Flutes, drums, and rattles echoed through the palace hallways, waking William from his afternoon nap. After pulling on his sandals and adjusting his awkward headdress, he ran into the Serpent Priest in the hallway. Priest Quisac told William that he would assist him by interpreting.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting there too long,” William said, as they walked down the hallway toward the courtyard.
“Too long?” Priest Quisac asked, not quite understanding.
“You know… a long time,” William said. He could see that a large crowd had gathered in the courtyard ahead, and he really wasn’t in the mood to be around so many people just after waking up. He rubbed his eyes to wipe the sleepy look off his face.
“Time is time,” the Serpent Priest said. “It is neither long nor short. It is exactly what it must be in the context of our baktun.”
“Sounds to me like you did have to wait a long time,” William said.
The Serpent Priest let loose a rare chuckle, studying William for a moment. “You have a humorous spirit Balam, yet you portray it in a subtle manner. I find that most amusing.”
They entered the palace courtyard where dozens of Mayan nobles mingled about in scattered groups. The women were preoccupied with buying and selling jewelry, cocoa beans, and feathers of every imaginable color. The men bartered with the merchant traders for weapons and hunting instruments. They all stopped and stared at William when he entered, making him feel conscientious of his every step. He spotted Yax and his hot sister standing on a platform above the courtyard, and he waved to them as he approached.
“Good evening, Balam,” Yax said. “Did you rest well?”
William nodded with a smile.
“We are enjoying music and conversation before leaving to the ballcourt,” Teshna said. She studied William, her eyes rolling up and down his frame. “How are your injuries?”
William didn’t quite understand her fast dialogue, and he looked to Priest Quisac for help. The Serpent Priest repeated what she had just said, with images of William’s sore feet appearing in his mind as he spoke.
William looked back to Teshna. “Oh, yes my feet are much better. Thank you.”
“Do you enjoy the ball games, Balam?” Yax asked.
“Oh, yes I like ball games,” he said, remembering how his high school soccer team had made it to the state playoffs the year before. “I used to play back home, but I have never seen…”
An argument between several nobles arose near in the courtyard, interrupting their conversation. A merchant bickered over a particular transaction, and he would not release the spear decorated in quetzal feathers. It escalated into a tug-of-war over the item in question. Yax motioned to one of his guards to take care of it. He waited for the conflict to calm down before turning his attention back to William; he looked like a kid admiring his favorite sports hero. “I am not surprised to hear that you are also a ball player. You must tell me about all your victories.”
“I believe the games are played differently in his land,” the Serpent Priest said, while his eyes rolled back in his head. William figured that Priest Quisac had just seen images of him playing soccer in his mind.
“Yes, Priest Quisac,” Yax said, annoyed. “I am aware that the rules differ from land to land. Yet we play the games to honor the gods. Is this not so, Balam?”
William felt frustrated that he couldn’t completely follow the conversation. But he figured it couldn’t be too important if they were just talking about games, and so he just nodded. He looked around the room, wondering where Betty was. “Where is Bati?” he asked.
Yax instructed a servant to go look for her.
“What is your relationship to Bati?” Teshna asked William, with a hint of jealousy on her face.
Priest Quisac shot a suspicious look her way, raising his grey eyebrows. Teshna responded with a demure smile, like a girl caught stealing candy.
“I have no relationship with Bati,” William said with the same assurance as a husband explaining his pretty secretary to his wife. He wanted Teshna to be aware of his availability. “We only met some days ago, when I… helped her out of a tough situation. We’ve been traveling together since then.”
The Serpent Priest reiterated William’s dialogue, selecting different words than he had to better convey the message. The translation process also helped William to further learn their dialect and expressions.
Teshna let loose a smile, displaying her jewel-embedded teeth. It occurred to William that all the Mayan nobles had similar dental work. He recalled reading how it was a fashion trend with the Maya in those days, and he grimaced, wondering how they went about drilling the little gems into their teeth without the modern dental tools they had in his time.
William shifted his attention to the large crowd in the courtyard. “Who are all these people here?” he asked Priest Quisac.
The Serpent Priest studied the gathered nobles. “Some are related by blood. The men over there-who stare at you with such reverence-were to be taken to the altar after the King. Others included in the royal assembly are merchants, master artisans, and the captains of the royal guard.”
