So I took a creative writing class what seems like forever ago (Spring ’11 semester with Kathryn Ionata, she’s rad), and this is the best piece of work that’s come out of it.  It’s not awesome or anything, but that class is what really piqued my interest in writing (and hence, this blog).  I’ve been hella busy traveling, job hunting, and generally making sense of my life, so this week’s posts have been minimal.  Once again, I’m going to take the lazy way out and post something that’s already done, but some positive feedback *hint hint* would work wonders for my ego, and probably get me back on my blogging game.

Without further ado, here’s Cortez the Killer, which was inspired by the Built to Spill song of the same name, which was inspired by the Neil Young & Crazy Horse song of the same name.

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I am Montezuma II, ruler of the Aztec empire.  My kingdom is the largest, most powerful empire in the whole world.  My people are happy and prosperous, the women are all beautiful, and the men are all brave; I am blessed.  Tenochtitlan is a city unlike any other, masterfully designed with wide, straight streets, towering buildings, bustling markets and magnificent pyramids.  These pyramids are located at the four corners of Tenochtitlan, temples for the awesome gods who have built this city and protect my people.

No outside force can cause us any harm; our warriors are the strongest in the land.  Their armor and weapons are blessed by priests and can withstand and strike down any foe.  My warriors are elite; any skirmishes at the outskirts of my borders are subdued quickly. Opposing tribes know better than to attack us.  War and hate are unknown to my people.  For this reason warriors were respected, but stationed outside of city.  We live and prosper in peace.  My people are selfless, offering life and sacrifice for their kin.  They work together for the well-being of each other and their beloved king.  I have been the best ruler Tenochtitlan has ever known.  Everything was perfect, how it should have been.

But strangely, on a bright and sunny day lightning struck a ruined pyramid in the farthest corner of the city, setting a part of it ablaze and killing the few priests that remained there.  I assembled a group of pipiltin – the nobles who live in my palace – and we went to Huitzilopochtli’s pyramid.  He is a ferocious god who represents war, the sun, and Tenochtitlan itself.  Upon arriving I realized my people had begun to take their safety and harvest for granted.  Fewer and fewer priests dedicated time here; tributes from the peasants had become nonexistent.  It was a shame that the place had become forgotten and neglected, but it had never been brought to my attention before now.

This pyramid used to be tall and intimidating, now it slouched and crumbled.  Built with red wood and black soil it was garishly adorned with murals of the sun and Huitzilopochtli himself.  Originally painted with the blood of war prisoners the murals had gone from bright red to a muted brown.  The whole thing had become dull and indistinguishable from the mud at its base.  The wooden foundation was growing fungi and tiny creatures were calling the rotted wood home.  The last of the fire smoldering along one edge of the pyramid was red and black, a reminder of how things used to be.

After climbing up a mountain of ancient stairs to the pyramid’s sanctuary, I sacrificed a peasant child on the altar to summon up this most powerful deity.  The child’s blood flowed through grooves on the altar, running onto the bust of Huitzilopochtli in the center of the room. With a flash of light as bright as the sun he appeared.  Huitzilopochtli was built with the wings and features of a hummingbird and the body of a warrior.  He was the size of 10 men and had the strength of 100.  His face was painted black and carried a stern expression.  The rest of his body changed into every color of the sun could be, from the deep red of sunset to blinding white of midday.  Over his feathered skin was thick crystal armor, in his left hand his scepter – a massive snake that would obey only his word.  Huitzilopochtli towered above us, but looked me in the eye.  From this close I could see that his eyes did not have pupils, but instead were large circular mirrors.  Seeing myself in his gaze, I spoke to him.

“O great Huitzilopochtli, what caused the death of my priests?  How can my people appease you?”

“You do not deserve to rule this magnificent place.  Tenochtitlan was immaculate until you poisoned it with your arrogance.”

His voice boomed throughout my kingdom.  My subjects could not hear such slander about their beloved ruler.  Why had the gods turned on me?  “I do not understand, why did you kill my priests?  They are here to serve you!”

“But you have done nothing to serve me.  It is a sign of things to come…”  Huitzilopochtli closed his eyes and I was overcome with a burning heat.  Before my eyes his body went up in flames, igniting the tapestries adorning the sanctuary.  His snake hissed out in agony, my sign to escape.  I quickly fled down the stairs as the temple started burning down.  Huitzilopochtli had abandoned us.

***

11 Augusto 1519

From the logbook of Captain Hernan Cortez,

We have passed the Cuban territory and made landfall on a remote peninsula.  We lost a scouting boat in a severe storm.  Morale is low and good men were lost on that ship.  We have stopped to lick our wounds and restock munitions on board.  The natural terrain is rich in resources but the topography is unknown to my scouts – we will have to stay close to base for now.

