Serpent and Storm

by Marella Sands

  Sky Knife said nothing in reply. He was grateful that for the ascension of the king, if he had to climb a pyramid, he only had to climb the smaller one.

  37

  At the top of the pyramid stood a gleaming white temple. In front of the temple were the king, Talking Storm, Grasping Fire, Amaranth, Deer, and Jaguar’s Daughter. Black Coyote held his mother’s hand and bounced up and down in excitement.

  Talking Storm picked up a red-hot coal out of a stone brazier and held it over his head. “Fire is life,” he said. “As the coal gives its life to make light and heat, the king gives his life for his city. As this exists both as tangible coal and intangible flame, so does the king’s soul exist both here on the earth and also in heaven.”

  Several of Talking Storm’s attendants stepped forward. One grabbed Deer by the shoulders.

  “The twin is prepared,” said Talking Storm. “As the king on earth ascends his mat, so the king must also ascend to his mat in heaven.”

  Deer shook off the attendant’s grasp and stepped forward. “I am the twin,” he said. “I am king and sacrifice.”

  “Then let us begin,” said Talking Storm. He led the way into the temple, holding the coal out before him. Sky Knife expected the king to follow, but the others waited, looking at him. A small breeze rustled the feathers of his headdress and the blue feathers bobbed forward to caress Sky Knife’s face.

  Finally, Lily-on-the-Water elbowed Sky Knife. “Go on,” she said. “No one else can enter until He Who Sacrifices has gone in.”

  Sky Knife nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

  The inside of the temple was painted in dark reds, oranges, and blues. Feathered serpents wrapped around the walls in a squirming mass. Some serpents’ mouths were open, others swallowed the tails of their fellows.

  The largest serpent’s face was painted so that it faced the room. Its gaping mouth and fangs covered almost the entire wall. Its curled forked tongue sat squarely in the middle of the wall.

  In the center of the room was a low stone table. Small braziers sat on the floor at each corner. A bag of copal sat on the table.

  Sky Knife went to the head of the table and stood between it and the great Feathered Serpent on the wall. He reached into the bag and wrapped his hands around a double handful of the small hard incense chips. He drew out the copal and sprinkled it on the table. Some of the chips dribbled down into the braziers. White aromatic smoke rose in curling tendrils and spread around the room. Smoke floated lazily through a round opening in the ceiling. The heavy cloying smell of the incense filled Sky Knife’s nose.

  The king entered. Behind him came Amaranth, Jaguar’s Daughter, Grasping Fire, and Lily-on-the-Water. The other dignitaries and Whiskers-of-Rat and Rabbit filed in last and spread out against the southern wall.

  Deer stepped forward and knelt at the foot of the table. Copal smoke twisted around him and he breathed deeply of it.

  “You are the sacrifice,” said Sky Knife. “Are you here to do your duty of your own free will?”

  Deer looked up, surprised. Talking Storm frowned. Apparently this was not a question to be asked. But Sky Knife could not take Deer’s heart if Deer refused. An unwilling sacrifice was an honor to no one.

  “I … that is, yes,” said Deer. “I have come freely.” Again, his bandaged wrists went to his neck where his slave’s torque had hung. Deer straightened up. “Yes,” he said with conviction. “I am free to say yes.”

  “Then take your place,” said Sky Knife.

  Deer rose and nodded. He breathed quickly and shallowly in near-panic and his eyes were wild, but he did not run. He laid himself on the table, trembling, but obedient to duty.

  Sky Knife got out the Hand of God. Already it had a slight bluish glow to it. The knife was ready.

  Sky Knife walked around the table, passing the knife over the edges of the table. Deer’s eyes tracked the knife and he shivered violently.

  Deer gestured to Sky Knife. Sky Knife knelt and leaned close.

  “Yes?” whispered Sky Knife.

  “You meant what you said, didn’t you?” asked Deer. “I am free. I could have said no.”

  “Yes,” said Sky Knife. “You are free to refuse.”

  “But what would happen to my Little Weed?”

  “I don’t know,” said Sky Knife. “But I can’t take your life without your permission.”

  Deer closed his eyes. “That’s the most frightening thing of all,” he said. “It was easier when I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

  “I will be quick,” said Sky Knife, his heart aching. Tears filled his eyes and threatened to rain down his face.

