Pekari -The Azure Fish

by Guenevere Lee

  “You’ll stay here the night, of course,” Yupanchi smiled to his guests. “Tomorrow morning, we will meet with the huitls.”

  “And my father,” Tenok whispered.

  Yupanchi nodded. “And your father,” he motioned down a hall where two young men wearing clean white loincloths waited with bowed heads. “My servants will show you to your rooms.”

  Sha’di followed, finally feeling relief. A room meant a bed, and a bed meant sleep.

  “Are you ready to meet the huitls?” Tenok asked, though he looked distracted by a different thought.

  Sha’di was too tired to think of a smart quip, so instead he smiled nervously. Was he ready?

  He’d said the words so many times, practicing them over and over again in the high tongue, Katan, they now barely held any meaning to him. The gods are angry. The old ways must be kept. A great flood will destroy all the land unless you heed the warning of the gods. The only thing he didn’t say, even though his mind was screaming at himself to say it to these rulers of the Grey Mist, was what he believed. The gods were angry with them, specifically, because of their twisted version of human sacrifice. He knew without having to ask Tenok that if he started lecturing these men about how they were worshiping the gods wrong, they wouldn’t hesitate to cut open his sternum and rip out his heart.

  The thirty huitls listened well, nodding and frowning, as though they were already well aware of the danger they were in. They felt the issue had something to do with the woman who lived atop the Red Pyramid, their supposed chief of chiefs, the Ellpe. His coming was only a reminder to them that some action needed to be taken about her…and soon.

  They had gone to the base of the Red Pyramid for this meeting. They ignored the ramp that led to the summit, and instead, headed to a large entrance in the mountainside. The tunnel inside was blacker than ink, feebly lit by torches. Yupanchi had gone up a large stairway to an upper level, but servants had taken Sha’di further into the depths, until they came to narrow spiral stairs leading straight up.

  Nervously, Sha’di had twisted up the spiral stairs, and suddenly found himself in a large triangular room. He stood in the open middle of a great triangular stone table, around which sat the huitls and atls. Above them a triangular opening, no doubt rigged with mirrors to reach the outside and let in the light. Each huitl had his own space at the table. The three atls took a seat at the three corners of the table, and the twenty-seven huitls sat along the sides. All of them now stared at Sha’di with curiosity. Servants and chakatls stood behind their huitls. Tenok and the others hadn’t been invited, and although that had annoyed Sha’di, Tenok had seemed strangely relieved.

  For the first time, Sha’di saw Tenok’s father. Even without the red dye on his skin and similar headdress, he would have known him as the Chultunyatl, the Chief of Chultunyu. He was old, his hair greying and wispy, but he looked very much like Tanuk had. He had the same severe expression, the same strength in his dark eyes.

  “We do not take your words lightly. We know the power of the gods all too well. It was in the time of Kuwaminetz, over two hundred years ago, that we last felt the wrath of the gods,” Yupanchi rose from his seat, commanding the room’s attention. “The thirty Great Pyramids had been united under one Allpa for many generations. But their power made the Allpas lazy and cruel, and much as you say, they forgot the old ways.”

  Sha’di felt countless pairs of eyes staring at him, measuring the truth of his words against the truth of their history.

  “They forgot to observe the feast days. They forgot to make the proper sacrifices. They forgot to care for their people. The gods flooded the three lands and thousands were lost. The High Priest Kuwaminetz saw that Huwamanpallpa was to blame for this tragedy and knew the only way to appease the gods was to purge his tainted city. What wasn’t destroyed in the flood was burned, and what stone wasn’t lost beneath the waves was dismantled, until there was no sign of the Allpa’s cursed pyramid.

  “The Allpa and his family were taken by the priests, to cleanse them of the evils that had strayed them off the path of the gods. The High Priest Kuwaminetz had heard the voice of the gods, telling him of a place known as the Red Mountain, at the northernmost point of the Grey Mist. And so the huitls followed the High Priest.

