by Adara Wolf
“No. The vision was… it was incomplete.” Ahmiki sat down on the stool across from Tlanextic. The other man looked at him warily, the wrinkled on his face appearing deeper than usual.
“What do you mean, incomplete?”
“I didn’t say everything that I saw. Only some of it.”
“What? Why? We told you! You must say everything you see! That is your duty as ixiptla!”
“But—” Ahmiki sighed. He didn’t particularly like conflict, but sometimes it was better to plow through it than to extend it by avoiding the problem. “What I saw would upset people.”
“If it is a vision, we might prevent something bad from happening. What did you see?” Tlanextic had raised his voice, but thankfully they were the only two in the clearing. At least, Ahmiki assumed there were no other priests lurking about.
“I saw you. I looked at you, and I saw blood flowing from your face. Your eyes cried blood, your mouth spewed blood, and your fingers dripped dark ichor. Your ears—”
“Stop!”
Ahmiki looked up, and he saw Tlanextic’s eyes wide with fear, his entire body shaking like a willow tree.
“I’ll ask you not to repeat that to anybody. Especially not the king,” Tlanextic said. “If the people hear, they might panic.”
Ahmiki almost rolled his eyes in annoyance. Yes, that was why he had kept it to himself that night. “I simply wanted you to know. I am not a priest, so I don’t know what it means, but if it helps you in the future, I thought you should know.” After some hesitation, he added, “It wasn’t just you though. Colsatsli was a blank haze. No face at all.”
“Enough!” Tlanextic moved away from Ahmiki. “If you say a word about that, we’re all dead.”
“Shouldn’t we tell him though? So that he can… so that he can fix himself,” Ahmiki asked. “A leader needs a strong face.”
“And the ixiptla needs to play his flute and memorize poems,” Tlanextic countered. “Don’t cause more trouble than you already have.”
The urge to storm out was great, but Ahmiki reminded himself that he needed to do everything perfectly, for Teska’atl’s sake, so he picked up his flute and began to play again.
~*~*~
One good thing about being ixiptla: he had all the free time he wanted to sit with his mother.
He went to visit her a few days later, and found her sitting outside the house with his Yaoxochitl, and his friend Pakowatl. He was surprised to see Pakowatl there instead of in Yowalapan, since they had been sent there together.
Pakowatl, for his part, seemed even more surprised to see Ahmiki. “Ahmiki—I mean, my lord ixiptla. We are honored by your presence.”
Ahmiki would have told him to cut it out, but his retainers were watching them, making sure that none of the common folk stepped out of line around him. So Ahmiki found a seat near Yaoxochitl and pulled out his flute, to play a quick song for them, as was expected of the ixiptla.
By the end, Lady Atoyakoskatl was near tears, and she excused herself. “I won’t embarrass myself in front of the ixiptla,” she said, and it broke Ahmiki’s heart all over again.
“Thank you for the song, brother… I mean, my lord ixiptla,” Yaoxochitl said. “Can we do anything for you?” She carefully straightened her skirts, though Ahmiki noted that her fingers shook lightly.
Still mindful of the retainers, Ahmiki smiled at her. “No, I just came to talk and catch up. What brings you back to Xochititlan, Pakowatl? How are things out east?”
“Oh, our group was called back some fifteen days ago. I was back in time to hear your visions.” Pakowatl spoke with awe, and he finally relaxed enough to ignore their watchers. “I don’t know if you saw me though. What’s in my future?”
“Judging from how close you sit to my sister, perhaps a marriage?” Ahmiki joked, but he was glad to see both of them blushing. “If you have plans of it, I would like to attend the wedding.”
He shouldn’t have said that, he realized. It would pressure them to marry before the next year began. Thankfully they both simply laughed, and nobody brought up Ahmiki’s inevitable death.
The three of them chatted for a bit, until the sun started to near the horizon, and Yaoxochitl said she needed to oversee the dinner preparations at home.
With her gone, Ahmiki could focus his attention on what he really wanted to know. The retainers had all drifted away a bit, bored of simply watching them chitchat.
