Starfields Read Online Free Page B

started this
huipil
when the dark mornings were shrouded with mist. Every day she sat under the tall tree, little by little creating the universe.

“The gods have sacrificed parts of their precious bodies,” Mauruch has said. “Therefore, blood and life must be given back.”
    Every crevice of the cave fills with the sweet smoke of copal incense and with the ancient words of our chanting: O
Hunahpu Possum and Hunahpu Coyote, Great White Peccary and Coati, Sovereign and Quetzal Serpent, Heart of Lake and Heart of Sea, Creator of the Green Earth and Creator of the Blue Sky . . .
    I hear a screech or groan or cry as an animal is sacrificed.
    In the silence each shaman draws his own blood.
    Mauruch comes to me and pierces my earlobes. I flinch at the sharp barb of a stingray spine, then breathe in time to the rhythmic dripping as Mauruch collects my blood.
    The bloody leaves are mixed with resin and burned. The smell appeases the gods.
    As the flames grow, through my bandages I see visions.
    Mauruch senses this. “Tell me, Xunko,” he commands.
    “The smoke is rising. It’s becoming a . . . a great serpent. And now . . .”
    “Speak.” He grips my arm.
    “The serpent has a tongue,” I say slowly. “On that tongue stands an ancestor.”
    “And what does the ancestor tell us?”
    “He sends his messengers. He sends Arrow Owl, One-Leg Owl, Macaw Owl, and Skull Owl with their burden.”
    “And what is this burden, Xunko?”
    “We are to beware. We are to step carefully. Perhaps even the Framer and Shaper of the Universe cannot prevent what lies ahead.”

R osalba wove until shadows crept across the patio. After weeks of work, she had almost completed the front of the
huipil.
Soon she’d begin on the back, weaving and brocading everything in reverse, upside down.
    Every now and then Nana checked the work, running her rough fingers over the threads. She pointed out areas where the work was fine and even, and places where the threads were bunched up.
    When Adelina teased, darting back and forth, dancing underneath the loom where it was tied to the tree, Rosalba hardly looked up. Once the stiff, squarish figures of the Earthlord and his toad seemed to dance across the fabric. Rosalba put her hand over the threads, stilling the creatures. It was as though her weaving had brought them to life.
    Close to her, Mama was brocading a new
huipil.
Like women throughout the hills, she was creating the story of the Flood. It wasn’t the floodwaters themselves that Mama wove, but rather the image of the Father-Mother, the two ancestors who’d lived through the disaster. Afterward, those two beings had planted corn, making possible the survival of humans.
    Rosalba squinted at the designs in Mama’s
huipil.
Suddenly, she understood. The Flood was just like the disaster Alicia foretold. The Flood had destroyed the world.
    “Mama! The Flood is the same as that 2012 prophesy!”
    Mama smiled. “The Flood was a very long time ago, Rosalba. It has nothing to do with us today.”
    “But if the world was destroyed before, couldn’t it happen again?”
    Mama shook her head. “Don’t be troubled by such things, Rosalba.”
    Mama was right. But still Rosalba wanted to tell Alicia about the connection. Maybe the writer of the book knew about the Flood.
    She waited until Mama and Nana went to the tiny corn patch near the orchard, preparing it for planting. Adelina tagged along, dragging a digging stick.
    Rosalba rolled up the loom, untied it from the tree, and bundled it into the house.
    With the sun dangling low in the sky, Rosalba ran down the path toward Frog Heaven. Her heart tumbled in her chest. Her sandals slapped the soft dirt in time to her chant, “Be there! Be there! Alicia, be there!”
    She passed girls herding sheep, muzzled so they wouldn’t eat holy corn on their way to pasture, their bells tinkling softly. She leaped over a small creek and continued on.
    Finally, she reached the pool, where all was quiet.