IT WAS SUNDOWN IN TENOCHTITLAN, the ninety-third moonrise since the blockade started. The days for the Mexicas, held captive within their own city, had long turned desperate. The invaders’ plan was working. The empire was collapsing under sickness and scarce food and water.
Now the invaders were entering. The Caxtillans - men in silver armor. They’d breached the city and there was little to hold them back.
Men in feathered and colorful gear ran through the plaza armed with spears, bows, and clubs. The women guided their families down corridors and into their living quarters. Fierce commands from military leaders overlapped with the frenzied cries of the nobles.
Illari watched the chaos unfold from within her dwelling. She put on her blue ornamental headdress, and carefully concealed a dagger under her dress. She could sense the presence of two figures behind her. Though they wore outfits similar to hers, she knew they did not belong. They were invaders – Ignacio, a commander, and his wife Demetria.
The sound of sudden coughing seized their attention. Illari raced to the far corner, where a man of bronzed skin like hers laid still. His body was covered in dark red blotches. She reached a hand out towards him.
“You can’t touch him,” spoke Demetria, cutting in front of her. “Not unless you want to fall ill.”
“I won’t leave Etzil like this.” Illari said.
Ignacio crossed the room towards them. He was a long-haired man with pale, rugged skin. He was fitting a feathered headdress on his head - Etzil’s headdress. The sight of Ignacio wearing Etzil’s gear sickened Illari.
“If you don’t, you won’t have a way out of here. You can return to him once we’ve taken the city.” Ignacio said.
Etzil managed a smile, recognizing Illari. Her long, black hair and dark brown eyes. The gold amulet around her neck with an amethyst stone.
Etzil was frail and severely dehydrated. A result of the cocoliztli - the dreaded plague that was wiping out the Mexicas and their conquered tribes. He spoke in their native tongue, between coughs. “Sister. My time has come to face the Gods.”
Illari held a bowl of water up to his mouth. Etzil managed to lift himself enough to sip from it.
“Not yet”, she told Etzil. “You’re our tribe’s remaining leader. The Mexicas will fall, but we need you. You will survive.”
Illari couldn’t help but feel it was an empty promise.
Picking up Etzil’s shield, Ignacio stepped outside to keep lookout. Demetria held Illari against the wall.
“Get us to the emperor” she said. “The sooner he’s dead, the sooner you can leave our sight. You’ll thank us, once you’re free of these savage Mexicas and their tyranny. No more sacrifices.”
"You’re wrong”, Illari said. “There are always sacrifices.”
The three raced out of the quarters, quickly blending with a group of Mexica warriors marching to the plaza. Since Illari was as a servant to the emperor, they could use her to sneak into the temple – she didn’t have a choice in the matter. The boom of raging cannons in the distance was incessant. Illari grasped her amulet in her hand, whispering her tribe’s prayers quietly. She felt the glare of the neighboring Neza women peering through their windows. They were praying too.
They’d barely reached the causeway leading to the plaza when a group of Caxtillans intercepted them on horses. The warriors split in two directions to confront them. The rest made a run for the causeway. Clashes of metal and frenzied screams followed. Ignacio pushed Illari forward, ordering her to run in front of them.
She darted, horrified, seeing the Mexica warriors fall mercilessly to the piercing strikes of the invaders. One of the men fell just before her, his face and chest badly slashed, bleeding profusely.
It was a slaughter.
They were halfway down the causeway when another group of Caxtillans intercepted, throwing their lances and firing crossbows. Ignacio pulled Illari behind him, letting the Mexicas step into the bloodshed first. Facing away, Illari could see the invaders’ ships in the distance, their white sails with red crosses, and the blasts of smoke propelling from their cannons.
One of those cannon blasts struck the side of the causeway, tearing through brick and knocking down everyone in the surrounding. Deafened by the blast, Illari slowly collected herself. She couldn’t see much past the cloud of dust and smoke, but she noticed she was no longer surrounded. No sight of Ignacio or Demetria.
An opening.
Hopping to her feet, she rushed down the causeway.
The altar, she remembered, reaching the plaza. He said to meet him at the altar.
Sure enough, there stood Xiuhnel, brooding and tall, with a shield and lance in hand, standing by the wall carved with skulls. The man chosen for her to marry, before their families succumbed to the plague. He stood before one of the beacons, which was lit ablaze, his armor and headgear resembling an eagle.
The two exchanged a solemn glare.
“How is Etzil?”
“He doesn’t have much time left. The cocoliztli has ravaged him,” replied Illari.
“Then we will ravage all of them.”
Xiuhnel put the blade to his hand and slashed, hardly flinching. With his bleeding hand, he removed one of the crests from his headdress. Illari followed suit, slashing her hand with her blade, and grasping her amulet.
They each held the relics over the beacon flame, instantly feeling the intense burning. They endured for a few seconds, before breaking into a blood-curdling scream and casting the items in the fire. Their eyes met, blood pumping at their temples.
Would it work?
Fierce battling continued in the plaza as the men in silver advanced. Slowly, a rumbling came upon the ground, growing stronger.
Soon it was as though the whole plaza was shaking – a vigorous earthquake. This was followed by a violent splash from the canal. A sinister, immense figure was emerging from the water.
