As expected, Lori stepped right in line with him. “I’m investigating the legend of Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl—the Toltec king who was…”
“Who was kicked out of Tula and sent out to sea on a raft of snakes.”
Lori’s eyes brightened. “So you know the story.”
“You said it yourself—it’s a legend.”
“Legend or not, I have reason to believe the story of Quetzalcoatl’s banishment is true enough. However, I question whether he actually went east. I believe he traveled north instead.”
Chac was mildly intrigued. Here was a theory he’d never heard before. “So what brings you to Chichen Itza?”
“Well, there is another legend that suggests Quetzalcoatl landed here in Yucatan. I was told that Dr. Webb has been looking for evidence of his arrival.”
“So you’re here to compare notes?”
“Basically.”
Chac found the main path again. It wasn’t hard considering the steady stream of visitors making their exodus for the ruins. He stopped there, intending this to be the place he finally parted ways from the young blonde. With any luck, she’d soon be just another pair of eyes taking in the ruins of Chichen Itza.
“You don’t need Matt,” he said. He pointed a finger after the trail of people passing by, pointing to the end of the main path. “There’s evidence of Quetzalcoatl’s arrival just beyond those trees.”
Lori didn’t take the bait so easily. “How so?” she asked.
Chac checked his watch. It wasn’t that he had anything pressing to do. He’d just expected to be on his way to Chixchulub with his coffee by now. Then again, the morning was half-wasted already. He wouldn’t get much work done by the time he reached the coast anyway. What harm would there be in helping the woman who’d discovered the Effigy of Quetzalcoatl?
“Come with me,” he relented. “After you see Chichen Itza you won’t wonder about Quetzalcoatl’s destination any longer.”
Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl
Vendor blankets burdened with their colorful array of souvenirs lined the shade of the path connecting the visitor center to Chichen Itza’s main attractions. As Lori followed Chac she watched the ruins slowly unfold from the trees as layers of leaf and bark peeled away from stone and stucco. She got a sense that something phenomenal waited just ahead and then, as they stepped out of the trees, she saw it.
They were confronted by a dilated clearing dominated by an imposing four-sided pyramid. The stepped pyramid lofted a temple at its crown, fashioned abruptly against the skyline like some massive stone cake topper. The choking rainforest had been cleared away from the ruins, allowing the pyramid’s height to be challenged only by that of a restored temple just beyond. But it was the pyramid that drew people from all directions, no doubt centralizing itself within their imaginations, just as it had always done.
Just as it was meant to do.
It wasn’t the first pyramid Lori had ever seen. A mere six months ago she’d become acquainted with the great ruins near Mexico City. Teotihuacan had been the most impressive with its incredible spread of monolithic pyramids, though there’d been little time for sight-seeing as she searched for the stolen Effigy.
This time Lori had time on her hands. This time she intended to do all the sight-seeing she could manage, with one purpose in mind—to prove Ce Acatl Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl, the legendary Toltec king, did not step foot amongst these ruins.
“Be sure to avoid the ring,” Chac warned as they worked their way around to the pyramid’s north-facing staircase. There, two gaping serpent heads guarded the bases of the balustrades like ancient Mesoamerican gargoyles. Spanning between them was a circle of chalk that marred the ground. “Step in that and you become part of the side show.”
Lori made sure to give the ring a wide berth.
“This is the Castillo,” Chac said, lifting his eyes along the severe profile of the pyramid. “Also known as the Pyramid of Kukulkan. Look familiar?”
It did look strangely familiar. Unlike the hulking pyramids of Teotihuacan, the Castillo didn’t come to a point at the top. In fact, if one could remove the blocky temple at its summit, the stepped pyramid would appear unfinished, cropped, blunt—
“Just like Pyramid B in Tula,” she said.
“Right.”
Tula—the Toltec capitol just northeast of Teotihuacan, the city from which Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl had been overthrown. Tula lacked the grandeur and popularity of Chichen Itza and Teotihuacan, but Lori found it no less interesting. Its pyramids weren’t nearly as appealing. In fact one was little more than a half-excavated mound. But the blunt platform of Pyramid B was captivating in its own right. It had history and history fascinated Lori.
