Captain Enrique Alvarez was a man with a tall ship, a broad sword, and an insatiable curiosity of the unknown. Nevertheless, all of those qualities and possessions, save perhaps some of the inquisitiveness, abandoned him as the powerful Mexica warrior, standing atop the steep four-sided pyramid, forced him to his battered and scarred knees. The blazing sun beamed down on him, searing the exposed skin of his ivory white back, but Alvarez ignored the sweltering inflammation. He could not avert his eyes from poor Juan as the men, priests Alvarez assumed by their elaborate wicker headdresses and screaming chants, drug the wretched sailor across the flat apex of the pyramid to a large granite rock.

"What are they doing to him?" Alvarez desperately asked as he looked at Hernando, also stripped of everything but tattered, feculent pants, and prayed that he knew the answer.

"I do not understand their words. Only something about 'blood'," Hernando struggled to translate the abstruse language as the Mexica warrior, standing behind him, drove his bony knee into Hernando's back. He wailed in agony and fell flat against the smooth rocky surface. Smooth except the granules of sand and pebbles that lacerated his fair skin and became embedded in his left cheek.

Five of the priests, all wearing masks with disproportionate wicker tongues, forced Juan onto the granite rock, belly up, as the glistening rays of sun blinded him. The paints, black circles around the eyes, mouth a crimson red, and the head whiter than the purest cloud, glistened and reflected off Juan's body as his chest heaved with each exhausted breath. Each priest took an arm or a leg and pulled down, stretching Juan's gaunt body and arching his back. The fifth priest chanted and screamed to the adoring crowds of Mexicas at the base of the pyramid as he pulled back on Juan's head and neck, forcing all the pressure of the jagged rock onto his back and up through his chest.

Why did I ever venture to Espana Nueva? Alvarez beseeched himself, but he knew why he had come. All the conquistadors of the Caribbean had heard the rumors of a lost civilization on the mainland called Aztec and their great hordes of gold. The tales stretched across the wide Atlantic and reached, so Alvarez heard, the ears of a scoundrel named Cortes. Alvarez knew of this man, and imagined his gilded eyes that saw only avarice.

"I must see this lost city before they despoil it," Alvarez's nagging sense of exploration convinced him. He did not seek wealth or dominance, merely answers to all the tales he had heard around great bonfires along the sandy beaches of the islands. But Alvarez, nor the two men left alive from his crew of thirty, never heard the stories of the Mexicas', as the other tribes of the mainland called them, thirst for combat. Only he, Hernando, and Juan survived, but as he watched a sixth priest emerge from the sheer steps that lined the side of the pyramid, he began to fear they would soon join their other crew members in death.

"What is in his hands?" mumbled Alvarez as Hernando rose back to his knees and pondered the same question.

A long green reed, with maguey spines, sliced through the air as the priest whipped it back and forth. He held his other hand low, alongside his lacerated and scarred thigh, obscuring a long sharp blade tipped with a shard of obsidian as black as the moonless night. The priest stood over Juan, gently caressing the pointed maguey spines across his hairy chest. He abruptly turned to the crowd, holding the reed and the knife high above his head, and loudly shouted. The obsidian sparkled in the sunlight and Alvarez shuddered as his heart pumped louder and harder.

"What does he say now?" Alvarez yearned to know as the priest hurled a thundering tirade of vicious sounding words at the crowd.

"Something about the 'fifth sun' and the 'blood of life'," explained Hernando as he struggled to hear the wild rants above the murmuring jeers of the people below. Hernando, by necessity, had become their translator, though the Mexica language was difficult to comprehend. Still, he learned pieces of the archaic tongue during their days wandering through the jungles, but Alvarez partly wished Hernando could not understand them. Then he would not have the knowledge that gave him a fey sense of their ultimate undoing.

Pumping arms and rhythmic chants filtered throughout the crowd as the priest turned around and lunged at Juan with his reed. Alvarez shut his eyes as Juan's screams of agony resounded over the temple. Tearing sounds of flesh ripping from bone rang in Alvarez's ears and he could no longer resist, no matter how much his conscious warned him not to, the temptation to peek at the horrific display. He squinted through cracked eyelids and saw Juan vainly struggling to free his lacerated and bloody body. The maguey had sliced through his haggard skin as easily as light passing through a pane of glass. But the worst was still to come.

