The Nosferatu Chronicles: The Aztec God

by Susan Hamilton

  “What happened to the mother?” asked J’Vor. “She’s not portrayed in any of the pictographs after her escape.”

  “Maybe there are more in other buildings,” said Emanui.

  “We must search them all,” said Kevak.

  They walked outside and continued to scan the structures covered in overgrowth.

  “There’s an anomaly at the far side of the city,” said Jasper, reading the data from his terminal. “That way.”

  As they walked through city, the structure with the anomaly came into view.

  “It’s the temple,” said Emanui.

  J’Vor scanned the great wooden doors. “The overgrowth is only a few years old. You can see where the old growth was cut away.”

  “This is where Pocatello’s group comes at every transit,” said Tariq.

  Once they were inside the temple, they could only see a sacrificial stone slab.

  “I thought the Aztecs made their sacrifices at the top of the temple,” said J’Vor.

  “They did,” said Jasper. “This was for something else.”

  They inspected the walls. No entrances or doorways could be seen, but the scans nevertheless revealed the anomaly.

  “It’s a Vambir cloak!” exclaimed Kevak. “There should be a place to enter the passcode.”

  As he waved his scanner several times over the anomaly, his expression registered frustration and dismay. “It’s coded to a DNA marker!”

  “There is a theory that all Native Americans come from a single ancestral population,” said Emanui.

  “Then Pocatello’s DNA would guarantee her entry,” said Kevak.

  “And keep us out,” said Tariq.

  “Wouldn’t it be coded to Vambir DNA as well?” asked J’Vor.

  “Not if other Vambir were viewed as a threat,” said Kevak. “It makes sense to only grant access to your devotees.”

  “I could cut through it with a lasdrill,” said Jasper.

  “No,” said Kevak. “It could be booby-trapped.”

  “What if the DNA marker is only part of the key?” asked Tariq. “What if it only works on the specific days of the Venus transits?”

  “Then we are out of luck if Pocatello does not arrive in time,” said Jasper.

  “We need Native American DNA,” said Tariq.

  “A large portion of the general Mexican population has Aztec-Mayan ancestry,” said Emanui, “and would retain the required markers.”

  “Take the lifeboat to the nearest blood bank infiltrated by our operatives and return with samples,” said Kevak to the others. “I’ll remain here with a cloaked pod.”

  “Let me stay with you, Father,” said J’Vor.

  “No,” insisted Kevak. “You are my beloved son in every way except biologically. If Pocatello arrives early, she will accept me as one of Quetzalcoatl’s kinsmen and must not see any other humans.”

  MATURATION

  White City, 1526

  “I want more, Mix,” said the youth.

  “You must learn to pace yourself, Kwetz,” said Dujot. “If you give in to the cravings, then you will lose your self-control and look weak to the humans. I speak from experience.”

  The youth had no idea of his true parentage or name and believed that Dujot was his father, Mixcoatl. He had been told that the female within the sarcophagus who screamed when blood was poured through the mouth opening was his wicked mother, Chimalma, who had tried to steal him away in order to prevent his transformation into the form of his human worshipers.

  “Kwetz” was the name the youth allowed his intimates to use when referring to him. Similarly, Dujot had shortened his own divine name to “Mix.”

  Dujot had explained to Kwetz that they came from the home world of the gods, called Vambiri. He had taught Kwetz the Vambir language, and they used it when conversing with each other to maintain their godly façade with the Aztecs.

  Unbeknownst to Dujot, Acalan had listened intently to them for years and had acquired a rudimentary knowledge of it. Distrusting the motives of Mixcoatl, Acalan’s devotion was solely to Quetzalcoatl.

  Dujot had lived a carefree existence due to his status as Quetzalcoatl’s father. The Aztecs made surprise raids on the tribes scattered throughout the jungle, and the prisoners they brought back provided regular feeding for him and Kwetz.

  The Conquistadors overthrew Tenochtitlan in 1521 and, as Dujot had expected, the isolation of White City had enabled the population to live in safe anonymity.

