Aztec Immortals The Rise of an Empire

Chapter 9: Chapter 9: Mobilization



By midday the following day, the sunlight was warm and dazzling. Xiulote, draped in a priestly robe, sat atop a small pyramid beside the palace shrine, gazing at the imposing Moon Pyramid in front of him.

The priesthood's proclamation had spread throughout the city-state and the nearby villages: the decision to send out troops was unshakable! And today was the day for the mobilization speech, meant to stir the warriors' and militia's morale.

Xiulote looked toward the lofty Moon Pyramid. On its summit stood his grandfather, Xiutel, garbed in the complete regalia of the High Priest—dozens of pounds of ceremonial attire gleaming gold in the sun and illuminating the surroundings.

For Xiulote, the Moon Pyramid held particular significance; it was the place where everything changed.

He fixed his eyes on the bright light reflecting off the Moon Pyramid, the radiance so intense it made him feel suspended between dreaming and wakefulness, submerged in distant memories—fragments of a "past" that had already begun to blur.

In that memory, he was a young man born in the 1990s who loved history and geography, fascinated by the ancient civilizations of the Americas. Countless times, he had played as the Aztecs in Civilization and Europa Universalis. When he was 25, he finally had the chance to travel to Teotihuacan in Mexico. One night, he secretly climbed up the Moon Pyramid.

That evening, he sat among the ruins of the temple at the top. Darkness covered everything, the night as black as ink enveloping him.

The Milky Way stretched vast and boundless across the sky. By sheer coincidence, the Leonid meteor shower—which recurred only once every ten years—was cascading through the heavens. Feeling a sudden rush of excitement, the young man shouted his wish to the falling stars: "I wish to go back to the past, lead the shattered Indigenous civilizations to rise again, repel the invading European colonizers, and make the Americas truly belong to the Indigenous peoples!"

Before the words had even finished echoing, everything went black, and he collapsed. Half-unconscious, he felt himself transform into a beam of white light, followed by an endless, dizzying motion and rapidly shifting colors. By the time he regained awareness, he could no longer see this world. He could only vaguely perceive his surroundings. He was still in the ancient city of Teotihuacan, yet he sensed the presence of many living beings.

He wandered aimlessly in that hazy realm, without purpose or direction, guided only by instinct to a remote hut that exerted a powerful pull on him.

He passed through the walls and sensed two lives bound together—one a weak, flickering light and the other an uncolored, tiny glow. Trusting his intuition, he threw himself into that colorless point of light. In a flash of white, his awareness slipped into confusion.

The next time he awakened, it was accompanied by a piercing cry that seemed to come from himself. He opened his eyes to see a low ceiling and two faces hovering between joy and sorrow. Both individuals had black hair, yellowish skin, and stooped postures. Under the moonlight, their silhouettes loomed large, overshadowing his tiny newborn body.

Worry finally outweighed their momentary joy. He stopped crying, but he heard another muffled weeping. One of the crouched figures suddenly stood upright, picked him up, and carried him out of the room.

As the sobbing faded, the baby's brain—too underdeveloped to hold onto long thoughts—registered being carried to a pond. Then water began to rise around him. Having just traversed to this world, was he now about to be cast aside as an abandoned infant?

The small body coughed violently, unable to breathe. He thought he heard yet another cry nearby. His consciousness blurred, and in this newborn flesh he felt no further sensation. When next he awakened, he had once again become that same white light, unable to see.

This time, he stopped roaming at random. From the size of the structures, he realized he was still in the ancient city. He floated slowly toward the most populous, expansive center of Teotihuacan, forcing himself to ignore the occasional strong pull he felt along the way. After drifting around the bustling heart of the old city, he sensed another compelling force in the grand palace and temple complex. Again, he merged himself into one of those colorless pinpoints of light.

Once more, he awoke to the familiar chorus of his own newborn crying—accompanied this time by someone else's irrepressible laughter. The baby opened his eyes to see a young, powerfully built man lifting him high with both hands. He wore a feathered headdress, a proud posture, and a white cotton cloak. His face was strong and resolute, with the same black hair and yellowish skin.

Overhead was a tall ceiling painted with vibrant figures and scenes. All around stood people kneeling silently but smiling broadly. On a bed lay a young woman, tears of joy running down her cheeks.

