by David Bowles
“I am mortal,” he whispered, appalled. “Ugly and decaying, bound to be bundled and burned like every king before me. How can I inspire my subjects like this? I tell them that we can be one with the Dual God, but we are but ephemeral and crude pictures scratched into sand. One look at me and they will know the truth!”
The mirror shaking in his hands, Quetzalcoatl began to weep. “My subjects can never again see me. I shall remain here, hidden from Tollan.”
Tezcatlipoca bowed and left. Returning to his comrades, he called to Ihuimecatl.
“I have been successful,” he explained. “Now we need to further disgrace the fool.”
“Good. The chief feather worker, Coyotlinahual, has agreed to help. I shall send him to turn this shame into vanity.”
Coyotlinahual entreated the guards for an audience with the king, and he was permitted to enter. He found Quetzalcoatl despondent and despairing, gazing wretchedly into the obsidian mirror.
“Beloved Prince,” said the feather worker, “it is time you left your house of fasting and let your subjects gaze upon you.”
“Never,” the king replied, gesturing at his reflection. “I am no unfolding of divinity, no holy fragment of the source. One look at me, and the common man will turn his back on my laws.”
“Then permit me to array you in immortal beauty so they are inspired by the sight.”
Hope lit sparks in Quetzalcoatl’s eyes. “A mask! Yes, revered brother, fashion me a disguise. Let me see what you can do to hide this ugliness.”
Coyotlinahual set to work. First he crafted his conical jaguar cap, plumed like quetzal tails. Then he fashioned a mask inlaid with turquoise, its beak red, yellow striping forehead, and eyes. He affixed the serpent teeth and a beard-like fringe of ibis and cotinga feathers. Then the feather worker tailored a bone-ribbed jacket, a jaguar-skin cape, anklets with bells, and sandals of soft cotton.
The king looked upon the costume with approval. Coyotlinahual helped him get dressed. Then he handed Quetzalcoatl the mirror.
“I look…”
“Exactly like your namesake, dear Prince. The very image of the Feathered Serpent himself.”
Pleased at his reflection, Quetzalcoatl agreed to visit his city. Accompanied by his guards, he walked along the broad streets of Tollan until he came to the unfinished temple he had begun to erect in honor of the god whose name he bore.
His subjects, elated, fashioned an effigy of their king in his divine garb. The manikin was set up in the temple, and people prayed to it as they would at a statue of the god Quetzalcoatl.
In the meanwhile, Ihuimecatl called to Tlacahuepan. “We have done our part. Now go: bring what is needed.”
Tlacahuepan made his way to the fields of Xonacapacoyan, where he stayed with a farmer by the name of Maxtlaton, the lord of Mount Toltec. Together they prepared a stew for the king, replete with greens, chilis, tomatoes, fresh corn, and beans. There were also magueys on the farm. With Maxtlaton’s permission, Tlacahuepan drew forth the aguamiel and fermented it in just four days, mulling the resulting pulque with honey from hives he found in nearby trees.
Tlacahuepan then returned to Tollan and met with Tezcatlipoca, who immediately visited Quetzalcoatl’s palace, bearing the stew and the pulque. At first the king’s guards would not admit the sorcerer. Twice, three times he tried to get in, only to be turned away.
Finally, the king had his men ask Tezcatlipoca where his home was.
“On the Peak of Priests, near Mount Toltec. I have brought a peace offering from those who opposed him.”
Hearing this, Quetzalcoatl said, “Let him enter. I have awaited this meeting for some time.”
Tezcatlipoca greeted the masked king with great deference and offered him the stew, explaining that the adherents of human sacrifice had realized the error of their way, enlightened by the wisdom of Tollan’s ruler. Quetzalcoatl accepted the food with great generosity.
After the king had eaten from it, Tezcatlipoca drew forth a jar of pulque. “My august lord, how is your Majesty’s health? I hear your Majesty is plagued with the aches and pains of encroaching age. Behold a potion that I have brought. Will you not drink it?”
Quetzalcoatl considered the older priest. “Come closer, wise brother. Your energy is clearly spent. You have exhausted yourself traveling. But I am glad you have come. Long have I wanted to heal the rift between us.”
