Feathered Serpent, Dark Heart of Sky

by David Bowles

  One day Xtabay did not emerge from her home. No one saw her slip the margins of the town to walk among the ceibas, calling to the quetzals and hummingbirds as was her custom.

  Days passed. Her absence was ignored at first, but it soon troubled the minds of those loyal to her. Gradually, a lovely and delicate scent began to spread throughout the village, like flowers shaken out from the depths of heaven itself. Searching for its source, a crowd found itself thronging before the entrance to Xtabay’s abode.

  Inside, they found her lifeless body, uncorrupted and beautiful.

  “Lies!” snarled Utz Kolel when she heard the news. “Or at the very least, black magic. Impossible that a woman so marred by sin could naturally smell so sweet. It’s her vile spirit, rejected by the Underworld, lingering on earth to inveigle men once more! Ah, imagine, sisters—if the corpse of such a tart can release this perfume, when I die, the aroma will be utterly divine.”

  Somber and filled with pity, a handful of family members and friends buried Xtabay, knowing this to be their obligation. The next day, inexplicably, the grave was crisscrossed by vines bearing delicate white blossoms whose enticing scent had attracted hundreds of bees. Xtabentun, that species of morning glory was called—snakeplant. Honey from those flowers had been used for centuries to ferment a mead as intoxicating as the passionate love of Xtabay herself.

  The message of the gods seemed clear. The villagers regretted their awful treatment of the lovely soul that had now slipped forever Beyond.

  Not Utz Kolel, of course. Growing more and more bitter at her rival’s miraculous end, the pious woman withdrew from the world, dedicating herself to sanctimonious blood-letting and exhausting prayer, working to outdo Xtabay’s renewed reputation for blamelessness. Her heart curdled with hate and her cold beauty wasted to nothing.

  One day, her mother found her dead, sprawled on the floor of her room. There was much public outpouring of grief at the news of her passing. Her family plunged into mourning as they prepared her body for its journey to Xibalba, placing maize and jade in her mouth as food and currency, laying carved whistles in her hands to help her find her way, wrapping her flesh with a cotton mantle and then sprinkling the bundle with holy cinnabar.

  The entire village attended her funeral. The priests openly wept at the loss of such an exemplary woman. There was talk of building a shrine above her tomb. People spoke until very late about her many virtues, though a few whispered ugly truths about Utz Kolel had emerged over the years.

  In the depth of the night, a rotten stench began to float along the limestone streets.

  The next morning, all were shocked to find the grave of Utz Kolel covered with a patch of brutally spiny cactus known as tzakam. The normally odorless blood-red petals nestled amid the thorns now curdled the air like putrid human flesh.

  Again it appeared the gods had rendered judgment.

  Sensing the shocked comments of her community, the soul of Utz Kolel strayed from the path to Xibalba, lingering furious near her grave. Envious beyond words of her rival even in death, the twisted revenant reached a foolish conclusion—Xtabay’s sins of passion had somehow brought her rewards in the afterlife, so Utz Kolel would have to imitate her to escape the miasma of corruption that enveloped her soul.

  So it was that—aided by dark forces that rejoice in chaos—Utz Kolel took up residence in an ancient ceiba and learned how to return to the physical world at whim, assuming the form and name of Xtabay. Drunken men stumble across her, deep in the wood, combing her long black hair with cactus spines. She calls to them, seduces them, hungry for the pleasures that she mocked and condemned when alive.

  The man who approaches her is lost forever. When his townsfolk or family search for him, they will discover his corpse, abandoned amid the ceiba’s gnarled roots, his flesh gashed by fingernails and tzakam needles, his chest ripped open, his heart devoured.

  Lingering on the air is a strange scent—sweet at first, but quickly fading into rot.

  Aztecs Ascendant

  Convocation

  Think on the name of this land: Mexico. Consider the millions who whispered those syllables in awe, bending knees and bowing heads. Place of the Mexica. A small, scrubby island with two meager towns—destined to spread its might and glory to every corner of Mesoamerica before it fell.

  Consider carefully: Who were the Mexica?

