Does Disaster Come

8/9/2019 Does Disaster Come

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Toney / DOES DISASTER COME / 1

The Goddess Ix Taleth

By Her wisdom She wounds

And by Her insight She makes well

By Her knowledge She kills

And by Her judgment She makes alive

And when She determines to act, who can reverse it?

For does disaster come upon a city

Unless She commands it?

Is it not from the mouth of the Goddess

That both good and evil come?

-- The Atiz Xilaque


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CHAPTER ONE

My feet pad quietly across the damp earth. In the distance

a black ridge looms, a dark shadow rising up to meet the dusky

sky. Mist rolls across the jungle floor.

When I arrive at the ridge, I look up its sheer face and

see only shadows, cast by the faint glow of the first stars. I

place my foot on a ledge near the base of the crag, and then

reach up with my right hand, my fingers grasping for a crack in

the rocks. When I reach the summit, I throw my arm over the

ledge and claw at the dirt. I pull myself over the precipice and

rest on my stomach, listening to the sound of pebbles as they

skitter back down the cliff face.

I have climbed this ridge many times before, and marked one

of the trees that grows here with a deep indigo dye. I have done

this to remind myself that the highest branch of that tree


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cradles a cualaraan , the fragile flower with long stems and

purple petals. Concealed beneath these petals are three green

trumpets dusted with vibrant orange ixi . This rarest of spices,

served at only the richest of tables, is what I have run so far

to find.

When I come upon the tree with a blue line drawn across its

roots, I swing myself into its low branches. I climb hand over

hand until I reach the top of the tree, where my head brushes

the underside of the jungle canopy. Just in front of me I see

the form of the cualaraan . But when I look closer, squinting in

the dimming light, I find that its leaves are a brittle brown,

and that its petals have become splintery and translucent, like

the wings of the noctlatl . I curse under my breath. I have

wasted hours in pursuit of mulch.

When my anger subsides, I place my foot where the cualaraan

once stood and push my head up through the ceiling of leaves.

Beneath me, the green canopy rolls in every direction, broken

only by the jagged spine of the mountains and lit by the silver

sliver of the moon. On many of the distant peaks, I can make out

small embers of light, the torches of far-flung settlements. I

know that the people who live there are coming in from their

fields now, to the fires that burn outside of their tents. They

are whispering to their wives, they are worrying about the


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view. Along the tops of those walls, torches glow, one for each

guard that walks along the barrier's high edge. If I return too

long past sunset, the guards will prevent me from entering by

the small gate on the eastern side of the city. If I am turned

away, I will have to sleep in the branches of a tree, and my

master Omotac will beat me with a rod when he rises in the

morning. So I must make haste.

As I descend through the branches, I hear my stomach

rumble. Because I will have no ixi to bring to him today, Omotac

will probably not allow me any food tonight. He believes that I

search harder, and roam deeper into the jungle in search of the

ixi , when I am hungry. And he is right.

After climbing down the steep rocks, I run along the narrow

path that leads back to the city. For many minutes, I hear no

sound but the leaves crunching under my feet and the sound of my

breath coming out in even huffs. There are only two things at

which I excel, and no more. I can run as quickly as the black

icualtapan , and I can climb as high as the trees will carry me.

I do not grow tired, and I do not fall.

After some time, I see the walls of Quixalcala looming

close. I have been blessed with good fortune, for the small gate

stands open. A careful guard would have closed and bolted the

door some time ago, but the Malacotan guards are too lazy to be


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careful. With the gate in sight I pick up speed, determined to

pass through its stone archway before the guard awakens from his

fitful slumber. I am almost upon the gate when I hear a scream

sail through the night like a lighted arrow.

I stop cold in my tracks. My mind urges me to press on

toward the small gate. I have always taken care not to entangle

myself in the affairs of others, whether lahuata or Malacotan.

This brings too much trouble. But the sound of the scream is

high-pitched, frantic, and stifled before it is finished. It is

the sound a young girl makes, when an man is menacing her. It is

a sound I have heard too often.

I run into the dark brush of the jungle, my eyes scanning

for movement. I hear a crashing sound in the distance, and run

toward it. Branches tear at my clothes, but I push them aside,

hurtling faster and faster down the slope of the mountain. When

I hear the scream a second time, I realize that I am almost upon

the girl. I whip my head around, and find a pale, round face

staring up at me through the leaves.

Before me stands my master Omotac, holding in one hand an

iron spear. In his other hand, he clutches the outer garment of

a lahuata girl. On the ground in front of him lies the girl

herself, who is called Itchipa. She is owned by a weaver of blue

cloth, and though I have seen her in the marketplace before, I


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have never spoken to her. She lies on the jungle floor with her

eyes wide, and her black hair fanned out behind her head like a

frightened jungle bird.

Her linen dress is pulled up around her waist.

###

Standing on the high terrace, I shake the dust out of my

straw broom. My arms are stiff from days of sweeping, but

already I am stronger than when I first arrived in Quixalcala.

My legs have grown longer and leaner and the backs of my

shoulders have grown firm. I have not cut my thick black hair,

which now hangs in a smooth curtain down to my breasts. My dark

eyes were once set into a soft, round face, but yesterday, when

I caught a glimpse of my reflection, I found them flashing above

flat, angular cheekbones. I am older now.

I have grown used to many things since I came here, but the

Malacotan tongue is still strange to me. It is almost as though

every word has been stuck through with pins, so that when I

speak, the words scratch at the roof of my mouth. Still, with

the help of Nochtli I am now able to understand the commands of

our master without the need for translation. This is both a

blessing and a curse.


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I turn around when I hear a thudding sound on the stairs.

