Author's note: Thanks for all the reviews, guys! However I just thought I'd make one little comment, since there's one thing in common all the reviews seem to have - they all mention that this isn't historically accurate. Which is true, because this is an alternate take on the Aztecs. I'm not trying to be historically accurate, except for the names...I just wasn't totally sure what category this would go in, so I stuck it in historical fiction.
Anyways, thank you all for your input! I should start replying to all these comments...
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“You, boy-“ Nochhuetl spat with disgust, are a disgrace to our tribe. A freak of nature. You were cursed at birth, that’s why your mother died right after you arrived. And you don’t deserve to live. Say it.”
“I…am a freak of nature,” the teenager said apathetically, sounding like he was used to doing this little speech every day to appease his abusive father. Which was correct.
“And the rest of it, you worthless boy!” Nochhuetl screeched at his son.
“I am cursed. I don’t deserve to live,” Naer said obediently, and then cleared his throat. “But Atzi said to warn you that Quetzalcoatl will eat people who hit their sons-“
He was cut off rather painfully by his father’s belt smacking across his face and sending him crashing to the floor.
“Atzi is not your mother. She knows nothing of what a disgrace you are,” Nochhuetl hissed through clenched teeth. A few more whips with his belt was enough to satisfy him that his son had learned a lesson, and he turned to hang his worn belt from Naer’s many beatings on a hook by the door. “I’m going to get wasted. Don’t mess up the house while I’m gone.” He gave a snort as if he didn’t really believe Naer would be able to resist destroying the house, and then was out the door.
The boy remained on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking back and forth. This life of abuse was all he had ever known. Maybe his father was right – maybe he was cursed. Why else would his mother have died? She probably wouldn’t want him even if she had lived. She would hate him just like Nochhuetl.
“….Atzi likes me,” he sniffed, and stood up a little shakily. Putting a hand to his face, he felt lines of blood trickling down his face and sighed. He didn’t bother to close the door on his way out.
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Outside, in the busy stone paved streets, he could pretend nothing bad ever happened to him in his life. He could pretend to be normal: a person who had friends and was payed attention to. The golden sun burned brightly overhead, warming the jungle city and turning the air suffocatingly humid, but no one in the village minded. This extreme weather was normal and familiar to them.
As Naer walked past fellow members of his tribe, everyone he passed either backed away quickly or shook their heads before looking away indifferently from the pitifully scrawny creature, but he was barely even aware of it. That too, was normal. No one wanted to be seen hanging around – or worse, <i>talking</i> to – the son of Nochhuetl, who was infamous for his unpredictable moods and dangerous temper. Better not to get involved than to risk getting a beating yourself.
“Hello, Tenoch,” he looked up and smiled hesitantly at a tall man standing by the side of the street, who was one of his neighbors across the street. Sometimes he tried to get his son who was his age, Ehacatl, to talk to him, but so far all his attempts to be friendly were ignored, and both Tenoch and Ehacatl never answered the door when they knew it was him.
So he wasn’t surprised when the man took one look at him and then decided he had somewhere to be, walking rather quickly away into the throng of people without so much as a hello back. Naer watched him go, then turned and continued on his way. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered, but still, it never hurt to try.
After passing a few more adobe brick houses and many more people (not saying hello to any of them this time), Naer arrived to his destination. It was a house similar to all the others, but took up slightly more space. The two houses to the side of it were dwarfed in comparison by the two story, sandy-colored rectangular building, pockmarked by windows which displayed vibrantly colored cloth curtains and one tall, sturdy front door. There was a barrel full of rainwater near it, and Naer took a minute to study his reflection, making sure he looked presentable enough. A few splashes of water on his face were enough to wash away the bloodstains from earlier. Satisfied, he raised his fist and knocked twice.
Not a moment passed before the door was opened by an old widow in her late fifties, with gray hair that hung raggedly around the contours of her worn and wrinkled face, accented by a few small parrot feathers that looked like they’d seen better days. Her clothes, too, were worn and faded, but the gentle smile on her face and her twinkling blue eyes were not. She was hunched over and leaned heavily on a gnarled old wooden cane.
“Ah, Naer,” she said in a voice that sounded oddly full of energy for a woman so old, “come in. I was hoping I’d see your smiling face today.”
