Each year he found himself back here, staring blankly into the Cenote, and every time he had been alone.
Every time until now.
The figure must have approached quietly, unnoticed in his drab robes. This must be what had happened.
Men do not simply appear from the air.
Much time passed before the stranger spoke.
"Your daughter, I understand?"
Hunmu Rruk considered this, eyes still fixed on the sinkhole below.
"You understand, do you?"
The robed man did not answer immediately, instead tilting his hooded head skywards. Hunmu Rruk glanced his way for the first time, and saw a young, pale face still partly obscured by an uneven mass of dark hair. It stared into the night sky with a mixture of fondness and regret that Hunmu Rruk found hatefully familiar.
"I had a daughter myself, long ago. Or perhaps many. Or perhaps it wasn't quite me. But I digress!"
In an instant, the stranger's demeanour shifted. The sympathetic fellow mourner was almost gone, and in his place was a flamboyant showman with a terrible gleam in his bulging eyes. Even his voice sounded younger as he barked out provocations, prancing back and forth.
"I expect you'd give anything to have her back with us, wouldn't you? Your own life, certainly. Perhaps even the lives of your fellow villagers, in your darkest and most private thoughts?"
Hunmu Rruk bore this.
"You claim you were yourself a father. Would you not give all for the life and happiness of your child?"
This drew cackles of bitter laughter from the strange figure, now posing in exaggerated distress.
"Is there ought for which I'd give all? Really, is there ought for which I'venotgiven all, at one time or another?
Fortunately for you, it won't take so much as a banana leaf for her to be… back with us."
Hunmu Rruk did not bear this, clambering to his feet and straightening up to loom over the intruder.
"It has been an epoch since I lost her and since this village lost its future leader. You appear to me now, taunting me, for what reason? Tell me why I should not cast you down after her!"
This seemed only to delight the dramatic stranger further, if his excited gestures were any indication.
"Such passion! Oh yes, you areexactlywhat I need!"
Claws already bared, Hunmu Rruk lunged - and fellthroughhis target, hitting the ground in shock.
Behind him, a haze of darkness bloomed in the air for a moment and the robed figure reappeared; unscathed and unruffled.
"Get up, you silly man, do. We have much work to attend to, you and I!"
Hands now perched jauntily on his hips, the visage vanished once again into nothingness - and this time, Hunmu Rruk felt himself following as if pulled along in this creature's eldritch wake.
It had not taken long to gather the simple ingredients, nearby trees and burrows yielding their bounty readily enough even in darkness to one with a lifetime spent alongside this forest. He re-entered the hut they used for storage and crafting, and spoke aloud the thought he'd been mulling over since having been sent out as if he were this man's lackey.
"Your tale makes little sense. I can tolerate that, but I must have your name if we are to work together"
The stranger had by now taken down his hood, and in the candlelit hut his hair was a gleaming black. He stared a moment before the reply.
"I suppose I've been given enough names that I can afford to return one, eh? You may call me… Lykaon. Yes, that fits rather well all told. And I shall call you 'my Rax', my Rax!"
Hunmu Rruk had expected either a simple answer or to be rebuffed, not this rambling evasion, but did not care enough to follow up.
"Very well. Lykaon. Here are the materials."
Placing the bundle carefully on the rough table, the sturdy Xbr'aal walked around to face this 'Lykaon' as he appraised the goods carefully.
"Yes, this is perfect. Her favourite toy being a poppet into the bargain, it's almost too good to be true!"
In a series of flourishes, Lykaon produced a needle and some other fine tools from somewhere in his robes. Deftly cutting and stitching, he blended the roots and webbing and other forest detritus into a macabre centerpiece - a faded doll - as if they'd always been parts of a puzzle merely awaiting assembly; his eyes and hands a mere conduit for something already real.
Hunmu Rruk stood and watched as his exuberant visitor went about this odd business, talking all the while.
"Across the salt, they have a… well, let's call it areligious tradition. The tribes focus their faith and devotion, and create for themselves protectors from their stories or surroundings. Now, they tend to use crystals for this, and in no small quantity! Someone seems to have given them the idea that it's necessary! No idea at all howthathappened, though it does make the practice easier to control."
Hunmu Rruk didn't react, neither to the unsolicited anthropology nor to the disquieting sight of his late daughter's rag tiger being gradually twisted and buried within the stranger's cryptic artifice.
"It also thins the aether over there, not only in the land itself but also up in the air where star meets sky. Why anyone would want to dothatis a complete mystery!"
Lykaon giggled, as if at a private joke.
"Over here, you have no such troubles. Your atmospheric aether is remarkably strong, and I am eager to learn why! Is it the Vidraal, always moving, keeping the aether currents fresh and preventing too much from being drawn on by any one source? Is it that city buried down there, saturating the land with some latent electropic field to serve the same purpose by different means?"
He waved a lazy arm in the rough direction of the Cexudross.
