Moonlit Bath
Disclaimer: I do not own "The Road to El Dorado". The setting and characters in this story are (c) Dreamworks Pictures.
A/N: This is just a little vignette I wrote about Tzekel Kan performing one of the oldest and most relaxing rituals of all time: bathing! It was a lot of fun to write because, I admit, I'm a die-hard Tzekel Kan fangirl. Anyway, there are a few historical notes I should mention before you read. Mayan and Aztec priests would do autosacrifices--essentially, bloodletting--by piercing their tongues and ears and pulling a barbed or thorny rope through them, or by slitting their hands, legs, and...erm...other umentionable places. But, hey, if you liked "The Road to El Dorado", chances are you already knew that. And another thing: Please review! This story is starving for constructive criticism. Let me know if you love it, hate it, or don't think much of it. Okay. I'm done. Enjoy!
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Night had fallen completely by the time Tzekel Kan snuck away from the crowded temple. He wore nothing but a sleeveless robe tied at his waist and a canvas bag slung around his shoulder. A path carved in to the lush jungle led him to a familiar oasis, his favourite place in the city. It was a bathing pond reserved for the priesthood. The priests of lower status usually bathed during the new moon. Tonight was the full; the high priest knew he would have privacy.
He brushed a tree branch away from his face, bringing a sliver his paradise in to view. He was almost there. As if through a threshold, he passed under a tunnel of bitter-sweet smelling trees and found himself looking at a part of heaven on the other side. This secluded spring was not only serene, but beautiful. At the center, there was a hot spring fed by a dazzling waterfall. Behind the fall, there was a modest cave. (He knew from experience that young priests and priestesses would bring lovers there.) All of this ran to a stony creek, which eventually met with the canal in the middle of the city.
He sighed. The full moon glistening on the water was a breathtaking sight. Gracefully, he set his bag aside at the edge of the pool and slipped off his garment. He slowly lowered his muscular naked body into the water, and abruptly dove under when the water rose to his chest. He sighed heavily with pleasure when he resurfaced. His nearly taloned fingers reached for his ponytail and untied the twine ribbon that bound his obsidian-coloured hair.
Tzekel Kan swam to the edge of the spring and retrieved a yucca root from his satchel. He held the root in the water for a moment or two, and began working it against his locks. Once it lathered, he rubbed the soapy root against his sinewy arms. He had spoken to priests from other cities, and bathing was forbidden to most of them. To many other priests, grooming one's hair was considered especially sinful. Tzekel Kan was glad El Dorado's laws for its holy men were more lax than that; he was overly fond of his relaxing bath rituals.
When he was sufficiently covered with the foamy lather, he waded to the waterfall and stood beneath it to rinse himself. He titled his head back and moaned softly as the cold water slid down his bare form. It was chilly, but he preferred it to the sweltering humidity of the jungle city. Bloodletting caused dried and caked blood to collect on his earlobes, shoulders, hands, and other places where he would cut himself. The pressure from the waterfall cleaned it off in minutes.
The high priest next made his way back to his bag and took from it a small packet of sand. He put his pointer finger in the sand, and the minuscule grains stuck to it. He brought his finger to his mouth and ground the sand against his teeth. He very much disliked plaque and the build up of dried blood from routinely piercing his tongue. He dipped his face in the hot spring, got a mouthful of water, and sloshed it about. He spat it back out, making sure no grains of sand remained.
He reached back in to the bag and got his brush, which was merely a bundle of sharpened twigs held together with twine. He gripped it in his right hand, and began to run it through his hair. Once it was untangled, he took a fresh string of twine from the bag and tied it around his hair in a tight knot at the back of his head. When he finished, he rose from the water and stood at the edge of the pond, gazing. There he stood for a moment, naked, admiring the astounding scenery.
When his eyes had drunk their fill, he kneeled down to get his clothes, and dressed. He picked up his bag, hung it around his shoulder, and proceeded to walk away. Unable to resist the sparkling oasis, he turned once again to look upon it. Satisfied, he turned to face the path and made his way back to the temple.