The Pearl of Xibalba
The obsidian blade was millimeters away from her neck when Ixchel, drenched in sweat and borrowed courage, rolled to her side and planted her foot squarely into the warrior’s chest. He stumbled backward, the metallic jingling of his jaguar pelt armor mocked only by his grunt of pain. The sacred cenote glimmered behind her, the jagged walls of its limestone maw glinting under the light of a thousand sacred torches. Shouts of alarm filled the air. Blood had already smeared the sacrificial altar—not hers, not yet—but time was precious. The others were coming.
She raised her gaze to find her pursuers crashing through the jungle undergrowth around the cenote’s circle, their obsidian-tipped spears glinting in the moonlight. Her breath heaved with the weight of desperation, her golden blonde hair now streaked with dirt and leaves. She was no longer the flower-decked maiden paraded through the city as tribute to the gods. No, this time the gods had chosen wrong.
The Maiden Warrior
Ixchel’s attire spoke volumes of the sacred culture that had dressed her for the divine ceremony… and the sacrilege she now represented. Her silken tube top, dyed vibrant magenta from crushed cochineal insects and edged in sacred white quetzal feathers, clung to her body despite its frequent snags on thorned vines. A matching skirt, shorter than traditional priestess garb but dyed the same deep magenta, rippled at her hips, still clasped with the golden chain belt of the High Priests’ ceremonial maidens. Yet the outfit now bore scars of rebellion: a slash from an obsidian dagger grazed the skirt’s delicate hem, and dried blood stained her arm warmers, once vibrant bands of woven cotton dyed in pink and ivory, which had been meant to enhance the grace of her ritual dance.
But most strikingly, where she had once worn ceremonial jade necklaces and a priestess’ jade headpiece, she had now claimed her captor’s discarded jaguar teeth necklace. Her blue eyes, so uncommon among her people and thought to mark her as chosen by the gods, burned instead with defiance in the moonlight. She was no virgin offering now. She was hunted prey—and predator.
Before the Ceremony
The jungle’s symphony of cicadas and distant howls seemed like a distant echo of a time before she had been bound for sacrifice. Ixchel had been raised like a vision out of a divine dream: loved by her people, revered in her study of stars from the sacred codices, and cloistered away from the urges of mortal life. Her blonde hair, a rarity in their lands, had been kept sacred under vows of purity. But beneath her careful instruction in glyph writing and her lessons in the rituals of cenote worship, rebellion had festered like ancient roots hidden beneath stone.
Four moons before this night, she had seen the warrior they called Ocelotl—the young jaguar knight who had come to oversee preparations for the season of offering. His green eyes had pierced her in the crowded market square as he inspected the jade artifacts. They had spoken only once amidst the stone carvings, her fingers brushing his as she passed him the obsidian lion-shaped amulet to inspect, but in that moment, she’d seen something forbidden: longing. It mirrored in her chest like fire sent to wake a slumbering serpent.
It was Ocelotl who now faced her across the cenote, his spear trembling in his hands. “Return, Ixchel,” he rasped, his voice filled with a mixture of authority and anguish. “If you surrender, they may grant mercy.”
Ixchel tilted her head. “The gods demand no mercy, Ocelotl. They demand my blood. Will you spill it for them?” Her tone was biting, but her heart raged, her breath quickened as he stepped dangerously closer. His jaguar-skin cloak brushed the wet limestone, and for one mad moment, she wanted to take his wrist and drag him into the cenote with her.
Rebellion
Two nights ago, Ixchel had fled the temple as the High Priest, a man whose voice had always carried the weight of stone mountain gods, carved her path to death with calm precision. She had run barefoot through the streets of the sacred city, breaking her vow of silence to scream at the stars above: “Take me, but I will not walk to you!” By the time Ocelotl’s men had found her, she had claimed the only thing left to resist them—fire from a villager’s altar brazier.
Now, she was trapped by the jungle and her own rebellious heart. She knew they would light no torches for her if she escaped, no songs would be sung of her name in the sacred annals. Instead, she would be cursed. The blue-eyed blasphemer. The girl with the magenta skirts who defied both gods and men.
“Ixchel,” Ocelotl breathed as he lowered the spear tip just enough to make her pause. “Do you think this freedom of yours will buy you hope? Do you not see the stars have carved a path for us both?” There was real anguish in his words, and it cut deeper than any weapon.
But Ixchel only smiled grimly. “The stars are secrets, Ocelotl. We choose how we walk among them.”
She turned and dove into the cenote’s ink-black waters before his reply could anchor her to the edge.
The Water’s Choice
The sudden cold closed around her in an embrace. Her magenta silk, now waterlogged, clung to her skin as she kicked with all her strength. Down she swam, deeper and deeper into the sacred underworld she had read about all her life: Xibalba. Threads of moonlight tangled with the sacred torches above, illuminating faint carvings on the cenote’s limestone walls. Glyphs whispered promises she could not understand. Perhaps she was denied even the gods’ voices.
And yet, a sudden glow blossomed beneath her. Her sharp blue eyes widened as she reached toward it—a heart of pearl radiating faint pink light, nestled between two jaguar gods carved of bone. She did not know what madness made her touch it, what urge in her chest claimed something divine for herself. But as her hand closed around the pearl, her lungs filled with fire and the water rippled around her.
Epilogue
The gods would not be denied forever, after all. Ixchel surfaced from the cenote with the sacred pearl clutched to her chest. The stars above burned impossibly bright, flickering as if in warning or triumph. Ocelotl’s shadow waited at the water’s edge.
“You cannot save me, Ocelotl,” Ixchel whispered with soft defiance as she strode past him, the jaguar-tooth necklace gleaming like fangs. “I have already made my choice.”
He hesitated, hopelessly torn, before finally following her into the jungle. Behind them, the torches at the cenote flickered out one by one, carrying the gods’ silence into the dark.
The Pearl of Xibalba would later be spoken of only in whispers—of how a girl with eyes like the sun’s edge dared to thread her own fate into the fabric of the divine.
Genre: Historical Fantasy
The Source…check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Vibrant Pink Tube Top and Mini Skirt Cosplay with Iridescent Fairy Wings and Edgy Arm Warmers
Disclaimer: This article may contain affiliate links. If you click on these links and make a purchase, we may receive a commission at no additional cost to you. Our recommendations and reviews are always independent and objective, aiming to provide you with the best information and resources.
Get Exclusive Stories, Photos, Art & Offers - Subscribe Today!
3 comments