  “When they reached the Red Mountain, all who laid eyes on it knew it was a holy place and blessed by the gods. There the gods demanded that the mountain be washed in the blood of the Huwamanpallpa and his family. Their blood was the blood of the gods, and to atone for their sins, they needed to be sacrificed, and the mountain carved into the Great Red Pyramid.

  “They did as the gods demanded. The Allpa and his family graciously gave their lives for their people. All were sacrificed, save for the Allpa’s youngest son. He was anointed in the holy blood of his family as the Royal Sacrifice, his bloodline to remain to wash the Pyramid anew every generation and keep this site holy.”

  Sha’di felt something twist in his stomach. The room of hutils nodded their heads, well acquainted with this story, accepting it as something equally mundane as eating dinner in the evening, or dressing themselves in the morning. A sacrifice like this was no different than any daily routine.

  “Chipetzuha took a full cycle, fifty-two-years, to be completed. It was a sign from the gods that this place was the holiest of all. And the Royal Sacrifice, born the same year they began to build the pyramid, Wikakirallpa was his royal name, was executed in his fifty-second year. This had clearly been planned by the gods.”

  Sha’di wondered if the pyramid really had taken fifty-two years to build. He had no doubt it would have taken several cycles of Zera moving through the constellations. But what would have stopped these men from realizing the pyramid would be finished in only forty-nine years and then stalling for three more to make the numbers line up so nicely? Or what was stopping them now from lying about how long it took to build it altogether? How many people alive when it was finished had even been born when the pyramid’s construction had begun? Even the men making that claim might not know.

  “After that, it was declared that every year a member of the royal family would be offered to the gods, starting with Wikakirallpa’s only son, Thonallpa. And so this continued, and the land prospered. But in order to continue to appease the gods by washing Chipetzuha in the blood of the Royal Sacrifices, it was decided that the eldest son would be spared, and his royal name would be Huwamanpallpa, the same as the first Royal Sacrifice.”

  Yupanchi suddenly laughed, and everyone looked at Sha’di, smirking slightly. “Do not look so grave, Whisperer.”

  Sha’di realized he must have been failing to hide his feelings and quickly cleared his throat, trying to look as neutral as possible. He had not been sent here to judge these people. Only to warn them their actions were cursing them. He had been sent as an emissary of the gods to help them.

  “The life of a Royal Sacrifice is one of infinite pleasure. They live atop Chipetzuha with no knowledge of the truth. They have a harem to take wives and make royal children from. They have the best foods and clothes and jewels. The Royal Sacrifices are blessed, and so they should be, for they are holy. Their blood is the blood of the gods, and they must be treated so.”

  Sha’di cleared his throat again. “So…ah, when are the Allpas sacrificed?”

  “As soon as they have a healthy son, one who can continue on. The Allpa’s blood washes the Red Pyramid.”

  Sha’di wished he would stop calling it the Red Pyramid. The Blood Pyramid would be more accurate. “But…you have a woman Allpa, sorry, Ellpe now…” An Ellpe who refuses to marry. An Ellpe who refuses to have children. He didn’t need Yupanchi to answer him. He suddenly realized all too well what these men wanted.

  And for the first time the atmosphere in the room became dark.

  Yupanchi frowned. “Yes…If a Royal Sacrifice had a daughter, she was to become a Lesser Sacrifice, to be taken before her fifth birthday. But, uh…There was an accident. Huwamanpallpa, the eighth sacrifi
ce of that name, only had one child, a baby girl who was still suckling when he fell. He was wounded, and the wound festered. He was moments from death when we were forced to push the sacrifice forward, and since that day, thirteen-years ago, we’ve been without a Royal Sacrifice.”

  Yupanchi sat, annoyance on his face. “She won’t marry. She won’t marry and give us children. We think one of her servants told her that she was the Royal Sacrifice, and now the girl refuses to serve her purpose.”

