She tried reminding herself of the importance of the feathers she now sought, of the greatness of her father's craft. Indeed, practitioners of pluma magic were the most important citizens of the Nexala! Of course, her father's feathermagic was of the simple, country sort. It consisted largely of feathered armor for the warriors of Palul and nearby towns, light yet sturdy vests that could shatter a flint spear tip or deflect the jagged obsidian blade of a sword; or the occasional floating litter for the speaker of the village or as a tribute to Nexal.
She had heard about, but never seen, the grand works crafted by the feathermasters of Nexal: huge litters that could bear a noble and his entire retinue; great, swirling fans that cooled the palatial homes of great nobles and warriors; or vast lifts, soaring gracefully up the side of a great pyramid with their burdens of devout priests and weeping victims.
As Erix's thoughts drifted again toward those mystical sights of the city, she avoided her previous self-pity. Instead, she continued along the path, almost eagerly seeking the feathered quarry in her family's snares, confident that one day she would not only see but also be a part of the grandeur that was Nexal.
She looked off to the right as she took up the path. There, in the wilderness to the east, lay the lands of the dreaded Kultakans, fierce enemies of the Nexala. The Kultakans, too, were a nation of warriors, worshipers of Zaltec who eagerly fed the god's gory appetite on their sacrificial altars. A small nation compared to the mighty Nexala, the Kultakans were the only nearby tribe who had never been subjugated to Nexal.
Erix followed the trail along the narrow ridgeline. To her left sloped the familiar green slopes leading back to her home, and below that to the small town of Palul. Pausing at a curve in the trail, she could even see Palul's small pyramid, where her older brother studied the ways of the priests of Zaltec. She glared at the pyramid, but then turned away, sudden guilt overcoming her jealousy. In truth, to be a priest of the god of war was an honor any male Nexala would cherish!
Continuing on her way, she came to the first snare, where one brilliant parrot hung. The bird's struggles to escape had caused its strangulation, but Erix noted with detached pleasure that few of the bird's bright feathers had been damaged. Deftly she pulled the wiry noose, made of tough strands from the gut of a jaguar, over the bird's head, smoothing the green and red feathers in the process. Then she stuffed the bird in her leather pouch and moved farther along the trail.
Several other snares along the ridgetop were empty, but she found a bright macaw in the fifth. Now the trail dropped to the far side of the ridge. She cast a wistful look behind her and started down the eastern slope. These were the far snares, usually her brother's territory, but Erix knew their locations well.
The dirt trail twisted past a spuming waterfall, and she stopped to kick her feet through the sparkling water at its foot. Raising her face to the sky, she let the cool mist wash over her. The dust ran from her skin, and she emerged into the shady brush across the stream feeling refreshed and happier.
A screech of avian rage told her that another macaw had found a snare, and she quickly reached it and wrung the bird's neck. Ducking under low branches, she worked her way through the thick greenery, bushes that towered high over her head, as she found more birds. Her father would be very pleased.
Suddenly a harsh call drew her attention to the deep brush. She saw a moving flash of shining brilliance, disappearing, then flashing again, farther away. With a gasp of astonishment, she parted branches and looked in amazement.
At first, she thought she glimpsed the form of a brilliant snake, entwined among the dense foliage. But then a pair of large, unmistakably feathered wings fluttered. It must be a bird, but a huge and brightly plumed specimen. The colorful shape slipped quickly out of sight, and again she got the impression of a serpentine form.
She did not pause to wonder at its appearance, however. Spellbound, she crept through the brush, barely glimpsing the long tailfeathers that distinguished the creature. Her thoughts were not of capture, though she well knew that these shining plumes must number among the most valuable treasures in all Maztica. Instead, she followed the creature with a sense of reverence, herself caught in the snare of its rare and unique beauty.
She darted under a flowery vine, slipping quietly through the shallow stream, in time to see the creature take wing. It came to rest in the top of a tall tree, and Erix hesitantly edged forward, gazing upward at the proud and wondrous fowl.
