11 Worthy to rule! (1/2)
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send stones of power !!!!!
send presents too!
If you don't give it a grade, it discourages me a lot.
rate the work to keep me motivated!
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read slowly!
Two days ago!
before the big nuclear explosion in the shadow islands.
....
IXTAL
”I'm starting to sweat, Bayal. Don't let me sweat please?”
Qiyana's servant fidgeted with the words. He gathered the small control he had over the elements, concentrating on forming a magical mist. Within seconds, the fog surrounded Qiyana and cooled, dispersing the warmth of the jungle.
”Much better,” said Qiyana. ”If I'm going to do that, I need to be able to concentrate.”
She began to slowly rotate her ohmtatl around her body, bending and separating the jungle woods with each rotation of the circular blade. Roots and stems burst, throwing remnants of dirt until finally a narrow trail revealed itself in the bushes.
”Here it is,” said Qiyana, who immediately started down the winding path.
With each movement of her ohmlatl, the thick vineyards of the rainforest receded before her. Just after she passed, the forest slid back into place, hiding the way. Bayal stayed behind long enough to be caught in the growth of the writhing plants.
”Let's go, Bayal,” said Qiyana. ”Honestly, see ... You only have one task.”
The servant ran over the newly grown woods, struggling to reach Qiyana and maintain the temperature of his mist.
When the two of them finally emerged from the forest, the sun was low in the sky and the golden light of dusk shone on a small village. Qiyana looked back one last time to see if the secret path had been completely buried through the forest. Three village elders greeted her with a respectful Ixtalese greeting, arms firmly crossed in front of their chests, and led her to a square inside the establishment.
Towards the end of the square, a large Piltovan machine was lifeless and defeated, the spoils of a recent jungle battle. Qiyana paid little attention as he sat at a small table full of fruits and nuts.
”To what do we owe this honor, Yun Child?” Asked an older woman, leaning forward to get a better look at Qiyana.
”I heard the news of your mayor's death. You have my condolences,” Qiyana said.
”Killed by outsiders ...” an old man replied pointing to the Piltov machine behind him. ”He tried to stop one of these from felling trees to feed his mines.”
”That's what they told me,” said Qiyana. She sat down perfectly when she reached the goal of her visit.
”It seems that Tikras needs a more capable ruler. Someone who is strong enough to stand up to the outsiders and their toys,” Qiyana said confidently. ”Someone like me.”
The elders looked at each other, confusion growing in their weathered faces.
”But, Yunalai, with all due respect, we already have ... Someone like you,” said the old woman. ”Your sister is here.”
”What?” Qiyana said irritably.
As if arranged, a procession of native servants marched across the square toward Qiyana. Four of them carried a litter on their shoulders.
As the litter approached, Qiyana saw a soft bed, several thin silk cushions, and her sister Mara reclining and with a glass of wine in her hand. A silver platter of exquisite dishes lay beside it, and two servants refreshed it with an elemental magic far stronger than Bayal's. As Qiyana wiped a single drop of sweat on her forehead, she looked bitterly at the servant.
”Qiyana. Very ... nice to see you,” Mara said uneasily as her litter was placed on the floor.
”Mara. You seem to be having fun,” Qiyana said.
Mara writhed under her sister's piercing gaze, looking until she wanted to retire to the soft bed.
”Would you like some wine?” Mara offered as she took a tense, joyless sip from her glass.
”You should protect this village, not empty your pantry,” Qiyana said as she turned down the drink. ”You should resign. Let me be mayor.”
Mara froze and forced the wine through her stiff throat.
”I can't do that,” she said. ”You know very well. I'm older than you.”
”A whole year older,” Qiyana replied. ”And they are still so far behind.”
She approached her sister's bed with her smug expression slowly turning into a furious countenance.