by Adara Wolf
“There won’t be time for that,” Masatl said. “Lord Colsatsli and High Priest Tlanextic would like to see you tonight, for dinner. Your retainers are waiting for you as well. There are a few administrative things—”
For a slave, Masatl did talk a lot. Ahmiki made a dismissive gesture. “Fine, just dress me.”
On a certain level, Ahmiki found himself enjoying the new outfit. He’d never thought to wear a mirror before, in part because he didn’t want to steal any attention from the rest of the royal family. But now he wore one strapped to his back, so that those who looked at him might see their true selves reflected back. And the cape was finely woven in a mix of blues and greens, with gold and silver beads interspersed to paint a picture of Teska’atl delivering his sacred rains.
Sentewa entered the hut then, and she brought with her a bowl of maize-broth, avocado, and slices of roast deer. She also carried a cup of hot chocolate, which Ahmiki happily sipped while Masatl tended to Ahmiki’s hair.
“Thank you,” Ahmiki said after downing the drink. “Did you eat? Apparently I’m to dine with my brother tonight, so you can have some of mine.”
Sentewa smiled at him. “I did. Thank you though, my lord.”
She went about picking up a few things around the hut. All of this without a scrap of clothes on her, and her hair flowing freely down her back.
She was a slave, so of course she was naked. But it would be impractical to have her and Masatl walking around his rooms in that state. Her hair was clearly bothering her, with how she kept brushing it aside. And Masatl—Ahmiki shivered as Masatl’s fingers ran across his scalp—Masatl would be a distraction.
“Why don’t you braid your hair up?” Ahmiki said to her. “And I’ll have my mother get a skirt for you. And a loin cloth for Masatl.”
Sentewa looked startled for a moment, and Masatl’s fingers stilled. “Oh, um, if you like, my lord.” She shot a look at Masatl, and whatever she saw must have reassured her. “Um, by your leave, my lord?”
Ahmiki nodded at her. “I believe Masatl is almost finished here anyway.” On cue, Masatl resumed his task of untangling and rebraiding Ahmiki’s hair.
After Sentewa had left, Masatl said, “You are kind, my lord.”
Ahmiki shrugged. “If the two of you are to be my personal slaves for the year, then I should take care of you. It won’t help for much once the year is over, but—”
He felt the ixiptla crown being set on his head, and Masatl stepped around to face him. “This year will be enough,” he stated, which was a very pragmatic view for somebody not of the priesthood.
“I suppose I must go meet with my brother now,” Ahmiki said, mostly to change the topic. He looked at the bowl of food Sentewa had brought and sighed. “I shouldn’t have this. You eat it then, and I’ll see you again in the evening.”
~*~*~
The dinner was a smaller affair, limited to Colsatsli, Tlanextic, a handful of priests, and Ahmiki. No women were present at all, not even amongst those serving them.
Ahmiki was ushered to sit between Colsatsli and Tlanextic, and he was glad of the elaborate plumage of his crown, which kept the two other men from leaning in too close. This small, private courtyard in Colsatsli’s palace already felt too crowded even without their presence.
Tlanextic recited a poem thanking the gods for the abundant food; Ahmiki only waited until the last syllable was done before he started eating. It was much the same fare as before, but Ahmiki was certain it would have tasted better at his own home.
He frowned as he realized he would no longer be able to live in the same house as his mother and sister.
“Now that we’ve eaten a bit, I thought we would go over what is expected of you,” Tlanextic said. “You’re already well-versed in song and dance, which will make things easier. We will still have flute lessons for you every day for the next several months, and of course the dancing. You’ll have seen what the previous years’ ixiptlas did at festivals, but there will be practice for those events as well.”
I don’t need flute lessons, Ahmiki wanted to complain. He’d been practicing since he was young, because Colsatsli had commented at how nice it was when Ahmiki played, and it amused his mother and sister to hear him. In school, his teachers had commented that Ekakoapilli must have bestowed upon him the gift of flower and song, for how beautifully he created music and poetry.
