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Barbara
Matz found more material that Marty wrote for his
“Pyramid of Fire” novella. The piece below picks up where the unfinished novel
left off in the published version (Pyramid
of Fire, A Lost Aztec Codex: Spiritual Ascent at the End of Time (Inner
Traditions, November 2004). Barbara edited it and supplied some comments,
which are numbered and appear as endnotes.
Picking
up from page 59 of Pyramid of Fire (Inner Traditions, 2004):
“How do you read them?” I asked, puzzled.
“Danger at
a distance, trouble from the left. We must pick up the pace.”
We ran through the
The following morning found
us on the dawn washed eastern slopes of the Sierra Madre heading downhill
towards the lush coastal plains. Behind
us the snowcapped volcanic cone of
“The daylight is our ally,”
said Ballcourt Smoke. “We must make the
most of it. The night is dangerous and
favors the Naualli*, especially the second, fifth, and seventh hours after
darkness.”
“While we travel I shall tell
you the story of Nine Dog for he is our greatest foe and you should know all
that is possible about your enemy. I
shall relate how he became such a powerful sorcerer. It is believed he was born of course on the
day 9 Dog, a day very favorable to sorcery.
Nine Dog was not always a sorcerer however. It is said he arose from poor circumstances
and although he was intelligent and crafty, he was also lazy and choose to
become a rag picker. Many years ago
somewhere in the Tuxtla Mountains that spring up from the flood plains to the
southeast, in the deep green shadows of night, arose a temple pyramid dedicated
to Xipe Totec, the flayed god, braziers on its summit glowed sullenly despite a
moon of full sovereignty. Part way up
the steep staircase that mounted the north face of the pyramid sat the youthful
Nine Dog. He was ragged, they say, with
a curiously chiseled face and cold, wicked eyes.
That day, raking among the
gutters of the House of Archives, he had come upon a painted deerskin and
thinking it a contract or such like, pushed it into his sack with other
debris. Appraising his discovery that
night in his hut, he slowly deciphered the symbols on the deerskin. He was a rag picker
remember through choice not stupidity and had some crude knowledge of
glyphs. He did not fail to comprehend
that he now possessed a mystery that potentially was of immense value. According to his interpretation and
understanding, it read as follows:
Beneath the 88th step of the Teocalli* of Xipe, the flayed
god, lies the casket of Powerful Claw, the great magician. If anyone can remove the stone and obtain
possession of the casket and its contents, he shall become as great a sorcerer
as was Powerful Claw himself.
“Powerful Claw was a
legendary wizard of mythic proportions known by all our people. So there upon the eighty-seventh step of the
Teocalli of the flayed god sat Nine Dog gazing sadly upon the eighty-eighth
step. It was nearly four yards long and
weighed about a ton. His imagination
could not soar with the shadow of such a weight upon it. This stone stair became his symbol for the
impossible. Wedged between its upper and
lower companions in the flight of steps, it seemed as immovable as Teocalli itself.
Moreover, up and down the staircase there was a never ceasing parade of
priests and penitents from dawn to dusk and equally heavy traffic from sunset
to sunrise.”
“He peered over the side of
the pyramid. The stones of the retaining
wall were even more massive than the stairs.
Surely some demon had painted this script just for his undoing. Some evil fiend of Mictlan,
the underworld of death and desolation.
Advice? Impossible. He, a
pariah, dare turn for solace to no one, certainly not to the priests or the
mighty who would at once send him to his doom on a charge of premeditated
profanation, just another sacrifice to appease the thirsty gods.”
“No, he must seek out an
advisor from among the outcasts like himself.
But he must be a councilor no less learned or acute than a high priest
or judge, even though he was outside the pale, a reprobate. He must go to a Naualli—a practitioner of
black magic.”
“Now, Nine Dog knew, as did
everyone, that
“As evening began to fall he
came to a decision and, asking a man of the settlement for directions, he came
to the house of a sorcerer. Situated
almost on the water’s verge, the house was built of rough boards covered with
painted protective symbols. Not a sound
escaped from within. He tried peering
through the cracks of the wall, but could see nothing. Finally, gathering his courage, he went to
the door, pulled a skin curtain to one side, and asked permission to
enter. All he could discern was a circle
of glowing embers over which the shadow of a hand hovered for a moment. It thrust a half burned torch into the embers
and from those red ashes sprang a yellow halo of light that mingled with the
moonbeams.”
