As I walked out from my small hut, I had no idea that that day would be my last. Death was something for which I had searched. I called to it. But everywhere i went, it seemed to elude me. I envisioned the grim reaper that my father had once told me about. I certainly did not expect a host of winged angels to come and collect my soul and return it to my Creator. I knew that through my life I had fallen out of favor with the Almighty, and my inability to die was something I attributed to the fact that he would not suffer me in his presence. So I dared Him. He called my bluff. Word came down that Villa wanted a small detachment to intercept a train carrying munitions from an arms dealer in Texas that was sympathetic to the government. I still could not shake the suspicion that Hearst was behind all the guns, for his holding in mexico were considerable, and I knew that man for the foul creature that he was. I reckoned that we could find at least a few American "dealers" on the train just to make certain that Villa's boys did not get their hands of the guns. Well, the whole raid was unfolding nicely, except for the fact that the charges we layed on the tracks did not go off. it seemed that a young boy named Pascual had allowed the dynamite to get doused with water. There would be no way to stop the train without the tracks taken out first, so I, daring the Almighty once more, leaped on my white horse and bolted to the tracks. I carried three sticks of dynamite with me, just enough to unsettle the tracks, derail the train, and give us access to the guns. Apparently, Pascual also allowed this batch of dynamite, or rather, their fuses, to be exposed to water. I tried to light the fuse with the match I had at my disposal. The first match did not take. The second one lit for a brief moment, then fizzled. The third was a dud. Having nothing left but the cigar I was smoking, I held it to the fuse, waiting for the fire to catch. I shoved my cigar in closer, and closer to the fuse. I heard the explosion and felt the ground quake. The train, I could see, was derailed, and my compadres were wrestling the guns away from the federales who really lacked the spirit to put up a fight. I smiled. I went to Salazar, a colonel who led our expedition to congratulate him on our success. When I went to touch him, however, my hand passed right through him. Inside I felt a strange nausea I had never before known. I cried out to him, but he could not hear a word I said. Then I heard a strange voice call to me. Three native men stood twenty paces behind me, and they beckoned for me to join them. They were plainly dressed, wearing traditional cotton shirts which extended below the waist. They spoke English, but with an accent I was unfamiliar with. It certainly was not any Mexican accent I had heretofore heard in any of the places we stopped at. The one who called me came closer to me, and reached to my face, lifting away a veil that I did not know existed before. With it came a realization that I was changed, transformed, and a stranger to a world that was going to color every aspect of my existence. With that, I was brought to Mictlan, the Aztec Underworld. It is also referred to as Tenochtitlan, or Little Anahuac, by some denizens of my current world. Some of its citizens thought it strange that I, a white man, a man who had no trace of indian blood within my veins, should be called upon to serve as scribe, diplomat, poet, storyteller, and chronicler to the Council of Mictlan and its head, Moctezuma, the Terrible Lord. This is how I came to this land. Ambrose Bierce Chronicler of Mictlan ------------------------------------------------------------------- In the beginning there was Ometeotl, the Dual Lord of Creation. It was all. All was It. All was One. With the passage of time, lesser gods appeared, some orderly, some mischievous. This was, as it is now, the way of things. Then there was a Sun in the sky, the First Sun, ruled by Tezcatlipoca, the Smoking Mirror. His time came and went. His Sun fell and his people and world were destroyed. Next, there was Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent, who also created a Sun, the Second Sun, and a world and a people. This too was destroyed. Then, there was Tlaloc, Lord of the Rains, who followed the steps of his predecessors. Fourth, came Chalchiuhtlicue, consort and sister of Tlaloc. She too fell. Finally, there was Nanauatzin, now called Tonatiuh Ollin, the Sun of Movement, who sacrificed himself on the fires at Teotihuacan to bring life to this current age. Through each of these ages, however, there has been Mictlantecuhtli, the gods of death. He was the first to make the journey across the great Tempest, moving beyond the power of the Void to find Mictlan, the Underworld. When he arrived, there was nothing but blackness. Though he had sanctuary and solitude, there was something he missed of Anahuac. His soul stirred for the light of the Sun and his body ached for the love of a woman. Exerting his vast might, Mictlantecuhtli moved beyond Mictlan and forced his way back to Anahuac. He watched the living there, in their villages and temples, in their homes and gardens. He saw