Homecoming. The thought dominated Horn Lance’s souls as his litter was carried past the two large Horned Serpent guardian posts that rose on either side of the Avenue of the Moon.
So much had changed since the day he’d last set foot in Horned Serpent Town. Even the huge guardians were new. Hewn from mighty red cedars, the guardians had been carved in the image of the winged and antlered serpent who flew up from the Underworld and into the southern summer sky to guard the entrance to the Spirit Road of the Dead—the great band of frosty light that crossed the night sky. To mark Horned Serpent’s duality, the serpent on the west side of the road had the three-forked eye design of the Underworld, while the one on the east had the two-forked design indicative of the Sky World.
From some dusty corner of Horn Lance’s souls came the reflexive impulse to reach up and touch his forehead.
Then his litter was borne past the guardians and into Horned Serpent Town proper.
Horn Lance’s porters carried him through an unfamiliar maze of houses with their little garden plots, past temples dedicated to Old-Woman-Who-Never-Dies, granaries, society and charnel houses, ramadas and workshops. The structures grew larger and more ornate, as well as more closely packed, as they neared the central plaza. So, too, did the number of people who had to scurry out of the way as Horn Lance’s porters bulled forward along the narrow path between the buildings. Someone kicked a dog who wasn’t quick enough, eliciting a yip as the beast shot away.
And then they passed around the base of the Horned Serpent House palace mound, past the Four Winds Clan House, and into the spacious central plaza.
At the foot of the stairs leading up to High Chief Green Chunkey’s mound-top palace, Horn Lance’s litter was lowered. The porters, sweating and panting softly, bowed in respect as Horn Lance rose.
He took a moment to let his gaze roam the plaza. Before him two chunkey courts had been laid out, province of the Horned Serpent House and available only to Four Winds Clan members and their guests. Around the plaza’s periphery a collection of vendors and hawkers displayed their wares, but nothing like he had seen in the Great Plaza.
The lightning-riven World Tree pole stood in the center of the plaza, directly in line with an elongated mound on the east that marked the spring and fall equinoxes. A stickball field, now occupied by a practice skirmish, filled the southern half of the open square. Beyond the Four Winds charnel house on the west side were three conical burial mounds. A men’s house dominated the southeast corner, and various Earth Clan council houses filled in on the sides, each subordinate to High Chief Green Chunkey and Horned Serpent House.
Turning his attention to the palace, Horn Lance nodded to the warriors standing guard at the foot of the stairs. Here, too, were a collection of individuals who had, or thought they had, business with Green Chunkey. Deer Clan, Panther Clan, Fish Clan, Hawk and Bear Clan, they waited for their chance at an audience.
Horn Lance strode forward, fully aware that he cut quite a figure in his formal Itza dress with its remarkable textiles, parrot, macaw, and toucan feather splays, all accented by the exotic wrist and ankle bands.
“Who comes?” the commander of the guard asked, fully aware of Horn Lance’s identity.
“Please inform High Chief Green Chunkey that his cousin Horn Lance is returned from the distant south and would brief the high chief on the arrival of the Itza Lord Thirteen Sacred Jaguar and its implications for the Horned Serpent House.”
“The high chief is expecting you, honored lord.”
Horn Lance barely stifled a grin as the onlookers oohed and awed, their eyes gone large. He added a bit of spring to his steps as he started up the stairs in the commander’s wake.
At the top, he reflexively bowed and touched his forehead as he passed the Horned Serpent guardian posts. Then he followed the commander across the courtyard and into the plaster-sided palace with its high thatch roof.
The interior was shabbier than he remembered, but then, so was much of Cahokia. In his youth he had thought this the second most splendid palace in the world after the Morning Star’s. Now the carvings and trophies hanging on the walls, the interlinked Four Winds spirals behind the dais on the back wall, the carved bed frames and coverings, the storage pots and boxes beneath them all seemed rustic and crude.
Green Chunkey sat on the raised dais, his fingers ruffling the cougar hide covering beneath his litter. A line of nobles, most of them Horn Lance’s relatives, stood behind. Green Chunkey himself looked but vaguely familiar with his faded serpent tattoos on his cheeks, the same blocky, if sagging face. Along with the jowls, Green Chunkey had developed a corpulent belly that hung over his apron. The eyes, however, hadn’t changed. Horn Lance would have known those keen and crafty orbs anywhere.
