In Life, In Death Read online

  In Life, In Death

  Saga of the City by the Flowers, Book 1

  Adara Wolf

  adarawolf.com

  Copyright © 2018 Adara Wolf

  Written & Edited by Adara Wolf

  Cover Design by Adara Wolf

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  http://adarawolf.com

  Contents

  In Life, In Death

  About this Book

  About the Author

  Note

  Pronunciations

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Thank you for reading

  Excerpt from A Coward, A Warrior

  About this Book

  As a prince, Ahmiki knows that his purpose in life is to serve their city and help its people find prosperity. Until the night that he is named as the living representative of the god Teska’atl, to be sacrificed at the end of the year. Ahmiki has to endure one year of humiliating rituals, unpleasant ceremonies, and a fraught political landscape.

  At least he can take some comfort in the handsome and strangely unbowed servant who has been assigned to him…

  About the Author

  Adara writes almost exclusive m/m, but she has a fondness for bisexual protagonists. She enjoys a lot of darker themes, so you'll see a lot of that in her works.

  When Adara isn't writing, she's reading, painting, playing video games, and rescuing cats. She also enjoys learning about languages and other cultures.

  If you're ever curious about the kink content of her works, there are content notes for each story on the website. You can also find out more about her works and read some freebies there. www.adarawolf.com.

  You can also join the official Facebook group, Adara’s Wolf Pack.

  Note

  The society I’ve depicted in this story is completely fictional. The gods are not the gods of the Maya or the Mexica (commonly called Aztecs); the culture is a fantasy culture, though I've drawn from texts about Mesoamerican societies.

  I’d also like to thank C, for letting me bounce ideas off of her, and E, L, and B, who have been so supportive of me on my journey as an author and have given me the input necessary to tighten and improve this narrative.

  Pronunciations

  x = sh (ixiptla = ishiptla)

  tl = one sound (Xo-chi-ti-tlan); at end of a word, you can swallow the “L.”

  Kw = one sound (O-me-tekw-tli)

  Vowels are “flat,” as in Spanish or Japanese.

  Words and some names are drawn from classical Nahuatl, using an orthography which is more familiar to English-speakers. (Nahuatl has no official orthography, though it is most often written in a hispanicized manner, as that was how the Spanish monks and friars first recorded the language.)

  Names of gods and some characters/locations are made up wholesale, and please forgive me if I've made errors in the grammatical construction of those names.

  Chapter 1

  On the tenth day of the seventeenth month, the messenger brought news of the Great Tekoyotl’s death. Ahmiki had known it would come soon, but it still somehow surprised him and left him feeling numb. In this vassal city, in the courtyard he had commandeered on the palace grounds, he heard the messenger tell of his father’s final days, and his spirit froze.

  Ahmiki couldn’t show weakness, of course. The city of Yowalapan had only joined their empire just a few months ago, and he doubted the previous rulers would leave any weakness unexploited. So he set aside his feelings and went back to more important matters.

  If Ahmiki’s father had been in better condition, he might have come to oversee the integration of the new vassal-city himself. Instead, he had sent Ahmiki to handle it. A strange choice, to be sure, since Ahmiki still had a lot to learn and any number of Tekoyotl’s esteemed generals would have made a more imposing figure. And Ahmiki’s brother Colsatsli, who was expected to take the throne after Tekoyotl, might have enjoyed the job more. Perhaps their father had foreseen his own death, and had wanted to keep Colsatsli close for that day.

  Not that Ahmiki particularly envied Colsatsli the honor. Even here, in this city only a step above a village, Ahmiki was feeling overwhelmed by the necessity of rule. He had to carefully balance diplomacy with strictness, lest the leaders of the vassal city think that Xochititlan’s rule was weak. Yet even that amount of politicking was simple in comparison to the politics in a city the size of Xochititlan, where there were twenty different councils and each had twenty different agendas.

