Age of Aztec a-4

by James Lovegrove

  People at the table were still bristling. Nothing he was saying pleased them.

  “Mr Reston.” Quetzalcoatl laid an arm round his shoulders. “May I call you Stuart? Perhaps you’d like to walk with me, Stuart. Staying in this room and continuing to speak as you do might not be good for your health. My protection extends only so far. Xipe Totec ranks as high as I do. We are two of the Four. I can’t order him to keep his hands off you, I can only recommend and, perhaps, plead.”

  “You’re telling me if I value my life, go with you.”

  “That,” said Quetzalcoatl, “is exactly what I’m telling you.”

  “Fine. Works for me.”

  NINETEEN

  Same Day

  They exited the refectory, leaving behind a baleful silence.

  “I didn’t make myself any friends back there, did I?” said Stuart.

  “Don’t judge them too harshly,” said Quetzalcoatl. “They’re not in the most forgiving of moods at present. They’re not sure why we’re back here after all this time, even though I’ve convinced them it’s essential. They felt this particular exercise was long over and done with. They don’t like treading over old ground.”

  “Whereas you…?”

  “Whereas I feel we have unfinished business, and so do they, really, although they don’t want to admit it. We haven’t served the people of Earth as well as we ought and what’s being done in our name now isn’t right. There’s amends to be made. And so some of us, a handful of the pantheon, have returned.”

  “Okay,” said Stuart as they climbed a flight of stairs to a higher tier of the upside-down, inside-out ziggurat. “From now on I’m going to take you, and everything you say, at face value. Frankly I don’t know why, as I think you’re bonkers, all of you. But you yourself seem decent enough, underneath it all. I don’t get the ‘oh-so-superior’ vibe off you that I get off the others. Or not as much of it.”

  Quetzalcoatl smiled. “What would it take to make you believe?”

  “A lot more than you’ve got. So: ‘unfinished business.’ Elucidate. You gods took off some five hundred solar years ago, allegedly. You’re back now. Why?”

  “Why did we go, or why have we returned?”

  “Either. Both.”

  “If you know anything about us, you know why we went. My spat with Tezcatlipoca. The Smoking Mirror and I fought after he practised his foul deceit on me, when he got me intoxicated and gulled me into… Well, I don’t have to tell you what I did.”

  “Shagged Quetzalpetlatl. Little sis.”

  Quetzalcoatl winced. “Please. I don’t care to be reminded. I confronted Tezcatlipoca the morning after and we ended up brawling like tomcats. I was in a towering rage, though mainly at myself, not him. He’s a born trickster; he couldn’t help his own nature. I, who hold myself to a higher standard of behaviour, should have known better.”

  “And when the dust settled, you were so embarrassed you felt it was time to go.”

  “I’m still embarrassed, even after all this time. We had so much left to do, so much more to show the people of earth, so much more to give you. The Aztecs were meant to be just the beginning. They at the time were the most interesting nation on the planet, which is why we chose them. Not the most technologically astute — that would be the Chinese — nor the most culturally sophisticated — that would be the Italians — but they had a self-confidence that was remarkable, and a knack for adaptability, not to mention a ferocious drive. They were to be our starting point, whence a wave of advancement and progress would ripple outwards until it encompassed the globe. That was the plan, and Tezcatlipoca’s mischief and my own lack of self-restraint ruined it. We left with the project still running, partway done but nowhere near complete. It was an egregious mistake, as we’ve since learned.”

  They mounted the next staircase.

  “And now you’ve come to fix it,” Stuart said.

  “If we can. What the Aztecs have done since we departed, what they’ve become, is not what we envisaged. The growth of this vast, sprawling, cruel Empire of theirs is the last thing we expected to happen, or wanted to. Rather than the Aztecs helping others with the gifts we gave them — what you call Aztechnology — they took it and used it to conquer and enslave, fashioning the world in their own image. But we still hope the situation can be remedied. The damage isn’t irreversible.”

  “It really didn’t cross your minds that, left to their own devices, a bloodthirsty race like the Aztecs would run rampant? I thought gods had foresight.”

