Quetzalcoatl

“Teta, we do not have time for stories.”

“This one is important!” his father protested. “I would like to perform it for the Speaking of the Elders tomorrow.”

“Besides, a children’s story is not fitting!”

“What if I open up the octli and tell you the true version?”

Mention of the wine piqued Izel’s interest. “I would like that.”

His father laughed. “Of course you would! It is a beautiful and messy tale about overcoming pride and letting go. I thought it would make a fantastic addition to your ceremony.”

Izel was eager for the Speaking; all young men of the village must complete it. It was customary for parents to offer a memory or piece of advice.

Izel’s father poured each of them a cup of octli: a sweet agave wine reserved for special occasions. They sat together beside the hearth. Orange light poured in through the window as the sun began to set, and just as the horizon swallowed it, his father began.

“Quetzalcoatl was the most fearsome and beautiful of our lords,” he began. “He was adorned with feathers of vermillion and turquoise and brilliant bright-as-lime green, with eyes as deep as the sea. Our story begins after Quetzalcoatl and his black jaguar brother, Tezcatlipoca, had their last great battle upon the earth.”

Izel nodded, savoring the flavors of the wine and his father’s voice in equal measure. He remembered it as a fanciful children’s story centered around the feathered dragon god, Quetzalcoatl, about whom Izel knew much from his father’s stories. The dragon god was said to be the first teacher of handicrafts, as well as the god of wind and the little bear constellation.

His father continued, “Quetzalcoatl taught us how to use language and create beautiful things, while Tezcatlipoca was little more than an image to be painted on our war banners; and even then, only after Quetzalcoatl had taught us how. Jealousy had rooted itself deep within the heart of Tezcatlipoca; he wished to be humanity’s only patron, so he threatened to rip the dragon god to pieces. It was a grave threat, and the two gods went their separate ways to prepare for war.”

Izel knew this part well. “Quetzalcoatl met the priest in the desert, right?”

“Indeed. The missionary priest Acalan. The man roamed the desert, lost and half out of his mind. Quetzalcoatl took pity on him and offered to help Acalan find his way home. In exchange, Acalan shared mortal wisdom with the god, and Quetzalcoatl had spent much time among humans, but they were much more complex than he had ever imagined they would be when he and his brother created them. Acalan would never forget that serendipitous meeting, and neither would Quetzalcoatl.

“The next day, the two gods met on opposite sides of a great plain and fought once again. They were equally matched in their destructive power, and it is said that they leveled the earth and everything upon it. It was a long and bloody conflict, but Quetzalcoatl finally won with his jaws closed around the jaguar’s throat, and Tezcatlipoca was scattered as nothing but ashes in the wind beneath his brother’s fire. It was then that Quetzalcoatl flew madly into the sky and consumed the sun itself.

“It was the resulting darkness that snuffed out humanity. We are beings meant to live and grow and love beneath the warmth of the sun, and we did not survive for long without it. Could you imagine a world without a sunrise? Eternal darkness?”

Izel shook his head.

“However, it was not to be that all humans perished. The next day began with a golden sunrise and the sound of birdsong, and it was in the glow of this new sun that Quetzalcoatl found a child beneath the emerald canopy of the forest.”

*

A small human child sat beneath a papaya tree, beating the trunk with his impossibly tiny fists and wailing. The dragon god had followed the sound to this strange scene. Huge, fat teardrops fell from the child’s eyes.

He exhaled gently to alert the boy to his presence, and the child whirled around, sniffling with his deep brown eyes wide open to take in the sight of the brightly-feathered Quetzalcoatl, kneeling before him in the grass.

“Coatl,” he whispered, falling to his knees. The dragon’s glittering eyes were so large that the boy could have fallen right into them with room to spare on either side. The dragon had a long strip of pale green scales from the underside of his chin to his tail, but the rest of his body was covered with bright feathers of red, blue, and green. Two golden horns rose from the top of his head, and he wore a massive, golden band that resembled a crown, with the brightest red feathers the boy had ever seen behind it.

