Aztec Odyssey

by Jay C. LaBarge

  “I want to thank all of you for coming here today, as we dedicate something that was waiting so very long to be discovered. There was wisdom in how and where the Aztecs hid it, as they wanted it to be found, but not until the world was ready for it. I think today the world is finally ready.

  This carefully hidden time capsule of an entire people’s history had a story to tell, beyond simple conquest, greed, or man’s inhumanity to man. It is the story of that quality that makes humans strive, explore and endure, that makes us wonder at our place in the universe under the vastness of a nighttime sky, that makes us ache with every molecule of our being at the transcendence of our existence. Whether it is building the Great Pyramids of Giza or planting our flag on the surface of the moon, it is that great urge, that very instinct, to say we existed, we were here, we did great things, and we did not go gentle into that good night.”

  The crowd in the auditorium, in a festive mood and bursting with anticipation at seeing the newly revealed treasures, broke into spontaneous applause. Nick smiled and waited a moment for it to die down.

  “Codices of the Aztec version of that story somehow miraculously survived, in the only place they could have, away from the Spanish who would have burned them, away from the moisture that would have destroyed them, away from the looters who would have scattered them. They tell us of a great people that were, and of an epic journey that took place. Their author was a man named Asupacaci, the sole surviving son of Montezuma. He was the Aztec version of Odysseus, wandering after a war, looking for meaning in this world. But instead of trying to get home, he is trying to preserve what was home, for the ages. Leading his brethren, he transports the legacy of his people through jungles, across deserts, through friendly and hostile tribes, to here, to this very place. He completes his odyssey, and prepares to lay down his life, the last survivor of the expedition he led.

  But the codices tell us he is found, and in a profound moment decides to live, to leave more than a simple treasure behind, to also leave a living legacy. He takes a wife, starts a family, and instructs his son to always carry on, to pass down to his descendants the secrets of his people, to prepare them for the day they can again take their proper place in the world. One of his descendants met my great, great, great grandfather, and passed along a talisman of Cibola, and that led us all to be here, today.

  A pretty reporter in the crowd yelled, “We love you Nick,” which led laughter and to another round of applause.

  “That story you all know, I well realize it’s been impossible to avoid in the media. But now for something you didn’t know. While Asupacaci left the treasure here, he spent the remainder of his life up near Mesa Verde. His body was found there, well preserved, still bearing a Spanish cross bolt in its shoulder. His father Montezuma, also well preserved, was found in the cave just behind us. DNA tests recently conducted on both mummies have conclusively proven that the new Special Counsel for Legacy Preservation and Living History, standing just over there, is the last living descendant of the house of Montezuma.”

  An audible gasp filled the auditorium, and the reporters and photographers could be seen scrambling for a better view of her, camera shutters clicking. Nick grinned and motioned for quiet.

  “While we can’t tell what eye color the mummies had, the codices indicate that some of the royal descendants had green eyes, an indelible mark of their royal lineage. And if you look at the inside of the Mask of Montezuma, you will notice it has green jade inlaid into the pupils. For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her, that green eyed woman over there is named Altsoba. Which means ‘At War’ in Navajo. Let’s all hope that this now means she can do her good works, and finally be at peace.”

  Later in the evening when the dedication was concluded, Nick and Soba made their way out. An unexpected crowd had gathered waiting for them, and they were bombarded by people wanting to write their story, looking for movie rights, asking for endorsements. A few even wanted autographs, or to take selfies with them. The Paparazzi started taking photos, shoving microphones in front of them.

  “Good people,” Nick said, pulling Soba close and waving the crowd back. “The bodies of our friends who gave their lives for this aren’t even cool in their graves yet, let’s let the dead rest a bit, shall we?”