The door opens and Nochtli appears. Her shoulders are wider even

than Omotac's, and she stands a head taller than any of the

Malacotan men. She crops her black hair at her chin and her

dresses at her knee, leaving her thick calves exposed. She is

only a few years older than I am, but has lived in Quixalcala

much longer. When Nochtli finishes her work in the kitchen,

where she grinds maize into flour, and bakes the flour into

quitona , she comes often to speak to me.

I watch as she plods across the room. As she approaches me,

Nochtli picks up a small box with golden shapes swirling across

its top. I have just finished polishing its surface, and have

now turned my attention to the dust that powders a jar painted

in bright colors.

"I see that your cleaning has improved, Marani," Nochtli

observes.

"I have always been a cleaner of utmost thoroughness."

"Was it not only two weeks ago that you neglected to

polish--"

"But I did not neglect to polish anything! I only--"

"When a lahuata forgets to polish the ceremonial shield of

her master--"

"You arrived too quickly, and did not offer me the chance


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to--"

"You should be glad that I passed by, and saw the grime

that covered--"

"I am always glad when you pass by," I tell Nochtli,

grudgingly. "But I wish that you would cease your assessments of

my work."

"You do?" she asks, skeptically.

"Of course I do."

"Perhaps in the future I will," Nochtli says, feigning

haughtiness.

"I doubt that very much."

Nochtli walks across the room and sits in a chair beside

me, which seems smaller now that it holds her enormous frame.

Nochtli wears a mischievous look on her face, which tells me she

did not come to discuss the brass shield of Omotac.

"I see that you have something to say?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that your face tells me you have news to convey."

"Does it?" Nochtli asks, pretending ignorance. "That is an

unusually keen observation, Marani, for I do have a report. Have

I told you whom I came across at the mill?"

"What were you doing at the mill?" I ask.

"I was there on the orders of Omotac, inquiring about a


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larger millstone."

"Did you obtain it?"

"That is beside the point."

"Then what is the point?"

"Nocohua," Nochtli says, a smile spreading slowly across

her face. "Nocohua is the point. And today he spoke to me. He

did not expect to find me at the mill, and so when my shadow

crossed his path, and he turned to see who stood behind him, he

cried out in surprise!"

"He did?"

"He did!"

"So . . . what did he say?"

"What do you mean?" Nochtli asks, genuine confusion

crossing her face.

"You said that he spoke to you," I remind her.

"He did," she repeats. "And I related that he cried out in

surprise."

"That is not exactly . . . what is the word I am looking

for? . . . courtship."

"But he noticed me! You have no idea how hard I have

worked, trying to catch the eye of Nocohua."

"I am glad he noticed you," I concede. "Perhaps if you leap

out at him in the marketplace, he will propose marriage."


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"Your plan is a good one. But if I am to frighten him by--"

Nochtli stops short when she hears the door swing open

behind her. She stands quickly, stepping away from the chair. In

the doorway stands Omotac, his large, round face red with anger.

"From the corridor I distinctly heard," he says, stepping

softly into the room, "the sound of my knife being drawn from

its scabbard."

In my left hand I hold the small brass knife. Beside my

elbow sits an earthen tub of polish, and from my right hangs a

tattered rag. I had been so busy talking to Nochtli, I did not

even realize that I had taken up the knife. Nochtli has warned

me many times about the dangers of touching the blades of the

Malacotan, even to clean them. It is strictly forbidden. I do

not know how it came into my hands. My only hope is to pretend

ignorance, and hope that Omotac is merciful.

"Yes," I answer, hesitantly. "I was polishing the knife

according to your command."

"Nochtli," Omotac says, his eyes focused on mine. "Please

leave us."

"But Most Gracious Omotac," Nochtli pleads, "the fault was

mine, for--"

"Nochtli!" he barks.

Silently, Nochtli exits the room, and descends the stairs.


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I listen closely for the sound of her feet falling, and can tell

that she did not reach the bottom of the stairwell. I know that

she is waiting in the darkened corridor, listening. Nochtli

never leaves me alone with Omotac.

"You have now violated the law of the gods, Marani. Did you

know that?"

"I did not know," I tell him earnestly. "Please, allow me

to correct my mistake."

"It is too late. No lahuata is permitted to lay hands on a

blade. Not for any reason. And when she does so in the presence

of a Malacotan, the gods consider this an assault against the

Malacotan, himself."

"I am sorry," I tell him. "I am sorry. I did not know!"

"Do you know what the punishment is, Marani? For such

lawlessness?"

"Please, Most Gracious Omotac. I did not know!"

"The priests will place your head on a block," he says,

"and then sever it with an axe. There is much blood."

"Do not tell the priests," I beg him. "Please, do not tell

them!"

"I am sure that I could keep my mouth shut," Omotac says,

towering over me. "If you would give me a reason for my

silence."


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###

I lunge at Omotac, wrapping my hands around his neck. I

have waited too long to place my hands here, to press the life

out of him, and I will not wait any longer. I should have pushed

him from that terrace, the first time he reached out for the hem

of my dress. Just outside my vision, I see Itchipa scramble to

her feet, and hear her scream tear through the night air. The

guards along the wall will hear her, and they will come running.

Omotac slams the haft of the wooden spear into my temple,

and my hands release his throat. I fall to the ground, and feel

his foot slam into my ribs. The air rushes out of my lungs, and

I roll onto my back, coughing.

I open my eyes to see the point of the spear humming

through the air toward me. I roll to the side and grab the haft

of the spear as it slams into the ground. Clinging to the wooden

handle, I swing my foot into the back of Omotac's knee, and he

crumples to the ground.

