After the decline of the Olmec culture in what is now southern Mexico, the Maya culture rose to prominence in the Yucatan area. This prominence can be considered as three six-hundred-year sequences: 300 BC to 300 AD was the Classic period; 300 to 900 was the Late Classic, and 900 to 1500 was Post Classic, or Florescent period. This was when the erection of stele and the use of hieroglyphs were abandoned. Block masonry was given up for pure concrete construction for walls and vaults, and surfaces were covered with a thin veneer of finely ground and meticulously squared and faced rectangular stone. The prior naturalistic design gave way to highly formalized geometric patterns. The orientation of buildings was changed. There were severe disruptions and population shifts between these periods, about which there has been much conjecture. For the purpose of this narrative, there is no mystery: climate was the root cause of the mischief. When intense, prolonged drought came, starvation followed, there was desperate war for diminishing resources, and the sophisticated religious and governmental structures collapsed in chaos. When and where the climate improved, the Maya rebuilt and flourished again—until the next drought.
But one area was largely free of this problem. This was a city now known as Dzibilchaltun, whose continuous occupancy may represent a New World record: perhaps 4,000 years. Much of that time it was a minor settlement, and though in Late Classic times it may have been the largest population center in the Yucatan, with anywhere up to 100,000 people by some estimates, but more likely in the 10,000 to 20,000 range, it remained politically minor. This may be because it was on the fringe, near the northern coast of the peninsula, away from the cultural center. Even its true name is lost to history; “Dzibilchaltun” translates to “place where there is writing on flat stones.” But why did it remain so steadily occupied, when other cities rose and fell? Because in a region that had no rivers, it never succumbed to drought. It had about a hundred wells tapping into groundwater circulating four to five meters below the surface, with natural openings in the limestone cap providing ready access.
However, the city did suffer on occasion. The time is the year 1020.
The line of women seemed endless, and indeed it was: only nightfall would terminate it. Each bore a jug or heavy bag on her head, and walked steadily behind the one before her. Most were young, and many were attractive. Each approached the key station, and carefully dumped her load into the receptacle, before walking back the way she had come.
Keeper stood by the great stone tank, supervising the distribution of water. The men of the Xlacah army filed by its far end, each dipping his large cup in the water and carrying it carefully to a spot where he could drink it all unjostled. Water was the most precious supply of all, and none of it was wasted.
Actually the service of the women wasn’t necessary; there was a corps of slaves to haul water and other necessaries. But women were restricted from this area, unless they had some particular task, so those who wished to be here arranged to have such a task. Keeper had set up the tank near a natural well that would provide all the water they needed, here in this dry terrain, but he did not make an issue of that. So the women came, some of them officers’ wives who did not want to make their status obvious, this close to the enemy. Any woman was fair game for the enemy, especially a ranking one.
Keeper gazed out across the military formation. He knew what most of the troops did not: the outlook was not positive. The Toltec army was larger than their own, and more disciplined, and it had a reputation for barbarian savagery.
Xlacah, the “Old Town,” had resisted the barbarian intrusion for decades, because it was large enough to defend itself, and could not be denied water by siege. But the Toltecs had gradually taken over the rest of the region, defeating the other cities one by one, and now had come for the last and largest. There had been brushes before, but nothing serious. The priest leaders had become perhaps too complacent, thinking the city invulnerable. But Hero, who had served in distant forces, had warned the family that this was not so. He believed that the time would come when Xlacah would be seriously attacked.
Now that time had come. The priests, too long neglectful of practical matters, organized for defense too late. The available soldiers were good, but there were too few. The levies for additional men were inadequate on short notice. So the city was in trouble, but didn’t know it yet, because the priests would not admit any fault. They claimed that their human sacrifices ensured the favor of Itzamná, the Lizard God, the creator and patron of knowledge, and the similar favor of the powerful Death God who ruled the nine layered underworld from his Jaguar Throne. Mortal men could not stand against these; they would be obliterated if they tried.
However, the women of the water line were not blind. Their route was shielded from enemy territory, but they could catch glimpses, and they heard the mutterings of the men as they came for the water. Keeper knew they were carrying news back to their homes. Wealthy folk were quietly leaving. But the great majority had nowhere to go.
“Hello, brother,” a woman murmured.
Keeper glanced up. It was Rebel, pouring her water jug into the tank. She was swathed against the heat of the sun, but this could not conceal her beauty of form and feature.
“Hello, Father.” It was his daughter Allele, six years old.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, startled.
“You didn’t come home.”
So she had come out to see him. It made sense. But probably Crenelle wanted to organize for quick departure without alarming the child. So she had sent her out with Rebel, who could be trusted both to safeguard her and reassure her.
Actually, Allele was probably as safe here as at home. When the battle started, the women would expeditiously retreat, carrying what news of it they could. Meanwhile, many of them were moving on to the army campsite, to search out their men for liaisons. Some were merely prostitutes plying their trade. This sort of thing was officially frowned on, but unofficially encouraged; it made the men feel better and distracted them from the looming horror of battle.
Keeper embraced sister and daughter as they came to him. “Glad to see you both,” he said.
“When is the battle?” Rebel asked.
“Tomorrow morning, we think. Depends when they attack. We are setting up defensive emplacements, because they outnumber us. It may get ugly. So you had better be far from here by then.”
“We will be,” Rebel agreed. “What word for home?” She was asking on behalf of Crenelle, obliquely.
“She should proceed with dispatch.” Which was his way of saying the battle was likely to be lost.
She nodded. Then she glanced at Allele. “We have delivered our water; time to go on home.”
“A www.” To the girl, this was an adventure. She knew about death, for she had seen some of the public human sacrifices, when the priests cut living human hearts out and held them high. But she had not seen the larger slaughter of war.
Keeper picked her up and kissed her. “Don’t let your mother be lonely.”
Craft approached, bearing his solid shield and bow, and with a huge claw-knife formed from a shell in reserve. Many Old Town soldiers disdained to use the bow, considering it a weapon limited to barbarians, but Craft knew better. The Toltecs had won battle after battle against the Maya because they were able to strike from much farther away than any spear-thrower could. He had argued for the use of it, and prevailed to an extent. His own bow was competent, for he had made it himself. But he was not actually a combatant, though he wore the headfeather of a lesser officer, as did Keeper. He was the supply technician, organizing the delivery and distribution of supplies, including weapons, food, and water. He looked grim. “Get the women out! Surprise attack.” Then he saw Allele, and recognized Rebel. “You especially. I think they are trying to capture women.”
No one needed to ask why. “On our way,” Rebel said, herding Allele before her.
But it was already too late. A formation of Toltecs had broken through the Xlacah line, cutting off their escape. Their painted faces made them seem even more ferocious than they probably were. Women screamed, fleeing wildly.
“It’s the water they want,” Keeper said, catching on. Water was invaluable. “Rather than women.” But they would take whatever offered.
“Both, surely,” Rebel said tersely. “I think we had better stay right here.”
“Why?” Allele asked, understanding at least part of the threat.
“Because your father and uncle can better protect us,” Rebel told her. Then, to Craft: “What do you have for me?”
Wordlessly, he handed her a large obsidian knife. The blade was of course deadly sharp.