The priest threw his reed to the side. It scraped the stone as it slid across the surface and stopped mere inches from Alvarez. He then raised the obsidian knife and the crowd bellowed in approval. Muscles strained as the other priests pulled Juan taut and his chest heaved upward. With one hewing stroke the priest cleaved Juan's chest, rupturing his sternum in a piercing scream of pain. As Juan's arching back pressed hard against the granite his chest cavity could not withstand the stress and split wide open, exposing his vital organs. Blood splattered across the stone and dots of the crimson liquid clung to the coarse brown hairs of Alvarez's beard.

My God, he is still alive! Alvarez realized as he heard Juan whimper and gasp for air. The priest reached into the exposed cavity and yanked twice, very hard, as he pulled out Juan's still beating heart.

Hernando screamed and cried, "My Lord, save us. Please, we deserve a better fate." Conversely, dull numbness consumed Alvarez and he could not wail or grieve as the priest held the heart high, for all to see, and squeezed the warm blood out through the ventricles. Torrents of blood rolled through his palm and down his arm, leaving crimson trails drying in their wake.

What manner of barbarian are these people, Alvarez asked himself even though he rarely thought of other people as less human. But the bloody Mexicas shattered his delicate preconceptions of distinct cultures and, for the first time in many years, Alvarez prayed. He could think of no other salvation but God.

"Please do not kill us," Hernando begged as tears crept out of his swollen eyes and mixed with the smudges of dirt on his face. Numbness faded and Alvarez again felt the stark fear engendered by their predicament. He knew he was going to die and he was afraid.

The priests tossed Juan's defiled body over the side of the temple as their leader, the murderer, pointed at Hernando. "Not him, take me!" Alvarez impudently shouted but the Mexicas could not understand him. A warrior kicked him in the back and a sharp twinge inflamed his spine as he again begged the priests to kill him first. They ignored the plea, however, and hoisted Hernando off the ground.

Hernando kicked and screamed as they carried him, and Alvarez watched and cried. Memories of Alvarez's first horse, a great white steed with a svelte mane, filled his thoughts and he recalled how free he felt as a boy riding atop his magical steed. Until the day the horse lost its magic, or so Alvarez thought, and broke its leg. The horse crashed to the ground, neighing and foaming at the mouth, as Alvarez rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding its crushing body. "Please don't die," Alvarez whispered in his steed's ear as blood spurted from its leg. Alvarez cried tears of regret, empathy, and blame that only a child could feel. It was his fault, Alvarez convinced himself, and as the horse took its last dying breaths, Alvarez wished he had broken his leg instead. Then his magical pony could ride on forever.

He wished he could take Hernando's place as well, if only to end his own suffering more hastily.

As the priests forced Hernando onto the stone, a booming crackle of thunder ripped through the sky, despite the lack of clouds. Every eye turned skyward as a shimmering line, a veil of some cosmic importance, began to part, revealing a dark light.

What is this? wondered Alvarez, momentarily forgetting his doom.

Blackness emanated from the mysterious opening, but it was a strange hue. Alvarez struggled to associate the color, but it was unlike anything he had ever seen. Purple ripples washed across the gate and it sparkled far too brightly to be black. The priests shielded their eyes and Hernando squirmed away, but they did not care.

He rolled across the altar, landing next to Alvarez as they both questioned the veracity of the remarkable sight. "Do my eyes deceive me, captain?"

"No, I see it as well," Alvarez replied as they continued to gaze upon the slowly unfurling veil. Once the gate opened wide the purple shimmering faded and something moved within.

A shadow within a shadow, thought Alvarez as he noticed how silent the crowd had become.

The movement within the gate slowly gelled and took form and Alvarez's mouth gaped open in astonishment.

A man, larger than any human man, with white skin and a black beard stepped from the gate and hung in the air under the aid of an invisible force. A necklace of ivory and beige seashells surrounded his neck and a giant jade helmet, with winged snakes wrapped around either side, sat atop this mystical being's head.

"I am Quetzalcoatl, he who gave his blood for you, and he who commands the Aztecs," said a booming voice in every language and dialect all at once.

