Serpent and Storm (6 page)

The boys, both barefoot and dressed only in short white skirts, returned the hug. One of the boys wore a braided leather cord upon which dangled a wooden bead in the shape of the quincunx. Sky Knife frowned, confused. He had been told that such items were worn only by slaves. How could a slave be Jaguar's Daughter's son, even if only ceremonially?

The slave boy stepped back and let Jaguar's Daughter hug the other boy. He looked up at Sky Knife.

Sky Knife took a step back, surprised. Now that he had a good look at the boy, he could see the tattoos of a man on the boy's shoulders and neck. Nor did the proportions of the boy's head, body, and limbs seem right. And the long, measuring look the boy gave him was not that of a child. This was a man grown. A dwarf.

Sky Knife hesitated, not sure what he should do. He had been taught that a dwarf was a sign from the gods—for good or ill depended on the message the gods wished to convey. If he were back in Tikal, Sky Knife would have abased himself before the dwarf and asked the man to honor his temple by living within its walls.

But such things were apparently not done here, for the dwarf was a slave. Sky Knife didn't understand, but he would wait and ask Jaguar's Daughter later. Or perhaps Amaranth, if he ever found her to ask her.

Jaguar's Daughter finally released the boy from her embrace and stood.

The Corn Priest bowed to the boy and the dwarf and stepped back. Grasping Fire and Jaguar's Daughter walked behind the brazier. Each bent down and picked up a deep bowl. The bowls, like the room, were unadorned. They were bright orange. The Corn Priest picked up a tall three-footed pitcher and poured water into each of the bowls.

The boy and the dwarf removed their skirts and dropped them to the side. Grasping Fire knelt by the dwarf. Jaguar's Daughter knelt by the boy. Each drew out a handful of chalk dust and rubbed the wet white mixture over the bodies of the king and his twin.

When they had finished, only the black eyes of the boy and the dwarf showed through the chalk paint. Even their hair had been laden with chalk.

Jaguar's Daughter and Grasping Fire picked up their white-stained orange bowls and killed them by throwing them against the eastern wall of the temple. White-colored water dribbled down the wall onto the orange remains of the bowls.

The boy and the dwarf picked up their skirts and replaced them.

“Black Coyote. Timid Deer,” said the Corn Priest. “Before today, you were the son of the king and the son of a slave. But you have died to such things. Every king of Teotihuacan must have two souls joined as one, or he cannot ascend to the mat of rulership. Today, your souls have joined, your spirit has become one. Today you are no more prince and slave. You are king of Teotihuacan.”

The Corn Priest, Jaguar's Daughter and Grasping Fire abased themselves before the king. Sky Knife quickly did the same. The stone floor of the temple seemed unaccountably cold against his bare chest.

Sky Knife heard the others rising and he got up. Jaguar's Daughter and Grasping Fire went out of the temple to the platform. Below in the darkened street, the multitude waited in silence.

Jaguar's Daughter and Grasping Fire raised their white-coated hands and knelt. The Corn Priest urged the king out onto the platform as well. Sky Knife watched from the interior of the temple.

The crowd roared as the king—both of him—raised his hands. The sound struck Sky Knife in the gut it was so loud. The king remained on the platform for several minutes while the cheering and yelling continued.

Finally, the Corn Priest ushered the king back inside the temple. Jaguar's Daughter and Grasping Fire retreated inside.

“That should raise their spirits,” said the Corn Priest. “Bad enough when a king dies after an illness, but for him to just die, just like that! The people were shaken, but they'll be content enough now.”

“Mama, do I have to wear this anymore? It itches,” complained the boy half of the new king.

Jaguar's Daughter patted his head. “No, my dearest. It's over for now.”

“Am I a king now, Mama?” asked the boy.

“Yes, dearest,” said Jaguar's Daughter. “But we won't have the official ceremony for a few days yet. There are many preparations to be made.”

“And we must make them quickly,” said Grasping Fire. “My brother's death comes only five days from the Unlucky Times. We can take no more time than that.”

Sky Knife nodded agreement. At home, the ascension of a king could take weeks. Sky Knife suspected it was the same here. But this time, there were only five days. If the new king's ascension were not complete by then, the city would be without a king during Uayeb, and that would be disastrously unlucky.