Several other women crowded in close, coming to a similar conclusion: they would be better off with two men than alone on the path.
“Get down behind the tank,” Craft said to the women. “You too, Rebel.” He raised his bow. He was not a warrior, but he was as good with a weapon as any man, because he had to understand a weapon in order to make it.
They ducked down. Keeper moved to stand beside his brother, holding his spear. The case looked hopeless, but they would do what they could.
The Toltec warriors intercepted the fleeing women. Then it was each man for himself, dragging away the woman of his choice, or merely raping her where she was. The women screamed but offered no resistance; helplessness would get them ravished but not killed right away.
But one contingent did not break ranks. It spread out to surround the water tank. Slowly it closed in. The men held bows or spears ready, the spearmen supporting heavy shields to protect the bowmen, but neither type fired or hurled. Keeper and Craft stood similarly, weapons ready but not yet used. It was clear that the moment they acted, they would be slaughtered; there were twenty warriors in the circle. But there was a Toltec officer with them, accounting for their discipline.
A woman screamed, lurched to her feet, raised her arms high, and dropped to her knees, facing out, arching her back to make her breasts stand out. She was surrendering. Others followed. It did not matter whether they were married or single; in war a woman had only one defense, and that was appeasement. Soon all except Rebel and Allele were offering themselves.
The Toltecs stopped moving. They were of course interested, as this was a recognized part of the spoils of war. Several glanced at the officer, who averted his gaze: leave to act on their own. Then one man gestured to one of the women. She got up and went to him. He led her out of the circle. Another man gestured to another woman, and she responded similarly. Soon all five of them were gone. They would give the soldiers not passion but nonresistance, and that should be enough. They would live as long as their appeal remained, so they would try to remain appealing.
Fifteen men still closed the circle. There was no escape in any direction. They did not advance. Probably the taking of the five women was intended as a demonstration for those who remained: surrender was feasible.
“You know what to do,” Keeper said to Rebel. He kept his voice even, but he dreaded what was to happen. So suddenly, doom had come upon them.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Rebel said to the girl as she rose to her feet and lifted her knife. “Stand before me.”
Allele moved to stand before her. Rebel turned her by the shoulder, and put the deadly blade of the knife to the girl’s throat, not quite touching. The child did not flinch. They faced out toward the enemy.
Craft stood to Rebel’s right, and Keeper to her left, their weapons still poised. This was a deliberate pose, but no bluff. It was clear that the men would die fighting, while the woman would kill the girl and then herself before the enemy got them. There would be no easy takings here.
The leader of the Toltec contingent stepped forward, inside the circle, heedless of Craft’s fully drawn bow. He was of high rank, for he wore a huge headdress of brightly colored parrot feathers, and a large jade-fragment necklace. He wore a thickly quilted cotton jacket for body protection, but carried no shield. He turned his back, showing his contempt for the defenders. He was not a large man, and probably owed his rank to wealth or influence rather than ability, but he had poise. He spoke a word of command. Every bow tilted to aim at the ground, and every spear went to the ready, no longer poised for throwing or stabbing.
The leader turned around again, to face the four. He ignored the arrow point that tracked his nose. “Serve me,” he said.
The man’s authority was so clear that Keeper had to fight the urge to obey. This was the time to stand firm, however difficult that was. None of them responded or moved.
“Then go.” He signaled, and the circle opened, offering an avenue out.
They did not move. They knew that this was a trap; when their backs were turned, they would be shot down, the men at least, and woman and girl would become the unwilling playthings of the troops. If the females resisted, they would be beaten; if they bit, their teeth would be knocked out; if they scratched, their fingernails would be drawn out; and if they tried to flee, they would be hamstrung or blinded. If all else failed to make them amenable, they would be tied spread-eagled and naked in a position suitable for easy access, and a line of men would be formed to perform serial rape. Age did not matter, only gender. In war, public rape was a demonstration rather than passion, intended to destroy self image and resistance. The multiple rape of a child in front of her parent was a very effective ploy. So it would be better to cooperate—or to die first. That was why Allele had to be the first to die.
The leader signaled again. The bows and spears oriented, as one. “Yield, and you live,” he said.
Still they did not move. This was a trial, and the outcome had not been determined.
“The child can go.”
Allele shuddered, and Keeper knew that she was crying. She had been warned of the nature of war, and that it was better to die than fall into enemy hands, but she had never before experienced such a trial. Her courage was failing; her adventure had become more than unpleasant.
But she also knew that she would be helpless alone, and that there was still no guarantee. So she didn’t move, though she knew Rebel would not cut her throat if she did move in this circumstance. Not unless the Toltecs attacked.
“You will not yield,” the leader said, inviting their denial. But they were steadfast. This was not the occasion to evince any weakness at all.
The leader paced before them, seeming to be completely at ease despite the obvious threat to his life from Craft’s drawn bow. He had the nerve of one who was quite sure of his power. Yet why was he toying with them?
They waited. The second stage was coming, and this was a positive sign. Keeper had expected to die, once they were surrounded; now he had hope.
The leader stopped, facing Keeper. “Will you trade?”
Now at last it was safe to answer. The offer had improved, indicating that they had won at least a measure of respect by their solidarity. Craft released the tension on his bowstring, without lowering the bow, and the Toltec warriors did the same. Violence could still erupt quickly, but this was a signal that it probably would not.
“For what?” Keeper asked. It was his prerogative, as this was his station; he was in charge here despite being younger than his brother and sister.
“Guard mine as you do your own.”
This did not register. “Your what?”
The leader was pacing back and forth, not facing them. “My child.”
All four of them must have shown their surprise, for there was a rumble of laughter around the circle. Surprise was, however, a tolerable weakness. The Toltecs knew something they did not. Even so, they would not have laughed had they not known that their leader permitted it.
“What child?” Keeper asked.
“My motherless daughter, the age of yours. I need a home for her, and that cannot be on the battlefield.”
“For sure,” Rebel muttered.
The officer heard her, but spoke to Keeper. “She is right. Your child is here because your wife would not leave her unguarded. But I have no wife.”
Keeper realized that the man thought that Rebel was his wife, because she was the woman with the child. For the moment, that did not matter. “Hire a woman.”
“I have done so. She does not care, and will not move. In any event, she cannot provide what my daughter needs. Very few can.”
This was weird. This enemy warrior leader was talking family with him, in the guise of negotiation. “Move where?”
“To Xlacah.”
It began to register. “You are to be garrison commander?”
“When the city falls, I will be one of the administrative officials. I must be there. I want my child with me, in a family. One with courage and caring.” He paused, evidently troubled. “I am not yet ready to marry. My wife—her memory lingers. My daughter is all that remains of her. I must have her close and safe.”
“But you cannot trust an enemy!” Keeper protested.
The officer shrugged. “Your brother could have shot me at any time.”
Again they were startled. This man knew their relationship. That meant he had studied his enemy, targeting its commanders or key personnel. He had missed on Rebel, but that was understandable; he knew that Keeper was the married one. And it seemed that it had not been chance that had trapped them here.
“Your men would have killed us all,” Craft said.
“Four captives, for one officer. An even trade?”
