"Woo woo woo... woo woo... woo!..."
The dim candlelight flickered in the black tent. And the woman’s crying voice, along with the candle fla that was about to burn out, gradually grew smaller. She had cried for too long, tears like a dried-up spring, finally unable to flow any longer.
"Alright. Miyava, don’t cry anymore! Since you wanted to see , you surely wouldn’t just keep crying, would you?"
Xiulote stood quietly in the tent, speaking in a deep voice. His clothes were neat, his face serene, yet his body was tightly held by the woman, like a tree hugged by a koala. He lowered his head, only seeing the woman’s head buried in his embrace, tears and snot flowing continuously, even sared over his ritual robe.
"Woo... woo!... I’m... so scared... light... take ... away!..."
Miyava raised her head, her eyes blurred and empty. Her voice was crisp and clean, her face showing timid fear and dependence, like a little girl lost and wandering away from ho.
"Chief Divine! What on earth did the Priest Akuitsi feed you with hallucinogenic secret potions..."
Seeing the serpent priestess in such a girlish manner, Xiulote frowned, feeling a twitch on his forehead. When he had just entered the room, he saw Miyava draped in thin gauze, hugging her fair legs, curled up in a dark corner like a helpless little girl. He lit a candle, and the other party was full of fear, desperately trying to shrink back. And when he approached, allowing Miyava to see his face, she stared blankly for a while, then excitedly lunged forward.
In that instant, Xiulote almost thought he was being attacked. He raised his palm, aiming at the woman’s neck, about to strike her down sharply. But the woman’s incoherent shouting made him pause for a mont, leaving him to be held and cried over by the other party, ultimately doing nothing.
"Mother is dead... light... take away!... I’m scared... woo woo woo!..."
Thinking of this, Xiulote lowered his eyes, feeling the tight embrace in his arms, feeling a bit helpless for a mont.
"Is this still the wise and charming serpent priestess?... I just wanted to talk about the situation of the seaside tribes!..."
He gazed into Miyava’s eyes, seeing the pupils that never focused, realizing that she was still in a dream-like state. In such a state, all of one’s ntal defenses would be disintegrated by strong stimuli, and all the mories one didn’t want to recall, even those hidden in the subconscious, could be deliberately awakened.
"This is a mont to communicate with the divine spirits, and a mont of transaction with demons, to explore the mysteries of the soul..."
To the highland priests, they excelled at using this state to make mysterious prophecies. Of course, for the xica priests, the more practical use was to conduct long-term psychological hints to sacrifices in the dreams. Only by repeatedly ’brainwashing’ this way, altering synapses, could the sacrifices overco fear and instinct, perform the sacrificial rite wonderfully, and then calmly approach sacrificial death.
"Beautiful cochinilla, mandragora, liberty cap, sage, morning glory, miraculous trumpet flower, death vine, various scorpion venoms, insect poisons, and snake poisons... tropical Arica is a natural treasure trove of alchemy. And the priests who have inherited for thousands of years, like the voodoo shamans of Black Africa, are masters of herbalism!..."
With softness and fragrance in his arms, Xiulote’s thoughts drifted towards the distance, wandering in the mysterious and vast tropical Arica. He stood there for a long ti until the woman in his arms remained motionless, even making a slight snoring noise, before he returned from his long-lasting thoughts.
"Hmm?"
Xiulote lowered his head, seeing Miyava leaning against him, tilting her head, falling asleep standing, completely exhausted. He shook his head, then freed himself from the woman, placing her on the grass bed in the corner. The young king stood by the bed, watching the woman curl up instinctively, hugging her legs in her sleep, with complex emotions flashing in his heart.
"eting results in hugging, hugging results in crying, crying results in sleeping. This truly is..."
"Seemingly strong, seemingly fearless, but in reality, with no inner sense of security, just like a little girl. The shadows of childhood have always lood like a nightmare, shaping an unhealthy mind... And the pursuit of strength without moral restraint is only to constantly pursue power to find a sense of security..."
Xiulote squinted his eyes, examining the sleeping Miyava with a sharp look. Under the influence of the priest’s potion and Priest Akuitsi’s examination, the woman’s heart was almost seen through, her ntal weaknesses exposed without a doubt. Until this mont, facing the completely undefended serpent priestess, Xiulote’s heart, which was coldly guarded, finally relaxed a bit.
"Serpent Priestess, Serpent Mother Chieftain... she is different from other Totonac chieftains, having no feelings for the tribe and honor... she will obey the commands of the strong one, even if that command ans changing her faith, betraying the traditions of the tribes... even if it ans making the Tototanak people fully integrate into the kingdom system..."
"Therefore, as long as you remain strong, you can firmly control, with no fear of betrayal. And if you are not strong enough, show weakness, you will face backlash..."
"And I will always be strong! Even in the face of colonizers with technological advantages, I will always walk the path of rapid strengthening, never making a mistake!"
The young king slightly raised his head, gazing at the candle fla about to burn out, eyes filled with a bright self-confident light. He turned his head, took a deep look at the graceful serpent priestess, then waved his hand, extinguishing the remaining candle. Then, without lingering, the king lifted the large tent and left.
"Ecatl, let’s go!"
"Uh? Not staying overnight?... Family Head, your clothes?"
Guard Commander Ecatl was taken aback, carefully observing the young king. He was sure initially, but now again slightly uncertain about what exactly happened in the tent.
"No worries! She’s an intriguing woman! In a couple of days, I will co again."
Xiulote lifted the corners of his mouth, waved his hand. His expression was leisurely, footsteps without pause. Ecatl quickly followed, not asking any more questions.
"By the way, tell Priest Akuitsi, not to feed her any more hallucinogenic secret potions. Too much potion will make the wise mind disappear, leaving only a pretty skin, and that would be too unfortunate and of no benefit..."
"As you wish, Family Head!"
Guard Commander Ecatl nodded in agreent, contemplating the king’s words, pondering deeply. In just a mont, the two disappeared into the distant bonfire, as the sunset had completely set, darkness approached from the edge, silently engulfing and devouring the solitary tent.
There was no candlelight within the dark tent, nor moonlight. The woman curled up alone, full of fear, struggling in the dark hallucination. Until the mont she awoke from the dream, she suddenly opened her eyes, fearfully shouting out loud.
"No! No! Don’t kill her! No! Mother!..."
Miyava’s wide eyes were filled with terror, uncontrollable tears streaming down her cheeks, like blood flowing from the deepest wound within her heart. She stared dazedly at the tent overhead, crying in a trance, her dead mories crashing against her soul, as if she had beco the weak and helpless little girl who could do nothing once again.
"Mother is dead!..."
"How long has mother been dead?..."
"I’m twenty-four... so that’s eighteen years..."
"Eighteen years? How quickly! I’ve slept so long... woo woo!..."
Until much later, Miyava’s blurred eyes gradually found focus. She murmured to herself, as if conversing with another person, another long-gone self.
"Who are you?"
"I am you!"
"Who am I?"
"You are Miyawakotel, a little girl sent to the Temple of the Feathered Serpent."
"No! You’re wrong! I’ve grown up! I’m not a little girl!..."
"You grew up, but I didn’t. I’m still a little girl."
"No! I’m not! I’m the powerful Serpent Mother Chieftain! Who are you, really?"
"I am... you!..."
The cold tent was pitch black, shrouded in profound darkness. In this silent night, an awakened woman talked to herself, with two different voices echoing within the dark tent. Both voices were pleasing, one magnetic and hoarse, the other clean and crisp, in a question-and-answer format within the xica priest’s tent, as if transcending through ti.
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