The shade of sunset spread across the entire valley floor around them, but the top of the pyramid towered high enough to linger in the last rays of daylight. Straight to the west now, the sun’s illumination spilled directly through the western door, spreading across the temple floor and flickering across the Cloak-of-One-Plume.
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then the cloak, laid carefully across the altar, started to shimmer. Us colors whirled and shifted, spreading like a rainbow across the
room-many rainbows, actually spreading outward from the altar of the gods.
Slowly majestically a dim outline took shape there. They saw its huge size first, then the serpentine shape of a sinuous body. Next they saw dimly a pair of monstrously massive wings, beating slowly but not stirring the air.
Coton and Lotil threw themselves face-first on the floor. After a second, Jhatli did the same. Halloran and Daggrande stared, awestruck, while Erixitl slowly stepped forward. After a second, Halloran stumbled to her side, taking her arm. He could feel her trembling, but her advance did not slow.
Gradually over a period of many minutes, a massive? shape appeared, squatting above the Cloak-of-One-Plume. The serpentine image was clear yet insubstantial, as if a stone thrown at it would pass right through. A mane of bright feathers encircled its neck, brighter than a hundred rainbows. Deep, glistening eyes, golden and wise, looked down upon them. Its legs curved beneath it, tipped by swordlike talons. Even through the faintness of the image, the brilliant hues of the creature’s feathered coal shone with unearthly brilliance.
Halloran had no doubt that they stood now in the presence of the Plumed One, the god Qotal himself. Yet it was a presence that was not fully there.
When the spoke, his voice was surprisingly gentle, yet it possessed a deep resonance that belied his vaporous appearance.
“You have done well, Daughter of the Plume,” he said.
“I have done what I had no choice but to do,” Erixitl replied simply.
“Yours is a faith that is all the stronger for its doubts. It is proper that you were chosen. And even now, I know, you have questions. You wonder why I come now, after disaster has swept the land? Why have I delayed so long?”
Erixitl, mute, nodded. She stood facing the huge image, her body tense but her courage unwavering. Hal remained at her side, trying to overcome his own sense of awe.
“Centuries ago I turned my back on my people in anger as they took up the cult of blood and killing.” The dragon’s
voice was soothing and laced with sadness. His body remained insubstantial, yet it seemed to grow more solid with each minute. The rays of the setting sun shone full upon the cloak now, and it created a dazzling nest of colors below the great serpent.
“As years passed-decades and centuries of years-my anger faded, and I saw the foolishness with which I had acted. I resolved to return to Maztica, to right the wrongs that now scarred my land.
“ But when 1 tried to enter the True World, 1 found that the cult of killing held me at bay. My brother Zaltec had grown so powerful, and his followers sated his gory appetite so well, that I lacked the power to overcome him.
“Then came this event you humans call the Night of Wailing. This cataclysm smote the followers of Zaltec as well as my own, In that chaos, his own power was weakened- weakened just enough that, with the aid of a human of strong faith, I might be able to return to the world that is my
true home.
“You opened that passage for me by your act of faith, when you placed the Cloak-of-One-Plume in this sacred place-a place so holy it is one of but two such in all Maztica. Now I am coming.”
Qotal’s voice grew strong, a ringing challenge. “And when I am here, I will face the evil one and again I will smite him atop my pyramid.”
“He comes here?” Erixitl asked in shock. “Zaltec comes here?”
As she completed the words, a great shadow fell across the doorway blocking out the sunset. They turned in shock to see two massive pillars of stone, where before had been open sky The great monoliths moved, then bent to reveal the torso of a looming giant of stone. It stepped quickly through the huge door. Once inside the temple, it stood upright again. Its rock-hard eyes fixed the with their impassive glance, even as the giant’s legs cast the Cloak-of-One-Plume into shadow. The thing’s face was a grotesque caricature of humanity corrupted by an insatiable hunger for blood, for living hearts.
Halloran heard Erixitl moan in fear beside him. Jhatli dropped his bow in shock, while even the stalwart Daggrande gasped. Only Coton and Lotil remained apparently unaffected, the old men standing impassively while the shade from the giant’s body darkened the entire vast temple.
And in that shadow, the image of Qotal began to fade.
From the chronicles of Coton:
Struck down and raised again in the face of war between the gods.
Qotal and Zaltec clash in the vast arena of the temple, a twilit battle that the cannot possibly win. The stone monstrosity of Zaltec looms over us, the power of its hate blazing like ruby pupils from its gray, granite eyes. And the vaporous form of Qotal, interrupted in its arrival, grows faint, slowly disappearing from our view.
We humans cower in the corner of the room, terrified by the anger of the gods. They take no note of us, intent instead upon their wrath. It is an eerie, silent battle-a clash of wills and might without violence, yet with an outcome that creates massive danger for the loser and for the True World. Zaltec raises his arms slowly. His stone fingers, each larger than a man, unfold and spread from his hands, and a nightmare wind springs up, summoned by his supernatural command.
Qotal bellows his anger as he fades, and the wind howls loudly. It spirals about, raising the fine grit of stone and hurtling it through the air with stinging power.
And then die dust surrounds us and we see nothing more, though still we hear the violence and the fury of the gods.
8
The wind rose to a screaming crescendo, until it seemed that the rock walls of the temple itself must splinter around the companions. Shards of dust stung their skin. The howling noise of the whirlwind drowned any attempts at communication, even shouts.
Halloran caught a glimpse of white feathers high above them. He saw the eagle, Poshtli, diving through the dust toward the great stone statue. The massive shape of Qotal seemed to lurch forward, though it was difficult to see.
The magnificent bird disappeared into the cloud with an angry shriek, and the former legionnaire groaned inwardly at the courageous but futile act. He knew that Poshtli could be smashed by a casual, even accidental blow from one of
Zaltec’s fingers.
Erixitl moaned as the Cloak-of-One-Plume floated into the air, borne across the temple by the chaotic gusts of battle. The wind tore at the colorful garment with a maddened intensity, tearing brilliant plumage away, rendering it into minute tufts of rubbish. In a moment of awful violence, the cloak disappeared, and at the same time it grew darker still in the huge temple.
They heard a sharp squawk, and once again the eagle came into sight, wheeling high in the air, Tucking his wings, talons extended, Poshtli dove toward the mountainous block that was Zaltec’s head.
The little party huddled together in a corner of die temple, paralyzed by fear and awe. Shaking his head and wiping the dust from his eyes, Halloran tried to peer through the dust. It was then he realized that others had entered the temple.
Dimly through the haze in the air, he saw a lumbering figure move through The door. Others followed, and the brilliance of the setting sun outlined their forms clearly — trolls, the minions of Zaltec. More and more of the grotesque creatures crowded through, filling the space behind the stone! monolith’s feet.