Member-only story
Migration is not a New Thing
It is just a matter of scale
Once upon a time, in the lush jungles of the Maya lowlands, there lived a wise oracle named Itzamna. His eyes, deep and dark as obsidian, held the secrets of the cosmos, and his wrinkled hands traced the intricate patterns of the sacred calendar. Itzamna served the great Lord Kukulkan, ruler of the mighty city-state of Uxmal.
One sweltering day, as the sun beat down mercilessly on the limestone pyramids, Itzamna felt a chill run down his spine. He gazed at the withering maize fields and the parched earth, recognizing the ominous signs that had haunted his dreams for months. With trembling fingers, he consulted the sacred calendar, aligning the celestial cycles with the patterns of nature.
Itzamna’s heart sank as the truth revealed itself. A great drought was approaching, one that would turn the verdant jungle into a barren wasteland. He knew he must warn Lord Kukulkan, for the fate of their people hung in the balance.
The oracle made his way to the grand palace, where Lord Kukulkan sat upon his jade throne adorned with feathers of the quetzal bird. Itzamna bowed low, his voice quavering as he spoke, “My Lord, I bring grave tidings. The gods have shown me a vision of great peril. A drought unlike any we have seen before approaches. If we do not act, our people will…