  Although it had only been five years since Kwetz had been revived from stasis as an infant, he was comparable in size and intelligence to a human teenager. Unlike Dujot, he took a keen interest in his surroundings and loved to go exploring. Dujot disliked Kwetz being out of sight but could not deny the youth his simple childhood pleasures. Their two pods were contained in an underground chamber within White City, which ensured Kwetz would return as each night came to a close.

  Acalan volunteered to accompany Kwetz in order to safeguard his divine person, and Dujot was happy to hand over the seemingly mundane responsibility to him.

  “Why will the sunlight kill me?” Kwetz asked Acalan during one of their outings.

  “Your father, Mixcoatl, has explained that the Sun God, Huitzilopochtli, seeks vengeance for his temple being destroyed the night of your arrival,” explained Acalan.

  “Is Huitzilopochtli’s power greater than mine?” asked Kwetz.

  “I do not know, Divine One,” he answered. “But Mixcoatl avoids sunlight at all costs, as did your traitorous mother.”

  “Are the depictions of her a true rendition?” asked Kwetz.

  “They most certainly are,” answered Acalan. “I beheld her with my own eyes.”

  “Don’t you think she has suffered enough?” asked Kwetz. “Twice a year, at each solstice, she is revived with blood. When I hear her screams it…disturbs me.”

  “Your cries of hunger were more disturbing to us when Chimalma refused our blood offerings. Her punishment is well deserved,” said Acalan, “and it was what your father decreed.”

  “And what if I decide to put an end to all of his decrees?” asked Kwetz.

  “You have not yet reached your maturity,” said Acalan cautiously.

  “I would like to speak to her someday,” said Kwetz. “Face to face.”

  “She may try to harm you,” warned Acalan.

  “But if she has been force-fed blood all this time,” said Kwetz, “she no longer possesses her goddess form or her superior strength.”

  Acalan remained silent.

  “You know of the special celestial event in a few days?” asked Kwetz.

  “Venus returns to dance in front of the sun,” answered Acalan. “The last time this happened was the year before your arrival.”

  “And my father has seen fit to make my mother suffer on this occasion as well,” said Kwetz. “Tell me, Acalan, how does she survive between feedings without a divine sleeping chamber?”

  “She is a goddess,” said Acalan.

  “Yet my father and I are gods,” said Kwetz, “and we must take our rest in them.”

  “Chimalma willed herself into a deep sleep,” explained Acalan. “The blood offering is the only thing able to rouse her.”

  “But how is she able to do such a thing?” asked Kwetz.

  “Perhaps,” ventured Acalan, “there is magic that Mixcoatl has not yet revealed to you.”

  “Perhaps there are things I can find out,” said Kwetz, “with your assistance. It might interest you to know that the ‘magic’ of the sleeping chamber is merely technology. It is not to be feared.”

  “Tech-no-lo-gy?” asked Acalan.

  “I will teach you, and it will be our secret,” said Kwetz. “We’ll begin with the symbols on the computer panels.”

  “Com-pu-ter?” asked Acalan.

  Kwetz laughed. “You’ll see.”

  REQUIEM

  Puerto Rico, 1545

  San Miguel de Guadalupe was the first European settlement in the
North American continent, founded in 1526.

  The Dominican friar Antonio de Montesinos was among the first colonists. One of three ships had been lost on the journey, but the friar survived to conduct the first Mass ever on the North American continent.

  Montesinos had been controversial since his arrival on the island of Hispania in 1511. Witnessing the cruelties endured by the natives at the hands of the Spaniards, he had delivered an impassioned sermon that had outraged Diego Columbus, the son of the explorer Christopher Columbus, whose mission of discovery had been financed by Queen Isabella twenty years earlier.

  Montesinos had written:

  Tell me by what right of justice do you hold these Indians in such a cruel and horrible servitude? On what authority have you waged such detestable wars against these people who dealt quietly and peacefully on their own lands? Wars in which you have destroyed such an infinite number of them by homicides and slaughters never heard of before. Why do you keep them so oppressed and exhausted, without giving them enough to eat or curing them of the sicknesses they incur from the excessive labor you give them, and they die, or rather you kill them, in order to extract and acquire gold every day!

