I write this in the final hours of the empire, and of my life. The eagle and the jaguar lie in the flaming wake of the bull. I was there in the beginning and here I am at the end. These are the closing days as foretold by Quetzalcoatl, whose body shines vibrantly through the clouds of death. So writes Coaxoch, last of the jaguar warriors.

    It began on the night of the summer harvest, in the city on the lake; Tenochtitlan. The chieftains and their wives dined in the palace of Moctezuma, mighty ruler of the Aztecs. Moctezuma himself was seated at the head of the table, a rich feast spread before him. Dressed in an elegant array of blues, reds, and yellows, covered in gold trinkets, and crowned with a flowing, feathered headdress, Moctezuma was the visual definition of a king. Upon his table, which was cut from the greatest stone that his stonemasons could find, lay plates of food that could have fed an entire family for a week. I watched from the shadows of the halls as each guest was seated at the great table. From under the hood of the jaguar hide which covered my body, I surveyed each individual, hand tight around my macuahuitl. It was from these shadows that I witness the beginning of the end. The snake slithered from under the clay bowls towards the great emperor. The steely anaconda curled itself in front of Moctezuma and hissed, poised to strike. I was there a moment later, macuahuitl slicing down on the beast’s neck, the obsidian shards flashing in the torchlight. Its head dropped to the floor and from its body came the most beautiful bird I had ever laid eyes on. Its feathers were more extravagant than emperor himself. It stepped from the snake carcass and stretched its wings as far as they would go. And then it died. Its vibrant feathers became soaked in the snake’s blood, turning each delicate color a sinister shade of red. All eyes turned to Moctezuma, who had been quiet during this entire ordeal. He sat quietly, eyes focused on the dead bird, a finger slowly tracing his chin. I remained where I was, my gaze fixated on its crimson body. Then, slowly, Moctezuma stood and gestured for the servants to remove the unsightly mess on the table. He addressed his uneasy guests, but I felt as if he spoke only to me.

    “ Quetzalcoatl has given us a sign,” Waving to the bird carcass. “The dawn is upon us.”

    And with that, he swept from his throne, escorted by his diligent jaguar warriors. The chieftains slowly got up and left, one by one. Each would return to his own village to speak of what had happened at Tenochtitlan. Quickly, tales of the omen would spread across the empire. What the citizens of the empire did not know was that, on the same night that the bird had emerged from the snake on the feasting table of Moctezuma, the sounds of steel boots upon the sandy beach and the strained cry of horses could be heard on the far eastern shores of the empire…

The jungle exploded. Trees rained down from the sky. Animals rushed from the brush as the thunderous sounds of the blast faded into the mountainside. Slowly, the birds found perches among the splintered forest and the ocelots and other wild animals slinked around the edges of the jungle, warily watching the steel men on the beach. In the water sat three enormous vessels, far bigger than anything built by the feathered people on the lake. Rows of strange sticks and black barrels, much like the one that had just fired, lined the sandy shores. The steel men milled about, pitching tents, lighting campfires, and dragging logs and other forest goods into their campsite. Ugly, four-legged beasts with long necks pranced in the water, crying out with horrible sounds.
Undetected by it all, crouched between the jungle ferns and flowers, was Coaxoch, a jaguar warrior. The beams of light breaking through the forest canopy freckled the jaguar hide covering his body. His right hand he gripped his weapon, a macuahuitl, a wooden sword studded with obsidian shards, and in his left hand, his feathered shield. He was still, like a rock. With keen eyes he watched the strangers go about their business. Coaxoch watched as they loaded the black barrels with even blacker rocks, watched as they polished their strange sticks, and covered themselves with their shiny steel clothing. It was midday already and Coaxoch steamed as he knelt in the rainforest. His black locks stuck against his forehead and his beast hide grew heavier as time went on. To an ordinary person, it would be unbearable. But to Coaxoch, a mighty jaguar warrior of Tenochtitlan, it was nothing. He had been trained from birth to become the ultimate warrior. He had fought in countless battles against savage tribes who stood in the way of the great Aztec empire and their leader, Moctezuma. He had learned how to break a man without killing him, for there is no honor in killing. He learned the rituals of the Aztec priests and which gods required which sacrifices. Coaxoch was warrior in body and name.

This time, however, he had not been tasked with the honor of capturing sacrifices or bloodying his macuahuitl in the name of his emperor, but rather with a top secret mission given to him by Moctezuma himself. Ever since the night of the harvest feast, when the god Quetzalcoatl had presented Moctezuma with his grotesque omen, the emperor had been on edge. Even without the feathered priest telling him, the emperor knew that the bird was meant to represent him. What he didn’t know was who, or what, the snake was supposed to be. It had appeared as the sun had risen in the East, so that is where he had looked. He had sent only the best of his royal guard to search for the unseen enemy.

