“Great plans are in store for you today!”
Iatuq’s performative announcement jars me out of my sleepy stupor as I arrive to the dinning chamber.
Seated at the large table along with a few nobles is Iatuq and my father, Siunqi. He feasts on roasted boar, tearing at its flesh in huge chunks, while Iatuq delicately selects a single piece of cut-up citrus, seemingly content to only consume that for her meal.
“In bringing back our most beloved and cherished traditions, and to honor our most respected guests, an exhibition of Uli-Poq has been organized for your entertainment after breakfast!”
I have never heard of this “uli-poq” and can’t discern what that means, but Iatuq looks elated to tell me the news. I look to Siunqi for a hint at what to expect, but he remains impassive and more concerned with his meal.
“I must go and change outfits for the ceremony, but we will see you at the court!”
She scampers off with a trail of servants behind her. I seat myself besides my father and have two servants immediately catering to me before I can do anything else. One presents an array of exotic fruits and meats while the other fills my chalice with a juice of some kind that I’m unfamiliar with. It smells sweet and has a cloudy orange color, but appears harmless enough.
“Do you know what’s going on?” I quiz Siunqi, but he only shrugs.
“Supposedly,” he says, “we’re ‘in for a treat’—she has repeated that confusing phrase all morning.”
“She also said ‘court’; is there a trial happening? Did they…” I lower my voice before speaking the next part, “did they find the insurgents?” Siunqi’s eyes grow intense and he hushes me profusely.
“Not so loud!” he says. “I have no idea what– it’s okay, stop apologizing! I have no idea what this ‘uli-poq’ is supposed to be—initially, I believed it to be some kind of public execution, but Iatuq gives me the impression it can’t be that serious. Hurry and finish your meal, and we will see what this is about.”
After I eat, and apparently also drink, an amazing assortment of fruits and their juices (with only a bite or two of boar), we’re ushered down a long, winding path leading away from the palace that cuts through a field of tall, unattended, dried grass. The land on this side of the village is flat and nondescript, with a sea of tan and beige extending as far as the eye can see. Nearby, farmers tend to the manicured areas outside the main grounds of Chalaqta, occasionally popping up and appearing out of the tall grasses like fish jumping above the water’s surface to snatch an insect. Beyond the field mice and other rodents rustling the grass, the only other noise is the chatter from all the nobles walking through the countryside.
A tall stone wall finally appears over the horizon, growing imposingly larger as we approach—my estimation is roughly the height of three or four men. It extends almost the length of the palace grounds, which is to say several houses. The grass suddenly gets much shorter, with sporadic patches of dirt throughout the grounds, and the shape of an “I” is outlined by a stone wall and what appear to be stands for spectators. To one side of the field, two rows of tents have been put up, with vendors selling food and refreshments for the attendees. At first I’m mortified when I notice the perimeter of the court is marked with human skulls, but I notice soon after that they are just stones painted to appear as such, and I’m immediately relieved, albeit slightly disturbed by the morbid, macabre decorations.
As the path leads us around the nearest wall, I realize it is, in fact, a gradual, tiered incline, allowing spectators to be seated and watch the display. The inner-facing wall is vibrant, its colors stand out from the neutral earth tones that surround the location. On the large wall across from the seating are humongous painted designs, depicting numerous scenes involving people, animals, and locations in the mountains, jungles, and seas. Studying it, I notice the resemblance of many historic events, such as battles and major events I learned from my tutor about the continent. At the base of the wall is a sloping ramp or incline, and high above at the center of the wall lengthwise is a ring crafted in stone with a fairly narrow hole. There is a decorative pattern carved into the hoop, although it’s difficult to distinguish from this far away.
Siunqi and I are brought to the back of the large wall, with stone steps leading up to the top. I’m initially queasy from the height, looking down upon the field and fearing I may drop. We are brought to our seats at the center of the wall, covered with a canopy to shield us from the sun and stay cool while we watch the spectacle that will take place directly below us.
Already at her seat is Iatuq, chatting with some servant as he pours wine into her chalice. She wears yet another tight-fitting garment, this time it’s a royal purple dress with a gold band of material at the bottom that reaches her knees while she sits. Atop her head is an elaborate headpiece decorated in yellow macaw feathers and inset with jade in geometric patterns. The outline of her eyes are painted in black, and the paint goes straight to her temples and stops just short of her ears.
“They still can’t find a garment that fits properly,” Siunqi grumbles, flinging one end of his bronze sash over his shoulder and walks over to where Iatuq sits.
I begin to walk with him when I notice fairly far down is Tonatli, chatting with another boy I’d guess is around his age. Where Tonatli is tall, this other boy is much shorter, though equally gangly. Both of them are dressed simply: Tonatli wearing a plain red tunic with a few orange geometric patterns stitched into it, and the other boy wears a green tunic with bright orange interweaving triangles along the bottom. His black hair is tied up close to the top of his head, which emphasizes his large ears, each one containing multiple simple, gold piercings. One of the boys says something that gets them both to laugh, and I can’t help but notice Tonatli’s boyish features as his face brightens.
“Father,” I practically whisper to Siunqi, “this might be my chance to speak to Tonatli.” I discreetly point toward the two boys with my index finger that barely pokes out from my teal cape. Siunqi looks over, then nods.
“I’ll let Iatuq know you’ve made a friend here in Chalaqta,” he says with a sly grin. It’s the closest I’ve ever seen Siunqi get to being mischievous, and I chuckle at the concept.
I approach Tonatli and his friend with a small, awkward smile, accompanied by a similarly awkward wave, wincing after I do so. Nervously, I clutch the band of my satchel, playing with the simple rope strap between my fingers. They don’t seem to mind, nor notice my discomfort, and wave for me to come join.
“I thought you and your family were traveling to Qapauma today,” I inquire.
“Apparently, something came up,” Tonatli says with his standard wooden inflection when it comes to his family’s business dealings. “Something about an important meeting. Besides, it means I get to be here for this!”
I look around the area and eventually locate Tonatli’s parents—Aluxeqwel and Teqotlo, if memory serves. They speak to one another, hands covering their mouths while looking onto the court. Teqotlo wears an orange loin cloth and a thick, red sash across his chest, while Aluxeqwel is stunning in a tight, scarlet dress, each wearing too many simple gold necklaces and bracelets to count. The pair greet each noble who passes them with a subtle nod and nothing more.