“Nine Dog
could see the Naualli sitting, painted and fateful, with sullen deadly eyes
staring unseeingly through braids of thick matted hair. He invited him to enter by a grunt and Nine
Dog drew near. In spite of his terror,
he made plain his errand.”
The Naualli heard him in
silence, and then asked for the manuscript.
Having perused it for a time, he drew an obsidian scrying1 mirror
from a skin bag and gazed into its polished surface. At last he spoke. ‘The casket is indeed under the eighty-eighth
step and it rests immediately below it.
A hollow was made in the earth to receive it. It contains all of the magical implements of
the mighty Powerful Claw.’ ‘How can it
be recovered?’ asked Nine Dog. ‘That is
simple enough for one who has the sight,’ said the Naualli, ‘but with what will
you pay me if I recover it for you?’ ‘I
have given that much thought,’ said Nine Dog, ‘and the only way I can pay you
is by haring the contents of the chest with you.’”
“The Naualli
bowed. ‘The chest of Powerful Claw
should easily contain enough for two.
Let us go to the Temple of Xipe.’ He picked up a clay bird whistle and blew
three times sharply. Two young men, not
quite as disheveled as the wizard, appeared almost instantly insinuating
themselves like charcoal shadows in the corners of the room. These were his pupils. The Naualli addressed them peremptorily in a
local tribal dialect, and they glided out of the room as unobtrusively as they
had entered it.”
“The magician then rose and
followed them out, accompanied by Nine Dog.
The next evening they were standing below the great pyramid, but on this
occasion the area seemed lifeless except for the deep crimson glow of the
braziers on the summit. Occasionally
thin wavering flames leaped up like feathered banners suspended on the
breeze. At the foot of
the Teocalli stood one of the magician’s pupils. He pointed upwards to indicate that his
companion stood guard on the summit ready to give warning if anyone descended
while the Naualli was carrying out his operations.”
“The sorcerer and the young
rag picker mounted the staircase side by side eyeing each other aslant and
counting the steps as they went. When
they reached the eighty-eighth step, they halted. The Naualli reached into the darkness at the
side of the staircase touching a concealed spring and the step swung out
silently. Reaching down into the space
where the stair had been, he drew out a curiously wrought chest of some satin
like wood inlaid with small jade masks and silver symbols. Then he swung the stair back into its
position.”
“Leaving the area quickly and
as silently as mist kissing the leaves of a stooping tree, they came to a
clearing. The Naualli stopped and said,
‘We will examine what we have now.’ From
nowhere he produced a torch which burst into yellow flames. He placed it in the fork of a tree. Forthwith, he opened the casket and placed
its contents on the ground. A strange
medley of objects lay before them. Here
was a magic rattle which, if shaken one way summoned spiritual assistance, if
agitated in another way banned all demonic forces. There was a mirror in whose surface one might
see fatal visions, spy out lost objects, or travel through time to days as yet
uncalandered. To one side lay a staff of
power cunningly inlaid with precious materials.
On the other side lay a drumstick with which one could beat out rhythms
that would force multitudes to follow the drummer. There also on the ground were fetish
necklaces of human fingers, a book of glowing colored symbols more ancient than
any known to either Nine Dog or the wizard.
There was more: a cap of
invisibility, phials of liquid sleep and potent draughts, and lastly a book of
spells. Such was the contents of the
chest of Powerful Claw.”
“Suddenly the ground beneath
their feet began to glow with myriad shifting colors and they were surrounded
by a droning chant. Slowly the words
became clear…”
Near the temple on high where the jade tree sings and the flowering
quetzal spreads its roots, stands a graveyard of tobacco stained whispers and
ruptured dreams. Where moribund skies
decompose as ecstatic epiphanies dance above visions of dawn to the tango of
years whose luminous chords resound through obsidian mirrors that obscure not
reflect the then that is now. When the
movement stops, time becomes space, rocks and crystals speak the language of
art, and life unfolds under a shadow of strangled eclipses and mummified
stars. Beneath the deepest umbra cast by
death’s uncharted geometry lays the womb where the great magician is born,
where the wind’s silver bones emerge to proclaim the Great Law. There can only be one, there can only be
one. Master Magician, possessor of the
chest and all it contains, only one can there be. Tezcatlipoca has spoken. Our Lord Smoking Mirror has decided and so it
must be. There can be only one. From this no appeal. Only one can there be. There can only by one.
