Serpent and Storm

by Marella Sands

  The fog curled around Sky Knife’s ankles and he felt a gentle tugging. “I think we’re being invited to go on,” he said. He stepped forward.

  “I think you’re the only one with an invitation,” said Deer.

  Sky Knife turned back. The fog stopped just short of Deer’s feet. It undulated in place in front of him but did not touch the dwarf.

  The gentle tugging at Sky Knife’s ankles became more insistent. “I have to go on,” he said to Deer.

  “Go,” said the dwarf. “I’ll try to follow.”

  Suddenly, fog poured out of the ceiling and completely engulfed Whiskers-of-Rat. It covered him from head to foot in no more than a second. The guide stood still a moment. Then he screamed and ran past Sky Knife into the darkness beyond.

  “No!” shouted Deer.

  “Whiskers-of-Rat!” shouted Sky Knife.

  The guide’s screams continued and then were abruptly silenced. Sky Knife glanced back to Deer.

  The strange orange fog still did not touch the other man. It swirled around him, though, completely cutting him off from going in any direction. Slowly, Deer put a foot out into the fog.

  Quickly, the dwarf jerked his foot back. “It’s cold,” he said. “Colder than snow, colder than anything.”

  Deer tried again. He put his foot down firmly and brought his other foot forward, but he fell.

  “I can’t feel my feet!” he cried. “They’re frozen.”

  The small clear patch Deer had stepped out of disappeared and the dwarf was almost completely engulfed in the orange fog.

  Sky Knife ran to him, though the tugging at his ankles pulled him the other way. He reached down to Deer.

  “Here,” he said, heart beating wildly in fear. “Take my hand and climb up on my back. I’ll carry you the rest of the way.”

  Deer grabbed Sky Knife’s outstretched hands. Sky Knife knelt and let the other man straddle his back. Deer’s skin was cold and he shivered violently. Sky Knife put his arms under Deer’s knees to help him stay on.

  Sky Knife stood and let the tugging lead him forward. He stepped carefully, unable to see the floor through the fog, but the floor proved even and he didn’t stumble.

  The tunnel curved to the right, then to the left, then back to the right. At last Sky Knife saw a long straightaway ahead of him.

  The fog began to glow. It seeped down the sides of the tunnel and boiled over onto the floor. Sky Knife walked carefully. He was tired and his legs ached from carrying Deer. Even breathing the cold air hurt his throat.

  The corridor continued to open up. Slowly, the tugging at Sky Knife’s ankles eased and the fog began to dissipate. As it went, it flashed briefly like light on the rippled surface of a pool of water.

  Soon, it was gone. Sky Knife knelt and Deer slid off his back. The other man stumbled.

  “Are you all right?” asked Sky Knife.

  “Yes,” said Deer. “I’m just still so cold. I’ll be fine.”

  Sky Knife nodded and stood. He walked forward toward a constriction in the tunnel. He couldn’t see anything beyond that.

  Sky Knife sent the ball of light ahead, but its light refused to penetrate the darkness beyond.

  Then a man stepped out of the darkness to block the way.

  “You have come far, mortals,” said the man in the deep voice Sky Knife had heard earlier. “But this is as far as you will be allowed to go. Your journey is over.”

  18

  The man reached out to put a hand on each side of the tunnel. His tall figure seemed to radiate darkness. Sky Knife blinked, feeling as if he could recognize the man if he tried.

  “You stand before the Center of All,” said the man. “Your way is barred.”

  “We were invited,” said Sky Knife, “by the Masked One herself.”

  “Even the Masked One has no power here,” said the man. “No god can control the Center.”

  “It is her womb!” said Deer. He sounded insulted.

  “It is the Center also,” said the man, “and that is more than just the womb of a goddess.”

  Sky Knife stared into the strange darkness surrounding the man and caught a glimpse of a long pointed nose.

  “Whiskers-of-Rat!” he shouted. “It’s us—don’t you recognize us?” Sky Knife had little hope that Whiskers-of-Rat would say yes. Whatever had possessed the man against his will would be strong enough to keep him from speaking.

  The man pointed to Sky Knife. “That name has no meaning here.” Sky Knife’s heart sank.

