The Controversial Mayan Queen: Sak K'uk of Palenque (The Mists of Palenque) (12 page)

“Just so. Many times have your father and I argued this in council, to no avail,” said Kan Mo’ Hix, now somewhat calmer.

“Is there something you want me to do?”

“Speak with your brother. Perhaps he will listen to you.”

Sak K’uk laughed and shook her head.

“When I have offered him advice, he is either offended or disregards me,” she said. “But I will try again, for surely using our warriors in this way will put us at a disadvantage. Perhaps other men can be found to fulfill the tasks Aj Ne needs to organize his art festival.”

“This do I appreciate, though as you say, he may not take heed. It is one last attempt to sway him toward the city’s good, instead of his own.” Kan Mo’ Hix’s cheek muscles bulged as he set his jaw tightly. His eyes narrowed as he spoke his next words in a deadly whisper.

“If he does not heed us, the time may have come to depose him.”

Sak K’uk met his eyes then looked down. She dreaded this possibility, although she had seen it brewing for some time. Civil strife in Lakam Ha, the struggle of unseating a K’uhul Ahau with its destruction, loss of life and instability was not something she wanted her city, or her son, to face.

“This will only make us more vulnerable,” she murmured. “Have you the forces to even attempt it?”

“Perhaps. It is yet uncertain, but may be inevitable,” he whispered, glancing around to be sure they were not overheard.

“Give me some time. I will try to get my brother to act sensibly.”

He nodded, inclined his head ever so slightly, and strode away without any gesture of affection.

Tears welled unwanted in Sak K’uk’s eyes, and the golden sunlight created tiny sparkles in the droplets trickling down her cheeks. The birds still sang, but she no longer heard them. Her heart was heavy.

Pakal woke just before dawn, as was his habit. Quickly washing his face from a gourd bowl and wriggling into his loincloth, he stood in the east-facing doorway of his chamber to greet the rise of K’in Ahau. After chanting the sunrise greeting and using hand gestures to draw down the sun into his body, he opened his bark-paper codex and inscribed the date that would emblazon upon his mind and change his life forever:

Baktun 9, Katun 8, Tun 17, Uinal 15, Kin 14 in the Long Count (April 7, 611 AD)

4 Ix 7 Uo, in the Calendar Round that meshed the Tzolk’in and Haab calendars

Golden sunbeams streaked across the sky as Sak K’uk finished dressing and left the palace compound. She walked briskly through deserted plazas and raised walkways; glad to be unhampered by her slower-paced attendants. Crossing the stone footbridge over the Bisik River, she climbed wide stairs past the Escondido Complex with its immense raised plaza and followed the road west toward the Temple of the High Priest. Another stone footbridge spanned the chasm of the Kisiin River, tumbling through its deep canyon carved into the rising mountainside. A series of switchback stairs led up the mountain to the lofty temple. Her breath came fast as she climbed, finding the exertion exhilarating and mind-clearing. Twice she paused to catch her breath and give her pounding heart a moment’s rest.

Surmounting the final set of stairs, she stepped onto the temple plaza and turned to look upon the city below. This was her favorite view of Lakam Ha, from the highest and farthest west structure nestled partway up the mountainside. Looking east, she could see nearly all of the city from the Escondido Complex to the Temple of Ix Chel, across the Bisik River to the palace and Temple of Kan Bahlam, past the spacious squares bordered by stately homes of ahauob and to the clustered dwellings of commoners grouped between the next two rivers, the Tun Pitz and Ixha. Beyond that, the hills rose with fewer structures and she could barely make out the roofcomb of the Nohol-South Temple. Looking north, she watched the Bisik Cascades tumble over the edge of the plateau, disappearing into steep gorges before breaking into tributaries that flowed into the large Michol River, a major artery of transportation and commerce.

She turned at the sound of sandals slapping the plaster, and smiled broadly as her son raced across the plaza, followed by Pasah Chan, the High Priest. Wrapping her arms around Pakal in a tight embrace, she nuzzled his hair and pressed her cheek against his. The boy’s arms felt strong and muscular around her waist.

“Greetings of K’in Ahau, happy am I to see you, Mother,” Pakal said.

“Greetings of Father Sun,” she murmured, relishing the sense of warmth and joy his presence always brought her. Holding him at arm’s length, she looked over his lithe, muscular body clad only in a loincloth and neck collar.

