The Controversial Mayan Queen: Sak K'uk of Palenque (The Mists of Palenque) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Leonide Martin
untold years of scribal work reaching far into Lakam Ha’s mythohistoric past. The codices held the arcane knowledge of the Maya: astronomy, astrology, divination, sacred geometry, numerology, healing arts and herbalism, calendars, alchemical recipes, history of dynasties and rulers, tales of gods and ancestors, philosophy, language, arts and music. It was an unparalleled library, a hidden font of wisdom from ancient times.
Each codex was made of bark paper in long strips, folded like an accordion that fanned out when extended. The Maya harvested inner layers of bark from the wild fig tree, soaked and boiled it in maize water treated with lime or ash. Then it was rinsed and pliable strips of bark laid out on a wooden board. The first layer was lengthwise and the next was crosswise. The damp bark was pounded with a hafted stone beater into a continuous sheet of paper, some as long as three arms length. After drying in the sun, the paper was peeled off the wooden board and smoothed with a stone. Since the bark was never made into a pulp, it retained a fibrous texture that was not smooth enough for Maya scribes to write easily. They covered the paper with a thin layer of plaster before writing on it.
Natural dyes were prepared in many colors; black, red and yellow were much favored though blue and green also were used. The particularly lovely shade of Maya blue was made from indigo fused with palygorskite by the heat of burning copal incense in ceremonial bowls. Scribes used quills from turkey or wild bird feathers, dipping them in dyes held in seashells or conches. The monkey scribe or rabbit scribe were the animal uay-companions who represented the sacred art of glyphic writing, recording numbers and drawing pictures that filled the codices.
Ah Kuy sat on a raised platform covered with a woven mat. A rectangular wooden box served to elevate and display unfolded codices as he examined them. Positioned next to a window opening toward the west, he took full advantage of sunlight to improve his ability to see. Beside him sat three assistants, acolytes assigned to fetch and shelve codices and explain images he had difficulty making out. They also plied the old priest with warm cacao drinks and maize cakes to keep up his energy.
It was his third day of work, and he was beginning to wonder if his memory had failed him. After examining over 30 ancient codices, he had not found the one containing the Lakam Ha prophecy. He was certain there was such a prophecy; he clearly recalled having read it in his youth, but could not remember all the details.
This called for different tactics.
“I will sleep now,” he announced to his assistants.
They were perplexed, for they knew he was on a time-sensitive assignment.
“Master, is it not your intent to find the codex today? Very soon, is that not important?” asked one young acolyte.
“You are correct, that is my intent,” replied Ah Kuy. “My methods may seem strange to you. Now I am called to sleep, to dream and to remember in the dreamtime. In this way shall the codex come to me.”
Obediently, the acolytes prepared a pallet for the old priest in a darker corner of the chamber. Sighing, he reclined his achy body and soon was snoring loudly.
Patiently the assistants sat in vigil as the old man slept. The sun crossed overhead and began its afternoon descent, bright squares of light forming through windows and moving slowly across the floor. After a series of snorts that interrupted throaty snores, the old priest woke, blinked furiously, wiped his watering eyes and sat up.
His voice gurgled, requiring some coughing to clear his throat.
“Bring me the codex on the farthest shelf to the west. It is low and close to the floor. It is called the Noh Ek Almanac of Baktun 8 Katun 18. Be careful! Handle it gently, it is very ancient. From the times of our venerated lineage founder, Holy Ancestor K’uk Bahlam.”
As the assistants scrambled to retrieve the codex, Ah Kuy groaned and
Each codex was made of bark paper in long strips, folded like an accordion that fanned out when extended. The Maya harvested inner layers of bark from the wild fig tree, soaked and boiled it in maize water treated with lime or ash. Then it was rinsed and pliable strips of bark laid out on a wooden board. The first layer was lengthwise and the next was crosswise. The damp bark was pounded with a hafted stone beater into a continuous sheet of paper, some as long as three arms length. After drying in the sun, the paper was peeled off the wooden board and smoothed with a stone. Since the bark was never made into a pulp, it retained a fibrous texture that was not smooth enough for Maya scribes to write easily. They covered the paper with a thin layer of plaster before writing on it.
Natural dyes were prepared in many colors; black, red and yellow were much favored though blue and green also were used. The particularly lovely shade of Maya blue was made from indigo fused with palygorskite by the heat of burning copal incense in ceremonial bowls. Scribes used quills from turkey or wild bird feathers, dipping them in dyes held in seashells or conches. The monkey scribe or rabbit scribe were the animal uay-companions who represented the sacred art of glyphic writing, recording numbers and drawing pictures that filled the codices.
Ah Kuy sat on a raised platform covered with a woven mat. A rectangular wooden box served to elevate and display unfolded codices as he examined them. Positioned next to a window opening toward the west, he took full advantage of sunlight to improve his ability to see. Beside him sat three assistants, acolytes assigned to fetch and shelve codices and explain images he had difficulty making out. They also plied the old priest with warm cacao drinks and maize cakes to keep up his energy.
It was his third day of work, and he was beginning to wonder if his memory had failed him. After examining over 30 ancient codices, he had not found the one containing the Lakam Ha prophecy. He was certain there was such a prophecy; he clearly recalled having read it in his youth, but could not remember all the details.
This called for different tactics.
“I will sleep now,” he announced to his assistants.
They were perplexed, for they knew he was on a time-sensitive assignment.
“Master, is it not your intent to find the codex today? Very soon, is that not important?” asked one young acolyte.
“You are correct, that is my intent,” replied Ah Kuy. “My methods may seem strange to you. Now I am called to sleep, to dream and to remember in the dreamtime. In this way shall the codex come to me.”
Obediently, the acolytes prepared a pallet for the old priest in a darker corner of the chamber. Sighing, he reclined his achy body and soon was snoring loudly.
Patiently the assistants sat in vigil as the old man slept. The sun crossed overhead and began its afternoon descent, bright squares of light forming through windows and moving slowly across the floor. After a series of snorts that interrupted throaty snores, the old priest woke, blinked furiously, wiped his watering eyes and sat up.
His voice gurgled, requiring some coughing to clear his throat.
“Bring me the codex on the farthest shelf to the west. It is low and close to the floor. It is called the Noh Ek Almanac of Baktun 8 Katun 18. Be careful! Handle it gently, it is very ancient. From the times of our venerated lineage founder, Holy Ancestor K’uk Bahlam.”
As the assistants scrambled to retrieve the codex, Ah Kuy groaned and
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