Serpent and Storm

by Marella Sands

  “Dark Lightning has few dart men,” said Streak-of-Mist. “And I’m sure he’s equipping his ballplayers with spears. So the advantage will be ours at the outset.”

  “There must be something we’re missing,” said Sky Knife. “If we have such an advantage, surely Dark Lightning knows it as well as we do.”

  “Yes,” said Grasping Fire. “I have asked the Corn Priest to divine the truth for us.”

  The Corn Priest squirmed on his pillow. “The copal had nothing to say on the matter,” he said. “The bones said only that a great darkness will come unless another Forked-Tongue Serpent rises up.”

  “Black Coyote is hardly old enough to be another Forked-Tongue Serpent,” said Grasping Fire. “So, in other words, you learned nothing.”

  The Corn Priest shrugged. “The signs are cloudy,” he said.

  “What of the Masked One?” asked Sky Knife. “And the Storm God? Surely they have made their wishes known.”

  Lily-on-the-Water spared a disgusted look for the Corn Priest before turning to Sky Knife. “The Masked One has been silent since you entered her womb,” she said. “I feel she will not speak to me again unless we prepare the Water Ceremony for her.”

  Talking Storm gestured toward Sky Knife. “The Storm God has sent us a sign in Sky Knife,” he said. “I didn’t think so at first, you all know. But he has proved it by his mighty deeds yesterday and today. With the Storm God, and his omen, Sky Knife, we cannot fail.”

  Sky Knife squirmed. Jaguar’s Daughter, too, had thought him an omen. It was strange, to think that some foreign gods about which he knew nothing valued him so highly.

  “We can’t accomplish anything more here tonight,” said Jaguar’s Daughter. “You will meet my brother on the field and one or the other will prevail.”

  “And you will be either the mother of the king or the wife of your brother,” said Lily-on-the-Water with a sneer.

  The Corn Priest bristled. “You imply that the Daughter of the Spotted Jaguar would agree to marry her brother? You would do well to watch your tongue.”

  “Watch your own, Corn Priest,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “Your time is over.”

  Sky Knife waited for the Corn Priest to make some reply to Lily-on-the-Water, but the older man seemed to sink within himself. The Corn Priest stared at a point just in front of his nose and his shoulders slumped.

  “Then Grass and Streak-of-Mist, I expect you to have your warriors ready for review an hour before dawn. Jaguar’s Daughter—make sure you have both eyes on your son. We don’t need him running off again. We were lucky to have Sky Knife here to rescue him once. We would be tempting the gods to let our king slip out of our hands twice.”

  Jaguar’s Daughter bowed to Grasping Fire.

  “Lily-on-the-Water, if you feel the Masked One requires the Water Ceremony to be performed, perform it as soon as possible. We cannot afford to offend her now.”

  Lily-on-the-Water nodded. “We will perform the Water Ceremony as soon as I can make the arrangements. Sky Knife, you should be there. I will send for you when it is time.”

  Sky Knife, surprised, nodded but could think of nothing to say.

  “Then let’s get as much rest as we can before the dawn,” said Grasping Fire. He rose and the others did the same. Sky Knife scrambled to his feet.

  As the others left, Grasping Fire laid a hand on Sky Knife’s shoulder. “Thank you again,” he said. “The life of my brother’s son means more to me than I can say.”

  “Enough to answer a question for me?” asked Sky Knife.

  Grasping Fire nodded. “I told you once—it seems a long time ago—that I would aid you in finding my brother’s murderer any way I could. What is your question?”

  “Twice now people have told me that you cannot be king,” said Sky Knife. “Why do you suppose that would be?”

  Grasping Fire looked surprised. “Who says this?”

  “Dark Lightning, for one,” said Sky Knife. “I’m not necessarily inclined to believe him, but he said you couldn’t be king because you’re a murderer.”

  Grasping Fire hesitated. He wiped his forehead with a hand. “It’s true that a murderer cannot ascend the mat,” he said. “And that means I shall never be king. I did kill someone once, out of anger and jealousy. It was … long ago.”

  “Would anyone know this?” asked Sky Knife. “Anyone who would be willing to use it to prevent your becoming king if Black Coyote dies without a son?”

