Blood of Toma

1

BORN TO DIE

Before the Earth existed, there were five gods, her father croaked in his worn voice. He glanced at his daughter enduring her dutiful position in the calmecac, the school for noble children. The young girls looked at her with their jealous eyes. No matter if they stayed in the temple as priestesses and worked in diligence their entire lives, they would never have such an honor as her. 

Cacama, the Tlatoani, the name given to the ruler for the city of Texcoco, stood up from his lecture and hobbled over to his last love. The wars from his youth rewarded him with a knee as damaged as his hope.

Tomantzin, Cacama said as he presented his daughter to the girls. This is my youngest daughter. When the New Fire ceremony begins, she will save our great city of Texcoco from the weak sun and give us another fifty-two years of prosperity. He reminded the young girls of the gods’ tolerance of them for fifty-two years of life in exchange for one of their own, and at this, they bowed their heads to the ground in reverence for her sacrifice. 

The lesson ended for the day, and the fresh-faced girls went about performing their duties while Cacama and his daughter, Tomantzin, strolled through the rolling gardens. Lush greens led into the cloud-covered mountains in the east, but at the last turn of the pebbled path, they went instead through the side door of the palace. Shadows from the palace roof erased the sun’s glisten on his daughter’s long black silky hair, a symbol of youth and virginity.

Tomantzin led her father to his throne, and he eased himself into the large stone chair. Just as Tomantzin pulled away, he grasped her hand and drew her close. The many scars from the ritual bloodletting raised in shallow ghastly ridges in the skin of his arms.

Stroking the ebony cotton that fell from her head, he whispered, Toma. It was the name he had called her from her youth. The gods have blessed you as… they blessed your mother.

Toma smiled at his memory of them, her mother and brother. Woe lingered in her father’s eyes for a moment. Sorrow symbolizes a weakness in his position of Tlatoani, but at least Father has peace of mind knowing my mother died a warrior in childbirth, Toma thought. Everyone knows a person's death determines where they spend their afterlife: warriors, sacrifices and heroes in battle go to the Eastern Paradise, but if a meaningless death befalls the person, their spirit travels the long journey to join the diseased skeletons of Mictlan, the lowest underworld where those unworthy spirits survive.

Her brother took only a few breaths when he was born, but died soon after. The souls of infants go to be with the creator gods in the highest of heavens, reserved for the gods and the spirits of children, and at this memory, her father smiled. 

With Toma, he could have pride in knowing she would die as a sacrifice, as a messenger to the gods. Then after spending four earth years in the Eastern Paradise, the highest heaven that all hoped to go, she would once again come to the lands of Texcoco to grace the people in the form of a hummingbird, signaling the gods accepted their message of tribute.

When you see your mother in the Eastern Paradise, tell her I never forgot. His fingers grazed her cheek pushing her hair from her face.

Father, you may see her yourself, Toma said. For he cannot go to Mictlan, she thought. He is the Tlatoani after all.

No, my daughter. His eyes hid something from her, she noticed. I do not want to stain your innocence, he said reading her mind, and then placed a soft kiss on her forehead. 

Jarring their moment together, the palace doors swung open, and messengers burst through with shadows at their heels. 

Bowing low with their noses touching their knees, the messengers declared, "Message to Cacama, Tlatoani of Texcoco, from the Huey Tlatoani, Moctezuma of Tenochtitlán." Cacama waved Toma away, and she shuffled backward with her head to the ground until she stood far off behind her father.

What does the Huey Tlatoani, Moctezuma of Tenochtitlán, say? Cacama straightened his back upon the throne. Another message from the great Moctezuma, Emperor of the Triple Alliance, Cacama thought as he remembered back to the deal he made with Emperor Moctezuma, a foolish deal indeed. 

