The Stethoscope and Pen

.           Xlenca was forced to slow his pace. His lungs burned and throat was raw. Lotec reached his side and the two men strove onward, their breath coming in desperate gasps. The young Beast Master glanced downward. The Spaniard was following closely while Master Quezoema struggled further behind. He saw that he was halfway up the staircase.  There was still so far to go. Stealing a glimpse at the top of the Great Temple, he was horrified to see the stones taking on the color of the dawn. Something bright flashed in the darkness, reflecting the first light of sunrise. He was too late.

*                                  *                            *                                  *

A scream shattered the stillness of the morning. A woman’s voice sounded shrill and loud for a moment, and then was stilled.

*                                  *                            *                                  *

With his heart beating so hard it threatened to tear itself from his breast, Xlenca pounded upwards. His knuckles were white as he gripped his rod with fierce determination. He pulled an obsidian bladed knife from his belt without slacking his pace and pressed onward closer and closer to the top of the pyramid. His visage, already grim and savage, paled with an unquenchable anger as he caught sight of the channel cut down the midst of the stairway. Even in the dim light he could see that which he had dreaded to see. The channel flowed with fresh blood, the blood of a sacrifice to the God of the Sun. A hard lump of despair rose in his throat and tears welled in his eyes but he shook them off. He must still try.

His eyes were dry and hard when he reached the summit of the stairs. He screamed with anger as he surged forward. A Sun Warrior turned to block his path swinging a war club as he did.  Xlenca parried the blow with his rod and thrust out with his knife. The razor sharp tip of the obsidian dagger bit deeply into the man’s thigh.  With a grunt of surprise, the Sun Warrior tumbled to the floor, twisting on his uninjured leg as he fell. The stone blade snapped in two as the man buckled beneath its impact and Xlenca was forced to drop the now useless weapon as another of the temple guardsmen charged at him. The second Sun Warrior fell with a scream as the first of Lotec’s javelins pierced his shoulder.

The soldiers of the sun priest surged forward. The two Ixtec, Beast Master and Rider, were quickly joined by the Spanish courtier d’Amarco but the three allies remained severely outnumbered. If they had been better armed, if they had not been so weary from their long trek to the city and so exhausted by their race up the side of the temple, the outcome might have been different. A half dozen of the Sun Warriors fell before the fury of their onslaught but it was not enough to insure victory. Instead, the trio of combatants was overwhelmed by the forces arrayed against them. Bruised and battered they succumbed to the sheer number of guardsmen. Within moments Xlenca was weaponless, his arms pinioned by a pair of warriors. A third raised his spear for the final blow.

Once more, the morning air was broken by a woman’s scream.

The instant was frozen in eternity. His adversaries shocked into seeming stillness Xlenca slowly turned his head towards the sound. The blood red fury faded from his vision as his eyes focused on the small knot of prisoners jostling with their jailers. His mouth dropped open in surprise as one of them broke through, reaching towards him with bound hands. Roughly she was grabbed and thrust back into the midst of her fellow captives but the sight of her was enough. The sight of all of them was enough. It was Cue-Ahmma, with Ma-Zena and Henrico beside her. She was alive. They were all three alive.

“Cease.” At Lo-Huitzlapoch command the Sun Warriors lowered their weapons. “Do not kill them. They are trespassers here but we will let them see our triumph.”  Master Quezoema staggered to the top of the stair at that moment, his breath gone from the climb and his heart pounding. The older Beast Master was seized and placed under guard. The group’s rescue attempt had failed and they too were now prisoners. 

Xlenca jerked his head suddenly toward the stone alters. If Cue-Ahmma and Ma-Zena still lived, then whose blood had been spilled? Whose life had been relinquished to the dawn? A sob caught in his throat as his eyes fell upon the still forms stretched out upon the blood drenched altars. Their chests were mangled and torn. Their throats dripped with gore. But their faces were strangely serene and peaceful. There, atop the unyielding stone, their skin reddened both the rays of the rising sun and by their own spilt blood lay the bodies of Father Garcilosa de la Vega and Master Tu-Tuoan of the Red Sun.

*                                  *                            *                                  *

Henrico followed Xlenca’s gaze. He still could not believe that his friend and mentor was dead. He could not understand how a man so filled with faith, so strong in battle, so courageous in life, could have allowed himself to be put beneath the blade of a pagan despot. And why had the old Ixtec gone so willingly with him? Tu-Tuoan had been touched by the hand of God, healed of his infirmity and made to walk again. Yet he too had had the precious gift of life ripped from his chest. The young Benedictine stared at their remains, his eyes awash in tears. God had brought these two men together from opposite ends of the earth. He had woven their lives together with faith and with power, and now, together He welcomed them into paradise.

