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Category: Suspense/Thriller/Humor
Description: Montezuma returns just in time to prevent the end of the world as predicted by the Mayan calendar? As he said, "Bean there, done that?" Yes, the world as we know it will end on December 21st, 2012, just like the Mayan calendar predicted. No, it won't be a result of nuclear war or a pandemic of some strange avian flu. The end of the planet won't be caused by SUVs pouring exhaust into the air, aerosol cans or non-recyclable grocery bags. No space aliens are coming to eat us and the planet isn't going to reverse its magnetic fields and flip over in space like a big, blue flapjack. We all laughed at the cow flatulence folks, at the very idea of cow farts destroying the world, but we completely underestimated the goats? Nobody's laughing anymore.
eBook Publisher: Solstice Publishing/Solstice Publishing,
eBookwise Release Date: January 2012

Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [505 KB]
Words: 112499
Reading time: 321-449 min.

Chapter 1

King Montezuma II, eighth son of the great Axaya'cl, opened one bloodshot eye a crack the breadth of a butterfly wing and stared at the grisly row of decapitated heads perched on a table beside his throne. Each head was painted with a clownish face, and big handlebar mustaches were smeared across each upper lip with ash. My crazy nephew is always joking around, he thought. He vaguely remembered last night's party, the women, the pulque, the human sacrifices.

Montezuma pushed himself to his feet and straightened out his tunic. He righted his headdress of quetzal feathers, climbed the three steps up to his throne and dropped into the plush, feathered seat. A loud farting noise filled the room. He rose again, inspected the seat of his throne, and found a deflated sheep's bladder perforated with tiny holes. Montezuma shook his head. Yes, Cuauhtemoc. Was there no end to his jesting?

As the Aztec King settled back, he heard the purposeful, yet labored pace of a runner's gait approaching the great hall. The slap of the man's feet across the stone floor grew louder with each second and stung his ears like wasps. The messenger, filthy, panting and covered in sweat, burst into the entrance to the great hall and lurched toward Montezuma. The man's shoulders slumped with exhaustion, as he looked up at the king with wide, terror-filled eyes. The king's personal guard moved to intercept the messenger who murmured something to him.

Montezuma watched as, mimicking the terror of the runner, the guard paled and trembled. "A messenger from the coast, my king, from Cozumel."

Montezuma winced at the sunlight that splashed through the doorway and danced off his necklace of precious stones and the large abalone disk at the center that rested on his tattooed chest. Prisms of color reflected back at him from the looking glass that hung on the wall of the temple, a present from the Spanish King. He motioned to the runner to come closer.

"Yaab k'as uinik, maak k'uch," panted the kneeling messenger. "The bad men arrive," he choked out. "I saw many ships approach from my lookout at the temple to Xcel. I rowed my canoe across to Tulum, ran through the jungle to Chiche'n Itza' and made my way here to Zo'calo."

"Cortes has returned." Montezuma sighed, found his silver chalice on the table by the heads and lifted it to his lips. Not a drop of the amber nectar flowed into his mouth. He frowned into the empty vessel.

"Where was he sighted?" Montezuma asked.

"As I reported my king, just off the coast of Cozumel. Many ships."

"Where?" Montezuma wrinkled his brow and leaned forward.

"Cozumel," repeated the messenger, "land of the swallows, temple of the fertility goddess ... you were there two cycles of the moon ago. You slept in the King's Temple ..."

Montezuma stared at the man, blinking.

"You took the woman Acaxochita to your bed ... big nose, even bigger ..."

Montezuma cupped his palms far out in front of his chest. "Ah." He smiled. "Cozumel, I remember now. How is she?"