In Life, In Death

by Adara Wolf

  Kwalsiwatsin was Tekoyotl’s first wife. Ahmiki had noticed her absence and assumed her fate, but it was good to have it confirmed. Selfishly, he was glad that his own mother hadn’t chosen to follow Tekoyotl into the afterlife. Perhaps Kwalsiwatsin felt there was nothing left for her, since both of her sons had died. Or maybe somebody had insisted upon it, since she was the first wife.

  He remembered the words his mother and sister said to him, about how proud Tekoyotl was of him, and he desperately wanted to be connected to his father in some way.

  “Colsatsli… When I die… I know my body will join the other ixiptla, but could some of my ashes be placed here?”

  Colsatsli shook his head, the shells on his ears chiming lightly. “No. As much as it pains me, you are ixiptla now, not royalty. Your body will be treated as such.”

  “But—” Ahmiki bowed his head. He wasn’t sure why this, suddenly, was what made his eyes burn with tears. “He was my father too.”

  “There’s nothing to be done about it. We need to follow all the rituals exactly.” Colsatsli clapped him on the shoulder. “Come. Keep your heart strong. You don’t want Teska’atl to see you lacking face or conviction.”

  That was something Tekoyotl had always impressed upon them, how important it was to be firm and show true strength.

  “A man without a true face is no man at all,” Ahmiki murmured.

  He saw Colsatsli frown, but an instant later it was gone. “Father did like to repeat that.”

  “Because it’s true.” Ahmiki stood taller and placed his hands on Tekoyotl’s funerary chest. “Especially for us. We—that is, our family—are meant to rule the people. A ruler has to know himself before he can lead others. So I’m… I’m going to be strong, and tackle this head on. Teska’atl wanted me for some reason, and I won’t shame our family. He will see that I am as strong-faced as Tekoyotl ever was.”

  When he turned around, Colsatsli was staring at him with wide eyes.

  “Y-yes. That’s… that’s right.” Colsatsli gave him a brittle smile. “You do sound just like our father sometimes.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Ahmiki stepped away from the funerary chest and bowed lightly to his brother. “The rain seems to be clearing. I’m going to head back.”

  He waited until Colsatsli waved a dismissal to head back to the ixiptla’s—no, to his—residence.

  Chapter 3

  On the night of a full moon, thirty days after Ahmiki had been named ixiptla—he was still counting the days in that manner—was the first festival in which he was expected to perform ritual duties. He’d thrown himself into learning the poetry and songs, memorizing the words and reciting them with more skill than any ixiptla before him.

  They draped flowers across his shoulders and weaved them into his hair, and gave him a short skirt rather than a longer, knee-length one to wear with his cape. The mirror and jewels were still present, of course. Across his eyes and mouth they painted bold stripes in a sweet-smelling blue paint, from one end of his face to the other. It itched on his skin, but he didn’t complain.

  When Tlanextic recited the poems to praise the gods and bestow good fortune to the king and to their city, Ahmiki danced with the star-staff, a smooth polished cane that was adorned with gold along its length, following the patterns of the stars in the sky.

  The drums ceased their beat. Ahmiki came to a standstill.

  “Now, we shall imbue the ixiptla with the vision of the gods, that he may tell us what lies in the future!”

  They had told him what would happen, and he had seen it happening for years and years.

  There was nothing to be afraid of, not here.

  Yet he handed the staff to a priest with some reluctance, and it took him some resolve to bend over the stone table in the center of the dais. Tlanextic and one other priest arranged him as they wanted him, with his legs slightly apart and the mirror dead center on his back. The cape flowed over one side, its blue beads mimicking a waterfall.

  This was the only part of the festival that he hadn’t been able to practice for.

  Ahmiki closed his eyes and waited, taking breaths and forcing his hands to lay still. One of the priests reached under Ahmiki’s skirt and stroked his buttocks. He hoped the priest couldn’t feel how tense Ahmiki was. After a few strokes, the fingers pried his cheeks apart. His skin down there was perfectly smooth, and he could feel every caress as another set of fingers slid oil across his hole. After he was slick enough to be dripping, the hand pulled away.

  A drumbeat started; a hard device pressed against his anus. The ritual pot slid inside him about a small finger’s length.

