The king beat his fists until they were bloody. “My enemies have sent this curse,” he boiled. “I will arm myself and slay them all!”
The Fire Serpent bared its red fangs and became the Serpent of War. The king fought with flaming arrows, obsidian knives, and lightning bolts. His enemies were helpless.
“Now I will fight fire with fire,” said the enraged king, and he went off to battle the volcanoes. The mountains steamed and smoked and spewed hot lava, but again the king was victorious because the Fire Serpent was the lord of volcanoes and burning blazes. The land was utterly destroyed.
“Now I will challenge the Lord of the Sun,” bragged the king. But the Fire Serpent was the spear of the sun, and the king was consumed in its flames.
In time he returned to the world as a poor wood gatherer, and despite his miserable poverty, he found a wife, who sold tamales in the market. She cooked them over the few twigs he gathered in the blackened forest. “The serpent needs feeding,” she’d say, and off he’d go. He was just a servant now, with soot on his hands and soot on his brow and a wife who nagged him if the fire died down. The man who was once a king spent the rest of his life doing the work of a woman, feeding the hungry Fire Serpent coiled up in the hearth.
THE CLOUD
SERPENT
White as snow, black as crows, drifting on a slow wind or shrouding the face of the sun, the Cloud Serpent has as many shapes and moods as the greatest gods. He may start as a small puff of a bird and billow into a creature you’ve never seen before—something resembling a white-tailed deer with eagle wings or a five-legged monster from the black bog thirteen worlds below this world. This shape-shifting is for sheer pleasure.
The Cloud Serpent also leaves mysterious signs in the sky—wispy lines and isosceles triangles—and then … erases them with a sigh. These signs are sent to us as gifts and omens.
Once a great Chichimec hunter lifted his eyes from the swirling dust of the northern desert and saw a silver arrow speed across the sky. He changed his name to Mixcoatl, “Cloud Serpent,” and led his scruffy warriors south in search of better game. In the Valley of Mexico he saw cloudlike palaces adorned with crystal gems. In the misty mountains of Oaxaca he met the “Cloud People,” the Mixtecs, who decorated their temples with the diamond designs of the Cloud Serpent. In the red land of the Maya, he came face to face with the giant dragon whose steaming scales dissolved in smoky S’s. How could he battle a moving cloud?
Mixcoatl knew his winding path through life made similar patterns—S’s, zigzags, and stepped frets leading up to the thirteenth sky. At the end of his days, he climbed the steps as if they were a ladder, and there in the clouds the hunter became a god and the father of the gods of wind.
At night the Cloud Serpent races across the moon on his way to the upper heavens. There he changes into a cloud of stars, the Milky Way. The Cloud Serpent is a maker of dreams, people say, dreams, like white-tailed deer, that are always fleeting.
The
VISION
SERPENT
Some serpents live on the earth, others dwell in the sky. The Vision Serpent easily moves from one level of the universe to another. Though this serpent is made of clouds and fire, he can slip beneath the blood-red sea and down the snakelike passages of the Underworld. There he watches and listens.
The souls of ordinary folk, who slave in the fields and the kitchens, are groaning and weeping and praying for release. The souls of nobles do nothing but reminisce about their glorious feats, outdoing one another with tales of victorious battles, the victims they slew, the visions they dreamed, the cities they built, the rains they brought, the books they wrote, the games they won, the drinks they served, the astronomers they paid, the poets they entertained, the profound happiness of their subjects. They have the scars and jewels and sharp minds to prove it, though neither wounds nor wealth nor wisdom will relieve their sorrow or buy their escape.
The Lords of Death just sit around the fire, warming their bones and chuckling about yesterday’s disasters and today’s message of doom, which the owls deliver without delay from the surface of the earth. Occasionally it’s possible to pick up a little tidbit about something that will happen tomorrow. The Vision Serpent possesses secret knowledge about the past, and the Vision Serpent sees the future. Of all the supernatural snakes in snakedom, he is the most spiritual.
