I remember my dream the night before the battle, the night before the gods died. I stood on the cliff of a mountain I’ve never before seen, steep peaks above the clouds. In this strange and foreign landscape, alien to the hills of my people, the cold was something I never experienced, as I felt my lungs burn with every icy breath and a chill rushed over my flesh. A sudden flash of light nearly blinded me, and, shielding my eyes with my left hand, I saw the silhouette of a young woman before me, floating ethereally as a radiant gold emanated from behind her. Her black, flowing hair cascaded over her gold and black cloak that enveloped her red and orange dress that stopped at the knees, metallic gold cuffs wrapped around her wrists and forearms, and a golden headpiece, embroidered with what appeared to be the sun, shimmered from the light. She stood gallantly, chest out and defiant, the shield, engraved with the head of a puma, held by her left hand at her side, and her golden spear gripped intensely, point up toward the sky. It felt as though I was in the presence of Entilqan, the fierce warrior goddess whose leadership our Qantua people rallied behind during the entirety of the war.
She looked at me, chin up and proud, lips moving as if to speak, but I couldn’t distinguish any of her words. Then she gave me a single, solemn nod before turning to the glorious radiance. She raised her spear and, as the outlines of maybe a dozen warriors emerged just beyond her, I watched as she charged into the distance. She and the others are swallowed up by the incredible light as they all ran toward it, feet seemingly running on the clouds.
That morning, I found myself in the camp amidst the cold, dank morning in the eastern plains, with the sun barely peaking up over the horizon of the prominent hills. Running my hand down my arm, I still felt the goosebumps from the slight, lingering chill. I grabbed the bamboo-woven armor, interspersed with strips of weathered leather, and decorated with puma fur around the arm and neck holes that brushes my skin every time I put it on. I admired the craftsmanship of the gift one last time, then placed it over my head and the tunic that extended to my calves, the cloth dyed with red, black, and gold. I strapped on my leather sandals and grasped my glaive, patting the durable wooden handle that contained the marks and knocks from battles past.
As the smell of extinguished fires enveloped the area and their smoke blended into the morning fog, men had already begun preparing their weapons for battle, seated on the ground and rubbing stones on the blades of their maces and obsidian swords to hone the edge. The Qiapu faction distributed the weapons they expertly crafted to the various warriors. The slingers collected stones in their pouches, scrutinizing each one to make sure it made for a good projectile for their particular sling. The few archers from the Auilqa diligently prepared their arrows and pulled their bowstrings taut for inspection. A sea of colorful tunics and leather armor spanned the campsite, with nearly every faction in the land on display; warriors gathered from every part of the land, from the jungles of Tuatiu and Achope to the mountains of Qiapu, from the plains of the Aimue to the hills of my people. A vast array of yellows, oranges, greens, blacks, purples, and especially reds, each item of clothing presenting the warrior’s achievements, hopes, and aspirations of their people in the varying shapes and patterns.
There is an almost religious ritual when one mentally prepares for war. Some men laugh and joke with one another to stay loose while others stare fixedly at the ground as they collect their thoughts and center themselves. No one wants to disrupt anyone’s ritual, partly out of superstition, but partly because, if this is to be our last moment on Pachil, we recognize that one should spend it how they choose. For me, I internalize the peace and stillness before marching to my fate. I attempt to remember the mood, every face, every bellowing laugh, every prayer to the spirits of our land, for I don’t want anyone’s final hours to have been in vain.
The conch horn sounded and every man and woman’s head raised, their pre-fight trance broken. Reality struck everyone in camp. Looking up, we could see through breaks in the clouds that the sky transformed from a hazy blue to orange, then to a nearly blood red. The sun grew dazzlingly white, and among the gasps and shouts in alarm, we had to shield our eyes from the searing pain caused by its brightness. I looked at the ground that appeared as white hot as a flame, and was forced to close my eyes, as nothing was safe for me to look upon. Even through closed eyes, I saw nothing but white, and I feared we may have become blind.