“It’s exciting to have uli-poq return, isn’t it?” Tonatli asks. His friend nods in agreement, and I begin to wonder if the question was meant for him, not me. However, Tonatli looks at me after I don’t respond right away, anticipating my answer.
“Oh, well, we don’t have uli-poq on Sanqo,” I say. His friend is mystified by this, and I clarify defensively. “Our island is pretty rugged and mountainous, so we don’t have flat land large enough to create a court, especially one of this size.”
This seems to appease Tonatli’s friend, who considers this and then nods with understanding. Realizing we won’t be formally introduced by the always absent-minded Tonatli—along with him getting my name incorrect the last time we spoke—I sit down next to him and greet his friend, doing Tonatli a favor by restating my name for him.
“Walumaq,” I say to Tonatli’s friend, waving once more.
“Tzochli,” he says in a soft-spoken, staccato manner, and with another nod.
“Wow, that’s quite a name,” I say, immediately regretting it once it leaves my lips. Embarrassed, I try to clarify, “I mean, I’ve never heard a name like that before.”
Not much better, Walumaq, I think to myself. Fortunately, Tzochli gives me an amused smile after my verbal stumbling.
“It’s from the southern region of Tapeu,” he explains, “close to the Qiapu border. My family trades a lot with them. And at one time, with the Ulxa, as well. My mother was fascinated by Ulxa culture—well, not the sorcery part and resurrecting the dead, drinking blood, all of that, of course—and so she wanted to have a name that was distinct. It’s a combination of Qiapu and Ulxa words for ‘rabbit’.”
“That’s impressive!” I say, trying to not sound entirely idiotic. “Have you been to Ulxa?”
“No, unfortunately,” Tzochli says, disheartened. “I’ve heard stories that the Ulxa are getting aggressive and want to attack the Tapeu, so it’s not really safe for any Tapeu to venture onto their lands these days, despite the all-faction truce.”
“That’s a shame,” I say. “I would love to explore their cities and learn more about them.”
“There’s not much to tell,” Tonatli abruptly interjects. “They’re a savage people with savage customs.”
I’m taken aback by the interruption, wondering where his oddly abrasive remark is coming from. His words have an edge to them, something I haven’t seen from him and find interesting, considering he seemed dispassionate the day before. Did he experience something traumatic at the hands of an Ulxa? Or—wait a moment—is he jealous that I’m talking so openly with his friend, Tzochli?
I look at Tonatli to gauge what he’s feeling, but his attention is focused on the court at the collection of men to the left. A dozen or so in long turquoise and dark blue robes gather atop the opposite wall with long, almond-colored horns the length of nearly their entire body. Each horn is individually decorated with a variety of feathers spanning all colors, and carved with shapes and patterns to resemble various aspects, such as fish scales, leaves, or even more feathers. They bellow a deep, resonating tone that, played in unison, form a pleasing chord.
“It’s beginning!” Tonatli squeals in delight.
Although I’m confused—about a lot of recent developments, to be honest—I watch attentively to try to understand the proceedings. At the center of the court stands a man dressed in an elaborate costume of dark brown and white feathers that cover only the top of his chest, and a wooden headdress covering all of his face except his mouth, carved in the shape of an eagle’s head, decorated with white feathers. He wears a simple, brown loin cloth with gold trim, and wrapped around his ankles are more brown feathers.
“Quraqa of Tapeu, citizens of Chalaqta, and all from great lands beyond,” the man shouts, “welcome to the inaugural Uli-Poq exhibition!”
Cheers erupt around the court, and it’s only now that I realize how many have gathered. Looking around the perimeter, the court is completely surrounded by what appears to be every citizen of Chalaqta. Their clothing is still simple, being mostly tunics for the men and huipil dresses for the women, but replacing the every day tan and beige clothing is an array of colors now.
“We are honored to have the presence of the Arbiter’s Voice, Quraqa Iatuq, blessing our game today.” There’s a round of polite applause as Iatuq waves to the crowd while remaining seated.
“We are also honored to have the presence of the ruler of the brave Sanqo shipmen, Quraqa Siunqi.” More polite applause, albeit a little sparse. Siunqi nods and places his right fist over his heart, our signal of honor.
Emerging from an opening on the side of the large wall is a group of nearly a dozen men and women decorated in elaborate outfits. They wear large red feathers pointed vertically and placed on gold headbands; two wear them atop gold crowns. Their garments are almost entirely gold, and numerous long necklaces of blue, white, green, and red wooden beads hang loosely from their necks. Each one wears a different mask, painted with various markings and multiple colors. Upon further examination, especially when I see one is deep blue and bronze, I start to notice they resemble the colors of Pachil’s factions: the red and white of Qantua, the purple and gold of Achope, the green and black of Tuatiu, and so forth.
From the other side emerges a swarm of people towering above the rest. Gasps and shrieks drown out the announcer’s voice when they see these gigantic figures marching toward the other group. Tonatli’s amused cheer causes me to squint, and after looking at their abnormally long legs, I realize they’re standing on stilts.
“The Timuaq,” Tzochli says bitingly, his lips curling into a slight scowl.
The figures are wearing stark gray tunics, metallic masks with a stoic expression, and silver crowns that still manage to glimmer in the overcast light. They plod to the center of the court, beating their chests and slapping their knees and shoulders. If I hadn’t realized they are performers, I would have been intimidated by their daunting presence!
“Since the beginning of the Timuaq rule,” announces the eagle-headed man, “many traditions and rituals unique to the many factions on Pachil were forbidden, declaring them sacrilegious.”
Many boos and hisses echo throughout the court, with angry shouts and some obscene gestures hurled at the Timuaq performers.
“However, with the Timuaq vanquished, we can finally return to the ways that honor our heritage and establish pride in who we are as our respective, unique factions.”
The jeering turns to cheering as those in attendance celebrate our freedom from the oppressive Timuaq rule. Emulating this, the performers appear to reenact the defeat of the Timuaq, and I realize the people simulating combat against the titans represent the Eleven, joining forces and combining their supernatural capabilities through teamwork and sacrifice to save Pachil once and for all. Watching the show, I recall words from the old woman in the marketplace, telling me that Pachil is unstable, and a threat is coming to our land. The patrons at this arena are blissfully unaware of the haunting prophecy entrusted to me, hugging and patting each other on their backs as though the battle is won. Perhaps it is, and the crone is senile and confused.
To distract myself from the thoughts of being responsible for preventing the end of the world, I watch the display and attempt to figure out what we’re in for, having never seen nor heard of this “uli-poq”. The master of the ceremony is carrying on about the history of the Timuaq rule and how we overcame it, and I decide this is the perfect opportunity to get an explanation on what this event is.
