THE COUNT OF YEARS
Chapter Zero
The World Lost To Us In Our Early Days
At first the man had no recollection whatsoever of where he was, what had happened, or even who he was. In the groggy minutes he spent waking up everything was still just a blur, a fog that had descended and covered the world. There was a sense of motion but he didn't feel like he had any control over his own body yet. Think first, worry about that later. Doing as his own mind suggested, he focused on trying to remember. Bits and pieces finally came back. He remembered who he was, and that he had just been on a ship bound for San Domingo. The reason for being on a ship wasn't clear in his mind yet, but that didn't seem as important at the moment. He just remembered a dark night, full of rain and sheets of lightning that made his teeth rattle. And the churning seas that turned his stomach. There was blackness after he hit the water, but then... sand? As he went over all this in his head it started to come back a bit clearer, but there were still gaps missing. He awoke on the sand, and distinctly remembered the burning feel of the sun's rays, but there wasn't much after that. Just a thatched roof, and incomprehensible speaking. Maybe he heard the word "fever" then but didn't realize it at the time. It hit him, he must've been in a feverish haze all this time he was only just waking up out of. So he was probably back safe in San Domingo. But if that was the case, how come he felt like he was moving. He only felt more confused now. He tried opening his eyes, but the bright sun pained him too much. Need rest. Sounds were getting clearer now. There were birds chirping, high-pitched and melodic. And the sharp droning whine of a multitude of insects in some bushes or trees. And marching. Marching? He shifted around, but then he heard a voice, clear as daylight and yet totally incomprehensible to him, "Y aahal? Utz, utz."
That was not Spanish. This much he knew for certain. Something was definitely wrong. The man tried shifting some more, and finally worked his eyes open, groaning as the bright light pained him for a few seconds before he adjusted and could see once more. He saw trees passing by slowly. And directly above him, a pole he was tied to. Not, this is not good at all. He now realized he was swinging a little bit side to side as his bearers marched him to some place. A pit? A fire for cooking? No possibility sounded good. He slowly turned his head, feeling his neck crack after being so stiff and unmoving for so long. He could now see some of the people walking alongside his pole, though his bearers were in front and behind him out of view as far as his aching head was concerned. These people immediately looked frighteningly exotic and different to him. They had few garments, just a breechcloth and a sort of kilt besides their jewelry, sandals, and other adornments. But their bodies were quite strange. They were rather dark skinned, and from what he could tell these people all had large, hawk-like noses and slightly slanted eyes. Oddly, some of them seemed to have their eyes slightly crossed as well. They uniformly grew their black hair long and tied into a sort of queue or ponytail. And their skin was covered in all manner of markings of some kind, not just paints but some kind of black ink that seemed more permanent. When one of these natives, evidently warriors judging by their demeanor and weaponry, caught him looking, he flashed the captive a distinctly unpleasant smile that he knew wasn't supposed to be charming, and he caught a glimpse of filed teeth inlaid with obsidian. This did nothing to allay the man's fears.
Eventually the sort of caravan stopped. A warrior approached with a wicked-looking dagger, also made from obsidian. His heart stopped for a second, but the warrior cut the ropes binding him to the pole. Newly freed, he tried to stand and rub some feeling into his wrists and ankles. His freedom didn't last very long, as they retied his hands behind him with the rope, and tied another rope around his neck so they could lead him around like a dog. Evidently they tired of carrying him and now that they reasoned he could stand he would walk as well. At first it felt like hell trying to walk in such a condition, but feeling slowly flowed back into his legs and it wasn't so bad. He was distracted from the fear of the unknown and his possible looming death by the sight of the trees and plants on either side of this pathway. It seemed more beautiful than any garden in his home, or anything he'd seen at all for that matter, with bright flowers blooming everywhere, being tended by hummingbirds and bees that left the marching column in peace. But as he got a glimpse of what was behind him, something else worried him. He saw a friend, or at least a comrade of his, bound in a similar fashion to his prior predicament. He called out, "Gerónimo! Are you all right?" He heard a groan, but no other response, and felt a sharp yank on his neck. His minders didn't like him stopping for anything apparently. Soon however he heard more of a commotion. The sights and sounds and even smells of this place were extremely unfamiliar, but he couldn't mistake the smell of a town, and he heard the clamoring voices of what seemed like large gatherings of people. Past the trees he could make out farms along this road, though the crop seemed unfamiliar to him. His fear was beginning to be overshadowed by curiosity at this point, wondering just what kind of place they were dragging him and his comrade off to. They certainly never heard of any real towns in this New World. There were just rumors, rumors of something grand hidden in the jungles. He hoped, even if it wouldn't mean much to him in the end, that the rumors were true just to see something new. But when they finally did catch a glimpse of buildings in the distance, what he imagined seemed to fall completely short. He couldn't help but gasp.
