The Eyes of Xena and the Sacrifice
Behind the bushes, dressed as a boy, the little Xena knew already that she had broken a rule or two enough to be seriously punished or killed. The rules were the rules; child
or adult. It took extra strength and determination to decide to openly compete as a boy in a sacred festival. It called out to her, always had, and when a god calls you, that
can't be wrong… Right? She couldn't picture herself weaving, sitting at the loom- the image of a flayed Xochiquetal sacrifice's skin, worn by a priest who pretended to weave
haunted her. That's what she would be every moment of her life if she didn't do this. Better to die now. A turquoise hummingbird flew up to her breaking her thoughts, and
looked at her before flying off.
She made a quick prayer to Huiztilophochtli and dashed from the bushes as soon as the signal was given,
she felt a great strength within her. She climbed quickly. She had been practicing climbing trees everyday, and had already hunted in the forest of the jaguars and been
spared by them- successfully hunting the sacred quetzal. She stepped around heads and arms fluidly, nearing the top with a gleam in her eye almost the victor. She met the
stern gaze of her twin brother Metztli who was a shoulder above her to her left. In respect to her brother, feeling like an imposter infront of him she hesitated, allowing him
the advantage but she made sure he knew she was right behind him.
He touched the top and she right after. As the children descended Metztli was grabbed in celebration by the priests to be bled by the ears in blessing before receiving his
honourable gifts. A few of the priests grabbed her having seen her jump from the bushes to question her when they realized her untruth. That she was a girl dressed in boys
clothing. Her mind was racing, but knew to talk truth. Her mother the lauded poet Tlaltecatzin had performed many of her poems, raising the plight of women in society and
their hardships on the soul to become pleasing flowers from the mouth. Her mother taught her basic form and types of poetry that she had dealt with which were responsible
for her unique place of honour in society. Speak from the soul and let it flower, speak everything essential, speak like you were dancing out your heart's capacity, if your
meaning were objects what would they be? That pulse of meaning that gives your song substance- that is the life of the song and should be revisited to keep it alive. Her
mother's teachings repeated as a calm voice running through her mind. She heard a commotion and her brother calling for her, he had broken his ceremony in concern for her
and may be punished for it, she needed to do something. The priests were deciding her fate, she sensed a presence here- powerful, emboldening the depth of her meaning,
giving her lips to speak. When she heard a jingle and a grip on her loosened at the priests pause she took her chance and silently requested her mother's spirit to guide her
words.
She clapped her hands, raising them and proclaimed in the loudest firm voice, "Huitzilopochtli, I have come, you had called me here! Great Huitzilopochtli, I have come, you
had called me here!" She kneeled and emphasized slapping her hands on the temple floor. "this warrior has come in the wrong clothes, do you recognize a warrior in the
wrong clothes?" she emphasized to them all in grand gesture about her gender, the great taboo she had broken. "I have come to bring honour unto your name, I have come
to bring you Quetzal feathers for your hair!" She raised the prized feathers in each hand that she had hunted for in the forest of the Jaguars. The light of the fire caught a
glint in her eyes.
"Great protector who gives us light and brings us day, Great terror who fights the stars from eternal night! I feel your flames burning in my chest and wields my hands, I feel
your fire burning in my chest and wields my feet. You have wielded a warrior in the wrong clothes, do you recognize your warrior in the wrong clothes?"
There was nothing left to be said, the song was done. Her mother's spirit had guided her. These things in the heart had their own life. The priests said nothing stunned. The
air was tense, powerfully joyful and time stopped, like those best days with loved ones which could never be forgotten. Her heart seemed to lay down it's foot with a beat,
when the god appeared. She looked down and was in disbelief as he approached. She was not aware of the gods directly appearing in these temples, amazed that the god
had listened to her song and appeared she tried to be most respectful. The songs were sung in retrospect, usually. Life was brutal and suffering uncomforted. This was a
direct accusation and offering to a god in a temple. She was well raised to be of a high social standing, and maintained all other respects.
