The Experiment

Tenochtitlan - 1441 AD

The sweat collected in large droplets on his half-shaven head and slowly cascaded downwards toward the earth. He paced, quicker with every bare step that brought him closer to escaping his inevitable death. The air was thick, abundant with moisture, and already extremely difficult for one to breathe in a state of calamity and completely unfathomable choke down while sprinting. Branches, thorns, and other vegetation viciously gnawed at Ichtaca's limbs as he trod by.

"AARRRGHHH!" A cunning, unsuspecting bushel had just ensnared the young boy by his waist-length hair. Ichtaca fidgeted with the knots and tangle of branch and silk-soft hair. He could hear the footsteps and voices coming up fast and succumbed to the bushel. He quickly retracted his stone knife and sawed away at his enviable locks of smooth chestnut, leaving them for the vindictive plant.

"One less trait for the gods to desire," he thought out loud in a rushed whisper as he quickly began to continue his escape. For what seemed like hours, Ichtaca continued to gallop, steady as a steed, further and further away from his home. Further and further away from everything he had ever known.

  He had finally stopped in the golden, musky cornfield of an outside city. He was still in the region of his people but far enough from the footsteps that he evaded earlier to briefly rest. As he strained to inhale as much air as he could in his exhausted state, he started to harvest a few ears to sustain him for as long as possible. Salt infused sweat continued dripping in turbulent streams into his eyes and the wounds he had acquired while running. He crouched down and rested against the stiff stalks. He continued his wheezy  breaths and let the flooding memories of the previous hours fill his mind.

  He had been at home with his mother while his father was in battle with a neighboring tribe. His mother was preparing game that Ichtaca had just killed the day before. He helped with the skinning and let her tend to the serving. For a while everything seemed calm and stable. His mother told him to fetch some wood and stone for fire. He left his shelter and began walking through the village searching for large rocks and dry material. It was a hot, humid day much like every other day and the people were scattered sparsely. He glanced at the few  passersby he saw as he scavenged. It was a typical day for the town. Usually Ichtaca paid no mind, however it seemed suspiciously strange how normal everything seemed. He tried not to think much of it because after all nothing was strange, it was all normal.

As he continued on scrounging for stones and twigs he noticed something in a leaf a few feet from him. The leaf changed . It was nothing like he had ever seen before. It was indescribable. The shape and color seemed to shift, only for a moment; no one else seemed to notice. Ichtaca ignored it, thinking it must be the heat getting to him.

When he finally collected a sufficient amount of burning material and stone he headed back towards his home.

"I'm back mama," he yelled softly as he stepped inside. What waited for him however, was not his mother, but two soldiers. "What's going on?" Ichtaca was confused and anxious. His mind immediately jumped the the thought of his father; had he been killed in battle?

  "We have come to retrieve you, the high priest has been informed by the gods that a sacrifice is needed. Someone of youthful beauty, innocence, and strength was requested. The high priest has decided you to be the best suited to ensure the well being of our people, crops, and animals." The soldier directly in front of Ichtaca relayed the message. Ichtaca didn't know what to think. He felt great pride and wanted to please the gods so it seemed best to comly.

   "Alright, I will come peacfully," Ichtaca renounced. He walked down the streets pridefully, ignoring the looks of pity from the citizens watching. There were families gathered around. He remained boastful until he finally approached the sacrificial temple. He witnessed the blood stained stone and spotted the high priest atop the temple with instruments of murder. His mind began to race. "WAIT! I HAVE CHANGED MY MIND! PLEASE," he pleaded. He tried to run but the soldier closest to him snatched him quickly and proceeded to take him up the steps. Ichtaca struggled and tried with might to get free; his efforts were unsuccessful. He frantically searched for something, someone, anything to cause a distraction long enough for him to relinquish him from the impending doom. As he neared the top of the temple, looking down at his fellow citizens, an idea struck him.