They were in the midst of exercises for the sacred act. Now they were required not only to stand naked before others, but also to touch one another.
Yet Tlacotzin could not think of such things. He lay in Xilonen's embrace, his head resting upon her breasts. They were wonderfully soft, soothing, and fragrant with flower oils. But even that could not calm his mind after the recent days.
"Me, a guardian spirit? With a temple and a tomb? A simple grave in the garden would be enough."
Nenetzi stretched out upon him, and he wrapped her in his arms. He felt her slightly rough hands on his skin—hands that recalled all the beautiful things she had crafted. He remembered her ornaments, amulets, and jewelry. He shook his head at the thought that such things might one day be dedicated to him. Why had he even thought of that?
Izel lay down beside him.
"Tlacotzin, the temple and the tomb will be needed. People must have a place to bring their offerings and prayers. You yourself brought gifts to the temple."
He had to admit she was right. Even one as poor as he had always found a bit of food or a flower for Xochipilli, bringing it to the temple with his prayers. Still, the idea that someone so simple as he should have his own pyramid and tomb was crushing.
"Perhaps I should think of it as my spot in the marketplace, where I used to play?"
Xilonen giggled softly.
"Exactly. From such a place you could play for the whole city."
Meya smiled and joined in.
"Why, my family could probably hear you even out on the farm."
For the first time in many days, Tlacotzin smiled sincerely. For nothing was he more grateful than for these four girls. He wanted always to remain with them—but he must die for the good of the community, theirs included. He longed to hold onto them, but it was impossible. They would stay with his children, perhaps find life with another. The thought of that hurt him more than the vision of death itself. Suddenly he asked:
"How did you become acolytes?"
It had long puzzled him. Priests were chosen from noble houses who completed the calmecac. Izel and Xilonen fit that path, but Meya and Nenetzi had neither noble birth nor formal schooling. That they had become acolytes was extraordinary.
"It was quite an adventure," Xilonen said.
"I would call it something else," Izel replied.
"As always," Xilonen teased.
Nenetzi looked into his eyes and began.
"It was about two years ago. Meya and I met at the market, and then went searching for flowers together. Before long a suspicious man started bothering us."
Meya nodded and continued.
"We didn't trust him. He wouldn't even say where these supposed flowers were."
Xilonen pressed Tlacotzin's head deeper into her bosom as she added:
"That's when I stepped in. I took the girls to Xochipilli's temple to show them the garden."
"And slipped away to the market while we still had much work, barely starting our temple service," Izel scolded.
Meya laughed, Nenetzi giggled.
"Yes, Izel gave Xilonen quite the tongue-lashing."
"And Xilonen paid it no mind," Meya added.
Tlacotzin chuckled. Clearly, from the very beginning, a sisterly bond had joined them.
"Unfortunately, the wretch soon returned with his companions—and their intent was plain."
Izel ground her teeth, spitting out her question.
"How stupid can men be?"
"Before they could do anything, the temple guard surrounded them, Cuathli himself at their head. They tried to resist, but it ended badly for them. Afterward, though no wind blew, a cloud of petals and butterflies surrounded us."
"The High Priest took it as a sign that our place was in the temple," Nenetzi finished.
Tlacotzin fell into thought. It was indeed a remarkable tale. But the girls were thinking of something else—of the conversation they had had with Cuathli.
That evening Tlacotzin and the girls stood in the preparation chamber with Cuathli and Citalli.
Tlacotzin felt uneasy. Cuathli looked at the girls as if piercing them through. They stood in a row, unwavering determination in their eyes.
"Girls, returning to our earlier talk—have you decided?"
Their answer came as one, their voices united, without doubt.
"We agree."
Then they turned to Tlacotzin with hopeful eyes, leaving him stunned. Cuathli spoke.
"Tlacotzin. I cannot save your life, though I wish it. It will end at the festival of Xochi Huetzi, after which you will become our guardian spirit."
Tlacotzin lowered his head in sorrow. He did not want to part from Cuathli, the girls, Citalli, Itzcoatl, from them all… but he must.
"If there were a way for you to see the girls after your death—would you wish it?"
He looked first at Cuathli, then at the girls. He loved them and wanted to be with them. Yet he was bound to his swiftly approaching death. Afterward, they would need to heal, raising his children. He was a man—he should be there to help raise them. And the thought of them with someone else stirred anger in him.
"Yes. I would."
Cuathli regarded him steadily.
"As guardian spirit, you will need servants to mediate between you and mortals, to spread your memory and your teaching. Will you accept Meya, Nenetzi, Xilonen, and Izel as your priestesses?"
Tlacotzin gaped in amazement. He had never thought of such a thing. But if he was to have a temple, he would need priests—or priestesses.
"There is also a way for you to be bound with them even when you belong to the world of the gods. It is called a spiritual marriage."
Tlacotzin stared. He knew what marriage was, but not this.
"Izel—could you explain?"
"Of course, Great Servant of Xochipilli. A normal marriage is a social contract between mortals, lasting until the death of one partner. A spiritual marriage is different. It forges a bond between us and Tlacotzin that will endure beyond death and reach into the realm of the gods. In our case, it is both marriage and priestly vow."
Tlacotzin was struck dumb. Could he ask such a thing of them? If they did this, it would shape their whole lives.
But the girls turned to him, eyes unwavering. He understood at once. They had already chosen. They were ready to sacrifice their free future to remain with him in some way. He hesitated, and Meya lightly tapped his forehead.
"You just thought you aren't worthy of us."
He gave an apologetic smile.
"You are far too modest, Tlacotzin," Izel said. "And you apologize too often."
"She's right," Meya added. "This is our choice. No one forced us. We want to be with you."
He smiled with pure joy. He felt blessed indeed, that the gods had given him such love.
"Then, girls—I accept you as my priestesses and as my wives."
A blush rose on his cheeks. Surely he could have said it in a more exalted way. But he spoke what was in his heart. He wanted them. Perhaps he could have phrased it better, but it mattered to no one. The girls embraced him, and Cuathli and Citalli smiled warmly.