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the old man motioned Metah to leave. Her eyes were wide, and she was clearly a
little frightened. But, smiling timidly, she left the two men alone.
Tezmec indicated for Casca to sit on the bench. "You have done well in
learning the tongue of my people," he said. "Now it is time for us to speak."
He was quiet for a moment, as if marshalling his thoughts, and then he went
on: "First, I must ask you what message you have for my people. How best may
we serve the gods from whence you came? What is the reason you have been sent
to us from the Quetza?"
Casca thought carefully. This could be it.
"Yes, old one," he began, "I do have a message, for, as you know, I came to
you on the Feathered Serpent. At first I did not know the reason why I was
chosen, but now it is clear. I have come to tell you that no more must die on
the altars, that the great god Quetza whose name I carry wishes no more blood
to soak the stones of your temples. In me I carry the message of life. I am
the embodiment of the Quetza. The needless slaughter must stop." Tezmec
clicked his tongue in 'the manner of exclamation of his people and shook his
head.
"You speak strange words. How is it possible not to send the messengers? How
else can the gods know of our needs, and of our gratitude? We must send the
still, beating hearts to the heavens because in them is where the soul lives,
and in the sacred smoke of the fires the soul is sent most rapidly to the
heavens. If we wait until the messenger dies of natural causes, the soul dies
in him, or is trapped until the body returns to dust and sets it free. That is
too long a time." He looked sadly at Casca, pityingly almost. "No, my son. You
have not understood properly, for what you say cannot be correct. If you are
right, all we have done and believed in for many ages would all be a lie, and
that is impossible." The sadness deepened on his face. "You are mistaken in
what you say, but there is yet some hope for us to understand the meaning of
your coming. Soon, in less than one cycle of the moon, we shall send you back
to the gods. It shall be the greatest offering we can make. You shall carry
all our hopes and prayers with you, and then, surely, when we return you the
gods will answer our prayers and all the unanswered questions will be made
clear. I am disappointed that you cannot give us a message now, but perhaps we
are not yet worthy." He sighed and picked up his feathered headdress. "For the
time remaining, until your spirit returns to the great Quetza, you shall be
treated as if you were he. From this time until the full of the moon you are a
god, and all in this land shall do your bidding, as long as it does not
conflict with the laws of our gods. Rest now, holy one. You are blessed most
among all men.
He turned to leave, but Casca stopped him with a raised hand.
"It is not time to go, old one. The Quetza lives in me. The killing must stop
and will, for I shall not die. I am the Quetza."
Tezmec shook his head. "Be at peace, my son. Many times have I seen messengers
have dreams that made them think they were more than they were. But on the
great stone, all is the same. One cycle of the moon..
Metah returned as soon as the shaman had left. Casca told of his conversation
with Tezmec.
"The next full moon!" she wailed, tears filling her lovely, almost
almond-shaped eyes. Between sobs she snuffled, "I know I should be happy for
you, lord. Going to the gods is a great thing. But I shall miss you!"
He took her small hand in his.
"Don't worry, little one. I shall be around longer than you would believe. I
have no intention of dying on the altar. Your priest may have to change his
thinking before we're through. Now, put out the lamp and come here. Show me
how you would treat a god."
Casca was in truth a god to the people of Teotah. Nothing was denied him. The
best of food and drink, a new palace, slaves for whatever pleasure he might
wish, they were all his. And all were eager to please him.
But he had his duties, too. Every day one of the priests would come and
instruct him in whatever messages and prayers the priest wished him to take to
the gods. Each was repeated over and over until there was no doubt in the
priest's mind that Casca had it all correct.
Two months before the day, a weathered, wizened little man showed himself at
Casca's door. Bowing his way in and kneeling before Casca, he said:
"Lord, I am Pletuc. It is for me to make the sacred mask that you will wear on
the day of ascendance."
Casca acquiesced, and Pletuc began his labors. Swiftly, efficiently, the
little man's quick hands formed a mold in beeswax of Casca's face. From this,
he explained to Casca, he would make a plaster likeness, and then from that
would carve a spirit mask in sacred jade. To honor the occasion, after the
lord's spirit had gone to the gods, the mask would hang in the inner chamber
of the temple of the Quetza as an object of worship so that the people would [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]