Naer was, indeed, smiling – something that didn’t happen very often. He entered the house and then immediately went to the bookshelf in the front room, one of the only pieces of furniture in sight besides some handcrafted tables and chairs. “Did you get any new books, Atzi?” he asked hopefully, already hunting around for some, pushing the ones he’d read already aside. The old woman hobbled in after him, chuckling.
“Impatient child,” she said good-naturedly, “Do you come here for me or for my books?”
He was instantly apologetic. “I-I’m sorry. You, of course-“
Atzi just laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, don’t apologize to me. I’m just glad someone in this town as the sense to be interested in books and not ripping off the heads of their enemies.” She walked over to stand beside him. “I did get a new book. You’d like it, too. It’s on the top shelf, where the rats can’t get to it and chew the binding…” The old widow stood on tiptoes to try and reach the book, a thick one with a red leather cover, but wasn’t quite tall enough to reach it. “Oh, dear. Maybe I should have put it where I could reach it…”
Naer promptly reached over her head and got it for her.
“Thank you, my dear,” Atzi smiled gratefully as she took it out of his hand. “It’s too bad I don’t have a nice young man like you around all the time to help me with things.”
“Maybe my dad would let me stay here? He’d be glad to get rid of me. Then I could be around to help you-“ Naer eagerly started to say, but Atzi shook her head.
“I’m sorry, Naer. But you know I couldn’t do that.”
More than a little crushed, Naer tried to hide his disappointment and nodded once. “…I understand.”
Ever since he could talk he’d been coming to the old widow’s house to get some relief from his otherwise chaotic life. As long as he was home before Nochhuetl got back from drinking, his father could care less. All he cared about was that his personal punching bag was always available when he had an abundance of anger to vent. As an infant he would have died had Atzi not taken him in – Nochhuetl would sooner have left him outside to die and be rid of him for good. But when he was old enough to walk his father decided otherwise and suddenly wanted him back.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Nochhuetl?” Atzi had asked reluctantly as a two-year-old Naer had stood clinging to her leg and crying, “I know you’re his father, but you weren’t the one who raised him, he might not adjust well…”
“I don’t give a rat’s tail whether he adjusts well, he’s MY son and he’s coming home with me. You should be glad, Atzi, that I’m taking the brat off your hands,” he snarled, grabbing his son’s arm and ripping him away from her, yelling at him to shut up over his desperate cries.
“Naer, come over here. I’ve something to show you,” Atzi announced, snapping him out of his thoughts. He shook his head to clear the unwanted memories away and went over to the table where she had placed the book open to the table of contents.
There were only a few chapters: “In The Beginning”, “Gifts of the Gods”, and “Present Day Worship.” Curiously he started flipping through the pages, most of which were accompanied by colorful illustrations of the feathered serpent, Quetzalcoatl.
“…What is this?” he asked in awe. Of course he knew all about the great deity of their tribe. He just hadn’t ever known there were books about him.
“This is a book of the recorded myths, facts, and legends of Quetzalcoatl,” Atzi replied. “While I was at the temple yesterday, I visited the library and they had this. I believe one of the priests must have written it in the hopes that it would help educate young people such as yourself.”
Naer grinned and stared down at the open book.
“Well, don’t just stand there grinning like a fool! Read it already!” the old widow teased, rapping him gently on the head with her cane.
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Wrapped up in his book, Naer quickly lost track of the time. Hours passed and the sun had already just gone down before either he or the old widow noticed how long it had been. He was lying on the floor, flipping to the first page of the last chapter, when Atzi suddenly gasped loudly and startled him so badly that he jumped a few feet in the air and then crashed back down to the floor.
“What’s the matter?!” he asked frantically. Then he saw her looking out the window with a grave look on her face and he knew.
“You need to go home now, Naer,” Atzi said in an urgent tone. He nodded and scrambled to his feet.
“I can come back tomorrow, right?” he asked.
“Of course, just go! And quickly,” she added, opening the door for him. He ran out of the house hastily without saying goodbye.
It was late…it was far too late for him to be out like this. If he didn’t make it home before his father he’d be furious with him. And then of course he knew what would happen. Naer wasn’t the most athletic sixteen year old, due to mistreatment and undernourishment his whole life, but he was fast when he needed to be. Such as now, when his life could very well depend on it.