  “You’re thinking of the infallible, omniscient model of god. That’s not us.”

  Another tier up. They were one level below the ceiling, the surface.

  “So what are you proposing?” said Stuart. “How are you going to undo what’s been done?”

  “We have an idea.”

  “Is it a better idea than Xibalba’s?”

  “Perhaps. It certainly has a greater likelihood of success.”

  “That wouldn’t be hard.”

  “We have knowledge, Stuart,” said the man purporting to be divine. “We have capabilities far in excess of those of humans. You’ve seen that for yourself. With luck, though, we won’t have to resort to drastic measures. We’re looking for a peaceful, nonviolent resolution.”

  “Which you’re going to try for, but Xibalba has to step aside first.”

  “Step aside, or face the consequences.” Quetzalcoatl said this genially enough, but the words themselves were undeniably a threat. A sugar-coated cyanide pill was still cyanide.

  “My guess is you want me to act as a go-between,” said Stuart. “That’s the reason I’m here. You’d like me to talk Chel out of going ahead with his plan, so you’ll be free to implement yours.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m after. Call it a courtesy. We could simply eradicate Xibalba and have done with it, but we’re giving Chel a chance. Just the one chance. Back off and let us do it our way.”

  “I’m not sure I have that much sway with him.” They were now ascending the staircase that led to the topmost tier. “Even if I was willing to do as you ask, I’m the new kid on the block, still an outsider. You’d be better off talking directly to him yourself.”

  “Chel respects you. He knows you. I am a complete stranger to him. Also there’s his religious persuasion to consider. I would be repugnant to him — a heathen deity, anathema to all that he believes in. He wouldn’t listen. His faith would give him no choice but to spurn me.”

  “I honestly have no idea how I’d broach the subject with him,” Stuart insisted. “I can’t imagine what sort of angle would work.”

  “Try. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “He’s dead set on killing the Speaker. It’s a point of honour, almost, with him.”

  “Impress upon him that, for his own sake and the sake of his men, it would be wiser not to.”

  “But if Chel won’t back down…”

  “Then, Stuart, my advice to you would be get as far away from this place as you can before the trouble starts.” Again, Quetzalcoatl’s smile did little to mitigate the bald menace of what he was saying. “But I’m confident it won’t come to that,” he added, patting Stuart on the shoulder. “You’re a smart man. You have a way with words. You’ll manage. And here we are: the way back to the world.”

  They had reached a final staircase, which rose to a rectangular hatch in the ceiling.

  “Now where’s Xolotl got to?” said Quetzalcoatl. “He can guide you back to your encampment, to save you having to search for it yourself. Xolotl!”

  There was a thumping of paws as Quetzalcoatl’s doglike companion, summoned by the sound of his name, came bounding out from a nearby corridor. In proper light, Stuart could see that Xolotl was truly ugly as dogs went. He was lumpenly muscular and sparsely furred, with long gangling limbs and a head that was far too round and big. Worst of all, one of his eyes was missing, the socket a puckered mess of scar tissue. He pulled up beside Quetzalcoatl, tongue lolling fatly from
his mouth, dripping strings of drool onto the floor.

  “Take Stuart back,” Quetzalcoatl said.

  “Take Stuart back,” Xolotl echoed in reply, exactly simulating his master’s voice. He turned and looked at Stuart, and Stuart was convinced he saw depths of resentment and contempt smouldering in that single yellow eye.

  “I can find my own way — ” Stuart began, but Xolotl lunged past him and up the stairs.

  “Take Stuart back,” Xolotl repeated as he climbed. It was remarkable. Reston didn’t see Quetzalcoatl’s lips move. The words actually seemed to be coming from the dog’s throat.

  Xolotl touched the hatch with a forepaw. Suddenly there was a rectangular space in the ceiling. The sounds and damp odours of the rainforest drifted in. Trees reared above like cathedral columns, green sunbeams piercing down through their lush leaves like light through stained glass.

  “Go on,” Quetzalcoatl said to Stuart. “You’ll be quite safe. Xolotl’s my other half. He won’t lead you astray.”