“Well,” Quetzalcoatl said softly, although his voice still boomed off of the trees. “You got it half right.” He lowered his head to sit between his front talons and considered the child. He had the olive skin of his people and a shock of black hair, and he wore nothing but a red cloth tied around his waist, carefully embroidered with gold thread.

The boy overcame his shock, for he laughed and ran for Quetzalcoatl with his arms stretched out wide like little wings, which greatly amused the dragon. The child tugged on his feathers and giggled with delight when the colorful dragon rumbled back. With Quetzalcoatl came a warm wind that smelled of freshly turned earth and tropical fruit, caressing them both.

Quetzalcoatl tried to talk more with the boy, but it seemed the child grasped little of language at his tender age. The boy began to walk ahead of the dragon through the forest, perhaps searching for food, often looking behind with a smile on his face to make sure that Quetzalcoatl was still following.

The boy stumbled through bushes and around trees until they arrived at a sparkling river. He climbed in the shallow part, where the water idled and flowed lazily around him, and threw his hands down, delighting at the droplets that splashed him and how they sparkled in the sunlight. His face shone with joy, but there was something sad about it.

The god eyed the woods across from them, idly hoping that he would see more olive faces emerge from between the trees, but no one came. The great dragon thought of his own mother, Coatlicue, of whom he had only one memory.

When he was barely a speck in the great expanse of the universe, the earth goddess Coatlicue had cradled him among the stars after his creation. She had formed his older siblings out of the twinkling diamonds in the sky, and Quetzalcoatl would be her last. Her face was shrouded even in his immortal memory, but he remembered the feeling of her hair brushing his brow and her warm fingertips upon his scales.

Would this child ever know the same warmth? He pictured the child’s mother holding him aloft so he could learn to float and swim. He thought of how her hair would brush the child’s face and how her warm hands would gracefully pluck him out of the current every time.

It occurred then to Quetzalcoatl that while the humans may be gone from his domain, they were still reachable. A hungry thought formed in his mind, devouring all others, that the simplest solution lied before him in the underworld, Mictlān. It would be one great good to reunite the child with his parents, and Quetzalcoatl could return in peace to the surface to bask in the new sun and remake the empty earth just as he pleased.

*

“I do not recall a child in the original tale.”

“You would be correct,” his father said. “There is much tragedy and sadness in this story surrounding him. I did not think it good for a bedtime story.”

“How did the child come to be the only human left?”

His father crossed his arms. “I admit, I do not know. Perhaps he was left in a sacred space of the gods and spared the cold.” He mulled it over for a moment longer. “No, I do not know. Where were we?”

“Quetzalcoatl is going to Mictlān.”

His father’s expression darkened. “When Quetzalcoatl swallowed the sun, he sent the entirety of humanity down to the Underworld, at the mercy of Lord Mictlantecuhtli and his wife. Normally, we journey to the Underworld alone and cross the river Apanohuaya when we die. Quetzalcoatl gravely upset this balance and sent everyone to Mictlān all at once, which should have angered the Lord enough to deny them entry.

“Instead, when the dragon god arrived with the boy in hand, he found the humans working together to cross the river. They made rafts out of the driftwood that lined the obsidian shore, and used them to cross water that was black as ink and filled with all manner of monsters. It was a wonder to all the gods, to see humanity working together for its salvation, even after the devastation of losing their sun. Thus, Lord Mictlantecuhtli allowed them to pass.”

Izel shivered at the image of the inky black water, picturing red eyes peering up at him from the depths. He thought that he would be grateful to have even one person swimming beside him, let alone his entire village.

“Quetzalcoatl began flying toward the palace on the horizon, where the Lord Mictlantecuhtli and his Lady, Mictecacíhuatl, presided over the dark expanse of the underworld. On his way, he spotted an altar in his likeness on the black plain and none but a lone man praying at its foot.”

*

The chill of the Underworld clung to his feathers. He had protected the boy from the worst of it, but even the golden fire in his veins could not warm him in Mictlān. He had since moved the child; he now slept in the feathered cradle between the dragon’s shoulders.

