Cuauhtémoc: Descending Eagle

By D L Davies

Davies excels in three areas: his vivid descriptions of jungle and village life; his characterizations, especially of secondary characters such as Cuauhtemoc's friends and mentors; and his natural-sounding dialogue, perhaps the most difficult task for an aspiring author...an otherwise impressive first novel.

-BlueInk Review

This stor

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bookside Press
• Release date: Sep 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781990695940

D L Davies

D L Davies is 3/4 Caucasian;1/4 American Indian, age 81 and holding; have quite a good memory; He actually remembers being inside his mother's womb as well as birth; not as a full-length movie but as a series of color snap-shots. Have always loved books; long before He could read. He loves to look at books and make-up stories to go along with the pictures. Once loved outdoors but the aging process has reduced that considerably. Have at least a dozen more stories in his head. Only time will tell if he gets them all told.

Book preview

Chapter 1

In the beginning . . . all he knew was the beating of his mother’s heart and the rushing sound of blood as it raced through her veins. His mind was too primitive for thought, only for recall, but if he had been able to think, he would have believed he always existed here and always would. This all changed the day he decided to make a break for it.

His mother, Natomis, was a tall, slender woman in her early twenties; slender, that is, when she wasn’t in the final stages of pregnancy. She was halfway across the village, on her way to her hut, when the first contraction hit: she screamed in agony. There are few secrets in the world more poorly kept than a woman’s pregnancy as her stomach proceeds her by a good half-step during her final days. This, the villagers knew, and her cry of distress put everyone into instant motion. At first they tried to get her into her hut where she would be out of the sun but it quickly became obvious the time of birth was here and now and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. Someone grabbed nearby kneeling pads and laid them out on the bare ground for her. Yet others helped her onto the pads. Her father, Ktalek, (meaning ‘healer’ in the old tongue) was quite old and as such had delivered many newborns into the world; he heard Natomis’ scream and instantly understood what was happening. He grabbed the goatskin sack which held his medical supplies, such as they were, and exited his hut on the run. The village was not large and it only took him a few steps to get to his daughter. Years of experience showed him he’d better hurry or Natomis would have the baby without his help: he moved faster.

High overhead a great eagle also heard the cry of pain. To the raptor it sounded like an animal in distress and that could at times turn into an easy meal, for her own chicks were growing in the nest, and were always hungry. She flapped her great wings and swung about for yet another look. As she beat at the air the fourth primary feather in her left wing fell free as it had been threatening to do for some days now. Once loose of its confines it began its long spiraling path to the ground far below.

In the village; things were starting to get interesting. Ktalek came on the run, dropped to one knee to put a stick carved out of softwood between his daughter’s teeth. Even in her agonies she recognized her father and her mind calmed for she – and the villagers as a whole – trusted the healer as no other. Ktalek urged her to take the stick, which she promptly did. Not only did it give her something to bite on, it kept her from lacerating her mouth, for in her suffering she was only dimly aware of anything else.

As Ktalek prepared to receive the newborn he was bemused to see the top of the infant’s head had already breached his mother’s body: this was one child that could not wait to get out into the world and make of it what he could. In no more than a thumb of the sun (about 15 minutes,) the tiny human had finished his exit and lay with his head in his grandfather’s hands; as he lay there, still covered with his mother’s blood, he looked up into his grandfather’s face and made eye contact. This did surprise Ktalek. He had been the village healer longer than anyone alive could remember and as such had delivered a great many babies and in all of that time no infant had ever done anything like this. It was astonishing to the old man but not entirely unexpected for the great Mayan calendar told him a child would be born who would change the world as people knew it. Or at least that was his interpretation of things.

The great golden eagle was on her final loop. Looking down with the exquisite eyesight eagles are known for, she could easily see the newborn lying helpless, an easy prey, but the adults centered about it far too closely for her to have any chance at all. She gave vent to her wild cry. K-e-e-e-r, k-e-e-e-r and in defeat she began beating the air with powerful wing strokes and flew back up into the sky to seek some other meal for her growing chicks. Even as she uttered her primitive cry the feather she lost came to rest, point first, in the middle of the newborn’s chest. He gave a tiny flinch, looked away from his grandfather’s face in search of the strange cry and then, moving his left hand in small jerks he took the feather by the quill end, only barely holding it between first finger and thumb. He yawned a mighty yawn; mighty for a babe only a few heartbeats old. He closed his eyes and went to sleep for being born is hard work for one so young: his grandfather had yet to sever the umbilical that kept him tied to his mother’s blood. Ktalek, his mind once more on the job, quickly did what was needed and soon his new grandson was in his hands, free of the tie that had bound him to his mother all the days of his life. Ktalek lifted the tiny body towards the sun, as in offering, and then he turned to the villagers who gathered around, watching, and said; This child shall be called Cuauhtémoc; which in the old tongue means ‘descending eagle.’