"Captain, I am stricken in some way. I see a heathen God," whispered Hernando in shock as he rubbed his fingers across the minute wooden cross he kept in his back pocket. The word of God, Hernando's true Christian God, led him to the New World and he refused to acknowledge any barbarian deities. Suddenly, though, ripped from his primal fears, hovered a menacing being of the stars and snakes.

"It is genuine," replied Alvarez as his unblinking eyes could not look away from Quetzalcoatl's brilliance. "We all see and hear it."

"The fifth sun nears an end," declared Quetzalcoatl and the spontaneous buzzing of thousands of conversations erupted among the stunned Mexicas. "The first sun, the sun of water, became extinct and the people became fishes, slimy and without wisdom. The second sun, the sun of the tiger, yielded to the strength of that powerful animal. The giant cats devoured the people. The third sun, the sun of rain, blew sand and rocks from the sky, sacking all in its path. The fourth sun, the sun of wind, came to an end when the people grew tails and swung from the trees. Now the fifth sun, the sun of Narahuaztin, sustained for many years by life giving blood, dims ever more."

"The blood of men can no longer sustain its energy," explained Quetzalcoatl to the trepidation of his disciples. "And only the blood of the jade eagle, the same creature that led you from the seven caves to Tenochtitlan, can restore life to the fifth sun."

"What does this Moor speak of?" asked Hernando.

"It is not a Moor," replied Alvarez in frustration, exhausted with the reconquest and the idea that all who did not worship the Christian God were Moors. "He speaks of life, death, and knowledge beyond our scope," explained Alvarez in reverence to the mystical being.

"Please, mighty God of the Stars, tell us what we must do?" asked the dominant priest and Alvarez's ears perked up.

He speaks Espanol? No, but I can understand him, he realized as he looked skyward and knew that Quetzalcoatl somehow made the translation possible.

"Who shall we send to spill the eagle's blood?" asked the priest. "Choose from our greatest clans, the Jaguar and the Eagle. Choose our finest warrior, mighty Quetzalcoatl."

"Since you leave the choice to me, I claim the right to select whomever I desire from your masses," declared the deity and all the priests bowed in deference. "I choose them," announced Quetzalcoatl as he pointed one jewel encrusted finger above Alvarez's and Hernando's heads.

"No, they are not Aztec," objected the priest.

"I have made my selection. The saviors of the fifth sun shall be these two," Quetzalcoatl boomed and the Mexicas cowered and covered their ears. The deity looked down at Alvarez, into his azure eyes, and the captain discovered a clarity he had never experienced before.

To understand these Mexicas, the Aztecs, I must become one of them. Join with their culture. That is why It has chosen me. But Alvarez also recognized the opportunity as another reprieve: escape from certain death.

"Search through the northern jungle, until you find the branch of the jade eagle. There, you shall answer its riddle. Only then will it give its blood to the sun. Only then will the people survive," declared Quetzalcoatl and the shimmering gate glistened purple once again. The deity stepped back through the threshold (infinite and nonexistent all at once) as crackling energy consumed his shadowy silhouette. A crash of thunder resounded across the island, followed by a blinding white flash, and the rift was gone.

The uncertain priests stared at Alvarez and Hernando, and the Spaniards returned the timid glance. "Sir, they will kill us," Hernando whispered.

"No, they will not," Alvarez promptly replied.

"How do you know?" questioned Hernando with a desperation in his voice that signified his stark fear, irrational and threatening.

"For the same reason you would not deny an order from King Charles, nor the Pope. You follow your faith with the blindness of a bat."

Communication between Alvarez and the Mexicas dissipated like droplets of water evaporating off a sun soaked rock. Without Quetzalcoatl, Alvarez could no longer understand their language and Hernando understood only bits and fragments of their quickly spoken words. Despite the lack of communication, an uneasy bond formed and the natives placed the two Spaniards on a boat, sailing out of the city and to the edge of the surrounding lake.

The sun faded beyond the western hills as the narrow canoe reached the sandy banks of the lake. The city, Tenochtitlan, appeared so small and unimposing as the sunlight glistened off the rippling water. It is beautiful, concluded Alvarez, but he harbored no desire to ever return.