“I’m… not sure what’s about to happen,” I confess to Tonatli and Tzochli. “Is all this just for a reenactment?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” Tzochli says, still watching the presentation and thus speaking as if his mind is somewhere distant. “These are artists, finally allowed to perform their trade, now that the Timuaq can no longer prevent them from doing so. Uli-Poq was a sporting event regularly played throughout the continent, which should begin after the show is finished. The idea is to keep a rubber ball in the air without using your hands or feet and hit the wall. You can only advance the ball using your hips, knees, and elbows. And the ball is slightly larger than a grapefruit, so it can be difficult.”
“And if the ball is hit hard enough, it can really hurt,” Tonatli says before grimacing in pain at the thought.
“What is the object of the game?” I ask, still confused about the point of this event.
“You’re trying to make it so the other team can’t get the ball to hit the wall,” Tonatli explains. “If you do, your team receives a point. You can let the ball bounce off the ground a single time before advancing the ball, but if it bounces twice, the opponent scores. The first team to eleven wins.”
“What’s with that ring in the center?” I ask.
“Well,” Tonatli clasps his hands in excitement, “that’s the qab. If any player can get the ball through that ring, their team automatically wins and the match is over.”
“It’s incredibly narrow,” I point out.
“It’s nearly impossible to do,” Tzochli says. “Some people tell stories of how it’s been done before, but I think they’re just fables.”
“What are the paintings on the wall?”
“They are murals that depict the history of Pachil,” Tonatli says. “Every court is painted differently, and depending on where in Pachil it’s located, their appearance varies; some choose to describe the locale while others can tell a more broad story of the region. This one happens to show the time before the Timuaq, how all the factions were unified and lived peacefully.”
“Even though that is completely false,” Tzochli remarks. “
Before I can ask Tzochli to explain himself, the horns sound again. I haven’t paid attention to what was taking place on the court, so I’m surprised when it is entirely empty from all the performers. Instead, a dozen men—six on each team—are heralded onto the court. They appear distinguished by the color of the capes they wear, with one team’s capes in yellow and the other in white, and all players have patches of leather strapped onto them, located at the knees, elbows, and hips. My assumption is that these are for protection and to assist with hitting the ball.
The yellow team jog onto one side of the court, their bodies painted entirely yellow with black spots scattered about. Each wears elaborate headdresses resembling a jaguar’s head, its teeth gnashing. Their patches of leather are embellished with jaguar fur to enhance the effect, and the tops of their feet are also covered with fur.
Meanwhile, the white team wear large black and white feathers on their arms and ankles, and five of the members wear a pinkish-red headdress with white beaks, resembling a condor. One of the players, however, wears a headdress like a serpent, as well as gold jewelry—none of the other athletes wear any such item—and I immediately recognize who it is. Although, it doesn’t take long for the rest of the arena to identify him, as well.
“We have a special guest honoring us all with his participation of our sacred sport!” the master of the ceremonies shouts.
Pahua raises his arms and encourages the crowd to cheer him on, which many comply. His white cape has a painted teal sea serpent writhing its body around every part of the material, distinguishing himself from the rest.
“Has your brother ever played before?” Tonatli asks in amazement.
“Maybe, when he’s traveled to the mainland, I suppose,” I say, unsure if that’s true, or even likely.
“That,” Tzochli points to Pahua, “is your brother?” Though I try to hide my discomfort, I nod and say nothing more, so I don’t have a chance to say something I may regret.
The man in the eagle outfit presents the ball and says a blessing, placing the rubber sphere at the center of a long line made from a powder that separates the two sides. The players are lined up at opposite ends and crouch, readying themselves for a sprint. At the sound of a horn, all the athletes race toward the ball. I’m mortified at what may happen with a collision, but ultimately one of the yellow players slides on the ground and hits the ball to the other side, causing a player in white to leap over him and avoid impact. I place my hand on my chest after a gasp and catch my breath while the crowd cheers.
The white team struggles to get the ball off the ground, lunging their hips into the ball to try and get it to bounce, but it rolls toward the yellow team. One of the players wallops the ball with his knee and it soars toward the wall at remarkable speed. A yellow player leaps, his body almost exactly horizontal to the ground, but the ball ducks just below his leg, and some of the audience are stunned. However, Pahua slides and gets an elbow to the ball, propelling it hard against the wall. It flies at such a sharp angle that it begins trailing away from the rest of the yellow team, and eventually bounces twice on the ground, scoring a point for Pahua’s white team.
“Wow, he’s fantastic!’ Tonatli says, amazed by my brother’s performance. I glance at Siunqi, who is too engaged in a conversation with Iatuq to have noticed.
A player for the white team serves the ball with a loud thwack, whipping it hard against the wall and whizzing past most of the yellow players. They’re fortunate that one dives and extends his leg just enough to get a knee onto the ball, keeping it in play. It’s volleyed lightly off the wall, setting up Pahua to attempt hitting the ball through the stone ring. With a flick of his hips, he hurls the rubber sphere upward, but it repels off the rim and bounces back into the white team’s territory, supposedly scoring a point for their opponents, according to the signal from the man in the eagle outfit.
“See,” Tzochli snarks. “Impossible.”
The match rages on, with teams displaying exceptional skill in their relentless volleying of the ball. Suddenly, a thunderous commotion erupts from the other end of the court, shattering the spectators' focus as the game continues. Shouts and cries pierce the atmosphere as guards surge forward, encircling a group of men entangled in a wild, fiery dispute.
Amidst the chaotic spectacle, I can't help but steal a glance at Iatuq and the cluster of nobles, engrossed in the unfolding clash. In that fleeting moment, my eyes lock onto Teqotlo and Aluxeqwel. With a palpable urgency, They surge forward like flickering flames, swiftly navigating the maze of nobility seated before them.
Sweeping my gaze towards Tonatli and Tzochli, I am both captivated and perplexed by their unwavering focus on the match. They remain oblivious to the disruption at the court's opposite end, remaining steadfast as their eyes trace every twist and turn of the athletic display.
I can’t resist the call, my instincts urging me to pursue Aluxeqwel and Teqotlo. My heart races with an irresistible surge of adrenaline as I abandon my seat, driven by an insatiable curiosity. Why are they rushing off during a clear diversion? Did they instigate it? Knowing of their potential ties to the insurgency—or that they at least possess knowledge of it—I’m immediately suspicious.
