Chapter IX: Two Legends

On one of Don Eduardo’s trips into the country of the Sublevados he chanced across an old Indian, the troubadour of his tribe. This man had a wonderful store of ancient traditions and legends and was an excellent spinner of tales. As nothing pleased him more than to sit by the hour and tell his stories to Don Eduardo—a most interested audience—they spent many pleasant days together. The following legend, especially, remains fresh in Don Eduardo’s memory and seems to me worthy of being recorded ere it dies for lack of appreciative ears.

IX-LOL-NICTE

My grandfather told me this, as his grandfather related it
to him, and so on back through many grandfathers; and before
that—who knows? There was in the north of this great land a
city, and this city existed a thousand years before the coming
of the white man. The dwellers in the land were called the
children of Kukul Can. Afterward the Itzas, who were a mighty
people, discovered this city and dwelt about the edge of its
Sacred Well for many _katuns_.[6] But before the time of the
Itzas, the first dwellers had come to this land in big canoes,
from the land of the mountains of fire. They were led by a
great and wise man who aided them to build the city. The name
of this man is written in stone in the ruins of the city.

In the city was a high-born maiden, a princess named for a
flower, for on the very night she was born, when the goddess
Ixchel caressed her beautiful mother and placed in her loving
arms a tiny girl child, the _zac nicte_ tree growing on the
terraced platform of the big house on the hill burst into
bloom for the first time and the tiny princess was named for
its flowers, Ix-Lol-Nicte—She the Flower of Sweet Perfume.
Each year thereafter the _zac nicte_ tree, the Mayflower tree
of the Mayas, flourished and brought forth its fragrant snowy
blossoms. Each year the princess grew in comeliness until she
became the most graceful, lovely maid that eyes ever rested
upon. Sixteen Mays had the _zac nicte_ tree been crowned with
blossoms and sixteen Mays had passed since the girl-child was
born to the beautiful mother in the great house on the hill.

As the summer passed, the trunk and branches of the _zac nicte_
turned to ashy gray, but its leaves remained green and its
blossoms lingered in masses of white fragrance. So beautiful
had the maid become that it seemed the greatest honor in all
the land must be hers. She must become the bride of Noh-och
Yum Chac, the Rain God, whose palace is at the bottom of the
Sacred Well. Surely the god would be pleased with her, for
never had he had a bride half so fair. The time was at hand
for the wedding of the water-god and a mortal maid. The god,
who controlled the vase of waters, the dew, and the rain, and
at whose will the corn grew luxuriously or withered and died,
must be mollified. Each year, if it became evident the Rain God
was angry with his people, the most beautiful maiden in the
land was chosen to be thrown into the well, to sink quickly to
his watery home and become his favorite handmaiden and win his
forgiveness for her people.

Ix-Lol-Nicte grew in loveliness, and yet no man had seen her,
nor had she looked upon the face of any man, save only those of
the trusted household retainers. The home of the princess, with
its carved stone walls, thick and massive, loomed majestically
above the palm-thatched homes of the common people. In the
spacious garden was a riot of tropic flowers, exotic shrubs,
and twisting vines, giving forth wave upon wave of sweet
perfume. Among the trees of grateful shade was the _yax-nic_,
whose bark is used to make the drink of the gods and whose
clusters of lilac blooms formed a perfect background for the
vivid flame of the _copte_ tree.

Care-free, with no thought of the future to darken her
innocent pleasures, the princess drifted happily about the
garden, with only the companionship of the wild creatures
that peopled the inclosure. And they sensed with unerring
intuition the gentleness of her presence and bared not against
her claw, fang, nor sting. In the sunny garden the little wild
honey-bees, shining black like bits of jet, clung to her glossy
tresses, loath to leave her fragrant presence. The big, lazy
black-and-yellow butterflies lit fearlessly upon her shoulders,
fanning her lovingly with their slowly opening and closing
wings. The _bec-etch-ok_, the bird of a hundred songs, seemed
to save for her his choicest selections as she wandered along
the garden paths.

Her first knowledge of sadness came with the death of her
pet fawn which had fed upon a poisonous vine that grew in
the garden undetected by the servants and gardeners. All day
she sat in the shade of a big sapote tree, thinking of her
little dead pet. Suddenly she heard a sound in the forest
depths beyond the garden and she looked up to see a youth
chasing a wild fawn which bounded over the undergrowth and
into the garden, coming close to her as though beseeching her
protection, and she stood up and kept the youth from further
pursuit. Not knowing her to be a princess, he was very angry
with her for spoiling the chase and called down upon her the
curses of Cacunam, god of the hunters.

