Yax glared at the man. “Honac-Fey. What is the cause for the delay?”
“I do apologize, my Lord,” Honac-Fey said, over exaggerating by dropping to his knees. He looked like he was begging for his life, but in a sarcastic manner. “The players report being prolonged by seven serpents that crossed their path along the journey from Kinichná. To honor the gods, they had to stop for prayers, and to make proper offerings.” He stood and held his hands out wide with a twisted smile. “Both teams are now ready at the ballcourt. They await your command to begin.”
As Honac-Fey spoke, William noticed a stern look on Priest Quisac’s face. It was clear that the Serpent Priest didn’t like Honac-Fey. William thought he was annoying too, like an animated announcer at a circus sideshow.
“Very well,” Yax said. “Bring Priests Ik-Tanil and Ch’elek with you to perform the blessing rites.”
Honac-Fey gave another embellished bow before departing, with the two priests following him out. The white owl flew off the ceiba tree into the afternoon sky overhead, in the direction of Honac-Fey.
Teshna leaned to her brother, the bright green feathers on her headdress swaying forward. “Seven serpents,” she said with a huff.
Yax glowered at her. “Just be thankful that I did not have to send you down to play.” He took a moment to instruct the servants to keep searching for Bati—to escort her to the ballcourt when she was found—and then he spun back with an excited look, like a kid about to go to the Super Bowl. “Let’s go!” Yax said, as he headed out with Teshna at his side.
Priest Quisac grabbed William by the arm, holding him back a few steps from the others. “Be alert, Balam. As Royal Protector of the King’s family, you must always be mindful for their safety.”
“What do you mean by Royal Protector?” William asked.
“It is the title that you have been awarded. You accepted this responsibility when you allowed the bloodstone to be placed around your neck.”
“What, this thing?” he asked, holding the bloodstone. “I thought it was just a gift.”
“That is correct… a great gift indeed,” Priest Quisac said.
They followed Yax and Teshna down the palace steps and along a short path. When they reached the ceremonial center, they merged with hundreds of citizens who were making their way to the ballcourt. It reminded William of the times he went to sporting events with his dad—walking to the stadium from where they parked, with a crowd growing from various points as they went. However, the bizarre attire of the fans reminded William that he wasn’t in California; it felt like he was heading to a costume party at Xcaret.
William considered the royal protector obligation, not feeling comfortable with it. “Priest Quisac, you need to know… I’m not a warrior,” he whispered, feeling a little embarrassed. “Saving Yax the other night was just… lucky.”
“In the cosmic plan there are no accidents,” Priest Quisac said. “The events of that night were written in the stars. Your destiny calls out to you here and now, Balam. It cannot be avoided.”
William busted out with a big laugh. He couldn’t believe that such a crazy predicament could be his life’s destiny.
The Serpent Priest regarded William with confidence. “To face your destiny with humor is a rare strength indeed.”
As they continued in silence along the stone walkway toward the ballcourt in the clearing, William wondered what he had just gotten himself into by accepting the bloodstone.
Sitting on a bench padded with jaguar skins, William studied the ballcourt. Although not as large as the one he had seen before at Chichén Itzá, it had a similar layout. The playing field was about thirty yards in width and forty yards in length. Ramps sloped up from the court on both sides at twenty degree angles, merging with walls that rose another ten feet. A scoring ring, fashioned like a coiled snake, was secured to the upper-center of each side wall. The ramps and walls were bright red, contrasting the white plaster floor of the playing field.
The royal seating where William sat was—in their standards—like a luxury box at a stadium. It was situated at the center of the eastern side of the ballcourt on a raised platform. A thatched roof shaded them from the heat of the late afternoon sun. Others in the royal assembly stood on platforms around the edge of the ballcourt, pressing themselves against the medians, and jockeying for a better position to watch the game.
On William’s right was Priest Quisac. On his left, Yax sat in an elegant throne decorated with elaborate carvings of scenes from the games. Teshna was seated beside Yax. The empty seat to her left awaited Betty’s arrival.