  In response, King Ferdinand convened a commission that passed the first code of ordinances to protect the natives and regulations that addressed their treatment and Christian conversion. However, Montesinos was bitterly disappointed because he had pressed for the outlawing of slavery altogether.

  The San Miguel de Guadalupe colony was a failure. The founder died there, and it was Montesinos who had given him the last rites. The small settlement held together for three months and endured a severe winter. Colonists suffered from starvation, disease, and hostilities with the natives. In the spring of 1527, Montesinos returned to Hispaniola with over a hundred survivors crowded on one ship, after losing another vessel in transit.

  Montesinos was then sent to the continent with two other Dominicans. During the passage, he became extremely ill and was taken off at Puerto Rico. Believing Montesinos would soon die, the two Dominicans that had accompanied him continued without him. However, Montesinos recovered and made Puerto Rico his home, becoming the island’s first apostle and converting the majority of the natives to Christianity.

  Knowing that his long life was quickly drawing to a close, he reflected on the upheavals that had taken place through the years. His service to the Lord had not won him any popularity contests. Reviled by the Conquistadors, he was fortunate not to have met with an unexpected accident.

  Many Dominican friars had lost their lives in shipwrecks answering the divine call to follow Montesinos. He grieved for every one of them, but memories of Brother Albinus were the most painful. The gentle albino had been mistreated terribly as a child, and Montesinos had taken him under his wing and watched the boy bloom once he was separated from his tormenters. Montesinos had explained to Albinus that the pain he suffered from the daylight due to his albinism was not a punishment from God but rather a test. The boy had taken this to heart and matured into a faithful servant of the Lord, while retaining his humility and sereneness. Albinus had set the standard for other novices to follow.

  For decades Montesinos had held out hope that Albinus and those onboard the vessel that had broken away from the convoy of ships on that first crossing had found refuge on one of the many small islands in the region.

  In 1520, a story surfaced that Cortés had rescued a Dominican friar shipwrecked on Cozumel Island and was using him as a translator with Montezuma. Rumors swirled that the friar avoided daylight at all costs, but the similarity to Albinus ended there. The friar had supposedly taken on the lifestyle of a savage during his time on the island and claimed it had saved him from the hostile natives.

  Albinus would have never done that.

  At the time, Montesinos had begun to make plans to travel to Tenochtitlan to see the friar with his own eyes, then word of the Aztec massacre reached him. The mysterious friar had vanished, and in the years since there had been no further sightings.

  Montesinos knelt at his prie-dieu and made the sign of the cross. “I have put this off for far too long, Albinus, but I always held out hope you would come back some day.”

  He began to say a requiem for the repose of Albinus’s soul but stopped when suddenly overtaken by a deluge of chest pains. Willing himself to ignore them, he finished his prayer before calling out for help. By the time a novice reached him, he was incapable of speech and died a few hours later.

  TAINTED

  1546

  Deep in the rainforest that surrounded White City, the squirrel monkey paused to eat the fruit that had fallen to the ground. He was startled when the needle-thin dart pierced his flesh. As the poison took effect, he stumbled to get away from the native boy, Yaotl. His hunger getting the better of him, Yaotl did not wait until the monkey was incapacitated to retrieve him, as his father had taught him. Lashing out at Yaotl from instinct, the monkey scratched him, breaking his skin. The boy withdrew and waited, as he should have in the first place. Once the monkey was dead, Yaotl crept out of hiding and slowly approached it. As he bent down to pick it up, his heart raced at the sound of growling ahead. Looking up, he saw a pair of yellow eyes set in a black face peering at him from within the jungle foliage.

  A jaguar!

  Moving only his eyes, Yaotl saw a tree with low-hanging branches to his right. Bringing his gaze back to the front, he could see the jaguar’s back muscles tense.

  It’s going to pounce!

