New Fanfiction: THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 4/18
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@ADELPHIA.NET)
Fri, 2 Mar 2001 01:23:58 -0500
THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 4/18
Chapter 4
As soon as the Aztec approached the house, he sensed an Immortal--the
Senorita, no doubt. He was a little disappointed that he wouldn't meet the
Don, and made up his mind to ask Mariaelena where her father was. He
couldn't imagine the Spaniard leaving her unprotected, although she wasn't
really--as Paco had proved. Corazon Negro also suspected that the young
Immortal was not like most white women, helpless and completely dependent on
the men. She was certainly strong enough to handle that large horse, and
willful enough to order her men around.
The main house was as big as it had looked when he was riding up to it, and
he took a moment to look around. There were gray arched columns surrounding
the main yard. By now it was full dark, and the torches in each column were
lit, illuminating the courtyard and the spring he had seen before, its water
bubbling forth from some underground source. In the middle of the spring was
a beautiful angel carved out of a smooth, white stone, water falling from
its mouth in a graceful arc. The spring was in the shadow of an enormous
tree, an older version of the tree Corazon Negro had seen on the pampa, and
he wondered if the tree was a guardian for the angel and the spring, or
vice-versa.
A Spanish woman in perhaps the fifth decade of her life, dressed in European
clothes, black frothy lace and a black mantilla, waited patiently for him
beside the open main door of the house while he made his inspection. When he
finally walked up to her, she said, "Buenas noches, Senor*. My name is
Fernanda. This way, please."
"Buenas noches, Senora Fernanda," he answered, then followed her into a
large entry hall, at one end of which was a great stone fireplace, unlit in
the heat of the season. Standing next to the fireplace was a young man armed
with a musket, a knife at his belt. Corazon Negro nodded at the Indio* as he
and Fernanda walked past. The Senorita was not taking any chances. This was
good, although he wished she would trust him more. That would come in time,
however, and he could be patient when necessary.
Against the wall was a coat of arms, and as they walked left down a wide
corridor to the dining room, a Spanish caballero's* suit of armor saluted
visitors. Corazon Negro paused to look at the armor closely. It was very
like the one Cortes and his men had worn, but taller--obviously the man who
wore this armor was not small. Don Alvaro? he wondered. He turned to see
that the woman had stopped, too, waiting for him again, and he waved her
inside and followed her into the dining room.
He looked around curiously. In the center of the room was a table for
sixteen, built of the same wood as the tree outside, and he made a mental
note to ask one of the Indios* the name of that tree. Several candelabra in
the center of the table gave the room a soft glow. By the light of the
torches on the walls he could see that each of the chairs had a flower
carved on its back. Nice detail; Curi-Rayen's symbol, he thought. Another
sign that she was the one in the prophecy? he wondered. Corazon Negro had
had simple dinners with the Franciscan friars, but he had never eaten at a
Spanish nobleman's table before. Two full-dinner services, complete with
utensils, crystal goblets and silver plates, were laid out, one at each end
of the table. Apparently he was to be seated with the full length of the
table between him and the girl--good tactics, he thought, and wondered if
Curi-Rayen had thought of it herself.
Fernanda poured wine into goblets at each of the places, then sat herself on
a chair against the wall. Since the woman said nothing else, Corazon Negro
continued to examine the large room. A life-size portrait on the far wall
caught his eye. One of the two people immortalized in it was Curi-Rayen. She
was sitting in a purple-covered chair, wearing a long white dress, her black
hair loose and reaching almost to her waist and a long, double-stranded
pearl necklace hanging down over her breasts. Obviously the painter had seen
in her eyes the same eagle's gaze she had shown Corazon Negro on the
afternoon she found him--a wild, arrogant look. Behind her, in a protective
stance, was a tall, blond-haired man, impeccably and fashionably dressed in
the wide pants of the Spanish gentry: Don Alvaro Duran y Agramonte. Around
his neck was a cross of beaten gold which must have weighed quite a lot, and
he was not a young man, yet he stood as straight as the proudest soldier
Corazon Negro had ever seen. His right hand rested lightly on Mariaelena's
shoulder; the other was gently wrapped around the hilt of the rapier at his
side. His eyes were that amazing blue Corazon Negro found so odd to look at,
and were saved from being cold, the Aztec imagined, by the fondness, obvious
even in the portrait, which he felt for his young adopted daughter.
At this point Mariaelena came in from an archway on the left and sat down at
the other end of the table. She was dressed in a dress similar to the one in
the painting, except her hair was gathered on top of her head, showing her
long neck, around which hung a silver chain and medallion.
"Very well, Curi-Rayen. Just the two of us. I suppose that whatever you want
to tell me, no one else will hear. Except ..." He nodded toward the mortal
woman, wondering if she was going to stay.
