rivers and lakes, who poured sweet water down her jade-green skirt for drinking and baptism. And these were just the beginning. More and more divinities were born, from gods of corn and maguey to deities of stone and stars and death itself. The Divine Mother and the Protector gathered them up and called their home Tamoanchan, place of misty sky. There, above the newly formed earth, the divine beings learned their destinies.
In time, the young gods began their work. With loving hands, they transformed the insatiable and broken Cipactli into the nourishing and verdant Mecihtli, Earth Goddess and source of fertility. Upon her ample flesh they formed mountains and streams, grew trees and plains, shaped beasts and birds to gladden the eye and heart. They readied the world for the arrival of human beings, the creatures whose praise and sacrifice would keep the wheels of time forever turning.
The Heavens and the Underworld
As the younger gods prepared the earth for the arrival of humanity, Feathered Serpent and Heart of Sky began to arrange the universe to sustain the fledgling world. Upon the boughs of the World Trees they set themselves to building, layering heaven in swaths of holy energy. The levels numbered thirteen, reflecting the perfection of the sacred calendar. The first level was set aside for the moon, which the brothers agreed would illuminate the night. Above that was the heaven of stars, thousands of glittering gems that would bring joy to wandering souls. But the brightest of lights would sail the sky in a third heaven beyond these astral jewels: a brilliant sun whose creation would be the brothers’ crowning accomplishment.
Feathered Serpent, wanting to be close to his handiwork, claimed the fourth heaven for himself. He set comets and shooting stars over his head in the fifth level to separate him from the somber sixth space of deepest green where his chaotic brother chose to whirl blackly.
The seventh layer was blazingly blue, the daytime sky we see when the sun arcs from horizon to horizon. Above it, Heart of Sky set the heaven of storms, a violent region of wind and lightning and thunder like the clash of enormous obsidian blades.
The remaining levels were set aside for the gods. After the dazzling heavens of white, yellow, and red, the brothers set Tamoanchan in the twelfth heaven at the celestial summit, a paradise which earthly words could never do justice. Thus were our Divine Mother and the Protector forever enthroned on high in an awesome metropolis built by divine hands, towering ziggurats, and broad avenues that cast a pale shadow in the minds of men: Teotihuacan, city of the gods.
Beyond all lay the thirteenth heaven: Omeyocan, Place of Duality, abode of our beloved grandparents. Deep in its inscrutable heart stood Tonacacuahuitl, the Mother Tree, where the souls of human beings began to bud, nourished like babes at the breast. There also, aflame with energy from every holy sacrifice, the Lord of Time watched the wheels of the cosmos turn and turn and turn.
These labors complete, Feathered Serpent and Heart of Sky descended to the sea-ringed world, which sat at the heart of the vast cosmic sea, the canopy of heaven spreading above it. They divided the world into four parts—North, South, East, and West—with the World Tree at the intersection of a vast cross, an axis for the universe.
“Now,” said Heart of Sky, “life has a home, with caretakers to sustain it. Likewise, my brother, must we make a realm for death.” Just as the Lord of Time grows old, dies, and is renewed, so the earth must grow cold and fallow before rebirth. And humans must feel mortality’s sting. Their souls must be cycled through the cosmic wheels. Come, let us fashion an underworld, layered like the heavens, to purge their souls upon death and return them to their source.”
But Feathered Serpent objected. “Not all souls should face the same fate, my brother. What of those who willingly give their lives to keep the wheels turning? Or children dead before their lives have truly begun? Exceptions must be made.”
They argued for a time, and finally Heart of Sky strode away into the North, where he descended into Cipactli’s interior, split into enormous caverns by the roots of the World Trees. There he unfolded himself into two more beings: Newborn Lightning and Sudden Lightning, also called Blue and Red Tezcatlipoca.
“We three are as one,” he said to them. “Together we will delve deep into the bowels of this creature, heedless of its pain, and fashion a scourging path for the human soul. Nine levels will contain the Realm of the Dead. First, a roiling river, swift and deep and broad. Alone no man or woman will ford its rushing waters, a reminder of their inherent weakness. Instead, a companion will they need, an animal faithful and true. Yes, families will bury a dog with their dead, and upon its back will be the crossing.
“Below we will erect mighty mountains that move and clash, grinding stone to sand. Here the dead will learn they cannot dawdle: speed is of the essence in death as well as life. Next they descend into a level of razor-sharp obsidian that begins the work of shearing the flesh away. Another region of biting winds that flail with frigid cruelty continues the task, until they become so light that the swirling winds of the fifth level whip their forms about like ragged banners.
“Deeper still we will set a narrow path along which the dead must travel while pierced by thousands of arrows and darts till they emerge at the seventh level, where jaguars will at last eat their hearts, freeing the core of their soul. Beyond this we will carve a vast basin to fill with the blackest, coldest water in the cosmos. Traversing that lake, the human soul will have every memory, every shred of physical existence, stripped away.
“Finally, at the heart of the Realm of the Dead, we will raise a mighty palace, carved from the very bones of the earth. Here those souls will stand before a puissant king and queen, rulers of this black domain. If truly shorn of the flesh, they will be admitted into oblivion and, should such be the will of Ometeotl, possible rebirth.”
So Heart of Sky declared, and with his sons he went to work. When the Underworld had been wrought to suit his purposes, he set a dark lord over each layer to oversee its function. Then he brought down from the twelfth heaven Mictecacihuatl and Mictlantecuhtli, the goddess and god of death, and placed them on their thrones there at the very nadir of the universe.
“Behold your realm. Rule it wisely and well. Fill it with such terrors as you deem fit. Make of it a place of fear. Only when humans fear death will they value life. And fear will help strip away their flesh on their journey here, till naught but bones and soul remains. Let none but the dead enter. None. Not even my brother.”
Upon the sea-ringed world, Feathered Serpent busied himself with death as well. Seeing the entrance to the Underworld off in the North, he fashioned paradises in the other three directions. In the East he set Tonatiuhchan, the House of the Sun, misty land of flowers and birds of bright plumage. This would be the destination of men who gave their lives, whether in sacrifice or upon the battlefield, to keep the wheels of the cosmos in motion. Each morning, transformed into butterflies and hummingbirds and other precious winged things, these souls would accompany the sun as it ascended to its zenith, returning to enjoy the cool beauty of their eternal home. Every four years they would fly again to the sea-ringed world, to sip from its blooms and sing divine songs to gladden the hearts of the living.
In the West, Feathered Serpent established Cihuatlampa, the Realm of Noble Women, an eternal resting place for mothers who died during childbirth. Transformed into fearsome warriors for having lost their lives in the most important battle of human existence, these women would accompany the sun each afternoon as it slid down the western sky. Feathered Serpent wanted to allow the fierce mothers earthly visits like he would male warriors, but he understood that their longing for the children they lost would make them dangerous. Their trips to the sea-ringed world would only take place once every fifty-two years.
In the South, the creator god wrought a verdant Tlalocan, Kingdom of