The dragon god flew now towards the palace. It was an imposing thing, composed of a single gigantic gate at the front and tall walls lined with spiked parapets. Quetzalcoatl had nearly reached its moat, a bare subsidiary compared to the volume of the Apanohuaya leagues past, when he noticed an altar of his off to his right.

This altar was abandoned, save for one man who knelt before it.

Quetzalcoatl landed before him, shaking the ground with the force of his impact. The man looked up, his eyes wide, and the dragon god noticed that some of the gray light shone right through his body. Still, he recognized his face as that of the priest whom he had rescued in the desert in what seemed like ages ago.

“Lord Quetzalcoatl,” Acalan said, bowing. “I never thought I would see you again! We have suffered much in your absence. Many are still crossing the Apanohuaya, but I came here to pray to you as soon as I was across.” His legs trembled beneath him as he stood. “And here you are, to answer me.”

“Priest,” Quetzalcoatl replied, dipping his massive head low to bear the child to Acalan. “I come to Mictlān with a quandary.”

“A child!” His breath caught in his throat. “I did not know that any of us survived the cold.”

“He is the only one. I seek his parents or any ancestors of his who wander here.” The priest was little more than an apparition now, but for no lack of energy, nor curiosity.

Acalan reached forward to sweep the boy’s dark hair from his face, but his fingers passed right through the child as though he were immaterial. “I cannot touch him,” Acalan realized aloud. A moment of silence passed between them, Quetzalcoatl transfixed by the empty altar. “I will search for the boy’s parents,” said Acalan. “I will find and bring them back to your altar.”

Quetzalcoatl dipped his head in thanks, but Acalan did not rush away as he expected. “Do you have else to say, Priest?”

Acalan wrung his hands and picked at his robes. “Was it your great battle with Tezcatlipoca that sent us here?”

Quetzalcoatl could not help but picture the boy playing alone in the river, and the cold he felt when Acalan’s dead hands passed through the child. His pride seemed churlish now; he could not answer for it.

Acalan knelt before Quetzalcoatl. He seemed to possess the same eyes as the child, desperately searching. “I held onto my hope that you would return. But where will I find meaning in this?” His eyes welled with tears. “Where will the child’s parents find meaning in this if they cannot hold their son? They are separated by more than the Apanohuaya.”

“I work to make this right. Do not incense me.” He raised his wings high above his head to prepare for flight. “Find the child’s parents and bring them here. I will bring my plea to the Lord and Lady.” With that, he flew off.

*

“Did you ever tell mamá this story?” Izel interrupted.

His father fidgeted with the cup. “I told it to her many times before you were born, and we used to laugh about whether you would already be sick of it when you finally joined us.”

“I miss her.”

“As do I, Izel. She would be very proud of you.”

A solemn silence filled the room for a moment before his father heaved a deep sigh and continued. “Quetzalcoatl and the child continued toward the black palace and arrived in the courtyard. A figure, kneeling among flowers of blown glass, stood as Quetzalcoatl approached.”

*

Her face was painted black and white like a skull, and only her glowing green eyes gave away her divinity beneath a crown of living marigolds. She held out her hands in greeting, and Quetzalcoatl recognized her as Mictecacíhuatl, the Lady of Death. She was as resplendent as the day he had appointed her and her husband the rulers of the Underworld.

“Quetzalcoatl. You have not visited our domain in much time.” She kept an even tone in a voice that crackled like fire, but there was a deep frown beneath the painted skull on her face. “To what do we owe the honor of having you as our guest? Does it have to do with your fell decimation of our newest subjects?”

“One survived,” he said, and moved his head aside so she could see the living human child, napping still. “I come seeking your guidance.”

“Our guidance!” she seethed, recoiling at the sight. “How dare you bring a living creature down into our realm?” The paint was disfigured by her rage. “You know my husband and I hold you in high esteem,” she said, clenching her fists. “But I would rather have drowned in the Apanohuaya than see you unpunished for your hubris, and now doubly so that you have brought a living being—a human child—to our doorstep.”