The Aztecs shouted, anger and disgust filled their baffling voices, as they tossed Alvarez and Hernando onto the shore. Alvarez rolled onto his side, looking back at his former captors, and they menacingly waved their arms until a priest stepped to the front of the canoe, calming his men with deep toned words.

"What does he say?" Alvarez asked Hernando as the priest lectured the brazen warriors.

"He says they have no choice and must help."

"Help in what way?" Alvarez pondered aloud as the priest reached toward his ankles, below the rim of the canoe.

His hands emerged with two long wooden shafts. Bulky notches adorned the five foot long spears and a serrated tip, made of a chiseled flint rock, sliced through the air with an accuracy that surprised Alvarez. He had never trained with a spear, certainly not one of bamboo and stone, but the light weight and swift stroke of the honed edge intrigued him as the priest handed him the weapon.

Incredible construction for people without the tools I have grown reliant upon, thought Alvarez in veneration as he studied every curve and blemish along the shaft. But Hernando was less than impressed.

"What are these for?" he asked as he reluctantly took a spear from the priest's hand.

"Our weapons for the hunt."

"Where are our guns? I cannot hunt with this," replied Hernando as the spear rested across his open, pliant, palms.

"They destroyed all of our firearms upon our capture," Alvarez reminded him. The sight of his rifle sinking into the lake was forever burned into his memory. Alvarez loved that rifle, the first he ever owned, and he wished he could see it again someday, but he knew that was not possible.

The warriors pushed the canoe back onto the lake as the sun fell further behind the hills. Darkness, the consuming shadows of the untamed night that most men never witnessed, crept over the landscape and Alvarez saw the priest, standing tall on the canoe, wave once as they sailed away. It was a hesitant acknowledgment of gratitude and a half-hearted wish for good luck.

Alvarez waved back, uncertain why he made the gesture, and turned to Hernando. "It is late. Let us make camp here by the lake."

The enveloping blackness was broken only by the small fire Alvarez built along the shore. An overcast sky blocked the moon and stars and they felt alone, trapped under a cold blanket of despair. Alvarez refused, though, to show his concern in front of Hernando and he maintained a calm repose. They established the camp within an hour, but there was relatively little to prepare. Provisions did not exist, save for one handful of blackberries Hernando found on a dying bush in the surrounding jungle. The shriveled fruit did not settle their grumbling stomachs and mouthfuls of water from the lake provided only a minimal distraction from the hunger.

Lingering concerns filled Hernando's mind, however, and his immediate hunger paled in comparison. "Captain, how will we return to Espana Nueva?" he asked. "Many moons have passed since we embarked to the mainland and your ship is likely stolen or destroyed by now."

"We will solve that dilemma when we approach it," responded Alvarez. "For now, we must concentrate on finding this 'jade eagle'."

"You will not seriously help these people, will you?"

Alvarez stared at Hernando with stern eyes, beckoning his silence. This dispute was inevitable, but Alvarez was captain and he knew how to use his rank to his advantage. "We both shall perform the quest assigned to us."

"But why?" pleaded Hernando.

"We have seen the hand of, for lack of a better term, a God. And it commands us to find this eagle. Thus, we must."

"I do not yield to the whims of an illusion," Hernando spitefully retorted.

"Do illusions speak and invoke lightning?" shouted Alvarez. "We both felt the force of their God's omnipotence. We must do as it commands."

"And why?"

"Would you engender the wrath of our God?" asked Alvarez.

Hernando dropped his head and nibbled on his lower lip, stumped and unable to respond. The analogy was logical, but he still did not understand why his captain placed faith in the Mexicas, and their culture, with such veracity. "Why are we here, sir? What about these people intrigues you so much?"

"On clear nights, when I look up at the moon and the stars, I feel free and my spirit wanders. There are other cultures across the sea, here in Espana Nueva, and I know that these people sit under the same dark sky, staring at the same stars. We are all one, Hernando, and I wanted to see their culture, experience their ways, before it is all destroyed."

"Is it so wrong to admonish pagans that spill innocent blood?" questioned Hernando.

