posted by WDavid at 10/11/2006 05:49:00 PM
The Festival of Atlcualo
By W. David MacKenzie
(c) 2006
Chapter 1: Disaster at the Cenote
The cenote gaped wide on the jungle floor and the shafts of sunlight that struggled through the verdant canopy did little to illuminate more than the jagged edges of the cavernous opening to the underworld, but it was enough. The cadre of priest approached the cenote in slow measured steps. Their solemn gait and monochrome costumes were unnatural for men accustomed to brightly plumed and beaded finery and frenetic ritual, but during the five unlucky days of Uayeb they sought to avoid the attention of spirits. Three-Crocodile, the thirteen year old pupil of the First Priest Tlaloc, had painted his skin with watered charcoal ash and clothed himself in a gray cotton tunic so as to call even less attention to himself than usual.
The First Priests of twenty gods and goddesses were arrayed around the cenote. Directly behind each was his Second, holding some precious statuette or decorated urn or basket of fruit. When an appropriate interval for calm reflection had passed, Lord Tayauh, High Priest of the city and First Priest of the war god Huitzilopochtli, stepped to the very edge of the cenote and spread his arms wide.
"Lords of Mictlan we call to you. Lords of Xibalba we call to you, Lords of the Nine Levels of the Underworld we call to you." Lord Tayauh was old; his voice was as rough as gravel and his arms trembled. "The end of Uayeb draws near and we send tribute to you so that you might have valuable treasure to bribe the evil spirits to retreat to your realms. We send beautiful offerings to you that you might entice the souls of the wicked back to your sides. We send succulent food to you that you might have strength to seal the gates of the underworld for another year."
Lord Tayauh lowered his arms and turned away from the cenote to face his Second. The subordinate priest handed an intricately carved gold vase the High Priest and the old man strained under its weight. Turning back to the cenote, Lord Tayauh slowly extended the heavy vase out over the chasm. "Huitzilopochtli sends treasures to the Lords of Mictlan." The gold vase dropped into the chasm.
Three Crocodile could not tell if the High Priest let go of the offering as planned or if it fortuitously slipped from his exhausted grasp at just the right moment, but Lord Tayauh looked relieved to be free of its weight in any event. The jungle was silent for several breaths then a faint splash signaled that the offering had fallen into the sacred river and begun it's journey to the underworld.
The ceremony continued in this fashion as each First made an offering to the Lords of Mictlan on behalf of their god or goddess. Tezcatlipoca offered a turquoise jaguar; Coatlicue offered a basket of ripe cactus fruit; Ehecatl offered an amphora of pickled quetzal birds. On and on it went until only one offering remained.
Three-Crocodile's heart beat a little faster and he smiled as Lord Cocozca, First of Tlaloc, god of the rains and waters and his own foster father, stepped solemnly to the edge of the cenote and made his obeisance to the Lords of The Underworld then turned to his Second, Mazatl, to receive the tribute. Three-Crocodile had helped prepare the crystal jar of mineral water from the sacred hot springs. He whispered the ritual prayers over the vessel the night before and applied the beeswax to seal the stopper while Cocozca and Mazatl watched. Now he was excited to see it offered to the Lords of Mictlan.
Cocozca held the crystal jar above the cenote. "Tlaloc sends nourishing waters to the Lords of..." Before Cocozca could complete the invocation and send the offering on its way, the edge of the cenote beneath his feet crumbled and the First of Tlaloc fell into the chasm.
"Father!" Three-Crocodile's cry was drowned out by the stunned wails of the other priests gathered at the cenote, then one voice rose above the others.
"Look, he's there, grasping that root, " Lord Pochotl, Ehecatl's First, pointed to the inside edge of the cenote.
Three-Crocodile's body tingled with dread and hope.
Mazatl rushed to the edge of the cenote and leaned over to offer his arm to the senior priest but he could not reach Cocozca's hand. He got down onto his belly and stretched over the edge with both hands, but the unstable edge gave way again sending Mazatl and Cocozca plunging into the darkness.
Everyone at the cenote took a silent step back from the edge and listened. Three-Crocodile held his breath and listened. The ceaselessly noisy jungle paused to listen. Then it came. A loud splash echoed up from the dark cenote as Cocozca and Mazatl began their journey to the underworld.
Fear and horror swam across Three-Crocodile's face as he folded himself into a shivering crouch. It was his fault. He misspoke the prayer for Tlaloc's offering to the Lords of Mictlan. The Lords of The Underworld saw some gap in the beeswax seal. They found a flaw...his flaw...in some aspect of the offering and Cocozca and Mazatl had paid for his blunder. Tears welled up in Three-Crocodile's eyes and trickled down his cheeks leaving flesh colored trails where they washed away the watered-charcoal paint.
As if Three-Crocodile's sobs had been a signal, the parrots and insects and monkeys resumed their noisy habits. Lord Tayauh drew in a long rattling breath, moved slowly to the edge of the cenote, and extended his arms as he had two lifetimes ago at the beginning of the ceremony. His voice, though soft, carried to all those gathered and, Three-Crocodile assumed, to the Lords of The Underworld as well.