“What is going on in Yowalapan? Shouldn’t you still be helping the judges?” Ahmiki had appointed Pakowatl’s father as one of the new judges, and Pakowatl was training to succeed him one day.
But Pakowatl shook his head. “The king undid all of your appointments and had his own choices put in place instead.”
“What? That’s—” Ahmiki lowered his voice quickly. “That’s foolish. We can’t be seen to be so faithless in our rule. There needs to be stability.”
“No need to tell me. I’ve heard it all from my father too. The new judges are all so young, untested. I don’t know what the king is thinking… but I’m sure he has a plan that is beyond my simple understanding. Your vision showed us having a bright future, right?”
His vision.
Ahmiki made a show of nodding. “Yes, that’s right. The people of Xochititlan will lead great lives.”
But where would those lives lead, with a faceless man at the helm?
~*~*~
After that talk, Ahmiki kept an ear out for news of Colsatsli’s actions. Pakowatl and some other friends updated him on the situation in the east: Colsatsli had sent his eldest son, just barely fifteen, along with several sages, to take over where Ahmiki left off. Several of Yowalapan’s officials had been executed, along with one of the judges Ahmiki had appointed.
When he’d exhausted all other avenues of information, Ahmiki requested an audience with the king directly. He had to wait two days before Colsatsli had time to meet with him.
Ahmiki knelt in front of the throne. “My lord, thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”
“Come, stand, brother. You are ixiptla, and I would not see Teska’atl’s avatar kneel before me.” Colsatsli motioned for Ahmiki to approach.
With some hesitation—most ixiptla were unlikely to be awarded this honor—Ahmiki got up and stepped closer.
“Now, how may I serve you today?” Colsatsli asked. “Do you require another slave? Finer jewels?”
Colsatsli’s second son sat in the smaller throne to the side of him, while ministers and administrators stood along the edges of the courtyard. Behind them were Ahmiki’s retainers and guards.
“Nothing of that nature. If I may be so bold, I would like to speak with you privately, brother,” Ahmiki said. “It is a delicate matter.”
The smile on Colsatli’s face slipped slightly. “I am sure there is nothing that could be so delicate as to be withheld from my son or the people of the state.”
Ahmiki remembered his trepidation at revealing his vision, and he felt it full force now. But it was important, for the good of their city and their empire. “Very well. I would like to know why my appointments in Yowalapan were undone. Yowalapan’s leaders dislike us enough without even more upheaval.”
Somebody in the room gasped. Colsatli dropped his smile completely.
“It is not the ixiptla’s place to question politics,” Colsatsli said.
“I am not just the ixiptla,” Ahmiki countered. “I am also the son of the great Tekoyotl—”
“Who is dead.” Colsatsli thumped his heavy staff against the floor. “You need not concern yourself with matters of state anymore, my lord ixiptla. Enjoy your remaining time on earth.”
It was a dismissal. Ahmiki could see that pressing further would do no good. Yet he couldn’t, in good conscience, not persist. “My lord, if Yowalapan believes us to be without face and heart—”
“Enough!”
Ahmiki stared into his brother’s eyes. He held his head high, no matter that it would further displease Colsatsli. He, at least,
had a proper face and a proper heart. His true vision was on the tip of his tongue, ready to be spoken in front of the court. It was out of respect for his brother that he kept silent.
Finally, Colsatsli shook his head and slumped further into his throne. “Do not mention this matter again. You must forget who you were, and become who Teska’atl wants you to be. You once loved spending time with poetry and song; go back to that.”
“If my lord insists,” Ahmiki said. After a pause, he added, “I did not wish to anger you, brother. I will play my music for you.”
He waited until Colsatsli nodded, then he proceeded with his ixiptla-appropriate flute-playing.
Strange, that he had once been overwhelmed by the yoke of rule, and now rankled to have been cast out of it.
~*~*~
At least the priests treated him with more reserve now. Tlanextic spoke carefully, more reverently, and occasionally even asked Ahmiki’s opinions on some religious matter or other.
It was little consolation in the face of Colsatli’s dismissal.