The two zebra-painted ceremonial priests appeared at the northern and southern entrances of the ballcourt, waving their incense burners as they went. They advanced until they met one another at the center of the court, turned to face the King, and kneeled briefly before continuing with their prayers.
William was excited to watch the ancient ball game. He had seen many ballcourts while visiting Mayan ruins with his family, but nobody could ever tell him for sure how the game was played. Now he would be the first—from his time—to find out. “Where are the players?” he asked Yax.
“Our team prepares behind the western wall, near the northern entrance,” he said, pointing to the other side of the ballcourt across from them. “They must make offerings to the gods to open a pathway through the scoring ring. The players from Kinichná are behind the wall where we sit, near the southern entrance.”
Teshna looked over to William and noticed his troubled expression. “What bothers you, Balam? Are you not enjoying the ceremonies?” she asked.
William tried to find the right words to convey his concern, without offending their rituals. “Is it true that the losing team is sacrificed?”
Yax and Teshna looked puzzled. “Of course not, Balam,” Teshna said. “Where did you hear such nonsense?”
“Is this what they do in your land,” Yax asked. “Would that please you?”
“No, definitely not!” William said, waving his hands. He pointed at the image on the side of the King’s chair. “Then what’s with this carving…. of a man holding his severed head?”
“It is symbolic,” the Serpent Priest said, “of the death of one’s lower self. Great wisdom can be achieved through the games. Those who compete have earned this privilege.”
Seven players from each team entered from the northern and southern entrances wearing thick padding around their waists and shoulders, helmets made out of armadillo skin on their heads, and decorative boots on their feet. They bowed to one another in the center of the court.
“Our team wears a white sash around their waist, to honor the north,” Yax said. “Kinichná wears a yellow sash, for the south.”
Honac-Fey entered the ballcourt from the northern entrance, carrying a large black ball. He was dressed in a white feathered cape and wore a headdress that looked like a hawk was nesting on his head. At the southern entrance another man entered, wearing a yellow feathered cape. They met at the center and bowed to the King. Honac-Fey placed the ball on the court before he and the other caped man made their way out. The white owl soared across the ballcourt and landed on Honac-Fey’s shoulder as he departed.
Yax clasped his hands together, causing several seashell trumpets to break the silence. The game began with a cheer of approval from the spectators, and the two teams took their positions across from each other in the middle of the court.
The captain from the Kinichná team rolled the ball up the slanted wall toward the opponent’s side. It bounced once on the ground, and a player from Dzibanché kicked it high with his knee back to the other side. A Kinichná player popped it up with his hip to his teammate. He hit the ball with his head, maneuvering it closer to their scoring side.
The scrimmage went back and forth for several minutes, with the players whacking the ball with their heads, shoulders, hips, and knees. At times, the ball made its way to the eastern and western extremes of the court, where the players positioned themselve
s up the ramps and attempted to hit the scoring ring.
The Kinichná team maneuvered the ball up the ramp on their scoring side of the court, and with a good bump from a player’s knee, the ball hit the outer rim of the ring. A low-pitched blast from seashell trumpets celebrated the score.
The flash of an igniting torch drew William’s attention at the southern end of the ballcourt. He looked closer and noticed six unlit torches beside it. There was a similar collection of torches at the northern end as well.
“It is the method for keeping score,” Priest Quisac explained. “To win, the team must hit their scoring ring seven times. However, if the ball passes directly through the ring—a rare occurrence—victory is immediate.”
Another cheer from the crowd drew William’s attention back to the game. Kinichná seemed to be playing more aggressive, ramming their shoulders and hips hard into the heavy ball to keep it positioned closer to their scoring ring.
After nearly an hour, four scoring torches had been lit for Kinichná, and only one for Dzibanché. Three loud drum beats signaled a resting period, and the two teams went to their northern and southern extremes. When the Dzibanché players exited, Honac-Fey handed them drinks. Likewise, the man in the yellow feathered cape provided refreshments to the Kinichná players.
