The Controversial Mayan Queen: Sak K'uk of Palenque (The Mists of Palenque) (22 page)

Before long a figure ambled slowly along the path toward Pakal. It had the usual Death Lord appearance of bony limbs, bare skull and bloated belly. Its thin arms ended not in hands with fingers, but in long claws from which dripped steady streams of blood. Its headdress of red feathers and shredded organs sent bloody droplets flying when its head moved.

“Greetings, Lord Bloody Claws,” said Pakal, bowing with left shoulder clasped.

“Arrgh! Know of you, do I. News travels fast in this realm. Upstart human, think you to defeat all the Lords of Death? Now comes your undoing. You will never pass my test.” Bloody Claws grimaced at Pakal and flexed his dripping claws close to the boy’s face. Pakal did not flinch but stared defiantly into bulging eyes with perpetual bloody tears dripping over bony cheeks.

“My test is the Jaguar House. It is packed with hungry jaguars, and they like nothing better than to crunch human bones and munch tasty flesh. Soon you will be turned into a bloody skeleton exactly as I am. Hah! Follow me to your death.”

As they walked to the Jaguar House, Pakal formulated his plan. Only Baby Jaguar could stop his feline tribe from the slaughter. The boy knew Baby Jaguar was inside the cave, and focused upon the intuitive center between his eyebrows to call his friend:

“Please come! Come quickly, for I desperately need your help.”

Bloody Claws approached the door into a large wooden structure, its tall poles ending in pointed tips. Growls and grunts increased as the jaguar herd rose and clustered near the door. Quickly opening the door, he pushed Pakal inside and slammed it closed. His eerie laughter trailed off into the distance.

Pakal faced about fifteen jaguars, all were thin and looking exceedingly hungry. Those nearest crouched and prepared to spring at their prey. Pakal called again to Baby Jaguar and furiously hoped he would soon show up. Meanwhile, he must do something to ward off attack. Drawing his body to full height, Pakal slowly raised his arms and formed the hand sign for blessing, palms cupped and fingers together facing outward. Closing his eyes, he dropped quickly into his heart and invoked loving kindness. He emanated waves of compassion and gentleness, feeling deeply his oneness with these animals.

The jaguars sat back on haunches and blinked golden eyes at this strange creature. The lack of fear perplexed them. Some waved their heads side to side, as if to get better views. Some sniffed, seeking the sharp smell of terror but only finding the scent of a mammalian body. One large female found this flesh smell too delicious. Her hunger took over; she would eat this creature even if it were peaceful. She began warily stalking closer to Pakal and he sensed her intentions.

“Baby Jaguar?” he pleaded mentally.

Suddenly the little jaguar bounced over the posts carrying a large bundle. He dropped the cloth and from inside rolled out chunks of meat and juicy bones, enough to satisfy all the hungry jaguars. They pounced upon the feast, while Pakal joyfully embraced and thanked his friend. The sound of bones being crunched and flesh being chewed soon brought Bloody Claws back. As he opened the door, Baby Jaguar vanished.

“What is this? How can this be so? Arrgh! Arrgh!” exclaimed the Death Lord upon seeing Pakal standing unharmed by the door.

“This is the work of some magic that I know,” Pakal said again.

“Who are you? No mere mortal can defeat Death Lords repeatedly.”

“You know me. You know my destiny. This is not my time. I have much to accomplish in the Middleworld. Now I request what it is that I am to learn from Xibalba.”

“Arrgh! You have learned it already. You have mastered fear of death. You have visited our realms and will return to your world. It is sufficient.”

“No, there is something yet for me to experience here,” Pakal said thoughtfully. He did not know where this idea came from, but felt its truth strongly.

“Well, then you may continue deeper into Xibalba to find what you seek.”

Bloody Claws summoned the owl that again carried Pakal across the River of Blood, depositing him near the path that wandered into the distance. The boy continued walking and the terrain became swampy with tall reeds and lily pads. Frogs croaked and bats cried “eek-eek” as they flitted over the surface, seeking insects. An occasional evil-countenanced crocodile eyed Pakal hungrily, and the boy kept carefully to the raised path now with water on both sides.