“As have I,” Tezcatlipoca replied. “But tell me truly: how is your Majesty’s health?”
“The truth is that all parts of me feel heavy and ill, from my limbs to my very soul. Though this costume and my subjects’ praise fills me with pleasure, it is fleeting. When I return to this throne room, I feel as if I have been undone.”
“And here is the remedy, Beloved Prince: a good, soothing and intoxicating potion. If you drink of it, it will relieve and heal your body. As for your soul…at first you will weep. Your heart will be even more troubled. You will think upon your mortality and despair. But then you will see where you must one day go, your sacred destination.”
“My destination? What might that be, august one?”
“My vision is not clear, but you will travel to a land of red and black. There a wizened sage stands as sentinel. From him you will learn many things. When you return, you will have been made once more a youth.”
Quetzalcoatl was moved by the prophecy. But when Tezcatlipoca urged him to drink the pulque, the king refused. “I cannot. It would be folly to risk my life on an unknown potion. I have a responsibility to my people.”
“Come, Beloved Prince. You are in sore need. Drink. Rather, let me serve a small portion for you to have on hand should the urge arise. At the very least taste it. You will see that it is good, if a little strong.”
Quetzalcoatl tasted a little and then took a hearty draught. “What is this drink? It is indeed quite good. My pain and despair subside. How can I feel better so soon?”
“Drink some more, your Majesty. You will soon find yourself stronger, healthier.”
In a short space of time, Quetzalcoatl had imbibed five jars of pulque and was thoroughly drunk. Tezcatlipoca smiled cruelly and said:
“Beloved Prince, a song will lift your spirits even more. Let me teach you one and we can sing together.”
And the sorcerer began to recite:
“I must leave my house of plumes,
My house of quetzal feathers,
Quetzal feathers, oriole plumes,
My house of lovely coral!”
The king joined in, and they sang in rounds till Quetzalcoatl was quite jubilant. Calling out to his men, he cried, “Go and fetch my sister Quetzalpetlatl—I want her to feel this joy at my side!”
The guards went to Mount Nonoalco, where the king’s elder sibling was doing penance. “Princess Quetzalpetlatl, noble fasting lady, we have come for you at the high priest’s command. Topiltzin Ce Acatl Quetzalcoatl awaits you. Will you not accompany us and join him?”
She readily agreed. Upon arriving, she sat down on her reed mat at her younger brother’s side. Tezcatlipoca served her pulque, and she drank five portions as well.
When both siblings were thoroughly besotted with alcohol, Tezcatlipoca had them intone again the song. Then he taught them a second verse:
“Sister dear, dear elder sister mine,
Where will you go? Where can you abide?
Ah, sweet Quetzalpetlatl,
Let us drink ourselves blind!”
Drunk as they were, they no longer urged each other to keep the sacraments. They neither visited their riverside shrine nor pierced their flesh to draw blood as penance. As dawn set the sky to glowing, they did not perform their accustomed rites.
Finally, the sun’s light and heat awakened them. They were overcome with sadness, almost bereft with remorse.
“Woe is me!” cried Quetzalcoatl, for in that moment of anguish he heard the sun calling: You are not that flesh, father, nor did you come to rule. Remember your purpose, the reason you descended. Know who yo
u are, and come to the land of the red and the black.
Quetzalcoatl understood that he was indeed a holy unfolding from on high, and he despaired at his weakness, the ease with which he had been fooled. Sinking to the floor of his throne room, the divine king lifted his voice and sang the lament of his exile:
“No longer will the days
Be counted in my house—
This one is the last,
And forever it endures.
Let it be so in this place.”
Then he sang a second stanza:
“Alas! I weep to think of her shame,
The one who formed and shaped me—
The mother I never knew,
That noble woman, that goddess.”
When he ended his song, his sister and guards and attendants were devastated with grief, sobbing openly. They raised a hymn of praise to their beloved prince:
“Hail Quetzalcoatl, our jade-bright king!
Broken are his timbers,
His feathered house of prayer.
We look upon him one last time
And wail with lamentation!”
When they all fell silent, he ordered a sarcophagus of stone be carved and brought to the palace. Once it was ready, he closed himself within, seeking to cleanse himself of sin.
