The Nosferatu Chronicles: The Aztec God

by Susan Hamilton

  Physically, it was easy for her to recover with the hemo-treatment, since she had never hunted humans or experienced the blood cravings. Mentally, however, she had struggled to come to terms with what she had become.

  When she witnessed the horrors of the Bolshevik Revolution, she knew that her existence had a purpose in fighting evil.

  Each of the Rescued had a tipping point. Once reached, it would require a retreat from human society — down time to clear one’s thoughts. Retreats often lasted decades in the remote regions of Earth where the hemoplant was cultivated.

  Jasper and Nadia retreated to Guyana and tried to forget the so-called civilized world. Each of them knew they would have to return at some point, otherwise they would be ill-equipped to reemerge into a society changed by technological advances.

  Their nights were spent operating the agricultural machinery that cultivated and harvested the hemo-crops, and they enjoyed the stress-free, mundane work. The daylight hours were passed peacefully underground in their adobe hut. When they were not resting, they monitored the Internet for any anomalies in public records regarding missing people, mysterious deaths, or blood shortages in hospitals and donation banks.

  Checking his laptop, Jasper saw that he had an email. “It’s from Tariq. He’ll be here tonight.”

  *******

  After the helicopter touched down on the beach, Jasper greeted Tariq warmly. “You haven’t aged a day, boyo.”

  “Nor have you, my brother,” he said.

  “Come,” said Jasper, “partake of hemo-nectar with us.”

  The three of them held the tubes in a moment of silent remembrance of those who had been killed in the struggle against the Ferals before solemnly drinking the contents.

  “We think there may be a Vambir presence in Honduras,” said Tariq.

  Jasper and Nadia exchanged worried looks.

  “They will be more difficult to subdue than Ferals,” said Nadia, “being superior in size, strength, and technology.”

  “Cut off from the lifeboat, it would make no difference,” said Jasper. “Any lasguns would have been rendered useless centuries ago without recharging.”

  “But what if they held on to them all this time?” asked Tariq. “They could be recharged using present Earth technology. The Vambir would have understood it was simply a matter of time.”

  “Someone would have discharged one by now,” said Jasper, “and there have been no indications of anything like it, especially in Honduras.”

  “We have more serious concerns than that,” said Tariq. “There may have been a second Vambir landing during the time of the Cortés invasion of the Aztec Empire.”

  “How so?” asked Jasper. “The Isla broke apart just before the Transylvanian landing. The mother ship wasn’t there to jettison pods during the time of Cortés.”

  “Errant pods could have remained in Low Earth Orbit for decades before banding together to attempt a collective landing,” explained Tariq. “Contemporary evidence points to a crash landing in Tenochtitlan.”

  “Why worry about Honduras, then?” asked Jasper. “That’s nowhere near the ancient Aztec capital.”

  “We think the Vambir established a cult around the god Quetzalcoatl,” said Tariq. “To escape the Spanish invasion, they and their followers fled to White City, which is believed to be in Honduras and was the legendary birthplace of Quetzalcoatl.”

  Jasper and Nadia spent the next hour reviewing the information that had been compiled at the monastery: the triple-headed comet in 1519, the Aztec pictographs, the jade bust of a Vambir, Montezuma’s alleged dying words, and the speculation of a hemorrhagic plague being the cause of the decimation of the Aztecs. Tariq then showed them the satellite images of the lost White City during the Venus transit of 2004.

  “The next transit will be in two months,” said Tariq. “If they are in hiding, it will be the only event that could draw them out. We must get the lifeboat to White City in order to take them by surprise.”

  Jasper struggled to come to terms with the reality of a Vambir community that could have eluded them for so long. “They would have to have functional stasis pods in order to avoid attracting attention from feeding. Entering prolonged stasis would be the only way to hide.”

  “That’s not much of an existence,” said Nadia. “Going into stasis, only to be revived twice every century during the Venus transits. Who would choose to live like that? What purpose would it serve?”