He did not know what he was seeking, but knew something waited. Feeling tired, he sat on a stump beside the path to rest. The water close by began rippling and churning, pushing lilies away to reveal the long scaly body of a serpent. Loops rose and fell, as large as a man’s trunk. With loud splashing and a fountain of spray, the snake lifted its huge fanged head from the swamp. It hovered close to Pakal, opening its jaws to display rows of sharp teeth and a flickering forked tongue.

Pakal recoiled instinctively but quickly managed his fear once again. He watched the snake with growing curiosity, for it appeared to be gagging and trying to extrude something from its throat. With a loud cough, the snake brought forth a human head between its jaws. The face appeared that of a middle-aged woman wearing regal jewelry and headdress. On her cheek was the Ik’ sign for wind.

It was a Vision Serpent. Pakal knelt reverently and looked into the ancestor’s eyes.

“Honored Elder, with great veneration do I bow before you. My name is K’inich Janaab Pakal, descended from the sacred Bahlam lineage of Lakam Ha. Ixik Sak K’uk is my mother, now serving as ruler of our city by the auspices of our Progenitor Goddess Muwaan Mat.”

“Of this know I well,” the ancestor replied. “Do you not recognize me, Pakal? Ah, you were but a babe when my feet set upon the Underworld path. Look again; see the mother of Sak K’uk, your own grandmother.”

“Holy Lady Yohl Ik’nal? Much blessed am I to be in your hallowed presence!”

“Much honored am I to be in your blessed presence, Sun-Faced One. You are the hope and future of our people. The gods are much pleased with your accomplishments, and many more are anticipated. What you have achieved here in Xibalba exceeds all expectations. My congratulations.”

“Have you words to instruct or inform me? There remains much that I must learn.”

“This will I tell you; remember the highest needs of all your people, lowest to highest. Your world is changing, Pakal. The ways of rulers before you must also be changed. The shaping of society is in your hands. Include the common people in the spiritual practices that satisfy the gods. Assist them to develop their own spiritual natures. Bring together talents from all ranks of society, so each may contribute their best to re-creating Lakam Ha as the most advanced and glorious of Maya cities. Your powers are extensive, but you will need assistance from the meekest and least proud to accomplish your greatest challenge – re-building the portal to the gods and ancestors.”

Pakal listened intently and committed his grandmother’s words to memory. He needed to review them and deeply ponder their import once back at home. Nodding in acknowledgement, he said,

“Accept my deepest gratitude for these words of guidance that I will take into my heart and carry out to my utmost ability.”

“Of this I am certain,” Yohl Ik’nal replied. “There is one other thing that I request of you. A woman who is my friend from times long ago, whom I met as a girl on a time-travel journey, a golden-haired stranger from a far-away place, has become trapped in Xibalba. She is not of our culture; she does not know our ways. Without powerful help, she will never escape the clutches of the Death Lords. I have tried to release her, but without success. My domain now is in the sky with the stars, but you have greater access to the Underworld. Will you help her?”

“With utmost pleasure, to serve you, will I seek to help release this woman. What is she called? How shall I find her?”

“The name by which I knew her is ‘Elie.’ She is somewhere here, in this swamp, wandering aimlessly. Her courage is nearly gone. You cannot imagine the importance of her release, it is both personal and for our family’s future. Her soul must return to the Middleworld and find another expression in life.”

The image of Yohl Ik’nal began to shimmer and grow transparent. The snake’s slitting eyes glowed and its tongue lashed back and forth. Pakal knew the vision was ending.

“Honored Grandmother, I vow to accomplish this task. Your appearance here is dear to my heart, something I shall always treasure. For you and for my family shall I release the woman Elie from Xibalba.”

He bowed, crossing both arms over his chest in the gesture of highest respect as his ancestor’s image disappeared into the snake’s throat. Slowly the huge serpent sunk into the murky waters.

Pakal resumed walking the raised path, looking across the vast swamps that stretched into the misty distance. He listened for a woman’s voice, but heard only insects buzzing, water dripping, and a few frogs. Lizards skittered across the path and an annoyed scorpion lifted claws and tail to threaten him. Though he kept alert for more Death Lords, the fearsome Underworld rulers made no further appearances. He began to become concerned about time, although it seemed insignificant in this timeless domain. Remembering Pasah Chan’s instructions, he tuned his intuition to the sun’s trajectory across the sky, and realized it was hovering not far above the western horizon. There was little time left before the cave mouth re-opened to allow his exit.