"The people of Anahuac thank the Lords of Mictlan for accepting these offerings. The Yucatec people are blessed to provide for the Lords of Xibalba." Lord Tayauh paused to take a deep breath. "The people of the city are humbled that the Lords of The Underworld have taken two of our number to be their servants in eternity."
Lord Tayauh lowered his arms and turned away from the cenote. He led the long procession of darkly clad and somber priests back to the city and Three-Crocodile, after wiping away the tears and smearing the paint on his face even more, followed.
Chapter 2: A Guide for Cocozca
As soon as the Keeper of the Hours had called out the midnight and Uayeb had passed completely, Three-Crocodile gathered up his pack, grabbed an oil lamp as he left the temple of Tlaloc, and jogged out of the city. Stone and adobe buildings gave way to plank and thatch cottages and then to fallow fields just waiting for the Festival of Atlcualo when the priests of Tlaloc would tell the farmers the auspicious planting days. But with Cocozca and Mazatl gone there were no priests of Tlaloc—no one to read the signs and say when the rains would come and when to plant. Three-Crocodile ran faster.
When he reached the cenote, he went carelessly to the edge and sat with his legs dangling over the abyss. From his pack he withdrew a topaz figurine and rolled the dog sculpture between his hands repeatedly to transfer some of his body heat to the cold gemstone statuette. He willed some of his life force into the carved dog.
"The first dogs on the earth had been pets of Mictlantecuhtli, King of the Underworld." Cocozca's kind voice drifted through Three-Crocodiles mind like a butterfly on a summer breeze. "The King beat the dogs too many times and they attacked him. In punishment, the King banished them to the maze of the underworld. The dogs wandered four years through the nine levels of the underworld and finally found the secret path to our world and escaped to become man's helpers and companions." Cocozca's voice trailed off in his mind.
"Now, when men die," Three-Crocodile continued aloud, "we burn a dog along with the body so that it can lead our spirit soul through the maze of the underworld and protect us from the wrath of Mictlantecuhtli." Three-Crocodile's eyes filled with tears but he closed his eyes tightly against them and rubbed the figurine even harder.
"Cocozca, I could not get a dog to send with you on your journey but you once told me that the shape of a thing carries the spirit of the thing, so I pray this offering will help guide you and Mazatl safely through the maze." Three-Crocodile dropped the orange gemstone dog into the cenote and when it finally splashed into the river deep below his feet he stopped fighting the tears.
It would take nothing more than a shifting of his weight and Three-Crocodile could be with Cocozca again. A painless slide into the sacred chasm would allow him to deliver the dog spirit directly into Cocozca's hand. It would free him of the grief and relieve him of the uncertainty of the future. Sacrifice was the path to the gods and sacrificing himself now was the path to his father.
Father...Three-Crocodile could not remember a time when Cocozca had not been his father, but there was a time before. Cocozca had told him of the endless days of rain that brought the flood; how the waters, full of Tlaloc’s rage, killed many farmers including Three-Crocodile's parents; how he had been found in the branches of a tree when the waters had receded; how an old farmwife had brought the infant Three-Crocodile to the temple of Tlaloc. Three-Crocodile smiled faintly as he remembered Cocozca telling him the story.
"Here is a babe to sacrifice to Tlaloc," the old woman told me as she passed you into my arms.
"Ah," said I. "The god has told you to offer up this child?"
"No," said the woman, "but it is clear he wants the boy or he would not have sent the flood."
"You are wise in the ways of the god," said I. "So, you believe that Tlaloc is so inept as to miss a screaming infant and leave him sitting in a tree?"
"You misunderstand me, Lord Priest," said the woman. "I meant only that..."
"Perhaps you should leave interpretations of the god's actions to one such as I who has been trained to the purpose." said I.
"Yes, that is exactly what I meant." said the old farmwife as she hung her head in shame and retreated from the temple.
"Of course," Cocozca told him, "she was perfectly correct. You should have been sacrificed to the god at the next opportunity, but something staid my hand. Perhaps it was the god's will, perhaps it was the way your eyes glinted in the torchlight." Cocozca's hearty chuckle whispered through Three-Crocodile's memory. "I summoned a Calendar Priest from the temple of Huitzilopochtli to read your destiny. He told me that you were not to be sacrificed but were to be consecrated into the temple of Tlaloc and trained to the priesthood. So, you see, you do indeed serve Tlaloc, just not in the same way the Farmwife assumed."
That memory caused Three-Crocodile to pause. Tlaloc had decreed that Three-Crocodile not be sacrificed as a babe, that he join his priesthood here in the world. Was he now to second guess the god's will because he grieved for the loss of his foster-father? Were his selfish feelings more important than the will of Tlaloc? Sacrifice was the path to the gods, but sacrifice was pain and loss in the service of the gods, not cowardice and fear and self-indulgent suicide. Three-Crocodile's resolve grew as he realized that Tlaloc had shown him an important lesson this night and he'd have something for which to be truly grateful at the Festival of Atlcualo...in...two...days.
