PROLOGUE

Al-Mon stood as rigid as the statues that surrounded his bathing pool. Let the servants attend; he would offer no assistance to this ceremony. It was his way of showing objection without actually doing so. How could he refuse when this was for his benefit and the perpetuation of his royal line?

His manservant tied the jaguar sash around Al-Mon's waist, overlapping the matching loincloth. Al-Mon rejected the seashell collar, opting for a red feathered cape. His gods would accept him unbejeweled, without pretense, a humble subject seeking divine intervention. How could they refuse such a request? He had spent his life appeasing those omnipresent beings and had asked for nothing in return -- until now.

"Your headdress, my lord."

Al-Mon combed his raven hair to the crown of his head and secured the long strands with a narrow strip of leather. He sat upon one of the stone benches to enable the smaller man to seat this crowning symbol of authority.

The plumage of red and yellow was heavy and awkward. Only with years of practice could one wear the towering mass without having it slip or, worse yet, throw its wearer off balance. Such a thing was not a problem for Al-Mon; his tutelage had begun at the cradle. Now the headdress was merely an extension of himself. With it his subjects rarely noticed the unfortunate condition which set him apart from others. Without it he stood out.

It was a cruel fate of a birth that occurred on a desolate road with only his father and the high priest attending the premature event. A midwife would have found something, anything to press the surviving newborn prince's head into the slope which Mayans longed for -- the men did not. As a consequence, Al-Mon was forced to give sacrifice to the gods at the tender age of three days. He was grateful that incident was not part of his memories.

And yet he could not label all these circumstances as a curse. A lesser man would have let the difference destroy him, make him bitter. Al-Mon refused to let it rule his life, not when there were so many other more important things which should. The physical aspect was a minor annoyance. Dealing with it and the reaction of others helped him build the strength he needed to one day be a good ruler.

Al-Mon adjusted the headdress and pulled his hair through the opening at the top. "I believe that should do."

"A grander prince I have never attended," Tor-sa said.

Al-Mon chuckled. "Tor-sa, I am the only prince you have ever served."

The little man smiled back. "Yes, my lord, that is true. I wish you good fortune tonight. I shall be watching from the portico. All three ladies are worthy. The gods cannot help but choose well."

Al-Mon's humor faded. "How sad that the ladies in question do not feel that way."

From outside the conch shells called the city to the ceremony. There was no postponing the inevitable. Resigned to his fate, Al-Mon strode through winding corridors of stone to the entry hall. He was late. His parents waited, dressed in full regalia. The prospective brides hovered nearby, dour-faced.

Standing watch was the elderly high priest, Caan-tu. From the time of Al-Mon's birth, Caan-tu had been a part of his life. No decision was made without him. It was said his powers went far beyond those required of ordinary priests. Al-Mon did not know if that were true, but he did know Caan-tu was one of the wisest, most learned men he had ever met. This ceremony tonight was his doing.

With Caan-tu leading the way, they stepped into the night.

A hush fell over the crowd as the royal procession appeared. No breeze stirred. Smoke from the torches hugged the ground like fog. The path to the temple was clear, but as the royals passed, the crowd closed in behind them. Drumbeats echoed their footsteps down the flight of stairs, across the courtyard, then up the steep temple steps. Silence descended when the entourage reached the top, and Caan-tu raised his scrawny arms.

"Tonight, on this holy night, a bride will be chosen."

The crowd roared with approval, and Al-Mon looked over the candidates. By the ladies' show of enthusiasm one would think they were to be sacrificed instead of honored. Al-Mon looked away and to the sea of faces below. That, too, was a bad choice, for one face stood out -- that of Ka-la.

Her dark eyes blazed with fury over the ceremony and the fact that she had not been chosen to participate. She would have been willing, so willing that this selection would not have been necessary. But had she been included, Al-Mon would have steadfastly refused to accept her.

"We shall choose!" Caan-tu said, then led the king and queen into the bowels of the temple.

Al-Mon let his gaze focus on his home, hoping to clear his mind and let the gods work their will. The royal dwelling house was set at a right angle to the temple, and was the longest structure in the city. A rippling succession of eight archways marked the front; torches lit each one. Above the center arch, the main entrance, a bird was carved; its feathers spread in flight with a wing span which reached past the arches on either side of it. To visitors and people of the city the bird represented the freedom and power of the ruling clan. But Al-Mon knew of the invisible tether which bound the bird. For a Mayan prince and future king there was no freedom. He existed for the sole purpose of serving his people and producing heirs, even if that meant with a mate who was less than willing.

Al-Mon shifted his gaze to the black horizon. Why must it be this way? Somewhere there must be a woman, a love for me. He closed his eyes and prayed the gods' selection would be wise.