Henrico remembered the words they had spoken. The Sun Warriors had stepped forward to seize the two Ixtec women for their master Lo-Huitzlapoch. They were to be the first to die, virgins given in sacrifice to the rising sun. Henrico was to follow. But the Spanish priest and the Ixtec Beast Rider had other plans.

“There is another way,” Master Tu-Tuoan had said, “Let the young people go and you can have an even more valuable sacrifice.”

“What do you mean, old man?” Lo-Huitzlapoch said, his tone mocking.

            “What he is saying,” the Spanish priest said, “Is that if you let Henrico and the two young women go free, we will submit to your ceremony. We will be the sacrifices.”

The silence that followed was broken by the cruel laughter of the sun priest. Lo-Huitzlapoch had slowly shaken his head in amusement. “You’ll submit? Why should I care if you submit or not? You are already in my hands. I have all the power here and can put you under my knife should I choose.”

“No, you cannot,” Master Tu-Tuoan had said, “I am not your prisoner. I am a Master of the Great Beast, Elder Councilor of the Red Sun Barracks, a member of the Grand Council of the Path of Quetzol and Advisor to the Council of Stewards. You cannot and dare not harm me in any way. You know that this is so.”

“So,” the sun priest had spat back, “I have these four. That is enough.”

“But you do not have them,” the Beast Master had said, “You know the law. The edicts of the Sun God do not allow you to demand the sacrifice of a warrior priest and that is just what Garcilosa is. You know this. All know this. Even you must obey the rules of your god.”

“You fool,” the sun priest had said with a sneer, “Why should I worry of rules? Soon you will all be dead.”

“True, but they will know.” Tu-Tuoan had gestured toward the temple priests. “They will know if you do not follow the ways of your god. And in knowing they will cease to obey you. If you want our blood then you must agree to our demands.”

Lo-Huitzlapoch had reddened with anger, his fists slowly clenching and releasing. He had glanced over at the other clerics. They had heard all that had been said and had begun to murmur amongst themselves in hushed and uneasy tones. There was truth in the old fool’s words. The power and prestige represented in the Beast Master and the warrior priest were more valuable than a dozen virgins. At last, the High Priest had nodded his head sharply and hissed through gritted teeth. “Very well. The women and the boy will be freed. But you, both of you will be under my knife.”

“Let it be so,” Father Garcilosa had said.

Henrico had stood in shocked silence, wanting to cry out in protest but unable to find the words. It could not be, he had thought, there must be another way. He had tried to break free, to reach the priest who had come to mean so much to him but the Sun Warriors had restrained him roughly. Father Garcilosa had turned, raising his bound hands toward his apprentice in silent benediction. Slowly, a sad tender smile had appeared on his face. He had then begun to speak, his gentle words seeming to force all of the surroundings into deathly stillness.

“It is God’s will, my son.  He has called me to this place and this time. I am ready to behold Him at last, face to face. I am at peace.”

With a snarl Lo-Huitzlapoch had ordered the two older men seized and laid out upon the altars. He had hurried to stand over their prostate forms and held his dagger high into the morning air. As he had done so Father Garcilosa had turned once more and spoken clearly and firmly to Henrico, “Ergo sum pastor bonus, bonus pastor animan suam dat pro ovibus.”

The sun priest had blanched pale at the Spaniard’s words. An unworldly light glowed in his eyes as the strange words pierced his spirit. His face had twisted into a cruel mask of hate and, forgetting every ritual and practice, he had assaulted the foreign priest in a fury of mindless blood lust. As his dagger plunged into the bodies of the Spanish cleric and the Ixtec Master, Ma-Zena had at last given way to her fear and terror. She had screamed a shrill and desperate cry that had shattered the dawn’s illusion of peace until it had been stifled by the rough hands of a Sun Warrior.

*                                  *                            *                                  *

Xlenca shook himself and looked again at the torn and brutalized bodies lying on the stone altars. Master Tu-Tuoan and Father Garcilosa were dead, apparently sacrificed to the Sun God at the hands of his High Priest. A host of emotions tore through his chest. Grief and sadness competed with anger and a cry for vengeance. All must need be suppressed. He could not save the Spanish priest or his former Master but perhaps there was still a chance to save the others.

“Lo-Huitzlapoch,” he called out, “Surely there has been enough bloodshed. Surely the Sun God will be satisfied.”