Moments passed before I saw a vast reddish orange from the flesh of my eyelids, and slowly, cautiously, I opened them. A few shouted to confirm we could open our eyes again, and I watched everyone stand in bewilderment. Shortly thereafter, a shout was heard from a distance many tents over, and the command was relayed from commander to commander. For some, there was a nervousness and fear for what may come. For most, however, confidence exuded from the skin, their chests puffed out, and they quickly rose to their feet as though they want to be sure they don’t miss any of the action. Eventually, word finally reached me and my men:
“The chosen have begun their assault to the north! Warriors leading the charge, begin formation to the center! Slingers and archers, line up behind! Squads, take your positions on the flanks!”
I rallied my warriors, each member gave me a nod in confirmation and gathered their weapon of choice, and they began to walk in the direction of the left flank. I was one of the few Qantua warriors present in the camp, but each one of us had studied combat and tactics at the Maqanuiache in Chalaqta, more or less guaranteeing we all would receive positions of leadership in the rebellion.
After drifting away from the camp, we prowled low amongst the tall grass, lurking to catch any sign of the enemy. From atop the hills, our warriors stood, towering as they overlooked the valley. Below them, the otherworldly guttural growls of the Timuaq’s creatures creeped into earshot. Emerging from the morning’s mists of the plains, the thunder of hundreds or thousands of shuffling steps gradually increased as they came into view, their melted and warped pale gray flesh that loosely bound the joints and bones together grew more visible. Their naturally ominous toothy grin revealed long, pointy daggers that matched the jaggedness of the claws that were nearly as long as their forearms.
A chorus of yells preceded the charge that came from the top of the hill. Hundreds of silhouettes sprinted toward the unnatural beasts, weapons raised in the air like a trap ready to be sprung. The creatures simply awaited them at the bottom of the hill, gnashing their fangs at the oncoming foes, unintimidated. Though I know the beasts lacked the capability for complex reasoning, I couldn’t help but feel their exudation of confidence, as if knowing something we didn’t.
The initial clash and clatter of bronze and obsidian weapons on bones penetrated the otherwise still morning air. Grunts and hollers of warriors exerted every ounce of strength their muscles could generate as they desperately swung their axes and halberds. The entanglement of colorful tunics and leather armor was quickly muted by gray flesh as the creatures swarmed around the core of the charge, corralling our men and preventing any hope of regrouping at higher ground.
That was our signal. Stones hurled from the top of the hill as the slingers unleashed a flurry of rocks upon the ghoulish monstrosities. From the other side of the clash, we could hear the yells from an incoming surge. The right flank was dashing to counterattack. I yelled something incoherent, but the men understood we needed to rush if we were going to win. As if some other being was propelling me into battle, my body instinctually made the charge to the group’s left side as more projectiles followed me into battle. Before I could plant my glaive into the nearest enemy, the creature was struck hard by a rock and crumpled to the ground, its skull cracked open with its black gelatinous blood oozing out.
A roar hit my ears from my left and I quickly ducked while I skid to a halt. The breeze of a fistful of clawed fingers brushed across the top of my head, skin sagging off the extended limb. I raised my glaive upward to separate the arm from the body, then, in the same motion, swung the weapon around to take out the creature’s legs. It howled in pain, and before it could stand up, I spun the glaive in my hands and came down onto its torso. After a violent spasm, the creature lay motionless, shriveling and withering away into dust-like decay, right on cue.
Looking to my right, I saw the chaos of battle. Weapons flailing. Men and women cringing from pain of exertion, collapsing. Creatures plummeting backward to the ground, their leathery skin being the only indication the lifeless beings had perished.
I heard the oncoming feet of another enemy rushing toward me. I lifted my glaive up and deflected the swiping hand of another set of claws. The beast’s back faced me, and I hurriedly speared what was left of its spine, severing its body into two pieces with another broad swing. From the corner of my eye, a blade slashed down toward me. I tried to use the other end of my weapon to parry the blow, but the sharp tearing electrified my right shoulder and upper chest. My tunic is flecked with black and red blood as a stream of crimson raced down my arm. I gritted my teeth and tried to muster enough strength to backhand my glaive, but a spear pierced the creature’s head and knocked it to the dirt. I swiveled my head the other direction to see a black, gray, and green tunic that flowed amidst the swirling action of battle nearby, golden plates wrapped around her forearms, and a short skirt made of banana leaves and woven reed — all marks of a Tuatiu warrior — as she casually walked to retrieve her weapon, unfazed by the action around her. We exchanged courtesy nods before we returned to the fight, and I watched her fade into the cloud of dirt and dust kicked up from the nearby combat.
