Serpent and Storm (3 page)

The warrior frowned but did not give way. A woman in a long green dress walked up behind the warrior. Small blue feathers attached to the skirt of the dress by brilliant jade beads fluttered as she walked. A double line of feathers encircled the woman's waist while another line fringed the hem. She held a blue shawl around her shoulders. More feathers lined the edge of the shawl.

Sky Knife looked into the woman's eyes and could not help staring—the woman's eyes were green like the leaves of the sacred
ceiba
tree, not brown. The color of her dress made her eyes stand out like green flame. Sky Knife was mesmerized.

“Is there a problem?” the woman asked. Her accent marked her as a foreigner—her first language had not been Teotihuacano. “The game's about to start.”

“No, Minister,” said the warrior.

“I was just saying to your guard here that my friend is a relative of the king,” said Whiskers-of-Rat. “He is here on business, but of course it will wait until after the game.”

The woman laughed. “Every business must wait for the game,” she said. She cocked her head and looked Sky Knife up and down.

“Come sit with me,” she said. “You can talk to the king later.”

The warrior stood aside. Sky Knife stepped out from behind Whiskers-of-Rat.

“Leave us,” said the woman to the guide. Whiskers-of-Rat bowed and scuttled off into the crowd before Sky Knife could settle his debt. Sky Knife looked after the retreating figure of his guide with dismay.

The woman took Sky Knife's arm. “My name is Amaranth,” she said. “I'm the Chief Minister of City Planning.”

“Sky Knife.” Sky Knife sat where Amaranth indicated. “I'm the Chief Priest of Itzamna in the city of Tikal. My king, Storm Cloud, sent me here to meet his brother.”

Amaranth frowned, then her expression cleared. “Oh, yes. When he was here, we called him Cloudy Sky. And how is Old Rugged Rump these days?”

“Who?” asked Sky Knife, unsure if Amaranth were teasing him or merely repeating a boyhood nickname of his king's. “Storm Cloud? He is well. He and his wife have four children, two of them sons. Our city has been prosperous and lucky since he came.”

“Mm,” said Amaranth neutrally. She stared at the field. “I think they're about to start.”

Sky Knife stared out over the heads of the people in front of him to take in the sight. A priestess in white robes turned to look at him. Her brown eyes met his without the modesty he would have expected from a woman of his own city. The woman blinked languidly, then turned back to the ballcourt.

Ten men, each in a short red skirt and wide black sash and carrying a stick, entered the field. Two men went to each of the four ends of the field and the remaining two stepped down into the circle in the center.

To Sky Knife's right stood a hefty man decked with multiple jade necklaces. Except for his greater weight, the man looked like Storm Cloud. His short hair had been greased back and five vertical lines had been tattooed on his forehead. A snake tattoo wound its way up one of his arms, across his chest, and down the other arm. This had to be the king or another one of Storm Cloud's brothers.

The man cleared his throat and raised his hand. The immense crowd in the arena became silent.

“You all know what's at stake here,” said the man. The people around him laughed good-naturedly. Those in the crowd smiled and nodded their heads. “I, Tattooed Serpent, King of Teotihuacan, have bet my good friend Amaranth, Chief Minister of City Planning, one year's profits from the obsidian mines that her team cannot best mine in a single match.”

Beside Sky Knife, Amaranth stood. “And I have bet one year's labor of five hundred of my construction workers against his obsidian profits.”

The crowd clapped enthusiastically. Sky Knife followed their example and hid his embarrassment at being so close to the center of attention in unfamiliar surroundings.

Amaranth sat down.

Tattooed Serpent removed one of his jade necklaces and handed it to one of his warrior escorts. “This goes to whoever scores the first goal. Now, begin the game!”

There were gasps from the crowd and Sky Knife echoed them. A jade necklace—such finery belonged only to the king or his family. No one else, at least at home in Tikal, could afford such things. But even more precious than that, the necklace had lain around a king's neck. Some of his divine luck would remain attached to it. The winner of the necklace could expect to reap supernatural rewards more important even than the jade itself.

