In Life, In Death

by Adara Wolf

  He returned to his body at the sound of the ixiptla mirror clattering to the floor. For a second he thought it would break, but of course the obsidian was stronger than that.

  His hands were cut free, and he looked at the red rings around his wrists. He must have fought, for them to be so vivid, but he couldn’t remember it.

  “Pick it up,” Colsatsli sneered, kicking Ahmiki in the side until he fell over the side of the bed and landed right next to the mirror.

  Ahmiki hardly recognized his reflection. All the careful grooming was undone, tears and dirt and blood stained his face. It was hard to tell in the dark stone, but his eyes must have been red too, maybe as bright as his wrists. With shaking hands he picked up the mirror, and with even shakier legs he stood up. He swallowed against the bile that rose as he felt warm liquid trail down his thighs.

  He held the mirror up and pointed it at Colsatsli. “What do you see, brother, when you look in the mirror?”

  The smirk on Colsatsli’s face morphed into anger. “What?”

  “What do you see,” Ahmiki repeated calmly, “when you look in the mirror? Because no matter how many times I look at you, I can never see your face.”

  The anger reddened Colsatsli’s skin, like an overripe tomato. “Get out,” he barked, flinging one of Ahmiki’s sandals at him. The shoe struck Ahmiki’s shoulder, but he kept his body standing tall.

  “The funny thing is,” Ahmiki said, “is that until my lord Teska’atl spoke to me, I didn’t think anything was strange at all.”

  “The gods did not speak to you! You have not had the sacred drink!”

  “Teska’atl spoke to me, and he said that you gave me to him.” Ahmiki paused, allowed the words to sink into Colsatsli. “That made me think: my mother, she knew what was going to happen before it did. And it’s very unusual for a prince to be named ixiptla instead of a slave, especially since we had taken so many warriors as tribute recently.”

  There was a streak of blood on Colsatsli’s arm, which seemed to grow brighter as Colsatsli paled in fear.

  “So I ask you, brother. Did you force the priests to choose me as ixiptla? Did you arrange things so you could rape and kill me?”

  Masatl had called Colsatsli a coward, all those weeks ago. Ahmiki saw it now, saw that his brother’s lack of face translated into a lack of resolve, a lack of strength. He trembled in the face of Ahmiki’s calm.

  “I would have you killed now,” Colsatsli barked out. No, it wasn’t a bark; it was the whimper of a dog that had lost to a fiercer animal.

  “You’ve already sentenced me to death. Why are you still afraid of me?” Ahmiki set the mirror down on the bed and picked up the shoe Colsatsli had thrown at him. He put it on, searched for its partner, and slowly grabbed all of his clothes. Every step pained him, and he couldn’t escape the shame of walking with his brother’s seed dried to his skin, but he dressed himself all the same. Loincloth, cape, crown, necklaces and bracelets. The mirror he put on last, and despite the state of his body, for the first time he truly felt like he was the ixiptla.

  “Brother—no. My lord Colsatsli, ruler of our great Xochititlan: I give you a vision as ixiptla, chosen by you, protected by Teska’atl. If you do not find a face before the year is over, you will doom our city.”

  He almost expected Colsatsli to try to attack him, but the king stayed on the bed, quaking in fear and anger.

  ~*~*~

  The moment he stepped out of the room, Ahmiki’s steps faltered. Luckily, Masatl was there to catch him, and his presence was such a relief that Ahmiki almost cried all over again.

  “Thank you,” he said, and he didn’t protest at all when Masatl lifted him up to carry him. It should have been embarrassing, but every step had been agony. Ahmiki wrapped his arms around Masatl’s shoulders and breathed in, thankful for his calming scent.

  “You did well, my lord,” Masatl said, guiding them back towards the ixiptla residence. The full moon lit the road, empty at this time of night save for the few who had celebrated too hard and passed out on the street.

  “You heard? How long were you there?”

  “The entire time,” Masatl said. “I wanted to go in there and pull him off you, but–”

  Ahmiki shook his head. “No. I think… I think it had to happen. I needed to know.” He kissed Masatl’s jaw, trying to reassure him. “It is enough to know that you care so much for me.”