The immovable Coaxoch felt a twinge in his heart at the sight of the steel men and their fire sticks. It was a feeling he had not felt for a long time, not since his very first battle. He could see the power that the strangers had. How they could destroy entire swaths of land at a time and kill with a single blast of their fire-sticks. He listened to them speak in their strange tongue, harsh compared to his native language. Most importantly, he watched the man who sat at the largest campfire, surrounded by other important looking people. He did not wear any steel clothing and in his hands was a dead bird, one that he was slowly, almost absentmindedly,  plucking the feathers from. From his perch, Coaxoch could hear little of what they were saying, but he did manage to make out the man’s name, who was obviously their leader from the tone in which the others spoke to him. Coaxoch waited until the sun had set behind the mountains before finally relieving himself as sentinel over the foreign camp. Slowly and quietly, he melted in the jungle, with only the ocelots and jaguars aware of his departure. And he ran. And ran and ran. Back to the city on the lake, Tenochtitlan, where Moctezuma sat in consul with the high priests in their temples, trying to determine the message that mighty Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent, had sent them. He ran.

After days of endless travel through the endless jungles of the empire, Coaxoch finally reached the capitol. He raced up the steps of Moctezuma’s mighty palace and burst into the throne room. Before anyone else could speak, he knelt, breathless, before his king. Moctezuma waited quietly for his report, face resting on his palm. Coaxoch caught his breath and recounted his adventures. After all that was said, he faced Moctezuma and told, “ Cortéz, Great One. The snake’s name is Cortéz.” And then he collapsed.

“ Great One, please! We must heed the will of Quetzalcoatl immediately!”, the ornamented priest raced to meet his stride. “ More sacrifices are required! We have seen it our visions, the avatar of the Great Quetzalcoatl is upon us!”

Moctezuma continued forward, ignoring the hysterical man. I pushed the priest away from the emperor as they enter his private gardens. He stood among the flowers and ferns, watching the small birds flit from flower to flower. The emperor was tired, his shoulders sagged under his stress. He did not wear his mighty headdress today, or any of his gold jewelry. I had noticed that Moctezuma hadn’t worn any of his royal garments as of late, at least not since he had met with the Snake, Cortéz. Their meeting had been a strange one. Neither could speak the other’s language, but still they managed to communicate somehow. Moctezuma had been urged to go by his high priests, who believed that this strange, yet powerful foreigner was none other that the human embodiment of the mighty serpent, Quetzalcoatl.

“ Coaxoch,” he said, back turned to , “Do you believe that this man, Cortéz, is the feathered serpent?”
I replied, “ I do not know. The priests say he is, so it must be so.”
His eyes followed the path of the hummingbirds among the flowers. “ I do not believe that he is. This man is dangerous. I have seen it in his eyes. When I spoke to him, all he saw was the gold upon my arms. He cannot be trusted.” Moctezuma turned to me. “ The priests say that this man is our salvation, but I will not accept it. My empire will burn before I surrender to a false god.”
He became quiet. Softly, he asked, “ Am I a bad king, Coaxoch?”
I remained silent.

“ I have made my own sacrifices to the gods and they have shown me what they have not shown the others. The Tlaxcala have joined with the false god and they march on Tenochtitlan as we speak. My people rebel against me and my armies fall to disease. The stars no longer shine at night. The end is near and only I can see it.”
Still I said nothing. It was not my place to argue with emperors. Moctezuma still did not face me, but instead turn his head to sky. “ I will remain here.” He whispered, “ It is my place.” And then he spun around to me, almost like he was possessed. “The jaguar rises as night falls. Hear their cries in the darkness as the old world burns.” He eyes glinted red and then it passed. Moctezuma gestured for me to leave, and so I did. I did not understand what had just happened, but even I could feel the ominous implications behind his words. Tenochtitlan, my home from birth, the place I loved and defended, was no longer safe. I no longer belonged.

Night fell upon the empire. Fire reflected upon the lake, the only lights in the darkness. Everything had happened so quickly, it was if it was a dream. They had come as Moctezuma had foretold, Cortéz and the Tlaxcala. They dined in his palace, ate his food, took his gifts. And then they took more. More gold, more slaves, more lives. They ravaged the city, the people helpless to stop them, so devastated by sickness. The steel men pillaged the temples, killed the men, burned the city. They were unstoppable.

I stood in the jungle, weapon and shield in hand, watching my home burn. I had escaped too late, blood dripping down my jaguar hide. Lakewater lapped my feet. The constellations of the gods were clouded from the black smoke of the city. They had abandoned us. Everything had happened as it was foretold. My kind had no place in the world anymore. The sun rose in the east, showering the sky with light, the sunrise heralding the final hours of the Aztecs. The death of an empire. So writes Coaxoch, last of the jaguar warriors.