‘What is it?’ he asked her, concerned and afraid.
K’ul Kelem desperately needed Hachakyum to return.
Chapter 14
Xquiq’s labour was long and difficult. She screamed and sobbed with the pain. After two days the agony brought her close to death.
Hun-Hunahpu was frantic. He blamed himself. He was powerless to help but should have known how to fix things. He was a god, his mother had convinced him, and gods had powers to create, alter and destroy. But he didn’t know how. He cursed himself and he cursed the absent father he could not remember, who had not taught him.
Xquiq’s screams pierced him like the pain was his own. At the end of the second day, she was barely conscious, a fraction of the person who had been glowing with the anticipation of new life within her.
At that moment a small-sized baby boy was finally born. He came out of his mother as if reluctantly, his eyes like those of an old and wise man. The baby looked long at his father and then searched for and focussed on his mother’s face. Xquiq died as she returned her new son’s stare. The baby’s eyes lost their focus at the death of his mother, then he began to cry.
‘There’s another baby,’ a woman said frantically. ‘She has to be opened. It won’t be born otherwise.’
Xquiq’s death was real, Hun-Hunahpu knew that. Her life was beyond the reach of all gods and mortals. He blamed himself. He rushed outside, drew his stone knife, delirious with grief and hacked at his penis, resolving to destroy the cause of her death. He wanted physical pain, not despair and grief. He wanted to die.
Blood streamed from him. He collapsed on his knees as his lower body was drenched with red.
K’ul Kelem had shockingly witnessed her son’s self-mutilation. His abject despair cut through her. She was frantic. She would, after all, lose her son. She remembered what Hachakyum had said to her, millennia ago, about suffering and calling to Xibalba. There was one common element to his appearances. She sank to her knees. She grabbed her tongue with one hand while with the other she struck with a knife, ripping through her flesh. The pain was immense and she thrived on it. She wanted no more life without her son.
Blood flowed and eddied from her mouth and over her chin. Her chest was covered in red. The days of grief, stress and fasting had weakened her and the intense pain in her mouth relieved her of the wish for life itself. She fell to the ground next to her son.
A crowd of people had been gathered for the two days of Xquiq’s labour. They watched with horror the bloody self-mutilations of their ruler and her son.
The air shimmered and coagulated into an opaque and shifting cloud of smoke. The citizens watched in horror as a serpent’s head appeared, it drew all the smoke to itself, wide-open jaws formed then disgorged a man dressed in a white tunic covering him from his neck to his elbows and down to below his knees.
Hachakyum had returned.
Chapter 15
K’ul Kelem lifted her head and saw the man she loved appear out of the smoke of the Vision Serpent. She felt joy that had been absent for more than twenty years. Her mouth cleared of blood and was healed. She saw him clearly as the remnants of the Vision Serpent dissipated and was shocked by his appearance. He was an old man, like the first time she had seen him.
He crouched next to her and helped her to her feet.
‘I’m so sorry, K’ul Kelem,’ he said softly.
She would forgive him everything. He had returned, nothing else mattered. Her family was returned to her, nothing could affect them now. She glanced at Hun-Hunahpu and smiled. Her son stood, once again whole and unblemished. He stared at the apparition that was his father.
Hachakyum ignored his son, he only had eyes for K’ul Kelem. He was not sorry for his absence, there was something else. She felt his despair, she felt a fear she did not understand. She frowned and placed her hand on his chest. She cried out in utter desperation as she fell back from him.
‘No!’ She screamed in disbelief of what she had seen.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, and the world drowned in his sadness.
Behind K’ul Kelem the air shimmered and flickered. Hachakyum quickly raised his arm towards the structure that housed Xquiq’s body and the new born Twins.
Animate objects in many shapes and sizes appeared around Hachakyum. They were living beings but only a few had recognisable, human shapes. One of the human shapes spoke to Hachakyum. K’ul Kelem understood the sounds and realised it was the same language Hachakyum had spoken when he whispered a respectful farewell to the butterflies, many thousands of years ago.