The pair hurry toward the vast, empty field surrounding the court, slipping away from the bustling match and disappearing into the small marketplace. They walk among the stalls, arm in arm, strolling down the narrow path. I start to question my instincts, believing I saw something that didn’t exist, a mirage after long travels by sea.
Just then, the two slip into a stall, and if it wasn’t for their garments’ bright colors, I would’ve missed them completely. I slowly make my way to the booth, occasionally picking up some food items like guinea pig on a stick to pretend I’m considering buying it, trying not to draw attention to myself.
Inaudible murmurs from two or three people trickle out of a tent. I cautiously pull back the flap of the tent to look in, seeing roughly half a dozen people huddled together, dimly lit by the sun leaking in from the bottom. It takes me a moment to catch what they’re saying as they talk in hushed tones.
“Are you certain she broke rank?”
“That’s what my whisperers have informed me.”
“Damn her! We’ll have to proceed as though we are unaware, and use her to spread false information. Everyone should be mindful of what they reveal in her presence.”
“My whisperers say focus will be brought to the rival contingent in Qapauma first—squander their efforts—before we proceed with the original plan. We can take care of the dissenter while we await orders.”
“In the meantime,” a third voice says, this one of a woman’s, “the quraqa from Sanqo is to meet Iatuq about the military arrangements. What were you told regarding how we should proceed?”
“It will be some time before my whisperers have met with the Sunfire. I will notify you all when I have received their message.”
“Fine,” she says with a humph. “We connected with the Sanqo ruler’s son, who laughably seems easily influenceable. We’ve already established support from Tapeu quraqa in the capital, so it would be excellent to have another faction support our cause. We’ll proceed to work the clay and perhaps use him to advance our agenda.”
“Send the signal when you have received word from the Sunfire. We will meet in the chambers by the docks.”
They begin shuffling about, heading toward the opening. I have to think quickly, looking around to see where I can hide. There’s a nearby stall with a cart filled with numerous clay jugs of wine and chicha, its owner engaged in a jovial conversation with a noble. I scurry over, crouching low and ducking behind the cart’s wheel. I watch the people spill out of the tent, making little eye contact with anyone around them as they walk through the row of booths.
“Hey! Shoo!” the vendor yells, waving me away from his stand. Nervous, I look around to see if he’s alerted anyone to my presence. Other than the noble to whom he was speaking, I don’t see anyone else noticing to me. I apologize to the man, looking down and away to not draw his attention to my eyes or my scar, which would clearly identify me to anyone asking around. Despite the vibrant outfits, I can no longer locate Teqotlo and Aluxeqwel, assuming they must’ve disappeared into the crowd.
With the meeting disbanded, I wonder if there’s any indicators of who was present inside the tent. I don’t have much time, and I’m worried that my absence will be noticed if I take too long, so I quickly slip into the tent, staying low to the ground and allowing the large containers of wine and other alcoholic beverages to hide my appearance, the combination of different fermented liquids stinging my nostrils and causing me to gag. Taking a look around, there isn’t much else stored inside, leaving me ultimately disappointed. That is, until I spot, on the ground, something glimmering in the low light. The sun reflects off what appears to be a gold coin. On it, I see a flame with an eye in the center, etched within the metal. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’m curious as to what the symbol could mean. Is this some Tapeu currency of which I’m unaware?
“Did you see it anywhere?” a voice shouts as footsteps approach my location. “I’m retracing my steps, but I haven’t found anything!”
“Keep checking the ground, you fool,” a woman’s voice yells, “You likely dropped it in the tent. We must find it, or else…”
Recalling the jugs of wine outside, I wait for the pursuers to approach, watching their feet from underneath the cloth until they get within a few steps of the vendor’s stall. I hope this works, I whisper to myself, knowing I’ve always been able to play with water, but unsure if I can manipulate other fluids, and from this distance. I wave my hand around, up and over, as if I’m physically pulling the wine out of the jug and onto those coming toward the tent.
“Sun and sky!” a woman’s voice remarks. Did it work?
With no time to stop and examine my work, I dart away, sneaking underneath a flap of the tent and walking speedily, trying hard to not draw attention to myself as I hurry back to my seat by the court. I pass by two people in a blur, one wearing the vibrant red of Aluxeqwel, furiously wiping the burgundy liquid off her dress. I keep my eyes focused on the ground and wrap my scarf over my head. As we pass one another, I don’t look back for superstitiously fearing I’d make eye contact with someone who could recognize me. Someone shouts, “hey, you” from behind me, but I keep walking, pretending to not have heard anything. No one chases me down, though, and I can only hope I escaped without leaving any trace I was there.
On the court, Pahua is surrounded by his teammates, receiving enthusiastic pats on his shoulders, all of them beaming. The yellow team are furious, shouting at Eagle Outfit and frequently shifting their pointing fingers between Pahua and the qab.
“What happened?” I ask Tzochli and Tonatli, slightly out of breath.
“You missed it!” Tonatli says giddily. “The Jaguars made an excellent play, advancing the ball at an incredibly difficult angle and bouncing it off the wall, close to the edge of the court. But your brother manages to get a knee to it and sends it back to the wall, bouncing into the jaguars’ territory. They botch it, letting it bounce more than once, and when the condors receive the ball, Pahua serves it right through the qab!
“Now the Jaguars are angry, claiming they didn’t have a chance to return the serve, but the referee is calling the match! Unbelievable! Your brother is a hero!”
Just the words I don’t want to hear. As if Pahua wasn’t full of arrogance before, now he’ll be overflowing with it. I’m concerned, knowing that those people from the tent want to use his ego as a weapon. Siunqi looks equally unamused as I do, and he begins walking away, not wanting to witness the spectacle that is Pahua. Behind him, Aluxeqwel returns to her seat, talking to Teqotlo and motioning angrily. They argue for a moment, with abrupt gestures followed by restraint, not wanting anyone out in public to overhear what they’re saying.
“I guess I should return to my parents,” Tonatli says with a sigh of disappointment and reluctance. He walks away without any departing words, slinking over to Aluxeqwel and Teqotlo and interrupting their squabbling. The two look around, and I turn to Tzochli to bid him farewell, my back to Tonatli and his family.
After a pause, I finally muster up the courage to turn around and check if they’re looking at me. To my relief, they’ve vanished, disappearing into the crowd yet again. I determine I should catch up with Siunqi and tell him what I’ve discovered.