  “After centuries in stasis, they could emerge freely, since the areas surrounding them would not have registered any suspicious activity,” said Tariq. “We have all assumed there were no Vambir at large because we haven’t detected any signs of them for so long.”

  “Yes,” said Nadia. “It makes sense. Perhaps they are waiting until they can avail themselves of humanity’s technology.”

  “It has advanced considerably,” said Jasper.

  “That must be prevented at all costs,” said Tariq.

  “We can use solid-rocket fuel to get the lifeboat to White City,” said Jasper. “It’s cheaper to make and to handle, and we won’t have to cool materials to cryogenic temperatures. I’ll get started immediately.”

  MASSACRE

  Mesoamerica, 1520

  Dujot sprinted toward the coast with lightning speed. He had dressed himself in native clothing to make sure any survivors would blame the Aztecs for what was about to happen. The Spanish troops were sleeping, and no one was on watch. They had become complacent after easily defeating any resistance they had so far encountered from the natives, giving Dujot the advantage of a surprise attack. By the time the alarm was raised, he had killed over twenty, easily ripping out their throats. A group of Conquistadors came at him with their swords, and he sent them scattering with a blow from his forearm. A loud crack sounded in the air, and after a wave of pain surged through his body, he saw blood spurting from a deep wound to his shoulder. As a terrified Conquistador desperately tried to reload his musket, Dujot charged toward him in a blur and impaled him with his own weapon.

  The injured watched in horror as Dujot took out an obsidian knife and cut out the hearts of those he had just killed. He knew that this abominable act would be enough to convince the Spanish that the Aztecs were responsible, since they were ignorant of the fact that the Aztecs always took prisoners alive in order to use them for sacrifices. Before disappearing into the rainforest, he finished off the injured, except for a handful who would report what they had seen. Once out of sight, Dujot fed heartily off the body of an unconscious Spaniard before returning to Tenochtitlan.

  *******

  Cortés had not fled in terror, as Dujot had anticipated. Upon learning that several of his troops had been butchered by Aztecs, Cortés had decided to hold Montezuma hostage in his own palace and rule through him.

  However, another opportunity for driving out the Spanish presented itself when Cortés’s superior, Velázquez, sent another expedition to Tenochtitlan. Jealous of reports of the vast amounts of silver and gold that Cortés had confiscated from the Aztecs, Velázquez sent Cortés’s rival, Narváez, to oppose him, arriving with over a thousand men. Cortés set out to confront Narváez, leaving only a skeleton force behind in Tenochtitlan.

  Dujot quickly sprang into action. Donning his monastic robe, he walked into the palace where Montezuma was under house arrest.

  “Cortés has asked me to facilitate Montezuma’s conversion to Catholicism,” he said to an official. “I have prepared some biblical lessons to discuss with him.”

  Once inside Montezuma’s chamber, Dujot looked intensely into his eyes and spoke to him in the Náhuatl language. “Noble king, you are in great danger. Cortés pretends to be Quetzalcoatl in order to plunder the wealth of the Aztecs.”

  Montezuma stared unbelievingly at Dujot. “No, it cannot be true. The signs were clear — the vision I saw in the crest of the bird and my sister’s message when she returned from the underworld. The triple-headed comet on the eve of Quetzalcoatl’s predic
ted return and Cortés arriving by sea the next day — the omens do not lie!”

  Dujot pulled back the hood of his robe. “Look at me. I am white-skinned and declare to you that I am Quetzalcoatl. Cortés lied to you in order to steal the Aztec gold!”

  “No,” said Montezuma. “Why would a god need to disguise himself as a priest amongst the invaders?”

  “To warn you!” exclaimed Dujot. “Ask yourself — how is it that I am fluent in the Náhuatl language while he is not?”

  Seeing that Montezuma was not convinced, Dujot walked over to a giant granite statue of Quetzalcoatl. “See and believe.”

  With one hand, he easily hoisted it into the air. Montezuma’s eyes widened in fear.

  “Cortés has left less than a hundred men behind in Tenochtitlan,” said Dujot as he gently set the statue back in place. “The invaders still allow you to be attended to by your personal servants. Send a message to your warriors to slay them now. When Cortés returns, launch an attack as he crosses the causeway with his troops. Your forces greatly outnumber his!”

