New Fanfiction: THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 7/18
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@ADELPHIA.NET)
Fri, 2 Mar 2001 01:25:57 -0500
THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 7/18
Chapter 7
Corazon Negro untied the stallion, then touched him softly on the neck, and
the horse followed him back to his enclosure. He closed the animal's gate
and followed the foreman, but the tolling of the bells reminded him of the
real reason for his coming here--he had a prophecy to fulfill. Mentally, the
Aztec reproached himself for neglecting his mission. He still had not
discovered the true meaning of Quetzalcohuatl's words. Looking around, he
could see that all the workers had ceased their labors and were walking
toward their homes. Several spoke to him, calling out his name, smiling and
nodding, and the Aztec could feel the friendship around him, directed at
him. <Harmony; that's good.> Perhaps now was a good time to try to figure
out the danger Curi-Rayen was in. But how; and where?
Quetzalcohuatl's words came clearly to his mind: <"Remember, Son of the
Wolf, you must prepare yourself. You are already in the Game, child. You
have to learn how to control your Dream! You must go apart from all the
people, because they will cloud your mind and keep you from honest
thoughts."> As always, the Old Snake was right.
Corazon Negro looked at the chapel, on the other side of the main house.
Holy Ground--the perfect place to pray.
"Please join us for the midday meal, Corazon Negro," Paco said, breaking
into the warrior's musings. "Joaquin's mother--my daughter-in-law--made
something special for you. Besides, the child can't wait to see you again."
Corazon Negro sighed sadly. "I hope that you and your family can forgive me.
But I'd like to use this quiet time to pray now. Perhaps you would be so
kind as to invite me for dinner? I'd be delighted."
For a moment, Corazon Negro saw doubt flit through Paco's face again, but
then the rancho* foreman said, approvingly, "It's good for a man to
pray--especially after what you went through, I suppose. Very well, I'll
give your apologies to my family, and will tell them that tonight, you will
be with us at our table."
Corazon Negro smiled back walked toward the little stone chapel. As he
started to open the gate, one of the big dogs, Romulo, loped up to him,
smelling him intently and beginning to whine. The animal was smelling the
blood on him, and he pushed the dog away--this was not the time. He was also
fairly certain the dog would not be welcome inside the sanctuary. "Go,
Romulo. We will play later," he whispered.
Once inside the chapel, the Aztec studied the golden cross on the wall
behind the altar. Multicolored light, filtered through the small
stained-glass windows that showed Christ's viacrux steps, left patches on
the stone floor and on the few simple wooden benches. <Ugly way to die,> the
Immortal thought, looking up at the crucified Son of God. <Why did such a
good man have to die in such a bad way?> Respectfully, he approached the
golden caliz next to a leather-covered Bible. Then he sat on the first
bench, closed his eyes, and tried to let his Dream fly. The words of
Quetzalcohuatl came back to him again. <"Remember, Holy Ground is a place
where the spiritual realm is closer, more accessible and more powerful. It's
a place where magnificent things reveal themselves. Respect such places
always, no matter what the faith. There is only one God.">
The Immortal closed his eyes and started to breathe slowly, remembering his
teacher's words: <"Feel the world around you ... its life ... you must be
one with all living things. Let yourself go. Don't be afraid. Let the power
of your body and soul guide you to the infinite. Find your Dream and dance
within it. That's what you were made for.">
Corazon Negro's mind, and then his heart, began to fly. Far outside his
body, the Immortal reached a golden hill, and for a brief moment, he could
see a cloudless blue sky and feel the cool grass beneath his feet. Back in
the chapel, Corazon Negro smiled, the land's perfume swimming in his head.
A bitter voice spoke to the warrior as he stood in the middle of the field.
"What are you doing here?" More than a question, it was an accusation. In
his Dream, the Immortal turned his head all around, trying to find who was
speaking to him; but he found no one.
"I said, what are you doing here?" The strange voice repeated, angry this
time.
Confused, the Aztec now realized that the voice came from outside his Dream.
Slowly, Corazon Negro began to return to his body inside the chapel. Now he
could feel the hard bench beneath him, the stone under his feet; his face
tensed as he exited his Dream.
"Can't you hear me, savage?" the voice demanded again. "This is a holy
place, and not for the likes of you!"
The Aztec opened his eyes. In front of him stood a furious Padre Teodoro.
"Are you deaf?" the priest was yelling. "This is no place to sleep!"
"I wasn't sleeping," Corazon Negro explained, his mind clearing. "I was
trying to pray."
"Praying to your false gods in this holy place? How do you dare? You are an
infidel, an abomination, a monster!" Carried away, Padre Teodoro slapped the
Aztec's face.