  “I have other brothers who could be king in my place,” said Grasping Fire. “Your king is one. But they have scattered to rule their own cities elsewhere. I’m not sure any would be willing to return here where the king is more figurehead than ruler.”

  “But who knows?” asked Sky Knife. “Besides Dark Lightning.”

  “I didn’t know he knew,” said Grasping Fire. “I didn’t think anyone knew except…” He stopped.

  “Except?” prompted Sky Knife.

  “Except the merchant, Cacao,” said Grasping Fire. “He drains my wealth on the promise that he will not reveal my secret.”

  “So in exchange for your wealth, he remains silent,” said Sky Knife. No wonder Cacao could afford to drink chocolate every day. He had not only his own wealth and that of his wife, but Grasping Fire’s as well—and who knew who else’s. “How did he find out?”

  “His mother’s brother was the man I killed,” said Grasping Fire. “He didn’t see it, but he knew what must have happened, and I … I was too frightened at the time to stand up to him.”

  “Lord Sky Knife,” announced someone outside the tent.

  Grasping Fire went to the tent flap and opened it. “Who seeks Sky Knife?” he asked.

  “Lily-on-the-Water insists on his presence in her tent,” said the man. “Immediately.”

  Grasping Fire grunted. “That was quick. Well, tell Lily-on-the-Water Sky Knife will be there shortly.”

  “He is to come with me, Lord,” said the man.

  “Then you can wait here for him,” said Grasping Fire.

  “He is to come with me now, Lord,” said the man.

  Grasping Fire closed the tent flap in the other man’s face and came back to Sky Knife. “Sounds as though she’s serious about having you attend this Water Ceremony,” he said.

  “What is it?” asked Sky Knife.

  “I don’t know,” said Grasping Fire. “I don’t recall someone who was not a priest or priestess of the Masked One ever attending one. Perhaps Lily-on-the-Water wants to take advantage of whatever divine approval you carry with you.”

  “Lord,” said the man outside the tent.

  Grasping Fire rolled his eyes and frowned, wrinkling the bridge of his crooked nose. “Now you see how much respect a king of Teotihuacan gets from his own people?” he asked. “So tell me, who would want to be one?”

  Sky Knife bowed to Grasping Fire and left, thinking very much the same thing. But it seemed Dark Lightning wanted to be king. The question was, why? And who would benefit?

  Sky Knife walked out of the tent to be met by a man dressed in the blue tiered skirts of a servant of the Masked One.

  “I haven’t seen any priests of the Masked One before,” said Sky Knife in surprise. Previously, he had only seen priestesses in such robes.

  “There are a few of us, Lord,” said the man stiffly. “Please, follow me.”

  Sky Knife nodded and followed the other man into the night.

  29

  The priest led Sky Knife through the camp. The tents, spaced in orderly east–west rows, glowed from hearthfires within. In the darkness of the night, the glowing tents lent the air a strange misty quality Sky Knife had never experienced before. It was both beautiful and eerie.

  The warriors and servants that bustled around did not seem to notice Sky Knife’s outfit in the darkness. No one bowed to him or remarked him in any way. Sky Knife was relieved.

  At every campfire stood warriors outfitted with obsidian-tipped spears. The thin spearpoints reflected the firelight bri
lliantly.

  Some warriors stood staring into space, while others sat in small groups throwing bones in games of chance. An occasional ragged cheer went up when someone threw the bones well. The atmosphere was tense and expectant.

  “Here,” said the priest. He stopped in front of a huge tent. It was easily three times as big as the tent where the meeting had been held.

  The tent had been made of white cotton. The firelight inside made the tent glow like the moon. Shadows of those within walked on its walls. The priest entered the tent without glancing toward Sky Knife, apparently assuming the Maya would follow without question.

  Sky Knife hesitated before stepping inside. A ripple of power hung in the air at the threshold of the tent. It played along his skin like a gentle caress, sending shivers up Sky Knife’s arms and spine.

  Inside the tent, Lily-on-the-Water stood at the center of a rough semicircle, six acolytes to her left, and six to her right. Three of them were men, including the one who’d led Sky Knife here. Sky Knife recognized Dancing Bear in their midst. She nodded to him.