Most people must be content to communicate with their ancestors once a year, on the Day of the Dead, when the souls come up to eat and drink with their families. Once a year was not enough for ancient kings and queens, who had to contend with rebellions, wars, droughts, and other delicate matters of state. They needed to know the future in a hurry. Their calendar keepers foretold events by interpreting the omens attached to each day. Other diviners read the stars; still others listened to birdcalls. But as anyone could tell you, if you want good advice, the best thing to do is ask a snake. Not just any snake, of course. “THE snake! The one down there.”
Out of the bowl he rose like a tortured wave, rearing and hissing, higher and higher.
The trouble was, very few were brave enough to go all the way down to the Underworld for a brief conversation. The rapids might swallow you, the clashing mountains crush you, the stone benches burn your seat. The Lords of Death would try to snatch you, lock you in the House of Knives or the House of Cold. Old Jaguar Foot would smile and serve you tamales and the next minute cut off your head. No, it was a perilous business, and only the divine twins, Hunapu and Xbalanque, were clever enough to survive the dangers.
After much thought and careful practice, the kings and queens devised a method for summoning the Vision Serpent. It was not easy.
They began by stripping off their jade ornaments, their brocaded robes, and like the hermits who roamed the wilderness, covered their nakedness with soot. Freed of riches, emptied of pride, they descended to the dingy labyrinths beneath the palace or retreated to remote mountain caves. There they fasted and prayed to the spirit of lightning, the spirit of fire. When they emerged from the dank subterranean vaults after days and nights of penance, they were so weak they could barely stand and their minds were half-crazed. They had seen all sorts of terrifying things in the pitch black, and they had felt the pulse of the blue snake that coursed through their royal blood. They were priests now, powerful shamans. Exalted, they entered the holy sanctuary of the temple and offered their blood. The precious drops of royal blood fell on strips of paper lying in a bowl, and the spattered paper was set on fire. The smoke and the serpent in the blood summoned the Vision Serpent.
Out of the bowl he rose like a tortured wave, rearing and hissing, higher and higher. Lady Xok, the great queen of Yaxchilan, trembled as the serpent grazed her shoulder and hovered in the fetid air above her head. He hummed and clicked like a lightning bolt and smelled of burning hair. And then he opened his mouth to speak. Between his cavernous jaws and pointed teeth appeared the spirit of an ancient ruler fully armed with a message.
To this day we do not know what the Vision Serpent told her. We do not know if the spirit sang or spoke directly to the woman’s heart. We only have a picture of this huge snake writhing up from the Underworld to deliver a message within a message. But the message that was so urgent then is lost. Something about a future battle, something wrong that needed righting. We’ll never know this revelation from the gods. That is the nature of visions, so electrifying when they come, so quick to fade in the clouds.
TALES of
the PLUMED
SERPENT
Of all the many divine snakes, none is more magnificent and revered than the Plumed Serpent. Thanks to his iridescent feathers, this amazing rattlesnake can fly. Where did he come from? How can it be?
Well, he was changing his skin one spring, about a million years ago, when the usually sultry weather turned surprisingly cold. He was all curled up and bare naked, just shivering and trying to keep his wits from freezing over. “Hmmm, I wish I had some warm feathers to ward off this wintry chill, th
is sudden nip in the tropical air,” he murmured. And by the incredible powers that even young gods possess, he immediately sprouted feathers from head to tail.
Old women will tell you the clever rattlesnake coaxed the female quetzal bird into lending him her long, resplendent feathers. He couldn’t help but notice how her long tail undulated like a serpent as she flew through the cloud forest. “We’ll make a handsome pair,” he said. “You’re far too ugly, you mud-sopped creature,” she said, “but at least my gorgeous train will cover up those rough scales and noisy rattles.” Her loyal mate protested, calling from the branches, calling from the hills, but she was a generous spirit and it was too late. She shook and shimmied and the feathers flew. They covered the snake’s body from head to tail until he was iridescent. And he could fly!
