New fanfiction: THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 1/18
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@ADELPHIA.NET)
Fri, 2 Mar 2001 01:22:04 -0500
THE BLACK FLOWER: An Elena Duran Story 1/18
by Vi Moreau (vmoreau@adelphia.net)
and Julio Cesar (divad71@prodigy.net.mx)
Chapter 1
November, 1642 anno domini
La Pampa Humeda* near Buenos Aires, in La Plata (Argentina)
The pampa extended infinitely around him. The Immortal Aztec warrior,
Corazon Negro, walked alone without a fixed destination. He was barefoot,
with ragged clothes and a small deerskin backpack hanging on his right side.
Inside its jaguar-skin case on his back was his inseparable weapon, his
Maquahuitl*, a large hardwood club encrusted with triangular shards of
razor-sharp black obsidian.
For a hundred years he had been walking south, always south, trying to find
a way to fulfill his Master's prophecy: Corazon Negro must find the black
flower and protect it. He had been looking since the so-called Sad Night.
That night had been tragic for the Spanish conquistadores who had arrived,
under the command of Hernan Cortes, at the city of Tenochtitlan*. But it had
been a magic night for the warrior's race, for the Garza People, the Aztec.
However, one year later, the magic was gone, and life as Corazon Negro had
known it ceased to exist. Corazon Negro's destiny had been inevitable, and
he had been unable to change it. Despite the great Aztec victory on that
night in 1520, the Aztec empire, Corazon Negro's brothers, and indeed his
whole race, had been destroyed one year later. This had been just one of the
predictions that the prophet Quetzalcohuatl, Corazon Negro's first Immortal
teacher, had made. And prophecies never lie. Corazon Negro's thoughts flew
back in time ...
~~~~~~~~~~
Ome Tecpatl (Year Two Knife)
June 30, 1520 anno domini
City of Tenochtitlan (Mexico City)
The Aztlantaca* stone city of Tenochtitlan had stood proud and undisturbed
in the middle of the large lake for almost one hundred and fifty years. The
palaces inside her spoke of the greatness of the civilization that had built
the city.
On this night, all seemed calm and silent. The bonfires that lit the square
illuminated the timeless temples with their flames. Clouds of incense rose
toward the red sky, purifying the ambiance for the battle to come.
Tonight, hell would eat dozens of souls.
"We attack at midnight." Corazon Negro, the war leader, reminded his men of
the orders given by their tenth Emperor, the great Cuitlahuac*, brother of
the deceased Motecuhzoma*. "Let us hope that by now Cortes and all his men
are used to the multitudes and to the apparent submission of our naked and
unarmed men." His warriors listened to him with rapt attention. "Cortes will
be lulled, listening to our music and smelling the incense of the ceremonies
in the square. We must also destroy Cortes' allies, our enemies the
Texcalteca."
The few warriors who surrounded him waited on one knee, tense and immobile,
on the wet floor of the square. Another two thousand warriors hid in the
shadows not reached by the bonfires; nevertheless, the words of their
leader, the young man whom the Spaniards called Corazon Negro, and who was
known to the Aztlantaca as Yollohtzlin Tliltic, the Black Heart, were
carried by the soft breeze which came in from the great lake surrounding the
city. The warriors near Corazon Negro were ready to start the killing, and
their eyes shone with fury and anticipation as the dancing lights of the
bonfires illuminated their painted faces.
"The priests are waiting for my instructions," the leader continued. "Find
them and put pressure on them to get out of the way of the coming
battle--physically if necessary, but I don't think you will have much
trouble with our holy men. Neither they nor the white men like the rain
that's falling, fearing that it will cleanse them and rob them of their
power**. Gather the women and children, and all who cannot fight, into
Tlaltelolco's Teocalli*. That temple will be the only safe place for our
people now. And," he added, "you must not kill the white priests--only the
soldiers, their fighters. Holy men of any faith must be protected."
A Jaguar warrior, naked except for the cougar skin on his back, looked
fixedly at Corazon Negro. "Quachic*, if the foreigners die at midnight, why
did Cortes insist that he and his men are leaving tonight?"
Corazon Negro answered, "Cortes is not an idiot. He suspects that we want to
get rid of him by force. For now, I just hope that he feels safe inside the
palace, because we have accepted his presence in our city. I trust that he
won't change his mind between now and midnight."