“He might have been,” the pagan cleric said, gesturing at the savaged corpse of Father Garcilosa, “But not now. This unclean creature cursed us with his last breath. He did not submit to his death but sought to escape it through foul sorcery.”

“No,” Henrico said, “That is not so.”

“Hah, the magician’s apprentice speaks. What then did he say, fool? He cursed us with the tongues of demons. Are you attempting to do the same?”

“No, that is not true.  Father Garcilosa spoke Latin, a language from our homeland, the language of our priests.”

“What did he say?” Xlenca asked.

“He quoted from our Holy Books. He used the words of Jesus. He said that he was a good shepherd, just like our Lord and just like Jesus he was willing to die for his sheep, for us. He wasn’t trying to escape death. He was yielding to it.” Henrico spoke softly as he continued to stare at the face of the deceased priest. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks but his eyes glowed with the recognition of what his mentor had done. Ma-Zena sobbed quietly beside him and turned to bury her face in his chest. The young Spaniard’s arms were tied with cords but he was still able to slip them over her shoulders. He looked with defiance at the sun priest.

“You must let us go now. You gave your word that when Master Tu-Tuoan and Father Garcilosa sacrificed themselves you would free us. You must do so.”

“I must? Do not dare try to dictate to me. I still hold the power, all of the power.” He began to laugh, a harsh cruel sound that sent shivers through all who heard it. He waved his dagger in the air and continued to rave wildly. “Who do you think can stop me? Your pathetic friends? They are prisoners just as you are.” Sweeping the dagger tip past Xlenca and his companions, he thrust it next towards the clutch of temple priests. The clerics fell back in disarray before his fury. “Do you think they can stop me? That I care about their rules or their opinions anymore?” He began to move closer to Henrico and the two women. The captives attempted to shrink away but were harshly grasped once more by the Sun Warriors and pushed forward. Lo-Huitzlapoch waved the dagger fiercely through the air, the highly polished steel flashing bright in the morning sun.

*                                  *                            *                                  *

Some later said that the High Priest had offended the Sun God. That when Lord Lo-Huitzlapoch had refused to honor his pact with the dead Beast Master and the Spanish priest, his own god had turned on him. Others said that the noise and the smell of fresh blood caused confusion atop the Great Temple, and that the flash of sunlight reflected from the high priest’s blade had precipitated the events which followed. Some wondered about the power of the foreign God, of what role He played in these events. Most only shrugged and said that they were just glad that it was over, that the new High Priest had been too ambitious, too scornful of tradition and simply too dangerous. Henrico knew the truth.

Even as the sun priest had begun his mad ravings and had begun to stalk toward them, a voice had spoken in his head. He kept him . . . as an eagle . . . hovers over its young, spreading out its wings, taking them up. Those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles. A great peace settled over him and he watched in detached interest as the sun priest raised his dagger to strike. Henrico turned his head slowly to gaze at the great eagle as it sat perched upon the torch stand. The predatory bird had not moved during all the battle and commotion but had continued to watch the unfolding drama in quiet stillness. Then suddenly it took wing. Sunlight blazed from the blade held by the sun priest but Henrico saw the raptor take flight even before the bright beams of light struck its perch. 

The shrill scream of the war bird sounded through the air. The great eagle, its plumage painted red and gold by the dawn, swept toward the sun priest with its talons extended. Lo-Huitzlapoch staggered back with hands raised to protect his face. The eagle beat against him with its wings and slashed out with beak and claw. The Sun God’s High Priest shrieked in fear and anguish and desperately attempted to escape from the bird’s fierce onslaught. His foot slipped in a pool of fresh blood and he stumbled. Before he could regain his balance, the eagle flew at him again. Lo-Huitzlapoch could not withstand the assault. He stepped off the edge of the Great Temple and tumbled down its steep staircase.

The eagle seemed to hover in midair for a moment, watching the deadly course the sun priest’s body took down the side of the stone pyramid. Its golden eye flashed at Henrico once again and then it spiraled into the sky. In shocked silence the guardsmen and temple priest rushed to the edge of the platform. The captives followed. The once bright headdress was broken and sullied. The regal cloak of plumage had been torn and shredded. Feathers of every hue floated like falling leaves. Lo-Huitzlapoch lay at the foot of the staircase, his body twisted and shattered. His neck was bent at an impossible angle and his eyes were locked in a lifeless stare into eternity. The High Priest of the Great Temple of the Sun was dead.

