EHYEH-ASHER-EHYEH (I AM THAT I AM): An Elena Duran/Corazon Negro
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@directvinternet.com)
Sun, 22 Sep 2002 00:42:34 -0400
Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh (I am that I am) 13.0/34
Julio Cesar divad@prodigy.net.mx
Vi Moreau vmoreau@directvinternet.com
There was a loud noise behind them. Elena could hear pottery smashing.
Corazon Negro's eyes narrowed. Then willfully, as if driven, he plunged
forward, dropped to his knees, and picked up the brilliant green mask. He
darted back with it, away from the altar.
"Let's go. We have what we came for," he said next to Elena. Side by side,
almost running, they were already on their way to the outside air.
Suddenly, Elena was pushed backwards, separating her from the Aztec.
"She is coming with me!" Corazon Negro yelled. "Move out of our way!"
As they tried to continue, something unseen blocked their path. Elena
reached out. This time she could touch it. It was like a soft silent wall of
energy.
Corazon Negro suddenly gave his flashlight to Elena and in both hands he
held the mask.
At any other time of her life, Elena would have been admiring it, for it had
an immense amount of expression and detail. Though there were holes for eyes
and a thin gash for the mouth, all features were deeply contoured and the
gloss of the thing was beautiful in itself. But right now they had other
troubles. The spirits were not going to let them go, especially not with the
sacred mask. They pushed with all their combined strength against the force
that sought to block them, from time to time using their flashlights like
clubs. The sound around them became a high shrill, and Elena thought she
could make out angry voices-no, make that enraged voices. Arms pulled at her
from behind while the barrier blocked them from the front. Elena could see
the mouth of the cave and freedom, but now she wondered if they would ever
get out of there at all, if they were going to be doomed to die, over and
over, in this lonely cave. She felt panic start to rise in her chest and she
stopped struggling, trying to stand as still as possible, closing her eyes
and taking deep breaths to calm herself as she had been trained to do.
Looking sideways, she realized Corazon Negro had stopped pushing and was now
holding the mask to his face, and as he turned to look at Elena, it appeared
brilliant and faintly ghastly in the light. It seemed suspended in the
darkness.
The air in the cave fell silent and still. The spirits were no longer
touching her.
All Elena could hear was Corazon Negro's breathing and then her own. He
began to whisper something in Nahuatl tongue.
"My love?" she asked gently. In the abrupt and welcome stillness, the air of
the cave felt moist and sweetly cool. "My love?" she pressed again, but she
could not get an answer from him.
Corazon Negro stood with the Mask of the Snake over his face, peering ahead
of them, and then, with a surprising gesture, he ordered, "I am Corazon
Negro, the Son of the Wolf, the new Dreamer. Move out of my way!"
Everywhere above them the coarse but beautiful mosaics glittered with their
tiny bits of stone. A swimming sensation overcame Elena, who took several
steps backwards, shaking her head to try to clear it. The mask remained in
Corazon Negro's face as the place was subtly changed.
The cave was full of flaring torches, there was the sound of someone
chanting in a low and repetitive manner, and before Elena in the dimness
stood a figure, wavering as if he were not entirely solid, but rather made
of silk, and left to the mercy of the scant draught from the entrance of the
cave.
She could see his expression clearly, though not define entirely or say what
feature conspired in his young male face to evince what emotion or how. But
she could 'feel' that he was begging for salvation.
"Oh my God!" Elena said as she watched the apparition. They were becoming
real now! It would be an army against them! Its arms were golden brown and
covered with gorgeous stone bracelets. Its face was oval and his eyes dark
and quick-and very much alive.
"Pay no attention, Curi-Rayen," Corazon Negro spoke grabbing her hand.
Elena felt herself falling. An overwhelming sadness and grief swallowed her;
she wanted to lie on the ground; so great and so present was that emotion.
Yet no sooner had she hit the ground-at least she thought she did- Corazon
Negro jerked her upright. Elena felt a strange energy emanating from his
body; a force that invaded her being. At the next moment she saw nothing but
the distant light flickering in the entrance.
The figure was gone, the chanting had stopped, and the grief was broken.
Corazon Negro was pulling her with all his strength. "Come on, my love.
Nothing can stop us now."
Elena felt an awe-inspiring desire to get out of the cave with him, and to
share the rest of her long life with his, to feel again in her soul that
indescribable magic which had enabled her to see the spirits of the place
with her own eye. Boldly, wretchedly, without any further encumbrance, they
left the cave, walked by the waterfall, and, following the path they had
cleared themselves earlier -a path she'd been afraid would have closed
behind them, leaving them to struggle against the jungle again, they finally
reached the bottom of the cliff. They were back in the depth of the jungle.