Far away, the glint of something shiny and golden caught his eye. Quickening his pace, he reached the nearest point on the path and saw corn-silk colored hair fanning out on the water’s surface. Was this the woman, and was she dead? The irony of that thought caused Pakal to chuckle; of course she was dead here in the Underworld realm. He marveled at the mystery of life after death and continuance of consciousness and form in Xibalba. Hearing a sound, the woman turned to face him, standing neck deep in the swamps. She looked terrified and dazed, staring with wide eyes sunken deep into her thin, pale face.

He raised a hand in greeting and spoke in soft, reassuring tones. “Be not fearful, I have come to help you.”

She only appeared more confused and backed away. He realized she did not know his language, so tried communicating only with thoughts. This was more effective and after a few trials, they understood each other.

“Are you called Elie?”

She nodded.

“Allow me to help you. I am Pakal, grandson of Yohl Ik’nal. Do you remember her?”

More nodding and a spark of recognition in her eyes were encouraging.

“Can you leave the water? I will come and bring you out. Then I will help you leave this dreadful place.”

He felt her flood of gratitude and realized she was caught in an underwater bog. Entering the water, he pushed through lily roots and rushes, carefully placing his feet on places where the bottom felt firm. When his feet felt squishy mud beneath, he was close enough to reach out an arm for her to grasp. Hesitantly she stretched out her arm until their fingers met. He smiled encouragingly and gently grasped her hand. Pulling while slowly backing up, he freed her from the bog and brought her to the path.

She sat trembling, drenched and naked. Her body was almost emaciated and ghastly white, the skin wrinkled and loose. Pakal unwound his waistband and draped it around her, leaving only his short loincloth. He wanted to comfort her and warm her in his arms, but realized this might frighten her more. Tears streamed down her face and she managed a wan smile of thanks.

“How came you here?” he asked mentally.

Images formed in her mind of strange lands and people, immense seas and huge boats that seemed to have trees standing upon their decks. She and several men appeared in unusual clothing, climbing through dense jungles to arrive at tall stone structures half-covered with vegetation, their stairs and roofs in crumbling disarray. With shock that stabbed his heart, Pakal realized this ruined city was his home, Lakam Ha. Quickly he contained his emotions, for little time remained and he could not explore the meanings now. Re-focusing on her imagery, he saw her arguing with one man, being shoved and thrown to the floor, slapped around viciously. Then came another trek through jungles, this time with a different man who was dark-skinned and had Mayan features. Next she was being fed and comforted in a plaster-walled hut, very similar to those the village people used in his city. Elie and the Maya man embraced, Pakal realized they were together as a pair. Rapid flashes of village life followed, cooking, tending children and gardens, evening walks along a forested path to maize fields and orchards.

“What happened?” he queried.

She tried to form words but failed, sending images to him again. The villagers never completely accepted the strange pale women, although she worked hard and tried to learn their customs. The angry man and his companions departed and returned to their land far away. The village shaman distrusted her and became an enemy, refusing to teach her Mayan spiritual practices. When her Maya husband died, his family helped with the children and provided sustenance. But when she became ill, the shaman would not attend and forbade village healers to assist her. Soon she died, unaware of how to make transitions into the spirit realm. She knew this was necessary for Mayas, but had no training. Finding herself in the terrifying Xibalba realm, she had passed miserable times and suffered much from the vile Death Lords.

“Be comforted,” he communicated. “Here I am to help you. But time is short and I must leave soon. I will teach you this incantation to our Father Sun, K’in Ahau. By his shining power and radiant strength, you will be freed from the Underworld. You must chant it without ceasing, over and over. Never let it leave your mind. When I am back in the Middleworld, I will do this incantation for you at sunrise and sunset, until I know you are free.”

She nodded, a tiny spark of hope lighting her sky blue eyes.

“You must memorize the Mayan words and chant them. The Sun Lord does not speak your language, so you must use the sounds he understands. Listen and repeat with me until you commit this incantation to memory: