Saxina’s impact as the new Tempered is immediate. In just the matter of days, the peaceful hammer's song has faltered, replaced by discordant beats throughout Pichaqta. Whereas Limaqumtlia concentrated efforts on rebuilding our shattered lands, Saxina is focused on military recruitment and preparations for war. What was told to me in confidence at the ceremony—that the Ulxa are joining forces with the Auilqa to usurp the Arbiter—was apparently no longer deemed confidential once he became ruler. The instant he was in a position of power, it suddenly became more urgent than ever to protect the people of Qiapu.
Or, at least, that’s what people who came to the inn claim he said; I wouldn’t know, since I refused to go to the coronation.
After his “rousing speech”, most of the men either joined the military or the city guard, while the women went to work at the mines and forgeries. As a result, a significant number of crops were abandoned, with Saxina brokering a deal with his connections at Qapauma to deliver any foods the region needed. Though Qiapu is far from being known as an agricultural region—that’s for Aimue to claim—it felt like misusing and neglecting our lands when I first heard the Tempered’s declaration. However, nobody cares to listen to my protests; Taqaiu tells me to shut up before I frighten all the customers away whenever the topic is broached.
Speaking of the customers, the inn has seen better days. All around Pichaqta, the people sulk about for most of the day, and any patron to the inn—if any arrive at all—glumly consumes their drink, just to maintain some normalcy, and stays a short while before dragging their feet as they depart. The hours at the mines and forgeries, as well as the all-day drills and city watches in which our military takes part, leave everyone too exhausted to do much of anything.
“I’ve never seen such a depressing sight,” Taqaiu says, sounding offended. “And I lived through the Timuaq rule, mind you!”
The sun shines brightly into the room, with a pleasant breeze rolling off the mountains and circulating around the inn. The cheerful singing of the birds fills the space, since no voices speak long or loud enough to drown any of it out, and joins the percussion of chalices being lifted, then set onto the tables and countertops. The occasional sigh chimes in to form a discordant harmony with the chirping outdoors.
“We’ve just experienced the loss of Limaqumtlia, for a start,” I say. “And Saxina has informed everyone there’s a threat at the border. It’s not exactly a celebratory time.”
Taqaiu and I speak as though we’re the only two present, and quite frankly, it feels that way, despite having half the room filled with guests. Replacing the usual banter and loud laughter, each person somberly slouches in their seat and hunches over their drink, staring into it with the hopes they will find the answer to their gloom at the bottom of it. Taqaiu, who normally loathes having to cook the meals, is now aggrieved that the kitchen is quiet because no one is eating.
“You should speak to Saxina about this,” Taqaiu says. “You two are friends and go way back, right?”
I have to stop sweeping to focus on preventing myself from laughing at the absurdity. Saxina and I were classmates at the academy and fought alongside one another, sure, and we shared stories next to the campfire, but once he was selected to aid the Arbiter, we rarely spoke, if ever. His time in Pichaqta was always brief, but with him becoming the new Tempered, I imagine I’ll see him less even though he will be here all the time.
“It’s as simple as that, is it?” I ask. Taqaiu looks at me as if I’m stupid for not seeing such an obvious solution. I shake my head and return to sweeping the floors. I don’t care to have this conversation, and I don’t feel like dignifying his ludicrous suggestion with a response.
“I have to say,” Taqaiu mentions after a pause, “it’s probably a good thing you haven’t made use of your connections. Otherwise, I’m out of the hired help around this place.”
“You make is sound as if I’d want a life of politics,” I say while sweeping the same place on the floor yet again.
“You could always go back to wielding a sword,” Taqaiu says, “or a hammer instead of a broom, for all I care. What concerns me is that every person who comes in here is depressed or exhausted from overwork, or both. People spend more when they’re happy, and no one is happy right now. It’s as though everyone is perpetually on their way to a funeral.”
It takes a lot in me to not strike Taqaiu in his fat face where he stands with the broom. Instead, I use it to sweep and refrain from saying anything I might regret. Taqaiu seems unaware he’s said anything offensive and pours himself some chicha, since, “hardly anyone else is having any,” he mutters to himself with a shrug.
“All I’m saying,” he continues, causing me to sweep with more vigor, “is that, if the Tempered wants what’s in the best interest for all of those in Pichaqta and Qiapu, he should consider how his policy is affecting business. Sure, it’s great for the forges, but what about everyone else? The people barely have time to do anything other than work and sleep!”
If I didn’t know Taqaiu, I’d believe he was being purposely obtuse. None of the others who haven’t yet shuffled out seem to have heard him, still focusing on their beverages without speaking a word to anyone else. It would be great if one of them, any of them, caught any part of what was said and could put Taqaiu in his place, but everyone is too much in their own heads right now to listen to anything being said outside of it.
Shaking my head, I stomp over to the carafes of chicha, pour a healthy amount for myself, and down all of it with one fell swoop, the gulp louder than most everything else in the place.
“You can’t drink on the job!” Taqaiu exclaims. “That’s coming out of your wages!”
He and I both know his threat is hollow. If he fires me, or I quit, he’s left to take care of all the awful tasks around the inn by himself, something he would never stoop so low to do. I’ve had dreams of walking out, relishing in his stupefied expression as I drop the cleaning devices at his feet and storm out. However, calling my bluff, Taqaiu knows as well as I do that I need this to pass the time, since it beats tending to fields or suffocating in the mines. We’re both in a loveless relationship, using each other for our own means.
I’ve had enough, so I walk outside and around Pichaqta. The relative silence at this time of day is unsettling; typically, when the sound of the forges begins to quiet down, citizens make the long journey back into town to fill up the oases concerning any place that serves a good chicha. Instead, the mountains are continually alight by the flames of the forges and the smell of soot and hot steel permeates the air, with everyone working late into the night. I haven’t seen such a sight since the early days of the War of Liberation.