I leap to my feet, clutching the spear in my hands. Omotac

shouts in surprise as I press the haft of the spear down against

his throat. His eyes bulge and his face turns red, and, then,

purple. With a gasp, he pushes me off his chest, and my head

cracks against the trunk of a tree.


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I stumble to my feet, my vision swimming, to face Omotac.

He stands across from me, brandishing the spear, his breathing

labored, and his eyes blazing with rage. Behind him, Itchipa

stands transfixed.

Before I can move, Omotac turns, and swings the spear at

Itchipa. The iron tip grazes Itchipa's cheek, drawing a thin red

line across her skin, just beneath her eye. Omotac moves so

quickly that Itchipa does not even cry out.

I can hear the sound of the guards as they run through the

undergrowth. They call out to each other, searching for the

source of the scream. Omotac turns to face me once again, the

spear rising and falling in time with his enormous chest. And

just when I am sure he is about to run me through, he tosses the

spear into my hands.

"Over here!" Omotac calls to the guards. "I have found them

over here! And the lahuata . . . she carries a blade!"


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CHAPTER TWO

My body is like a stone. Moments ago I had leapt over sharp

stones, burst through tangled undergrowth, and shoved the

branches of trees aside. But now that the jungle is filled with

the echoing voices of the Malacotan guards, I find that I cannot

move. I cannot make my long legs run quickly down the mountain.

I cannot drop the sharp spear, still hanging from my limp hands.

I cannot take my eyes off Itchipa's face, as white as milk.

Seconds later, a troop of guards streams into the small

clearing. The men stand huffing, dressed in green tunics trimmed

in brass, spears and axes strapped to their backs. The guards

look upon the three of us with hostile eyes, searching for the

threat. They shout at me to drop the spear, and finally it

clatters to the ground.

"I have only just found the two of them," Omotac explains.


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"What happened?"

"This one is my own lahuata ," Omotac answers. "I followed

her. I had heard her tell of a grudge against the other girl. So

when she left my house, I trailed her outside the walls of the

city. For a moment I lost sight of her, but then I found her

here, the spear grasped in her hands, preparing to kill the

other lahuata . When I attempted to stop her, she raised the

spear against me."

"Where did she come by this iron?" the oldest guard asks.

"I did not--"

"I saw her take it from my own stores," Omotac interrupts.

"If you look upon the hilt, you will see my sign carved into the

wood."

"I did not take the spear," I insist.

"And who is the other girl?" the same guard demands,

ignoring me.

My eyes swivel to Itchipa. She stands at the back of the

clearing, shivering and silent. My eyes plead with her to tell

the guards what truly happened, but she only stares vacantly at

the ground, her face slack. Even if Itchipa were alert enough to

relate Omotac's assault, I doubt that she would tell the guards

of it. Itchipa knows that if she confirms what I have said, or

speaks out against Omotac, her own master will treat her with


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great harshness. The Malacotan protect each other well, and I

have seen lahuata slain for lesser slights.

"I do not know the girl," Omotac lies.

"Do you know to whom she belongs?"

"No," Omotac answers.

The oldest guard moves across the clearing to stand in

front of Itchipa. Tears begin to stream down her face when she

looks up at him. Quickly, she wipes them away with a thin wrist,

and crosses her arms over her chest.

"She appears shaken, but unhurt," the guard observes.

"If you look upon her cheek," Omotac offers, "you will find

a wound there. And if you raise the spear, you will find her

blood on its tip."

"Because he cut her!" I shout, stepping forward.

"Silence!" the guard shouts, rounding on me. "You will

speak when you are spoken to, achita! Or do you wish to confirm

the testimony of Omotac by your own conduct?"

I take a step back, and press my lips into a thin line. But

I do not look away from the oldest guard. Instead I stare back

at him, unblinking. He tilts his head to the side, examining me

silently. A scar runs over his right eye and down across the

bridge of his nose. He has seen battle.

The guard seems to recognize that Omotac's story is an


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unusual one. It is unlikely that one of the lahuata would

venture outside the walls of the city in an attempt to slay

another. This is not because we lahuata bear some loyalty to

each other, for we have been taken from many different tribes,

from many distant lands. No, it is unlikely that I should be

here, in this clearing, because the punishment the Malacotan

level against lahuata who harm the slaves of other masters is

severe. Few grudges could be hard enough to spur one slave to

attack another.

"I was able to wrench the spear from her just in time,"

Omotac continues. "It was then that she turned upon me, the

bloodlust in her eyes."

"And you feared for your life?"

"I did. Though I was able to subdue her in--"

"Can you not see that he is lying?!" I burst out. "That he

has--"

A particularly heavy guard raises his hand and slaps me

across the mouth. The guard beside him swings his fist at my

head and sends me reeling. Another fist splits my jaw. I taste

blood and fear that I have bitten my tongue. The first guard

hits me again and my blood spatters across the leaves, red

against vibrant green.

The oldest guard calls for his men to stop.


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"But this is a capital offense!" the heavy guard protests.

"So it is," the oldest guard barks. "But this matter is not

for us to decide."

"Captain--"

"Silence!" he demands. "The Naxali will decide whether the

girl lives or dies."

The oldest guard bends down, and lifts the spear from the

ground. He examines the pointed tip, and finds blood at the end

of the spear. I watch as he scrutinizes the haft of the weapon.

He nods when he finds Omotac's mark carved into the wooden

handle. He looks up at me again.

He nods in my direction, and his men set upon me. I

struggle for a moment, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. But

one of the guards slaps me across the face again, and I lie

still. The heavy guards binds my legs together, and his tall

companion binds my hands. Then, they hoist me up in the air and

carry me back to the city.

