The festival of Xochi Huetzi was just around the corner. The rainy season was drawing to a close. The fields were ready for harvest, and the farmers were poised to reap.
Preparations had begun in the city. Families decorated their homes with flowers. Garlands were strung over the streets. Wreaths were hung on walls. The entire city began to resemble a garden.
Street cooks and the owners of pulquerías gathered ingredients and drinks for the feast. People would revel, eat, and drink, and they intended to provide food and refreshment at a fair price.
Priests walked the city with censers, censing it with copal and marigold smoke to drive away all evil spirits.
People prepared their own offerings for the gods—the most beautiful flowers they could find, the finest produce from their fields, the tastiest dishes they knew how to prepare.
But in one place an offering of far greater weight was being prepared.
In the palace, in a great hall filled with flowers and incense, a debate was about to begin.
Tlacotzin sat on a high stone dais and played a gentle melody on his flute. He wore richly embroidered robes and a massive headdress of feathers, and was covered with many colorful paints. Even now he looked like someone…
Directly below him were his betrothed, dressed in ornate dresses, jade jewelry, and feathered headpieces. Already they looked like true priestesses. Beside them stood Cuathli and Citalli. The king and officials were present as well.
Citalli took her place facing Tlacotzin and his betrothed.
"Tlacotzin, Meya, Nenetzi, Xilonen, Izel. Now we will choose the hearts to be offered during the consecration of Tlacotzin's pyramid."
She looked at them with steely resolve. "I know it is difficult, but you must be present for this.
"Tlacotzin, sooner or later the time will come when, as guardian spirit, you will point out your offering, just as Xochipilli pointed to you."
Tlacotzin lowered his head slightly. It was obvious to him. This sacrificial rite would neither be the first nor the last. Others would follow, and sooner or later the time might come when he would indicate a specific person.
"Girls. In a few years this duty will fall to you. You yourselves will choose the offerings and perform them."
The girls' faces clouded. It was part of their calling as priestesses, and they could not flee from it. Tlacotzin would need offerings, and making them would be their duty until a new generation took their place.
Tlacotzin played a light melody calling to mind quetzals flying across the sky. The deliberations began.
"For the rite we need thirteen hearts."
Izel answered Citalli's words.
"Thirteen is a sacred number. It signifies the thirteen layers of the heavens and symbolizes a complete spiritual cycle and wholeness."
"As always, excellent, Izel. The candidates will be brought in one by one. We will deliberate until we have gathered thirteen hearts."
The drummers at the sides of the hall struck their instruments. It was the sign to bring in the first potential offering.
Two officials led in a young boy who could barely have begun his studies at the telpochcalli. He wore a wooden collar around his neck. There was no hope in his eyes, as if he expected nothing from life. Tlacotzin felt a pain in his heart. He was certain he himself had once looked like that.
The boy said nothing. An official spoke.
"This is Mecatl. Both his parents are dead; he has no living relatives. He has no property either. If he is not chosen, he will be sold as a slave."
The girls exchanged glances. Meya spoke.
"Mecatl, would you like to say anything?"
The boy only shook his head and lowered it, as if awaiting a sentence. The girls looked at him with sadness. He looked like Tlacotzin when they had first met him. No—he was in an even worse state. At that moment the flute sounded—a gentle melody that carried comfort. Meya spoke.
"Tlacotzin accepts this heart, for he himself knows the pain of loneliness and poverty. Do not worry, Mecatl—in the world beyond you will not be alone, and you will be able to live happily."
The boy smiled faintly. The officials handed him over to the priests, who led him to the chamber of purification where he would await the rite.
The drums sounded again.
This time a young man entered the hall. He was not led in by anyone. He walked alone, unchained. Beside him came an older warrior.
The youth knelt, and the warrior introduced him.
"This is Yolihuani. He recently finished his training at the telpochcalli and was accepted into the army. He has volunteered."
The girls looked at one another. Xilonen spoke.
"Yolihuani, why did you decide to volunteer for sacrifice?"
The youth met her gaze. There was a strain of sorrow in his voice.
"I overheard the officers. I found out I was assigned to a unit destined for offering. I decided that if I'm to die on the sacrificial stone, I want to die in our city."
