“Here. On the agave.”
Chalco crept closer to the plant. There, on one of the fronds, was a tiny, segmented worm no longer than his thumb and thinner than his arrow shafts. It had a black head and a pale, white body. Two pinprick eyes stared up at him.
“Oh…” Chalco whispered.
The worm winked.
Chalco’s hands went numb. His ears rang. He thought that he might pass out.
“You… you’re a worm.”
“I am many things. And yes, right now I am a worm. Though it is not how I prefer to look. I have taken the form of an agave worm because I am in hiding and because the agave is linked to what must transpire today. Behemoth and his kind would find the irony amusing.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. Your people don’t have a name for Behemoth in your pantheon. He is one of the Thirteen, those who are neither gods nor demons and yet are mistaken for both by humanity. You worship them without understanding what they are. They, along with the Creator, are all that is left of the universe before this one. Behemoth takes the form of a Great Worm.”
“Please,” Chalco whispered. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t. Humankind isn’t meant to understand, for that knowledge has been denied you. Indeed, the Creator denied you knowledge of many things. Some of it is for your own good. The rest…well, I think it was terribly unfair, what happened in the Garden.”
“We have gardens in Monte Alban.”
“Yes, you do indeed. But those are not the Garden I speak of. Never mind. Again, it’s not from your pantheon, and yet, it affects your people just the same. You should know about it. After all, Quetzalcoatl, the Plumed Serpent, is part of your belief structure, as he is to all other peoples, as well. Why not the Garden?”
“Quetzalcoatl…” Chalco’s eyes grew wide. “Great Huitzilopochtli, I am sorry that I did not recognize you. I will give you the heart from my breast if it eases the insult. But before I do, I must know—are you here to herald Quetzalcoatl’s return? The priests say that this is the time.”
“Arise, young Chalco. Yes, it has been many years since your people have paid me tribute, but I do not require your heart. There will be time for that later. Indeed, if your people are not saved, there will be no further sacrifices to anyone.”
Chalco stumbled to his feet. “Then it is true! Quetzalcoatl is about to uphold his covenant? He’s returning to save us all? You have come to deliver the message.”
“No, I’m afraid not. Quetzalcoatl will not return, at least, not in that form. Every time he does, you people nail him to a cross or burn him at the stake or shoot him in the chest or… well, that hasn’t happened yet. It happens later. But you see what I mean? No matter what form or name he takes—Quetzalcoatl, Jesus of Nazareth, Adonis, Mohammad, Buddha, Divimoss, Kurt Cobain, Prosper Johnson, Benj—”
“I have never heard of these gods.”
“Do not interrupt me again.”
“I beg your forgiveness, lord.”
“You have not heard of them,” the worm said, “and yet you have, for they are all one and the same. They are but different incarnations of the same being.”
Chalco waited until he was sure the worm was done speaking. “So Quetzalcoatl has different names?”
“Correct. So do many others. Tonatiuh, the sun god, is known as Ra to the Egyptians, and although you both believe him to have different responsibilities and worship him in different ways, he remains the same deity. Your rain god, Tlaloc, is called Cthulhu, Leviathan, Dagon, and many other things by different peoples. Huehueteotl is called Api by the Sumerians. Your Lord of the Dead, Mictlatechuhtli, is really Ob, Lord of the Siqqusim. Those last three aren’t even gods, not in the true sense. They are also of the Thirteen. But regardless of their origins, be they god or devil, of this plane or another, to know their real names gives you power over them. Thus, that knowledge has also been denied you and will be until science replaces magic and you lose the ability to bind them.”
“And Quetzalcoatl—or whatever his true name is—will not save us? He will not return to vanquish our enemies?”
“No.”
“But he promised. The priests have said so. He promised to return.”
“He has made that promise repeatedly throughout history. On this world and others. But it will not happen. It never does.”
Chalco’s heart sank. “Then it is true. This is indeed the end of the world.”
“Not necessarily. Quetzalcoatl will not save your people. You will.”
“M-me?”
“Indeed. That is why I am here, Chalco. Things are dire. Hernan Cortes’s conquest is destroying your land. He does not serve your king. He serves Charles, the King of Spain—and his God. And though all worship stems from the same Creator, you people get so caught up in names that you think you serve different gods. That is what King Charles and Cortes believe. They believe that they are doing the work of the Creator, but they are wrong. Cortes does not care about your people. He is here for new lands and new riches, and death follows with him.”
Chalco shuddered.
“Let me tell you of the future,” the worm continued, “and how it will be if Cortes is not stopped. He brings with him a disease called smallpox, against which your people have no defense. This disease will race to Tenochtitlan and decimate the capital. Many will die from it, including your father—but not before he returns to infect you all. Your brother, Quintox, will be the first to die in Monte Alban, followed by Yamesha. Soon, everyone you love will be dead.”
“Please…no.”
“That’s just the beginning. Those who die will be the lucky ones. The invaders will enslave your people and slaughter your priests. They will melt down all of your gold and mint it into coins so that King Charles can pay off his war debt. Your homes and temples will be torn down so that the Spanish can build churches and mansions in their place. What they don’t destroy will be converted. Their holy men will destroy your codex and calendars. They will burn your books. Most importantly, they will teach you only of their God, and deny you access to your own gods—even though all stem from the same source…the Creator.”
“Then we are lost.”
“No. This can not be allowed to occur. So, as I have in the past, I am going to aid your people. I will impart a gift. And I have chosen you, Chalco, to receive that gift. I will give you a key to unlock the doors of human perception and visit unseen worlds. You will eventually gain all of the knowledge that has been forbidden to your kind, and thus, gain understanding. You will slay Cortes before he ever arrives and lead your people to triumph.”
“I do not understand, lord. Why me? I am no one important. My clansmen are nothing but farmers and hunters.”
“Have your priests taught you of how I appeared to your people and guided them?”
“Yes.”
“I remember it well. Your people came down from the cold mountain wastes, searching for a hospitable land to call their own. Often they starved or died from exposure to the elements. Sometimes they had to fight other tribes for passage. But when they settled on the shores of Lake Texcoco in the Valley of Anahuac and began to farm, I was there waiting. I advised them to send settlers out to find more land. One of those explorers was your direct ancestor.”
Chalco felt a sudden, immense pride at this revelation.
“While searching for a good location, your ancestor encountered a Toltec tribe and became involved in their affairs. Since he was only one man, they welcomed him. Your ancestor aided the Toltecs in a war against yet another tribe. He fought well and showed great valor. He slew many and turned the battle’s tide. As thanks, the Toltec chieftain offered him a boon. Your ancestor asked for one of the chieftain’s daughters. She was very fair, with hair like golden flax and eyes of blue. No one in these lands had ever seen a woman like her. It was whispered that she was of the gods. Perhaps this was true. Regardless, the Toltec chieftain granted the request, impressed as he was with your ancestor’s contributions.”