  Sha’di had been picturing an older woman, but now he realized this Ellpe could only be fourteen years old or so. She was barely a woman, having only left childhood behind. He could imagine her standing on her pyramid, looking down at them with wide, serious eyes, long black hair blowing gently in the wind. So small, so alone, so desperately in need of someone to protect her. How could these men talk about her as no more than a tool to service their gods?

  “She won’t let you kill her children…” Sha’di bit his lip, hoping he hadn’t just said that out loud, but from the glares and the wince on some of their faces he knew he had.

  “You said it yourself,” Yupanchi’s voice was steady. “The old ways must be followed. These are the old ways, and if she does not marry and give us a son to continue our land, we are doomed. Your sand witches saw our fate. We must wash Chipetzuha with royal blood, or the gods will destroy us. Your coming is indeed a sign of the gods. You were sent to help us. You must convince Huwamanpallpe to sacrifice her body for her people.”

  SEREPTY

  THE PAIN OF PAST EVENTS

  There was a moment, brief as it was, when Samaki was certain they would never reach the bay of Serepty. Many of the men had died quickly in the attack, their blood seeping into the cracks of the deck; but even more died slowly, cradled in their friend’s laps, sipping water from cupped hands. Fewer men remained than after the storm. There was a consolation, however small, because other than a few nicks and broken oars, the Afeth was still strong and sailed well. Samaki had pushed the grieving and those with fewer injuries to tend to the riggings and get them to their destination.

  “Haven’t you ever wanted more from life?”

  “It’s like coming home,” Tiyharqu said, smiling at the island and taking a deep breath of the salty air.

  Samaki looked at her but didn’t say a word. He hadn’t been able to find any words yet for the woman who had given away everything Samaki owned. He looked back at the island, at the shimmering gypsum palace in the noon light, but frowned. There was something different about the place, though they were still too far away for him to make out what it was.

  “Tie the sails and man the oars,” he ordered the six able-bodied crew members. There were another two who were too injured to move, nestled between the benches. Samaki had little hope for them but had told the crew there were medicines and priests on Serepty who would save them. It was a hollow promise. They had nothing to trade for medicine. Samaki’s one hope now was in Postes, his old trading partner.

  The men moved quickly, energetic at the sight of land. There weren’t enough hands to make good speed, so Samaki and Tiyharqu each took an oar and started rowing with the crew. Samaki tried to remember the last time he had been an oarsman. Since becoming a captain, the calluses on his hands had long-since healed.

  The first time he’d set sail he’d been an oarsman, one more than happy to comply. It’d been hard work. His body wasn’t used to the manual labour, and the first few nights were spent in pain, but he always had a smile on his face. He’d finally left home, able to fulfill his destiny, and wouldn’t have to argue with his father every night. He could still remember the day.

  He’d been playing with a few other boys. They’d made a small coracle from papyrus reeds and were splashing around in the swamp mud when they’d heard a man speaking. They’d hid in the reeds, watching this foreign man giving a speech to a few marshmen, trying to recruit them for his ship. The other boys had become bored quickly, but Samaki had been entranced. The man was big and strong. He wore silks and polished gems. He’d looked like a king.

  That night, he’d argued with his father like he had most nights.

  “Haven’t you ever wanted more from life?” he’d shouted at his father, repeating the words he’d heard the visiting captain say earlier that day.

  He thought for sure he had won the argument this time, but his father had only given his dry cackle.

  “More? What more could I ever want? I have a good life. We have a good life. There’s food every night. There’s shelter every night. I answer to no man but myself. I work when I want and go where I want. You’re just like your mother, not able to appreciate what you have.”

  And his father, his stubborn fool of a father…Samaki gritted his teeth and rowed harder. Maybe his father had been right. His father had always been happy and content—or grumpy and content, at least. When was the last time he’d felt content? Had he ever? He couldn’t think about that now, though; he had to row. They had to get to the shore soon if they wanted any chance of saving those two dying men.

