Blood & Fur-Chapter One-Hundred and Six: Feathered Serpent

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The Feathered Serpent was blinding to look at.

His mere presence would have surely burned my eyes were I not half a god, for his polished white scales each glowed with the radiance of suns and stars. Great quetzal feathers adorned his body in a display of blue, green, red, and all the shimmering colors known to the living.

The deity’s size boggled the mind. Tlaloc had been colossal, and King Mictlantecuhtli was the size of a city, but Lord Quetzalcoatl’s length encircled the entire valley. His coils overshadowed mountains, and each flap of his two immense wings could whip up a hurricane. The god enveloped the valley and then lowered his head towards the great tree-throne of his aunt Itzpapalotl. My parents had to lower their heads and cover their eyes, the god’s light too great for them to stare at directly.

Lord Quetzalcoatl’s face was larger than my entire longneck palace, with a red mane surrounding a blue, scaled face with twin suns for eyes. I sensed his light piercing me, seeing through my flesh and bones to gaze upon my very soul. The god did more than gaze upon me; he knew me. I sensed his warm presence in my memory, in my thoughts and feelings, reading my entire existence like how a chronicler flipped through a codex’s pages in search of answers, which he eventually found.

“I see you,” the Feathered Serpent said.

His voice was the wind itself, melodious and lyrical, a sound so perfect no human musician could ever hope to match it. I knelt, as did my parents. Even my demonic sibling crouched in instinctive deference.

King Mictlantecuhtli carried the weight of inevitable death, and Tlaloc the might of a raging storm waiting to explode, but Lord Quetzalcoatl didn’t inspire dread; only the awe of common men approaching the essence of art and kingship. He was one of the four creator gods that shaped the universe, yet his power was great in its subtlety. Whereas the King of the Underworld treated mortals with indifference and Tlaloc with disdain born of disappointment, only warmth and acceptance radiated from the Feathered Serpent.

“Are you satisfied, my nephew?” Lady Itzpapalotl asked, a sharp smile forming on her obsidian lips.

“I am.” Lord Quetzalcoatl’s glowing gaze settled on Mother, casting her in a spotlight. “Ichtaca, your plea for repentance shall not go unanswered. My avatar shall guide thee, your child and husband to Mictlan, then intercede with Queen Mictecacihuatl on your behalf. I cannot guarantee your forgiveness nor absolution, but your family shall find no more eloquent a defender.”

“I…” Mother gulped and bowed so low her forehead hit the ground; a greater show of respect than I’d ever seen from her. “Thank you, Lord Quetzalcoatl.”

“We are in your debt, oh great king,” Father said.

Sunlight gathered in front of us by the will of Quetzalcoatl. A figure born of fire and woven sorcery came into existence. I knew who it was before the late priest-king Topiltzin manifested in front of us.

“Are you not surprised, Iztac?” the god and the priest both asked calmly, their voices merging so seamlessly I could not tell where one began and the other ended.

“Not entirely, Lord Quetzalcoatl,” I confessed. “I… suspected something like this.”

Ingrid had informed when reviewing folklore around Lord Quetzalcoatl that the priest-king Topiltzin had often been seen as the feathered serpent reincarnated. It would make sense for the god closest to mankind to walk the world in our image when it pleased him.

“As the snake sheds his old worn skin, so too do I wear many faces,” Lord Quetzalcoatl said as one through his two incarnations. “We have that in common. Cizin, Iztac, Emperor, Tlacatecolotl, Savior and Destroyer… words and names yield great power, but none can hold the full complexity of life.”

“My nephew loves to walk among mortals to better understand them,” Lady Itzpapalotl explained. “His is the compassion of the strong.”

The compassion of the strong? Such a concept boggled the mind after encountering so much cruelty from those in power. It was the ideal I’d sought to emulate lately, and which I’d only seen in deities such as Queen Mictecacihuatl.

The compassion of the strong, I thought, the sentence echoing in my mind. It has a nice ring to it…

“There is always more to learn, especially from our own creations.” The Feathered Serpent said to his aunt before turning his holy gaze back upon me next. “I shall grant the audience you sought, Iztac Ce Ehecatl. Bid goodbye to thy kin, for great journeys await you all.”

I nodded and turned to face my family. While I would see them in the waking world, I knew this would be the last time we met in the Underworld. We would have to walk the rest of our respective journeys alone. Even though Father might still speak to me through the Parliament of Skulls, his physical avatar would have to remain with Mother at all times.

“I guess this is goodbye,” I said. “At least for now.”