  “Of course I do,” Masatl responded. “You’re—you’re the ixiptla. You’re a treasure.”

  Treasure.

  Ahmiki liked the pet name, familiar now for the many weeks that Masatl had been saying it, and each iteration sounded like a new variation of the word, the syllables enveloping Ahmiki with Masatl’s affection. Something niggled at the back of Ahmiki’s mind, something about that word…

  And the thought was gone, drifting away like flower petals on the wind.

  Chapter 7

  Twenty days left. This last month was going to be difficult, Ahmiki knew. Not as difficult as the past had been, because nothing would ever compare to the betrayal he had experienced from Colsatsli, but where another ixiptla might rejoice to enjoy this last month, Ahmiki was numb.

  Like Teska’atl, Ahmiki was expected to take four brides. He had met the four ladies the day before their wedding, each of them beautiful beyond compare, yet as always, nothing stirred within Ahmiki. The girls were all daughters of priests, and after they became widowed they would probably not remarry.

  The wedding itself lasted all day. Still shorter than Yaoxochitl and Pakowatl’s wedding had been, but Ahmiki’s wedding had to be concluded on this auspicious day. His brides all wore red and white feathers, their faces painted in pleasing patterns of the same colors.

  “This is a gift, brother,” Colsatsli said to him, in the afternoon, his hand tight on Ahmiki’s shoulder. “For other ixiptla, we would have arranged slave girls. For you, we found brides of high standing.”

  It took everything Ahmiki had not to shrug Colsatsli’s hand off. He would much rather have been dancing in the crowd than be standing next to his brother. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

  “I know how much you value skirts and blouses. Your girl slave, she has been keeping you quite busy, I’m told.”

  “I value skirts and blouses as much as you value the crown and throne,” Ahmiki countered. “Perhaps even more than that.”

  The fingers on his shoulder tightened, and if not for the cape in the way, he probably would have bruised. Ahmiki kept still and smiled when one of his brides raised her head in his direction. She had been the last one his cape had been tied to, and she appeared to be the shyest of them. Her name escaped him, and he felt bad about that, that these four beautiful women would be married to somebody who couldn’t care for them as they wished.

  At least they would only need to endure for one last month.

  ~*~*~

  Evening.

  His retainers all vacated the ixiptla residence, to make room for all four brides. They would each have their own private room, and Ahmiki could choose which of them he wished to sleep with. Nobody expected him to please all four in one night, of course, though he didn’t doubt that some of the previous ixiptla might have tried.

  His own quarters were untouched, at least. He sat there, wishing he could go back to just Sentewa and Masatl keeping him company here, his private sanctuary in the midst of everybody’s expectations.

  He heard talking in one of the other rooms. His brides, speaking amongst themselves. Maybe they were trying to determine which of them would go with him first. The fact that he was hiding away must have been troubling to them.

  “My lord?”

  Ahmiki startled at Masatl’s voice. He had snuck in as quietly as a jaguar on the hunt. The idea of Masatl as a jaguar made Ahmiki smile, but it was a bitter smile. He held his arms out and was gratified when Masatl took the hint to embrace him.

  “What is the matter, my lord? Do the girls not please you?” Masatl asked as he broke their embr
ace.

  Ahmiki wrapped his cape—his wedding cape—tight around himself. For some reason he had thought that he would find solidarity with Masatl, but apparently Masatl wasn’t like Ahmiki after all, unable to enjoy the softness of women. “It’s nothing. I’ll… I’ll be fine.” He forced himself to look Masatl in the eye. “Which of them should I go to first?”

  Masatl frowned. “Which one pleases you most, my lord?”

  Which one indeed! Ahmiki shrugged. “Xochikoskatl then. She danced well with me.” She probably had, in any case. Ahmiki had danced which each of them in turn, and he couldn’t really remember much of the actual steps.

  “Should I bring her here?”

  Bring her here? Into the room Masatl had held him in, into the room where he played patolli with Sentewa and tasted her new dishes? Ahmiki almost recoiled in horror. No. This room would remain clean.

  He took a step towards the door. Stopped. Look at Masatl, and asked, “Will you kiss me?”