But the princess was not at all alarmed, because, not knowing
the ways of men, she did not realize that the wrath of a man is
a very dreadful thing to a woman.

“Beautiful boy,” she said, “why do you chase the baby deer?
Go find Ek Balam, the black jaguar, or Noh-och Ceh, the giant
grandfather deer who lives in the deep forest! No brave man
would hunt such a defenseless little creature as a fawn.”

The lad, who was of her own age, hung his head and was ashamed.
Abashed by her imperious manner, he felt that one far superior
addressed him, yet his pride was stung. Flinging back his head,
he gazed at her with flashing eyes and said:

“I come of a line of great warriors and I will show you I can
fight even the wild _tzimin_ or the _chacmool_ [tiger].” So
saying, he rushed off through the forest and was gone.

A jungle pheasant gave its staccato whistle in the forest
depths and all was still. For the first time in her life the
princess felt loneliness creep over her, for she had not wished
the youth to rush away.

“Thus do the gods of our people upset the plans of man,” said the story-teller, as he paused to roll and light a corn-husk cigarette. Looking up with a quizzical smile, he said, “Is it not so with the gods of the white people?” I assured him heartily and from personal experience that the plans of mice and men, white or otherwise, do have a peculiar faculty for going awry.

With his fag burning freely, he continued the legend:

The memory of this meeting kept coming before the eyes of the
youth and a strange restlessness possessed him, so that even
the excitement of the chase no longer gave him pleasure. He
himself knew not what had bewitched him and he fancied that
he suffered from some fever. But ever the beautiful form and
flowerlike face of the maid floated before his eyes. Asleep or
awake, it was the same; he could not banish the lovely vision.
He did not know her to be a princess, but he knew the big house
on the hill and that nobility dwelt there.

At length he went to his uncle, the great _ah-kin-mai_, the
high priest, and said:

“Tell me: am I not also of noble birth, like those who live on
the hill in the big house?”

His uncle regarded him curiously, for he was a wise as well
as a very learned man and well he knew that when a youth asks
about those of a house, he is not interested in any of the
inmates but the maid who dwells there.

“Be still, my son,” said he. “Forget that you have asked this
question. The people on the hill are of the royal house, while
you are but the son of a chief. Does the bird in the high
tree-top know who is on the ground below? So it is with men.”

The youth turned silently away and from then on held his own
counsel, for he knew that the high priest, his uncle, held
no thought of love or romance in his breast. But the next
day he warily scaled the hill beyond the city walls, vowing
in his heart that he would at least gaze once more upon the
maid who had woven about him so potent a spell. As he reached
the hilltop there was nothing to see but the tall, rough tree
trunks and the heavy branches. The tree under whose shade the
lovely maid had sat but yesterday was there, but its branches
sheltered only a gay-plumaged motmot perched on the lowest
branch, jeering at him with its raucous voice. A weight lay
heavy on his heart.

“Hateful bird! Pitiless sun! Unfriendly forest!” thought he.
Was it possible the gods might be angry because he dared to
invade the privacy of the big house on the hill? He turned
sadly to depart, but determined to come again even though the
gods be wroth. He had taken but a few steps when a sweet voice
directly behind him asked mockingly:

“Do you hunt the baby deer to-day? Or, perchance, the bluebird,
that sings so sweetly in the tree-tops?” The boy turned at the
first word and his courage returned, for the evil bird had
flown, the sun was never more glorious, and the forest suddenly
seemed friendly.

“I hunt a rare flower that grows high up in the dwellings of
men,” he replied, “and there is joy in my heart now, for at
last I have found it.”

The maid did not answer, for she was unused to the ways of men
and of flatteries, but she sat down under the tree where she
had sat before and said:

“Tell me, handsome youth, are the people who dwell in the city
below as good to look upon as you?”

The youth did not know what to say or answer, for he realized
at once how far above him the maiden must be to dare ask such
a question, and how closely guarded she must be to know so
little of the dwellers of the city. But this only increased his
determination to come again and again, until the heart of the
girl should respond to the beating of his own.