  “Who are you?” asked Deer. “If you are not Whiskers-of-Rat anymore.”

  “You have come to the Center,” said the man. “I am the Guardian.”

  “Others have passed through here recently,” said Sky Knife. “Some men have brought a child here. Did you stop them, too?”

  A deep rumble filled the air and bright flashes like lightning lit the air behind the Guardian. The power rippled along Sky Knife’s skin, stinging like a thousand tiny insect bites.

  “They could force their way past because they do not seek the Truth,” said the Guardian. “They defile this holy place with their presence. The Truth cannot stop those for whom it has no meaning.”

  “You mean if we were scoundrels we could get past, but since we’re not, we can’t?” asked Deer.

  The Guardian said nothing. The flashes of light continued. Sky Knife blinked, his eyes watering at the brilliant display. He scratched the skin of his arms where the stinging was worst.

  “Surely there’s a way we can get past,” Sky Knife said.

  “Not for you, priest,” said the Guardian. “Nor for the twin.”

  Sky Knife took a step forward. The Guardian pointed at him again. Bright lightning shot out of the Guardian’s finger and leapt at Sky Knife.

  The lightning whirled about his body a moment before slamming into him. Sky Knife screamed as the pain drove him to the floor and stole his breath.

  Sky Knife struggled, but the lightning held him in a tight grip. The light burned him and squeezed him so tightly he couldn’t draw in another breath to scream.

  Spots danced before Sky Knife’s eyes. He tried to reach for the deerskin bag to retrieve his knife, but the moment he twitched his hand it was caught in a terrible grip. Sky Knife felt as if all the bones in his hand were being crushed at once.

  Suddenly, the light was gone. Sky Knife drew in a deep breath of cold air and rolled over on the cold stone floor, gasping.

  “Sky Knife!” Deer knelt by him. The dwarf’s hands burned his skin where they touched him. Sky Knife jerked away and screamed.

  “What have you done to him?” Deer demanded of the Guardian. “He is trying to help the king—he doesn’t deserve this. Punish those evildoers who have entered before us instead.”

  “No one deserves their lot, bad or good,” said the Guardian. “For that is not the way of the Center, to dispense pain or pleasure where it is earned. Rather, the Center portions out its wrath and its goodwill at its own whim.”

  The pain that ran along Sky Knife’s skin eased somewhat and he struggled to get his elbows under him. Cold and weak, he struggled to think through the ringing in his head.

  “Sky Knife,” said Deer. “Are you all right?”

  Sky Knife took a deep breath. “I think so,” he said. “I’m not sure.” He pushed himself up to a sitting position and glanced at the Guardian.

  The same strange blackness still radiated from the man in the doorway. Crackles of lightning briefly lit the cavern behind the Guardian.

  “Leave now or suffer,” said the Guardian.

  “Perhaps your whim will change,” said Sky Knife. “How should I know?”

  “No man can know the Center of All,” said the Guardian. “For the true Reality of the world is not even in the realm of the gods. It is beyond them and unknown to them. How then do you dare approach and seek to enter?”

  “I only want to retrieve the boy,” said Sky Knife. “I have no desire to peer into the Center of All.”

&nbs
p; “Yet the boy is inside,” said the Guardian. “So to do one you must do the other.”

  “Then I must,” said Sky Knife. He put a hand to the rough wall of the tunnel and wearily climbed to his feet.

  “How?” asked Deer. “How can we get by him? Do you have that much power?”

  “There is only one way to harness almost unlimited power,” said Sky Knife, “probably enough to move the Guardian from the door and tear this cavern down around our ears. But that would require a perfect sacrifice and we don’t happen to have one here.”

  “What about me?” asked Deer. “Perhaps the Corn Priest could choose another twin for Little Weed.”

  Sky Knife looked into Deer’s eyes. Worry creased the other man’s forehead and his eyes were wide with fear.

  “No.” Sky Knife shook his head. “You’re afraid. It’s no shame, but it won’t work if you go to the knife with fear in your heart.”

  “If it endangers my Little Weed, then I am ashamed,” said Deer. He looked away from Sky Knife.