  Regard the distant past of this Fifth Age, the slow and steady surge of humanity across the sea-ringed world.

  Seven tribes there were that fled ancient Aztlan—the Nahuas, clear-talking folk, shrugging off oppression and striking out on their own. They made their way to Chicomoztoc, the mountain of seven caves once ruled by the Cloud Serpents.

  But life in that harsh northern desert was difficult. One by one the tribes began to leave, heading south into the central highlands. Thus the Chichimecah and Toltecs came to be, and many other Nahua nations as well.

  Stand with me upon the mountain. Look down upon its darkling caves. The last of these peoples is about to emerge. They will begin as nomads, yes. Then mercenaries and slaves.

  But watch closely. The Mexica are on the rise. From humble beginnings they will achieve hegemony over the sea-ringed world.

  Centuries hence, we will no longer call them by their tribal name.

  We will use a word that resonated with tyranny to Nahua ears.

  Aztecs. The ancient title of the rules of Aztlan.

  To understand them, let us consult their own official histories, a handful of codices that survive to this day.

  But let us also weave in the accounts of the men who crossed the ocean to conquer them.

  And let us pray the truth lies somewhere in this weft of words.

  The Mexica Exodus

  Leaving Chicomoztoc

  The population of Chicomoztoc dwindled till only one tribe remained. Ruled by Mexitli Chalchiuhtlatonac, jade-rich jackrabbit of the maguey, these Nahuas were fierce and proud. Their ancestors had escaped Aztlan to carve out a home in the wilderness. None of them was eager to follow the example of their sister tribes.

  The rites and sacraments of this people were overseen by the high priest Huitziltzin, “beloved hummingbird,” and his sister, the shaman Malinalxochitl, “wild rye flower.” The siblings guided their community well: everyone venerated their ancestors, prayed to sun and moon and earth, spilled blood to bring the rain.

  One day, however, a voice whispered to Huitziltzin in dreams. “I am the sun and the blood spilled to feed its might. I am the knife that cuts the flesh and the hand that wields the blade. The Terrible One. The Prodigy. Born upon my shield at the battle cry. I am Huitzilopochtli, your god. It is my command that my people leave this arid land and travel south to their destiny, spreading news of my greatness as you go, leaving temples for the benighted fools of the sea-ringed world to come and worship and die for my greater glory. Tell your king. Your long trek is at hand.”

  When Huitziltzin first went before Mexitli Chalchiuhtlatonac, the ruler was dubious. But night after night the god of war returned to the dreams of the high priest, giving him messages and portents that finally persuaded the king that a divinity spoke through his most trusted advisor.

  First, Huitziltzin told him the new name of his tribe. “We long ago abandoned the name Aztecs. The god is greatly pleased. Now our people will carry your name, O King: they will be called the Mexitin.”

  When the king expressed his willingness to comply, the priest continued:

  “Venerable Chalchiuhtlatonac, you must begin to plan with care, devising a method to travel across the wastelands with such a mass of followers. Organize them well, in seven calpoltin or houses according to the great clans, setting as calpoleh or leader of each the strongest, ablest of the Mexitin. For in truth I tell you that we must set ourselves against the indigenous people of many regions, against the Chichimecah and others, because we are destined to establish ourselves in distant lands, where we will abide and spread out to conquer every thinking being in the
sea-ringed world. Thus does the god through me declare that he will make us lords, kings of all throughout the earth. And as kings our vassals will be without count, never-ending, infinite, who will render tribute to us: numberless precious stones, gold, emeralds, coral, amethysts, gorgeous plumes of every hue, cotton dyed with myriad color. And I, your priest, will ensure this comes to pass. For that reason have I been sent by the god.”

  And so Mexitli gave his people their new ethnonym, establishing the houses, calling upon the calpoleh who stewarded the lore of the clans, their bundles, their gods. Together they established a plan for their travels. For seven years the Mexitin worked arduously to gather goods, to prepare clothing and other necessities, to fashion bows and arrows and spears, to make themselves ready for the long years of walking.