In a short time a path was worn up the hillside and through
the forest, and often the birds looked down upon the lovers as
they spoke of the plans of the girl’s family that she become
the bride of the Rain God. The princess had been taught that to
be called to serve in the subterranean palace of the god was
the greatest honor and happiness that could come to any maiden,
whether high-born or of lowly birth. Until now, until the
coming of this youth, she had accepted eagerly the possibility
of becoming the bride of the Rain God. But of late her heart
had grown strangely chilled whenever she thought of this honor
that might be hers.

Meanwhile, the youth, who came from a family noted for its
energy and decision, bided his time and kept his own counsel.
His plan was formed. The princess must not be sacrificed to the
grim keeper of the Sacred Well, whether god or devil. He would
steal her away and bear her off to some distant province before
ever she could be chosen for the Rain God. He dared not tell
the princess of his plan, for he knew her awe and fear of the
gods. But to himself he said:

“Surely if I take her away before the day of the choosing, that
will not be opposing the will of the gods, for they will not
yet have spoken their decree.”

Now Ix-Ek [Brunette], daughter of the great war chief Ek-Chac
[Dark Red One], was as beautiful to the eye and in outward
semblance as gentle as Ix-Lol-Nicte. It had been rumored that
the high honor of serving the Rain God in his deep home might
be hers. Those who knew her best, who knew the workings of her
artful mind and cruel heart, shook their heads and said in
secret:

“Surely the gods who can read the minds and what is in the
hearts of men, even as _H’men_ the high priest, does with the
ills of the body by means of his magic crystal—surely they
will never choose Ix-Ek!”

But Ix-Ek knew nothing and cared less about the secret
whisperings. The desire to be the chosen of the gods became
stronger and stronger in her heart as she perceived that
Ix-Lol-Nicte was a rival for that coveted honor. And the hour
for the final choice drew nearer and nearer.

It was by the merest chance that the handsome youth passed
within the sight of Ix-Ek. At once it came to her like a bolt
from the blue that she did not in the least want to serve the
Rain God in his damp abode, and that the only happiness in
the world for her was to bask in the tempestuous adoration of
this unknown youth. Artfully she found a way to know him and
to make it seem that he had sought her of his own volition.
To him, unused to the wiles that an artful woman ever has at
her command, she seemed so tender and compassionate that he,
knowing nothing of her passion,—for who can see the moon when
the sun is shining?—impulsively confided to her his love for
Ix-Lol-Nicte. And Ix-Ek, concealing the jealousy that seethed
in her heart, that she might better work out her terrible
design, sweetly promised to aid him in securing his heart’s
desire.

As silently as the poisonous yellow spider of the jungle spins
and spins its web, so did Ix-Ek spin her web of deceit and
falsehood to bring the choice of the gods upon Ix-Lol-Nicte
and thus separate her by death from the youth upon whom Ix-Ek
had set her own evil heart. The jealous rage of an unscrupulous
woman knows no bounds, obeys no laws, sacred or otherwise, and
stops at nothing. So Ix-Ek schemed in secret and acted upon her
plan.

Just as the plans of the youth were perfected, even to the
litter that was to bear Ix-Lol-Nicte away with him, and stout
bearers, men of his own service, the high priest announced that
the day of the choosing had arrived and that all who were to
participate in the ceremony were to be in instant readiness.
The young man knew that as one of the _hul-che_ bearers and
especially appointed guard to the king he must be present at
the ceremony. Failure on his part to be on hand, by an ancient,
unchangeable law meant degradation for his entire family beyond
all pardon and for himself enslavement.

On the great square before the Pyramid of Sacrifice stood the
platform of Noh-och Can, the Great Serpent, where would be
enacted the ceremony of choosing the betrothed of the Rain
God. At the very center of the platform was a massive seat,
or throne of carved stone, used in this ceremony since the
earliest days of the Sacred City. Over the seat was a gorgeous
gold-embroidered canopy with a circular opening in the top, so
that the rays of the sun might shine directly upon the person
seated there.

This was in the month of the New Sun. The early summer rains
had passed, though every now and then a fleecy cloud swam
through the azure and obscured the direct brightness of Ich-Kin
[the Eye of Day], Earth was at its best, covered everywhere
with a tender verdure accustomed to plentiful moisture and now
suffering the first pangs of thirst which might wither and
parch it should the Rain God not relent.

At a given point in the solemn rites, the high priest would
call one beautiful maid after another to occupy the sacred seat
and the one upon whom the unclouded sun shone longest was the
choice of the gods for betrothal to the Rain God. Thus Ich-Kin,
the greatest of the gods, would choose the virgin bride for
his brother, the Rain God.