  As soon as he saw Masatl’s surprised look, he laughed and shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll just go.”

  Masatl grabbed his wrist and pulled him close, so that they were breathing each other’s air. Masatl stared Ahmiki in the eyes, searching for something. He gave no indication that he found what he was looking for, but he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to Ahmiki’s.

  The kiss was slow, tender; Ahmiki parted his lips slightly and was rewarded with Masatl’s tongue darting in, slowly exploring Ahmiki’s lips. Masatl brought his hands up to cup Ahmiki’s scalp, gently carding through the hair on one side and tracing the shape of his skull on the other. Tingles raced across Ahmiki’s skin, and he shivered, leaning into the touches.

  One finger trailed down and followed the curve of his ear, gentle and erotic, all while Masatl softly nibbled on Ahmiki’s bottom lip. Ahmiki’s eyes fluttered closed as he lost himself to the sensations.

  This wasn’t their first kiss, not by far, and yet Ahmiki couldn’t remember it ever being like this. Not frantic, not comforting, but filled with emotions that he couldn’t name, and–

  He whimpered and pressed his half-hard cock against Masatl, desperate not to take things further, but simply to be touching Masatl.

  And Masatl pulled away.

  “No! Sorry, I just—”

  “Your brides are waiting, my lord,” Masatl said, and this time when he touched Ahmiki, it was to turn him around and direct him out the door.

  The words shouldn’t have hurt as much as they did. Ahmiki pretended they didn’t affect him.

  Ahmiki went to the bride whose room was furthest from his, and he pretended he wanted her.

  ~*~*~

  He didn’t have the energy to go outside and see the people. One of his brides came by and asked if he was sick, but he sent her away and told her he didn’t feel like entertaining anybody. It was actually too hot to be lying in bed, but going out was equally unthinkable at the moment.

  It wasn’t even the act of being with a woman—he’d done it once in the past, when Colsatsli had decided that Ahmiki was a man and insisted that Ahmiki needed a man’s experience. When Ahmiki had honestly told Colsatsli that he hadn’t enjoyed himself that much, Colsatsli hadn’t pressured him.

  That wasn’t as good a memory now as it had been at the beginning of the year.

  So in this last month of his life, Ahmiki would get to enjoy the knowledge that his brother had betrayed him and his—his friend, his lover? – didn’t care as strongly as Ahmiki did. Maybe he had imagined the emotions behind Masatl’s affectionate words. Maybe he had misinterpreted all the touches and kisses.

  For just a fraction of a moment, Ahmiki wished that this last month would have him serving Colsatsli every evening, just so that Masatl would be there to hold him after.

  He regretted the thought immediately. No, his four brides were preferable to Colsatsli. And moping around wasn’t particularly useful either. It would certainly please Colsatsli to see Ahmiki depressed.

  After another few moments of wallowing, Ahmiki forced himself to get up and get dressed—by himself this time. His hair was still in disarray, which he couldn’t fix himself, so he went out to see if any of his brides would be willing to do it for him. The two who were sitting in the courtyard were more than happy to oblige, combing his hair and braiding it even more elaborately than Sentewa had ever done.

  He even managed to smile as they told jokes, and when he expressed mild interest in going for a walk, they were eager to agree. They found the other two brides near the temples, and they made a full procession of it, the ixiptla and his wives walking through the streets.

  It was fine. Just one more month. He could endure for the last twenty days.

  ~*~*~

  On the third evening of being married, Ahmiki found Masatl and Sentewa waiting for him outside the residence.

  “If… if your brides deem it appropriate, I could still work in the home, my lord?” Sentewa said, her straight shoulders at odds with the tension in her voice.

  “It shouldn’t be a problem,” Ahmiki responded, mostly because he didn’t actually care what they thought, he would much rather have Sentewa and Masatl with him than not.

  He shifted his gaze towards Masatl. Maybe it wouldn’t be the same relationship as before though. He couldn’t forget how easily Masatl had pushed him to be with the brides.

  At least Sentewa looked cheered up, and she hurried to acquaint herself with his brides. He hoped they would appreciate the help—not that there was much to do with four women already tending to the household.

  Then it was just him and Masatl, the muggy evening air more oppressive than he could remember it being. “Did you put her up to this?”