A few minutes later he bolted into his house and, breathing heavily, shut the door behind him as quietly as he could. If he was lucky, he could sneak to his room and pretend he had been home the whole time. If he was luckier, Nochhuetl wouldn’t be home yet.
But his luck had run out from the moment he was born.
A powerful hand closed around his shoulder tightly and turned him around, forcing him to look at the very last person he wanted to see.
“You’re late,” Nochhuetl growled. Naer could smell the pungent odor of alcohol on his breath. “Been at that old witch’s house again today, boy?”
Shaking, he cowered under his father’s glare. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be late; I swear it’ll never happen again, dad…”
It was like he hadn’t even heard him. Nochhuetl’s eyes only narrowed more, his grip tightened on his shoulder.
“D-Dad?” Naer repeated.
Nochhuetl’s eyes were clouded; his face screwed up in the most violent rage Naer had ever seen him in, and he’d seen him in a lot of rages. Clenched in his hand he held up a long and thin metal chain. Naer wasn’t stupid – he knew there was only one thing that meant. Terrified, he stumbled backwards and backed into the wall, holding his hands in front of his face as if that would help defend him at all. His father walked forward, looking like he was about to start breathing fire. He snapped the weapon as hard as he could across Naer’s outstretched arms, and as the chain made contact there was a loud sound like snapping tree branches.
The chain hurt ten times worse than the worn-out belt. Screaming, the boy fell to his knees and clutched his hands in pain. He was too busy cowering to notice the second blow that came at him – across the side of his face. Lights exploded in his vision; he fell onto his side and gasped as if he’d just been shot.
That only opened him up for more and more blows, which fell upon him like angry hissing vipers. All the while, Nochhuetl screeched the most livid obscenities and insults he could possibly think of, yelling over the sound of his son’s agonized screams.
“Sixteen years I’ve put up with you….SIXTEEN MISERABLE YEARS! And STILL you won’t die! Still you stay here like some wretched cockroach! Answer me this, stupid boy, why won’t you DIE already?!” He snapped the chain down again across Naer’s shoulders, extracting yet another scream from him.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Dad, I’m sorry I’m worthless! I’m sorry!...just please, d-don’t hurt me anymore! Please stop, Dad!!...” he begged desperately, but like always it was as if Nochhuetl didn’t even hear him. Why should this time be any different?
“S…stop…STOP!!”
His words fell on deaf ears. Nothing could stop his father now until he had taken out all of his anger on him. This had been the one constant in his whole life. In some part of his mind that was still fighting against the explosions of pain through his skull, he feebly wondered how it was still possible for him to feel so much pain, when pain was all he had ever felt. His screams faded to quiet whimpers, and curled up on the floor he closed his eyes as tightly as he could, hoping, praying that this time he would die as his father wanted. So everything could finally be over, so the suffering would end, so he would never have to go to sleep covered in his own blood again.
“Great Quetzalcoatl,” he sent out a silent plea from his thoughts to the god he hoped was truly up there watching over him, who, if he did exist, was watching this happen and doing nothing about it. “Never have I asked anything of you. Of all people, I’m the most unworthy. Just please, I beg you…kill me…”
Perhaps the great feathered serpent cared nothing for him, just like everyone else. Just like Atzi, who was supposed to be his friend. Where was she when these beatings were taking place? Safe at home, oblivious to what was happening. No one cared for him, this he knew, and for so long he had been filled to the core with such an empty loneliness that by now it mattered little to him. No one cared, and his life was destined to be the most tormented hell imaginable.
Ten or so minutes later, Nochhuetl had had enough. He hung the chain on the hook where the belt had once been, but not before sparing one last curse.
“I hope you burn one day,” he sneered, and spat at the broken body of his son before turning to stagger drunkenly out of the room.
Naer curled up on the dirt floor and sobbed. He had cried himself to sleep every night when he was younger, but over time had decided not to care. Not to cry anymore. Better not to care, not to show weakness. Then, he had thought desperately, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much when his father attempted to fill every inch of his body with pain. Sometimes to the point of bleeding. Usually to the point of bleeding…especially when he came home drunk.