Tlacotzin recalled what Omacatl had told him about weaker warriors. They were placed into special units and thrown to the enemy to be captured for sacrifice, so their blood could feed the gods. He played a strong, laudatory melody.
"Tlacotzin recognizes your courage and accepts your heart."
Yolihuani gave thanks and was led to the purification chamber.
The drums sounded again. Tlacotzin's eyes widened at the next candidate; he was not alone. The girl's hands, from the fingers to mid-forearm, were covered with fur. Her legs were furry up to mid-thigh and ended in cloven hooves. From her head grew delicate antlers and small, charming ears. The girl was a half-Nagual. He had heard of them but had never seen one. Every person had an animal totem tied to them from birth; in Naguals the bond was so strong they combined human and animal forms. They had their own cities and kingdoms. Something else set the girl apart: the wooden collar on her neck. It was not a simple slave's collar but a finely carved piece showing forests and deer. The official who escorted her began to speak, but the girl fell to her knees and bowed.
"This is Nenetl. A girl of a noble house, she was sent from her city as part of the annual tribute."
The girl bowed and said,
"I greet His Majesty, whose dominion reaches over my city. I greet he who is to become the guardian spirit. I greet the holy brides and the priests."
Tlacotzin was intrigued. The girl was so calm; she seemed unafraid of death. Izel spoke.
"How were you chosen, Nenetl? Were you drawn by lot, or did you volunteer?"
The girl met her eyes. A tear ran from her own.
"My sister was chosen, and she had barely just become betrothed. I volunteered in her place, for unlike my sister my heart does not beat for anyone; therefore I am ready to give it without regret."
Tlacotzin felt a sadness take him. The girl was prepared to die for her sister's happiness, even if it meant she would not be part of that happiness. He played a warm, gentle, familial melody. Tears flowed from Nenetl's eyes. Izel addressed her.
"Tlacotzin admires your care for your sister, Nenetl, and accepts your heart. He also blesses her and her betrothed."
Nenetl bowed until her forehead touched the floor.
"Thank you very much."
She was then led to the purification chamber, and the drums sounded again.
The next person was well known to Tlacotzin and his betrothed—Yaocihuatl, one of Xochipilli's acolytes. They felt a wave of confusion. At first they thought she had brought a message, but the accompanying priest said,
"This is Yaocihuatl, a servant in Xochipilli's temple. Her family recently died, and she is alone. She wishes to offer her heart, for nothing holds her in this world, and she sees no meaning in further life. She also admires the union of the holy brides and the guardian spirit. She wishes to offer her heart to support the guardian spirit and his brides."
The girl looked at Tlacotzin and the acolytes. Her gaze and smile were as pure as the crystal waters of a holy spring. No one spoke. There was no need for words. Tlacotzin played a sorrowful melody full of compassion, which faded into a delicate, peaceful silence. Izel then spoke to her colleague.
"Tlacotzin accepts your heart and thanks you. He wishes to help you find peace on the other side."
The girl smiled and bowed, then went with the priest to the purification chamber.
The drums sounded again. The person brought in was another Nagual—a man of pure coyote blood. A canine face, body covered in fur, a tail swaying behind. He too wore a collar. He walked with a quick, confident stride, leaving his official behind and forcing him to run. He knelt and introduced himself.
"I am Yaotl, a captive from the Flower War."
Some moved to restrain the unruly prisoner, but Tlacotzin stopped them with a gesture.
"I've heard you're a brilliant musician."
His look was challenging. Tlacotzin smiled to himself, reminded of his father prodding him to play some warlike tune—sometimes earning a scolding from his mother afterward. He raised his flute and played his father's favorite melody: a bold, laudatory song of warriors.
Yaotl smiled as he listened. He looked serene and content. When Tlacotzin finished, Xilonen spoke.
"Tlacotzin admires your courage and directness. He hopes you will keep them through the rite."
Yaotl stood and smiled warmly.
"That was wonderful music. Rumor does not compare to the truth. I hope to hear it again before my death."
He let himself be led calmly to the purification chamber. The drums called another person. Meya started; at last he knelt before them.
