Serpent and Storm

by Marella Sands

  The courtyard itself was plastered in white like the exterior of the buildings. The high outer walls sheltered one-story buildings built in the flat-roofed Teotihuacan style. Several entrances to small buildings in the compound were scattered around the courtyard. The children watched him from the street.

  “There are forty-five of us here,” said Tree Conch, noting Sky Knife’s gaze. “Thirty live in the compound next to this one, and the other fifteen live here. Most of them are out in the fields today, preparing for the spring planting. We are the only Mayan enclave in the city.”

  “Are you all from Altun Ha?” asked Sky Knife.

  “No,” said Tree Conch. “Just us. One man is from El Mirador. Most of the others are from Kaminaljuyu. We’ve been here for nine years but most have been here longer.”

  Corn Husk returned, her stride hurried as if she had taken too long. She knelt in front of Sky Knife and held out a new pair of sandals.

  “Thank you,” said Sky Knife. He slipped the sandals on while Corn Husk went to Whiskers-of-Rat and washed his feet. When finished, she took the bowl of water to a strange circular hole in the center of the courtyard and poured the water into it.

  “There, you see?” asked Whiskers-of-Rat. “A drain.”

  Sky Knife still didn’t understand what it was. He gestured toward the hole. “What is that?” he asked Tree Conch.

  “Your guide gave you the word,” said Tree Conch, “and I have no other to give you. None of us had ever seen one before. But it is a clay pipe that leads from here to the river. It takes away all our waste water. Every compound has at least one. It’s really quite useful.”

  Sky Knife stared at the hole while Corn Husk left with the empty bowl and towel. “It’s remarkable,” he said.

  Corn Husk returned with a tray, on which she had balanced three jars. She handed one to Sky Knife, the second to Whiskers-of-Rat, and the third to her husband. The heavy odor of pulque filled Sky Knife’s nose.

  “Thank you,” he said. Whiskers-of-Rat imitated him, though his accent was terrible. Sky Knife’s respect for the guide went up a notch—Whiskers-of-Rat was a foreigner, but at least he had some manners.

  “Do you speak Mayan at all?” he asked the guide. It seemed rude to be talking to the others if Whiskers-of-Rat could not understand.

  “No, no. I speak five languages, but yours is not one of them. It takes a long time to learn another language and there is very little opportunity here to learn or practice your tongue. But it is no problem. Please, continue.” Whiskers-of-Rat leaned back against the wall of the courtyard.

  “We speak some of his language,” said Tree Conch, “but not very much. Just enough to get by in the fields and the market. But the children know the local tongue—too well, I’m afraid.”

  “How do you mean?” asked Sky Knife.

  “Well, this city … it takes in foreigners,” said Tree Conch. “And in a few years, they’re not foreign anymore. Or their children aren’t. If we stay here, our children will grow up without knowing their own people’s ways. They won’t marry other Maya. They’ll raise their children speaking the Teotihuacano language and worshipping the Masked One rather than Itzamna.”

  “This is a big, bright place,” said Corn Husk. “There is no shame in being a foreigner as there might be at home. But only because the city takes its time. Sooner or later, you belong here and nowhere else. All your old gods and traditions get left behind.”

  “Can’t you go home?” asked Sky Knife.

  Tree Conch glanced at his wife. She straightened her shoulders in a gesture of wounded pride but didn’t glance back to her husband.

  “We can’t,” said Tree Conch. “Corn Husk was the daughter of the Ah kin. She was supposed to marry his rival’s son and bring an end to the two families’ bickering. Her son would have been the new high priest of Altun Ha.”

  Corn Husk frowned. “But I wouldn’t marry him. He was a lying, whimpering dog. He seduced a friend of mine, but renounced her when she became pregnant. She died for adultery, of course. But his father believed him when he said the child wasn’t his.”

  “She started to run away,” said Tree Conch, “but I saw her in the fields. At first, I thought she was a goddess, she was so beautiful.”

  Corn Husk relaxed a little and smiled. “He was so kind. I went home with him and explained my plight. His parents wanted to take me back to my father, but Tree Conch wanted to help me. He stood up to my father and was exiled. I ran away with him and we came here.”