As Priest Quisac gestured to the royal guards, William spotted a young captain-close to his own age-with ripped biceps, and wearing a creative headdress that utilized part of a crocodile’s jaw. The buff warrior noticed his attention and locked eye contact with William, casting an angry stare his way. It evolved into an all out staring contest to see who would back down. William gave the guy a cocky salute. Caught off guard by the gesture, the young captain looked away, and William returned his attention to the Serpent Priest.
“Are you finished?” Priest Quisac asked with a scowl, having observed the interaction with the Captain.
William nodded, taken down a notch, like being reprimanded by his mother. “Who are those two?” William asked, while pointing at the men in the corner. They were painted like zebras with tall headdresses.
“They are priests,” the Serpent Priest said.
“Priests like you?” William asked. He recalled seeing the priests before, dragging the captives up the pyramid steps to be sacrificed. He wondered how they could still be trusted in the new hierarchy.
Teshna leaned forward. “They do not possess the powers of a Serpent Priest,” she said, and then gave Priest Quisac a surreptitious glance. “But at least they do as they are told.”
“Do not fear, Balam,” Priest Quisac said. “They are trustworthy. The priests merely see to the adherence of our rituals and ceremonies. Yet they lack understanding of the cosmic plan.”
When the Serpent Priest mentioned the cosmic plan, William visualized a brilliant light at the center of the galaxy casting a radiant energy toward Earth. In that brief moment, he witnessed a flash of Earth’s evolution-life springing up and developing in a montage of scattered images. The bloodstone tingled and glowed on his chest. He shook his head, trying to return his focus to the reality around him. With a bewildered expression left hanging on his face, William marveled at Priest Quisac’s ability to cast images like that, and he wondered what made him so unique. It occurred to William that the Serpent Priest also looked different than the others; his skin was a lighter shade, his nose seemed narrower, and his cheek bones sat lower on his face.
The servant reentered from the hallway and explained that Bati could not be found in the palace. William rolled his eyes, concerned that she probably snuck off to the cenote for a swim, even after he had warned her to stay away. But he didn’t want to get Betty in trouble, so he kept quiet about it.
The low-pitched bellows of seashell trumpets outside the palace caught everyone’s attention. “At long last, the games are to begin!” Yax cheered.
The music in the courtyard abruptly ended, and the chatter of the royal assembly ceased, when Honac-Fey-the charismatic Mayan with a diamond-shaped tattoo on his forehead-entered the room and made his way to the King. On his shoulder perched a beautiful owl; it was mostly white, except for the blue highlights around its eyes and tips of its feathers. The owl flew off upon his command, taking temporary residence on a branch high up in the ceiba tree. Upon reaching the King, Honac-Fey bowed.
Yax glared at the man. “Honac-Fey. What is the cause for the delay?”
“I do apologize, my Lord,” Honac-Fey said, over exaggerating by dropping to his knees. He looked like he was begging for his life, but in a sarcastic manner. “The players report being prolonged by seven serpents that crossed their path along the journey from Kinichna. To honor the gods, they had to stop for prayers, and to make proper offerings.” He stood and held his hands out wide with a twisted smile. “Both teams are now ready at the ballcourt. They await your command to begin.”
As Honac-Fey spoke, William noticed a stern look on Priest Quisac’s face. It was clear that the Serpent Priest didn’t like Honac-Fey. William thought he was annoying too, like an animated announcer at a circus sideshow.
“Very well,” Yax said. “Bring Priests Ik-Tanil and Ch’elek with you to perform the blessing rites.”
Honac-Fey gave another embellished bow before departing, with the two priests following him out. The white owl flew off the ceiba tree into the afternoon sky overhead, in the direction of Honac-Fey.
Teshna leaned to her brother, the bright green feathers on her headdress swaying forward. “Seven serpents,” she said with a huff.
Yax glowered at her. “Just be thankful that I did not have to send you down to play.” He took a moment to instruct the servants to keep searching for Bati-to escort her to the ballcourt when she was found-and then he spun back with an excited look, like a kid about to go to the Super Bowl. “Let’s go!” Yax said, as he headed out with Teshna at his side.
Priest Quisac grabbed William by the arm, holding him back a few steps from the others. “Be alert, Balam. As Royal Protector of the King’s family, you must always be mindful for their safety.”
“What do you mean by Royal Protector?” William asked.
“It is the title that you have been awarded. You accepted this responsibility when you allowed the bloodstone to be placed around your neck.”
