there is no pettiness or arrogance in our
Magic. Nor betrayals. There is Wisdom that has not yet been attained. That, and only that, is what I pin my hopes on. Perhaps by the time we reach the Remote Realm we will find that the movement of
the stars in the heavens, the prophecies, the sacred dreams, the calendars, the visions of the initiated and the messages from the earth will all have been interpreted in a single
fashion.’
Dulkancellin waved his hand to show he had understood. Then he encouraged the Zitzahay to get on to the important matters.
‘Zitzahay, you have been brief. But now tell us if you can exactly where this line you speak of is drawn.’
‘Your question anticipates what I was about to tell you,’ said Cucub, annoyed at the warrior’s impatience. ‘Since you so desire, I will convey this to you in a few words.
Some believe it is the Northmen who are coming. Or rather, who are coming back. Others fear – may the stars align in our protection! – that it is the shadows of Misáianes who are
on their way, as our ancestors were warned long ago.’
Cucub paused, sure that the Husihuilkes would ask him to explain further. To his astonishment, Old Mother Kush said:
‘The first name you mentioned is not unknown to me. Northmen ... I heard about them when I was as small as Wilkilén. It was from the mouth of one of my grandparents, on a night very
like this one.’
‘That is possible,’ Cucub admitted. ‘Many people heard talk of the Northmen. And some elders can dig deep into their memories and bring back what they were told. You, Old
Mother Kush, must have heard of their red hair and colourless skin. But it is more difficult for you to know what they did when they were among us.’
‘You are right. I close my eyes and hear the voice of my grandfather describing those men. I also remember he told us they had never before reached the Ends of the Earth. But that is all I
can remember.’
‘Sister Kush, there is no way you can recall what you do not know,’ said the Zitzahay. ‘We would have to go back not to one grandfather but seven of them, if we wanted to reach
back to the time when the Northmen visited us. And their coming was as secret as it was remote in time. The truth about those events was preserved in sacred books that only a few could read. And so
it remained, awaiting the right time to be revealed. That time is now upon us, and we are the first to be aware of it. Is this destiny of ours a good or bad thing? I am not sure.’
‘Tell us what we need to know,’ insisted Dulkancellin.
By now, Cucub felt completely at ease. He went on:
‘One day in the far distant past, the Northmen disembarked in the Remote Realm. At that time, very little was known ... or I should say, very little was remembered about them: we knew they
lived in the Ancient Lands, on the far side of the ocean. And that they were the direct descendants of a timeless, noble race of men. The expedition of the Northmen brought bad news. Worse than
anything that had ever been heard in our lands. Our leaders listened to them. And as I said before, everything the Northmen related was written in hermetic language on folded bark parchments that
were placed in lacquered cases, then stored in a stone chest, which was hidden in a private place, and ...’
‘Wait a moment, Zitzahay!’ Dulkancellin objected. ‘Try to get to the essential! Please tell us why you said “bad news”.’
‘Who said “bad”?’
‘You did!’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you!’ the warrior insisted, obviously annoyed.
‘In that case I did not succeed in expressing my real thoughts,’ said Cucub. ‘I should have said “terrifying news”. Or in other words, news that would turn the
world upside down. Glimpses of the end.’
‘Zitzahay, in honour of the gravity of what you are talking about, forget your artistry for a moment and tell me clearly: what are you referring to? What news are you talking
about?’
Dulkancellin’s
Magic. Nor betrayals. There is Wisdom that has not yet been attained. That, and only that, is what I pin my hopes on. Perhaps by the time we reach the Remote Realm we will find that the movement of
the stars in the heavens, the prophecies, the sacred dreams, the calendars, the visions of the initiated and the messages from the earth will all have been interpreted in a single
fashion.’
Dulkancellin waved his hand to show he had understood. Then he encouraged the Zitzahay to get on to the important matters.
‘Zitzahay, you have been brief. But now tell us if you can exactly where this line you speak of is drawn.’
‘Your question anticipates what I was about to tell you,’ said Cucub, annoyed at the warrior’s impatience. ‘Since you so desire, I will convey this to you in a few words.
Some believe it is the Northmen who are coming. Or rather, who are coming back. Others fear – may the stars align in our protection! – that it is the shadows of Misáianes who are
on their way, as our ancestors were warned long ago.’
Cucub paused, sure that the Husihuilkes would ask him to explain further. To his astonishment, Old Mother Kush said:
‘The first name you mentioned is not unknown to me. Northmen ... I heard about them when I was as small as Wilkilén. It was from the mouth of one of my grandparents, on a night very
like this one.’
‘That is possible,’ Cucub admitted. ‘Many people heard talk of the Northmen. And some elders can dig deep into their memories and bring back what they were told. You, Old
Mother Kush, must have heard of their red hair and colourless skin. But it is more difficult for you to know what they did when they were among us.’
‘You are right. I close my eyes and hear the voice of my grandfather describing those men. I also remember he told us they had never before reached the Ends of the Earth. But that is all I
can remember.’
‘Sister Kush, there is no way you can recall what you do not know,’ said the Zitzahay. ‘We would have to go back not to one grandfather but seven of them, if we wanted to reach
back to the time when the Northmen visited us. And their coming was as secret as it was remote in time. The truth about those events was preserved in sacred books that only a few could read. And so
it remained, awaiting the right time to be revealed. That time is now upon us, and we are the first to be aware of it. Is this destiny of ours a good or bad thing? I am not sure.’
‘Tell us what we need to know,’ insisted Dulkancellin.
By now, Cucub felt completely at ease. He went on:
‘One day in the far distant past, the Northmen disembarked in the Remote Realm. At that time, very little was known ... or I should say, very little was remembered about them: we knew they
lived in the Ancient Lands, on the far side of the ocean. And that they were the direct descendants of a timeless, noble race of men. The expedition of the Northmen brought bad news. Worse than
anything that had ever been heard in our lands. Our leaders listened to them. And as I said before, everything the Northmen related was written in hermetic language on folded bark parchments that
were placed in lacquered cases, then stored in a stone chest, which was hidden in a private place, and ...’
‘Wait a moment, Zitzahay!’ Dulkancellin objected. ‘Try to get to the essential! Please tell us why you said “bad news”.’
‘Who said “bad”?’
‘You did!’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you!’ the warrior insisted, obviously annoyed.
‘In that case I did not succeed in expressing my real thoughts,’ said Cucub. ‘I should have said “terrifying news”. Or in other words, news that would turn the
world upside down. Glimpses of the end.’
‘Zitzahay, in honour of the gravity of what you are talking about, forget your artistry for a moment and tell me clearly: what are you referring to? What news are you talking
about?’
Dulkancellin’s
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