“It looks to me like Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl rebuilt his old temple right here in Chichen Itza,” Chac observed.
“It could be a coincidence,” Lori argued. “How do you know this was his pyramid?”
“Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl adopted his name from the God he worshiped—the feathered serpent, Quetzalcoatl. I’m sure you are well aware of Quetzalcoatl’s popularity in Central Mexico. But here in Mayaland there isn’t such a strong display of the feathered serpent religion as there is Chichen Itza. In fact, the word for feathered serpent in the Mayan language is Kukulkan.”
“In other words, the Pyramid of Kukulkan is the Pyramid of Quetzalcoatl,” Lori added.
Chac nodded and turned back to the steps steeply ascending the pyramid. “There are ninety-one steps scaling each of the pyramid’s four sides,” he explained. “That makes three hundred sixty-four steps in all. The topmost platform makes three hundred sixty-five.”
“A step for each day of the year,” Lori observed.
“That’s right.”
“So this is also a calendar pyramid.”
“Possibly, but the Castillo is better known for its shadow-play. It was built in line with the equinox sun which casts a shadow that slithers down all nine levels of the north face, connecting with these serpent heads.” Chac patted the snout of one of the balustrade serpents. “The visual effect is a snake descending the pyramid, its head on the ground and its tail still in the air.”
Lori considered Chac’s illustration for a moment. The Castillo did resemble the pyramid in Tula, but the similarities seemed to have ended there. “Pyramid B doesn’t have any sort of shadow-play like that. In fact, I don’t recall it having any cosmic significance at all.”
Chac was unfazed by her observation. “If the Castillo doesn’t convince you of a Toltec presence here, there is plenty more to look at. Follow me.”
Lori followed him across the clearing, a plaza it seemed given the spackling of ruins fringing the tree line. They wove their way through gaping, awe-struck crowds, aiming directly for the temple behind the Castillo. Lori didn’t need any prompting this time. She immediately recognized a familiar feature from Tula.
The colonnade.
Rows of perfectly aligned stone columns guarded the front of the temple, wrapped around its side and disappeared into the trees beyond. The wooden roof they once supported had long perished with time leaving a regiment collection of skeletal stone pillars. Chac stopped at one of the blocky columns erected just before the steps of the temple.
“Columns were not used in typical Mayan architecture,” Chac said. “But we see them here.”
“I already know where you’re going with this,” Lori interrupted. “I’ve seen the colonnade in Tula.”
“Look again,” Chac goaded.
Lori studied the column closer only to find its length elaborately etched with an anthropomorphic figure.
“They call this the Temple of the Warriors primarily due to the warrior-like figures carved into all four sides of these columns.”
Lori straightened. “Warriors? Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl was a priest of peace and knowledge. Until it was overthrown, Tula was a peaceful city.”
“Then how do you explain the Atlanteans?” Chac challenged.
The Atlanteans were four mon
olithic basalt columns shaped like giant warrior-like sentries standing guard on the top platform of Tula’s Pyramid B. In fact, they themselves were thought to have supported the roof of a wooden temple similar to the stone temple still crowning the Castillo.
Admittedly, Lori couldn’t explain why the tranquil Toltecs of Tula would carve such fierce-looking sentries, but that wasn’t going to convince her of a link between the Atlanteans and these columns of warriors. Chac must have read her doubts for he spun around on his heel and started for the temple steps. Sensing more to come, Lori held her tongue and climbed the steps behind him.
At the top of the temple she noticed the statue of a man reclining along the broad, platform floor. The figure appeared to be in mid crunch, his knees up, head up, and he was holding a round disc on the flat of his stomach. The statue’s head was turned, facing them with a cold, stoic expression that sent chills down Lori’s spine. She’d known a similar statue in Tula—a statue that occasionally haunted her dreams.
A chacmool.