“What, this thing?” he asked, holding the bloodstone. “I thought it was just a gift.”
“That is correct… a great gift indeed,” Priest Quisac said.
They followed Yax and Teshna down the palace steps and along a short path. When they reached the ceremonial center, they merged with hundreds of citizens who were making their way to the ballcourt. It reminded William of the times he went to sporting events with his dad-walking to the stadium from where they parked, with a crowd growing from various points as they went. However, the bizarre attire of the fans reminded William that he wasn’t in California; it felt like he was heading to a costume party at Xcaret.
William considered the royal protector obligation, not feeling comfortable with it. “Priest Quisac, you need to know… I’m not a warrior,” he whispered, feeling a little embarrassed. “Saving Yax the other night was just… lucky.”
“In the cosmic plan there are no accidents,” Priest Quisac said. “The events of that night were written in the stars. Your destiny calls out to you here and now, Balam. It cannot be avoided.”
William busted out with a big laugh. He couldn’t believe that such a crazy predicament could be his life’s destiny.
The Serpent Priest regarded William with confidence. “To face your destiny with humor is a rare strength indeed.”
As they continued in silence along the stone walkway toward the ballcourt in the clearing, William wondered what he had just gotten himself into by accepting the bloodstone.
Sitting on a bench padded with jaguar skins, William studied the ballcourt. Although not as large as the one he had seen before at Chichen Itza, it had a similar layout. The playing field was about thirty yards in width and forty yards in length. Ramps sloped up from the court on both sides at twenty degree angles, merging with walls that rose another ten feet. A scoring ring, fashioned like a coiled snake, was secured to the upper-center of each side wall. The ramps and walls were bright red, contrasting the white plaster floor of the playing field.
The royal seating where William sat was-in their standards-like a luxury box at a stadium. It was situated at the center of the eastern side of the ballcourt on a raised platform. A thatched roof shaded them from the heat of the late afternoon sun. Others in the royal assembly stood on platforms around the edge of the ballcourt, pressing themselves against the medians, and jockeying for a better position to watch the game.
On William’s right was Priest Quisac. On his left, Yax sat in an elegant throne decorated with elaborate carvings of scenes from the games. Teshna was seated beside Yax. The empty seat to her left awaited Betty’s arrival.
The two zebra-painted ceremonial priests appeared at the northern and southern entrances of the ballcourt, waving their incense burners as they went. They advanced until they met one another at the center of the court, turned to face the King, and kneeled briefly before continuing with their prayers.
William was excited to watch the ancient ball game. He had seen many ballcourts while visiting Mayan ruins with his family, but nobody could ever tell him for sure how the game was played. Now he would be the first-from his time-to find out. “Where are the players?” he asked Yax.
“Our team prepares behind the western wall, near the northern entrance,” he said, pointing to the other side of the ballcourt across from them. “They must make offerings to the gods to open a pathway through the scoring ring. The players from Kinichna are behind the wall where we sit, near the southern entrance.”
Teshna looked over to William and noticed his troubled expression. “What bothers you, Balam? Are you not enjoying the ceremonies?” she asked.
William tried to find the right words to convey his concern, without offending their rituals. “Is it true that the losing team is sacrificed?”
Yax and Teshna looked puzzled. “Of course not, Balam,” Teshna said. “Where did you hear such nonsense?”
“Is this what they do in your land,” Yax asked. “Would that please you?”
“No, definitely not!” William said, waving his hands. He pointed at the image on the side of the King’s chair. “Then what’s with this carving…. of a man holding his severed head?”
“It is symbolic,” the Serpent Priest said, “of the death of one’s lower self. Great wisdom can be achieved through the games. Those who compete have earned this privilege.”
Seven players from each team entered from the northern and southern entrances wearing thick padding around their waists and shoulders, helmets made out of armadillo skin on their heads, and decorative boots on their feet. They bowed to one another in the center of the court.
“Our team wears a white sash around their waist, to honor the north,” Yax said. “Kinichna wears a yellow sash, for the south.”
Honac-Fey entered the ballcourt from the northern entrance, carrying a large black ball. He was dressed in a white feathered cape and wore a headdress that looked like a hawk was nesting on his head. At the southern entrance another man entered, wearing a yellow feathered cape. They met at the center and bowed to the King. Honac-Fey placed the ball on the court before he and the other caped man made their way out. The white owl soared across the ballcourt and landed on Honac-Fey’s shoulder as he departed.
