The Visionary Mayan Queen: Yohl Ik'Nal of Palenque (22 page)

“Uxul, you have been called by the gods to be a carver,” Yohl Ik’nal said in measured voice that carried across the compound. “Rarely have I seen such perfection even among carvers long trained in major centers. This is indeed a rare and special gift. Your work in this life must be that of carving the glyphs and painting the frescoes of Lakam Ha. Is such a work in your heart?”

The young man was dumbfounded. His most secret yearning, his impossible dream had just been clearly stated by the B’aakal K’uhul Ahau, the earthly presence of the B’aakal Triad Gods, as though it was simply evident. He stared in dismay, unable to respond and acutely aware of his father’s disapproval.

The tension in the air was palpable, a suspended screeching silence.

“You may answer without fear, Uxul. Is it in your heart and your dreams to be a carver in Lakam Ha?”

He swallowed, trying to moisten his throat. Words would not form on his lips, so he simply nodded. His eyes were wild with hope long suppressed but clouded by bewilderment.

“You shall return with me to Lakam Ha, and begin training with the master carvers in the palace. You will learn to read and carve the glyphs that immortalize the events of our city in the sacred calendars of the cosmos. The gods will be pleased by the fine works you will create to honor them.”

Yohl Ik’nal looked around at the gathered crowd that was too awed to make a sound. Such a thing had never happened in their village.

“Halil, woman of this home, do you release your son to become a royal carver?”

Shock and amazement marked Halil’s face, and tears of relief streamed down her cheeks. For years she had understood her son’s artist soul, and watched his skill blossom, but felt helpless to support his talent. She knew his spirit was dying and she could do nothing to change the situation. Now all had changed, in an instant, like the sudden thunderbolt of a goddess. Despite the consequences for herself, she responded:

“Yes, Holy Lady, it is my joy to release my son for your carving works.”

Yohl Ik’nal turned to Nohpat who appeared struck by lightning. He was stiff with shock, disbelieving what he had just observed.

“Nohpat, man of this home, do you release your son to become a royal carver?”

His body shook as he forced his mouth to respond:

“He is my only son. I am not a young man, I need his help in the fields. What am I to do if he is not here to help?”

“For a year you will have your son-in-law,” Yohl Ik’nal responded. “After that, the Ah Kuch Kab of the village will provide a young man, perhaps the second or third son of another farmer, who will be glad to work good fields for himself and his sons.”

She turned to the village leader, her eyes commanding his reply.

“Yes, Holy Lady, this man of course we can find, there are many farming families with sons in our village,” he replied breathlessly.

“People of the village, hear this. Family of Nohpat, hear this.”

Yohl Ik’nal seemed to become taller and more powerful, her aura sparkled in the noon sun and some would swear later they saw Unen K’awiil—the serpent-footed deity of royal lineage—hovering above her shoulders.

“The corn of Nohpat is sick because the plants are unhappy, they cannot thrive. The plants are unhappy because the family of Nohpat is unhappy, they are not thriving. Uxul has been called by the gods from an early age to be an artist, a carver of wood and stone. He yearned for this and learned to carve without formal instruction. His works are masterful. But he could not fully express this calling, this god-given talent, because of family duty and tradition. This is killing his spirit, making him sick and making the family sick. His mother Halil knows this, has known this for years, but felt helpless to do anything. His father Nohpat knows his son is unhappy, but does not understand his son’s soul and calling. Nothing in Nohpat’s life could help him understand this, it is not a failing or a fault. The sister Tz’un also suffers from the family conflicts and hopes to escape by marriage. This is not good for a family. The family has become very unhappy, and their crops have suffered because plants are sensitive, they can feel the emotions of their caretakers. The cornfields of Nohpat will only recover and thrive when the family restores its happiness and harmony.”

She turned again to Nohpat and willed his eyes to meet hers. Unable to resist, he looked upward into dark pools of mystery beyond his comprehension.

“Nohpat, you are asked to make a great sacrifice for the good of your family and the health of your cornfields. You are asked to release your son to a calling that takes him away from you. His work in your fields will be replaced, but it is not the same as having your own son follow in your steps. This I understand. You will see him but not as often. His life will change and he will be different, he will experience things you do not understand. It is a great sacrifice, and I call upon you as your K’uhul Ixik to make it bravely.”