Cuauhtémoc was born into a Mayan village high upon the side of a mountain that formed one of the many backbones of a land that would some day far in the future be called South America. When the weather was clear and when one stood exactly so, the one could see the faint curve of the great waters to the east, or as the people thought of it, ‘where Inti first shows his face.’

Inti was their name for the sun. Many people believed Inti was in fact a fiery god. Yet others insisted the sun was only a great, hot mass their world circled endlessly and

Great Inti had created this ball of fire. This was a debate that was destined to be talked about for many generations yet to come; as it had been for countless generations in the past.

The village had not always been of the Mayan empire. Some hundred years earlier the village was Incan, but the ebb and flow of national borders are not always fixed by natural boundaries, and as the Mayan empire grew larger, the Incan became smaller. This change meant very little to the people who lived upon the land. A different ruler, a different language, but the rules of both countries were very similar; simply because the land was the same in either case and it is the land that shapes the destinies of men and not the other way around.

Cuauhtémoc was unique in many ways. For one, he learned to speak before he could walk: one was centered in speech; the second was attuned to the development of his muscles. For another; he toilet-trained himself early on: rather than suffer the discomforts of soggy or messy clumps of moss next to his skin, he would tell his mother he had to go, and she would help him do what was needed; this latter pleased both.

He grew as all small children do. By the time he was two he knew every nook and cranny of the village where he lived and knew everyone in the village by name. This was not too difficult as the village was not overly large. None the less it was evident that the child was exceedingly intelligent. This did not surprise Ktalek at all; he had planned it that way. Earlier searches of the great Mayan calendar by his daughter convinced him that a special child would be born, a child that would be destined to change the fate of their world, for the calendar also foretold of the coming of strangers from ‘where Inti first shows his face;’ and he believed – for what ever reasoning he possessed –it would be his grandson who would greet these strangers.

Ktalek was a master of herbs. He knew better than any man alive just which plant was useful for what purpose. There was one plant that grew not far away which made an exceedingly bitter brew but the drinking thereof had great healing properties. From the moment Natomis knew she was pregnant he made sure she drank several servings of this vile-tasting brew daily; a thing she endured - but only because her father told her to. When her young babe was born, Ktalek no longer made her drink it which made the birth a double blessing, and from the day of his birth, Ktalek made sure Cuauhtémoc drank a small sip every day. Whether or not the brew actually worked was not important; what did matter to the old healer were the results.

By the time Cuauhtémoc was three he was a permanent part of his grandfather’s shadow, following the old man everywhere, as grandsons have done for countless ages. Even at such an early age he showed a focus of interest that was highly unusual and before long he would help his grandfather by handing him needed items as he went about his duties, patching up the wounded and easing the sufferings of the sick.

The great jungles surrounding the village were rife with an incredible variety of life, from tiny insects, to the great cats that preyed upon those unfortunate enough to cross their paths. Rains came and went. When it rained, people stayed closer to the village. Even though the rains were very warm it made it difficult to see and hear the jungle noises, and what one did not hear, could easily be fatal. Cuauhtémoc’s interest knew no limits; it was by watching and listening and asking countless questions of elders that children learn of the world they live in. He studied the world around him without ever thinking of it as studying. To him, it was simply the focus of an enquiring mind that left him eaten alive with curiosity, from the top of his head right down to the soles of his feet.

Two special events took place in his third year. The first; his baby sister Xochitl was born. This event took a great part of his time. As his mother grew larger, it was left to him to run and fetch the many small items she needed on a daily basis, and he got to see from the standpoint of an observer, that which he had gone through only a few years earlier. After his sister was born he spent countless hours watching her with rapt interest for the young are often preoccupied with other children and especially children younger than themselves: perhaps it makes them feel so much older and more mature.