Animosity boiled in his chest, and he thought to create a conflagration so mighty that it would reduce the entire realm to ashes. It would take but a breath.

She stormed toward one of his enormous eyes. “Do you even understand the depths of your sin?” she demanded. “Every human child that was caught up in your conflict came here, to remain forever a child. What would you have me do with the only one to escape the fringes of your wrath unscathed?”

Quetzalcoatl felt as though he was a child himself. “I seek the boy’s parents,” he said slowly, through clenched teeth. “I thought to reunite them.”

“You want to find his parents,” she scoffed. “And what then? The living and the dead are not meant to interact.” Mictecacíhuatl reached into the thick bed of feathers and brought the boy into her arms. “Would you have me kill him?” she asked softly, caressing his peaceful face. “Reserve a space in my court for another eternal child?”

Mictecacíhuatl: the Mother of Death.

A cold silence filled the space between them. She looked over her realm, at the tiny specks crossing the black river many leagues beyond. This would be the very last of her children. Once they had crossed, she would never see a new figure upon that shore. Finally, she spoke again. “I will allow you to pass through my realm unhindered.”

“That is generous,” he said, grateful for a reprieve from her fury.

Her eyes blazed. “Make no mistake. I wash my hands of you once you leave.” She laid the boy down in his feathers. “Not all bow before you, dragon. Even your mortal worshippers are such no longer.” The Mother of Death stood before him once again, her skin shimmering beneath the paint. “Begone, Quetzalcoatl.” She held up a hand and the dragon god vanished from her courtyard, banished to the outer edges of the castle’s moat, with no more left behind than a quiet hiss of smoke.

Quetzalcoatl was stunned. He had never anticipated opposition from the other gods, let alone being shown the door so unceremoniously. Mictecacíhuatl certainly left no room for any other interpretations of their conversation; he would find no aid within those walls.

Instead, he made the short flight back to his altar, and when he arrived found Acalan standing with another human. Both men bowed as the dragon landed, and the child resting in his feathers finally stirred at the impact.

“Lord.” Acalan gestured to the man beside him. “This is Ixpan; he is the boy’s father.” The man was tall for a human, with rich brown skin and long black hair. Ixpan opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted as the child climbed down from Quetzalcoatl and noticed him.

“My son!” he cried, immediately running for the boy.

“Teta!”

Quetzalcoatl and Acalan were too slow to stop the tragedy. The boy stumbled straight through Ixpan, and fell onto the ground. Both turned to face one another with horror.

Ixpan knelt before him. “Shh, shh. You are okay; I am okay.” He set his jaw hard. Heavy tears fell from the boy’s eyes and he fell again through Ixpan’s body, desperately grabbing for any tangible part of his father and wailing all the while.

Quetzalcoatl’s chest felt heavy. “I can put him back to sleep.”

Ixpan bowed again. His voice trembled. “Please, Lord.” Quetzalcoatl did just that, and returned him to his spot. Ixpan wiped the tears from his eyes and stood. “I am sorry, Lord, but I cannot help but ask why you brought him here. I did not bring my wife, for I do not think that she could have survived this kind of heartache. We arrived here with our entire village and only he was missing.” Grief boiled into anger upon his face. “Now to find that he is alive and we cannot hold our child? Our relief holds not a candle to the bonfire of our misery. What must I do, Lord?” His sorrow wore cracks in his voice.

“I do not know,” said Quetzalcoatl, lowering his head to Ixpan’s height. “I did not know that this reunion would torment you so.”

“You have rendered me helpless with this terrible choice.” Acalan embraced the man, gripping him tightly as he began to sob. “Our lives were torn from us,” cried Ixpan. “Our lives and our homes. But only Necahual and I lost our child. Why us? Why our boy?”

Quetzalcoatl felt a strange desire to share in their grief, to be human and join in their embrace. He wished to mourn with them. But as he was, he stayed as still as the miniature dragon statue upon his altar.

