“It’s impressive,” Thirteen Sacred Jaguar admitted from atop his litter, “if a bit rustic.” He had his eyes fixed on the high, palisaded mound with its peak-roofed palace. “And the tall pole? I’ve seen so many of them. What does that represent?”
“The World Tree, Lord. What you call the Yax Cheel Kab.” Horn Lance walked beside the litter. The entire trip had been filled with questions. And, not to his surprise, he hadn’t been able to answer all of them competently. So many changes had been made to his old home.
“They share that with us as well?”
“Yes, Lord.”
“But they only represent the Yax Cheel Kab with a pole? Where are the branches? It should have the two sacred branches!”
“I cannot answer that, except to say the custom here is to represent it with a single tall pole.”
“How have the gods allowed these people to become so corrupt in their beliefs?”
“You have come to correct that, Lord.”
“And that observatory? Just a circle of carved poles set in the ground?”
Thirteen Sacred Jaguar would make that comparison, of course. As a noble youth in Chichen Itza he’d served the priests in the Temple of the Wind, a mighty stone tower atop a limestone pyramid whose elevated observatory was reached by an internal circular stairway.
“The palace to your left, Lord, is the dwelling place of Lady Night Shadow Star.”
Mindful of the limitations imposed by his mask, Thirteen Sacred Jaguar barely turned his head as he gazed at the thatch-and-plaster structure atop its platform mound. He seemed to fix particularly on the guardian posts that dominated the head of the stairs.
“Those effigies? Kukulkan and Jaguar?”
“Here they are called Horned Serpent and Piasa. Unlike Kukulkan, Horned Serpent lives most of the year in the Underworld, only flying into the summer sky to guard the entrance to the Spirit Road before retreating to the Underworld again in early fall. Thus, he is different from the plumed serpent you know. Kukulkan is a sky god, and not to be confused with White Bone Snake who dwells in Xibalba.”
Thirteen Sacred Jaguar noted, “Do you truly believe that Piasa and First Jaguar are the same? That this woman and I venerate the same gods?”
“I am no priest, Lord. People tell me that Piasa consumed the woman’s souls in Xibalba, and that the god still whispers secrets into her ear. Cahokians consider her to be a most Powerful person.”
“All the better,” Thirteen Sacred Jaguar said softly. “And you say the city continues? How far?”
“To the east, along the Avenue of the Sun for at least as far as we’ve traveled. The same to the north and south. And still farther west past Evening Star Town.”
“Larger than Chichen Itza,” he mused. “I would not have believed it. But such a shabby place.”
“I would not mention that, Lord. Cahokians think their city the greatest in the world.”
“They haven’t seen much, have they?”
“If you permit, I would warn you against belittling them. Cunning will enable what truth is sure to defeat.”
“I hear your words with open ears, Councilor.” Thirteen Sacred Jaguar turned his head slightly to look up at the great mound. As the procession stopped before the grand staircase, he added, “Stairs of wood. A pyramid of dirt. Well, let us see what else the barbarians have in store for us.”
“Do you wish to be carried up the stairs, Lord? It is custom here for nobility.”
“As you wish.”
Horn Lance gave the orders, and the porters wheeled, skillfully altering their hold on the litter poles to begin the ascent in the kukul bearer’s wake. As they climbed to the Council Terrace, the bearers of boxes and packs followed.
At the head of the stairs, Tonka’tzi Wind and her small contingent nodded, turned, and led the way through the gate.
“At least their wood carving is the equal of ours,” Thirteen Sacred Jaguar noted as they passed through the carved wooden doors bearing the likeness of the Morning Star, his wings spread, a mace in his hands.
During the final climb, Horn Lance held his breath. If a porter so much as stumbled under the load … No, he dare not even imagine it. Though but a matter of breaths, the climb seemed to take an eternity before they passed through the palace gate and into the courtyard.
As Thirteen Sacred Jaguar was carried into the palace great room, Horn Lance ordered, “Place the Itza before the fire.”
Thirteen Sacred Jaguar, in all of his splendor, was lowered, and Burning Ant set the kukul at the lord’s right. Horn Lance took a stance to the litter’s left, while the four Itza warriors with their shields and cased macuahuitl positioned themselves immediately behind. The rest of the entourage crowded into the rear. The tonka’tzi, Blue Heron, and a host of nobles filed down the sides, all prostrating themselves on the matting.
The fire snapped and popped, casting the room with flickering yellow light.
Horn Lance noticed that Lady Night Shadow Star was standing with her slave in the forbidden space at the Morning Star’s right. What did that mean?
The Morning Star himself, face painted a light blue with black forked-eye designs, wore a dazzling copper headdress depicting a soul-arrow splitting clouds. A soul bundle was tied before it, and a beaded forelock hung over his forehead.
“His face is painted blue!” Thirteen Sacred Jaguar barely whispered. “Does he mean that?”
“It’s different here,” Horn Lance breathed back just loud enough for Thirteen Sacred Jaguar to hear. Among the Itza, blue was the color of priests, and most of all, of those about to be sacrificed and have their hearts cut from their chests and their sacred itz, or blood, offered to the Gods of Life or Death.