Yax clasped his hands together, causing several seashell trumpets to break the silence. The game began with a cheer of approval from the spectators, and the two teams took their positions across from each other in the middle of the court.
The captain from the Kinichna team rolled the ball up the slanted wall toward the opponent’s side. It bounced once on the ground, and a player from Dzibanche kicked it high with his knee back to the other side. A Kinichna player popped it up with his hip to his teammate. He hit the ball with his head, maneuvering it closer to their scoring side.
The scrimmage went back and forth for several minutes, with the players whacking the ball with their heads, shoulders, hips, and knees. At times, the ball made its way to the eastern and western extremes of the court, where the players positioned themselves up the ramps and attempted to hit the scoring ring.
The Kinichna team maneuvered the ball up the ramp on their scoring side of the court, and with a good bump from a player’s knee, the ball hit the outer rim of the ring. A low-pitched blast from seashell trumpets celebrated the score.
The flash of an igniting torch drew William’s attention at the southern end of the ballcourt. He looked closer and noticed six unlit torches beside it. There was a similar collection of torches at the northern end as well.
“It is the method for keeping score,” Priest Quisac explained. “To win, the team must hit their scoring ring seven times. However, if the ball passes directly through the ring-a rare occurrence-victory is immediate.”
Another cheer from the crowd drew William’s attention back to the game. Kinichna seemed to be playing more aggressive, ramming their shoulders and hips hard into the heavy ball to keep it positioned closer to their scoring ring.
After nearly an hour, four scoring torches had been lit for Kinichna, and only one for Dzibanche. Three loud drum beats signaled a resting period, and the two teams went to their northern and southern extremes. When the Dzibanche players exited, Honac-Fey handed them drinks. Likewise, the man in the yellow feathered cape provided refreshments to the Kinichna players.
The game resumed. Dzibanche had acquired a good position when one of the players lost his balance, stumbled, and fell face-first to the hard plaster floor. The ball rolled to a stop beside him, as his teammates rushed to his side.
A hush fell over the ballcourt. Yax stood with a worried look, as Honac-Fey moved in with several servants to carry the hurt player away on a litter. Honac-Fey looked up to Yax. “My Lord, the player has taken ill and cannot continue,” he said in a commanding voice for all to hear, emphasizing his words with animated arm movements.
The man in the yellow cape-who William learned was the Governor of Kinichna-entered as well. “Lord Stone Frog,” the Kinichna Governor said, addressing Yax with his formal Mayan name, “the game cannot be continued short of seven players. A replacement must be chosen… someone deserving of the honor.”
“I see no other choice than Balam…” Honac-Fey said with a surreptitious glance to the Kinichna Governor.
William flinched upon hearing his name. He shot his attention over to Yax, hoping he would not agree.
The King studied William for a moment and then spoke to the entire assembly. “You are correct, Honac-Fey, there is no other who has earned the right to play in the games… but only if Balam agrees.”
William was about to decline, but then Honac-Fey raised his hands to the crowd and began chanting,
“Balam, Balam, Balam.” The spectators joined in, chanting his name in chorus.
“Oh, crap,” William muttered, realizing that he didn’t have much choice in the matter. If he chickened out, it would be embarrassing to Yax. However, his decision to play was mostly due to Teshna’s admiring stare; he couldn’t let her down. When William stood, the crowd let out a rowdy cheer.
“Be alert, Balam,” Priest Quisac said with a concerned look, as William was escorted away.
William felt ridiculous in the uniform they made him wear: heavy-duty sandals with decoratively studded support bands buckled on his calves, protective pads attached to his knees, elbows, hips, and shoulders, and a goofy helmet strapped to his head.
As he reached the center of the ballcourt, he felt a wave of butterflies. The seashell trumpets sounded and the game resumed. At first, William felt a little bunglesome running around in his clumsy gear, trying to get the feel for the game. When the ball finally came his way, William positioned himself to hit it, but two Kinichna players rushed in at the same moment and rammed their shoulders into his chest, knocking him to the ground, as they intercepted the ball. Kinichna bumped it to their side, and they scored again. The fifth torch lit up at the southern end of the ballcourt.
Play resumed. Dzibanche maneuvered the ball to their scoring side, and William bumped it with his shoulder, barely missing the goal. Luckily, a teammate was there for the rebound, hitting the ball with his knee against the edge of their scoring ring. The spectators rejoiced with their team’s third score; another torch burned at the Dzibanche end of the court.