Rising out of the morning mists were tall citadels of some kind, bright red and lined with a multitude of other colors basking under the sun. Smoke rose from the tops of these citadels, like steam from a boiling volcano, but more gentle and serene somehow. And spread out in the shadow of these daunting mountains was a grand city shining in white. It was like Amadís come true. He regretted even thinking that, this place far outshone the setting of that cheap novel. It was more like a dream, and it was hard to convince himself that he really wasn't still dreaming. He and his "entourage" entered the city, and though more people in their exotic garb and styles crowded around to gawk at him, he didn't feel as naked and nervous as he thought he should have. He was too busy gawking himself at all that lay around. Shining white walls many of which were painted in vivid murals of many colors. Some buildings were painted in red or blue or yellow as well. Trees and flowers grew all over, especially along the paved white road that he was walking on. Not only did the flowers and bushes vary, but some trees looked to have white bark and what seemed like red leaves as well. Great round banners made from feathers of the brightest hues possible were hoisted all over, with streamers flowing in the wind. There were people watching who puffed out smoke from their lungs as if they breathed fire. Many of these people were adorned with a plethora of jewelry, especially of jade, all over. Warriors ushered his party along, and they looked even more frightening than his current entourage with their suits made from feathers and helmets that seemed like heads of bizarre animals who had swallowed their wearers. But what struck him most was just how big this place was. The buildings were clustered into neighborhoods and alleys that seemed to go on forever, and they were hard enough to see without the vast multitude of people everywhere. It seemed to him like it was a festival or market day of some kind, but many of these people dropped what they were doing to watch him being led through the streets like an exotic animal. Maybe that's really what I am to these people, he thought to himself. Like a lion being shown off in the streets of Cádiz. He heard a shout of "Chuyu'baj tox" that was followed by laughing and shouting, and hissing. More taunts, for he figured that's what it was, followed, but his guards seemed to ignore it. He felt a wave of sadness as he realized that these vicious-looking warriors were the nicest people to him so far in the sad, beautiful land that he still felt alone in.
Eventually this sort of parade had led him to the awning of some elaborate, elegant building. They all paused, and the rope was taken off the man's neck. Thank You, Dear God! He wanted to rub his neck but his hands remained bound. They blew a thick puff of smoke at him, and sprinkled some sort of liquid over him as well. He winced at first, but whatever it was, it did smell divine. He felt a sharp jab in his back, and a guard shouted roughly at him, "Xen telo!" Not comprehending, he looked at him for some sort of understanding, and the guard pointed forward into the building. "Xen! Xen xen xen xen xen!" The guard looked quite exasperated, but the captive got the point so he stepped forward over up the steps, under and past a sort of arcade, and through a curtain made from strings of beads, and found himself in a courtyard. There was plenty of sunlight but it wasn't directly overhead so it felt rather cool and comfortable here. In the middle of the courtyard, on the flat stones, he was forced to sit with his legs under him and looking down towards the ground. His gaze focused on an ant, and then he moved his eyes right and stared at some bizarre prickly plant covered in thorns, until he heard somebody entering the courtyard. His guards instantly moved all together, crouching down in a position of respect. An elaborate sort of stool was placed in front of him, and on it sat now, from what he could see with his gaze focused downward, a native in the most elaborate garb he had seen yet. He supposed it was a lord at the very least, if not a king. Even his sandals had faces of some being carved in jade on the heel. As one, his guards all shouted, "Aw tza' apatan, ab'ak!" Something else was shouted that he didn't quite catch.