The dwarf brushed some of the chalk off his arms. The stuff had dried hard and cracked off in large pieces. He rubbed his hands together and chalk dust fell to the floor.

The dwarf came over and bowed to Sky Knife. “We haven't been introduced,” he said.

Sky Knife bowed in return. “Sky Knife,” he said, “Chief Priest of Itzamna at Tikal.”

“Timid Deer,” said the dwarf, “though most call me simply Deer. I'm not tall enough to have such a long name.” The dwarf laughed.

Sky Knife smiled. “Are you allowed to keep your name now? Aren't you now the king?”

Deer shrugged. “Yes and no. Ritually,
we
are the king.” Deer waved toward the boy. “And our souls are one. But for the next five days, people are going to have to call me something. Might as well stay Deer for five days more.”

The boy, Black Coyote, ran to Deer. “Bibi,” he gasped in his child's voice. “Can we go see the puppies later? You promised.”

Deer nodded. “Yes, of course, Little Weed.” Black Coyote giggled and ran to his mother, who finished brushing most of the chalk off his skin.

“Little Weed?” asked Sky Knife. “Have you known him long?”

Deer cracked off the chalk from his torso. “Since he was born. I was sold as a slave to pay my father's debts when I was about his age. Jaguar's Daughter's father owned me then. When he heard his daughter had borne a son to the king, he sent me to her to be a companion for the little one. That was five years ago.”

In the background, Sky Knife heard Black Coyote telling his mother all about the puppies. Jaguar's Daughter said, “That's nice, dearest.”

“So he grew up calling me Bibi, which doesn't mean anything. It's just child's talk,” continued Deer. He rubbed his hair vigorously. Chalk dust flew out into the room. Sky Knife breathed a whiff of it and sneezed.

“Sorry,” said Deer. “Anyway, when the king died, the Corn Priest looked around and figured I was the best one to be the boy's twin. After all, we're seldom apart. We've spent part of every day of his life together. Here, give me a hand, will you?”

Sky Knife reluctantly brushed chalk off Deer's back, still resisting an urge to abase himself before the mouthpiece of the gods. He had to remind himself that was Mayan custom, not Teotihuacano. “But you were chosen?” asked Sky Knife. “You're not a volunteer?”

“Doesn't really matter in the end, I suppose,” said Deer. “A slave doesn't get to make his own choices in life—I learned that long ago. Besides, I've had a good life. I've always had enough to eat, and for the past five years I've had nothing to do but be companion to a wonderful little boy and I love him as if he were my own. If a jaguar were to threaten the boy, I'd certainly throw myself before it to save him. What's so different about this?”

Sky Knife frowned. At home, only a volunteer could be sacrificed. But perhaps Deer was right. If the dwarf felt he would willingly lay down his life under other circumstances for the boy, was this really that different?

“Who will sacrifice you?” asked Sky Knife. He patted the last bit of chalk away from Deer's shoulders. Sky Knife backed up a step, uncomfortable with the way he loomed over the dwarf. Here in Teotihuacan, he had had to look up to everyone except Jaguar's Daughter and Talking Storm. But Deer came up barely to Sky Knife's belly.

“It's the Corn Priest's job,” said Deer softly. He shrugged. “Never cared for the man myself, but I suppose the gods chose him for a reason.”

“Does it matter?”

Deer laughed and gestured for Sky Knife to come closer. Sky Knife stepped forward and knelt to be eye to eye with the slave. Deer put a hand on his shoulder and leaned close. His chalk-outlined eyes burned with some inner passion.

“In five days, I'll be sacrificed,” he said. “My heart will be taken from me. Then my skin. Then my body. I shall be set free from it all so that our soul—the king's soul—can be in both worlds at the same time.”

Deer closed his eyes a moment, then went on, his voice rough with sadness. “In five days, the last thing I'll see is the face of the man who'll take my heart. You ask me if it's important who the man is—how could it not be? It's the most important thing in the world to me because, right now, I'm scared out of my mind. If I have to look at anyone, I'd rather see a friend on the other end of the knife.”

Sky Knife nodded in understanding and placed his hand on top of the dwarf's. “Is there no one else who can do the ceremony?” he asked.

