Chapter One: And Here My Troubles Began
#1 of Huehuecoyotl
Hope y'all like this- this is my first story for the community; this first chapter sets up a few things and is all plot. Things will speed up in the other two parts.
Huehuecoyotl
By Joshua Puck
Part 1
And Here My Troubles Began
The wind was cool and crisp, the perfect counter to the warm July sun beating down on Joshua's fur. He'd just barely been able to climb up to the ledge he was standing on, and it gave him a wonderful view of the valley nearby. Lifting his head, he took in a breath of air and a smile came to his lips. This was going to be a great place to stay the next couple of days. Just him and nature, without the tourists that were starting to plague his favorite mesas back home.
Slipping off the small daypack on his back, the coyote took stock of where he was. He lowered into a sitting position, looking over the forested valley below, noting every scent that came from the trees as they swayed in the breeze. He was a little chilly, dressed only in camo shorts and an Arizona State t-shirt with hiking boots, but between his fur and the sun, he felt he didn't need to get back to his camp just yet.
Joshua was here on summer vacation, a nice break from the heady research that a history degree back at Arizona State often smothered him with. He was only going to be a junior next year, still with two years of the heavier 300 and 400-level courses to get under his belt, which made him insane. So he'd picked a place that he could get out of the libraries and into a little bit of actual history. He picked this valley west of Morelia, that was supposed to house ancient Aztec and P'urhépechan sites that he'd be able to study for a couple days, to horn over some of the archaeology students who were busy digging in the same site he'd nearly screwed up back in Cynopolis last summer. Here he was doing actual field study; a little better than the dusty primary sources that he'd been poring through. With his GPA in the toilet due to partying his freshman year, Josh figured he could use the extra credit.
Sure, he'd been warned by locals not to go into the valley, to stick to the more populated tourist sites; that there was an area that even the natives didn't go due to disappearances. But that didn't make sense to him. In this day and age, there would have to have been lots of people who'd come this way, from the conquistadors down to modern tourists like himself. If there was some danger, he'd though that the Mexican government or at least some local militia would have taken care of it. As he planned his climbing trip, he chalked it up to local superstition.
So far, he'd been right. The only worry he had was finding an adequate place to park for his base camp. The area he'd driven to was still heavily grown, and he'd barely avoided smacking into several trees as soon as he drove off the main path. But everything was fine; camp was established and he barely let things settle before he snatched up his daypack with some food, water, and a notebook to go exploring the mountain. He'd been able to find a few sites so far, mostly petroglyphs that he'd taken the time to scribble down to show some professors back home. He was particularly interested to talk to Carlos Aguirre, the wizened hawk that was the head of the Latin American History department.
Cracking the top of his water bottle, Josh drank a heavy draught and tore into a Clif Bar, enjoying the respite. It was as he looked around again that something made him narrow his amber eyes in confusion. It looked like the forest around him was starting to wave like a tsunami, causing a cacophony of calls from the wildlife. He leaned forward on the ledge to try and figure why when suddenly the mountain he was on shook violently. An earthquake! Central Mexico was notorious for them, but Josh hadn't planned for that! He tried to brace himself against the ledge, muttering a couple curses to Old Man Coyote that of all the times... When he noticed his daypack was shimmying off the ledge to the mountainside below.
Reflexively he snatched for the daypack; he didn't want to lose his notes in the underbrush. But with the rumbling just subsiding, he leaned too far over and pitched forward down the cliffside. He tried to catch himelf with his other paw, his claws digging into the rock, but the momentum was too great and he rolled down the mountain side, a few hundred feet, going tail over head. He bounced off of rocks a couple of times, sending the contents of his daypack throwing everywhere; a spray of torn notebook paper followed him like a comet's tail as he rolled through the trees. Caroming head first off of one particularly large partridge wood tree, he ended his journey by falling into a nearby river, dazed as the current swept him further west. A small cloud of blood followed him.
Joshua woke up a few hours later on the riverbank. One of his eyes barely opened, and he closed it again with a wince. He slowly pushed himself to dry ground with a whine, clutching his head. He brought back his paw and it was stained in blood. With another whine, he crawled forward, slowly pushing himself with a cough to spit out any water in his system. He was thoroughly lost. The trees drew upon him, a thick batch that blocked the remaining sunlight and turned the forest floor dim.