  Nick was touched by the gift, having been lost in the hectic life suddenly thrust upon him by his fifteen minutes of fame. He had flown into Grand Rapids with Soba, to show her around his old stomping grounds. Sophie and the kids had some time off and were up at the old camp, and Charlie picked his brother and Soba up at the airport. Walking out of the terminal to the parking lot, Charlie tossed him the keys to his old truck, indicating for him to drive. When Nick looked up and saw his 1972 Chevy pickup truck, he didn’t recognize it. Charlie had quietly had it completely restored, and it looked factory new. But it was even better, because it had all the latest technology installed as well. And a killer sound system for all those blues tunes on road trips.

  “You know, I’ve been managing your accounts for a while, we both inherited a few bucks, and we’ve parlayed your fame to good use,” Charlie said. “You’re financially set man. But I know you, you’re so tight you squeak, so I thought it might be a good idea to finally take your first communion money and upgrade your ride.”

  A bro hug shared, they put the luggage in back, including a piece that was making a lot of noise. Nick had one stop to make before he went to the cabin on Lake Charlevoix, and he was anxious to get there. It took him a few minutes to get used to the restored pickup, the gear box didn’t shift upside down like the old one, and the new clutch and brakes were tight, but he had to admit, it was one smooth ride. His dad had bought the truck used, even he didn’t get to ride it in this condition.

  After walking down the hallway, he gently rapped on the door and let himself and Soba in. The old woman looked asleep, but Nick leaned in and kissed her forehead anyway. Soba caught sight of the dream catcher turning lazily in the window, the very one that had played such a part in linking everything together. The woman slowly opened her eyes and smiled genuinely when she saw Nick standing there.

  “Hello, Grandma Ingrid, I’ve missed you.”

  “Why, don’t be silly, Albert, you were just here. But so kind of you to say so,” she said, habitually mistaking Nick for his father in her slightly confused state, with a sense of time that meant little to her anymore.

  “I wanted to introduce someone to you, Gram, her name is Soba, and she is Navajo.”

  Grandma Ingrid perked up when she saw Soba and grasped her hand tightly. Her eyes came into sharp focus, and a glint of recognition came to her.

  “Why that means you finally finished the quest, didn’t you dear?” Grandma Ingrid said, never taking her eyes off Soba.

  “We did, it was quite the adventure. It was all everyone thought it was, and more,” Nick replied.

  Grandma Ingrid was listening but seemed more interested in Soba. She patted Soba’s hand gently.

  “And you my dear, just where have you been hiding all these years?” she asked.

  “Why I’ve been out on the reservation,” Soba said, blushing slightly.

  “Of course you have, where else would you be after all? I’ve been waiting for you so patiently all this time, for my family to finally find you. You know a quest can become quite an obsession if you let it, I was quite afraid they might never find you. But here you are now, safe and sound. I’m afraid I’m a bit tired, so nice to see you again,” Grandma Ingrid sighed, closing her eyes.

  Soba looked at Nick and raised her eyebrows, still holding Grandma Ingrid’s hand.

  “I swear I’ve seen her before. I feel I know her,” Soba said.

  Grandma Ingrid faintly smiled, and then nodded off. Nick and Soba walked down the hall, digesting what had just taken place.

  “How does she think she knows you when you have never met? You must remind her of someone.”

  “No, I don’t think that’s it at all. We did k
now each other, just not in this lifetime,” Soba replied, smiling her mystical shaman smile.

  Nick shook his head. “She talked like your fore bearers surviving were what was important, like you were the real treasure.”

  Soba smiled and squeezed his hand. “Sometimes it takes the blind to see.”

  When they pulled into camp, Charlie and Sophie were out on the deck, the kids splashing about in the water. Nick took the carrier out of the truck and opened the door, and two rambunctious puppies tumbled out, one a husky-like gray color, the other bigger and pure white. Nick and Soba followed them as they yelped and ran to the kids.

  “Julien and Yvette, I talked with your mom and dad, and they said you could have a dog. That little gray fuzz ball is now yours, the big white one is Soba’s,” Nick joyfully told them.

  “For real, Uncle Nick? Really?” Julien squealed.

