Field Xotl
The temple feel to ruin long ago, its foundation stones cracked and separated by the ruthless climbing vines that grow without check in the tropical heat. Every step taken up the crumbling entry ramp is hazardous as stones crumble to dust and tarantulas scuttle underfoot, giving up the hunt in favor of the safety of dark corners. At either side of the temple door are stone guardians in the shape of frogs, their muscular legs poised to launch them into the midst of the jungle. The intricate details etched upon the stone have been lost to time, but bulging eyes and gaping mouths can still be made out.
The inside is musty and mercifully cool. Stretching along the side walls are two shallow pools filled with clear, sparkling water. Lily pads grow upon the surfaces, bearing white blooms with a fragrant scent. Frogs with citrus skin swim and dive, popping their eyes above the surface to monitor the stranger’s approach. A handful of xotls share the pool, always mindful of their much smaller cousins. On noticing the explorer, one wearing a hat woven of leaves submerges and hops toward him.
“Come, friend. Our chief has been expecting you.”
The “throne room” has more the appearance of a fairy forest. Though the canopy overhead blocks out the sun, there is no lack of light. Neatly tended paths are lined with toadstools that glow with a soft blue radiance. The chief sits on a massive mushroom carved into the shape of a chair. He wears an ornate headdress woven from leaves and vines, with tiny flowers poking through every gap.
“Greetings, traveler. I am Chief Dac of the Leaping Frog Tribe.” Though his tone is cordial, there is gravity to his voice that roots the explorer in place. “We do not receive many visitors. What brings you to our haven?”
“Surely you have heard of the great explorer Norman. I am on a mission to visit every corner of the world, seeking the wonders of ancient civilizations.” All the while he is speaking, his eyes never venture from the enormous ruby mounted atop Dac’s staff.
Dac sighs. “We are not the jungle savages so often depicted by outsiders. We will gladly share our treasures with anyone who passes the three Tests.”
Norman slicks back his tousled red locks with a grin. “I always scored high in all my classes. I’m sure I can handle your tests. What do I have to do?”
“That is not for me to say. I can only lead you to the first gate. The journey beyond is for you to make.”
“Lead the way.” Norman falls into step behind Dac who leans heavily on the staff with every step.
Dac comes to an abrupt stop before a gate that looks to be carved into the face of a boulder. “This is the Gate of Strength. Once you pass through, your only means of escape is to continue forward through all three gates.” Dac hesitates, and then adds: “You will be changed by what you see within. This is not a decision to be made lightly.”
Norman waves away the warning impatiently. “See you on the other side, chief.”
The gate swings open with the sound of large stones grating together. Norman just makes it through before they begin to close, sealing him in with an exchoing “Boom”. Along all four walls, torches flare to life.
“Oka-ay, that’s creepy.” Norman reaches for the nearest torch, snatching his hand back just before his fingers touch the flame. No heat is given by the torches, only light.
“There would have to be magic involved.” Norman mutters. In the growing light he notices a row of shelves at the center of the room. Flasks and bottles of every imaginable color line shelves thickly coated with dust. Below each is a label hand-written in a spidery script. He begins to read down the line, brushing aside cobwebs that obscure some of the labels. He scoffs at the bottles that promise spectacular strength and agility, knowing he will never be a warrior even if he drank them all. A lilac potion for invisibility is more tempting. Who wouldn’t want to be able to disappear at will? As he reaches for the bottle, his foot comes down on an object that shatters with a dull crack.
Annoyance turns to revulsion as he recognizes the object for what it is: a human skull. He snatches back his hand, convinced the bottles are nothing more than pretty poisons. He backs rapidly from the shelves, searching desperately for an exit. He almost misses the second gate, which is nestled behind an alcove. It is a plain wooden door decorated with iron bands. He reaches for the handle; afraid it may be locked or rigged to explode. It swings inward with a creak of protest, admitting him to a room that appears to have no ceiling.
