Serpent and Storm (2 page)

Sky Knife hesitated, but one more glance at the flowing rivers of people in the city streets convinced him. He had originally planned to ask someone directions to the king's palace. But Sky Knife had no faith in his ability to follow directions in the mass confusion ahead of him.

Itzamna! He didn't even want to step out into the crowd again, let alone try to follow someone else's directions through the streets of the city. What if he stumbled and fell? Visions of being trampled underfoot loomed large in Sky Knife's mind.

“It's a fantastic sight, isn't it?” the guide asked. He went on without awaiting an answer. “The city is over five hundred years old. Right back to the beginning of time!”

“No,” said Sky Knife, glad to discuss a topic he was familiar with. He broke his gaze away from the gleaming city. “The world began on 13.0.0.0.0 4 Ahau 8 Cumku. That's over thirty-five hundred years ago.”

Whiskers-of-Rat smiled. If he were upset at being corrected by a foreigner, he didn't let it show. “Of course,” he said. “But I'm sure the city has been here since the beginning. It
is
the center of the world. Why else would everyone want to live here?”

Whiskers-of-Rat turned and walked toward the city, maintaining a slow pace. Sky Knife followed him, not bothering to watch where he put his feet. He just stared at the city.

And the people—Sky Knife had never seen so many. They were everywhere, their clothing, their hair, their arms constantly brushing against Sky Knife, bumping the small pack he had with him. Sky Knife clutched his pack and concentrated on Whiskers-of-Rat's back, his fear pushing his heartbeat ever faster. Scents, both familiar and exotic, assaulted his nose. The odors of sweat and charcoal mixed with sharp, tangy smells Sky Knife couldn't identify. Even the crumbling plaster of the buildings, crushed underfoot by the passing thousands and wafting around the street in an everpresent white cloud, smelled strange, a sharp, dry scent that made Sky Knife sneeze.

As they approached the center of the city, the road became more and more crammed with people. Tall men in yellow-and-orange robes and jade ear spools touched shoulders with old people in rags while warriors in purple skirts watched impassively from the sides of the street.

A woman in a brilliant yellow dress, her hair bunched up on top of her head, brushed against Sky Knife. He stumbled back and mumbled an apology. The woman didn't even glance at him, but the green parrot riding her shoulder nipped at him and screeched in earsplitting tones.

Sky Knife felt a slight tug at his waist. He glanced away from Whiskers-of-Rat's tall form to see what was happening. A child of no more than ten or twelve had untied one of the knots that held a leather bag to Sky Knife's waist sash. The bag contained Sky Knife's sacrificial blade. The child fumbled with the second knot.

“What are you doing?” asked Sky Knife after a moment's hesitation. Mayan children would have known what was in the bag. Not even the bravest would have dared touch it. Sky Knife was simply surprised by the audacity of the boy.

The child gave up on the knots and bolted into the crowd. Sky Knife looked around helplessly, utterly stunned at the number of people that pressed against him from every side. The bright red, yellow, and green of their clothing assaulted his eyes, and the loud hubbub of voices buzzed in his ears. The white plaster dust in the air choked him.

Sky Knife shook and fought back a scream. He could no longer see Whiskers-of-Rat. Sky Knife looked around, but he was shorter than most of the men on the street.

A pretty young woman approached him. Her white dress exposed more than it covered. The wooden beads of her necklace were painted red, green, yellow, and blue. Her hair had been braided simply and coiled on each side of her head above her ears. The sweet scent of flowers surrounded her.

The woman touched Sky Knife on the arm in a confident manner. “Lost?” she asked. “Need a friend?”

“I … what?” asked Sky Knife, trying not to look down the front of the woman's dress. “I seem to have lost my guide. But it looks to me like you need a friend more than I.”

The woman laughed, although Sky Knife couldn't understand what was so funny. In a strange way, this woman reminded him of Jade Flute. Jade Flute, too, seemed to find humor in situations Sky Knife found confusing or irritating. The woman's body, too, reminded him of Jade Flute. Sky Knife looked away, embarrassed.

“That's a new one,” said the woman. “Come on, I'll show you my place.”

