4. Chapter 4: Eyes of Xena and Sacrifice (1/2)
the eyes of xena and the sacrifice
behind the bushes, dressed as a boy, the little xena knew already that she had
oken 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
eaking 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
other metztli who was a shoulder above her to her left. in respect to her
other, 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 cele
ation 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
other calling for her, he had
oken 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
oken. "i have come to
ing honour unto your name, i have come
to
ing 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
ings 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
utal 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
ushed 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
ing 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 fi