Point made. One commander was worth a hundred lesser men. An arrow could have reached Craft before he threw a spear, but instead he carried a good bow. At this point-blank range his arrow could penetrate the body armor. Most soldiers would have made the trade. “I would have killed you, had you attacked,” Craft said.
“You would have been dead before you could strike back. You had to strike first. You knew that.”
Craft nodded, yielding that point too. The man had almost dared them to strike first, killing him, and they hadn’t done it. The man had known their nature. “This is embarrassing,” Craft said.
“Not necessarily. You also knew I had something on my mind, or I would have had you killed without pause. So you waited to discover what that was.” He glanced around. “All of you waited.”
Indeed. “Why us?” Craft asked.
“My wife was Maya. Her matrilineal clan relates to yours. My daughter needs that support.”
That explained much. The man wanted his child to have the association of her clan. Children who did not, could be cursed. Men were the leaders, but the power of the women was subtle and pervasive. Most of a girl’s education was handled by her matrilineal clan relatives, especially the aspects relating to her status and marriage. So the man had searched out those relatives, however distant, and pounced when he found them within his grasp. This encounter was no coincidence.
“For the support of your daughter,” Keeper said. “What price?”
“Safety of your household—because it would become hers. After hostilities cease.”
“Our household includes warriors.”
“Two, besides the two of you,” the officer agreed. “They too will be spared.”
“And you, sir,” Rebel said, speaking directly to the officer for the first time. She included a signal of respect for his status that Keeper had not. Now that they were negotiating, this was appropriate. “You would be there with your child.”
“When not in the field,” the officer agreed again.
“What would you expect of the women of the house?”
“Of a married woman, only meals and domestic chores.” He glanced around. “The rules of war would not apply, even for one as lovely as you.”
Meaning that sexual service was not required; he sought only compatible environment for his half-orphaned child. Considering that there would be chaos when Xlacah fell, such protection of their household would be more than welcome. Keeper glanced at Craft, then at Rebel, and then at Allele. They all understood; it was a generous offer, one that they could accept with honor. The fact that the officer evidently assumed that Rebel was Keeper’s wife hardly mattered; relatives of favored captives normally shared privileges. His military research had evidently applied to warriors, ignoring women, who were beneath notice.
“Agreed, sir,” Keeper said, setting aside his spear in a ritual token of peace. Craft set aside his bow, and Rebel put away her knife. Allele turned into her, sobbing, seeking comfort.
The circle of warriors turned their backs, signaling withdrawal of threat, and privacy for the dialogue to follow.
The officer nodded. “I am Tuho. My child is Tula, after our capital. She is unusual, as you will discover, but not difficult. You are now my guests. Your wife and child will be guided to my present home in Chichén Itzá to meet my daughter. You and your brother will acquaint me with the location and description of your home, so that I can protect it from the carnage to come.”
Keeper nodded. They had in fact surrendered, but Tuho was being careful not to use the term “prisoner.” He was guaranteeing their safety. “Agreed,” Keeper said again.
“One detail, sir,” Rebel said.
Tuho looked at her.
“I am not his wife. I am his unmarried sister. This girl is my niece.” She squeezed Allele reassuringly.
The man was clearly taken aback. “I apologize. You will of course have similar status.”
Keeper was surprised again. An officer, as a rule, did not apologize to a subordinate, and a man did not apologize to a woman. Unless he especially wanted her favor.
“Perhaps I will accept alternate status, sir, should it be proffered.”
Tuho studied her, appreciating her meaning. She turned her profile to him and inhaled. It was a gesture she had always been good at; she had as fine a profile as any woman could desire. Keeper could not remember when any man had ever turned her down. “As you choose,” he said. “It would be appreciated. Though temporary.”
“Temporary,” she agreed. She had just undertaken to become his mistress, for a while. Tuho had impressed her favorably. She would return the favor, in good measure. An affair with a ranking officer would have benefits well beyond that of mere survival, but this was more than that, because grace had already been granted. Rebel would give him passion. Now he had double incentive to see that they were treated well. Rebel normally had more than one reason for what she did.
Tuho signaled, and two men stepped forward. “Take this woman and this girl to my premises in Chichén Itzá. They will be guests there until return to their own home is feasible.” He paused. “There will be no presumption as to their status. They are mine.”
“Yes, sir.” If any man touched woman or girl, or failed to safeguard her from molestation, he would incur the wrath of his commander, surely a lethal malady. The Toltecs had already demonstrated their discipline; the order would be obeyed.
Tuho signaled again. Two more men reported. “Ascertain the details of the home residence of these men, and arrange that it and its occupants be protected from molestation. See that these men are courteously treated; they are noncombatants, though they will not be disarmed.” Which meant that they could keep their weapons. That was another generous gesture, for a man’s weapons were valuable in more than the physical sense; they lent ongoing status, particularly in an enemy camp.
“Yes, sir.” They focused on Keeper and Craft as the commander walked away.
The men guided them toward the rear of the battle area, but Keeper could see the action occurring. The surprise raid to intercept the water women had been only part of a general attack. The Xlacah troops were having the worst of it, having been caught out of position and unprepared. They would have lost anyway, being outnumbered and out-disciplined, but this was a rout. The end of Xlacah was late in coming, but certain.
Keeper and Craft gave the necessary detail, and the two Toltec soldiers departed. No one guarded the family or paid undue attention to them, though several glanced at their weapons. They were garbed as members of the Xlacah army, yet were obviously not prisoners. “It is almost as if we could just walk away,” Keeper murmured.
“We would die if we did,” Craft replied. “We are being watched. Tuho doesn’t seem to leave anything to chance.”
“A competent commander doesn’t.”
As dusk came, the battle concluded. Little quarter had been given; those Old Town soldiers who had not fled or surrendered had been slaughtered. Spear, arrow, or claw-knife—it hardly mattered as the blood flowed. Soon enough the way of it had become clear, and the surrendering had become general. Enslavement was after all better than death. High-ranking captives would be ransomed back to their families, in due course. Useful service personnel had of course been spared, such as the cooks, porters, and prostitutes. The Toltec army was set to march on Xlacah without further significant resistance.
Tuho returned. “If you will accompany me to the officers’ mess, we will talk again,” he said.
“Sir, if I may—” Keeper said.
“You may.”
“My wife will be fleeing the house, fearing that we have died and that it will be savaged.”
“A reasonable concern. But it would be difficult for you to cross the lines at this time, in order to reassure her. Our scouts pursue any strangers, and of course your own people are not necessarily friendly to any of ours caught alone.”
“I am familiar with the terrain,” Keeper said. “I could cross unobserved.”
“Yes, I suppose you could. It is my hope that your facility with natural things can be turned to our advantage, once hostilities cease.”
“I think so, then. But right now—”
“I appreciate your concern, and it is also my concern, as I want your household intact. I believe that your family is capable of providing what Tula needs. Very well; you will be released at a site of your choosing, and you and your family members will thereafter remain in your house until it has been secured. The troops will be perhaps exuberant when they first pass.”
Meaning that they would be pillaging, raping, killing, and burning, in the manner of victorious savages. This was not official policy, but the tensions of recent battle had to be released. It would definitely not be safe outside the house.
“Your brother will remain with me, to make certain of the identity of the house as we approach.”