Tattooed Serpent sat down. The warrior with the necklace made his way down to the field. He held the necklace above his head briefly. The jade beads clacked together in the silence that engulfed the arena. Then the warrior tossed the necklace down inside the playing area. As soon as the necklace hit the ground, the crowd erupted into earsplitting howls and whoops.

A man in front of Sky Knife tossed a rubber ball into the field. The ball was about the size of a man's head. Sky Knife was glad at least one aspect of this ballgame was familiar.

One of the players hit the ball with his stick toward the center of the quincunx. The second player on that arm of the field got in front of it and hit it back toward the first player.

Sky Knife leaned toward Amaranth. “Who plays on what team?”

“East and west, the outer players are the king's and the inner players mine. North and south, the inner players are the king's and the outer mine. The two in the center don't belong to any team—they try to keep the ball from falling into the circle, no matter who hits it toward them. Only the outer players can make a goal. The game is played until one team has scored seven goals.”

Amaranth turned toward him, frowning. “Don't you play the ballgame in Tikal?”

“Not this one.”

Amaranth's expression cleared, and she turned back to the game. “Oh, of course. How stupid of me. I've lived here so long, I forget sometimes that the stick game is only played here at Teotihuacan. The field represents the world, you know that, right? And so in this game, the circle in the center represents the center of the world.”

“Teotihuacan itself,” said Sky Knife, not taking his eyes away from the action on the field.

The ball, struck by Amaranth's player on the north, zoomed by the king's player and dropped into the circle before either of the two men there could deflect it. The crowd cheered as the man jogged over to the jade necklace and claimed it.

“Oh, good!” Amaranth stood and clapped. She sat down after the ballplayer saluted her. “That's Leather Apron,” she said. “He's one of the best ballplayers we have.”

One of the men in the center of the quincunx picked up the ball and tossed it out toward the east.

“How does he know where to throw it?” asked Sky Knife.

“East,” said Amaranth. “Always east in honor of the Fire God.”

“So the bettor with the player on the east has the advantage. How do you decide who has the east–west axis?”

Amaranth laughed. “The king does, always. Who else?”

Amaranth's inner player on the east batted the ball to his teammate on the south. The south player hit the ball with his stick, but the king's man deflected the ball toward his own player on the west.

Sky Knife watched the game, interested and intensely aware how close Amaranth sat to him. Her shoulder brushed against his almost constantly. She did not seem to notice his discomfiture. Sky Knife glanced around and noted that everywhere in the arena, men and women sat close enough to touch. He tried to reassure himself that this was merely a local custom, but he couldn't help but feel an urge to scoot away.

By noon, the score was five–three in Amaranth's favor. Lily-on-the-Water stood and called a break. The players, their hair slicked down with sweat, trotted off the field.

Amaranth put her arms over her head and stretched. “Ah, only two goals to go and the king owes me a year's worth of profits,” she said.

“Would you or your guest care for a drink, Minister?”

Sky Knife glanced up. A man carrying a large deep bowl stood behind him. Amaranth stood, and Sky Knife did the same.

“Yes, thank you,” said Amaranth.

The bowl was covered with a red cotton cloth. Amaranth lifted the edge and reached inside. She drew out a smaller bowl and handed it to Sky Knife, then took a second for herself.

Sky Knife looked in the bowl. A strange mush floated inside. The heavy sweet smell of crushed fruit drifted up from the bowl. Sky Knife lifted the bowl to his lips and sipped. The liquid was sweet and terribly cold. Sky Knife looked in the bowl again.

“What magic is this?” he asked. “How can you get it so cold?”

Amaranth finished what was in her bowl. “Drink it quickly, or it will melt.”

“Melt?” Sky Knife wanted to know more, but moved to obey. The mush turned to liquid on his tongue. Sky Knife finished the cold fruit juice with relish.

“Yes, melt,” said Amaranth. “It's not magic—it's
snow.
We send runners up into the mountains to collect it and bring it back. Then we put it in our drinks. It's quite refreshing, don't you think?”

“Snow?”
Sky Knife tried out the unfamiliar word.