As play continued, William got the feel for the game. With his size and strength, he helped his team maintain possession of the ball near their goal, and they scored again. The crowd went crazy for the comeback.
Trumpets and three drum beats signaled the next resting period. William’s team marched to the northern end of the ballcourt. A standing ovation from the royal assembly cheered them on their way out.
Honac-Fey handed drinks to the players as they exited the court. William let his teammates get their cups first, for they had been playing longer and he figured they needed it more. Based on how fast they guzzled down their drinks, he was right.
When Honac-Fey handed William a cup, a strange look crossed his face; he seemed angry with him. William wondered if the man was still upset for not being awarded the bloodstone earlier that day. Even the little white owl gave him an irritated ‘hoot’ from his shoulder.
William moved a few steps away and put the cup to his lips. He was about to drink it, when Betty’s screeching voice distracted him.
“William, no!” she hollered.
William lowered the cup and saw Betty coming at him like a flash of lightning. She slapped the cup from his hands, spilling its contents onto the ground. Honac-Fey glared at her.
“What the hell are you doing?” William asked. “Where have you been?”
“Something’s going on here.” She pointed at Honac-Fey, as he filled another cup. “That guy there… he’s involved.”
“Well, yeah. He’s coordinating the game,” William said with annoyance, strapping his helmet back on.
“William, listen!” Betty said, pulling him to the side. “I went swimming at that cenote down the road, and I found them there… the Kinichna ball players… all dead… off the side of the road!”
William glanced over to the ballcourt with a confused look. “You mean those ball players?”
Honac-Fey brought another cup to William, urging him to take it. He reached for it, but Betty whacked it from his hands again.
“What is your problem, Betty?” William asked, getting annoyed. The seashell trumpets sounded the end of the resting period. “We’re playing a game here, if you haven’t noticed.”
As William rushed back to the court, he could still hear Betty hollering nonsense behind him. “It’s not them!” she said. “They took their uniforms. He put something in the drinks!”
When William glanced back, he saw Betty run off behind the eastern wall of the ballcourt. He ignored her, figuring he’d find out what she was freaking out about later, and he returned his focus to the ball game.
Priest Quisac jumped up, noticing the commotion. After Bati ran off, he watched Honac-Fey motioning to the Kinichna Governor, who then spoke to a warrior at his side. The warrior pulled a dagger from his belt just before he went out of view behind the eastern wall.
The Serpent Priest slipped away from his place near the others, unnoticed. While moving along the stone walkway behind the spectators, he retrieved a short atlatl-his weapon of choice-that he always carried with him; attached to his belt. As he hurried forward, he grabbed an obsidian dart from a satchel at his side, and slipped it into the groove of his atlatl.
When he reached the steps leading out of the stadium, he spotted the warrior at the base of the stairway, holding Bati by her neck; her strangled cries went unheard from the noise of the crowd. The warrior slammed her head against the stone wall, and he lifted his dagger.
Priest Quisac forced a mental image into the warrior’s mind, of Bati’s arms transforming into serpents. Startled, the warrior took a step back. Priest Quisac snapped his atlatl-like he was cracking a whip-and a dart whizzed through the air, impaling the man through his ribs, just under his raised arm. The warrior dropped the dagger. He fell onto his side with a heavy thump.
Bati had a surprised and dazed expression locked on her face. She lost her balance and fell to her knees. Priest Quisac helped her up, supporting her as they returned to the stadium together.
As the ball game continued, William noticed that his teammates reacted much slower, without the intensity that previously enabled them to score. William’s lazy teammates didn’t even have the strength to return the ball with enough force to keep it away from their opponent’s side. Eventually, one of the Kinichna players headed the ball and scored again.
Only one unlit torch remained at the southern end of the ballcourt. One more score for Kinichna would finish the game. When William had first started playing he didn’t care about winning. He just wanted it to be over so he could go back to his room and rest. Now with his competitive spirit in full gear, he really wanted to win. Unfortunately, his teammates weren’t helping his cause, moving the ball with the carelessness of a team of drunks. One of his teammates headed the ball high in the air and then suddenly collapsed. William chased after the ball; it bounced off the plaster floor and went high over his head.