  Montezuma stared at Dujot, agape, unable to speak.

  The silence was broken when door to the chamber was flung open.

  “No one has any knowledge of you being given permission to speak to the prisoner, Friar Alonso,” said the guard to Dujot.

  “Cortés himself has given me authority to stay here as long as it takes,” said Dujot.

  “We only have your word for that,” said the guard.

  Not wishing to press the matter further, Dujot departed.

  A few minutes later, Montezuma summoned the guard. Unable to understand him, the guard felt uneasy about ignoring him, since he seemed intent on communicating. Not trusting the friar, he sent for Doña Marina to translate.

  She arrived presently and listened intently as a visibly shaken Montezuma babbled.

  “He wishes to speak with whoever is in charge,” said Doña Marina.

  “That would be Pedro Alvarado,” answered the guard, “and he’s not going to like being roused at this hour. Ask him what he wants with him.”

  “He seeks permission for his people to celebrate Toxcatl, a festivity in honor of one of their main gods,” said Doña Marina.

  “Out of the question,” said the guard. “Cortés wants Montezuma converted to the Catholic faith. No one is going to grant permission for such a blasphemous ceremony.”

  Doña Marina and Montezuma had a lengthy exchange that ended with her staring at him in disgust.

  “Well?” asked the guard.

  “He claims that this will be a ‘transition ceremony,’ where he will announce the ending of the old religion and the beginning of the new,” explained Doña Marina. “If the new religion is forced on them without such a ceremony, they won’t accept it.”

  “Hmm,” mused the guard.

  “Don’t do it,” said Doña Marina. “If they get whipped up into a frenzy and reject the Catholic faith, they will turn their fury on…”

  “That’s not for you to decide,” snapped the guard.

  *******

  Montezuma’s ruse had worked: Alvarado had given approval for the ceremony. If the Aztecs could be convinced to put aside their ancient beliefs, it would be a major step toward controlling them. The vast amounts of gold given in offering to the old gods would instead flow into Vatican vaults. Greedy for power, Alvarado concluded he would be given the credit for subduing the natives so easily by allowing this transition ceremony.

  Montezuma looked to the gods to provide enlightenment during the ceremony. Dujot had awakened feelings of dread in him, but he was loathe to burn his bridges with Cortés and declare that Dujot was the true Quetzalcoatl. What if his lifting of the statue was another Spanish trick? He needed a sign from the gods to show him how to proceed.

  Alvarado’s permission for the ceremony was given with the caveat that no weapons were to be carried by those attending — not even ceremonial obsidian daggers. Montezuma would not be allowed to walk amongst those assembled but would instead address his followers from the balcony of his quarters.

  As the Aztecs gathered in the Sacred Patio of the gods, the Spanish looked on in envy. Their elaborate costumes were decorated with gold and precious stones from head to toe. The ceremony began with a cacophony of dancing and singing, but as the night wore on, the dancing changed into fervent gyrations as the participants came under the influence of mind-altering drugs.

  Alvarado’s patience was wearing thin. Montezuma had not addressed his subjects, as promised, and his silence had been interpreted by them as approval of the old ways. Alvarado had prepared for this possibility and nodded to the captain of the guard.

  In that moment, the Spanish made their move, coming into the Sacred Patio armed for battle. After closing off the exits, they surrounded the dancers and musicians. Attacking the drummer first, they hacked off his arms and head. Their violence was then unleashed on the natives with knives, spears, and swords. As the bowels of the Aztecs were opened, blood and intestines poured onto the floor, and those trying to flee lost their footing in the slippery gore as their feet became entangled in the scattered entrails.

  *******

  Dujot watched with glee from outside the Sacred Patio as the Spaniards ripped the gold and precious stones from the bodies of the dead. The Spanish treachery provided the spark to the fire he would now light.

