Circle at center

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Dawn swelled on the horizon beyond the volcano, and Natac was glad that he would see this place once before he died. The celestial unveiling was utterly serene, lavender merging into rose and pale turquoise, all advancing with a majesty that tightened his throat and brought tears to his eyes. The swath of soft blue expanded skyward from the conical mountain, and he dared to imagine that the eternally smoldering summit gave birth to this day. Scarcely breathing, he wondered at the perfection of the dark cloud that twisted upward from the massif to hang like a serpentine banner over the Valley of the Mexica.

It seemed fitting that his life would end here, today-that Natac, who had provided so much blood, so many lives, to the hungry gods, would at last offer his own heart on an occasion of high honor to the fearsome immortals who ruled over every aspect of the world. He would give his life on the altar of his enemies, the Aztecs-or Mexica, as they arrogantly styled themselves. Yet Natac was content to know that his heart would sustain the gods and allow life here and in his own homeland of Tlaxcala to continue to flourish.

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