Read Amatepetl :: CHAPTER 1: LAND OF PAPER ARROWS

Amamitepec,

12-Flint

Pam!

A sound I've grown to both hate and adore. But is all I've ever known.

The time-consuming chore of amatl making--paper making. At least the repetitive process calmed my racing thoughts. As if I am just a tool. Like the way one might cut wood or weave cloth. In any case, today was nothing special.

No, no. In any case, today was supposed to be nothing special.

Pam!

"Yolotl! Yolotl! Is it true you took down that buck alllll on your own?" The words of the younger ones amongst me cause my brow to furrow.

"Focus on your pounding, Tlacoton." I tell the young girl, grabbing her rock in my calloused hand and thrusting it back onto the slab myself. Her eyes widened at me, and she quickly snatched up the rock and continued the motions. She was getting faster and smoother every day. Perhaps someday she would be able to finally finish before the sun set. Someday. Definitely not today.

"Ooo! Did you ask him, Tlaco? Did you?" a different child exclaimed, carrying a load of tree bark to the boiling pot in the center of the patio. After a rather loud and awkward splash, I heard the pattering of his bare feet on the ground as he came to stand over his friend's shoulder. He smiled wide enough to show off his missing front tooth. How he fussed over the damn thing when I helped him pry it from his face the week before. Puffed out his chest like a plumed bird, showing anyone who would pass by the workshop his swollen gums. Even now, the kid made sure to keep his prized memento on him, even considered making it a necklace. I could only imagine what he’d do when the rest of his teeth began to fall out as well.

Weird kid.

"Will you two calm yourself and focus on your work?" Another apprentice, who had apparently heard all the noise, called out from inside the workshop itself. A long sheet of amatl gripped in her hand and a paintbrush in the other. Caught her right in the middle of counting the inventory it seems. A task not usually given to an apprentice since the everyday villager didn’t know how to read or write. That luxury was given to the most experienced scribe in the workshop and the few merchants that made their living in trade. Then the occasional tax collector every new moon who had to confirm if the monthly quota of amatl was met.

So why does an apprentice have such an important task and information at her fingertips to begin with? With how her eyes shifted nervously, and how her brows knitted close together, it was evident that she was having trouble understanding what each brush stroke meant and exactly what sort of count they represented.

The children paid no mind to her scolding, too far gone in their own excited frenzied ramblings, almost forgetting to beat the bark in the process. At this rate, they probably won’t be done until early evening.

What a pain. I silently told myself with a sigh, rubbing my face with an exasperated groan. This was supposed to be a quick run, in and out of town before my day was wasted. Now I had little brats chattering at me as I was leaving a workshop where children were still learning to make paper. If I had the choice, I would have chosen another of the dozens of workshops within town but my last customer on my list is rather particular about his paper.

If he knew who made it, do you think he'd have a change of heart and take pity on me? Poton, the young boy was still standing over the girl, his hand reaching over to poke her squishy cheek with an overzealous amount of enthusiasm. She stopped the rock for a brief moment, just so she wouldn't whack her own hand as her friend’s pestering would force her to face him.

"Well?" The boy continued, impatient as he is curious. His dark eyes shined excitedly, awaiting her words.

"Fine. Yes, I did talk to him, and he told me that he took that beast on all by himself! With his bare hands!” The young girl finally said with a long dramatic flair. Little Poton would let out a breathless gasp, shaking his friend by the shoulders in excitement, making her giggle.

These little brats, so young and already gossiping. And so shamelessly too! Couldn’t they wait until I wasn’t within a stone’s throw?

"Is that true? Where are you keeping it?" Poton pestered, not hesitating for a moment to come right into my space, eagerly tugging on my cape. I continued to beat the pulp, adding some more fibrous weeds as the bark was becoming too soft.

"I know you had the blood drained! Can I see it yet?" He prodded, digging around into my satchel to see if anything was within it that wasn’t there before. I could feel my temple thumping in frustration, taking his small hand and placing it onto the stone in front of me. With his hand, I firmly guided his arm through the motion of beating the stone,

n’a

yoho

hñu, and back down again. After a while his hand mimicked the repetitive motion almost perfectly. I thought the task would keep his mind occupied. And in turn, his mouth.