Soon, we arrive at the towering gate that leads into

Quixalcala. The houses that stand on either side of the gate

have been built directly into the thickness of the wall, their

slitted windows looking out into the jungle. Because these

houses offer lesser protection in the event the city falls under

attack, they are most often inhabited by the city's poorer


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residents: guards, farmers, and weavers of plain cloth. Enormous

torches crackle on either side of the gate.

As we draw closer, I hear a commotion at the entrance to

the city. The news has already spread that one lahuata has

attacked another in the jungle, and the people have come to see

whether one of us has been killed. Doubtless, they are confused

to see me resting on the shoulders of the guards and Itchipa

trailing behind me, weeping but unharmed.

After we pass through the gates, I see the first of the

stacked houses. These houses are set into the mountain the same

way the other houses are set into the wall. There are many of

these stacked houses circling the peak of the mountain, with

narrow streets that run between the crooked rows. Every few

blocks, a cart stands, manned by a lahuata. She sells avocados,

tomatoes, and hot machitl filled with meat or fruit to the

Malacotan who pass her by.

I strain to look over my shoulder, and find Nochtli, her

head bobbing above the shoulders of the crowd, her eyes dark

with worry. I am afraid she will try something foolish. She

should turn aside here, and run to the house of Omotac, before

he returns home to find her absent. Omotac is not foolish enough

to threaten Nochtli with his fists, for she could overpower him

easily. But he has other ways of causing her trouble.


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According to the Atiz Xilaque, the holy book of the

Malacotan people, violations of the religious law must be

reported by the testimony of two lahuata or the word of one

Malacotan. The Malacotan are often in the habit of lying to the

priests about violations of the Atiz Xilaque which their lahata

never commit. The priests do not hesitate to accept the lies of

their brothers, and cousins, and uncles, and carry out

punishment on the lahuata for their masters. In every case,

though, the Malacotan are careful to allege violations which

result only in whippings or beatings. This is because the

lahuata are too valuable to their masters to kill in anger.

Except, it seems, in my case.

After some time, we pass out of the stacked houses and into

the marketplace, which loops like a leather belt around the peak

on which Quixalcala rests. During the day, the stalls bustle

with the sounds and smells of food and animals. Here, the

citizens of the city purchase meats, vegetables, fruits, spices,

cloth, jewelry, and wooden carvings. The stalls are covered by a

long, narrow tent of animal skins, and are painted in once-

bright colors faded by the light of the sun. Because it is

night, now, the stalls are empty, though some of the older

Malacotan still lounge on chairs, drinking zaniqueh . They shake

their heads as the crowd passes them, too jaded--or perhaps just


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too drunk--to care.

Soon we arrive in one of the open squares ringed by the

tall houses. The tall houses have many levels, all belonging to

the same wealthy family. Terraces extend from the bedchambers,

and the roofs are covered in lush gardens. Fine curtains are

drawn tightly across the windows to prevent cold winds from

disturbing the sleep of their inhabitants. On any ordinary

night, Nochtli and I would be stoking the fires in the grates of

such a house, and then falling asleep in a tiny warm room off

the cellar.

I can hear the sound of distant music, drifting down from

the highest point of the mountain. At the very peak of the city

rests the house of Chief Cuayaqueh, lit with many torches and

filled with the singing of beautiful women. Whenever Omotac is

called to a feast at the Chief's invitation, he always returns

home so drunk that he cannot walk, and Nochtli and I know that

he will not rise from his bed until late the following

afternoon.

It is said that, many years ago, Chief Cuayaqueh was a

great warrior. Legend has it that in his youth he could shoot an

arrow from one end of the city to the other, and it would fall

in a straight line. Now, the Chief is known better for his

appetite for food, for drink, for women. Now, he could not lift


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a spear to throw it.

Finally, the Malacotan guards stop. We stand in an open

square, with a grand temple in its center. Its three great

spires soar into the dark sky, blotting out the stars. The most

pious of the Malacotan are unconcerned with the stars, and focus

their attention on the temples, themselves. These Malacotan rise

before dawn and shuffle into a different temple each morning,

hoping to appease by sheer volume of prayer the entire array of

gods and goddesses. It is only on holidays and feast days, when

the moderately faithful go to placate the gods, that the

cavernous chambers of worship are filled to capacity.

The largest of these chambers of worship belongs to

Tilazloc, the father of the gods, who formed the earth with his

own hands. In their foolishness, the Malacotan believe that it

was he who made the mountains, and the trees that grow out of

their slopes, and the rivers that run down from their peaks. The

priesthood teaches that because Tilazloc is the creator of all

things it is an offense against him to purchase or complete any

craft without praising his name. It is equally offensive to

accept money in exchange for goods without offering thanks to

the god. The punishment for this crime, if the infraction is

observed, is to burn the offender's tongue with a hot poker.

While working in the market, I have forgotten to offer the


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correct praises to Tilazloc when accepting money on two separate

occasions. So far, I have not been caught.

The Malacotan also worship Olmora, the wife of Tilazloc.

From before time began, Olmora hung in the heavens as a bright

star. But when Tilazloc was born, he climbed the ladder of the

heavens to reach her, to make her his bride. It is she who gives

fertility to the women of earth, and when a wife experiences

difficulty conceiving, she sleeps on the steps of Olmora's

temple after lying with her husband. The women believe that

Olmora will take pity on one who sleeps on the stones, and will

bless her with a child on account of her piety. If a woman is

unable to bear a child, even after sleeping on the steps of the

temple of Olmora for one month, she is considered accursed by

the goddess. To prevent her curse from spreading, the Malacotan

send her out through the gates of the city at night. Those women

do not long survive.

