by David Bowles
“Mighty sons,” Ometeotl said, “you both hold one half of the key to creation. Feathered Serpent, you embody order and loving care, structure that comes from compassion. Heart of Sky, you wield force, passion, conflict—the willingness to tear down and begin again. Together you will build a world on which our children can thrive and work to keep the wheels of time forever turning.”
At first, the brothers spent years testing the limits of their powers. Each discovered he possessed a nahualli. Feathered Serpent could transform into a massive hound that wielded lightning and fire. In this guise, he was called Xolotl, twin or double. Heart of Sky was able to shapeshift into a huge jaguar (Tepeyollotl, Mountainheart) whose very steps would make the earth tremble one day.
At last the brothers came together and considered their parents’ vision of a world upon the waters of the vast cosmic sea. They thought long and hard about how to realize this dream, and then they debated with each other for many cycles of time. Finally, Feathered Serpent convinced Heart of Sky that they should try to reason with the great, hungry leviathan Cipactli. He called to it with his lulling, resounding voice, and the beast emerged from the depths.
“Powerful Cipactli,” Feathered Serpent said, “you have been chosen by our mother-father the Dual God to bear the earth upon your back. Your strength makes you the only being capable of this feat. All the inhabitants of the sea-ringed world will glorify your name, calling you Ruler of Earth.”
“I AM HUNGRY,” growled Cipactli. “WHAT CARE I FOR PRAISE?”
Heart of Sky drew closer to the leviathan. “Those who live on your broad back will curb that hunger with many sacrifices, beast. As many as you demand.”
Snarling, Cipactli twisted in the waves and clamped fearsome jaws upon one of Heart of Sky’s feet, tearing it away and swallowing it. “I AM HUNGRY NOW!”
Heart of Sky, angry and in pain, began to spin violently, attacking the leviathan. Feathered Serpent rushed to his brother’s aid, coiling himself around Cipactli so it could not move. Together they broke that massive beast in two, leaving it unable to ever dive again.
“Now the true work begins,” Feathered Serpent said to his brother. “A livable world must be crafted upon this craggy back. Then can we create new life, creatures for which we will be caretakers, stewards.”
Heart of Sky looked down at his leg. A bit of bare bone protruded where once he had possessed a foot. Pulling the smoking mirror from his forehead, he attached it to his mangled limb.
“Caretakers, for certain. But also judges, ready to punish when wrong is done.”
Feathered Serpent regarded his brother silently. He understood Heart of Sky’s outrage, but he hoped in time he could temper the anger that flared in his brother’s soul. Now, however, he took up Cipactli’s tail, which had been severed in the fight, and planted it at the center of the newly formed earth.
“Become a tree!” he cried out. “Sink yourself deep in the bowels of the world. Let those roots spread to the four corners of earth, sprouting into four saplings. Grow tall, spreading branches wide to hold the heavens away from the land, so that the future inhabitants of the sea-ringed world may live and breathe and contemplate the universe in awe.”
Thus the five world trees came into existence, ready to serve as passageways between the vast expanse of heaven, the surface of the earth, and the dark hungry recesses that were once the leviathan’s innards.
The brothers looked upon their work, satisfied at this beginning.
Mother, Protector and the New Gods
The female aspect of Ometeotl, our beloved grandmother, came to understand the need for motherhood, for someone to bear, nurture, and protect the generation of gods required to ready the earth for its future inhabitants. So she unfolded herself, bringing into existence the Divine Mother and the Protector. As they stood before her, hand in hand, she addressed them in this way:
“You, Divine Mother, embody love, care, and selflessness. Down the ages you will be called by many names: Quilaztli, Tonantzin, Queen of Heaven. Gods and mortals alike will turn their eyes to you for comfort in the darkest moments, and you will pour compassion on their heads.
“And you, Protector, reflect the other elements of motherhood: strength to face great pain, unyielding struggle, fierceness in keeping children safe. Ixchel, they will name you. Cihuacoatl, female serpent. Midwives and those giving birth will cry out to you in anguish, fear, and despair, and you will aid them in the battle to bring life into the world.”
