Year 2 of the SuaChie Calendar, near East City.
The setting sun bathed the Muisca village in a golden light, filtering through the leaves of the trees that surrounded the straw-and-mud dwellings.
Menasuca, a boy of twelve with sun-weathered skin and hands calloused from labor, leaned over a stream, collecting water in a clay pitcher. The air smelled of damp earth and smoke from distant campfires, where families cooked maize and yucca.
Menasuca had spent the day engaged in a series of tasks that sustained him: in the morning, he had fished in the river with a makeshift spear, catching only enough for a single meal; at noon, he had cultivated a small patch of land, pulling weeds with aching fingers; later, he had gathered wild fruit, cut branches for firewood, trapped a rabbit with a simple snare, and built an extension onto his solitary hut. As an orphan, every day was a battle for survival, with no family to rely upon.
There had been good years, when the rains were generous and the harvests abundant, but this past year had brought strange changes, as though the gods had decided to intervene.
Bronze tools had begun to appear in the village, shining and resilient, far superior to the stone or wooden implements Menasuca knew. With them, the work became easier: a bronze knife sliced wood effortlessly, and a new hoe carved deep furrows into the earth without breaking.
New articles arrived from neighboring towns: clothes dyed in vibrant colors, exotic fruits that kept longer, and soft fabrics that did not wear out with use. But what most intrigued Menasuca were the houses constructed by the priests.
They were no common homes, but structures dedicated to 'teaching,' and not only about the gods and spirits. Curious, he had approached one afternoon, hidden behind a tree, watching as the priests painted symbols on thin, brown sheets, guiding children during the day and adults at night. Those symbols, he overheard, were 'letters,' a gift from the prophesied child, the Son of Heaven, who was uniting the Muisca peoples under a single banner.
Menasuca felt a pang of longing in his gut, a mix of envy and desire. He yearned to learn, to understand those symbols that seemed like magic, but time was a luxury he could not afford. If he stopped working, he would go days without eating. However, one evening, a white-robed priest saw him loitering and approached.
"Young one, why do you observe from the shadows?" the priest asked, his voice soft yet authoritative.
Menasuca drew back, ashamed. "Only... curiosity, sir. I will leave immediately. I apologize for intruding."
The priest smiled. "Do you wish to learn this?"
"I cannot, I must work to eat."
"We will grant you food. The Son of Heaven desires that all should learn," the priest said.
Menasuca hesitated, hunger rumbling in his stomach. "Food? For learning?"
"Yes," the priest confirmed. "Knowledge is for all, not just for the privileged."
The next day, Menasuca presented himself, his hands trembling slightly as he stepped into the house of teaching. The interior was simple: wooden benches, sheets of 'paper,' and symbols painted on the walls.
The children recited sounds, associating them with the letters, and Menasuca sat at the back, absorbing everything. In the days that followed, his mind ignited like a bonfire. He learned to trace letters, to form words that captured thoughts.
"This is magic," he thought, as he wrote his name for the first time.
The priests were astonished by his swiftness, and Menasuca by his own capacity. He was fascinated by the generosity of that prophesied infant, SuaChie Chuta, who had brought this gift for everyone, not just for the caciques. For the first time, Menasuca felt hope, a future beyond daily survival.
Year 5 of the SuaChie Calendar, Lake Mountain City.
Three years later, Menasuca strode along the paved road leading to Lake Mountain City, the wind stirring his cotton cloak. Now, at fifteen, he was a tall, muscular youth, with sharp eyes that had seen more than most.
He had traveled by riverboat for a day, navigating the swift-flowing rivers with a group of river merchants bound in the same direction.
His pack, heavy with encoded scrolls, weighed on his back, but the fatigue was eclipsed by the pride of completing his mission. The air smelled of recent rain and wild flowers.
Everything had changed since those days in the village.
After his first week in the school, the priests had recommended him for advanced studies in East City, now known as Central Mountain City. There, under the direct guidance of SuaChie Chuta—or simply Chuta, as he preferred—Menasuca had absorbed unprecedented knowledge: mathematics that calculated stellar distances, languages that united peoples, sciences that explained the flight of birds and the flow of rivers, and crafts like bronze forging.
"Knowledge is the true power," Chuta had told him, an infant barely two years old then, yet with eyes that seemed to hold the universe.
Then, Zasaba, the mysterious man in the black robe, recruited him for the Shadows, the Young Chuta's secret espionage force. At first, Menasuca thought he would join the Explorers Division, the specialized military group of warriors the Young Chuta trained to protect the borders, but the Shadows were an invisible veil.