The children of Tilazloc and Olmora are many, but the first

born among them is called Niquitzalo, the God of the Harvest.

Over all growing plants, and all food that grows beneath the

earth, Tilazloc has given him dominion. The god features

prominently in a legend the Malacotan are fond of telling their

lahuata . In the story, Niquitzalo demands ten quor of maize from

three different gatherers. The cleverest of the gatherers brings


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five quor or maize before the god, the strongest of the

gatherers brings eight quor of maize before the god, and the

feeblest of the gatherers brings only one quor . I do not

remember the story from beginning to end, but I can say with

confidence that none of the gatherers meets a happy fate.

Mahuani is the sister of Niquitzalo, and the Goddess of the

Hearth. It is Mahuani the women praise when their cakes of corn

rise, and it is Mahuani the women implore when their children

grow ill. The Malacotan believe that the sacred animal of

Mahuani is the diligent spider, which spins its webs to catch

bad fortune on behalf of those houses it inhabits. These spiders

are Mahauni's gift to mankind, and to scorn them is an offense

against the goddess, for which punishment must be exacted. Of

course, the Malacotan do not seem to notice that many of their

children grow perilously ill from the bites of the small black

spiders. The Malacotan are witless that way.

The people speak rarely of Ulhautl, the youngest son of

Tilazloc, who was given dominion over death. Even to invoke his

name is a kind of curse, intended to bring misfortune upon the

person to whom it is uttered. It is said that Ulhautl has no

flesh, but only a skeleton that creaks and groans when he moves.

For this reason, he collects the skin and muscles and organs of

corpses, but leaves their bones behind. The god is building for


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himself a body. And the Malacotan believe that when he has

collected a sufficient number of corpses, he will draw up Tsab

Ak from the Dark Pool and bring the world to a black end.

The spirit-servants of Ulhautl, the quemalampa, roam to and

fro across the earth, searching for those whom the god will soon

take for his own. When the Malacotan feel a sudden chill across

the backs of their soft necks, they curse the quemalampa for

passing near them, and say a prayer to the gods, pleading for

good health.

The second son of Tilazloc, and the younger brother of

Niquitzalo, is called Cha'actotec, the God of War. In the

carvings on the walls outside his temple, Cha'actotec wears the

fanged face of an icualtapan. During times of peace, his temple

is seldom attended, except by the priests who count themselves

as his acolytes. But during times of war, it is before

Cha'actotec that the people of Quixalcala prostrate themselves.

This I observed soon after I came to live among the

Malacotan. At that time the city was set upon by the Aquitiz, a

fearsome tribe who paint themselves with vibrant turquoise

paint, and mask themselves with the skulls of animals. I had

heard rumors among the lahuata that the outer settlements were

being struck by enemies, but after some time it became known

that the settlements surrounding Quixalcala were not just being


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attacked, but decimated. The council of elders panicked, but a

priest called Tohoxque remained calm, and the people flocked to

him.

Tohoxque persuaded the people that their fearsome enemy had

come to work divine judgment for the people's lack of devotion

to Cha'actotec. In response, the Malacotan made offerings of

gold and silver to the god, but, still, the Aquitiz marched

closer to Quixalcala. Soon the enemy stood at the gates of the

city, crawling up the walls like insects during the night.

Two weeks into the seige, Tohoxque addressed the people

from the tallest terrace on the temple of Cha'actotec. He told

them that if the city were to be saved, the people would be

required to give to Cha'actotec that which they prized most.

That night, the whole of Quixalcala gathered in the square

before the temple. I was too small then to see clearly, but I

remember the smell of the great fire burning. The air was

charged with a nauseating anxiety as each family ascended the

steps of the temple, and threw from the terrace into the fire

their most prized possessions. Many threw golden coins and small

animals, but the most devout pushed their daughters into the

flames. Of the girls, a few perished placid and serene,

convinced that their service to Cha'actotec would ensure them

riches in the afterlife. Others died screaming.


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The morning following the great fire, the Aquitiz retreated

from the city. The guards along the wall told the people that

the Aquitiz had retreated because their commander had been

attacked during the night by the sacred animal of Cha'actotec,

the icualtapan . The animal had mauled the commander, and

convinced the Aquitiz that the gods were against them. After the

clamor of battle subsided, Tohoxque was elevated to the rank of

Great High Priest.

But it is not before the temple of Cha'actotec that I now

stand. No, I have been taken to the opposite side of the city,

to be carried into a temple I dread even more than dark monolith

that belongs to Cha'actotec. I stand now before the temple of Ix

Taleth, the Goddess of Wisdom and Judgment, whose mercilessness

is legend.

Unceremoniously, the guards throw me from their shoulders

to the ground, and my shoulder lands with a dull thud on the

stones below. I grimace, but do not cry out. No matter what they

do to me, I will not utter a sound. I stand, and the guards lead

me toward the dark structure. The temple is widest at its base,

and narrows as it ascends upward in broad steps. Each of the

steps is finely carved with curling vines and flowers. On either

side of the door to the temple, great torches light up the

night. Above the door, the beak of a great bird curves in a


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CHAPTER THREE

I wake up on the cold floor, facing away from the wooden

door. I roll over on my back and see purple light drifting in

through the iron bars that cover the window of my cell. Soon,

the sun will rise and the temple will hum with people.

I look around the small room. Its walls and floor are made

of stone, cool and damp with morning dew. I have never been to

the underground rooms in the temple of Ix Taleth, though I have

had the misfortune of entering this building more than once. I

must have known these rooms existed, because I have seen

prisoners brought up from them on two occasions. I wondered

where they had been kept. Both times the lahuata were hauled

unceremoniously up the stone staircase and into the chamber of

judgment, a towering open space just inside the temple's grand

doors.