  It felt good to feel the weight of the ship they pulled along the water’s surface. It felt good to focus his attention on something physical, instead of thinking about…

  He closed his eyes and pulled harder. “Come on, men! They’ll have fresh fruit and all the wine you can drink!” He needed a good meal. Days of nothing but fish or the rationed water the pirates had left for them to survive had left all of their stomachs hollow and growling. He prayed Postes had enough good will to feed his men one hot meal.

  “Whoa!” They heard a voice as their ship entered the calm waters. Samaki looked and saw a ship moored at one of the narrow peninsulas that hugged the bay. It was a small fishing boat but lined with men holding strung bows. “Hold up your oars.”

  Samaki motioned to his men, and they lifted their oars, though the boat continued to gently ease its way into the bay. He’d never been greeted by armed men in the Bay of Serepty before. It made him feel uneasy. More so when he looked towards the quays and saw there were no ships moored.

  “I am the merchant Samaki.” He rose to his full height, trying to look proud, but feeling his shoulders hunch down on their own accord. “I have been trading with Postes for many years. I have come seeking him to trade.”

  The men on the ship looked uneasy, but a few of them let their bows lower slightly. They were a ragged looking group, far too thin, their eyes sunken into their faces, their clothing dirty and ripped. He had always thought the people of the Sephian Islands were beautiful, with olive skin, many-coloured hairs, and shinning azure and emerald eyes. And the women were soft, full-figured, and healthy. These were not the same people he had known before.

  “You are a friend of Postes?” their captain asked.

  “I stay at his villa whenever we visit this island. My ship is the Afeth, and Postes knows us well.”

  “My apologies if you are a friend, but we will accompany you to the shore,” he made a motion and from behind them, a smaller ship emerged. It had two men rowing, and another two men holding bows at the ready. “These days, we cannot be too careful.”

  Samaki frowned, but there was nothing to be done about it. They had no weapons, and it would help no one to retaliate. He did not like being treated like a villain, but if this island was plagued by the same brigands who had attacked his ship, he could understand their sudden need for security. Though he doubted security like this would stop anything bigger than a merchant vessel manned by eight healthy men.

  Now that they were within the bay, Samaki could see just how different Serepty was from when he had left it. The palace seemed unchanged, and he could spot Postes’ villa and the other large houses, beautiful white blocks climbing the steep mountains, but the houses and streets he’d come to know below them seemed completely different—the streets seemed wider and the houses far sparser. The wooden quays were also very different; there weren’t even half as many as there used to be, and the craftsmanship on them look shoddy, and ru
shed.

  But what shocked him the most was how bare the streets were. He remembered before seeing a rainbow of silken clad women walking the streets with woven baskets balanced on their golden heads. He remembered stalls lining the streets selling fresh oysters and olives from the nearby groves. Now he could see two, maybe three, dark figures moving slowly down the steep streets. The gods had not spared Serepty the wrath they had unleashed on Mahat.

  Only two years ago the bay had been filled with ships, merchants coming to trade, fishermen making a living, dignitaries visiting from some of the other Sephian Islands. Serepty was the largest of the islands and the farthest north, so those sailing from Mahat and other foreign lands would always come this way.

  “I never imagined…” Tiyharqu whispered, her rowing stopped.

  The man behind Tiyharqu had stopped rowing as well. He had come from Serepty. Samaki remembered the man had joined their crew when they had left here, days before the great wave must have crashed against the city wall. They were starting to lilt to the port.

  “All right men, focus a little longer, keep rowing,” Samaki wanted to sound stern, but his voice was weak. Still, the men picked up their oars once more, and a few moments later, they were at the quays.

  Samaki jumped off the deck and onto the dock, a young man ran towards them holding a spear, but it looked awkward in his hands, Samaki had no doubt he’d never been properly trained to use a weapon. He doubted the bowmen following them knew much better. This was an island of fishermen and farmers, of priests and kings. What did they know of war?

  “Send word to Postes,” Samaki ordered as he caught the rope one of his men tossed to him to tie off the ship. “Tell him the merchant Samaki is here.”

  The young man looked to the small ship that had accompanied them. One of the armed men who’d been escorting them nodded. “Go, we’ll watch them.”