families and children, and knew that he wanted to partake in the warmth such collections bring. He found a young man, strong in body and quick in wit, who he would sacrifice to the gods in order for him to live once more. The youth's essence returned to the Creator while Mictlantecuhtli became one with the flesh. He quickly found a woman who was named Mictlacihuatl. She was beautiful and cunning, and stole Mictlantecuhtli's heart. They married and had many children. Yet, Anahuac came to be troubled. An Earth Monster, called Tlaltecuhtli by the people, threatened to destroy the village. The elders counciled that the best course of action was to flee. Mictlantecuhtli had never fled in his existence and knew that he possessed great powers, limited only by his current form. He made a decision. To protect his village, his wife and children, he chose to give up his life so that they might still live. He had learned how precious life was and how much love could mean to a man. His love was so great, that he willingly gave up his life and happiness to protect those he loved. Mictlacihuatl still did not know of Mictlantecuhtli's intentions. As far as she knew, he was only a man. When the Earth Monster appeared, demanding the blood of the women and children of the village, Mictlantecuhtli stood against her. The Earth Monster taunted the puny mortal form that stood before her. She shook the ground and brought out clouds and winds and rain. Mictlantecuhtli stood his ground. Finally, the Earth Monster attacked Mictlantecuhtli directly. Secretly, Mictlacihuatl watched the whole confrontation with horror. She was frightened by her husband's foolish bravado and the hideous appearance of the Earth Monster. The Monster asked Mictlantecuhtli why he did not fear her, for she could kill him instantly. He explained that he was already dead, and had been for as long as he could remember. He went on to explain how he travelled from beyond the realm of Mictlan to Anahuac and took the body of a young man so that he might live. The Monster laughed at Mictlantecuhtli's story, for she felt that only Oblivion existed beyond Death. She explained how she had walked the earth for many ages and had travelled to many different peoples. She told of a vast city and of the Great Death Lord who offered her an Eternity of existence. That was, she explained, the only was to escape Death. With that she struck down Mictlantecuhtli's body with a mighty blow of her razor sharp hand. The body crumpled before Mictlacihuatl's eyes who cried out in fear and horror. The Monster laughed. The woman, too, the Monster decided, must die. Mictlacihuatl felt powerless, felt puny and irrelevant to the universe as the Monster lumbered over her. The creature bared its hideous fangs and attempted to consume Mictlacihuatl. Then there was a brilliant light, and a giant form of a thundercloud who spoke with the booming voice of Mictlantecuhtli. He ordered the Earth Monster to leave Mictlacihuatl alone, and he gave the command in the authority of himself, Mictlantecuhtli, Lord of Mictlan, the God of Death. A struggle ensued, and the Earth Monster was defeated by Mictlantecuhtli. But the God of Death was also gravely injured. Returning once more to Mictlan, he slumbered and healed. When he returned to Anahuac, he found that Mictlacihuatl and his children were gone. He moved all about Anahuac, but could find no trace of them. He fell into despair. His love and life were lost to him. The countless decades passed, and Mictlantecuhtli lingered in his barren underworld. Spirits of many kinds came to visit him. Some proclaimed the dawning of a new era in the underworld. Charon, they reported, had founded a city of power, a city of glory, a city called Stygia. After much thinking, Mictlantecuhtli went to Stygia, and saw many great marvels there. The city had towers and fortifications, a marketplace and an open theater. Arts, crafts, magic and relics were bought and sold, and Mictlantecuhtli wished to be part of this world. Mictlantecuhtli went to Charon, the Great Ferryman, and asked him how such a thing could exist in the vast blackness of the underworld. Charon told him that only by recognizing the immortal, immutable tie to the land of the living could the Restless Dead find a respite from unending solitude. Soon, Mictlantecuhtli learned from the great guilds the secrets of many more Arcanos that he had never known before. He learned to trace his own connection to the Shadowlands as well as those of others. He learned to peer into the future, through the nebulous clouds of uncertainty, and he learned the mighty art of controlling his inner demon. For it was his Shadow that had allowed the Earth monster to come to his village and drive away his wife and children. He knew what to do. He returned to the land of the living, ready to find his family wherever they may be. Yet, he forget how fragile life could be, for the Anahuac he returned to was wholly different. Instead of the ancient craftsmen and builders, farmers and holy men that he left, he found a people who had come from a far off land who had settled in Anahuac and made it their home. These people were called the Toltecs, and