Obviously that method of thinking was pointless. He allowed himself to break down and mix his tears with the lines of blood that ran down his face and into his hazel eyes. It stung, and he rubbed them in discomfort, but that only made it feel worse – which made him want to cry harder. His beatings had never been like this. They’d always hurt…but never had been that life-threatening…until now. His insignificant life was probably about to end. Tomorrow, maybe Nochhuetl would make sure he really killed his only son.
He held up his hands, which were shaking violently. His arms were covered in long, angry red welts from the chain. A chain. The worn-out belt had finally had it and the man had switched to using a chain.
He was in too much pain to make it to his feet, so he slowly and agonizingly crawled to the door, leaving long trails of blood behind him. The door was open still, letting in the cold night air. Naer crawled out into the empty street. He didn’t stop until he was as far from his house as he could possibly bear to go. Then he collapsed, just lying there in a lifeless heap of broken bones and blood and despair.
“...The great Quetzalcoatl…has abandoned me…”
Clouds overhead drifted in front of the silvery crescent that was the moon, casting his already dark thoughts into true pitch darkness.
“Atzi has abandoned me…”
Somewhere in the distance, a peal of thunder rumbled. Vaguely he felt the first few cold raindrops falling on his exposed body.
“…So I will abandon them. No…”
He looked up. Or more accurately, he struggled to tilt his head up at the black star streaked sky was more like it. And when he did, his eyes - filled with hurt, grief and hatred – were shining a demonic yellow.
“…Everyone.”
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Sprawled out in his bed on top of the animal skin blankets, Nochhuetl snored through his deep sleep. Countless empty bottles lay scattered around the room, and there was one closed loosely in his hand. Though the storm raged overhead, he wasn’t the least bit disturbed, and merely rolled over with a particularly loud snort. The front door creaked open, letting in the eerie sound of the howling wind. Perhaps he was vaguely aware of someone intruding into his house in his subconscious mind, because he mumbled some angry remark in his sleep, but still would not wake up.
Footsteps echoed softly in the hall, and someone cackled quietly. The door to Nochhuetl’s room was then opened, very, very slowly, with a long and drawn out creak, revealing a shadowed figure standing there with glowing yellow eyes.
The drunken man snored on; completely unaware of the danger he was in. The bottle he was holding dropped to the floor with a clatter as it slipped out of his fingers and rolled away until it hit the wall.
“Poor little child, sickly and slight…” The skinny figure chanted, approaching the drunken man’s bedside and giggling.
“Above his dear old dad he holds a knife…”
He raised a small, jet black, curved knife of carved obsidian over the sleeping form of Nochhuetl, who stirred slightly but still never woke.
“He lies there a-sleeping in his bed…”
A tremendous crack of thunder chose that very moment to warn the man of his peril. Nochhuetl jerked awake, his eyes flinging open only to see the grinning form of his son, driven to madness, grinning ear to ear and about to stab a knife through his throat. His eyes widened in shock and horror, unable to believe what he was seeing. Here stood the boy who had always cowered beneath him, only now that tables were turned and he was the one who was about to deliver bloody punishment upon his lifelong persecutor and tormentor.
Naer’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat, surprisingly strong. Sixteen years of abuse had been harboring a deep and black resentment deep inside him, which had now grown so powerful that it flowed through his entire body and gave him unbelievable strength. Paralyzed by shock, he was unable to move an inch while Naer uttered the final line of his poem.
“Now Naer’s gonna make him wish he were dead.”
The knife plunged down into his father’s shoulder, and Naer drove it in as far as it could go. Nochhuetl screamed an agonizing scream and his son roared with laughter, yanking the knife free, the blade dripping with blood, stabbing the man over and over who had hurt him for so long. In the chest, through both shoulders, and especially across the face.
“You’re worthless! You’re a disgrace! You don’t deserve to live! SAY IT!!” Naer screamed, laughing manically, stabbing the knife into Nochhuetl’s body with every line. Blood was spraying everywhere every time he withdrew the weapon, and both he and his father were covered in it. The room practically shook with Nochhuetl’s loud screams, and the thunder overhead only accentuated the horrible noise.
Within a minute, his father was stone dead. Naer stabbed his lifeless body a few times before he was really satisfied and all pent-up rage was spent. He grinned at the sight of his abuser, now never to whip him or curse him again. Right now he was burning in hell.