‘This abomination cannot remain, little brother,’ the old man, like Hachakyum, said.
He lifted his arm a little and Hun-Hunahpu shimmered and then disappeared.
‘Where is my son?’ K’ul Kelem screamed at the intruder and at Hachakyum. After all she had endured keeping him alive, she could not accept losing him now.
The other man ignored her. Hachakyum spoke softly to her. ‘I’m sorry, K’ul Kelem. He’s gone.’
‘Gone? Gone where?’ she said frantically.
K’ul Kelem knew her son no longer lived. She screamed and then fell to her knees.
The other man glanced at her, as if she was an insignificant species. Hachakyum crouched next to her and placed his hand on her shoulder.
‘Where have you been?’ she sobbed. ‘It’s been so long.’
‘Time is not,’ he hesitated trying to explain a difficult concept quickly, ‘as linear away from here.’ He waited for a moment as if a short silence would allow her to understand. ‘I’m sorry. I misjudged.’
‘Misjudge is not the word I would use, Hachakyum,’ his brother interrupted. He found the interaction, even affection, between god and human difficult to understand and, also, offensive.
Hachakyum ignored his brother and helped K’ul Kelem to her feet. She had a momentary panic as she thought of her grandchildren, the Twins.
She was about to ask Hachakyum, ‘What about the Twins? Are they all right?’ However, the words did not reach her lips, the thought stuck in her head as Hachakyum’s eyes narrowed and forced her mouth shut so that she spoke nothing. She knew he was aware of them.
‘I won’t let you do any more, Hunahpu-Guch,’ Hachakyum said to his brother. There was threat in his voice.
His brother smiled. ‘You are strong, little brother. Much stronger than I remember. But not that strong.’
Hunahpu-Guch raised his arm but was surprised when nothing happened.
‘I told you,’ Hachakyum said, his eyes narrowed in hatred. ‘I won’t let you interfere.’
‘You’re stronger than I am,’ his brother said warily. ‘I’m surprised. But you cannot overcome all of us.’ The others of Hachakyum’s race instantly surrounded Hachakyum as Hunahpu-Guch again raised his arm.
Hachakyum screamed. His voice was deathly and shrill. The sun flickered off and on. His body glowed in uncontrolled anger, turning iridescent. His panicked eyes searched for and found K’ul Kelem in the moment she crumpled and fell to the earth. Her long life over.
The world had been re-made.
Chapter 16
‘Little brother, you worry me,’ Hunahpu-Guch said to his distraught brother. He then saw K’ul Kelem’s lifeless body.
‘I did not kill her,’ he said quickly. He felt his brother’s anger and it worried him. Hachakyum’s abilities would be difficult to control if he had, in fact, become the most powerful of them.
‘You killed her,’ Hachakyum said quietly, barely in control of his anger. ‘Her life was bound to this creation. They were one and the same.’
‘That’s not possible,’ Hachakyum’s brother said, he was dismissive. ‘We can’t preserve lives like these indefinitely.’
‘I can,’ Hachakyum said. He raised his eyes to the sky and emitted a short burst of maniacal laughter. The world rumbled in sympathy. He squatted down next to K’ul Kelem’s body and scooped up a handful of sand. He examined the grains as if they were of intense interest. He let
a tiny stream of sand fall onto her lifeless hand as it lay on the ground. He raised his head and his black eyes stared at his brother, who made an involuntary gasp of fear at his younger brother’s anger. Hachakyum flung the sand at his brother. The sun flickered for a moment and then went out as the grains of sand accelerated over Hunahpu-Guch’s head and on into the dark sky.
His brother was agitated. He looked up and behind him. ‘What have you done?’
‘These people will remember. They will never forget K’ul Kelem,’ Hachakyum said. His words struck fear into the gods.
His brother was unnerved as he scanned the darkness overhead. ‘What have you done?’ he repeated with genuine fear for his own safety.
‘The stars always tell a story,’ Hachakyum said as he scanned the stars overhead. He gave a short, hysterical laugh and again the world rumbled. The sun flickered and then shone again at full strength.