“Did you choose my retinue?” Ahmiki said instead. The retinue would consist of four warriors to protect him at all times, and eight stewards who would instruct him on all things holy. One of them would likely be the flute teacher.
He listened as his brother and the priest droned on about the details, little minute things that Ahmiki would need to know and memorize in the coming year.
At some point during the evening, a pipe was handed around, and Ahmiki gratefully inhaled from it. It took a few puffs, but he found himself mellowing out. It made it easier to look Colsatsli in the eye without betraying his fear.
Well, Ahmiki assumed it was Colsatsli’s eyes he was looking at. For some reason Colsatsli’s features were blurred. He shifted to look at Tlanextic, and here he did see eyes, and a nose, and a mouth, but the firelight made it seem like Tlanextic was bleeding out of all his orifices.
Ahmiki set the pipe down and decided he’d probably had enough.
He really just wanted to go home and fall into bed, but even that would be different. The ixiptla couldn’t live in a common house, even if it was the house of the former king’s son and had three rooms with painted walls and a separate kitchen to boot, enclosing a beautiful courtyard with vibrant flowers.
“Are you paying attention?” Colsatsli’s blurred face asked him.
Ahmiki squinted, tried to make out proper features, and shook his head when nothing became clearer. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” He stood up and left, swaying a bit, but was glad to note that nobody tried to stop him.
The mirror thumped softly against the small of his back, a steady beat to accompany him across the palace grounds. Ahmiki used that sensation to ground him, so that by the time he made it to his home, he almost felt sober again.
He slipped past his mother and sister’s rooms, hoping they were both outside. Now that he was officially the ixiptla, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep a strong face when talking to them.
Ahmiki’s own room, with his bed, and his belongings, was as he’d left it. He was glad for it, and took the last few steps to lie down on his bed. He took off the cape and crown, but didn’t bother slipping out of his sandals before he pulled the blanket across his body.
Unfortunately, just as he was drifting off to sleep, he was shaken awake.
“My lord, you cannot sleep here.”
Ahmiki looked up into the golden eyes of a jaguar.
He blinked again, and he saw the eyes weren’t gold, simply brown, reflecting the light of a torch. Masatl was giving him a concerned look.
“We need to get you back to the ixiptla residence. Sentewa has made the bed quite nicely, and the warriors will be able to protect you better there.”
But this is my home.
If Ahmiki had been a regular ixiptla, one who was poor, then the ixiptla’s residence would have been a welcome change. Yes, the new residence had more rooms than his current housing, but he had had this one built himself, to house himself and his mother and his sister.
He didn’t protest when Masatl manhandled him upright. Just as easily, Masatl replaced the crown and the cape, and began leading him back towards the temple.
“Can my mother, at least, live in the same place?” he asked, and wasn’t surprised to see Masatl frowning.
“Unfortunately, no. But you may see Lady Atoyakoskatl throughout the day.”
Of course he would. Ahmiki would be a good son and visit her often, and try to take her mind off the fact that soon she would have only one child left out of the four she had borne.
They walked back to the ixiptla’s house. It was nice, with a kitchen and
five separate rooms. The largest had been assigned to him, and he’d been given a very soft mattress and colorful blankets. The walls were ornately painted, moreso than the ones at his own home, depicting the life cycle of an ixiptla, from being chosen to the final sacrifice.
Sentewa sat in the corner, her hair now pulled into two braids and fastened one above each ear, so she looked much like other women in the city. The skirt she wore was a plain, dull white; nobody would mistake her for a free woman, but it would give her a bit more standing in the city.
He had almost expected a hallucination to impose itself over his vision, as it had with everybody else this evening, but she remained perfectly normal looking. The effects of the pipe must have been wearing off.
“I’m going to bed. And tomorrow… I guess I’ll receive some lessons in the morning. And I’ll want to wash up in the temaskalli, so have it prepared for me. And after that…”
After that Ahmiki would simply walk about town and see how things went. A month ago, he would have enjoyed the idea of a free day without worrying about the day-to-day trifles of organizing a city. Now, with nothing but free days ahead of him, he dreaded it.