  Sky Knife drank his pulque, impressed by the story. Most Mayan women wouldn’t have had the courage to disobey their father in such a matter, no matter how just their argument. Nor would most farmers have left their milpa for a woman, no matter how high-born.

  “Well, Lord,” said Tree Conch. He cleared his throat as if embarrassed. “Now you know all about us.” He looked at Sky Knife.

  Sky Knife put down the empty jar. “My name is Sky Knife,” he said. “I’m the Ah men and Ah kin of Itzamna in Tikal.”

  Renewed fear crossed Corn Husk’s face. “We’ve told you the truth,” she said.

  “I believe you,” said Sky Knife. He knew from personal experience that rank was no protection against evil men. “Do you really want to leave here?”

  Tree Conch sat up straight, tense. “What do you mean? We can’t go home.”

  “True,” said Sky Knife. “But you could go to Tikal. Go there and tell our king, Storm Cloud, that I sent you to him. Tell him I asked you to settle in our city. And seek out my wife, Jade Flute. She will help you in my name.”

  “I don’t…” began Tree Conch. “But we’re exiles. I mean, you … you’d want us in your city?”

  “You and your children,” said Sky Knife. “Your children should know their own customs, their own people. And you shouldn’t suffer for another’s falsehood.”

  Corn Husk knelt before Sky Knife and grabbed him around the knees. Tree Conch knelt by his wife and bowed to Sky Knife. “Lord, we can never repay such kindness,” he said. “You have given us back our lives.”

  “You can … you can tell Jade Flute when you see her that I will be home as soon as I can. And that I love her.”

  “Of course, Lord,” said Corn Husk. “We are your humble servants.”

  “Anything you should ever ask of us, we will do,” said Tree Conch. “I swear it in the name of Itzamna.”

  “Thank you,” said Sky Knife, pleased to have helped them but embarrassed by the emotional display. “Now I must go. I’ll see you again in Tikal.”

  “Yes, Lord, we will be there waiting for you,” said Tree Conch.

  Sky Knife stood and took out the Hand of God from its bag. Both Corn Husk and Tree Conch bowed their heads before it.

  “Itzamna go with you and keep you safe on your trail,” said Sky Knife. He replaced the knife in its bag.

  “Come on,” he said to Whiskers-of-Rat. The guide, who had been viewing the scene with undisguised amusement, jumped to his feet.

  “To Cacao’s house,” directed Sky Knife.

  Whiskers-of-Rat bowed and led him out of the courtyard. Sky Knife wondered how long it would take Tree Conch and his family to leave the city. Sky Knife wanted to go with them when they did. At least, if he completed his task for Jaguar’s Daughter soon, he could look forward to getting back home as quickly as possible.

  But he had no idea how long that was going to be, and he was sworn to stay until he had succeeded. Sky Knife left the Mayan compound, envious that Tree Conch and his family would see Tikal—and Jade Flute—before he did.

  11

  As Whiskers-of-Rat had predicted, the way back to the central street and the market from the Mayan compound seemed much shorter than the trip to the compound. The featureless white plaster compounds passed by on either side of the street until Whiskers-of-Rat and Sky Knife rejoined the crowd in the main avenue.

  The sudden sense of openness after the tightly packed alleyways of the city was a relief. Sky Knife took a deep breath
of the late morning air, glad to leave the close, airless, rotted-vegetable scent of the alleys for the fresher scents of the center of the city. Sky Knife could smell sweat and cooking meat, and all of it mixed with the heavy spicy scent of copal.

  The new sandals Corn Husk had given him were too big and they made Sky Knife walk with an awkward, mincing step. But he appreciated her thoughtfulness and generosity. He doubted Corn Husk and Tree Conch had many pairs of sandals they could give up.

  Whiskers-of-Rat led him past the market to a neighborhood where the alleys were wider and the white plaster walls ringed with murals about halfway up. The children in the alleys were dressed in fine cotton shirts. Several even wore jade necklaces or shell-encrusted sandals.

  Whiskers-of-Rat stopped in front of a wide opening flanked by more murals of rivers containing the mysterious eye. Yax-um feathers, long and green, lay on the banks of the brilliantly painted rivers.