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I stand up, and peer through the small window in the door

to the hallway beyond. In the light, I can see how long the

hallway is. The temple of Ix Taleth is a large one, but not the

largest. It is not the tallest temple, nor the most richly

ornamented, either, but this building is revered among the

Malacotan.

This is because at the other temples, the Malacotan burn

incense and offer sacrifices to great statues of gold and stone.

But, in this temple, they come to bow before a person.

The Atiz Xilaque teaches that, many centuries ago, the

goddess Ix Taleth deigned to appear to her people in bodily

form. In those days, a great red curtain hung from the ceiling

of the chamber of judgment, suspended the height of two men

above the floor, to conceal the form of the goddess from the

people. It was said that the goddess had wings of such great

beauty, garnet and sapphire in color, that if any man looked

upon them he would drop dead. Indeed, there was only one reason

that anyone knew the color of the goddess's wings, at all. Once

every few years a feather would fall from the bottom of the

tent. And if a worshipper caught it, he could rely on the

vibrant feather to heal any illness, no matter how severe,

before the feathered disappeared.

To summon the goddess, the people would gather in the


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chamber of judgment and throw golden coins and crumpled pieces

of bright paper, bearing their prayers, until Ix Taleth

appeared. When the curtains rustled, and a cold mist drifted

across the floor of the chamber, the people would begin to sing

praises to her, shouting for her to speak her words of wisdom

across the crowd.

The priests say that Ix Taleth was the only god to appear

to the people because she was the goddess of wisdom, and so the

only deity humble enough to make herself known to men. When she

appeared, she would mete out punishment in lawbreaking, and

offer counsel to the Chief in matters of war and state. So long

as the Chief followed the counsel of Ix Taleth, all of his

gardens flourished.

But late one evening, the impetuous daughter of the Chief

sneaked into the temple of Centique, the God of Wine and Long

Journeys. There, under the light of a full moon, she burned

strange fire to the god. The stories do not explain why the

daughter of the Chief would be proud enough, and foolish enough,

to burn the wrong kind of incense before the god, but it is

clear that she knew the consequences of her actions would be

severe in the event she were caught. Much to her misfortune, one

of the priests observed her light the incense, and called for

the guards to imprison her. The guards hesitated, but obeyed.


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When it was time for the daughter's trial before the red

curtain, Ix Taleth was slow to appear. The people worshipped

before the red curtain all night and all day, until a pile of

coins lay heaped almost to the hem of the rippling fabric. Then,

finally, with a rush of wind and feathers, the goddess appeared

behind the scarlet folds. The priests did not even have the

chance to inquire of the goddess what the punishment for the

Chief's daughter ought to be before Ix Taleth made her judgment

known. She told the assembly that the daughter of the Chief was

to have her face burned with fire for her crimes against

Centique.

The wife of the Chief was heartbroken when she heard the

severity of the goddess's judgment, for her daughter was

beautiful and yet unmarried. The wife of the Chief had prayed

all night for leniency on behalf of their daughter, but none had

been shown.

The following morning, the Chief and his family arrived at

dawn in the temple. But when it came time to carry out her

daughter's sentence, the wife of the Chief refused to let the

girl go forward. She stood in front her daughter, and cried out

to the goddess for mercy. She begged the priesthood to exact the

punishment upon her, instead. But her husband, unwilling to

offend Ix Taleth, cast her aside. When she stood up a second


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time, tearing at her husband's robes, he cut her throat with his

sword. For this, he is said to be a man of great piety. The

daughter's face was burned anyway.

After the defiance of the Chief's wife, Ix Taleth declined

to manifest herself before the people behind the red curtain.

Mourners petitioned her day after day, but, eventually, they

lost hope. The Chief wore gray robes and ashes upon his face. He

had his wife's body strung up from the walls of the city as a

warning to others. He forbid all music, and swore punishment on

anyone who touched a flask of zaniqueh . Celebrations were

outlawed.

Quixalcala fell quickly into chaos. Disputes between

neighbors could not be resolved, and violations of the religious

code went unpunished. The people grew poor and began a riot,

burning many of the tall houses to the ground. But, just when it

seemed that Quixalcala had been damaged beyond all repair, the

goddess returned. The high priest rushed to the chamber of the

Chief and informed him that Ix Taleth had appeared unbidden

behind the red curtain, and had demanded an audience with him.

The Chief rushed across the city on foot, and prostrated himself

in the chamber of judgment.

"My life is but dust and ashes," said the Chief.

"Truly," the goddess answered.


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"Please have mercy upon us," the Chief pleaded.

"I have heard the cry of this people," responded Ix Taleth,

"but I cannot myself appear before them, or before you. The

desecration of my law has been consummated before my eyes, and I

am deeply aggrieved. I cannot bear to look upon Quixalcala any

longer, lest my wrath consume it. However, it is not my will

that your people should be utterly destroyed. Therefore I will

appear to you behind the curtain of a human form, to carry out

judgment and to honor the Chief with my wisdom."

"A curtain of human form?" the Chief asked.

"I will inhabit the form of a virgin girl," the goddess

explained. "She will serve as the host of my presence all of her

days, and you will call her 'Naxali.' You will know her by her

beauty and her wisdom, which will be pure and absolute. When you

find her, you are to revere her as you would revere me. This is

the judgment of Ix Taleth."

"Then so shall it be," the Chief responded.

