“But,” said Sky Knife, “he’s the king.”
Talking Storm laughed. “Yet even so, it’s not where the true power lies, is it? Could Cloudy Sky be king without you to back him up? Couldn’t you rule without him?”
Sky Knife shook his head. “The king rules,” he said. “Not I.”
Talking Storm moved off. His words troubled Sky Knife. True, he was both Ah kin and Ah men, and that was unusual. In fact, Sky Knife had never heard of it happening before. But to be Ah men, Ah kin, and king?
Sky Knife shivered in disgust. He did not want to be king. But he understood the truth of Talking Storm’s words. Sky Knife could be king and rule if he chose to take the power—nothing but honor and truth stopped him. But Storm Cloud could never be Ah men or Ah kin. Storm Cloud would always need the help of Sky Knife—or someone like him—to rule.
Suddenly, Sky Knife wondered if that were why Storm Cloud had sent him away. Did Storm Cloud think Sky Knife had too much power? Was he hoping Sky Knife wouldn’t return? Sky Knife did not think Storm Cloud was a dishonorable man, but he didn’t know to what extremes the king would go to maintain his rule over Tikal. Perhaps the king had other reasons besides trade for sending Sky Knife far from home.
On the other hand, perhaps Storm Cloud merely wanted stronger economic ties with Teotihuacan because, in Tikal, the king did have control over the merchants. Greater ties with Teotihuacan meant more power for Storm Cloud. Power outside of Sky Knife’s sphere of influence.
Lily-on-the-Water tugged at the black skirt Sky Knife wore, disturbing his thoughts. He let thoughts of Storm Cloud’s motives go for now. “Get this off,” she said. “Come on.”
Sky Knife backed up, no longer shocked or disgusted by such open disregard for modesty from a Teotihuacano, but still stubbornly unwilling to conform to their customs.
“No,” he said firmly. “I will change elsewhere in private.”
Lily-on-the-Water rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she said.
Sky Knife took the blue cloth from her and walked back down the corridor to the room he had shared with Deer and Black Coyote. He pulled the black tunic off over his head and let the skirt drop to the floor.
The knife wounds Dark Lightning had given him had healed thanks to the Corn Priest, but they remained as light pink lines against the nut brown of his skin. The spiral line on his chest would scar. Perhaps later he would put a tattoo over it to commemorate his service to Itzamna while in this city. His shoulder and arm wounds remained bound in white strips of cloth.
Sky Knife wrapped the blue cloth around his waist and tucked the end in. The cloth fell to the tops of his bare feet.
Sky Knife went back out to the courtyard. Lily-on-the-Water stared at him, frowning.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s so plain,” she said. “But I suppose, with the proper jewelry and headdress, it will do. Now, get it off.”
“Why?”
Lily-on-the-Water made a grab for Sky Knife’s arm. Sky Knife backed up.
“Come on,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “Mayan modesty is fine when it serves a purpose, but that time and purpose are not now.”
“Perhaps you would prefer another Water Ceremony?” asked Sky Knife, his voice tinged with bitterness.
Lily-on-the-Water jerked her arm back as if struck. “That was not my idea,” she said. “It is for the Vessel to choose the Seed. When Dancing Bear chose you, I realized she intended the ceremony to fail. But I could not stop the ceremony at that point.”
“Why Dancing Bear?” asked Sky Knife.
“She made the request,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “The Vessel is always a volunteer.”
“And now?”
“Now,” said Lily-on-the-Water, “it is time for a bath. You cannot do that by yourself. Even you should know that.”
Sky Knife sighed. At home, the priests would purify themselves with a bath, but since there were no female priests of Itzamna, modesty was never an issue. Here, things were different.
But there should be no harm in a bath. Sky Knife nodded.
“Fine,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “Let’s go.”
She led the way across the courtyard. “After the bath,” she said, speaking loudly so he could hear her over her shoulder, “we have only to get you and the king dressed and we have to choose the Wife.”
“The what?” asked Sky Knife. “Don’t you think Black Coyote’s a bit young for that?”