Then the Divine Mother gave birth to the second generation of gods. There was the goggle-eyed and fanged god of rain, Tlaloc, whose power could feed or drown the world; the god of spring, Xipe Totec, who shed his skin each year like a dried-up husk in order to renew life; the goddess of flowers and fertility, Xochiquetzal, who clothed the earth in color; Chalchiuhtlicue, goddess of rivers and lakes, who poured sweet water down her jade-green skirt for drinking and baptism. And these were just the beginning. More and more divinities were born, from gods of corn and maguey to deities of stone and stars and death itself. The Divine Mother and the Protector gathered them up and called their home Tamoanchan, place of misty sky. There, above the newly formed earth, the divine beings learned their destinies.
In time, the young gods began their work. With loving hands, they transformed the insatiable and broken Cipactli into the nourishing and verdant Mecihtli, Earth Goddess and source of fertility. Upon her ample flesh they formed mountains and streams, grew trees and plains, shaped beasts and birds to gladden the eye and heart. They readied the world for the arrival of human beings, the creatures whose praise and sacrifice would keep the wheels of time forever turning.
The Heavens and the Underworld
As the younger gods prepared the earth for the arrival of humanity, Feathered Serpent and Heart of Sky began to arrange the universe to sustain the fledgling world. Upon the boughs of the World Trees they set themselves to building, layering heaven in swaths of holy energy. The levels numbered thirteen, reflecting the perfection of the sacred calendar. The first level was set aside for the moon, which the brothers agreed would illuminate the night. Above that was the heaven of stars, thousands of glittering gems that would bring joy to wandering souls. But the brightest of lights would sail the sky in a third heaven beyond these astral jewels: a brilliant sun whose creation would be the brothers’ crowning accomplishment.
Feathered Serpent, wanting to be close to his handiwork, claimed the fourth heaven for himself. He set comets and shooting stars over his head in the fifth level to separate him from the somber sixth space of deepest green where his chaotic brother chose to whirl blackly.
The seventh layer was blazingly blue, the daytime sky we see when the sun arcs from horizon to horizon. Above it, Heart of Sky set the heaven of storms, a violent region of wind and lightning and thunder like the clash of enormous obsidian blades.
The remaining levels were set aside for the gods. After the dazzling heavens of white, yellow, and red, the brothers set Tamoanchan in the twelfth heaven at the celestial summit, a paradise which earthly words could never do justice. Thus were our Divine Mother and the Protector forever enthroned on high in an awesome metropolis built by divine hands, towering ziggurats, and broad avenues that cast a pale shadow in the minds of men: Teotihuacan, city of the gods.
Beyond all lay the thirteenth heaven: Omeyocan, Place of Duality, abode of our beloved grandparents. Deep in its inscrutable heart stood Tonacacuahuitl, the Mother Tree, where the souls of human beings began to bud, nourished like babes at the breast. There also, aflame with energy from every holy sacrifice, the Lord of Time watched the wheels of the cosmos turn and turn and turn.
These labors complete, Feathered Serpent and Heart of Sky descended to the sea-ringed world, which sat at the heart of the vast cosmic sea, the canopy of heaven spreading above it. They divided the world into four parts—North, South, East, and West—with the World Tree at the intersection of a vast cross, an axis for the universe.
“Now,�
�� said Heart of Sky, “life has a home, with caretakers to sustain it. Likewise, my brother, must we make a realm for death.” Just as the Lord of Time grows old, dies, and is renewed, so the earth must grow cold and fallow before rebirth. And humans must feel mortality’s sting. Their souls must be cycled through the cosmic wheels. Come, let us fashion an underworld, layered like the heavens, to purge their souls upon death and return them to their source.”
But Feathered Serpent objected. “Not all souls should face the same fate, my brother. What of those who willingly give their lives to keep the wheels turning? Or children dead before their lives have truly begun? Exceptions must be made.”
They argued for a time, and finally Heart of Sky strode away into the North, where he descended into Cipactli’s interior, split into enormous caverns by the roots of the World Trees. There he unfolded himself into two more beings: Newborn Lightning and Sudden Lightning, also called Blue and Red Tezcatlipoca.
