Brother of the Prophet - The Disobedient Son Chapter 1: Rumors, a mythology fanfic

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Disturbing rumors began to come from the mouths of the road weasels (Mayan term for scouts), merchants, and travelers, saying that there were grave problems there in the lands of the Aztec kingdom. Cuauhtémoc was dead and Tenochtitlán under siege at the hands of the Spanish conquistadores and their ruthless leader, Hernán Cortés. When he heard the news, B'alam Agab was deeply concerned. Later, when he sat sharpening his knives, Choimha tried to console him.

"Do not be troubled, my husband. Tenochtitlán is far away from our beautiful Tah Itza," she said. "And even if they managed to kill every last Aztec in that city, they have never faced the Itza men of Tah Itza in battle." But the words of his wife comforted him very little, and he remained awake late into the night, keeping close watch over her and the children. And when finally he slept, he saw his hut and fields in great, leaping flames, and his wife and children destroyed by Spanish swords while they begged him to save them.

He awoke with a start, breathing heavily, but calmed slightly feeling his wife's soft breath against his neck. Heart still racing, he lay very still, listening, with his cheek still against hers and his arms still wrapped around her in their sleeping embrace. He pulled back the thin sheet that served as curtain covering the little window with bars made from sticks across from their bed. But all was at peace, the stars still shining brightly in the dark night sky. He gently eased his shoulders out of her arms, but resting on his forearms, he left his cheek against hers for just one moment more. He closed his eyes. Oh, my darling! He kissed her quickly on the cheek and sat up on the edge of the low pole bed. He made sure that his sons were still and quiet, still fast asleep in their beds at the far end of the room. Then he turned back to her to gaze at her, placing his hand along her cheek. He stroked the hair away from her pretty face, running his hand along the line of her cheek and beautiful neck. How was he allowed to have something so perfect? She lay curled up with the moonlight that filtered through the covered window washing over her face, her breasts, and swimming along the delicate curves of her body and extended belly for she was heavy with his child. He rested his hand on her leg among the shadows. Ah, he wanted her! He placed his fingertips on her side where it formed a perfect curve. He felt her skin smooth and warm and soft with the golden magic beneath his touch, and felt it rise and fall beneath his hand as she breathed. Oh, the gods! But she frowned, scrunching up her brow and moved beneath his touch. He quickly withdrew his hand for he decided that he did not want to wake her. It was good that she should sleep with the coming child. So he got up quickly and went outside, lest he should be tempted further.

He went over to the bushes to relieve himself. With his free hand, he wiped away the sweat that was pouring down his face, which hadn't been caused entirely by the heat and humidity of the air outside. When he was finished, he came back inside and took a quick drink of balché and pulque. Then he a took a dried corn husk and filled it with tobacco, rolling it up into a cigarette. He took a glowing splinter from the still smoldering ashes of the hearth fire and held it to the end of the cigarette to light it. When it was lit, he went back outside.

Outside the door he squatted down and smoked his cigarette. Though the night was hot, a cool breeze began to blow, and it was pleasing to smoke his cigarette with the cool breeze blowing over him. The stars shone especially brightly this night, and when he had finished his cigarette, taking a final drag and blowing the smoke out of his nose and mouth, he stretched and stood up to look at them. Some men stood beneath the stars and felt powerful at the strength of their gods. He knew also that other men spent their lives studying the stars, looking for answers. Answers to what, he did not know. The stars would not tell a man what to do, what to say, how to forget... A man must learn all these things on his own. For him the stars were nothing. He had no god. It displeased him and a frown rested on his lips...

The sky slowly began to lighten now. A dog wandered about, scrounging and sniffing for something to eat a little ways off from where B'alam Agab stood. He whistled for it to come to him.

"Come," he called, slapping his leg. The dog slowly lumbered up to him. He saw that it was not one of his own nor his neighbors'. It was ridden with fleas and its ribs shown pitifully through its thin flesh. B'alam Agab scratched underneath its chin and behind its ears. He fetched a piece of dried venison and gave it to the dog. The dog quickly ate the meat and looked into B'alam Agab's eyes, begging for more.

"I am sorry, my friend, I can spare no more," he said, as he stroked the dog's rough, dirty coat. Far away in the distance another dog barked. The dog perked up its ears, and seeing that there was nothing else to eat, it bounded away towards the sound. Now the sun began to peak over the eastern horizon. B'alam Agab let the warm rays flood over his chest. The day promised to be long and hot and sweat had already begun to trickle down his face...

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