  Sky Knife leaned against the wall and looked at the Guardian. The blackness emanating from it was like the black of his own glass blade. It was hard and bright, unrelenting.

  Perhaps, then, brittle as well. A glass blade was strong and sharp, but could be easily shattered into millions of razor-thin slivers, each eager to slice flesh or bone.

  Sky Knife reached for his knife.

  “No,” said the Guardian. “Your god cannot help you here.”

  Sky Knife paid no attention.

  Deer watched him warily. “What will you do?” he asked. “If you’re not going to take my heart—what can you do? Can you take his?” Deer pointed toward the Guardian.

  “I don’t think so,” said Sky Knife.

  “He’s just a man,” said Deer.

  “But the Center is within him,” said Sky Knife. “How can a man sacrifice a god?” Sky Knife drew his blade out of the bag.

  The black glass glade glittered in the lightning flashes, but mostly it reflected the blue light from the ball that hovered against the ceiling of the tunnel.

  “The gods can die,” said Deer.

  “The gods can die,” agreed the Guardian. “But I am not one of them. The gods are subject to time, but I am the Center, and the Center is outside of time. The Center is forever.”

  The words rang true. Sky Knife tried not to be awed by what they meant—before him stood a man possessed by a power greater than the gods. It was beyond them, its mysteries and powers as unknown to the gods as they were to Sky Knife. Sky Knife put such thoughts aside and tried to concentrate on the blade. Perhaps one darkness could shatter the other.

  Deer seemed to be insulted rather than awed. He put his hands on his hips and shouted at the Guardian. “You speak nonsense! The gods of Teotihuacan are mighty!”

  “They are but gods,” said the Guardian with disdain.

  Deer screamed and leaped for the Guardian.

  “No!” shouted Sky Knife.

  Lightning burst forth from the Guardian’s fingers and wrapped its sizzling coils around the dwarf. Sky Knife ran forward, but more lightning knocked him down. The blue ball of light flickered out. Sky Knife’s knife flew from his hands into the sudden darkness of the tunnel behind him.

  Sky Knife pulled himself to his hands and knees and crawled toward Deer. “Let him go,” he said.

  A sudden searing pain tore at him from his nose to his lungs, choking him. Sky Knife took in a big gulp of cold air and screamed as it made the fiery agony in his nose and throat worse.

  Trembling with pain, Sky Knife draped himself across the still body of Deer, trying to get between the other man and the Guardian. He breathed in small sips of air through his nose to minimize the pain.

  The lightning that engulfed Deer felt warm and comforting for a moment, as if it hadn’t noticed him. Then the terrible stinging and burning assailed him from face to toes.

  Sky Knife moaned in agony but refused to roll off of Deer. There had to be a way out of this. A way to save his friend.

  Sky Knife’s heart ached with the need to scream, but he clamped his lips shut and refused to give voice to his pain. Not anymore.

  The lightning hissed along his limbs and body, burning him everywhere it touched. Sky Knife closed his eyes and concentrated on the pain, on pushing it aside.

  The lightning rammed right into his mind. Despite his resolve, Sky Knife heard screaming and knew it was him. The lightning flicked along his memories, his thoughts. Sky Knife struggled to fight it, to resist its heat and power.

  But the light only claimed him more tightly. Desperate and exhausted, Sky Knife relaxed and let the light go where it would.

  Suddenly, the pain was easier to bear. Sky Knife gingerly concentrated on the light in his mind and focused it as he would focus his thoughts to form a ball of fire to illuminate his way.

  Perhaps the Guardian sensed what he was doing—the light redoubled its efforts to crush him in its coils and take his mind from him. But Sky Knife had its measure now. He eased his mind into the relaxed state he always used before using a knife or stingray spine on himself.

  Against his calm, the light had no power. Sky Knife pushed it slowly from his mind, toward the Center. With a mental heave, he shoved the lightning at the Guardian.

  A deep, pain-filled bellow filled the tunnel. Sky Knife clamped his hands over his ears while the howling continued. Then it stopped.