When he touched her chin to raise it up, she felt connected to this power, and refused to raise her head to communicate to the god that she respected him despite her
apparent rudeness. And she quite expected to die at this moment. When he brushed his thumb over her cheek gently to communicate a further grip and begun to raise her
face again she knew she would be more rude not to look up the second time. She was stunned and felt alive. What caught her first was that looking at him was not like
looking at a stranger, or something beyond her, but like a relative, or a close friend. When he gestured her to look into his eyes, she was struck by how natural the gaze was-
but there was more to it, a calm mystery and a charming cruelty which was dignified with some virtue but she knew wasn't meant for her. She saw something she didn't
expect and she understood that he had seen in her something he didn't expect. She realized it was a recognition of spirit, he felt she was not a stranger to him either.
He asked her name, and she had begun to tell him, when he called her by the pet name her mother had given to her before she could say it.
"Xena"
She felt as recognized as all the days she missed with her mother. A love and respect welled up in her heart and she couldn't restrain herself, she needed to give her
treasured offering. She flew to his side to tie the Quetzal feathers to his headdress, with all the care and joy in her heart, with her feeling of home. She tied them extra well
so that they would never fall out. A sort of relief and heartfull determination fell upon her. It touched him.
When she was done he raised himself and addressed her. To her astonishment.
"Little warrior, my finest warrior. I did not recognize you." He paused, "Growing warrior, my timeless warrior. I do recognize you. I accept your words, and your offerings today
before all who are present. I cherish the honour you have and will bring me through your hands, and through your feet. I Huitzilopochtli have wielded a warrior in the wrong
clothes. I Huitzilopochtli recognize my warrior in the wrong clothes." The war god opened his hand revealing a fine woven bouquet of mountain flowers and presented them to
the young Xena. "Please accept my offering to you during the giving of flowers. These are for you, you may smell them from the top…and live" he added.
"Thank You" she said simply spoken with every fibre of her being.
He nodded and smiled while holding her eyes. "When you compete next year, do not hesitate".
She smiled back " I won't hesitate again".
He turned around and vanished with a jingle. A presence left the room, and the priests released a breath they didn't realize they were collectively holding in.
—
The war god appeared before his sister and filled his chest with air. The love goddess was surprised to see him, he wasn't usually in any decent mood to visit during his four
day birthday celebration she had lovingly arranged for him. "Thanks sis" He said nonchalantly not fully hiding the degree of joy he was radiating. This was the best birthday in
over 1000 years, and there wasn't even a battle or a siege being fought in his name. His sister was disgusted by all the death so that's understandable, that's why she kept
retinues of butterflies and birds all around her, as a shield to the brutality- maintaining her godly strength.
She was confused but happy for this sudden change. "You're welcome bro. Anytime…what did I do birthday hunk?"
"Oh you know, brought an old flame back to soon claim an old dream of mine… she called to me in poetry, in flower song. You and Flower Prince's signature."
He crossed his arms cooly and looked at her from the corner of his eyes stepping forward to see her reaction.
"Oh hun that's great! Warrior Babe? …But we didn't have a hand in this…oh" she stopped. He looked amusedly as she thought about something.
something hit her and there were warm pink sparkles everywhere. A butterfly landed on the war god's cheek.
"That poet I was friends with back a few years ago, she reminded me of my old friend Gabrielle! She touched my heart with her beautiful poems, she was the only one who
really looked at how women fit into society you know and what they felt. She had twins years back and was thinking of calling her son Metztli and her daughter Zyania.
Meaning Moon, and Always (like her wish for the sun to live and for life's passion) So romantic. I miss her so much…", she frowned and tried to throw off something that
haunted her. "I thought it was funny she called her Xena when she did a good deed around her family…Oh!" She brightened before fighting off a thought again.
"Gabrielle was Xena's mom in this life then. So, you didn't do anything, extra special? What happened to the poet?" the war god questioned.