  “Yes, for real. It turns out Nanook had himself a girlfriend when Soba was staying with Huehue,” Nick said, winking at Soba.

  “Does he have a name?” Yvette asked.

  “He’s a she. Make sure you pick a good name,” Soba said.

  “What did you name yours?” Julien asked.

  “Diné, because he will watch over my people,” she replied. “Like yours will watch over you.”

  Charlie walked back to Nick’s truck and brought some luggage in and came down off the porch toward the lake holding a guitar. “Is this the one Bidzii gave you bro? How about a tune?”

  Nick took the guitar and smiled, thinking of all they had been through, how this was the one place he truly felt at peace, felt connected, and reflected on all their parents had given them. Most of all unrequited love. He looked out at the familiar and tranquil view of the sun setting on the lake, dragonflies darting down to the water surface, and started strumming a song by one of his Dad’s favorite musicians, Bob Seger, from downstate in the Detroit area. He winked at Soba as he softly sang.

  Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy

  Out in the back seat of my ’60 Chevy

  Workin’ on mysteries without any clues

  Workin’ on our night moves

  The song eventually finished. The kids started giggling and clapping, liking the melody but having no inkling of the meaning of the lyrics. “Sing us another one Uncle Nick,” they shouted, which he obliged as the sun finished its downward descent, the cicadas and bull frogs providing the background accompaniment.

  “Hmm, nice. I’ve missed that. Where does the time go?” Sophie said, mostly to herself, as she watched her children. “So, what’s next for you two, now that the dust has settled a little?”

  “After I enjoy some time with all of you, I’m back to my new job, so exciting for me,” Soba said, casting her deep green eyes at Nick. “I truly feel this is what I was meant to do, every day I get a chance to change the world a little, help people to remember from whence we came, and capture some of our collective history before it fades away.”

  Nick smiled and thought for a moment while he held Soba’s hand, and looked around at his brother and wife, the cabin on the lake, and the kids and dogs happily splashing about. “Now that I got my PhD, some financial independence, sit on the boards of a couple museums, and have a little momentary fame, it affords me the opportunity to chase down the next big mystery. Which one that is going to be I haven’t decided yet, it’s percolating in the back of my mind. But as Dad would have said, there’s a whole lot out there that needs finding and explaining.”

  “Like old times,” Charlie said, handing Nick a highball of bourbon and putting his arm around him. “There’s nothing like a good quest to get the blood pumping and make you feel alive.”

  The brothers slowly meandered down to the water together, and each poured a little of the bourbon into the lake, to the spirits of their parents, and clinked their glasses and downed the rest. Nick put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and let out a contented sigh.

  “Cheers to that, brother. Cheers to that.”

  Epilogue

  Cortez The Killer

  And the women all were beautiful

  And the men stood straight and strong

  They offered life in sacrifice

  So that others could go on

  Song & Lyrics by Neil Young

  September 12, 1578

  He was a weary, scarred old man now. And while time had worn down his body, he still carried himself with a regal dignity, his mind sharp and alert even yet. He sat cross legged in front of his teepee, somewhere between dozing and daydreaming in the gentle warmth of the midday sun. A shout from a young man riding a powerful white stallion caused him to crack open his pale green eyes and squint out upon him prancing on the plain.

  Asupacaci had survived an incredible journey of distance and hardship in this life, and from the toll it had taken he knew he would soon be joining his ancestors. He had spent his twilight years preparing as best he could and found himself looking forward to his final journey. The calls were stronger and more frequent now, the time was finally upon him.

  “Come here Tlanextic,” Asupacaci called out to him, motioning with his one good arm. Despite having been befriended by the Navajo tribe and having taken a Navajo wife, he had bestowed a name upon his son that meant Light of Dawn in the Nahuatl language of his people, the Aztecs. His son was indeed the light that would carry on after he was gone and survive as a tribe within the tribe. The bloodline of Asupacaci’s people would be perpetuated forever more while cocooned within the safety of the powerful Navajo nation. That was the sanctuary the tribal elders had granted him and his descendants for all time, for the knowledge and leadership he had provided that they might survive the inevitable encroachment of the Spanish. He had proven himself to them, time and again, and had earned that asylum for his descendants.