Many moments passed before Ixpan was able to gather himself. Acalan took the opportunity to gently release him, then turned with an odd look on his face. “May I ask a question of you, Lord?”

“You may.”

“We pass down a creation story among our people, of how you and Tezcatlipoca together created us. How did you do it?”

Quetzalcoatl remembered that day well, although the presence of his brother certainly soured the triumph. They had returned from Mictlān with a collection of bones, bequeathed to them by the Lord and Lady of Death. He recounted the story for Acalan and the entire time, the man grew more excited. Ixpan listened intently as well, but stayed silent as the story went on. Finally, Quetzalcoatl recalled how he had breathed fire into the bones and the first age of humanity took shape before their eyes.

Acalan’s eyes shone. “Lord, it is as I have told countless others: everything must die and be returned to the earth. Our bones were returned to the earth in our one collective death, and I ask of you now if they might be seeds. New life could be born out of them, just as before, in the sacred cycle of existence.”

Quetzalcoatl considered the query. The Lord and the Lady of the Underworld surely possessed the bones, and he believed that he could breathe fire into them again and begin a new age if he could retrieve them.

Acalan pressed. “Our cities and your altars would be populated again. The child could grow old among his people, and have children of his own someday.”

At this, Ixpan lifted his head.

Quetzalcoatl, in all of his immortal years, had never sought redemption. It seemed that his actions were above the reproach of all, except perhaps Tezcatlipoca. To be judged by two mortal men, and Mictecacíhuatl, was more than he could bear. Worse still, however, was that he could not find mistruth in their words.

“This, I will do.”

*

Izel smiled at his father. “To think, even gods have lessons to learn.”

“There are many lessons in this tale, but the best is yet to come. May I pour you more wine?” Izel offered the cup for him to fill. “After his conversation with Acalan and the boy’s father, Quetzalcoatl took the child with him back to the palace of Mictlān to speak with the Lord and Lady of Death.” He filled his son’s cup with the octli and passed it back.

“They were unspeakably angry that he would have the gall to return, but he explained his meeting with the boy’s father, and they were swayed when he mentioned that with more humans roaming the earth, they would continue to have new subjects in the Underworld. Their realm would endlessly expand with new ideas and experiences as this new humanity reached their twilight years. Quetzalcoatl cradled the bones in his massive palms the entire flight back to the surface, and made a promise to every god and human he knew by name that no harm would come to them.”

“Do we ever find out the name of the child? It seems odd that the dragon god never asked Ixpan for his name.”

His father winked. “The boy was named by Quetzalcoatl himself, but all in due time. There is still much left to this tale.” He leaned against the window sill and breathed deeply of the cool night air. “Quetzalcoatl and the boy reached the surface after a long and arduous flight through Mictlān. It was day when they returned, and he was as a splendid bird of paradise when he landed near the ruined human village, Totocui.”

*

Quetzalcoatl turned over great mounds of earth and buried the bones; they were as seeds, just as Acalan had described them. He set the boy downhill, then concentrated all of his mighty power of creation on the bones and unleashed his fire.

From his flames, in a spectrum of every shade of color imaginable, humanity was born anew. Their bones hummed with Quetzalcoatl’s fire and divinity, and he saw in their mortal bodies a capability for even greater love and strength; this time, he had created them to be a family. His pride glowed in the smiles upon their faces, and their innocence unearthed the deeply unnerving understanding that he had destroyed this once before.

These new humans possessed little beyond their new bodies, however, and Quetzalcoatl would set about teaching them language and skills with renewed vigor, but not before introducing them to the very reason for their existence.

The child met the new humans hesitantly; he wobbled toward them just as they wobbled toward him, all appearing as new fawns stumbling along the hilltop. The child reached out slowly, and his touch was met with warmth and delight from the other humans, who instinctively sought to hold him.

*

“Thus humanity stood tall and praised Quetzalcoatl for their creation, and for a time he remained with them to rebuild their civilization.”

