Quetzalcoatl: Chapter 1

Ragnar Eriksson gazed out over the splendor of Coatlcalli as the sun cast its last dying rays over the city.  Long had it been (years, in fact) since he had overseen the finishing touches on the odd blend of Norse and Aztec cultures.  Long had it been since the last soul-stealing mirror had been thrown into the ocean, long had it been since Ragnar had convinced the priests that the sun did not, in fact, require human blood to rise each day, long had it been since his last crewman, Olaf the Bold, had died of the virulent jungle diseases that only the natives and Ragnar seemed to be immune to.  1

And yet, he still could not understand the ways of these people.  Why did they wail at the setting of the sun?  Why were they unafraid to gaze upon their own reflections?  And why, by all the warriors of Valhalla, did they worship him?  2

Ragnar sighed and turned from the stone window, shaking his head as if to rid himself of these mysterious questions.  This new world was so different from his homeland, so harsh, cruel, and violent.  Sure, his own Scandinavia was bitterly cold and full of wolves, but wolves could be fought, cold chased away by flame and furs.  This new land was stiflingly hot, the air holding enough moisture to drown a man, and besides the jaguars and javelinas, none of the jungle threats could be fought in honorable combat.  Death-bearing mosquitos could be warded off with neither Viking steel nor Aztec obsidian.  Out in those dense jungles, away from the islands of safety provided by the great stone cities, even the slightest scratch meant death by a thousand different ways- all of them hideous.3

Even in the relative safety of the houses and castles, infants and toddlers were almost daily dropped by the myriad scorpions, spiders, and snakes that were all but impossible to be rid of.4

But now, Ragnar was beginning to think he was rightfully worshipped.  Not, of course, for any divine power he might possess- he was an explorer, not a god -but instead for his incredible brilliance.  Since the completion of the city, childhood death rates had dropped considerably and more and more warriors survived wounds they took in battle.5

Now, many would say that the Norse were anything but sanitary- he would have even admitted so to any of the so-called "civilized" folk back in Europe -but compared with the natives, the Vikings and their kith were masters of cleanliness.  And though the insects back home were anything but deadly, Ragnar had noticed that around and on the rivers, streams, and wyks, there were few to none of the crawling creatures.  So there the Aztec problem of disease was cut nearly in half, what with the city on an island in the middle of a river, and the people drinking upstream from where they bathed.6

Ragnar looked back out at the sparkling river city and grinned.  All of these people worshipped him.  All of these people thought him a god who had chased away disease and shown them the true order of things.  Yes, despite all its differences from the Norse raiding villages, life could be good here indeed.7