  Lily-on-the-Water stepped forward. The others crossed their arms over the chests and placed clenched fists on their shoulders. Each one of them wore a small jade mask no more than three inches long, on a cord around his or her neck.

  “We serve the Goddess of Masks,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “Blessed is her name.”

  “Bless her name,” echoed the others.

  “You are the first outsider ever to be invited to the Water Ceremony,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “A few days ago, I would have said it was impossible. But the Masked One has hallowed your presence among us. She permitted you to enter her sacred womb, the birthplace of all men.”

  “Bless her name,” said the others.

  “The Guardian at the Center is unknown even to Talking Storm, but the Masked One’s minions know of its presence. To have met the Guardian, and to have prevailed, is something no untutored man has ever done.”

  Sky Knife shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t know where this was going, but he didn’t really want to listen to Lily-on-the-Water list his accomplishments, especially when she looked so unhappy about it. Perhaps Talking Storm didn’t envy Sky Knife his god’s favor, but Sky Knife had no doubt Lily-on-the-Water resented the Masked One’s favoring him.

  “Now the Masked One has turned away from us,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “And I feel you may be the only one who can beg her for her favor this night.”

  “Bless her name,” said the others.

  “Will you give us your aid?” asked Lily-on-the-Water.

  Sky Knife stepped forward into the tent. “Whatever I can do, I will do,” he said.

  A sigh went up from the company in the tent and another ripple crawled up Sky Knife’s spine. But he was not afraid. He had not promised to do anything against Itzamna or his beliefs. He would do whatever he could.

  “Then enter our circle,” said Lily-on-the-Water. The acolytes shuffled around until a space was left on Lily-on-the-Water’s left. Sky Knife stepped into it.

  “The Water Ceremony honors the Goddess of Masks, the Goddess of the First Birth of Men, the Mother of All,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “She has many names and many guises, but always she is known as the protector of Teotihuacan. Always, the fate of her city and her people are uppermost in her thoughts. That is why it troubles me so that she has not spoken to me today.”

  Two of the acolytes left the circle and Lily-on-the-Water was silent until they returned. When they did return, they carried a large deep blackware vessel between them. They placed it on the ground in front of Lily-on-the-Water.

  Lily-on-the-Water nodded. The acolyte on her right left the circle and returned with an orange bowl full of water. She poured the water into the blackware vessel. When the first had completed her task, the second departed to return with a bowl of water. In this way, each acolyte assisted in filling the blackware vessel with water.

  When the man on Sky Knife’s left poured his bowl of water into the blackware vessel, Sky Knife looked at Lily-on-the-Water. Perhaps he would be expected to fetch water, too.

  But Lily-on-the-Water shook her head and Sky Knife kept his place.

  When the man on Sky Knife’s left returned, Lily-on-the-Water stepped forward.

  “From the waters of birth to the wide waters of death, we and the goddess and the water are one,” she said. “Where this water has come from, and where it shall go tomorrow, are mysteries no man may answer. The water flows where it will, from the spring, from the Mother, from the well. It flows with life and gives life to the world.”

  “Bless the name of the Goddess of Masks, who is Water,” said the others.

  Lily-on-the-Water knelt by the blackware vessel and spat into it. She spread out both her hands over the still water, almost but not quite touching it.

  “The Goddess is Water, the Goddess is Life,” said Lily-on-the-Water.

  “The Goddess is Life,” said the others.

  Lily-on-the-Water touched the water briefly with a forefinger. The sorcerous ripple in the room jumped in magnitude. Sky Knife could feel it pulsing in the air, throbbing against his eardrums, against his chest, against the soles of his feet. His head swam as if he had had too much pulque.

  Lily-on-the-Water stepped back. The acolyte to her right stepped forward and spat into the water. Each acolyte in turn did the same. When it came to be Sky Knife’s turn, he stepped forward and spat also.

  Lily-on-the-Water reached into the bag at her feet and drew out a handful of copal. She sprinkled it around the blackware vessel.

  Of its own accord, without the benefit of coals, the copal smoldered and gave off a thick white aromatic smoke. Sky Knife breathed deeply of the familiar scent of incense.