The rhythmic pounding of metal on metal and the thrum of the furnaces puts me in a meditative trance. Looking out into the dark shadows of the mountains barely visible in the late evening, I feel I finally have time to reflect on the death of my brother. There’s an uneasy feeling when I consider that the only time I think about Limaqumtlia is when he’s mentioned by others, whether that’s some drunkards at the inn or catching pieces of conversation from passerbys. This time, I force myself to clear my thoughts of worldly hassles and make an earnest effort to envision him and think about who he was.
It starts with his smile. Limaqumtlia had a warm smile that was like a hug without having to physically embrace. He treated everyone as though they’ve been friends since they were infants, giving them his complete attention. I never knew him to be an avid hunter or warrior, but when it came to the trials, he used a cunning and craftiness that was far superior to anyone’s brute force. How someone like him succeeded in the trials defies logic—it’s purely a blessing from Aqxilapu—but he turned out to be the Tempered Qiapu needed.
I’m reminded of one time when we were children, when we still spoke to one another and were inseparable. Limaqumtlia had gotten it into his head that there was a rare jewel that someone had unearthed in a nearby mine. It was said that possessing the jewel gave its owner supernatural abilities. When I pressed him on where he heard such rumors, he shrugged and, rather than get defensive, used a tactic that never failed to work on me. Looking back on it now, it was manipulative, but he knew precisely how to fan the flames.
“I suppose,” he said with disappointment oozing off every word, “if you are too afraid to join me, it’s best that you stay here.” His despondency was entirely put on, but it was effective on the adolescent version of myself. I was very self-conscious about my cowardice, and having it called out was akin to stabbing me in the heart.
Though I was reluctant to head into the mines, believing this was only another one of the games he imagined up, I still decided to humor Limaqumtlia and agreed to journey with him. If it wasn’t, in fact, a game and there was a jewel, I didn’t want to be known as the one to miss out because I was too scared.
We eagerly marched toward the supposed mine that contained the jewel, traversing winding paths that weaved through the arid hills and led to the steep mountains to the west. Even for adults, the length of the trip is significantly long, spanning nearly half a day just to get to the mountain range, and as we climbed higher and higher in elevation, the wind got colder and more forceful. Still, we were unrelenting in our dedication to see this journey through.
Wanting to know what we were in for, and what reward awaited us, I interrogated Limaqumtlia about the mission. Surprisingly, he seemed to have all the answers, and I started doubting if this was a game after all.
“What does this jewel look like?” my inquisition began.
“It contains every color that exists in Pachil, all swirled into a crystal.”
“What abilities do you gain from the jewel?” I continued with my questioning.
Excited to finally talk about something more than the mundane appearance of a magical jewel, or a subject other than my feet getting sore or my hunger, or whatever else I was complaining about, he said with great enthusiasm, “well, the person holding the gemstone is supposed to think about what power they would like to possess, and after you say the magic words, you are granted the ability of your wish.”
“And what are the magic words?”
“You’re supposed to say, ‘I wish for Aqxilapu’s blessing to grant me…’ and then you say whatever power you want.”
“That hardly seems elaborate,” I said, a bit disappointed that there wasn’t something more to the ritual than politely asking the Qiapu deity. Sensing this, Limaqumtlia raised the stakes.
“Oh, sure, the words aren’t the important part. Once Aqxilapu hears your call, he surges the power into the gemstone, and you have to hold onto it really tightly, because if you let go, instead of a magical power, you end up cursed!”
With the aid of hindsight, I can tell Limaqumtlia was very proud to have devised this treacherous conflict. The child version of me bought into this completely, however, and I began reflexively stretching my fingers as if grasping the air, to make sure I had the hand strength to hold onto the gem.
I paused the inquiry to make sure I knew exactly which ability I wanted, so that I would be unwavering when the time came and could focus all my effort into holding onto that jewel. What power would a young child like me want? Super strength? Too obvious. Super intelligence? Too boring. Flying? Too simple. I found it difficult to come up with an ability I wanted that got me excited, and I decided I would look for some inspiration.
“What power do you want, Limaqumtlia?” I asked, trying to use his wish as a starting point.
“I don’t want you copying my power!” he exclaimed a bit defensively.
“I won’t!”
“Yes, you will! You always copy me!”
“No, I don’t!” After I said this, he stopped and turned to me, looking severely annoyed. It was as if this argument would make him cease our expedition and return to Pichaqta empty-handed. After apologizing and pleading for us to continue, Limaqumtlia let out a defiant snort and resumed the trek, stomping and huffing.
I distracted myself by returning to the thought exercise of creating my super ability. After eliminating many candidates, I eventually landed on wanting to control the earth and move rocks and mountains at will, just like Aqxilapu did to create Qiapu. This felt like a power that was more inventive than superhuman strength, and it could help our people clear tunnels for more mining, or move stones out of the way to find more of these gems. This conclusion immediately filled me with pride, and I strode the rest of the way with my chest puffed out.
We finally arrived at an abandoned mine far into the mountain range and well beyond the rest of the quarries at which the adults regularly worked. There was a blast of cold air shooting out from the tunnel’s mouth, even colder than the air swooping down the mountain and battering us during our ascent. Though I can’t be sure of it now, the young version of myself would swear he heard moaning and groaning coming from deep down into the mineshaft. I grew concerned that we may have gone too far and could be in big trouble if nobody could find us if we got captured by whatever is living down there.
“Those are just sounds to scare off anyone who isn’t brave enough or worthy of the jewel’s power,” Limaqumtlia said. I can tell now he was clearly playing off my fear, but at the time, it indeed motivated me once I took his plausible reasoning into consideration. He marched forward without hesitation and, after I took a deep breath and told myself some words of encouragement, I begrudgingly followed close behind.
There was a pitch black void as we looked deep into the bowels of the mineshaft, and it felt as though every sound, from us and from the environment surrounding us, got sucked into it, almost becoming muted to nothing. Limaqumtlia found a used torch laying on the rocky ground, and after feeling around for flint, managed to get two of the rocks to scratch together and cause a spark, creating the fire that illuminated the hollow tunnel. The howls began to fade the further in we go, and I felt the fear flee little by little with each step, finding an odd comfort in the near-absolute silence.