This room also contains shelves, but of an entirely different nature. They are bookshelves that reach impossibly high, stuffed with tomes of every possible size and format, their spines proclaiming titles in every known language. Tucked into a corner is an odd mechanical contraption with a label that reads “The Translator”.
Norman is not so eager with his hands this time. He studies those spines he can understand, looking over the shelves with care and gingerly pulling free a book. He leafs through the pages, impressed by the intricate illustrations spread throughout. A picture of an ostrich with its head stuck in the sand catches his attention and he begins to read. It is as if the story were written to precisely suite his tastes, the antics of the characters perfectly complimenting his sense of humor. He returns the volume to its place on the shelf with great reluctance. The Translator is a serious temptation, but by now he has learned the value of caution. “Leave the libraries to the scholars,” he mutters. He walks down the central aisle in hopes of something that will keep him from running back for that book. It proves easy to find.
The third gate is a massive slab of gold decorated with a mosaic of precious stones. The gate opens silently at Norman’s lightest touch. Glowing piles of treasure stretch as he can see. Norman shades his eyes with a hand, his heart beating frantically at each new discovery. There are gold coins the size of dinner plates, diamonds larger than eggs, and flawless gems to rival a rainbow. Small leather bags litter the floor, all of them empty.
Movement at the corner of his vision causes Norman to jump. The approaching figure would appear at first to be human. She is beautiful in a satin gown woven of gold thread and golden bracelets that snake up her arms. Her only off-putting feature is her face, for she has the head of a lioness.
She studies Norman with amusement. “Very few can resist the offerings of Strength and Wisdom. You have passed the Gate of Wealth, for you have resisted taking any of my treasures up to this point. I am Yesia, the Guardian, and I believe you have earned your reward. Take a bag and select for yourself one of my treasures, but only one. When you have made your choice, I will return to escort you to the exit.”
A mist surrounds her figure and she vanishes. Norman picks up a bag, running his fingers along the interior to determine its size. The largest jewel he’d seen would just fit inside. He walks the room in dismay, constantly spotting a piece that is somehow better than the one he had just laid his hands on.
Hours pas and still he cannot decide, though he begins to grow weary. His foot catches on a silver chain and he falls with a yelp of surprise. He picks up the chain with a scowl, prepared to fling it away. Each of the links is cut not in an oval, but in a hexagon. Curious, he selects a fine emerald at his feet and gives it a gentle push. It fits into the chain perfectly.
It doesn’t take him long to fill the links. He even ties a few pendants to the end, determined to convince Yesia that he found them tangled together and considers them all one piece. To his delight, the entire construction slides readily into his bag. He pulls it free and replaces it twice to convince himself the gems will come to no harm.
As soon as he pulls the string entirely closed the steady glow of the treasure is extinguished. Yesia’s voice comes from everywhere and nowhere, driving him to his knees.
“In trying to deceive the Guardian you have displayed the true weakness of your character. It was the acts of weak-willed men that nearly destroyed my haven a thousand years ago, and I will not allow you to return to your kind and spread rumors that will doom all I have worked to rebuild. Your doom is decided.”
Norman cowers to the floor, the bag of treasures slipping from his hand. Blinding light surrounds him, absorbs him, and transforms him.
Chief Dac looks with pride over his community. Here the tropical frogs are safe from predators of all sorts and food is always in abundance. His council of xotls is a good group, every one of them dedicated to his mission of providing for every frog cousin who enters their halls.
A tiny frog hurries past in pursuit of n enormous moth. It has only just grown beyond its tadpole stage and thin orange stripes are expanding along its brown back.
“Slow down, Norman. You must learn to pursue prey that you are able to catch.” The young frog pauses, croaks at him once, and continues on.
Dac hobbles his way to his throne, awaiting the arrival of the next explorer. She is a young woman with a fascination for tropical fauna, and it is Dac’s sincere hope that she will be the first human strong, wise, and humble enough to avoid becoming part of his family.
____________________________________________Story by
PureflowerCoding / Design by
scotlette
