Year 8 of the SuaChie Calendar, Tenochtitlan.
The setting sun enameled the waters of Lake Texcoco with an orange glow, reflecting the pyramids of Tenochtitlan as though the gods themselves had sculpted them in liquid gold. Moctezuma, cloaked in a mantle of emerald feathers and gold, stepped down from the canoe that had borne him from the lake shore, his sandals echoing against the polished stone pier.
The clamor of the city swept over him like a current: the cries of the merchants in Tlatelolco, hawking cacao, quetzal plumes, and obsidian; the scent of toasted maize mingling with the sweet, sultry smoke of copal; the constant murmur of the waters licking the floating chinampas.
Here, in the political, economic, and sacred heart of the Mexica world, the discomfort that had been gnawing at Moctezuma throughout his journey to the Suaza Kingdom faded, replaced by the certainty of standing at the center of the cosmos. Yet, the meeting a month prior with that eight-year-old child, Chuta, the leader of the Suaza Kingdom, still reverberated in his mind like a death drum.
His guards, clad in padded cotton armor and bearing gleaming obsidian macanas, formed a tight cordon as he proceeded along the elevated causeway toward the palace. The city vibrated with life: priests in white tunics ascended the stairs of the Templo Mayor, carrying offerings of flowers and blood; women braided baskets in the shadows of the walls; children chased dogs amid laughter.
Moctezuma felt the weight of his turquoise crown, a symbol of his divine lineage, but also a burden that tethered him to a cosmos that now seemed uncertain. The meeting with Chuta, whom the Suaza priests called the Son of Heaven, and his High Priest Simte had been a whirlwind of strange ideas.
The Suaza did not venerate a supreme god like Huitzilopochtli, the lord of the sun and war, but a diverse pantheon, with deities from every culture comprising their realm—Muisca, Tairona, Taíno, among many others—coexisting without imposition.
The Muisca, founders of the kingdom, allowed this plurality, a practice Moctezuma found not only degrading but perilous.
"A kingdom without a unifying god is a kingdom without strength," he thought, his steps echoing on the stone as he ascended to the palace.
In his private chambers, decorated with murals of jaguars and glorious battles, the air was thick with copal smoke, spiraling up from clay braziers. Moctezuma sat on a throne of wood carved with feathered serpent motifs, his hands trembling slightly.
The notion Simte had put forth—that the gods of all cultures might be one and the same, merely interpreted differently by various languages and traditions—profoundly unsettled him.
"If Huitzilopochtli is the same as the Muisca sun god, Bochica," he reflected, "what does that mean for our sacrifices, for the blood that nourishes our cosmos?"
The Suaza deities—the sun, the moon, the fertile earth, the jaguar—resembled his own, but the lack of divine hierarchy in their religion challenged everything he had learned. In Tenochtitlan, faith was a pillar of control, uniting conquered peoples under the will of Huitzilopochtli. The flexibility of Suaza, by contrast, seemed like ordered chaos, a paradox that both fascinated and repelled him.
Doubt consumed him like a slow-burning fire. All his youth had been spent studying the codices, deciphering omens, feeling a visceral connection to the gods. He had felt Huitzilopochtli's pulse in every sacrifice, in every heart offered to the sun.
But now, was that connection real, or merely an echo of his own mind?
"I need answers," he muttered, rising with a sudden, sharp movement. "Bring the priests of the Templo Mayor," he ordered a servant who waited at the entrance, his voice firm but laced with urgency.
That night, in the secret chamber of the Templo Mayor, the air hung dense with the scent of copal and the crackle of ocote pine torches. The walls, carved with images of Quetzalcoatl and Tlaloc, seemed to watch Moctezuma as he bent over a stone table covered in codices. The priests, faces painted black and red, unfurled the scrolls with reverence, their movements as precise as ritual dances.
"Lord, what do you seek?" asked an aged priest, his eyes gleaming beneath the ceremonial paint.
"The truth," Moctezuma replied, his fingers tracing the painted figures of a codex.
He reflected upon Huitzilopochtli, whose thirst for blood kept the sun moving.
Was that blood essential, or had the Suaza, with their religion now devoid of human sacrifices, found another path?
He studied the purposes of the sacrifices: to nourish the gods, secure rain, maintain the balance of the world. Then, he immersed himself in the gods of conquered peoples—Tlaloc of the Otomi, Chalchiuhtlicue of the Zapotec—relegated to minor roles under the Mexica hegemony.
"What if they are all facets of the same divinity?" he murmured, scribbling notes on the soft paper brought from the Suaza Kingdom, its unfamiliar texture a stark reminder of Chuta's influence.