Meaning that Craft would still be a prisoner, and would pay if there were any betrayal. Tuho was no fool, for all his indirection. He knew that they, as lesser officers, comprehended the nuances.
“Understood, sir.”
The two soldiers who had interviewed them returned to take Keeper to the edge of the Toltec boundary. He chose his place, and slipped away. The two Toltecs neither spoke nor moved; they were guarding his rear, ensuring that there would be no pursuit. Not that that mattered. He understood the way of the natural land; no one would be aware of his passage.
Well before dawn, he reached the city. It was in a nervous state despite the hour, for news of the disaster in battle had spread. Families were already moving out, bearing their meager belongings on their backs. But not many, for most had nowhere else to go.
His house was near the central plaza, with its own internal well; that was the first detail Keeper had seen to, as he had a number of unusual plants that needed extra water. It would have been a shame to have to leave it, for the plants would soon die. Now, as much by happenstance as design, he would be able to remain.
His house was large, with many chambers, for the entire double family shared it, and they were well off. Around it were a number of much smaller round and rectangular homes belonging to poor families, for the neighborhood was mixed; there was no segregation by class. So the social levels were mixed, and neighbors did their best to ignore each other when their classes differed.
He used his secret entrance, then called out softly. “Crenelle.”
She answered immediately. “Keeper! Where is Allele?”
“She and Rebel are safe. And Craft. We were taken by the Toltecs—”
“The Toltecs!”
“A surprise foray. They knew who we were. We will be protected. But we must take in boarders.”
“Boarders!”
“The commander of the Toltec expedition, and his daughter. She is Allele’s age, and needs a family.”
“And what does he need?”
“Rebel will cover it.”
Only then did she relax enough to embrace him. “Oh, Keeper, I was so worried. When Rebel and Allele didn’t come home at dusk. . .”
He held her, and kissed her, and went into more detail about the events of the day. She was of course horrified by the slaughter, but relieved that those she loved were safe. “And this child—what do you know of her?”
“Nothing, except that she lost her mother. Her father is really concerned for her. Haven can surely see to her.”
“Yes. It will be awkward having a Toltec in our house, but the child is surely a human being.”
“She surely is.” He was relieved; she was accepting it. “He suggested that this girl, Tula, is unusual, and that she has a special need, apart from the importance of association with members of her matrilineal clan.”
Crenelle was concerned. “Is she ill?”
“I don’t think so. Some special quality of character, perhaps.”
“The daughter of a high chief is apt to be imperious. This we can endure, for she brings protection to all of us.”
Keeper remained uncertain. “Would a chief notice such a quality in his child?”
“Maybe not. But whatever it is, we shall accommodate.”
He nodded. They would have to accommodate. “Now we must tell Haven.”
They did not need to wake Haven, who was completing preparations for fleeing the house; she showed up after giving them time to talk alone. Now it was her turn. She was relieved and intrigued by the news. But she had a question: “What of the temple guards?” For her husband Harbinger, and their brother Hero, were both palace guards.
Keeper shook his head. “They will be overwhelmed. The war is lost. Further fighting is pointless. We should bring them in.”
“They won’t desert their posts.”
That was a problem. “I will talk to them before they go out,” Keeper said. For the two men were at home, sleeping now; they were on the day shift.
Haven hugged him, then returned to her chamber. She had more confidence in him than he had in himself; he doubted that he could persuade his brother and brother-in-law to remain home in the palace’s hour of need.
They settled down to sleep. Keeper thought Crenelle would be too stressed for passion, but she practically climbed on him, kissing and caressing. He was in her, and climaxing, and out of her almost before he knew it. Then she was sleeping against him, as if all were well. She too evidently had more confidence in him than was warranted.
They did not sleep long, for dawn was nigh, but the brief relaxation helped. Then they ate breadnut cakes, drank deeply of their sweet spring, and waited for what would come.
Hero and Harbinger got up and dressed, preparing for duty. Keeper intercepted them. “You must not go out today.”
“Why not?” They knew, of course; Haven had acquainted them.
“The Toltec army will be investing the city today. They will slaughter all opposition. This house alone has protection.”
“We must protect the palace,” Hero said, touching his claw-knife.
“You can’t protect the palace. Their force is overwhelming, and they will destroy all opposition. You must hide here, and give loyalty to the commander when he comes here.”
Hero shook his head. “We are not ones to hide at the first sign of danger. Did you do so yesterday?”
“No.” And that finished his argument. “Then let me go with you.”
Hero considered. “How would that change anything?”
“Maybe I can still persuade you.”
Both men shrugged.
They left the house together, following one of the raised causeways that connected the main groups of buildings. The old causeways were oriented east and west, while the newer ones were at the prescribed angle determined by the priests. Craft was the one who understood such orientation. Hero and Harbinger hardly cared; they merely protected what was there. The three of them crossed the central plaza. Large platforms surrounded the main city, and the most prominent buildings were here. The temple for Itzamná was here, normally active with priests and worshipers. But this morning it was quiet.
“Where are the priests?” Harbinger asked.
“Where do you think?” Keeper responded. “They know they’ll be slaughtered, so they have gone.”
They walked on to the palace to the south. This, too, was deserted. “How can we guard it, if there’s nothing here to guard?” Harbinger asked.
“You can’t,” Keeper said. “All you can do is offer yourselves as sacrifices to the memory of the faithless priests who have fled.”
They checked the residential quarters of the priests. They were empty.
“You’re right,” Hero said. “This is pointless.”
“You can return after the Toltecs have restored city function,” Keeper suggested. “They may dedicate our temples to different gods, but at least they will be functioning, and will need guarding.”
“Let’s get away from here before they come,” Harbinger said.
Thus readily had Keeper won his point. He was relieved. If the priests had had some stamina or courage, there might have been a case, but as it was, there was indeed nothing to fight for. The priests plainly lacked the confidence in the gods that they had preached all their lives.
They hurried back to the house. They were in plenty of time; no Toltecs had shown up yet.
Keeper went back to bed; he had had little sleep the prior night. Crenelle joined him, he thought mainly as a courtesy, but then he realized that she had not slept either until he returned.
“Are you sure Allele is safe?” she asked him.
“Almost sure. A man with a lonely daughter—our household makes sense. She will not be lonely here.”
“But there is much we don’t know.”
“Of course. But it does look good.”
They slept some time, until nervousness about the situation outside rendered them unable. They got up and joined the others.
“It’s happening,” Haven said grimly. She was standing by the wall, peering out between strands of thatch that overlapped from the roof. Their house was solid stone only partway up; above it wooden supports led to the thick thatch roof. It was a good house, in a good location.
Except for one thing, now: the Toltec warriors were ravaging every house except theirs. Keeper could hear the nearest neighbor wife screaming as she got raped. He realized that she had better stop screaming soon, or she would suffer worse. Then, suddenly, she stopped—and he wasn’t sure why.
He joined Haven, peering out. He saw flames starting at the next house. Then he knew why. The soldiers normally burned a house only after they had finished with it, and if they were annoyed because it had provided too little loot or entertainment. The woman had protested too much, so they had killed her and were going on to the next. This was their way of educating citizens to the new reality.
