Feathered Serpent, Dark Heart of Sky. David Bowles
golden and silk-tasseled ears of corn could not grow.
When the two corpses had burned down to barest bones, the dark lords consulted with Xulu and Paqam, who recommended the grinding down and sprinkling the brothers had requested. Their ashes were not borne away by the current, however: they sank right away beneath the water.
Five days later they appeared again, as tritons in the river. The inhabitants of the Land of the Dead stared in shock at their fishlike faces. The next day they appeared as poor orphans, dressed in rags. The dark lords hurried to see them when they heard the news. They found the strangers doing dangerous dances and swallowing swords. The two seemed to set fire to a house, but then they recreated it from ashes.
As the dark lords looked on in amazement, first Hunahpu, then Xbalanque would leap from a high place, killing himself, only to be resurrected by the other. No one realized that this show laid the groundwork for the eventual defeat of the Land of the Dead.
The king and queen summoned the orphans before them. The two reluctantly allowed themselves to be herded to the dread palace. Pretending humility, they threw themselves upon the ground, covering their faces with rags as if desperately ashamed.
“Whence do you come?” the king asked.
“We do not know, Your Majesty. Nor do we know the faces of our mother or father. They died when we were small.”
“Very well. Let us have a spectacle. What payment do you request?”
“We ask nothing. We are truly afraid.”
“Do not fear. Be not timid. Dance! Demonstrate how you sacrifice and then revive yourselves. Burn this palace down and rebuild it. Let us behold your repertoire. As you are poor orphans, we shall pay whatever price you name.”
The brothers began their routine, the dangerous dances and swallowing of swords. The word spread, and soon the place was overflowing with spectators.
“Sacrifice my dog,” the queen commanded.
“As you wish,” they replied, killing the dog and bringing him back to life, tail wagging for joy.
“Now burn the palace down,” instructed the king.
They used illusion to make the vast fortress appear to burn down with all the dark lords within, but no one was consumed, and the palace was restored straightaway.
“Now kill one of these lords,” the queen told them. “Sacrifice him, but do not let him actually perish.”
They complied, holding down a lord, killing him, extracting his heart, and setting it before the king and queen, who marveled to see the noble immediately revived and rejoicing.
“Very well done. Now sacrifice yourselves, boys. We yearn to see this feat with all our hearts.”
And so they did. Xbalanque killed his brother, severing his arms and legs, removing his head and placing it far away, digging out his heart and setting it upon a leaf. The dark lords became giddy at the dismemberment. Xbalanque continued his dance.
“Arise!” he shouted, and his brother was restored immediately to life. The dark lords roared their approval. The King and Queen of Death celebrated as if they themselves had wrought the miracle. So caught up were they in the spectacle that they felt part of the dance.
The king surged from his throne. “Now do the same to us!”
The queen stood, trembling. “Yes, sacrifice us in the same way!”
Xbalanque and Hunahpu nodded. “As you wish. No doubt you will be revived. After all, are you not the gods of death? And we are here to bring such joy to you, to your vassals, to your servants.”
Dancing forward, they seized the king of that fearful place and slaughtered him, ripping away his limbs, tearing out his heart. They reached for the queen, but she saw that her husband was not revived, and she began to grovel and weep.
“No! Have pity on me!” she cried out, disoriented.
But the brothers stopped their ears to her laments as they eviscerated her as well.
The dark lords and their servants fled along the Black Road to the canyon en masse, filling it up, packed tight in that gloomy abyss. Then the ants came, millions of them, herded by the brothers’ power, streaming down the canyon walls. They drove those twisted nobles from their hiding place. When the rulers of the Land of the Dead arrived once more before the twins, they bowed in abject and silent surrender.
“Listen! It’s time to tell you our names and the names of our fathers. Behold us, little Hunahpu and Xbalanque, sons of One and Seven Hunahpu, the ones you killed. We’re here to avenge the torment and afflictions of our fathers: that’s why we put up with your torture. Now we’ve got you where we want you, and we’re going to kill you, every last one!”
But the dark lords pleaded and begged for their lives. They showed the twins their fathers’ grave and the tree in which a skull still sat.
“Fine. We’ll spare you,” the brothers agreed. “But you’ll never be what you were. The great and noble sacrifices of humanity aren’t yours to savor. You will never again touch the souls of men and women born in the light, good and honest folk there above. No, your offerings will be broken things, clumps of sap, insects and worms. And only the scum of the earth will offer themselves to you: the wicked, the corrupt, the wretched, the deviant. Only when their sins are clear can you attack—no more snatching the innocent!”
On the sea-ringed world, their grandmother—anguished and bereft for days at the signs of her grandsons’ death—rejoiced at the sprouting of new corn in the heart of her home. And in the fearsome depths of the netherworld, the brothers resurrected their fathers, who curled up through the earth like tendrils and burst through the crust, emerging as a maize god, forever renewing that precious source of human sustenance. The place of their emergence was called Paxil—Rivenrock—revered down the ages as a most holy site.
And the hero twins? They were swept up into heaven, there at the heart of all light, to guard the sun and moon as they poured their brilliance out upon the heads of a newborn human race.
The long dawn had ended, and the fourth age had begun.
While the Hero Twins’ adventures wound down to their finale, the work of restoring the earth neared completion. Feathered Serpent and the Divine Mother stood together and gave each other counsel.
“The dawn approaches, and our labor has not reached an end. No humans exist to populate the sea-ringed world, to glory in the light of the coming sun.”
So they joined their minds in the midst of the gloaming, pondering how best to form a new race of women and men. During that long twilight, they discovered an answer to their need.
Feathered Serpent called out for aid, and four animals rushed to his side: Sly Coyote, lover of games. Stealthy Fox, sharp of hearing. Eloquent Parrot, clever and colorful. Crow, black and wild and oblivious.
“Stone and clay and wood were poor materials, our first creations flawed and weak. New humans we shall craft from richer stuff. Loyal birds, fly south in search of maize, staple of life, gift of the Divine Mother. Coyote and Fox, find me a spring, sulfur-rich and warm, bubbling from below.”
So Parrot and Crow spread their wings and took to the sun-bright skies. After many days of searching far and wide, they spied a tor, crested with wild corn, cloven by some mighty force. This was Rivenrock, the place where the maize god had emerged from the Underworld. Hungry, Crow landed and devoured the blue kernels and the red. Parrot winged her way back to the Feathered Serpent to report their rich discovery.
Coyote and Fox had slunk through jungles, glens and mountain meadows, hunting for the perfect fount. After a time they found a brackish pool fed from nether streams not far from the craggy hill and its crown of hearty maize. Naming the water Bitterflow,