As a result, each time a Naxali dies, a virgin Malacotan is

selected to serve as her replacement. The girl is chosen during

a ceremony that lasts three days, and is held only once in a

generation. For the rest of her life, the girl will wear only

deepest scarlet, and she will walk on carpets of purest white.

Her body is itself the red curtain behind which all of the


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wisdom of Ix Taleth resides. She is consulted on matters of war,

state, and justice, and is second in power only to the Chief.

Among the lahuata the Naxali is known for her ruthlessness, for

she has but one mandate from the Chief Cuayaqueh--that she must

never repeat the mistake of the former Chief's wife. She must

never show mercy.

###

I hear the sound of soft leather shoes on the stairs at the

end of the corridor. I stand up, and gaze through the window in

the door. I see the heavyset form of Omotac, striding darkly

down the hallway, his bald head shining in the dim light. He

presses his face against the small window and sneers. I do not

move.

"Such contempt," he says darkly. "Do you not fear me even

now?"

"This is the privilege of those who will soon be sentenced

to die," I tell him. "We have nothing to fear any longer."

"I can yet save you, Marani," he says. "I can keep you from

death, or I can bring it swiftly upon you. I can do all of this

by my testimony before the Naxali."

"So you will keep her from testifying, then?" I ask.


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"Itchipa?"

"She has nothing to say."

"I am sure that is true."

"What?" Omotac asks. "Did you think she would testify on

your behalf?"

"I hoped that she might testify to the truth, yes."

"Itchipa is much cleverer than you are, Marani."

"With what did you threaten her?" I ask. "A moment alone in

your presence?"

"You speak too often of threats, Marani," Omotac says, his

face growing dark. "And not often enough of exchanges. You and I

could have made arrangements, Marani. I tried to help you. It

did not have to end this way."

I feel bile rise in my throat.

"You are a vile swine, Omotac," I tell him, the blood

rushing to my cheeks. "You are a wicked and disgraceful man. And

if there is any justice, your death will be long and slow, your

children will perish in your sight, and the dogs will eat your

bloated carcass."

"Filthy ulcac !" Omotac curses, his eyes bulging. "You have

always had a mouth like a viper!"

"And you have always had a face like the backside of a

dog," I reply.


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it cannot be made whole.

For awhile, I am silent. I wish that I had shouted to

Nochtli in the crowd. I wish I had told her that I will miss

her. But there is not time. Two guards have arrived, to carry me

up to the chamber of judgment. They bind my hands behind my

back, and lead me down the corridor.

Even at the bottom of the stone staircase, I can hear

clearly the noise of the people. Their voices echo all the way

up to the high stone ceiling in a low hum. When I appear at the

top of the staircase, the humming grows louder.

Standing on the floor in front of the altar are the lesser

Malacotan, and lahuata who are unattended by their masters. On

the level above them I see those who live in the stacked houses,

and in the upper levels I glimpse the Malacotan who live in the

tall houses. Omotac is doubtless among them by now, and perhaps

Nochtli, too, if Omotac was cruel enough to bring her with him.

I see the sons of the very wealthy, crowding together at the

edge of the upper gallery. They have come to see an execution.

In the center of the highest platform sits the High Priest

Tohoxque, dressed in the black robes of the priesthood, his eyes

hooded in contempt.

The guards lead me to the edge of the altar and then push

me up a short flight of stairs. For a moment, I am standing


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before the altar, with most of Quixalcala staring at my back.

The guards shout at me to kneel, and then strike my knees with

the butts of their spears. Slowly, I lower myself to the ground,

and look up at the red curtain that hangs behind the altar.

A moment later, two priests emerge from behind the

curtain. One is very old, with a shock of white hair that

protrudes from his head at odd angles. His bushy white eyebrows

arch across his forehead, giving him a stern appearance. This is

Ulhoxta, who, along with Tohoxque and Centotl, serves as the

three high priests of Quixalcala. The priest who stands beside

Ulhoxta is very young--much too young to wear the black mantle.

He has large dark eyes framed by long, dark lashes. His hair is

shorn short, with an unruly cowlick over his right temple. His

searching eyes catch mine, just for a moment, and I cannot

believe that I am looking at him. I cannot believe that, after

all of this time, Anda came to see me.

I look down, and then the red curtain opens.

The Naxali emerges to the cheers of people. She wears

elaborate robes of folded scarlet fabrics, embroidered with

golden threads in gleaming patterns. Her graying hair has been

braided beneath a tall golden headdress, fitted with crimson

feathers and glittering with garnets. Blood red makeup has been

drawn across her face, and her eyes are lined in black icual .


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The woman who stands before me should be a mother by now, and

although I know that there is no goddess hiding behind her eyes,

her appearance is as fearsome as though the words in the Atiz

Xilaque were true. She lifts her hands, and the people begin to

sing.

Come forth,

Come forth,

O Goddess of Judgment

Render unto men what is right

Render unto men what is fitting

Come forth,

Come forth,

O Goddess of Judgment

Speak that we may submit

Speak that we may obey

Several minutes later, the hymn of praise concludes. The

Naxali glides forward along a strip of snow white cloth to the

front of the altar. As she walks, her many golden ornaments

clink softly, ringing out across the silent chamber. As she

draws nearer to the crowd of observers, she looks up at the


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"Very well," she says. "The chamber will hear him."

I turn my head, and see Omotac approach the altar. His eyes

meet mine for a moment, and I see fire behind them. If there had

been any chance that Omotac would recant his story in order to

save my life, that opportunity seems to have passed.

"I was standing on the terrace of my house, watching the

setting sun," Omotac begins, "when I heard my lahuata Marani

speaking to someone in the narrow space between my house and the

house of my neighbor, Excotl. I did not intend to overhear their

conversation, but I found that I could not avoid it."

