After creating so many books, it was a matter of time before I wanted to write one. I have no experience in this so I don’t expect it to be a Best Seller. It is intended as the fantasy story that I think is missing; we have already seen a lot of medieval and Nordic fantasy, this story is based on the folklore and mythology of Pre-Hispanic Latin America, although in a fictional world. Everything started with the idea of writing a fantasy story that I would like to read. Of course, I take elements from some of my favorite authors, whom I will not name so as not to bias. I do not intend at all to play the expert on the subject, as I mentioned I am a total novice writing, but as I said in a past post, if something occurs to me I like to go for it.
Update: the book already has a cover! You can see it here
It is a pleasure for me to be able to share the first chapter. It already has a title but since it might change I won’t put it here:
1. The feast of stories
The morning would have been perfect had it not been for the war. It was a sunny day after several whole weeks of rain and heavy clouds. The forest was totally dyed with the intense green that portends a good spring and it would have been the perfect day to go exploring. Since Iktan could remember there had been wars in his world, some kingdoms against others always fighting to expand their territories, overthrow thrones, or impose their ideologies, the next one less sensible than the previous one. But this war was different. It was not a war against another kingdom, nor a conflict derived from the ego of some ambitious monarch; it was a war against fear itself, a war for survival. Although that day Iktan didn’t think much about it. The war was still far to the south according to the travelers who had just passed through the town, and he was about to go with his friend Trop to explore a cave to the north, about which they had heard old Bej speak. His worry was more focused on how he would convince his parents that their only son of only 17 years wanted to embark on a three-day adventure, with the possible dangers that this entailed. His mother Atle normally supported him in his adventures, but Kante, his father, was not very in agreement with what he called “his hobby without a future”. Bej was Iktan’s grandfather and the oldest person in Okbe, the village where they lived. In his younger years, he had been a merchant from town to town, better known as peddlers, so he had seen practically the whole world, from the cold hills to the north in Numpia to the jungle extreme in the south in Xa-log; there was not a nook in the entire kingdom of Calaktum that Iktan’s grandfather did not know. Bej had in his room a shelf full of the rarest objects; some looked valuable and others seemed just junk found on the side of the road, but for all of them, there was a story to tell. Sometimes he disappeared for a couple of days; Iktan didn’t know how he did it at his advanced age and when he asked him he only responded with a smile, assuming he went out for long walks to remember his best years. Although it had been several months since he did this, now the poor guy was happy if his knees allowed him to walk the town from end to end. Bej was thin, short, and dark-skinned like most in Okbe and in Calaktum in general, a little hunched by age. Recently he carried a wooden cane that he refused to use, although he was forced to do so reluctantly. He also had hair totally white, although still abundant, and wrinkles that he wore with pride and that revealed how much he had walked, as well as hands that only someone who has worked daily for many years carries. Iktan and Trop loved spending time listening to Bej tell his stories; from there their fondness for trade had been born. Since they were little they went from here to there looking for objects or edibles like berries, mushrooms, or grasshoppers that they later sold in a small store they had set up in Iktan’s parents’ inn or in the Okbe market, or that, if they liked them a lot, they added to their shared collection. They had started exploring an abandoned corn mill on the outskirts of town where they found their first object, a piece of grinding stone. It was not a pretty object, nor useful, or something they could sell, but they kept it for sentimentalism. Both remembered with enthusiasm the first time they sold a rabbit they had hunted in the forest for three cocoa seeds and laughed like crazy every time they remembered when they had sold edible mushrooms for 1 cocoa a dozen to the family of Pak, the sandal seller, and that in the end turned out to be hallucinogenic. Bej had had to take them an antidote when they heard the songs and saw them dancing outside their hut. Now Iktan and Trop were about to embark on their farthest exploration. The day before Bej had turned 94 and they had thrown him a party in the courtyard of Iktan’s parents’ inn. Since besides being the oldest in town he was also one of the most beloved, most of the town (around 400 inhabitants) had attended the event. Even the two travelers who were passing through and were staying at the inn took the opportunity to taste the dinner: turkey stuffed with fruits, with lots of shelled corn as a side dish and sweets of all kinds brought by Nima and his wife Nincanil, the good-natured and laughing candy makers of Okbe, who were very good friends of Bej. After dinner, the dance, the desserts (some rich plum, mango, and papaya sweets) and everything that accompanies a proper party, came Iktan’s favorite moment: the time for the campfire, stories, and news. Everyone sat on stones and logs around a fire, except for the oldest ones to whom they brought wooden chairs. These, as always, worried about the current situation, started asking the travelers about the war and what they knew about it. After accounting for his second bar of plum sweet as only a traveler who hasn’t tasted a decent bite for weeks knows how to do, one of the travelers began to speak: —We come from the town of Ixmal, two weeks’ journey to the south, and so far there is nothing to worry about. There are still no signs of the