Grand River City.
The hall of the house in Grand River City was scented with copal incense and polished wood, with sunlight filtering through the open windows, casting dancing shadows upon the Muisca tapestries that adorned the walls.
I sat before Nezahualpilli, the Aztec noble from Texcoco, whose tunic embroidered with feathers and gold reflected his high status.
Our conversation, begun by a coincidence that seemed scripted by the spirits, had touched upon heavy subjects: Moctezuma's paranoia, the internal conflicts within the Aztec alliance, and the unexpected impact of Suaza trade. I wished to learn more about Texcoco, its role in the alliance, and how it resisted under the shadow of Tenochtitlan.
"Nezahualpilli," I said, leaning toward him, "tell me of your rule in Texcoco. How do you maintain balance within the alliance?"
He sighed, his dark eyes heavy with weariness.
"My father consolidated considerable power in the Triple Alliance with Tenochtitlan and Tlacopan," he replied with a hint of guilt. "But I assumed command quite young, and over the years, our influence has waned. I have struggled for independence, but recent times have been harsh."
"Texcoco is the capital of knowledge, possessing libraries and poets who were once deeply respected," Nezahualpilli continued. "Now, Ahuízotl's paranoia, fueled by Moctezuma's extreme interpretations, has led to interventions. They have restricted our libraries, even the construction of temples, all to protect the 'absolute belief' in their gods."
I felt a weight in my chest. My intervention had caused Texcoco, a beacon of knowledge, to be stifled.
"That is a tragedy," I said, my voice soft yet firm. "If you wish it, we can move those historical resources to a city within the Suaza Kingdom. We will guard them diligently, with permanent guards if necessary. These guards can be your own men."
Nezahualpilli looked up, surprised, his hands pausing on the jade pendant he wore around his neck. For a moment, he hesitated, but then his face softened.
"Young Chuta, your offer is generous. At first, I feared you intended to appropriate our legacy, but now I see your true intention: to preserve knowledge, not to steal it… I accept."
I smiled, relieved.
"We will execute this with respect, my friend." To lighten the mood, I changed the subject. "And the commerce? Have Moctezuma's policies affected the trade with the Suaza?"
Nezahualpilli reclined, thoughtful.
"They have not imposed additional tributes on your products, which is a relief. But for the common folk, prices are ever-rising. Unwittingly, the city your kingdom built in the northern territory of the alliance has become a destination for merchants, even those outside the alliance."
"This has drawn Moctezuma's gaze," Nezahualpilli warned again. "He observes them with caution, and that is why I warned you of the conflicts that lie ahead."
I nodded, processing his words. The influence of the Suaza Kingdom, with its bronze tools and trade routes, had strengthened the northern peoples, but it had also ignited tensions. Texcoco, caught in the middle, was a powder keg, as were the cities of my kingdom.
"Thank you for your candor," I said. "We shall strive to prevent the war from reaching us."
But deep inside, I knew peace would be difficult. The history I knew, brought from a distant future, was twisting due to my own presence.
Two Weeks Later.
I returned to Dawn City. The journey from the Northern Quyca had been exhausting, but the bustle of my city revitalized me. The streets vibrated with life: more faces than ever, merchants offering fabrics and jewels, and the hammering of new dwellings under construction. The air smelled of toasted maize and flowers, mingled with the saltiness of the nearby sea.
My assistant, who had kept the city in order, greeted me with an impeccable report. But my attention was diverted when I entered the Stone Manor, where Rodrigo de Escobedo, the Spanish scribe who had remained after Columbus's expedition, awaited me.
We met in the conference room, lit by torches and decorated with maps. Rodrigo, in his worn doublet, looked pale, his eyes sunken.
"Rodrigo, you look unwell," I said, concerned. "What ails you?"
He coughed, covering his mouth.
"A three-day fever, Son of Heaven. Nothing serious, I believe."
My heart skipped a beat. A fever. My mind, heavy with knowledge from another time, screamed: influenza. The European germs could be devastating. Without hesitation, I called for my assistants, guards, and Zasaba.
"Quickly! Take Rodrigo to the healing building," I commanded. Zasaba, in his black tunic and efficient manner, arrived first and escorted the scribe away.
I hurried to the washroom, scrubbing my hands with water and herbal soap, my movements precise while my mind raced. A sickness brought from across the ocean could decimate my people if we did not act quickly.
Zasaba returned minutes later, showing his wet hands before I could ask.
"Well done," I said, relieved. "What of the other Europeans? Did anyone else show symptoms?"
Zasaba consulted a parchment from a nearby cabinet. "Some citizens presented similar fevers recently. Following your orders, they were moved to the healing building and attended to by the healers."
"Did they have contact with others?" I asked, my voice taut.
"Yes," Zasaba admitted, reviewing the report. "Some, including Rodrigo, interacted with citizens before being isolated."
"Order those individuals to move to a separate building," I said immediately. "And the researchers, have they arrived?"
"They are in the city," Zasaba replied. "They can begin studying this today."
I nodded, my mind spinning. Rodrigo's fever was not just a medical problem; it was a threat to the kingdom. I recalled Nezahualpilli's warnings about the Aztec war, and now, an invisible enemy joined the board.
I walked toward the window, looking at the sky over Dawn City. I had been reborn to guide my people toward a future of power and peace, but internal conflicts, European intrigues, and now diseases surrounded me like gathering storms.
Yet, as the sun shone upon the rooftops, I knew that every challenge was a test. With the wisdom granted to me, I would protect my people, even if the path grew darker.