Izel could hardly imagine what that would look like. An immortal god, curled in the grass outside their village and keeping an eye on their daily activities. He pictured going to the market and seeing the dragon crouched behind the shopkeepers, helping them tally their goods. He pictured weavers and artisans holding up their work for his judgment, and walking away giddy with joy when he nodded his approval.

His father continued. “Years passed, and humanity flourished under Quetzalcoatl’s watchful eye. However, so too were the shadows slowly knitting together the form of his long-bellicose foe, and when the time came, Quetzalcoatl went to meet him.”

*

Quetzalcoatl crept away from the bright orange torches of the village, with only the light of the stars to guide him as he neared the trees. Two shining yellow eyes appeared in the darkness.

“Brother,” growled Tezcatlipoca.

Quetzalcoatl knelt low before him. “Well met, Brother. I have anticipated your return.”

White teeth appeared in the shadows. “You have much to answer for; I would not be so quick to grovel. At best it would fall on deaf ears; at worst I may feel insulted and decide to destroy your precious new humanity while they still stumble on their young legs.”

“I do not intend to grovel,” he said evenly. “I have had much time to contend with the animosity between us in the time since our last great conflict. I met with the Lord and Lady of Death, as well as two humans, all of whom grasped the scale of my mistake with far more clarity than I. I met a lone child, and I created this new humanity to accompany him on his journey. I have been a part of this journey for some time, but I am ready to relinquish him, and them.”

Tezcatlipoca snarled, though it resembled laughter. “Finally, you concede that you are not worthy!” He coiled back from his spot in the woods, preparing to strike.

“Not quite, Brother. I wish for both of us to relinquish them. I watched them cross the river Apanohuaya in the Underworld on their own; I have seen them form bonds and create art and fight amongst themselves without any intervention from you nor myself. Our battles over worship have brought anguish and darkness to the world that we have ignored for far too long.” He paused. “I am even prepared to offer you the better part of this deal.”

Silence. Then, “The better part?”

Quetzalcoatl had spent much time mulling over his offer, and he gave it without hesitation. “Yes. I propose that we give up our earthly forms and become constellations in the night sky. Humans may gaze upon our majesty for all eternity, and you and I will have naught to do but sleep adrift in the stars to observe or abstain as we may.

“Tezcatlipoca, you will be the larger constellation. I will be the smaller of the two. You will be forever superior to me.” He was quiet for a moment. “My pride has caused much grief and destruction. I am ready to relinquish that part of myself as well.”

Tezcatlipoca was inclined to agree. Quetzalcoatl was prideful by nature, but his brother expanded on that arrogance and could not let go of his desire for eternal supremacy. They stood together and closed their eyes, doing something together for only the second time in their oft-contrary existences.

The event passed by unnoticed, but for a brief flash of light in the forest and two new constellations in the night sky: the Great Bear, Tezcatlipoca, and the Little Bear, Quetzalcoatl.

*

His father smiled sadly. “Do you see the genius of Quetzalcoatl’s concession? The Little Bear contains the North Star, so it is the dragon god Quetzalcoatl who always guides us home.”

Izel’s eyes stung with tears. He set down his cup and wrapped his arms tightly around his father, believing with all his heart that the wind rushing through the window then was Quetzalcoatl joining their embrace. “It is a beautiful story. I would be honored if you told it during the Speaking of the Elders.”

His father held him back at arm’s length. “Someday, Izel, you will have sons and daughters of your own. You will stand in my shoes and have to let go of your own children. I encourage you to let go of your pride the way the great Quetzalcoatl did. Let them go, but watch over them. Always guide them home.”

Izel wiped his tears and laughed, enveloping himself in his father’s arms again. “Teta, may I ask you one more question?”

“Of course, my son.”

“You never told me the name of the child in the story.”

His father’s eyes twinkled. “Our heritage is long and storied. You are Izel, son of Ixcali and Zyana. You know much of your mother’s side, but I have always saved mine until you were of age.” The wind blew through again and ruffled his hair, and Izel caught sight of the North Star shining outside. “I am Ixcali, son of Necahual and Ixpan. Son also of Quetzalcoatl.”

THE END