By: Tiax Posted on: November 18, 2005
The silence of the cave at night was broken only by the distant echoes of tiny
drops of water crawling their way down the mighty stalactites which hung in the
east galleries. As the children of the Khish slept soundly, a rumbling growl,
followed by a piercing scream, rang through the caverns. Waking to this
horrible cacophony, the children quickly broke out in tears. Their mothers,
however, were not as startled, and they quickly went to comfort their sons and
daughters. This was not an uncommon occurrence among the Khish; the elderly
who could no longer work, and were not of the priesthood, did not want to be a
burden on the tribe and would feed themselves to the den of bears who made
their home in the depths.
As morning came, the smell of death was thick in the stagnant air of the cave.
Whispers shot through the chambers of the young men; for they knew that today
one of them would become a man, and be given his own macca sword. Finally, he
would be a true warrior of the Khish. This was how the tribe had operated for
years, as one warrior gives his life, another is welcomed into the fold.
At noon, Kaxatl, the Chieftan, called for the young men to assemble in the
gathering hall, outside his chambers. Though they all knew why they had been
called, Kaxatl went faithfully through the ritual, retelling the story of the
Khish, just as it had been told generations before. He explained to the boys
that during the night, a great warrior had given his life to the island, and
that one of them might rise to take his place. They all eagerly awaited the
hunt that was coming, but they dared not move before Kaxatl had completed his
tale.
Raising his giant macca in the air, Kaxatl let loose a mighty battle cry, and
rallied the boys behind him. Whatever fears they may have harbored were
quickly quelled by Kaxatl's charisma, and strength. They knew they would be
safe from the bears with him at their side, for the chieftain of the Khish was
granted the strength of Gr'Nishya, the Tiger spirit of Khulia.
Unbeknownst to the boys, or to their leader, Teotaxtli, the disgraced, had
also heard the screams in the night, and had fervently begun to put his plan
for revenge into motion. As he stood over his make-shift censer, the
ceremonial bloodied feathers curling over his head like the horns of a daemon,
he carefully recited the lengthy incantations that he had prepared. Seeing the
smoke from his censer begin to darken, Teotaxtli began to chant louder, and
faster, and the drawings on the walls began to rise from the rock, and float in
a circle around the shaman. A slight smile crossed his lips, as he saw the form
of black Jaguar emerge from the smoke.
Making their way down the northern passage - which was forbidden for those not
on a hunt - , the party saw the stain of blood in the small river which ran
throughout the caves, and knew they were close. Rounding a bend, they came
across a shallow pool, which had become a dark shade of red as the blood body
that lay at its bank ran down the sandy ground and into the water. This was
what they had come for. Scanning the area, Kaxatl caught the glimmer of an
obsidian blade in the macca of the deceased. Cautiously, he worked his way
around the pool, to retrieve the sacred weapon. As he bent to pick it up, the
familiar ursine roar echoed through the tunnel with alarming proximity.
The gnarled bear emerged from the darkness, and gnashed its yellowed teeth at
the chieftain. As it stood up on its hind legs, preparing to strike, Kaxatl
uttered a desperate incantation to Gr'Nishya, begging for to strength to defeat
this beast. His prayers fell on deaf ears. Earlier that day, Teotaxtli had bid
the Khulian Jaguar spirit to attack Gr'Nishya. Though there was no chance that
one of the jaguar spirits could defeat a guardian of Gr'Nishya's might, the
battle would keep the Tiger from aiding his tribe. Kaxatl fell easily to the
gnashing teeth of the bear.
The boys cowered across the pool, the beast grumbling angrily, and pacing the
room. As the bear waded into the bloody waters, some of the boys ran back
through the tunnels, to the safety of the village. Others closed their eyes,
and tried to hide behind the rocks. One boy, who was smaller than the rest,
slowly stood and crept around the circular pool. The bear let loose a mighty
roar when it saw the boy move, but the boy continued to move, slowly
approaching Kaxatl's fallen macca. Lifting the giant weapon, which was almost
too heavy for him, the boy swung with all his might, sending the blades of
sharpened obsidian slicing through the bear's flesh. The bear tried to reach
up and maul the boy, who stood little chance of withstanding the animal's
claws, but it stumbled, dizzy from the blow. Raising the macca a final time,
the boy brought the club down and crushed the beast's skull, ending the battle.
There was a great celebration that night, led by the shaman Ixtahuitl. As
shadows of the revelrous villagers cast dancing shapes upon the painted walls,
the boy was led by the shaman to the holy image of the Hand, a giant painting
of a hand with splayed fingers. Knocking his bone staff upon the wall,
Ixtahuitl revealed a tiny passage below the great image. Crawling through the
claustrophobic passageway, the pair came to a spherical chamber, covered with
ancient hand prints. These were the prints of all the chieftains for as long
as the Khish had inhabited the island, and now his hand would join them, as he
ascended to become Mixtali, Chieftain of the Kish.