Back to the monarch’s face stole the pallor.
“Look again, O king! You only saw yourself, your people and warriors. But what is this?”
Walking up, he laid his finger on the representation of a man landing from a canoe.
“The last we beheld of Quetzal’,” he continued, “was on the southern wall; his back was to Tenochtitlan, which he was leaving with a curse. All you have heard about his promise to return is true. He himself has written the very day, and here it is. Look! While the king, his warriors and people, are gathered to the combat, Quetzal’ steps from the canoe to the sea-shore.”
The figure in the carving was scarcely two hands high, but exquisitely wrought. With terror poorly concealed, Montezuma recognized it.
“And now my promise is redeemed. I said I would give you to read a message from the sun.”
“Read, Mualox: I cannot.”
The holy man turned to the writing, and said, with a swelling voice, “Thus writes Quetzal’ to Montezuma, the king! In the last day he will seek to stay my vengeance; he will call together his people; there will be combat in Tenochtitlan; but in the midst of the rejoicing I will land on the sea-shore, and end the days of Azatlan forever.”
“Forever!” said the unhappy monarch. “No, no! Read the next writing.”
“There is no other; this is the last.”