It was brought to my attention that my men captured a messenger of the native Tlaxcala tribe. Weak and unarmed he was contained easily and we are now holding him hostage.  I will arrange a meeting with his king at dawn.

***

For days since my meeting with Huitzilopochtli I had wandered the halls of my palace, pondering the secrets of his cryptic message.  I had been unable to sleep, restlessly walking through each corridor and pathway every night.  Peering out from a balcony I saw a decrepit old woman, weeping and shrieking in the street.  This putrid old hag was absolutely revolting, and could not have been from a lineage of beautiful Aztecs.  “Leave while you still can!  Leave while you still can!  Quetzalcoatl is angry with our King!!”  Quetzalcoatl has not been seen or heard from in decades, how could he be angry now?  I have done nothing wrong.  Who was this terrible old woman and how could she speak to Quetzalcoatl?  She sensed my thought and cast her beady eyes upon me. Instantly I felt my skin burn, the same pain I felt when Huitzilopochtli exploded.  The feeling overwhelmed me and I collapsed, but it was the first sleep I had gotten in days.

When I awoke my subjects gathered around me like leaves around a tree, telling me about strange events that had been occurring throughout the city.  They said that in the farming district fire had fallen from the sky in the place of rain, burning huts and large maize fields.  Strong winds carried the smoke plumes through the wide city streets, choking my citizens and staining buildings with soot.  The fires cannot be vanquished despite the farmers’ best efforts; entire tracts of land have been ruined.  Food may not be as plentiful this harvest season.

In the downtown markets there are reports of two-headed men, with fangs like daggers.  One face is twisted with agony, the other is ecstatic with pleasure.  The beasts are stark naked and their skin is blood red.  Their muscles were the size and consistency of boulders.  Their bloodshot eyes dart around their sockets looking for a victim.  They run howling through the streets, attacking civilians and stealing from the merchants.  They are blazingly quick and vanish before they can be caught.  Merchants are now too afraid to set up shop, the beasts have driven the life out of the business district.

Lake Tenochtitlan, an enormous oasis in the center of the city, now boiled violently at all hours.  Scores of dead fish were rising to the top of the lake, attracting vultures and other scavengers.  The thousands of fishermen who depended on the lake were now without their livelihood and disheartened.  As more and more of the water boiled off the canals to the remaining farms began to run dry.  There will be a serious food shortage soon. I must visit with Chalchiuhtlicue at once, the goddess of beauty, farming and water.

Chalchiuhtlicue’s pyramid was wide and organic, with grass and vines growing down the sides.  Waterfalls normally cascade through narrow openings on the pyramid face, but had curiously run dry.  The very bricks that made up the pyramid were cracking beneath the weight of my feet; the vines had become shriveled and brown.  This pyramid had decomposed rapidly.

The path to the sanctuary runs over 1000 cubits in length, leading to a large arboretum Chalchiuhtlicue calls home.  Fitting, as Chalchiuhtlicue took the form of a tree.  At twice the height of Huitzilopochtli and three times the girth, she was enormous.  As always, bright sunlight shone through a circular skylight directly upon the goddess.  Her array of roots were usually hidden in a deep blue pool, but today the water was dried up, revealing a knotted, decaying mess.  Her multicolored leaves had turned sickly and brown.  Large plump fruits from her branches had fallen down and rolled to the center of the pool.  She turned to look at me and moaned.

“O Chalchiuhtlicue!  Your great oases are dry.  Your people are without food.  There is this terrible ugly woman who said-“

“Montezuma, you coward!  You are going to be the death of this city.”

“How could it be me?  I do not know what is causing the drought, or the fires, or the wicked two headed beasts.  I come to you asking for help!  Please, Lord Chalchiuhtlicue!”

“They are omens that you have done nothing to prevent, you irresponsible, disrespectful fool.  Omens – Quetzalcoatl will soon arrive.”

“Help us Chalchiuhtlicue!”

With a somber look on her face she closed her eyes.  Cicadas and beetles flew in through the skylight and covered every surface of her body.  Leaves and branches began falling off in large clumps.  I ran out of the sanctuary right before Chalchiuhtlicue toppled over, the chirping of insects buzzed in my ears long after.

***

17 Augusto 1519

These people are not hostile.  They have given me and my soldiers fresh food and soft beds to sleep.  They are offering their finest women to my soldiers, a welcome relief for them.  They have even offered their own soldiers to join my fleet.  They asked me to conquer a city and its king on the other side of the bay, a place called Tenochtitlan.  They promise me food, fame and fortune.  I want Tenochtitlan.

***

I had never felt so scared.  My people were rioting.  We were running out of food and water.  Quetzalcoatl is only seen on high holy days, but there is word that a feathered serpent has been flying around Tenochtitlan.   The high priests and soothsayers took to the temple within my palace, praying for answers.  My city had collapsed in a matter of weeks.