Master Quezoema was quick to assert his authority. Shaking off his shocked captors he ordered the other Sun Warriors to release the prisoners. He moved to rearm his companions and then confronted the temple priests. Confused and frightened, the accolades were easily cowed by the Beast Master. They had departed the ways of their ancestors, and followed a mad man who defied tradition and corrupted the Empire. To be redeemed they must forsake the ways of Lo-Huitzlapoch and resume their proper role. Priests, advisors, and most of all supporters of the Path of Quetzol. The temple clerics whispered amongst themselves and then in unison, bowed in acceptance of Master Quezoema’s words.

The Sun Warriors also submitted. Upon Quezoema’s command, the company of Sun Warriors marched down the staircase to lift up the twisted remains of the High Priest. Without a sound they strode away from the temple and away from the city. If any saw their passing, they did not speak of it. Lo-Huitzlapoch was gone and his name was best forgotten.

In the following weeks the plague began to burn itself out. Thousands had died from its ravages. Common peasants and simple soldiers were joined in death with rich merchants, educated priests and exalted Stewards. Even so, things could have been much worse. Through the intercession of Master Quezoema, Henrico was allowed to appear before the Council of Stewards. The young Benedictine was able to pass on Father Garcilosa’s knowledge on how best to contain the disease. Those infected must be isolated he told them, their possessions and houses burned and only others who had survived the illness allowed to care for the sick and dying.

The Council was grateful and agreed to all. The Spanish prisoners were released and allowed to return to their countrymen, including those found imprisoned in the Great Temple. The priests had at first protested that these captives had already been dedicated to the Sun God but they were overruled. All actions of the disgraced High Priest Lo-Huitzlapoch had been illegal and thus void. The decision became more acceptable with the news from the siege of the Spanish.

The Ixtec army surrounding the foreigners had thus far been spared from the plague but the news of its destruction had caused fear and tribulation. Discipline was more difficult to maintain and men were deserting out of concern for their families. The generals had at last admitted that there was little chance of success. The Spaniards’ weapons, especially those which killed with smoke and thunder, were just too potent to overcome. The invaders from over the Great Eastern Sea could not break out of their compound but neither could the Ixtec triumph over their defenses. They had reached a stalemate and so negotiations began.

In the end it was decided that the invading army would be allowed to leave. Resources would be passed through the fort’s gates so that the foreigners could rebuild their great canoes. As long as the invaders left and pledged not to return, the Empire would be satisfied. They had defeated the enemy in open combat and held them immobile for months. Honor had been served and now the Ixtec were content to simply recover from the war and from the plague.

As Henrico was escorted from his meeting with the Council of Stewards, he was pleased to find his companions waiting for him. Xlenca stepped forward with his arm around his betrothed Cue-Ahmma while Lotec and d’Amarco followed behind. Ma-Zena broke away from the others and rushed ahead to wrap her arms around the young Spaniard. Henrico blushed but a shy smile touched his lips. Hesitantly at first and then with growing enthusiasm, he returned the embrace.

“Sister, let the young man breathe,” Xlenca said as he approached the couple. It was Ma-Zena’s turn to flush with embarrassment as the others gathered around. She pulled back but continued to hold the young man’s arm and turned to look into his eyes. Apprehension briefly clouded her face as she asked, “Did the Council agree to Master Quezoema’s advice? Are you freed?”

“Yes, he is, young woman,” Master Quezoema said, “Both he and the swordsman are to be released. They are to be allowed to return to their countrymen.” The Beast Master handed a knotted message belt to d’Amarco. “This will ensure your safety and allow you to pass through our forces.”

“Master Quezoema has also given his permission for Lotec and me to act as your guides,” Xlenca said, “You will still get your chance to ride atop Moon Dancer.” 

Henrico could see the joy in the young Beast Master’s eyes. He had been able to share with the warrior and to assure him that Tu-Tuoan and Father Garcilosa were safe in the arms of Jesus. He knew that Xlenca’s acceptance of this new belief was complete and real. The Beast Master had opened his heart to God and he had been changed and renewed. 

Henrico looked around at those who had become his friends and companions. It was only a short time ago that he had feared and mistrusted them but now they had become closer than family. The Ixtec warriors had proven to be honorable and caring while the courtier Ponce d’Amarco had shown his true nature at last and become the comrade Henrico always hoped he would be. God had worked in their lives. His conquest over the darkness had filled their souls with a golden light, and shown them the power of His love and His grace. Cortes’ attempt to invade the New World had met failure and defeat but there had been a victory of much greater importance. That victory had occurred in the souls of men.

