manner brooked no contradiction.
Cucub blushed with silent embarrassment. And the Husihuilkes waited in silence for him to recover from his feeling of shame.
‘I was working up to that,’ muttered the Zitzahay, as if excusing himself. Then he began his answer, with the sincere intention of not letting his tongue run away with him any more.
‘A war was beginning in the Ancient Lands; a war so absolute, so different from any that had gone before that the Northmen crossed the ocean to bring us news of it. From the Ancient Lands to
the Fertile Lands. No one would run such a risk simply to inform us about a war like all the others. Our ancestors were warned by those Northmen: “Brothers of the Fertile Lands, the motive
for us coming here could not be another battle between Creatures, however important that might be. We have come to tell you that in the Ancient Lands the final war is about to be fought. We are
facing someone whom his own mother baptized Misáianes, which in distant languages has the meaning “Eternal Hatred”. The Northmen said Misáianes had been created in the
bowels of Death itself. Created and trained to unleash the power of fierce cruelty against our world.’
When Old Mother Kush, Thungür and Dulkancellin heard these words from the Zitzahay, they sensed that Misáianes was a name capable of dividing Time. A shudder ran through the room,
fluttered and settled on their souls like a bird of prey.
‘The books I referred to,’ Cucub went on, ‘faithfully reflect what the Northmen told us. I can remember some of the fragments most frequently repeated by Zabralkán
during the time I spent in the House of the Stars, and I can think of no better way to conclude what I have to say: “It is for us, the inhabitants of the Ancient Lands, to undertake the first
battles against Misáianes. That is as it should be, because Misáianes was born and grew on a mountain in our continent. And that is where he is concentrating his forces. We will fight
to the last drop of blood of the last noble Creature, but that may not be enough. For now, this part of the world is still safe. We and the ocean are a shield for you. Preserve this place and this
life of yours! Protect yourselves, and protect the children we will leave among you! It is in them that we are depositing our hopes for the future, even if the Ancient Lands should fall. If we are
victorious, we will return to search for our descendants. You will see us come back over the sea. And then we will pass bread from hand to hand round the ceremonial pyre. But if we are defeated, it
will be They who appear. Misáianes will gather strength in the Ancient Lands. Then he will dispatch his armies to devastate this continent, because that is his intention: not to leave a
single tree in blossom, not a single bird singing. We know that when this moment comes you will fight as we are doing now. But that moment, if it does come, will only arrive after many, many years.
This war will stretch beyond the span of human life: that is why you must ensure you keep the memory of these words alive and protected. No matter how many years go by ... When the arrival of a new
fleet is prophesied, there must be some of you who can remember all this in order to decide whether it is the Northmen who are on board, or if it is Misáianes who is drawing near. Them or
us. Life or Death. That is all. And make sure that our children multiply!’
The Husihuilkes were beginning to understand.
‘I can see you are starting to understand,’ said Cucub. ‘Is it the Northmen who are coming, or Misáianes? Instead of illuminating us, the signs only make the question
more obscure. Everything presenting itself to the eyes of Magic can be read in two different ways, and the result is uncertainty.’
‘We have never heard anyone spoken of in the way you described Misáianes,’ said Dulkancellin. ‘Tell us, Cucub, who is he?’
The Husihuilke warrior’s question had its reply in the
Cucub blushed with silent embarrassment. And the Husihuilkes waited in silence for him to recover from his feeling of shame.
‘I was working up to that,’ muttered the Zitzahay, as if excusing himself. Then he began his answer, with the sincere intention of not letting his tongue run away with him any more.
‘A war was beginning in the Ancient Lands; a war so absolute, so different from any that had gone before that the Northmen crossed the ocean to bring us news of it. From the Ancient Lands to
the Fertile Lands. No one would run such a risk simply to inform us about a war like all the others. Our ancestors were warned by those Northmen: “Brothers of the Fertile Lands, the motive
for us coming here could not be another battle between Creatures, however important that might be. We have come to tell you that in the Ancient Lands the final war is about to be fought. We are
facing someone whom his own mother baptized Misáianes, which in distant languages has the meaning “Eternal Hatred”. The Northmen said Misáianes had been created in the
bowels of Death itself. Created and trained to unleash the power of fierce cruelty against our world.’
When Old Mother Kush, Thungür and Dulkancellin heard these words from the Zitzahay, they sensed that Misáianes was a name capable of dividing Time. A shudder ran through the room,
fluttered and settled on their souls like a bird of prey.
‘The books I referred to,’ Cucub went on, ‘faithfully reflect what the Northmen told us. I can remember some of the fragments most frequently repeated by Zabralkán
during the time I spent in the House of the Stars, and I can think of no better way to conclude what I have to say: “It is for us, the inhabitants of the Ancient Lands, to undertake the first
battles against Misáianes. That is as it should be, because Misáianes was born and grew on a mountain in our continent. And that is where he is concentrating his forces. We will fight
to the last drop of blood of the last noble Creature, but that may not be enough. For now, this part of the world is still safe. We and the ocean are a shield for you. Preserve this place and this
life of yours! Protect yourselves, and protect the children we will leave among you! It is in them that we are depositing our hopes for the future, even if the Ancient Lands should fall. If we are
victorious, we will return to search for our descendants. You will see us come back over the sea. And then we will pass bread from hand to hand round the ceremonial pyre. But if we are defeated, it
will be They who appear. Misáianes will gather strength in the Ancient Lands. Then he will dispatch his armies to devastate this continent, because that is his intention: not to leave a
single tree in blossom, not a single bird singing. We know that when this moment comes you will fight as we are doing now. But that moment, if it does come, will only arrive after many, many years.
This war will stretch beyond the span of human life: that is why you must ensure you keep the memory of these words alive and protected. No matter how many years go by ... When the arrival of a new
fleet is prophesied, there must be some of you who can remember all this in order to decide whether it is the Northmen who are on board, or if it is Misáianes who is drawing near. Them or
us. Life or Death. That is all. And make sure that our children multiply!’
The Husihuilkes were beginning to understand.
‘I can see you are starting to understand,’ said Cucub. ‘Is it the Northmen who are coming, or Misáianes? Instead of illuminating us, the signs only make the question
more obscure. Everything presenting itself to the eyes of Magic can be read in two different ways, and the result is uncertainty.’
‘We have never heard anyone spoken of in the way you described Misáianes,’ said Dulkancellin. ‘Tell us, Cucub, who is he?’
The Husihuilke warrior’s question had its reply in the
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