“Four days,” he told his sister. “You must leave me to lie undisturbed for a span of four days.”
But while Quetzalcoatl lay in penance, the three sorcerers set out to punish the men and women of Tollan for abandoning the human price and following their philosopher-king.
Tezcatlipoca adorned himself with feathers to resemble Quetzalcoatl and called the high priest’s closest disciples to Texcalpan, a rugged canyon rimmed by crags. When all the youths and maidens had gathered, the sorcerer began to sing and beat his drum. As if compelled, the people started dancing wildly and chanting along with raucous joy. Night fell and deepened. At midnight, the music ceased, and the false Quetzalcoatl disappeared. Stumbling, dazed, lost, the disciples fell from the craggy cliffs into the raging river below. A few regained enough composure to reach the stone bridge that spanned the canyon, only to find it destroyed.
Meanwhile, Ihuimecatl took the form of a brave captain of Tollan and had the city crier announce to priests and noblemen that they were to meet in Xochitlan, the floating garden of Quetzalcoatl, in order to harvest flowers for their king. When the aristocracy of Tollan was gathered there, however, Ihuimecatl turned on them, smiting the backs of their heads, slaughtering hundreds while scores more trampled each other attempting to escape.
In the market place, Tlacahuepan appeared with a strange child-like golem, making it dance intricate steps as he held its hand. The Toltecs, mesmerized, gathered close, crushing and smothering some in the press. Soon Tlacahuepan released the unnatural being to continue its complex, jerking dance. The sorcerer faded into the crowd and called out, “This is an evil omen, friends! How can we permit such black magic? We must stone the creature!” The dancing thing fell beneath a hail of stones. But then it began to stink, and the stench was so powerful that the common folk of Tollan collapsed lifeless when that odor wafted past. Attempts were made to drag the body away with ropes, but these snapped, sending people tumbling together, dead amidst the stench.
Other omens came to pass. The dormant volcano Cacateptl erupted with a horrifying croak, sending flame and ash into the heavens. The people of Tollan were seized by panic. “The gods have forsaken us!” they cried. “If our city is consumed, where will we go?”
Stones rained down, some of them enormous. In the woods near Chapultepec fell a large sacrificial stone. An old woman who lived there began to pass out paper flags to likely victims.
She was, of course, Tezcatlipoca in disguise.
The old woman toasted corn, drawing the Toltecs to her with that tantalizing aroma. From near and far they came, heedless of the omens. She gave each a flag.
When they were gathered near the sacrificial stone, Tezcatlipoca revealed his true form and slaughtered them upon the stone, tearing their hearts from their chests.
Then, on the fourth day of Quetzalcoatl’s penance, Tezcatlipoca—Hurricane incarnate—transformed into his nahualli, the fearsome jaguar Mountainheart, prowling the streets of Tollan, frightening its citizens. Upon reaching the incomplete temple of Quetzalcoatl, the sorcerer ripped the king’s effigy to shreds and harried the acolytes from the inner sanctum.
Finally, weak and ill, the king emerged from his sarcophagus. Confronted by the destruction and death the sorcerers had wreaked on the city, Quetzalcoatl felt his will break. At the same time, divine teotl surged within him, making him capable of wondrous deeds. But he could not bear to remain in Tollan. The voice of the sun echoed in his soul. He called together his guards, his sister and his few remaining aides.
“Let us depart, my friends. Gather up all our riches and go down to the shrine at the river’s edge.”
As they exited the city, Quetzalcoatl set his houses of prayer alight. Gesturing at cocoa trees, he transformed them into mesquites. He called to the quetzals, the blue cotingas, the scarlet ibis—with a whistle he sent them winging their way south.
His companions buried the bulk of his wealth in the loamy banks of the river, taking only works of art and learned codices. Then they set forth across the sea-ringed world in search of that fabled land of red and black.
Following the road, the company came to Cuauhtitlan, Place of Trees. Resting against the thick bole of a tree there, Quetzalcoatl asked for the smoking mirror. Seeing his craggy features and unruly beard in his reflection, he sighed. “I am truly an old man now. Let this region be known as Huehuehcuauhtitlan, Place of the Old Tree.”