“We will meet again soon, my son,” Father reassured me. “Do you think you will be alright on your own?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. I wielded the power to bend thousands to my will and explored the Underworld on my own long before our reunion, but Father never failed to fear for my safety. In a way, he had a point, too. The thought of traveling without either of my parents felt so odd to me after they had been my near-constant companions in the last two layers.

“I will be fine,” I promised him.

“Be…” Mother bit her lip. Her rare displays of affection were all the more awkward in their genuineness. “Be careful, Iztac.”

I studied her a moment, then moved to embrace her in a hug warmer than the last one we exchanged above ground. I felt her sunlight beneath her skin, which the darkness hungered for. I suppressed it with all of my strength and will so it would not ruin this rare and final moment of affection.

Mother didn’t ask me to promise her I would become a god, though I knew that was her sincerest wish. She simply held me with all of her feeble strength the same way I’d seen Necahual hold Eztli, without demands or expectations.

“You be careful, too,” I whispered back in her ear. I had no doubt she risked little on the trip itself with a god like Lord Quetzalcoatl watching over her, and I hoped Queen Mictecacihuatl would find in herself the mercy not to smite Mother where she stood… but I could not guarantee it.

We let go of each other at the same time, and as we did so it felt as if a rift had closed. A bridge had joined our hearts. It was fragile, and could collapse easily, but its foundations could be reinforced with time and care.

I raised my head at my stillborn brother, whom I wished I had known sooner. He looked at me without a word and then closed his eyes when I raised my hand against his forehead. His feathers were surprisingly warm for a member of the living dead; or perhaps it was the kinship we shared. All I wished was that his damned, tormented soul might one day find rest, and that those who cut his life would soon perish in turn.

“Be strong, brother,” I whispered. “We shall meet again.”

Whether in this world or the next, I could not say. He let out a quiet chirp which I took for a cry of acceptance. A promise was sealed.

I looked up to Lord Quetzalcoatl, master of the winds, ruler of the west, prince of wisdom, god of artists and merchants, of light and wisdom, whom I’d once believed myself the closest to. The very Wind Month which gave me my name was named in his honor.

“Come,” Lord Quetzalcoatl said. He did not order; he simply asked. “Fly with me.”

I transformed into my Tlacatecolotl form and flew into the sky. The Feathered Serpent pulled his head away from the valley, and I followed it as we left it behind us. I gave my family one last look over my shoulder and saw Lady Itzpapalotl offering my parents her blessing for their own journey. The goddess of sacrifice had proved true to her word.

The Feathered Serpent and I flew over the mountains and ascended into the clouds above, to skies far higher than those Mother and I tried to reach during our trip. The mad land of the damned dead shrank into an expanse of shapeless earth and water, their burning cities turning into fields of embers, the sound of the constant violence fading away with the wind.

Everything seemed so inconsequential once you looked down from high enough…

“How do you find my layer, Iztac?” Lord Quetzalcoatl asked me as he guided us westward.

His question took me aback. “Forgive me, Lord Quetzalcoatl, but I do not understand your question.”

“How did you find my layer?” the god repeated himself. “You have ventured through three worlds, four if we include the land of the living. How does it fare compared to the places you have visited?”

I remained quiet for a moment. Was this another part of the god’s trial? Was the Feathered Serpent testing my wisdom, or whether I would choose flattery over honesty?

My silence amused Lord Quetzalcoatl. “This is no test, Iztac, only idle curiosity.”

In that case, I decided I owed the god enough to speak my mind. “With all due respect, it is quite disturbing,” I confessed. “Xibalba was a hell born of fear, but this one is a land of torment. Of pain.”

“Yes. Yes, you are very right. If we gods are artists, then this was our second draft. The first was a wild sketch that quickly collapsed under its own weight and contradictions. We tried to think things through with this one, but it simply meant our mistakes had a sense of logic to them.” Lord Quetzalcoatl glanced down at the land below us, at hills made of teeth and canyons that stared back at us. “Of course mountains had to be alive, how else would they grow big?”

“I… I suppose it makes sense.”

“But if mountains are alive, then they have to eat to grow. The people of the First Cosmos were giants that ate all the resources the earth had to offer, so we made humans smaller and created nuts for them to feed upon, alongside plenty of beasts you’ve never heard of.” The sunlight in the god’s eyes dimmed for a second. “The first war began over a nut patch, if you can believe that.”

“Other wars were waged for less than that,” I replied. The Nightlords had conquered for greed, for glory, and for war’s sake.