People who despise talking snakes and talking birds, no matter how smart and handsome, are certain the Plumed Serpent came from the dreams of devils. “Surely this marvelous serpent is a creature of black magic,” they insist, pointing their finger at the old sorcerer, Itzamna. “He is the kind of god who would dream of such things, being some sort of snake bird himself.”
Those who worship the Plumed Serpent for his great gifts of wizardry believe he was born from his own thoughts and sprang into this world fully feathered and flying.
He flies over the cloud forests of the Maya highlands, over the jungles, over the swamps. He circles above Mexico City. He flies over the deserts of the Southwest and up the Mississippi. He is known by many different names—Kukulcan by the Maya, Quetzalcoatl by the Aztecs, Kolowisi among the Zuni, Palalukong by the Hopi.
Everywhere he goes, the Plumed Serpent is honored as the guardian of water. He is also the living cord that connects the earth and the Underworld. Wherever he appears, the Plumed Serpent is worshipped as a god and savior. Because he travels far and wide, there are hundreds of different stories about him, and all of them are true.
Once upon a time, the Plumed Serpent was a water spirit that came from the sea when there was nothing but the sea, silent, dark, and rippling. There was only a pale glittering light ruffling his blue-green feathers as he floated in the middle of the sea, his blue-green feathers the color of the waters, when he and the god of thunderbolts started talking. They talked and thought and worried and then talked some more, and finally they decided how they would create the world. They did it with their words and ringing voices, as some say Itzamna had done.
Everywhere he goes, the Plumed Serpent is honored as the guardian of water.
He is also the living cord that connects the earth and the Underworld.
The mountains, streams, and cypress trees came about as they had planned, but the animals, insects, and birds disturbed the gods with their endless racket. So the gods decided to create humans. The potters made them out of clay. But the people of clay just melted and turned into mud.
“A-h-h-h, this g-g-g-od aren’t soo g-g-g-rit,” said the next race of people. But what did they know? They were made out of wooden sticks. They had no minds or souls and could barely speak. They had no respect for the gods. And so jaguars ate them; fires, winds, and floods destroyed them. The gods tried again and again.
The Plumed Serpent was getting more and more exasperated. You see, he had four sides to his nature, and not all of them were nice.
“He can’t be all good,” said his brother. And who was his brother? The sly, one-footed, magical god of night, Tezcatlipoca, the Smoking Mirror. The two of them started squabbling right away. From then on, the brothers took turns remaking the world and then destroying everything on it. It seemed that human beings never turned out right.
In a mood of melancholy, the Plumed Serpent changed into the wind. Ehecatl looked like a duck with a long red beak. Whenever he took a deep breath he sounded like a whistling toad. Around his neck he wore a conch shell, to remind him of the sea. His beautiful “wind jewel” came from the Underworld. This is how it happened.
After the floods destroyed the world, people were transformed into fish and their thin bones sank to the bottom of the dreary Underworld sea. First Ehecatl and Tezcatlipoca struggled and strained and lifted the earth from the waters. Then they turned into trees and raised the sky. By that time the two brothers were worn out, and they still had the job of creating new and better people. So they sat on a rock and thought and thought, and finally Ehecatl said, “They will be made of ground-up bones mixed with our divine blood.”
Accompanied by his faithful dog, Ehecatl went down to the Underworld and gathered up all the bones of humankind.
“Not so fast!” growled the Lord of Death. “Those bones belong to me!” Ehecatl begged and pleaded, but the Lord of Death just shook his head, “Not till my eyeballs turn to ice! Certainly not! No way!”
Ehecatl remained as calm as a summer breeze, and after a while the Lord of Death thought of a way to have some fun with him. “I will give you the bones if you can blow this conch shell trumpet,” he said. The trouble was, the shell had no holes, and even the wind god couldn’t blow it.
Ehecatl whistled for the ants. They swarmed from the rotten trees, they marched in single file from their nests, and when they arrived, Ehecatl asked them, “Please bore holes in this conch for me.” Well, their tiny jaws ate away at the shell, and the holes were made in a minute. Ehecatl blew the conch shell trumpet, and the deep blast shook every corner and crevice of the Underworld caves. Ehecatl scooped up the bones and ran.