The only good things to come out of being named ixiptla were Masatl and Sentewa. The two of them became better friends to Ahmiki than anybody else, especially since Ahmiki’s actual friends had decided they weren’t worthy of regularly interacting with the ixiptla. Even Pakowatl, who was now openly negotiating for marriage to Yaoxochitl, became nervous around him.
The days passed, with Ahmiki continuing to recite visions, play music, and dance at festivals.
~*~*~
“Have you—” Sentewa asked one evening, and then she stopped.
Ahmiki, already lying in bed, stared at her. “Have I what?”
She looked over at Masatl, who was shaking his head, but something made her decide to speak anyway. “Have you thought about the festival to Ekakoapilli?”
“He doesn’t need to worry about that now,” Masatl said. He dropped the cape he’d been mending and crossed to sit on the bed with Ahmiki, arranging them so that Ahmiki’s head was in Masatl’s lap. It felt like an invitation for more, and if Sentewa weren’t in the room, Ahmiki might even have turned his head and nuzzled against Masatl’s crotch.
She was there though, and once Ahmiki registered her words, he found himself tensing. The festival to Ekakoapilli was the halfway point. Only nine months remaining. One hundred and eighty days. It represented the Lady Sun’s arrival in the west, where Ekakoapilli hid her away in order to heal her. It was also the first night where Ahmiki would be expected to—
Masatl began stroking Ahmiki’s head, exactly as he had done before. The motion was so soothing that Ahmiki lost his train of thought.
Sentewa stood and scowled at Masatl. “He needs to be prepared! It’s not going to be easy like the other festivals.” She came over and pulled Ahmiki upright, out of Masatl’s grasp.
Wait. It was important. Sentewa was right. He needed to think about the festival. He needed to think about how he would get around his duties that evening.
Ekakoapilli was the Prince of the Wind, but he was also the prince of love and hate. He could be the kindest of the four, yet also the cruelest, for he longed to be as well-respected as his greater brothers. He pulled the Lady Sun towards darkness and guarded her from view, imbuing her with his energies and refilling her strength, until the other gods wrenched her away from him and let the Lady Sun travel the skies once more.
To help remind Ekakoapilli of the depths of his love, Teska’atl’s ixiptla would serve the great king of Xochititlan, and bestow the energy of love and obedience unto the heavens.
“Well, it’s symbolic, isn’t it?” Ahmiki said. “Ekakoapilli need only feel my love for my brother. And I do. He is a great man, and I have always admired him.” Never mind that he thought his brother foolish in some aspects of rule.
He sat down on the small chair across from the bed, out of Masatl’s reach. He appreciated the comfort Masatl was attempting to confer, but he did need a clearer head. Sometimes he thought he could lose himself in Masatl.
“My brother was always supportive of me when we were young,” Ahmiki said. “Our oldest brother—from my father’s first wife—he would bully me at times, because I was the youngest. But Colsatsli stood up for me, and he helped me when I was in trouble and he would listen to my worries.”
It had been a different time back then, before Kwaotemok had died. After the death of Kwaotemok, who had been gored by a stag with full antlers, Colsatsli had been called on to take over his duties, and that made it harder for Ahmiki to see him. Colsatsli had become so busy, and Ahmiki was starting his own training, so they had started to drift apart. Then their other surviving brother, Tisok, had disappeared while overseeing one of their vassal cities, and suddenly Ahmiki had been required to take on more active duties.
To think, that there had once been seven of them. There were now more surviving daughters than sons.
“Three years ago, my father started giving me more responsibilities. That made me realize how Colsatsli and I barely knew each other anymore. I think Father wanted to lighten Colsatsli’s burden a bit. He always looked so stressed back then.”
Masatl’s scowl deepened. “He doesn’t look particularly stressed now. In fact, he looks downright happy most of the time.”
“I guess he’s glad that things are running smoothly? He’s busy with running the city, but he’s happy to listen to my music.” It was the only thing he was willing to listen to. Ahmiki pushed aside his displeasure and tried to focus on the positive. “I think I’ve seen him more these past few months than in all of last year. I’m sure we could rebuild our bond as brothers.”
Sentewa came over to massage his shoulders. “You know your brother best. But maybe you can speak to the priests, or to him, before the actual day of the ceremony?”
