The Controversial Mayan Queen: Sak K'uk of Palenque (The Mists of Palenque) (6 page)

“To take Lakam Ha and the Bahlam dynasty down, we must strike them at the core, that source from which they draw identity and sustenance,” said Tajoom. “Ek Chuuah has struck upon what forms that core, their special relationship to the B’aakal Triad Deities. Because Lakam Ha rulers satisfy these deities with rituals and gifts, the deities protect them. Their communications are perfect, their ceremonies are proper, and the deities are pleased. It is this relationship that we must break.”

“Just as I propose,” said Ek Chuuah. “We must desecrate their most sacred shrine, the Sak Nuk Nah.”

“To desecrate the shrine is essential, but not sufficient. They can build a new shrine, recreate the White Skin House, and make appeasements to the Triad Deities. Something more is needed,” mused Tajoom.

“How can we permanently damage their relationship with the Triad?” asked Yax Chapat.

Tajoom looked at the young man with increased respect. The High Priest’s deep-set eyes that burrowed under sharp cheeks began to glow like coals; his thin lips drew tight over teeth filed into sharp points. Creases deepened as he concentrated, carving grooves over grizzled brows. Sucking in hissing breaths, he exhaled “haaaa” through open throat several times. His eyes rolled upward with fluttering lids. The other men watched in silent fascination as the shaman-priest went into trance.

Wamaw Took prepared to catch Tajoom should he fall, but the slender man stood straight as a spear shaft. After several moments, Tajoom opened his eyes and looked at each man intently. When he spoke, his words escaped in breathy hisses.

“It has been shown to me, thanks be to great Chaak, creator of storms and destruction. It is clear what will destroy Lakam Ha. We must shatter the portal they have built to the Triad Deities using the energies of the Sak Nuk Nah. No ordinary desecration, no mere physical destruction, can accomplish this. With the assistance of the Lords of Xibalba, the Death Lords, I will conjure a dark spell; place a curse upon this portal that will take it down. When the portal is broken, the rulers will no longer be able to communicate with and satisfy the deities. The power of Lakam Ha will be ended.”

A smile of gratification curled Yax Chapat’s lips.

The four men fasted and remained in seclusion for two days, preparing inwardly by cleansing and contemplation. The High Priest chanted and prayed in addition, forming strong mental links to the Death Lords. At dusk on the second day, the men ascended the stairs of the pyramid to meet the High Priest at the entrance into the sacred cave, the toothed and fanged jaws of the Witz Monster mask. Steady drumbeats accompanied their ascent, played by assistant priests in the slow rhythm of interments for those entering the Underworld. Tajoom held a smoking censer and encircled the four men with copal fumes, the final act of energetic cleansing. In order of rank, they followed him through the gaping mouth and into the sacred mountain cave.

A round altar was set in the center of the cave, carved with glyphs of prayers and conjuring images. Wall sconce torches cast eerie flickering shapes against wall murals of deities, who appeared to gesticulate and leer. In the altar center sat a human size crystal skull of smoky quartz. Deep empty sockets gazed at the entering men as it greeted them with the toothy grin of death. Images sparked across its domed skull and mysterious occlusions within the crystalline matrix swarmed. The skull was alert, waiting, anticipating. It was eager to be fed.

The High Priest and four men walked four times around the altar. Drums and chants by assistant priests kept an insistent rhythm. At four stations around the altar, other assistants sat holding baskets filled with bark paper and sharp stingray spines. The four men settled onto low stone seats at each station and attendants placed a basket between the thighs of each. They had made covenant to perform bloodletting, a required part of the spell the High Priest would conjure. This action produced
itz
, the sticky, slippery substance that carried
ch’ulel
, essential life force energy.

The most powerful itz came from blood. The most sacred human itz flowed through blood from tongue, earlobes and penis. For the evening’s work, blood was necessary from the penis, for this was how men merged with gods to become creators, to materialize things into existence, to perform world-making tasks. This produced sympathetic magic, replicating supernatural forces of creation to manifest events on earth. The men became manifestations of the original deity blood-letters that brought creation into being from the energy fields of the Upperworld.