**********
The Aztlantaca* army was hidden and ready. There were Eagle and Jaguar
warriors, each wearing armor and helmets in imitation of their totem animal.
They also carried skin-covered shields, wooden or wicker, recovered with
feathers, worked as colorful mosaics of great color with designs easily read
by any opponent. But the Spanish soldiers whom they would face didn't
understand their language; they had no honor. They were invaders, and
deserved to die.
Corazon Negro walked a little apart from the army, trying to meditate.
<Tonight your teachings do not console me, Quetzalcohuatl; please forgive
me.> Corazon Negro raised his eyes to the stars, looking for the one that
represented his Immortal teacher, Quetzalcohuatl. He found it. The invaders
called it Venus, but for him the star would always be called Noh-Ek, the Big
Star. Corazon Negro felt intoxicated by loneliness. He hadn't felt this way
since the time of the Long Walk of his people toward the south, during which
time when he had also been searching for the man in his Dream. This dream
man had turned out to be a real man--Quetzalcohuatl. When his teacher had
abandoned him, Corazon Negro had gone with the Aztlantaca* to the valley of
Anahuac and settled among them, becoming part of their culture. Now he felt
at home again, and he didn't care what it took--he wouldn't let all the
marvels he had witnessed be destroyed. He would defend to the death that
which he loved the most: In Cem-Anahuac Yoyotli*--the Heart of the Only
World, the name given to the city by its Aztlantaca* inhabitants.
The night's coldness caressed his soul and touched him with chill fingers.
Perhaps tonight was the right time to go back to an old custom he had
forgotten for seven hundred years: prayer. He remembered the prayer of his
mortal father, Tetlaheultic Tepeitzcuintle*, the Howling Wolf. It was the
Death prayer from the God who began everything. It was the War prayer.
Corazon Negro went to one of the nearby fires, bent over, and with his left
hand attracted the smoke toward his face to purify himself. Then he climbed
the stone stairways that led up to the top of the Great Temple. He looked
over the city for a moment, taking in its grandeur, feeling a deep love and
respect for it and for his people. Then, aware of what was to come, he knelt
and closed his eyes. "O powerful Sungod, God of War, a battle will begin ...
Choose in these moments, O Great God, those who should kill, those who
should die, those who should be taken as Xochimique*, as sacrifices whose
heartblood Thee will drink. O Master of War, we beg Thee to smile on those
who will die in this field or on Thy altar... Allow them to arrive at the
House of the Sun, to live forever, glorified, among the braves who preceded
them ..."
Before midnight, an Eagle champion broke into Corazon Negro's prayers and
pointed. "Look, Corazon Negro!" he called out.
Opening his eyes, the Aztlantaca* war leader watched Cortes' army from the
top of the temple, through the worsening rain. Cortes had loaded several
carromatos* with the city's stolen treasures, and two of the large wagons
with cannon. An escort of seventy-five men went with the caravan--the rest
of his army, along with the Spaniards' Indio* Allies, the Texcalteca,
remained as a vanguard in the square. The gold was guarded by all three
Spanish generals--Cortes, Narvaez and Alvarado--since none of them obviously
trusted the others enough to let the treasure out of his sight. The caravan
went west toward the district of Tlacopan*, but first they had to cross the
lake.
Corazon Negro watched, his soul poisoned with rage, as the riches of his
beautiful city were carried off as war trophies--and without any opposition,
without even a war. His eyes blazing with hatred, he thought, <There is
going to be a war now!>
The Spaniards' sudden and unexpected orders to transfer the treasure forced
Corazon Negro to attack earlier than he had planned, to close the trap
before the Spaniards got on the road. "Don't wait for the midnight
trumpets!" Corazon Negro ordered furiously. "Attack at once!"
To the Spaniards, the warriors rushing out from their hidings place behind
the city walls must have looked like wild, painted demons from Hell. Coming
up behind the caravan was a ghostly army of shades, yelling terrible war
cries. They set the horses loose inside the temple courtyard to cause more
confusion and chaos, and the animals ran in all directions, kicking everyone
and everything in their way. Then the mass of warriors entered the by-now
dimly-illuminated square, as most of the bonfires had been extinguished by
the rain. Each of them carried at least one Maquahuitl*, some of them one in
each hand. The Aztlantaca* army killed everyone with a beard, but some of
the Indios* were also killed--although the Spaniards were just a bunch of
murderers, they were still trained soldiers in their own right.