  The Navajo thought of his foreign knowledge as a sort of magic, and so cast him as a shaman, one who learned their language, but who also spoke the odd language and practiced the strange rituals of the Aztecs. While he was an honored part of the tribe, for the most part they left him alone to his dark arts.

  Showing off his skill, his son rode the horse expertly in a wide circle, and just as he was about to pass he nimbly jumped off and slapped his horse on the flank, allowing it to graze nearby. He had grown taller than the other Navajos, with a physical strength and self confidence that belied his eighteen changings of the seasons. Tlanextic sat down stoically next to his father, unflinching, used to long periods of silence before his father might deign to impart some few words of wisdom.

  Asupacaci smiled inwardly with pride at having his son by his side, and softly hummed a chant in thanks. He unconsciously rubbed the scar of the imbedded Spanish cross bolt near his shoulder, its poison eventually crippling the arm, a constant reminder of those who destroyed his world.

  He had sat in the sweat lodge for a long time yesterday, usually it provided him some relief from the dull, throbbing ache, but not anymore. This pain would be with him until the end.

  He hadn’t intended to live this long, and after having delivered the treasure of his people to its final resting place, had been ready to offer his life as one last gift to the gods. But he had decided against it, for the simple fact that he wanted to make sure the Spanish never picked up on the trail, and that the treasure and legacy of his people would be safe for eternity. That meant surviving a little longer in this life and watching until he could be sure the danger had passed and the trail had grown cold.

  After having sat together until the sun started on its downward arc, Asupacaci finally spoke. “It is time. Tell your mother we will go to the place of the Old Ones. I have a need to be there now. It is easier for my old ears to hear the spirits there and talk where the winds can carry my words to the gods one last time.”

  As early evening descended, they said their goodbyes to the tribe. Asupacaci was seated on the back of the same horse as his son, holding onto him with his one good arm. The chief of the Navajo reached out and put a hand o
n Asupacaci’s knee and looked at him through knowing eyes. They had been through much together these past years, and each in his own way had protected the legacy of his own people. They were both proud leaders and warriors, and knew the world was inexorably changing around them. Nothing was said, nothing need be said, and after the two old men gave a brief nod to one another, Tlanextic coaxed the horse slowly down the dusty path.

  They worked their way away from the camp onto the broad mesa, toward the canyons, the cries of warriors and lamentations of women fading with the distance. Despite all their differences, they had grown from the same great tree, and would be missed. His faithful wife followed on a smaller dark horse behind them, ever devoted to the last. Her Navajo name was Kaya, meaning Wise Child, and was appropriate for her gifts. Kaya was intelligent and perceptive and had greatly aided Asupacaci in his integration into the larger tribe, while also keeping his Aztec customs and traditions alive. She had the gift of tongues and had learned the Nahuatl language of the Aztecs fluently. He took comfort that she would accompany him on this last journey as well. Tlanextic was now of age. Asupacaci could continue no further. It was time for his son to carry on the legacy.

  The mesa abruptly ended, revealing a wide gash in the earth, a broad valley looming below the sheer cliff edge. Tlanextic helped his father down from the horse and led him to a faint path along the very edge of the cliff. He gathered his things, and slowly started the descent, with his father shuffling behind with a hand on his shoulder to keep his balance. Kaya silently followed, carrying blankets, food, and water. They expertly worked their way down, intuitively knowing every step and hand hold from years of making their pilgrimages here. Eventually they went down below the silent stone buildings built high into the cliff face, over to the only route back up to them. Tlanextic found subtle indentations in the rock face and scrambled up. Once there he found the hidden coil of rope and lowered one end to his father. Kaya looped it under his arms, and Asupacaci was slowly pulled up by his powerful son.