The Serpent Codices: The King and the Plumed Serpent

Chapter VIII: A Ray of Hope (Part 1)

That night, the youth could not clear his mind of his parents, dwelling on the agony they surely endured since his disappearance. Tears soon followed; he craved the warmth of home, the stillness of his cabin… yet, this mission held its own weight. He could not simply surrender and vanish. Not now. Not when he needed to discover what had become of David.

He remained in that state for a long while until exhaustion finally claimed him, and he drifted into sleep.

The following morning, a thunderous roar jolted him awake. Startled, he sprang up inside the tent where he had spent the night. He rushed outside to investigate. To his chagrin, he realized he had overslept: all around him, people were already scurrying to and fro, striking their tents with urgent haste.

“That sound heralds the arrival of Yarátu,” explained Ikal, who was nearly finished dismantling his own shelter.

“I see,” Elías murmured, still heavy with sleep. “I didn’t see Zazil again yesterday. I thought he was watching me at every turn.”

“He likely went off to amuse himself. The women of this place find him handsome,” Ikal said with a sly, knowing grin.

Elías took the opportunity to survey the landscape, as the previous night’s shadows had obscured their surroundings. Behind them, toward the north, rose a mountainside where a colossal serpent had been carved into the living rock, looming with majestic prominence. He stood transfixed: the figure was at least a hundred meters long and several meters high.

“Grand, isn’t it?” Zazil remarked, noticing his awe.

“It’s fantastic! Who built this?” Elías asked, his eyes never wavering from the stone.

“It is ancient. Some say it was crafted by Quetzalcóatl himself. Others claim it was the work of the first men to inhabit Aztlán… though you should know that, shouldn’t you? Since, according to you, you are him,” Zazil quipped with a mocking smile.

At that precise moment, a deep, powerful roar—resembling that of a great lion—shattered their conversation.

“Friends!” Yarátu cried out, appearing on the scene mounted upon a gargantuan puma with golden fur and a commanding presence. The roar had erupted from the beast.

“My friend, it has been too long!” Ikal replied, beaming, and the two warriors immediately locked in a fraternal embrace.

Visibly buoyed by the reunion, the two men began to catch up on the events of the passing months.

Yarátu was a formidable warrior. Standing at least six feet tall, his mere presence commanded respect. His sharp features and narrow nose contrasted with a horizontal scar above his right eyebrow, which bisected nearly half of it and lent him a singular charm. His eyes were a profound black; his skin, a light bronze. His hair was shaved at the temples and kept long at the crown, and his ears were small. To the young man’s eyes, Yarátu looked like a living god.

The detail that distinguished him most was the eagle-head helm he wore as a headdress, richly adorned with feathers of many colors, though brown predominated. They were so long they draped over his shoulders, granting him a regal air. A leather band cinched his leg, and a shield engraved with the image of an eagle hung from his arm.

Though he appeared to be in his thirties, Elías knew that in this world, appearances were deceptive; he might well be over a century old.

He was always accompanied by his faithful puma: Mixtu’, a creature of a rare breed of felines inhabiting the north and center of the empire. Only the swiftest warriors of pure heart could tame them. There were few like him. And none like Yarátu.

“You—who are you?” the warrior asked with a puzzled expression, addressing the boy.

Elías was momentarily struck dumb as Yarátu appraised him from head to toe, looking almost startled.

“He is exactly who I wish to speak to you about, Yarátu,” Ikal interrupted, seeing the youth’s silence.

“My name is Elías,” he said sheepishly. “Or so I believed until recently. Now, I truly do not know my real name,” he added, his head hanging low.

“He who does not know his own name is lost. Though you do not look like a man in such a state,” Yarátu remarked, a beautiful smile playing on his lips.

Immediately, Ikal took his friend by the shoulder and led him several paces away. The youth watched as the two warriors spoke in low tones, debating something earnestly. Gradually, the soldiers standing nearby began to look at him with wonder.