~*~*~
The flute lessons truly were pointless, since his playing was nearly on par with the teacher’s, and the steam bath didn’t relax him as much as he had hoped.
Walking around the with four warriors following him around was a bit unnerving. He knew only one of the men who had been assigned to him, a young man who had accompanied Ahmiki on some trips east to scope out the area and report back to his father.
Around noon, Ahmiki stopped near some blossoming flowers and pointedly took a deep breath of their fragrance. Right from the center of the blossoms too, because that was his right now as ixiptla.
The scent was stronger, but not necessarily sweeter, than when he’d only breathed in at the sides of the blossom.
He spotted some children watching him, and he smiled at them. “Would you like to hear me play?” he asked, and the children nodded eagerly.
Playing the flute for them idled away the time for a bit. A small crowd formed, everybody clambering to hear the ixiptla playing. A few asked to look into his mirror, and he complied, hoping that whatever they saw reflected back at them would please them.
After he’d had enough socializing, he made his way to the main canal and rode a small boat to the fields, so he could watch the farmers prepare for the end of the dry season. Soon the rains would come, partially due to the naming of the new ixiptla. Teska’atl showed his approval by providing them the water necessary to grow crops.
Some of the farmers waved to him, and Ahmiki pulled out his flute to play a song to accompany their work. At least this part of the ixiptla’s duties was something Ahmiki could enjoy—he liked the idea of easing his people’s burdens with music.
Wasn’t that, after all, the entire point of the sacrifice? To ensure that the gods would continue to escort the Lady Sun across the sky, and ensure that the rest of the people would not be burdened by a catastrophe?
~*~*~
By the end of the day, Ahmiki was exhausted, despite the fact that he had barely done anything. Dancing and playing the flute and interacting with so many people had drained him entirely. It didn’t help that, though beautiful, the ixiptla’s costume was a lot heavier than he was used to wearing. Crown, mirror, and layers and layers of jewelry, along with the heavily decorated cape. It all added up, and Ahmiki felt his shoulders sagging under the weight.
At least Masatl and Sentewa were prepared for his return, because they already had food available for him. They stripped him down to just the loin cloth, brushed out his hair, massaged his hands and feet, and then had him sit on the bed while he ate. He wasn’t sure if Sentewa had cooked it or not—one of the retainers might also have been a cook, who knew—but it was delicious nonetheless. The tortilla was extremely fluffy, and the spices used in the salsa blended perfectly with the beans and turkey inside. Not too hot, not too sweet. To go with that, a pitcher of the finest atole he’d ever had, the corn ground down to the finest grains and the rest of the stew filled with large chunks of sweet potato, and flavored with chilies and cacao.
A feast for a god.
“This is wonderful,” Ahmiki said to Sentewa, and he noted that she sunk her head in embarrassment. Maybe she had cooked it after all.
There ended up being too much food, and he gave the rest to Sentewa and Masatl, who looked somewhat surprised.
“Is it all right for us to be eating this?” Sentewa asked. “We’re not holy like you…”
Ahmiki shrugged and lay down on the bed. “I am the current ixiptla, and through me flows the will of Teska’atl. It feels right to me, so it should be fine.”
He heard Masatl laugh, and when he looked up both of the slaves were smiling at him.
“Were you two slaves before?” he asked, actually curious. He wasn’t sure what criteria made the priests choose these two to be his personal slaves, aside from their beauty.
Sentewa nodded. “Yes, I was a cook at the king’s palace in Yowalapan before I was brought here a few months ago.”
That explained the cooking then. Ahmiki shifted his attention to Masatl.
“I was a warrior, also in Yowalapan.”
A warrior who spoke the common language with a different accent than Sentewa, yet hailed from the same place? Ahmiki thought to press further, but decided it didn’t matter.
Sentewa and Masatl told him a bit about their lives before they were brought here, and how they came to be chosen by the priesthood, and the sounds of them lulled him to sleep.
~*~*~
The first rains came five days after Ahmiki had been named ixiptla. By then he felt more recovered, and welcomed the sign that they had done right by the gods.