She did not see the orange figure slipping soundlessly between the concealing branches, its black spots moving through the shadows like oily liquid. Erix felt, rather than heard, the large body behind her, and immediately she forgot the feathered form, forgot everything but her imminent danger.
Whirling, she saw widespread jaws, leering eyes, and horrible curving claws reaching for her shoulders. Erixitl screamed as the jaguar rose onto its rear legs, and then the scream faded into a moan of terror. The great cat bore her to the earth, and she felt its breath hot upon her face. The girl lay prostrate upon the ground, her eyes squeezed shut, her body trembling in terror, as she awaited the kiss of the deadly fangs.
'Quiet, little one!' A man's voice hissed into her ear, speaking Nexala awkwardly. She opened her eyes in shock and looked between the jaguar jaws into a snarling but unmistakably human face.
The girl's heart pounded and her voice froze in her throat. The beast that had attacked her had seemed so feline, with its animal heat and deep growl. Yet she was now held by a man wearing the skin and skull of a jaguar!
Erixitl knew of the Jaguar Knights. She had even seen members of that mystical order in Palul. Fully draped in the skin of his feline namesake, painted for battle or ceremony, armed with his intricately feathered shield and brilliantly plumed lance, a Jaguar Knight was an impressive sight. But those Erix had seen were Nexala warriors, her own people!
She knew instinctively that the man who gripped her — with fingers, she saw, not the claws she had previously imagined — was not Nexala.
She understood then that her captor must come from Kultaka. With a detached sense of disbelief, she wondered whether she was intended for slavery or for the sacrificial altar. The latter seemed more likely. Trembling in terror, her brown eyes wide and staring, she watched her captor for some sign of his intentions. Would he kill her instantly? This seemed unlikely, but that knowledge only made thoughts of the future even more terrifying.
Other figures emerged from the brush, this knight's retinue. Several of the men wore quilted cotton armor, dyed a shade of green to match the undergrowth. A half-dozen were nearly naked, clad only in loincloths made from single strips of cloth. A pair of the latter took her from the knight and expertly and quickly gagged her. Then they bound her hands before her.
The knight whispered a command in a strange language, and one of the men pulled on the rope, tugging Erix into the brush, toward the east, toward Kultaka and the enemies of the Nexala.
Behind her fell the valley of Palul, and farther away than ever before was the mystical city of Nexal, Heart of the True World.
As the girl stumbled into the brush, the green plants closed behind her, behind the knight and his men. Soon the only trace of their passage was an occasional crimson spot on the leaves — blood dripping from the claw marks that scarred Erix's upper arms.
'How is it that none of my wisest priests can explain a portent of this magnitude?'
Naltecona rose from his bench and stalked back and forth across the dais. His wide cape, made of shimmering green feathers embroidered into the finest of cotton mesh, floated almost weightless in the air behind him.
The great ruler stopped, and pluma magic slowly lifted the great cape into a fan behind his collar, like the emerald splendor of a strutting peacock. Naltecona surveyed the priests before him with a mixture of contempt and desperation.
'You, Caracatl!' He fixed the trembling cleric with an icy gaze. 'What does the Grand Patriarch of Ttezca have to say about this message from the gods?' Naltecona pointed at the man, whose face was smeared with pale ashes. He wore a robe of deep scarlet, and his body was thin from his many fasts.
'Most Revered Counselor,' Caracatl began solemnly, just a trace of a tremor in his voice, 'the fire that burns in the sky above Nexal is indeed a sign, obviously from crimson Tezca; god of the sun! Indeed, my enchantments tell me that we see the reflection of his great soul itself. It is a sign of the god's hunger, Most Excellent One. Tezca desires more blood at sunset to fuel his life-giving flame!'
Naltecona whirled from the priest, his cloak wheeling elegantly behind him. The ruler stalked past the
