Aztec Odyssey

by Jay C. LaBarge

  Nick was on a roll, his tempo picking up. “In conclusion, the ice sheets formed and melted multiple times, allowing people to cross from Asia and Siberia to North America more than once. So there were multiple migrations from there. And DNA evidence shows others arrived at different times from different points of origin. This was a melting pot of ethnicities even before the Europeans made that claim much later. You had to get those high cheekbones and striking good looks from somewhere. It’s just too bad they didn’t all come out looking like you.”

  His eyes on the road, he listened for a response and thought he heard a gentle snoring. He looked over at Soba, curled up against the window, rhythmically breathing, obviously fascinated by him pouring his heart out on his academic passions. As he let out a sigh of disappointment, Soba suddenly sat bolt upright, laughing out loud. “Real edge of your seat stuff, mąʼiitsoh nahałʼin,” she said, teasing him again with her nickname of the wolf howler.

  “And maybe a bit drier than our origin stories. Frankly I think the myths have more flair. Well look at the bright side, at least it did create one of me!” she giggled playfully.

  With that she leaned over and gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek. At which time Nanook poked his head through the back window and gave his ear a lick. Good times, these.

  Chapter 22 – Afternoon, June 23

  As they approached the Visitors Center in Zuni, Nick nudged Soba awake to let her know they had arrived, as well as give her some interesting news.

  “I have some colleagues back at the universities I attended who are well aware of my quest and sworn to secrecy. They have been keeping a steady eye out for anything which may be of interest popping up on the news front or in academia. And I’ve done the same with some web crawlers and my personal news feeds. There is a Pueblo just down the road in Hawikuh which was well explored over time. Turns out a part of it just recently disintegrated, which was a false back wall. Some artifacts were found behind it, still in situ, but what was most interesting were some petroglyphs etched into the cliff wall hidden behind it. Nobody knows about this outside the tribe except for my old mentor, Dr. Storm. One of his old students is a member of the tribe here, and he was the one who came across it. He reached out to Dr. Storm, who arranged for us to have access.”

  “What does in situ mean, I haven’t heard that term before?”

  “In situ just means something has been left as it was found, that it is still it its original place. It helps in dating artifacts, since the detritus around it may provide clues. Like if you can’t date the artifact itself, perhaps you can use carbon 14 dating on a biologic item like a seed, bone or piece of wood found with it. Frankly its archeology speak for making the simple complicated.”

  “Do you think it reveals anything relevant to your search, or is it just something new related to the Pueblo Indians?” Soba asked.

  “I don’t know, but timing is everything. Definitely worth checking out while we are here, you never know what thread it may provide now or later.”

  A quick run through the Visitors Center showed that the area was rumored to have been one of the ‘Seven Cities of Gold’ that originally tempted the Spanish to venture north. In due course it was overtaken by them, and Coronado made it his headquarters. Later the Pueblo revolts eventually led to it being abandoned by the Spanish. The subtext was that the area had been occupied, not subdued, with no love lost for the Spanish in the process.

  This was on Zuni Reservation Land, and the wisdom of having Soba along became immediately apparent. As they finished browsing around the Visitors Center they were greeted by a deeply tanned and wrinkled old man named Lonan, a tribal elder whose name meant Cloud in the Zuni language. He was in charge of the access to restricted areas and spoke jilted English but could make himself understood. Soba immediately replied to him in Zuni, which was a language isolate, meaning not related to any other known language. Lonan was immediately enchanted with this pretty young Navajo who spoke his unique language so eloquently.

  “Lonan said that your Dr. Storm has contacted him to arrange for us to examine the newly discovered room and its contents. He would be delighted to lead us there and asks if there is anything you need.”

  Nick looked him in the eye and held out his hand and said, “Pleased to meet you Lonan. I have everything we need, and a willing apprentice. I look forward to sharing anything we discover with your people, just show us the way.”

  Lonan indicated they were to follow him and drove off in an old Willy Jeep with no doors and a tied down hood that had seen better days. They followed, and fifteen minutes later pulled up to a compound of buildings that were broken down from a cycle of Spanish occupations and tribal recapture, and the inevitable erosion of time. Lonan led them through the compound, to a nondescript partial building adjoining a low cliff. The collapsed wall was marked off with little more than duct tape and sticks. It wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone passing by. But Lonan knew these ruins like the back of his well weathered hands, and proudly showed them to his new guests.

  “I know you good rock digger. Take as much time you need. Just ask you keep finds secret with tribe only.” With that Lonan smiled, bowed slightly toward Soba, and left. Nanook accompanied him back to his Jeep and sat quietly as he drove away.

  When Nick crawled into the bed of the pickup for his tools, he saw an acoustic guitar had been placed there, covered by a tarp. There was a hastily scrawled note between the strings. “In case of campfire, break out immediately.” A little drawing of a wolf howling at a full moon was at the bottom. He smiled and shook his head at the heartfelt gift from Bidzii. The water did indeed run deep with his Navajo friend.