Raising his weapon with a savage war cry, Corazon Negro ran down the stairs
to the square. Once he was off Holy Ground, he put his weapon into a
Spaniard's side, then wrenched it out, leaving the man to bleed to death.
The Spaniards began to fire their muskets. All around him, Corazon Negro
could smell the gunpowder--the dust filled the air like a cloud, and the
screams of agony of the dead and dying began to fill the square. The
Aztlantaca* army had waited a long time for this moment, and Corazon Negro
and his warriors were thirsty for blood.
The Indio* allies of the Spaniards, the Texcalteca, charged the Aztlantaca*
furiously while the Spaniards tried to reload their muskets, but the
Europeans and their allies were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. As in slow
motion, Corazon Negro could see around him the arms of his warriors rising
again and again, their Maquahuitl* cutting flesh and bone as though they
were animate and thirsting for blood on their own. Screams of pain filled
the night, saluting the darkness as the rain intensified.
The Indio* Immortal attacked any enemy within range, moving like a cougar
inside the mass of bleeding bodies, ripping legs and arms from his enemies.
He could smell the blood that flowed to the ground and spattered the idols
on the walls. Very soon Corazon Negro's bare feet were ankle deep in blood
and rainwater as mutilated bodies, cutoff limbs and bloody viscera dropped
onto the square.
Corazon Negro leaped onto one Spanish soldier, yelling an ancient battle
cry. "!Por favor, no!*" the Spaniard cried, raising his arm to protect
himself. But the Immortal grabbed the top of the white man's breastplate and
cut his enemy's jugular with his Maquahuitl*. Blood from the Spaniard's
severed throat burst out, covering Corazon Negro's face, and the Aztlantaca*
warrior tasted the life's fluid inside his mouth. That taste made him even
more eager for the slaughter. The Immortal sank his weapon into the
Spaniard's belly, under his armor, and moved it back and forth, cutting
deeply. The soldier became slack, an agonized look on his face, as, like a
wild animal, Corazon Negro inserted his arm in the wound and pushed it up
into the Spaniard's chest. A few instants later, Corazon Negro ripped his
enemy's heart out and raised it into the sky, showing the gods his
sacrifice, and giving an inarticulate yell of bloody victory. Thunder
saluted him in turn.
At that very moment the warrior sensed another Immortal in the square.
Throwing the heart to the ground, he wiped the blood off his hands on a dead
Spaniard's pants and got a better grip on his weapon. It was a Spanish
soldier who had just decapitated an Eagle warrior on the palace steps, and
the Spanish Immortal turned to lock glances with Corazon Negro. Time froze
as both warriors glared at each other. Corazon Negro's Immortal teacher had
prophesied that other Immortals would come with the foreign invaders.
Corazon Negro's blood boiled as he recognized the enemy of his race and of
his kind. He felt in his heart all the hate he had hidden in the last three
years for all the murdered children, all the raped women, all the gods
condemned to oblivion. This damned Immortal deserved to die. The Aztlantaca*
warrior's teeth ground together; then he attacked with a fierce war cry.
Rain fell harder on the armies.
The Immortal Spaniard was waiting for him, and their battle to the death
began on the palace steps. The impact of their weapons drew sparks. Corazon
Negro went up one step, taking a cut on his shield. He kicked the Spaniard
in the chest, and the soldier fell to the ground, losing his iron helmet.
Corazon Negro rushed down the steps and pushed his enemy down with his
weight before the Spaniard could rise. Then Corazon Negro brought down his
Maquahuitl* with all his strength, burying it in his enemy's forehead. The
Spaniard's head exploded like ripe fruit thrown to the ground, and his whole
body sank down at Corazon Negro's feet. The Aztlantaca* pulled his weapon
out, then cut through the Spaniard's neck, feeling his weapon penetrating
first the skin, then the muscles, and finally severing the bones that held
the head to the torso. Immediately the clipped head flew back and hit the
wet stone steps, bouncing down like a child's ball, leaving a splattered
trail of darker blood.
Consumed with blood lust, Corazon Negro turned back to the battle as his
comrades all around him continued slaughtering the Spaniards. The rain hit
Corazon Negro's face with more fury than before. Suddenly, out of the corner
of his eye, the Aztlantaca* warrior saw the Spaniard's body began to glow.