His brother laughed out loud. ‘Are you telling me that you’ve shuffled the stars in this galaxy?’ He laughed again, he was contemptuous. ‘None of our race have that power, little brother.’
‘Until me,’ Hachakyum said quickly and with vehemence, then spat words at his brother. ‘The name of my son, the man you killed, was chosen by the mother.’ The humans that witnessed the gods facing each other fell to their knees and covered their heads with their arms as Hachakyum’s anger filled the world. If they had any will left at all it would be to end their own lives.
‘The woman you killed was his mother.’ He crouched down again and gently touched the body of the woman he had loved for tens of thousands of years. ‘I did not know his name until she told me,’ he said.
‘A man’s name is not important,’ Hachakyum’s brother said, he was sneering but apprehensive.
Hachakyum caressed K’ul Kelem’s hair, as if she might wake and be inconvenienced by it covering her face. He stood up. He spoke quietly, knowing the effect his son’s name would have. ‘My son’s name was Hun-Hunahpu.’
His brother’s form shimmered, as shock raced through him. He stared at Hachakyum, wondering if his brother was telling the truth. He was.
‘I am truly sorry Hachakyum but he was an abomination. If that was truly his name then it has gone. Again.’
‘The owner of that name, as you know brother,’ Hachakyum said with condescension as if lecturing an inferior. ‘Almost destroyed us. This time, that name, will cause the end of everything. I will make sure of it because of what you’ve done here.’
Hachakyum’s brother hesitated, as if he wanted to stay with his brother, to help the younger god’s obvious delusion, but then his body shimmered and disappeared. The other’s of his race disappeared as well.
The brothers would not meet again until the end of all worlds.
Hachakyum stood for a long time over K’ul Kelem’s form. The world itself shared his melancholy. He reluctantly left her body and went inside the structure where the Twins had been born. Xquiq’s body remained where she had died. Hachakyum raised his arm and the two babies appeared as if out of nothing. They began to whimper and cry softly.
‘Your grandmother will be remembered. The worlds of gods and men will be destroyed by you. You will prove that your father’s name has not died,’ he said to the babies and then spoke the names of the Hero Twins for the first time.
‘Hunahpu and Xbalanque,’ Hachakyum said.”
Chapter 17
‘Those are all the stories of K’ul Kelem and Hachakyum that I have been told by my father,’ Pep’em Ha said.
‘I’m tired,’ she announced to her father. She smiled diffidently. ‘I want to go sleep.’
‘There are many other stories,’ Yax K’in interrupted, ignoring Pep’Em Ha’s complaint. ‘But there is one essential story left to be told. It is the most important. It is the Story of the Scribe.’
Arthur slouched in his chair, he was too tired for more story telling that night. The sky was beginning to brighten with the approaching sun.
‘The Story of the Scribe is of the time Hachakyum returned to our people,’ Yax K’in said. ‘When he gave his instructions to my ancestor, when the writing on the wall of the tomb of K’ul Kelem was made. When he told us of his plan for the end of the world. Of all worlds.’
Arthur sat up. There was no way he was going to sleep yet.
Chapter 18
The Story of the Scribe
Yax K’in chanted in a slow and regular rhythm, revealing the beauty and natural cadences of the sounds of the words he had memorised. He recited the story in first-person, as the owner of the story had told it to his son, countless generations before Yax K’in.
“I was commanded by Hachakyum to write the stories of his life. I worked for many cycles under Hachakyum’s guidance. He would recite a story and I would write a draft version for his approval. I wrote on clay, I scratched surfaces, I used charcoal and some parts I wrote in sand with a stick or my finger. Only once a story was perfect would Hachakyum allow me to write on the walls of the tomb.
At first I did not understand why I had been chosen, even though there were none in our city who rivalled my expertise. Hachakyum had no need of me. It was confusing. I saw him alter my draft text without touching it. I am sure he could have made the text appear on the walls of the tomb if he had wanted to.