“Mayhaps, but your people had no true god to guide them. What excuse do I have for failing to guide my creations down the righteous path? Now I ceaselessly toil to atone for this mistake by emptying this Hell one soul at a time.” The Feathered Serpent’s breathing blew a gust of wind across the clouds. “Only when the last soul cursed by my ineptitude has left for Mictlan will I consider my quest complete.”

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“A tall order,” I commented.

“Don’t you mortals have a saying?” Lord Quetzalcoatl asked with a hint of amusement. “Hope begets life? I like that one.”

“Forgive my impertinence, Lord Quetzalcoatl, but you sound more…” I searched my words carefully. “More casual than other gods.”

“Does it surprise you?” The Feathered Serpent let out a lyrical chuckle. “I created your kind in my image. It is not that I am the most human of the gods, Iztac; it is that humans are the most like me.”

Even the flaws? I thought, though I dared not say it.

“I am afraid so,” Lord Quetzalcoatl said, startling me. “I know all that is within the hearts of men, Iztac. There is no lie nor barrier which my light cannot pierce.”

“I… I am sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Why should one apologize for saying the truth? You are right. We gods are flawed, so why should we expect our creations to be perfect?” The Feathered Serpent marked a short pause, his gaze turning westward beyond the horizon. “Tell me, Iztac Ce Ehecatl: which virtue do we gods find the most sacred?”

I pondered the question for a while. The simplest and easiest answer would be piety, since it was what priests demanded and the mark of our respect for the deities that created us… yet I knew such an easy response wouldn’t fit.

Was it courage? It could fit, but then why did the brave suffer as much as cowards? It could be gratitude, as it was a lack of that that led Tlaloc to burn his world, yet the answer appeared so much simpler.

“Forgiveness,” I guessed. “It is forgiveness.”

It was forgiveness that led the gods to recreate mankind over and over, which convinced Tlaloc to lift the Burned Men’s punishment, convinced Xolotl to send me on a journey to his brother… and it was forgiveness that I showed Mother after all of her sins and mistakes.

“Indeed,” the Feathered Serpent replied solemnly. “Many times have mortals disappointed the gods through their greed, weakness, and entitlement… yet each time we have given you another chance, because we saw the same flaws in ourselves and hoped that one day you would get it right. It is thus quite the irony, then, that we gods struggle to forgive each other.”

I took a deep breath and finally delivered the message I’d been asked to. “Xolotl told me that he forgives you, Lord Quetzalcoatl,” I said. “He said he forgives you for leaving him behind.”

The creator god took in my words, and the light in his eyes dimmed for a moment as he pondered them. I could have sworn the wind grew cooler, as if to echo the Feathered Serpent’s meditative state of mind.

“When the Fifth Sun was still young, I sought to use the bones of the dead to create a new humanity better than what came before,” Lord Quetzalcoatl finally said, his voice quieter and more solemn than ever. “But King Mictlantecuhtli would not let me. He craved the finality of death, of a purpose well-served. All he sees in life is the pain and struggle rather than the beauty his queen cherishes.”

I’d heard the story. “So you stole the bones.”

“Yes, I did. Xolotl and I tricked the king out of his prize, after which he pursued us. When King Mictlantecuhtli caught my brother, I chose to prioritize the bones over Xolotl.” The Feathered Serpent looked down at the valley we left behind, where he crafted the first members of the Fifth Humanity. “To give humans life, I had to surrender the shadow of my soul.”

“A sacrifice for which we mortals are all thankful for,” I argued. How odd it felt to try and comfort the very god who created us all.

“You are very kind, but it does not lighten my sorrowful heart. Many of my kindred feel I wasted my time on you, especially with how Yohuachanca turned out.” Lord Quetzalcoal let out a sigh heavier than mountains. “Did you know that his mother was a Tlacatecolotl too?”

My eyes widened, though my surprise didn’t last. I recalled seeing an owl perched on the shoulder of Yohuachanca’s mother on Xibalba’s murals.

“She was a witch who egged him and his brother on to avenge their father, whom Camazotz had murdered and devoured. Both were taught the secrets of magic since they could walk, though only Yohuachanca could hope to equal the gods by delving into the Underworld.”

“You saw them in us,” I muttered to myself. “An echo of the past.”

“Yes. Such is the pull of destiny’s cycle, to echo and contrast the future with what came before.”

“What was he like?” I dared to ask, the grip of shadows strong on my heart-fire. “Yohuachanca?”