Except for this house. No soldier approached it. No soldier wanted his beating heart to be served up as the next holiday sacrifice. Tuho was being as good as his word. But that marked their house as one specially favored by the enemy; what would it mean when things settled down, and their neighbors remembered?
But as the awful day progressed, and the fires surrounded them, he realized that this would be no problem. There would be no neighbors. Those who weren’t killed would be hauled away as slaves. His deal with Tuho had saved his family from likely extinction.
“Yet at what cost?” Haven asked, understanding his thought.
What cost, indeed! How could they take any pride in their salvation, knowing the cost to others? But the alternative would have been to have their own women raped, their men drafted into the Toltec army, their children perhaps enslaved. Unless they succeeded in escaping, as they had been planning to do. But the Toltecs controlled most of the rest of the region, so prospects would have been dim. They might have hidden until things settled down, then returned, but that had no certainty of success. So there really was no cost; they had simply found a better way to survive. Still, he felt ill.
It went on all afternoon, and into the night; the raiders simply burned houses to make light for their continued carnage. But it gradually diminished toward dawn; a man could rape only so many women before his lust lost potency, and ransack only so many houses before he tired of the sport.
Still, they did not leave the house. That would not be safe to do until Tuho gave them leave.
For three days they waited, as the fires died down. Fortunately they had supplies stored, and the water was of course no problem. They ate, and slept, and peered out, and repeated the process.
At last a party walked up to their house. Haven recognized Craft and gave a shriek of delight. She dashed out to hug him.
Keeper, more cautious, followed her out. There was Rebel, with two children. One of them was Allele, who leaped into his arms.
“That is Haven,” Rebel said, speaking to the other child. “And that is Keeper, Allele’s father.”
“Where is Commander Tuho?” Keeper asked, looking around. For the man was not there.
“He felt it would be better for Tula to meet the family on her own,” Rebel explained.
“Also, he’s a very busy man at the moment,” Craft added. “Collecting the scattered troops, assigning them occupation quarters, organizing food and refuse missions.”
Now came the key introduction: Tula to Crenelle. Tula was a well-dressed girl, with valuable jade stones at her throat, and a fancy shell comb in her hair. Her gaze was clear, her little chin high, and her mouth was firm. She looked very much like the child of a chief.
Crenelle emerged from the house, smiling, but the girl, suddenly shy, clung to Rebel, the more familiar figure.
Crenelle backed off. “There is no need to hurry things,” she said. But Keeper suspected she was hurt. Fortunately Allele took up the slack by hugging her.
They entered the house. They had prepared a chamber for Tuho, and made room for Tula by Allele’s place, by Crenelle’s bed. But they could be flexible.
As it turned out, they did need to be. Tula had known Rebel several days before she met Crenelle, and she wanted to stay with Rebel. Rebel, flattered, was not averse; she had no child of her own, and could have none. So Tula stayed with her for the night.
Next day Tula played with Allele, but was also interested in what the adults were doing. It was clear that she missed the family life she had lost when her mother died, and liked the returning feeling of it. But it was Rebel’s chamber she shared.
The following morning Craft was home. Tula joined him; he, too, was more familiar, having traveled with her. She asked him questions about his work, and seemed interested in the answers. “She is a bright child,” Craft confided to Keeper. “I saw that as we traveled. But there’s something else about her.”
“She seems normal, for a chief’s daughter,” Keeper said.
“She isn’t. But I’m not sure how she differs.”
In the afternoon, Craft went out. Now Tula oriented on Crenelle, as Keeper learned later from her. “She apologized for avoiding me, when we first met,” Crenelle said, amazed. “She said the journey had made her tired and cross.”
Keeper smiled. “That sounds like a rehearsed excuse.”
“She seemed sincere. She stayed with me, and was interested in cooking and the washing.”
“Maybe she hasn’t seen much of those, being without a mother, so finds them intriguing.”
“No, she has seen slaves do it. She even helped me.” She smiled. “That made Allele jealous, so she helped too. Then they both went off to play.”
“Normal children after all.”
“I don’t think so. It was almost as if Tula was humoring Allele, and when she saw her annoyed, catering to her.”
“That’s adult manipulation,” Keeper said. “How could a child do it?”
“Tula is remarkably adult, in some ways. It’s eerie.” She paused, reconsidering. “But charming. I do like her.”
Two days later, Tuho arrived. Tula hugged him and clung close. Soon she was showing him the house. She had learned a surprising amount about the house and its operations. She was plainly a very bright, attentive girl.
When Rebel joined the Toltec officer, Tula remained; it seemed she understood their relationship, and wanted to be part of it, in her way.
“I said there was something different about that child,” Craft remarked privately. “I think I underestimated the case.”
“Her father loved her mother,” Haven murmured. “She likes the ambiance.”
“But Rebel’s his mistress, not his wife,” Keeper protested.
“The child may not be clear on the distinction. Sex, love, family—all allied.”
“And she already likes Rebel,” Keeper agreed. “And Rebel likes her.”
“This may become more than an affair,” Craft pointed out.
“More,” Keeper agreed, surprised.
“But I like Tula,” Haven said. “She is like a daughter to me.”
“How does your son Risk feel about that?” Craft asked her.
“He likes her too. She is like a little sister to him. She flatters him, and he blushes.” Haven frowned. “She’s as good at impressing a man as Rebel is, in her fashion.”
“And impressing a woman,” Craft said.
Haven nodded. “Rebel, Crenelle, me—we all find her charming. But I think Allele is becoming wary of her.”
“Tula is taking my daughter’s place as the girl of the family,” Keeper said. “Some resentment is natural. I’ll give Allele some time.”
“And listen to her,” Craft said. “Maybe she has fathomed the nature of the strangeness.”
Keeper doubted it, but he did talk to his daughter. “Tula is new here, and so is interesting, but we have not forgotten you.”
“She’s strange,” Allele said. “I don’t understand her.”
“She is the daughter of a high officer, and has no mother to mitigate his influence. So maybe she resembles a leader of men. But we must bear with her, for the safety of our family.”
Allele laughed. “You think I’m jealous!”
Keeper gave her a careful rueful look, for it was indeed what he thought. “You’re not?”
“No. She’s not trying to take my place; she wants to be my sister. I like her.”
“But you think she’s strange.”
“Yes. She’s not like me.”
“Maybe that’s just as well,” he said, hugging her.
There were other surprises. The two girls exchanged information, and Tuho approached Keeper. “We need the water secured for the continuing population. Some of the wells have been fouled.”
“I will attend to it,” Keeper agreed. “Craft will help me clean them out.”
“Yes. Tula wishes to accompany you.”
Keeper was taken aback. If the commander wanted his daughter to go out in the city with two men, it would have to be done, but it did not seem wise. “Sir, this may be ugly work. Some of those wells are clogged with bodies.”
“She understands that. But if her presence makes you uncomfortable, there is no requirement. Your house has been good for her already.”
No requirement—but not one to be lightly declined. “If she understands—”
“I will detail a slave to assist your work.”
So Keeper and Craft went out to secure the water supply, and Tula went with them. The slave was named Kettle, and he answered to her; he was evidently trusted. He never spoke; he was, it seemed, mute, but he responded well in action. He had scars of the type obtained in war; perhaps he was a captive from a prior campaign. Slaves who could be trusted could be well treated, and given considerable responsibility.