though they were strange, Mictlantecuhtli found them fascinating. They fought not as single men, but in armies. The lived not only in villages, but in great cities harboring tens of thousands of people. Their monuments were not simple, natural structures, but stone temples formed out of unwieldy stone. And their gods were mighty. Their leader, a priest-king named Tolpiltzin, had lead them into what many called a golden age. The king, it seemed, knew that ways of crafting reality, the art of magick. And Mictlantecuhtli was truly surprised when Tolpiltzin called out his name when the God of Death came to watch him. Tolpiltzin could see spirits and knew that Mictlantecuhtli was the most powerful of his kind to walk the Valley of Anahuac. Mictlantecuhtli asked if Tolpiltzin feared him. The king said he did not, for death was a natural calling which the Earth Mother expected of everyone. Tolpiltzin also sensed the great loss that still dwelled inside Mictlantecuhtli's heart. When asked, the God of Death told the story of his lost love, Mictlacihuatl. Tolpiltzin showed great concern when Mictlantecuhtli told his story, for he knew the truth of Mictlacihuatl's life. His love, Tolpiltzin claimed, had sold herself to the god of darkness, Tezcatlipoca, who even then plotted to destroy Tolpiltzin and his god, Quetzalcoatl. Mictlantecuhtli asked if his wife still lived. Tolpiltzin said that she still dwelled in Anahuac, but that she did not live as she once had. Tolpiltzin warned Mictlantecuhtli not to seek out his lost love, but the God of Death would not be denied. He used his power to bind many spirits into his service in order to find Mictlacihuatl. They found her. Mictlacihuatl had become as the Earth Monster, powered by the ancient god Tezcatlipoca. Her children also lived in the immortal state of undeath, as generals of a vast horde of humans who constantly harassed the borders of the Toltecs in attempts to bring down Tolpiltzin. Mictlacihuatl awoke from her place of rest and became aware of an ancient presence, that of her dead husband, Mictlantecuhtli. How, he asked, could she become the thing before him? She was infuriated by his question. He, she proclaimed, had mocked her with his false love, a love of a dead man masquerading as one of the living. The children could never truly be alive, for their father was a ghost, a spirit of an inhuman creature. Mictlantecuhtli asked her why she had done this. She told him that she and her children was of the God of Death, and that they were beyond the reach of mortal men. She said that now she shared in his power, basked in his glory, and collected the souls that he claimed due. Mictlantecuhtli was horrified by her new form. She was not the kind and loving woman he had loved, but a tortured beast, just like the one that had torn him from his idyllic life. She attacked him, using powers that he had never before seen. She was faster than and animal, stronger than any giant, and more resilient than the great mountains. She inflicted great harm upon him, pushing him to the very edge of Oblivion. He used his last bits of power to fully manifest himself in the world so that he might, for but a moment, once again feel Mictlacihuatl's touch, even if it was the blow that killed him. He claws came at him, but just inches away, she stopped. She recognized the depths of Mictlantecuhtli's love, the time of his journey and the richness of his suffering. He had come back from death to be with her. She touched him. He was warm and alive for a few seconds. With that, she broke her association with Tezcatlipoca's wishes. She had been transformed. She was the wife of the God of Death, Lord of Mictlan. Her soul belonged to him. Likewise, he was transformed. The flow of her love back into him, severed the centuries long loneliness that had tormented him. He felt the fabric of his spirit body shake and twist, transforming into something different. Something far more powerful. He opened his eyes once more, but now the spirit world he entered was alive with the pulsating blood of the Earth Mother. The spirits that came to him were not the lonely and sad creatures of the underworld, but the vibrant creations of Tonantzin, the Earth Mother. He then flew up into the spirit realm of life, transcending the bonds of death, and embracing his role as the God of Death, for he was now truly a god. Some of Mictlacihuatl's children disagreed with their mother's choice to turn from Tezcatlipoca. Others agreed with her duty to Mictlantecuhtli, but argued that Life must be embraced, not Death. They followed the path established by Quetzalcoatl in the form of Tonalli Ehecatl, the Night Wind. Thus, the great families of the undead were born just as they continue to live to this day. Mictlan stood silent for several more centuries. Tolpiltzin was defeated by a wizard serving Tezcatlipoca, and set off for a distant land in hopes of renewing his power. The Toltecs fell, and chaos reigned. The third son of Mictlacihuatl joined none of the groups that his siblings formed, and instead travelled from place to place, learning the secrets of spirits and souls, of might and magic. When the son returned, he was transformed. He