“What is he telling him?” Elías asked, unsettled by the stares.

“I don’t know! But it seems they all understand what is being said,” Zazil replied, also observing the warriors’ reactions. “I don’t know why Ikal bothers to step away; they can hear through the wind… they hear better than we do,” he added, his voice tinged with admiration.

After several minutes of discussion, Yarátu ordered his men to forage for food in the surrounding area: they would spend one more night in this place. When he looked at Elías again, his face betrayed surprise—perhaps even confusion—but he said nothing. He turned and withdrew.

Elías had the impression that the warrior wanted to speak to him… but chose silence instead.

Throughout the afternoon, the Eagle Warrior remained inside his great tent with Ikal and other leaders. Apparently, they were discussing matters of war. Meanwhile, Zazil went out to hunt, and the young prince accompanied him to help however he could.

Later that night, Elías’s thoughts drifted back to María and Ernesto. What had become of them? Were they safe? Were they searching for him? Were they grieving his absence?

“Boy, what occupies your mind?” Yarátu interrupted, arriving and seating himself before the campfire.

“My family!” he replied, his voice heavy with melancholy. “Not long ago, I was happy. Though I had almost nothing, with their love, I had everything… Now, I don’t even know who I am,” he added sadly.

“That is how we all feel in Aztlán. Once, we had everything… and now we only defend the scraps that remain,” Yarátu affirmed, watching him. “But I have faith that we will win this war. And with your arrival… I believe we shall succeed,” he finished with a slight smile.

Elías looked up, stunned by those words.

“Do you also believe what I told them?”

“Ikal told me everything. You were lucky to encounter the most noble Tlatoani I know. And to answer your question: I do not believe… I have hope. And that is far better. You see, I was on the verge of surrendering, but I need to believe you. If not, look around you—these people, these warriors, have spent many years lost. They stripped us of our identity, our culture, yet here we stand, still fighting. Why? Sometimes even I do not have the answer.”

The warrior let out a deep sigh, laden with sorrow, as he gazed into the crackling fire as if it were calling to him, his eyes lost in the flames. Then, he spoke again.

“Look at the moon… it has never been so large or so beautiful. Today, I saw flowers budding again. It has not happened in years. And something even stranger: I feel my power has increased since you arrived. The same happened to Ikal; he already told me.”

“You think it’s because of me? But I don’t even have the bracelet,” Elías exclaimed, overwhelmed.

“And that worries me. We must find your friend as soon as possible. I have a dark premonition… I feel he is within sight, but I dare not imagine he is what I suspect. However, if he were nearby, we would already know. In Aztlán, words travel fast,” Yarátu replied, his tone suggesting he knew more than he let on.

“You know? Tezcatlipoca told me to seek you out. Now I know why.”

“The gods flatter me… I hope they have not been mistaken. I always imagined this moment, and I thought I was prepared. But now that it has arrived… I do not know what to think. We cannot afford more errors like those we made in the past with the impostor,” he said darkly.

Elías wanted to ask what he meant, but in that instant, they were interrupted by Solvit, an Eagle Warrior bearing ill tidings. Solvit was one of the three members of the Taíj order who had infiltrated the inner circle of the pretender king, posing as a loyal follower to spy on his movements.

“Tialij Yarátu! I bring no good news,” he said urgently.

“Solvit! My friend!” Yarátu exclaimed, embracing him tightly. “What is happening? Why did you not send a messenger hummingbird? What does the enemy plot?”

“I know not how… but the nahuales and the imperial spies have discovered this camp. They are coming. They could arrive tomorrow, perhaps sooner.”

“We can no longer hide. We must move. We must reach the open fields. Here, we would be easy prey,” Yarátu decided firmly.

“And that is not all,” Solvit added. “The impostor has ordered the extermination of all who oppose him. This very day, a massacre took place in the capital’s main square. They slaughtered the prisoners of the resistance. I… I could do nothing,” he said, his voice trailing off in grief.