  Lily-on-the-Water retreated from the circle for a moment and returned with a blackware vessel which, except for its size, matched the shape and markings of the large one on the floor. She took a sip of whatever was inside and passed the bowl to her right. Each acolyte also took a sip.

  The man on Sky Knife’s left took his own sip then passed the bowl to Sky Knife. Sky Knife lifted the bowl to his lips. The musky scent of something he couldn’t identify filled his nose. It reminded Sky Knife of the smell of the forest floor after a day of rain. He drank a sip and nearly gagged on the foul taste of the brew, which was a thousand times more musky and dank than the smell. But he bit back the reaction and managed to hand the bowl to Lily-on-the-Water without disgracing himself.

  Lily-on-the-Water threw the bowl and the remainder of its contents into the large vessel at her feet. The moment the bowl hit the water, the power in the room came sharply into focus. Sky Knife felt it like a blade piercing his soul and he almost cried with the pain.

  But it was brief. In its place, the dull throb of power beat, but deeper now, more intimate, more personal. It wrapped around Sky Knife’s heart like a fist, squeezing. He blinked and kept his feet, but only barely, the room spinning around him out of control.

  The man on his left grabbed his arm and pulled him upright. Sky Knife trembled but stayed in place and the man dropped his hold on his arm.

  “The vessel has been chosen,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “Step forth!”

  Dancing Bear, her eyes bright and color high in her cheeks, stepped into the center of the circle next to the vessel. Slowly, she opened her white robe and let it slide off her shoulders.

  Sky Knife gasped and looked away. Lily-on-the-Water stared at him disapprovingly. “Is this how you honor our ceremony?” she hissed under her breath.

  Sky Knife stared at her in return, willing her to release him from his promise. He should not look at Dancing Bear in her nakedness. She was not his to see.

  But Lily-on-the-Water’s gaze was unrelenting and Sky Knife nodded to her.

  Sky Knife turned slowly back. Dancing Bear stood proud and tall in the center of the circle. Sky Knife stared at a point just above her head, but, Itzamna help him, he could not keep his gaze from traveling down her form, to her
round full breasts, down to the dark triangle of hair between her thighs.

  Sky Knife blushed with shame, but did not look away again. Two of the female acolytes stepped forward to stand on either side of Dancing Bear. Sky Knife was afraid they were going to remove their garments, too, but to his relief they did not. In fact, the one standing nearest to him blocked his view of Dancing Bear.

  Sky Knife relaxed slightly, as much as he could with the power of the Masked One pounding against his heart and the soles of his feet.

  Dancing Bear knelt. The two acolytes near her dipped their hands into the blackware vessel and dribbled the water onto Dancing Bear. Dancing Bear laughed and leaned back, spreading her legs slightly.

  Sky Knife’s heart jumped and his loins responded. He shifted uncomfortably and wished for this to be over, to be away from the strange pulsing in the air that matched that of his heart. The tent was getting to be unbearably hot. Sweat rolled off Sky Knife and he breathed heavily.

  “Be the vessel,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “Be like the goddess, our water and life, be like her and receive the seed of man. Carry the sons and daughters of man in your womb as the goddess bore us in ancient times. Bear the sons and daughters of man through your body as the goddess. Be Mother to a child of sacrifice and sorrow, a new Corn Priest to replace the old. A new hand to bear the sacrificial knife. A new shroud of flesh over the bones of death. Create in your flesh the new generation of men.”

  The acolytes stepped back. One of the others brought out a white blanket and spread it on the ground. Dancing Bear got up and dipped her hands into the blackware vessel. She drank the water from her hands.

  “I am the vessel,” she said. “For tonight, I am the goddess herself. I choose my mate as the goddess chooses from among the gods of the heavens.”

  Dancing Bear stood up and stepped onto the white blanket. The remaining female acolytes stepped back and sat down, leaving Lily-on-the-Water, Sky Knife, and the three other men standing.

  Dancing Bear raised her hands, threw back her head, and broke into song. Sky Knife did not understand the words, but something about them touched him deeply. Her words matched the throbbing in his chest, in his loins. He swallowed heavily, fighting the strange lethargy that crept into his limbs and made his bones seem weak and unable to hold him.