The Huey Tlatoani says this: Celebrating Xilonen, goddess of our maize, requires blood to sustain favor in her eyes. Send to the city of Tenochtitlán, ten virgin girls as a tribute to Xilonen, the messenger said aloud struggling to stay upright as he controlled his breathing after the long journey from the lake city of Tenochtitlán.

Toma snorted at the message with her head still bowed. Ten daughters? She thought. Why does he not ask for slave girls or captives? Why must it be Texcoco people? She questioned. Every whim in her soul kept her from running the three days’ journey to the great city-state herself and telling the Huey Tlatoani what she thought about his incessant requests. 

Texcoco follows the Huey Tlatoani, Moctezuma of Tenochtitlán, Cacama mumbled as he shook his hand twice to shoo them away. The palace doors closed behind them, and Cacama’s head dropped into his palm. Ten more of our daughters. He rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. The city of Texcoco was relatively as big as Tenochtitlán, but Tenochtitlán had first conquered Texcoco giving Moctezuma the highest power within the Triple Alliance.

Sacrifices must they always come from the great cities of Texcoco and Tlacopan, never from Tenochtitlán, the old Tlatoani grumbled in hatred of his sister city. Shaking his head, he looked to the mountains where his brother, Ixtlilochitl, lived. The throne had been his brother's, but he had different plans for the Empire than Moctezuma. To save his brother from a sure assassination, Cacama made a deal with the Emperor. He campaigned in support of Emperor Moctezuma who in turn, took two actions: influenced the Council to elect Cacama as the Tlatoani instead of Ixtlilochitl, and sent Ixtlilochitl to rule over the small number of people who lived in the mountains. With such a decrease in rank and nobility, no one respected Ixtlilochitl as a leader thereafter. But with his deal, there came a condition—Moctezuma told Cacama that if he ever disobeyed his order, the lands of Mictlan might befall him and his family. 

The years in his knees crackled as Cacama tried to stand, but instead, he stayed in his throne and motioned Toma to him. He put his hand on her arm as she knelt before the side of his throne. Ten more daughters, Toma, and yet he still asks for you, my only daughter, and the last of my father’s line. Even the New Fire ceremony sacrifice for all the Triple Alliance comes from the city of Tlacopan. He gazed into his daughter’s cacao colored eyes, and the same sorrowful smile crossed his face as he longed for her mother. He could have married again or used his slaves for more children, but after his many sons from his other affairs died in battle and after losing his queen, his one true love, he held his devotion only to Toma.

A deep voice from the shadows yelled out, Tlatoani! which echoed off the stone walls.

Toma stood up at the bluntness of the cry, ready to defend her father if needed, for the words he spoke could be interpreted as treason. 

You are not needed here, High Priestess of Texcoco! A man from the shadows emerged with another by his side.  The eagle’s head sat atop their own, and the eagle’s beak soared over each man’s eyes. These were one of the noblest ranks, the Eagle Warrior. She noticed their war-ridden skin had been blackened by the sun.

Father? Toma asked uncertain if she should leave him alone with these two strangers. Standing as still as the statues, she held her loyal stance until she saw familiarity fall across her father’s face. Thinking of her maquahuitl hidden under her long cotton dress, she felt the weapon’s smooth and cool volcanic rock brush her leg as she shifted her weight. 

Tomantzin, leave us, he whispered. Toma paused when she saw the blood-stained maquahuitl tied to the Eagle Warrior’s loincloths. Only guards and the Tlatoani’s Otontin, or war council, dared to bring their weapons into the throne room, but disrespecting her father by questioning his command was out of the question.  Fear began to barter with the adrenaline in Toma’s stomach as she bowed to her father and then to the men. She snuck away, but as soon as she heard the quiet mumble of conversation, she quickly ducked behind the tapestry that fell behind the throne.

Great Tlatoani of Texcoco, we come from the Tlatoani of Tlacopan, Chaucomac, the larger man said as he bowed with his nose to his knee. We couldn’t help but overhear your grievances against the Huey Tlatoani, Moctezuma. You should know by now Chaucomac shares your grievances. His deep voice boomed as he was continued in a speech by his companion. 