“With these words the
chanting ceased. Again there was
silence. The Naualli looked at Nine Dog
and said, ‘Come, we shall return to my house to decide what to do.’ When they were once again seated in the house
at the water’s edge, the Naualli spoke once more. ‘These things, oh rag picker, constitute the
most marvelous collection of magical objects I have ever seen,’ he said
ungrudgingly and even enthusiastically.
‘Yet, they can only be of small advantage to one such as you who cannot
appreciate or make proper use of them.
So I ask you, what would you sell them for? I will gladly pay any price for these
treasures. You see I do not attempt to
trick you or belittle their value. But
since there can only be one owner, you must understand that I am qualified to
use these things, you are not.’”
“Nine Dog sat stock-still at
these words, but rage boiled up within him.
The casket was his. He was
thinking swiftly, his evil mind seeking for a proper reply. ‘I will sell the casket and all it contains
for 300 pieces of jade finely carved, the heart of the earth that turns green
in the rain, and 300 quills of pure gold, the tears of the sun,’ naming a price
far beyond what he thought this Naualli could possibly possess or obtain
looking at his unkempt appearance and his dark impoverished house. But to his amazement, the sorcerer went to a gloomy
corner of the room and, taking the lid from an enormous clay jar, he began
removing and counting out quills of pure gold.”
“Bent over, engrossed in the
counting, he did not see Nine Dog lift the heavy staff of power from the
chest. Swiftly and silently he came up
behind the magician and brought the inlaid club down with all his strength on
the nape of the Naualli’s bent neck.
Without a sound, the sorcerer fell face forward
into a cold pile of pink and gray ashes.
Nine Dog grabbed his matted hair and examined his face. The fish-like eyes were fixed. The lines of his face were gray and
inflexible, hard as a sculpted stone.
Picking up the body like a bag of refuse, he carried it outside where he
spied a tethered canoe. Using his sash,
he tied a large, heavy rock to the wizard’s broken neck and lowered the body
into the boat. He paddled some distance
into the fog covered lake, then dropped the Naualli’s
body over the side. Then he returned to
the shore and reentered the hut. Yes, he
would learn, and yes, he would become the Master of Magic, the most potent
practitioner of black sorcery and evil in all the Empire. This was his start. He not only had the casket of Powerful Claw,
but all the hidden wealth of the dead Naualli and he made the most of it. This passed many years ago and now he is our
greatest foe, an enemy to be feared and never taken lightly.”
As he finished telling the
story, Ballcourt Smoke turned onto a narrow path branching off the main trail
to the right. “We are only a few minutes
away from the house of a friend Sharp Thunderbolt,” he said. “We will eat and rest there, learn the latest
news and decide how to proceed. I want
to arrive at Xicultepec where Obsidian Headwall awaits us no later than
tomorrow.”
In about ten minutes, we
reached a clearing, but instead of a house we only found smoldering ruins and
the stench of death. Ballcourt Smoke
signaled for silence, and quickly turned heading back the way we came. Suddenly everything was too quiet. There were no
buzzing insects, no animal or birds calls, not even the sound of the wind. A deep oppression seemed to settle down and
with it a feeling of lethargy. My legs
were heavy. I didn’t want to go on. I looked at Ballcourt Smoke. He was slowing down too. I would have stopped, but in that instant
adrenaline surged through my system. I
revived. I knew with certainty we were
being watched. I motioned to Ballcourt Smoke to keep going. He nodded and we made it back to the main
trail.
“Now do you feel his power?”
whispered Ballcourt Smoke.
“Yes,” I answered. “And I’m sure we are being watched.”