  “All right,” Stuart said, not reassured.

  “Best of luck, my friend.” Quetzalcoatl offered a warm, sincere handshake. “We’ll be monitoring your progress, so we’ll know how you get on. I’m sure you won’t let us down.”

  No sooner was Stuart out of the hatch than it disappeared. Or rather, a section of forest floor re appeared where the hatch had been. There was undergrowth, ferns, leaf mould. Nothing indicated the presence of a doorway or, for that matter, a massive building buried beneath the soil. Stuart trod on the spot where the hatch was, probing with his foot. Through a layer of mossy, spongy earth he could just detect the hardness of metal, but if he hadn’t known it was there he would never have thought to look for it. Whatever else these bogus gods might be, they were bloody ingenious, he had to give them that.

  Xolotl let out an impatient growl.

  “Yeah, yeah. ‘Take Stuart back.’ Coming.”

  Stuart followed the lolloping one-eyed dog through the forest. Xolotl had a powerful but ungainly stride. He moved as though going on all fours was as unnatural to him as walking on its hindlegs was to an ordinary canine. Holy lore stated that Xolotl was Quetzalcoatl’s deformed twin, a constant reminder to the god that his own brilliant perfection should not be taken for granted. The absent eye, which had burst out of Xolotl’s head of its own accord, was the most obvious manifestation of this, a disfigurement that literally stared you in the face.

  Soon Stuart began to hear distant voices — the sounds of the Xibalba camp. He was still no nearer a decision as to what to say to Chel. What could he tell him? That he’d just met a bunch of delusional individuals who had got it into their heads that they were gods? That they were evidently powerful, these madmen, and it might be as well to abort the assassination attempt?

  Xolotl halted while he and Stuart were still just out of sight of the camp. He gestured with a forepaw.

  “Stuart back,” he said, then about-turned and loped off in the direction they had just come.

  Okay, Stuart thought. Not ventriloquism. Something else. Maybe some kind of radio transceiver implant? One that was linked to a device which galvanised the dog’s jaw and made it move in synchronisation with the words?

  Stuart had to concede that the people in the inverted ziggurat had access to some highly advanced technology.

  But gods?

  No. Never.

  TWENTY

  Same Day

  As Stuart entered the camp he found the guerrillas busy around a portable gas stove. Two of them were pouring a viscous brown liquid out of a cooking pot into small jars, and the others then took a jar each and ran the contents through a sieve, mashing out excess water with a spoon until all that was left was a resin-like paste. Stuart’s best guess was that they were preparing curare for their blowpipe darts. The original brown liquid was a stewed mulch of leaves and bark fragments from the curare plant.

  They were so intent on their work that they didn’t even notice Stuart was there watching them. He had to clear his throat to get their attention. Immediately they leapt to their feet. Guns and knives appeared. The guerrillas moved in on Stuart, Zotz to the fore.

  “Where have you been?” Zotz demanded.

  “‘Welcome back, Englishman,’” Stuart said sardonically. “‘We missed you. We were worried.’”

  “Don’t piss about. What happened last night? We heard an l-gun discharge, and then you’d vanished and Auilix too.”

  “Where is Auilix? Is he all right?”

  “Asleep in his tent. He’s shaken up but fine. At first we assumed you must have killed him and run off. Then we heard him calling. He was stuck halfway up a tree, terrified out of his wits. He was gibbering, saying something about hurtling up into the air — something about a big black insect with wings. We thought he’d been at the tequila but he swears not. What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you. I need to speak to Chel. He around?”

  “I’m around,” said Chel, emerging from the cabin. “Zotz poses a very good question. What is going on? We were under the impression you’d deserted us. Maybe even run off with a view to betraying our whereabouts to the Serpent Warriors. Hence the curare.” He indicated the gas stove. “We’re making a fresh batch in anticipation of a Serpent attack. Now that you’re back, is it safe to assume that no such attack is coming?”

  “No attack to the best of my knowledge, no.”

  “Can I believe that answer?” said Chel, taking a few steps closer to Stuart.

