“That’s amazing,” said Sky Knife.
The girl jumped again. “It’s only a censer for burning incense,” she said. She glanced at him. “You don’t use these where you’re from?”
“No,” said Sky Knife. “We have nothing like this.”
The girl gestured toward the elaborate lid. “The pieces can be put together many different ways,” she said. “If you don’t like the way it looks now, I can change it so it will become something else.”
“No,” said Sky Knife. “It’s beautiful. Please, don’t change a thing.”
The girl collected the remainder of the incense and herbs, bowed to Sky Knife and left. Sky Knife went over to the censer. It looked airy and light. No doubt pieces broke often. Perhaps that was why there were so many of them. When one broke, it would be easier to replace a piece than the whole.
Sky Knife went back to his bag and took it with him to the table where the lamp sat. The table stood against the eastern wall next to the figurine of the Fire God. Sky Knife knelt before the small flame and removed the deer hide bag that contained his sacrificial knife from his waist. He placed the bag on the table next to the lamp.
“Itzamna bless this blade with the dying of the day,” he said. “For it will be long and long before this day cycles around again.”
Sky Knife closed his eyes and contemplated the cycles of the calendars. There was the 260-day cycle that meshed with the 365-day cycle in the sacred Calendar Round in such a way that every day was made new for fifty-two growing seasons before starting over again. There was the fairly simple and straightforward lunar cycle and the much more mysterious cycle of the morning star and evening star. And there was the Long Count: the reckoning of days since the beginning of time at 13.0.0.0.0. The Long Count would reckon the days until the next 13.0.0.0.0, when the world would be made new all over again.
Dimly, Sky Knife could comprehend the great cycles. The span of time that encompassed them was so vast, he felt dizzy every time he tried to think how far back several cycles of the Long Count would be. No one knew how many times the days had come around from one 13.0.0.0.0 to the next—perhaps only once or twice, perhaps hundreds. Time was truly one of the great mysteries. The gods were great to have created such a thing, and to keep on recreating it from day to day.
“I name today 9.0.4.7.3 5 Akbal 15 Cumku,” said Sky Knife, giving this day its name for the last time. Sky Knife took a deep breath. Cumku was the last month of the 360-day cycle. After that would come the five unlucky days of Uayeb. This year, the first day of Uayeb would be 10 Lamat. Lamat, the morning star, was always an omen of evil. And 10 was the number assigned to the god of death. That this year, both Lamat and 10 should fall on Uayeb was ill luck on ill luck. Black Coyote must ascend the mat of rulership before then.
“Itzamna, help me,” prayed Sky Knife. He reached into his bag of belongings and drew out a small bundle of cotton tied with a red cord and some paper. He untied the cord and unrolled the bundle. Inside was a stingray spine.
The spine was brilliantly white except for the darkened tip. The sharp edges reflected the flame’s light like pearls. Sky Knife took the spine in his right hand and held the spine out over his left palm. He closed his eyes a moment, steeling himself.
Sky Knife opened his eyes and jammed the spine into the palm of his hand. The sudden pain took his breath away for a moment, but he was prepared for it. Sky Knife put down the spine and cupped his palm, letting the blood well up in the center.
“Accept this small sacrifice, Lord,” he whispered. Sky Knife held his hand over the paper and turned his hand over, letting the blood drip onto the paper. “Aid me in my task, Lord. Help the new king of Teotihuacan ascend to his glory and the old king ascend to his heaven knowing he is avenged.”
Sky Knife picked up the blood-soaked paper and held it to the lamp’s flame. The fire turned blue and consumed the paper eagerly.
Sky Knife wiped the remainder of his blood off on a small cloth he kept for such purposes. He replaced the spine in its cotton bundle and retied the cord.
“Not very impressive, really,” said a lilting female voice. Lily-on-the-Water.
Sky Knife stood up and turned to face her. The priestess had changed into several layers of skirt, each one shorter than the one underneath so all could be seen. The longest inner skirt was black, while the others were in successively lighter shades of blue. A light blue shawl was draped over the priestess’s shoulders, leaving her midriff bare, her breasts peeking out from underneath the shirt. Feathers on the hem of the shawl partially concealed her breasts, but only from a frontal angle. A chain of polished beads of lapis dangled from around her neck and three more were stretched around her narrow waist.
