Aztec Immortals The Rise of an Empire

"You worthless turkeys, getting yourselves injured even while attacking a tiny settlement!" Before Xiulote stood Jaguar Aoloxi, raging at a few warriors whose arms and legs were grazed by spears and short arrows.

"Hurry up and treat those wounds! Dab some yucca juice on them and then apply leaves from the ink tree. If Death God Xiulotel chooses you, you'll rot away in the rainforest on your way back!"

Hearing this, the warriors took out small sisal pouches they had prepared and used these natural remedies to tend each other's injuries.

In this classical militaristic society—composed of the various Aztec city-states—they already had an effective method for treating wounds: yucca and ink tree, both of which have strong antibacterial properties.

"And you, what are you doing tying up these old men and children? Are you planning to lug them through the rainforest for over ten days? Let them go—old people, children, scrawny women—all of them. That way, when the next grand sacrificial rite comes around, there'll still be people here to catch."

"Captain Aoloxi, here's a hunter with a wounded leg."

"Hmm?" Aoloxi glanced at the tribal hunter on the ground. Xiulote, who had just regained some focus, also turned his eyes toward the man.

The hunter was around thirty years old, his face weathered and lined. He gazed downward with heavy-lidded eyes; his left leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, and near his right leg lay a scattered spear and a single bow. Curled up by the firepit, he kept silent.

Aoloxi stepped closer and kicked aside the spear on the ground. He noticed the hunter's slightly curled hand and the thick calluses on it; his pupils narrowed slightly, and his right hand moved toward his obsidian club. "This one can't be allowed to live! Matlli, you got shot by the hunTetlsi earlier—this one's yours."

"Yes, Captain." A warrior with leaves wrapped around his injured right shoulder strode forward, brandishing a long club, his face twisted into a cruel grin. He raised it viciously at the hunter on the ground.

The moment the club swung down, the hunter's right leg suddenly sprang like a hunting dog leaping up from the ground. In that same instant, his right arm stretched out—no one knew when he'd grabbed a bone arrowhead—and he drove it straight toward Matlli's neck.

Startled, Matlli jerked backward, making the blow from his long club miss.

The arrowhead was mere inches from piercing Matlli's throat when, in that split second, another obsidian club struck from behind, moving even faster. First, the club's shaft smacked the hunter's arm, forcing it off course. Then, with a fierce forward thrust, the tip of the club cracked against the hunter's jaw. A sharp snap of bone followed.

Xiulote saw the hunter's eyes abruptly widen—another gaze filled with that same hatred. The blow had snapped the hunter's neck; his head tilted, and his body went limp, collapsing onto the dirt floor.

Recovering from his shock, Matlli furiously pummeled the hunter's corpse, which flopped around like a rag doll under his club.

Xiulote heard a muffled sob. Glancing over at the children, he noticed a small, trembling figure. An eleven- or twelve-year-old girl wept as she watched the hunter lying on the ground.

"Enough!" Unable to bear it any longer, Xiulote rushed over. "He's already dead!"

Matlli whirled around, eyes filled with a wolf-like bloodthirst.

"Stop it, turkeys!" Aoloxi barked, frowning. "Next time, stay alert. Now get to work—tie up the young captives."

Only then did Matlli stop, casting Xiulote a hostile glare before stalking off.

"Xiulote, how was your hunt today?"

"Xiulote took down a quasi-warrior," Tetlsi reported as he stepped forward. "He used a shield-thrust maneuver that was pretty impressive."

"Not bad!" Aoloxi, at last, managed a thin smile and nodded. "Tetlsi, go count the captives. Those two over there—I set them aside for you. Xiulote, what are you doing?"

Xiulote had crouched down, gazing at the lifeless eyes of the hunter. After a moment, he slowly closed them. From somewhere behind him, that child's sobbing grew louder.

Aoloxi looked at Xiulote's action and frowned again. "Fine. He was a warrior worthy of respect. Xiulote, don't waste your time on the dead."

Xiulote silently nodded, without anyone knowing which part of Aoloxi's remark he might be acknowledging—or whether it was something else entirely.

"Captain, I've counted them. Altogether, we have one full hand of two full hands minus one full hand," Tetlsi reported excitedly.

"That's five times ten minus five, which is forty-five," Xiulote mentally calculated.