"I do not profess the knowledge or experience to answer," admitted Alvarez. "But I do know that our reconquest knows no bounds and will sweep through this new world like a raging fire burns through a forest. It will char the cultures until nothing resembles the past. I want to know that past."

"Perhaps, but I prefer to live long and avoid these heathens," replied Hernando as he laid his head upon his outstretched arm and quickly fell asleep from exhaustion. Alvarez soon joined him.

Early rays of sun wakened them both. Neither man slept well, for fear of marauding Mexicas nor wild animals, and Hernando, despite his objection to their hunt, was anxious to leave the lake shore. The very sight of the city sickened him.

Sweltering heat, borne from the canopy of foliage, sapped them of their strength, yet Alvarez demanded that they march onward. "What do we seek?" asked Hernando following two hours of sweaty hiking.

"I do not know. The jade eagle I assume," replied Alvarez as they continued north, deeper into the jungle. Alvarez's doubts concerning the hunt came to fruition as he too wondered how they would find their mysterious goal.

Where does one find a mystical eagle? Is it perched high above, or hidden deep inside a woven nest? Damn this jungle, my clothes reek and my chest strains. Lord, how much further must I walk? Is this your persecution or a making of my own?

"Captain, I can walk no further," Hernando struggled to say as he leaned against his spear. The thick bamboo was strong, able to support his thin frame, but the muddy ground yielded and shifted under the pressure. The saturated earth suddenly gave way and Hernando, tightly gripping the spear, fell forward as the weapon slipped to the ground.

"Hernando!" shouted Alvarez as he fell to his knees and rolled the sailor onto his back. Dirt caked Hernando's thin beard and exposed chest, but his eyes fluttered with renewed exhilaration. An adrenaline of fear and shock flowed through him. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," answered Hernando as he released his tenuous grasp of the spear and let it roll out of his hand. "I am tired, sir" he cried as small tears dribbled from his eyes, smearing the feculent stains about his face. "I cannot go on. I see a great light and the saints call me. They beckon me to join them, an escape from this hellish place."

"They are not the saints, Hernando," assured Alvarez. "You see only illusions. We are both tired, but we must continue."

"To what end? I only desire death, in any form." A hissing sound, followed by a rustling slither, resounded from the shrub next to Hernando's head and he quickly changed his wish. His eyes widened as the diamond shaped head of a hissing serpent crept along the ground.

"Don't move," whispered Alvarez as he gripped Hernando more tightly. The fearsome snake was only three inches from Hernando's nose and Alvarez, knowing very little of serpents, did not know if it carried a deadly poison.

"What shall I do?" mumbled Hernando without parting his lips. The snake's forked tongue wiggled forward, whipping the tip of Hernando's nose. Long brown scales covered the reptile and constant hissing, loud and threatening, came from its mouth.

"Do nothing," replied Alvarez as he tightly squeezed the bamboo shaft in his hand.

I shall only have one chance, but I cannot fail. I will not.

Alvarez took a deep breath as his grip relaxed, somewhat, and he looked deep into the snake's white eyes. One quick turn of the wrist, a downward sling of the spear, was all Alvarez could do and as the head of the sharpened flint hurtled toward the serpent, it opened its mouth, exposing two long fangs. Saliva, or so Alvarez believed, dripped from the beast's fangs, and it extended forward, lunging at him, just as the sharp stone severed its tiny head.

"Thank you," mumbled Hernando as he closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled in relief. Alvarez knew, though, the appreciation was not directed toward him, but to God, Hernando's eternal savior.

"We must keep moving," declared Alvarez as he rose to his feet and extended an arm to help Hernando. He completed his prayer, but it went unanswered, and as they dug their bare feet into the dark earth, hissing sounds resounded from every direction.

Alvarez twisted his neck and spun on his toes as he looked to his left and right. Serpents, brown and menacing, surrounded them on all sides. Slowly they slithered closer, their cacophony of hissing grew unbearable.

A nest. We stumbled upon a nest, Alvarez realized as he raised his spear and firmly pressed his back against Hernando's. As the serpents slid closer, their smooth bellies swerving along the ground, Alvarez recalled the ocean as a child and the waves that crashed upon him.