“That may be. They have started to make their move sooner
than I had hoped. If they are watching
us now, it’s by crystal or mirror. If they
were really close, we would still be stuck back there on the path like bugs in
a web. Quickly now, follow me. We must cross water, break the connection,
throw them off our backs. And this trail
is now impossible for us. It only leads
to the land of the dead.”
We stayed on the trail for
another half mile. We had no real chance
to leave it sooner. Back to the right
went Ballcourt Smoke, but there was no path here. The footing was treacherous. It was a very steep incline going down. Another half an hour passed before I heard
faintly the sound of rushing waters.
“We are almost to the
stream,” said Ballcourt Smoke. “When we
reach it, stay in the middle and we will double back the way we came for about
seventy or eighty yards. Be careful. The waters are very swift though not deep,
but the bottom is smooth slippery stone. We leave the stream by climbing the left bank
at a place I know very close to a number of small caves. We can rest there and be safe for awhile.”
By the time we arrived at the
caves, I was exhausted and the very short tropical twilight was upon us. The transition from daylight to darkness took
almost no time. I lay down gratefully
near the entrance of the cave and watched the start brighten until the sky
became luminously brilliant. I listened
to the burning resonance of unremembered worlds embellish the ebony harmony of
antique winds where strange landscapes of tumbled whispers and abandoned echoes
hammer a tin smile to the lacquered edge of some demented shore. I shall wander through the orange shadows and
unstated tensions of predatory dawns where electric visions impale the
turquoise songs of chiseled stars and crystal fish mummer in the garnet ebbing
of a borrowed tide. I will watch the
waters burn on Aztec hills as lambent hummingbirds are sacrificed in the shade
of obsidian rains and luminescent thorns pierce a sky of fractured feathers and
lemon dreams.
There is no place on Mother
Earth as filled with magic as
In the darkest hours before
dawn Ball court Smoke arose and silently moved just outside the cavern’s
entrance. He seemed to be listening
attentively. At a distance I could hear
the whistling of birds. Ball court Smoke
whistled in reply, a strange unintelligible avian language.
“Luck is with us,” he
said. “Friends are on the way.”
“The bird calls?” I asked.
“Yes, the secret language of
the Pochteca.
The merchant traders are spies and soldiers in disguise. But they are trustworthy allies and bitter
enemies of Nine Dog. He kills any of
them he finds in his territory. Pochteca are the lifeblood of the Empire. They go to the farthest most remote, even
legendary lands and beyond. They
organize and guide great caravans of porters who carry the produce of our
cities which they sell and trade—cloth, rabbit hair blankets, embroidered clothes,
flint and obsidian knives, cochineal dye, medicinal herbs, and ingredients for
making scents, and they bring back such luxurious things as translucent green
jade (chalchiuitl), emeralds (quetzalitzili), sea shells, tortoiseshell,
chocolate beans, jaguar and puma skins, amber, parrot, quetzal, and other
exotic bird plumage. On their journeys
they scout out new territories, learn new languages, make maps, and discover
where the strong points and fortified cities lay. They are adventurers, merchants, spies,
warriors and guides. The Pochteca go
first, and then our armies follow. The
conquering armies of the empire guided and informed by the Pochteca. Ah, here they are now,” he said.
Three men dressed as local
tribesmen trotted up and greeted us. The
one who was their spokesman said, “We have come from our camp near Xicultepec,
Obsidian Headwall sent us to guide you to him.
He says Nine Dog’s soldiers and magicians are on the move and many wait
in ambush along the trails, but we have hidden ways that are safe. Come with us now.”
And so the miles and hours
passed and we arrived at the camp of the Pochteca on a hillside that looked
down at the fortified town of
At the encampment, I learned
there were ten Pochteca and a caravan of eighty porters to carry their
goods. Ball court Smoke introduced me to
an aging priest, the venerable Obsidian Headwall who had come to this place to
meet with me, feeling that his temple was under observation and not safe for us
to go to.
“Come my nephew, come walk
with me,” the priest said.
“Gladly,” I replied.
We walked slowly from the
camp away from the town. Obsidian
Headwall spoke.
“So far the gods have been
with you and your troubles have been minor.
This, however, will change. Great
difficulties will soon be upon you.