<No! Not again, not now!> A bolt of light from his dead enemy attacked
Corazon Negro, and he fell back, trying uselessly to parry the blue-greenish
rays that nevertheless penetrated his being. He felt as though his body and
mind were being raped as the coldness of the Spaniard's Quickening invaded
his soul. Corazon Negro's gaze turned black as his memories were mixed up
with the soldier's. Corazon Negro bit his lips to avoid voicing the cry in
his throat.
The bonfires around him seemed to glow stronger, and even the unlit ones
seemed to come back to life. A few of the fighters close by shrunk away from
the strange and brilliant events, but almost everyone was too busy killing
or dying to take much notice.
Lightning hit the earth and Corazon Negro both, making several combatants
jump back. Then the electric discharge stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
The Quickening left the Aztlantaca* warrior on the ground, confused, angry
and resentful that his soul had been invaded again, in too much in pain to
even get to his feet.
*********
Corazon Negro was still lying on the blood and mud of on the square,
recovering from the powerful Quickening, so the city's army, leaderless,
stopped their attack and picked up their dead and wounded, as well as the
still-living Spaniards who would serve as a sacrifice.
Finally, Corazon Negro rose and looked around him in confusion. Around him
lay almost two thousand dismembered bodies, the bulk of Cortes' fifteen
hundred-man army and their native allies, as well as many Aztlantaca* dead.
Fighting the chaos in his mind, the Immortal looked up into the night sky.
The sounds of the battle were dying away, the rain had finally stopped, and
the clouds began to clear, and he could see the star Noh-Ek again. His
teacher's words returned to his mind: <Listen to me and pay attention, Son
of the Wolf ... Perhaps some day, when all you have known is gone, never to
return ... Perhaps some men will be able to raise the ashes of this scorched
earth ... And perhaps those men will marvel and will wonder ... But you will
have the memories and the words to tell about the glory of this world, so it
will never be forgotten ... And when all the monuments and the gods have
fallen, when even the Great Temple is only dust ... Then you must travel
south; you must find the black flower that blooms in the wilderness there
... You must not let it die ...>
Corazon Negro felt tears roll down his cheek to mix with the blood and mud
that covered him. This coming devastation, too, had been predicted, and he
couldn't stop it. As he slowly got to his feet, he felt a kind hand on his
shoulder.
Quachic*, the Eagle champion, said, "The battle is over."
"What finally happened?" Corazon Negro asked him, breathless and worried.
"Cortes had almost arrived at the Tlacopan bridge before he realized what
was happening behind him. He cried out in fury, cursing us and even his own
men. And when he saw that we had removed the bridge he was livid. He was
forced to order his men to unhitch the beasts from the wagons and throw the
treasure into the lake so they could use the wagons as a bridge to escape."
"They escaped?" Corazon Negro panted.
"Yes. Many of the Spaniards filled their pockets and boots with all they
could, but the bulk of the treasure is in the depths of Lake Texcoco. Then
the improvised bridge gave way under the army's weight. Our warriors
continued to butcher the thieving Spaniards and those miserable Texcalteca,
and finally Cortes and what was left of his *grand* army was forced to
retreat. I myself heard him order his men to save themselves, to run for
their lives. The cowards even used the corpses of their own comrades as a
footbridge. We have pursued the invaders to the city gates. We have
triumphed."
His mind still clouded from the Quickening, Corazon Negro turned to look at
the Eagle warrior and asked, with some faint hope, "Cortes, Alvarado,
Narvaez? Are they dead?"
"No, Brother," the other man answered. "They are alive but beaten. I told
you, we have won. Your leadership helped us gain a great victory. You should
be proud."
"Should I?" Corazon Negro whispered, crestfallen. "Do you really think that
we won? It seemed too easy--"
"It was not easy!" the other warrior interrupted. "It was a great battle,
and we won it!"
"That's all it was," Corazon Negro said. The prophecy had said *all* would
be lost, which meant it wasn't over. "We won a battle! Not the war! Cortes
will return. He will gather his allies from the neighboring tribes again,
and he will return with more hatred than before. The only thing that we have
won is time ..."
Indeed, Cortes had survived, but his grand army, which had entered the city
in triumph, was reduced to four hundred men and horses. His soul devastated,
Cortes sat across the lake at the foot of a cypress tree and wept. No glory.