  He grabbed his kit and his camera and walked out to the site. Nick proceeded to photograph and document the site exactly as it was before he even stepped into it. He asked that Soba make sure Nanook did not enter the area, and carefully worked his way in. A glance back showed Nanook had taken an instinctual defensive position, protectively positioned in front of the only access point, looking out. Soba saw what he was thinking, smiled, and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, ‘I didn’t teach him that.’

  A very old wall within the building remains had partially collapsed, evidently from nothing more than time and deterioration. The area it occupied was small and somewhat triangular, angling away from the low cliff face, only 18 or 20 square feet.

  Nick immediately set up a grid with strings and stakes, and pulled out a folded portable sifter, a couple of tarps, and a box of boxes and packing out of the back of the pickup. After continuing to carefully photograph everything, he started investigating, square by square. Immediately evident were a decayed Spanish helmet, a sword pommel, part of a bridle, obsidian arrow points and a war club of some kind. Nick put labeled index cards near each and photographed them in position.

  After the larger items were removed, dirt was taken out square by square and sifted. Soba was enlisted, and this tedious process revealed a small silver cross and a broken necklace a little under the surface. The necklace looked to be gold, with some type of amber or obsidian within it. Everything was meticulously chronicled and documented by grid and placed in their corresponding position on the tarp. Further digging revealed nothing more, and eventually hit the hardpan surface.

  “Why do you think they went to such trouble to hide this, it doesn’t seem like it would have been a substantial treasure to them?” Soba asked.

  “Hard to say. There are both Spanish and native artifacts, it is almost like it was a talisman of some kind. Or a warning. I was hoping there might be more clues, let’s take a closer look at the wall.”

  The etchings on the wall were faded, barely visible. Nick grabbed a camera lens duster and used it to puff air on a portion of the etching, and a fine dust came out. It didn’t change the coloring, but the etchings became more pronounced. He proceeded to do it on all the etchings he could see, and then stepped back to let the dust in the air settle. When it was evident it was still too hard to see
and it wasn’t painted, he patted over it with a damp cloth.

  Even damp it was still difficult to discern the etchings, so he grabbed his camera and took shots with and without the flash, at different exposures. When he looked at the viewing screen on back, he edited one photo in particular to jack up the contrast. With that the image finally came distinctly into view.

  “That makes no sense, not all the way up here, halfway up New Mexico.” Nick mumbled to himself in astonishment.

  Soba looked at him questioningly. “What makes no sense?”

  “These are petroglyphs, etched symbols and artwork. As you well know petroglyphs are common around the Southwest, except these appear to be Aztec symbols. They had their own written language, mostly in picture form, like hieroglyphs were for the Egyptians. The Aztecs kept extensive records on folded deer skin or their own form of agave paper. What they record are called codices. Almost none survive, and the most extensive ones were created after the conquest by a few somewhat renegade Franciscans who wanted to save the Aztec history. But this far north, and possibly pre-conquest, to be etched like this, it makes no sense.”

  “Were they accurate, I mean the depictions the Franciscans created?”

  “History is written by the victors, not by the vanquished. So I always take it with a grain of salt, there is usually propaganda or someone’s agenda masked within it.”

  Soba watched silently as Nick gently ran his fingers over the etchings. “This wasn’t written by the victors. Perhaps they didn’t even know they were vanquished yet. I suspect it is in stone to stand the test of time.”

  “I can speak Nahuatl, several dialects actually. But I haven’t seen but a couple codices reproduced in old history books. They almost look like each picture tells a story,” Soba replied.

  “They do, and I know from personal experience sometimes you can come up with the right story to accompany them, but not always. This probably has nothing to do with my quest, but it is significant if the Aztecs were actually this far north, before they were defeated and subjugated. I need to get these images to Dr. Storm, he may know someone who can decipher them.”

  Nick finished his work at the site, carefully removing his grid along with the original sticks and duct tape and threw them all into the back of the truck. He made sure to cover any signs that he, or anyone else for that matter, had ever been there. All the artifacts were carefully wrapped and marked, and they headed back to the Visitors Center to see Lonan.

  He wasn’t there when they arrived, and the center had just closed for the day. Soba saw someone about to drive away and went over to talk with her. When she returned she said, “Lonan went home, and it is not easy to get to from here. I was asked to bring the findings back in the morning. She said there is a nice camp site over that ridge.”

  “Tent or truck?” Nick asked, not wanting to make Soba feel uncomfortable with spending her first night on the road with him.

  “We’re getting a late start, I vote for truck,” she replied as Nick drove over to the ridge. “I suspect we’ll have plenty of chances to tent it.”

  Soba wandered off and said she would be back shortly. Nick gathered some dry sage brush and scraggly loose wood and got a small fire going in the fire pit. They had been told accurately, this definitely was a nice camp site, with a panoramic vista spread out from the small ledge they were on. In the quiet of dusk, Nick heard a joyful shout from Soba, and soon saw her wandering back with a rabbit over her shoulder. Nanook was carrying something large and prancing behind her.

  “Nanook get the rabbit?” Nick inquired, tossing her a folded hunting knife.

  “No silly, I did with a snare. We live well off the land because we are in tune with it. We need nothing more.”