Boy, was I wrong. In fact, the rhythmic sound of the stones pounding away at the bark seemed to only encourage him. He was almost smug, content with the idea that he couldn’t be scolded for chattering now that he was working so diligently.

”How did you take it down? Can we see it? Pleaseeee?”

As if a ploy, Tlacoton stopped her pounding yet again, those wide eyes staring up at me. If not for Poton mimicking her, I might have gone home right then and there.

Those damn brats. Beady eyed and tiny.

Like vultures.

"Too late. I already sold it off." I huffed out. Some of my venison was given to my aunt and friendly neighbors but the rest I traded off to people I knew would not hoard them. It wasn’t often that the forest would grant such a bounty within village boundaries and even less likely that anyone would manage to take it down at all. Uninjured and with arrows to spare. So as we all dragged ourselves back to the village, buck carried around my shoulders, my mind was already made up. I would make sure others received it, not let it lay around in my home like some of the other hunters did.

After all, it was better to know that your community was well fed for the week because of your generosity than to see them starve because you’re a greedy bastard. This is the way of Bönjü, our village, to not hoard what you receive from Zinänä and Zidada, but to give it back. This is why we hunt and kill beasts. Not just for meat and hide but for the ones who may need the sacrifice. So others in the village can, especially children and the elders, have full bellies. That’s what matters most to me, not pride, not wealth or honor.

Just food.

I flicked the back of his head with my finger, just hard enough for a small sting. He yelped but no damage done, grinning just as he had been moments before.

"And the others were there too. It wasn’t just me. I only shot the killing arrow.” I sighed, continuing to guide and oversee their labor. I then pointed an accusing finger directly in their direction. “That rumor dies here you hear me? You too, Tlacoton.”

The two looked rather put out, their shoulders slumping down. Their rhythmic pounding slow and out of sync.

Xoco, the apprentice turned scribe, and only one with a sense of responsibility in this household, chuckled. She no longer carried around that long sheet of amatl, though her paintbrush rested behind her ear, slightly staining it and her hair with some dark paint. That smile didn’t last long though. Seeing how the boiling pot from before had been left unattended, she rushed over to stir the stew of bark and ash, wiping at her face, wet with sweat. "I'm sorry, Yolotzin, we're a bit backed up these days."

She apologized with a guilty chuckle, causing me to pause and let the rhythmic pounding sound rest. I waved my hand casually.

"You look stressed," I said. "You were one of the first ones done the other week. What gives?"

The girl huffed a sigh, resting her own arms as the smell of hot wood and ground bark stung the air around us.

"Master Caltecatzin has been..." She leaned in and covered her mouth before she continued her sentence.

"Sick. One of those illnesses running rampant down in the valley. Ever since he got back. Lady Mocel and the elder children have been busy taking care of him, so the work gets split between those remaining here with me and well..."

No words needed. I get it. I grimaced, glancing at the young, pouting duo. "But please," the apprentice continued, leaning further into my ear, "Don't tell a soul about it. Master would hate it if he knew people were gossiping."

I shrugged, giving her a disinterested glance before putting her at ease.

"Sure. I see no reason to spread around whatever nonsense." I responded. Then gestured with my head towards the kids, now happily pounding away at the bark, forgetting what had them so upset in the first place.

“Now those two? They’re the ones you should worry about.” Taking the long stick grasped in her skinny fingers and taking over the process of stirring the strips of bark within the large pot, I lazily nodded my head towards the inside of the workshop.

"I'll keep an eye on your bark, go get what I need for my last run. Please."

Her shoulders relaxed, and that kind, relieved smile that got the old ones around her wrapped around her pinky finger, appeared on her round, rosy face.

"I'll be quick, Yolotzin." She said, scurrying past Poton and Tlacoton, who seemed to finally finish their first batch of amatl, eagerly lifting the reed board and placing the amatl out to dry out in the sun. The pair huffed with exhaustion after only one board, but there were smiles and laughter. Only when they saw the rest of the bark mush waiting to be turned into paper too, did they start complaining.

Poton and Tlacoton, little creatures with missing teeth and bright smiles that I had a soft spot for. Though, I would rather step in a dog's feces than admit it. Matter of fact, I hope nobody noticed that slight smile that dared tug at the corners of my lips as I watched them play. It might taint my image.