“We three are as one,” he said to them. “Together we will delve deep into the bowels of this creature, heedless of its pain, and fashion a scourging path for the human soul. Nine levels will contain the Realm of the Dead. First, a roiling river, swift and deep and broad. Alone no man or woman will ford its rushing waters, a reminder of their inherent weakness. Instead, a companion will they need, an animal faithful and true. Yes, families will bury a dog with their dead, and upon its back will be the crossing.
“Below we will erect mighty mountains that move and clash, grinding stone to sand. Here the dead will learn they cannot dawdle: speed is of the essence in death as well as life. Next they descend into a level of razor-sharp obsidian that begins the work of shearing the flesh away. Another region of biting winds that flail with frigid cruelty continues the task, until they become so light that the swirling winds of the fifth level whip their forms about like ragged banners.
“Deeper still we will set a narrow path along which the dead must travel while pierced by thousands of arrows and darts till they emerge at the seventh level, where jaguars will at last eat their hearts, freeing the core of their soul. Beyond this we will carve a vast basin to fill with the blackest, coldest water in the cosmos. Traversing that lake, the human soul will have every memory, every shred of physical existence, stripped away.
“Finally, at the heart of the Realm of the Dead, we will raise a mighty palace, carved from the very bones of the earth. Here those souls will stand before a puissant king and queen, rulers of this black domain. If truly shorn of the flesh, they will be admitted into oblivion and, should such be the will of Ometeotl, possible rebirth.”
So Heart of Sky declared, and with his sons he went to work. When the Underworld had been wrought to suit his purposes, he set a dark lord over each layer to oversee its function. Then he brought down from the twelfth heaven Mictecacihuatl and Mictlantecuhtli, the goddess and god of death, and placed them on their thrones there at the very nadir of the universe.
“Behold your realm. Rule it wisely and well. Fill it with such terrors as you deem fit. Make of it a place of fear. Only when humans fear death will they value life. And fear will help strip away their flesh on their journey here, till naught but bones and soul remains. Let none but the dead enter. None. Not even my brother.”
Upon the sea-ringed world, Feathered Serpent busied himself with death as well. Seeing the entrance to the Underworld off in the North, he fashioned paradises in the other three directions. In the East he set Tonatiuhchan, the House of the Sun, misty land of flowers and birds of bright plumage. This would be the destination of men who gave their lives, whether in sacrifice or upon the battlefield, to keep the wheels of the cosmos in motion. Each morning, transformed into butterflies and hummingbirds and other precious winged things, these souls would accompany the sun as it ascended to its zenith, returning to enjoy the cool beauty of their eternal home. Every four years they would fly again to the sea-ringed world, to sip from its blooms and sing divine songs to gladden the hearts of the living.
In the West, Feathered Serpent established Cihuatlampa, the Realm of Noble Women, an eternal resting place for mothers who died during childbirth. Transformed into fearsome warriors for having lost their lives in the most important battle of human existence, these women would accompany the sun each afternoon as it slid down the western sky. Feathered Serpent wanted to allow the fierce mothers earthly visits like he would male warriors, but he understood that their longing for the children they lost would make them dangerous. Their trips to the sea-ringed world would only take place once every fifty-two years.
In the South, the creator god wrought a verdant Tlalocan, Kingdom of Water, a land replete with fountainheads and streams, lakes, and mountain springs. Every good and useful fruit grew with abundance, and every corner echoed with the croak of frogs and chirp of birds. To this paradise Feathered Serpent brought the young god Tlaloc.
“From this fount of fresh water you will provide the world with rain. But the precious liquid, so vital for life, does not spring eternal. Like all else, it must be renewed. Every death caused by water will channel divine energy to your realm. Those who drown, who are struck by lightning, who suffer from disease, or who struggle with deformities—they ensure the fall of life-giving rain. In times of great drought, humans may elect to give their lives to draw water down from the heavens. Their sacrifice will be yours as well.
“The souls of all these dead will populate your realm. Here they will suffer no more, but delight in the bounty I have prepared for them.”