Mariaelena followed his eyes. "Don't mind Fernanda. I'm not permitted to be
in a room alone with a man--my customs forbid it, nor would it be wise. But
don't worry--she will not repeat what we say in this room, not even to my
father. Please sit down."
Corazon Negro wondered for a moment, then nodded and sat. It was her house,
her rules, and he was not about to show her any disrespect. But on the
subject of the Don ... "Your father is not here, I am told," Corazon Negro
began.
"Yes, but I am still well protected," she countered, her eyes flashing
slightly. She picked up her wineglass and took a small sip.
Paco's warning, the young man in the corridor--the Aztec smiled. Also,
although she did not have a sword on her person, Curi-Rayen had her cutting
knife at her belt, and he imagined she could very well have a hidden blade
strapped to her leg, or a pistol in a pocket of her voluminous skirts. Since
he was not yet trusted, that was as it should be. He had his own cutting
knife on his hip, of course--and a second, smaller obsidian blade in a
sheath inside his shirt. He was too experienced to enter the house of an
Immortal, even a young one, without a weapon.
He also drank from his glass, a sip as small as hers, then put it down. It
was somewhat sweet and warmed him all the way down, and he was well familiar
with the effects of too much wine. One sip only, he decided. "Yes, you are
well protected, especially as I count myself as one of your protectors," he
countered.
"Of course, your prophecy," she agreed, wrapping her fingers around each
other in front of her face. She rested her chin on her closed hands, then
said, "I see that the clothes I had sent to you were your size, but you're
not wearing the boots. Were they too small?"
"I can't get used to boots," he explained, "but I nevertheless thank you
very much for you generous hospitality. Giving me clothes, shelter and a
meal is more that I desired."
"And more than you expected," she said, smiling mischievously. "After all,
prophecy or not, we are Immortals and therefore potential enemies."
She was brazen, and he wondered if she was afraid of him. If so, she was
hiding it well. "I am not your enemy, Curi-Rayen, and I am indebted to you.
In return for your kind treatment of me, I'm obligated to answer any
question you ask of me."
"Fair enough," Mariaelena said, settling into her chair and crossing her
arms. "First of all--who are you, really? You dress like a beggar, yet you
walk like a king."
Corazon Negro was pleased by the assessment, although he knew he was no
king. Leaning forward in his chair, he began, "My name is Ce Xochitl
Yolohtzin Tlictic. I was born 742 years before this day, in the year 900
anno domini, as you measure it, during the great migration of my people from
the north. We came from Aztlan, the Heron's Snowy Place, where we were
called the Aztlantaca, the Aztec, the Heron's People."
He studied her face and thought she might be surprised--if so, she hid that
well, too, saying to the other woman, "I believe we'll have the meal now."
Fernanda got up from her chair, went to the door, and called out.
Corazon Negro wondered if the young Immortal was comparing his age to that
of her Immortal father, about whom he knew very little. After a moment of
thought, while Corazon Negro waited for her next question, she finally
asked, "What does your name mean exactly?"
"Literally, you can translate it as One Flower Black Heart. One Flower was
the year in which I was born, according to our calendar," Corazon Negro
answered. "As you can see, a flower is in my name too, Curi-Rayen--or should
I say, Black Flower?"
Before she could answer, the servants entered the dining room in a
procession, bringing several platters. Fernanda guided them, carrying a gray
cat in a wooden cage. At Mariaelena's nod the Indios* bowed, then started
serving the food.
A fancy salad was placed into the silver plates. On a tray at the center of
the table was a small cooked pig with an apple in its open mouth. As Corazon
Negro watched the ritual, intrigued, one of the servants cut a piece out of
the pig. Fernanda took the cat out of its cage, and the small piece of the
pig was given to the cat to taste.
"It is an old Spanish custom," Mariaelena explained. "Legend tells us that
roast pig was the favorite food of a famous warrior called El Cid. Fearing
poison, he had a cat eat from his meal first." The cat seemed fine, so she
looked at the servants and dismissed them with, "Thank you. You may leave
us."
The Aztec had read about El Cid Campeador during his time with the
Franciscans, and now he wondered if Don Alvaro had seen this custom first
hand at that general's camp, and copied it centuries later. The servants
bowed and left the room, while the aya* sat in her place again. Corazon
Negro waited until Mariaelena took the first bite from her plate, and then
he started eating as well. He knew the animal, but had never tasted it
before. It was good.
He decided it was time to ask a question of his own. "It is an strange
custom," Corazon Negro said, "that your servants bow so much. I wonder, are
they your servants or your slaves?"
Mariaelena's eyes narrowed. "My lord commands respect from those who work
for him. Do you find that unacceptable somehow?"