The slap finished waking Corazon Negro. He stood, his eyes narrowed, looking
down at the priest. His pride was hurt. "Polla ta deina k'uden anthropu
deinoteron!"* he said, and was somewhat pleased to see the confusion on the
other man's face.
Astonished, Padre Teodoro closed his mouth and swallowed hard. "Where did
you learn that language?!" he demanded.
"In the same place you did, I guess!" the Immortal answered, then shut his
mouth on the rest of his thoughts; he didn't dare speak his mind to this
man, afraid of the repercussions for Curi-Rayen. The priest was not a
Franciscan; he was of the order of St. Augustine. Corazon Negro knew Padre
Teodoro's Order did not want anyone else to speak Greek or Latin; they
didn't want the common people to be educated, as they might then challenge
the power and wealth of the Church. He bit his lips on any further retort.
The priest's eyes blazed--perhaps he knew what Corazon Negro was thinking.
Taking a deep breath, the priest said, carefully and viciously, "Sometimes I
think Cortes had the right idea. You and your people should disappear from
the face of the earth. You are damned ...!"
Corazon Negro sensed an Immortal approach the chapel. Surely it was
Curi-Rayen, but she didn't come in. Possibly she was listening through the
open door. He had to be careful what he said, for her sake especially.
Making a maximum effort at self-control, he answered the priest. "Your great
Cortes ..." But he cut himself off. Cortes was a coward, and if he had hated
the Aztecs so much, why had the conquistador murdered his own Spanish wife
to spread his seed among the Indians, and left behind him at least fourteen
half-breed bastards? But although he said nothing more, the Immortal's face
must have reflected his angry thoughts, because Padre Teodoro tried to slap
him again. But this time he caught the priest's wrist. "I let you hit me the
first time because you thought I had been disrespectful to your holy place,
and deserved it. But I was not being disrespectful, so I allow it only
once--no more. Do you understand?"
Ignoring him, the priest tried to pull his hand away. "We civilized this
land; gave you the True Faith. Release me at once!"
But his voice was trembling this time, and Corazon Negro heard the fear in
it. For one of the few times in his life, he wanted to hurt someone other
than a soldier--and it was another Spaniard. He could easily imagine the
priest's bleeding heart in his hand. But a voice rumbled like thunder in his
mind. <"Holy Ground, Son of the Wolf! You can't hurt anyone here!">
The Immortal released the priest and softly pushed him away, resisting the
urge to throw him to the ground.
Padre Teodoro was still yelling furiously. "How dare you touch me! And come
into this house of God! Our Faith is the religion of love, of poverty and
humility! We love each other, not like you. You are animals--you eat human
flesh!"
Corazon Negro closed his eyes. He wanted to reply, <And your Holiness and
his church have betrayed Christ's teachings. Your Pope lives in a city even
more corrupt than Nero's Rome!> It took all the control he had gained in
centuries of living to keep from speaking these words. He closed his fists,
knowing the Inquisition had forbidden or burned all the books on theology,
logic and philosophy which had arrived at this continent. Thank God the
Franciscans Corazon Negro had befriended hadn't followed that stupid decree.
Friars had spoken to him, taught him, told the Aztec that Zumarraga had
established the Inquisition in Mexico to get rid of the Franciscan Order.
Fortunately, the Holy Tribunal hadn't managed to burn too many infidels
around here. Corazon Negro shook his head, pushing out the anger--he had to
get out, get away from this man quickly before he said or did something to
really endanger Curi-Rayen's life.
Since Corazon Negro had not denied the accusation of cannibalism, Padre
Teodoro stated with complete conviction, "For this crime alone, you will
burn in Hell!" he hissed.
The Immortal answered, slowly and calmly. "Perhaps I will burn in Hell. But
not today, and not for this." He turned and left the chapel, but at the
entrance he couldn't resist one last scathing comment. "Remember, Padre,
more than me, you should fear your own God, because all'etoi men tauta theon
en gunasi keitai*! And He is the one who will judge us. Not your Church."
Then he finally left the chapel.
Outside, he met a furious Curi-Rayen. "What the hell are you saying to him?"
demanded, looking into Corazon Negro's eyes. "I told you that the priest
would speak against you to my father. This is going to make things harder!
Not to mention ..." she looked around, taking the Aztec's sleeve and pulling
him out of sight of the chapel, "... that if the Padre gets the Inquisition
in here, do you think my Father or I will survive the examination? We'll
burn!"
