Chichen Itza

Yucatan Peninsula

1812

The young boy stared at the full moon as he emptied the water skin into his belly. He pulled the skin away and wiped at his mouth. He looked at his hands as his whole-body shook. It was the summer season, yet the boy felt cold, and he had been feeling cold for days now. He looked over at his traveling companions ahead of him, who had stopped. His mother turned and waved him over. The boy stepped over a large thick tree root and did as his mother bid. When he reached her side, the chilán, the diviner from a village near his own, turned and looked down. The boy got closer and peered over the edge, only to find the moon staring back. The boy stumbled forward a bit as if he was being pulled by the moon, but the chilán put a hand on his shoulder and held him still.

The chilán spoke to the boy in Yucatec, but all he understood was his own name. Many languages were spoken by the original people of New Spain, but the only language he had been allowed to learn was Spanish. The language and religions of his forefathers had been banned. Yet many still spoke them and worshipped their gods in secrete. It was something he didn’t mind not learning, especially after seeing his people killed for not praying to the Spaniard's god. However, things were different now, and his mother feared that the Spaniards would say he is possessed. His dreams had recently changed; they now felt real, and some had even come true.

The chilán spoke to the boy again, this time in Spanish. “You and I are the same, Paxlom. You are only in your tenth year, and your gifts are already far greater than mine.” The chilán knelt in front of Paxlom, and his mother put her hands on his shoulders. “The things I see don’t happen for months or years, and they never happen just as I see them. The things you see happen in weeks and days, and they all happen just as you see them. As the days grow, so does your gift; and soon you will be seeing more than you can bear.” The chilán stood up and waved a hand at the water below, “that is why I have brought you here.”

Paxlom looked down once again, seeing the moon reflecting on the surface of the water. “What is this place?”

“This is Chen Ku; it is a ts’onot. The Spaniards say cenote. Chen Ku is one that is still a secret to people like me. Do you know anything about cenotes, Paxlom?”

Paxlom shook his head.

“Cenotes are sacred places. They are the homes of many chacs; rain gods who bless these lands, so their water is charged with powerful energies. Because of this, they are places where many shamans can go to make offerings to the gods.”

“What gods?” Paxlom asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Whatever gods you worship. We were made to have a voice so that we may pray, and so our voice carries a great deal of power.”

“But what if I don’t worship a god? Does my voice still have power?” He asked, crossing his arms to try and stay warm.

“Of course. You can see what has not happened as a diviner, and your voice can save people. That is the power of your gift. And soon, you will need to show the gods gratitude for your gift.”

“Is that why we are here? To show gratitude?”

“No. We are here to restore your tonalli. Your gift is powerful, and you are young. It strains the energy of your soul – your tonalli. That is what keeps your body healthy and your mind strong. If you lose it all, you will die.”

“Die?” Paxlom said, not really questioning the chilán but thinking about the word. A few days before they set out on their journey, priests had arrived at their village to take away men. They said they would be fighting to protect their homes for New Spain and fight against sinners and traitors. That night, Paxlom had a vision of soldiers of New Spain pillaging their village. He saw his mother die, his friends die, his cousins, grandfather, everyone. It was the strongest vision he ever had. So, he told his mother, who sent one of his cousins to retrieve the chilán. Everyone in the village gathered their things and went north, while they went south to where they stood now. His mother assured him that he saved their village, and the chilán praised him for his gift. If he could help more people with it, he would try his best.

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“To restore your tonalli, you must jump into the cenote and swim to the bottom.”

“How deep is the cenote?” the mother asked.

“It is very deep. But I will pray to the chacs of this cenote so that they may allow Paxlom an easy passage.” As the chilán said these things, he pulled a small stone bowl from his pack and placed some items inside.

Paxlom could not see what was inside the bowl, but the chilán lit the objects with flint and steel. White smoke began to rise from the bowl. “Is this the prayer?”, Paxlom asked.

“Not yet. This is an offering for the spirits in the cenote. Many sacrifices have been made here. Captured warriors, peasant people, princes’, and princesses. Cenotes can be gates to realms beyond our own. The spirits of the souls who cannot make the journey will stay trapped in the cenote.”