  “Lord Sky Knife of Tikal to see Chief Administrator Cacao,” shouted Whiskers-of-Rat into the courtyard beyond. Sky Knife peered in, but the courtyard looked much the same as the one in Tree Conch’s compound, right down to the circular hole in the center.

  A tall woman dressed in a flowing purple dress that left her shoulders bare came across the courtyard. Her hair was tied and pinned on her head. She looked as though she was a few years younger than Sky Knife, probably sixteen or so. A choker of jade beads carved to resemble flowers encircled her neck.

  “Cacao is waiting,” the woman said without introduction. She gestured for Sky Knife to enter. “Remain outside,” she said to Whiskers-of-Rat.

  The woman’s dismissal of his guide annoyed Sky Knife. “I understand if Cacao does not wish to invite my guide to the meal,” he said, though he wasn’t sure he did understand, “but at least my guide should be offered a place to rest.” He remembered that at the central administration bureau of the market Whiskers-of-Rat had stayed outside.

  The woman stared down her long nose at Sky Knife. “My father said nothing about dung,” she said.

  “What?” asked Sky Knife.

  “It is a … an insult,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “A, uh, animal dropping?”

  “This is the house of the Chief Administrator of the Market of Teotihuacan, the Center of the World,” the woman said. “He is just a man who takes advantage of others. A thief.”

  Anger rose in Sky Knife’s chest and choked him. “Perhaps,” he said as calmly as he could manage, “you will tell your father that I shall have to forego the courtesy of his invitation until another time.”

  “Daughter, what is keeping my guest?” Cacao came into the courtyard.

  “Your guest chooses to renounce your invitation,” said the woman.

  “What? Whatever for?” Cacao stood behind his daughter, looking puzzled.

  “I merely said I shall have to forego your invitation until such time as my companion is granted a place to rest while we eat,” said Sky Knife. “I would also appreciate that my guide should not be insulted in my presence.”

  “Insulted? Of course, no insult is intended to you or your guide,” said Cacao. “Come in, please.”

  Cacao’s daughter looked disgusted and walked away before she could be introduced. Sky Knife was not sorry to see her go. Nor was he sorry that Cacao did not call her back or ask what insult she had given, though he was surprised. Perhaps it was not Teotihuacan custom, though. This was the first Teotihuacano household he had visited except the palace, and Sky Knife guessed customs were probably a little different where the king’s family was concerned.

  “I trust you have had an interesting morning,” said Cacao as he led Sky Knife and Whiskers-of-Rat into the courtyard.

  “Oh, yes,” said Sky Knife. “Quite interesting.” Now that he was inside the courtyard, he could see he had been mistaken. The part of the courtyard that could be seen from the street was plain, but the courtyard was an L-shape: most of it was around a corner. And it was magnificent.

  Baskets hanging from the tops of the walls contained plants that trailed their delicate limbs and leaves down the walls to the ground. Murals dominated every wall, each one containing a different, brilliantly-painted, scene. On Sky Knife’s left, framed by a strange border of human hearts, a flute-playing jaguar band of musicians danced. The entire scene was executed in a lighthearted manner that made Sky Knife smile, even at the powerful image of the jaguar.

  Several ceramic censers such as had been in his room in the palace sat in various places around the courtyard. A servant had one apart and was refilling it with fresh coals.

  “It’s remarkable,” he said to Cacao, who motioned for Sky Knife to sit on a strange lumpy cotton throw on the ground. Sky Knife sat gingerly, unsure what kind of blanket this might be.

  The blanket covered something soft but firm enough to carry Sky Knife’s weight. He picked up a corner of the throw and looked underneath. The throw covered an animal skin sack stitched together from several pieces of leather. Bits of hay and sweet grasses poked out of the stitching. Sky Knife dropped the corner of the throw and nodded approval. He had never seen anything like this before, but now that he had, it seemed an obvious thing to make. Softer than a stone bench, certainly. Perhaps Jade Flute would like one.

  Whiskers-of-Rat bowed to Cacao and sat on a bench near the door to the street. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

  “Your presence honors me,” said Cacao to Sky Knife. “Please, join me in a cup of chocolate.”