Her hands on his shoulders kneaded out some of the knots, and he let her outline a plan for him. He admitted to himself that he was afraid to see Colsatsli about the matter, but perhaps Tlanextic would listen.
~*~*~
It took a little bit of maneuvering, but Ahmiki did manage to corner Tlanextic alone.
Tlanextic listened, his expression shuttering as Ahmiki explained his thoughts, and by the end he was looking deeply concerned.
“My lord, you understand, this situation has not come up before, not in my lifetime, nor in any written in the red or black. I would ask that you allow me to consult with the gods, and… I will attempt to advise our king.”
“If it comes from you, I’m sure our Lord Colsatsli will listen,” Ahmiki said, but that failed to reassure Tlanextic.
With no help coming from that quarter, Ahmiki was at a loss. He ended up going to the royal tomb again, just one day before the ceremony.
“Father,” Ahmiki whispered, “What should I do?”
The gold encrusted chest shimmered in the torchlight, but no answer was forthcoming. He tried to imagine his father’s deep voice, and the way he had always been so sure of his actions. As far as Ahmiki knew, his father had been well respected with the priests and the nobles.
Shortly before Tekoyotl had sent Ahmiki to Yowalapan, he’d invited Ahmiki for an audience. “Can I trust you to do what is right by Xochititlan, to always be true to our people? Will you show the world only the strongest of faces, the most unbending convictions?” he’d asked, and his fierce eyes had been turned on Ahmiki in judgment.
“I would serve the people in whatever capacity is needed of me,” Ahmiki had answered. “If you tell me you need me to be a warrior, I will take up a spear. If you say to me we need a just judge, then I will wear those robes. If you tell me that our fields need sowing, then I shall wield a hoe.”
“And if I tell you to kill an innocent man?”
Ahmiki had stumbled there, but he could only answer as he felt was true. “No. I will serve Xochititlan, but to kill an innocent would not serve any purpose.”
Tekoyotl had nodded, and then he’d gone on to outline the plan to bring Yowalapan into their fold.
The meeting
had ended with Tekoyotl saying, “Prove to me that you are worthy, Ahmiki, my son.”
Worthy of what, he had never specified. Ahmiki wondered at it now, listening to the rumors from Yowalapan.
He mulled it over. His father had always stressed the importance of conviction. So that was what Ahmiki would have to do. He’d already decided to be the best ixiptla he could; if that included doing the rituals just as they were intended to be done—
Bile threatened to rise at the back of Ahmiki’s throat. Maybe Tlanextic would be able to get through to Colsatsli. He had to hope.
After another few moments, Ahmiki kissed the lid of the chest holding his father’s ashes, and then he wandered out of the temple. The sun was still hanging high in the sky, making Ahmiki blink against the strong light.
“Uncle Ahmiki!”
Ahmiki startled and turned to face the voice. A young boy was running towards him, waving his hands wildly. Behind him, his mother followed slowly, another child in her arms.
“Oh, hello, Nenkawitl,” Ahmiki said. His retainers, who’d been waiting outside the temple, moved a bit closer to Ahmiki.
“Respect the ixiptla, boy,” one of the warriors said.
The boy flinched back. He was only five, and Ahmiki glared at the warrior for having intimidated him.
“No, it’s okay,” Ahmiki said. He lifted his flute from its string around his neck. “I’ll play for him.”
He played a happy tune for his nephew, and was glad to see him smile and even dance a little bit. By the time the song was done, Nenkawitl’s mother had caught up.
“Thank you for the song, my lord ixiptla,” Nenkawitl’s mother said. She was Colsatsli’s third wife, the daughter of one of the eastern city’s rulers. She had a grim smile on her face, and she gripped Nenkawitl’s hand tightly.
“Of course. How fare you, Lady Toskentsin?”
“All is well. Although Nenkawitl here has not yet learned his manners.”
Ahmiki returned his attention to the boy. He was currently the youngest of Colsatsli’s sons. Toskentsin’s other child was a little girl, and she frowned at Ahmiki from her perch in her mother’s arms. He wanted to go up to her and make her laugh, but he was sure that would be considered unseemly for the ixiptla.