 The young Spaniard knew that his own heart had been touched in ways that he could never have imagined. The Ixtec maiden beside him had broken through his wariness to melt the ice that had gripped his chest. But Henrico also knew that even her gentle warmth could not affect a heart of stone. Someone else had done that. Another of infinite power and love had achieved that miracle. I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; and I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put My Spirit within you and cause you to walk in My statutes. Henrico closed his eyes and lifted his face skyward. 

He smiled as he felt the sun’s warmth caress his countenance. A flickering shadow crossed his visage and he opened his eyes. High above, a dark shape soared through the azure sky. It was an eagle, golden and majestic, its wings spread wide in the firmament. The eagle’s cry sounded through the air, calling to each member of the small group. Henrico’s smile broadened and he raised his hand in salute.

The great brown grey form of the mastodon crested the top of the hill. She raised her trunk to sniff the wind and felt the sharp tang of salt in the air. Moon Dancer trumpeted a challenge and a greeting. Henrico stepped around the Great Beast’s flank and shading his eyes with his hand stared out at the distant horizon. The bright blue shimmer of the sea drew his vision to its promise.  Somewhere beyond his sight, a ship was sailing into a quiet bay to await his coming. It would be there to receive him and carry him away from this land. He did not know for certain where it would take him. Perhaps back to Spain. Perhaps to Salamanca and the monastery. Or perhaps, he would be led elsewhere. 

He did not know what life held in store for him but he was no longer afraid. Henrico knew with a certainty that forced all doubt to flee that his life was in God’s hands, that the Lord was in control. Ma-Zena stepped forward and took his arm. This too, he knew, depended on God’s will. But he was not troubled.

At last, after so much time, he was at peace.

The End

.           Xlenca stared anxiously at the eastern sky. It remained dark and clouded, the threat of dawn still hours away. How strange to view the coming of light as such a grim menace but he knew the peril that would accompany the appearance of the sun. In the empire of the Ixtec dawn was the hour of the Sun God. Xlenca feared that this morning it would once again be an hour of death. He moved back to Moon Dancer’s side and reached up to retighten the straps of her harness. The great beast’s eyes were red and heavy when she opened them to blink wearily at her master. A slight shudder rippled down her flanks but she did not pull away.

“I’m sorry, old one,” Xlenca said, “I know that you are tired. We all are. But we must continue a little further. They need us, Master Tu-Tuoan, Ma-Zena and Cue-Ahmma. We must reach them in time.” He clambered up onto Moon Dancer’s shoulders and glanced over at Quezoema. The Barracks Master was ready. Lotec and d’Amarco settled back into the war boxes and clutched their weapons. Xlenca nodded sharply and touched his mount’s side with his rod. They would make it. They simply had too.

*                                  *                                  *                                  *

Henrico was numb with fatigue but could not sleep. The stone floor of their cell was cold and unyielding but was not the reason. A harsh knot of fear gnawed at his gullet and clutched at his throat. His mouth was dry but his palms were wet. He stared in morbid fascination at the steady tremble of his fingertips. Was this how he would die? A quivering bundle of terror ravaged flesh unable to stand or to speak? What of his friends? The women had been locked in the adjourning cell and for time Henrico could hear their sobs. Now they were quiet. How would they face death? The young Benedictine’s eyes darted across the room. 

The old Beast Master, Tu-Tuoan, was sleeping and actually seemed at peace. The attitude he displayed even in sleep was as surprising as his presence. He alone of the group did not have to be there. Indeed, the Sun Warriors had at first resisted his attempts to join them in the cell beneath the Great Temple. Henrico could not help but recall with renewed surprise and admiration the strength of the Ixtec elder’s words. Tu-Tuoan had made it clear to the Sun Warriors that he felt that his place was with the prisoners and that he would not be denied.

            Yes, the old ways may be changing and yes, the power of the sun priest might be on the increase but he, the great Tu-Tuoan, Elder of the Red Sun Barracks, Grand Master of the Quetzolite Path and Rider of the Great Beast, was not yet without influence. The Sun Warriors could refuse him this simple request and face the consequences or they could acquiesce. Besides, wouldn’t their master prefer to know where the old man was rather than have him wandering through the city causing all sorts of disturbance? At that point the guards had simply stepped aside and permitted the Beast Master to enter the cell. The door was locked behind him.