The lordly figure shifted on his seat. "Utz," he grunted, "...utz. Xtalan ni uchi' ch'a, uchi' k'a'm." His voice was deep and low, like a baritone, and seemed to almost reverberate along the walls. It certainly carried a lot of weight, even to the ears of someone who did not understand a word of what was being said. The warriors said something in response that carried the tone of some kind of expression of humility, as they bowed lower and stretched their right arms across their chests, touching their shoulders. A man walked up behind him, and pulled his head back by the scalp so that the lord could get a better view of him, while his own gaze would be directed skyward. The lord made a remark that caused the warriors to give a polite laugh that nonetheless seemed genuine. The lord got up from his seat, and even from this angle the man could tell that although he wasn't the tallest person, he had a powerful presence. A lofty headdress sat upon his crown, and great long feathers in a vivid green sprouted from his back. Jade ornaments covered much of his chest and arms. The lord then approached him, and knelt down. The man dared to glance directly as his face. The lord's own lined face seemed almost a mask devoid of expression but still real, and still generating a kind of fear. With a voice that felt like a razor scraping against the back of his head, the lord asked him, "M'ax eche?" These two men had been born worlds apart, and had only found out about the existence of the other world recently. They couldn't possibly be any more different. But somehow, the man got a feeling he knew exactly what this kingly figure was asking him. So he responded. "Guerrero. Gonzalo Guerrero."
----------------------------------------------
In the year 1492 AD, by western reckoning, two worlds were to meet for the first time. From that day on several centuries of destruction and loss were to follow. An entire world, with a history of its own and many cultures was almost entirely destroyed. The people were lost, the land was lost, their achievements were lost, their knowledge was lost, and even their history was snatched away. But it did not have to be so. Here follows the story of how an entire world was given a second chance, an opportunity to have a future of their own.
Chapter Zero
The World Lost To Us In Our Early Days
At first the man had no recollection whatsoever of where he was, what had happened, or even who he was. In the groggy minutes he spent waking up everything was still just a blur, a fog that had descended and covered the world. There was a sense of motion but he didn't feel like he had any control over his own body yet. Think first, worry about that later. Doing as his own mind suggested, he focused on trying to remember. Bits and pieces finally came back. He remembered who he was, and that he had just been on a ship bound for San Domingo. The reason for being on a ship wasn't clear in his mind yet, but that didn't seem as important at the moment. He just remembered a dark night, full of rain and sheets of lightning that made his teeth rattle. And the churning seas that turned his stomach. There was blackness after he hit the water, but then... sand? As he went over all this in his head it started to come back a bit clearer, but there were still gaps missing. He awoke on the sand, and distinctly remembered the burning feel of the sun's rays, but there wasn't much after that. Just a thatched roof, and incomprehensible speaking. Maybe he heard the word "fever" then but didn't realize it at the time. It hit him, he must've been in a feverish haze all this time he was only just waking up out of. So he was probably back safe in San Domingo. But if that was the case, how come he felt like he was moving. He only felt more confused now. He tried opening his eyes, but the bright sun pained him too much. Need rest. Sounds were getting clearer now. There were birds chirping, high-pitched and melodic. And the sharp droning whine of a multitude of insects in some bushes or trees. And marching. Marching? He shifted around, but then he heard a voice, clear as daylight and yet totally incomprehensible to him, "Y aahal? Utz, utz."