We zigged and zagged deeper and deeper into the shaft. I started to wonder if we were lost, or questioned whether Limaqumtlia was making this up as we went along, but every time we arrived at a fork in the tunnel, he confidently pointed in a direction and continued onward. Aside from the fact he was holding the only source of light, the one thing that kept me walking along with him is Limaqumtlia’s assertiveness and determination.
After what felt like an entire day journeying through the mine, we came upon a dead end. We were surrounded by nothing but fallen stones and rock, and now, I was furious.
“I knew it!” I remarked. “You were making all of this up! There is no jewel after all!”
“There is a jewel!” he said, defensively. “You must’ve distracted me from going down the right path.”
“I haven’t said a single word since we entered, and you know it!”
“Yeah, right!” Limaqumtlia challenged. “You’ve been crying the whole time!”
“I have n—“
Just then, I noticed the bowing wooden support beam on the side of the tunnel. In the middle, the wood splintered and cracked, and the beam was crooked like a hunched-over old man.
“Uh, Limaqumtlia,” I said, pointing to the beam with a shaky finger. As soon as he looked, a rumble reverberated the mineshaft and shook us to our core. As if unwitting prey stumbled upon an awaiting snare, the shaft caved in, rocks fell all around us with a deafening, thunderous growl. Limaqumtlia pulled my arm and yanked me back toward where we came, shouting at me to run. We dashed as quickly as our little legs could carry us, weaving to and fro through the twisting tunnel.
“Which way do we go?” I said, more of an exclamation than a question.
Without hesitation, Limaqumtlia picked a direction and unflinchingly ran toward it, dragging me along the entire way. Behind us, more rocks tumbled in the collapsing cave, dust and sediment kicked up and making it very difficult to see our way out.
A weakened beam fell onto my back and I tripped on the uneven ground, my right leg pinned down by the weight. I cried for help, and Limaqumtlia pulled with all his might in an effort to free me, but to no avail.
“Okay,” he said in a calm voice, “I’m going to lift this beam, and when I say ‘go’, you pull your leg out, got it?”
I nodded and waited in anticipation for his instruction. Limaqumtlia took a couple deep breaths, in and out, steeling himself for the task at hand. He clutched the bottom of the heavy beam and, after a shout, lifted and let out a defiant yell into the darkness. I struggled initially, but eventually slipped my leg out, leaving behind a sandal. I was too relieved to fret about the footwear and shouted at Limaqumtlia that I was freed. He dropped the beam and helped me to my feet, but a searing pain ripped through my leg.
“I can’t walk!” I yelled, my voice tinged with panic and my mind unable to concentrate on anything other than the throbbing limb.
Undeterred, Limaqumtlia pulled me up again and, slinging my right arm around his neck, carried me as I limped alongside him. Unfortunately, during the incident, his torch became extinguished, leaving us surrounded by blackness. All we could sense was the weight of supporting each other and the sound of tumbling boulders behind us.
“We’re going to have to slowly feel our way out of here,” he said, but he was so confident in his instruction that I was compelled to follow his lead. It took us almost the rest of the day to escape, extending our hands into the void to palm the rock walls. We must have been blessed by Aqxilapu himself, because, somehow, we managed to touch our way to the point where we could see the dim light of the setting sun at the end of the tunnel. We raced toward the opening and let out a triumphant whoop of excitement and relief.
Wandering into the moonlit night that casts the landscape in various hues of blue, Limaqumtlia acted as my crutch the entire way back to Pichaqta as we hobbled home together. We were too busy basking in how grateful we were to be alive to speak for much of the trip.
“Healing,” Limaqumtlia said, breaking the long silence.
“Healing what?” I asked.
“I wanted the power to heal anybody. So that, no matter what ailed a person, even if it wasn’t a physical wound, I could fix them, and they wouldn’t hurt anymore.”
I nodded and told him we’ll try again another day after my leg gets better, but he didn’t seem to react to this. I patted his shoulder, stumbling a bit in the process, but he quickly caught me and met my eyes, returning the consoling smile. We never tried to seek out the gem ever again, but we were quick to tell the story of our harrowing tale to anyone with ears capable of hearing it.
I’m jarred awake from my daydream by the clattering of armor and weapons from a procession of armed guards. It’s odd to see as the night approaches, but through the blur of white and red worn by the soldiers, I notice Qumuna in the middle of the crowd of men as he’s escorted to the palace. The entourage have trouble keeping up with his brisk pace. It’s difficult to determine if his face shows frustration, disappointment, focus, or determination—maybe a bit of all of them.
Initially, I planned to watch him pass and carry on with my evening, but something inside compelled me to shout for his attention. Confused, Qumuna looks around for a second to identify the person responsible, eventually spotting me and heads in my direction, not informing the guards of his abrupt decision. They stumble and collide with one another before correcting their course and marching over.
“I don’t think I’ve thanked you for rescuing me during the trials, Paxilche,” Qumuna says with a warm smile on his face. “Limaqumtlia would have been proud.”
“I believe you’ve attempted to thank me at least twice a day,” I say. It’s true: Since the trials, it’s been said that Qumuna has stopped by the inn to speak with me, or at least checks on how I’m doing. I only find out about his frequent visits from the patrons; Taqaiu has never told me once about it.
“Well,” he says, “it cannot be expressed enough. Deep down, I knew I shouldn’t have participated, but there were counselors who talked me into it. Perhaps I gave their passionate arguments too much credit and should have been a bit more rational.”
“I can’t blame you for that,” I say. “It’s been a trying time for everyone in Qiapu.”
He nods in agreement, but I can tell his thoughts have drifted elsewhere. What he’s contemplating is a mystery to me, but if it’s regrets for accepting the challenge of the trial, they are wholly unjustified, in my opinion. He was doing what any self-respecting warrior would do: Heed Aqxilapu’s call to defend and lead his people.
“I–,” Qumuna starts to say, then gets quiet for a moment before reaching into a satchel suspended around his torso. He removes a small, black figure and presents it to me.
“The Tempered has acquired much of Limaqumtlia’s possessions, but this was a figurine that Limaqumtlia spoke of with great fondness to me. I’m not entirely certain of the story behind it, but your name would come up as he mentioned this statuette. I wanted it to go to you, not Saxina.”
The small figure fits easily inside one’s hand and is made from onyx, much like what was once contained in the mine Limaqumtlia and I ventured into long ago. The inexpressive face reminds me of my brother’s on the funeral pyre, making this a difficult gift to accept. I do so, only because this is the only possession of my brother’s that I have.
Qumuna’s guards get restless, impatiently shifting their weight from side to side, anxious to get to their originally intended destination so they can call it a day. However, I can’t help myself but give into my curiosity, and since it’s the first time I’ve seen him since the trial, I’m compelled to talk to him about anything.
“You seem to be in a hurry before I interrupted you. What has you going to the palace at this late time of day?”
Qumuna looks uncomfortable, peering down at the ground for a moment with his hands on his hips. I don’t know the man all that well, but in the times I’ve seen him, I’ve never known him to be short of words. I lean in as if I’m trying to hear his thoughts.
“With the vacancy of a Qiapu aid to the Arbiter,” he says, muttering, “the Tempered has chosen me to be the new aid. I depart for Qapauma at dawn.”
There’s a disgust that momentarily overtakes his face before he forces a look of resolve. If he can barely hide his true emotions, I’m not sure how he’s going to fare in the very politically charged drama of Qapauma. The gossiping nobles in court form an entirely different battleground.
“You appear thrilled to be selected,” I say, hoping to brighten his spirits. My sarcastic comment temporarily breaks his bitter mood, and a tiny crack of a smile briefly emerges at the corners of his mouth before returning to pressing his lips into a tight, thin line.
“I must confess it’s certainly not a position for which I’m well-suited,” Qumuna says. “The Tempered stated it’s because I was the last challenger brave enough to fight him in the trial, and who put up the best fight. He says he wants that same kind of fire and ambition in the capital.”
“And you look as though you agree with that sentiment,” I say, continuing my sarcastic streak. “In all seriousness, though, that’s mighty of him to do after nearly killing you in the trials.”
“It was all for the sake of being named the Tempered and upholding our traditions,” Qumuna says dutifully. Although I wholeheartedly disagree with his sentiment, I leave the conversation there, finding an argument needless. Then he looks around as if to make sure his next statement isn’t overheard by the wrong people.
“I just believe that, if this Ulxa story is to be believed, my skills are best served here, protecting the people. There must be someone better suited to speak on behalf of the Qiapu.”
I’m surprised he has offered such honesty to me, but perhaps it’s my proximity to the late Tempered, to whom he was devoutly loyal and got along with extremely well. It can also be said that he doesn’t have many allies in Pichaqta, now that Saxina has begun supplanting many positions of power with his own people. It makes me wonder how much he trusts the new Tempered if he’s going to be this open with a relative acquaintance like myself.
“Maybe he believes there’s something suspicious with the Arbiter’s claim of an Ulxa attack,” I propose, “and Saxina is only bolstering our defenses in the off chance the rumors are true.”
“I just don’t see that to be the case,” Qumuna says. “While an assault by the Ulxa is curious, there was such urgency in his voice when he informed the council. We’ll have scouts reporting back, but I fear what they will end up finding. It could mean a war is just on the horizon, and we could be faced with combat very soon.”
“Yeah, I didn’t quite believe what I said either,” I concede. “Something is happening, but I’m not sure what. I hope your time in Qapauma will be fruitful and worth the callouses on your feet.”
Sensing his desire to depart, I shake his forearm and wish him well, much to the relief of his attending guards. Qumuna nods and abruptly turns to resume his march to the palace. Before he takes a step, however, he turns his head to speak to me over his left shoulder.
“You know,” Qumuna says, “I always had hopes that you would have joined your brother down the path of leading our people. You both share many similar traits.”
“A life in politics is most definitely not for me,” I say. “I did my time serving to fight the Timuaq. That’s about as much action as I can handle.”
“I saw you after Limaqumtlia was murdered,” Qumuna says, unconvinced of my reasoning. “You are willingly choosing to extinguish the fire that burns within you, that wants justice. I don’t understand why.”
“Look,” I say, a little annoyed now, “if I had known I’d be getting lectured like a child, I would never have called you over. I’m confident the matter is being investigated through the appropriate channels, and what I choose to do is none of your concern.”
“You’re right,” Qumuna says, “it’s not my concern. It’s the concern of Qiapu. There are few men who are worthy of leading our people. Whether you want to accept it or not, you have the ability to lead—I’ve heard the stories Saxina and others have told about you. There’s still time for you to come around, I suppose.”
Before I have a chance to respond, he has already begun walking away, with the guards in his wake stumbling over themselves to keep up with his pace. It was a quick strike of the iron to hit me with such a statement, and I’m left confused… and a little annoyed. We were about to part on a meaningful and relatively warm note, and now I feel as though I’ve been struck in the heart by a pickaxe.
And what does he mean by “there’s still time, I suppose?” Still time for what? For me to change my mind about wanting a peaceful life? He assumes that, because I’m the brother of Limaqumtlia that we share the same traits, wants, and desires? What is he even saying?
After some time, I shrug off his comment, and gander at the onyx statue. Though there isn’t an expression on its face, I feel as if it’s judging me, much how Limaqumtlia may have done if he was here. Turning around to look at the vacant inn, I decide I’ve had enough of that place for one day, instead choosing to walk to my home.
Time will tell the kind of Tempered Saxina will be, but so far it has been unfortunately tumultuous. So much is shrouded in a fog of uncertainty, and it’s difficult to determine what will happen to Qiapu and our people. But I’ve much to deliberate.
