1519 – Mexica-Tenochtitlán
Los Años Vinculantes
trans. The Binding Years
“Again,” the Toltec demanded in Nahuatl as he stomped toward the girl. She flinched, clutching her dirty huipil as the sharp bitter stench of piss stained the air. Her thin arms squeezed her middle. Stopping him in his tracks.
The girl was young, maybe eight years old. Her golden skin gleamed under the torchlight. He stretched his hand toward her hair, his fingers itched to touch it. Test it. It was so different from his own smooth black hair. It framed her face like a halo. Under the firelight, it glowed. Two thin braids hung like ropes across her shoulders. Each with three turquoise and three onyx beads. He blinked, pulled his hand back, remembering his purpose.
Claiming the power of the white hummingbird.
The Toltec grinned, knowing his bared teeth added to the girl’s terror. Most of his teeth lined up in a somewhat normal smile, but he had extras. They jutted through his gums. Cutting the inside of his mouth. It didn’t hurt. The flesh inside his between his lips and gums was calloused. Acting more like a sheath for a blade. His grin widened and the girl whined which pleased him.
Terror was a power greater than physical strength. It stunned the mind. A mind unable to think was easy to manipulate. He took a step back making a show of smoothing his robes. As the king’s priest he shared power. Over time his words became the king’s words. If his plan flowed as the mirror decreed, his voice would be greater than the king’s.
He freed an obsidian blade from its sheath, laid it across his palm and cut while meeting the child’s eyes. He’d spent years searching for her. Wrapping his hand around the blade, he squeezed. Blood spilled through his fingers and dripped down his wrist. He flicked his hand, showering the girl in crimson. He frowned. It was supposed to sizzle like it did when she was delivered to him.
Fear. He was certain fear activated her power. The simpering cowering thing before him would not do. He needed her to stop whining. If the New Fire Ceremony was to have the impact he designed, she had to speak with confidence. Move like a goddess.
His lip curled.
Children were such difficult creatures!
He clicked his tongue before striding away from the girl to the door where he sheathed his blade. He tore a strip from his robe and wrapped his bleeding hand. There had to be a better way to coax the girl’s powers to the surface. He brought his freshly wrapped hand to his chin as he considered his options. Children were simple creatures. He chuckled. The act primed his face for its new mask. He faced the girl again. This time, he wore a closed-mouth smile when he approached the girl.
“What is your name, girl?” The Toltec was pleased with the warmth of his tone.
“Cui … Cui … Cuitcatl,” the girl croaked.
In his head, he sneered at the name. It meant ‘song’. Girls were not songs. They were weights that clanged and dragged. The good ones were silent, watchful, and did not have to be told what pleased their masters.
He kneeled before the child, doing his best not to show his revulsion. His lips twitched as he struggled to keep his benevolent facade in place. Breathing deep, he reminded himself of the reward. In a little while, he would stand with the gods. Looking down at the girl, his smile, genuine. He reached for the girl, gently capturing her chin between his palms, guiding her bruised face to meet his slate gray gaze and said, “Your name is Alba.”
It was an uncommon name, but it had come to him in a dream. A dream of floating mountains with colorful summits that moved with the wind, graceful as they glided across the water. There was a flock of hummingbirds, each a vibrant color, like a flower. In the dream, he looked down from the heavens on the floating mountains. Men tended the great bodies of land. The mountains were near Mexica-Tenochtitlán, and he would make sure that he was the first priest the strangers met. In the dream, it was his hand that reached out toward the approaching marvel. It was on his hand that a white hummingbird landed. Its wings beat as the name Alba trilled like little bells. The Toltec knew dreams were prophetic. To help it come to pass, he would follow it to the letter. His grip tightened on the girl’s face, and he repeated the name.
Her honey-brown brows threaded with gold strands bowed in confusion. “My name is—”
“Alba,” the Toltec cut her off.
The girl’s mouth hung open. He slid a hand beneath her chin and used a finger to close it.
That same finger slid up the side of her tear-stained face, ending at her forehead where he pressed the telltale birthmark. The mark that should be his. He repeated his instruction slowly. “You are Alba, and I am going to make you a god.”
The girl blinked at him.
“They’re alive, you know.” The Toltec leaned back, savoring the hope he created. It was laughable, the way her mouth moved like a freshly caught fish. Open and shut. Soft rasping puffs of air spewed from her mouth instead of words. Finally, after a noisy swallow of air, she spoke. Her voice reverent.
“They’re alive?”
He nodded.
“If you do as I say,” he gestured toward the high window. Torchlight gleamed along the edge of the windowsill. It spread along the upper wall, causing the stones to shimmer. Its beauty inspired him. “Some of them may yet survive,” he said to the girl.
“But why can’t—” the girl began.
A sharp wave of his finger halted her protests.
Rebellion. He would not have it. Not from the girl.