"As a man of practical reason, when something does not make good sense to me, I simply must experiment. Your local legends as they are, for whatever reason, cannot be used when summoning… so we must make do."
Hunmu Rruk's fur shivered.
"Tell me, my Rax, what do you remember most strongly about the girl? Was she fearful, inquisitive, tearful, gluttonous? What defined her, in youradoringperception? "
Hunmu Rruk closed his eyes. "She was… happy."
Another dark rift formed in the air. Lykaon emerged as if merely stepping off a dirigible, while Hunmu Rruk took a moment longer to gather his bearings. He could hear a fountain, and as his eyes readjusted to the waning darkness he made out a lonely courtyard and heard the sounds of a city… far below?
"Where are we, Lykaon?"
"Why, the roof of the palace in Tuliyollal of course!"
"And why are we in Tuliyollal? Moreso, why did we bring that… effigy here? You promised I would see my daughter again."
"And so you shall! Not only that, but you will see her grow to become a beautiful princess! What more could a doting father desire?"
"A… princess? You would… you would bid her marry the Second Promise?"
Hunmu Rruk's expression clouded over even further.
"Nay, my Rax, I would bid her be aThirdPromise!"
"You speak again in riddles! How would she be Third Promise?"
"You might well ask, my Rax. There has never been a Third Promise, and there is not now a Third Promise. In under a bell, however, there willalwayshave been a Third Promise. Everyone will remember there always having been a Third Promise. Their memories will tell them so! And who would doubt their own memory?
I should know. I'm very good with memories."
Hunmu Rruk tried to move. Then he tried to speak.
Lykaon shook his head.
"You will not be harmed, and you will see your daughter again, as I swore. What I should probably also have mentioned is that you will see her only for a moment, and that you won't remember having done so. Or meeting me. Sorry about that."
Lykaon strode past the fountain to a spot by the wall.
"The giants helped build this place, you know. What you mightnothave known is that they brought some of the materials from one of their own ruins. Those ruins in turn incorporated elements of earlier constructions, and so on and so on down the tiresome ages. There's probably a metaphor in there somewhere, for those who care about such things. The only reasonIcare is that something of mine was misplaced long ago."
Lykaon glanced back at Hunmu Rruk.
"I know you've been wondering. Why you? Why her?
Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but it's really not aboutyou! It's abouthere.
Youprobably get annoyed when you lose a treasured itemnear the village, and that's just one dismal scrap of jungle on one rancid continent onONE MISERABLE WORLD! Just imagine having to track something down, something sophisticated and unique, over the whole star and all its reflections!"
Lykaon brushed a finger gently over a very specific spot on the wall and whispered
"Awaken"
Hunmu Rruk heard a muffled buzzing sound, as if from within that section of wall, as if it was… speaking? He made out no words, only Lykaon's response as he held the effigy out to touch the wall.
"Command: selective. Target area: Tuliyollal. Starting point: passing of the child. End point: not applicable. Amend the memories of all events with a fervent belief in the following:
This poppet is a full-grown Wuk Lamat, adopted daughter of the Dawnservant, and his Third Promise. The people love her. All have always loved her and must forever love her. Every thought of theirs becomes a thought of her. Every problem they have, she is its solution. Even those who oppose or resent Tuliyollal itself will be swayed to love her upon the merest nudge.
Any…evidencethat this is not so, and has not always been so, is to be ignored or elided over.
Hunmu Rruk will remember finding her injured but alive, and giving her into the Dawnservant's protection after the incident.
Execute."
Lykaon stalked back to Hunmu Rruk, still frozen and increasingly confused, as the poppet by the wall began to glow and change.
"None will recognize her soul as still that of a child. They will not notice that she is ignorant of the lands and people she professes to love, nor that she lacks the bearing and initiative they'd otherwise expect of royal upbringing. In return, her only care is for them and their happiness. She is their champion, and she will gain strength as their belief in her grows.
And one day, that strength will grow to the point where her mere emotion might tear a rift in the aether, or even through reality itself, andthen-"
Suddenly, a figure hopped up onto the roof, twinblade akimbo, observing the bizarre tableau - one man upright but unmoving, another pacing around the courtyard, and a now 6-fulm visage pulsing with white light as cloth became fur.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Mock-shock on his features, Lykaon spun around on his heel to face the newcomer.
"Oh dear, how awkward! You weren't meant to see any of this, First Promise."
The sinewy Mamool Ja found himself frozen, just as Hunmu Rruk was frozen, but still bit out fragmented speech.
"What is that… Xbr'aal? My… sister? What? When?… aaaagh!"
Zoraal Ja collapsed to his knees, then slid into unconsciousness by the fountain.
Lykaon walked up, looked him over, then gently rolled him onto his back.
"How unfortunate. He'll be very unsettled! A lot of dynamis around this fellow, wouldn't be surprised if he ends up half-remembering the true events. Part of him will feel that something is wrong, and begrudge this… new past. His family issues will bequite a mess… not that I'm one to talk, I suppose."
