by Barry Sadler
Casca grumbled to himself in his usual manner: “Religion and gods. There is no escaping them. Everywhere I go it seems I am pursued by religion and gods."
The high priest, old Tezmec, had, carefully explained to Casca how important he was to the people of Teotah, and it showed in the way the people treated him. When they met Casca they honored him and showed deference. If his eyes lit on an object in the marketplace, the owner was honored to give it to him. As for the children, once they lost their fear of this stranger with the great twisting muscles and many scars, many came to touch him for luck.
Casca felt that he had a pretty good chance of getting away and into the mountains surrounding the valley, but from there he couldn't be sure of the way back to his men. So, if he did escape, he felt that it would not be long, until he was found and recaptured.
No. This time he would play the hand out. Maybe he could use the curse the Jew had put upon him. There must be a way...
Metah, though, spent many hours instructing Casca in the religion of her people and the way the gods must be appeased. She told him of Huehueteotl the fire god who lived in the smoking mountain not far away. But always she came back to the Quetza, whose messenger Casca would be.
Finally one night, immediately after the evening sacrifice, Tezmec came to Casca still wearing his ceremonial robes and headdress. He bowed to Casca as he entered. The Roman knew that this was a special sign that something important was to be done or said.
Taking his elaborate headdress off and setting it down carefully on the couch, the old man motioned Metah to leave. Her eyes were wide, and she was clearly a little frightened. But, smiling timidly, she left the two men alone.
Tezmec indicated for Casca to sit on the bench. "You have done well in learning the tongue of my people," he said. "Now it is time for us to speak." He was quiet for a moment, as if marshalling his thoughts, and then he went on: "First, I must ask you what message you have for my people. How best may we serve the gods from whence you came? What is the reason you have been sent to us from the Quetza?"
Casca thought carefully. This could be it.
"Yes, old one," he began, "I do have a message, for, as you know, I came to you on the Feathered Serpent. At first I did not know the reason why I was chosen, but now it is clear. I have come to tell you that no more must die on the altars, that the great god Quetza whose name I carry wishes no more blood to soak the stones of your temples. In me I carry the message of life. I am the embodiment of the Quetza. The needless slaughter must stop."
Tezmec clicked his tongue in the manner of exclamation of his people and shook his head.
"You speak strange words. How is it possible not to send the messengers? How else can the gods know of our needs – and of our gratitude? We must send the still-beating hearts to the heavens because in them is where the soul lives, and in the sacred smoke of the fires the soul is sent most rapidly to the heavens. If we wait until the messenger dies of natural causes, the soul dies in him – or is trapped until the body returns to dust and sets it free. That is too long a time." He looked sadly at Casca, pityingly almost. "No, my son. You have not understood properly, for what you say cannot be correct. If you are right, all we have done and believed in for many ages would all be a lie, and that is impossible." The sadness deepened on his face. "You are mistaken in what you say – but there is yet some hope for us to understand the meaning of your coming. Soon, in less than one cycle of the moon, we shall send you back to the gods. It shall be the greatest offering we can make. You shall carry all our hopes and prayers with you, and then, surely, when we return you the gods will answer our prayers and all the unanswered questions will be made clear. I am disappointed that you cannot give us a message now, but perhaps we are not yet worthy." He sighed and picked up his feathered headdress. "For the time remaining, until your spirit returns to the great Quetza, you shall be treated as if you were he. From this time until the full of the moon you are a god, and all in this land shall do your bidding – as long as it does not conflict with the laws of our gods. Rest now, holy one. You are blessed most among all men."
He turned to leave, but Casca stopped him with a raised hand.
"It is not time to go, old one. The Quetza lives in me. The killing must stop – and will, for I shall not die. I am the Quetza."
Tezmec shook his head. "Be at peace, my son. Many times have I seen messengers have dreams that made them think they were more than they were. But on the great stone, all is the same. One cycle of the moon ..."