My ear picked up another snarl, and I spun my blade and lunged it toward the sound’s direction. I got jolted to my right and felt my weapon get knocked aside, another surge of intense pain ripped through my body as the gash opened more from the initial strike. I looked up to see a towering gray figure, bald with a noseless boxy face and its skin was slowly sliding off its skull. The pointed ears managed to sustain two gold earrings in its left ear, though the flesh around it appeared to be almost consuming the metal.
The beast clenched its hands together and brought them down upon me. I managed to roll out of the way, and a searing pain shoots through my wounded shoulder as I thudded onto the ground. I tried to grab my weapon and swing while the creature was vulnerable, but realized my weapon was on the other side of the monster. It horizontally swung its fists at me, and I continued rolling away, each rotation felt as though I was pressing my shoulder onto a series of small blades. As the beast’s momentum carried its head low to the ground, I grabbed a clump of dirt near my head and flung it into its lifeless eyes. It yelled in frustration, and while it pawed at its face and shook its head to clear its vision, I scurried over to my glaive. Once we were reunited, I let out an anguished battle cry as I willed my weapon to strike the target. I slashed its right arm, and once the beast flinched to grab its wounded limb, I rammed the creature with the pointed top of my weapon in what would have been a stomach. It tried to bring its hands around the weapon’s pole, but I pushed upward and slashed vertically, slicing the throat and jaw, a trail of black fluid followed the blade.
I slowly got up and turned around to track my next target when a horn penetrated the battle. From the other side of the valley, hundreds more gray bodies spilled in like a broken damn releasing the river. The collective roars of the next wave of beasts sunk my heart. I had thought we would gain the upper hand by surrounding them, but it was all part of their plan — to draw us out into the valley with little to no way out. Some of the other leaders called to their men to retreat, but an unrelenting series of bites and claws overwhelmed even the most hardened warrior. More of our people were on the ground than standing up, and while I continued to swing my glaive in every direction to deflect the incoming attacks, part of me felt as though it was worthless to keep fighting.
A sudden flash illuminated the sky, though no clouds or incoming storm could be seen. The light quickly dispersed over the field and washed over the combatants, and an abrupt pause in the battle followed. I shielded my eyes and raised my glaive in desperation, hoping it would protect me in my moment of vulnerability. However, no strike came, and as I retained the wince on my face while slowly opening my eyes, I no longer saw the creatures before me. As a matter of fact, only my warrior’s silhouettes remained standing, looking around stunned and trying to piece together what took place.
Something compelled me to look down, and in a heap of ash, what I could only assume was my rival was in a pile before me. The bone of its claws, if present at all, was brittle and aged. We stood in the field stupefied, uncertain as to what happened. After a few moments, sporadic yelling and cheering resonated across the valley, men and women raised their weapons in victory. Some fell to their knees and praised whatever deity they prayed to, while others gave hugs and pats on the backs and shoulders in celebration. For me, I felt only relief. Relief that I would see another day. That, perhaps, peace would finally come to our people.
The memory of that day drifts away as I approach Hilaqta, seeing the large stone wall that is still imposing from such a distance. The small band of warriors I’m traveling with, the few survivors of the war, worn and weary from the long journey, begin picking up the pace as we see our village beckoning us closer, and I hear their whoops of delight as the sight of home gets bigger and bigger. The trek from the continent’s capital, Qapauma, has been long and arduous, but so was the war; if we could survive what we have suffered through — not just in battle, but for generations under the rule of the Timuaq — then the travel feels like soaring among the birds. The warriors’ posture turns from slouching to adjusting upright, chins raised, and wide grins span their faces.
Though their reactions are that of excitement and joy, a knot of anxiety and nervousness resides in the pit of my stomach, and the swelling affection becomes clouded with fear of the future’s uncertainty. The land is finally ours once again, but how will we shape it and what will we do with our newfound freedom? What legacy will we leave behind? How will we sustain peace? These questions linger in my mind as I approach the entrance to the village, with the weight of the message I am to deliver from the Arbiter to the elders resting heavily on my heart. I set aside the feelings of unease, albeit briefly, to take in one fleeting moment of gratitude for the ability to live one more day.