That was not Spanish. This much he knew for certain. Something was definitely wrong. The man tried shifting some more, and finally worked his eyes open, groaning as the bright light pained him for a few seconds before he adjusted and could see once more. He saw trees passing by slowly. And directly above him, a pole he was tied to. Not, this is not good at all. He now realized he was swinging a little bit side to side as his bearers marched him to some place. A pit? A fire for cooking? No possibility sounded good. He slowly turned his head, feeling his neck crack after being so stiff and unmoving for so long. He could now see some of the people walking alongside his pole, though his bearers were in front and behind him out of view as far as his aching head was concerned. These people immediately looked frighteningly exotic and different to him. They had few garments, just a breechcloth and a sort of kilt besides their jewelry, sandals, and other adornments. But their bodies were quite strange. They were rather dark skinned, and from what he could tell these people all had large, hawk-like noses and slightly slanted eyes. Oddly, some of them seemed to have their eyes slightly crossed as well. They uniformly grew their black hair long and tied into a sort of queue or ponytail. And their skin was covered in all manner of markings of some kind, not just paints but some kind of black ink that seemed more permanent. When one of these natives, evidently warriors judging by their demeanor and weaponry, caught him looking, he flashed the captive a distinctly unpleasant smile that he knew wasn't supposed to be charming, and he caught a glimpse of filed teeth inlaid with obsidian. This did nothing to allay the man's fears.
Eventually the sort of caravan stopped. A warrior approached with a wicked-looking dagger, also made from obsidian. His heart stopped for a second, but the warrior cut the ropes binding him to the pole. Newly freed, he tried to stand and rub some feeling into his wrists and ankles. His freedom didn't last very long, as they retied his hands behind him with the rope, and tied another rope around his neck so they could lead him around like a dog. Evidently they tired of carrying him and now that they reasoned he could stand he would walk as well. At first it felt like hell trying to walk in such a condition, but feeling slowly flowed back into his legs and it wasn't so bad. He was distracted from the fear of the unknown and his possible looming death by the sight of the trees and plants on either side of this pathway. It seemed more beautiful than any garden in his home, or anything he'd seen at all for that matter, with bright flowers blooming everywhere, being tended by hummingbirds and bees that left the marching column in peace. But as he got a glimpse of what was behind him, something else worried him. He saw a friend, or at least a comrade of his, bound in a similar fashion to his prior predicament. He called out, "Gerónimo! Are you all right?" He heard a groan, but no other response, and felt a sharp yank on his neck. His minders didn't like him stopping for anything apparently. Soon however he heard more of a commotion. The sights and sounds and even smells of this place were extremely unfamiliar, but he couldn't mistake the smell of a town, and he heard the clamoring voices of what seemed like large gatherings of people. Past the trees he could make out farms along this road, though the crop seemed unfamiliar to him. His fear was beginning to be overshadowed by curiosity at this point, wondering just what kind of place they were dragging him and his comrade off to. They certainly never heard of any real towns in this New World. There were just rumors, rumors of something grand hidden in the jungles. He hoped, even if it wouldn't mean much to him in the end, that the rumors were true just to see something new. But when they finally did catch a glimpse of buildings in the distance, what he imagined seemed to fall completely short. He couldn't help but gasp.
Rising out of the morning mists were tall citadels of some kind, bright red and lined with a multitude of other colors basking under the sun. Smoke rose from the tops of these citadels, like steam from a boiling volcano, but more gentle and serene somehow. And spread out in the shadow of these daunting mountains was a grand city shining in white. It was like Amadís come true. He regretted even thinking that, this place far outshone the setting of that cheap novel. It was more like a dream, and it was hard to convince himself that he really wasn't still dreaming. He and his "entourage" entered the city, and though more people in their exotic garb and styles crowded around to gawk at him, he didn't feel as naked and nervous as he thought he should have. He was too busy gawking himself at all that lay around. Shining white walls many of which were painted in vivid murals of many colors. Some buildings were painted in red or blue or yellow as well. Trees and flowers grew all over, especially along the paved white road that he was walking on. Not only did the flowers and bushes vary, but some trees looked to have white bark and what seemed like red leaves as well. Great round banners made from feathers of the brightest hues possible were hoisted all over, with streamers flowing in the wind. There were people watching who puffed out smoke from their lungs as if they breathed fire. Many of these people were adorned with a plethora of jewelry, especially of jade, all over. Warriors ushered his party along, and they looked even more frightening than his current entourage with their suits made from feathers and helmets that seemed like heads of bizarre animals who had swallowed their wearers. But what struck him most was just how big this place was. The buildings were clustered into neighborhoods and alleys that seemed to go on forever, and they were hard enough to see without the vast multitude of people everywhere. It seemed to him like it was a festival or market day of some kind, but many of these people dropped what they were doing to watch him being led through the streets like an exotic animal. Maybe that's really what I am to these people, he thought to himself. Like a lion being shown off in the streets of Cádiz. He heard a shout of "Chuyu'baj tox" that was followed by laughing and shouting, and hissing. More taunts, for he figured that's what it was, followed, but his guards seemed to ignore it. He felt a wave of sadness as he realized that these vicious-looking warriors were the nicest people to him so far in the sad, beautiful land that he still felt alone in.