Temple walls fanned out from an opening behind the chacmool where more roofless columns rose like ghostly spires. The two middle columns that framed the chacmool were elaborately designed with gaping serpent heads at their bases. The columns themselves formed the bodies of these serpents with a blocky, s-shaped bend in the tail near the top, the rattles pointing straight toward the sky.
Chac stepped around the chacmool, between the inverted serpent columns and continued through the temple ruins until he reached the low back wall. There, a large, bench-like platform spread across short stone supports that were perfectly shaped like miniature Atlanteans.
“Okay,” Lori relented. “You win. The Atlanteans are here too.” She shook her head. “But the Atanteans can’t be warriors if Tula was a city of peace and learning.”
“You may be right,” Chac agreed. “These figures may not be warriors at all.”
Lori was confused.
“I believe the Atlanteans have been misinterpreted,” Chac explained, walking back to the front of the temple. He didn’t stop until they were standing above the temple steps once again, the chacmool glaring at their backs.
“Look across there beyond the Castillo and tell me what you see.”
Lori looked across the plaza sprawling below them. She noticed a group of tourists parting around a stone altar with serpent heads topping its balustrades. That too resembled the nearly destroyed altar centering the plaza in Tula. But just beyond the altar stood a blunt tower with lower stone wing-walls spreading out from it, much of it receding back into the trees.
It took her a moment to recognize the peculiar shape of the containment wall. The portion of the enclosed area she was looking at was shaped like one half of a letter “I”. There’d only been one type of structure with that tell-tale I-shape in Tula.
“The ball court?” she asked.
“There are ball courts in other Maya ruins,” Chac explained, “but only Tula has one as large as this one.”
“Maybe these were the Superbowl cities,” Lori joked.
Chac’s expression was unmoved. “You don’t understand,” he said. “The ball game wasn’t just a sport. It was a ritual with significant symbolism. In short, the purpose of the game was to maintain the cycle of the sun. It was the players’ job on both teams to pass the ball, or the sun, through night and day without letting it fall to the earth. The ultimate object was to deliver the ball through a ring mounted on the ball court wall. The team that failed to succeed lost the game and were decapitated by the winning team.”
Lori winced in disgust. “That doesn’t sound peaceful.”
“Human sacrifice was not seen as violent, but essential in keeping all cycles of life and creation constant. At both Tula and Chichen Itza, the heads of the losing teams were strung on skull racks, as recorded at both sites.”
“So what does the ball game have to do with the Atlanteans?” Lori asked.
Chac smiled. “That’s where my own theory comes in. I don’t believe the Atlanteans were warriors but ball players who were celebrated much like professional athletes are today. The winners of the game were held in high esteem. Even the Maya creation myth celebrates The Twins who defeated the Lords of the underworld in a ball game.”
“So if the losing team’s heads were displayed on skull racks, then surely the winning players were honored in columns of stone,” Lori thought out loud.
She considered Chac’s interpretation and had to admit her favor toward it. In fact, as much as she tried to resist it, all the evidence he illustrated did suggest a strong Toltec influence in Chichen Itza. But was Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl himself the instigator of the remarkable similarities to Tula?
“Despite the Toltec features of these ruins, how can you determine this was all done by one man rather than a migratory group of Toltecs?” she asked. “I suspect Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl wasn’t the only individual exiled from Tula. His followers must have suffered a similar fate. Maybe it was they who migrated to Yucatan and found a home in Chichen Itza.”
Chac shrugged. “That is possible,” he agreed. “However, if it is one man’s influence you’re looking for, you won’t find it in the architecture alone. For that, you must consider Chichen Itza’s cosmology.”
Cosmologies Of Precession
Chac turned away from the crowds milling around the ruins below. He was growing uncomfortable standing there in plain view atop the temple. Although the INAH had prohibited the public from climbing the temples and pyramids for fear that the influx of 2012 visitors would accelerate the damage to Chichen Itza’s prized ruins, Chac knew enough about human nature to know that once he and Lori were spotted, others would feel justified in joining them. They needed to get off the Temple of the Warriors, but not before he made one last illustration for his studious companion.