A vast crowd from the city and from far regions had gathered to
witness the majestic ceremony. An oppressive stillness was over
all, and in the silence was the solemn feeling of the nearness,
the very presence of the gods as they awaited the choosing of
their lovely mortal handmaiden.

Shattering the stillness came the shrill, weird notes of the
flute and the keening of the sacred whistle, mingled with the
rolling boom of the drum as the multitude joined in the slow
chant of the ritual music, rolling out in a mighty sea of sound.

At length the high priest raised his hand and the music ceased.
Taking a vase of fragrant smoldering incense, he approached
with measured pace to each of the four corners of the platform,
symbolizing the four corners of the earth, and as he came to
each corner he wafted the smoke of the incense toward each of
the symboled _Bacabes_ who support the four corners of the
earth upon their faithful shoulders and asked, by invocation,
their blessing upon this ancient ceremony.

Four times he did this and then announced that the gods were
favorable. The priestly blower of the sacred trumpet blew two
long blasts from his great conch-shell, and as the echo died
away, Ix-Lol-Nicte descended from her curtained palanquin and,
trembling from head to foot, walked toward the throne. She
was attired in a long pure-white robe, adorned only at the
throat and hem with the exquisite embroidery of the counted
threads, worked by the temple nuns. Clusters of _chan-cala_,
black and shining as jet beads,—the color worn in honor of the
West God,—lay against her fluttering breast. Before her went
attendants, scattering large white and yellow blossoms, flowers
of the gods of North and South.

Slowly, with graceful dignity, unfaltering yet fearful, she
approached the great stone chair. In her heart she prayed
desperately that the choice of the gods might not fall upon
her, for how could her adoration turn even to an immortal god
when before her eyes was the beloved image of the mortal youth
of the hillside?

Upon her the throng gazed with wondering eyes. Beauty had been
expected, but not this vision of virginal loveliness—a maid
upon whom even the gods must gaze with rapturous and humble
admiration! As she seated herself upon the throne it seemed
to the onlookers as if the gods had already endowed her with
sacred attributes, and an involuntary sigh came from each bosom
in the dense throng.

Again the high priest raised his hand, and now the drum alone
beat in pulsing cadence to the movement of the _caluac_ or
scepter which he held. Seated before the maiden was the
_Uinic-xoco_, or counter, who recorded the beats of the drum.
At length the _caluac_ in the hands of the high priest came
to rest, the drum ceased to beat, and Ix-Lol-Nicte with her
attendants left the platform.

Then came Ix-Ek, and she too was beautiful; as vivid as the
scarlet berries that shone upon her breast. A murmur of
admiration came from the onlookers and Ix-Ek turned and gazed
at them disdainfully, for to her these people were as the dust
underfoot. She bore herself with haughty pride, and if she felt
any fear her bearing did not show it. A short time before, she
had craved the honor of becoming the bride of the Rain God, but
now she was passionately enamoured of a mortal youth and she
was pulsating with the love that filled her heart. Whatever the
honor, she no longer wished that sleep in which the eye of life
is forever closed.

Once more the high priest raised his hand, the drum-beats
ceased, and the people silently returned to their homes. The
solemn ceremony of the choosing was over, but the choice of the
gods, by ancient custom, might not be made known until ten days
had passed.

With heavy heart the young man returned to his father’s house,
for he had seen not even the tiniest cloud pass over the face
of the sun while his adored Ix-Lol-Nicte sat in the great stone
chair. It seemed inevitable that she would be the choice of
the gods and the thought was as a knife in his breast. As he
lay upon his couch, stricken with anguish, there came to him a
messenger from Ix-Ek, saying:

“Come to me. I will help you and yet not anger the gods, for I
know that Ix-Lol-Nicte was chosen.”

Swiftly he went to the house of Ix-Ek and shook the string of
hollow shells before the curtained entrance. At the first sound
Ix-Ek stood beside him, brilliantly beautiful in her rich garb,
her cheeks flushed and eyes bright with excitement. Even the
love-blinded and despairing lover of Ix-Lol-Nicte gazed at her,
spellbound for a moment with admiration, before his poignant
grief once more engulfed him and he listened in hopeless
silence while she spoke.