claimed that in the desert he had had a vision from the god of the sun. He said that the sun called for him to sacrifice blood, as had been done for Tezcatlipoca in Tula, so that he might gain greater strength. He also changed his name to honor his new patron, and became Huitzilopotchli. His god taught him the secrets of being a warrior, a predator, and a ruler. His siblings restrained him, until Mictlacihuatl grew tired and fell into torpor, the servants of the vigilant Mictlantecuhtli watching over her resting place. Huitzilopotchli began to foment rebellion against his mother, promising his brothers and sisters that by killing her, they would achieve even greater power. His brothers and sisters, aghast at the new ideas that permeated Huitzilopotchli's mind to think such thoughts rallied against him. In a great battle, Huitzilopotchli's army was believed destroyed along with him. But his pain had only driven him into Torpor like his mother. He slept and dreamt, of his mother and father, of Tonantzin and Huitzilopotchli. Then he heard the voice. The voice was Coatlicue. She was the mother of the earth around him. The dark side of Tonantzin, who did not think that the humans should prosper with ease, but only with sacrifice, strife, and war. If they were to extract life from the earth, they an equal share of life and blood would be taken from them. Tonantzin spoke to one of Huitzilopotchli's sisters, Coyolxauqui, and told her that her brother would soon arise and destroy the kingdoms which they had built. She attempted to rally many of her siblings, but most rejected her call, thinking that she was insane, for they had witnessed Huitzilopotchli's fall. Unafraid, she went to the place where she knew her brother slept, but Coatlicue had prepared him. When she arrived, he was already prepared, and ready to do battle. His power over the sun and the skies, his might over the earth spirits, and his great Serpent Weapon proved too much for Coyolxauqui who he hacked into dozens of pieces. From far away, Mictlantecuhtli watched his children battle, and wept for their demise. Mictlan, he knew, would soon be filled with a new population, and is limits taxed beyond its ability to withstand. Mictlantecuhtli transformed his daughter's body into stone, so that it would not perish at the coming dawn. He infused it with a small portion of his divine power, making it holy. Huitzilopotchli soon came to conquer vast territories. He had found a people, a wandering band of Chichimecs and refined them into a war machine. These Mexica served him well. Coatlicue guided her Changing Breed guardians, the Wyld Runners, to lead the Mexica into Anahuac, to become its finest warriors. Huitzilopotchli shaped them so that they would someday become masters of the Valley. The Mexica rose and fell, as the Spanish invaded Anahuac and made it New Spain. Then Moctezuma died, murdered and hated by all those around him, native and invader alike. He descended into Mictlan, silent and lonely since Mictlantecuhtli's abandonment. They few wandering souls that lived in Mictlan did not know who Moctezuma was, and he did not want to be known. Then came the Rebirth. As the Spanish destroyed all the temples and houses, buildings and monuments of Tenochtitlan, they began to appear in Mictlan, intact and imposing as they had once been. Warriors and servants appeared in the thousands, having perished by European disease and weapons. They turned to Moctezuma to lead them, but he refused. Years went by, and the population continued to soar as tens of thousands of indians died and came to Mictlan. Still, Moctezuma would not lead them. Then, the chieftains of Tlaxcala, Texcoco, and even Tzintzuntzan, home of the great Tarascans, appeared in Mictlan. Still, Moctezuma would not lead. Mictlan stood on the brink of civil war as enemies in life came to be enemies in death. Finally, Mictlantecuhtli came to Mictlan to stop the fighting. The land, he said, was his home, a holy place, and he would not permit warfare there. He went to Moctezuma and asked him why he would not rule. Moctezuma told him of the disaster he had led his people into, and how he did not wish to repeat such an action again. Mictlantecuhtli told Moctezuma his own story, his own despair, and his own transformation. Mictlan, he told him, would need to be strong, for at the fall of the Fifth Sun, when movement stopped, there would be only Death. At that time, he said, the armies of the living and the dead, of spirits and demons, of hope and despair would do Final Battle and the earth would be reborn in the image of the victor. All existence, he said, was only a build up to that moment. The cycles of life and death would continue until then, but the wheel would one day stop, and it was Moctezuma's duty as Lord of Mictlan to make certain that his kingdom nd his people were ready. Thus came the reign of Moctezuma, the Terrible Lord of Mictlan, and the Council of Mictlan. They have made Mictlan strong, its borders safe, and its people content. Mictlan exists in the Far Shore, and only allows the worthy dead to enter its domain. That is how it was. That is how it is. Ambrose Bierce Chronicler of Mictlan