Moments passed while Nohpat was allowed to let the significance of what was transpiring sink in. Yohl Ik’nal kept his gaze locked with hers, using psychic forces to bring his mind into acceptance. It was a critical moment.

Ultimately the farmer had no choice but to comply. His sacred ruler, incarnation of the gods, commanded his agreement. But in truth he was swept up in powerful forces that made all this seem the natural progression of things, as extraordinary as it might be.

“Yes, Holy Lady, I release my son to your service.” Nohpat spoke more distinctly than anyone expected.

2

The baby gurgled, pursing pink lips to blow cascades of bubbles over the strong brown hands tenuously supporting its head. Gnawing a tiny fist, it belched and then began hiccupping. The baby’s father drew his brows together in an expression of grave concern.

“Is he sick? What is he doing?”

“He has hiccups, it is common in new babies. Lift him over your shoulder and pat his back.”

The father awkwardly raised the baby and flopped him against a burly shoulder. This added loud wails to the hiccups.

“Why is he crying? Did I hurt him?”

“No, but you must move him more gently,” laughed his wife.

“Here, you take him. I fear hurting him, he is so small.”

She crossed the chamber and received the squirming, wailing bundle offered eagerly by her husband. A few moments of cooing and backstroking returned the baby to gurgling and fist chewing.

“Perhaps he is hungry, you should feed him,” her husband suggested hopefully. “Ummm . . There are people I must meet, aaaah, to discuss matters with.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” She smiled to think of this brave warrior afraid of his own infant son. Best to let him escape his discomfort with an excuse. “It is perhaps time for feeding, do send in my attendant on your way out.”

The relief flooding his face was comical. He bent and nuzzled her cheek, patted the baby’s dark fuzzy head and quickly departed.

Ek Chuuah strode purposefully out his household compound, heading nowhere in particular. Instead of taking the wide plaster walkway toward the central plaza of Usihwitz, he turned onto a smaller path covered with crushed limestone that led to the river. Today he wanted to think, or more accurately, to scheme; something his mind was naturally inclined to do. Walking the path along the river provided more solitude.

Life in Usihwitz had treated him well. The warriors were first to befriend him, having admired his prowess during the flower war. Soon the Nakom-War Chief was consulting him about tactics and advice for trainings. The Ix Chel priestesses attended his wound and helped it heal without infection. The family who housed him considered it an honor and appeared somewhat in awe due to his reputation and bloodlines. As an elite ahau, he was asked to join the Popol Nah and sit in council with the city’s leaders. There he drew upon experience with the larger, more complex political structure at Lakam Ha and impressed Usihwitz’s ruler Joy Bahlam.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he noted the few tall temples of Usihwitz that rose above the forest canopy. It was true that this adopted city was smaller and less grand than his home. Continuing skirmishes with its domineering neighbor city Pa’chan, situated in a loop of the K’umaxha River, had weakened the Usihwitz dynasty. Pa’chan had put in place puppet rulers on occasion, most likely the underlying reason why Usihwitz sought alliance with Lakam Ha. As the circles of influence and alliance took shape, Pa’chan was drawn into the polity of Ka’an while Usihwitz gravitated toward the polity of B’aakal. The Kan leaders, however, appeared to have designs upon Usihwitz to judge from recent visits by trading delegations. Joy Bahlam remained firmly neutral to overtures, keeping his commitment to B’aakal.

But that was something Ek Chuuah meant to change. The birth of his son, his first child, set off a storm of scheming about his future in Usihwitz. His lovely wife was the eldest daughter of ruler Joy Bahlam, and winning her hand was a fine accomplishment. This pleased him greatly. It showed how high his status had become in the city of his banishment. When the year of service was complete after his hair was cut at the flower war, his decision was unequivocal: to remain in Usihwitz. Rage against Lakam Ha ruler Kan Bahlam made returning to his home impossible.

For he was certain that his wounding at the flower war was not an accident. There was something in the clever way that his opponent conveniently missed his target and slashed deeply to create a serious wound. The process seemed choreographed, even to Kan Bahlam’s refusal to challenge the referee’s call. An unfortunate accident, indeed. With an advantageous outcome that allowed Kan Bahlam to exile an opponent. Fury exploded at the injustice, at the blatant violation of sacred rules given by the gods for conduct of these mock warfare games.