“He is utterly deranged!” Yarátu snarled, furious.

“Prepare yourselves… Yhábi and Iktan are coming, along with the nahuales,” Solvit warned. “And you know how dangerous they are.”

“He is a coward. He is not even capable of coming himself,” Yarátu grumbled.

It was then that Solvit noticed the youth standing further back.

“And who are you?” he asked, intrigued.

“You would be surprised if he told you,” Ikal interrupted, arriving with Zazil.

“Now that I think on it… Iktan said he saw a youth among the warriors of Cot, and the king ordered him captured alive,” Solvit remarked, observing intently.

“Then… the impostor already knows of your existence, Elías,” Yarátu said gravely. “Now I understand his urgency to eliminate us.”

“Elías? What a strange name. You do not seem to be from here,” Solvit said.

“We all thought the same when we met him,” Ikal commented.

“This confirms that this is no trap by the Taíj or the impostor,” Yarátu concluded.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Zazil intervened, still suspicious. “How is it the Black Wolf found us if he had never been this close?”

“Enough, Zazil! The boy has been with us the entire time and has done nothing suspicious,” Ikal asserted.

Zazil glared at him with distrust. He was not yet convinced. It seemed he never would be. Had it been up to him, he likely would have eliminated the boy already.

“My lord, I must return. I do not wish to rouse suspicion,” Solvit concluded, and at that moment, he blew a whistle hanging from his neck.

The whistle produced a beautiful sound, as if several birds were singing in unison. Suddenly, from high in the heavens, a gigantic hawk with white plumage descended. Solvit mounted it and soared away before everyone’s stunned eyes.

“It is a kóos istak, a white hawk,” Yarátu explained, seeing the boy’s expression. “We must rest. Early tomorrow, we depart for the Jaguar Plain,” he concluded, leaving to break the news to his warriors.

The young king watched him walk away, feeling a knot tighten in his throat. Once more, they would march to war, but this time, he sensed he would have to take part in it. It deeply unsettled him that the king already knew of his arrival… and that he wanted him alive. For what purpose?

That night, he barely managed to sleep. He thought over the same questions again and over. What if his friend was truly that enemy they spoke of so often? He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t imagine him doing all the things they had described. Perhaps it was a coincidence. After all, David had only been lost for a little over a month… so many years could not have passed.

He longed to speak with Tláloc or Tezcatlipoca again; he needed answers, but he did not know how to summon them or when the gods would deign to show themselves once more. Eventually, his thoughts faded until, finally, he fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, all the warriors of Cot and the Eagle Warriors were preparing for what was to come. Elías prepared as well. Ikal had brought him a heavy sword and a shield for defense. They also gave him different clothes, so he would not draw so much attention.

He contemplated the sword for a moment: carved from fine wood and inlaid with polished obsidian, it was a beautiful piece. He had never held a sword in his life, let alone used one. Even so, holding it in his hands gave him a measure of security.

Suddenly, a loud sound announced their departure. He changed in great haste. The outfit they had lent him fit perfectly. He stepped out of the tent and hurried to the front of the contingent, under the serious and sharp gazes of everyone. Along the way, he noticed the nervousness of war on their faces. No one spoke; everyone marched in silence. It was very different from the day before.

They walked toward the north of the empire, toward a place known as the Jaguar Plain. It was a great clearing among the mountains, surrounded by high hills covered in exuberant foliage. They knew it well; they knew they could fight there with all their power.

After an hour of marching, they arrived at the meeting site. They waited anxiously for a couple of hours more, until finally, the enemy appeared.

“Zazil, who is the Black Wolf? You mentioned that name yesterday,” the boy asked.

“He is none other than the impostor king,” he replied in a dry tone. “Many call him that, though he does not like it, of course.”