The shadow took on a female form, much like the Mexica women. Cloaked in purple, with a necklace of skulls across her chest. Her face was painted white, resembling a skull. A crown adorned in silver diamonds on her head, and her hair in streaks of blue and green, waving fiercely like fire.
She was Natzuilhi. Not the goddess of death herself, but one of her deities. She stood as tall as the emperor’s temple, the shadow forming a veil around her form. The deity opened her eyes and bellowed - a deafening sound that forced both armies to shield their ears. She approached the causeway and flung her hand across it, throwing a dozen men and their horses into the air.
The momentum had shifted.
The earth trembled with her steps, her brooding dark colors expressing might and grace. Illari and Xiunhel watched elated, seeing Caxtillans fall off their horses as these fled terrified. Illari felt a hand at her wrist as she was pulled violently. In front of her stood Ignacio, with stains of blood on his chest and face.
“You fiend!” he yelled. “What the hell did you do?”
Illari did not intend to continue the charade. She spat at him, pulling back. Ignacio moved towards her but was quickly struck by Xihunel, starting a brawl.
Natzilhui was making short work of the Caxtillan troops. Illari flinched as she saw the towering deity stomp her foot down on one of the men, crushing him in a fell blow.
A female voice cried, bewildered. “Where is Ignacio?”
Illari turned to see Demetria, her gear badly busted, and a gash across her shoulder.
She ignored her, witnessing the wrath of Natzuilhi. The men in silver threw their lances and fired their crossbows to no avail. The deity slammed both hands on the ground – the shockwave lifting chunks off the ground. She stomped into the altar in the plaza, sweeping aside a group of warriors. Demetria shrank back in terror, letting go of Illari.
Ignacio had gotten the upper hand and was pummeling Xihunel, drawing blood from his nose and mouth. The deity approached the altar, issuing another piercing cry.
Ignacio had barely turned around when Natzilhui reached her dark, weighty hand towards him. She effortlessly picked him up and hurled him through the air. His body contorted with a loud crack hitting the bricks of a neighboring pyramid.
Demetria shouted hysterically, seeing Ignacio’s body flailing loosely as it rolled down. Illari rushed to Xihunel’s side, when she was startled by another deafening boom. Only this time it wasn’t Natzuilhi.
It was another cannon blast.
The roundshot pierced through the diety’s shoulder, causing her to groan in pain. From the other end of the plaza, a troop of Caxtillans marched with several canons loaded on bronze carts.
Xihunel handed a spear to Illari and signaled a group to follow him, darting towards the cannons. They were rapidly met by Caxtillan troops, clashing into battle.
Another cannon blast. This one missed.
Xihunel’s men battled fiercely, desperate to reach the cannon loaders. Natzuilhi set her sights on the cannons, her steps becoming faster and more violent. Bone cracks and metal scrunching were heard each time, as the unfortunate troops beneath her were swiftly and painfully crushed. The cannons blasted yet again, this time subsequently – blows struck at the dame’s torso and legs. Natzuilhi stumbled, screeching.
Another round of shots struck the deity in the collar and knees. Natzilhui collapsed against the emperor’s temple, dismantling rows of brick and earth as her body struck the surface.
Over the cries of the deity, the Caxtillans cheered and clasped swords.
Outmatched, Xihunel’s group was falling to the Caxtillan soldiers. Three of them overran Xihunel, piercing several slashes through his chest to Illari’s horror.
Two more rounds of cannon blasts felled Natzuilhi.
It couldn’t be. A Tzitzimitl, a pinnacle of the empire, with all her might, shot down.
Were all the sacrifices for nothing?
Lying against the pyramid, Natzuilhi’s form faded into dust with the coming wind. Slowly disintegrating. Like the empire and its people had been.
Illari fled, shattered. Her heart pounded at her chest, feeling like it would burst right out. She had to get back to Etzil. Try to salvage what little they had left.
In the distance, she could make out the troops marching up the stairs into the emperor’s temple.
The conquest had succeeded.
She found Etzil at their quarters, standing at the opening. His face worried, seeing her covered in dust and her clothes shattered. The cocotzil – you’re gonna—'
“It doesn’t matter.”, Illari sobbed. “We have to go.”
“The others left. They’re heading for the mountains.”
They hadn’t stepped outside when they heard steps upon the mortar. Illari rushed to the opening, hiding in ambush. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before Demetria stepped towards the entrance. Illari rushed at her and slammed her against the wall, holding the spear to her throat.
They were going to need more than just a spear if they were hoping to catch up to the Neza. She took Demetria’s rapier and shield and tossed them to Etzil.
“You won’t get far”, Demetria challenged. “Even if you do, the plague will finish you.”
Illari wanted to press on the spear – wipe that smirk of her face and claim at least one life to avenge the many from her tribe – but a dead body here would only make them look for them. So they slowly started to leave – with Illari continuing to hold the spear towards her. She didn’t turn her back until they were almost at the causeway.
Demetria walked back to the temple, where the cheers of Caxtillan troops could be heard. She was still distressed, reeling from the sight of such an imposing and powerful being unleashed.<
They could only hope Illari and the Neza failed to summon such a being again. Now a new empire could be born. And like the Mexica, they’d be cast out –gradually reduced to nothing.
Demetria smirked. There are always sacrifices.