“You must tell Ix-Lol-Nicte that if she is really chosen she
must hold her body straight and like an arrow, so that it will
enter the water as the jade-tipped dart from the _hul-che_,”
she said. “I know the under priests who are to hold her at
the brink of the well and fling her in. I will tell them that
the gods have whispered to the high priest that the Rain God
desires no new bride this year and that they are to fling her
carefully so that her body shall not turn in the air but shall
cleave the water like an arrow. Thus she shall come again to
the surface, unharmed. Be you ready to rescue her and it will
seem merely as though the Rain God had refused the sacrifice.
Fear not. I know the priests and they will do as I say. Is not
my father their chief, with power of life and death over them?
Have no fear; they will obey me without question.”

Hope returned to the heart of the youth and he called down the
blessing of heaven upon Ix-Ek, his ears dulled to the serpent
hiss of her voice, his sight unheeding the crafty, cruel
glitter of her eyes. And that night he haunted the forest close
by the royal abode of Ix-Lol-Nicte, while the Ox-ppel-Ek, the
stars of the Three Marys, like white sentinels, gazed down
upon him in pity as he gave the familiar signal, the cry of
the night-bird. Soon the white-robed, weeping Ix-Lol-Nicte was
locked in his arms. And when she could speak she whispered
between her sobs:

“Let this be our last farewell. It is the will of the gods
and I must go quickly, for since the choosing I am watched
continually.”

Kneeling at her feet, the youth told her of the plan of Ix-Ek
and she was convinced by his eager young eloquence. Her stifled
sobs ceased and the flame of hope warmed her and calmed her
fears, for her faith in her lover was as great as her love for
him.

Alone once more and without the reassuring nearness and vital
strength of the boy, her fears returned and she distrusted
Ix-Ek, because the intuition of a woman often reaches where
the reasoning of a man fails to penetrate, and in her heart
the maid knew that Ix-Ek sought only to destroy her. But she
resolved to say nothing to her lover to dim his hope, and to
trust only that the gods, knowing all that was in her breast
and that she could never serve the Rain God with a whole heart,
would in their all-seeing beneficence refuse her pitiful
sacrifice.

When ten days had passed, the high priest announced that
Ix-Lol-Nicte was in truth the choice of the gods, and soon came
the fateful day. Ix-Ek, aided by the nether gods and guided
by Hun-Ahau, the arch-fiend himself, carried out her evil
plan. She had seen and instructed the two brawny _nacons_ who
were to cast Ix-Lol-Nicte into the Sacred Well, but instead
of directing them as she had promised the youthful lover of
Ix-Lol-Nicte, she told them that the high priest had had a
vision and unless Ix-Lol-Nicte were accepted by the Rain God,
priests and all would die before sunset; and she urged them
to fling the maid with all their strength so that she should
turn again and again in the air and strike the water with fatal
impact.

The sturdy, slow-witted under priests, befuddled by the words
of Ix-Ek, did not, as was the custom, fling the slight form of
the victim far out toward the center of the well, but let fall
the tender body of Ix-Lol-Nicte so that it struck the terrible
rocky side of the pit. A mutilated, bloody corpse at last sank
beneath the green waters.

Her lover, standing at the brink of the well beside the covered
bower of the king and poised to dive into the water to aid
Ix-Lol-Nicte the moment her lovely head should reappear above
the surface, saw her body strike the rocks. Turning like a
flash, he rushed to Ix-Ek and threw her far out into the well
as one would throw a small stone. Then he leaped upon the two
dazed under priests and dragged them over the brink so that all
three fell like plummets into the watery pit.

Horror overwhelmed the high priest and all others who stood
there. They knew that a portentous thing had happened and that
the wrath of the gods would swiftly be upon them. Enormous
clouds, as black as the berries upon the dead breast of
Ix-Lol-Nicte, came rushing from the four corners of the horizon
and surged high up in the heavens, meeting as one. A single
bolt of lurid lightning split the firmament and entered the
Sacred Well, and the thunder made the rock walls shudder and
the whole earth to tremble. The Rain God, angered that his
people had turned the sacred sacrifice into a day of evil,
caused the heavens to pour down upon them such a deluge that
hundreds were swept into the well and battered to death on its
jagged, rocky sides or drowned in its depths.

Others fled, to escape the wrath of the gods, but few reached
the shelter of their homes.