Sky Knife looked away. “I did not know you wished to be impressed,” he said. “Perhaps next time I can arrange something more dramatic.”
Lily-on-the-Water shrugged. “I doubt anything you could do would impress me, iguana priest. Your sorceries are small compared to those of the Masked One.”
“And her representative?”
Lily-on-the-Water had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. Sky Knife wondered if she really was, or if she was just very practiced at only showing what she wanted to show.
“My sorcery is, indeed, great,” said Lily-on-the-Water slowly. “But that is unimportant.”
“And what is important?”
“I heard about the attempt on the king’s life. I came to see if the Masked One would lead me to whoever was doing this. She led me here.”
“You think I threatened the king?”
Lily-on-the-Water sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “No, that’s the strange part. There are many people in this palace who might want the king dead, but I don’t believe you are one of them.”
“Why not?” asked Sky Knife. “Perhaps I am in league with someone.”
Lily-on-the-Water shook her head vigorously. “There is no reason for a priest to resort to murder. Not one of ours. Not one of yours.”
Sky Knife could think of a few examples of priests who thought nothing of committing murder, but he didn’t think this was the time to relate that story to Lily-on-the-Water.
“So … the Masked One led you here when you were looking for the person who tried to kill the king,” prompted Sky Knife.
The priestess looked at him through narrowed eyes. “I don’t know why, but she did. And she is always right. You are involved somehow.”
“Jaguar’s Daughter wants me to find the murderer of her husband.”
Lily-on-the-Water smiled, but the smile was cold. “Ah, Jaguar’s Daughter. I should have thought.”
“Thought what?”
“Do not put your trust in her, priest,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “She is not from this city and her ways are not ours.”
“Neither are mine.”
Lily-on-the-Water laughed. In contrast to her voice, which was smooth and sweet to hear, her laughter was harsh and more like the barking of a dog than a woman’s laugh.
“No, they are not,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “And do not think I will forget it.”
The priestess left. The rustling of her long skirts hung in the air after her.
II
Priestess of masks,
Priestess of dawn,
Look down on me, the lowly worm
And pick me up out of the dirt.
Or roll with me in the mud—I don’t care!
Your beauty could never be despoiled.
I’ll be your love slave
For the fruits of your garden.
Whiskers-of-Rat, His Song
8
Sky Knife awoke with the sun. He didn’t have to see it to know when it would rise—the daily births and deaths of the sun called to him in his bones. Sky Knife got up and faced the eastern wall of his room.
“Good morning, Sun,” he said, bowing. He did not have to be outside to perform this devotion. The life force of the sun was great enough to penetrate any wall. “I name the new day
9.0.4.7.4 6 Kan 16 Cumku and welcome it. May the new day bring blessings to the people of the earth, Maya and Teotihuacano alike. May your rays shine down onto people filled with happiness and joy and your light provide comfort to all those touched by its rays.”
Sky Knife shivered, unused to the chill of the air, and held his arms close to his body. How could the Teotihuacanos stand it? He tied the bag containing his sacrificial knife around his waist and adjusted his skirt. The solid blue skirt reached almost to his ankles, a symbol of his status. In Tikal, only priests could wear unrelieved blue, and only those men of high rank—priests, scribes, courtiers—could wear the long skirt. It had taken a long time to get used to the feeling of the material tugging at his ankles, as if it were trying to trip him. At least it was warmer than just wearing a loincloth.
“Good morning.”
Sky Knife turned to see Deer at his door. “Good morning,” he said. Deer was dressed in a long white tunic belted in by a red leather cord. “How’s the king?”
Deer shrugged and smiled. “If you mean me, I’m fine. If you mean my other half, he’s tired and a little bit scared. I think he expects snakes to just appear in every room and hallway now. At least Talking Storm will have him this morning to instruct him on parts of the ascension ritual, so snakes won’t be a problem.”