They made a tour of the closest wells. The first was a crevice in the stone that dripped water from its sides, forming a pool in the base. It contained ashes and rubbish; the Toltec takeover had spread considerable debris. Keeper and Craft used a fine net to seine the water, clearing what they could.
“Why?” Tula inquired, interested.
“People must drink this water,” Keeper explained, in the same manner he would have to his own daughter. “It needs to be clean.”
Her face brightened, as if this were a wonderful discovery. Keeper felt a foolish thrill; it was nice to have his explanation appreciated. He reminded himself that she was this way with everyone, and wondered again where her true interest lay.
“Time and the spirits will make it pure,” Craft remarked.
As they walked between wells, Tula addressed Craft. “What are Maya time and spirits?”
She was Toltec, and their concepts did not match. “This is complicated,” Craft demurred.
“Make it simple.”
Keeper had to smile, privately. This girl would not be diverted from her passing interest.
Craft tried. “Time is measurable, directional, and cyclical.” He paused, realizing that this had to be way beyond the comprehension of a seven-year-old child. “You see how the days pass, and the seasons, and the years. In the old days we had an intricate calendar based on interacting cycles of set length.” He paused again. “You know how there are special days, and holy days, and celebrations?” The girl nodded; those were things she understood. “We had a ritual almanac that counted off months of thirteen days, and twenty months, making a cycle of 260 days. But we also had a solar calendar of eighteen months of twenty days each, with five days added at the end, making a cycle of 365 days.”
“Which is the right one?” she asked alertly.
“Both. They are just different systems. The way each child has a father and a mother; the two are different, yet they interact.” He paused again, evidently realizing that this was a cruel analogy for a child without a mother. “I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” Tula said sharply. “I had a mother. Now I need another.”
“Yes. Now—”
“Why do you say you had these calendars? What happened to them?”
Keeper kept his face straight. The child was paying attention.
Craft took it in stride. “The calendars remain, but we have lost much of the use of them. Time and space are inseparable; the heavens and the underworld are bound together with the physical realm we know. Time is intricately linked with direction, and each major direction has its own color and tree, supporting the heavens. Our buildings were oriented with space and time in mind. But after the drought, a century ago, many cities lost the way, and so did our Xlacah. Our newer buildings are oriented at a different angle, and the old wisdom seems no longer to apply. I regret this; I believe the old system was the finest we could have.”
“A father and a mother,” she agreed.
“Yes. The beauty of it was the way the two calendars interacted. They were juxtaposed—” He paused, searching for a simpler term. “They were compared, and they matched every fifty-two years. That was the Calendar Round, a special cycle. Then the Long Count recorded the Great Cycle, to set events absolutely in time, even thousands of years.”
“Is that how long it will take to make the well water pure?”
Craft laughed. “Not quite that long, I think.”
“And what of the spirits?”
“Keeper can explain that better. He is the one in tune with the spirits.”
But they were coming to a well, and had to break off, to Keeper’s relief. Did the child really understand these complex concepts? If not, why did she pursue them so diligently?
The next two wells were clean. But the fourth was bad: there was a body in it. An old woman, who must have tried to resist the intruders, and been deemed unworthy of rape; it looked as if she had been bashed on the head and thrown here. Her head was facedown in the water, the gory back of her head showing. Her feet were out of the pool on the other side.
They assessed the best way to pull her out. She was fairly solid; both of them would have to haul, and she would drag.
“Maybe you should wait over there,” Keeper suggested to the child, not wanting her to see the detail too clearly.
“But we can help,” she protested.
“I don’t think—”
“Kettle!” she called.
The slave stepped forward. He was a solid man, well muscled. He took hold of the feet and hauled. The body lurched as if alive. He braced and hauled again, dragging the head through the water.
Keeper and Craft jumped to catch hold of her flopping arms, adding their power to that of the slave. In a moment they had dragged her unceremoniously to a dry-land hollow some distance from the water.
“We had better bury her,” Keeper said. “So she won’t stink.”
Kettle used his hands to scrape dirt over the body. This wasn’t fast or elegant, but it was getting the job done. The slave did not seem to be bright, but he was a hard worker. Craft used his shell-claw to break the ground, freeing more dirt.
Keeper returned to the well. Tula was trying to use the seine on it, but lacked the size and reach to be effective. She was frustrated, and wore a villainous expression—which faded like morning mist the moment she spied Keeper. “Let me help you,” Keeper said, catching hold of an end. She smiled up at him, agreeing.
They passed the net through the water, fetching out twigs and grass. But it remained cloudy. “I don’t want to drink it,” the girl said, wrinkling her nose.
“After a while, the water will clear,” he explained. “It keeps flowing through, carrying the bad things away. Then people can drink it again.”
“Oh, good.” But her enthusiasm seemed less than complete. Keeper was privately glad to see her reacting normally. Then she reverted to her inquiring mode. “What of the spirits?”
“The Mayan gods appear in a host of guises and under many different names,” he explained. “Most gods have a different aspect associated with each direction. Each also has contradictory traits, such as male and female, old and young, or good and evil. They guide the growing plants, and the stars in the sky, and the lives of mortal folk like us. For example, there is the Sun, who is bright in the sky by day, and by night rules the underworld as the Jaguar God. There is the Moon, also called Lady Rainbow, who presides over weaving, divination, childbirth, and medicine.”
“Yes!” she agreed. “I want to know all about her.”
He continued his explanations, and she seemed to understand, which was gratifying.
When they returned to the house, after clearing several wells, Keeper made it a point to compliment the child’s efforts. “She really helped,” he concluded. It was true, though most of it was because of the stout work of the slave, Kettle, there because of her.
After that, Tula went with him when he went out to work, accompanied by the slave. When she tired, or the pace was too fast for her, Kettle simply picked her up and carried her. The man never spoke, but it was clear that he, too, liked the child, and was glad to help her in any way.
One day they passed a field of maize. The plants were growing well, but were drying out. “I think the farmer is gone,” Keeper said. “We should find someone to tend this garden, so the crop won’t be lost.”
“Why?” Tula asked.
“Because food is scarce, after the recent trouble. We need to salvage all we can. Soon these ears of maize will ripen, and then they will feed many people. If the plants get water.” He looked around, and spied a bucket made from a large gourd. This was a dry patch; the farmer must have watered it frequently. “I see there’s a well; maybe we can fetch some water.”
Kettle went to the bucket, and took it to the well. He dipped it full, and carried it back to the garden. Keeper found another gourd, and Tula found a small one. She never shirked her share. The three of them carried water to splash on the garden until it was well soaked.
Keeper was getting to like the little girl despite his wariness about her motives. She was bright, and she liked to help. The slave, reflecting her wishes, was quite useful too. When they returned to the house, he let the others know.
“Wait till you learn what your daughter has been doing,” Haven said.
“Allele?”
“She went out with Tuho. She has gotten interested in military things.”
It was true. Tula was interested in nature, and avidly absorbed anything Keeper told her. Allele, impressed with the Toltec military formations, was similarly interested in the things Tuho had to tell her. “We seem to have exchanged children,” Tuho remarked half ruefully.
“The attention of children is brief,” Keeper said. “They will lose interest soon enough.”
