Dr. Kramer didn't know what to make of the patient's EEG readings. Although her beta waves had for the past week and a half been in a constant state of hyperactivity, they hadn't fluctuated much above 40 Hz, but now the waves were registering twice that, which was impossible.

He moved to stand directly over her to observe. Yes, the fluttering of the lids was quickening. He raised one of the lids, checked the pupil; it was still small. But wait, it seemed to expand and just as quickly retract. Something was definitely going on here. She seemed to be in a highly emotive state despite her coma.

He quickly left the room and headed for the nurse's station.

"Crandall," he addressed the tall redhaired woman who was the head nurse on the floor.

"Yes, Dr. Kramer?" she turned from the chart she was holding in her hand.

"Is Dr. Jensen still at the hospital?"

The nurse shook her head. "No, she just left to go back to her hotel to get some rest. She's been up almost 48 hours straight," she added this last almost defensively. Crandall had been in attendance during the long stretches that the visiting specialist had been on call, and she had silently observed the reddened eyes and the weariness of the woman, even as she diligently attended to her patient, ordering every neural test available and then later poring over pages of results, analyzing every detail, looking for some answer. Crandall had witnessed the frustration of someone who desperately needed to help, but could not. Thus her subtle defense of the woman against whom any unspoken criticism was unwarranted.

Dr. Kramer was oblivious to the underlying nuance of the nurse's answer. "Beep her now. She needs to get back here as soon as possible. Tell her I think something is going on with the patient that she should see."

Crandall sighed. "Yes, doctor," she said, even as she picked up the phone. That poor woman. She's going to be dead on her feet.

As soon as Kramer was satisfied that the call had been put in, he headed back to his patient's room. His steps were much more energized than they had been all week.

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The hospital scene was being played almost along parallel lines back at the castle. Derek, too, was in observance and was checking the EEG readouts on Nick. And had already checked the unconscious man's fluttering lids and expanding pupils - and was becoming as excited as Dr. Kramer was back at the hospital. He went over to the intercom and touched the button.

"Rachel, come here quickly. I believe something's happening with Nick...."

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A growing buzz moved through the crowd as the people stood before the great temple waiting. It would be said generations later that both sun and moon stood side by side in the skies, the sun a brilliant blaze that did not totally eclipse the cool white glow of the moon that continued to reign as though it stood in full glory against the backdrop of night. White clouds created ephemeral illusions against a palette of pale, shimmering blue. The gods were in attendance today.

The bright beauty of the festive day was a pall to Moctezuma's soul. Those who stood near him on the twin temple opposite the great temple where the man and woman awaited, looked on his visage and saw thunder, a great storm that ebbed one moment, grew the next. But beneath the violence of that storm was an overwhelming sadness that ate his heart down to its core.

He remembered her words from only hours before. He had offered her life, had been willing to forgive her. He had practically debased himself in front of her, tears streaming. She had stood, silent, dignified, without fear but with compassion in her eyes...compassion for him. The thought galled him. She had not begged for her life. And there had been no shame in her face, in her demeanor, even as she affirmed the words the first guard had recounted to him.

At the end of the guard's witness, Moctezuma, in private council, with only two guards, including the one who had just spoken, and Cihuatl, had turned his eyes on her then. "Cihuatl, haven't I given you everything you could possibly want...." he had appealed. "How could you betray me?" The words had been so full of pain.

Alex, still Cihuatl in his eyes, had known what her fate would be, remembering Tenan's words in the garden those many days ago. She had been found in the arms of another within the same walls where Moctezuma rested, presumptively assured of her fidelity. She looked on his face, saw the anguish there. She knew now that she loved him. And inside she felt the same sadness and pain that he was feeling. Yet that did not stop her words: "I don't belong here; I never did. And my name is not Cihuatl...my name is Alex."

"Is that what that barbarian told you?! Nothing but lies!" he stormed.

She had shaken her head sadly. "No, I feel it is the truth. I know it is. Even before I spoke with him, that name had echoed inside of me, inside my soul...and I have seen him in my dreams. The only thing I regret is the pain I've caused you...."

"Yes! It is easy to regret when death is nearing!" he had railed, trying to shame her with a blandishment of cowardice. But she would not rise to the bait. "I don't fear death...not any longer," she had sighed. "Do what you will with me."

He had sickened at her words, at the closing of her heart, even at the moment when she knew it was within his power to let her live. She had chosen death...she had chosen the other, the barbarian. Well, then, so be it, she would die with him, he had said to himself, trying to quell the pain that quaked at the dissolution of his world. The gods had not gifted him in the end. They had played him for a fool, opening his heart as it had never been opened before and then so cruelly ripping out its insides.

That night sleep came only in fitful snatches, but each time, he had dreamed of a giant snake twisting its many coils around him, squeezing the life from him. Quetzalcoatl was coming back to claim his throne. And as he had known even before she came, Moctezuma saw that his days were numbered. Only evil could follow this day. He looked over to the other temple then, his vision obscured by the silent tears that had yet to fall.

Below, in the crowds, Centehua stood hidden among the masses. She no longer feared Xomatzin's coming to retrieve her; he had not even tried. With her freedom, she had regained some of her strength and she stood quietly among the crowd, saying a silent prayer for the stranger who had saved her life. May he have a quick death...and find peace in the next world.

Also, in the same crowd, two sisters stood with their father, mother, and younger brother who rested in the crook of their father's arm. Nequametl and Necahual had recognized the dark woman as the guards escorted her up the hundred stairs, but only Necahual wondered why Moctezuma had decided to sacrifice the woman he had made his concubine. She could not imagine what had happened...although when she stood very still, she caught bits of murmuring. The word "adultery" seemed to come from several directions. She sighed, not sure of the meaning of the word. The world of adults was a strange one. She turned to give a stern look to her sister, who was fidgeting restlessly.

Nequametl's only thoughts at that moment was how hungry she was. She hoped to the gods this would be over soon. Then father would treat them to tamales and cocoa. Nequa waited in tense anticipation, already tasting the spicy tamales, the sweet stickiness of the cocoa. She wished they'd hurry up already.

At the top of the great temple, Teuc stood with the dignity required as he pulled the last strands of her loose hair from her neck, pinning them to her head. They were not to die as regular sacrifices. The pale man kneeling next to her seemed almost at peace, even though Moctezuma had ordered that no peyotl be given to him. The Great Speaker wanted the barbarian to feel all the fear and pain of the moment. But he had allowed the priests to offer it to the woman; she had refused. She did not need it. Teuc felt a covert respect at her bravery.

She held her head regally, befitting someone of royal personage. Even now, she looked beautiful and he shuddered at the unwanted image of her disembodied head sitting among the others in the deep rooms of the temple. Thankfully, Moctezuma had given word that morning that both bodies along with the heads were to be buried.

The two head priests, the Quetzalcoatl-Totec Tlamocozqui and Huitznahuoc Teohuatzin, stood in attendance, one standing behind each of the sacrifices, an obsidian blade in each of their hands. Just as the blades swung, the man turned to look at the woman. Teuc closed his eyes at the sound of metal hitting flesh.

The cheer of the crowd below reached up to Moctezuma's ears, but he sat as though he did not hear. One of his councillors bent to his ear.

"Great Speaker, do you wish a proclamation to go forth that her name is to never be spoken again?"

Moctezuma sat for a second longer, his face now stone. He spoke without turning. "How can such a proclamation be? After all, her name means "woman". Even I do not have the power to wipe out the name given to all females. No, her name shall stand as it is. But it is to never be spoken in my presence again." This time he did turn to look at the councillor. The man shrunk back from the coldness he saw there.