The Lord of Death was completely rattled. Clinking and clanging, he scuttled up and down the tunnels, chasing after the god of wind. Ehecatl kept running, but just as he reached the door, he dropped some of the bones, and they cracked and broke on the rocks. That’s why human beings come in different sizes, short, medium, and tall.
Ehecatl rushed to Tamoanchan, the Land of Mists, and there the bones were ground to a fine meal. Then the gods added a few drops of their blood and a bit of spit for good measure. Out of this mixture, new men and women were created. From then on, Ehecatl brought the rains that watered the fields and fruit trees, raised the corn, and took care of all living things.
One day the Plumed Serpent was circling above one of his temples. The temple was as round as his cone-shaped hat, round as a serpent’s coils, round as the wind. Around and around he flew, and on his third round, he accidently swallowed a feather. He burped, and a full-grown man emerged from his mouth. The man had pale skin, a long red beard, and his face looked like a broken stone. His name was Topiltzin.
Topiltzin became the great and wise ruler of Tula. He taught the Toltec people the arts of sculpture, featherwork, and writing. He built temples of jade, turquoise, and coral. There was nothing he couldn’t do. Although he was a king, he lived as a poor priest dedicated to worshipping the Plumed Serpent. He forbade human sacrifice and instead offered butterflies and flowers to the gods. The gods must have been pleased because the cotton grew in red, blue, yellow, green, and a hundred other colors; the squashes were as big as melons; the corn was the size of a man’s arm. Everything Topiltzin did was good, and his kingdom was the most glorious on earth.
Only one god was displeased with the good fortunes of the people, and that was the jealous Tezcatlipoca. The sorcerer cast a spell that drove the Toltecs into a mad frenzy. He tempted Topiltzin with wine and beautiful women and led the holy king astray.
In shame, Topiltzin burned his beautiful palaces, abandoned Tula, and set off for the east. He crossed jagged mountain peaks, plodded over sharp volcanic rocks and drifts of freezing snow. He walked the jungle trails in sorrow. At the great Maya city of Chichen Itza, home of the Plumed Serpent, Kukulkan, he lingered for a while, filling the dry water holes before moving on. Finally he reached the shores of the Gulf of Mexico. There he made a raft of braided snakes and drifted out to sea. From north, south, east, and west came flocks of many-colored birds. They filled the swirling air with brightness as they lifted the serpent raft, twisting and curling, into the sky. And in the blinding light of dawn, Topiltzin turned into the mornin
g star.
Lamat, the great star known as Venus, has many guises. He is a fair-haired man whose pale skin changes to feathered scales at sunrise. He wears two finny fish barbels at the corners of his mouth. He limps on one leg like a rain bird. He was born from a stone on the day Nine Wind, and he is the wind. His home is a shell in the sea. He bathes in the pure waters of the Milky Way. Rising before dawn, he is the faithful servant who sweeps the path of the sun. Rising at dusk, he follows his companion, the sundog, and his brother, Lord of Night. Later, when the heavens are pricked with needles of light, he dives underground. For months he wanders through the Underworld, invisible as a ghost, restless as moonlight. Then he reappears at dawn, red as the sun, and becomes master of war and destruction. Venus is the planet of the Plumed Serpent, and like the Plumed Serpent, he is the great god of change.
The
HORRIBLE
WHITE BONE
CENTIPEDE
Oh, this one’s a twister, all black and blue and covered with blisters. Seven black tongues loll in each of her seven heads. Ten red eyes glare from the tips of her claws. She has a body made of pig snouts and shark fins for feet.
Her ratty hair is a tangled web of tarantula spiders. You’d better get out of town or run to the other side of the street, though it won’t save you from her steaming spit. Of course, she’s covered with spines and quills. Buzzard feathers fly from her mouth when she squeaks. When she catches you in her coils she sucks the breath from your nose, and absolutely nothing can save you. No one knows who dreamed her up, but she is older than dreams, older than the slimy mud she lives under, croaking curses like the awful night she was born.
Maya Gods and Monsters Page 5