“Water that's very cold,” said Amaranth. “It falls from the sky onto the mountains. Sometimes here, too, but almost never. We do get frost here, though.”

Sky Knife wanted to ask
frost?
but held his tongue. He'd been parroting others enough for one day. Besides, he wouldn't learn everything about Teotihuacan in one afternoon. There would be time.

Sky Knife cast about for something to talk about. “Um, your husband—is he not with you today?” he asked.

Amaranth laughed. “My husband died several years ago.”

“Ah,” said Sky Knife. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

Amaranth took his bowl and handed it as well as hers to a passing servant. “It was long ago. Come, sit,” she said. “The game should begin again soon. And the sooner I beat the king, the better.”

Sky Knife sat down beside Amaranth, but this time made sure there were several inches of space between them. Below, the players ran back out onto the field.

The old man tossed the ball back into play. The king's player in the east struck it with his stick.

A woman screamed. Sky Knife glanced around, wondering if this were another new custom, but this time, the people around him seemed alarmed.

“The king!” shouted the woman. “Help him!”

Amaranth leaped up and ran toward the king, Sky Knife on her heels. But even though they reached the king only a few seconds later, Sky Knife could see they were too late.

The king had slumped backwards into a woman's lap. His eyes stared up into the noontime sky, glassy and lifeless.

“No!” shouted Amaranth. “The king is dead!”

3

The crowd took up Amaranth's shout. All around Sky Knife, men and women screamed and called out.

Warriors butted Amaranth and a priestess in white out of the way and stood protectively over the king.

“You fools,” shouted a man on Sky Knife's left. “You can't help him now. Get to his son and protect
him.
Who knows what other evils might be out this day?” The man was probably Sky Knife's height. He looked diminuitive next to the tall thin warriors. He wore a great deal of jade, including jade ear spools, and he wore a carved bone through a hole in his nose.

The warriors moved to obey the man, but the crowd pressed close. Everyone, all the thousands in the arena, seemed to want to get to the king, to see for themselves that he was dead.

The woman on whose lap the king lay held her hands out helplessly to her sides. She sobbed uncontrollably.

“Stop this!” shouted the same man who had addressed the warriors. “All you people—get back! Get back!”

It was no use. The panicked crowd pressed closer and the warriors could not hold them back. Someone shoved Sky Knife from behind. Several people had reached the king and reached out to touch his still form. The woman on whose lap the king's head lay screamed as the crowd grabbed at her. Everyone seemed to want to touch her and the king, to see and feel the truth for themselves.

A warrior to Sky Knife's right stumbled and the crowd swelled over him. Sky Knife almost fell to his knees. He could no longer see the king or the woman. Or Amaranth. Everywhere, people screamed and pushed and shoved.

Sky Knife was jostled again and this time he went down. Sky Knife's hands went to the bag at his waist and he drew out his sacrificial knife, the Hand of God. The black obsidian blade felt cool against his sweaty palm. Sky Knife grasped the wooden handle of the knife, pushed himself to his feet, and thrust the knife into the air. He focused on the power of his fear, shoved it out of his mind toward the sky.

A clap of thunder deafened him and brought the surging crowd up short. Lightning flashed just overhead. All around the arena, people fell to their knees and hid their eyes from the dazzling display. In a few moments, only Sky Knife remained standing.

When he was sure he, Amaranth, and the king's relatives were safe, Sky Knife replaced the knife in its bag.

“You,” he shouted to a warrior. He pointed to a second warrior. “And you. Carry the king back to his palace. Amaranth—escort this woman home.” Sky Knife gestured toward the sobbing woman, who had turned red-rimmed eyes up to meet his.

The warriors glanced toward Lily-on-the-Water. She stood slowly. She did not look happy, but she nodded. The warriors leaped to obey, as did Amaranth.

Sky Knife turned to the crowd. “Go home,” he shouted to them. “The king is dead. You can do nothing for him but pray for his safe journey through the underworlds. Now go.”

A low mumbling came from the crowd, but people began trickling out of the arena. The warriors carrying the king's body were able to leave without incident.