He turned his attention back to the Morning Star. Spread eagle wings rose from the man’s back, and his neck was draped in polished white beads that mirrored the shell masks of long-nosed human heads covering his ears. Among other names, the Morning Star had been known in the Beginning Times as “He-Who-Wears-Human-Heads.”
When it came to comparisons, there were none. Thirteen Sacred Jaguar’s ostentatious and colorful display left the Morning Star imposter looking inferior.
For long moments, Thirteen Sacred Jaguar and the Morning Star stared at each other. The silence—heavy and stifling—was only broken by the crackle of the fire.
Thirteen Sacred Jaguar spoke first, asking in Itza, and then repeating himself in Yucatec, “Are you truly Hun Ahau brought to earth in human form?”
A slow smile spread on Horn Lance’s lips as the Morning Star’s expression remained blank. Thirteen Sacred Jaguar’s words were meaningless to the Cahokian imposter.
“If he really were Hun Ahau he would know the sacred tongues. He is a fraud,” Thirteen Sacred Jaguar whispered under his breath. “We may do with these people as we wish, Ch’ak Payal.”
“I told you so, Ahau.”
A hardening of the Morning Star’s eyes was his only reaction to their soft exchange. He lifted the copper mace he clutched in his lap. “Welcome. Who speaks for these revered guests?”
The prostrate people lifted their heads, settling into seated positions.
“I do, Great Lord,” Horn Lance called. “Lord Thirteen Sacred Jaguar—known as Oxlajun Chul B’alam among his people—son of the yitah Four Fire Shield, of the Itza multepal, the Brotherhood Council, rulers of the great city of Chichen Itza and the Itza empire offers his greetings to the Morning Star and empire of Cahokia. In the name of the multepal and the brotherhood council, he comes from a great distance, bearing the white Power of peace in his heart.”
“By my order, all of Cahokia receives the great lord in welcome, the white Power of peace in our hearts.” The Morning Star remained erect, no change of expression on his face. “It is my wish that Cahokia may enter into a fruitful and prosperous relationship with the Itza, and that this is but the first of many such meetings. As a gesture, I offer black drink and the sacred pipe as a symbol of Cahokia’s friendship and sincerity.”
Horn Lance translated.
“What does this mean?” Thirteen Sacred Jaguar asked.
“As among the Natchez, Lord. The ritual is the same.”
“Tell the imposter what you will. This is your world.”
Horn Lance spread his hands wide. “Ahau Oxlajun Chul B’alam is most honored and accepts the Morning Star’s kind offer in the spirit in which it is offered. He shares the Morning Star’s noble aspirations for the initiation of friendship between our two peoples and thanks you for your kind welcome.”
Two young men appeared, one carrying a large stone pipe to which a long stem in the shape of a serpent had been affixed, the other bearing a steaming whelk shell filled with foaming black drink brewed to an opacity like squid ink. It was offered first to the Morning Star, and he took the cup, drinking deeply.
When the youth brought it to Thirteen Sacred Jaguar, he carefully lifted it from the youth’s hands and sipped.
“I know you’d prefer cacao, but drink fully, Lord,” Horn Lance advised.
Thirteen Sacred Jaguar sucked down the rest of the cup.
The second youth was busy with the pipe, its bowl carved in the shape of an eagle. Shaking out the tobacco, he used a wooden rod to tamp the leaves tight. When finished he carefully offered the pipe to the four directions, then earth and sky. He lit a punky stick in the fire. Holding the bowl, he offered the long stem to the Morning Star. As the living god pulled, the youth held the flame over the tobacco.
Morning Star drew deeply, tilting his head back to blow smoke toward the roof. Then he raised his hands and prayed, “In the name of Hunga Ahuito I greet the Itza lord in peace and friendship, extending my hand in brotherhood that we might have a long and beneficial relationship.”
The youth carried the pipe around the fire to Thirteen Sacred Jaguar, who took the stem in his mouth and drew smoke into his expanding lungs. Exhaling through his nostrils, he prayed, “Great Kukulkan, let me prevail among these savages. Chac, give me the strength and cunning to bring this place and people back to the true faith. Tlaloc, through blood, pain, and sacrifice, let me rid the world of Cahokia’s corrupt worship.”
Then he took a second pull on the pipe, exhaling in the direction of his standard. “Waxaklahun Kan, mighty War Serpent, I may have no army, but the war to which I commit myself is no less dangerous, though it will be fought on a different battlefield. Give me strength and courage, for which I shall offer you my blood and pain.”
During the entirety of the prayer, Horn Lance remained mute, fully aware that the Cahokians—awed by the lord’s incomprehensible language, but obvious conviction—interpreted Thirteen Sacred Jaguar’s words in a most different light.
The Morning Star remained expressionless, his painted face inscrutable. Blue Heron’s expression was sour, her crafty gaze shifting back and forth between Thirteen Sacred Jaguar and Horn Lance. But the rest of the room seemed entranced, their eyes glowing in awe and excitement.
Then he glanced at Night Shadow Star, dressed in black, holding a copper-bitted war club. A deadly smile curled her lips, her eyes half-slitted as she studied Thirteen Sacred Jaguar. Behind her, her armored slave looked just as grim, a promise of mayhem on his face.