"Tochpanecatl! What are you doing here?!"
The boy hung his head.
"Father is dead—he died in an accident—and Mother suddenly grew gravely ill."
Tlacotzin felt an unpleasant grip in his stomach. The death of a father and a mother's serious illness—it was as if he were seeing his own past.
"And your brothers?"
"They're unharmed, but we can't earn enough beans to pay the healer, buy medicine, and settle our obligations. We had no idea what to do when a priest came and made an offer. If one of us gives his heart, the temple will pay our debt and cover Mother's treatment. I volunteered."
Meya was downcast; she clearly knew Tochpanecatl's family. She looked at Tlacotzin. Her eyes held sadness and compassion—and the same in his heart.
Tlacotzin began a sorrowful melody full of compassion, but its ending was unexpected—sharp and threatening.
"Tlacotzin knows what you feel. He too suddenly lost his father; his mother suddenly fell gravely ill, and he desperately tried to gather money for medicine—without success. He values your sacrifice for your family and accepts your heart. But he warns that if the temple does not fulfill its agreement, his wrath will fall upon them."
The young farmer rose and followed the priests to the purification chamber.
With the drums, another person was brought in. Tlacotzin was shocked—he knew him well. A musician he had often played with in the market. He knelt before him. Then his betrothed recognized him too, and their astonishment was boundless. A priest spoke.
"This is Tochtzin, a street musician. We wished to have among the chosen a musician whose heart reflected the musical talent of the guardian spirit. We sought a candidate among the musicians of the market. Tochtzin turned out to be a friend of the guardian spirit. He agreed to undergo the rite. He wishes to support Tlacotzin in his work and serve our city."
Tlacotzin truly did not know what to say. His friend's gaze was cheerful, free of doubt. He raised the flute and played a calm melody that reached far. Xilonen answered on his behalf.
"Tochtzin, Tlacotzin appreciates your devotion and accepts your heart. He is glad that you will be able to play together again—albeit on the other side."
Tochtzin bowed lightly, and the priests led him to the purification hall. The drums summoned another candidate: a young, muscular man with several scars across his body. He walked with a steady, measured step and knelt. A priest introduced him.
"This is Tletlaca, a warrior taken during the Flower War."
Tlacotzin's betrothed exchanged looks, and Nenetzi spoke.
"Tletlaca, would you like to say anything?"
"I am a warrior. From the start I knew I would either bring captives to the altar—or end up on it myself."
He looked at Tlacotzin. In his eyes was unshakable confidence. The young musician smiled and began to play—a war song of glory and honor.
"Tlacotzin admires your resolve in the face of death and accepts your heart."
The warrior bowed and stood.
"It will be an honor to die on the techcatl of so splendid a musician."
He was taken to the purification chamber, and the drums called the next candidate.
Nenetzi was impressed. The next girl was a half-Nagual with lizard scales and a tail. Her feet were like a lizard's, and the scales on her legs reached to mid-thigh. The scales on her arms rose to her neck, forming a collar. A carved wooden collar encircled her throat. She knelt before Tlacotzin and his betrothed.
"This is Ayalli. She was sent as tribute from a trading city that has sworn us loyalty."
Nenetzi was first to speak to the girl.
"You have beautiful scales."
The girl bowed.
"Thank you. I am proud of them."
"Tell us why you were chosen."
The girl's face dimmed slightly.
"I am a bastard of the city's most influential family—the result of a dalliance with a slave. I did, however, receive the same noble education as my half-siblings. I was chosen because I had the least chance of a good marriage."
She straightened.
"Even so, I believe I am the best possible offering my city can provide. By the grace of King Tlacohueyotl we can conduct our business without fear, and our trade routes reach distant lands. I believe my heart can satisfy Xochipilli's chosen, and my wisdom can serve him as counsel in the world beyond."
For some reason Tlacotzin thought of Itzcoatl and several of his acquaintances he had met once. She truly was a noble lady. He played her a solemn song worthy of a noble house. Nenetzi spoke in Tlacotzin's name.
"Tlacotzin values your wisdom and dedication and accepts your heart."
The half-Nagual bowed.