“Provided Talking Storm isn’t a problem.”
“You said you didn’t think he was. Do you think my Little Weed shouldn’t be with him?” Deer frowned, worried.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” said Sky Knife. “I just can’t help wondering who else could have sent the snake last night.”
“How about you?” asked Deer. At Sky Knife’s glance, he raised his hands defensively. “I don’t believe you did. I just meant, what if you could? Perhaps someone besides Talking Storm could do it, too.”
Sky Knife brushed hair out of his eyes. “It never occurred to me to try it,” he said. “I don’t know if I could or not. I didn’t even know if the snake last night would come to me, but…” Sky Knife touched the serpent tattoo at his neck reverently. “But … it just worked. I knew a rainbow serpent once, a chic-chac. Sometimes, it seems, it still protects me.”
“A rainbow serpent?” asked Deer. “I’ve never heard of those. Here we have the lightning serpent, whose scales are the mountains and whose tongue is the forked lightning of the storm. The Storm God is the master of the lightning serpent—that’s why Talking Storm can call and control snakes. Perhaps the lightning serpent serves your god, too.”
“I don’t think so,” said Sky Knife. “I doubt the Storm God would like to share his power over such a great creature.”
Deer shrugged. “I don’t know about the gods that way,” he said. “That’s what priests are for.”
Sky Knife walked out of the room. Deer stepped aside to let him pass. “Where’s Jaguar’s Daughter?” Sky Knife asked.
“You won’t find anyone this morning,” said Deer. “All the family are in isolation to prepare for the chaos of the next few days. I think Jaguar’s Daughter and the Corn Priest want to move the ascension to tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night?” asked Sky Knife. “They’ll prepare for your ascension in two days?”
“Well, normally, such a thing would take weeks of planning, inviting high-ranking foreigners, praying, sacrificing—you know, everything. But we’ve only four more days to the Unlucky Times, and with the attack on the boy last night, Jaguar’s Daughter wants her son installed as soon as possible. He’ll be less vulnerable once the Storm God is his official guardian and the other half of his soul is in the next world.”
Deer couldn’t keep his voice from cracking on the last phrase. Sky Knife’s heart went out to him, as it always did to the sacrifice. But a sacrifice had to face his fate alone. Sky Knife pretended not to have heard.
“Not that having the Storm God as a protector kept Black Coyote’s father alive,” said Sky Knife.
Deer shrugged. “As I said, I don’t know about the gods.”
Sky Knife sighed. “All right. If the family is unavailable this morning, I’ll go out and see some of the city. Perhaps I’ll be better able to understand why the king was killed if I familiarize myself with the people here.”
“Couldn’t you just ask your god to tell you who did it? Isn’t that what priests do—read signs and omens and whatever?” Deer punctuated his statement by throwing his arms out as if to call up divine omens.
Sky Knife grinned. “Sometimes. But it’s generally more helpful to go out and ask a few questions yourself.”
Deer frowned. “You’d know best, I’m sure. Is this something you do a lot?”
“No,” said Sky Knife. “No, I wouldn’t say that.” He put a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”
Deer bowed slightly. “Until later, my friend.”
Sky Knife left the palace. Outside, the bright morning sun warmed his skin. The guards at the front patio let him go without a glance. Sky Knife took a deep breath and stepped out into the street, tensing himself against the crowd of humanity passing by outside.
“Lord Priest,” said a familiar voice. Sky Knife looked around for the source.
Whiskers-of-Rat lounged against the painted wall of the palace. He wore a different tunic today—this one was blue with orange stripes. The bright embroidery of animal figures stalked their way across the material as they had on the red tunic. Whiskers-of-Rat waved and came over to Sky Knife. “Do you remember my help yesterday?”
“Yes, of course” said Sky Knife. “But you left before we could discuss payment.”
Whiskers-of-Rat dropped his gaze, all innocence. “I knew where I could find you,” he said. “And I thought you might yet need a guide.”
