of terror, a vision winged its way to the brothers from the heavens above. They saw their doom.
Then, in the depths of their despair, they also saw their victory.
So they admitted defeat. “They’re all gone, Your Majesty.”
“Very well. Today your days are ended. You will die here. You will be ripped from the world. Your faces will remain hidden. You will be sacrificed!”
And there and then the brothers were slaughtered. Their bodies were buried together in a single grave near the ball court, except for the head of One Hunahpu, which was removed at the king’s command.
“Take his head,” the god of death instructed, “and set it in the forked branches of that bare tree beside the road to serve as a reminder of our might.”
But as soon as the head was fixed in place, the tree miraculously bore fruit, round and heavy like a skull. It was the calabash, and it hung now from every branch so that it was no longer clear where the head of One Hunahpu had been deposited.
The dark lords gathered round in amazement. It was clear that the sudden appearance of fruit was an ill omen. So the king and queen issued an edict:
“Let no one pick fruit from this tree. Let no one even sit beneath its boughs.”
And all the inhabitants of that dreadful realm obeyed. Except a maiden.
The Victory of their Mother
The dark lord Blood Gatherer had a daughter, a maiden named Lady Blood. He told her of the tree and the prohibition of their king, trusting that she would obey. But Lady Blood was curious. She wondered about the taste of the fruit and pondered its possible origin.
Finally, she could not resist looking on the miracle herself, so she went alone to where the tree stood, near the ball court and the graves of sacrificial victims.
“Ah!” she exclaimed. “What sort of fruit is this? It simply has to be sweet. If only I could pick one and not be killed or banished. Just one.”
Then the head of One Hunahpu spoke from the fork in the tree. “Come, you’re not really interested in these round things hanging from the branches. They’re just skulls. You can’t possibly want one.”
“But I do,” answered Lady Blood.
“Alright, then. Stretch out your right hand.”
“Fine.” Lady Blood reached toward the source of the voice, and the head squirted a bit of spit into her palm. Startled, the maiden drew back her hand and stared at it closely, but the saliva was gone.
“The spittle I’ve given you is a sort of symbol,” explained the voice of One and Seven Hunahpu, for they had merged and spoke with a single mind. “You see, my head here has been stripped bare: all that’s left is just the bone. But that’s the way it is even with the head of a great lord. He only looks decent because of the flesh on his skull. Once he’s dead and rotted away, though, people shrink in fear from that naked bone.
“His sons, now…they’re like his saliva, which still contains his essence even after leaving his mouth. Whether they be the sons of a lord or a wise man or an orator, they preserve the basic nature of their father. His face isn’t wholly lost, but passes to the children he leaves behind. That’s what I’m doing through you. Now abandon this land of fright. Go to the surface of the sea-ringed world before they kill you. Find my mother, Ixmukane. Trust in my words.”
The skull gave her many more instructions before she was on her way. By the time she reached her home, the saliva had sparked life in her womb, and she conceived twins, sons of One and Seven Hunahpu both. But instead of leaving the Land of the Dead, she remained in her father’s house.
When six months had passed, Lord Blood Gatherer noticed that his daughter was pregnant. He went to the council chambers and addressed his king and queen:
“That daughter of mine is with child. A bastard.”
“Very well,” said the queen. “Question her. If she refuses to reveal the truth, you must punish her. Have her taken to some distant place and sacrificed.”
So Lord Blood Gatherer confronted Lady Blood. “Whose child is in your belly, girl?”
“There is no child, lord father. I have not known the face of a man.”
“I see. So you have given yourself to the pleasures of the flesh without my leave.” He summoned the Royal Guard, and when those four fearsome owls arrived, he gestured at his daughter. “Take her away for sacrifice. Bring back just her heart, in a gourd, and surrender it to our king and queen this very day.”
The Royal Guard departed, bearing aloft in black talons Lady Blood, a gourd and the council’s bone-white blade, with which they were to sacrifice the maiden. Once they had traveled far from the center of the Underworld, the owls alighted and reluctantly readied themselves to complete the task.
Lady Blood begged them to reconsider. “It is not right that you should kill me, messengers. There is no disgrace carried in my womb, but a miracle, begotten when I went to visit One Hunahpu’s head there beside the ball court. There is a greater power at work here, respected friends. You must not sacrifice me.”
The owls looked upon her unblinking for quite some time. They had known her all her life, had watched her grow into a delightful young woman. Deceit was not her nature. And even if she were lying, they realized with a start, they did not wish her to die.
“But what can we take in place of your heart, Lady Blood? Your father demanded we bring it to the king and queen today.”
“My heart will never belong to them. And you, friends, must no longer call this place your home. Never again let them force you to kill someone unjustly. There, upon the sea-ringed world, you can harry true villains. From now on, let the King and Queen of Death taste only blood, sap, resin. No more hearts burned in their presence. Not mine, not anyone’s.”
She placed her palm on a cochineal croton tree. “Drain the sap from this plant. Collect it in your gourd.”
They used the blade to slice the trunk until sap dribbled out. The red resin congealed in the makeshift bowl, forming a lump like a heart surrounded by what appeared to be clotted blood.
“On the surface of the world you will be blessed,” said the maiden to the owls with a happy smile. “You will have all you desire.”
“So be it, Lady. We will accompany and serve you. But go on ahead while we present this false heart to the dark lords.”
When the Royal Guard arrived in the council chambers, the fell aristocracy of the netherworld had already gathered.
“Has it been done?” asked the King of Death.
“Indeed, Your Majesty. Here is her heart in this gourd.”
“Very well. Let us see.” The king lifted out the coagulated sap, which looked for all the world like a heart glazed with ruddy gore.
“Excellent. Stir up the fire—let us set it among the coals.”
Once the resinous clump was thrown upon the fire, the dark lords delighted in the aroma of its