Even more important, from his perspective, was the discovery of writing. He understood very early in his life that certain sounds had meaning. Speaking one phrase would get him something to eat; yet another set of words would satisfy his thirst. But it was not until he was almost four that he discovered there was a way of making these words more permanent by putting them on dried and scraped animal skins, among other things, inking the thoughts into small boxes. This bit of knowledge came to him from his grandfather, as so many interesting things often did, and the old man had many stacks of such writings placed about his hut. Not actually hidden, but most definitely out of the way of prying eyes. A challenge! Cuauhtémoc took it upon himself to carefully watch his grandfather as he went about his business. Whenever he sensed he would have a short time, unobserved, he would slip into the healer’s hut and study the markings, page by page, always meticulously putting everything back exactly as he found it. In time; he had studied each and every document that his grandfather had. True, he did not know the meaning of any of the small boxes, but he remembered them all. He knew with the faith of the very young that someday he would understand what these symbols meant and then he would know the words written down.

The birdmen would come from time to time bringing messages from afar and carrying off yet other letters. The communications were, for the most part, from the seat of government where the Emperor lived. These exchanges usually concerned how many village men would be required, when and for how long, for while the Mayan throne did not have taxes in the usual sense of the word; they did expect men from the outlaying villages to send workers to help build the roads and buildings that made the Mayan cities what they were. These men were never paid for this service nor did anyone expect pay; it was considered the people’s way of thanking Inti for giving them life, and for all the bounties that their world provided.

Xymatoc was the name of the birdman who serviced their section of land. For the very young, Xymatoc was a scary creature, for no other living human could put on wings and fly off through the heavens, but Cuauhtémoc was attracted, rather than frightened of the birdman. By the time he was six, he would walk up to the birdman whenever he got a chance and ask him questions about flying. This did not happen as often as the lad would have liked because his grandfather was dead-set against his grandson showing any interest at all in flying. No; his grandson would grow up to be the greatest healer to ever live and that was the end of it.

When Cuauhtémoc was seven his father walked off into the jungle as he often did; but this time he did not return. His father was a hunter and as such helped keep the village in fresh meat. He normally hunted with at least one or two more men for the great jungle was a dangerous place to be but this time his usual hunting companions were not available to go with him. Rather than face hunger he took up his bow and arrows and stone knife and went off alone; it was the last time anyone saw him. They never found his remains; never saw what was left of his clothing, his weapons or anything else that could be tied to him. It was as if he stepped into a hole somewhere and instantly vanished. This was very possible for there were many pleats and folds in the jungle; not to mention the chance of meeting up with the greatest carnivore the jungle held: the great spotted cat.

Not long after this a man, a stranger to them all, walked out of the jungle holding his hand in a way that showed he was injured. Ktalek was called and with the healer came Cuauhtémoc. The man was from one of the surrounding villages. While out cutting cane a sharp shard got thrust up under a fingernail; a jagged edge showed and with a face twisted with pain the man pleaded with Ktalek to cut his finger off so the pain might stop. Rather than leave the man without a finger, Ktalek turned to his grandson and sent him scampering off to select a list of powders and ground leaves from the healer’s stores, for by now, the child knew his grandfather’s supplies as well as the old man did. While his grandson was about his errand, Ktalek sat the injured man down and took some hot water from one of the nearby pots which were perpetually filled with water for cooking and for other purposes. When Cuauhtémoc returned, his grandfather took part of the items and put them into the ceramic cup he held and gave it to the stranger to drink. While the drugs were taking effect, Ktalek made up yet another cup of brew; this he had the man stick his injured finger in. At first it seemed to intensify the man’s pain but soon the combination of drugs took over and the man’s face became relaxed, even cheerful. Once the man could no longer feel the pain in his finger, or even knew he had a finger, Ktalek carefully notched the nail from where it grows out of the finger, clear down to the end. Once that was done he carefully eased the sliver out and tossed it into a nearby fire. To finish the operation up the healer wrapped the finger in moss, for mosses have a natural antiseptic within them, and anything wrapped therein is guaranteed not to fester.

As he healed; Natomis took care of him. It turned out he had recently lost his wife in childbirth and he had no other children. It had not been long since she lost her husband but it was not considered normal for two healthy adults not to be attached to someone of the opposite sex; before long the connection became permanent.

Cuauhtémoc’s new father was a ‘caner’ by trade, which is, he made things out of canes and other kinds of vines and grasses that grew everywhere. This was a very welcome trade in the village as they had no one who specialized in such things. It turned out he was very good at what he did and soon his wares started appearing everywhere. Khardon, Cuauhtémoc’s new father, soon set about teaching his new son everything he knew about twisting canes and grasses into chairs and baskets and other useful items. This did not set well with Ktalek for the old man was adamant his grandson was going to become a healer.