The Aztec saw the insult in Curi-Rayen's eyes and thought, <Now she's
showing her emotions too easily. She'll learn.> Or perhaps she chose not to
hide her anger. He chewed and swallowed thoughtfully before answering. "No.
I'm simply curious. I've seen the way the Spaniards have enslaved the
Indios*--and there is fine line that separates earned respect from blind
obedience."
"My father doesn't like slavery. It brings him bad memories. There are no
slaves at this rancho*, Indio*, mestizo* or white, and there never have
been. There never will be," Mariaelena said, her anger cooling. She
continued to eat.
"I see. If that's the case, then the Don hasn't changed a lot since I last
heard of him."
Abruptly half-rising from her seat, she hissed, "What do you know about my
father? Have you come for him? Is that why you're really here?" More than
anger, there was fire now--maybe even fear.
"Easy, child," the warrior answered. "Decades ago I heard about a Spanish
Don, a conquistador, who bought slaves and then freed them. I suppose that
must be your father, the man in the portrait behind you. I also remember
stories about a 'power' in him, a supernatural ability. Once, it was said,
he fell from his horse and lay as though dead; but soon after, he rose
again, with no signs of having fallen. Immortality."
"But you--" Mariaelena began again, obviously still concerned for her
father.
"I told you I'm not here for him," Corazon Negro said calmly. "When you
learn to see me with your soul's eyes, you'll understand that I'm no danger
to you or to your loved ones. What I said before was true: I'm here to
protect the black flower, with my life if necessary." He was finding that
the more he said it, the more he himself believed it. And why not her? The
more time he spent with her, the more she seemed worthy of being part of his
father's prophecy.
Mariaelena stayed quiet, and the Aztec could see the conflict on her face.
Finally, she said tersely, "I still don't believe either in prophecies or in
destiny."
The Aztec continued eating his dinner and said, "And you don't believe me.
Yes, I know. You've made yourself clear on that subject. But know this: in
your eyes burns the youth's fire, but in mine the wisdom's light is bright."
Mariaelena blinked. "And how do I know you're not using that 'wisdom' to lie
to me?"
"You sound like I did, a long time ago," Corazon Negro said, smiling. "Once,
I, too didn't trust the words of my elders, and I paid a great price for
that lack of faith. Perhaps much higher that I could bear. Shall I tell you
a story?" Without waiting for her approval, he leaned back in his chair and
began. "After we banished the Spaniards from our golden city, a lot of my
comrades weren't willing to believe that Cortes would return. They were too
proud, and that night's victory had intoxicated them. But Cortes came back
just one year later, this time with a larger army, more Indio* allies--our
enemies--and with warships to patrol the lake and to protect their march
toward the city. We defended ourselves sturdily for eighty days. Every night
we left the walled city to destroy the bridges that the Spaniards had built
during the day--but every day the Spaniards gained more ground to fight and
to maneuver their engines of war. To make things worse, the Spaniards had
left an ally inside our besieged city: the pox, which ravaged our population
and lowered our numbers. Our last two Uey-Tlatoani*, our emperors,
Cuitlahuac and Cuauhtemoc, were as great as any emperors from our past, so
you can imagine that Cuauhtemoc's capture was for me the symbol of the
defeat of my own people."
He'd been speaking in a low, even tone. Only his hands clasped in front of
him betrayed the agitation he felt. He looked into her grey eyes, which were
round with wonder. She seemed to believe his tale, and why not? It was true.
"Finally, weakened by hunger, thirst, and disease, we were forced to
surrender. Cuauhtemoc and his family tried to escape on the lake in a canoe,
and I tried to help them."
The warrior made a pause, and continued ...
~~~~~~~~~~
Yei Calli (Year Three House)
August 13, 1521 anno domini
City of Tenochtitlan (Mexico City)
"Fast ...! Faster!" screamed Corazon Negro to the rowers. "A Spanish galley
approaches!" He had to protect his emperor at all costs. The emperor
represented the seed of his people--if he survived, he could always return
to recapture his empire.
Sailors from the galley shot at them, and a bullet hit Cuauhtemoc's arm.
"NOOO!" screamed Corazon Negro, horrified. He covered his beloved Emperor's
body with his, but he was shot in the chest. He fell at the feet of
Cuauhtemoc, who knelt and cradled Corazon Negro's head. In agony, Corazon
Negro gasped, "I have failed you, Uey-Tlatoani*."
"No," responded Cuauhtemoc, smiling. "You have been my best warrior. Thanks
to you, we have been able to resist so far. Now you must fly toward the Sun.
Go in peace and you will become one with the gods ..."
The Spanish galley reached the canoe and the soldiers captured Cuauhtemoc. A
soldier saw the body of Corazon Negro, bent over to remove the few gold
decorations on the warrior's chest and threw the body into the lake.