The blue Mediterranean coast, warm and beautiful, filled his childhood thoughts. He loved the foamy waves, breaking above him and his father. But his father left, one morning while the seas were rough and the crests rose high. Alvarez never knew why his father departed that morning, but he was alone, and consumed by an angry sea. The undertow drug his sixty-pound body along the ocean floor and the crashing sounds around him permeated his nightmares for years to come. He barely escaped the crashing waves, with the aid of his mother, and the serpents, cold and slime ridden, menacingly hissed, bringing the waves to the forefront of Alvarez's thoughts.

I shall not go easily. The snakes shall not pull me under. The same terror he felt as a child trapped in the sea consumed him and Alvarez was resilient.

Both their hearts loudly beat in unison as the first lines of serpents closed around them. Alvarez estimated at least four dozen snakes, and perhaps countless more hiding in the surrounding bushes. A deep breath, hot and steamy from the jungle canopy, burned his lungs as he held his spear high and prepared to fight.

"Begone all ye foul creatures! Slither away!" called a menacing voice from above their heads. The snakes hissed, more loudly than before, but they recoiled and slithered back toward the recesses of the jungle. Alvarez and Hernando looked up, shocked by the familiar voice, but more surprised by an incredible sight.

A serpent, short and green skinned, with two white plumed wings like an angel, descended from the sky. Wavy lines of rising heat enveloped the mystical creature and Hernando rubbed his eyes, not trusting his own sight. "I assure you, I am real," said the winged snake as it fluttered in front of the stunned Spaniards.

"What are you?" asked Alvarez as he recognized the voice. It was the same as Quetzalcoatl.

"I am a coatl. I bring a message from the one who sits among the stars."

"The heathen God?" questioned Hernando out of confusion rather than impudence. The coatl, however, did not take his tone as lightly and responded with a soft hiss.

"What message do you bring, coatl?" asked Alvarez.

"The master says you are close. Trek to the west, into the hottest part of the jungle, and find the stalking jaguar, for if you do not, it shall find you. This beast holds the secret to the jade eagle. Go now, with great haste, for the sun burns less brightly." Wonderment filled Alvarez's mind, for when he ventured to discover the people of the mainland, he never dreamed he would become a witness to such miraculous sites. The coatl's wings fluttered faster and its slender body straightened as he flew upward, disappearing into the bright sky.

Hernando stared at his captain with doubting, heavy eyes, but he refused to object. The captain would remain adamant, and Hernando, despite his abominating of the idea, knew he would travel west. In search of death, no less.

Stout trees with scraped trunks and giant palms hung over the explorers like an ominous cloud. As they journeyed west, the day grew hotter and their muscles ached with the pain of hiking. Neither man spoke, both content to suffer in silence and endure the jungle. As Alvarez trudged further along, he felt a burden weigh heavy on his legs.

I am responsible for Hernando and I have led him to ruin. This new world is strange and mysterious but I have no wish to die here. Oh how I yearn to see my native land again. My thoughts of Espana Nueva easily wane.

And the jungle, once lively with the sound of unseen creatures and buzzing insects, became quiet, as though the land itself had discovered a somber repose. Tiny black hairs along Alvarez's arm stood on end and he felt a cold chill run the length of his body. His eyes scanned the surroundings, finding only small barren rocks, patches of ivy, and the lumbering trees.

"What's wrong?" asked Hernando, breaking the lengthy silence. He felt nothing, but could sense Alvarez's trepidation.

"We are not alone," declared the captain as he halted and leaned his neck backward, turning his nose to the air. "I sense something."

"I do not see anything," announced Hernando as he frantically peered in all directions, searching for what he could not find, but convinced that he saw vicious demonic monsters darting away from the corners of his vision. Fear overtook Hernando and he ceased his search and stared at his captain, waiting for his assurance.

Alvarez said nothing as his neck remained rigid and his body rooted like the oldest tree of a forest. His eyes were all that moved, but they found nothing. Damn this heat! thought Alvarez as he felt his pants sticking to his thighs. The humid air distracted and unnerved him, but he remained vigilant.

I see nothing, but can search in other ways.