Nazor, although they already took the city of Xa-log, the army has been able to hold them at the strait of Ko-lú. —We must thank God Yacail for those mountains —said Nicancil with a worried voice —it is a relief that they help us stop the invaders. —Yes, it is a great help that nature favors us. The enemy is extremely fearsome, but as I already told you, for now we are still in a safe zone and if they were to pass Ko-lú they would still have about a month’s advantage to flee north. —Besides —continued the other traveler —in the worst case we can always have the help of the Tezcal, they say they are the only ones who have been able to face the Nazor generals directly and come out alive. —Don’t even name those demons —replied Nicancil again while continuing to distribute her sweets to everyone —just hearing their names makes me die of fear. The first merchant spoke again. —Most of the Tezcal are still far north in their fortress of Te-Xun, only a couple of them accompany the army, it is unlikely they can arrive in time to help us in case of need. —Besides, rumors say that the Tezcal are fewer and fewer, and they don’t inspire confidence in me. They play with dangerous forces that not even they understand, they say they can move things without touching them, others say they can summon fire or spirits, I don’t think they are much better than the Nazor —said Kante, Iktan’s father, with his thick tenor voice. —I don’t think there is anything worse than the Nazor —continued the first traveler, and this time his countenance turned very serious, he lowered his voice almost to the extreme, as if fearing that someone could hear what he was about to say —no one knows where they come from or what they want, they leave no wounded nor take prisoners, but they don’t take anything of value either. The attempts to negotiate with them have ended in sacrificed messengers. Our army falls like flies in their path and there are those who say that if it weren’t for the Tezcal and the strait of Ko-lú they would already be upon us. They say they come from Xibalbá itself, hell, but I think they come from a deeper place. The second traveler swallowed saliva and continued speaking in the same tone as his companion. —A traveler friend who survived the fall of Xa-log says he saw one of the Nazor generals. Amid the tumult, the screams, and his desperation to flee he didn’t manage to see him well and says he doesn’t know if it was a hallucination caused by the fear he felt, but his eyes were so blue that they almost seemed black, and he didn’t refer only to the center of the eyes but also to what surrounds them, the white part. —It’s called sclera —said the first traveler gobbling down a third huge piece of sweet, this time mango, as if a few seconds before he wasn’t talking about something so sinister. —Well whatever it’s called —continued the second traveler shaking his hand —the case is that they were very very blue, as if seeing the night sky in them, but that is not all, but his skin was as white as I had never seen before —the traveler glanced sideways at Trop, Iktan’s friend, and his family, who were also white-skinned, and continued —and he had long white hair too. My friend says the monster turned to look at him just for a fraction of a second, and the only thing he could see was amusement on his face, like someone who was winning a bet on a ball game, he didn’t look like someone who was commanding the massacre of a whole town. My friend fled by a miracle and when he told me this he was still trembling with dread. Nima spoke, also speaking seriously, something strange in him. —According to the stories I have heard, the general your friend saw is Ixthel, one of the four Nazor generals, all equally evil. There was a profound silence; for a few seconds that seemed like hours only the sound of the wind, the hooting of owls, the chirping of crickets, and the crackling of the fire were heard. No one would think that a few moments before the atmosphere was one of celebration. Atle, Iktan’s mother, stood up with a grumpy gesture. —Enough of chilling stories, we are celebrating my father’s birthday and the last thing we want is to think about wars that as the traveling gentlemen well say are still far from here and it is probable that they never arrive. —You are right Atle —replied Nima changing his countenance, smiling and encouraging everyone —it is my good friend Bej’s birthday, and although I think I already know all his stories from beginning to end, I know how much he likes to tell his adventures and it is always a pleasure to hear them again, besides it may be that the younger ones don’t know one or another. So Bej, I yield the floor to you to tell us one of your great stories. Bej, who until the moment had not said a single word, straightened up in his birthday chair (sitting on a log or stone like the others gave him great back pain) and hid the joy of being asked to tell one of his adventures, since for someone of his age this is one of the greatest pleasures of life. —Thanks for the compliment friend Nima, it will be a pleasure for me to tell you a little about what I lived in my years as a merchant. But as always the biggest problem is choosing which story to tell —he said with an air of mystery. —Tell about the time a Numpian wanted to trick you and sell you unmeltable ice! —said one of the villagers. —Or the time you found a fire quetzal nest in the middle of the Xi-ca desert. Now, it might seem strange that the whole town was excited to hear a story, but you have to keep in mind that in a small town like Okbe there wasn’t much else to do, plus Bej was extremely good at it; his words made you enter a world of reverie and imagine the things he narrated as if you had lived them yourself. So that night was full of stories, and not only from Bej; after a while some other villagers dared to tell their own tales and legends and even Nima, already with some mezcals in him, told the time a rich man from one of the neighboring towns had offended his wife and he made him a basket of traditional sweets by order with very rotten fruits. In the end, everyone marched