I remember my dream the night before the battle, the night before the gods died. I stood on the cliff of a mountain I’ve never before seen, steep peaks above the clouds. In this strange and foreign landscape, alien to the hills of my people, the cold was something I never experienced, as I felt my lungs burn with every icy breath and a chill rushed over my flesh. A sudden flash of light nearly blinded me, and, shielding my eyes with my left hand, I saw the silhouette of a young woman before me, floating ethereally as a radiant gold emanated from behind her. Her black, flowing hair cascaded over her gold and black cloak that enveloped her red and orange dress that stopped at the knees, metallic gold cuffs wrapped around her wrists and forearms, and a golden headpiece, embroidered with what appeared to be the sun, shimmered from the light. She stood gallantly, chest out and defiant, the shield, engraved with the head of a puma, held by her left hand at her side, and her golden spear gripped intensely, point up toward the sky. It felt as though I was in the presence of Entilqan, the fierce warrior goddess whose leadership our Qantua people rallied behind during the entirety of the war.
She looked at me, chin up and proud, lips moving as if to speak, but I couldn’t distinguish any of her words. Then she gave me a single, solemn nod before turning to the glorious radiance. She raised her spear and, as the outlines of maybe a dozen warriors emerged just beyond her, I watched as she charged into the distance. She and the others are swallowed up by the incredible light as they all ran toward it, feet seemingly running on the clouds.
That morning, I found myself in the camp amidst the cold, dank morning in the eastern plains, with the sun barely peaking up over the horizon of the prominent hills. Running my hand down my arm, I still felt the goosebumps from the slight, lingering chill. I grabbed the bamboo-woven armor, interspersed with strips of weathered leather, and decorated with puma fur around the arm and neck holes that brushes my skin every time I put it on. I admired the craftsmanship of the gift one last time, then placed it over my head and the tunic that extended to my calves, the cloth dyed with red, black, and gold. I strapped on my leather sandals and grasped my glaive, patting the durable wooden handle that contained the marks and knocks from battles past.
As the smell of extinguished fires enveloped the area and their smoke blended into the morning fog, men had already begun preparing their weapons for battle, seated on the ground and rubbing stones on the blades of their maces and obsidian swords to hone the edge. The Qiapu faction distributed the weapons they expertly crafted to the various warriors. The slingers collected stones in their pouches, scrutinizing each one to make sure it made for a good projectile for their particular sling. The few archers from the Auilqa diligently prepared their arrows and pulled their bowstrings taut for inspection. A sea of colorful tunics and leather armor spanned the campsite, with nearly every faction in the land on display; warriors gathered from every part of the land, from the jungles of Tuatiu and Achope to the mountains of Qiapu, from the plains of the Aimue to the hills of my people. A vast array of yellows, oranges, greens, blacks, purples, and especially reds, each item of clothing presenting the warrior’s achievements, hopes, and aspirations of their people in the varying shapes and patterns.
There is an almost religious ritual when one mentally prepares for war. Some men laugh and joke with one another to stay loose while others stare fixedly at the ground as they collect their thoughts and center themselves. No one wants to disrupt anyone’s ritual, partly out of superstition, but partly because, if this is to be our last moment on Pachil, we recognize that one should spend it how they choose. For me, I internalize the peace and stillness before marching to my fate. I attempt to remember the mood, every face, every bellowing laugh, every prayer to the spirits of our land, for I don’t want anyone’s final hours to have been in vain.
The conch horn sounded and every man and woman’s head raised, their pre-fight trance broken. Reality struck everyone in camp. Looking up, we could see through breaks in the clouds that the sky transformed from a hazy blue to orange, then to a nearly blood red. The sun grew dazzlingly white, and among the gasps and shouts in alarm, we had to shield our eyes from the searing pain caused by its brightness. I looked at the ground that appeared as white hot as a flame, and was forced to close my eyes, as nothing was safe for me to look upon. Even through closed eyes, I saw nothing but white, and I feared we may have become blind.
