Ritual combat?
That might have been the name the Itza gave it. But to Blue Heron the memory of what she’d seen would linger for the rest of her life. She sat beside Tonka’tzi Wind at the final feast. It had been laid out in the Council Terrace compound while everyone had been watching first the “ritual combat” and then accompanying the wedding party as they oversaw the final stickball game and chunkey tournament.
Instead of a joyous occasion, a pall had been cast over the proceedings by the one-sided slaughter of five of Cahokia’s finest warriors. The blow had gone straight to the city’s heart.
The question possessed every soul in the city: Who were these Itza? How could they be invincible? Did they bring a new Power, or did they just serve more potent gods?
Where Night Shadow Star and Thirteen Sacred Jaguar sat under the ramada, they might have been exiled and estranged gods. Blue Heron knew that expression on Night Shadow Star’s face. The woman was desperate.
Thirteen Sacred Jaguar, however, had an unfocused look and a beatific expression, his wide lips in a slight smile. He had ordered the War Serpent standard to be placed before him that he might stare up at it with his rapt eyes.
“He looks as if he’s dancing with Sister Datura,” Tonka’tzi Wind declared.
Horn Lance overheard, saying, “The Itza, and the Maya scholars before them, have discovered that this world is an illusion. We see only a shadow of the reality lived by the gods. The ahau’s standard? It holds Waxaklahun Kan’s ch’ulel. Linking it between this illusory existence and the real existence of the gods. Today Ahau Thirteen Sacred Jaguar sees this world through the eyes of reality, looking into this world from what you would call the Spirit realm.”
Beside him, Wooden Doll gave him a measuring, sidelong look as she picked at a piece of roasted duck breast. The woman had been glancing periodically at the outlying ranks of Natchez where Seven Skull Shield sat.
Funny that the thief would pick their association. But then Seven Skull Shield wouldn’t be welcome sitting among the nobles. Nor had he apparently disclosed his identity to the Natchez warriors, who mistook him for a Cahokian lord.
“Hmmph!” Wind snorted, lifting a horn spoon of steaming buffalo broth spiced with wild onions.
“I understand your reluctance, Tonka’tzi.” Horn Lance leaned his head back slightly, head cocked. “I, too, shared your skepticism when I first heard of their great cities and the Power they controlled. So I went. Walked their elevated stone causeways, marveled at their mighty stuccoed buildings painted every color under the sun. These things I saw with my own eyes. The sacrifice of your warriors earlier today just reflects how what you call Power, and we call ch’ulel, are projected from the reality of the gods into our world of illusion.”
Blue Heron pointed to where the Morning Star sat atop his litter at the foot of the stairs leading up to his palace. The living god was smiling, talking with two young women, one or both of whom no doubt would accompany him up to his private chambers for the night.
“There’s a living contradiction.” Tonka’tzi Wind pointed. “The reincarnated Morning Star, a Spirit from the Sky World, returned to earth to take possession of a human form. If anyone would know if the Itza were right, it would be him. Yet he tells us that our stories about the Beginning Times are true.”
“No doubt he does,” Horn Lance agreed amiably. “I expect that in the end, it will be a matter for the priests to work out as they peer through the sacred books where the words of the First Mother and First Father, One-and-Seven Lord, and the … Oh, wait. That’s right. You have no books. Just the beaded record mats, and those only detail which leaders have done what.”
“What’s a book?” Wooden Doll asked the question that Blue Heron wouldn’t permit herself.
Condescending, Horn Lance turned to the paid woman. “It is an ancient art going back a thousand years among the earliest of the Maya. They record the actual words, drawing them on juna, then binding them together and passing them down, generation after generation. The word for such a book is jun. But then, you would not understand, having only the stories told by your grandfathers as they heard them. That and a few beaded mats.” He smiled. “Pity.”
Blue Heron caught the dark flash of Wooden Doll’s eyes, though her smile remained in place.
Turning back to Blue Heron and Wind, Horn Lance added, “I think great changes are coming to Cahokia. You saw the expressions on the faces of the common people as we returned here from where your warriors were sacrificed. This day they witness a rebirth for Cahokia.” He pointed to where Thirteen Sacred Jaguar reached for his bowl of succulent bison meat, chewing thoughtfully as he stared up at the kukul. “And today a new lord has aligned himself with the Four Winds Clan and demonstrated the Power of his gods and beliefs.”
He narrowed his eyes. “From here on out, nothing will ever be the same.”