Finally, Feathered Serpent thought upon the greatest tragedy he knew would face humanity: the death of infants, the foreshortening of their young lives. For an answer, he spread his shimmering green wings and ascended to Omeyocan itself. In the presence of our grandparents, looking with hope and love upon the human souls just beginning to blossom on the Mother Tree, the creator god made his case.
“The souls of children who have not yet begun to truly live,” he argued, “ought to return here, to their place of origin, to await another birth, another chance at joy.”
Ometeotl agreed.
Feathered Serpent’s heart rejoiced. Despite the angry will of Heart of Sky, death could now inspire hope as well as fear.
The First Three Ages of the World
The First Age
The moment had come. After caring lovingly for creation, the younger gods had departed for their celestial home. Feathered Serpent and Heart of Sky stood upon the sea-ringed world and readied themselves to create thinking, speaking beings much different from the mute creatures that the young gods had set roaming earth, water and sky. Taking the very bones of the world, the brothers fashioned a man and a woman—towering, imperious giants of rugged flesh and snow-white hair. Infusing the pair with teotl, the brothers named them Oxomoco and Cipactonal. Enlisting the help of the Lord of Time, the brothers also formed a ball of fire to hang in the third heaven. But this meager sun was weak. Life wilted in its half-light. The giant humans shivered with cold.
Feathered Serpent understood. “A god must sacrifice himself to bring light to this world, must meld with that flame and become a full sun, pouring tonalli, radiant teotl, down to sustain life.”
Seeing that his brother meant to offer himself and become the most revered of all the deities, Heart of Sky swirled up into the heavens and plunged himself into the conflagration, becoming the very first sun to spread its warmth over mountain, sea and field.
To Feathered Serpent fell the labor of teaching the primal couple. He gave them language, taught them the names of every beast and tree, showed them how to work stone and cultivate each useful plant.
With the Lord of Time, he helped them devise a calendar to measure the solar year with all its attendant rites and agricultural seasons—eighteen months of twenty days, plus an unnamed period of five—365 days.
Each of the days of the month had a different sign, twenty in all: crocodile, wind, house, lizard, snake, death, deer, rabbit, water, dog, monkey, grass, reed, jaguar, eagle, vult
ure, earthquake, flint, rain, flower.
The gods gave the first people another calendar to keep track of the passing of time and to divine probable futures: twenty weeks of thirteen days—260 days.
The two calendars interlocked like gears. As the twenty-day months turned, so did the thirteen-day weeks. Our ancestors named days by combining the number of the week with the sign of the month. The very first day in the universe, then, was 1-Crocodile, as crocodile is the first day sign. The following days were 2-Wind, 3-House, 4-Lizard, and so on.
The ancients also named each year by its first day. Therefore do we know that creation began in the year 1-Crocodile, on the day 1-Crocodile.
The two calendars came into alignment once every fifty-two years, completing a cycle. A new year and fresh cycle would then begin on 1-Crocodile.
As each evening fell and Heart of Sky slipped past the horizon into the Realm of the Dead to be attended to by his minions there, Feathered Serpent taught Oxomoco and Cipactonal not to fear the dark, but to delight in the stars and give each one a name.
In time the couple had a child, a son they called Piltzintecuhtli, Young Prince. He grew to be a handsome, strapping young man, but there was no maiden yet alive to be his wife. Seeing his need, the Divine Mother took strands of long, black hair from the head of Xochiquetzal, goddess of beauty and fertility, and with them wove a lovely bride.
The years wore on, one calendar cycle after another. The giants multiplied and spread across the sea-ringed world. They lifted mighty temples and monuments in order to better worship the gods. There they performed their penances and bloodlettings and sacrifices so that the cosmic order would be sustained.
Heart of Sky looked down on the earth and was not pleased. The sacrifices seemed paltry to him, even the New Fire Ceremony meant to restore his strength every fifty-two years. Listening to the worship and prayers the giants lifted toward heaven, Heart of Sky was convinced that they favored his brother, Feathered Serpent. Temples to Feathered Serpent seemed finer, his priests more richly arrayed, the offerings sweeter.