They ignored the unseen hands that assailed them, the volley of leaves and
the urgent cries of the howler monkeys that had apparently joined in the
assault. The insects came to attack again, their force and strength
seemingly redoubled, and Elena heard the roaring of big cats in the tall
grasses all around them. She tensed, remembering the tiger in the Malaysian
jungle and the damage it had done, but in spite of the sounds, no animals
appeared. A slender banana tree crashed down into their path, and they moved
over it. Elena gasped, realizing the path they had opened up 'was' closing
in front of them, and they found themselves hacking at vegetation that
seemed to be bowing to strike them in the face.
They made remarkable time moving through the hallway of the temple. They
were almost running when they found the remnants of the trail. The spirits
sent more of the banana trees flapping toward them. Voices, animal, human
and inhuman, assailed them from all sides; hands and branches pulled at them
but couldn't stop them. There was a rain of coconuts, which did not strike
them. From time to time small pebbles came at them in small gusts of wind.
But as they got further from the cave, the assault gradually fell away. At
last there was nothing but a soundless howling. Silently, Corazon Negro
clutched Quetzalcohuatl's mask to his chest with one hand and hacked at the
trees with another, never slowing his steady pace.
Neither of them stopped, no matter how bad the ground under them got, no
matter how bad the heat burned, until they reached the Jeep and collapsed
inside of it.
========
The others welcomed them back at the village, all of them happy by their
return.
Elena and Corazon Negro had emptied their canteens when they'd reached the
Jeep, pouring some water over their heads and drinking the rest, and now
they drank water again. Although they'd driven for an hour, Elena's heart
was still pounding. The women of the village brought them fruit and the
cooked flesh of some animal, all of which she devoured.
Duncan was practically hand-feeding her, gently moving her matted hair back
behind her ears, and she could see how curious he was, but he remained
silent and attentive while she struggled to get herself under control.
Finally, when she started to say something, to attempt to put things in some
sort of perspective, Zarach gestured for her to be quiet. The Immortal's
face was flushed. He sat as if his heart too, were hurting him, though Elena
knew better. His cheeks were blazing as he looked at them; his face was wet
with sweat.
He addressed the Aztec, and Elena thought, of course, the Dreamer. He's the
one who should speak.
"What did you see, Corazon Negro?" Zarach asked, "When you looked through
the mask?"
"I saw the Dream. It showed me things that were. things that are, and things
that have not yet come to pass," the Aztec said solemnly. "I saw weeping
men, priests, kings, thousands of souls beautifully dressed, with fine
bracelets, with long robes. They pleaded with me, as they were grieving and
miserable. They let me know how dreadful Lilitu is. The Dream let me know
the death of the world was at hand."
Zarach nodded, his eyes everywhere, moving from side to side, his expression
wild. "Did you see
her?"
Everyone watched intently as Corazon Negro shook his head. Then he opened
the backpack and removed the mask so carefully, as though it were made of
glass. In the daylight Elena perceived how carefully and deeply the features
were carved. The lips were thick and long and spread back as if in a scream.
The eyes ridges gave no surprise to the expression, only a sense of calm.
Everyone looked at the mask. "Look," Corazon Negro said, putting his fingers
through an opening at the top of the forehead, and then pointing out an
opening over each ear. "This is to strap the mask to the face with leather,
most likely."
"And what do you think it means?" Aylon asked.
"This was Quetzalcohuatl's. It was his means of looking at the Dream. He
knew this magic wasn't intended for just anyone, that some magic could be
harmful." Corazon Negro looked at the mask and lifted it. He wanted clearly
to put it over his face again but something stopped him. His pupils danced
wildly. "Quetzalcohuatl led us here, guided us to an ancient artifact
through which I can see the Dream in order to stop Lilitu," he stayed. Then
he looked at them, as he grew a little calm. "We must go now. We need to
find her, and destroy her."
"Let's do it then," Duncan said, rising from his place at Elena's side. "The
sooner, the better."
========
Mexico City
March 29, 2013
Hours later, they arrived in Mexico City once more, where they rented two
limousines. "We need to go to my house in Coyoacan," Corazon Negro announced
to Elena, Zarach, Aylon and Connor, the ones who traveled with him. "In
order to face Lilitu inside the Dream, I must perform an ancient ritual, and
I will need some items from my home."
Elena pressed against him. "The same house where I found you after the
earthquake, when Quetzalcohuatl died?"
"Yes, my love," the Aztec answered. He knew very well Elena wasn't
comfortable returning to that place, even after so many years, and he didn't
blame her. Not after what she had witnessed there. "It won't take long-you
can wait outside for me."
Elena smiled. "Have I ever waited outside for anyone?"
He returned her smile, squeezing her hand, and directed their driver to his
deserted house. The radio in the limousine crackled, and the other driver
asked where they were going. "Tell them to follow," Corazon Negro said at
the chauffer, and they sat back as he looked through the windows at his
beloved city.