Metah returned as soon as the shaman had left. Casca told of his conversation with Tezmec.
"The next full moon!" she wailed, tears filling her lovely, almost almond-shaped eyes. Between sobs she snuffled, "I know I should be happy for you, lord. Going to the gods is a great thing. But I shall miss you!"
He took her small hand in his.
"Don't worry, little one. I shall be around longer than you would believe. I have no intention of dying on the altar. Your priest may have to change his thinking before we're through. Now, put out the lamp and come here. Show me how you would treat a god."
Casca was in truth a god to the people of Teotah. Nothing was denied him. The best of food and drink, a new palace, slaves for whatever pleasure he might wish – they were all his. And all were eager to please him.
But he had his duties, too. Every day one of the priests would come and instruct him in whatever messages and prayers the priest wished him to take to the gods. Each was repeated over and over until there was no doubt in the priest's mind that Casca had it all correct.
Two months before the day, a weathered, wizened little man showed himself at Casca's door. Bowing his way in and kneeling before Casca, he said:
"Lord, I am Pletuc. It is for me to make the sacred mask that you will wear on the day of ascendance."
Casca acquiesced, and Pletuc began his labors. Swiftly, efficiently, the little man's quick hands formed a mold in beeswax of Casca's face. From this, he explained to Casca, he would make a plaster likeness, and then from that would carve a spirit mask in sacred jade. To honor the occasion, after the lord's spirit had gone to the gods, the mask would hang in the inner chamber of the temple of the Quetza as an object of worship so that the people would always remember. It would give them something to focus their prayers on. In the great hall were only six masks. Each represented a special happening, a great occurrence such as the ascendance of Mexilte, father of the king Cuz-mecli, when the king Mexilte had asked to be a messenger and the rains came. The Lord Casca was indeed privileged above all men to be given the honor of becoming one of the great heroes of the Teotec.
Casca looked at the old boy.
"Carve away, little man," he said drily, "but I shall hang the mask in the hall with my own hands, for I am the Quetza."
Casca's claim to be the embodiment of the Quetza was rapidly becoming popular gossip throughout the Empire. Already thousands upon thousands were making preparations to attend the greatest day in memory. As for Casca's claim, it was not unusual for the gods to give madness to those they had chosen. It was well known that madmen, hunchbacks, and dwarfs were touched by the holy spirits and were not as other men. On the other hand ...
Casca spent his days in lovemaking with Metah, and was not averse to sampling some of the other willing maids of the city when she was not around. Even though she would make no statement about his messing around with other women, he had caught a look from her a time or two that said in no uncertain terms: If you weren't blessed by the gods your ass would be in big trouble with me.
Tezmec brought the boy king to talk with Casca. The youngster was eager and curious. Crossing the great square, the king and Tezmec acknowledged the obeisances of the people. Two Jaguar guards preceded them, and two more followed. It was the turn of the Jaguar soldiers to stand palace duty.
Which brought up an interesting little matter Casca had learned about on the grapevine – for gossip in Teotah was no different from gossip in Rome.
The priests of the Jaguar faction were surly enough when they were at their best – but they had been even more surly than usual of late. Keeping to themselves, meeting in the small hours of the night, talking in hushed tones (which became louder when anyone from the Serpent clan was near) – they were obviously up to no good.
It had to do with Tezmec.
Since Tezmec had become the teacher of the king the power of the Jaguar faction had been eroded. The people no longer showed proper deference to the Jaguar god – or so it seemed to the Jaguar priests.
But the priest-soldiers of the Jaguar god now had plans that would change all that – thanks to one of their number, Totzin.
Totzin waited his time. Patience was a great ally. Like the Great Cat, they must show patience.