The older Immortal shook his head, allowing himself to relax a little now
that he was away from the infuriating cleric. "That's going to happen
anyway, even if I had said nothing inside the chapel. That man hates me. And
he suspects you--probably because you are not a pureblood Spaniard, and
you're a woman."
"This is not about me--it's about you," she retorted. "Your presence here is
a challenge to his authority, and has completely infuriated him. I thought
you were supposed to protect me!"
"I am," he replied. But he knew he had made a mistake, gone too far. "I
should not have let him anger me."
"No, you shouldn't have!" She looked away from him, then added, "How could
you ...?"
Corazon Negro had made his maximum effort inside the chapel to control
himself and hadn't attacked the priest. And considering Padre Teodoro's
suspicious, intolerant nature, such an investigation was bound to come in
any case. But he had lost his temper and inflamed the situation, and he felt
guilty. "You're right, Curi-Rayen. I'm sorry if I made things worse for
you," he said to her. Gods! He should have been more careful. He should
never have gone into the chapel.
"Being sorry won't help; eventually you'll leave, but my father and I have
to stay here and face the consequences." Then, with less anger, in an almost
resigned tone, she added, "This was bound to happen, but ..." She drifted
off.
As soon as they headed toward the stables, Romulo and Remo reappeared,
butting her with their great heads. After sniffing the Mexican Immortal,
they veered away from him. She stroked the dogs absentmindedly as the two of
them walked side by side in silence, each deep in thought. He glanced
sidelong at her. A soft breeze ruffled her hair, bringing with it the
unmistakable smell of horses--and horse shit. Corazon Negro allowed himself
a small smile before he got back to the serious business at hand. "In your
long life you are bound to meet ignorant people like this priest who will
fear you and try to destroy you. That's why we keep the secret."
"I know that. Don't you think I know that?" she asked, angry again.
She said nothing more, but he knew she had a lot of questions, and she had
some justification for her anger. So he waited, much more patient with her
than he had been with Padre Teodoro. "Senorita?"
Finally Mariaelena stopped and stared at the Aztec, telling him what he'd
suspected. "I know you were angry--you probably wanted to kill him. And you
held back from telling Padre Teodoro ... a lot of things inside the chapel.
I heard what he said about Cortes. I was just wondering ... how many horrors
you've lived through."
He was surprised and pleased that she could also see his point of view. The
child was learning. Now to let her know he could see her point of view. "Not
any more than you," the Indio* answered. "You're a half-breed, a mestiza*.
Maybe things were difficult for you before Don Alvaro found you."
A shadow passed over the girl's face. She nodded. "Yes, I have ..." she
broke off, unable or unwilling to continue.
"You have suffered," the elder Immortal answered with a genuine but sad
smile. "When I was a slave, one of the friars told me about this popular
minstrelsy of the middle ages, which dealt with a half-breed. But I don't
recall any of our men mating with Spanish women, or any of our women
willingly mating with the Spaniards." Treading carefully, not knowing how
recent or how deep a wound this was for her, he ventured, "Perhaps something
like this happened to your mother?"
Curi-Rayen turned away, staring back at the house, but not before he caught
the flash of tears in her grey eyes. He knew he'd guessed correctly about
her mother, and he now knew the same had happened to the girl herself. A
fury rose in him, a desire to crush the man or men who had hurt her this
way--undoubtedly Spaniards--but he did not allow it to show on his face. He
simply waited again, quiet and supportive.
They went into the main courtyard of the house and stood for a moment in the
shadow of the ombu* tree, by the fountain. The dogs drank noisily from it,
then sat in the shade, panting in the afternoon heat. She finally said,
"This friar you spoke of--was he a Franciscan? Did he teach you Greek? And
Latin?"
<She's changing the subject; she doesn't trust me enough, doesn't want to
talk about her early days. Fine.> "Yes," he answered. "For a long time I
traveled from mission to mission, and the friars taught me to read and to
speak several languages--Spanish of course, but also Greek and Latin. I read
the Bible, and a lot of philosophy." He thought about it for a moment. "I
believe that San Francisco, a lascivious man who embraced Christ after he
himself received the stigmata, and who then set up the Franciscan order, was
a man of true faith."
She smiled slightly. "The Franciscans would give you that impression. But
you don't believe in our Lord, Jesucristo," she said, confused. "I don't
understand you."
He explained. "I believe in any message of love and brotherhood, Curi-Rayen.
Surely this Christ was touched by the gods." The Aztec paused. "But I
believe there are men who follow Him and His words for their own
convenience. It's arrogant to try to convert others to one's religion by
force. The Aztec tried, and we failed."