This tribe likely had no more than a hundred or so people. Losing forty-five young men and women all at once—plus the few who had died in battle—meant they were effectively wiped out.

As for the fifty or so elderly, sick, and infirm who remained, how much longer could they survive in this dangerous jungle? Even if they hung on for a time and somehow recovered in a decade or so, the raiding parties would return, repeating the same bloody cycle.

"What can I possibly change?" Xiulote wondered, looking at the settlement going up in flames.

"Excellent! Looks like each of us can have two or three captives to carry. We're just about ready to head home," Aoloxi said, nodding with satisfaction. Then he shouted, "The battle is over! Now you can go find yourselves some fun. But remember, turkeys—don't kill off any of the sacrificial offerings we can carry back!"

The warriors answered with a roar. Deftly removing the shields from their left arms and sliding the obsidian clubs onto their backs, they each grabbed a captive, smiling broadly as they headed into the forest.

Xiulote suddenly noticed Matlli heading straight for that weeping girl.

"Matlli, what are you doing!" For the first time, real anger ignited in Xiulote. He rushed forward, using his shield to block Matlli.

"That old jackal nearly got me with an arrowhead," Matlli snarled. "I'm getting my revenge on his daughter!"

"You coward! Going after a child—what a gutless coward!" Xiulote snapped.

"What did you say!" Matlli's eyes burned red, and he reached for the weapon slung on his back. In Mexica society, being called a coward was an unforgivable insult to a warrior's honor.

"Don't you dare draw a weapon on your own comrade!" a ferocious voice roared. The "Jaguar" charged over, moving like a wild beast. With his left hand, he held Xiulote in place; with his right, he yanked Matlli backward so hard that Matlli nearly flew off his feet.

"Xiulote, what's going on here?" Aoloxi separated the two, scowling at Xiulote in annoyance.

"Matlli was about to lay hands on that girl."

"But that girl is that jackal's—"

"You shut up!" Aoloxi whirled around and roared. His face was angrier than Xiulote had ever seen it. "Matlli, I don't care what you planned to do—you do not draw a weapon against your own men!"

"Xiulote is a warrior who is soon to become a revered priest! War priests hold a sacred rank in the army, and you must respect his will—especially over a trivial matter like this. Apologize!"

"But Xiulote is only twelve—"

"Apologize, Matlli!"

"I'm sorry, Xiulote. I was wrong." Matlli lowered his head, masking his expression. He spat out each word of his apology and shot another baleful look at the girl cowering in the corner before turning away.

Aoloxi glared at Matlli as he left, still simmering with anger. Then he turned back to Xiulote, giving him a faint, approving smile.

"Not bad, Xiulote. Having the courage to stand up to a stronger warrior—that's the true path of the warrior. These men are all wolves at heart, unruly and ferocious. Only by outgrowing every last one of them will you become the Jaguar who rules them."

Then Aoloxi glanced at the frightened girl shrinking into the corner. "That child is far too young and too frail to take back to the city-state. Whatever you intend to do, do it here and now."

Xiulote nodded. He walked up to the girl, who recoiled in fear.

The boy simply pulled a piece of cotton cloth from his pocket and wiped the tears and soot from her face, revealing a surprisingly delicate countenance.

He blinked in mild astonishment, then removed the ration pouch from around his waist and pressed it into the girl's hands. Her fingertips were icy cold. After a moment's thought, he also took off his sleeveless jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

"Get out of here. Head north, as far as you can. Don't come back."

The lovely-faced girl seemed to forget her tears for a moment. She just stared at Xiulote, uncertain whether she even understood him.

The boy nodded at her, giving her a gentle smile.

"Thank you, Teacher," Xiulote murmured, glancing back—though he saw no one. Aoloxi had long since gone. The other children had scattered at some point, too.

A softness from his previous life stirred in Xiulote's heart. He unfastened the obsidian dagger at his waist and placed it on the ground. Casting one last look at the girl, he turned and walked away in silence.

"Let me leave all my softness here," he thought. "Then I can truly face this world. Everything can be changed—me, and the world, too."

Stepping forward, Xiulote walked toward the Mesoamerican rainforest behind Aoloxi and the others, heading for the battles that inevitably lay ahead.

From behind him came the girl's sobs again.

This time, the boy did not look back. Like a newborn jaguar cub, Xiulote strode into the Central American jungle, ready to confront the brutal future awaiting him!