“Your place?” Sky Knife glanced around, but in the crowd he could not see Whiskers-of-Rat. He gasped, short of breath with fear, and clutched his pack even tighter.

“Or are you staying somewhere in the city? We could go there.”

“Go there … and then what? Do you need some help?” asked Sky Knife.

The woman pressed her body against Sky Knife's. “Well, the guild does set the prices, but there's no reason you couldn't give a girl a little bit extra.” The woman stroked Sky Knife's cheek with a long delicate finger.

“Prices for what?” asked Sky Knife. He wanted to get away from this woman, but didn't know how to reenter the churning mass of bodies in the street.

“Nice tattoos,” said the woman.

Sky Knife pushed the woman's hand away. His tattoos, two blue lines from his mouth to his ear and a blue-and-green spiral on his chin, had been given him on the occasion of his wedding. No Mayan man could wear a tattoo who was not married, although Sky Knife had acquired the serpent tattoo around his neck when he was single. But that was an unusual case.

Someone touched Sky Knife on the back. He yelped.

“It is only I,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “You should relax. I see you have made a friend. Should I come back later?”

That Whiskers-of-Rat apparently knew what was going on irritated him. Sky Knife stepped away from both the woman and the guide.

“No,” he said, letting the warm anger in his heart replace the confusion. “I do not know what this lady wants, nor does she explain. If there's help I can give, let her ask for it. Otherwise, I have business to attend to.”

The woman frowned. Whiskers-of-Rat laughed. “First time in the city,” he said to the woman. “Go on, find someone else.”

The woman shrugged and left. Sky Knife took a deep breath and tried to relax. “What was that all about?” he asked.

“She's a
prostitute.
” Whiskers-of-Rat babbled on in Teotihuacano, but Sky Knife didn't understand.

“A what?” he asked.

“You know, a woman who sells her body to men. There is a guild of them here in the city.”

Sky Knife was appalled. At home, a woman would be executed if she lay with a man who was not her husband. “What of her husband?” he asked. “Do you mean to say you allow your wives to—”

“What husband?” asked Whiskers-of-Rat with a smile. “They are not allowed to marry while they are in the guild.”

Whiskers-of-Rat hooked his hand around Sky Knife's elbow. “Come on,” he said. “We haven't even gotten to the center of the city yet! And there is a ballgame this afternoon you must see.”

“A ballgame?” asked Sky Knife. “But I must see the king. My king has sent me here to—”

“Yes, yes, no problem,” said Whiskers-of-Rat as he negotiated his way easily through the throngs of people. “The king will be at the ballgame, so you can see him there.”

“But I must speak to him.”

Whiskers-of-Rat shrugged and pulled Sky Knife around a knot of women arguing over the carcass of a dog. They weren't speaking Teotihuacano, and Sky Knife could not tell if they were assigning blame or selling the meat.

“Well, that may be difficult, Lord Priest,” said Whiskers-of-Rat as the women's strident voices fell into the background. “The king is very busy. He often has audiences for important foreign guests. Perhaps you could ask his staff for a hearing.”

“I have been sent…” Sky Knife began, but a passing gaggle of musicians silenced him. The rattles and turtleshell drums were familiar enough, but one musician played a reed instrument by blowing through one or more of the dozen or so reeds that were bound together. The weird trilling was like birdsong. The musician winked at Sky Knife as he went by.

“You said something?” asked Whiskers-of-Rat. “Ah, here we are.”

“I said I had been sent by my king, who is Storm Cloud, king of Tikal. Your king is his brother.”

Whiskers-of-Rat nodded amiably and gestured for Sky Knife to follow him up narrow stone steps. “It is too bad you are not related to this Storm Cloud,” he said.

“Well, I am,” said Sky Knife, “though only by marriage. My wife is his wife's niece.”

“Well, why didn't you say so?” asked Whiskers-of-Rat. “As a relative of the king, you are entitled to very good seats indeed.”

Sky Knife stopped and stared at the ballcourt. It wasn't the familiar “I” shape he'd been expecting. Instead, the field was a double “I” with one crossing the other. A depressed circular area took up most of the square that was formed by the meeting of the “I's.” Sky Knife recognized the shape. It was the quincunx, the shape of time, of the world. Four directions, each equidistant from a circular center.