No riches. He cried more for the loss of his treasure than for the death and
defeat of his men ... and he sat and plotted his return.
~~~~~~~~~~
April, 1532 anno domini
A silver mine near San Luis Potosi, Mexico
The Franciscan friar spoke the Nahuatl language. He'd been in San Luis
Potosi at the silver mine for only six months when he had found Corazon
Negro, enslaved. At last his decade-long quest for the Immortal warrior was
over. Amazed and pleased, the friar came closer. The Aztec's bearing was
magnificent. His head was shaved, as all slaves' were, but in his gaze the
fire of Immortality burned.
The Franciscan knew that Corazon Negro was an Immortal, because he himself
was a Watcher. He was forbidden from interfering in the quarrels of the
Immortals, but nothing more. In his heart he knew that this proud man didn't
deserve to be chained. That night the Watcher came slowly forward with the
padlock keys he had stolen.
Corazon Negro was angry and mistrustful. "Don't be afraid," the friar said
in perfect Nahuatl. "I'm not going to hurt you." Silent, his eyes like those
of a wild animal, Corazon Negro stared at the Watcher. "You don't deserve to
be here," the Watcher continued. "I don't know what your destiny is. But I
know you won't find it in a slave mine. You are free."
Incredulous, Corazon Negro looked on while the friar released his shackles,
which fell to the floor with a loud metallic clang. "You speak my language,"
the warrior said. "Why are you freeing me ...? What am I to you?"
"You are a man," the friar answered, "and no man deserves to live as a
slave. Our Lord Jesucristo forbids it."
"Did your Lord order the slaughter of my people and the extermination of our
beliefs?" the confused warrior asked.
"No; that was the doing of men," the friar answered, lowering his
embarrassed gaze.
Corazon Negro hesitated. His instincts told him to escape, now that he had
the opportunity. He started to leave, but turned back to ask a question.
"Can you liberate the rest of my people?"
The Franciscan smiled. "I fear that is beyond my power. I'm freeing you
because I know that, wherever you go, you will always have much more
opportunity that the rest of them. The only thing that I can promise you is
that I will try to free them through the True Faith. Now go. Your road will
be long."
Once again Corazon Negro began to walk away, and once again he turned back
to the Watcher, this time noticing a round medallion around the friar's
chest--and it did not contain the Catholic symbol, the cross. "Thank you,
white man," he said with tears in his eyes. "I will never forget what you've
done for me today." Then he began to run toward the mountains.
<I know you won't,> thought the Watcher. <Montalvo Olmedo Castellan must
have been very surprised when you beheaded him in the square, twelve years
ago. So was I. I was his Watcher.>
Notes & translations:
Nahuatl is the Aztec language.
Aztlantaca is the original name for the Aztec people.
Cuitlahuac (Nahuatl): Literally, Dry-excrement. The tenth Aztec Emperor was
the one who leaded the fights against the Spaniards during the Sad Night. In
homage of his triumph, all the Spaniards and Texcalteca captured during the
battle were sacrificed. Cuitlahuac died of smallpox late in 1520 at 44 years
of age.
Motecuhzoma Xocoyotzin (Nahuatl): Literally, Lord Young and Angry. The ninth
Aztec Emperor was attacked by his own people when he tried to restrain the
rebellion against the Spaniards. Two days after the event, in early 1520,
Cortes ordered his death.
La Pampa Humeda (Spanish): the humid part of the Argentine plains called the
Pampa
Maquahuitl (Nahuatl): Hungry wood - a carved hardwood weapon the length of a
man's arm encrusted with sharpened obsidian, designed to cut the enemy to
pieces.
**The Aztec people bathed regularly, except for their priests, who felt
water would make them lose their religious power, which they gained during
the human sacrifices by allowing the victims' blood to flow over their hair
as a sign of humility and obedience and recognition of the slain ones. So
they avoided baths and rain. The Europeans disliked and avoided baths.
Tlaltelolco's Teocalli (Nahuatl): Temple of Tlatelolco
Quachic (Nahuatl): Old Eagle; the name given to their strongest warrior
Xochimique (Nahuatl): War prisoners for human sacrifices.
Tlacopan (Nahuatl): a local district of Tenochtitlan
carromatos (Spanish): large wagons, used to carry supplies and often cannon
Indio/a (Spanish): Indian
!Por favor, no! (Spanish): Please, no!