"With whom was the lahuata speaking?" the Naxali asks.

"I do not know."

"You did not recognize the voice?"

"I did not."

"Continue."

"As I stood on the terrace, I heard Marani vow revenge

against another lahuata , whose name I did not know. I did not

learn the cause of their quarrel. Moments later, I saw Marani

emerge, carrying a bundle of cloth. I had not ordered her to

carry cloth to the marketplace, so I followed her from my house

to the small gate on the eastern side of the city. When I passed

through the small gate after her, I found the cloth discarded on

the ground outside the city."


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"What did the bundle conceal?"

"I do not know."

"But you can guess, I am sure."

"The spear."

"Was this cloth bundle recovered?"

"It was lost," Omotac improvises.

"I see," the Naxali nods.

"I followed the sound of Marani's footsteps through the

jungle," Omotac explains, "hoping to prevent the violence I had

heard her promise. I arrived nearly too late, for Marani was

engaged in combat with the lahuata Itchipa."

"And where is Itchipa?"

"She was not prepared to testify," the old priest

interrupts. "I spoke with her, and she did not refute the

testimony of Omotac. But the ordeal has shaken her, and she did

not wish to offend your presence by growing faint."

"Indeed," the Naxali says, inscrutable.

"I assure you, Naxali," the priest continues, "that her

testimony was considered and found unhelpful to the lahuata

Marani."

"What happened," the Naxali says, turning to Omotac, "after

you observed Marani engage in combat with Itchipa?"

"I attempted to pull Marani away from Itchipa. When I did,


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Marani turned on me, and pressed the haft of the spear against

my throat. She was trying to kill me."

"Does this conclude your testimony?"

"Yes," Omotac answers. "But I should add that I urge this

chamber to punish Marani to the fullest extent the Atiz Xilaque

allows. The girl has always had contempt for the gods, and, in

my opinion, cannot be made obedient as she should be."

"As her owner," the Naxali responds, "your recommendation

is noted."

The Naxali pauses for a moment, as though she were

contemplating the testimony of Omotac. But because I am standing

so near to her, I see that her lips are moving just slightly.

She is whispering a prayer.

"Now," the Naxali pronounces, "the chamber will hear the

testimony of the lahuata Marani. Do you refute the charges?"

"I do."

"Do you refute the testimony of Omotac?"

"I do."

"Then tell me," the Naxali says. "What happened."

"That afternoon I was in the jungles," I tell her,

"searching out ixi . That is the task I perform for my master

Omotac."

"Did anyone observe you?"


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"In the jungle?" I ask her.

"Be careful of your tone, lahuata ," the old priest barks.

"I am sorry," I say, nodding to the Naxali. "No, no one

observed me in the jungle. I was far away from the city,

searching out the ixi alone."

"How did you come to meet Omotac and Itchipa outside the

city?"

"Because the sun was setting, I was returning to

Quixalcala. When I was near the small gate, I heard a cry in the

jungle, and I went to know its source. When I located the sound,

I found Omotac standing over Itchipa, who lay before him on the

ground. I saw . . . I saw that her skirts were pulled above her

waist."

"Did she appear frightened?" the Naxali asks.

"Yes."

"Of you? Or of Omotac?"

"Of Omotac."

"Then what happened?"

"I attempted to wrest the spear Omotac held from his grasp,

in order to prevent his dishonoring Itchipa. When Omotac heard

the guards approaching, he placed the spear in my hands, so that

the guards would observe it there."

The crowd begins to murmur.


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"So you do not contest that you struck Omotac?"

"No," I say. "But I did it to prevent another violation of

the Atiz Xilaque: his adultery with Itchipa."

"And your testimony remains that the evidence against you

has been falsely brought? That the word of your own master is a

lie?"

"Yes."

"Does this conclude your testimony?"

"Yes."

The Naxali tilts her head back and gazes up at the ceiling

of the temple. The room is so quiet that I can hear the sound of

the breeze blowing past the open door. I bow my head and close

my eyes. No matter what happens, I have told the people of the

wickedness of Omotac. The Malacotan will think me false, but the

other lahuata will know, and they will be wary of him. I have

done all I could.

Finally the Naxali stands, her feet spread wide, her

shoulders forward. I feel a darkness in my chest, a spreading

blackness that threatens to swallow me, and I know that I am

about to be sentenced to die.

"When a lahuata lays her hand upon a Malacotan, the

punishment for this crime is death by beheading. This punishment

is unqualified."


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There is a buzzing excitement in the room. From the highest

balcony, a Malacotan boy whoops in celebration. My execution may

be the first that he witnesses. I am surprised when the room

falls silent again. When I look up, and see that the Naxali is

still standing.

"However," the Naxali intones. "I choose to exonerate her."

The people begin to murmur, and the Naxali waits until they

fall silent again.

"This decision comes not from my lips, but from the lips of

the goddess Ix Taleth. For reasons known only to the goddess,

Marani is to return to her house. And I warn all of you," she

says, her eyes flicking down to Omotac "that if any one of you

harms her he will have stood in the place of the gods, exacting

punishment. The penalty for such arrogance will be death by

burning. Do you voice your assent?"

"We agree, Naxali," the crowd answers, hesitant.

"This is the judgment of Ix Taleth." she declares.

"Then so shall it be," the crowd replies.

As she gathers her red robes in her hands, the Naxali's

eyes meet mine. For a moment, her eyes widen as she looks at me,

as though she is seeing me for the first time. But then her mask

returns, and her lips press themselves again into a firm line.

She sweeps behind the throne and disappears behind the red


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curtain.

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Does Disaster Come