Ascension of Mixtali

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.