Only the day before, the Huey Tlatoani asked ten of our virgin daughters be sent as a sacrifice to the goddess Xilonen and to send sacrifices for the god Xipe Totec when the seasons turn after the harvest. For many years, the Huey Tlatoani only gives our people to the gods and none of his own, the smaller man said. He stepped up the stairs leading to the throne until he finally stood eye to eye with Cacama, a gesture that would usually end in beatings or death. 

Great Eagle Warriors. Cacama put his hand up to silence them. We shall not go up against the city of Tenochtitlán for we shall fail.

Yes, we shall fail if we go up each city on its own, but if we go up with both cities, both Texcoco and Tlacopan, we then shall conquer Tenochtitlán, the deep voiced man said.

Cacama sat silent until at last, he muttered, You speak of treason, Chimalli.

Yes, and so have you, Chimalli said as he stepped towards the throne.

You, Chimalli, and you, Alacan, have come into my Texcoco with a plan to overthrow the Huey Tlatoani and his city, Cacama said as his aged throat prevented his bold voice from escaping.

But if we take no action, more of our people will be taken from us! Alacan turned his small but fierce stature towards Cacama.

And if we fail…. Moctezuma will slaughter us and make slaves out of our people sacrificing them on the altar still, Cacama reasoned with them although he knew his words were in vain.

And if we win, we will slaughter them all and make slaves out of his sons and daughters and save our own people, Chimalli said as he grabbed the air with a powerful fist. The scar that ran from his hairline down his jaw and into his broad and brown chest glistened in the sunlight that fell across the throne room floor.

We are at war with so many of our surrounding neighbors such as the Totonacs and the Tlaxcaltecas, who we try to invade every season and give their captured warriors as a sacrifice to the god of war, Huitzilopochtli, Cacama wisely began. If they see the great Mexica nation fighting within, will they not also rise against us and slaughter our sons and daughters for taking their own to be food for the gods? 

They will see we are against Tenochtitlán, and they will join us, Alacan said as he rested his arm on his knee propped up by the stair leading up to Cacama. His maquahuitl scratched his lower thigh, but warriors do not feel pain.

No, my young Eagle Warrior; revenge blinds the eye. We are all Mexica, and all Mexica must die through the eyes of the avenger, Cacama said as he noticed the honors and decorations on Alacan’s berry-red tilma, the cloak that draped around his shoulders. There were many decorations for his young age.

Then if you are not for us, you are against us, Chimalli growled as the fine mist of sweat on his face crinkled around his narrowed eyes. Cacama noted there were many decorations on his gold-trimmed red tilma as well. The next words, Toma could tell her father chose carefully, and she held her breath in anticipation.

I am neither. If you attack Tenochtitlán, I will protect my people from Moctezuma, the neighboring peoples, and from Chaucomac, the Tlatoani of Tlacopan, if needed.

You write your own death, Alacan said as he placed his hand on the maquahuitl tied around his waist.

2

THE GROWING NIGHT

The old Tlatoani jerked out of his throne with rage in his eyes.

And the death of your daughter! Chimalli yelled admiring the frenzy they had stirred in the great ruler.

You shall not deny my daughter entrance into the Eastern Paradise! he bellowed as he rose his hand against them.

Then join us! Alacan yelled as he held out his hand to the Tlatoani. Cacama stood only for a second and then fell back into his throne fatigued from the force he used to stand. Alacan’s hand still invited him to take it. Anger had burned his strength, and Alacan’s eager lips tinged with triumph. Toma’s heart ached as she realized her father, worn from war and grown old from time, relented from fighting. He is right though, she thought. If war within the Mexica nation commenced, the conquered peoples would rise against them as well. Their only options would be to face death in the city or chance survival in the jungle. Toma heard her father sigh as the last resort. Alacan’s hand dropped into a fist by his side.