Cortes tortured Cuauhtemoc by burning his feet, wanting to find out where
the treasure of Tenochtitlan was. But the Uey-Tlatoani smiled at his
tormentor and told him, "It is where you left it, coward ... At the bottom
of the lake with all your men ..." Finally, Cortes hung Cuauhtemoc from a
tree.
But Corazon Negro didn't find all this out until later. The horrors of the
last Aztec warriors' resistance were so terrible and vivid that Corazon
Negro never forgot them. Decades after the defeat, the memory of the tragedy
wandered in the Immortal's soul as an exhalation of spiritual impurity.
Everything was in ruins. The Temples, the Palaces, the schools, the houses
... the priests, the wisdom, the warriors ... even the gods themselves: all
perished forever. The fateful premonitions that Motecuhzoma, one of the last
free Aztlantaca emperors, and Corazon Negro had contemplated had come true.
The original purpose of the Crown and the Church had been to transform the
natives into Spanish citizens who could enjoy all the civil rights of
Spaniards, and for two generations the European authorities tried--and
almost succeeded. But eventually the whites reduced all the Indios* to
slaves--which many suspected had been their plan from the beginning. The
Spaniards also attacked the natives on another front. After 1521 they began
to convert the Aztlantaca culture into a European one. The education and the
spiritual and physical well-being of the natives came under the authority of
the Roman Church, which issued Orders banishing the local gods, converting
the Aztlantaca to Catholicism. The Indios* demolished their own temples to
build churches dedicated to the new God.
******************
November, 1642 anno domini
Duran rancho*
Corazon Negro watched Curi-Rayen with a steady gaze. "After I revived, I
swam out of the lake and started to wander around the city, almost in a
daze, not wanting to believe that we had failed, that we had lost; that
everything we loved and treasured had been destroyed. A Spanish troop caught
me and sent me as a slave to one of the new Franciscan missions. The friars
were kind, and although I never spoke any of them, I listened, and learned
their language. I studied their old traditions and I knew their Christ ...
your Christ. But I never stopped believing in my ancient gods. As I never
spoke, they believed I was mute. So they never baptized me or gave me a
Spanish name. I was forced to work in a silver mine until a strange friar
freed me. Only when I was free did I venture to speak. Since then, I've been
wandering, always south, trying to fulfill my only link to my people, the
last of my father's prophecies."
Mariaelena still said nothing, simply listening and hearing the pain in the
warrior's voice--pain he didn't bother to hide. "May your God protect you
from such a fate, child. And the irony is this: all those events had been
foretold to me three hundred years before they happened. But I didn't
listen, as you're not listening to me. I paid for that lack of faith; I
don't want the same thing to happen to you." It was true; it made sense. She
had to be the black flower of the prophecy; Corazon Negro felt it in his
bones. Leaning forward in his chair, abandoning all pretense of detachment,
he urged her, "Now I ask you, I beg you, to listen to me. I'm not here to
harm you." Even if the prophecy did not pertain to her, that much was true,
and she had to know it. "The same man who told me about the Aztec's fall
told me about the black flower. He was my Immortal father." Reaching out to
her with his heart, with his soul, he asked her, "Will you trust me?"
Mariaelena cleared her throat. "You cannot expect me to just trust you. You
wouldn't if you were me."
He didn't lean back. "I agree. I wouldn't." Sighing, he proposed, waving his
hand, "At least let me stay a while, until your father arrives. Let me talk
to him. This is important, Curi-Rayen. For both of us. For all three of us."
She seemed to study him for a moment, then nodded. "I will give you a place
to stay until my father arrives. Then he will decide. You may sleep with the
workers, and if you like," her eyes twinkled slightly, "perhaps you can make
yourself useful by helping with the horses. I noticed you seemed to like
them a lot." She used a cloth to wipe her mouth and clean her hands, then
rose, indicating that the night--and his visit--were over.
He stood also, and out of the corner of his eye noticed the aya* did the sam
e. "Thank you for trusting me this far. I would love to work with the
horses."
"Good," she said, and somehow he felt he had passed some sort of test. "I'll
tell Paco--
She was interrupted by a man coming into the dining room. A priest swept in,
black robes trailing on the terracota floor.
Notes & translations:
Buenas noches (Spanish): good evening or good night
Uey-Tlatoani (Nahuatl): Literally, Great Orator. Aztec word for emperor
Cuauhtemoc (Nahuatl): Literally, Eagle that falls over its Prey. Last Aztec
emperor. Tortured in 1522 and finally hanged in 1525 by Cortes. After his
capture, his name was shortened to Fallen Eagle as a symbol of his defeat.
caballero: knight or gentleman