  Yaotl sprinted to the tree and quickly climbed up the branches. The jaguar was in pursuit right behind him. The low branches made it easy for Yaotl to climb, but the same was true of the great cat. Looking back, Yaotl was terrified to see it closing in on him. He shut his eyes tight and kicked out with all of his might. Feeling his heel come into contact with the jaguar’s head, a wave of pain passed through his leg as the jaguar’s claws sliced through the skin. But the kick to the head had unbalanced the jaguar, and it shrieked as it tumbled to the ground.

  Panic drove Yaotl higher and higher in the tree. As he ascended, the branches became thinner, and he kept climbing until the branches started to bend.

  Any higher and they won’t take my weight!

  Hugging the massive trunk, he shook as he heard the jaguar making a second attempt to climb the tree. Hearing a loud snap, he looked down and saw the branch supporting the jaguar break in two.

  His elation was short-lived. Instead of making a third attempt to reach Yaotl, the jaguar began to pace around the base of the tree.

  It’s going to wait me out! I’ll be stuck here overnight before anyone comes looking for me.

  As he searched for the safest position in which to sleep without falling out of the tree, the jaguar abruptly turned away.

  It smells the monkey…

  Yaotl watched as the jaguar claimed the monkey and slipped silently back into the jungle. Although just a boy, Yaotl knew enough to remain in place for another hour. Jaguars were known to pretend to give up the hunt and circle back on their unsuspecting victims.

  After he had slowly climbed down to the last branch, Yaotl paused. Detecting no movement in the thick brush, he tentatively placed one foot on the ground, then the other.

  No sound came from the jungle.

  Standing in place for several minutes, he took a few steps away from the tree.

  Nothing moved.

  The jaguar would have attacked by now if it were still here.

  Sprinting through the rainforest, he did not stop until he reached the safety of his family’s campsite.

  *******

  As Dujot relaxed on a sumptuous couch in his private chamber, he looked at the faces of the servants, trying to detect any changes in their attitude toward him. Although he had long ago managed to bully his way into authority by masquerading as the father of Quetzalcoatl, he had never been trusted by Acalan and the other priests. Knowing that he would soon be expected to cede authority to Kwetz, he felt his grip on power loosening
daily.

  From the time Kwetz began to ask questions about when he would assume his reign, Dujot had taken extra care to conceal from him the passcode to the electronic shield he had constructed at the entrance of the chamber that held their stasis pods.

  A servant approached Dujot with a bowl, and his Vambir senses quickly detected a faint whiff of animal blood. Concentrating on the servant, Dujot listened intensely to the beating of his heart.

  Normal rhythm…he does not know what he carries…

  Although the amount mixed in with the human blood had been too small to kill him, it would have made him grievously ill. Betraying no anxiety on his face, Dujot accepted it from the servant and calmly poured it onto the stone floor.

  “It is no longer fresh,” he explained. “Bring me no more until there are new sacrifices.”

  The servant quickly cleaned up the mess and withdrew from the chamber.

  Once alone, Dujot began to have suspicious thoughts. The tainted portion in the bowl had been so minuscule that it could have been the result of poor cleaning after an animal sacrifice, but not once had it happened before. One of the first things he had instilled in Kwetz was to never consume the poisonous animal blood, and it was supposed to have been a divine secret between them. But since Kwetz knew full well that the scent of animal blood was easily detectable to a Vambir, he would never have been so foolish as to try something like this.

  No, it wasn’t Kwetz...but who else?

  His thoughts shifted to Acalan. Kwetz adored the priest who accompanied him on his playful excursions. Maybe Acalan had tricked Kwetz into revealing their secret when he was a small child and had waited years before making an assassination attempt, not realizing that Dujot would easily detect the poison.

  He resolved to always carry a bio-scanner concealed in his robe to warn him of any future attempts to meddle with his food. So intent was he on detecting minuscule amounts of poison, that he became oblivious to a more refined plan being put together to bring about his demise.

  Not only had Kwetz taught Acalan and a handful of priests the Vambir language and symbols, but he had even managed to explain the rudiments of pod technology to them.