Cuauhtémoc ignored the bitter arguments that were beginning to arise between the two men as to what his future held in store. One day as tempers flared the child stepped between the two men and all but pushed them apart. I shall not grow up to be a caner, neither shall I grow up to be a healer, he announced with absolute conviction; I shall grow up to be a birdman. The great eagle has called me by name and when she bids me leave I shall obey. Then he turned his back on both of them and walked away.

Regardless of what a man’s other profession might be; everyone was a farmer. Farming in such a time and area was simply done. The farmer would clear a fresh part of the jungle every few years. Once freed of natural growth the farmer would walk along with a long, sharpened stick and every step or so he would use the stick to poke a hole in the ground. Another person, usually his wife or an older child, would follow with a woven sack filled with kernels of dried corn; they would drop a few kernels into the hole, cover it up and then move to the next hole.

This basic act started anew a cycle that existed since the foundation of the Earth: the birds and animals of the jungle that did not eat meat; ate vegetation. Being animals, they could not see why they should not be able to eat the farmer’s food as well as their own. No sooner had the corn started to grow than a kind of warfare would break out. Birds, especially the great ravens, would try to slip in for a few bites of succulents; this the farmers resented fully. It was therefore the duty of small boys everywhere to keep this from happening. All during growing seasons, Cuauhtémoc and other boys would range throughout their respective fields, a small pouch of rocks at their sides. Any predation by the forest creatures brought about shrill cries and thrown rocks: all of the boys became quite adept with the rocks but where the other boys tended to toss their victims aside, Cuauhtémoc would spend hours staring at the deceased, studying how the feathers overlapped and how the different wings were sculpted to catch the air as they flew. Once the dead creature became too smelly even for a small boy he would place it on one anthill or another. After time had passed, and providing that some eater of such did not happened by, he would have a complete skeleton to study further. This activity did not entirely displease Ktalek as he felt sure the boy’s fascination with the internal workings of the creatures around him would in time spread outward into the study of humans but Cuauhtémoc’s mind and heart were centered on flight; anything and everything else fell far behind this goal.

Like small boys everywhere he mimicked the sounds of the creatures around him. He could call the ravens with his harsh imitations and could fool even the canniest parrots and macaws that flew by daily. He could even make a very credible imitation of the great jungle cats that sounded outside the village at nights. His sounds, while quite accurate, were beyond his vocal range; sounding more like what a young cub might make.

Even more than all of these, he loved the sound of the great eagles that flew overhead, for they were the first sounds outside of his mother’s belly he had ever heard; and he never forgot the sounds or the reasons for them. By the time he was nine he could make the eagle’s cry so accurately that the birds would often veer in their flights to pass overhead. Their cries would mingle with his own until it seemed to the people watching that the child was actually talking with the great raptors. This could, at times, produce round-eyed expressions of wonder.

Cuauhtémoc was been born fairly late in the spring. Had the Maya people known of the northern hemisphere and the people thereof they would have realized the date was November 27. It was in the spring of his soon-to-be tenth birthday when the eagles came for him. It started out like any other day. The air was clear and pure, the sky incredibly blue. Birds flittered from tree to tree filling the air with their noisy chatter and the monkeys and lemurs moved about seeking both food and safety from predators. A great golden eagle soared overhead and was soon joined by a second. By the time a third eagle joined in, all work in the village came to a stop for by now everyone knew of Cuauhtémoc’s statement that the eagles would tell him when it was time to go. Three days passed slowly and each day more eagles soared overhead.

On the third day Xymatoc arrived with the first batch of messages of spring. By now there were eight to ten of the great birds circling at any time with yet others perched in nearby trees. Ktalek looked upon the scene with fear in his heart for he could not deny the evidence of his eyes. He remembered the day his grandson had come into the world and how he had taken the babe, just taken from his mother’s belly, and held him up toward the sun and named him . . . and now his prophesies seemed to be coming true . . . but not in the way he had intended: he was not a happy man.

Xymatoc was not happy either; but for an entirely different reason. There comes a time in every birdman’s life when he must lay down his wings. This has nothing to do with the birdman’s wishes or desires. It is a simple fact of life that young boys must grow up. In so doing they put on weight, and no matter how carefully a birdman might control his appetite and no matter how much he may starve himself he eventually reaches the day when his wings will no longer lift his weight high enough in the uplifts to clear the tree tops on the higher ridges. Today was the day when he knew his time had come. He arrived in Cuauhtémoc’s village with a heavy heart. There