Alvarez shut his eyes and slowly breathed warm air through his nose. Shoulders hunched, his muscles all quivered in anticipation and Alvarez wished he stood alongside a sandy beach. The salty smell of the ocean relaxed him and he felt at home. The sea was his home for many years and though it often proved a harsh mistress, he loved her rolling waves and unpredictable temper. Above all, he loved the smell of fresh salt spraying through the air. Pungent enough to conceal the odors of a crew long at sea. Fragrances of decayed fish, burning lamps, and sweaty men all faded in comparison to the first breath of a morning sea.

I hate the sweat, so filthy and repulsive.

It hurt Alvarez's delicate nose, like a blunt hammer striking a sore thumb, and as he deeply breathed in the sweltering jungle, the horrid odor of his sweat swirled in his nostrils. Alvarez loathed it, but realized, from the faintest smell, that it was not his odor drifting in the air. It was something else and it was close.

He spun around, raising his spear in front of him, just as a branch, high above in one of the trees, rustled, and a large cat descended upon them. The gigantic jaguar, its wide jaws spread apart, fell toward Alvarez with its clubbing paws extended, but found only the tip of a spear. Its own force, made great by such a long drop, forced the spear through the jaguar's throat, abruptly ending its roar, and killing its body. The spear emerged at the back of the jaguar's neck, at the base of its skull, and Alvarez struggled to prevent the corpse from collapsing upon him. The cat's pink tongue hung out, but its eyes did not move and its body slowly cooled. Alvarez grunted and strained as Hernando fell backward in fright, but the spear yielded before the man. One snap along the bamboo rod, just at the point of entry, broke the spear and the giant body fell to the ground.

"What is that?" Hernando desperately screamed as he clutched at his bare chest. He breathed hard and his chest heaved in rhythm with his gasps.

"That was the jaguar," replied Alvarez as he stepped closer to the deceased beast and saw something, he did not yet know what, glinting in its mouth. A groan accompanied Alvarez's bend to his knees. His body still ached, despite the exhilaration, but he shut out the pain as he looked at something, an object, sparkling inside the jaguar's mouth. Alvarez grabbed a handful of coarse whiskers and turned the beast's head to its side and a talisman, or a medallion as Hernando considered it, spilled to the ground.

The talisman brightly sparkled as light passed through it and appeared green, light putrid green, on the other side. It was jade and no larger than a Spanish coin, but brilliant beyond imagination. An eagle, roughly cut and barely visible, was engraved into the obverse side and Alvarez could not resist the temptation to retrieve the relic and hold it close.

"Is this medallion the jade eagle?" asked Hernando as his breathing slowed and curiosity quelled his fright. He rose and moved closer to Alvarez as he clutched the talisman and pressed it against his chest.

Voices, unheard by others but wafting on the breezes of the jungle, echoed in Alvarez's ears. The language was indecipherable, long forgotten to the passing of time, but Alvarez heard the voices and knew their words. They beckoned him. "No, it is not the jade eagle."

"Then what could it be?" Hernando desperately asked. He grabbed Alvarez's arm, struggling to gain his attention, but the captain ignored him as his eyes became lost in unknown knowledge only he could see. Eons of existence filled his sight as history itself became tangible and real. His life, the Mexicas lives, and the knowledge of all things, washed against the shores of Alvarez's mind and he knew all. The talisman felt warm to the touch and Alvarez, still lost in the unknown world laid plain before him, turned to the right and began to walk.

Hernando had no choice but to follow.

What began as a walk quickly became an amble, feet shuffling ever more quickly. Then it became a trot, knees lifted higher and further off the ground. Finally, it became a sprint, Alvarez guided by a force he could not explain, and Hernando gasping for air as he endeavored to keep up. Alvarez soon slowed, his strides shortening, as he reached a clearing of less dense trees and without a foliage canopy. He stopped in front of one thick tree, its trunk wider than any man, and Hernando stumbled forward behind him.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Look there," replied Alvarez as he extended a straight arm and pointed to the lowest branch of the tree before them. A regal bird, brown feathered with keen yellow eyes, stared at them with a cocked head. "Are you the jade eagle?" asked Alvarez as he held the talisman close to his chest and knew the answer.