  “Thank you. I … I’m glad you’re my friend. I will remember you.”

  Sky Knife touched Deer briefly on the shoulder and stood up. He held the knife over Deer’s chest.

  “It is time for the sacrifice,” said Sky Knife, rushing things a little. But Deer couldn’t take much more delay without panicking.

  “No!” shouted Black Coyote. “No! Bibi!”

  Jaguar’s Daughter grabbed her son around the shoulders. “Hush, little one,” she said.

  “No!” Black Coyote’s child scream filled the temple with its shrill sound. “No! I want my Bibi!”

  “Hush,” said Jaguar’s Daughter. “Deer must go to the heavens for you.”

  Black Coyote burst out crying. “I don’t want to be king anymore,” he sobbed. “And I don’t want Poem-of-the-Sea’s puppy, either. Mama, don’t! No!”

  Jaguar’s Daughter was losing her grip on her son. Grasping Fire came to her aid and together they clung to the kicking and screaming child.

  Sky Knife looked to Deer to see if he had anything to say to the boy, but Deer’s eyes were screwed shut and he trembled. “Do it, Sky Knife,” he said. “Please—end this.”

  Sky Knife did not hesitate again. He plunged the knife into Deer’s stomach. Bright red blood gushed forth but did not touch Sky Knife. Sky Knife withdrew the knife and transferred it to his left hand, then he reached into Deer’s chest and pulled out the beating heart.

  As always, the heart came out easily in his grip as if the gods themselves had plucked it before Sky Knife could. Deer quivered once and was still.

  Sky Knife held the beating heart above his head. Blue fire leaped from his hands into the sky. The heart itself beat furiously, almost leaping from Sky Knife’s hand. Blue light radiated from it, bathing the room in its glow.

  The glow brightened until Sky Knife had to shut his eyes against the light. Even through closed lids, the light pierced his eyes with pain. Sky Knife screamed as the heart exploded into a million fragments.

  The light died. Sky Knife opened his eyes. Millions of blue flakes fluttered around the temple. Most of them concentrated on Black Coyote.

  Jaguar’s Daughter and Grasping Fire let go of the boy. Black Coyote stepped forward as if dazed and laid his hands on the table where Deer’s body lay pale and lifeless.

  The sparkles settled onto Black Coyote’s skin. He looked at them and then looked up through the hole in the ceiling.

  “Yes,” he said. His voice sounded strangely adult. “I agree. I will not rest until the true murderer of my father lies dead. I swear it in the name of my father, Tattooed Serpent.”

  A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers as Black Coyote spoke the forbidden name. But that was as it should be. Black Coyote was king. The name of Tattooed Serpent was proscribed no longer.

  The final glow died and the sparkles lay like frost on Black Coyote’s skin. He brushed them off and looked at Sky Knife. “It is time to complete the ritual,” he said. He gestured toward Deer.

  Sky Knife looked down and gasped. The gaping hole in Deer’s chest was gone—his skin was smooth and unmarked by any blade. For a moment, Sky Knife hoped Deer would open his eyes, sit up. But he knew that was impossible. The twin had to die.

  So why had the wound disappeared?

  Talking Storm came up to stand on the opposite side of the tabl
e. “Do not be alarmed, Sky Knife,” he said. “The skin must be whole so that the Golden Cloak may be removed intact.”

  “Golden Cloak?” asked Sky Knife, though as he said it, the meaning became clear. Deer’s skin must be removed.

  “As the corn sheds its husk, so the twin sheds his Golden Cloak,” said Talking Storm.

  Sky Knife remembered Deer’s words now. Deer would lose his life, his skin, and then his flesh. He would be unmade as if he had never been. For there could only be one king, one body. And that was Black Coyote.

  Sky Knife nodded. “All right,” he said. “But if there are any rituals to be observed now, I don’t know them.”

  Talking Storm smiled. “Today, you are He Who Sacrifices. You can decide on the ritual. If you don’t wish any, just begin to make the cuts.”

  “I don’t know how,” said Sky Knife. “I’ve never flayed anyone.”

  Talking Storm put an arm under Deer’s shoulders and the other arm under the dwarf’s knees and carefully turned the sacrifice over.

  “Start with the back,” said Talking Storm. “Make a cut from the neck to the small of the back, and another cut for each limb. The last cut should be from the neck to the top of the head.”

  “That’s all?” asked Sky Knife.

  Talking Storm stepped back and bowed. “Try it and see.”

  Sky Knife nodded and held the knife over Deer’s body. The knife slipped easily into the skin and made a clean cut down Deer’s back. Sky Knife made the other cuts quickly.

  The skin began to slide away from the body. The edges along the cuts writhed and pulled as if controlled by invisible fingers. Talking Storm returned to the table. “Help it,” he said. “It cannot come off by itself, even if it seems so.”

  Sky Knife replaced his knife in its bag and pulled at the edges of the skin along Deer’s back with timid fingers. The skin felt warm and soft, almost like an animal’s fur. The skin slid away from the body eagerly. Sky Knife pulled the skin off Deer’s arms and legs.

  Finally, there was nothing left but the head. Sky Knife reached under Deer’s scalp and pulled. The skin came away easily.

  Sky Knife stood in front of the family and the dignitaries, Deer’s whole skin in his hand.

  “The Golden Cloak,” said Talking Storm. “Go, show it to the crowd. The blue flame should have already indicated that they have a new king, but the Cloak will confirm it.”

  The skin waved and fluttered in Sky Knife’s hands as if caught in the wind. It had a life of its own. Sky Knife kept a firm grip on it and walked to the entrance of the temple.

  He stepped onto the platform in front of the temple just as the rays of the setting sun touched the summit of the western mountains. Sky Knife stepped forward to the top of the steps and held out the skin.

  The crowd roared its approval. The skin fluttered like a banner as he held it out to them.

  The thunderous ovation lasted until the last rays of the sun faded and the temple platform was wrapped in dusk.

  Sky Knife turned and went back into the temple.

  “Give the skin to Talking Storm,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “It is time for the Dance.”

  “No,” said Talking Storm. “The Dance is not my honor to have.”

  “Then who will be the Dancer?” asked Lily-on-the-Water. “With the Corn Priest dead, I thought you would…”

  “No,” said Talking Storm. “He Who Sacrifices is also the Dancer. It has always been so.”

  “But he doesn’t know the Dance,” said Lily-on-the-Water. “Blessed by the Masked One or not, there has been enough strangeness about this ascension. Sky Knife simply hasn’t been trained for this. His ways are not ours.”

  “You say that a lot,” said Talking Storm. “And it is as meaningless now as it is every time you say it. What is our way? Teotihuacan is only great because of the many different peoples and customs it welcomes within its walls. If Mayan custom serves tonight, then it serves for all. Sky Knife shall Dance.”

  Lily-on-the-Water choked back a reply.

  Talking Storm nodded to Sky Knife. “Now is the time,” said the High Priest of the Storm God. “Dance for us, Sky Knife. Don the Golden Cloak and Dance.”

  38

  Sky Knife glanced down at the skin. Don it? Sky Knife was sure he didn’t want to wear Deer’s skin. But it seemed that was also part of the ritual.

  Sky Knife held the skin out to Talking Storm. “How?” he asked. “How do I do this Dance?”

  Lily-on-the-Water seemed about to speak but a sharp glance from Talking Storm stopped her. Talking Storm approached Sky Knife.

  “You have only to put on the face and neck,” said Talking Storm. “The skin will do the rest.”

  Sky Knife held the skin by the head and looked inside. Although the skin had sloughed off of Deer’s body easily, the inside lining was still bloody. Strands of tissue hung off of it.

  Reluctantly, Sky Knife held the bloody inside of Deer’s face up to his face. He closed his eyes and tried not to smell the blood. Deer’s blood.

  As the slick wet skin touched his face, it stuck fast as if it were Sky Knife’s own. Sky Knife pressed the neck to his neck.

  The arms and legs of the skin wrapped around Sky Knife’s limbs. Sky Knife opened his eyes—that couldn’t be. Deer hadn’t been nearly as tall as Sky Knife.

  But the skin fit him nonetheless. It draped over both him and his costume.

  Sky Knife glanced around the room, but everything seemed blurry as if under water. And it seemed unusually hot to him.

  But he did not sweat. Instead, his limbs trembled and jerked as if pulled by invisible strings. Sky Knife relaxed and let the Dance come to him.

  It seemed Lily-on-the-Water was wrong. If the Teotihuacano gods wished to have the Dance, they seemed ready to use a Mayan priest untutored in their ways.

  Sky Knife jumped and spun around the room, around the skinless body of Deer. From inside Deer’s skin, Deer’s body looked as though it were covered by a thick white blanket. Red and orange bands of light streamed down from the hole in the ceiling and played across the strange sheet.

  Sky Knife felt slightly dizzy. His arms and legs continued to flail about according to some direction from outside. As he Danced, the bands of light from the sky grew brighter and brighter. A strange peace flowed into Sky Knife’s heart. He threw his head back and began to sing.

  The words were not his own—Sky Knife did not even know whose words they might be. He understood none of it. But the song flowed from him like the Dance and the oppressive heat radiating from the skin to Sky Knife.

  Sky Knife spun and jumped so quickly he no longer saw Deer or the other people. The only thing he could focus on was the light. The gentle red-orange light from the sky.

  With a final shout, Sky Knife dropped to his knees, panting. Sky Knife shivered, suddenly cold.

  Someone touched his shoulder. “Sky Knife?” asked Talking Storm. “Are you all right?”

  Sky Knife nodded, though he wasn’t sure that was the truth. He opened his eyes and looked around him.

  The skin lay, flat and lifeless, at his knees. Sky Knife looked at himself. His clothing, jewelry, and paint seemed in place. The skin had touched him without disturbing any of it.

  Sky Knife struggled to his feet with Talking Storm’s help and broken cowrie shell strands clinked to his feet. He must have broken them when he fell to his knees.

  Deer’s flayed body lay on the table still. The red thing reminded him of the ballplayer under the Masked One’s pyramid. Sky Knife wiped cold sweat from his face and his stomach churned. He hated to think that this was all that remained of Deer.

  “You can sit down for a moment,” said Talking Storm. “The family must complete the next part of the ritual.”

  Sky Knife nodded, went to a corner, and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. The coolness of the wall made him shiver, but it helped him fight the nausea.

  Grasping Fire, Jaguar’s Daughter, and Amaranth stood around Deer�
�s remains, sharp flint knives in their hands. Quickly and efficiently, they butchered the remains and cut the meat from the bones. Blood flowed onto their hands and arms.

  When they were through, they had three piles: bones, meat, and offal. Jaguar’s Daughter picked up a handful of meat and held it out to Black Coyote.

  “Flesh of your flesh,” she said. “The king has died and removed himself from our sight. He reigns in heaven as on earth.”

  “Shall I eat my own flesh?” asked Black Coyote. “That which is mine I share with the people. I strengthen them in body and spirit.”

  Jaguar’s Daughter and Grasping Fire bowed. They picked up the meat of Deer and went out to the platform.

  “Behold the king has died and sits on his mat in heaven,” shouted Grasping Fire to the crowd. He and Jaguar’s Daughter threw the meat down the steps.

  Talking Storm indicated that Black Coyote should go out with the others. He did.

  “Behold the king is alive and sits on the mat of Teotihuacan!” shouted Grasping Fire.

  The people roared. The combined voices of a hundred thousand people filled the air. Even the walls of the temple trembled.

  Talking Storm held his hands out over the bones of Deer. He closed his eyes and chanted.

  Red smoke rose from the braziers and enveloped the table and the priest. When it dissipated, nothing remained on the table but some reddish ash.

  Talking Storm looked over at Sky Knife. “Nothing can remain to remind the soul that there were once two of them,” he said. “There is only one soul and one king.”

  Sky Knife nodded in understanding even though his heart ached over the unfairness of it. Deer had been stripped of everything. Life, skin, body, soul. Even name. All of it belonged to Black Coyote. Sky Knife’s face ached with suppressed sobs and he bit his lip.

  He couldn’t control his eyes, though. Tears spilled out of them, down his face, into his lap.

  Talking Storm came over and knelt by Sky Knife. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You are not sick?”

  “No,” gasped Sky Knife. “I am not sick. Only…” he glanced back to the table where Deer had been.