Hunmu Rruk found he could move again, but no longer felt like speaking as he stared into the eyes of his now full-grown 'daughter', standing proud yet perplexed in tribal warrior attire.
She immediately collapsed, joining her new brother in unconsciousness.
"There you are, happy reunion achieved, don't all thank me at once. I'll pop you back to Iq Br'aax, then tuck these two lovely siblings in, then get back to building all those towers after this delightful summer vacation!
Oh, and I almost forgot."
He turned back to the segment of wall above Wuk Lamat's now-prone form.
"Kairos. Remain active, and ensure the previous instructions are applied to all who are born within or set foot upon these shores. Forever and in perpetuity.
Execute."
L̵͈͌e̶͈͊a̷̭͊r̷̞͌ñ̸̜e̶͍̊d̷̤͊ ̶̨̏ş̵͛ò̶̡ ̷͚͝m̷̟̈́u̷͉͋c̴̞͝ḫ̴́ ̸͓̋ǐ̴̩n̸͈̊ ̴͕͘ĺ̷̤î̸̩f̵͍̈́ë̴̘́ ̴̘̒I̵̘͆ ̴̗͊c̸̫͠ō̵̧u̵̟͛l̶̳͘d̵͔͐n̸̖͝'̵̺̾t̵̠́ ̵͓͛u̶͍̐n̵̫̈́d̷͕͠ȩ̴͑ř̵̩ś̴̠t̸͖̉à̸̤n̴̟͆d̸̛ͅ ̷͔̋(̵͗͜U̵͇͆n̴̠͂d̶̖̍ḙ̵̛r̷̻̽s̴̞͆ṫ̸ͅa̸̱̓n̶̍͜d̵̯̔ ̷͓̐w̸̪̍ȅ̴̳'̵̛̗r̴̰̓e̶̺͝ ̸͈̕b̵̳̋y̶̫͠ ̶̭́ȳ̵͖o̴͔͌u̷̩̓r̴̩̋ ̶̫̂s̵͇͋ȉ̶͙d̵͐ͅḛ̸͘)̵͙͒
̵̦̐S̸͖̃t̴̟̕a̵̜̓n̴̼̈d̴̟͗i̵͎͝n̴̘̋g̶͍̓ ̸͓͑t̴̃͜â̶͉l̵͈̆l̵̙̋ ̷͚̀w̵̼̾ẻ̶͇'̷̬̃ĺ̷͚l̵̞͆ ̸̱̎f̵̺͝ḁ̷̾c̶͂ͅe̷̯͐ ̴̢̿t̴̰͑o̷̬̅m̴̲̓o̸͖̍ȑ̴͙r̴̢̽o̴͓͆ẁ̷̹ ̴͇͝h̶̖͆ả̷̧n̶͕͂d̵̨̏ ̵̯̑i̷̪͂n̵̮͛ ̵̬̀h̵̜̎a̸͚̋n̷̯̚d̵͇̓ ̷͍̎(̷͕̉M̷̩̆i̶͔̕n̴̳̈ẽ̶̼ ̸͙͋i̷̖̋ń̴͔ ̶̢̚y̴̡͝ò̴̙ú̷͉ṙ̴̻s̵͖̾ ̷̳́a̸̡͝n̷̜͐d̵̢͐ ̸̡̋y̸̞̆o̶̟͊u̷̝̕r̷̮͆s̷͍͝ ̸̢̀i̵̝̐ń̵̝ ̸̨̛ḿ̵̺i̴̲͑n̷̿ͅe̴̡͑)̴̨̚
̵̞͐W̵̹͑ḝ̵a̸̠̐v̵̭̈́i̵̱̾n̶̟͋ǵ̶̰ ̸̘̏ṁ̸̙ȩ̸̔m̶̮͛'̸̲͂ȑ̷͕i̴̧͝e̸̺͘s̷̲̿,̸͚͛ ̶͈̀t̷̘̓h̴̫͝ř̷̰õ̵̟ư̴̭g̵̰̑h̶͔́ ̸̖̾t̷͓͌h̷̬̊é̶̟ ̴̣̾w̶͎̆a̵̗̎r̴̦̾p̷̳̔ ̷̖̓ǎ̴̗n̷͖̂d̶̺̍ ̵̧̂w̸͚̑e̴̮̔f̸̪̃t̵͕̑ ̷̣̑w̵͎̓ė̶̟ ̸̰̈́w̷͙̎e̵͓͝ṇ̵̍d̴̥̈́ ̴̯̍(̷͉̽T̴͙̅h̵͍͠i̵̮͋s̷͍͂,̶̝͊ ̷̟̃o̵̒ͅǘ̸̢r̷͍̀ ̴̝̊t̵̤͆a̵̟͑l̴̰͝ẹ̸̕,̶͍̍ ̸̝̆a̵̲͐ ̵͖̽t̶̢͐á̷̭p̶̬̃e̶̤͊s̶̝̅t̷̆͜r̶͍̒y̸̡̋)̶̛͇