They always had this bright joy in their eyes and an attitude of great wonder in them. I was like them once too, playing around in the dirt and muddling around in streams with frogs. Used to practice my sling skills on turkeys right infront of me yet missed by a wide range because I couldn't stop laughing. Then I'd chase them around because in my childlike mind they had made fun of me, with their gobbling and running in circles. I'd jump, stomp, scream, fall flat on my behind only to run right after them.

There were no worries, no responsibilities. Only a young, imaginative child.

And while they've yet to fully lose that, I feel as though those innocent eyes would never see me as they do now once they learn why I no longer chase turkey but deer instead. It was no longer a fun game, a test to see if I could be swift and accurate with my makeshift toy turned weapon.

It was a necessity. A test of survival and perseverance.

Facing an animal much faster, taller, and bigger than a turkey is something these little brats should have no reason to ever comprehend. I sure as hell wish I had not experienced it. But nänä’s hands struggled to even grasp the cotton she spun, and weaving thread was a dreamy idea in her deteriorating state of health.

I cannot quit yet. I can't fail now.

My gut dropped at the mere thought, that constant tight squeeze in the middle of my core twisting my insides up as though it were tying my organs together. I glanced at the two energetic youngsters with a sick feeling I hoped was not reflected on my face.

Once a few years pass, when that youthful imagination starts to fade and they are introduced to a world of cold reality, then those bright eyes may become empty like those of the adults around me. That innocence may become lost just like everything else.

I suddenly snapped to attention at a tap against my knee. Poton was staring up at me curiously. His frizzy hair and dirty face did not change the twinkle in his big black orbs that reminded me too much of someone else. Ah.

I had almost forgotten I was tending to the fire and stirring the stew. I finished mixing it with one more aggressive circular swish before prodding the contents with my stick and setting the long utensil to rest against the lip of the clay pot.

"What? What do you want?" I sighed, tying my headband tighter around my head, pulling at my long black hair, tied back into a low ponytail.

"Do you think I could do the same thing as you? Are you really really tough? My older brother says your father was a merchant! So how’d you get so good? Huuuuh?" He pestered. The kid was bold, that much was clear to me.

Was. That word again. Was.

I wiped at my temple with my wrist, where sweat from the steam in the air and heat of the coals under my tree bark stew collected. Tlacoton wrapped her stubby arms around my waist, pressing her chubby cheek against it curiously.

"And me, Yolo-tzin?" She finally spit out, looking up at me in pure admiration and excitement. Poton copied her expression and now I had two baby faces sticking their bottom lips out and beaming up at me.

What a pain.

What a precious pain...

"You two would be lucky to even catch a fly, let alone, shoot down an entire stag with a dozen arrows." I answer them both, scooping up Tlacoton by her armpits and flinging her towards her friend as she squirmed and complained. I ushered the two off with my foot and watched them giggle and kick each other around.

Now I didn't have to look into their faces. The sight of their cheer, the hopeful naivety and ignorant bliss. So precious yet utterly nauseating to view.

"Yolotzin, here you go. A bundle of plain amatl and a bundle of dyed cotton, yes? Thank you for your business." Xoco had returned and took it upon herself to pass me the ordered supply of paper bundled in thick rope. She handed it to me with a cheery smile on her round face that made it a difficult task for me to try and refuse her help.

"Thanks." I muttered as I gave in and heaved my basket over my shoulder. My face still scrunched up and my smile stiff, which seemed to bring Xoco joy. It's a little disheartening, leaving their workshop with the little ones now noisily trying to follow me outside.

“Yolo-tzin! Have a safe trip!” “Take care!”

Ugh. Those snotty kids knew just how to make my heart race didn't they? I tossed my free hand over my shoulder and sent a half-ass wave their way that seemed to work. They scampered back into the shop, having returned to the monotonous rhythmic sound of pulp being pounded.

Now then, onto my last visit. With a much more peaceful mind, my body kicked into gear. One step, two steps, then hñu, I made my way down the hill and to the north side of town, right by the stream.

What an odd choice for a nobleman to set up a retreat here of all places. So far from the plaza and marketplace. Though, I do suppose he could always send a servant to fetch whatever his heart desired. Or he could have some fool deliver it straight to him.

That's me. I'm the fool.