  “What kind of gods must resort to crude weapons in order to slaughter and pilfer?” he roared to the Aztecs outside the patio in the Náhuatl language. “These invaders are mere flesh and blood and can easily be defeated.”

  Picking up a spear, he flung it into the crowded Sacred Patio with such a force that it easily skewered three Spaniards.

  “I am Quetzalcoatl!” screamed Dujot. “Follow me into battle and kill these imposters!”

  As the Aztecs watched Dujot easily kill dozens of Conquistadors, their newfound reverence for him coupled with their desire for vengeance spurred them into action, and they rushed into the Sacred Patio with their arrows and javelins.

  Many Conquistadors fell, but the majority of them were able to slink off into the night.

  “What of Montezuma?” asked one of the Aztecs.

  “He was deceived and refused to believe me when I warned him of what would happen!” cried Dujot. “Let him stay in his cell and appeal to Cortés for mercy!”

  *******

  Cortés rushed back to Tenochtitlan as soon as word of the Aztec rebellion reached him. Faced with a hostile population that greatly outnumbered his forces, he compelled Montezuma to appear on the balcony of his palace and make an appeal to his subjects to retreat.

  Appalled by Montezuma’s complicity, the Aztecs pelted him with rocks and darts. Picking up a stone, Dujot hurtled it at him, mortally wounding him. As Montezuma lay dying, his last words were recorded for posterity by Bernal Diaz in his journal.

  After the long cycles have faded away, our tribes will rise again and in their midst will be the Priesthood with the Cross. Another battle shall take place, and only the Cross will remain. The children of the Aztecs will take their place with the deathless nations of the Earth.

  Cortés and his men managed to narrowly escape across the causeway by sacrificing the rearguard, who were slaughtered. The treasure they had looted was lost, as well as their artillery.

  Dujot knew the Spanish would eventually return in greater numbers with cannons and replacement troops to recover the Aztec gold. It would be impossible for him to frighten them away with a few grisly raids on a handful of their soldiers.

  Within a year, the Aztec empire would crumble, but in the meantime he intended to enjoy the spoils of war. Some of the conquistadors had been taken alive, and the Aztecs were preparing for a ceremony to honor Dujot as the true Quetzalcoatl.

  He would feed well for months, and his bio-scanner would alert him if it detected Cortés and his men returning. At that point, Dujot would leave the Aztecs to fend for themselves.

  LINK

  K
ozheozersky Monastery, 2012

  “Some important information has come to light,” said Emanui. “A Watcher in Homeland Security brought this to my attention.”

  A photograph of a Native American appeared on the screen.

  “Her name is Mazatli Pocatello, and she is a member of the Shoshone tribe,” she said.

  “The Shoshones are not Aztecs,” said Jasper.

  “The Shoshone, Ute, Paiute, and Gabrielino tribes are all linked linguistically,” said Emanui. “The Náhuatl language was not native to central Mexico. According to legend, it was carried south from the northern lands.”

  “Is this Pocatello suspected of being a Feral?” asked J’Vor.

  “No,” said Emanui. “Two months ago she was arrested as a biological terrorist.”

  “How is this important to us?” asked Tariq.

  “I emailed a list of keywords to the Rescued in law enforcement,” explained Emanui. “One of the keywords was ‘Quetzalcoatl.’”

  Emanui played a video showing Maz restrained to a bed. Delirious from fever, she repeatedly shouted in the Náhuatl language that she had to get to White City in time to cure Quetzalcoatl.

  “How is she significant, and what were the circumstances of her arrest?” asked Kevak.

  “She’s been Espinoza’s research assistant for twelve years,” said Emanui.

  “The same Espinoza who spoke at the exhibition?” asked Tariq.

  “Yes,” said Emanui. “She was in Liberia with him treating patients infected with ebola. Espinoza said she had been making great strides in producing a blood serum from survivors. Pocatello was unaware that Espinoza had contacted a pharmaceutical manufacturer in order to expedite a treatment. When a company representative showed up to take possession of the serum, Pocatello attacked him and made off with it. The authorities eventually apprehended her, but before she was in taken into custody, she injected herself with it.”