  Some, however, looked with doubt upon the guidance of the high priest, including his very sister. A shaman and acolyte of the Protector—known to this tribe as the earth goddess Quilaztli—Malinalxochitl urged Huitziltzin to consider carefully the counsel he had given the king.

  “Here in the caves of Chicomoztoc,” she said, “we are close to the womb of the earth from which all life springs. Our Mother and Protector provides for our every need. Why should we set out to rule? Do we not fulfill our destiny by the spilling of our own blood and that of animals? Why trek for long generations through hazards just to spill more? You promise us emerald and jade, but do those precious stones truly endure? Only the divine song, drifting down from Omeyocan, outlasts human life and earthly age. All else is but a dream, dear brother.”

  But the words of Malinalxochitl went unheeded by the tribal leaders, though men and women close to her shared her many concerns. Her brother’s power grew with each dreamed command of their chief god. He harnessed strange magic and learned to call forth his own nahualli, transforming into an eagle or hummingbird when the need arose. The people were in awe. Many began to suspect that Huitziltzin was more than just a divine mouthpiece.

  Finally, at the close of the seventh solar circuit, the long trek began. It was the year 12-Reed, nearly one thousand years ago. At the head of the mass of Mexitin went the four godbearers, venerable priests and priestessesv who carried the effigy of Huitzilopochtli. With them walked Huitziltzin, guided by the voice of the god.

  Schisms

  The nation would travel, eating beans and corn, tomatoes and chilis as they went. When their stores of food ran low, they would stop for a few years, planting crops, hunting, replenishing the tribal bounty. Then they would move on, normally at the god’s urging, but often because of conflicts with the various Chichimecah people they encountered.

  One of the first of these stopping sites was Lake Patzcuaro in Michhuacan, “Land of Fishers.” When the time came to depart those lovely shores, a group of Mexitin expressed reluctance. They had developed a fondness for fishing and swimming, and the lush abundance reminded them of the tales of ancient Aztlan. The high priest, guided by the god of war, looked upon them as they played in the water. Then he approached the king.

  “The Terrible One says we are to leave these behind. Now, while they are bathing, he commands us to take their clothes and depart.”

  So the Mexitin did, though Malinxochitl protested. The bathers emerged to find themselves abandoned and naked. There they established a kingdom, mixing with natives of the place. They would become the Purepecha, and that land is still called Michoacan.

  The journey continued, but so did the schism between Malinalxochitl and Huitziltzin. At the very first Binding of the Years since their emergence from Chicomoztoc, the sacrifice demanded by the god was not simply some captured Chichimec warrior, but one of the Mexitin. Malinxochitl and her followers, the tlatlahuihpochtin or illuminated children, were vocal in their opposition.

  “Enough,” Huitziltzin commanded. “This is the will of the god. If you will not bend to his will, you will suffer the consequences.”

  “We will not relent, dear brother. Quilaztli’s will must also be considered. As earth goddess, she eases our way through hostile lands.”

  “So be it. Sister, as chief tlahuihpochtli, purportedly the most illuminated of your little band, you are forever cursed. You abhor the forced spilling of blood, but now you will have to drink the blood of innocent children to survive. Detaching your legs, you will fly through the night, glowing with your erstwhile illumination, transformed into a turkey or buzzard, seeking once a month your horrible sustenance. This curse is upon you and all of your descendants.

  “Now sleep, all of you.”

  Malinalxochitl and her followers dropped into a deep trance. Then the high priest addressed his king and the godbearers and the leaders of the houses:

  “Fathers, the magic worked by my sister is not the same as mine. She is a drinker of blood who bewitches people into following her blindly. She makes her band spill the cold blood of snakes and toads, burn scorpions and spiders, whisper arcane spells to centipedes and slugs. Malinalxochitl represents all the rot and weakness in the sea-ringed world. We must leave her behind, her and her followers. Understand—I have come with arrows and a shield, for battle is my work! With guts and heart and mind, I will lay siege to cities everywhere! I will lay in ambush for people from every corner of the earth and confront them in noble battle! I will provide for you all. We shall conquer every nation, bringing men, women and children together under a single banner! So gather up our provisions, and let us go. We abandon these traitors here, asleep in the dust. Leave them nothing!”

  When Malinalxochitl awakened at last, she stood and looked round at her followers. “Ah, sweet illuminated children of Mother Quilaztli! Where shall we go? My brother has tricked me. That evil man has abandoned us here with no food or supplies. Let us search, then, for the land we will call home, the nearest place with a settlement.”

  Soon they came across Mount Texcaltepetl. There they established themselves after being granted permission by the native Texcaltepecans. Malinalxochitl married one of the nobles of that nation, Chimalcuauhtli, and together they founded the great kingdom of Malinalco. Within time Malinalxochitl became big with child, and soon a son was born: Copil.

  On Mount Coatepec

  As the rest of the Mexitin continued on their way, King Mexitli Chalchiuhtlatonac reached the end of his earthly days. Upon his death, the king had a jadestone placed in his mouth to serve as his heart in the afterlife. His body was bound and bedecked with feathers and jewels. His faithful servants prepared him food and drink before readying themselves to follow their sovereign into the next world. All Mexitli’s weapons and shields, capes and quilted armor were piled high around him. A yellow dog was tied by its lead to the pyre, a faithful hound that could carry its master across treacherous nether rivers. Then the whole assemblage was set alight. When it had all burned down to coals, the priests quenched the heat with water and buried the resulting slush. The king’s most trusted servants were sacrificed and buried, unburnt, nearby.

  Afterward the godbearer Cuauhtlequetzqui was installed as teyacanani or military governor by the calpoleh and the priests: the high priest had received a revelation that there would be no new king until they reached their promised land. The governor, following the instructions received by Huitziltzin, led his people to Mount Coatepec, where they shocked the natives of that place, the fearsome Otomies, who declared to one another: “Who are these people? Where did they come from? What city was their home? They cannot be simply human: there is something godlike about them!”

  There on the mountaintop, the Mexitin erected a temple to Huitzilopochtli. Inside, they set up the cuauhxicalli, that holy receptacle for the hearts of the sacrificed, as well as the effigy of the Terrible One. Beside him were arrayed the gods of each house.

  Huitziltzin immediately had a ball court constructed. Nearby he set up a skull rack to display the bones of the Mexitin’s defeated enemies and sacrificial victims. The king’s engineers worked to dam the river that wound its way down the mountain. Soon there was a reservoir that could diver
t water for irrigation.

  The high priest then spoke to his people. “O beloved fathers, now that we have water aplenty, it is time for planting trees and reeds, flowers and grain. Let fish and frog, worm and fly gather in this lake. May ducks and mallards, thrushes and swans gather at its shores.”

  Then, inspired by the god, he taught the Mexitin a song: “Tecuilhuicuicatl,” the Hymn of the Lords of the Fields. Together they sang and danced and praised the spirits of maize, bean, squash. Then the people settled in and began to plant, to build more permanent housing, to spread round the mountain like an actual nation.

  The years passed. The Mexitin grew content. A contingent of citizens led by priests from the House of Huitznahuac came before Huitziltzin at the start of the nameless days, hoping to intercede:

  “Mouthpiece of the god, high priest and general, let here end the task for which you came—to rule, to confront the peoples of the four corners of the world, to urge our tribe forward and exercise power over us. Here we can find all you promised us—the diverse jewels, precious stones, gold, quetzal plumes, multicolored feathers from every bird, rainbow-dyed cotton, all the fruits and flowers and riches one could dream. Truly have you founded a nation here on Mount Coatepec, gathering together your fathers, your vassals, once Aztecs, now Mexitin.”

  The high priest became furious, replying, “What is this you say? Do you know more than I? Are you my rivals? My betters? I understand what I must do, fools. Do not think to question my leadership.”

  The potential for rebellion chafed at Huitziltzin’s mind. He knew definitive action was required to quash the movement to remain at Coatepec. Before going to the king with his concerns, the high priest slept, hoping for revelation from the Terrible One.