“You have grown, of this I am certain, although it is only two moons since I last saw you,” she observed. His head now reached her ear; he was unusually tall for his eight solar years.

Pasah Chan joined them and exchanged greetings, inquiring into her well-being.

“Now that the dry season is here, I am more content,” Sak K’uk replied. “Especially now that I am with my son. Slept you well, Pakal?”

A shadow crossed his sun-visaged face and he knotted his brows.

“Not well this night. Strange dreams disturbed me, and I am still ill at ease. Sadly, I do not remember the details,” he added, looking at Pasah Chan. Dreams were often important messengers, and part of his training was to recall details for examination.

“Perhaps some details will return,” Sak K’uk remarked, thinking of her own unsettled feelings. She glanced again over the city, now bathed in early morning sunlight. A few cooking fires in residential plazas sent up thin columns of smoke. As the sun glinted on waters of the Michol River, she noticed several large canoes.

“See, there are traders on the river, several canoes are approaching,” she pointed out.

“Ah, as soon as the rivers move less rapidly, the traders are about,” said Pasah Chan. “Can you tell from which city they come?”

“No, they do not have their standards raised,” replied Sak K’uk.

Pakal peered intently at the canoes, noting that five were moving along the river.

“These canoes appear to be in the K’umaxha style,” he observed. “They carry large bundles and several men each.”

Sak K’uk smiled with anticipation of the many new goods and jewelry this heralded.

“The market will be busy today,” she said. “Shall we go down later, Pakal? You are growing so fast, you will need new sandals and clothing soon.”

“Yes, Mother, I would like that.”

The canoes moved out of view as they docked at the base of the mountain, hidden by the steep cliffs. The men would unload the canoes and carry their large bundles by tumplines spread across their foreheads. Balancing carefully, they would ascend the steep, winding steps that bordered the cascades, leading up into the city. Eventually they would lay out their wares in the main market not far from the palace complex.

Pasah Chan and Sak K’uk settled onto mats spread near the edge of the plaza, as attendants brought fruit, maize cakes and warm maize drinks. While the High Priest discussed Pakal’s training with his mother, the boy continued to perch on the plaza ledge and watch the river. He saw more large canoes with bundles, and more men than he thought was usual for traders. He was counting canoes, and when the number reached ten he became perplexed. Never had so many trading canoes arrived at the same time in Lakam Ha. His sense of being disturbed grew more ominous.

He was distracted by his mother calling to him to eat and drink. Taking his portion, he returned to the ledge, but saw no more canoes. While he munched, his eyes traveled to the small plaza bordering the Temple of Ix Chel. There he saw several men, apparently the traders, arrive carrying burdens that they deposited in the plaza. Why would they bring their wares to the Ix Chel Temple plaza? He watched as they unwrapped the large white cloths and removed objects, quickly putting on vests and thigh guards. To his astonishment, they grasped long spears and knives and began moving toward the Temple entrance. He realized these men were not traders, but warriors.

“Mother! Holy Priest! Those men from the canoes, they are warriors! See, they are in the Ix Chel plaza and enter the temple!” he cried.

Pasah Chan and Sak K’uk leap to their feet and joined Pakal. Puzzled, they watched for a moment as more men armed themselves and ran into the temple. When they saw one warrior lift the standard of the Ka’an polity and another the standard of Usihwitz, they exchanged horrified glances. Immediately both understood the situation: this was an attack aimed at the Sak Nuk Nah, the most sacred shrine in Lakam Ha.

“Pakal!” shouted Pasah Chan. “Run and summon the trumpeters! They must come at once and sound the attack warning. Hurry, go now!”

The boy dashed across the plaza and disappeared into the temple. Agonizing moments passed as Sak K’uk watched helplessly, heart pounding as more men streamed into the Ix Chel plaza. The forces entering Lakam Ha were huge; she had never seen such a large group of warriors. Looking toward the river, her heart dropped as she saw even more long canoes arriving. She knew that the warriors of Lakam Ha were dispersed in their homes, just awakening or now sipping hot maize at their hearth fires. Recalling her conversation yesterday with her husband, she realized their warriors were not battle-ready and might not even have weapons at hand. She was gripped by panic.