The men wore little, only plumed headdresses and short skirts that opened in front to reveal their genitals. They repeated a series of chants led by the High Priest, the mysterious language of an abyss beyond the reach of finite minds, plummeting to the depths of the Underworld. The drums reached crescendo as the men grasped stingray spines, razor-sharp spikes of self-sacrifice, and raised them high above their heads. The drums ceased. In unison, their heads snapped back and feathers of the plumed headdresses shuddered as they plunged the spines through their penises.

Yax Chapat hesitated momentarily, for this was his first bloodletting. Though prepared mentally and in altered consciousness from analgesic substances, he instinctively recoiled at the self-inflicted suffering. Grimacing, he forcefully willed his hand to deliver one stab. Pain electrified his body as he went rigid and could not plunge the spike again. It was sufficient, however. A steady stream of bright red itz dripped from his penis onto the bark paper, soaking it quickly.

The other three men, more experienced or perhaps having taken greater amounts of analgesic, continued making several stabs and drenched their bark paper with blood. Attendants set fire to the paper and clouds of smoke billowed upward, swirling and undulating in the wavering light. They used some blood-saturated strips to wipe the teeth and eye sockets of the crystal skull. Streaks of sticky itz formed oozing patterns on its glistening surface, feeding it ch’ulel, life force essence.

As the four men sat straight and silent, shocked and numbed as their creative power dripped to feed the crystal skull and invoke forces of manifestation, the drums struck a soft cadence and the High Priest spoke.

“Here it is, here we are.

Now we enter the Dark House, the road to Xibalba.

Open are its doors, wide spread is the cave mouth.

We descend, we fall into the depths

We go down the face of a cliff

We cross through the change of canyons

Across Pus River and Blood River

Past thronging birds grasping at us with talons

Past snakes and scorpions biting and snapping claws

Past bats and mosquitoes and owls that screech and bite

To the crossroads, but we know the roads.

Not the Red Road, the White Road, the Green Road,

But the Black Road, the road to your inner sanctum

Oh, you Lords of Death.

Here am I, you know me, I am Tajoom High Priest of Dzibanche.

These three men are my companions, they are with me

And they have given their sacred itz in tribute to you.

Soon you will be fed more, my sacred itz will be added

To call you forth, to make our request.

I am Tajoom, High Priest of Dzibanche

And I know some things.

I know your names, I can name you and call you:

Come, One Death

Come, Seven Death

Come, Scab Stripper

Come, Blood Gatherer

Come, Demon of Pus

Come, Demon of Jaundice

Come, Bone Scepter

Come, Skull Scepter

Come, Wing

Come, Packstrap

Come, Bloody Teeth

Come, Bloody Claws.”

The High Priest named each Death Lord. All of their identities were accounted for, every one of their names spoken rightly, there was not a single name missed. He met their requirements, no name was omitted, all names were called correctly.

Tajoom continued chanting their names, while he took an ornately carved obsidian blade crowned with shimmering quetzal feathers from his attendant’s basket. The attendant draped around the priest’s shoulders a long boa constrictor skin, patterned with black scrolls bordering white and tan patches. Tajoom began to dance, a measured hip-swaying toe-heel strut, weaving his arms in sinuous motions making the snakeskin appear alive. Slowly he circled the altar, touching each of the three men on the chest with the snake head, while making hissing sounds.

When he completed the circle, drums broke into frantic thumping. Eyes half closed in ritual ecstasy, Tajoom made multiple slashes on his inner thighs with the sharp obsidian blade. Then he burst into energetic leaps and bows, brandishing the bloody knife in one hand and the snake head in the other. His chest was bare except for a glimmering neck collar of white shells and clear beads that caught firelight and exploded it into a kaleidoscope of myriad colors. His tall headdress of red macaw and black crow feathers swayed and swooped like birds on wild dashes through fire-lit jungles. He wore a special skirt made of knee-length strips of white cloth. Twirling madly, he caused the strips to flap against his bleeding thighs and scatter droplets of blood over the crystal skull. Blood splattered against the seated men and attendants also, but they remained motionless in strict concentration. Soon the skull was drenched in blood, the floor full of rivulets and the wall murals partly obscured.