Lily-on-the-Water shook her head. “No, no, not like that,” she said. “We have to do it in any case where the king is not already married when the time comes for him to ascend the mat. The law states a boy cannot be king—but it also says a boy cannot be married.”
“So you choose a mate for the boy and that makes him a man in the eyes of the law?” asked Sky Knife.
“The woman is mate in name only. When the king becomes a man in body, he can choose to wed the one promised to him at his ascension, or he may choose another.”
“And if the king doesn’t choose the Wife, what happens to her?” asked Sky Knife.
“She lives the life of a widow,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “Bound to no one man, honored as the mother of many children, even if she has none.”
Lily-on-the-Water stepped into a room with several small stools in the center. Deer and Black Coyote sat naked on two of them while priestesses in white dresses dripped scented water over their bodies. Talking Storm walked in, also naked, and sat down on a stool. Two priestesses came over with bowls of water to attend him.
Lily-on-the-Water gestured for Sky Knife to sit on the remaining stool. He hesitated, then let his skirt fall. A priestess grabbed it before it could hit the floor.
Sky Knife resisted the urge to cover himself with his hands and sat on the stool. Two more priestesses entered with bowls and came to him.
Lily-on-the-Water began chanting. Her priestesses echoed her. Sky Knife closed his eyes and let the monotony of the chant and the coolness of the water slide over him.
36
The shadows had chased the sun out of the courtyard by the time the bathing and dressing were finished. Now Sky Knife stood in the courtyard, weighed down by strand after strand of jade necklaces and intricately carved jade ear spools. Strands of cowrie shells wrapped around his legs from his ankles almost all the way up to his knees, and his sandals were the finest rope sandals Teotihuacan artists could fashion.
Sky Knife shifted his weight, testing out the footwear. These were definitely the best sandals he had ever worn—they felt soft, didn’t bite into his feet or chafe. Sky Knife hoped he could find some like them to take home to Jade Flute.
Sky Knife’s arms had been left unencumbered so as not to interfere with the sacrifice. The feather headdress he had worn the other day had been rewoven into his hair. Those feathers lay down against his shoulders and fell to his elbows. A second headdress of shorter feathers had been tied on top of his head. Some of those feathers stuck straight up, while those by his ears stuck out to the sides and curled forward to almost touch his face.
Black and red paint stripes marked Sky Knife’s forehead, hiding the small cord that fastened the second headdress to his head. More black and red stripes marked his arms and stomach.
Sky Knife’s knife was stuck in the waist of his skirt. He had no fear of its sharp edges—the knife would not harm him tonight. Not when there was other, more consecrated, work for it to do. Sky Knife’s bandages had been removed. His shoulder and arm wounds had scabbed over and the skin looked slightly puckered around the edges.
Deer stood nearby. The dwarf wore only a small white loincloth. His slave’s necklace was the only jewelry he wore. Sky Knife gestured to it.
“Should the king be a slave on this night?” he asked.
Talking Storm grunted. “I think you’re right, Sky Knife,” he said. Talking Storm went to Deer and untied the simple rope necklace. “You are king here and no servant, Lord,” he said.
Deer’s handless wrists, still bound in bandages, w
ent to his throat and his eyes sought out Sky Knife’s. The other man looked frightened, lost. Sky Knife nodded to him, willing strength into the dwarf.
Deer stared into Sky Knife’s eyes. Sky Knife could see the effort it cost Deer to keep calm. The other man trembled under the burden. Sky Knife knew Deer wanted to scream or run—many sacrifices felt the same. Itzamna! Sky Knife would feel that way if he had to face the knife. But Sky Knife knew, too, that Deer would neither scream nor run. Deer was a man of honor. He would be Twin and Sacrifice for Black Coyote.
Black Coyote entered the courtyard. He seemed taller and more stately than the mere boy he had been earlier. A jaguar-skin cloak covered most of him. The head of the jaguar had been left attached to the skin. It rested on top of Black Coyote’s own head, its fangs against his forehead. The front legs were tied around Black Coyote’s neck and the tail had been tied to one of his wrists so it wouldn’t drag the ground.
A black skirt was wound around Black Coyote’s waist and he also had cowrie shell strands around his ankles. Black stripes had been painted on his face to resemble whiskers.
“The king is here in his wholeness,” said Talking Storm. He went down on his knees before Deer and Black Coyote. Sky Knife bowed, but he couldn’t get to his knees without popping the strands of cowrie shells.
“You may rise,” said Black Coyote in a timid voice. Sky Knife was sure his mother had coached him on what to say, but it was apparent the boy felt out of place giving orders.
Sky Knife straightened up and Talking Storm stood.
“I have come to take a Wife,” said Black Coyote. “Who shall … who shall serve me?”
Lily-on-the-Water knelt. “Lord, we have looked high and low, over the sacred mountain and under the humblest bush.” Lily-on-the-Water turned. “Let the Wife be brought,” she said.
Priestesses in white rushed in, bubbling and giggling. In their midst stood a tall figure in blue and black. A black hood covered the woman’s head, leaving only a small slit for her to see out of.
“Here is the Wife,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “From the midst of the waters, this vessel is yours and no other’s. She shall serve her Lord until the day of your manhood.”
“When will that be?” asked Black Coyote. Deer turned his head to hide a smile. Black Coyote looked up at his mother. “When will I be a man, Mama?”
“Soon, little one,” said his mother. “But not tonight. Tonight you will be king.”
“Being king is better,” said Black Coyote. “Then I can play all day and no one can tell me not to.”
“Hush,” said Jaguar’s Daughter. “The ritual must go on.”
Lily-on-the-Water gestured for the Wife to approach. Sky Knife got a glimpse of eyes the color of a ceiba tree’s leaves before the Wife turned and knelt to Black Coyote.
Sky Knife stood still, stunned. Amaranth? She was Grasping Fire’s lover, and they had chosen her to be Wife to Black Coyote? He didn’t understand.
Black Coyote placed his hands on Amaranth’s head. “I take my mate,” he said.
“I take my husband,” said Amaranth. “Until the day of his manhood and I am freed.”
Amaranth’s voice sounded triumphant. Sky Knife was puzzled. Why would she want to be married—even in name—to a boy? She had no guarantee she would be his wife when he came of age. In fact, considering she was already once-widowed and at least fifteen years his senior, Sky Knife doubted Amaranth would be presented to him as a suitable mate when Black Coyote became a man.
But then, Amaranth would be an honored widow. Lily-on-the-Water had said so. Bound to no man and held in high regard as the mother of many. She would undoubtedly have access to at least part of the king’s wealth. And she had her own. She was head of the Planning Ministry. Between her and Grasping Fire as head of the Construction Ministry, she would be the richest and most powerful woman in the city.
No wonder she regarded Wifedom as a triumph. She would have everything except the honor of being the next Jaguar’s Daughter. She would not be the mother of the next king, but she would have everything else.
Black Coyote pulled the cowl off over Amaranth’s head. He managed to pull her hair, too, and she winced. Black Coyote looked back up at his mother.
“Is this over now, Mama?” he asked. “When can I go and be king?”
“One more thing,” said Jaguar’s Daughter. “When you marry a woman, you must give her a gift, so that she will return the gift to you in the form of many children.”
“This woman will give you no children,” said Talking Storm, “for you are not yet ready, my king. But you must still give her a gift.”
Black Coyote frowned. “What is it?”
“You must decide,” said his mother.
Black Coyote’s frown deepened, then suddenly, his face cleared and he laughed. “I will give her a puppy,” he said. “Poem-of-the-Sea said I could have one. Maybe I could have two and give one to her.” Black Coyote clapped his hands together in childish glee.
Amaranth bowed. “I accept the gift,” she said, “as I accept the man who gives it.”
Lily-on-the-Water placed a hand on Black Coyote’s head and the other on Amaranth’s head. “Now you are wed,” she said. “The Masked One protect you and guide you.”
Lily-on-the-Water stepped back and Amaranth rose. She slipped into a place just behind and to the right of Black Coyote, next to Jaguar’s Daughter.
“She’s family now,” mumbled Sky Knife. The bright blaze of victory in Amaranth’s green eyes seemed out of place. Surely now that she was wed, she was bound to Black Coyote. She would no longer be able to continue her relationship with Grasping Fire.