He played the flute with only Sentewa and Masatl (and the retainers in the other room) as audience, and played patolli with them. They gambled for colored beans, since neither Sentewa nor Masatl had much else, and everything was generally pleasant.
“Shall I go make us dinner, my lord?” Sentewa asked near evening, while the rains still poured. Ahmiki hadn’t stepped outside all day except to relieve himself.
“Yes, go ahead. I’m in the mood for tamales.”
As always when he gave her specific requests, Sentewa smiled. She did like cooking, and Ahmiki was more than happy to let her do it.
That did leave him alone in the room with Masatl, who had been polishing the ixiptla jewelry. He seemed especially taken with the mirror, because he kept glancing at it and rubbing his fingers over its smooth surface.
Over the past few days, he’d gotten the impression that Masatl was watching him, judging him. There were moments of intensity that made Ahmiki feel small and unworthy; other times, Masatl treated him as reverently as one would treat Teska'atl himself.
“Do you dislike me, Masatl?” Ahmiki asked.
The question seemed to startle Masatl. “Dislike you? Why?”
“Sometimes I get the feeling that you don’t approve of me.”
Masatl put aside the jewelry and pulled the obsidian mirror closer, holding it upright so he could look into it. Both of its sides were smooth, reflecting Ahmiki’s face back at him.
“I was a warrior, but my family is very familiar with religion and all it entails. I am only surprised that an ixiptla of noble heritage should be named, when as yet the gods have only chosen slaves. It seems… an aberration.” Masatl spoke slowly, carefully, as if afraid of the words he spoke.
“How can man question the will of the gods? If Teska’atl wants me, then he will have me.”
The mirror suddenly slammed down. Ahmiki raised his head to look Masatl in the eyes and was shocked at the look of pure fury that crossed his features.
A second later, the expression was gone, replaced by a simple, bland smile.
“Truly, you are wise,” Masatl mumbled. He stood up abruptly. “I will go help Sentewa. Excuse me, my lord.”
And he was go
ne.
~*~*~
The rain continued to beat down the next day. In the absence of anything else to do, Ahmiki went to his father’s funerary chest. The rain soaked Ahmiki’s cape and crown, and he ended up dripping water all over the temple floor.
The chest was displayed in the same chamber in Teska’atl’s temple with other kings past, alongside Ahmiki’s older brothers. Tekoyotl had sired seven sons, and of them, only two remained alive.
“An now it’s going to be just one,” Ahmiki whispered to the chest. It was an ostentatious thing, befitting of the great leader who had raised their city to prominence. Tekoyotl had expanded the chinampas, the fields that appeared to float around the city and were so fertile that Xochititlan produced many times more food than any of the neighboring cities. Tekoyotl had forced the cities to the south and west into an alliance with them, with Xochititlan at the top. And he’d started the campaign to overtake Yowalapan.
Ahmiki couldn’t say that looking at his father’s earthly remains gave him peace—not when his retainers were standing outside, waiting for him. The entire tomb was a reminder that Ahmiki wouldn’t even get to be with his family in death. The ixiptla’s remains would never be placed in a royal tomb.
When Ahmiki had been young, he’d idled his time with music and poetry. He tried to compose a poem now, to honor his father, and found that having neglected the craft for the past few years, the words did not fit as naturally as he wanted them to. He could not even give his father this one small gift.
The light shifted a bit, and Ahmiki turned to see Colsatsli entering the room.
“I was told you were here,” Colsatsli said. He inclined his head lightly at Ahmiki.
“Yes. I thought—well, I missed the funeral. I haven’t really had the chance to bid my farewell to him.” Ahmiki touched the golden relief of a coyote on the chest, symbolizing Tekoyotl. “Mother didn’t say much about it.”
“No, she wouldn’t have. She was beside herself with grief. Ah, and Kwalsiwatsin chose to go with him. We sent some hundred slaves with him too. And, as you can see, we have had a lot of people leaving offerings. He was a beloved king.”