He turned and faced the large serpent columns towering over the chacmool behind them. “See these columns?” he asked. “Just like the shadow-play on the Castillo, the tails of these serpents point skyward. More specifically, they point to one specific point in the sky—the space directly overhead.”
“The zenith,” Lori clarified.
“That’s right,” Chac said, impressed. Could it be this bright young lady was versed in archaeoastronomy too? “But there is one specific feature in the sky that the serpent tails are intended to point to. The tzab.”
“The tzab?”
“In the Yucatec language it means ‘serpent rattle’ but it also refers to the Pleiades. Are you familiar with the zenith cosmology of the Toltecs?”
Lori indicated that she was. The Toltecs had been keen on the movements of the Pleiades. To them the star cluster was the tail rattle to the Milky Way, the flying serpent in the sky. Special ceremonies were held every fifty-two years when the Pleiades crossed the zenith, but no crossing was as highly anticipated as the one that had occurred only six months ago. May 20, 2012 saw the Pleiades not only crossing the zenith, but meeting the sun and the moon there as well. Chac recalled the solar eclipse that hung directly over Chichen Itza’s Castillo that day, but he was further impressed that Lori knew the Pleiades had been there too—the confirmation of the Feathered Serpent’s long-awaited ascent to his throne. According to the ancient Toltecs, Chac and Lori were already living in a new age - the age of Quetzalcoatl.
“It’s clear that the Castillo is an instrument of the zenith cosmology,” Chac added. “The shape of the pyramid itself points directly toward the zenith.”
“How can you be sure that it was Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl who inspired all of this?” Lori asked.
“Simple. Only priests tracked celestial movements and kept the sacred calendars. The common people didn’t have such intimate knowledge of the stars. So even if Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl’s followers migrated to Chichen Itza, it’s doubtful they would’ve had the astronomical knowledge required to build the Castillo. Only a priest could have calculated the precise position of the pyramid to effect the serpent shadow-play and enforce such an elab
orate zenith observatory.”
“What about the Maya priests?” Lori challenged. “They could’ve just as easily constructed the Castillo.”
“Highly unlikely,” Chac said, shaking his head.
“How so?” Lori asked.
“The Maya weren’t as interested in the zenith as the Toltecs were,” Chac explained. “They had a cosmology all their own.”
“Okay.” There was uncertainty in Lori’s voice that indicated they’d reached the limits of her Mesoamerican cosmological knowledge. The Toltec astronomical observations were one thing. Mayan cosmology was something entirely different.
“While the Toltecs were watching the Pleiades at one end of the Milky Way, the Maya were observing the widest and brightest bulge in the galaxy at the opposite end of the sky. Astronomers claim that when we look at this bulge we are looking horizontally across the very center of the Milky Way. Interestingly enough, the Maya viewed this as their center of creation.”
Lori nodded. “I’m familiar with the bulge in the Milky Way,” she said. “The Toltecs believed the bulge was the flying serpent’s head. Amid that bright bulge is a dark cleft created by cosmic dust clouds which they saw as the flying serpent’s mouth.”
Chac lifted an appreciative eyebrow. “Yes, but what the Toltecs viewed as a serpent’s mouth was the portal to the underworld to the Maya,” he countered.
Lori excitedly snapped her finger as though Chac had struck a familiar theme. “The Toltecs regarded cavernous spaces like caves to be portals to the underworld and wombs of creation. In their iconography, caves are often represented by the gaping mouths of animals, like jaguars and snakes.”
Chac smiled. This girl was quick to catch on. “So now we’ve found the common ground on which the Toltecs and the Maya might have come together. That is what makes Chichen Itza so remarkable. This city clearly illustrates the coming together of not only two separate cultures, but their two polar cosmologies.”
Movement caught the corner of Chac’s eye. He turned back to the temple steps to find a young couple climbing toward them. Chac frowned. Others were following behind like mindless sheep. He’d lingered too long.
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