The Song of the Darkblade’s Vigil
On how Rhyslin comes to Eola.
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Far across the burning sands, in a land of calm lakes and ancient forests, stands a village. In this village is a temple dedicated to “The First Dreamer,” the god Mixcoatl. In the temple resides a blind Tlamatini, a diviner, a scholar, a philosopher.
On this night of the dark moon, the blind Tlamatini stood before the fire in full ceremonial dress: the white maxtlatl around his loins, the sky blue Tilmatli dotted with glyphs to the sky, earth, and field worn over his shoulders, and his leather cactl on his feet. With a ritualistic motion, he adjusted the sky blue icue around his head, with the tails falling down his spine. The chalchihuitl around his neck was made of beaded jade. Embedded in the cartilage of his ear were two jade discs with the glyph of Mixcoatl.
He stood, ayacachtli in hand. “You have asked me about the might shaking of the earth and what it means.” He shook the ayacachtli, so it rattled. “I, Yohualli Ehecatl, have spoken to the great cloud serpent and voiced your concerns.” He shook the rattle again. “This is what he has shown to me.”
The blind Tlamatini shuffled his feet as he turned to the east.
“Far beyond our fertile forests,
Far beyond our vibrant Āltepemeh,
Beyond the burning sands where the sharp-eared Cē Tecuiyo make their homes,
Beyond the three mighty rivers fed from Lake Ghalliende,
Beyond the lush groves where Cuāhuitlcihuātl tend their sacred trees—
There lies a Calmecac,
Devoted to Ometecuhtli, He Who Watches.
Once, it was a place of peace and restoration,
A house of learning,
A hearth for old warriors who could no longer lift spear nor shield.
There, Tlecuilichpochtli tended the sacred flames,
Ticitin and Tetlamatquetl healed the weary,
And Temazcal offered breath and steam
To cleanse the spirit of the honored elders.
But on a night of the darkest moon,
A being of great chaos slipped through shadow and silence,
And Teopan tlazolli quimaca—
Desecration befell the temple,
As blade of shadow and death of mind
Felled everyone within.
On the day of the great shaking,
When the mountains themselves whispered of change,
The Tlamatini Teotl returned—
He who learned among us,
He who bears the living staff,
He who is known as Darkblade,
Chosen son of Astinmah.
Stood at the Teocalli in Tlatlacazqui.
His divine task:
Cleanse the Teocalli,
Banish the chaos,
Make it a place of breath once more.
Before this, he called upon Andros Ironheart,
Earth-Elemental Lord,
To forge a new Teotl Ohtli,
For two sacred paths cannot stand in one place;
The old must be discarded.
Andros sent the defiled Teotl Ohtli
Deep into the earth,
To be cleansed by fire’s hunger.
Yet having tasted the filth above,
Tlalli Yollotl—the Spirit of the Living Land—desired more,
Wishing to swallow the Teocalli in Tlatlacazqui,
Pulling it into the depths.
But the Tlamatini Teotl,
With clear sight and patient mind,
Did not wish the Teocalli destroyed,
Not until the chaos beast could be hunted and named.
For he knew the earth’s hunger,
Knew that to tear down the Teocalli
Would consume the world around it.
So, from midday to sunset,
With the living staff in hand,
And with Andros Ironheart at his side,
The Tlamatini Teotl wrestled with Tlalli Yollotl,
Spirit of the Living Land,
Beneath a sky that held its breath.
At last, the Tlamatini Teotl was victorious,
Though weariness pressed upon him,
And the great sleep nearly claimed him.
Even now, he travels the sky,
Darkblade, Chosen Son,
With his companions at his side,
Journeying toward the place
Where rest is offered,
And safety is given.”
He bowed his head, after having turned a complete circle, the air vibrating with his chant.
“Let us offer our Teotl Tonalli to The Tlamatini Teotl, that he may live a long life with the women of his heart.”