Henrico allowed his gaze to travel further to where Father Garcilosa sat hunched over. At first, the young Benedictine thought that his mentor was also sleeping but then the soft murmur of words came to his ear. The priest was not asleep but rather was deep in prayer. The younger man felt a prompting to follow his example but the chill cold of the stone floor seemed to have penetrated right up into his heart. The words stuck in his throat and his tongue felt wooden. He stared up at the ceiling, the roughhewn rock was an impenetrable barrier between himself and the throne room of God. He felt that any prayer which might pass his lips would rise no higher than those few feet. A feeling of deep gloom descended upon him and he slowly lowered his head.

A hand upon his shoulder made him look up suddenly. Father Garcilosa had moved to sit beside him and now spoke softly to the younger cleric. “Do not despair, my son.”

“But Father, I am afraid.”

“‘God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love and of a sound mind.’”

“I feel so alone.”

“He said, ‘I will never leave you, nor forsake you.’”

“But where is He? Why cannot I feel Him?”

“‘Seek the Lord while He may be found, call upon Him while He is near,’ for ‘you will seek the Lord and you will find Him, if you seek Him with all your heart.’” 

With each scripture that the priest quoted, it seemed to Henrico as if a crack was opened through the sky into heaven. The words tore the barrier asunder and he felt the warm light of paradise pouring over his soul. He felt the peace of God settle over him and he bowed his head once more, not in anguish but in reverence. Father Garcilosa placed his hand on the younger man’s head in a silent benediction. The two Spaniards sat unspeaking for a moment. Henrico lifted his head and gestured to their fellow prisoners.

“What about the others, Father? What will happen to them?”

“Do not worry, my son, the Lord is watching over them as well. We are all in His hands.”

“But what is He going to do? What are we going to do?”

“We? We shall do what we must.”

*                                  *                            *                                  *

            The city gates were dark and silent. No sentry called out to challenge the Great Beasts as they strode out of the gloom. No one stepped forth to greet the Beast Riders. It was as if the grand city of the Ixtec had been shaken to its core and was now hiding in fear from its fate.  Quezoema edged his tired mount forward and the mighty mastodon lowered her head against the heavy wooden beams of the city gate. Moon Dancer joined her sister and the two mastodons strained against the barricade. The muscles in their vast shoulders began to tremble from the strain as their breath came in great ragged gulps. Moon Dancer’s forefoot slipped and she almost stumbled. Xlenca leaned forward to whisper encouragement in her ear and his mount regained her footing. The redoubled efforts of the Beasts were rewarded with the cracking sound of a heavy shaft splintering before their onslaught. The gates fell open before them.

            Xlenca glanced at the eastern sky and urged the mastodons forward. The blackness of the night was fading before the relentless onslaught of the approaching day. Night would not yield the battlefield easily as evidenced by the deep red beginning to drip from the eastern clouds. But it could not prevail and soon day, in all its terrible grandeur, would burst victorious over the horizon. They had to reach the Great Temple of the Sun before dawn’s first rays touched its stony peak. Xlenca feared what might happen if they failed. The pair of mounted mastodons rounded a corner onto a broad avenue and in the distance Xlenca could see the blackened silhouette of the Great Temple.

            With a shout he urged Moon Dancer forward. The Great Beast broke into a trot only to be drawn up short as a force of warriors stepped from the shadows. A fearsome company of city guardsmen moved into view, their faces grim and their weapons at the ready. They quickly arrayed themselves across the avenue. The Beast Masters may have entered the city unopposed but they would not so reach its Great Temple. The passage would have to be earned, perhaps even with combat against their countrymen. A man stepped through the ranks of the guardsmen to wave off the approaching mastodons. It was the same Steward who had urged them to battle against the invading Spanish. Now he sought to order them away.

            “You will go no further,” he said loudly, “On authority of the Council of the Empire, I order you hence.”

            “We must reach the temple.” Xlenca’s voice was desperate. “Lo-Huitzlapoch must be stopped.”

            “No. You cannot interfere. The survival of our city requires it.” He motioned to the guardsmen and the rear rank made ready to cast their javelins. Xlenca felt Lotec tense beside him and saw d’Amarco draw his sword. He did not know if they could break through the mass of men before them but he felt he must make the attempt. He had to reach the temple. He would reach it. Or he would die trying. He lifted his rod to command Moon Dancer to charge.

*                                  *                                  *                                  *

            The door of the cell burst open. Sun Warriors stepped inside and parted to allow the entry of the sun priest. Lo-Huitzlapoch strode into the room followed by a cadre of accolades and priests from the temple. He stood, his arms crossed in a posture of grandiose superiority and waved the pagan clerics forward. His face twisted into a sneer as he glanced over the scene. It was a pathetic picture, he thought. The two young women had already been dragged from their cell and now huddled together in a feeble attempt to avoid his wrath. The Spaniards sat dumbfounded, left speechless by his awesome appearance while the old foolish Beast Master was slowly rising to his feet, no doubt intent on pleading for their lives. He pointed across at the prisoners.