Now as Tezmec and Cuz-mecli crossed the great square, Totzin was watching their progress. Totzin's face was drawn and bitter with the bile of frustrated ambition. To him, the stranger from the sea was just one more example of how the Jaguar faction was being treated. Jaguar soldiers had captured him, and he should have been assigned to them to use as a messenger. But ever more often the sacrifices were being directed to Tlaloc and the Quetza. And the strongest warriors and most beautiful women were being denied the Jaguar priests, for these Tezmec was taking for his gods.
An inner thought caused the bitter face of Totzin to change into something that might have been called a smile. He did not say the words, but they sounded in his brain: Soon ... soon. After the solstice all will change. Does not Teypetal, king of the Olmecs, also worship the Jaguar? Soon, old man, soon.... Totzin moved back into the shadows, feeding on his thoughts of vengeance. The time was at hand.
Inside his own temple, Totzin prepared for a special sacrifice, a personal one between him and the Jaguar. Stripping himself naked, he donned the skin of a sacrificed warrior who had fallen into his hands, a warrior of the Toltecs. The warrior had been skinned alive from the head down to the ankles. It had taken the entire night for the skin to be so carefully removed. Only the warrior's hands were still attached, and they had been smoke cured along with the rest of the skin. The problem was as always in how to keep the skin from shrinking and how to keep it supple. Now a novice priest laced the skin from the back and Totzin sat and crossed his legs in front of a stone brazier, the hands of the human skin dangling from where his own clawlike fingers extended out of the almost black cured hide. The curing process always darkened the skin. Totzin mused briefly about how the skin of the foreigner would look on him, how it would fit. In that case they would probably have to let the skin shrink some.
The stone brazier was four feet in diameter. A number of small three-legged urns were placed in a circle around it. Totzin cast incense into the flames. Clouds of multicolored smoke rose – blue, then red. He breathed the fumes. His body in a trance like state, he chanted the words of the Scroll of the Jaguar.....
So, while the priest of Tlaloc and the Quetza talked with Casca, Totzin talked with his god.
He was ready.
The god must be fed.
The girl was brought to him.
Her breasts were not yet full. They were now mere ripe buds of what they were to be. Her eyes were wide with fear and uncertainty. Naked, she was thrust by the novice priest into the presence of Totzin. She was made to kneel first, then lie down in front of Totzin.
Totzin's teeth grinned eerily from behind the face of the skin he wore. His fingers ran, over her expertly, efficiently. He quickly made sure she was virgin. "Good. Good. You are a blessed child," he intoned. "The first lover – and the last – you will know will be the Jaguar. You will be his bride."
She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound issued forth. The novice's hands choked off any attempt at sound. He held her tightly, forcing the breast bones out, tightening the skin and thrusting her nubile breasts toward Totzin. Totzin moved with catlike speed. Careful not to scar the breasts, he sliced deep and removed her heart. It was immediately offered to the gods by way of the flames, and his quick, experienced hands then removed all those things that made her a woman. Breasts and sexual organs were in their turn fed to the hungry flames. The sacrifice was over. Totzin cursed that he must perform his holy duties in private, in a place that people could not see. But when Tezmec denied him proper sacrifices, then he must make them where he could, even away from his own people. Two warriors entered on signal and hauled the carcass of the girl away. That night Totzin and a few privileged officers and priests would be permitted to feed on that which their god did not consume. The Jaguar was an eater of men; it followed therefore that his servants must also feed on the flesh of humans.
Meanwhile, in the cooler interior of Casca's new palace, Tezmec and the king Cuz-mecli, having entered the doorway unnoticed by Casca, were watching, mystified, a scene strange to them. The stranger from the sea was leaping into the air and throwing his arms every which way, and then freezing into slow motion, his hands and body taking on awkward positions that nevertheless seemed quite natural when done by this strange man. They had unknowingly interrupted Casca just as he was finishing the set of open hand combat exercises taught to him by the great sage Shiu Lao Tze when he and Lao Tze were both slaves on their way to Rome, Shiu to teach at a great house of the Empire, Casca consigned to the arena as a gladiator. It was this art that Casca had used when he won his freedom, surprising the giant Nubian Jubala, and destroying Jubala with his hands and feet after dramatically throwing away his own helmet, shield, and sword and thus appearing helpless before the astonished crowd. Shiu had told Casca that the art of open hand fighting had come from Khitai, from across the great mountains, that it had been developed by a sect of priests who used it as an aid to their powers of concentration.