Oh Tlaloc! The festival was to begin at dawn on the day after tomorrow...Tlaloc's festival...the festival lead by the priests of Tlaloc...and the Lords of Mictlan had just claimed both the First and Second Priests of Tlaloc. Three-Crocodile was now the only priest to Tlaloc in the entire city!
Chapter 3: The High Priest’s Council
“I first want to tell you both how sorry I am at the loss of Cocozca and Mazatl. They will be greatly missed.” The First of Huitzilopochtli was an elderly man and his voice was gravelly from too many years of ecstatic ritualism. “However, with Tlaloc’s Festival of Atlcualo beginning tomorrow, we must find a way to proceed.”
Three-Crocodile’s throat tightened at the memory of yesterday’s tragic events. He opened his mouth to thank the city’s High Priest for his kind words, but he was cut off by Pochotl’s reedy voice.
“I could not agree more, Lord Tayauh. As First of Ehecatl I stand ready to assume full control of Atlcualo.” Pochotl sat taller in his chair as he spoke. “The god of the winds plays a significant role in the sacrifice to beseech the rains and I see no other way to proceed.”
“Lord...” Three-Crocodile’s near whisper disappeared under the husky voice of the elder priest.
“I appreciate your offer, Pochotl, but I and several of the other Firsts think it would be best to delay the Festival for a few days so that we can request a new First of Tlaloc from the capital.” Silence filled the room briefly as Pochotl and Three-Crocodile absorbed the implications of the High Priest’s words.
Three-Crocodile leaned forward “With all due...”
“Lord Tayauh! That is a dangerous plan.” Pochotl rose from his chair and ticked off points with his fingers. “Last year the rains began late and ended early. The maize crop was nearly lost. The water in the wells sank lower than anyone can remember. Tlaloc is already angry with our community. Do you dare risk delaying his ceremonies?”
“My point ex...” Three-Crocodile began but Lord Tayauh, still spry in his old age, sprang to his feet, tipping his chair backward in his zeal.
“And how much favor will Tlaloc find in having the First of Ehecatl officiating at his festival?” The men stood eye to eye, neither one blinking.
“I’ll do it.” Three-Crocodile was surprised to hear his voice booming through the room.
Distracted from their standoff by Three-Crocodile’s unexpected outburst, the two priests turned to face him. The First of Huitzilopochtli looked thoughtful but Pochotl’s face was a vicious sneer. “You? Cocozca’s Shadow?”
Three-Crocodile flinched at the derisive nickname and nearly retreated back into his shell, but the sound of his dead master’s name gave him strength and he stood to face Pochotl. “Yes, me. I can lead the festival.”
“You’re just a boy.” Pochotl stepped toward him and prodded the youth’s chest as he listed Three-Crocodile’s deficiencies. “You have not completed your training; you’ve never officiated over a complete ceremony let alone an entire festival; and you’ve never sacrificed anything more substantial than a squash.”
Three-Crocodile deflated a little with each point Pochotl made--all were completely true and he was about to collapse back into his chair when the old priest spoke.
“Could you really do it?”
Pochotl turned to gape at Tayauh. “You’re not seriously...”
“Be still, Pochotl.” The First of Ehecatl folded into his chair and the old man’s scowl softened as he repeated his question to the boy. “Could you do it?”
Three-Crocodile stood in silent thought for several moments before he replied in a soft but steady tone. “I saw Lord Cocozca lead the festival four times; I know the rites; and I am the only priest of Tlaloc within three days of this city.”
“Priest? Ha!”
“Pochotl, I will tolerate no further disrespect for a fellow priest.”
Three-Crocodile’s spirit soared at the support of the city’s primary religious leader.
“My son, you have spoken the one basic truth of this crisis. You are the only person available to us who is trained in the rituals and consecrated to Tlaloc. You will lead the Festival of Atlcualo.”
Pochotl was out of his chair and striding toward the door before the First of Huitzilopochtli finished speaking. “This is a mistake, Lord Tayauh. Mark my words--the boy will bring disaster down upon us all.”
Scene 4: Reflection in the Temple
Three-Crocodile dipped the cloth into the honeyed pulque and held it over the crying infant's head. Several drops of the syrupy fluid dripped onto the child's face before Three-Crocodile's aim improved and the drips fell into the babe's wide-open mouth. The tiny boy's screams turned to coughs as the sweetened alcoholic beverage trickled down its throat. It probably burned a little, Three-Crocodile thought; regular pulque certainly burned his own throat when he'd sipped it for ceremonial purposes. A few moments later the coughing eased and Three-Crocodile lowered the tip of the cloth into the babe's mouth and it sucked eagerly at the liquid locked in the weave.