The High Priest performed the bloody dance for an interminable time, finally sinking to his knees in exhaustion and faintness. The drums fell silent. Attendants stoked incense burners and more pungent copal smoke poured into the cave. All was in complete stillness, in bated silence.

Yax Chapat squinted into the smoky room without moving his head. His eyes darted back and forth, seeking the ominous presence that he could feel. Swirling smoke thickened and dissipated, hinting of forms yet unseen. Suddenly a chill shot up his spine and he trembled involuntarily. Hairs lifted along his arms and neck, his throat went completely dry and he could not blink, though he wanted to close his eyes. A horrid stench filled the room, something rotten and decayed and utterly evil.

Tajoom revived with the putrid smell, lifting his head and signaling attendants to help him stand. Once upright, the thin man seemed possessed by uncanny energy, pushed attendants away and began the toe-heel strut.

“Welcome, One Death, welcome Seven Death,” he said. “Your minion in the Middleworld, your son in dark magic, I myself Tajoom welcome you. Here are my friends, my companions, and we all welcome you. We bow to the power of the Underworld Lords.”

All present clasped right hand to left shoulder and bowed.

Tajoom lifted obsidian knife in one hand and snake head in the other. His dance became more animated and he raised one foot above the other knee, high-stepping and cackling with glee. Stench and awesome power expanded and filled the room. Attendants shrank back against the walls, but the three men sat upright.

Yax Chapat gasped and fought against coughing. Through tearing eyes he watched shadowy forms take shape in the smoke, two creatures that danced in mirror image of Tajoom. They were tall with skinny arms and legs, and rotund bellies. As his vision cleared, he shuddered to recognize the Death Lords. Legs made of fleshless bones, joints protruding, bloated bellies holding death’s decomposition, bony fingers with claw-like nails, skeletal spines holding up skulls with jagged teeth and bulging eyeballs.

The Death Lords grinned and leered, wiggling fingers toward the seated men as they danced around the altar. Wisps of copal smoke formed bracelets around their ankles and wrists; a supernatural torch glowed from the backs of their skulls. They did not speak, but words took shape in Tajoom’s mind and he understood their communications.

“Why do you summon us, Tajoom, High Priest of Dzibanche?”

“For your powers. For your skills in destruction.”

“You have made appropriate sacrifice and called us properly. You may request our powers and skills.”

“Into this crystal skull, place a spell that will break the portal in the Sak Nuk Nah of Lakam Ha, the portal that connects the ahauob with the Triad Deities. This is my request. Give to me, and these three men who are my companions, the secret chant that will release the spell when the skull is brought into the Sak Nuk Nah.”

“Thus have you requested, thus shall we do, with the help of Wing.”

Immediately a huge bat swept through the room, uttering blood-chilling shrieks and intensifying the stench with droppings that spattered onto the floor, the seated men and the crystal skull. Yax Chapat tried not to flinch but could not help himself as acidic bat feces splattered on his head and dripped down his face. The bat made another round and seemed to deliberately unload feces on him again, just for spite. Wing then landed behind the two Death Lords and blinked its startling round eyes at the men.

“All is done, all is set, the spell is cast, the skull is empowered,” One Death communicated to Tajoom.

“May you reveal to me the chant to release the spell?” asked the High Priest.

“This must be said to bring about the destruction that is your purpose:

Tajoom bowed deeply and thanked the Death Lords. He repeated the chant several times in his mind to commit the words to memory. With no further communication, the Underworld denizens began to dematerialize, their forms becoming wispy and transparent until they vanished. The priest sealed the ritual by circling again four times, tapping the three men on the chest at each round and chanting release phrases. Removing the snake skin, he draped it over the blood and guano coated skull and signaled for his attendant to place them in a woven pouch.