The game resumed. Dzibanché had acquired a good position when one of the players lost his balance, stumbled, and fell face-first to the hard plaster floor. The ball rolled to a stop beside him, as his teammates rushed to his side.
A hush fell over the ballcourt. Yax stood with a worried look, as Honac-Fey moved in with several servants to carry the hurt player away on a litter. Honac-Fey looked up to Yax. “My Lord, the player has taken ill and cannot continue,” he said in a commanding voice for all to hear, emphasizing his words with animated arm movements.
The man in the yellow cape—who William learned was the Governor of Kinichná—entered as well. “Lord Stone Frog,” the Kinichná Governor said, addressing Yax with his formal Mayan name, “the game cannot be continued short of seven players. A replacement must be chosen… someone deserving of the honor.”
“I see no other choice than Balam…” Honac-Fey said with a surreptitious glance to the Kinichná Governor.
William flinched upon hearing his name. He shot his attention over to Yax, hoping he would not agree.
The King studied William for a moment and then spoke to the entire assembly. “You are correct, Honac-Fey, there is no other who has earned the right to play in the games… but only if Balam agrees.”
William was about to decline, but then Honac-Fey raised his hands to the crowd and began chanting,
“Balam, Balam, Balam.” The spectators joined in, chanting his name in chorus.
“Oh, crap,” William muttered, realizing that he didn’t have much choice in the matter. If he chickened out, it would be embarrassing to Yax. However, his decision to play was mostly due to Teshna’s admiring stare; he couldn’t let her down. When William stood, the crowd let out a rowdy cheer.
“Be alert, Balam,” Priest Quisac said with a concerned look, as William was escorted away.
William felt ridiculous in the uniform they made him wear: heavy-duty sandals with decoratively studded support bands buckled on his calves, protective pads attached to his knees, elbows, hips, and shoulders, and a goofy helmet strapped to his head.
As he reached the center of the ballcourt, he felt a wave of butterflies. The seashell trumpets sounded and the game resumed. At first, William felt a little bunglesome running around in his clumsy gear, trying to get the feel for the game. When the ball finally came his way, William positioned himself to hit it, but two Kinichná players rushed in at the same moment and rammed their shoulders into his chest, knocking him to the ground, as they intercepted the ball. Kinichná bumped it to their side, and they scored again. The fifth torch lit up at the southern end of the ballcourt.
Play resumed. Dzibanché maneuvered the ball to their scoring side, and William bumped it with his shoulder, barely missing the goal. Luckily, a teammate was there for the rebound, hitting the ball with his knee against the edge of their scoring ring. The spectators rejoiced with their team’s third score; another torch burned at the Dzibanché end of the court.
As play continued, William got the feel for the game. With his size and strength, he helped his team maintain possession of the ball near their goal, and they scored again. The crowd went crazy for the comeback.
Trumpets and three drum beats signaled the next resting period. William’s team marched to the northern end of the ballcourt. A standing ovation from the royal assembly cheered them on their way out.
Honac-Fey handed drinks to the players as they exited the court. William let his teammates get their cups first, for they had been playing longer and he figured they needed it more. Based on how fast they guzzled down their drinks, he was right.
When Honac-Fey handed William a cup, a strange look crossed his face; he seemed angry with him. William wondered if the man was still upset for not being awarded the bloodstone earlier that day. Even the little white owl gave him an irritated ‘hoot’ from his shoulder.
William moved a few steps away and put the cup to his lips. He was about to drink it, when Betty’s screeching voice distracted him.
“William, no!” she hollered.
William lowered the cup and saw Betty coming at him like a flash of lightning. She slapped the cup from his hands, spilling its contents onto the ground. Honac-Fey glared at her.
“What the hell are you doing?” William asked. “Where have you been?”
