska’atl can bestow us with gifts, he may take them away! May the energies of the ixiptla please Teska’atl and maintain the balance of powers in the heavens!”
Ahmiki didn’t know what sorcery allowed the people below to hear the words spoken at the top of the pyramid be heard clearly, but they heard and cheered. Tlanextic recited a poem to Teska’atl, and when he finished two other priests began playing the flute and the drum respectively.
The crowd below fell silent.
With a showy maneuver, Tlanextic raised the ceremonial dagger above his head, and when the music fell silent, he plunged it into the ixiptla’s chest. The man did not cry out, simply gasped his last breath. As his eyes fluttered shut, the dagger in his chest moved to cut a wider opening. Heedless of the blood spilling out, Tlanextic reached in to cut out the ixiptla’s heart.
Ahmiki watched every moment. He had never sat so close to the event. He had never smelled so much blood outside of a battle. He had never seen the last look of fear on the ixiptla’s face.
In a year’s time, that would be him.
He missed most of what Tlanextic said next, until a priest was nudging him forward. Ahmiki stepped outside and went to stand in front of the table that held the previous ixiptla’s corpse. The sun rose higher on the horizon behind them, her rays shining through the temple and illuminating him from behind just as Tlanextic introduced him as the new ixiptla.
The crowd cheered. Ahmiki took the heart of the old ixiptla and began his descent down the stairs. The priests carried the body of the old ixiptla behind him, and he was mindful to go slowly enough that they could keep pace.
Blood dripped down his hands and onto the temple steps. The drops disappeared against the red-brown paint that covered them. They would dry and flake away in time.
At the bottom, he was met by another priest, who took the proffered heart and placed it into an ornately painted vase. This, he held up to display to all who were gathered. “May the old ixiptla be honored; may the new ixiptla be honored!” he cried, and the crowd broke out in cheers.
Masatl and Sentewa, both wearing ceremonial skirts now, stepped up behind Ahmiki and placed cape and crown on him, both much more elaborate than he had ever worn. They felt twice as heavy as the usual clothes he wore. Over the cape, they draped the obsidian mirror that he would wear for the rest of the year.
More food was brought out, and the singing and dancing began anew. It was lucky that no words were expected of Ahmiki, because he wasn’t sure he would have remembered them. The day seemed to speed by. He ate and drank too much, the oktli filling him with the warmth that seemed to have drained away. His hands were still caked with blood.
When the sun reached her highest point above them, Tlanextic stepped into the center platform and began speaking of what was to come.
That was Ahmiki’s cue. Masatl helped him stand, and Ahmiki tried to keep his gait straight as he joined Tlanextic and Colsatsli in the center. Another priest gave Ahmiki a crown. The crown. The crown his father had worn for the past decades. It had been refurbished, of course; old feathers and missing beads replaced with newer ones, but it was still the same c
rown.
Ahmiki stepped towards Colsatsli. “As ixiptla to Teska’atl, I hereby bestow upon you the divine crown, handed down for generations, from ruler to ruler, to signify the true arbitrator of law upon our lands. May your reign be long, and may it be remembered until the very ends of time itself.”
He placed the crown on his brother’s head, and managed to pull himself out of his daze enough to smile at his brother. He placed a kiss on Colsatsli’s forehead, in the palm of each hand, and on each foot.
Throughout it all, his brother’s smile was so wide that it must have hurt his cheeks.
“My people of Xochititlan! It is a great honor to receive this crown! I will wear it with great care, for the weight of the crown shall always remind me of the weight of my responsibility. I must ensure that the gods remain pleased with us, that the Lady Sun continues to travel through the sky! I will serve all of you, as my father did, and his father before him!”
Ahmiki felt a small swell of pride, seeing how committed Colsatsli was to his people. He wished he would be able to see Colsatsli’s entire legacy.
At least he would have a year to help guide it onto a path of greatness.
Chapter 2
The second day as the official ixiptla, Ahmiki slept until almost evening. He’d been awake for most of the previous two days, and he’d needed the extended period of rest.
“Bring me food,” he ordered into the room at large. He heard somebody giving a quiet sound of acquiescence, and then the feet slapping across the floor.
Ahmiki sat up and stretched, the blanket slipping off the mattress and onto the floor. He was sore all over too, from the amount of dancing he’d done at the festival.
“Should I help you dress, my lord?”
Ahmiki nearly startled at how close Masatl was, hovering just a few paces away. He was naked once more, no longer wearing the ceremonial skirt, though he must have had time to wash up a little. His skin still seemed as clean as it had been at the cenote, despite the activities of the past day.
“Is there a temaskalli available for me? Or else I’ll take a bath in the cenote.”