She looked up into the branches of the tree. Although there were workers
around, no one disturbed their private conversation. "My Father is a
believer in the Holy Mother Church, as I told you before ..."
The Aztec didn't fail to notice that she didn't say that *she* was a
believer. Had his argument with Padre Teodoro shaken her faith? He hoped
not, but he realized she was a woman of both worlds, and would have to
reconcile herself somehow--especially considering her long lifeline. But
back to her Father-- "And so your Father should be. All of us should believe
in something that makes us better, and any religion gives us moral standards
of behavior." Corazon Negro stopped. The warrior knew that Curi-Rayen was
worried about what would happen when the Aztec and the Don finally met each
other. He had some qualms himself, but he rushed to reassure her. One thing
he would *not* do is quarrel with Curi-Rayen's father, if he had any choice
about it. "Don't worry about me and your father. After all, I'm indebted to
him. He took you as his daughter, thus allowing me to fulfill the last
prophecy of my immortal father--even if the Don didn't know it."
Mariaelena looked amused at his mentioning the prophecy again. But this
time, he noted, she didn't mock him, or tell him she disbelieved it. It was
because he himself believed she was the black flower, now more than ever,
and that was helping to win her over--but he had to be sure the price would
not be too high for her.
"You talk about this Quetz ... aco ..."
"Quetzalcohuatl," he supplied.
"Yes," she said. "Who was he? An Immortal?"
"Yes. He was a holy man, too--the Old Snake. He taught me so many things,
and I still don't understand them all. When he left me--"
"When he died," she supplied.
"Well, perhaps he did die; I don't really know. I haven't seen him since,"
he said sadly, still feeling that loss after all these centuries. He leaned
against the tree trunk and watched her, smiling, as she bent her knees and
leaped up, catching the lowest branch of the tree and swinging for a moment,
then gracefully leaping down. She was like a cat, and had energy to burn. He
continued with his story. "After I died the first time Quetzalcohuatl found
me and showed me my true self, taught me what I needed to know. Later he
departed to other lands to spread his word. When he left I found comfort in
a the love of a princess."
At this her eyes came up to his face, an interested look. Trust to romance
to capture a young woman's imagination, he thought, with sad amusement. He
continued. "And when she died, I wanted to die too, but I couldn't. Nor will
you," he added significantly.
She nodded, but he knew she really didn't understand--not yet. She was too
young; although he hadn't asked--Immortals didn't ask this very personal and
potentially dangerous question of each other--he had the feeling that
Curi-Rayen was just recently an Immortal. He had volunteered information
about himself to her because he wanted her to trust him. "Only when the
Aztec arrived at the Valley of Anahuac did I find a reason to live again. I
was lonely and I needed to believe in something--so I forgot some of
Quetzalcohuatl's teachings and embraced my old religion once more. I believe
that if we forget where we came from, we forget who we are," he said,
looking into her eyes significantly.
Mariaelena smiled. "You sound like someone I met not so long ago, in a
faraway city, Paris. He is a priest, but not at all like Padre Teodoro. He
is one of us; his name is Darius. You should meet him someday."
"Perhaps someday I shall," Corazon Negro said. "Long life is our blessing;
and our curse, sometimes."
Moving away from him, she started toward the main house; but then she turned
back and touched his arm. "You wanted to hurt Padre Teodoro, didn't you?"
He was determined to be truthful to her whenever possible. "Yes."
She nodded, considering. After a few minutes of silence--he wouldn't have
believed she could be this quiet this long--she said, hesitantly, "Tomorrow
is a special night for the Mapuche. Would you like to come with some of us
to a religious ceremony? It is a secret," Curi-Rayen explained.
Her touch felt warm. "I would be honored, Senorita," he answered simply but
with feeling, thrilled that she would be including him, trusting him this
much.
"Well, it's not too close, so today I'll start to teach you how to ride a
horse. After the midday meal--if Paco doesn't have too much for you to do?"
she added, an almost mocking tone in her voice. With this she giggled
lightly and flitted towards her house.
Corazon Negro gazed after her trim, muscular figure, black hair dancing
behind her as she ran, her long skirt trailing along the dusty yard, her
light laughter echoing in his ears. It was a beautiful, melodious sound, and
it made him feel good. Being here, with her, made him feel good. Even if he
did, eventually, have to go back to shoveling horseshit.
Notes & translations:
Polla ta deina k'uden anthropu deinoteron! (Greek): There are a lot of
monsters; but none are worse that the human being.
All'etoi men tauta theon en gunasi keitai! (Greek): It's the truth;
everything now lies on God's breast!
ombu (Araucanian): the only tree native to the Argentine pampa; grows very
sparsely