I left the city and found my way to the beach, my own sanctuary.  I lay on the shore and looked out at the horizon.  Far out there was a massive galleon.  It came dancing across the water, followed by even more ships.  I felt doomed.

***

19 Augusto 1519

Soon after making landfall we were approached by the ruler of Tenochtitlan – Montezuma.  He was wearing a multicolored robe adorned with bells and gold chains.  There were a dozen priests on either side of him. They held bags full of gold, silver and their native jewelry – all of it was very beautiful.  I was hesitant at first, but with a group of my men I followed his lead into Tenochtitlan proper.  Although it was in a state of disarray, it was like nothing I had ever seen – perfectly parallel roads, beautiful paintings and statues in town, thousands of homes, and massive pyramids that were visible from anywhere in the city.  The people here have dark skin and skinny bodies, their clothing is barbaric and their skin is painted with tattoos.  Nevertheless they seem civilized and intelligent, though not nearly as sophisticated as a Spaniard.

His palace was the largest and stood directly in the middle of the city.  It must have taken a century to build by hand.  It would dwarf the largest castles in Spain.  There was ample room for my men and me to stay.  We were treated like royalty and fed a wealth of indigenous foods.  I imagine we will spend a few days here to rest and wait for Montezuma to let his guard down.  He is making this too easy for us.

***

He spoke a tongue I have never heard.  His clothes were covered in shiny metal plates.  A large leather scabbard hung off his hip; the sword had a jewel encrusted handle.  His helmet was also metal and adorned with feathers.  Feathers – it must have been Quetzalcoatl – but he called himself Cortez.  He stayed for five nights now, and the priests are preparing a service at Quetzalcoatl’s temple tonight.  Something to appease him, and to protect us.

I would not be in attendance.  My people had turned on me, called me traitor for allowing an angry god to live among us.  I was afraid to leave the safety of my palace.  Cortez had left me his own bodyguard to protect me from any vagrant that sneaks in.  They would not think to attack Cortez, though.  Their mask of respect hid a paralyzing fear.

When the ceremony was about to start I walked back out to my balcony, and I observed Quetzalcoatl’s pyramid.  I heard a low rumbling get louder and louder.  Cortez and over 100 men rode through Tenochtitlan on large fearsome creatures.  They screamed a battle cry and rode towards the pyramid in straight formations, with wave after wave of his warriors following him.  After riding his creatures up the stairs of the pyramid he rushed in with his sword and his men behind him.  His bodyguard snuck up behind me, covered my eyes and tied my mouth shut.

***

24 Augusto 1519

In the sanctuary there were two dozen unarmed priests, adorned in tribal masks, chanting prayers to Quetzalcoatl.  We did not have a single casualty on our side.  I killed two of them on my own, and my soldiers made quick work of the others with their guns.  By edict their warriors were allowed nowhere near this temple, making it that much easier for us.  The few bravest commoners attacked us with dull swords and bows – they were dispatched quickly.

I returned to the palace and found the great King Montezuma tied at the ankles and wrists, blindfolded and gagged.  Pathetic.  I will force him to run a puppet government until reinforcements arrive from Spain.  My soldiers here will defeat the warriors that remain.  Any suspicious behavior by locals will be exterminated immediately.  Extending my control to the rest of his empire will be slow, but for now I am in full control of Tenochtitlan.

***

Months later…

Cortez is more powerful than I imagined Quetzalcoatl could be.  His weapons lay waste to my people. His mobility is enhanced by his large creatures capable of galloping faster than any man.  His warriors are raping my women and killing my priests.  Many of my people are being covered in terrible boils that kill them within weeks.  Thousands have died during the months that he has controlled Tenochtitlan through me.  I am ashamed and broken.

It has been torture for me.  His guard takes liberties when beating me, and feeds me only scraps of food when he remembers to.  I cannot speak to them, I cannot even look Cortez in the eye without a swift blow to my face.  I have wasted away, inside and out.  I no longer command authority here.  The priests and pipiltin that survived spit at me. I have never felt so helpless in my life.

His reinforcements from across the sea have finally arrived.  A messenger walks up and hands Cortez a piece of paper.  He is sitting in my throne – I am relegated to pedestal in the corner of the room.  He reads the paper and slowly rises up from the chair.  He turns and looks at me, and laughs with his mouth wide open.  Before my eyes his teeth become long and pointed. His skin turns scaly and large feathery wings erupt from his back.  His cold brown eyes turn red and the pupil becomes a thin vertical slit.  Quetzalcoatl, the winged serpent has revealed himself to me.  The god of wind, knowledge, life and death, standing there in the flesh.  Reaching down to his hip with his serpentine arm he draws his sword and lunges at me.  Cortez, Cortez…

I really like this song.  Thanks for reading!