Saxina’s impact as the new Tempered is immediate. In just the matter of days, the peaceful hammer's song has faltered, replaced by discordant beats throughout Pichaqta. Whereas Limaqumtlia concentrated efforts on rebuilding our shattered lands, Saxina is focused on military recruitment and preparations for war. What was told to me in confidence at the ceremony—that the Ulxa are joining forces with the Auilqa to usurp the Arbiter—was apparently no longer deemed confidential once he became ruler. The instant he was in a position of power, it suddenly became more urgent than ever to protect the people of Qiapu.
Or, at least, that’s what people who came to the inn claim he said; I wouldn’t know, since I refused to go to the coronation.
After his “rousing speech”, most of the men either joined the military or the city guard, while the women went to work at the mines and forgeries. As a result, a significant number of crops were abandoned, with Saxina brokering a deal with his connections at Qapauma to deliver any foods the region needed. Though Qiapu is far from being known as an agricultural region—that’s for Aimue to claim—it felt like misusing and neglecting our lands when I first heard the Tempered’s declaration. However, nobody cares to listen to my protests; Taqaiu tells me to shut up before I frighten all the customers away whenever the topic is broached.
Speaking of the customers, the inn has seen better days. All around Pichaqta, the people sulk about for most of the day, and any patron to the inn—if any arrive at all—glumly consumes their drink, just to maintain some normalcy, and stays a short while before dragging their feet as they depart. The hours at the mines and forgeries, as well as the all-day drills and city watches in which our military takes part, leave everyone too exhausted to do much of anything.
“I’ve never seen such a depressing sight,” Taqaiu says, sounding offended. “And I lived through the Timuaq rule, mind you!”
The sun shines brightly into the room, with a pleasant breeze rolling off the mountains and circulating around the inn. The cheerful singing of the birds fills the space, since no voices speak long or loud enough to drown any of it out, and joins the percussion of chalices being lifted, then set onto the tables and countertops. The occasional sigh chimes in to form a discordant harmony with the chirping outdoors.
“We’ve just experienced the loss of Limaqumtlia, for a start,” I say. “And Saxina has informed everyone there’s a threat at the border. It’s not exactly a celebratory time.”
Taqaiu and I speak as though we’re the only two present, and quite frankly, it feels that way, despite having half the room filled with guests. Replacing the usual banter and loud laughter, each person somberly slouches in their seat and hunches over their drink, staring into it with the hopes they will find the answer to their gloom at the bottom of it. Taqaiu, who normally loathes having to cook the meals, is now aggrieved that the kitchen is quiet because no one is eating.
“You should speak to Saxina about this,” Taqaiu says. “You two are friends and go way back, right?”
I have to stop sweeping to focus on preventing myself from laughing at the absurdity. Saxina and I were classmates at the academy and fought alongside one another, sure, and we shared stories next to the campfire, but once he was selected to aid the Arbiter, we rarely spoke, if ever. His time in Pichaqta was always brief, but with him becoming the new Tempered, I imagine I’ll see him less even though he will be here all the time.
“It’s as simple as that, is it?” I ask. Taqaiu looks at me as if I’m stupid for not seeing such an obvious solution. I shake my head and return to sweeping the floors. I don’t care to have this conversation, and I don’t feel like dignifying his ludicrous suggestion with a response.
“I have to say,” Taqaiu mentions after a pause, “it’s probably a good thing you haven’t made use of your connections. Otherwise, I’m out of the hired help around this place.”
“You make is sound as if I’d want a life of politics,” I say while sweeping the same place on the floor yet again.
“You could always go back to wielding a sword,” Taqaiu says, “or a hammer instead of a broom, for all I care. What concerns me is that every person who comes in here is depressed or exhausted from overwork, or both. People spend more when they’re happy, and no one is happy right now. It’s as though everyone is perpetually on their way to a funeral.”
It takes a lot in me to not strike Taqaiu in his fat face where he stands with the broom. Instead, I use it to sweep and refrain from saying anything I might regret. Taqaiu seems unaware he’s said anything offensive and pours himself some chicha, since, “hardly anyone else is having any,” he mutters to himself with a shrug.
“All I’m saying,” he continues, causing me to sweep with more vigor, “is that, if the Tempered wants what’s in the best interest for all of those in Pichaqta and Qiapu, he should consider how his policy is affecting business. Sure, it’s great for the forges, but what about everyone else? The people barely have time to do anything other than work and sleep!”
If I didn’t know Taqaiu, I’d believe he was being purposely obtuse. None of the others who haven’t yet shuffled out seem to have heard him, still focusing on their beverages without speaking a word to anyone else. It would be great if one of them, any of them, caught any part of what was said and could put Taqaiu in his place, but everyone is too much in their own heads right now to listen to anything being said outside of it.
Shaking my head, I stomp over to the carafes of chicha, pour a healthy amount for myself, and down all of it with one fell swoop, the gulp louder than most everything else in the place.
“You can’t drink on the job!” Taqaiu exclaims. “That’s coming out of your wages!”
He and I both know his threat is hollow. If he fires me, or I quit, he’s left to take care of all the awful tasks around the inn by himself, something he would never stoop so low to do. I’ve had dreams of walking out, relishing in his stupefied expression as I drop the cleaning devices at his feet and storm out. However, calling my bluff, Taqaiu knows as well as I do that I need this to pass the time, since it beats tending to fields or suffocating in the mines. We’re both in a loveless relationship, using each other for our own means.
I’ve had enough, so I walk outside and around Pichaqta. The relative silence at this time of day is unsettling; typically, when the sound of the forges begins to quiet down, citizens make the long journey back into town to fill up the oases concerning any place that serves a good chicha. Instead, the mountains are continually alight by the flames of the forges and the smell of soot and hot steel permeates the air, with everyone working late into the night. I haven’t seen such a sight since the early days of the War of Liberation.