An uneven pocket in the path twisted his right leg and he winced in pain. The cut that almost severed his right hamstrings was well healed but still remained painful when stressed. Probably he would always walk with a slight limp. He seethed while rubbing the scar; it would prevent him from ever fighting as effectively as before. He often saw the Usihwitz warrior who wounded him, evidently in collusion with Kan Bahlam, but was wise enough never to confront the older man. Soon enough the old warrior would join the spirits, and the order of power would change in Usihwitz.

That thought brought Ek Chuuah back to his current scheming. Joy Bahlam was in declining health and had designated his only son as successor. The young man lacked charisma and leadership, his following was tenuous, and Usihwitz had a history of dynastic changes. The perfect set-up for bringing a new bloodline into rulership – his own. Married to the ruler’s eldest daughter who had given him a son, well respected among warriors, accepted into a leadership role in the Council, more experienced in politics than most, he was the perfect choice as the next ruler.

To consolidate his position, he would spearhead a raid on Lakam Ha. Once Joy Bahlam joined the ancestors, convincing his weak-minded son would be an easy task. From conversations with Kan visitors, among whom were a few warriors, he knew that support could be gleaned from the distant polity. The Kan ruler in Dzibanche had ambitions for expansion, and Lakam Ha was in his sights.

The path reached the river, also called Usihwitz because it passed close to the city. It was a tributary of the mighty K’umaxha River, major transportation artery giving access to the Chacamax River running just south of Lakam Ha. He stood on the bank, watching the current form swirls around posts placed for tying canoes. Around the next curve was the main docking area for the city, with a wide plaster walkway leading to the plaza. The rushing water masked men’s voices in the distance. Breathing deeply of moist and pungent air, he concluded that his plan would work. The rivers were the access, and the foils. It might take a few years, but he could almost taste the sweetness of victory – and the satisfaction of revenge.

3

Sak K’uk sat at the edge of a small pool formed by an aqueduct that diverted flow from the Bisik River into the royal residences. Near the courtyard edge, a narrow rivulet broke off and burbled gently over its shallow rocky bottom. The courtyard off the children’s chambers bordered the pool and the child frequently splashed in its cool waters. The dark-haired girl, just over two solar years in age, was busily weaving twigs and leaves into fanciful shapes. Once satisfied with her creations, she set them in a semi-circle between her and the building. Standing, she drew her tiny body as tall as possible and tilted up her chin, gesturing imperially and babbling rapidly at the twig figures. A mixture of simple Maya words and nonsense syllables, her speech continued for several minutes. From time to time she rose on her toes, gesturing forcefully to make a point.

Her speech finished with several loud exclamations, as she shook her finger at the twig figures. Dropping to her knees, she swept the figures into the pool and watched as the current carried them slowly into the stream.

“What are you doing, Sak K’uk?” Her mother, Yohl Ik’nal, had been watching from a shaded area of the courtyard.

“Bad men,” the girl replied, pointing at the disappearing twig figures. “Not do, very bad, they go.”

She gestured again toward the figures in a dismissing command, tossed her head and shot a winning smile at her mother as she pirouetted prettily over the courtyard.

Yohl Ik’nal clapped her hands in appreciation of the girl’s dance and laughed. Her daughter never failed to amaze her. The girl’s birth had been as easy as her older brother’s was difficult, and their characters could not be more different. Sak K’uk was confident, assertive and self-assured beyond anything reasonable for such a small child. She seemed fearless, would explore any crevice and climb any branch, and frequently wandered off alone if not carefully watched. Her attendants and nursemaid were already cowed by her commanding manner and seldom crossed her desires. It made discipline nearly impossible. The mother learned early that coaxing worked better than ordering and had several creative techniques to lure the girl into cooperation.

Already her brother, although six years her senior, was intimidated by her strong personality and did her bidding. Yohl Ik’nal worried that her son Aj Ne Ohl Mat might never develop the character of a leader, and his little sister was not helping. That she was a born leader left little doubt.