  It wasn’t dissimilar from getting fucked, Ahmiki told himself. He’d been fucked before – not often, as he was usually the one doing the fucking, but once or twice. He’d had sex with other people watching, too. It was hard to avoid an audience when everybody was camping close together to protect against predators or enemy combatants.

  Even so, he felt more exposed like this, with almost the entire city watching.

  He felt the sacred mixture trickling inside him, and the ritual pot was tilted a bit. After what felt like forever, the pot pulled away, only to be replaced by a small, bulbous phallus. That way the sacred mixture would remain inside him. This was tied at the base with leather string and then attached to the belt around his ritual skirt, to prevent it from falling out.

  Ahmiki opened his eyes as he was coaxed into a standing position. The plug shifted and rubbed against that pleasurable spot inside him, enticing his cock to stir. If his cock ended up standing proud, it would be no different than past ixiptla. The vision of the gods was known to have that effect on people.

  The drums started beating faster.

  And from one heartbeat to the next, Ahmiki saw the world twist, the cloud of smoke separating the spirit world from theirs gone. Colors were brighter, and what was once dark appeared to be illuminated. He could see individual wrinkles on people’s faces, even from across the temple grounds. Flowers seemed to bloom with the colors of the rainbow. The dancers were a blur of energy, beautiful and ugly all at once.

  The drums slowed and became quiet.

  “Please, oh ixiptla, tell us what you see! What lies in store for us in the future?” Tlanextic said dramatically. Ahmiki tilted his head to look at him, and his breath hitched for a moment.

  Tlanextic’s face looked to be dripping blood out of every orifice, with ants crawling out of his ears and down his limbs. His fingers were dark, gangrenous, and even his ritual clothes were stained beyond recognition.

  Ahmiki quickly averted his gaze, looking to where his brother sat.

  Around his brother, some people shone like stars, others carried flames in their hearts. But Colsatsli himself was blank, as if there were no person there at all. He had no face; no eyes, no nose, no mouth. The crown Colsatsli wore had lost its color and appeared old and unkempt.

  This was a true vision, Ahmiki thought. This is what he should be telling the people about. But he looked into the crowds, and he thought what it would mean tell these people what he saw. He thought of Colsatsli’s wives and children, sitting there with bated breath. He thought of the citizens who came to celebrate and hope for a good year.

  He couldn’t tell them this.

  “People of Xochititlan!” he exclaimed, and spread his hands out. “Teska’atl has parted the veil between worlds, so that I may see the true nature of things. This I speak: the people of Xochititlan sparkle as bright as stars. There are those among you whose hearts burn with passion and dedication. The beauty of our dancers is beyond recognition! Our musicians play to the tune of the heavens!”

  The crowd cheered, and Tlanextic beside him smiled a grotesque smile that gushed with blood. If Colsatsli’s expression changed, Ahmiki could not see it.

  “We may be assured that the gods think kindly of us, and know us to be good people!”

  The music resumed, and other temple dancers leapt forward. Tlanextic and the other prie
st steadied Ahmiki’s steps as they led him away from all the revelries, back towards the temple.

  Masatl was waiting for him there, eyes glowing, and Ahmiki stumbled gratefully into his arms. The strange phallus was rubbing insistently inside him. Ahmiki wrapped his arms around Masatl and mouthed at his throat. “Want you,” he said, thrusting his hips for emphasis.

  Tlanextic and the other priest both chuckled. “Take care of the ixiptla. Give him whatever he requires now,” the priest said, and the two of them walked away to return to the festivities.

  Yes. Ahmiki hadn’t fucked anybody for weeks. He hadn’t much felt like it, and he’d been too busy besides. Only when he was alone with Masatl did he sometimes wish to do more, and wasn’t it lucky that Masatl was here now.

  Masatl’s body was tense against his, and instead of bending to the ground, he began directing Ahmiki to a side room. The candle light, and probably the gods’ vision, made Masatl shine in the dark. Here was another bright star of Xochititlan, a person worthy of carrying the kingdom forward. Ahmiki tried to nuzzle against him again, and found himself thrown onto a bed in the corner of the room.

  He cried out in surprise, and he felt the plug slip a bit. Oh, that had felt good too. He shifted his legs trying to drive the thing to rub against that spot inside him. The ceremonial clothes were getting in the way though, so he pulled the mirror off his shoulders and lifted the skirt so that his cock could rise unencumbered.

  “Come,” he said to Masatl, “suck me.” He ran a sweat-slicked hand across his chest, tweaked a nipple, gasping at the enhanced sensation lent by the sacred mixture.

  No response. Ahmiki looked over at Masatl, and instead of a willing slave, he found Masatl glaring at him with near fury across his features.

  “What? Don’t you want to?” Oh. Ahmiki had thought… well, he was attracted to Masatl, who was so beautifully muscled and carried himself with pride. He hadn’t considered that Masatl might not like him in return. Hadn’t Masatl touched all of Ahmiki’s body already while bathing and grooming him?

  Maybe he just didn’t like sucking cock. “You can fuck me instead, if you want,” Ahmiki offered. “The—the thing, it loosened me, and it feels so good right now—”

  If anything, Masatl’s expression turned even darker, resembling an angry jaguar.

  “You lied to them,” Masatl said. “You spoke as ixiptla and you lied.”

  What? Ahmiki’s heart started beating faster, and even as he desperately craved some sort of touch, he found himself terrified of Masatl’s anger.

  “I didn’t—no. I didn’t lie. Why would you say that?”

  Masatl approached the bed, looming closer, until he was straddling Ahmiki completely. His loincloth of rough cotton brushed against Ahmiki’s cock, eliciting an unwanted gasp. With one hand he gripped Ahmiki’s jaw, forcing Ahmiki to look him in the eyes.

  Gods, they were beautiful eyes, golden and wild. There was nothing slave-like about Masatl now.

  “I know you. I have been with you for almost thirty days now, two and a half months, and I have learned your mannerisms, my lord. You flinched when you looked at the priest. When you looked at your brother. Yet you did not say a word about them.”

  Had Ahmiki flinched? He thought he’d kept his thoughts completely to himself, but with how he was feeling now, it was possible his body had moved without input from him. It was hard to tell without the smoky veil to keep the spirit world parted from the mortal one.

  “I saw nothing that would be changed with my words,” Ahmiki said. “I would not upset the people. I could not upset Colsatsli, not when his rule is so new.”

  Masatl let go of Ahmiki’s jaw and sat back a bit, his face still filled with fury. That was no good. They were alone, and Ahmiki felt good. He wanted Masatl to feel good too. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Masatl’s torso. “Come on. Forget it. Need you now.”

  That got Masatl’s attention back on him. Good.

  “Kiss me. Touch me. Let me give you Teska’atl’s favor, while I see the true visions.”

  Masatl laugh, and finally his dark glower was gone, replaced with heated lust.

  Ahmiki thrust his hip upward. “What do you prefer? I don’t care right now. Whatever you want.”

  Masatl lowered himself so he was lying almost directly on top of Ahmiki. “I would take you,” he whispered into Ahmiki’s ear. “You would be dripping with my seed and the sacred mixture, and you will fly with pleasure, and you will see nothing but me.”

  Ambitious. Ahmiki smiled and pulled Masatl close, kissing him sloppily. It didn’t matter; Masatl soon took control, his tongue thrusting inside Ahmiki’s mouth and forcing Ahmiki to simply surrender to him.

  Perhaps this, too, was a product of the gods’ vision. It showed that Masatl was a slave in name only, and his spirit was one of a true warrior.

  Another prince, another ixiptla, might have protested, but Ahmiki didn’t mind going with the flow.

  Ahmiki let the sensations wash over him. Masatl’s lips on his throat, the hands slowly removing their remaining clothes. The ixiptla crown, placed gently to the side, while the rest ended up in a pile next to the bed.

  “This is well designed,” Masatl commented as he tapped the phallus, making Ahmiki gasp and squirm. “It looks beautiful in you.”

  Masatl continued to play with the plug, giving short tugs and then plunging it in again, sometimes hitting that spot that made pleasure burst across Ahmiki’s eyes. His cock was already drooling, a small drops of precome collecting on Ahmiki’s stomach.

  Ahmiki tried to reach for his cock, but Masatl batted his hands away. “Touch me,” Ahmiki commanded, knowing it was futile, knowing that Masatl would only do what Masatl wanted.

  Thankfully, Masatl obliged: not with his hands, but with his mouth. Sucking cock was not an issue after all, because he took Ahmiki in fully, a warm, wet heat that was almost enough to make him spend right there.

  “Not yet,” Masatl said when he pulled back. “Wait just a bit longer.”

  I can’t, Ahmiki wanted to say. There was no way he could keep himself from coming, not with how keyed up he was, not with the sacred mixture still sloshing inside him and sensitizing every inch of him.

  Yet somehow he did. Masatl seemed to know exactly when to pull back and give Ahmiki room to breathe, to calm down, and he knew exactly when there really was no more.

  He pulled the phallus out of Ahmiki, and Ahmiki nearly screamed.

  “Almost,” Masatl promised. He rearranged them and lifted Ahmiki’s legs to lie across Masatl’s shoulders. Ahmiki moaned loudly, legs spread wide, the only thought in his head that he needed Masatl inside him.

  Masatl moved, and Ahmiki came with that first thrust. He almost apologized for it, but Masatl kept thrusting, and even in the aftermath of his own orgasm, it felt so good. Like Ahmiki was floating down a river on a hot summer’s day, the cool waters washing away all of the sweat and stress and leaving behind just this pleasure.

  Should he be worried, that he let a slave use him like this? But as ixiptla, it was his right to have whatever he wanted. And right now, he wanted this. He kept his eyes on Masatl’s face. No more anger, no more fury. Just a beautiful man enjoying himself. Ahmiki lifted his hand and ran it over Masatl’s ear, his nose, his lips. This man had a strong face. He knew exactly who he was and what he wanted.

  Ahmiki’s thoughts threatened to skitter towards his brother, and he quickly forced himself to concentrate. He began thrusting back to meet Masatl’s hips, and he tightened when he could to wring more pleasure out of him. Masatl stuttered and gasped, his rhythm thrown for a moment. Ahmiki used the opportunity to pull Masatl down and bring their lips together in a kiss.

  Masatl kissed him back with a growl and increased his pace, until the kiss was nothing more than lips and tongue sliding against each other, and then Masatl practically howled with his release, gripping Ahmiki’s legs so tightly that there were sure to be bruises.

  Ahmiki should have been relieved to
have Masatl pull out of him, but beyond the slight discomfort caused by the sticky trickle of fluid, Ahmiki found he missed the sensation of being filled. Strange, given how he usually was on the other end of things. Even as Masatl pulled him into an embrace, arranging Ahmiki to lay his head against Masatl’s chest, he thought things weren’t quite what he was used to.

  “Should we go back—” Ahmiki asked, but was interrupted by a soft, “ssh.”

  Masatl petted Ahmiki’s head, stroking him gently. “Rest now. Don’t worry about anything else. You did well.”

  Relief flooded Ahmiki. If he’d been told they did still need him at the festival, he wouldn’t have known what to do. He was suddenly far too exhausted to even think of moving.

  “You were right too. Your brother might not have let you live out your remaining days if you’d spoken the truth.”

  What? Ahmiki frowned, and he tried to shake off the sleepiness. Something— something about how Masatl said that was strange. Ahmiki wanted to protest, but Masatl’s gentle caresses lulled him to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  The festival was a haze in Ahmiki’s memory. He remembered bits and pieces of the night. The vision was vividly clear, but after that… He had gone back to the temple, and he and Masatl had fucked, and… he couldn’t quite recall what had been said, or why his body was so sore.

  Whatever had happened, Masatl was completely courteous with him the next few days, and he was even more gentle than usual when he groomed Ahmiki. But something still felt off.

  It came to him as he was playing the flute for Tlanextic, practicing for the next feast. Masatl had been angry because Ahmiki hadn’t told the whole truth.

  He set his flute aside, and Tlanextic frowned at him. “Why did you stop? We aren’t finished.”

  “The vision,” Ahmiki started. Then he stopped, because he didn’t know how to address it.

  “Yes, it was very well spoken. Don’t worry about the meaning. That’s what the priests are for.” Tlanextic motioned for Ahmiki to start playing again.