Sky Knife realized he’d gotten used to considering the Teotihuacano women’s habit of promiscuity. He had been thinking how hard it would be for Amaranth to remain celibate until Black Coyote grew up. But surely Amaranth could restrain herself for a few years in return for royal widowhood.
“Now, you must lead the way to the pyramid of the Storm God,” said Talking Storm. “The Masked One has blessed your wedding. It is time for the Storm God to bless your ascension to the mat of rulership.”
Black Coyote and Deer marched out together, followed by Jaguar’s Daughter and Amaranth. Talking Storm followed the women.
Sky Knife looked over at Lily-on-the-Water. “Come along,” she said. “We must go, too. This is the only day I am allowed to set foot on the Storm God’s temple, and I am eager to see it.”
“Why?” asked Sky Knife. “Why Amaranth?”
Lily-on-the-Water cocked her head. “Why not?” she said. “She is close to the family and familiar to them. She has been more or less family for years in her place as Grasping Fire’s lover. Ever since the death of her husband, she has seen Grasping Fire.”
“And there is no other reason?” asked Sky Knife. “Surely, if familiarity were all that was needed, any of your priestesses would do.”
Lily-on-the-Water walked toward the doorway, indicating that Sky Knife should walk beside her.
“I thought she would bring luck,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “She … you understand no one else must know of this…”
“This what?” asked Sky Knife. “I will not betray your confidence, you know. Why would you think Amaranth lucky?”
“She was born to be a priestess,” said Lily-on-the-Water under her breath. “Born of the Water Ceremony. But her mother died at birth and she was sent away.”
“What?” shouted Sky Knife.
Lily-on-the-Water hushed him. Sky Knife clenched his fists. “The Corn Priest,” he said. “He told me the same story—you mean to say Amaranth was his daughter and he never knew?”
“He never knew,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “And I could not say. If I didn’t know you for one of the Masked One’s blessed people, I would not tell you, either.”
“But the Corn Priest said the one who sent the baby away was killed so no one would know.”
Lily-on-the-Water nodded. “And he was. But I saw the baby for a moment j
ust after she was born. Her eyes were green. And Amaranth is just the right age. Her birthday is the fourth day of the month of flowers—the same as the green-eyed baby’s.”
Sky Knife’s head whirled. “Lily-on-the-Water,” he said. “A baby that kills its mother is not lucky. It is evil—it should be killed at birth.”
Lily-on-the-Water shook her head. “Your ways are not ours,” she said. “I warned you of that before. Do not judge our luck by yours. Amaranth will bring us luck.” Lily-on-the-Water’s voice was stern. He hadn’t heard her speak that way to him since that first night in his room.
Sky Knife and Lily-on-the-Water stepped out of the palace and into a narrow alley that separated the palace from the western side of the Storm God’s pyramid. Lily-on-the-Water and Sky Knife walked around to the southern edge, where the stairs were.
As on the day of the choosing of the holy twin, it seemed the entire city’s population stood in the main avenue in front of the pyramid. Just by the bottom of the steps stood a small knot of people, including Whiskers-of-Rat and Rabbit.
“These are people who have been invited to attend the ascension,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “Foreign dignitaries and the like. But I don’t know these two.”
Lily-on-the-Water motioned to a guard.
“Wait,” said Sky Knife. “They are my friends. I asked them to come.”
Lily-on-the-Water waved the guard off. “Of course,” she said. “You may invite whomever you wish.”
Sky Knife and Lily-on-the-Water ascended the steps, the dignitaries, Whiskers-of-Rat and Rabbit just behind them. The king and his retinue were almost at the summit.
Musicians at the base of the pyramid played flutes and beat on tortoise-shell drums. Two men carrying elaborately painted conch shells stood several steps up, shells held out in front of them.
The steps were steep and the pyramid extremely high. Sky Knife’s thighs and calves ached before they were halfway up.
“I suppose,” he said, puffing with exertion. “That this is easier than climbing the Masked One’s pyramid.”
“Yes,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “There are a great many more steps on her pyramid.”
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