  “What?” asked Sky Knife. Cacao’s daughter returned with a tray loaded with two deep ceramic cups of the thin orange pottery he had seen in the market. A larger orange vase sat on three feet in the center of the tray. Cacao’s daughter put the tray down on a low wooden table and left. Her father poured a dark gray liquid out of the vase into each cup.

  “Chocolate,” Cacao said again. “It’s made from the beans for which I was named.” He handed one of the cups to Sky Knife.

  The cup was warm and the liquid inside simmered and steamed as if very hot. A thin light gray film sat on top of the liquid. Whatever the stuff was, it had to be very expensive. Although Sky Knife had never had any himself, he knew that cacao beans were more precious than jade, precious enough to be used as a standard of trade. Merchants from Teotihuacan often spoke of objects in reference to their worth in beans. To see them drink a concoction made from beans, then, was a wonder.

  “It does take some practice to drink it this hot,” said Cacao, “but it is bitter when cool. Please, drink.”

  Sky Knife lifted the cup to his lips and sipped. The scalding hot liquid burned his tongue and throat as it slid past. Sky Knife gasped, eyes watering. The brew was as bitter as any herb he had ever tasted. How much worse would this stuff be when it cooled off?

  Sky Knife waited a few moments for the stinging pain in his throat and tongue to settle down. He took another sip of the stuff. The second sip was as bitter as the first.

  “Ah,” said Cacao, who had taken a swig from his own cup. “This is truly the food of the gods.” Cacao raised his cup to his face and inhaled deeply of the steam.

  Sky Knife ran his tongue around his mouth wondering how far he dared let the stuff cool off before trying it again. “I’ve never heard of this before,” he said, delaying a third sip. “It must be quite expensive to produce.”

  “Oh, you have no idea,” said Cacao. “Just this one jar took several hundred beans to make.”

  “Several hundred?” asked Sky Knife, stunned. The sheer amount of wealth Cacao had sacrificed just for a cup of acrid gray fluid! Sky Knife clutched his own cup more tightly, humbled to think Cacao would have squandered such wealth on him.

  “Yes,” said Cacao. “Most people keep the beans and use them in trade without realizing their true potential. We call this the food of the gods because only the gods could have conceived such excellence. I enjoy it, as I’m sure the gods must.” Cacao leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. “And since this is the food of the gods, then it ought to
help one stay young like the gods. So I drink at least a little bit each day.”

  Sky Knife’s mind boggled at the amount of wealth Cacao must funnel into this particular habit. “To stay young?” he asked. “What happens if it leaves you young and destitute?”

  Cacao laughed. “That won’t happen,” he said. “I plan on being young and rich for a long time yet.”

  “Then being the Chief Administrator of the Market is a profitable position.”

  Cacao shrugged, a sly grin on his face. “Oh, I get a bit here, a bit there. It adds up if you know what you’re doing.”

  Sky Knife didn’t know what to say to that. He glanced back down at his cup. Small gray blobs had separated out of the concoction and floated around on top. The stuff looked unappealing, but Sky Knife was determined to drink it. He gulped some down, glad it had cooled off enough to just be hot and not scalding.

  In doing so, he discovered Cacao had been right. Even though it had cooled off only slightly, the brew was more bitter than before. Sky Knife finished the rest of the liquid as quickly as he could.

  “Wonderful stuff, isn’t it,” said Cacao. It wasn’t a question and Sky Knife only nodded in response. “My daughter will be bringing out our meal shortly.”

  “Could my guide be given some water?” asked Sky Knife. “Or even some food? We have been out in the city all day.”

  “Of course,” said Cacao. “He will be given water.”

  Sky Knife waited a moment, wondering if Cacao would offer Whiskers-of-Rat food, but the other man said nothing more. It seemed strange—how could Cacao waste more wealth than Sky Knife had ever owned or even dreamed of owning on a bitter drink, but balk at providing Whiskers-of-Rat a few scraps of food?

  Customs were definitely different here. Sky Knife glanced toward Whiskers-of-Rat, but the guide appeared to be dozing.

  Cacao’s daughter came back of the house and took away the tray and the cups.