I shall think on it, he responded, and the men bowed with angry faces and left. Toma ran with soft feet to the balcony over the palace doors, so she could hear the Eagle Warrior’s conversation after they had left Cacama.

The summer sun beat on her head, and her skin tingled from the humid heat. She crouched low to the floor straining to hear them mumble in the shadows as they walked along the east side of the palace.

Can we trust the old man? Alacan said in a low voice.

If we threaten to kill his daughter, he will be with us, Chimalli smirked.

He only cares if she goes to the Eastern Paradise. What if we bargain with him? Let her be sacrificed to the gods, and then we attack, Alacan said.

No, the granddaughter of Chaucomac was chosen by the Council as one of the ten daughters to go as a sacrifice to the goddess, Xilonen. She will have already been given as tribute by the time the High Priestess Tomantzin is sacrificed, Chimalli whispered and hit the stone wall with a hard fist. I was told by a messenger from Chaucomac himself not to let her be sent to Tenochtitlán. His eyes dashed to the ground to hide something from his friend.

Alacan sighed not noticing. What will they say? he asked.

"Who are they?" Toma wondered as she listened more closely.

They would say kill them both… now, before it is too late. They cannot risk losing Chaucomac as an ally, Chimalli said as he remembered their instructions if Cacama refused their offer. 

Toma looked to the high heavens as she covered her mouth from letting out a prayer. More words came from below: We cannot kill the New Fire sacrifice for Texcoco. In doing so, we doom the entire city to the god's bloodthirstiness.

Do you not remember what they told us? We can; she will not be sacrificed on the Huixachtlan Mountain. She is only the sacrifice for Texcoco, not for the entire Triple Alliance. Imagine the people's outrage if they found Moctezuma not only had killed their Tlatoani but had also killed their sacrifice before her time, he said as his eyes looked to the highest heavens hoping one god heard his silent plea. 

They… would be ready for war, Alacan answered.

Yes; they would fight with us against Tenochtitlán, Chimalli said. And with the gods from the shore, we will be victorious.

Gods from the shore? Toma whispered to herself. Have gods come to aid them? She peered over the balcony and saw Alacan shuffle his foot and clench his jaw.

To kill a sacrifice before they are given to the gods is dishonorable. I cannot do it, Alacan said.

The pause of silence between them pulsated in her eyes and ears.

Then you will kill the Tlatoani; I will kill the High Priestess. I will take the dishonor upon myself if it means overtaking Tenochtitlán. He said Chaucomac and Ixtlilochitl have already given pardon to us.

A hot wind blew down and out through the gardens and with it took away the melody of words trickling up to Toma overhead. She caught her gasp and fell backward just as they looked up. 

The winds died down, and the soft tip taps of feet echoed off the stone stairs as they left her palace. She sat with her back against the balcony. 

What have I heard? She asked herself unwilling to believe the words that besieged her ears. "Who are the gods from the shore? Who is he? Who are they? My uncle and Chaucomac?" Noticing the thick gum paste feeling in her mouth, she knew fear in her stomach bred. Her heart thumping in her ears, she took no grace in racing to the palace hall to tell her father of the assassination scheme.

Toma flung herself through the side doors to the throne room, but a case had been brought to the Tlatoani about a young boy who had stolen food for his sister. 

Heads flew in her direction as she interrupted the proceedings and then back to the Tlatoani to hear his order against the young boy and now to the High Priestess. 

Seeing the boy's frightened face, Cacama knew in his heart; he could not give him the punishment the law prescribed; he was too young to die. A small glimmer from the sun’s grace fell across the old man’s eyes as a deep-set helplessness crawled up his spine. All those beady eyes stared at him, their ears eager to hear the words that upheld Mexica law, but instead of proclaiming 'execution', he dismissed the people and left to his room to deliberate. No one, not even Toma, could reach him now.