Four trumpeters rushed onto the plaza, dragging their long wooden trumpets awkwardly behind them, half dressed and looking dazed. Pasah Chan barked orders to sound attack alert. The men positioned the trumpets, longer than their bodies, along the plaza ledge and began a short series of low bass blasts:

“Bom! Bom! Bom! Bom-bom!”

Repeated in rapid succession, the trumpet blasts carried over Lakam Ha easily, resounding from stone and plaster walls, echoing off plazas. A swelling murmur grew in the city below as people flowed out of doorways and swarmed into plazas. Men’s shouts punctuated the rising buzz, but there seemed to be mass confusion.

“We must tell them the attack is on the Ix Chel Temple,” Sak K’uk cried. “Send runners! Find Hun Pakal and Kan Mo’ Hix and Chakab!”

Pasah Chan moved across the plaza, now filling with people and selected several men as runners. Giving quick instructions, he sent them away to find warrior leaders. Gathering a group of priests and acolytes, he began planning for defense of their temple.

Pakal returned to stand beside Sak K’uk, both mesmerized by the action in the Ix Chel Temple plaza. Some of the priestesses tried to stop warriors, who roughly tossed them aside. Other priestesses stumbled out, supported by their attendants, and were pushed aside into a huddled group surrounded by warriors. The High Priestess, Usih Ch’ob, ran out into the plaza, then turned and ran again inside the temple door, her hair streaming and gown flapping.

“Oh, Mother, what are they doing?” cried Pakal.

Uneh Chan, K’uhul Ka’an Ahau and Yax Chapat stood inside the small storage chamber flanked by numerous warriors from Kan and Usihwitz. One man dragged the High Priestess into the chamber and threw her at the Kan ruler’s feet. Lifting her roughly, Uneh Chan hissed into her face. “Show me the doorway into the hidden tunnel.”

Large storage jars and wrapped cloth bundles cluttered the storage room and were piled up against the walls. Uneh Chan wanted to enter the tunnel quickly, and avoid time spent clearing out the room.

Usih Ch’ob glared defiantly at him, shaking her head. With the back of his hand, he slapped her across the cheek, his large rings drawing a trickle of blood.

“Speak, woman, or die!”

When she remained silent, he slapped her again and grasped her neck in a crushing elbow hold. She gasped and struggled, then slumped against him. He released her onto the floor where she crumpled in an unconscious heap. A warrior brought him another priestess, the young woman shaking in fear.

“Show me!” His commanding voice bore no refusal.

This priestess caved under her terror, and slowly extended an arm toward one wall.

“Clear that wall!”

Quickly his men removed jars and bundles, opening a lane to the wall on which Ix Chel’s snake coiled sinuously. Yax Chapat and Uneh Chan exchanged satisfied looks, and the Kan leader pressed the glyph below the serpent. With a deep groan, a large wall panel began to move. Warriors pushed it fully open and rushed down the stairs, carrying hand torches. The two leaders followed, Yax Chapat carefully cradling a small bundle against his chest. Footfalls echoed through the dark underground tunnel, flickering torches lighting the way.

The men entered an underground chamber with a center altar-throne, walls painted white with flower motifs. Effigies of the Triad Deities, ceramic figurines standing waist high, surrounded the altar. A removable slab with four corner holes positioned in front of the altar held offerings made over many tuns by rulers of Lakam Ha, the bundles of adornments, the gifts that maintained their relationships with the gods in proper order.

Silently, surrounded by warriors holding torches, Yax Chapat placed his small bundle on the altar and carefully untied its white cloth. The human sized crystal skull caught light from the torches and leapt to life, dancing inclusions rippling deep inside the cranium, eye sockets glowing, teeth grinning with reflected sparkles and starbursts. Its smoky quartz seemed to absorb light and transform it into swirling pockets of dark evil. It leered into the sacred place, ready to wreak and decimate the pure white harmony.

Uneh Chan stood in front and Yax Chapat stood behind the crystal skull. Their eyes met across its glistening crown.

“Speak the unlocking spell, Yax Chapat,” whispered Uneh Chan. “This is your inheritance, your father’s dream realized.”

Yax Chapat’s lips curled into a snarl. This was his father Ek Chuuah’s day of vindication. The older man had stayed with the main corps of warriors, no longer swift and agile enough for the advance invasion into the Sak Nuk Nah.

The young man nodded, closed his eyes and recited the chant to unleash the skull’s destructive potential: