Read Clash of Star-Kings for Free Online

was sacred when Huitzilopochtli or Quetzalcoatl used to have the concession. The old Aztec flay-’em-alive boys had one of their cardiectomy clinics on top of it, you can be sure of that. It’s got an unintenupted view of both Popo and Ixta, the Super-Sacred Macro-Mountains. And, naturally, Cortez and Padre Olmedo, his chaplain, didn’t waste any time in toppling the idols and setting up a cross in their place.
    “The Indians wailed a bit, but they didn’t really object
too
much. Know why? Know what their big objection was? That the Spanish cross didn’t have equidistant arms! Sure. The natives already
had
the cross as a religious symbol. The old bishops claimed this proved that St. Thomas the Wandering Apostle had stopped off here in Mexico on his way to India. And the Mormons, of course, claim that this proves that Jesus was here, just as Joseph Smith said. But the simple fact of the matter is — and there’s other proof connecting this with Monte Sagrado, I’ll get to that in a minute — the simple fact of the matter is, that a cross with equidistant arms was the ancient Mexican symbol of the rains which come blowing down bringing blessings from every direction, and all four cardinal points in particular. But still: what made
this
hill with the pyramid holier than any other hill with a pyramid? And particularly after it ceased to have the pyramid?”
    “Was there anything else on the hill?” asked Sarah, beginning to get interested despite herself.
    Mac smiled an a-hah sort of smile and raised his eyebrows and his index finger. “ ‘On’ it? ‘On’ it?”
    “Well, what then?
Under
it?” she said, at a venture.
    Instantly he leveled the index finger at her face. “Exactly. Exactly. How did you know? Who told you? They don’t usually care to discuss it with outsiders.”
    Sarah beamed and raised her hands, palms out, to the level of her ears, in one of her favorite gestures. “You mean that there
is
something under it? Oh my goodness!” She uttered a squeal of sheer delight.
    “What? Tell me? Hidden treasure?”
    “Tlaloc.”
    “Who? What — what?”
    ‘There’s a Tlaloc under, or perhaps I should say, inside, the Holy Mountain. A statue of the rain god. At least, some say there’s a whole statue. But all that’s visible is the head. I’m not sure there
is
any more than just a head. It’s in a sort of tunnel or cave, or — if my miner’s experience is my judge — a combination tunnel and cave. How they got it in there beats me, because the way is so narrow you more or less almost have to wiggle on your belly like a reptile — and it’s not carved out of any kind of stone that was ever found in, under, there, either.
    “Never mind how I got permission, I have certain strings I can pull if I need to,” he said, winking, “but it took some doing. The good clergy have done about all they could to christianize the surface of that little mountain, but
nothing
could ever de-paganize that head. Try to imagine it” — he said, glee giving way to sober sincerity — “this gigantic head — must be a good six feet up and down and across — eyes half-closed — broad nose — full lips — expression of infinite majesty and calm — ”
    “Gee — !”
    “ — nothing Aztec about it in the world, it must be
pre
-Aztec, Toltec, maybe, or even Olmec. And — get
this
, now: it’s situated under a sort of seepage spot from a spring … and the impression that you get, when you turn your flashlight on it, is that, well, damn it! That it’s sitting under a sort of gentle rain.”
    “Gee!”
    “Yes, exactly. Well … even though hardly anyone has ever seen it, because you’ve got to go through the church precincts and the priests have got it closed off and shut up with a good ten stout gates with enormous locks, still, everyone knows it is
there
. All of which is background as to what makes the Holy Mountain holy. Now, as for the Hermit himself, well….”
    What the Hermit’s original name