Naer looked at his hands, soaked in blood. He licked one of his fingers and his eyes lit up, finding he strangely liked the taste. Then, he suddenly had a wonderful idea.
“Let’s play a game!” he screeched, bolting outside to the street where there were torches lit for night travelers. He grabbed a couple, pulling them out of the ground, and ran back to the front of his house.
“Guess what, Dad?” he said murderously, his hands clenched around the torches trembling with excitement. “You wanted me to burn one day. And now I AM!! HAHAHA! GET IT?!”
And he threw the lit torches with all his might onto the roof.
While his house was set ablaze, he withdrew his knife again and set out to have even more fun.
Tenoch and Ehacatl were his next victims. Too bad for them, he thought as he set their house, too, on fire on his way out, if only they hadn’t ignored him so much. Still not finished, he ran through the streets at will, leaving bloody footprints in his wake which were, for once, soaked in blood which was not his own. With every house’s residents he slaughtered, he made sure to burn what remained.
By that time, the combined chaotic sound of the storm, the numerous fires roaring, the screaming of over fifty dying Aztecs and Naer’s psychotic and uncontrollable laughter was more than enough to wake the whole city. Law enforcement rushed onto the scene, horrified by the carnage and destruction that was waiting for them.
“..It’s a demon. A demon has been here,” one of them said with a gulp. “Nothing else could cause this much horror.”
His companions merely nodded, struck speechless by what they were viewing. But they still had a job to do. The lead officer shouted orders to the others, commanding them to search everywhere until they found the devil roaming the streets. It was difficult to track the criminal they sought, due to the din and the crowds of terrified people who kept getting in their way, but soon they found who they were looking for by following his trail of bloody footprints which led straight to the top of the temple.
Naer was standing with his back to them, holding the dripping knife at his side. He laughed under his breath as he heard them approach.
“By the gods…Naer?” the leader spoke. Everyone knew Nochhuetl’s pitiful and scrawny son, who was always seen alone and friendless when he rarely ventured outside. He was the last person they would have expected to be capable of such a despicable crime.
“Evening…Commissionerrrr,” was Naer’s deranged response. He licked his lips and looked over his shoulder to face them, still with that devilish grin plastered on his face. “Why don’t you play a game with me…”
“Naer…you’re insane. You need help,” the man said uncertainly. The rest of the group was already slowly backing away.
“Help? HELP?! Oh, you mean, NOW everyone wants to help poor little Naer??” he laughed loudly. “I think it’s a LITTLE BIT LATE FOR THAT! Besides, he’s dead. I don’t have anything to worry about anymore.”
“Dead? Who?...”
The officer was answered by yet another chorus of maniacal laughter.
“He’s dead, he’s dead, I killed him dead! I stabbed a knife into his head!” Naer cackled. “The drunk man’s dead, he went to bed, and didn’t get up in the morrr-ning!”
“The drunk man…Nochhuetl? By Quetzalcoatl, Naer…you murdered your own father!”
Naer’s laughter echoed into the night.
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At first the leaders of the city had no idea what to do. Nothing so horrific had ever happened before in the recorded history of their village. Naturally, the punishment for murder was death. But what could you possibly do to a deranged madman who felt no pain and only relished in it?
Naer was held captive in the local prison until the leaders of the tribe decided upon a punishment. Believing that death would only be what the creature wanted, they decided to send him into exile, into the heart of the merciless Amazon, to meet whatever fate the gods had planned for him. As soon as the sun came out they cast him out of the city before a large crowd of nervous onlookers. Naer was still stained with blood from the night before. The prison guards hadn’t dared to get near him to clean it off, and he himself certainly didn’t care about his appearance. Before he left, he looked at all of them in the eyes. All of them, who had never raised a hand to save him when he had really needed it. And now, it was too late.
He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t say anything. All he did was grin the most savage grin he could muster before racing off into the dark trees.
Atzi was among the crowd who had come to witness his punishment. She watched him until she could see him no longer, then turned and hobbled away.
Among all the houses in the city, hers had been the single one he hadn’t burned.
Fifty dying Aztecs and that many dwelling set ablaze before anyone can supress Naer? I don't think so. 
*dances*
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