Winston Smith looked uncomfortable.
Chapter 39
Oaxaca in the valley was all but empty of men when the flowing train of Coatlicue lumbered in.
The federal government had ceded the capital of the entire state. The immaculate city in the valley was virtually deserted.
Dust still hung in the air from the departed vehicles.
They stood in the center of the broad, tree-ringed Zocalo, the plaza that all Mexican towns and cities possess. This one was not as great as that of Mexico City, but to the eyes of High Priest Rodrigo Lujan, it was holy. Because it belonged to him.
Towering above him under a sky dark with sinister clouds was Coatlicue, in whose name he had taken the city built over sacred Zapotec soil. Her skin resembled that of an armadillo now, covered in steely plates absorbed from the army tanks that she crushed and absorbed. No conquistador was ever so formidable, Lujan thought proudly.
"We are victorious!" he sang out.
"We are not alone," Coatlicue said, her voice ringing hollowly, her eyes peering from armored slits.
" What!"
"I detect the body heat of meat machines in the surrounding structures. A high probability of a trap is indicated."
"But no trap can possibly harm you, Coatlicue," said Rodrigo, stepping into the shelter of the living idol he worshiped above all.
"You must investigate this situation."
"You promised to protect me."
"Very well," said Lujan, adjusting his feathered cloak. He had acquired more festive garments along the way. Others had, too. Nearby stood a knot of Aztecs in the brine-stiffened uniforms of the Jaguar Company. Eagle Knights were nearby, bedecked in feathers both real and artificial. They carried weapons ranging from the obsidian-bladed spears to heavy hardwood clubs capable of dashing a man's brains from his skull.
"Jaguars. Investigate these buildings."
They moved with alacrity. And why not-for they understood that loyal service meant that they needn't be eaten. Not that they would turn away from the prospect. But there were other ways to serve Coatlicue, their Mother.
The Jaguars came back hauling trembling Zapotecs.
"Release them, for these are my people."
Going among them, Lujan blessed them with his hands upon their trembling heads, saying, "Welcome to your new life. For as long as you serve Our Mother, you will eat meat and live in splendor."
Then, lifting his voice in joy and triumph, Lujan called, "Come out, my people. Join the ranks of the new lords of Oaxaca. Come, come, do not be afraid. The world has turned upside down, and you have happily landed on the correct side. Come, step forth."
Slowly they came. Carefully. Zapotecs were in the majority, but a sprinkling of others showed their faces, as well. Mixtec, mostly. Lujan did not bless them. Mixtec invaders had usurped the old capital of Monte Alban, casting down the Zapotecs who had built it. That was many centuries ago, true, but in his heart Lujan decided these latter-day stragglers would not enjoy the best of the new Zapotec order. After all, someone had to take out the garbage.
In the middle of this rumination, a priest emerged from Santo Domingo Church.
He approached with a trembling certitude. His white cassock with the barbarian purple cross on its front swayed with each step. He walked behind a heavy gold crucifix, which he carried aloft before him.
Lujan welcomed him. "Padre! Come. Approach."
"I do not know from what hell you have emerged, Coatlicue, but in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I banish you. Viva Cristo Rey !"
"You play your role well, Padre," Lujan called out. "You remind me of the padre who is in all the old monster movies. He comes full of faith and fear, just as you do. He is brave. He is true. Despite the awful power of El Enormo-or whatever the monster is called-he believes his faith will shield him from the demons from hell."
"I banish you, creature of superstition."
"Do you hear, my people? This padre calls us superstitious. Us! We who stand in the protecting shadow of Our Living Mother. You, priest. Where is your god? Have him appear."
"His spirit is in us all. It permeates the air."
"Look above you. The air is dark and roiled. Terrible powers are abroad. A dark new day has dawned. Your crosses of gold will be melted down and reshaped into braziers and idols. No more confessions. No more commandments. Coatlicue rules now."
The priest stood still, his arm lifted as high as humanly possible. It shook and shook in his great, satisfying fear.
"No," Lujan called. "Do not stop. Approach. Coatlicue will not eat you. For she has had her fill. Is that not right, Coatlicue?"
Coatlicue said nothing. Her armored serpent heads separated and homed in on the priest, very much like the cobralike death-ray dealer in the movie called The War of the Worlds.
The priest was speaking Latin now, his words coming faster and faster, the vowels and consonants blended together.
"What is the matter, priest? Your white magic does not work. Coatlicue stands supreme, despite your useless prayers."
When the priest ran out of prayers and strength, he dropped to his knees sobbing. Then his head tipped forward and struck the stone flags of the Zocalo. High Priest Rodrigo Lujan ordered his Eagles to seize him.
They laid him at the feet of the unmoving and unmoved Coatlicue, and as an obsidian dagger was banded to Lujan, the Jaguar soldiers stripped apart the cassock to bare the heaving, helpless chest.
The heart of the priest seemed to beat through his ribs and skin. It called to Rodrigo Lujan, asking, pleading, begging for release.
And with swift, sure movements of the wickedly sharp black blade, Rodrigo Lujan released the pounding heart and held it up to the brownish sky, his blood-spattered face beaming.
Coatlicue looked down through her armored eye slits and boomed, "No, thank you. I am full."
Chapter 40
The word came down from the north.
"There is terrible news, Lord Kukulcan!"
Alirio Antonio Arcila stood up in his jungle encampment. He had expected bad news. They were in Oaxaca State now. They had passed from Chiapas without challenge or incident. It was suspicious. Almost as if the army had let them pass this far. A trap was likely. And so he asked, "The army is massing now?"
"Yes! No!"
"Speak, faithful Kix."
"The army is massing, yes. But that is not the terrible news, no."
"What is it, then?"
"Coatlicue walks the earth again."
Antonio frowned under his ski mask. "What is this you say?"
"The mother god of the rude Aztecs has returned to life. She walks, twenty or thirty feet tall, and hurls back the army like wooden toys."
This time Antonio glowered under his ski mask. Was this indio baboso drunk on pulque? "Where do you hear this?" he demanded.
"In the village of my people. It is all over the television. It has even preempted the telenovelas. "
Antonio's masked mouth dropped open. This was serious if Television Azteca preempted the soap operas. They did not do that even for national catastrophes, of which this past day was the greatest since the conquistadors came ashore.
"I must see this for myself."
Going to a pack mule, he unearthed his chief intelligence-gathering device. A portable battery-powered TV.
"Coatlicue is on Television Azteca," Kix panted. "That is Channel Cinco."
The set took a moment to warm up, during which Antonio fiddled with the rabbit ears. The mountains were a problem, but if he pointed the antenna correctly most of the snow went away.
On Television Azteca he saw the shifting images of destruction.
"This is a monster movie!" he objected, derision in his voice.
"No, this is real. Coatlicue walks."
It was true, he saw after careful study. This was live coverage. The creature was the familiar one from the National Museum of Anthropology. It was easily thirty feet tall.