“Great plans are in store for you today!”
Iatuq’s performative announcement jars me out of my sleepy stupor as I arrive to the dinning chamber.
Seated at the large table along with a few nobles is Iatuq and my father, Siunqi. He feasts on roasted boar, tearing at its flesh in huge chunks, while Iatuq delicately selects a single piece of cut-up citrus, seemingly content to only consume that for her meal.
“In bringing back our most beloved and cherished traditions, and to honor our most respected guests, an exhibition of Uli-Poq has been organized for your entertainment after breakfast!”
I have never heard of this “uli-poq” and can’t discern what that means, but Iatuq looks elated to tell me the news. I look to Siunqi for a hint at what to expect, but he remains impassive and more concerned with his meal.
“I must go and change outfits for the ceremony, but we will see you at the court!”
She scampers off with a trail of servants behind her. I seat myself besides my father and have two servants immediately catering to me before I can do anything else. One presents an array of exotic fruits and meats while the other fills my chalice with a juice of some kind that I’m unfamiliar with. It smells sweet and has a cloudy orange color, but appears harmless enough.
“Do you know what’s going on?” I quiz Siunqi, but he only shrugs.
“Supposedly,” he says, “we’re ‘in for a treat’—she has repeated that confusing phrase all morning.”
“She also said ‘court’; is there a trial happening? Did they…” I lower my voice before speaking the next part, “did they find the insurgents?” Siunqi’s eyes grow intense and he hushes me profusely.
“Not so loud!” he says. “I have no idea what– it’s okay, stop apologizing! I have no idea what this ‘uli-poq’ is supposed to be—initially, I believed it to be some kind of public execution, but Iatuq gives me the impression it can’t be that serious. Hurry and finish your meal, and we will see what this is about.”
After I eat, and apparently also drink, an amazing assortment of fruits and their juices (with only a bite or two of boar), we’re ushered down a long, winding path leading away from the palace that cuts through a field of tall, unattended, dried grass. The land on this side of the village is flat and nondescript, with a sea of tan and beige extending as far as the eye can see. Nearby, farmers tend to the manicured areas outside the main grounds of Chalaqta, occasionally popping up and appearing out of the tall grasses like fish jumping above the water’s surface to snatch an insect. Beyond the field mice and other rodents rustling the grass, the only other noise is the chatter from all the nobles walking through the countryside.
A tall stone wall finally appears over the horizon, growing imposingly larger as we approach—my estimation is roughly the height of three or four men. It extends almost the length of the palace grounds, which is to say several houses. The grass suddenly gets much shorter, with sporadic patches of dirt throughout the grounds, and the shape of an “I” is outlined by a stone wall and what appear to be stands for spectators. To one side of the field, two rows of tents have been put up, with vendors selling food and refreshments for the attendees. At first I’m mortified when I notice the perimeter of the court is marked with human skulls, but I notice soon after that they are just stones painted to appear as such, and I’m immediately relieved, albeit slightly disturbed by the morbid, macabre decorations.
As the path leads us around the nearest wall, I realize it is, in fact, a gradual, tiered incline, allowing spectators to be seated and watch the display. The inner-facing wall is vibrant, its colors stand out from the neutral earth tones that surround the location. On the large wall across from the seating are humongous painted designs, depicting numerous scenes involving people, animals, and locations in the mountains, jungles, and seas. Studying it, I notice the resemblance of many historic events, such as battles and major events I learned from my tutor about the continent. At the base of the wall is a sloping ramp or incline, and high above at the center of the wall lengthwise is a ring crafted in stone with a fairly narrow hole. There is a decorative pattern carved into the hoop, although it’s difficult to distinguish from this far away.
Siunqi and I are brought to the back of the large wall, with stone steps leading up to the top. I’m initially queasy from the height, looking down upon the field and fearing I may drop. We are brought to our seats at the center of the wall, covered with a canopy to shield us from the sun and stay cool while we watch the spectacle that will take place directly below us.
Already at her seat is Iatuq, chatting with some servant as he pours wine into her chalice. She wears yet another tight-fitting garment, this time it’s a royal purple dress with a gold band of material at the bottom that reaches her knees while she sits. Atop her head is an elaborate headpiece decorated in yellow macaw feathers and inset with jade in geometric patterns. The outline of her eyes are painted in black, and the paint goes straight to her temples and stops just short of her ears.
“They still can’t find a garment that fits properly,” Siunqi grumbles, flinging one end of his bronze sash over his shoulder and walks over to where Iatuq sits.
I begin to walk with him when I notice fairly far down is Tonatli, chatting with another boy I’d guess is around his age. Where Tonatli is tall, this other boy is much shorter, though equally gangly. Both of them are dressed simply: Tonatli wearing a plain red tunic with a few orange geometric patterns stitched into it, and the other boy wears a green tunic with bright orange interweaving triangles along the bottom. His black hair is tied up close to the top of his head, which emphasizes his large ears, each one containing multiple simple, gold piercings. One of the boys says something that gets them both to laugh, and I can’t help but notice Tonatli’s boyish features as his face brightens.
“Father,” I practically whisper to Siunqi, “this might be my chance to speak to Tonatli.” I discreetly point toward the two boys with my index finger that barely pokes out from my teal cape. Siunqi looks over, then nods.
“I’ll let Iatuq know you’ve made a friend here in Chalaqta,” he says with a sly grin. It’s the closest I’ve ever seen Siunqi get to being mischievous, and I chuckle at the concept.
I approach Tonatli and his friend with a small, awkward smile, accompanied by a similarly awkward wave, wincing after I do so. Nervously, I clutch the band of my satchel, playing with the simple rope strap between my fingers. They don’t seem to mind, nor notice my discomfort, and wave for me to come join.
“I thought you and your family were traveling to Qapauma today,” I inquire.
“Apparently, something came up,” Tonatli says with his standard wooden inflection when it comes to his family’s business dealings. “Something about an important meeting. Besides, it means I get to be here for this!”
I look around the area and eventually locate Tonatli’s parents—Aluxeqwel and Teqotlo, if memory serves. They speak to one another, hands covering their mouths while looking onto the court. Teqotlo wears an orange loin cloth and a thick, red sash across his chest, while Aluxeqwel is stunning in a tight, scarlet dress, each wearing too many simple gold necklaces and bracelets to count. The pair greet each noble who passes them with a subtle nod and nothing more.