Three-Crocodile had prepared the sacrificial infant for the opening ceremony of the Festival of Atlcualo six times before now. It had been one of the first important tasks Cocozca had entrusted to him, but this time the ritual hung heavily in his heart. Three-Crocodile's grief still haunted him and the familiar preparations called painful attention to the absence of Cocozca and Mazatl.
When the child had suckled enough pulque to ease it into a painless sleep Three-Crocodile set the cloth aside and said a prayer to comfort the infant's three souls. He picked up the bowl of blue paint and using a soft-bristled brush painted the babe's body and limbs in Tlaloc's sacred blue. Nearing the end of the ritual of preparation, he dipped his thumb in the blue paint and drew a line across the child's forehead then painted a similar line above his own brow. Another prayer and he was done. The child was ready to be received by Tlaloc.
Three-Crocodile's own preparations took a bit more time. He was used to helping Cocozca into the priestly costume, but there was no one here to help him. Law forbade those not consecrated to the god of rains and waters to enter the holy chamber, so, despite Lord Tayauh’s faith that he could lead the ceremony, he would have to dress himself and pray that he got all of the ornaments and icons and relics placed correctly to satisfy his god.
Satisfying Tlaloc was his life now; it had been his life since he had been an infant, really. If he'd been brought to any other temple in the city he would have been sacrificed to some other god almost at once but Three-Crocodile saw Tlaloc's hand in the farmwife connecting the flood and the babe in the tree to the rain god. He also saw Tlaloc's hand in Cocozca's decision to have the infant's destiny read by a calendar priest. Tlaloc's will was there in that reading of the sacred days as well.
But today's events, certainly Tlaloc had not touched the earth to sacrifice his own First and Second. Cocozca and Mazatl had been faithful servants of the god and did not deserve to be.... Three-Crocodile paused his costuming as a thought came to him. Mazatl and his foster-father had been sacrificed to the Lords of the Underworld, yes, but the method of their sacrifice had been their plunge into the river at the bottom of the cenote. Tlaloc? Yes, Three-Crocodile was sure of it now. The god had indeed touched the very earth, not once but twice, to sacrifice his First and Second in the sacred river. Three-Crocodile's heart fluttered in joy as he realized that Cocozca and Mazatl were not seized by the Lords of Mictlan for some error of his in blessing Tlaloc's offering, but were called by Tlaloc himself and now sat at the god's side.
His fingers flew over knots and fasteners as he hurried through the final preparations. His souls rejoiced to be freed from grief as a butterfly flitters free from its cocoon. It was Tlaloc's will that Three-Crocodile ascend quickly in his priesthood. Surely there was no mistaking his reading of the events. Like a woman at the loom, Tlaloc's hand was deftly weaving the threads of his life to place him in a position of power, but what was his ultimate goal? What was to be the finished design on Tlaloc's cloth?
Curious, but happy, Three-Crocodile examined his reflection in the polished gold mirror. Satisfied that everything was perfect, he picked up the ritual obsidian blade. The glass-stone knife had been honed to a bone-slicing edge by the finest artisan in the city and Three-Crocodile was extremely careful to hook the sacrificial weapon to a safe spot on his costume where he could reach it easily but not cut himself with it accidentally.
With his priestly garb complete and his mind eased by his reading of Tlaloc’s will, Three-Crocodile strode confidently to the stone bed on which the infant slept. He lifted the child and it’s rumpled blanket from the stone and a small piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Shifting the child to the crook of one arm, Three-Crocodile stooped to pick up the scrap. The paper was old and the glyphs were drawn in an unfamiliar hand. It was a name-day card, such as a calendar priest would give to an infant’s parents when its destiny was read. It showed the child’s day-name, the patron gods of its Shadow, Spirit, and Aura Souls, and it’s patron god of healing. The name on the card was Three-Crocodile.
Scene 5: The Sacrifice to Tlaloc
Confusion swirled in Three-Crocodile’s mind. Was this his name-day card…the one given to Cocozca when he summoned the calendar priest all those years ago? How could it be here? Was this the name-day card for the infant that he held in his arms? Did its parents tuck the card into the blanket before they gave the child to the temple for sacrifice? Could it be coincidence that it too was named Three-Crocodile?
Horns sounding on the temple terrace wrenched Three-Crocodile out of the maze of questions. The Festival of Atlcualo was about to begin. The name-day card slipped from his fingers as he moved through the temple arches to the terrace atop the stepped pyramid. Under the gold tinged dawn sky he strode to the altar at the leading edge of the terrace. Several paces to the left and right of the sacrificial stone stood Lords Tayauh and Pochotl in flamboyant ritual costumes. Before him, down a flight of two hundred and sixty steps and spread from one end of the Avenue of the Gods to the other, were the city’s sixteen thousand citizens.
A low hum rippled through the crowd as Three-Crocodile stood above them in the growing light. He thought back on what Cocozca had told him about the crowds that gathered for ritual events. With sharp eyes he surveyed the people below and gauged their mood.