            “It is time. Bring the youth along with the women.”

            “We are coming as well,” Master Tu-Tuoan said as Father Garcilosa rose to stand beside him.

            “You presume to dictate to me, herdsman? You have no power here.”

            “Nonetheless,” Tu-Tuoan said, “We will accompany the others to wherever you take them.”

            Lo-Huitzlapoch stood silent for a moment and then slowly drew the Spanish dagger from his belt. The steel blade glowed dully in the flickering torchlight of the prison cell. The sun priest stretched out his hand to point the sharpened point at each prisoner in slow succession. At last he laid the dagger tip against the exposed neck of the Ixtec elder.

            “Understand me clearly, Beast Rider,” he said, “I hold all the power here. You come and go at my pleasure and my pleasure only.” He paused to sheath the dagger. “I have decided. It would do well for you to witness the full demonstration of my power. You will come with us.” He spun quickly on his heel and marched from the cell waving the guardsmen to follow. “Bring them. Bring them all. The dawn is coming and the Sun God thirsts for a sacrifice. He thirsts for blood.”

*                                  *                                  *                                  *

            Xlenca could feel Moon Dancer tense beneath him. In the open field of battle where the mastodons could charge at full speed the Great Beasts were a force beyond reckoning. But the young Beast Master knew that here, confined in the narrow city streets and facing a strong determined enemy they were much more vulnerable. He feared for Moon Dancer and that fear made him hesitate. He would gladly sacrifice his own life for those of his sister and Cue-Ahmma. But could he allow Moon Dancer to come to harm? But what else could be done? It was their only chance. He began to bring his rod down in the quick sharp command to charge.

            “No. Stop. There is another way.” 

            Startled by the shout of his Barracks Master, Xlenca froze and stared in amazement as Quezoema slid down from his mount and began to approach the city guard. The senior Beast Master spread his hands wide, his palms upturned and empty. He was leaving himself vulnerable and open to any blow or spear thrust that their opponents might use against him. The guardsmen looked at each other in bewilderment and fell back before Quezoema’s approach. At last he stood directly before the commander of the forces arrayed against them. He bowed slightly and then looked the man full in the eye.

            “Steward,” he said, “You know me. We have shared bread together and fought together. We have both always sought to serve the Empire to the best of our ability and to always protect her from any harm. You know that this is so. Remember, we stood side by side against the Aztec at Lake Texcoco. You were there when my brother died. He died turning back the assault on your flank. Without his courage the day may have been lost and the Empire put into deepest peril. Our homeland is in grave danger once again but not in the way which you assume. Will you hear the words which I would share with you? Will you listen to the brother of one who died for our People?” The grey-haired Steward stared at the Beast Master in silence for a moment and then nodded his assent. The two men moved away from the soldiers and stood in the shadows of the surrounding buildings. 

Xlenca could not hear their words but he watched as Quezoema pulled a small leather bag from his belt and displayed its contents to the other man. The Steward recoiled as if in horror but then seemed to regain his composure. He stepped closer to the Beast Master turning his head to listen intently to the other man’s words. The Steward could be seen nodding his head and then in a dramatic gesture of reconciliation, grasped Quezoema’s arms in his own. Without a further word the imperial commander turned and motioned to the city guardsmen. In a moment the previously hostile troops lowered their weapons and stepped aside. The way to the Great Temple was clear once more. Quezoema scrambled atop his mastodon and urged them forward.

*                                  *                                  *                                  *

Henrico was winded and breathing heavily by the time they reached the top of the steep staircase. He stumbled and almost fell on the dimly lit steps. A Sun Warrior jerked him roughly to his feet and shoved him forcefully upwards. The young Benedictine was propelled through a trap door onto the broad flat roof of the Great Temple. A second Warrior seized his arms and pushed him into line with the two Ixtec women. Henrico stared out over the expanse of the city, still darkly shadowed in the pre-dawn light. He was startled by the height of the pyramidal structure and looked about with eyes wide with fear and apprehension.

The top of the Great Temple was grim and stark. A broad steep stairway could be seen ascending from its front. Two flat altar-like blocks of stone bordered each side of the stairway, while a black bowl-shaped rock rested at the platform’s center. The bowl had been scorched with fire and was coated with thick, greasy black soot. The remainder of the space was empty, save for a number of dark posts at each corner designed to hold torches. The torches were unlit and cold. No attempt had been made to dispel the gloom or to conceal the harsh reality of worship at a Temple of the Sun. 