“So you figured you’d get two days’ fee out of me instead of one,” said Sky Knife, amused. He was more glad than he could say to see the guide, actually. He did not want to face this city alone. “Perhaps this time we should discuss the fee.”
“Nothing…” the rest of Whiskers-of-Rat’s speech was lost on Sky Knife.
“I didn’t understand,” he said. “Nothing what?”
“Too much,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “More than you have.”
“Exorbitant,” Sky Knife said in Mayan.
“As you say.”
“And what would you consider not too much? You may have noticed I didn’t bring much with me.”
Whiskers-of-Rat grinned and tapped a temple with a long forefinger. “You are rich, Lord Priest. Rich in knowledge. I want some of that.”
“You want me to teach you?” Sky Knife was surprised. He hadn’t expected that. “What do you want to know?”
“No problem. We can talk of that later, surely,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “It’s such a bright morning, after all. You should be seeing the city now while the new sun makes the city shine.” Whiskers-of-Rat turned to go.
“No,” said Sky Knife. “Wait.” He stayed where he was and waited for Whiskers-of-Rat to turn back.
“Yes?” asked the guide. The morning breeze flipped a long strand of hair in his face. Whiskers-of-Rat pushed it aside lazily.
“I want to know now, before we go anywhere,” said Sky Knife. “What is it you want?”
Whiskers-of-Rat threw out his arms and heaved an exaggerated sigh. “He doesn’t trust me,” he said to the sky. “What is the world coming to?” Sky Knife waited while Whiskers-of-Rat shook his head. “All right, Lord Priest, I will tell you what I want. But not in the street, eh?”
“All right.”
Whiskers-of-Rat gestured toward the palace patio. Sky Knife entered, wondering if the guards would let a guide through. But Whiskers-of-Rat was admitted without question. Sky Knife wondered suddenly who they were really guarding the palace against.
Sky Knife went to the eastern end of the patio and sat down on a bench that stood between twin stone sculptures of the Fire God. For some reason, the sculptor had carved a wicked grin on the faces of the god, as if he delighted in the heavy loa
d on his head. Or as if he knew something Sky Knife didn’t. Sky Knife looked away.
Whiskers-of-Rat sat down beside him. “Everyone knows Mayan priests know magic,” he said. “You will teach me.”
“What?” asked Sky Knife. “Only priests can perform magic.”
“In your city, maybe,” said Whiskers-of-Rat calmly. “But here the merchants may also know some.”
Sky Knife nodded. “I know. I met one of your sorceror merchants once. So why don’t you go to them?”
“They would teach me for a price,” said Whiskers-of-Rat, his voice low and angry. “But it is too high.”
Sky Knife closed his eyes and leaned back against the cold stones. The rough surface felt good against his bare back. Should he agree? He did owe Whiskers-of-Rat something for yesterday, but they hadn’t agreed on anything beforehand. Sky Knife could see now that that had been a mistake.
Mayan philosophy held that a priest could perform magic only because he was blessed by the gods. Therefore, no matter how much Sky Knife tried to teach magic to Whiskers-of-Rat, it shouldn’t make a difference. Without Itzamna’s blessing, Whiskers-of-Rat should not be able to do priestly magic.
“I can try to teach you,” he said at last. “But what if you can’t learn?”
Sky Knife opened his eyes and looked at the other man. Whiskers-of-Rat twitched his nose as if considering. “I hadn’t thought about that,” he said. Whiskers-of-Rat turned dark eyes to meet Sky Knife’s. “I’ll guide you around the city today and in return, you will attempt to teach me magic. But you must promise to try to teach me in honor and not just pretend.”
Sky Knife nodded. “I swear by Itzamna that I will do my honorable best to teach you magic. If Itzamna so wills it, you will learn it. If not, there’s nothing I can do.”
Whiskers-of-Rat hesitated. “I think I just made a bad deal,” he said under his breath. “Well, it will not be the first time. But maybe it will be the last, eh?”
Sky Knife bit his lip, concerned. He should have asked what Whiskers-of-Rat wanted the magic for before he swore, but it was too late now. Sky Knife wondered if he should pray that Whiskers-of-Rat could not learn magic.
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