The nobles and priests and landowners were closest. Three-Crocodile saw faces he knew, priests that had been present at the cenote, nobles who had heard the tale told. It was likely that many also knew of the meeting in the High Priest’s office. To them he was an untried boy in priest’s plumage. They measured him against Cocozca and waited for him to prove himself before offering their support or plotting against him.
Behind the city's elite were the merchants and artisans and soldiers. They pointed and gossiped. To them, three-Crocodile was a different figure than they’d been expecting—smaller, thinner. If they knew anything of the offerings at the cenote it was by rumors fed to them by their elite customers or officers. Three-Crocodile was sure they murmured of priestly intrigues and sorcery while waiting for the bloody spectacle of sacrifice.
Farthest of all were the farmers and laborers and slaves. They could not tell one priest from another at that distance. They saw only the costume, if they saw anything at all. Cocozca had told him that the commoners cared nothing for the politics behind religion. They wanted only to see that the rituals were performed and that the gods were satisfied. Standing in family knots, they whispered prayers or kneaded talismans for good fortune and plentiful rains.
The sun's edge cleared the horizon and the trumpets sounded again. It was his cue to begin the ceremony. Three-Crocodile held the blue-painted infant high above his head and the crowd below roared to life. He had viewed this ceremony and others from many angles during his training but never from the altar. There, virtually alone and at the focus of everyone's attention, the sound hit him like a hurricane and he fell back a step. The power of the crowd amazed him, but he determined not to be overwhelmed by it. He pushed against the force and regained his position. He turned from side to side with the child held aloft to make sure everyone saw it.
A cool shiver rippled through Three-Crocodile as if the spirit of Tlaloc had touched his Shadow Soul. He laid the child on the right edge of the altar stone. The infant--my name is Three-Crocodile too--occupied only a small space on the slab of volcanic rock. Three-Crocodile looked out over the crowd again--they're ready for my sacrifice--then back to the infant. The child's eyes were open, its gaze locked with his, its voice--no, the voice of your god--was in Three-Crocodile's mind. Three-Crocodile's hand hovered near the hilt of the sacrificial knife--you are my First, my champion--but did not touch it. His heart pounded in his chest--they await a wondrous sign--as he stood motionless atop the pyramid. The rumbling noise of the crowd faded--they are ready to walk a new path--and was replace by rhythmic chanting. "Tlaloc, Tlaloc, Tlaloc..."
The sound of rustling garments came from behind and to his right. "I knew you would fail us!" Lord Pochotl hissed as he drew near. "I will perform the sacrifice myself." With one hand, the interloper reached for the sacrificial knife hanging from Three-Crocodile's belt and with the other made to brush the young priest out of his way.
In the tangle of arms and costumes Three-Crocodile spun and dodged and struck out. Catching the interfering priest off balance and unprepared for his mad action, Three-Crocodile slammed Pochotl's body hard onto the stone altar. The wind rushed from Pochotl's lungs. He lay immobilized on his back, chest heaving, struggling to catch his breath. The blue-painted infant turned its head and quietly looked at the gasping priest.
In his right fist Three-Crocodile held the glass-stone dagger high for all to see. The chanting faded into the background and slowed. Pochotl turned his head to look at Three-Crocodile--thus to all who trespass against the gods--and the untried priest plunged the blade into Pochotl's torso.
Breathless, Pochotl could not scream, but his eyes bulged and his face twisted into a writhing mask of pain. Three-Crocodile sawed the glass-stone knife left and right to enlarge the wound then sliced upward to penetrate Pochotl's diaphragm. He pulled the blade from Pochotl's body and dropped it on the altar then thrust his hand into the steaming gash. He pushed past the tough membranes until he was elbow-deep in the priest's chest and his fingers touched Pochotl's quivering heart.
Three-Crocodile looked deep into Pochotl's wild eyes as he closed his fist around the squirming muscle. Arteries slipped wetly between his fingers. He gave one powerful tug and Pochotl's body convulsed, twitched, and wilted on the altar stone. Three-Crocodile removed his arm from the lifeless man and looked at his prize. Red muck covered his forearm and Pochotls steaming heart oozed a river of blood that drained over his hand to splash on the Pochotl's corpse.
The crowd was silent--stunned.
Three-Crocodile reached down with his free hand and grasped the infant by the scruff of its neck. With the child in one fist and Pochotl's heart in the other, Three-Crocodile raised his hands high to the honor of Tlaloc. He had shown them a wondrous sign and Tlaloc said they were ready to walk a new path but now it was up to Three-Crocodile to convince them that this new way was the word of the god.
“Tlaloc has come to me in a vision and anointed me as his First." Three-Crocodile's voice boomed out with a newfound assertiveness and carried easily to the far edge of the unnaturally quiet throng. "He has set me the task of protecting the children of Uayeb. Tlaloc no longer favors the sacrifice of children. He has said that all children born during Uayeb will be consecrated to his service so that he will have abundant priests to honor his glory."
A murmur rose from the crowd and reading the faces, Three-Crocodile could see joy on the faces of some and concern on others. Some rejoiced that their children would be spared, others worried that the god would not have strength to continue without the blood of the children. A god who did not demand sacrifice to sustain itself was unheard of.