I, also, did not understand why he insisted that I memorise the stories he told me. I had seen the lintels and stela of kings long dead. They had already lasted for many lifetimes. I was sure the temple over the tomb and my writing and carvings would do the same.
I remember that I was bold enough to ask him that question. Why had he made me memorise the stories before I wrote them on the tomb walls? Hachakyum encouraged questions, especially from me, when those questions were asked out of ignorance and for the sole reason of gaining an answer.
We were sitting together outside the opening to the tomb. In front of us steps fell to the plaza below. Behind us other steps ran down to a triangular opening and then further down inside the pyramid in a long stairway, that finally turned at the end into the tomb itself.
‘That is a good question, my friend,’ Hachakyum said to me.
I smiled, as you can imagine. Who would not! To be called ‘friend’ by a god.
‘And you are correct,’ he said. ’I do not need you to construct this temple nor to write the stories.’ He watched me, it was an unsettling experience. I think he was waiting for my smile, at being called ‘friend’, to fade.
‘Stories live on through the people that tell and re-tell them. Writing, of itself, is not the story. It’s only in the lives of those that hear a story does it have real life. Too few people can understand writing.’
‘Then why are they written at all,’ I asked.
‘The stories will be told for people to remember. K’ul Kelem will not be forgotten. The writing is for the Twins. They will understand.’
There were many workers around us and below us. They were cleaning up the site as construction had recently been completed. I could not help but feel satisfaction at their glances as I sat next to Hachakyum, as if I too was a god. I had been used to those types of glances all my life. My father was king before my older brother. I had participated at important dedications. I was renowned for my valour in battle. One of my captives had been recorded in a stela, that was unusual and a great honour. I was used to being well known but the glances because of my association with Hachakyum were different. They were fearful, as if I too had Hachakyum’s powers and by a single action many lives could be destroyed.
I did not enlighten my peers that their fears were unfounded, that Hachakyum would not destroy for any injustice I suffered. If I did not tell anyone of that, then I acknowledge that as a failure of mine. Everyone has failures. Hachakyum told me. The stories I have memorised show the mistakes of the gods. But my small failures will not result in the end of the world for people and for the gods.
It was evening as Hachakyum and I sat on the temple steps. He asked me to speak to the wor
kers. ‘Tell them to stop. There is no need for more work. Tell them to go home,’ he said.
I stood and called to the workers. I repeated the instructions when they did not move. It was only when Hachakyum stood and raised his arm that they threw down their tools and hurried away. Some waited at a safe distance until they met with others and then moved off. Hachakyum and I sat down again and waited until the plaza was deserted. He did not speak to me, which was usual.
He looked melancholy and weary. He appeared as I would after a long, difficult but fulfilling task had been finally completed. I believe Hachakyum and I shared that feeling as we sat on the steps. But, I do not presume to know the feelings of gods. Still, I knew he had emotions not unlike my own, from what I had learned from him. I knew that he had lived among us through countless cycles, through many creations of our world and all the time with K’ul Kelem by his side. I knew he suffered sadness. I knew he had suffered the worse sadness imaginable, the loss of loved ones. It is a terrible thing in one so powerful.
The sun had nearly touched the horizon when Hachakyum spoke to me. I was hungry and I was thinking of my family. If my tasks were completed then I would be able to see them regularly. My duties for my brother were not as time consuming as my duties for Hachakyum.
‘You have finished too. There are no more stories,’ he said. He watched the sun as it fell toward the tops of the trees.
My heart beat faster. I thought I was to be sacrificed, to consecrate the temple.
Hachakyum looked at me and he smiled. ‘No,’ he said, although I had said nothing. ‘There will be no dedication ritual.’
He turned away from me again and watched the sun for a long time in silence.
He stood and I also rose to stand by his side.
‘We have a little more to do,’ he said. He walked down and stood next to the triangular opening. He peered into the gloom of the passageway. ‘You must remember everything I have told you. There are many stories, do you remember them?’
The First Genesis Page 12