After twenty minutes, they arrived. A blue stonewall surrounded the compound
where he'd spent so many happy years. The paint was flaking in places, and
graffiti artists had been there, but the lock on the iron gate was new. That
meant probably that Elena's former husband Gordon was still alive and taking
care of the place. Good.
Elena moved forward and pulled a set of lock picks from a pocket in her
backpack. "Amanda taught me this," she whispered, and with the men blocking
her actions from any passers-by, she worked on the lock while the others got
out of their limo.
"Why are we here?" Myrddin asked, and while Zarach explained, Elena opened
the lock and pushed the gate back, urging the Aztec inside. Smiling at her,
Corazon Negro was the first to enter. Once inside the wall, they found
themselves in a large courtyard surrounded by the house on three sides and
the rest of the wall on the fourth. Their feet crushed the tiny red rocks
that covered a great part of the yard, producing a crunching noise with
their every step. The garden near the back had obviously been loved in
another time, but the flowerbeds today looked withered and sad. In the
middle of the courtyard was a small stoned fountain with an Aztec God design
on it, like an obscene indication of what had once happened inside.
Although the house dated from the Spanish era, the little hall that led to
the front door was colored with strange symbols of a forgotten time. Corazon
Negro remembered the pictograms: they were Aztec, of course-scenes from
codices now buried; pictures of names written in a secret language of hope.
The Aztec walked slowly into the open doorway, past the massive wooden front
door of the house itself, hoping not to be surprised by any squatters, human
or animal, who might have taken up residence in the house. But he paused to
examine the door, astonished by the stark beauty and savagery of the
carvings on it after so many years. It was a beautifully detailed howling
wolf, showing his fangs and looking directly at the person entering. It was
Corazon Negro's totem, so it seemed to salute rather than intimidate him.
Corazon Negro opened the door lightly, as if concerned that the soft click
of the latch could somehow disturb the memories within. He tried to forget
that his former bedroom existed at all. However, certain unpleasantries
could not be delayed, and currently he had no time for personal infirmities,
physical or moral.
The living room carpet seemed unusually old and thick. Corazon Negro feared
he might sink into it and be lost forever; or perhaps it was merely his legs
that threatened to give way with each step. Not since the night of his first
death under the snowstorm more than a thousand years ago could he remember
ever having felt so weak. The others followed him.
The inside of the house was in relatively good order, the furniture covered
with dusty cloths, the glass clean and the surfaces fairly dust-free. As the
Aztec limped across the living room, he channeled his remaining energy away
from the invective, self-recrimination and analysis of his mistakes. He'd
made many over the centuries, the first and one of the worst of which was
considering that Quetzalcohuatl's prophecies were merely myths. The
immensity of the task before him began, not for the first time, to overwhelm
Corazon Negro. He was the new Dreamer, and the Ancient Gathering was
following him. The Aztec felt his resolve crumbling like an earthen work
eroded away over the years by the irresistible force of the ocean. He might
plug a hole or two, or three, but did he posses enough fingers to make any
real difference? Could he, or anyone, hold back the sea for long?
He must, he thought. There was no alternative. He could not let the others
see his weakness. As he walked he felt Elena's warm hand on his shoulder
blades, and he deliberately eased his tense shoulders down. As for the pain
of his memories and his mistakes-Corazon Negro welcomed it. It helped him
focus his thoughts, enabled him to shunt aside the morbid defeatism that
would be his doom, and concentrate again on not repeating past errors.
"Where are we going?" Elena asked him.
He heard the tension in her voice and was glad to be able to reassure her.
They were 'not' going into his bedroom. "To the basement," he answered. "All
that I need is there." He turned to find Duncan staring at the portrait of
Elena on the near wall. The Aztec had painted that picture many years
before, from memory.
"Not exactly a Picasso, is it, Duncan?" Connor said, slapping his cousin on
the back amiably. The MacLeods knew that Elena at one time had been one of
the lovers of the famous artist, and that Picasso had painted her portrait
too.
Duncan shook his head and asked Corazon Negro, "What exactly do you need?"
"Statues. Incense. Relics. Holy items I'm going to need in order to step
into the Dream, in addition, of course, to the mask we retrieved," he said.
"Can't you perform the ritual in here?" Methos questioned, gazing around
him. "It's a nice, peaceful, out of the way place. And by the way, do you
have any beer?"
"I haven't been here in decades, so, no beer," Corazon Negro said, smiling.
"And I can't perform the ritual here. It may seem peaceful to you, but for
me there are too many bad memories."
"Let's get it done, then," Aylon suggested. "We have no time to waste."
Corazon Negro gestured at the MacLeods and Elena to come with him, and said
to the others, "We'll be right back. I don't expect any trouble, but one
never knows."
"We'll wait for you here," Methos said. "Of course, it would be better with
a cold Negra Modelo."