"Thank you for deeming my heart worthy."
She rose and was led to the purification chamber.
When the drums called the next person, Tlacotzin at first thought she wore a colorful cloak. Only as she drew near did he realize it wasn't a cloak but her arms—wings covered in brightly colored feathers. Her feet were avian talons, her calves scaled. Her thighs were fully feathered, the plumage covering her hips and reaching to her waist while leaving her belly bare. Around her neck was a carved wooden collar depicting mountains and clouds.
As she approached, she bowed, spreading her wings. They shimmered with a splendid palette of red, yellow, and blue. Nenetzi was fascinated by her feathers; the artisan in her whispered they would make a marvelous headdress.
"Beautiful feathers."
"Thank you."
An official spoke.
"This is Cuicatlani. She was sent as tribute from a mountain city under our rule."
Meya spoke.
"Cuicatlani, tell us why you were chosen."
The bird-girl trembled her wings lightly.
"A contest was held. The one who sang best was chosen. That was me."
To prove her words she sang a beautiful melody of mountains swathed in clouds. Tlacotzin smiled. The girl smiled back and fluttered her wings.
"The guardian spirit has beautiful brides." The girls and Tlacotzin smiled. The young man raised his flute and played a lively, joyful melody. Cuicatlani swayed to its rhythm, humming softly. When it ended, Nenetzi spoke.
"Tlacotzin delights in your song and your joy in life. He accepts your heart. From now on, your song will resound in the gardens of the gods."
The girl folded her wings, stood, and with a cheerful smile went to the purification chamber.
The drums called the next person, who entered with a light, dancing step—a girl with luxuriant hair and generous curves. Her outfit resembled what Xilonen had danced in at his birthday feast, only skimpier. She seemed like a slightly older version of Xilonen. She moved, shaking her hips and jostling her breasts. Izel eyed those with anger and jealousy; Xilonen stood open-mouthed. When the girl reached her place, she dropped to her knees in a dancing pirouette. Xilonen spoke quietly, as if unable to believe her eyes.
"Tlachpialotl…"
The official announced,
"This is Tlachpialotl, a dancer from the house of pleasure in the noble district."
The girl smiled.
"It's been a long time, Xilonen."
"So long…"
Everyone looked at Xilonen, but it was Izel who spoke.
"So you two know each other? You and a girl from a house of pleasure? A perfect match. You truly are a red hibiscus."
Cuathli, Citalli, Tlacotzin, and the other brides chuckled softly. Xilonen, blushing, looked at Tlacotzin. He answered with his gaze alone—he wanted to hear it, and not only he. Xilonen scratched her head.
"You remember how my father said I used to sneak out and wander? The first time I slipped out was to a house of pleasure."
They all gave her significant looks.
"I didn't go for anything like that. I'd heard it was a place where goddesses danced, so I wanted to see it with my own eyes."
Tlachpialotl laughed.
"I remember it like yesterday. A young girl came in saying she wanted to see dancing goddesses. When I first saw you, it was like seeing a hibiscus bud begin to open. I took you to a separate room and danced for you. Then you came back regularly. I started teaching you to dance. I watched you blossom. You were always passionate and open. I thought you'd become one of us. It was quite a surprise when you went to the temple."
"Father's idea. 'You must learn discipline, Xilonen. You must understand your heritage.' But they didn't want me at Huitzilopochtli's temple. They said I didn't fit the character. I lacked a warrior's dignity. I lacked discipline. I was too lively and open."
Everyone laughed.
"They weren't wrong."
"Later I heard from a friend in Tlazolteotl's temple that you'd found yourself a boy."
"How did you hear that?"
Xilonen blushed again. Tlachpialotl stuck out her tongue playfully.
"I have good… language skills."
The dancer sighed lightly.
"I must admit I'd hoped you'd return to us somehow, and I was surprised you chose to bind yourself to one. But I must say—you chose well."
She winked at Tlacotzin. Izel spoke.
"Tlachpialotl, since you've come, it means you wish to offer yourself."
Xilonen swallowed. The dancer spoke calmly, with acceptance.
"Yes, I wish to give my heart."
Meya asked, puzzled,
"Why?"