“Tula will not. But Allele—I think she views me as an emissary from the Death God, because of the scene on the battlefield. But I would never hurt a child.”
“We did not know you then. Rebel would have killed her.”
“And I respect Rebel for that. I would expect her to do the same for Tula, given a similar situation. But I want never to see that situation.”
“Agreed, sir!” Then, venturing what might be a delicate matter: “Your daughter is special, but I don’t think I quite understand her.”
“I hardly understand her myself. She has a will of obsidian, but she masks it. Yet I am sure she likes your household, and wishes it no ill.”
“She has impressed us all. Yet at times she hardly seems like a child.”
“I think her loss of family toughened her. She didn’t cry when her mother died, though I know she cared greatly. She has always been attentive to me, as if I am the one who needs care. That is why I wanted her in a complete, functional family: to learn the ways of it. Your family has exceeded my expectation in that respect; Tula is thriving.”
“Yet in due course you will be moving on to another station. Then she will have to leave this family.”
“This is a concern. But right now, it is well.”
Allele did lose interest, and returned to her usual pursuits around the house and garden. But Tula did not. She stayed close to Rebel in the evening, and to Keeper in the daytime, being pleasant to the others but not devoted. At first this seemed natural, because her father was out most of the day, and she seemed uninterested in childish things; she wanted to be with a man.
“You are a father,” Haven said. “When she’s not with her own, she wants to be with another proven father.”
“What of Harbinger?”
“You are the father of a girl like her.”
Oh. At any rate, when Keeper went out, Tula always wanted to go with him, and usually she could, because his tasks were routine, not dangerous. The slave always came, and it was apparent that Kettle could and would protect her if so required. But apart from that, it was as if the slave did not exist; he was part of the background.
Tula eagerly listened to all that Keeper had to say about the growing for maize, beans, squash, peppers and other staples, and how water was vital to them all. “Drought is the terror,” he explained. “Drought can destroy crops, and people too, for we can’t live if we can’t eat.”
“Yes!” she agreed warmly. “The Old City survives because it has water.”
“To a degree,” he agreed.
“Why?” She meant that she wanted further explanation.
“Let me show you.” They went to the central plaza, where the huge Ceremonies Complex dominated the landscape. The platform rose in three sloping terraces to four times the height of a tall man. The building on it was over a hundred paces long, with three huge vaulted chambers, and thirty-five doors facing north.
But people were living in those chambers now. “This is desecration,” Keeper said. “Since the priests left, there is no one to enforce the sacred strictures, and refugees from the drought-struck region are taking up residence. See how little they care for it. There is garbage on the floor.”
“Why did the priests go?”
“The city is under new administration. New people, who don’t want the old ways followed.”
He was afraid she would ask more specific questions, but perhaps she understood enough not to. Instead she changed the subject. “Promise me to answer.”
“I always answer to the best of my ability.”
Her gaze flashed. For a moment she looked like what she would one day become: a ranking Toltec woman. “Promise.”
Keeper glanced at Kettle, uncertain what this meant, but there was no answer there. “I promise.”
“Why did Rebel want to kill Allele?”
She had heard about the scene on the battlefield, when Rebel had held a knife to Allele’s throat. Allele must have told her. “Rebel would never hurt Allele,” he temporized.
She brushed this away like so much chaff. “You promised!”
So he had, and she would not be denied. “It is not good for a woman or a girl to be caught by enemy troops. It is better for her to die.”
“Why?”
She wanted to know the detail. “This would be better for your father to explain.”
“He won’t.”
So Tuho did deny his daughter in this respect. “That is because he doesn’t want to hurt you.”
“You promised!”
“I don’t want to hurt you either.”
“You told Rebel to do it! To kill her! Why?”
She would brook no evasion. She did indeed have a will of obsidian. “The soldiers would hurt a woman—or a girl—so bad, it’s better for them to die first. Rebel would have killed Allele, and then herself, before the soldiers reached them. So they couldn’t be hurt.”
She pondered that. “You wanted it?”
“No. But I love them. I would rather see them dead, than tortured.”
“But my father wasn’t going to do that. He wanted me to live with you.”
“We didn’t know that, at the time.”
“He said you have courage and honor.”
“We did what we had to do.”
“Yes.”
“But I’m glad it turned out as it did. It is better for all of us.”
“Yes.”
She let the subject drop at last, but Keeper was left uneasy. The child had something on her mind, and he wasn’t sure what it was.
Meanwhile, Rebel had a problem. She caught Keeper alone to discuss it. “I have talked with the others, and they don’t know what to do. Maybe you do.”
“Do? About what?”
“I think I am falling in love.”
“With Tuho? That’s not a problem.”
“With Tula.”
He stared at her. “I don’t understand.”
“I can never have a daughter of my own. Tula—she is such a darling. She wants me to marry her father.”
“But it was agreed to be a temporary affair.”
“Yes. When he goes to a new station, I will remain here.”
“And be with Tula no more,” he said, realizing the source of her distress. That much he could comprehend; he had felt the child’s force of personality himself. He was coming to love Tula too, despite already having a wonderful daughter.
“Yes. I dread it.”
“But you can marry him. You can make any man marry you, if you choose.”
“Yes, but would it be right? To marry him for his child? So I could feel like a mother?”
Keeper considered. “Do you dislike him?”
“Oh, no, I like him. He’s a good man. I could surely love him, if I let myself.”
“Then why not let yourself?”
“Because the motive is wrong. It’s the wrong reason.”
He saw her point. Love with an unethical base was not wise. “Yet if it seems best, overall—”
“And Tula may not love me.”
“But she does! She stays with you every night, instead of with Allele.”
She shook her head. “She wants to make sure I marry her father. That’s not the same thing.”
“How can it not be?”
“I don’t know. But it’s not.”
His sister shared the ambiguity they all did. Tula was wonderful, yet mysterious. None of them knew what was truly in her mind. “How can a child be planning something we don’t understand?”
“I don’t know. But I’m not easy.”
That, added to his own doubt, made Keeper uneasy too. So next day he braced Tula. “What do you want with my sister Rebel?”
There was no evasion. “I want her to marry my father and make him happy.”
“So you can have a mother?”
“No.”
He was startled. “Then why?”
“A father.”
“But you have a father!”
“Not like you.”
“But—Rebel is my sister. She. . . I. . .” This was all confusing.
“Hug me,” she said.
He glanced at Kettle, but the slave was as usual unresponsive. However, Keeper had learned to read him somewhat. If the man saw any threat to the girl, he acted. Had he seen a threat in such an action, he would have tensed. He was a slave, but no one would be wise to try to balk his protection of the child.
So Keeper kneeled and put his arms around Tula, hugging her. She hugged him back with an ardor almost like that of a woman. “I love you.”
What did she mean by that? He tried to disengage, but she clung. “I want you to be my father.”
That was too much of an answer. “But that can’t be,” he protested. “Tuho is your father.”
“He doesn’t have time for me.”
And Keeper did. He was beginning to see that he had made a mistake. But he needed to know the whole of it. “I thought you were interested in water, in nature, as I am.”
“Yes. Anything you do.”
“Your father—Commander Tuho—is an important man. He must do his job, every day. He loves you, but can’t be with you all the time. He brought you here so we could provide you with what you lacked.”