"Must have been, Are." He gave her a look for using his old pet name before letting her continue. But she didn't see it, she was thinking.
"Mm. She was requested as a special sacrifice. I couldn't protect her" tears began welling up in her eyes. There was a lot she didn't like to think about day to day.
A butterfly landed in the war gods hair. He lightly brushed off the one on his cheek.
"Tlaloc." He said. She nodded. The watery world of the dead, Gabrielle would be in the wrong afterlife having lived the life she lived.
"My 'Husband' " She quoted with her fingers, " 'requested' " she quoted with her fingers again, " My friend's sacrifice to bring the rains to renew the earth"
a tear fell down her cheek and to the ground.
The war gods lip curled downwards. He couldn't touch Tlaloc, their temples were built across from each other in equal capacity, Tlaloc was a god who tolerated their inclusion
into their pantheon for it benefited him.
He wiped a tear from her cheek. The sadistic bastard wasn't going to get another tear from her. What a ridiculous way to accumulate power.
Not even the love goddess could fully protect herself from his selfish, controlling, version of love. The war god thought back to who he had been and cringed a moment, not
knowing if he were any better now. He sure liked to think he was though.
A beautiful bird flew past and pooped on his shoulder. The love goddess sniffled "Oh, I'm sorry about that, here" she waved her hand and his godly attire was cleaned.
he sighed.
"I'll go to Tlaloc to talk. Maybe we can…sort things out." He eyed the obsidian sword which appeared on his hip.
The war god motioned to go but his sister interrupted. She felt bad that she told him all this now, it was still his birthday.
She scrunched up her face a little. "Are…Happy Birthday"
She was sweet. He was just about as old as she was, and she still thought birthdays were special.
He lightly brushed a butterfly from his hair and flashed her a smirk before making arrangements to visit Tlaloc.
*Notes* Tlaltecatzin was actually one of few of the women aztec poets (despite the erroneous Wiki entry) and dealt with poetry in regards to women and love and other similar topics as far as I know which would naturally place her in Aphrodite's graces.
In aztec culture some sacrifices are chosen and dressed as a particular god, treated as that god for a year while living a life of luxury and praise before their brutal murders and quite frankly seriously derranged ceremonies that would haunt the edges of nightmares until the ends of history.
The aztec war god Huitzilopochtli mean something along the lines of "Left Handed hummingbird". Have you ever seen a group of hummingbirds together? Yeah, sure they look darling, but all they do it fight and try to stab one another with their beaks.
In south american culture the "Hero Twins" are a thing of myth or legend. Sometimes portrayed as one girl one boy and ruling the opposites of each other. Here Xena is aligned with the war and sun god so I named her twin Metztli. As sun and moon was one of the degrees of comparison culturally for this 'Archetype'.
Though I hadn't read aztec poetry in a while, I think I got the basics of it fairly accurately. Quoted from one of my sources on their poetry style...
"Their standard techniques included repetition in parallel couplets using synonyms and metaphors. They used rhyme and assonance but had no regular rhyme scheme or meter."
Their poetry ranged from a range of topics in varying position in society. Aztecs loved Poetry Jams, which they usually did to differing beats of drums. It was an intensely active part of their culture. It is funny how poetry was so beloved by a warrior nation.
Okay, kids were treated differently and the rules were intensely strict- usually resulting in death, no exceptions. Aren't we a spoiled lot today?
Therefore their manners were impeccable...
Tlaloc's mountain temple faced east of the pyramid, Huiztilphochtli's faced west. And were considered somewhat equal.
Their were four possible afterlife's decided not by how you lived, but by how you died. Tlaloc was the realm of water and his afterlife consisted of lush vegetation and perpetual spring. Tlaloc was married to the love goddess (as most are at some point in that pantheon).
Aztec's had four day long birthdays, who knew?
Hope you liked the chapter. Do you like when I rehash a scene through different perspectives, or would you rather the story move quicker?
What would you like to see more of? What's boring, what's interesting? Please let me know. Creative input please : ) please review.