She met their eyes.
"Flowers have two paths before them. They can slowly wither and fall, or they can burn upon the altar while they are at their most beautiful. I have no one with whom to wither together, so I came here. I do not want to wither in solitude. I would rather burn in the fire of the rite while I am most beautiful."
She looked at them with determination; she was sure of her decision. Tlacotzin raised his flute and played a passionate, dancing melody. The girl rose like a tongue of flame and began to dance to it. When the melody ended, she sank to her knees. Xilonen spoke for him.
"Tlacotzin admires your openness and your talent for dance. He gladly accepts your heart. When the time comes, we will dance together in the spirit world."
The girl smiled and rose in a dancing pirouette.
"I will wait for that moment with impatience."
The priests led her away to the purification hall, where she went with a dancer's step.
The drums sounded, summoning another person. An official brought in a young girl with a cacao flower woven into her hair. Her face was sad, as if she had already accepted her fate. She wore a simple dress and was quite pretty. For some reason Citalli fixed her gaze on her, as if sensing something familiar. The girl knelt and bowed. But before the official could say anything, the doors to the hall slammed. A young girl rushed inside, several guards running behind her. She shouted,
"Xoco, we told you—"
The guards seized her. She tried to break free.
"You were not summoned. Leave—"
At that moment everyone began to shake uncontrollably, as if suddenly struck by some plague. Several fell to their knees, teeth chattering. Others frantically touched parts of their bodies to be sure they were still there. Sweat streamed from them in rivulets.
The cause was no illness, but fear—fear in its purest form. A terror without boundary, spreading like a river in flood, swallowing all.
That fear had a single source, and it gave an order.
"Let her go!"
Citalli fixed them with a terrifying stare. Her heart had been healed and she was once more a woman, not a monster. But that had not made her weak—on the contrary. Now, if she wished, she could be even more fearsome. Who knew—if she truly wished it, perhaps she could kill with her will alone?
The guards let the girl go at once.
"Come here."
At Citalli's command she stepped up and stood beside the other girl. Then it was clear how alike they were—like twins. At the priestess's gesture she knelt. She met her eyes and cried out,
"If you need a heart, take mine and let Xoco go."
"Nahui, this is all my fault!"
"We've told you—it isn't your fault. Mother and Father say so too. You didn't need to come. We'll manage… somehow."
Tlacotzin played a quiet, calming melody on his flute. Meya and Izel spoke in his name, one after the other.
"Girls, calm yourselves."
"Xoco, Nahui—tell us what happened."
Nahui was about to speak, but Xoco laid a hand on her arm. Nahui calmed, and Xoco began.
"It all started a few veitme ago. A nobleman courted me. I didn't trust him, so I turned him down."
The other girl spoke then.
"That bastard, instead of leaving us alone, plunged our family into debt."
The king, who until then had been silent as a symbol of authority, stirred.
"What is that nobleman's name?!"
Both girls answered at once.
"His name was Ihuitzin, Your Majesty."
The king pondered.
"Ihuitzin… Wasn't he sacrificed to Tezcatlipoca when I ordered the purification of the elite?"
An official answered him.
"Yes, Your Majesty. He was sacrificed along with his entire family and many other unworthy ones. Tezcatlipoca's servants were practically delighted with so many offerings."
The king looked at the official.
"Check their debt. Immediately!!!"
The official wanted to protest—as if to say there was no time.
"Your Majesty… Immediately, Your Majesty."
A single look from Citalli changed his mind. He bolted from the hall as if hunted by a raging jaguar. Shortly he returned with documents.
"I have the record, Your Majesty. I checked the debt briefly. I could not detect any irregularity."
The king took the document and examined it. Then he spoke, solemn but sad.
"The official is right. The debt violates no law."
He turned to the girls.
"No matter how undeserved, tragedy is not grounds to annul a debt."
Xoco lowered her head, and Nahui clenched her fists. Xoco spoke.
"Yes, Your Majesty, we understand. Yesterday a priest came to us. He offered to pay the debt in exchange for an offering. Father told him to leave, saying we'd work the debt off somehow."
"Exactly, Xoco. You don't have to die. Let's go home."