“It's the Corn Priest's job,” said Deer again. He sighed. “So it'll be him after all.” The dwarf looked into Sky Knife's eyes. “But there's something different about you, Sky Knife. I like you. You'll be there, won't you? You'll be there for me?”

“Of course,” said Sky Knife, moved by the panic in the other's voice. “I swear it.”

“Thank you,” whispered Deer. “I'll be glad to have one friend there at least.”

Deer walked back to the others, leaving Sky Knife kneeling on the floor of the temple, already grieving for the friend who had just been found, and would soon be lost.

6

A servant showed Sky Knife to a room in the palace where Jaguar's Daughter had said he could stay. Wearily, he sat down on the low bench that abutted the southern wall of the room. A stone carving of the Fire God, depicted as a bent old man with a brazier on his back, sat against the eastern wall. The murals around the walls depicted joyous scenes of people dancing in fields by clear streams of water. The open eye motif was repeated again and again in the streams. It still made Sky Knife feel as though he were being watched, but he didn't know by what. Or by whom.

In the corner of the room was a ceramic vase with a strange pinched-in shape. Seashell designs had been incised into the ceramic. Various other ceramic bits and pieces lay scattered around it. Sky Knife looked over the pieces but couldn't determine their purpose and so left them where they lay.

Sky Knife removed his sandals, yawned, and leaned against the brightly painted wall. His head spun with all that had happened in a single day.

Tomorrow he would ask to speak with Talking Storm, the Corn Priest, and Lily-on-the-Water. They were the first priests he had encountered since leaving home. Besides any information they might have concerning who might have killed the king and why, Sky Knife would be glad to have other priests around him once again. He had become too used, he supposed, to being able to discuss matters of the gods and of faith with others.

When peasants came to him looking for an answer, or when Storm Cloud wanted counsel, they didn't want to hear an elaborate argument on the whys of their beliefs. In the five years since he had become a priest, Sky Knife had learned to appreciate the insight that could be gained from meditation and discussion. He had been able to do neither properly while on the road. Here in the Jewel of the North, he would like to do both again.

Sky Knife ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair, glad to be alone for the first time all day. He supposed the Teotihuacanos, accustomed to living in a city of a hundred thousand or more, were used to being shoulder to shoulder and hand in hand all day long. But it would take some getting used to.

The high thin scream of a child pierced Sky Knife's reverie. He jumped off the bench and ran to the hallway.

“Help!” shouted a deep voice.

“The king!” screamed someone else. It sounded like Dark Lightning.

Sky Knife raced down the corridor toward the voices. Grasping Fire darted out of a room in front of him and they both went down in a tangle of limbs and long skirts. Sky Knife's elbow slapped the stone floor hard. The sudden pain brought tears to his eyes.

“Out of my way, you fool!” shouted Grasping Fire. “The king is in trouble.”

“I know,” said Sky Knife. He rolled away and jumped to his feet. Grasping Fire did the same. Amaranth came out of the room behind Grasping Fire, drawing her dress around her shoulders.

Sky Knife swallowed his surprise and ran down the hall to the sound of another scream, followed by Grasping Fire and Amaranth. Sky Knife rounded a corner to find Dark Lightning and Jaguar's Daughter standing in front of a doorway. Dark Lightning beat the wall next to him with his fist while his sister screamed.

“What's going on?” asked Sky Knife. He grabbed Jaguar's Daughter's shoulder and pushed her aside.

“Sky Knife,” said Deer from within the room. “Help us!”

“Talking Storm—get Talking Storm,” gasped Jaguar's Daughter. A servant rushed to obey her.

Sky Knife stepped into the room, still looking for the source of danger. A sound like the rattle of a gourd stopped him.

A cotton blanket lay in a pile in the middle of the floor. Behind it, just inches away from Black Coyote's small foot, a large brown snake lay coiled. Its triangular, almost fist-sized, head turned to face Sky Knife and its tongue flicked in and out.

“Don't,” whispered Grasping Fire. “If you anger it, it will strike the boy.”

Slowly, Sky Knife knelt. The snake's eyes never left his. The rainbow serpent tattoo around Sky Knife's neck tingled with power. Sky Knife leaned forward just enough to place his palm on the stone floor.