“Yes. A family. I want it.”
He was still floundering. “But you can have a family, if Rebel marries your father.”
“Yes. I can be with you.”
“I mean that Rebel can be your mother. She loves you.”
“She is for my father.”
“I don’t understand.” It was something of an understatement. “He needs a woman in his life,” she explained patiently. “When he has Rebel, he won’t need me. I can be with you.”
Her notion was coming clear at last. Tula wanted to provide for her father, so she could be free. She had been alienated by circumstance. Perhaps her mother, dying of disease, had told the child that she would have to take care of her father. Tula had taken it literally, and made an awesomely rational plan to fulfill the obligation. And to recover for herself what she most missed: a functioning family.
“What do you think your present father thinks of this?” he asked. “He likes Rebel. A lot. She’s very good for him. She’s tough and she’s pretty. When he saw her ready to kill Allele, he knew he liked her. She’s very good at sex too. He’ll be happy with her.”
She had it all figured out. He tried another tack. “I already have a daughter.”
“Yes. Allele. She’s nice. I’ll be her sister. The way Rebel’s your sister. We’ll stand by each other forever. A good family.”
This was ridiculous, yet there was logic in it. He would not mind having a daughter like this, with no disparagement of Allele. But it could hardly be that simple.
“I am not sure about this,” he said. “I will have to talk with Commander Tuho.”
“Yes.”
Their dialogue was done. He disengaged and glanced again at the slave. There was a trace of a smile on the man’s face. What did it mean?
Tuho was away that day, but Keeper caught him next morning. “Sir, I need to say something.”
“By all means.”
“I fear you will not like it.”
Tuho smiled. “Is my daughter becoming too much of a burden?”
“Not exactly. We get along well. Too well, perhaps.”
Now Tuho frowned. “Be specific.”
“Tula wants to join my family.”
“She likes Rebel. So do I. Our arrangement is temporary, by mutual agreement, but I think I would like to make it permanent.”
“To marry her?”
“Yes. That would make my daughter happy. In that way she can join your family.”
“It is not that simple, sir. Tula wants to—to exchange Rebel for herself. To have Rebel join you, and Tula join us.”
Anger showed. “How dare you presume!”
“I don’t presume, sir. It was a surprise to me. I tried to explain, but she has her own mind. She—she doesn’t seem to see you as a family. She wants ours. I thought you should know.”
“If this is true, I shall have to take her away from here.”
“I think so, sir. You wanted her to be with a good family. She wanted it too, too literally. We do like her; we all do. We would love to have her with us. But we never meant to take her from you.”
Tuho nodded, making a key decision quickly, as a good commander did. “Will Rebel go with us?”
“Yes, I think so. We like Tula, Rebel loves her. She can’t bear a child of her own.”
“Arrange a meeting of the family, and we will settle this today.”
“All of us? Surely a private dialogue would—”
“It must be accomplished openly, so my daughter understands.” Keeper nodded. “Perhaps so, sir. But this may not be easy.”
“True.”
It wasn’t easy. Tuho spoke directly and plainly: “I must seek other quarters. My child and I will depart shortly. We—”
“No!” Tula cried, stricken.
He glanced down at her. “What is your concern?”
Tula knew better than to defy her father openly. Her plan was now transparent, but she did her best. “You must marry Rebel, and she will go with you.”
“I would like that.” He glanced at Rebel. “Will you accede to marriage, and to be this child’s mother?”
Rebel was taken aback by the directness of the proposal. “I’m not sure this is wise.”
“I do want you,” Tuho said earnestly. “You are the best woman I have encountered, since my wife. Do you object to me as a husband?”
“No. But—”
“Do you dislike Tula?”
“No!”
“Then it seems sufficient. Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she agreed uncertainly.
“And I will stay here,” Tula said, clapping her hands.
“No,” Tuho said firmly. “You will come with us.”
“But you have Rebel. You don’t need me anymore.”
He did not try to refute the girl’s logic. “I need you both.”
“But I need a family!”
“We will be your family,” Rebel said. “I love you, Tula.”
“But I love this family. Will you stay here?”
Rebel looked at Tuho. He shook his head. “No. We will go.”
“Then I will stay here. With Keeper. And Craft.”
Keeper closed his eyes. He couldn’t respond.
Craft, similarly disturbed, did. “Sometimes two families intermarry, and stay together. Haven married Harbinger, and Keeper married Crenelle. But none of us are high officers like your father, Tula. He has responsibilities that take him many places. He is your blood father, and you must be with him.”
“But I am giving him Rebel!”
Rebel spoke. “I think I can’t marry you, Tuho.”
“But you must!” the child cried.
Now Rebel did what she never did: she wept.
Tula turned to Keeper. “Why?”
This he could answer. “Rebel loves you, Tula. She wants to be with you, and be your mother. But if she marries your father, and you stay with us, she can’t be with you. Your father loves you too, and if he marries Rebel, you say he can’t be with you. So though they like each other, and want to marry each other, they can’t, because they would be losing you. Unless you go with them.”
“But I want to be with you,” Tula said to Keeper. “Don’t you want to be with me?”
How could he explain in a way the child would understand or accept? “Yes, I want to be with you, and have you for another daughter. But sometimes we must do things we don’t like. Remember when Rebel was going to kill Allele?” Allele, sitting with Crenelle, flinched; she didn’t like that memory. “She was ready to do it, because otherwise it could be worse.”
Tula nodded. “Yes.”
“Now Rebel is ready to give up your father, though she wants to marry him, because otherwise it will be worse.”
“But you will not torture me.”
“If I took you, it would torture your father. He needs you, Tula.”
“But if he has Rebel—”
“He needs you more than he needs Rebel. You are all that remains of your mother.” He paused, then tried another aspect. “Our cultures differ. We are Maya; you are Toltec. When we marry, the new couple spends seven years living with the bride’s clan, paying off the debt to the bride’s family. Then they move to the husband’s family, or establish their own household. This is not the Toltec way, and your father is not able to do such a thing. We understand that, and Rebel is willing to forgo the way of our culture. But only if she can be with you; otherwise the sacrifice is too great. It would be similarly difficult for your father. Without you, it would not work well.”
The child considered. She understood the importance of herself, though perhaps not in the way the adults did. She was accustomed to being the center of attention wherever she was—except when with her father. For a moment Keeper hoped she would yield to the ideal compromise, and agree to stay with Tuho and Rebel. But then she sighed, and walked back to her father. She had lost her ploy, but she wouldn’t compromise. She was a warrior’s child. She would leave without Rebel, rather than accept what she believed was the wrong family.
Beside her father, she turned. “This isn’t over,” she said grimly.
Keeper hoped she was right. But she was the one who would have to compromise.
The neglect of the temples and public buildings continued for centuries, and Xlacah decreased in size and importance. The squatters lived there for generations, leaving trash middens on the floors as deep as four feet. Yet the city was not dead; new buildings were constructed, and old ones renovated. One existing structure became the Temple of The Seven Dolls, but it’s not clear what the purpose of the dolls was.
The Toltecs ruled for another two centuries, but then abandoned their Yucatan capital of Chichén Itzá. The Maya regained their power in the region, but lacked political unity.