“It’s exciting to have uli-poq return, isn’t it?” Tonatli asks. His friend nods in agreement, and I begin to wonder if the question was meant for him, not me. However, Tonatli looks at me after I don’t respond right away, anticipating my answer.
“Oh, well, we don’t have uli-poq on Sanqo,” I say. His friend is mystified by this, and I clarify defensively. “Our island is pretty rugged and mountainous, so we don’t have flat land large enough to create a court, especially one of this size.”
This seems to appease Tonatli’s friend, who considers this and then nods with understanding. Realizing we won’t be formally introduced by the always absent-minded Tonatli—along with him getting my name incorrect the last time we spoke—I sit down next to him and greet his friend, doing Tonatli a favor by restating my name for him.
“Walumaq,” I say to Tonatli’s friend, waving once more.
“Tzochli,” he says in a soft-spoken, staccato manner, and with another nod.
“Wow, that’s quite a name,” I say, immediately regretting it once it leaves my lips. Embarrassed, I try to clarify, “I mean, I’ve never heard a name like that before.”
Not much better, Walumaq, I think to myself. Fortunately, Tzochli gives me an amused smile after my verbal stumbling.
“It’s from the southern region of Tapeu,” he explains, “close to the Qiapu border. My family trades a lot with them. And at one time, with the Ulxa, as well. My mother was fascinated by Ulxa culture—well, not the sorcery part and resurrecting the dead, drinking blood, all of that, of course—and so she wanted to have a name that was distinct. It’s a combination of Qiapu and Ulxa words for ‘rabbit’.”
“That’s impressive!” I say, trying to not sound entirely idiotic. “Have you been to Ulxa?”
“No, unfortunately,” Tzochli says, disheartened. “I’ve heard stories that the Ulxa are getting aggressive and want to attack the Tapeu, so it’s not really safe for any Tapeu to venture onto their lands these days, despite the all-faction truce.”
“That’s a shame,” I say. “I would love to explore their cities and learn more about them.”
“There’s not much to tell,” Tonatli abruptly interjects. “They’re a savage people with savage customs.”
I’m taken aback by the interruption, wondering where his oddly abrasive remark is coming from. His words have an edge to them, something I haven’t seen from him and find interesting, considering he seemed dispassionate the day before. Did he experience something traumatic at the hands of an Ulxa? Or—wait a moment—is he jealous that I’m talking so openly with his friend, Tzochli?
I look at Tonatli to gauge what he’s feeling, but his attention is focused on the court at the collection of men to the left. A dozen or so in long turquoise and dark blue robes gather atop the opposite wall with long, almond-colored horns the length of nearly their entire body. Each horn is individually decorated with a variety of feathers spanning all colors, and carved with shapes and patterns to resemble various aspects, such as fish scales, leaves, or even more feathers. They bellow a deep, resonating tone that, played in unison, form a pleasing chord.
“It’s beginning!” Tonatli squeals in delight.
Although I’m confused—about a lot of recent developments, to be honest—I watch attentively to try to understand the proceedings. At the center of the court stands a man dressed in an elaborate costume of dark brown and white feathers that cover only the top of his chest, and a wooden headdress covering all of his face except his mouth, carved in the shape of an eagle’s head, decorated with white feathers. He wears a simple, brown loin cloth with gold trim, and wrapped around his ankles are more brown feathers.
“Quraqa of Tapeu, citizens of Chalaqta, and all from great lands beyond,” the man shouts, “welcome to the inaugural Uli-Poq exhibition!”
Cheers erupt around the court, and it’s only now that I realize how many have gathered. Looking around the perimeter, the court is completely surrounded by what appears to be every citizen of Chalaqta. Their clothing is still simple, being mostly tunics for the men and huipil dresses for the women, but replacing the every day tan and beige clothing is an array of colors now.
“We are honored to have the presence of the Arbiter’s Voice, Quraqa Iatuq, blessing our game today.” There’s a round of polite applause as Iatuq waves to the crowd while remaining seated.
“We are also honored to have the presence of the ruler of the brave Sanqo shipmen, Quraqa Siunqi.” More polite applause, albeit a little sparse. Siunqi nods and places his right fist over his heart, our signal of honor.
Emerging from an opening on the side of the large wall is a group of nearly a dozen men and women decorated in elaborate outfits. They wear large red feathers pointed vertically and placed on gold headbands; two wear them atop gold crowns. Their garments are almost entirely gold, and numerous long necklaces of blue, white, green, and red wooden beads hang loosely from their necks. Each one wears a different mask, painted with various markings and multiple colors. Upon further examination, especially when I see one is deep blue and bronze, I start to notice they resemble the colors of Pachil’s factions: the red and white of Qantua, the purple and gold of Achope, the green and black of Tuatiu, and so forth.
From the other side emerges a swarm of people towering above the rest. Gasps and shrieks drown out the announcer’s voice when they see these gigantic figures marching toward the other group. Tonatli’s amused cheer causes me to squint, and after looking at their abnormally long legs, I realize they’re standing on stilts.
“The Timuaq,” Tzochli says bitingly, his lips curling into a slight scowl.
The figures are wearing stark gray tunics, metallic masks with a stoic expression, and silver crowns that still manage to glimmer in the overcast light. They plod to the center of the court, beating their chests and slapping their knees and shoulders. If I hadn’t realized they are performers, I would have been intimidated by their daunting presence!
“Since the beginning of the Timuaq rule,” announces the eagle-headed man, “many traditions and rituals unique to the many factions on Pachil were forbidden, declaring them sacrilegious.”
Many boos and hisses echo throughout the court, with angry shouts and some obscene gestures hurled at the Timuaq performers.
“However, with the Timuaq vanquished, we can finally return to the ways that honor our heritage and establish pride in who we are as our respective, unique factions.”
The jeering turns to cheering as those in attendance celebrate our freedom from the oppressive Timuaq rule. Emulating this, the performers appear to reenact the defeat of the Timuaq, and I realize the people simulating combat against the titans represent the Eleven, joining forces and combining their supernatural capabilities through teamwork and sacrifice to save Pachil once and for all. Watching the show, I recall words from the old woman in the marketplace, telling me that Pachil is unstable, and a threat is coming to our land. The patrons at this arena are blissfully unaware of the haunting prophecy entrusted to me, hugging and patting each other on their backs as though the battle is won. Perhaps it is, and the crone is senile and confused.
To distract myself from the thoughts of being responsible for preventing the end of the world, I watch the display and attempt to figure out what we’re in for, having never seen nor heard of this “uli-poq”. The master of the ceremony is carrying on about the history of the Timuaq rule and how we overcame it, and I decide this is the perfect opportunity to get an explanation on what this event is.
