Ritual Prayer.
During the time before the Fifth Sun, the gods Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent, and his brother, Tezcatlipoca, god of the night, sacrificed themselves to create the world and the sun. Their blood formed the earth and the sun. The act of creation, the sacrifice of the blood of the gods, placed the people who came from Aztlán in perpetual debt to the gods, a debt which could only be repaid through a blood sacrifice. A blood debt requires blood in payment. The universe created for the Nahua, those who spoke clearly in Nahuatl, was organized into three separate domains: the earth, the heavens, and the underworld. All of these kingdoms required blood to ensure that the universe remained in balance and the people would prosper. At the direction of the gods, the Mexica left Aztlán and journeyed to the promised land, where they built the great city, Tenochtitlan. The Tenochas never forgot their origins. And they were ever mindful of the debt owed to their gods.
Harbingers
Cletus Shackleford pointed at the black outline of distant wings circling in the blue, cloudless sky. “Boss, look at those buzzards. We might have a cow down. We need to check to make sure you ain’t losing any livestock. It ain’t rained in a while. As dry as it’s been, cattle might have wandered off looking for water and run afoul of some critter.” Not waiting for a response, Shackleford spurred his bay gelding into an easy lope. Seth Nicholson studied the birds a moment before kicking his horse into motion. The buzzards indicated whatever was down wasn’t going anywhere. A carcass, cow, horse, or otherwise, would be there whenever he got there. There was no sense running a horse in this heat. A brisk canter meant his buckskin was only a few moments behind the bay.
SN_Connected
Seth Nicholson had put his heart into building a ranch—a home for his family in West Texas. Following the war, demand for Texas beef skyrocketed. A cattle ranch had seemed like a good bet for a young, ambitious cowboy. This year, the market had gone soft. Presidio County, Texas, across the Rio Grande from the Chihuahua Desert, was dry. Of course, it usually was. Only this year was drier than most. The rancher was doing his best to manage the range so the longhorns wouldn’t overgraze the pasture. He prayed for rain since he couldn’t afford to buy cattle feed for his herd. Rustlers, crossing the Rio Grande to raid herds, were a threat, and he could ill afford to lose stock. He needed every head he could bring to market to pay his hands and keep the ranch running. Aside from the market, Apache, rattlesnakes, rustlers, and drought weren’t enough to worry about; a serial killer was stalking the border. West Texas was as dry and as hot as any place this side of hell, but Nicholson wasn’t going to give up on his ranch, even if it meant tracking a killer across the border.
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