The rhythmic pounding of metal on metal and the thrum of the furnaces puts me in a meditative trance. Looking out into the dark shadows of the mountains barely visible in the late evening, I feel I finally have time to reflect on the death of my brother. There’s an uneasy feeling when I consider that the only time I think about Limaqumtlia is when he’s mentioned by others, whether that’s some drunkards at the inn or catching pieces of conversation from passerbys. This time, I force myself to clear my thoughts of worldly hassles and make an earnest effort to envision him and think about who he was.
It starts with his smile. Limaqumtlia had a warm smile that was like a hug without having to physically embrace. He treated everyone as though they’ve been friends since they were infants, giving them his complete attention. I never knew him to be an avid hunter or warrior, but when it came to the trials, he used a cunning and craftiness that was far superior to anyone’s brute force. How someone like him succeeded in the trials defies logic—it’s purely a blessing from Aqxilapu—but he turned out to be the Tempered Qiapu needed.
I’m reminded of one time when we were children, when we still spoke to one another and were inseparable. Limaqumtlia had gotten it into his head that there was a rare jewel that someone had unearthed in a nearby mine. It was said that possessing the jewel gave its owner supernatural abilities. When I pressed him on where he heard such rumors, he shrugged and, rather than get defensive, used a tactic that never failed to work on me. Looking back on it now, it was manipulative, but he knew precisely how to fan the flames.
“I suppose,” he said with disappointment oozing off every word, “if you are too afraid to join me, it’s best that you stay here.” His despondency was entirely put on, but it was effective on the adolescent version of myself. I was very self-conscious about my cowardice, and having it called out was akin to stabbing me in the heart.
Though I was reluctant to head into the mines, believing this was only another one of the games he imagined up, I still decided to humor Limaqumtlia and agreed to journey with him. If it wasn’t, in fact, a game and there was a jewel, I didn’t want to be known as the one to miss out because I was too scared.
We eagerly marched toward the supposed mine that contained the jewel, traversing winding paths that weaved through the arid hills and led to the steep mountains to the west. Even for adults, the length of the trip is significantly long, spanning nearly half a day just to get to the mountain range, and as we climbed higher and higher in elevation, the wind got colder and more forceful. Still, we were unrelenting in our dedication to see this journey through.
Wanting to know what we were in for, and what reward awaited us, I interrogated Limaqumtlia about the mission. Surprisingly, he seemed to have all the answers, and I started doubting if this was a game after all.
“What does this jewel look like?” my inquisition began.
“It contains every color that exists in Pachil, all swirled into a crystal.”
“What abilities do you gain from the jewel?” I continued with my questioning.
Excited to finally talk about something more than the mundane appearance of a magical jewel, or a subject other than my feet getting sore or my hunger, or whatever else I was complaining about, he said with great enthusiasm, “well, the person holding the gemstone is supposed to think about what power they would like to possess, and after you say the magic words, you are granted the ability of your wish.”
“And what are the magic words?”
“You’re supposed to say, ‘I wish for Aqxilapu’s blessing to grant me…’ and then you say whatever power you want.”
“That hardly seems elaborate,” I said, a bit disappointed that there wasn’t something more to the ritual than politely asking the Qiapu deity. Sensing this, Limaqumtlia raised the stakes.
“Oh, sure, the words aren’t the important part. Once Aqxilapu hears your call, he surges the power into the gemstone, and you have to hold onto it really tightly, because if you let go, instead of a magical power, you end up cursed!”
With the aid of hindsight, I can tell Limaqumtlia was very proud to have devised this treacherous conflict. The child version of me bought into this completely, however, and I began reflexively stretching my fingers as if grasping the air, to make sure I had the hand strength to hold onto the gem.
I paused the inquiry to make sure I knew exactly which ability I wanted, so that I would be unwavering when the time came and could focus all my effort into holding onto that jewel. What power would a young child like me want? Super strength? Too obvious. Super intelligence? Too boring. Flying? Too simple. I found it difficult to come up with an ability I wanted that got me excited, and I decided I would look for some inspiration.
“What power do you want, Limaqumtlia?” I asked, trying to use his wish as a starting point.
“I don’t want you copying my power!” he exclaimed a bit defensively.
“I won’t!”
“Yes, you will! You always copy me!”
“No, I don’t!” After I said this, he stopped and turned to me, looking severely annoyed. It was as if this argument would make him cease our expedition and return to Pichaqta empty-handed. After apologizing and pleading for us to continue, Limaqumtlia let out a defiant snort and resumed the trek, stomping and huffing.
I distracted myself by returning to the thought exercise of creating my super ability. After eliminating many candidates, I eventually landed on wanting to control the earth and move rocks and mountains at will, just like Aqxilapu did to create Qiapu. This felt like a power that was more inventive than superhuman strength, and it could help our people clear tunnels for more mining, or move stones out of the way to find more of these gems. This conclusion immediately filled me with pride, and I strode the rest of the way with my chest puffed out.
We finally arrived at an abandoned mine far into the mountain range and well beyond the rest of the quarries at which the adults regularly worked. There was a blast of cold air shooting out from the tunnel’s mouth, even colder than the air swooping down the mountain and battering us during our ascent. Though I can’t be sure of it now, the young version of myself would swear he heard moaning and groaning coming from deep down into the mineshaft. I grew concerned that we may have gone too far and could be in big trouble if nobody could find us if we got captured by whatever is living down there.
“Those are just sounds to scare off anyone who isn’t brave enough or worthy of the jewel’s power,” Limaqumtlia said. I can tell now he was clearly playing off my fear, but at the time, it indeed motivated me once I took his plausible reasoning into consideration. He marched forward without hesitation and, after I took a deep breath and told myself some words of encouragement, I begrudgingly followed close behind.
There was a pitch black void as we looked deep into the bowels of the mineshaft, and it felt as though every sound, from us and from the environment surrounding us, got sucked into it, almost becoming muted to nothing. Limaqumtlia found a used torch laying on the rocky ground, and after feeling around for flint, managed to get two of the rocks to scratch together and cause a spark, creating the fire that illuminated the hollow tunnel. The howls began to fade the further in we go, and I felt the fear flee little by little with each step, finding an odd comfort in the near-absolute silence.