"Today you saw one who would have stopped Tlaloc's will. Through me, the god has dealt with him and his blood has nourished the god. Tlaloc has set me the task of punishing those who sin against the god or who would interfere with his worship. Henceforth the criminal will be Tlaloc’s feast. The evildoer’s blood will bring the life-giving rain and the heretic’s heart will crisp in Tlaloc’s fire.” To punctuate his words, Three-Crocodile tossed Pochotl’s heart into the temple pyre that burned on a landing thirteen steps below the lip of the terrace. It sizzled and smoked as the crowd roared its approval.
Lord Tayauh, all but forgotten by Three-Crocodile in the throws of his ecstatic vision and Pochotl's grizzly sacrifice, walked up behind him. "It is no small thing to change the rites and beliefs of our people, Lord First." Tayauh took the child from Three-Crocodile's grip and for a moment Three-Crocodile thought the High Priest might overrule him in some way and sacrifice the child as originally planned, but the old priest just cradled the infant in his arms and tickled under its chin. "But I think you have done it well."
Three-Crocodile let a relieved sigh slip between his lips.
"Tomorrow, at midday," Lord Tayauh said, "we will hold your coming of age ceremony at the Temple of the Calendar and I will bestow your adult name myself."
"But..." Three-Crocodile tried to object but Lord Tayauh waved him off.
"Yes, I know, the official date is several twenty-days away, but, to my knowledge, there has never been a First Priest bearing a child's name." Lord Tayauh placed his free hand on Three-Crocodile's back and guided him toward the temple anteroom. "We cannot change too many traditions all at once."
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Wednesday, October 11, 2006
The Festival of Atlcualo
5 Comments:
This is the complete "Festival of Atlcualo" story. 5,100 words. The longest thing I've ever written. I have to turn it in on Sunday but I'd like to turn it in sooner if it's ready. I'd love to get your opinions on it. In the class, I've submitted Chapters 1 and 3 for assignments and the biggest comments I have are that Three-Crocodile is hard to connect to and that my point of view needs work so that I am consistently relating the story from Three-Crcodile's perspective. Of course, there's a lot of complaining about the names being unpronouncable, but that just takes practice. Perhaps I'll put a pronunciation guide with the final story. Anyway, any comments at at all are welcome.
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WDavid, at 10/11/2006 06:01:00 PM
I submitted chapter 1 of this story in my last class assignment. Here are the class comments on Chapter 1.
Cathy Chance: David: Just a question: what is a "cenote"? I realize this is an exerpt, but in the full story, defining this would be a help. Also, instead of repeating the term, perhaps use descriptors to help us visualize what it is. This is certainly a dramatic scene. I would assume in the full story that most of these characters would have already been introduced. Thus, in this scene, I'd limit the identifiers. This can help pick up the pace. Also, you might need to pay a little more attention to point of view. Are you using an omniscient narrator, who can tell us what everyone is thinking or are you using a more limited third person, such as 3-Croc? I personally think focusing the pov on 3-Croc would be most effective. In that case, show us what is happening through his eyes. The "fear and horror swam across Three-Crocodile's face" if we are in his pov, doesn't work. You next go into 3-Croc's thoughts, so it does seem we're in his pov. So: pick up the pace and work on the pov. This is shaping up well.
Kim Huett: Apparently, a cenote is "a deep sinkhole in limestone with a pool at the bottom that is found especially in Yucatán." I actually thought it was something else (related to ashes b/c of the Spanish word 'ceniza'). Regarding this sentence (and perhaps others like it): “Lord Pochotl, Ehecatl's First, pointed to the inside edge of the cenote.” For the purposes of moving the story along, I think it might be better to remove the appositive “Ehecatl’s First” from the line…unless it’s vital to the story at this moment that we know his position. I do not have a problem with the nature of the Nahuatl names, but the number of names can get confusing and distract from the action, I think. In the first paragraph, you say “the rain god, Tlaloc.” In another paragraph you say “Tlaloc, god of the rains and waters.” Later, someone says “Tlaloc sends nourishing waters to the Lords of..” Unless you’re emphasizing Tlaloc’s function to heighten the ornate feel of the passage, I don’t think that it’s necessary to remind the reader of who he is. Once is enough for me, anyway. I thought that “ceaselessly noisy jungle” could be simplified if you find one potent adjective to cover “ceaselessly noisy.” I think this is a very well-written piece. It is elaborate and ornate. You have done so much studying, thinking, and imagining to get this all together. And I really kind of envy your passion for this setting and culture, etc. I will say one thing regarding my personal reading of this piece. And that is, that I don’t quite know how to relate to it. I don’t feel like I care much about the characters—or even just 3-Croc. I don’t know why, and maybe it’s not even necessary. It’s possible that earlier in the story these characters have been established, and the reader already cares for one or several of them. In this scene alone, though, I see them as an outsider, if that makes sense.