  Sky Knife opened his eyes. Inky blackness surrounded him. Sky Knife tried to call up a light, but he was too tired. He felt around the tunnel floor for Deer. Somehow in the struggle with the Guardian, he must have rolled away from the other man.

  His questing hands touched flesh and cloth. Sky Knife ran his hands along the body. It was a leg, far too long to be Deer’s.

  “Whiskers-of-Rat?” he asked. He felt for the other person’s neck, but about halfway up the torso, the other person was covered with pebbles that must have rained down from the tunnel ceiling.

  The torso twitched. Sky Knife scooped handful after handful of rocks and pebbles off the man. The man coughed.

  “Whiskers-of-Rat?”

  A grunt was the only answer he received. Sky Knife patted Whiskers-of-Rat’s hand. “I’ll be back,” he said. “I’ve got to find Deer.”

  The feeble glow of an oil lamp cut the darkness. Even its light in his darkness-blinded eyes made Sky Knife blink in pain.

  “What have we here?” asked a familiar voice.

  “Dark Lightning,” said Sky Knife.

  “Maya priest, you amaze me,” said the traitorous ballplayer. “Don’t tell me you’ve come all this way and suffered for nothing.”

  “Not for nothing,” said Sky Knife. “I will have the child.” Sky Knife spoke with conviction even though to his ears he sounded ridiculous. Exhausted as Sky Knife now was, Dark Lightning could merely walk over and stomp him to death.

  Dark Lightning laughed. “You look more ragged than a child’s old corn husk doll. You’re no threat to us.”

  Several other men stepped out from behind Dark Lightning. Two reached down and each grabbed one of Sky Knife’s elbows. They yanked him to his feet.

  Sky Knife gritted his teeth together and kept his pain to himself. Right now, he had to agree with Dark Lightning—he certainly didn’t feel like a threat to anyone.

  But Dark Lightning didn’t seem eager to kill out of hand, or the boy would already be dead. Sky Knife held on to that thought as the two men dragged him into the Center.

  19

  The two men propelled Sky Knife through the narrowed neck of the tunnel and into the cave beyond. Oil lamps around the perimeter lit the cavern so well that only the deepest corners sat in shadow.

  One of the men elbowed Sky Knife in the ear. Sky Knife gasped and dropped to his knees, head ringing.

  “You’re more trouble than you’re worth. We ought to just kill you,” growled the man.

  “Not yet,” said Dark Lightning. “He has some questions to answer. Bring him
over here.”

  The two men pulled Sky Knife forward without allowing him to get his feet under him. His knees scraped painfully against the pebbly floor.

  His captors threw him down. Sky Knife’s face hit the floor. He bit his tongue and tasted blood.

  It was tempting to just stay where he was and let the pain slowly ebb according to its own rhythms, but Sky Knife couldn’t do that. He was the High Priest of Itzamna. He would stand before his enemies until they killed him.

  Sky Knife got his hands under him on the strangely slick floor. He must be bleeding more than he knew. Slowly, he pushed himself up.

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Dark Lightning. A foot slammed down into the middle of Sky Knife’s back, driving him to the floor again. Sharp stones sliced open the skin of his chest and abdomen.

  “Now, you’re going to answer some questions for me,” said Dark Lightning.

  “Like what?” Sky Knife mumbled against the slick stone floor.

  “You’re going to tell me what just happened here. One minute we’re perfectly safe and the next, lightning is crackling all over. Two of my men are dead.”

  Sky Knife refrained from saying “Good.”

  “Well?” demanded Dark Lightning.

  “This is the Center of All,” said Sky Knife.

  “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

  “It’s the answer to your question,” said Sky Knife. “Is the boy here? Is he safe?”

  The foot prodded Sky Knife’s back again. “I’m asking the questions. Did my sister send you here? Did she send you to kill me?”

  “Your sister doesn’t really believe you’d do this,” said Sky Knife.

  “So who sent you?”

  “The Masked One.”

  “Impossible,” said another man. Sky Knife recognized the voice of Leather Apron. “We are here to honor the Masked One, to see she gets the proper devotion she deserves from Teotihuacan and its king. The Storm God must bow to the Masked One. He was never her equal, even if his priests tell the king so.”