Moments passed before I saw a vast reddish orange from the flesh of my eyelids, and slowly, cautiously, I opened them. A few shouted to confirm we could open our eyes again, and I watched everyone stand in bewilderment. Shortly thereafter, a shout was heard from a distance many tents over, and the command was relayed from commander to commander. For some, there was a nervousness and fear for what may come. For most, however, confidence exuded from the skin, their chests puffed out, and they quickly rose to their feet as though they want to be sure they don’t miss any of the action. Eventually, word finally reached me and my men:
“The chosen have begun their assault to the north! Warriors leading the charge, begin formation to the center! Slingers and archers, line up behind! Squads, take your positions on the flanks!”
I rallied my warriors, each member gave me a nod in confirmation and gathered their weapon of choice, and they began to walk in the direction of the left flank. I was one of the few Qantua warriors present in the camp, but each one of us had studied combat and tactics at the Maqanuiache in Chalaqta, more or less guaranteeing we all would receive positions of leadership in the rebellion.
After drifting away from the camp, we prowled low amongst the tall grass, lurking to catch any sign of the enemy. From atop the hills, our warriors stood, towering as they overlooked the valley. Below them, the otherworldly guttural growls of the Timuaq’s creatures creeped into earshot. Emerging from the morning’s mists of the plains, the thunder of hundreds or thousands of shuffling steps gradually increased as they came into view, their melted and warped pale gray flesh that loosely bound the joints and bones together grew more visible. Their naturally ominous toothy grin revealed long, pointy daggers that matched the jaggedness of the claws that were nearly as long as their forearms.
A chorus of yells preceded the charge that came from the top of the hill. Hundreds of silhouettes sprinted toward the unnatural beasts, weapons raised in the air like a trap ready to be sprung. The creatures simply awaited them at the bottom of the hill, gnashing their fangs at the oncoming foes, unintimidated. Though I know the beasts lacked the capability for complex reasoning, I couldn’t help but feel their exudation of confidence, as if knowing something we didn’t.
The initial clash and clatter of bronze and obsidian weapons on bones penetrated the otherwise still morning air. Grunts and hollers of warriors exerted every ounce of strength their muscles could generate as they desperately swung their axes and halberds. The entanglement of colorful tunics and leather armor was quickly muted by gray flesh as the creatures swarmed around the core of the charge, corralling our men and preventing any hope of regrouping at higher ground.
That was our signal. Stones hurled from the top of the hill as the slingers unleashed a flurry of rocks upon the ghoulish monstrosities. From the other side of the clash, we could hear the yells from an incoming surge. The right flank was dashing to counterattack. I yelled something incoherent, but the men understood we needed to rush if we were going to win. As if some other being was propelling me into battle, my body instinctually made the charge to the group’s left side as more projectiles followed me into battle. Before I could plant my glaive into the nearest enemy, the creature was struck hard by a rock and crumpled to the ground, its skull cracked open with its black gelatinous blood oozing out.
A roar hit my ears from my left and I quickly ducked while I skid to a halt. The breeze of a fistful of clawed fingers brushed across the top of my head, skin sagging off the extended limb. I raised my glaive upward to separate the arm from the body, then, in the same motion, swung the weapon around to take out the creature’s legs. It howled in pain, and before it could stand up, I spun the glaive in my hands and came down onto its torso. After a violent spasm, the creature lay motionless, shriveling and withering away into dust-like decay, right on cue.
Looking to my right, I saw the chaos of battle. Weapons flailing. Men and women cringing from pain of exertion, collapsing. Creatures plummeting backward to the ground, their leathery skin being the only indication the lifeless beings had perished.
I heard the oncoming feet of another enemy rushing toward me. I lifted my glaive up and deflected the swiping hand of another set of claws. The beast’s back faced me, and I hurriedly speared what was left of its spine, severing its body into two pieces with another broad swing. From the corner of my eye, a blade slashed down toward me. I tried to use the other end of my weapon to parry the blow, but the sharp tearing electrified my right shoulder and upper chest. My tunic is flecked with black and red blood as a stream of crimson raced down my arm. I gritted my teeth and tried to muster enough strength to backhand my glaive, but a spear pierced the creature’s head and knocked it to the dirt. I swiveled my head the other direction to see a black, gray, and green tunic that flowed amidst the swirling action of battle nearby, golden plates wrapped around her forearms, and a short skirt made of banana leaves and woven reed — all marks of a Tuatiu warrior — as she casually walked to retrieve her weapon, unfazed by the action around her. We exchanged courtesy nods before we returned to the fight, and I watched her fade into the cloud of dirt and dust kicked up from the nearby combat.