When the terrible storm was at last over, only a few houses
were left and a decimated population. The big _zac nicte_ tree,
which had blossomed for the first time when Ix-Lol-Nicte was
born, now lay upon the ground, its gray trunk split and torn
and its lovely fragrant blossoms bruised and crushed. But if
one had looked closely he might have seen that the heart of
the tree had been eaten out by a big, dark worm with stripes
of brilliant red, red and vivid as the carmine berries on the
breast of Ix-Ek.

The old man—soothsayer, story-teller, wizard of Zactun—also told the legend of Xkan-xoc, the forest bird, choosing his words carefully, with long waits between puffs of his husk-wrapped cigarette; and the measured cadence of his voice, together with the white magic of midnight moonlight, made his stories live and clothed his legendary characters with flesh and blood for the enchanted eyes of the listener.

XKAN-XOC, THE FOREST BIRD

There was a time when the wrath of the Rain God was over the
land. He had sent the dry wind to work his will and all the
country of the Mayas lay parching and dying. The leaves of
vines and shrubs and trees first twisted and contorted in
their agony of thirst and then crumbled away. The black earth
turned to dust, blown about by the winds, and the red earth was
baked as hard as the tiles in the roadway. The old men, wise
with the knowledge of years and many famines, and whose ears
knew the inner meaning of small sounds which most people think
insignificant, said that the deep earth cried out and groaned
in its hot anguish.

The _ah-kin_, priest of the Rain God, who lived at the verge of
the Sacred Well, told his people that the mighty God of Rain
was displeased because more copal incense had not been burned
at his shrine, and that he must be appeased at once or no corn,
no beans, no peppers would grow in the whole land.

A new maid must be sent to him, one so beautiful that he would
wish to keep her as his bride and his gratitude would be shown
by gentle and frequent rains that would revive the dying maize.
The mortal messenger must be the loveliest virgin in all the
country, without a flaw, absolutely without the slightest
blemish on any part of her body. Her voice must be as sweet as
that of _Xkoke_, the wood-thrush, so that the sound of it as
she spoke to the god in behalf of her people might be as music
to his ears.

The great and wise men met in council,—the king, the lords,
the priests, the mighty warriors,—and picked men, hundreds of
them, were sent to comb the country-side and the cities and the
depths of the forest to find a fitting bride for the god. There
was not a maid in Yucatan or even in lands far to the south
upon whose face one or another of these ambassadors would not
look. And only a few maidens, those of surpassing beauty, would
be sent to the sacred city for the ceremony of the choosing.

From the humble house of her father in the depths of the Tiger
Forest came Xkan-xoc, carried swiftly on a flower-decked
litter, borne by strong young men, the sons of nobles. Garlands
of flowers and sweet-scented herbs shaded her from the heat
of the sun. Her thirst was quenched with the milk of new corn
and wild honey. Her food was especially prepared by the vestal
virgins of the temple.

And upon the day of the choosing her _pic_ and _huipile_ were
made of shining, soft tree-cotton, lustrous as the wings of
a sea-bird, that clung to her slender gracefulness. Glinting
green stones hung pendent from her ears, while about the lovely
slender column of her neck were entwined many small fretted
chains of gleaming sun metal. Her eyes were big and dark like
those of a fawn; her voice as soft and sweet as the dawn breeze
swaying the fronds of the _cocoyal_ palm or ruffling the petals
of the hibiscus flower. Tiny sandals of softest doeskin covered
her feet as she was led to the temple to be prepared for the
sacrifice.

The high priest donned his vestments, the lesser priests
brought rich votive offerings and baskets of incense, both
copal and rubber. The king and his guard of noble _hul-che_
bearers took their stations and all the people of the city
gathered at the edge of the Well.

The first dulcet tones of the sacred flute were heard from the
temple of Kukul Can at the far end of the Sacred Way and the
shrilling of the sacred whistles joined with the flutes and the
reverberating boom of the _tunkul_, the sacred drum. A sudden
silence, a strange ominous stillness—then was heard from
the depths of the temple the wailing of all the white-robed
virgins. And swiftly the news traveled. Xkan-xoc cannot be sent
as the messenger to the Rain God, for, in preparing her for the
ceremony, the vestal virgins have discovered a tiny mole or
birthmark upon her breast, which had been overlooked previously.

The ceremony stopped and the people dispersed with heavy
hearts, for Xkan-xoc might not be sent to the Rain God, and
beside her all other beautiful maidens seemed unlovely. Another
maid must be selected for the sacrifice and how might the Rain
God be moved by a bride, however lovely, after seeing the
divinely fair Xkan-xoc?