Sky Knife by Marella Sands Read Free Book Online Page A

reed-thin body could not compare to the wide shoulders and rippling muscles of the warrior.
    Sky Knife took a deep breath and walked out into the street.
    â€œNo,” said Bone Splinter.
    Sky Knife turned to look at the warrior. A frown creased Bone Splinter’s features.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNo,” repeated Bone Splinter. “You have the king’s grace.” He grabbed Sky Knife by the upper arm and pushed him back into the acropolis.
    â€œWhere are we going?” asked Sky Knife.
    Bone Splinter didn’t answer. He shoved Sky Knife down the corridor until they came to a large room where a temple attendant, Peccary Spine, ate a breakfast of corn gruel and fruit.
    â€œFetch some paint,” commanded Bone Splinter. “And food.”
    Peccary Spine shrugged. “Only the priests can order me, warrior,” he said. “Get it yourself.”
    Sky Knife tried to back out of the room—Peccary Spine was the son of a priest, and a bully. He had always teased Sky Knife about his bad luck name and his humble beginnings. Sky Knife tried to avoid being near him if he could help it.
    To Sky Knife’s surprise, Bone Splinter smiled. “I am here on the orders of the King of Tikal,” he said. “My orders are his orders. Get the paint and the food. Get them now.”
    Peccary Spine frowned and opened his mouth.
    â€œBefore I get angry,” Bone Splinter added.
    Peccary Spine apparently thought better of what he was going to say. He put down his breakfast and left the room hurriedly.
    Sky Knife sat down on a bench and waited. Bone Splinter stood immobile by the door. When the attendant returned, Bone Splinter took the bowl of paint and knelt in front of Sky Knife. The attendant put the food down on another bench, grabbed his own breakfast, and left.
    Bone Splinter dipped his fingers in the paint and drew two additional lines on each of Sky Knife’s forearms and thighs. He added another line to each of Sky Knife’s cheeks, then painted a line down his forehead to the tip of his nose and finished with a dot on Sky Knife’s chin.
    â€œI can’t go out like this,” whispered Sky Knife. Only the royal family merited this much paint, and four— four —stripes on each arm and leg.
    â€œOf course you can,” said Bone Splinter. His tone was firm, but patronizing, as if he spoke to a child. “You are the king’s own representative in this matter. You can go anywhere, be with anyone, ask any question, and your questions must be answered.”
    For the first time, Sky Knife met Bone Splinter’s eyes. The warrior’s gaze was impassive, but there was a spark in his eyes. Humor, perhaps. Or pride. Perhaps both.
    â€œYou will succeed,” said Bone Splinter. “If you only listen to your own heart.”
    Sky Knife opened his mouth, but nothing came out. No one had ever spoken to him like this! Not even his father, who had believed in the omens that plagued Sky Knife’s young life, believed them enough to dedicate his fourth son to the service of Itzamna. Depend on himself? He was only a man, a man with questions. A man who would age and die. The gods were eternal. Only they knew the entire mystery of life. Only they were forever. Only they had the answers.
    Sky Knife ate breakfast quickly and in silence, his heart in turmoil. Bone Splinter ate also. His actions were precise and meticulous. All over again, Sky Knife fought back envy. Why had the king sent Bone Splinter to him—Bone Splinter was so perfect, so beautiful. Next to him, Sky Knife was nothing.
    When he finished, Sky Knife left the acropolis quickly, before any of the priests could spot him wearing the extra paint. They would be angry at the pretention.
    At the door of the acropolis, Sky Knife paused. The sun had climbed higher in the sky and shone down through the canopy of the ceiba trees that stood at the south end of the acropolis. People passed by on the street