“Much like you, and yet so different in many ways.” The Feathered Serpent focused on the distant horizon, his nostrils letting out a multicolored stream of clouds and dust. “Yohuachanca shared your drive to free his people from an oppressor, but he was more of a scholar than you were. He hungered for knowledge the same way your mother did, searching in sorcery for a solution to all the world’s ills.” I sensed the god’s gaze upon me. “Perhaps that is where you differ. You traded the mother’s guidance for that of the father, and he tempered your ambition with compassion.”

The god’s words gave me pause. How would I have turned out had Mother taken me with her away from the Nightlords and taught me all that she knew? I thought my life would have been better if she did, that I would not have suffered under the Nightlords’ yoke, but I suspected I would have also inherited her misplaced pride. In many ways, our parents shaped us like clay. We inherited so much more than good from them.

“Why did you bless him?” I asked Lord Quetzalcoatl.

“Because I saw what I wanted to see in him. I admired his drive to learn so similar to my own… and in doing so, I mistook greed for curiosity and ambition for selflessness.” The wind grew chillier around us. “My brother Tezcatlipoca said this has always been my flaw; I seek the good where it is not, the same way he sees the bad everywhere.”

“I would rather search for hope than despair,” I replied.

“Hence, you understand my predicament.” I sensed the full weight of the god’s gaze upon me. “The gift you seek from me represents a gamble on my part, Iztac. You have shown great virtues and unsavory ones. It is my hope that your better nature will triumph, as it did today… but doubt lingers.”

I could not blame him, since I shared those doubts myself. I had shed so much blood, cut so many lives short, and sacrificed so much in victory’s name. My guilt and remorse struck me atop a mountain of corpses. I was doing my best to atone for these mistakes, to change, but my best might not be enough.

Yet what other alternative did I have than to try? The dark chain coiling around my heart and the darkness lurking on the threshold of my soul would not go away even if I averted my eyes.

“I will not lie, I crave power and I relish in its pleasures,” I confessed. “But if you can indeed see within my heart, then you know I do not seek it for its own sake.”

“Do you?” Lord Quetzalcoatl asked pointedly. “Words are so much lighter than deeds, Iztac.”

“Should the gods strike the Nightlords down and seal their dark father, then I would abandon my quest for embers on the spot.” Those had always been a means to an end. “Will they?”

The Feathered Serpent’s silence was an answer in itself.

I’d guessed as much. Unlike the gods of death—who were either bound to the Underworld or indifferent to the plight of the living—or callous Tlaloc, Lord Quetzalcoatl struck me as a deity who loved us humans and wished to see us prosper. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to save us; it was that he couldn’t.

“We dead gods may only arise to the surface when a world meets its end, during the transition between one sun and the next, when life and death hold no sway,” Lord Quetzalcoatl explained. “The sun of your age is diminished, both by Yohuachanca’s hunger for life and his daughters’ foolish attempt to paint it blue with sulfur.”

“And at this rate, even sunlight will fade away,” I replied.

“If it were up to me, I would wait longer for time to temper your foolhardiness with more wisdom until you become a god of good and light… but the Fifth Mankind cannot wait that long.” I sensed the god’s light shining upon the darkness coiling around my soul. “I foresee that the beast Yohuachanca has become will soon escape. Pain, betrayal, and imprisonment have driven him mad with hatred. He will leave no remains for us to rebuild, no light to renew the fire in the sky. The history of man will come to a final end, and I cannot accept that.”

Lord Quetzalcoatl would give me his blessing, not because I was worthy, but because a world ruled by an imperfect god was better than none. Men would always choose a harsh day over an eternal night. By fate or deed, I was the Fifth Humanity’s only chance at surviving Yohuachanca’s inevitable escape.

It did seem strange to me that a god with such foresight would trust me with such power without fetters, even accounting for the alternative. I looked back to when Lord Quetzalcoatl deigned to show me his favor, and it clicked.

“You smiled on me with your radiance after I coupled with the Sapa Empress,” I said. “I thought it was because I had made efforts to move beyond my hatred of the Sapa and learn mercy.”

“That development did please me.”

“But it was my oath to make her a Mometzcopinque that pleased you most,” I guessed. “By giving power to my witches, I give them a hold over my soul, the same way the First Emperor made himself vulnerable. They will limit my strength, and in turn, give mankind a chance to overthrow me.”

“Yes,” Lord Quetzalcoatl replied. “You have chosen strong-willed women, who will keep you grounded and accountable. The pull of destiny dictates that should you commit the same mistakes as your predecessor, then you shall suffer the same fate.”