Paxlom felt his body grow colder out of fear of meeting spirits. “Should I jump in now?”

“No. First, you must let the smoke bathe you, and you’ll need to breathe it in before you jump. You must know; because your gift is powerful, not only will your tonally be replenished but so will your connection to the world. There is a chance that you will see many things, more than you have ever seen, but you will have to fight past these visions and reach the bottom. When you do, you will only need to float back up. Understand?”

Paxlom nodded and began taking off his pack and his clothes. As he did, he asked the chilán, “how do you know so much?”

The chilán picked up the bowl and put it against Paxlom’s chest, “Breathe. All of my ancestors have been chiláns. I spent my life learning everything I could about this gift. Because when I was a boy about your age, my clearest vision was of you, your mother, and I. Standing here, at the edge of Chen Ku.”

Paxlom looked up at the chilán. Feeling like he was seeing him for the first time. The old man had no hair, his brown face had creases that showed his advanced age, but his eyes were different. The color in his eyes wasn’t fading. Instead, it looked as bright as ever. Paxlom continued breathing in the smoke until the chilán pulled away. His mother approached and cupped his face in her hands and planted a kiss on his head. She stepped away, and he walked closer to the edge. As he looked at the water below, he wondered what he would see. Paxlom looked up at the moon, then leaped.

As he fell, the wind rushed past him, and soon enough, he broke the surface of the water. It was warm on his body. He swam towards the center of the cenote, feeling the cold water around him. When he reached the center, he waded for a few moments before taking a deep breath and diving underwater. He couldn’t see anything past his arms reach in this murky water, but he swam further. His lungs began to feel tight. The need to exhale and breathe in grew, and before long, he did. Bubble rushed out of his mouth as he did his best to keep his instincts at bay, afraid of choking on water. As he continued to push deeper into the cenote, Paxlom started seeing other people swimming around him. Their faces were frozen in sorrow, pain, or pleasure. He felt his heart begin racing as he feared the spirits that were getting closer to him. He closed his eyes, and when he did, the visions came. First, a frightening and loud black snake-like beast blew smoke out its mouth.

Then, the smoke cleared, and he was surrounded by hundreds of people, all of them missing their spirits, without tonalli, but alive. They worshiped up at men in cloaks. The crowd around him then moved, pushing him to the ground. When he stood up and looked around, he saw a world different than his, with boats in the air and beasts that looked like dogs with wings. A cloud of steam pushed him down, and when it cleared, he saw a boy around his own age. He sat alone inside of a wood and metal box. He turned to look at Paxlom, and Paxlom looked at him. He could tell the boy had been crying, and he could also see his tonalli. It pulsed like a star in the night sky.

A loud whistling noise made Paxlom cover his ears and look around for what creature was making the noise. Instead, he found himself surrounded by warm water at the base of the cenote. Bones and what looked like broken pottery lay half-buried beneath the mud. The struggle in his lungs was gone. The water was clearer than collected rain. He turned his body and looked up, the light of the moon shining to and through the water. Paxlom did as the chilán had said and let himself float up. As he slowly drifted to the surface, the spirits he had seen floated up with him. And when he broke the surface of the water, so did they, disappearing into the air like steam.

Paxlom looked around the top of the cenote for his mother and the chilán. When he didn’t see them, he shouted. That’s when he heard his mother call his name. She appeared at the edge with the chilán. They tossed a rope with a bucket at the end of it down the side. Together they pulled Paxlom up. His mother dried his face off with a rag while the chilán looked over the edge.

“To cleanse a sacred and charged cenote, one must have more than a gift of divination.” The chilán turned and smiled at Paxlom, “it is a shame that we must leave. But not without blessing some objects, so their soul essence may grow strong.” Paxlom reached into his pack and began pulling out various objects. A set of stones, a mortar and pestle, a Christian cross, and a knife. “Get dressed and rest young one. While I bless these objects, tell me everything you saw.”