TEZCATLIPOCA “Smoking Mirror”

The black walls gleamed in the light of Metztli. The shimmer of his ancient white face filtered through the jungle canopy, shrouding the night in dark looming shadows. The humid night wind of Nahuaque rustled leaves and stirred insects.

The flat top of a pyramid extended over the tree tops, piercing Metztli’s light so that all that could be seen on the leeward side was a vast triangle silhouette. The jungle sighed. A faint whistling of its breath ran through the stone doors. In the depths of the tunnels the warm breeze seemed to stiffen and freeze before plunging into an icy rattling of the torch brackets.

“We have him.” Without warning the stillness lifted as the strong, cracked voice broke the silence.

The words echoed through the stone as the flickering of torchlight fell upon a small chamber deep within the bowels of the pyramid.

“Acatl the Fifth, the last of the B'alams.” The voice hissed in grim pleasure. Deeply brown for a being of fair origin and adorned in a rich silk doublet as was clearly a man of some stature in his own country. He spoke to four armed guards and a priest who held a golden cross in his fists, eyes closed in deep prayer. They stood, still and motionless, in a small group cluttered around an open sarcophagus. Through the flame lit darkness they observed their captive. The youth struggled against the rope bonds around his wrists and ankles. His dark eyes void of fear, yet frightfully angry as the men removed the gag from his mouth.

“Is there anything you wish to say before I bid you farewell?” The noble-man asked his prisoner triumphantly.

“Do what you wish to me, but if you dare to harm my village you shall taste the true bloodlust of the guardians.” The youth spat the words out fluently in the conquerors’ dialect.
The patrician blinked once before he leant over the stone casket and whispered dangerously. “You are not in a position to deal out threats. By dawn there will be no soul left to fulfill them. With you and your comrades gone my men wait my orders to send your people to the underworld as we speak.”

The youth’s eyes flashed at the threat. “On what pretext Ignacio!?” He cried. “They have done no wrong to you!!!”

“If only ridding myself of you was so easy.” The aristocrat continued, ignoring the youth’s outbreak of fury. “You’re far too powerful for death to touch, aren’t you?” He spoke calmly, voice barely above a whisper, but his hands twitched like they wanted to, of their own accord, wrap around his enemy’s neck.

“On what pretext!!?”

The noble paused to consider the young man before him. “As associates of the Devil and practitioners of dark magic they shall be punished for forsaking God.” Ignacio’s face twisted into a grotesque grin.

“My respect for your faith grows thinner when you use it to cloud your true intentions. Do not mix up the will of your God with the will of man. You wish to kill the innocent to hide the cowardice within your own heart.” The youth’s bored his eyes into the Ignacio’s features. For a moment fear clouded his enemy’s face. Acatl strengthened his words. “I see it well Ignacio De Garcia. A poor, shivering ghost of a man who lives in fear of his own demons. What will you do they come calling?”

“Señor.” Ignacio jumped, like a frightened rat cornered by a giant tomcat.

“Do not listen his words my lord. He seeks to sway your resolve with his devil’s tongue.” The priest’s husky voice rose barely above a whisper in his ear. “His demise approaches, there is no need to fear. He is powerless to prevent it.”

Acatl’s brows plunged together furiously and he twisted against his bonds as he watched the miraculous effect the priest’s words had on the noble.

Ignacio de Garcia raised his chin, straightened his shoulders and looked down his nose at Acatl before him. Blue eyes alight with icy flames and teeth bared in rage.
“How dare you!” He hissed.