Elías did not respond. He remained gazing at the majestic landscape. Then, something caught his attention: to the north, among the mountains, a mass of black dots was approaching rapidly. They had wings. It was them.

Immediately, a deafening sound emanated from the enemy flock, making the entire place tremble.

“Do not be afraid, friends!” Yarátu shouted with a firm voice. “The enemy has not been able to defeat us in the last hundred years, and today will be no exception! Remember, we are the resistance! We are the People of the Clouds! Prepare yourselves!”

The warriors raised their spears, pointing toward the sky.

When the birds of prey drew close enough, Yarátu gave the order. Hundreds of spears sliced through the air. Many found their mark, and several birds fell crashing into the jungle. However, those that remained began their counterattack, spitting from their beaks a muddy, hot, and corrosive substance that exploded on contact.

“Ikal, we need your help! It is time to set the plan in motion!” Yarátu shouted, seeing his warriors begin to fall.

“Let’s hope it works,” Ikal murmured, turning to his soldiers.

There were over a thousand of them. He knew the technique he was about to ask of them had not been practiced for a long time, but ever since he faced Iktan’s great iguana, he had felt his powers growing. He had practiced. He was ready.

“We must help, warriors of Cot! Teskatl!” he exclaimed with a powerful voice.

There was doubt at first. It was a word that had not been heard on the battlefield for years. But the war chiefs knew the plan and gave the order.

Then, all the soldiers clapped their palms together, and from them emanated a transparent glow that rose slowly, forming a dome that covered the entire army. It was as if a massive bubble of water enveloped them.

Ikal could not believe it. He let out a cry of joy. The magic of the gods had returned!

The birds attacked again, but their viscosity was repelled by the barrier.

“Launch your arrows, warriors! Finish them all!” Yarátu ordered, advancing through his troops mounted on his golden puma.

In that instant, he felt an energy coursing through his body and those of all his men. The archers fired. The arrows flew faster than normal. They passed through the barrier without difficulty and, as they did, they multiplied. One became three. They gave off a faint emerald light. It was as if the jungle itself had allied with them.

Hundreds of enemy birds fell. The field erupted in shouts of victory.

“Our power has returned! The magic of old!” Ikal celebrated, reaching Yarátu’s side.

“I fear that this time, there is a god on our side,” Yarátu replied, looking back toward the top of a tree, where Elías contemplated everything.

A terrible sound interrupted them. It came from the front. Among the trees, in the distance, the impostor’s land army began to emerge. They were commanded by Yhábi, who rode an abominable creature: it had the body of a wolf, but its fur was made of spines; its tail ended in a bony claw.

Elías looked at it with horror.

“What is that?” he asked Zazil, without looking away.

“That is Yhábi… the general of the Taíj and commander of the impostor king’s entire militia,” he replied with rage in his eyes.

“I don’t mean him, but that hideous creature carrying him.”

“It is an Ahuitzotl. A wild and wicked beast. Only those with black hearts can mount them,” Zazil explained. “But do not fear the beast. The one you must truly fear is Yhábi. If he sees you, he will try to kill you without hesitation,” he stated coldly.

Further ahead, at the front of the soldiers, Yarátu and Ikal prepared for what was coming.

“Once again before your army. This time, you shall not leave alive,” Yarátu said in a low voice, referring to Yhábi, for they shared a terrible past full of betrayal and death. After the impostor, the second on his list was the general of the Taíj. “Do not be afraid, warriors! Today, the Great Plumed Serpent is on our side! Today we will defend our legacy, our lives, which were snatched away so long ago!” he shouted to all the warriors, emboldening them.

The warriors began to shout fiercely, ready to die by the side of the leader of the resistance, whom they had followed blindly for nearly a hundred years.

“ADVANCE!” ordered Ikal, who also commanded his army…

…"

–“Continue reading and experience the original text in Spanish at https://fictograma.com/. Join our open-source community of writers today!”–