He learned stealth to move like a shadow in the night, foreign languages that flowed like rivers, cryptography to conceal messages in innocent drawings, counter-espionage to detect traitors, and fighting styles that prized agility over brute force. His sharp wit made him stand out, and soon he was sent on his mission: to infiltrate the great northern kingdom, accessible only by raft or by the new ships designed by Chuta.
In Mexica territory, Menasuca had posed as a wandering merchant, selling fabrics and tools while observing military exercises, listening to rumors in markets, and stealing glimpses of sacred codices.
The information was valuable: internal divisions, paranoia among their leaders, and the impact of Suaza trade, which was slowly strengthening their rivals. Now, upon his return, Menasuca was astonished by the kingdom's advancements in just one year: larger cities, paved roads, and shipyards constructing imposing vessels.
"All according to the Young Chuta's plans," he thought, his admiration for the prophesied child growing like a flame.
He, an orphan who once struggled to eat, was now a Shadow, protecting the future the Young Chuta was forging. The journey back was a reprieve, but he knew new missions awaited.
Upon arriving at Lake Mountain City, the bustle enveloped him: markets full of color, children laughing, and the great mountain to the east, with its imposing stature. Menasuca disembarked from the boat, handing his pack to a trusted porter who gave him specific signals, and headed toward the city center.
The mission had been a success, but fatigue weighed on his shoulders. However, an emotion propelled him forward: reporting directly to Zasaba and, perhaps, seeing the Young Chuta. In this Tairona city, now joined to the Muisca Kingdom, he felt the pulse of a rising empire, and he was part of its protective shadow.
Year 7 of the SuaChie Calendar, Tenochtitlan.
The Tlatelolco market in Tenochtitlan pulsed with a commotion that seemed to beat with the heart of the city. Menasuca, now known as Painalli, navigated its narrow aisles, his Mexica merchant's tunic dyed ochre and adorned with discreet embroidery that suggested wealth without ostentation.
The air was heavy with the aromas of roasted cacao, grilled corn, and the slight, sour tang of fermented pulque. Stalls overflowed with quetzal feathers, polished jade, and baskets of beans, while the cries of the vendors competed with the distant drums of the Templo Mayor.
At seventeen, Menasuca had perfected his guise as Painalli, a rising young merchant in the trade hierarchy of the Triple Alliance. Rumors surrounded him like clouds: some believed he was a fallen Mexica noble, others that he had found treasure in a lost Mayan temple.
The truth, hidden beneath layers of stealth, was that Menasuca was a Shadow, trained by Zasaba to serve the Young Chuta of the Suaza Kingdom.
Painalli moved with confidence, his Nahuatl fluent as he negotiated with an obsidian vendor. "These knives are fine, but the ones from the south cut better," he said, dropping a clumsy Muisca accent, feigning unfamiliarity with his native tongue.
The Aztec merchants looked upon him with envy; his supposed command of the Suaza language gave him access to coveted goods: shimmering fabrics, bronze tools, exotic liquors.
The arrival of Suaza merchants on the coast had changed everything. Menasuca used their fleets to send encrypted scrolls back to the kingdom, utilizing codes he had refined in Central Mountain City.
Each message detailed military movements, internal tensions, and the growing paranoia of the young general Moctezuma. In return, he received orders, knowledge to support his cover, and recommendations that had elevated him to a key position in negotiations with Suaza.
That morning, a group of Suaza merchants had arrived in Tenochtitlan, their ships laden with goods. Menasuca, maintaining his façade, approached the group's leader, a stout man in a feather cloak.
"Welcome, friends of the South," he said in Nahuatl, with a calculated smile. "I am Painalli, a merchant of Tlatelolco. What do you bring today?"
The Suaza leader, unsuspecting, replied in rudimentary Nahuatl. "Fabrics, tools, good paper. Also, we had hoped our previous request had been received."
Menasuca nodded, his mind working at full speed. He had spoken with the priests of the Templo Mayor, offering generous offerings of jade and cacao to earn their trust. They, believing him to be a loyal Mexica, had connected these Suaza Kingdom merchants with Moctezuma, who sought to understand the intentions of this Southern Kingdom.
Menasuca facilitated a meeting, ensuring the Suaza merchants were received, while simultaneously sending a coded message alerting Zasaba to Moctezuma's surveillance. His role was fulfilled, but a recent letter from the Young Chuta, written in a code only he could decipher, ordered him to remain in the alliance for a few more years.