What troubled him most were the ancient prophecies.
A codex, worn thin by time, described celestial signs: a comet with a fiery tail streaking across the sky, an eclipse that darkened the sun as if the gods wept, a star that shone brighter than all others for nights on end.
These signs, according to the priests of old, heralded the arrival of the gods. Some prophecies promised blessings: fertile lands, victories in war. But others warned of a refashioning of the world, a change that could shatter the established order.
Moctezuma, his heart pounding, associated these visions with the Suaza Kingdom. The abnormal growth of the kingdom, led by a wise child of barely eight years, whose adaptable religion seemed to absorb other peoples without conquering them, felt like an ominous presage.
"The Son of Heaven," he whispered, recalling Simte's title for Chuta. Was this child a divine envoy, or a herald of chaos?
"My lord, would you like to consult the entrails of a jaguar?" the aged priest interrupted, noting the tension in Moctezuma's face.
Moctezuma shook his head; his gaze fixed on a codex that showed a comet above a burning temple.
"Not today. The codices speak clearer than blood."
The priest bowed and withdrew, leaving Moctezuma alone with his thoughts. The prophecies consumed him. One in particular, written by a forgotten priest, described 'A man born under the holy light of the sun, with divine wisdom, who shall bring a new order from a great distance.'
Moctezuma felt a chill. Chuta, with his eyes that seemed to see beyond time, fit the description too well.
But the prophecies did not clarify if this change would be benevolent or devastating.
Was Suaza an ally, or a threat that must be crushed?
The dawn found him still in the chamber, his eyes bloodshot and his fingers stained with ink. A servant announced the arrival of Cuitláhuac, his brother and a Mexica noble, a weather-beaten warrior who commanded the northern campaigns.
Moctezuma received him in the temple's main hall, where the rising sunlight filtered through the open windows, illuminating an altar with offerings of flowers and feathers.
"Brother," Cuitláhuac said, his voice firm but heavy with concern, "the nobles are murmuring. They speak of your journey south, of that child, Chuta. They say his ideas poison our faith."
Moctezuma looked at him, his lips tightly pressed. "It is not poison, Cuitláhuac. It is... a possibility. Their gods, their customs... they are distinct, but not so different. Besides, they are not a problem—at least, not for now."
Cuitláhuac frowned, his hand gripping the handle of his macana. "That is heresy. Huitzilopochtli guides us with blood. That child is not a god; he is a danger. Furthermore, the Tlaxcalteca will seek to trade with Suaza, strengthening themselves. If we do not act, we will lose control."
Moctezuma felt a knot in his stomach. The mention of the Tlaxcalteca, enemies of the alliance, reminded him of the internal tensions that Nezahualpilli, the noble of Texcoco, had insinuated in secret letters.
"I will not make rash decisions," he responded, his voice calm yet authoritative. "I shall convene the nobles tonight. We must understand the prophecies before we act."
Cuitláhuac inclined his head, though his gaze remained distrustful. "As you wish, Brother. But the gods do not wait."
He withdrew, leaving Moctezuma alone with the echo of his words.
He returned to the codices; his mind caught in the images of comets and eclipses. One prophecy spoke of: 'a danger that shall come from the sea, to decide the destiny of the land.'
Moctezuma trembled. Chuta, with his impossible wisdom, seemed to embody that vision.
But another line chilled him to the bone: 'The world shall be remade, and the temples of the past shall fall.'
Was Suaza the end of Tenochtitlan?
The doubt enveloped him, yet it also drove him.
"Convene the nobles," he ordered a servant, his voice echoing in the chamber. "And bring more codices. I shall not rest until I understand."
As the sun climbed higher over Tenochtitlan, Moctezuma prepared to face his people, his faith faltering between tradition and the fear of a future he could not control. The Suaza Kingdom, with its prophet child, was a shadow growing on the horizon, and he had to decide if it was an ally or an enemy.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
This is a shorter chapter, as it was too much for a single chapter. This also helps me connect a bit with the unfinished story of Moctezuma. It also helps you understand a bit how everything worked.
By the way, the prophecies you read in the codices are clearly not real, but according to my research, there were similar messages, but more cryptic ones, very much subject to the reader's interpretation.
UFD: The Mayan civilization during this period was in constant conflict among themselves; however, trade was not greatly affected. The flow of luxury goods, essential for the Aztec elite, did not stop. The maritime routes along the Yucatecan coast (controlled by groups like the Chontal and Ecab) were vital for trade with Honduras, Tabasco, and Central Mexico.
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Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future. (Chapter 84)
#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.]