Soon the men, too, settled back quietly. Poshtli quickly slumbered, but Hal couldnt keep his eyes closed.
His mind was tormented by the confusing pictures of this land. He looked at Erix and Poshtli, recognizing their nobility of character, the depths of their friendship and loyahy. Each could certainly have fared better alone, rather than to remain with him, a giant, white-skinned stranger from another world. They showed him the strength, the fineness of Maztica.
Yet he also remembered the brutality of a cleric in Payit, a worshiper of Zaltec who had torn the heart from a helpless woman held prostrate across his vile altar while Halloran was restrained, helpless, scant feet away. He saw images of that grim, warlike god, and thought with a shudder of this culture that tolerated such a bestial religion. He wondered in amazement about such people, that they could accept as a god's due the gruesome sacrifice of so many of their own.
Now he journeyed to the city at the very heart of this world. Why? He asked himself the question that tore at him, but he couldnt be satisfied with the answer. True, he saw no other alternative. But he didn't belong here! Everything around him brought home the alien nature of this land. The barbarism of Maztican religion shocked and appalled him.
But where could he turn? Sitting up and shaking his head in frustration, he thought of his former companions, the Golden Legion. Doubtless they all wanted him dead by now — certainly that was the desire of the dour Bishou Domincus and the quiet, menacing elven mage, Darien.
He thought of his escape from the legion's brig, where he had been sent by the Bishou in the man's grieving rage over his daughter's death. Hal escaped, seeking the chance to redeem himself on the field. There he had found Alvarro, ready to trample Erix into dust, consumed by bloodlust.
The choice then, as now, had been clear. He saved her and they fled, though the act must surely now have branded him a traitor.
So he remained with these true companions, accompanying them to Nexal, to this great city about which they both talked so reverently. He had, in truth, nowhere else to go. But there was more, much more, to it than that.
He remembered the Bishou's daughter, Marline, slain by the sacrificial knife. At one time, he had thought he loved her. Now he knew that her beauty, her smile, her pleasant attentions had been food for his vanity, nothing more. She had been a shallow, selfish girl and he a foolish knave. Though that thought relieved none of the pain of her death, it gave Halloran disturbing notions about his own life.
Once again his eyes fell upon Erixitl. She still tossed restlessly, and he longed to take her into his arms, to hold her. Yet he feared her reaction, and so he only watched, feeling more helpless than ever.
But he knew now that he loved her.
From the chronicles of Colon:
In silent worship of Qotal, the Plumed Father, I remain a faithful observer of doom.
Like the venom of a snakebite on the leg or on the hand or arm, the various seeds of catastrophe gather in the outlying realms of Maztica.
Already the Payit have been conquered, subjugated by the invading men and their brutal warrior god called Helm. The venom gathers in Payit, and of course it will flow through the blood of Maztica.
And the Ancient Ones work their wrack, leading the blind priests of Zaltec closer and closer to their own bleak destiny. The brand of the Viperhand becomes their symbol, and like the spreading inflammation of poison, it infiltrates and festers in the body of the True World.
Everywhere fractious differences divide the land. Kultakans strive against Nexal, Nexal strives to conquer all Maztica. This divisiveness, too, is toxic.
So grows the power of destruction, venom in the muscle and bloodstream of Maztica. And as is the way of such poison, it flows through the body of the land, until soon it will gather in the Heart of the True World.
THE CITY AT THE HEART OF THE TRUE WORLD
A small deer slipped between two encloaking ferns, silently pressing through the deep jungles of Far Payit. The creature hesitated a moment, then darted forward, sensing danger but unable to pinpoint the threat.
Suddenly a huge jaguar landed silently on the ground before it, fixing the deer with a sharp, penetrating gaze. The smaller creature froze in terror, staring into those unblinking yellow eyes. The only movement was the trembling of the deer's thin legs, the quivering of its heaving flanks.
For long moments, the jaguar held the deer spellbound. Then, with a slow, deliberate blink, the great cat dropped its lids over those bright eyes. Instantly the deer leaped away, springing through the brush in a desperate flight. So fast, so terrified was its escape that it failed to notice that the cat offered no pursuit.
'Well done, Gultec.' The speaker, an old man with long white hair and brown, wrinkled skin, emerged from the brush and spoke to the jaguar.
Or to what had been the jaguar. Now, in the cat's place, stood a tall, muscular man. Both men were clad in spotted loincloths and otherwise were naked and unarmed.
'Thank you, Zochimaloc,' said the younger man, bowing deeply to his companion. When Gultec looked up, his handsome face wrinkled slightly in confusion. 'But tell me, Master, why do you bid me hunt thus, with no killing and no food?'
Zochimaloc sighed, sitting lightly on a moss-covered log. As he waited for a reply, Gultec pondered his own ease with this strange, wizened man. Weeks earlier, the concept of a 'master' would have been one that the Jaguar Knight could never have accepted. Indeed, death would have been preferable to his own servitude and devotion. But now the old man who had become his teacher seemed the most important thing in the world to Gultec, and every day seemed to bring more evidence of how very little the warrior actually understood.
'Soon you will be ready to learn more,' said the old man finally. 'But not yet.'
Gultec accepted the statement with a nod, not questioning his teacher's wisdom.
'Now let us return to Tulom-Itzi,' said Zochimaloc. In a flash, the old man's form changed as he became a brilliant parrot. With a quick thrust of his wings, he took to the air, vanishing among the tree trunks and leaving Gultec to follow on foot.
The Jaguar Warrior pushed his way through the jungle patiently, though he couldn't help reflecting on the changes in his life that had brought him here. He remembered his despair when the metal-skinned strangers had destroyed his army and conquered the Payit — his nation. Then he recalled the freedom of his flight into the jungle as a wild, hunting jaguar.
His flight had ended with the humiliation of capture by men who served Zochimaloc, almost immediately his captivity gave way to the discipline of his teacher's long hours of training.
Never before had Gultec learned so much or asked so many questions. He had dwelled in the jungle lands all his life, yet Zochimaloc showed him how little he really knew about those jungles. Gultec studied animals and plants, he observed the patterns of the weather and the stars. Indeed, the pride of Tulom-Itzi was a building erected for no other purpose than the study of the heavens!
All of his studies, all the strength of his renewed discipline, his teacher often hinted, would soon focus in a great purpose — the reason Gultec had been brought to Tulom-Itzi. That purpose remained a mystery, but another trait the warrior had developed was patience.
And soon enough, Gultec knew, this purpose would be made clear.
They came around the shoulder of the great mountain and then stopped suddenly, all three of them frozen in awe. The blue waters of the lakes beneath them, far below on the valley floor, glittered like turquoise in the sunlight. On a flat island in the center of the largest lake lay the valley's gem: Nexal, the magnificent city at the Heart of the True World.
'See the four lakes?' said Poshtli, pride thrumming in his voice. 'Named for the gods. Here before us, on the south, is broad Lake Tezca, for it lies along the tracks to the sun god's desert.'
He pointed to the right. 'To the east, the largest — Lake Zaltec, named for the war god. Largest, because war is man's grandest purpose, and no men are better at war than the Nexal!' The warrior suddenly cast a
