“Look to the sky at the top of the temple, should you make it there, Zalcoatl” - spoke his father methodically.

“Should you feel the rain on your face, then you will know that you have bested the Rain God Tlaloc and have received his blessing.
Then you will know you have ascended to possess his power.”

Zalcoatl shrugged. He was sure that his destiny lay at the top of the pyramid. After all, he was the greatest jaguar hunter in the city, the most agile ball player, the fiercest warrior. Yesterday, he had won the trial of blood, the last tired but joyful challenger kneeling on the sticky red sand over the meat of his dying opponents, and he felt no pity, no regret – just elation at the power he was promised, and the ability to hold back the eclipse for another generation. After all this, what is yet another battle?

“It is time you know what I know,” continued the older man. “Those who ascend find their own way down from the pyramid apex. Most, of course, do not make it to the apex at all. Many still find their faces dry and fates sealed. Take heed of this, my son.”

Zalcoatl frowned. He well remembered the pile of human bone, vast as a field, decorating the sharply sloping chasm at the back of the ancient ziggurat. He and his fellow warriors called it the “White Sea” and often pictured those as the bones of their slain enemies when the Great War of the gods came.

Now the mystery of the bones revealed itself to him. His older brother’s bones were there too, then – he disappeared into the jaw-like entrance last year. The thought was…unpleasant.

“And if I go back?” He asked, hesitating and hating himself for this show of weakness. “Back down through the temple.”

Zalcoatl’s father laughed heartily, shaking his mane of black hair. “There is no way back, my boy. Not after you have walked the way forward. Not after you have clashed wits and will against what crawls and coils in those blackened doorways. It is not of this world – a symbol of the dead past, to be passed over like a poisonous snake in the grass. The Sun above you will be your guide, the symbol of a fertile future.”
His smile momentarily vanished and he leaned forward, eye to eye, still gripping Zalcoatl’s shoulder.

“It is too late now to have doubts, my son. You have stepped forward and been chosen, warrior among warriors, man among men, to prove the strength of our people to the gods. Fail, turn back, and surely the cost in blood to this city will be even higher than the cost of your dishonor. But you know all this!”

He straightened abruptly and clapped Zalcoatl on the shoulder with a thickly muscled forearm.

“You will not fail. After all, you are my son.

Now, say your thanks to the gods and get moving.”

Pushing aside the reed curtain over the door, the older man walked out into the sun, momentarily blinding Zalcoatl with the sharp light that fractured and bounced its way around the small incense-filled stone room.

The young man felt wary, and somehow…tricked. Never before had his faith and strength as a warrior fallen to the weight of expectation. He quickly whispered his request for blessings from the gods of his people, inhaled the sharp, sweet scent of the clouding incense, and parted the reeds, looking out at the gathered throngs of people – his people.

Casting his eye over the jagged, gloomy, and now somehow unfamiliar mass of the ancient iron ziggurat to the north, Zalcoatl picked up his spear and strode out...

Into the sunshine.