  He did miss Xochititlan though. Yowalapan had only one temple, nowhere near as ostentatious as home, and they had not redirected parts of the nearby river to create roadways through the city. That was something he might suggest, though he might couch it in terms of making delivering tribute easier. It would help the average citizen, but they would resent it if an outsider compelled them to do it.

  Maybe when he mentioned the commemorative monument, and the great amounts of stone and jade they would require, he would bring up the question of canals too.

  Ahmiki pushed those thoughts aside and turned his attention back to the economics of this city. He’d been observing for two months now, trying to determine the exact amount of tribute they could demand without completely paupering the city. And he had to oversee the judgments, simply to be sure they fell in line with what Ahmiki felt was just.

  Work would keep him from thinking about his father too much.

  ~*~*~

  Getting called back to Xochititlan was unexpected. He’d already missed the funeral, because Colsatsli’s missive had said it was more important for Ahmiki to oversee the goings-on in Yowalapan. Ahmiki had intended to come home in time for the New Year’s celebration, but ten days later a new messenger arrived requesting that Ahmiki return early. With their hold on the eastern cities so tenuous, it didn’t seem smart to Ahmiki, but disobeying his new king would only send the wrong message. So Ahmiki trekked back with his retinue of followers, leaving one of the priests in charge.

  When he arrived in Xochititlan, preparations for the New Year’s festival were well underway. The priesthood and the nobles would be gathering that night for a small festival. Ahmiki tried to meet with Colsatsli to give his report, but was told that his brother was too busy. He ended up dealing with the sage who handled Colsatsli’s day-to-day affairs, and then spent the rest of the day visiting a few friends.

  The evening celebrations took place at the square in front of the royal palace, in the north of Xochititlan. The fires were stoked high, and incense smoked freely. Tables had been arranged all around the square, with Colsatsli and his family and retinue on a slightly elevated platform. In the center, the musicians played flutes, beat drums, and shook rain sticks to form a lively tune.

  Ahmiki settled himself into the chair next to his mother, the Lady Atoyakoskatl, on a side table close to Colsatsli’s elevated platform. Even in the orange light of the festival fire, she looked harried, her usually tightly woven braids coming loose at the ends. Her eyes, too, were a bit red, like she hadn’t slept well.

  She was taking her husband’s death hard, Ahmiki thought, and he placed his hand on hers to reassure her. “I am here for you, mother. We shall pass into a new age, and we will carry on father’s glory.”

  His mother barked a strange laugh and lowered her head, so he could no longer see her face. But her hand squeezed his tighter, a sign that she appreciated his comfort.

  To distract the
m both, he summoned a slave to serve them some oktli. Ahmiki barely waited for the slave girl to have finished serving before he began drinking, relishing the bittersweet flavor.

  He sighed loudly after the first long sip. “Come mother, drink. Let tonight, at least, be a night of merriment for you.”

  For some reason, that made her grip his hand even tighter. “Oh, Ahmiki. I wish I could.”

  Ahmiki wanted to ask her what she meant, but the festival musicians suddenly stopped, and Tlanextic, the head priest, stepped onto the dais next to the fire.

  “My Lord Colsatsli,” Tlanextic began, addressing Ahmiki’s brother. “My people of the great Xochititlan! Today we will determine who the next ixiptla will be, the one whom the great god Teska’atl has chosen to be his avatar, whose life will appease the energies of the west and ensure that our Lady Sun continues to travel through the third heaven!”

  After having heard the same speech year after year, Ahmiki thought he could recite it himself. The priests would read the stars and the flames, and in a show of great ceremony, announce the person who would take on the role of ixiptla for the next year. The great Teska’atl favored strong, beautiful slave men.

  The priests carried the great obsidian mirror into the center, so that it reflected the flames and the stars back towards the front of the festivities, where Ahmiki’s brother sat.