“I’m… not sure what’s about to happen,” I confess to Tonatli and Tzochli. “Is all this just for a reenactment?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” Tzochli says, still watching the presentation and thus speaking as if his mind is somewhere distant. “These are artists, finally allowed to perform their trade, now that the Timuaq can no longer prevent them from doing so. Uli-Poq was a sporting event regularly played throughout the continent, which should begin after the show is finished. The idea is to keep a rubber ball in the air without using your hands or feet and hit the wall. You can only advance the ball using your hips, knees, and elbows. And the ball is slightly larger than a grapefruit, so it can be difficult.”
“And if the ball is hit hard enough, it can really hurt,” Tonatli says before grimacing in pain at the thought.
“What is the object of the game?” I ask, still confused about the point of this event.
“You’re trying to make it so the other team can’t get the ball to hit the wall,” Tonatli explains. “If you do, your team receives a point. You can let the ball bounce off the ground a single time before advancing the ball, but if it bounces twice, the opponent scores. The first team to eleven wins.”
“What’s with that ring in the center?” I ask.
“Well,” Tonatli clasps his hands in excitement, “that’s the qab. If any player can get the ball through that ring, their team automatically wins and the match is over.”
“It’s incredibly narrow,” I point out.
“It’s nearly impossible to do,” Tzochli says. “Some people tell stories of how it’s been done before, but I think they’re just fables.”
“What are the paintings on the wall?”
“They are murals that depict the history of Pachil,” Tonatli says. “Every court is painted differently, and depending on where in Pachil it’s located, their appearance varies; some choose to describe the locale while others can tell a more broad story of the region. This one happens to show the time before the Timuaq, how all the factions were unified and lived peacefully.”
“Even though that is completely false,” Tzochli remarks. “
Before I can ask Tzochli to explain himself, the horns sound again. I haven’t paid attention to what was taking place on the court, so I’m surprised when it is entirely empty from all the performers. Instead, a dozen men—six on each team—are heralded onto the court. They appear distinguished by the color of the capes they wear, with one team’s capes in yellow and the other in white, and all players have patches of leather strapped onto them, located at the knees, elbows, and hips. My assumption is that these are for protection and to assist with hitting the ball.
The yellow team jog onto one side of the court, their bodies painted entirely yellow with black spots scattered about. Each wears elaborate headdresses resembling a jaguar’s head, its teeth gnashing. Their patches of leather are embellished with jaguar fur to enhance the effect, and the tops of their feet are also covered with fur.
Meanwhile, the white team wear large black and white feathers on their arms and ankles, and five of the members wear a pinkish-red headdress with white beaks, resembling a condor. One of the players, however, wears a headdress like a serpent, as well as gold jewelry—none of the other athletes wear any such item—and I immediately recognize who it is. Although, it doesn’t take long for the rest of the arena to identify him, as well.
“We have a special guest honoring us all with his participation of our sacred sport!” the master of the ceremonies shouts.
Pahua raises his arms and encourages the crowd to cheer him on, which many comply. His white cape has a painted teal sea serpent writhing its body around every part of the material, distinguishing himself from the rest.
“Has your brother ever played before?” Tonatli asks in amazement.
“Maybe, when he’s traveled to the mainland, I suppose,” I say, unsure if that’s true, or even likely.
“That,” Tzochli points to Pahua, “is your brother?” Though I try to hide my discomfort, I nod and say nothing more, so I don’t have a chance to say something I may regret.
The man in the eagle outfit presents the ball and says a blessing, placing the rubber sphere at the center of a long line made from a powder that separates the two sides. The players are lined up at opposite ends and crouch, readying themselves for a sprint. At the sound of a horn, all the athletes race toward the ball. I’m mortified at what may happen with a collision, but ultimately one of the yellow players slides on the ground and hits the ball to the other side, causing a player in white to leap over him and avoid impact. I place my hand on my chest after a gasp and catch my breath while the crowd cheers.
The white team struggles to get the ball off the ground, lunging their hips into the ball to try and get it to bounce, but it rolls toward the yellow team. One of the players wallops the ball with his knee and it soars toward the wall at remarkable speed. A yellow player leaps, his body almost exactly horizontal to the ground, but the ball ducks just below his leg, and some of the audience are stunned. However, Pahua slides and gets an elbow to the ball, propelling it hard against the wall. It flies at such a sharp angle that it begins trailing away from the rest of the yellow team, and eventually bounces twice on the ground, scoring a point for Pahua’s white team.
“Wow, he’s fantastic!’ Tonatli says, amazed by my brother’s performance. I glance at Siunqi, who is too engaged in a conversation with Iatuq to have noticed.
A player for the white team serves the ball with a loud thwack, whipping it hard against the wall and whizzing past most of the yellow players. They’re fortunate that one dives and extends his leg just enough to get a knee onto the ball, keeping it in play. It’s volleyed lightly off the wall, setting up Pahua to attempt hitting the ball through the stone ring. With a flick of his hips, he hurls the rubber sphere upward, but it repels off the rim and bounces back into the white team’s territory, supposedly scoring a point for their opponents, according to the signal from the man in the eagle outfit.
“See,” Tzochli snarks. “Impossible.”
The match rages on, with teams displaying exceptional skill in their relentless volleying of the ball. Suddenly, a thunderous commotion erupts from the other end of the court, shattering the spectators' focus as the game continues. Shouts and cries pierce the atmosphere as guards surge forward, encircling a group of men entangled in a wild, fiery dispute.
Amidst the chaotic spectacle, I can't help but steal a glance at Iatuq and the cluster of nobles, engrossed in the unfolding clash. In that fleeting moment, my eyes lock onto Teqotlo and Aluxeqwel. With a palpable urgency, They surge forward like flickering flames, swiftly navigating the maze of nobility seated before them.
Sweeping my gaze towards Tonatli and Tzochli, I am both captivated and perplexed by their unwavering focus on the match. They remain oblivious to the disruption at the court's opposite end, remaining steadfast as their eyes trace every twist and turn of the athletic display.
I can’t resist the call, my instincts urging me to pursue Aluxeqwel and Teqotlo. My heart races with an irresistible surge of adrenaline as I abandon my seat, driven by an insatiable curiosity. Why are they rushing off during a clear diversion? Did they instigate it? Knowing of their potential ties to the insurgency—or that they at least possess knowledge of it—I’m immediately suspicious.