Hours later, Toma sat on the steps of the palace hall waiting for her father to emerge, keeping watch for Chimalli and Alacan. The numbing hours she sat there kept her mind wandering. Thinking about other girls, who could sit at a loom and weave until their hands bled, Toma knew life would be simpler, but she needed excitement in her life. She shook her head thinking she should be careful for what she wished.

Her heart fluttered when the warriors in training ran past the palace as they did every day. One boy always seemed to stand above the rest, maybe because he was in better shape than the others, whose heads were bent over, their bodies wearing out. His thick black hair fell in braids past his shoulders, and the sun announced his broad, muscular chest. His fierce determination to succeed in the long runs always kept his attention even as the pretty girls waved and townspeople’s gracious nodded their approval. Toma straightened her posture, moved her golden jeweled hand to her knee and ever so turned her turquoise decorated shoulder to him. Not that I’m that much to look at, Toma thought to herself as he kept his focus on the road in front of him again today. Once they passed, she let her body fall back into its earlier hunched over position, and her chin plummeted into her hand. And besides, she thought, I could never marry, not as a High Priestess meant to die for her people in the coming months.

Zolin, the oldest son of one of the Calpulli, a set of noble families who owned the land of Texcoco, turned his gaze back to the High Priestess sitting on the steps staring off to the gods’ reign as they rounded the corner of the palace. He passed by her on his runs. She was exquisite, and sometimes out of the corner of his eye, he’d catch her staring at him. Her face was fresh and not painted like the women of ill-repute. She is strong, he thought. Maybe that’s why we need her to go to the gods on our behalf. The New Fire Ceremony is coming, and if the gods do not accept our tribute, they will destroy us. Her resilient blood will save the people of Texcoco.

As they rounded the palace stairs, Tlaco was there waving to him and a smile lit in his heart as he noticed her gold headpiece dangling in front of her eyes. Tlaco is beautiful too, he thought to himself as he raised an eyebrow at her. Maybe once training is over, I will see her again. Tlaco’s devious grin made him chuckle. Then as his thoughts drifted back to his run, he noticed he was not in the lead anymore, but had fallen near the back. He raced to the front again, thoughts fixated on slowing his heart beat and his breathing.

Toma straightened up as she thought she saw a slight glimmer come from the mountains like a small signal. She had heard her uncle’s name in the Eagle Warrior’s conversation outside the palace, and he lived in the mountains. Is there more to their plan than overthrowing our Emperor? she thought. It made sense. Ixtlilochitl could take back Texcoco with Father, his heir, and Moctuzema dead. He must have persuaded the city of Tlacopan to join him in his rebellion. Or maybe Tlacopan was the initiator. They only received one-fifth of the tributes and most of the sacrifices came from their people and captives. I wonder if now they are trying to prove their worth.

Her thoughts ended as she saw another small glimmer come from the mountains. This time, she stood and stepped to go towards it but something in the bottom of her stomach told her danger awaited her. The sun was setting, and the battle cries from the calmecac rose in the purple-yellow sky. That’s when she realized warriors from nobility have trained since they were five years old, and from the commoners, since thirteen years. She had only swung her brother’s maquahuitl around in the privacy of her bed chambers.

What if they came to kill her in the dark? She could not defend herself against even one Eagle Warrior. And here she was, contemplating whether to run off to the mountains to see if rebellious Mexica warriors staked out there. Stupid girl, she insulted herself. I must go to my father’s Otontin, his war council. They will know what to do; she thought as she saw Meztli, the lead member of the Otontin, walking in the gardens. She turned and raced towards this warrior who had earned his high rank in her father’s council.

Meztli! He cast a glance in her direction, and a modest smile covered his lips at her quick gait’s sudden transformation into a stately stride. Ah, the young woman, still yet a child, he thought as he noticed her graceful arms fall side to side as she sauntered through the trimmed and well-groomed gardens. 

High Priestess Tomantzin, he said with a slight bow of his head. How can I be of service? he