Confrontation, strife, and death cannot be avoided. Nine Dog is a most
powerful sorcerer indeed and he will find you.
You must move quickly. I am
sending you and Ballcourt Smoke on with the Pochteca caravan. They are well armed, strong fighters and know
all the secret paths. I had hoped to
keep you at my temple at least for awhile in order to teach you certain things,
but, no, it is not possible. Now here is
the best I can do,” he said pulling out another page of the Pyramid of
Fire. Just as Jade Eagle had done, he
pointed to the glyphs and recited:
All things of heaven and earth are created by three forces
without which nothing can be produced, made manifest, or developed.
That is why each of the worlds is not governed by one god but by three,
one masculine,
one feminine,
and one mediator,
one active, one passive, one impartial.
Only Tloque Nahuaque
is one.
Tonacatecutli, Father of Our Sustainment,
and Tonaihuatle, Lady of Our Sustainment,
united by Ometecuhtle, Lord of Duality,
govern all the galaxies.
Centzonhuitznauac, four hundred to the south,
and Centzon Mimixcoa, four hundred to the
north,
reconciled by Tzitzimime, giants descending from above,
govern the Milky Way.
Only Tonatiuh is one, the Sun.
Quetzalcoatl, Plummed Serpent,
Itzpapalotl, Obsidian Butterfly,
reconciled by Tlahuitzcalpantecuhtle, Lord of the Morning,
govern the planet Venus.
Tlaltecuhtle, Lord of the Earth,
and Tlazolteotl, Mother Earth,
reconciled by Coatlicue, dressed with serpents,
govern our planet.
Xochiquetzal, Flourished Plume
Xochipilli,
Flourished Prince,
and their son Centeotl, God of Corn,
govern nature.
Metzli and her sister Coyolxauhqui,
Painted with jingle bells and craters,
Tecciztecatl, Him of the Marine Conch,
govern the Moon.
Mictlantecuhtli, Lord of Death
and Mictecacihuatl, Lady of Death
reconciled by Teoyaomiqui, Lord of the Dead Warrior,
govern the worlds of Hell.
“You will now go on with the
Pochteca to see our enlightened brother, Emerald Serpent, and he will show you
how to read the next page. Perhaps you
may tarry awhile there and he can teach you what I cannot here. But speed and surprise are needed now if you
have any chance of attaining your goal.”
Back with the caravan,
Ballcourt Smoke and I changed clothes dressing like the porters. In this disguise, we moved out single file in
a long line. The game was on and we knew
the road wasn’t easy.
The currents of my life flow
through a phosphorus ocean of ashes and runaway laughter where planets and stars,
like fugitive barrels gone mad, roll down stone steps to bite open the dawn
with teeth of light so that I may clearly see all those roads that lead to a
disaster of crabs on a wounded beach or illuminate that space where umbrellas
of pain pierce cascades of love beneath a landslide of invisible equators and
inedible dreams. My head is a buzzing
hollow, filled with blimps, renegade astrologies, and alphabet seas. In the palms of my hands a secret November
lies buried, an ancient rainbow burns.
Yet, in my heart, no diminished symphonies sing in the pockets of
squeamish winds. No ivory shadows tusk
the Paleolithic schemes, nor do abandoned moons sleep over skeleton rivers.2
CHAPTER FOUR
“Man cannot do when he wars, loves,
reaps. It is the rhythms of the great
gods, the planets, that act over him and make him do. When
man comprehends that by himself he can do nothing, he can learn to serve the
gods; so, he must become conscious of the rhythms of the gods.”
“The calendar that governs the life of man, the Tonalpohualli, is based on the rights of the planets that turn closest to the earth: Paynal, Mercury; Quetzalcoatl, Venus; and Huitzilopochtli, Mars.”
[Note:
each chapter was to begin with an epigram from the Pyramid of Fire codex,
so there is a suggestion as to what each of the unwritten chapters was to
cover—JMJ.]
1. Scrying
is a method for prophesying and seeing distant times and places.
2. This paragraph is from the
poem “The Currents of My Life.”
* It is unclear why the names
Teocalli and Naualli have
asterisks.
Copyright. All rights Reserved.
2004.