It's Not My Fault: The End?
Jun. 30th, 2023 01:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsThe fate of the Mayan codex is revealed.
It had been a long week. Weeks. Several years, really. But the railway that would tear through the Canuls' hometown was dead, and it would take years and tens of millions of pesos' worth of environmental and economic studies to figure out how to salvage the project. So for now, Omar and Gloria Canul were safe, as was their codex.
Not that it would stay in their possession much longer, anyway. Juan Meróz might have been out of the picture, but there were others who wanted ancient Mayan magic. But at least others were offering an acceptable exchange.
"It worked," Omar said to their visitor in Yucatec Mayan, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "It was difficult, but . . . the Ritual of the Twelve works. Magic can be transferred from twelve to empower one."
Maria looked at him through lidded eyes. "It's not just about the process. It is about our Lord." She shook her head. "Our worship is sacred."
"And it will work," Gloria assured her. "We tested with our grandson. He thought it was his idea, but . . . never mind, it's irrelevant. He held the power of our twelve for quite a while, and maybe could have held it indefinitely were we not interrupted."
"But he is just a boy," Omar added. "And not a sorcerer, but a mutant." That last word he said in Spanish, a limitation of his mother tongue. "Our Lord Mah K'ina Tah Balam does not possess those mortal limitations. If you raise your own twelve with this, then our god returns."
The woman didn't respond immediately, instead taking a seat and pulling off the shawl she'd worn to shield her from the dust on her journey here. As she did, they caught a momentary glimpse of the tattoo on her neck, at the point of her jaw: an oblong red point bisected by a line and surrounded by four rounded triangles, forming an abstract eye.
"You have done well here." She said finally. "The ritual of the Twelve is capable of eliminating the only way our Lord can be challenged. His avatars already walk the land. Once he rises, he will show himself to all his followers, in all their shapes. For you, as he was in the past, Mah K'ina Tah Balam. For others, a dozen different names lost to history or myth. For us, he was the Son of the Morning Fire until the truth was revealed. But the names matter little." She held out her hand for the codex. "When he rises, we shall all serve our eternal lord En-Sabeh-Nur."
Omar handed it to her without hesitation. Finally, the Canul bloodline's hundreds-years-long mission had been accomplished. "We serve for his glory," he intoned.
This is all for you, Julito, he added silently.
It had been a long week. Weeks. Several years, really. But the railway that would tear through the Canuls' hometown was dead, and it would take years and tens of millions of pesos' worth of environmental and economic studies to figure out how to salvage the project. So for now, Omar and Gloria Canul were safe, as was their codex.
Not that it would stay in their possession much longer, anyway. Juan Meróz might have been out of the picture, but there were others who wanted ancient Mayan magic. But at least others were offering an acceptable exchange.
"It worked," Omar said to their visitor in Yucatec Mayan, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "It was difficult, but . . . the Ritual of the Twelve works. Magic can be transferred from twelve to empower one."
Maria looked at him through lidded eyes. "It's not just about the process. It is about our Lord." She shook her head. "Our worship is sacred."
"And it will work," Gloria assured her. "We tested with our grandson. He thought it was his idea, but . . . never mind, it's irrelevant. He held the power of our twelve for quite a while, and maybe could have held it indefinitely were we not interrupted."
"But he is just a boy," Omar added. "And not a sorcerer, but a mutant." That last word he said in Spanish, a limitation of his mother tongue. "Our Lord Mah K'ina Tah Balam does not possess those mortal limitations. If you raise your own twelve with this, then our god returns."
The woman didn't respond immediately, instead taking a seat and pulling off the shawl she'd worn to shield her from the dust on her journey here. As she did, they caught a momentary glimpse of the tattoo on her neck, at the point of her jaw: an oblong red point bisected by a line and surrounded by four rounded triangles, forming an abstract eye.
"You have done well here." She said finally. "The ritual of the Twelve is capable of eliminating the only way our Lord can be challenged. His avatars already walk the land. Once he rises, he will show himself to all his followers, in all their shapes. For you, as he was in the past, Mah K'ina Tah Balam. For others, a dozen different names lost to history or myth. For us, he was the Son of the Morning Fire until the truth was revealed. But the names matter little." She held out her hand for the codex. "When he rises, we shall all serve our eternal lord En-Sabeh-Nur."
Omar handed it to her without hesitation. Finally, the Canul bloodline's hundreds-years-long mission had been accomplished. "We serve for his glory," he intoned.
This is all for you, Julito, he added silently.
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Date: 2023-06-30 08:10 pm (UTC)