We zigged and zagged deeper and deeper into the shaft. I started to wonder if we were lost, or questioned whether Limaqumtlia was making this up as we went along, but every time we arrived at a fork in the tunnel, he confidently pointed in a direction and continued onward. Aside from the fact he was holding the only source of light, the one thing that kept me walking along with him is Limaqumtlia’s assertiveness and determination.
After what felt like an entire day journeying through the mine, we came upon a dead end. We were surrounded by nothing but fallen stones and rock, and now, I was furious.
“I knew it!” I remarked. “You were making all of this up! There is no jewel after all!”
“There is a jewel!” he said, defensively. “You must’ve distracted me from going down the right path.”
“I haven’t said a single word since we entered, and you know it!”
“Yeah, right!” Limaqumtlia challenged. “You’ve been crying the whole time!”
“I have n—“
Just then, I noticed the bowing wooden support beam on the side of the tunnel. In the middle, the wood splintered and cracked, and the beam was crooked like a hunched-over old man.
“Uh, Limaqumtlia,” I said, pointing to the beam with a shaky finger. As soon as he looked, a rumble reverberated the mineshaft and shook us to our core. As if unwitting prey stumbled upon an awaiting snare, the shaft caved in, rocks fell all around us with a deafening, thunderous growl. Limaqumtlia pulled my arm and yanked me back toward where we came, shouting at me to run. We dashed as quickly as our little legs could carry us, weaving to and fro through the twisting tunnel.
“Which way do we go?” I said, more of an exclamation than a question.
Without hesitation, Limaqumtlia picked a direction and unflinchingly ran toward it, dragging me along the entire way. Behind us, more rocks tumbled in the collapsing cave, dust and sediment kicked up and making it very difficult to see our way out.
A weakened beam fell onto my back and I tripped on the uneven ground, my right leg pinned down by the weight. I cried for help, and Limaqumtlia pulled with all his might in an effort to free me, but to no avail.
“Okay,” he said in a calm voice, “I’m going to lift this beam, and when I say ‘go’, you pull your leg out, got it?”
I nodded and waited in anticipation for his instruction. Limaqumtlia took a couple deep breaths, in and out, steeling himself for the task at hand. He clutched the bottom of the heavy beam and, after a shout, lifted and let out a defiant yell into the darkness. I struggled initially, but eventually slipped my leg out, leaving behind a sandal. I was too relieved to fret about the footwear and shouted at Limaqumtlia that I was freed. He dropped the beam and helped me to my feet, but a searing pain ripped through my leg.
“I can’t walk!” I yelled, my voice tinged with panic and my mind unable to concentrate on anything other than the throbbing limb.
Undeterred, Limaqumtlia pulled me up again and, slinging my right arm around his neck, carried me as I limped alongside him. Unfortunately, during the incident, his torch became extinguished, leaving us surrounded by blackness. All we could sense was the weight of supporting each other and the sound of tumbling boulders behind us.
“We’re going to have to slowly feel our way out of here,” he said, but he was so confident in his instruction that I was compelled to follow his lead. It took us almost the rest of the day to escape, extending our hands into the void to palm the rock walls. We must have been blessed by Aqxilapu himself, because, somehow, we managed to touch our way to the point where we could see the dim light of the setting sun at the end of the tunnel. We raced toward the opening and let out a triumphant whoop of excitement and relief.
Wandering into the moonlit night that casts the landscape in various hues of blue, Limaqumtlia acted as my crutch the entire way back to Pichaqta as we hobbled home together. We were too busy basking in how grateful we were to be alive to speak for much of the trip.
“Healing,” Limaqumtlia said, breaking the long silence.
“Healing what?” I asked.
“I wanted the power to heal anybody. So that, no matter what ailed a person, even if it wasn’t a physical wound, I could fix them, and they wouldn’t hurt anymore.”
I nodded and told him we’ll try again another day after my leg gets better, but he didn’t seem to react to this. I patted his shoulder, stumbling a bit in the process, but he quickly caught me and met my eyes, returning the consoling smile. We never tried to seek out the gem ever again, but we were quick to tell the story of our harrowing tale to anyone with ears capable of hearing it.
I’m jarred awake from my daydream by the clattering of armor and weapons from a procession of armed guards. It’s odd to see as the night approaches, but through the blur of white and red worn by the soldiers, I notice Qumuna in the middle of the crowd of men as he’s escorted to the palace. The entourage have trouble keeping up with his brisk pace. It’s difficult to determine if his face shows frustration, disappointment, focus, or determination—maybe a bit of all of them.
Initially, I planned to watch him pass and carry on with my evening, but something inside compelled me to shout for his attention. Confused, Qumuna looks around for a second to identify the person responsible, eventually spotting me and heads in my direction, not informing the guards of his abrupt decision. They stumble and collide with one another before correcting their course and marching over.
“I don’t think I’ve thanked you for rescuing me during the trials, Paxilche,” Qumuna says with a warm smile on his face. “Limaqumtlia would have been proud.”
“I believe you’ve attempted to thank me at least twice a day,” I say. It’s true: Since the trials, it’s been said that Qumuna has stopped by the inn to speak with me, or at least checks on how I’m doing. I only find out about his frequent visits from the patrons; Taqaiu has never told me once about it.
“Well,” he says, “it cannot be expressed enough. Deep down, I knew I shouldn’t have participated, but there were counselors who talked me into it. Perhaps I gave their passionate arguments too much credit and should have been a bit more rational.”
“I can’t blame you for that,” I say. “It’s been a trying time for everyone in Qiapu.”
He nods in agreement, but I can tell his thoughts have drifted elsewhere. What he’s contemplating is a mystery to me, but if it’s regrets for accepting the challenge of the trial, they are wholly unjustified, in my opinion. He was doing what any self-respecting warrior would do: Heed Aqxilapu’s call to defend and lead his people.