Seizing a handful of rocks, he hurled them at the tree’s trunk, where they stuck fast and remain to this day, embedded from the roots to the highest branches.
The company soon continued its travels, playing softly on flutes to lift the spirits of their beloved prince. Once again they stopped to rest. Quetzalcoatl leaned against a stone slab, tears running down his nose and falling like hail or acid against the marbled rock, leaving pockmarks. Where his hands had pressed against the stone, his palms left deep impressions as if the rock were merely clay. Hence the name of that site—Temacpalco, Place of His Palms.
After a time they moved on, coming to a wide and long river that could not easily be forded. Quetzalcoatl used his divine abilities to lift stones and fit them together, forming a bridge the likes of which had never existed. He and his followers crossed over on it, thus giving it the name Tepanohuayan, Stone Bridge River.
Later in their journey they came upon a bubbling spring. There a group of priests awaited the king, men whom he had exiled when they refused to stop their sacrifices. They blocked his way and asked:
“Where are you going? What is your destination? Why are you leaving the city? To whom have you left it? Who performs your sacraments?”
Quetzalcoatl responded, “Out of my way. I must continue.”
“Answer us! Where are you bound?”
“The land of red and black. That is what I seek. That is my destination.”
“What will you do there?”
“I have been summoned by the sun.”
They seemed satisfied at this answer. “Very well. Go, but leave us all the Toltec arts.”
And so he did. Quetzalcoatl left them the casting of gold, the cutting of jewels, the carving of wood, the sculpting of stone, the writing of books, the working of feathers. They made him abandon it all, taking it by force.
All that was left him was a handful of jewels which he scattered in the spring. He named it Cozcahapan, Place of the Jewel Spring. Over time this became Coahapan, Place of the Serpent Spring.
Now freed from all earthly entanglements, Quetzalcoatl fasted and prayed until another epiphany stole over him. All was revealed: his true origin, his purpose on earth, the nature of the priests who had so cleverly deceived him.
He gathered his retinue around him and spoke. �
�We are exiles from Tollan, but the sacraments we taught the Toltecs must be revealed to all the sea-ringed world. So, as we search for the place of my ultimate destiny, we will teach the peoples we meet the value of penance and fasting and prayer, mighty enough to move the wheels of time without requiring the human price.”
And so they set out in earnest on a trek that lasted nearly a dozen years. First they passed through Acallan, Tzapotlan, and Mazatzonco, sharing the wisdom of the king. Then they crossed the Sierra Nevada: many of the travelers died upon those glaciers, but Quetzalcoatl revived them with weeping and singing.
In the great basin of the highlands, Quetzalcoatl made the rounds of all the villages, performing miracles and leaving behind signs that exist to this day. In one place he built a stone ball court. Elsewhere he pierced a cotton tree horizontally with another. He balanced an enormous rock on a smaller one: though it seems to sway with the wind, no one can budge it. He rested on a reed mat beside Metztli Iapan—that broad Lake of the Moon, which future generations would call Texcoco—infusing those fibers with power that would one day help a wandering tribe called the Mexica find at last their home.
Quetzalcoatl spent long months in the walled city of Tenayuca. He taught wisdom to the shamans of Colhuacan. In Cuauhquecholan, the people revered him as the god he was and erected a temple and altar during the few years he lived there, instructing them on the proper rites. The rulers of Cholula also bid him remain for several turns of the sacred calendar, and they erected a temple to the Feathered Serpent in which to fast and pray.
Cempoalatl begged him to rule. He tarried long in that kingdom, even meeting with the leaders of an exodus of Maya from the distant shores of the Eastern sea. A great temple to the sun was built alongside two temples for Quetzalcoatl: a ziggurat for his role as creator and sustainer, a round structure for his role as the wind that prepares the way for essential rain.
It was here that Tezcatlipoca arrived, driven from Tollan, hunting for his hated twin. Quetzalcoatl fled, leading the sorcerer on a chase into the wastelands until reaching a mighty ceiba, sapling of the World Tree. After loosing a magical arrow to open a cleft in its broad trunk, the divine king used the smoking mirror to trick Tezcatlipoca into the hole, where he sealed the dark mage away for the remainder of his earthly existence.