The pair hurry toward the vast, empty field surrounding the court, slipping away from the bustling match and disappearing into the small marketplace. They walk among the stalls, arm in arm, strolling down the narrow path. I start to question my instincts, believing I saw something that didn’t exist, a mirage after long travels by sea.
Just then, the two slip into a stall, and if it wasn’t for their garments’ bright colors, I would’ve missed them completely. I slowly make my way to the booth, occasionally picking up some food items like guinea pig on a stick to pretend I’m considering buying it, trying not to draw attention to myself.
Inaudible murmurs from two or three people trickle out of a tent. I cautiously pull back the flap of the tent to look in, seeing roughly half a dozen people huddled together, dimly lit by the sun leaking in from the bottom. It takes me a moment to catch what they’re saying as they talk in hushed tones.
“Are you certain she broke rank?”
“That’s what my whisperers have informed me.”
“Damn her! We’ll have to proceed as though we are unaware, and use her to spread false information. Everyone should be mindful of what they reveal in her presence.”
“My whisperers say focus will be brought to the rival contingent in Qapauma first—squander their efforts—before we proceed with the original plan. We can take care of the dissenter while we await orders.”
“In the meantime,” a third voice says, this one of a woman’s, “the quraqa from Sanqo is to meet Iatuq about the military arrangements. What were you told regarding how we should proceed?”
“It will be some time before my whisperers have met with the Sunfire. I will notify you all when I have received their message.”
“Fine,” she says with a humph. “We connected with the Sanqo ruler’s son, who laughably seems easily influenceable. We’ve already established support from Tapeu quraqa in the capital, so it would be excellent to have another faction support our cause. We’ll proceed to work the clay and perhaps use him to advance our agenda.”
“Send the signal when you have received word from the Sunfire. We will meet in the chambers by the docks.”
They begin shuffling about, heading toward the opening. I have to think quickly, looking around to see where I can hide. There’s a nearby stall with a cart filled with numerous clay jugs of wine and chicha, its owner engaged in a jovial conversation with a noble. I scurry over, crouching low and ducking behind the cart’s wheel. I watch the people spill out of the tent, making little eye contact with anyone around them as they walk through the row of booths.
“Hey! Shoo!” the vendor yells, waving me away from his stand. Nervous, I look around to see if he’s alerted anyone to my presence. Other than the noble to whom he was speaking, I don’t see anyone else noticing to me. I apologize to the man, looking down and away to not draw his attention to my eyes or my scar, which would clearly identify me to anyone asking around. Despite the vibrant outfits, I can no longer locate Teqotlo and Aluxeqwel, assuming they must’ve disappeared into the crowd.
With the meeting disbanded, I wonder if there’s any indicators of who was present inside the tent. I don’t have much time, and I’m worried that my absence will be noticed if I take too long, so I quickly slip into the tent, staying low to the ground and allowing the large containers of wine and other alcoholic beverages to hide my appearance, the combination of different fermented liquids stinging my nostrils and causing me to gag. Taking a look around, there isn’t much else stored inside, leaving me ultimately disappointed. That is, until I spot, on the ground, something glimmering in the low light. The sun reflects off what appears to be a gold coin. On it, I see a flame with an eye in the center, etched within the metal. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’m curious as to what the symbol could mean. Is this some Tapeu currency of which I’m unaware?
“Did you see it anywhere?” a voice shouts as footsteps approach my location. “I’m retracing my steps, but I haven’t found anything!”
“Keep checking the ground, you fool,” a woman’s voice yells, “You likely dropped it in the tent. We must find it, or else…”
Recalling the jugs of wine outside, I wait for the pursuers to approach, watching their feet from underneath the cloth until they get within a few steps of the vendor’s stall. I hope this works, I whisper to myself, knowing I’ve always been able to play with water, but unsure if I can manipulate other fluids, and from this distance. I wave my hand around, up and over, as if I’m physically pulling the wine out of the jug and onto those coming toward the tent.
“Sun and sky!” a woman’s voice remarks. Did it work?
With no time to stop and examine my work, I dart away, sneaking underneath a flap of the tent and walking speedily, trying hard to not draw attention to myself as I hurry back to my seat by the court. I pass by two people in a blur, one wearing the vibrant red of Aluxeqwel, furiously wiping the burgundy liquid off her dress. I keep my eyes focused on the ground and wrap my scarf over my head. As we pass one another, I don’t look back for superstitiously fearing I’d make eye contact with someone who could recognize me. Someone shouts, “hey, you” from behind me, but I keep walking, pretending to not have heard anything. No one chases me down, though, and I can only hope I escaped without leaving any trace I was there.
On the court, Pahua is surrounded by his teammates, receiving enthusiastic pats on his shoulders, all of them beaming. The yellow team are furious, shouting at Eagle Outfit and frequently shifting their pointing fingers between Pahua and the qab.
“What happened?” I ask Tzochli and Tonatli, slightly out of breath.
“You missed it!” Tonatli says giddily. “The Jaguars made an excellent play, advancing the ball at an incredibly difficult angle and bouncing it off the wall, close to the edge of the court. But your brother manages to get a knee to it and sends it back to the wall, bouncing into the jaguars’ territory. They botch it, letting it bounce more than once, and when the condors receive the ball, Pahua serves it right through the qab!
“Now the Jaguars are angry, claiming they didn’t have a chance to return the serve, but the referee is calling the match! Unbelievable! Your brother is a hero!”
Just the words I don’t want to hear. As if Pahua wasn’t full of arrogance before, now he’ll be overflowing with it. I’m concerned, knowing that those people from the tent want to use his ego as a weapon. Siunqi looks equally unamused as I do, and he begins walking away, not wanting to witness the spectacle that is Pahua. Behind him, Aluxeqwel returns to her seat, talking to Teqotlo and motioning angrily. They argue for a moment, with abrupt gestures followed by restraint, not wanting anyone out in public to overhear what they’re saying.
“I guess I should return to my parents,” Tonatli says with a sigh of disappointment and reluctance. He walks away without any departing words, slinking over to Aluxeqwel and Teqotlo and interrupting their squabbling. The two look around, and I turn to Tzochli to bid him farewell, my back to Tonatli and his family.
After a pause, I finally muster up the courage to turn around and check if they’re looking at me. To my relief, they’ve vanished, disappearing into the crowd yet again. I determine I should catch up with Siunqi and tell him what I’ve discovered.