  “I’m here, aren’t I? If I’d sold you out to the Serpents, why would I return?”

  “To lull us into a false sense of security. Then, when they arrive, they make sure to kill everyone else but spare you.”

  “But it would still be a foolish risk,” said Stuart. “And judging by the way you’re all acting now, I’d have been justified in not taking it.”

  “Forgive me, but it’s going to take a bit more than that to convince me. Men?”

  Chel nodded to Stuart’s left and right, and Stuart glanced around him and cursed himself. While he’d been talking to Chel, guerrillas had sneaked round and taken up position on either side of him. He’d been so focused on protesting his innocence that he hadn’t noticed he was being flanked. He made to turn, to defend himself, but too late. The guerrillas pounced, and within seconds he was being gripped tightly and painfully by several sets of strong hands. One man had a chokehold around his neck, and two others were twisting Stuart’s arms backwards. He struggled, but he was helpless.

  “Listen to me,” he said, having to force the words out through his constricted larynx. “You’re not alone in this forest. There’s somebody else here and they want you out.”

  “Of course we’re not alone in this forest,” said Chel. “It’s a big damn forest. But as for somebody wanting us out — I sincerely doubt that. Xibalba is popular. You’ve seen it for yourself.”

  “But these people — ”

  “Reston,” Chel interrupted. “Do you know what a lethal dose of curare does to a person?”

  Stuart tried to let nothing show in his eyes. “I’ve a pretty good idea.”

  “Do you?” Chel gestured to one of his men, and in no time he had a blowpipe dart in his hand. The tip had been dipped in the paste. He approached Stuart. “Then I’m sure you’re aware that it’s not a pleasant death. Curare is a muscle relaxant. In weak doses, it merely incapacitates. Remember when we rescued you at the theatre in London; we’d decided we would not kill Jaguar Warriors if it could be avoided. Shame they didn’t return the courtesy, but there you go. Each one we hit with a dart went down in an instant, paralysed, without use of their limbs for an hour or so. Well, in more concentrated form, as has just been brewed here, curare causes every muscle in the body to stop functioning. Ultimately death comes in the form of asphyxiation. Your diaphragm fails and your lungs cease to work. But it can take up to twenty minutes, and the horror of it is, you’re conscious the whole time, fully aware of what’s h
appening to you but powerless to do a thing about it. You lie there unable to move, unable even to scream, feeling yourself gradually, inexorably shutting down. It is, I imagine, a truly terrifying experience.”

  He held the dart up in front of Stuart’s cheek.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Stuart said.

  “Wouldn’t I? One prick, and a long, lingering death awaits you. So tell us the truth. Where have you been these past eighteen hours? Are there Serpent Warriors on their way?”

  He brought the dart closer. Stuart strained away from it. The guerrilla who had him in a chokehold pressed his head towards it again.

  “No, no Serpents, I swear.”

  “Or Jaguars?”

  “No, no bloody Jaguars either. But these others I’m talking about, they definitely don’t like having you around. They’re who I’ve been with all this time, and they’ve asked me to ask you to leave. They have plans for the Great Speaker and you’re standing in the way.”

  “Plans? What plans?”

  “I–I don’t know. They didn’t say.”

  Chel gave a scoffing laugh.

  “But you’d be wise to do as they ask,” Stuart went on. “They have weaponry, skills… abilities. They outclass you in every department. Auilix’s ‘big black insect,’ that was one of them. And those mystery figures stalking us through the trees the other morning — them again. And the ants. Remember the ants?”

  “Ants!” Chel boomed. “I’m supposed to be intimidated by a bunch of ants?”

  “Someone controlled them, made them act as they did. You can deny it, but we all saw it, how they built a human figure. I’m not saying it’s ants themselves you should worry about. But someone who has the technological knowhow to get insects to obey commands — you’ve got to at least wonder what else they might be capable of.”

  The dart hovered at Stuart’s cheek, a hairsbreadth from his skin. The point loomed as large as a javelin in his vision, the curare a thick dark smear. He felt a bead of sweat roll from his hairline, down his forehead, out along his eyebrow.