My ear picked up another snarl, and I spun my blade and lunged it toward the sound’s direction. I got jolted to my right and felt my weapon get knocked aside, another surge of intense pain ripped through my body as the gash opened more from the initial strike. I looked up to see a towering gray figure, bald with a noseless boxy face and its skin was slowly sliding off its skull. The pointed ears managed to sustain two gold earrings in its left ear, though the flesh around it appeared to be almost consuming the metal.
The beast clenched its hands together and brought them down upon me. I managed to roll out of the way, and a searing pain shoots through my wounded shoulder as I thudded onto the ground. I tried to grab my weapon and swing while the creature was vulnerable, but realized my weapon was on the other side of the monster. It horizontally swung its fists at me, and I continued rolling away, each rotation felt as though I was pressing my shoulder onto a series of small blades. As the beast’s momentum carried its head low to the ground, I grabbed a clump of dirt near my head and flung it into its lifeless eyes. It yelled in frustration, and while it pawed at its face and shook its head to clear its vision, I scurried over to my glaive. Once we were reunited, I let out an anguished battle cry as I willed my weapon to strike the target. I slashed its right arm, and once the beast flinched to grab its wounded limb, I rammed the creature with the pointed top of my weapon in what would have been a stomach. It tried to bring its hands around the weapon’s pole, but I pushed upward and slashed vertically, slicing the throat and jaw, a trail of black fluid followed the blade.
I slowly got up and turned around to track my next target when a horn penetrated the battle. From the other side of the valley, hundreds more gray bodies spilled in like a broken damn releasing the river. The collective roars of the next wave of beasts sunk my heart. I had thought we would gain the upper hand by surrounding them, but it was all part of their plan — to draw us out into the valley with little to no way out. Some of the other leaders called to their men to retreat, but an unrelenting series of bites and claws overwhelmed even the most hardened warrior. More of our people were on the ground than standing up, and while I continued to swing my glaive in every direction to deflect the incoming attacks, part of me felt as though it was worthless to keep fighting.
A sudden flash illuminated the sky, though no clouds or incoming storm could be seen. The light quickly dispersed over the field and washed over the combatants, and an abrupt pause in the battle followed. I shielded my eyes and raised my glaive in desperation, hoping it would protect me in my moment of vulnerability. However, no strike came, and as I retained the wince on my face while slowly opening my eyes, I no longer saw the creatures before me. As a matter of fact, only my warrior’s silhouettes remained standing, looking around stunned and trying to piece together what took place.
Something compelled me to look down, and in a heap of ash, what I could only assume was my rival was in a pile before me. The bone of its claws, if present at all, was brittle and aged. We stood in the field stupefied, uncertain as to what happened. After a few moments, sporadic yelling and cheering resonated across the valley, men and women raised their weapons in victory. Some fell to their knees and praised whatever deity they prayed to, while others gave hugs and pats on the backs and shoulders in celebration. For me, I felt only relief. Relief that I would see another day. That, perhaps, peace would finally come to our people.
The memory of that day drifts away as I approach Hilaqta, seeing the large stone wall that is still imposing from such a distance. The small band of warriors I’m traveling with, the few survivors of the war, worn and weary from the long journey, begin picking up the pace as we see our village beckoning us closer, and I hear their whoops of delight as the sight of home gets bigger and bigger. The trek from the continent’s capital, Qapauma, has been long and arduous, but so was the war; if we could survive what we have suffered through — not just in battle, but for generations under the rule of the Timuaq — then the travel feels like soaring among the birds. The warriors’ posture turns from slouching to adjusting upright, chins raised, and wide grins span their faces.
Though their reactions are that of excitement and joy, a knot of anxiety and nervousness resides in the pit of my stomach, and the swelling affection becomes clouded with fear of the future’s uncertainty. The land is finally ours once again, but how will we shape it and what will we do with our newfound freedom? What legacy will we leave behind? How will we sustain peace? These questions linger in my mind as I approach the entrance to the village, with the weight of the message I am to deliver from the Arbiter to the elders resting heavily on my heart. I set aside the feelings of unease, albeit briefly, to take in one fleeting moment of gratitude for the ability to live one more day.