Cathy: A couple of things and I will try to not to restate what Cathy C and DeChancie have already stated. Try to keep wording simplistic and descriptive as possible, if a reader has to take the time to look up achaic or difficult terms they may feel that the reading for fun has turned into work. Is the Cenote hold some spiritual or sacrificial function? If so that should be better described and may add to the background of the story. This start demonstrates your creativity and imagination, interesting story.
WDavid: Mr. DeChancie....Overwriting is, I suppose, akin to overacting and the Ham seldom sees it, himself. Thanks for pointing it out. :-) This is a solemn religious event so my goal was to impart that feeling and to deliver high "church" ritualism. I'll review it and see if I can tone it down a bit and still maintain the mood.
WDavid: Cathy Chance...Kim gave the textbook definition of cenote. I thought it was a common enough term, myself, and knew it long before I began my research into this world. I tried to work in enough description and several synonyms so as to make it clear, but I'll review it and see what I can to to improve things. Sinkhole just doesn't impart the sense of mystery. :-) This is the first scene in the story (see the outline from assignment 4). This is the first time we are introduced to the characters so I had to give a bit more info here. Thanks for the comments on POV. The story is intended to be told from Three-Crocodile's POV and appreciate you pointing out that gaff. I'll keep my eye out for others.
WDavid: Kim...Thanks for the cenote definition. Actually, many cenote, this one included, have underground rivers at their bottoms, not just pools. Grammar theory has never been my strong suit so "appositive" was a new word for me. Thanks for making me look it up. :-) My use of "Tlaloc", "the rain god", and "the god of rains and waters" was my effort to avoid using "Tlaloc" every time I referred to that particular deity. It was done just to add variety but I will look things over and see what can be done to simplify the character and god name references. Scene one is a little crowded as it strived to introduce the characters, the setting, and the initiating event all at once. In scene two we see a bit more into Three-Crocodile's character and, I'm hoping, people really start caring about him there. There's only five scenes to the story though, so I guess I have to work hard and fast to get the reader's attention if I want them to care enough to finish the piece. On the topic of "outsider", Three-Crocodile is an outsider here as well. He's only marginally a priest and is looking in on rituals he's only just started to participate in (the blessing of the water and sealing of the vase) and he feels he may have screwed them up by mistake and cost the lives of his foster-father and friend. So, perhaps you perceiving yourself as the outsider here means you are already identifying with Three-Crocodile.
WDavid: Cathy...I will see what can be done to streamline my writing style. As for the purpose of the cenote, I thought that I made it clear that it was a holy place for sacrifices...a chasm to the underworld...twenty offerings to keep the evil spirits at bay...a river that carried offering to the lords of the underworld. I'm note sure how much clearer I could be that this is an important and sacred place. I'll look it over though and see what can be tweaked. :-)
astrogirl: You've certainly put a lot of thought into the setting. It has the feel of an Indian ceremony. I liked the detail where Lord Tayauh "extended his arms as he had two lifetimes ago..." It shows the disconnect for ThreeCroc between the beginning of the ceremony, the deaths, and the continuation, but I agree with some of the others that it would be nicer to be more inside ThreeCroc's head from the beginning. I think it would strengthen our response to the deaths.
laf: In a lot of ways, you're obviously very close to what you want ... powerful story, well thought out. I think Kim's suggestions on dealing with the names and titles is a good one (because you have us narrow-minded English speakers for an audience, it's something you'll need to keep in mind throughout). The POV at the end [of chapter one] is a minor problem ... but the bigger piece in identifying with 3 Croc could make the piece even stronger. If you let more of his emotions through, we'll be more involved: his excitement about having participated for the first time, his horror at seeing his foster father fall, his guilt as he blames himself ... You might try interspersing more of his thoughts, feelings, reactions, observations throughout the ceremony, so that you can strengthen and highlight more of these items.
Kim Huett: WDavid, I have great faith in your work! I think you're on a great track here. What you said about the outsider-ness and 3-Croc makes sense now. Keep on keepin' on, as they say.
Instructor DeChancie: Nothing wrong with solemnity. Just unbusy those sentences; don't make 'em work so hard. They'll do more for you, and the solemnity will be increased, churchy or not.
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WDavid, at 10/12/2006 08:40:00 AM
Only a few comments.
Should "priest" in the first paragraph be priests?
When he opens Pochotl's chest on the altar and reaches in for his heart, I would think the guy would already be dead from all that, but you say he's still alive until his heart is jerked from within. I find that hard to believe.
I like how Lord Tayauh seems to take Three Crocodile under his wing afterward as though he enjoys becoming his new tutor. I wonder though what your intentions are.. will he remain the comforting counselor, or is it all a ruse to draw close enough to find a way to eliminate Three-Crocodile?
I love how this story is progressing. Is it going further? I think you said once it was only a bedtime story someone is telling their child, so is there more, or is this it? I hope there's more. You have gained enough interest in Three-Crocodile that the reader wants to know what happens next.... not only in his life, but in the life of the babe.