His lips twisted, as stormed over to the corner she occupied. The girl did her best to crawl into the wall which pleased him. He towered over her, though he was not a large man. The girl was small for her age. Thin. Odd looking. He inhaled, pushing his shoulders straight as he looked down his nose at her.
“This is the Year of Fire! You know what that entails, even though you are not from Tenochtitlán.”
The girl whimpered, bunching up her huipil as her whining continued.
“The seven men who sheltered you,” the Toltec sniffed. “Your uncles …” He rolled his eyes before glowering at the child. He could see how her pitiful state called to the protective nature in good men. The seven were known along the western border near Lake Texcoco as honest farmers. Good workers. His spies informed him that the men were brothers, four widowers, two married, and one bachelor. Their entire family had been winnowed down to the seven. The widowers had lost not only their wives but their children to either war or sickness. The married pair had no children. The brothers raised the girl between households, treating her like a daughter, providing shelter, food, and affection. Her reaction to the news of their survival pleased him.
“What does it matter if I leave you four, or even one? You will have someone,” he said. His proposal sounded reasonable, yet his intent was clear: once the girl was secured in his chambers, their fate was sealed. Two had managed to escape, but his gaze lingered on the pile of skulls nearby, five shiny trophies atop the stand beside his ceremonial headdress. His attention returned to the girl. The lie he told held kernels of truth. Walking away, he approached his collection, trailing a finger along the cranium of the nearest skull. As he awaited her response, a slow, sinister smile crept across his face. Despite her initial fumbling, her words grew surer, stronger with each attempt.
He inhaled, scenting smoke. He looked around and saw the shimmering red lights of the wards etched into the walls, ensuring his protection from her power. Moving slowly, he paced the room, stealing glances at her amber glow. Waves of golden light slithered across her skin. The wards muted it, but the amber of her once dark brown eyes was unmistakable. She was what the rumors spoke of. A child of Huitzilopochtli. A demigod. A bastard. How she came to be and what happened to her mother was unknown. What he did know was that her existence would be brief.
“Again,” he said, as he bobbed his head to the cadence of her words. “Again!” he demanded. The flow felt like a prophecy. The girl’s ignorance of her abilities was a gift. A hint of divinity braced her words, making them echo.
He made the girl repeat the prophecy thirteen times before he ended their session. He reminded her that he would visit her later to collect the day’s offering before sending her away. A reward would be waiting for her once she returned to her chambers—a puppy his guard had collected during their siege. A Xoloitzcuintli. It was a fitting gift for the child. The breed was known to his people as guides of the dead into the afterlife. The puppy was a salve to the wounds he’d left on her spirit. It was a useful tool, ensuring her obedience, which added to his power.
The Toltec watched the girl and her guard until they vanished from sight. Once he was certain they were far enough that he could not be heard, he strode across the room to a large turquoise curtain, which took up an entire wall. He fished around the edges, found the cord, and drew them back, revealing an obsidian mirror. Unlike a normal mirror, it showed no reflection. Framed in tezontle rock, the carvings in it showed hummingbirds, much like the ones he saw in his dream. They were flying into the sun, their feathers untouched by the sun’s fire. The Toltec ran his fingers across the scene, marveling at its simpleness. The mirror was one of four he’d acquired through spies and delivered by runners. They varied in size. He also procured a small collection of tomes, all detailing various magics. Magics he would study until he found a spell of transference. Soon. Soon, he would attain his destiny.
Flexing his shoulders, he moved closer to the mirror. Peering into its murky depths, he said, “Eye of the thirteen heavens, grant me a vision of what is to come.” The surface rippled. Soft clicks echoed through the barren chamber as it built the image in response to the Toltec’s question. A glistening black relief appeared of the Toltec on the summit of the Sun Pyramid, with a blood-red sun shining behind his head like a crown. The mirror’s magic was lifelike as bits of color manifested. Blazing orange symbols along his arms and bare chest burned bright in the rising smoke. He rubbed the sleeves of his robe, reveling in the texture of the carefully crafted marks of the stolen spell.
“You possess the white hummingbird. The power of the sun is yours,” the mirror said as the image faded. “Take care and heed the words of Huitzilopochtli, or the conqueror will become the servant.”
The Toltec frowned. The mirror’s message was confusing. It had changed the moment the girl entered the capital. He looked over his shoulder toward the path the girl had taken. Anger rose as he thought of the power the girl possessed. She was an orphan and a female. Females were not meant for such an honor.
He held out his hands. His palms tingled. A priest like himself understood the ways of Huitzilopochtli, his will. He understood the people, knew what they wanted and what they needed. He glanced up at the high window. Deep red, purple, and yellow light filtered through the clouds. The silver men would help him succeed. To ensure his success, he housed the silver men’s king in his secret chamber. At the right time, they would rise. The rest of the visitors would arrive on the day of transference. Until then, he would faithfully attend to his priestly duties.