“Hello, Cousin.” Horn Lance gave the slightest of bows, the touch to his forehead fleeting, the gesture that of an equal meeting his peer.
“So, Horn Lance is returned from exile. Pardoned by the Morning Star himself. You look hale and hearty, old friend. And what, in the name of Piasa’s balls, are you wearing?”
“This, Cousin, is the dress of an elite Itza warrior. The mark of an honored man among the distant lords. While it is rare for a vulgar barbarian—which is what the Itza considered me in the beginning—I managed to distinguish myself in the command of warriors in battle.”
He paused, knowing he had a rapt audience. “The people in the far south—the Itza, Yucateca, Putun, and Ch’ol—believe that their warfare is an extension of the conflict of the gods. That they are participating in ritual battles between Tlaloc, Chac, Waxaklahun Kan, and the other deities. They think conflict in this world is a mirror image of an eternal battle being fought in the Spirit World—a sacred parallel to the realm of the gods. Their actions in this world influence the outcome, and vice versa, of combat between the gods. The link between the worlds lies in the Power of the kukul.”
He paused for effect. “I took a more pragmatic view, one less bounded by ritual and oriented toward destroying my enemies with the greatest efficiency. It’s a delicate Dance, winning without offending ritual tradition.”
Green Chunkey smiled thinly. “Perhaps the Morning Star was correct to banish you all those years ago. Better that you distinguish your ambition among foreign Nations than here.”
“Indeed!” Horn Lance tapped his Itza breastplate. “But fate and the ways of Power have brought me back.”
“Why?”
Horn Lance glanced at the line of nobles behind Green Chunkey. They were hanging on his every word. By nightfall his pronouncements would be all over Cahokia.
“The miracle of a resurrected god knows no borders. Word of the Morning Star’s resurrection travels out from Cahokia like a great wave, washing upon distant shores. In both Maya and Itza beliefs the Morning Star is called Hun Ahau, and his wild brother is Yax Balam, who we know as ‘Thrown-Away’ boy, or the ‘Wild One.’ Together they travel to the Underworld, which the Maya call Xibalba, and play a ball game with the Lords of Death. Winning it, they bring their father back to life.”
He spread his hands wide. “Sound familiar? Essentially, they believe the same things we do. And then, out of the north comes this story about Hun Ahau’s essence being reincarnated in a human. But he hasn’t come back among the Yucatec, the Putun, the Ch’ol or Itza. Not even among the Mixtec or Mexica. No indeed, he’s said to be reincarnated somewhere in the hazy and barbaric north among the wild men in a benighted land.”
Horn Lance waved his finger back and forth. “This, Cousin, has their priests, sorcerers, lords, and astronomers in a tizzy. If the stories are true, this is a theological dilemma. Why far-off Cahokia and not Chichen Itza, or the ruins of Tikal, or Copan, or even Teotihuacan?
“The Itza multepal, their ruling council, has sent Thirteen Sacred Jaguar to see if it’s true that Hun Ahau has been resurrected at Cahokia.”
“And now that Thirteen Sacred Jaguar has seen the Morning Star?” Green Chunkey leaned forward, chin braced on his palm.
Time to lie. “He needs to prove to himself that Morning Star really is, or is not, the reincarnated Hun Ahau. In the process of doing so, he will stay for a while as a representative of the multepal. His aspirations are to open relations between Cahokia and Chichen Itza. The first step is his marriage to Lady Night Shadow Star, which forges a bond between the two peoples.”
As Green Chunkey thought, his fingers tapped his cheek. Finally he said to the others, “Leave us, please. I would speak to my cousin alone.”
After everyone had filed out, Green Chunkey gestured intimately. “Now, Cousin, tell me what this really means … and who you really serve.”
“What it really means? Morning Star House has admitted a water moccasin into its midst, and I am that serpent.” Horn Lance smiled. “Let’s call it sacred justice, Cousin. A new future is about to unfold, one in which Horned Serpent House will play a new and more exalted role. But first, a few potential problems must be dealt with. Now, tell me about my old wife Blue Heron. I want to know all about her.”