Eventually this sort of parade had led him to the awning of some elaborate, elegant building. They all paused, and the rope was taken off the man's neck. Thank You, Dear God! He wanted to rub his neck but his hands remained bound. They blew a thick puff of smoke at him, and sprinkled some sort of liquid over him as well. He winced at first, but whatever it was, it did smell divine. He felt a sharp jab in his back, and a guard shouted roughly at him, "Xen telo!" Not comprehending, he looked at him for some sort of understanding, and the guard pointed forward into the building. "Xen! Xen xen xen xen xen!" The guard looked quite exasperated, but the captive got the point so he stepped forward over up the steps, under and past a sort of arcade, and through a curtain made from strings of beads, and found himself in a courtyard. There was plenty of sunlight but it wasn't directly overhead so it felt rather cool and comfortable here. In the middle of the courtyard, on the flat stones, he was forced to sit with his legs under him and looking down towards the ground. His gaze focused on an ant, and then he moved his eyes right and stared at some bizarre prickly plant covered in thorns, until he heard somebody entering the courtyard. His guards instantly moved all together, crouching down in a position of respect. An elaborate sort of stool was placed in front of him, and on it sat now, from what he could see with his gaze focused downward, a native in the most elaborate garb he had seen yet. He supposed it was a lord at the very least, if not a king. Even his sandals had faces of some being carved in jade on the heel. As one, his guards all shouted, "Aw tza' apatan, ab'ak!" Something else was shouted that he didn't quite catch.
The lordly figure shifted on his seat. "Utz," he grunted, "...utz. Xtalan ni uchi' ch'a, uchi' k'a'm." His voice was deep and low, like a baritone, and seemed to almost reverberate along the walls. It certainly carried a lot of weight, even to the ears of someone who did not understand a word of what was being said. The warriors said something in response that carried the tone of some kind of expression of humility, as they bowed lower and stretched their right arms across their chests, touching their shoulders. A man walked up behind him, and pulled his head back by the scalp so that the lord could get a better view of him, while his own gaze would be directed skyward. The lord made a remark that caused the warriors to give a polite laugh that nonetheless seemed genuine. The lord got up from his seat, and even from this angle the man could tell that although he wasn't the tallest person, he had a powerful presence. A lofty headdress sat upon his crown, and great long feathers in a vivid green sprouted from his back. Jade ornaments covered much of his chest and arms. The lord then approached him, and knelt down. The man dared to glance directly as his face. The lord's own lined face seemed almost a mask devoid of expression but still real, and still generating a kind of fear. With a voice that felt like a razor scraping against the back of his head, the lord asked him, "M'ax eche?" These two men had been born worlds apart, and had only found out about the existence of the other world recently. They couldn't possibly be any more different. But somehow, the man got a feeling he knew exactly what this kingly figure was asking him. So he responded. "Guerrero. Gonzalo Guerrero."
----------------------------------------------
In the year 1492 AD, by western reckoning, two worlds were to meet for the first time. From that day on several centuries of destruction and loss were to follow. An entire world, with a history of its own and many cultures was almost entirely destroyed. The people were lost, the land was lost, their achievements were lost, their knowledge was lost, and even their history was snatched away. But it did not have to be so. Here follows the story of how an entire world was given a second chance, an opportunity to have a future of their own.
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