"I am," responded the eagle without moving. "I am the eagle that once led the Aztecs from the caves to the island. I brought life to the valley and now I stand ready, posed to restore life once again. But life must prove itself worthy. The people of the first four suns did not possess the knowledge to extend their existence. Answer now the riddle I lay before you and your lives shall extend beyond eternity."

The eagle's words sobered Alvarez and his throat constricted as he recalled the purpose their quest. He was so obsessed with finding the jade eagle that he forgot that a challenge would await him. Alvarez was not talented at riddles, nor was Hernando, and the pressure of survival, resting squarely upon his tired shoulders, sapped what little confidence he once had.

But Alvarez had traveled far, across an ocean and jungle, and he would not cower in the face of this ultimate test. "Speak your riddle so I may answer it."

The eagle spoke, "I am the giver and taker of life, the grower of maize, and the despoiler of the immaculate. What am I?"

Desperate feelings ran through Alvarez's discombobulated mind as he did not find an immediate answer. He quickly calmed himself, though, as the magnitude of his potential answer curtailed his fear and he considered the meaning of the words. Something that gives and takes life is alive. Or is it? What is this 'maize'? I have never heard such a word, but a grower means it is made. Not of the earth, perhaps. The memories, the history that flooded my mind, showed me the Gods, the Mexica Gods, growing the first stalks of crops in fields of earth and flesh. Yes, perhaps that is the 'maize'. But what is the answer. Man destroys the pure and gives life, but man did not create the maize. It came from the Gods. Not of this earth.

Frustration set upon Alvarez as both the eagle and Hernando watched him with impatience. He felt his skin grow hot and his blood boil as the lingering images of the jade talisman filled his thoughts. His arms, sore from the jungle and the fever that flowed through his veins, itched and he scratched them until they glowed red. In that moment, as Alvarez looked at his inflamed skin, he knew the answer.

"Blood. Blood is what binds all men and its shedding resolves their differences. Blood is the giver of life and grants the strength to kill as well. The Gods, Quetzalcoatl and the others, they gave their blood to make the first crop. That is the answer. Blood is the life essence of the fifth sun."

The eagle did not move as Alvarez stared at it, waiting for a response. Its eyes blinked for the first time and the eagle spread its wings, spanning four feet. Hernando cowered and covered his face with his arms, preparing for a vicious assault, but Alvarez stood firm. A roaring caw, more reminiscent of the jaguar than any eagle they had ever heard, deafened their ears, but Alvarez did not yield. The mighty eagle tucked its wings under its plumes again and opened its sharp beak, "Your answer is sagacious. The fifth sun shall live. Give me the talisman and the blood of the jade eagle shall power this sun yet again."

Without hesitation, Alvarez swung back his arm and brought it forward, releasing the jade medallion. It twirled in the air, moving more slowly than time itself by Alvarez's estimation, until it reached the open beak of the eagle. The beak closed, piercing the jade relic and a white flash, blinding and powerful, filled the sky. Then it was gone, and the eagle with it, but a single drop of crimson blood dangled from the tree branch. It hung and beaded for a moment and then fell, plummeting toward the open earth. The ground instantly absorbed the drop, leaving no trace, and the sun shone brightly.

Hernando rose to his feet, his eyes wide in disbelief, and his mouth gaping, searching for the appropriate words. Alvarez knew what to say.

"Hernando, there is more to existence than we, as Spaniards, know. The heavens are infinite and we have merely glimpsed into its unending realm. We are fortunate."

Hernando nodded his head in agreement, not only concerning their fortune, but also with Alvarez's proclamation. For a moment, perhaps, maybe, possibly, Hernando believed there was more to life and death than what he had learned as a child. The heavens were truly mighty and unknown. But a more pressing concern distracted the sailor and again he looked to his captain for guidance.

"Sir, what shall we do now?"

Alvarez paused. He had fulfilled his desire to explore Espana Nueva as well as paid his debt to Quetzalcoatl. Alvarez could think of only one goal left unfinished. "Hernando, let us go east and home." He nodded in agreement.

Thus, as Alvarez took his first step toward the Atlantic, he realized he would never again visit the new world or the Mexicas. Soon they would cease to exist, as Alvarez knew them, but he was content. All people, all cultures, and all religions changed. Alvarez simply hoped that he would continue to change with them.