Menasuca felt the weight of the mission, but also the pride of being the kingdom's eyes and ears in a place where every word could be a trap.
Year 11 of the SuaChie Calendar, Texcoco.
Four years later, Menasuca, now twenty-one, walked through the silent halls of the libraries in Nezahualpilli's palace in Texcoco. The air smelled of dry bark and ink, with the murmur of the nearby lake filtering through the open windows. The shelves, carved with motifs of serpents and stars, housed codices of poetry, law, and history that Menasuca read avidly.
He had lived in Texcoco for three years, after solidifying his cover in Tenochtitlan. The city, with its hanging gardens and elegant temples, reminded him of the days in Central Mountain City—now Central City, he had been informed—where he learned mathematics and sciences alongside students like Fiba, the young prodigy who, rumor had it, was now set to marry Upqua, the Young Chuta's brother.
Nostalgia struck him like a wave. He missed the vibrant classrooms, the debates with Fiba over numbers and strategies, and the inspiring presence of the Young Chuta, a child whose wisdom seemed divine.
As a Shadow, Menasuca had been trained for solitude, but it was gnawing at him. The Young Chuta, in a coded letter years ago, had told him warmly: "You are not a tool, Menasuca. If your mission takes years, build a family, live."
At first, he rejected the idea; his loyalty to the kingdom was absolute. But destiny, or perhaps the gods, had linked him to Chimalatl, the daughter of Nezahualpilli. Their relationship, born of conversations in the palace gardens, had been formalized, and Nezahualpilli, impressed by Painalli's intelligence, approved their marriage.
Now, as he read a codex of poetry, Chimalatl entered the library, her green tunic embroidered with flowers shimmering under the light of the torches.
"Painalli," she said, her voice soft yet playful, "when will you bring more canvas for my paintings? Or those new books from your south?"
Menasuca put down the codex, smiling tenderly. He approached and took her hand. "Chimalatl, I will bring you a full Tequendama of goods from the south, just for you," he said, referring to the Kingdom's large ships.
She laughed, her eyes shining, and kissed him softly. But before leaving, she added: "My father traveled again to the southern kingdom, for their king's birthday."
Menasuca stiffened, his face hardening. He knew, from his contacts in Tenochtitlan, that Moctezuma monitored every move of his enemies, and his allies as well. These visits to the Suaza Kingdom, these unknown gatherings, could be interpreted as treason. Moctezuma, with his increasing paranoia, would not hesitate to act against Texcoco.
Menasuca had sent countless coded messages to the kingdom, alerting them to Mexica ambitions, but now he faced a dilemma. A recent letter from Chuta, written in his characteristic tone—firm yet human—granted him autonomy to act without Zasaba's permission.
"I trust your judgment," the Young Chuta had written.
His mind raced with plans. He could strengthen the enemies of the Mexica—perhaps the Tlaxcalteca—to keep Moctezuma occupied, diverting his attention from Texcoco. This would give Nezahualpilli time to consolidate his city, perhaps even break from the alliance.
Menasuca felt the weight of the decision, but also a spark of hope. Texcoco, with its libraries and poets, deserved freedom. And he, an orphan who had learned to read under the guidance of a prophet child, could be the shadow that tipped the scales.
"Are you alright?" Chimalatl asked, noticing his silence.
Menasuca smiled, hiding the storm in his mind.
"I am only thinking of how to make you happy," he said, kissing her forehead.
But as she walked away, his gaze fell back to the codex. The mission was clear: protect Texcoco, weaken Moctezuma, and serve the Young Chuta. The Suaza Kingdom depended on him, and Menasuca, with the cunning of the Shadows and the heart of a Muisca, was ready to act.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
We return to the other perspectives, and the already announced Shadows section.
First, we have Menasuca, who, like the other characters, will play an important role. He will not only be part of the Aztec near future, but will also be part of the future of this kingdom or perhaps kingdoms.
Unnecessary Fact of the Day: European cuisine in the late 15th century was very diverse in methods, although the difference between the rich diet (roasted meats, generous use of spices, fried foods with oil) and the poor diet (porridge, cereal stews, legumes) was abysmal.
What was the diet like in America at the same time?
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Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future. (Chapter 83)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis. (Chapter 30) (INTERMITTENT)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 10) (INTERMITTENT)
You can find them on my profile.]