Two Weeks Later.
The conference room in Dawn City's Stone Manor was scented with fresh herbs and beeswax, with the afternoon sun filtering through the open windows, casting golden rays upon the Muisca tapestries that adorned the walls.
I sat on a carved chair, surrounded by a group of researchers from the Simte Academy and city healers, all carefully selected to have had no contact with the sick.
The air was charged with tension, but also with an eager curiosity that reminded me why I trusted these brilliant minds. Rodrigo de Escobedo's fever had sounded an alarm within me, and my knowledge of a distant future made me fear the worst: a European disease could devastate my people.
"Thank you for coming," I began, my voice firm yet calm. "I have identified a fever among the Europeans, including Rodrigo, which could be dangerous. Some citizens have been in contact with them, and we must act to protect the city."
A researcher, a young woman in a green tunic with parchments under her arm, frowned. "Young Chuta, what are the symptoms? Fevers are common here."
"High fever, dry cough, extreme fatigue," I answered, recalling Rodrigo's pallor. "But this is not like our own. It comes from the Europeans, and their bodies are not accustomed to our lands, nor are ours to their diseases."
An elder healer, his face lined with wrinkles and wearing a jade pendant, intervened. "What makes it different? We have treated fevers before."
I sighed, searching for simple words that would blend their beliefs with my biological knowledge.
"Imagine that the spirits of the disease travel in the breath of the sick, invisible, like seeds on the wind. These seeds are new to us, and our bodies do not know how to fight them. The Europeans carry them unknowingly, and though some recover, for us, they can be deadly."
The attendees looked at one another, their expressions shifting from doubt to comprehension. The researcher nodded slowly.
"Then, Son of Heaven, we need to strengthen the bodies of our people against these… seeds."
"Exactly," I said, grateful for her insight. "What do you propose?"
A young healer, his hands stained with herbs, raised his voice.
"We have classified plants according to your teachings: antivirals like dried guava, analgesics like willow bark, antipyretics like elderflower. We also have immunostimulants from the Northern Quyca and antioxidants from the islands. We can combine them to treat the sick."
"We mix guava with elderflower and add ginger root from Guanza Quyca," the researcher added. "We have observed that it increases the effects, helping the body to resist."
I was impressed by their precision. Years ago, I had shared basic health knowledge with them, and now they had built a robust system.
"Excellent," I said. "But we must go further."
"I propose an adaptation: that citizens, especially here where Europeans reside, have controlled contact with the recovered sick. This will help their bodies learn how to fight the illness, as if the spirits of nature were teaching them."
A murmur of astonishment ran through the room. The elder healer frowned.
"Contact with the sick? It sounds risky, Son of Heaven."
"It is," I admitted, "but controlled—with healers using protection: fabrics over the mouth and nose, disposable materials—and strict care, we can minimize the danger. It is like teaching a warrior to block a blow before the battle."
After a debate, we agreed on the plan: use plants, implement protections, and begin the controlled adaptation. As the researchers took notes, I felt a mixture of relief and fear. I was facing an invisible enemy, and every decision was a wager for the lives of my people.
One Week Later.
I was in my office in the Stone Manor, the aroma of ink and wood filling the air. The city continued to grow: new dwellings rose on the outskirts, and the market vibrated with more voices than ever. Zasaba entered with a pile of papers, his black tunic impeccable.
"Young Chuta, I have the reports," he said, his voice calm but grave.
"Speak," I said, leaning on the table.
"The Europeans, including Rodrigo, have recovered completely. The plants and their own bodies saved them. But…" He paused, his face darkening. "We lost one child, a collector recently arrived from a nearby chiefdom. He worked with a European sailor, fell ill, and his poor diet and previous ailments had weakened him. The relentless fevers and an unstoppable cough led to extreme exhaustion and ultimately claimed his life… He could not resist."
Grief pierced me like a spear. I recalled learning of the child and ordering his younger sister to receive all the city's support: food, housing, education.
"And the other citizens?" I asked, my voice strained.
"Several have recovered," Zasaba replied. "The healers followed your orders, and the plants worked."
I nodded, relieved yet saddened. The child's death was a wound, a reminder of how fragile my people were against the unknown.
"Ensure the child's sister is well cared for," I said. "And that the healers continue the precautions."
Zasaba nodded and moved to the next topic. "Regarding the expedition to Europe with Columbus: the Suaza Kingdom purchased an island in Cape Verde from the Kingdom of Portugal."
I blinked, surprised. "An island? They do not realize its strategic value."
Zasaba smiled faintly. "The gold you sent with Sogeking must have convinced them. Furthermore, the first ships from Guanza Quyca are supplying the expedition."
A spark of joy ran through me.
"That is a great step, Zasaba. The settlements are working, and the routes are being consolidated."
I leaned back, looking at a map on the wall that showed the north of the Guanza Quyca, and what appeared to be the nearby islands and trade routes. Everything was starting to fit together, like the pieces of a loom. But the child's death and the fever reminded me that problems were also growing.
The Europeans brought diseases, the Aztecs prepared for war, and the rivalries between Spain and Portugal could complicate our plans. However, with the defenses of that island, the shipyards of Grand River City, and the wisdom of my people, we were prepared.
For now.
I looked out the window, where the sun set over Dawn City, staining the sky with orange hues.
"Thank you, Zasaba," I said. "We must press on, but with open eyes. The spirits guide us, but the path is treacherous."
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
I'm tired, I'll upload the full author's note tomorrow.]