  Between the smoky scent of the incense and the strong oktli, Ahmiki found himself growing excited. The edges of his vision were somewhat blurred, so that his brother, surrounded by his three wives, five sons, and a large procession of advisers, became a smudge. Not truly visible to Ahmiki’s eye, almost as if a cloud had passed in front of him.

  The flutes and drums started up again, louder than before, bringing Ahmiki’s attention back to the center stage in time to see a red-robed and a black-robed priest bring one of the sacred codices forward. They were about to read the ixiptla’s name.

  Ahmiki’s mother leaned her head against his shoulder, and she clutched his hand so tight it almost hurt.

  “The ixiptla,” Tlanextic intoned, “is decided, has been decided, was always decided. He is Lord Ahmiki, son of the great Tekoyotl, born on the day 7-Jaguar, 1-Reed, on the exact halfway point between cycles.”

  Ahmiki dropped his cup.

  The rest of the oktli spilled across his lap, and his mother started openly crying. Around them, the usual cheers went on, celebrating the naming of the new ixiptla.

  As was custom, the king—or, in this case, the soon to be king, Ahmiki’s brother—stepped forward to give his own blessings.

  Ahmiki barely heard a word of it. His hands were shaking, and not from the drink and the incense. He hadn’t even smoked a pipe yet. All the while, his mother cried into his shoulder.

  There had to be a mistake, Ahmiki wanted to shout, but that would be a sure way to get everybody angry at him. The priests did not make mistakes. The gods decreed, and the priests simply read the stars.

  It even made sense, if he thought about it. He really was born at exactly the halfway point between cycles. The new cycle would begin in two weeks. There would be a new king, a new era, and only a most highly esteemed ixiptla would be able to appease the great Teska’atl in such an important, tumultuous time.

  This was why he’d been called back. He had thought the summons strange, yes, but he also thought it might have been to ensure he would be in Xochititlan in time for the coronation.

  They must all have known well in advance what was to come.

  “I’m so sorry, Ahmiki. I’m so sorry,” his mother said, over and over, her tears rolling down Ahmiki’s shoulder.

  Her reaction pulled at him. “Did you know?” he asked. “When I sat down. Before the ceremony started.”

  “Yes. I… I begged them not to name you. You are my only son left, Ahmiki. I can’t bear to see you go.”

  Her only son left. The other sons she had borne for Tekoyotl had both died young, before Ahmiki could remember them. He had one sister who would be able to care for his mother, but of course that would not be the same.

  The rest of the festivities carried on as if Ahmiki’s life hadn’t just ended.

  ~*~*~

  The next day, Ahmiki decorated himself with his finest jewelry and his richest cape. His chest was barely visible underneath the layers of gold and turquoise. For his cape, he chose one that had been embroidered with feathers and beads of all colors that formed a pattern that rippled like water when he moved.

  He was now fit to see his brother, the future king. He made his way to the courtyard that served as the king’s assembly area.

  Thankfully he wasn’t denied an audience, but Ahmiki suspected they wouldn’t dare, now that he was slated to become the ixiptla. In the past, it had sometimes taken days for him to be able to see his father, simply because a younger son was not much of a priority. That had changed in the past two years, with Tekoyotl asking to see him more often, but Ahmiki still remembered the days when he’d been on the fringes.

  “Ahmiki! Brother! Welcome!” Colsatsli exclaimed, and he actually stepped off the throne dais to embrace Ahmiki. This man, who looked so imposing with his hair twisted to the side and decorated with many gems, wearing a cloak even more intricately embroidered than Ahmiki’s cloak, whose arms and neck and calves shimmered with gold and silver, whose feet never walked bare across the floor, this man still treated Ahmiki as an equal.

  It had been years since they’d been close as brothers. A wave of nostalgia hit Ahmiki. He remembered how, when he’d been still young, Colsatsli would play with him and teach him various useful skills. It had been Colsatsli who had helped Ahmiki catch his first fish. It had been Colsatsli who had shown him how to play the flute. It had been Colsatsli who had consoled him when their eldest brother bullied Ahmiki.