Casca now caught a glimpse of his two visitors and finished. He took a blanket and began to dry himself. The perspiration had given him an oily sheen. Wiping off the results of his labors, he smiled his crooked grin and said:
"Welcome, young king. I wondered if I would ever get to see you. Old Tezmec must have decided that I was safe enough."
Cuz-mecli overcame his uncertainty. After all, he was the king. He advanced slowly toward Casca, his eyes wide in his face as he tried to count the scars on Casca's over-muscled hide. He lost count, tried again, finally gave up.
"Casca smiled as he saw what the boy was trying to do. "Give up, little king," he said. "I have lost count of them myself. There are only a few that I can recall, only those with special meanings." The face of the Greek whore who had left him with the scar running from the corner of his mouth to his left eye passed quickly before him. Never try to shortchange a whore or out-argue an Arab, he thought briefly. Then he turned his attention back to Tezmec. "Welcome," he said. "Am I due more instruction today, or is this a social call?"
Grinning his gap-toothed smile, Tezmec responded, "It is time for the king to meet you, to see the one who will be the greatest messenger since his father chose the road to heaven himself and saved the people from starving when the rains did not come."
Casca was all formal courtesy.
"Regardless of the reason, I am pleased to meet your majesty."
The young Cuz-mecli's brown eyes sparkled. He could contain his curiosity no longer. "Tectli Quetza," he asked, "what was it that you were doing when we entered?"
Casca chuckled. "Little king," he said, "more years ago than you would believe – or even Tezmec, for that matter – I was taught what you saw me doing by a man from Khitai, a very wise man from a very distant land. Here. I will show you how some of it is done." Casca was not above a little showing off. Besides, a demonstration might be to his advantage. Workmen had earlier left a pile of rocks in a corner of the room they were refurbishing, and now Casca went to these, selected a rock about twenty inches long and ten wide and three inches thick. He put this rock down on a pile of others, in effect forming a stone sawhorse.
Kneeling on one knee, he drew his breath in and let it out slowly between his teeth. He inhaled again, formed his fist
, and then with an explosive exhalation sent his hand crashing down and through the rock, leaving it in two separate pieces. Cuz-mecli stared in amazement, his mouth open.
Three guards rushed in, weapons at the ready, having heard the sound of Casca's exploding "Kiyi!" breath burst out. Tezmec signaled for them to leave, but their leader cast a wary eye on Casca and then on the stone pieces. Finally, mumbling to himself under his breath, he left, shaking his head in confusion.
Cuz-mecli quickly made a sign to ward off evil spirits.
"It's not magic, little king," Casca explained. "You could learn it if you wished, but it would take many moons, many seasons."
Tezmec shook his head. "No, Tectli. You have not that long to remain with us. The day of your ascendance draws near." The brightly painted murals depicting the glory of the gods and the glory of the Teotec nation seemed to add to Tezmec's words from the walls of the palace.
"As you say, priest," Casca said drily. "But enough of this. What can I do for the king?"
"Answer my questions, Tectli Quetza. That is what I wish. Tell me where you came from. Are all of the people there gods? And do they all look as you do? And where did you find the serpent ship on which you came to us to fulfill the legends of our people?"
Raising his hand, Casca stopped the torrent of questions pouring from the mouth of the young king.
"One at a time, my lord. First, I come from across the great water. It is many, many days' sail to reach my land. It would take the same time as it takes for a field to be planted and to grow ripe. That is, if you were not to stop and tarry anywhere.