A doubt formed in my mind and tugged at my blazing heart. “Was it you?” I asked. “Did you teach the Nightlords the rite they used to bind their father?”

“No.” The god’s next words carried an edge to them. “But should you waver, your coven will discover it.”

I could imagine how it would turn out. Lahun might glimpse a new prophecy in her divininations, or a dream would haunt Necahual’s sleep, or perhaps a book inscribed with ancient rites would suddenly find its way into Empress Killa’s hands. The gods could not rise to destroy me, but they had many other tools to strike me down with. Unbinding my coven would demand that I kill them, and I could not imagine for the life of me snuffing out the life of Necahual or the others. I had bound my destiny to these women through blood and word. The children they carried made them my kin.

My witches might grow to abuse their power just the same as the Nightlords, but they would remain mortals. They, too, might be cast down one day, when a new Owl or Bat totem descended into the Underworld to earn the embers of divinity. And should I slay my Mometzcopinque and become a tyrant, then another sorcerer would inevitably rise to challenge me for control of the Fifth Cosmos. The cycle had repeated once already, so why not twice or thrice?

The mere possibility that my fate was written, that my destiny as the Last Emperor of Yohuachanca would mirror that of the First, disgusted me to my core. Every fiber of my being revolted against that outcome.

“I will not become the new Yohuachanca,” I told Lord Quetzalcoatl. It wasn’t a statement, but an oath. “I refuse to become him, to meet the same fate he did.”

“That all depends on you, and your will.” A shining mountain appeared on the horizon, glittering under the Feathered Serpent’s sun. “Here we are.”

The landmark we reached wasn’t a tooth or even alive—a rarity in these parts. It had been carved from the purest gold and reached higher than Smoke Mountain’s top. A sea of clouds surrounded it, masking the chaos below.

The only feature atop the platform occupying the summit was a colossal mirror of obsidian large enough to let Lord Quetzalcoatl’s sinuous face through. Whereas the mountain might have been shaped naturally, that circular device had been carved by expert hands. Bloodsoaked crimson symbols I did not recognize glowed along its edge while its smooth surface rippled with shadowy reflections. Merely staring at it left me unsettled for a reason I could not explain.

I landed in front of the mirror, whereas the Feathered Serpent encircled the summit and looked upon me from the clouds. “This is the Gate of Mirrors, beyond which the first of all worlds and my brother Tezcatlipoca await,” Lord Quetzalcoatl warned me. “Your final ordeal awaits you beyond this threshold.”

I nodded sharply as I stared into the shadowy surface. My reflection was bent and twisted, the wings shifting into hands, the talons disappearing into smoke, my visage shifting through a thousand faces. The priests said Dread Tezcatlipoca was the most fearsome of the gods, and the door to his domain already appeared designed to inspire unease.

“Oh, I suspect my brother will smile upon you.” I detected a flicker of fondness in the god’s voice. “He is my reflection and opposite, the light to my shadow. He blesses those I oppose, trusts those I doubt, and casts down those I raise to the highest of glories. He always had a fondness for troublemakers such as you.”

I scoffed. The title of troublemaker suited me well, I suppose. I had done nothing other than challenge the established order of things and the decrees of the powerful, whether decrees came from fate or mortal tyrants.

“Lord Quetzalcoatl,” I said, kneeling in front of my creator. “Of all the gods, you alone I once sought to worship. My respect for you hasn’t changed in the slightest. In fact, it has only grown.”

I was no expert in the facial expression of serpents, but I could have sworn the god’s colossal reptilian lips stretched into a thin smile the length of a bridge.

“However,” I said. “You hold forgiveness in awe of all other virtues, but I must confess that I… I cannot see myself forgiving the Nightlords for what they did.”

“I understand, and I do not ask you to,” the god replied calmly. “Punishment must often precede pardon. I only sought to confirm that you had the capacity for forgiveness.”

He wished to see that I retained the potential to do good, even if I might one day choose otherwise.

“Then I swear to you that I shall prove your trust in me is not misplaced,” I promised. “If I am to rise among the gods, it shall be as a blessing to the living rather than a curse.”

“The future eludes even a god of knowledge such as I… but I hope you will prove worthy too, Iztac. I hope so with all of my heart.” The Feathered Serpent gazed down upon me with his blazing eyes. “Young emperor, you have my blessing in the fight to come.”

A ray of pure light shone from the morning star glimmering above and struck my heart-fire. The embers of Lord Quetzalcoatl ignited the blaze of my soul with divine power.

And I burned.