Around the field were several layers of wide stone steps on which people stood or sat. Many people had already arrived—at least as many people as lived in and around Tikal itself—possibly five or six thousand. And still others continued to crowd in.

Whiskers-of-Rat turned and clapped Sky Knife on the shoulder. “We can go over there with the rest of the king's family.”

Whiskers-of-Rat pointed toward a gaudily dressed group at the eastern end of the field. The sun glinted off the jade jewelry that encircled the necks, wrists, ankles of the people. The men wore intricately carved ear spools dyed red. Sky Knife's hand went to the simple wooden ones he had worn while traveling. He had not wished to tempt thieves on the road and had left all his finery at home. Even his small pack contained nothing more than a spare skirt, a second pair of sandals, some dried fruit, and a few objects he used in his daily devotions.

“Do you have to be related to the king to sit there?” asked Sky Knife. He was sure he wouldn't resemble the relative of anyone important dressed as he was and dusty from travel.

“Not exactly, but it helps,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. He threaded his way through the milling thousands. Sky Knife followed.

Suddenly, a woman's scream filled the arena.

2

Sky Knife whirled to find the source of the scream, surprised that no one else seemed alarmed. Whiskers-of-Rat tapped him on the shoulder and pointed toward the playing field.

A tall thin woman stood in the field. A
yax-um
feather headdress was on her head. The long blue-green feathers were attached to an intricate wooden frame built to resemble a falcon's head. Shorter feathers formed the center of the design, but the brilliant
yax-um
feathers at the border drooped down past her shoulders to touch her waist. Around her neck she wore large carved jade beads and in her right hand she held a prismatic obsidian blade. Sky Knife had never seen anything like it—the blade was barely a fingerwidth wide, yet it was nearly a foot long. The woman's left hand dripped blood onto the dirt of the field. Blood had also splattered her layers of white robes.

“She always does that before a game,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “To frighten away the bad spirits, she says. I think she just likes to hear herself.”

“Who is she?” asked Sky Knife.

“That's Lily-on-the-Water,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “She's the High Priestess of our goddess. She'll come over here and watch the rest of the game with the other priestesses and their husbands.”

“Husbands?”

Whiskers-of-Rat turned to regard Sky Knife. “You are good at repeating what I say, like a parrot. Perhaps I'm speaking too quickly for you?”

“No, it's … it's just that, in my city, priestesses are not allowed to marry,” stammered Sky Knife.

Whiskers-of-Rat laughed. “Try getting these priestesses to live with that restriction! It would never happen. Why, these women don't even limit themselves to one man.”

“They have more than one husband?” Sky Knife's head whirled with the concept.

“No, no,” Whiskers-of-Rat assured him. “Only one husband, but more than one lover. But no one protests—the life of a priestess' husband is a good one. So if your wife occasionally chooses to spend the night with another man, you don't complain.
I
wouldn't.”

Sky Knife fought a surge of vertigo that threatened to send him to his knees. The priestesses here not only were married but committed adultery regularly—and no one minded? Sky Knife wondered why Storm Cloud had not seen fit to warn him of some of the stranger practices of Teotihuacan. As it was, Sky Knife was beginning to regret ever coming here.

Whiskers-of-Rat led Sky Knife to the richly dressed people. A warrior barred the way.

Sky Knife took a good look at the warrior from behind his guide. Let Whiskers-of-Rat handle the situation.

The warrior was not quite as tall as Whiskers-of-Rat, though still taller than Sky Knife. He wore elaborately beaded sandals, a purple skirt knotted at the waist, and an odd quilted cotton helmet on his head. The quilted cotton came down on either side of the warrior's face to meet just in front of his mouth, like the jaws of an ant. The warrior held a spear in his left hand. A knife was tied to his waist.

“Go on back,” said the warrior, his voice muffled by the strange helmet.

“This man has just arrived in the city,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “He is a relative of the king—and a priest, too, as you can see.”

The warrior regarded Sky Knife for several moments. “Can you prove this?”

Whiskers-of-Rat made a rude noise and put a hand on Sky Knife's shoulder. “How is he supposed to do that? Besides, would he—a priest—
lie?
”