As the ball ascended, William noticed all his teammates staggering and falling over, one after the other. He took a quick glance at the scoring ring, ten yards away, and readied himself. As the ball dropped, he smacked it as hard as he could with his knee. A hush overcame the arena as the spectators followed the ball’s path, watching it arc through the sky-seemingly in slow motion-before miraculously gliding through the very center of the scoring ring.
The crowd erupted with cheers. Trumpets blasted, and drums beat with the passion of a drum solo at a rock concert. The remaining torches were lit on the northern side, signifying Dzibanche’s victory.
Amidst the hoopla, a bizarre scene unfolded on the ballcourt, and the cheers faded with the suddenness of pressing the mute button on a remote control. William’s teammates writhed in agony, with green foam bubbling out their mouths.
Yax bolted from his throne, barking commands to his royal guards.
“Balam! Behind you!” Teshna called out to William; she was jumping up and down and pointing behind him with the velocity of a woodpecker.
William turned just in time to see a Kinichna player coming at him with a short blade in his hand. They toppled down together, rolling on the hard surface of the ballcourt. Another man grabbed William’s necklace from behind, strangling him for a second. The necklace scraped across his face when the man pulled it free and took off with it. William felt his attacker with the dagger go limp. He scrambled back and saw the blade protruding from the man’s chest.
The guy who had stolen his necklace sprinted toward the northern entrance of the ballcourt. He managed only a few more steps before a dart zipped through the air with a fluttering sound, and impaled him through the side of his neck, sending him into a bloody plaster face plant. The necklace flew from his hands, skittering across the ballcourt.
The white owl streaked across the ballcourt and grabbed the bloodstone. The gem glowed in its talons as the owl whisked it over to Honac-Fey and dropped it into the ceramic jar in his hands. Honac-Fey raised the container over his head. “Ban kimil e lu’ um!” he said in a deep voice, and hurled the jar onto the ballcourt. It shattered with a splattering of a reddish-black liquid that dissolved like acid into the surface of the ballcourt.
A group of Dzibanche royal guards rushed in with spears, blocking the exits at both the northern and southern ends. They ordered the Kinichna players and Governor to surrender.
Knowing they could not escape, the five remaining ball players gave a collective nod and slit their throats, killing themselves to avoid capture.
The Kinichna Governor rushed across the ballcourt and grasped the bloodstone from the floor, holding it in his clenched fist. He raised the stone, showing it to the entire assembly, defiantly waving it at Yax. His arm began to tremble; it turned white. He seemed to be in severe pain, as he lost all the color in his face. With a blood-curdling screech, he fell over dead on the spot. The bloodstone slipped from his lifeless fingers to the ground.
A long moment of silence was broken by the King yelling, “Honac-Fey!” Yet the man with the diamond tattoo had run off.
The Serpent Priest went down to the ballcourt, his teeth clenched in anger. He took a moment to watch the guards chasing after Honac-Fey; the burning torches reflected the concern in his silver eyes. He turned and approached William. “Retrieve the bloodstone, Balam.”
“Are you crazy?” William asked. He was worried to touch it after seeing what it had just done to the Governor.
“It will not harm you. Pick it up and hold it so that all can see that you are its rightful master.”
William nodded, knowing that he could trust Priest Quisac. As he staggered toward the lifeless man in the yellow cape, William glanced at his fallen teammates; they were all dead, with green foam dripping off their faces. He looked up to find Betty in the stands and mouthed the words ‘thank you’ to her, realizing that she had saved his life by stopping him from drinking the poison.
He tossed off his helmet and yanked loose his shoulder and hip protectors; they fell to the ground behind him. He reached down, pulled the necklace free from the limp fingers of the dead man, and studied the gem that dangled before him. Its previous reddish hue had faded; it was nearly black. William grasped the bloodstone, carried it to the center of the ballcourt, and held it high over his head for all to see. Its glow radiated from between his fingers, and he felt a tingling sensation in his hand. He relaxed, for the bloodstone somehow soothed his aches and pains. It made him feel steadier on his feet.
Many in the assembly chanted his name, while others were in tears, or in a frozen state of shock from the alarming turn of events.
William opened his hand and stared at the bloodstone again. Its color had brightened a little, but lacked the vibrancy it used to have. An uncomfortable feeling crept over him. He figured he was just feeling sorry for those who had died on the ballcourt. But that wasn’t it, he realized. The feeling of distress was emanating from the bloodstone itself.