“I–,” Qumuna starts to say, then gets quiet for a moment before reaching into a satchel suspended around his torso. He removes a small, black figure and presents it to me.
“The Tempered has acquired much of Limaqumtlia’s possessions, but this was a figurine that Limaqumtlia spoke of with great fondness to me. I’m not entirely certain of the story behind it, but your name would come up as he mentioned this statuette. I wanted it to go to you, not Saxina.”
The small figure fits easily inside one’s hand and is made from onyx, much like what was once contained in the mine Limaqumtlia and I ventured into long ago. The inexpressive face reminds me of my brother’s on the funeral pyre, making this a difficult gift to accept. I do so, only because this is the only possession of my brother’s that I have.
Qumuna’s guards get restless, impatiently shifting their weight from side to side, anxious to get to their originally intended destination so they can call it a day. However, I can’t help myself but give into my curiosity, and since it’s the first time I’ve seen him since the trial, I’m compelled to talk to him about anything.
“You seem to be in a hurry before I interrupted you. What has you going to the palace at this late time of day?”
Qumuna looks uncomfortable, peering down at the ground for a moment with his hands on his hips. I don’t know the man all that well, but in the times I’ve seen him, I’ve never known him to be short of words. I lean in as if I’m trying to hear his thoughts.
“With the vacancy of a Qiapu aid to the Arbiter,” he says, muttering, “the Tempered has chosen me to be the new aid. I depart for Qapauma at dawn.”
There’s a disgust that momentarily overtakes his face before he forces a look of resolve. If he can barely hide his true emotions, I’m not sure how he’s going to fare in the very politically charged drama of Qapauma. The gossiping nobles in court form an entirely different battleground.
“You appear thrilled to be selected,” I say, hoping to brighten his spirits. My sarcastic comment temporarily breaks his bitter mood, and a tiny crack of a smile briefly emerges at the corners of his mouth before returning to pressing his lips into a tight, thin line.
“I must confess it’s certainly not a position for which I’m well-suited,” Qumuna says. “The Tempered stated it’s because I was the last challenger brave enough to fight him in the trial, and who put up the best fight. He says he wants that same kind of fire and ambition in the capital.”
“And you look as though you agree with that sentiment,” I say, continuing my sarcastic streak. “In all seriousness, though, that’s mighty of him to do after nearly killing you in the trials.”
“It was all for the sake of being named the Tempered and upholding our traditions,” Qumuna says dutifully. Although I wholeheartedly disagree with his sentiment, I leave the conversation there, finding an argument needless. Then he looks around as if to make sure his next statement isn’t overheard by the wrong people.
“I just believe that, if this Ulxa story is to be believed, my skills are best served here, protecting the people. There must be someone better suited to speak on behalf of the Qiapu.”
I’m surprised he has offered such honesty to me, but perhaps it’s my proximity to the late Tempered, to whom he was devoutly loyal and got along with extremely well. It can also be said that he doesn’t have many allies in Pichaqta, now that Saxina has begun supplanting many positions of power with his own people. It makes me wonder how much he trusts the new Tempered if he’s going to be this open with a relative acquaintance like myself.
“Maybe he believes there’s something suspicious with the Arbiter’s claim of an Ulxa attack,” I propose, “and Saxina is only bolstering our defenses in the off chance the rumors are true.”
“I just don’t see that to be the case,” Qumuna says. “While an assault by the Ulxa is curious, there was such urgency in his voice when he informed the council. We’ll have scouts reporting back, but I fear what they will end up finding. It could mean a war is just on the horizon, and we could be faced with combat very soon.”
“Yeah, I didn’t quite believe what I said either,” I concede. “Something is happening, but I’m not sure what. I hope your time in Qapauma will be fruitful and worth the callouses on your feet.”
Sensing his desire to depart, I shake his forearm and wish him well, much to the relief of his attending guards. Qumuna nods and abruptly turns to resume his march to the palace. Before he takes a step, however, he turns his head to speak to me over his left shoulder.
“You know,” Qumuna says, “I always had hopes that you would have joined your brother down the path of leading our people. You both share many similar traits.”
“A life in politics is most definitely not for me,” I say. “I did my time serving to fight the Timuaq. That’s about as much action as I can handle.”
“I saw you after Limaqumtlia was murdered,” Qumuna says, unconvinced of my reasoning. “You are willingly choosing to extinguish the fire that burns within you, that wants justice. I don’t understand why.”
“Look,” I say, a little annoyed now, “if I had known I’d be getting lectured like a child, I would never have called you over. I’m confident the matter is being investigated through the appropriate channels, and what I choose to do is none of your concern.”
“You’re right,” Qumuna says, “it’s not my concern. It’s the concern of Qiapu. There are few men who are worthy of leading our people. Whether you want to accept it or not, you have the ability to lead—I’ve heard the stories Saxina and others have told about you. There’s still time for you to come around, I suppose.”
Before I have a chance to respond, he has already begun walking away, with the guards in his wake stumbling over themselves to keep up with his pace. It was a quick strike of the iron to hit me with such a statement, and I’m left confused… and a little annoyed. We were about to part on a meaningful and relatively warm note, and now I feel as though I’ve been struck in the heart by a pickaxe.
And what does he mean by “there’s still time, I suppose?” Still time for what? For me to change my mind about wanting a peaceful life? He assumes that, because I’m the brother of Limaqumtlia that we share the same traits, wants, and desires? What is he even saying?
After some time, I shrug off his comment, and gander at the onyx statue. Though there isn’t an expression on its face, I feel as if it’s judging me, much how Limaqumtlia may have done if he was here. Turning around to look at the vacant inn, I decide I’ve had enough of that place for one day, instead choosing to walk to my home.
Time will tell the kind of Tempered Saxina will be, but so far it has been unfortunately tumultuous. So much is shrouded in a fog of uncertainty, and it’s difficult to determine what will happen to Qiapu and our people. But I’ve much to deliberate.