She took her hands.
"Nahui. Our field… this year… If not for the debt, we could get through the year."
Those words were painfully clear to Meya and Tlacotzin. Their family field had yielded poor harvest this year. Not enough to pay the debt and feed the family. It meant the family would either go hungry or have to sell someone into slavery.
Nahui embraced her sister and began to weep.
"Xoco, what will we do without you?"
The sisters wept. Cuathli felt exactly as he had when Citalli's sister had been chosen for sacrifice. Citalli felt it too. She looked at the girls with compassion. Meya spoke sorrowfully.
"Do you have anyone besides your parents?"
Nahui seemed about to bristle, but Xoco restrained her.
"We have three younger siblings. They'll manage without me."
Nahui looked at her.
"We need you, Xoco. I can die! I've no chance at marriage. Who would want a girl as headstrong as me?"
"Nahui, you judge yourself too harshly. You always work hard among the agaves and other plants."
"Xoco…"
"Nahui…"
All eyes were on them. Citalli decided to speak.
"Girls. I know what you feel."
Nahui was about to spring at her and demand how she could know, but Citalli's words pinned her to the floor.
"My sister was offered in sacrifice. Like you, Nahui, I burst into the hall. I screamed, I begged—but no one would hear me; they simply locked me away. For years I existed sunk in hatred of everything that is. Only recently was I healed."
For the first time Nahui seemed to find humility and bowed. Citalli continued.
"These two are flowers that have grown from a single stem. That bond must not be severed."
Cuathli spoke then.
"My predecessor dared to do such a thing. I need not remind you of the great divine wrath that fell on us for it."
The king nodded, signaling his agreement with the priests.
"There are only two paths. The girls may leave this hall together and, with their family, face all hardships. Or they may go to the purification chamber, where they will be prepared together for the offering. Their family will be freed from debt, and they will be able to support it from the spirit world. Girls, you must go together. Which path do you wish to take?"
He looked at them. The sisters looked at one another, tears flooding their eyes. They threw themselves into each other's arms. Both wanted the same thing—that the family should live together in peace. Xoco and Nahui were ready to die singly. Yet neither could bring herself to say they would die together, nor that they would go home and truly manage somehow. They were torn. They could not make a decision that would bind them both.
Citalli understood.
"There is someone who understands human hearts. He knows what it means to have no cacao, to shiver with cold, to go hungry—and his heart is filled with empathy."
Citalli looked at Tlacotzin, then at the girls. They nodded in unison. Symbolically, they placed their fate in the hands of he who was to be the guardian spirit.
Tlacotzin thought. He could not annul the debt. He could not make their family's crops suddenly multiply. But he remembered freezing in his wretched hut, often on an empty stomach. Had it not been for Itzcoatl, he would long ago have become a slave. He made the decision he believed best.
He raised the flute and played a melody—familial and sad, which turned into hope for a better future. At the end he sounded a threatening note. All four of his betrothed spoke with one voice.
"Tlacotzin accepts your hearts as flowers grown from a single stem. Your family will want for nothing. Any who dare to stand against it will taste divine wrath such as they could not imagine in their worst nightmares."
The sisters burst into tears, clinging to each other. Priests helped them to their feet. They could scarcely stand from sorrow, but neither would release the other. The priests supported them and helped them to the purification chamber.
Cuathli and Citalli rose. They stood before Tlacotzin and his betrothed and spoke.
"Thirteen offerings have been chosen. Thirteen hearts. Thirteen steps to the heavens."
Meya, Nenetzi, Xilonen, and Izel stood and, where the chosen had knelt, laid down thirteen marigolds—thirteen flowers gleaming like gold. Each symbolized a heart to be given to the gods and a soul that would soon depart for the afterlife.
Tlacotzin raised the flute to his lips, but did not play. Silence filled the chamber—a hallowed silence full of grief for the souls preparing for their final journey. A soundless sorrow resounded in the hall.
Outside there was bustle—a joyful commotion. The inhabitants prepared for the great festival of Xochi Huetzi. They would celebrate fertility, joy, dance, and music. All would feast, eat, and drink.
The time of the great festival had almost come.