  Masatl shook his head. “She thought of it herself. She said you didn’t seem entirely happy.” He paused, his gaze piercing into Ahmiki’s soul. “You aren’t, are you?”

  There didn’t seem to be much reason to lie. “No, not really.”

  “I thought they would suit you.” Masatl leaned against the wall of the house, looking more upset than he had in a while. “They are all good women. Beautiful, graceful, clever. Xochikoskatl could play the flute with you. Tekapan is skilled at patolli. Siwanen would talk politics with you. And Mosehl is an amazing storyteller.

  “All this, and yet you suffer. I don’t understand.”

  They were going to talk about this here, where anybody could overhear? Ahmiki looked around and then decided they needed a better location. He took Masatl’s hand in his own and led him away. On a whim, he decided to climb the temple steps. Masatl didn’t question him; they climbed to the very top, to the dais that would serve as Ahmiki’s place of death.

  At night, on a non-festival day, the view of the city itself was less impressive. In return, the stars shone brighter, reminding Ahmiki exactly why his role as ixiptla was important.

  They sat next to each other on the top step, taking a moment to appreciate the sky.

  “You said your family was connected to the temple? Do you know if me having sex with my brides is necessary?” He already knew what Colsatsli would say, and he didn’t dare ask Tlanextic for fear it would get back to his brother. Besides, he couldn’t forget that the priest had been in on it too, had been the one to allow Ahmiki to be chosen as ixiptla.

  “I think… I think the brides are supposed to be a reward. You came this far. You are about to die. The brides are to give you pleasure for the last days of your life. But… “ Masatl leaned in closer, “they don’t please you at all. Explain it to me.”

  Ahmiki laughed bitterly. “I don’t know. I just don’t like having sex with women. It makes me feel nauseous. I can appreciate their beauty, as I would a flower, but I don’t want to touch them, or for them to touch me. The thought makes me lose my ardor.”

  When Ahmiki had first turned seventeen, his father had tried to arrange a marriage for him with a judge’s daughter. Ahmiki had protested, but they might still have forced him to go through with it, if Colsatsli hadn’t stepped
in and talked to their father on his behalf.

  His mother hadn’t minded much either, and he’d always assumed that if there were two people who understood him, it was them. Now his presence pained his mother and Colsatsli had turned into a demon.

  “How will you have children?”

  The question startled Ahmiki out of his memories. “Sorry?”

  In the dark, it was hard to see his face, but Masatl had sounded genuinely worried. “Your—your lineage. There will be nobody to succeed you.”

  “Does it matter? I’ll be gone. Colsatsli will have won. His sons can fight amongst themselves for the city.”

  “No!” Masatl surprised Ahmiki by grabbing his shoulders and shoving him down, so that Ahmiki was on his back and Masatl was looming over him. “You won’t end here. You will have a son.”

  In that instant, Ahmiki was afraid of Masatl. Dark body, blocking him in, forcing Ahmiki to lay passively and—

  Ahmiki pushed Masatl away, his breath stuck in his throat and his heart pounding. Thankfully—thankfully—Masatl let himself be moved.

  “I don’t need that, Masatl, and anyway, you can’t guarantee any of it. I could fuck twenty women, and it doesn’t guarantee a child. And a son? Even if I somehow impregnated a woman, or twenty, they might all end up as girls.”

  He got up quickly, moving away from the edge of the temple, towards the stone table that he would lay on as they cut out his heart. He traced the rough stone, wondering how much of the color was the blood of his predecessors.

  “What if—what if it was Sentewa? You like her, right?” there was a pleading edge to his voice. It was the most submissive Masatl had ever sounded in all the time Ahmiki had known him.

  “Yes, she’s fine? But that doesn’t change anything for me.” He tried to imagine sleeping with Sentewa. She was beautiful, yes, but not more so than any of his brides. He knew her already, and he liked talking to her. Considered her a friend. “That would be too cruel to her.”

  Masatl approached Ahmiki again, this time slower, more telegraphed, like he knew he had scared Ahmiki earlier. “No, it would… if she bore a child, your child, your mother would take her in. It would raise her status.”