  Ahmiki relented and returned his brother’s embrace. Yes, the distance had grown between them, but it was understandable. Colsatsli was ten years his elder, and as they grew older, their father had pressed both of them into helping tend to the kingdom, leaving little time for them to interact with each other.

  They lingered perhaps longer than normal, but once they stepped apart, Ahmiki thought the distance between them had closed somewhat.

  “How may I serve you today, brother?” Colsatsli asked, as he did with all who sought an audience with him.

  Ahmiki stumbled at the question. He couldn’t ask Colsatsli to undo the previous evening’s decision. Even with the mild hangover, Ahmiki wasn’t foolish enough to attempt it. And yet, he still wished he had not been chosen. An honor that he didn’t want.

  Those were a coward’s words, though. Ahmiki would not shame his name by acting like a coward. “Before the temple steals me away to prepare my body to receive the heavenly spirits, I wanted to make sure that my duties will be taken care of. Do you have somebody to oversee the cities to the east? Would you like me to train one of your sons?”

  Colsatsli had five sons in total, one from the third wife and two from the other two wives each. After being officially crowned king, Colsatsli would undoubtedly take the fourth, final wife, to complete the earthly representation of the order of the heavens.

  Ahmiki had never felt the urge to take any wives of his own. He was always content to simply work with his existing family members, and the female form did not entice him as it seemed to entice all the men around him. Ahmiki’s mother claimed that he had a dual soul, one that gave him a strong body and a stronger will, but also kept him gentle and drew him to prefer the company of men.

  It had never bothered Ahmiki, and Colsatsli never commented on it either.

  “That is kind of you, brother, but it is not necessary. The sages have been instructing my sons, and I have taken them each along on tours of the kingdom with me. I would rather you use this time to relax and prepare yourself for what is to come.”

  What was to come. Ahmiki’s death was the only sure thing in the future now. And Colsatsli was still smiling at him.

  There would be no
reprieve from that future in this quarter. Ahmiki took a breath and resolved to do right by his brother in this last year of his life. He would not—could not—enter the spirit realm with regrets in his heart. For whatever faults he had, Colsatsli was still his brother, and Ahmiki intended to honor and maintain the bonds between them.

  ~*~*~

  Ahmiki went to see his mother and sister Yaoxochitl after that. They sat in the courtyard to the home, surrounded by beautiful flowers.

  “I don’t even understand how this is possible,” Yaoxochitl said. She wore a simple blouse over her long skirt, with only a stripe of color along the edges of both garments. She hadn’t bothered to twist her braids to lie above her ears. She sat with Ahmiki on the blanket, keeping her hands busy with weaving.

  In contrast, Lady Atoyakoskatl had styled her hair properly, and wore the finest clothes Tekoyotl had gifted her. Though their home wasn’t as elaborate as the palace, his mother still appeared as regal as a queen, sitting upon an ornately carved chair.

  “How can any mortal understand the gods?” Ahmiki said, trying to keep his voice light. He wasn’t sure he succeeded.

  “They don’t normally choose princes.” Yaoxochitl picked up the shawl she was weaving and scowled at it. “I haven’t been able to concentrate at all.”

  “Would that your father hadn’t taken ill so quickly,” his mother said. “He wouldn’t have allowed this.”

  “What could he have done?” Ahmiki asked. “If the gods decreed it—”

  His mother laughed sadly. “Ahmiki. My Ahmiki. Come here, and let me kiss you.”

  He stepped closer and got onto his knees in front of her. His mother pressed a kiss to his forehead.

  “I spoke at length with your father before he died. He sang your praises, and said he wished he had known what a wonderful man you would grow into. He lamented not insisting that you marry—” all three of them smiled lightly, “—and that he wouldn’t be able to see your greatness for himself.