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Ruth, at 10/12/2006 03:42:00 PM
Here are the comments from the instructor and the class on the complete "Festivla of Atlcualo" story.
Instructor DeChancie: "Fear and horror tore through Three-Croc." -- OK, fine. But then he "folds into a shivering crouch." One or the other, but both is too much. Better to stick to the concrete. He folds into a shivering heap or whatever, a concrete image that *conveys* the horror and that the horror is overwhelming. Keep to the concrete, the specific. "Monochrome costumes" is abstract. Better to show colors, even if there's only one. Impart the definite, the precise. Avoid the vague, the generic, the blanket term. You settle down eventually and begin to tell the story. That usually happens; you can't waste words if there's a story to be told. And this moves along pretty well. You have a clear protagonist, an antagonist (who gets what's coming to him), and a moment of revelation for the main character, and a final triumph. I can see nothing wrong with the dialogue, except that it may need some loosening up so as to distinguish ceremonial language from ordinary speech. Let's take a step back. I note the chapter headings. I take it this is a section of a novel. However, it won't work as a short story, I don't think, unless you somehow make bring the background forward. You [previously] mentioned contact with ancient Chinese culture, and I wonder if you can't bring some of that into this piece. That would alert the reader that this is an alternative version of history. Otherwise, the reader is going to be a trifle lost. Now, if you have no intention of sending this out as a stand-alone, then it becomes a matter of when you will let the reader in on the background. In a novel, you have all the time in the world, so it might not be so critical. You can take your time. But for a short piece, it's crucial that you get some of that exo-historical background to the foreground.
Instructor DeChancie: Let me add that I think WDavid has a shot at being a real writer. This shows though, care, and skill. Also knowledge of his subject matter. I think also that he needs more development and more of an eye toward the broader contours of his fiction. I do like the Chinese connection, and hope you develop it. That makes the Meso-American setting something other than historical, and therefore fantastic, squarely within the genre. OTherwise, this would be a quasi-historical novel. Not many of those.
Jeff: I must admit, I was a little lost at first. I like knowing something about the people I am reading about. That said, I liked the rest of the story. The writing is crisp and kept me wanting to read. Background on Three- Croc would have allowed me to feel more for him.
laf: It seems to me that anyone who could have invested the effort to research the history, and then extend to build an alternate history, certainly already has the "sticktoitiveness" needed for a novel (give yourself credit)! (and I don't have any new comments beyond that, except to mention that it is a good, complete, short story ... I think Mr. DeChancie's final comments are that it isn't in this genre (sf/f) without the elements that let us know we're in an alternate history, as it is, standalone right now)
Cathy: You are on your way...I find your story very interesting...and you are off to a good start on character development with Three Crocodile. You are, apparently, knowledgeable of the history of this area, and aware that this setting makes for an excellent story. This story is complex, because the lives of these people was complex, but your writing really highlights the issues. As you revise and work with an editor it will become even more refined. Go to some writers conferences if there are any in your area, I just returned from one and learned so much.
Robert: I enjoy your writing. You have a real knack for storytelling, and your world is quite well developed. I was wondering why Three Crocodile had the name he did - I'm glad it was finally explained. The problem I had with this story was that it just seemed a little rushed. Three Crocodile's vision and quest to save the children just seems to come out of the blue. I really didn't see it coming. I think your story could use more development of Three Crocodile's character so that the driving reasons behind his desire to change tradition are more apparent, so that his sudden conversion appears less arbitrary. Also, I don't know that the other priests would react so calmly to what amounts to a 13 year old boy seizing power. There needs to be some reason why the Old Priest was so accepting, otherwise it doesn't ring true based on our knowledge of human nature.
WDavid: Mr. DeChancie...Thank you. I appreciate all of the advice. This is exactly the kind of thing I need. :-) Yes, the world is an alternate history and I see this story as part of the world's ancient history...before contact with the Chinese and at least a century before Columbus...It's the culture in evolution from one with little regard for human life and heavily into human sacrifice to one with some basic human respect, if not actual rights. A culture that respects its citizens, at least in a small way, more will be more stable in it's long-term growth. This was meant as a stand alone short story and the Chapters were just a way to separate the scenes in my own mind and in the structure of the class. That said, I showed this to a couple of others and they are interested in the story going on and following Three-Crocodile to see how he develops in his new role as First of Tlaloc, how his new relationship with Tayauh evolves, how established powers in the city react to him and his "new path". Old traditions do not give way easily and this culture is not known for subtlety. If I carry it on perhaps I can even work this into a time period where first contact with the Chinese occurs in the story. I'm not really sure I have the sticktoitiveness to write a novel anyway. :-) In any event, I need to get this short story fixed first and your assistance here is GREATLY appreciated.
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WDavid, at 10/18/2006 10:40:00 AM
This - "Instructor DeChancie: Let me add that I think WDavid has a shot at being a real writer." is what I've been telling you all along. Congratulations!
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Ruth, at 10/20/2006 06:41:00 PM
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