off to their homes, the travelers went to their rooms in the inn and only Bej, Iktan, his parents Atle and Kante, and Trop, who was almost more Iktan’s brother than his own brothers, remained. Everyone was cleaning up the remains of the party. Iktan and Trop helped by sweeping and removing the stones and logs that had served as improvised chairs, Kante washed and dried the plates and mugs, Bej put away the remains of the sweets (pinching them every three steps) and Atle cleaned the kitchen. Atle was a dark and short woman, with very long and straight hair that reached her waist, black and hazel eyes, and a thin build, with skin so smooth that it was difficult to calculate her age. She was one of those women who get up and are already bustling and whistling happily before the rooster crows. She ran the house and managed the family business, which consisted of the town inn, which was just diagonally across from the square where the market was set up and mainly served travelers like those of that night. She was very good with numbers, and if it weren’t for her, Kante would have lost the property or spent the hard-earned money. Kante for his part was a man of robust appearance, strong due to his work and somewhat taller than average, of a serious humor, stubborn and, if you didn’t know him well, you would say someone with a bad temper, but deep down he was a good man. There wasn’t anyone in Okbe whom he hadn’t helped at least once, whether to repair their roof to prevent the rains from flooding their house or to give them free shelter in the inn to neighbors when their hut burned down. He dedicated himself to repairing, conditioning, and building furniture and rooms as required. He also professed an unconditional love for Atle; for him, there was no other woman in the world. Between the two of them, they dedicated themselves to attending to the guests and whoever wanted to eat in their dining room. The inn consisted of a set of six huts, five of which were circular bedrooms and were behind a larger rectangular hut that served as a kitchen, with a dining room in front separated from it by a door with a curtain of colored fabrics. They had started with only one bedroom and Kante had been building the others over the years. The plan was to build a sixth bedroom throughout that year to form two rows. The largest hut had an entrance at the front that faced the street and another at the back, which led directly to the kitchen and had a large table where guests ate all together. On full days the dining room became a chaos of talks and plates coming and going. Iktan and Trop took advantage of those days to make some sales. On the right side of the inn, there was a large patio with many trees all around and all fenced with twisted but well-arranged sticks; in this patio is where they had celebrated Bej’s party. In the back was Bej’s hut, which he had asked for as separate as possible from the others when the construction of the inn began, and finally there was Iktan’s house, just to the right side of the inn. The house was on the same land as the inn, but separated by a small fence just to delimit the land. The entrance to his house did not face the street but towards the inn to have a view of the business. Iktan and his family used the inn’s kitchen for themselves too. After a while of cleaning, Bej realized that Iktan had not asked him for any story that night. It surprised him because he was always the first to ask for them. —Iktan, is something happening or why didn’t you ask for any story today? Kante, Iktan’s father, frowned. It didn’t seem right to him that Iktan was always absorbed in adventures that led to nowhere. But Iktan immediately asked something that, however strange it may seem, hadn’t occurred to him before, but that night had him intrigued, only it seemed like a somewhat intimate question to ask in front of the whole village. —Everything is fine grandfather, it’s just that this time I have a question, more than asking you for a story. Of all the objects you have in your collection, which is your favorite? Bej remained thoughtful for a few seconds, as if deciding what to answer. Then looking at those present he said: —What the hell! You are already old enough to know and I am already old so what does it matter! I will answer your question but as always I will take the opportunity to tell its story. And saying this he went to his bedroom, after a few minutes he returned with a tiny box made of wicker closed with a cord, he untied it, opened the box and took out a leather cloth, one of those that have so much time that they are full of scratches and scuffs, he put it on the table and spread it out little by little. Everyone approached to look with curiosity except Kante, who only looked sideways pretending he was drying a mug with a cloth. What they saw did not surprise any of them; it was a white stone the size of a large marble. It had nothing special, it was not shiny and did not seem to have any value, it was a simple stone, as if he had taken it from the river that morning. If perhaps a special attribute could have been given to it, it is that it was totally round. Iktan was a little disappointed; he thought he would see a precious stone or some ancient object of great value, but even so out of courtesy he asked his grandfather. —Oh, it’s pretty. What is it? —he said hiding his disappointment as best as possible. —I know, it doesn’t look like anything special —replied Bej with an amused gesture —but it is more valuable than it appears. It is so valuable that I hadn’t dared to show it even to you, my two best pupils. Only my daughter had seen it. —You already knew it mom? —Yes, your grandfather has had it since before I was born, but let him tell you. —Okay —commented Bej between thoughtful and entertained —I am going to tell you a story that I haven’t told anyone, not even my friend Nima knows its details, only your grandmother may she rest in peace knew it, as well as Atle and after today you. The story of why I decided to live in this village, the story of how I became a peddler and that even today continues to mark my life.