  When Nick looked more carefully at Nanook sitting between them and the road, he noticed he was crunching hard on something with his powerful jaws. Nanook’s eyes reflected in the dusk briefly, his white face wearing a mask of red. Seeing a hoof shaking in the air, Nick was glad to call this wolf a friend.

  Darkness was closing in, the stars just starting to show as pin pricks of faint light high overhead. Content with a full belly of rabbit and beans, and lulled by the glow of the embers, Nick pulled the acoustic guitar out of the truck. When Soba saw it she immediately recognized it as Bidzii’s, her eyes welling up. She looked to the sky, said something in hushed tones under her breath, and bowed her head.

  “I didn’t know I even had it, that he had given it to me. Mom said when you receive an unexpected gift, the best thing you can do is accept it graciously. But I never even got the chance.”

  “You will. All in good time,” Soba replied through damp eyes and a grateful smile.

  “OK, I keep having songs play in my head that make me think of you. So for the rest of the trip, whenever I think of one, I’m going to play it to you that night. Here goes nothing.”

  Nick strummed a few notes, tuned the guitar slightly, then cleared his throat. He concentrated for a moment to remember the lyrics, he wanted to get it just right. “An old favorite by Atlanta Rhythm Section called Spooky, for you my bewitching sorceress,” he began.

  In the cool of the evenin’

  when ev’rything is gettin’ kind of groovy

  I call you up

  and ask if you’d like to go with me and see a movie

  First you say no, you’ve got some plans for the night

  And then you stop, and say, all right

  Love is kinda crazy with a spooky little girl like you

  Soba sat with her eyes closed for a moment, smiling until she recognized the song. Then laughingly she sang the refrains along with Nick, their eyes meeting and never straying. She threw out a half dozen song requests to him, and he played them all, some well, some struggling to remember the words or chords.

  When he finished the last one, Soba walked over and took the guitar from him, placed it on the front seat, and took him by the hand into the back of the truck. Nick left the tailgate and back window open so they could see the stars. Nanook stood momentarily with his snout on the tailgate, ears alert, and saw them spooning in the sleeping bag. He then circled several times before laying down directly under the tailgate. By the time he let out his usual huff of a releasing breath, they were both already fast asleep.

  Chapter 23 – June 24

  Lonan greeted Nick and Soba when they arrived early morning at the Visitors Center, obviously pleased with the artifacts and documentation provided. He told Soba in Zuni that they would make a nice addition to the local A:shiwi A:wan Museum. He was also curious as to how the items came to be hidden behind a false wall. And that if they ever found out what the strange markings on the wall said, please let him know. For now, the markings would continue to be their little secret.

  Lonan looked over at Nick and spoke in Zuni to him while Soba translated. “We have mysteries both here and in our past. Our histories handed down tell of many of our people who left even before Spanish came. We call them the Lost Others. It would be good to know what became of them, if ever possible. Over time our people are like so much chaff from corn tossed into a great wind, scattered all over.”

  Soba gave Lonan a hug and kiss on the cheek goodbye and detected a slight blush on his face. He smiled and said, “Many years since young woman kissed old face,” and couldn’t help but laugh at himself.

  “Ahéhee’,” Nick said: thank you, in his first attempt at speaking a word of Zuni. Lonan knowingly winked at Soba, suspecting her of a little coaching.

  Standing more than a full head taller than the age-stooped Lonan, Soba impulsively gave him another kiss on the top of his wrinkled bald head and saw that turn crimson too. “Now they match,” she said in Zuni and winked back at him, waving as she left.

  “How can you not love the elders, the keepers of legacy and tradition? They are truly the best of us,” she mused as they drove away. Nick nodded subconsciously as he looked ahead at the horizon, a lonely trail of dust rising in their wake.

  They had
decided on just one more stop before they crossed the border into Mexico, at the Gila Cliff Dwellings near Silver City. Further south than the territory of the Anasazi or Pueblo Indians, this was on the northern edge of the area of Mogollon influence. They were contemporary societies, flourishing and fading at about the same timeframe. Illustrating how well these and similar cliff-dwelling ruins were hidden, Gila wasn’t seen by a white man until 1878—or at least one who lived to tell about it.

  It was about a six-hour drive to get there, and Nick was looking forward to seeing an old classmate who now worked at the site. He called ahead and arranged to see him tomorrow. They had time to kill on the drive, some time to find a diversion for a little fun, and a chance to peel the onion back one more layer on each other.

  “My turn today. Genesis tells us that, after the great flood, a united mankind spoke one language, and in their vanity tried to build a tower to reach heaven. God saw this and confused their single language into many and scattered them across the land. So exactly how many of these languages do you speak?” Nick inquired.

  “All that I have set out to learn. My father spoke Navajo fluently like everyone in the tribe did, as well as a stilted version of Nahuatl. As I learned more over the years, it struck me as odd that he was insistent that I learn Nahuatl, a language with roots so far from home. What was most interesting was I came to realize he spoke a very distinct dialect of Nahuatl, a somewhat more ancient version. As peoples who spoke the base language scattered back in time, pockets of them evolved slightly different versions of it.”

  “Who else did he ever even speak Nahuatl with?”