The hard, unyielding stone of the altars were darkened and stained with blood. The blood had overflowed the tops of the altars and spilled over the edges of the rock.  It had been allowed to funnel into a channel that ran down the center of the broad stairway. The blood stains announced to the city the fierce bloodlust of the Sun God and of his priests. It mocked the feeble attempts of man to defy this god or to strive against his evil. The young Spaniard recognized its claim and felt his fear anew. He tried to swallow but his mouth was locked in dry terror.

*                                  *                                  *                                  *

“What did you say to the Steward?” Xlenca asked as they hurried down the avenue.

“I told him what we had seen at the Great Hill Barracks,” Master Quezoema said, “And I showed him this.” The older Beast Master tossed a small leather bag to Xlenca. Catching it in midair he held it for a moment before opening the drawstring. Inside the satchel were some of the remains from the secret building at the Great Hill. It was a relic horrifying enough to convince the Steward that the true danger to the Empire lay in the sun priest Lo-Huitzlapoch and his fascination with the old gods. It was the tiny skull of an infant who had been sacrificed to an old and ancient evil. It proved that the sun priest must be stopped.

“Look,” Lotec shouted pointing at the top of the Great Temple. Xlenca looked up sharply. Figures had appeared on top of the stone pyramid. He rapped Moon Dancer on the neck to prompt her into greater speed. He could not be too late.

*                                  *                                  *                                  *

The sun priest strode up through the trap door and pulled on an ornate feathered headdress, laden with gold and precious stones. A temple accolade stepped forward to drape a cloak formed from blue, red and yellow feathers over his shoulders. Lo-Huitzlapoch shrugged the cloak into place and fastened it around his throat with a chain of heavy gold. A gilded pendant hung around his neck inscribed on one side with the image of the Sun God. On the reverse was a second image, an older even more sinister likeness, that of the Old One. The sun priest pulled the Spanish dagger from his belt and held it aloft. The sunrise was only moments away now and all was ready.

            The shrill cry of a bird sounded through the stillness. Lo-Huitzlapoch turned to watch as an eagle descended from the sky to perch on one of the corner posts. The wild raptor stared back at the humans, its golden eyes hard and unblinking. The sun priest smiled in triumph. It was a good omen.

*                                  *                                  *                                  *

Moon Dancer’s great sides were heaving from exertion when she at last reached the base of the Great Temple. The faithful mastodon had given all she could to the desperate race and she was near to collapsing with exhaustion. Xlenca slid down from his position atop her weary shoulders and began to run up the steep side of the temple. Lotec limped upward behind him, a javelin clutched tightly in each hand. He glanced up at the temple’s peak. High above, dark forms could be seen moving against the lightening sky, shifting into position in preparation for the sinister ceremony. The Beast Rider ducked his head and pushed onward.

*                                  *                                  *                              *

D’Amarco had sensed the growing apprehension and anxiety amongst his Ixtec companions. Though he still could not fully understand everything that had happened the Spanish courtier knew that his countrymen were danger. The sun priest who had conspired with the now dead Inquisitor had seized Father Garcilosa and young Henrico and was threatening their lives for some reason. The Beast Masters had led him to this huge stone pyramid and by their reaction he judged that this was where the threat was to be carried out. D’Amarco scrambled down from atop the mastodon and started up behind the elder Ixtec.  He passed the older man and raced upward, following Xlenca and Lotec toward the top. 

*                                  *                                  *                                  *

The sun priest stood on the edge of the platform. He was on the brink of shattering the power of the foreign invaders and seizing it for himself. The outmoded ways of the Ixtec people with their misplaced faith in the Path of Quetzol would be swept aside. For too long these simple minded shepherds, these overblown herdsmen had wielded too much influence in the Empire. They would be replaced. Even the priesthood of the Great Temple would be supplanted, he thought, as he glanced over at the throng of clerics watching from the back of the rooftop. They would soon be replaced by his own cohorts, followers of a god older, stronger and more bloodthirsty than the oh so benign Sun God. And he, Lo-Huitzlapoch would rule them all. The people and even the Council of Stewards would acknowledge him, would bow down to him. The Old One had spoken to him and told him so. The gifts he had brought and would continue to bring would assure him of victory. He would be more than the High Priest, he would be Emperor.

He pulled the Spanish dagger from his belt and clasped it with both hands. He held it aloft, stretching high in anticipation of the first rays of daybreak and for the instant to strike.