Soon after, a middle-aged man in ornate clothing and a stone crown hurried in. He brushed aside the baby's little legs, then looked closely at his tiny form and burst into laughter. Speaking loudly in words the infant could not understand, he repeated a single term several times. Everyone in the room echoed that term, something that sounded like "Xiulote!"

From then on, he had a new name: Xiulote.

In that recollection, the middle-aged man was the same person now standing upon the high platform. Time had carved age into his features, but the golden brilliance of his priestly regalia still shone down upon the gathered throng—nobles, warriors, commoners—assembled from every direction at the foot of the pyramid, waiting to hear the divine message relayed by the High Priest.

"People protected by the Sun God, the War God, Huitzilopochtli—those of Huitzilopochtli's bloodline, the new Tlatoani brings the command of the gods: You must take up arms and join the king's sacred coronation war to capture the sacrifices chosen by the gods—the weak Otomi of the north!"

The priests, standing on each ascending level of the Moon Pyramid, echoed this solemn voice, growing louder until it covered the entire plaza. Xiulote, lost in his memories, was shaken awake by the reverberation.

"It has been twelve rainy seasons since the last holy war and the great offering. In this Fifth Sun era, we made a pact with the sun—he requires the hearts of thousands to keep the sky shining. Otherwise, the sun will go out, and all things shall wither. The time for sacrifice has arrived once again!

"The earth beneath our feet, Cipactli, has also made a pact with us. He grants us maize for sustenance, nurtures all living beings, and in return we repay him with blood. Otherwise the harvest shall fail. The land yearns for fresh blood!

"The world must remain balanced. The War God keeps it turning. Each of you knows that our city-state's population keeps growing, more infants are being abandoned, and there is less and less food to go around. The world has lost its harmony, and only the War God, through the sacrifice of lives, can stop this world from collapsing.

"We have no choice but to seize the enemy's lives and offer them to our protector. This is a sacred war to save the world!"

Limited productivity, limited food, the ceiling of a finite population, and a population growth that seemed infinite—these marked the cyclical laws of Mesoamerica. Xiulote thought to himself that ceaseless wars and sacrifices had their inevitable rationale.

The commoners spoke in frightened whispers, unsettled by the priests' fearsome prophecies. Their worries were then channeled into grim resolve: they would pick up their weapons. Meanwhile, nobles and warriors remained silent.

"In the name of our guardian deity: in this holy war, any young warrior who captures just one living prisoner will rise to the First Rank of Captor. Capture two more after that, and you will become a Second-Rank Huastec Hunter. Then, capture three more alive, and you will be promoted to Third-Rank Elite Fire Warrior. Capture four more, and you will be a true Fourth-Rank Veteran Warrior, qualified to join the Eagle Warriors or the Jaguar Warriors—earning your status as a First-Rank Military Noble! Such warriors will forever receive a piece of fertile land from the city-state, even a chinampa in the lake! The same applies to all priests who join this war."

A clamor broke out among the warriors. They shouted excitedly, some even drawing their long clubs and banging them against their shields. A few newly elevated military nobles grew visibly thrilled at the mention of chinampas.

"Our enemies are the weak Otomi, whose ancestors we easily drove from the Mexico Valley granted to us by the gods. Destroying them is as simple as yanking out weeds. Even now, these jackals keep harassing our valley, salivating over our farmland. Only by sacrificing them entirely to the gods can we protect our precious land.

"The Otomi city-states are wealthy, filled to overflowing with tortillas, black bean paste, cacao pods, cotton cloth, and all manner of beautiful flowers, feathers, herbs, silver ornaments, gold ornaments, obsidian, and gemstones. Their city-states have no warriors—only sacrifices, slaves, and your future wives!"

At last, even the hereditary nobles were stirred. Great nobles whispered among themselves about their shortage of luxury goods. Desire lit up everyone's eyes.

"Brave warriors, in accordance with the gods' covenant—for the honor of warriors, for the sake of our land, and for the wealth that shall be yours—take part in the holy war! The priesthood will be with you, in the name of the gods. This battle shall be victorious!"

At that moment, except for Xiulote, the entire crowd burst into a cacophony of frenzied shouts and cries. Gradually, these sounds merged—under some prompting—into one thunderous chant: "War! War!"

The uniform roar soared to the skies, representing the resolve of an entire people. That scene was forever etched into the eyes of a boy, impossible to forget.


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