Josh felt woozy from his fall, and sat down at a tree to take stock. Nothing felt broken, just bruised and scraped to hell. He could see blood seeping out of places on his torn shirt; his knees had most of the fur scraped off to reveal raw skin, and he was sure there was at least a couple bones in his tail that were dislocated. He coughed nervously, wondering what the hell he was going to do now. He was lost and bloodied, in a foreign country. Most of his identification was in a lock box back in Morelia, and his wallet with his daypack was gone.
The only thing he thought of was to follow the river, to see which way it went. He was sure that he should try to get back to the mountain, but he couldn't see it through the trees. The blacked out period also threw his directions off; for all he knew, he could have passed into a tributary or into another river system. But first, he had to do something about the head wound. He only had one thing for bandages with him, the orange rag that was once his t-shirt. Tearing it off his body to reveal the slim but battered torso underneath, he tore it into strips.
Feeling with one hand, he let out a couple of shrill barks when he found the wound on his head. It was deep in the brown hair on top, closer to his left ear. After cleaning the matted hair best he could using the river, he proceeded to prepare the cloth into a few strips. He barked again, eyes screwed shut, as he stuffed a rag on top of the wound to apply a little pressure. Wrapping it best he could, he tied the makeshift bandage around his ear for support and figured he had to make do with that. He used the rest of his shirt to cover his shredded knees.
Stooping over the riverbank, he could see his reflection. He looked like hell, with his dusty fur accented with blood in places. In fact, he looked like a zombie, with his black eye and red streak going from the top of the left side of his head to the bottom of his muzzle. Either a zombie, or Kratos. That thought made him laugh, which perked his spirits up, but made him homesick already.
Leaning over to drink some water to give him resolve to move on, he finally stood up on his shaky knees. Walking was a torture, as his bruised muscles and wounds combined to put him in near constant pain. Joshua took a couple of hours to stumble long the riverbank, trying to get some sort of bearings, but generally stymied by the increasing darkness.
Just as the last of the darkness finished its fill of the sky, Joshua came across a clearing. It looked natural, a flat place where trees hadn't been able to take root. Joshua felt this was a good place to rest for the night. As he curled up against a tree for support, he took a fetal position and fluffed his fur the best he could against the night chill. Just as he finally passed out from exhaustion, he could swear that a mountain ahead above the treeline looked like a step pyramid...
The morning came to Joshua with a sharp bark and a strange poking sensation that jolted the young coyote to a start. As his vision cleared, he noticed his left eye was open more which made him smile until a cat's yowl caught his attention. He jerked with a start, and pressed himself back against the tree he'd slept under in fear.
He found himself surrounded by five furs pointing obsidian-headed spears; three jaguars, a coyote, and a raccoon. All of them had shoulder-length black hair and chiseled faces. They were tall, lean, and built for hard fighting, but what confused Joshua was their dress. All five of them were dressed in tied white loincloths and protected by primitive armor; light breastplates and greaves on their shins, with a hide shield. Each of them were adorned in several feathers. Joshua blinked again. It was impossible, but he was being held up by Aztec warriors!
"What the hell?" he could not help but say. He held his paws up to show he was unarmed; as if a half blind, wet, and bloody coyote with shredded clothing would pose that much of a threat in the first place. The five conversed with one another; in his groggy state, Joshua wasn't sure what they were saying, but it sounded like a mix of Spanish and another language.
He slowly stood up, and gave the five a smile. "Uh, hello?" he said, still with hands up. The five watched him tensely. As he took a step forward, the five looked at the jaguar standing directly in front of Joshua, who seemed to have a few more couatl feathers than the rest.
He appeared to be the leader, and so Joshua focused on him. "I'm, uh, lost," he said with just a hint of confusion in his eyes. There was no way he was seeing this. Maybe they were a dance troupe for a festival; that thought gave him a little hope since that would mean a village was nearby. He winced, running through his Spanish. He knew it was horrible, he didn't need much on the rez where his mom came from. Most of his relatives spoke English and tried to instill a little of the old tongue on him instead.
"Ah.. Yo.. soy Joshua Puck," he began, already knowing that wasn't correct. "Ich bin.." He stopped. Ich bin? That was German, stupid. He was too busy admonishing himself, that when he looked back up, he saw only four furs in front of him. He was wondering where the third jaguar that was on his left went when he felt a sharp blow to the back of the head, pitching him forward and into a blackness as he hit the grass.