“Something’s going on here.” She pointed at Honac-Fey, as he filled another cup. “That guy there… he’s involved.”
“Well, yeah. He’s coordinating the game,” William said with annoyance, strapping his helmet back on.
“William, listen!” Betty said, pulling him to the side. “I went swimming at that cenote down the road, and I found them there… the Kinichná ball players… all dead… off the side of the road!”
William glanced over to the ballcourt with a confused look. “You mean those ball players?”
Honac-Fey brought another cup to William, urging him to take it. He reached for it, but Betty whacked it from his hands again.
“What is your problem, Betty?” William asked, getting annoyed. The seashell trumpets sounded the end of the resting period. “We’re playing a game here, if you haven’t noticed.”
As William rushed back to the court, he could still hear Betty hollering nonsense behind him. “It’s not them!” she said. “They took their uniforms. He put something in the drinks!”
When William glanced back, he saw Betty run off behind the eastern wall of the ballcourt. He ignored her, figuring he’d find out what she was freaking out about later, and he returned his focus to the ball game.
Priest Quisac jumped up, noticing the commotion. After Bati ran off, he watched Honac-Fey motioning to the Kinichná Governor, who then spoke to a warrior at his side. The warrior pulled a dagger from his belt just before he went out of view behind the eastern wall.
The Serpent Priest slipped away from his place near the others, unnoticed. While moving along the stone walkway behind the spectators, he retrieved a short atlatl—his weapon of choice—that he always carried with him; attached to his belt. As he hurried forward, he grabbed an obsidian dart from a satchel at his side, and slipped it into the groove of his atlatl.
When he reached the steps leading out of the stadium, he spotted the warrior at the base of the stairway, holding Bati by her neck; her strangled cries went unheard from the noise of the crowd. The warrior slammed her head against the stone wall, and he lifted his dagger.
Priest Quisac forced a mental image into the warrior’s mind, of Bati’s arms transforming into serpents. Startled, the warrior took a step back. Priest Quisac snapped his atlatl—like he was cracking a whip—and a dart whizzed through the air, impaling the man through his ribs, just under his raised arm. The warr
ior dropped the dagger. He fell onto his side with a heavy thump.
Bati had a surprised and dazed expression locked on her face. She lost her balance and fell to her knees. Priest Quisac helped her up, supporting her as they returned to the stadium together.
As the ball game continued, William noticed that his teammates reacted much slower, without the intensity that previously enabled them to score. William’s lazy teammates didn’t even have the strength to return the ball with enough force to keep it away from their opponent’s side. Eventually, one of the Kinichná players headed the ball and scored again.
Only one unlit torch remained at the southern end of the ballcourt. One more score for Kinichná would finish the game. When William had first started playing he didn’t care about winning. He just wanted it to be over so he could go back to his room and rest. Now with his competitive spirit in full gear, he really wanted to win. Unfortunately, his teammates weren’t helping his cause, moving the ball with the carelessness of a team of drunks. One of his teammates headed the ball high in the air and then suddenly collapsed. William chased after the ball; it bounced off the plaster floor and went high over his head.
As the ball ascended, William noticed all his teammates staggering and falling over, one after the other. He took a quick glance at the scoring ring, ten yards away, and readied himself. As the ball dropped, he smacked it as hard as he could with his knee. A hush overcame the arena as the spectators followed the ball’s path, watching it arc through the sky—seemingly in slow motion—before miraculously gliding through the very center of the scoring ring.
The crowd erupted with cheers. Trumpets blasted, and drums beat with the passion of a drum solo at a rock concert. The remaining torches were lit on the northern side, signifying Dzibanché’s victory.
Amidst the hoopla, a bizarre scene unfolded on the ballcourt, and the cheers faded with the suddenness of pressing the mute button on a remote control. William’s teammates writhed in agony, with green foam bubbling out their mouths.
Yax bolted from his throne, barking commands to his royal guards.
The Serpent Passage Page 7