Every time I pass through the trapezoidal stone opening leading into the towering, ancient Great Library, I feel out of place. For so much of my life, access was only given to nobility, which here in Hilaqta is the council of elders from the most influential and well educated families in Qantua. I, however, am a warrior. And amidst a population that views knowledge and learning as civilized, compared to the brutality and barbarism of war, I believed upon my return home that I would be outcast. However, I have somehow been embraced by certain people in power, perhaps due to my adjacency to the new Arbiter, Achutli, from our time on the battlefield, or, more likely, from the results and consequences of the war. Now I find myself with a seat on the council, granted to me once I crossed the threshold into town several moon cycles ago. As such, I’m greeted warmly, with knowing nods, by the people walking the grounds, wearing vibrant tunics and dresses dyed with the yellows, reds, whites, and greens of their respective native lands.
Blending in with the hilly surroundings, large, brown stones form a perimeter to contain the Great Library, constructed of the same, though slightly smaller, smooth stones. Unlike the huts and homes surrounding the building, the stones are angled and tightly packed, carved intricately to distribute the weight evenly in the event of harmful weather or earthquakes. Creating these stones takes a tremendous amount of time, which is why they’re only seen in a few locations around the continent, unsurprisingly amongst the wealthy nobility. The building looks enormous as I approach, but that’s mostly from the fact it’s built into the hillside. My father used to tell me it was built this way to give visitors and outsiders the impression it’s presence is daunting and larger than life, but he reminded me that, like many things, this was just for appearances; the architects took advantage of the terrain to create an imposing and intimidating structure. Practically speaking, though, it was built at a site for the advantageous purpose that its proximity is to a cave dwelling that keeps an even temperature and humidity year round. This prevents the quipus from becoming brittle and breaking. Whether that was intended or happenstance is anyone’s guess.
Inside the building are rows and rows of stored quipus with their assortment of colors, representing counts for agriculture, armies, and other news and information. Robed men slowly pace about the aisles, attentively inspecting the threaded mechanisms and checking for flaws. I scan the room and eventually locate who I seek. I approach an elderly gentleman with a slightly gaunt face and thinning, white hair, his cheeks and jaw whiskered in white. I gently place my hand upon his shoulder to get his attention, and he turns his entire body toward me. The confused expression on his face quickly lights up when he sees and recognizes me.
“I know I’m old, but there’s not a council meeting I’m forgetting, is there?” he asks. A sly smirk slowly slides from the corners of his mouth denoting the tone behind his question.
“Your memory is sharper than any weapon I’ve ever wielded, Upachu. Or, at least, that’s what my father always said.”
“Your father always knew how to pour honey into one’s ears,” he says, his eyes cast downward slightly and his smirk turning into pursed lips as he briefly reflects on the memories spurred on by this sentiment.
“So what brings you to the Great Library, Teqosa?” he asks, after a short chuckle. “Surely, it can’t be to count the color variety of all the quipus. They did teach you how to count at the military academy, correct?”
I know Upachu is trying to elicit a laugh from me, but the matter at hand is too pressing for me to be amused. Seeing this, Upachu stares at me with his large, chestnut-colored eyes, bracing himself for the request I’m about to ask of him.
“I came to seek your advice. You provided my father with guidance over the years, and I hope you can do the same for me.”
He raises an eyebrow and initially maintains his smirk, but his face grows concerned, undoubtedly mirroring the expression on mine. It takes me a moment to collect my thoughts and figure out how to broach this subject. During the travel from Qapauma to my home, I pondered the task given to me by Achutli, the Arbiter. It commands a lot from our people—if it can even be achieved—and it doesn’t sit well with me. Because of this, I haven’t done anything about it, but also, I honestly don’t know how to go about conducting what’s been asked of me. I’m a warrior, not an explorer or politician, so how would I know where to begin? Fortunately, I wasn’t given a deadline, but I can only imagine Achutli will want results at some point. It’s taken much deliberation, not wanting to burden anyone else with what’s been ordered of me, but I ultimately determine I need some guidance, and if anyone knows how to handle such a situation, it’s someone wisened and experienced with Tapeu politics, like Upachu.
“I was given orders by Achutli,” I begin. Upachu furrows his brow and looks at me as if he will gain better understanding of my words by looking at them departing my lips. “I’ve been withholding this since I’ve arrived in Hilaqta because I’m uncertain what to do. He expects us to share our knowledge of the Timuaq and transport all quipus we have pertaining to their use of magic to be examined and stored in the capital.”
I let the words hang in the air. Upachu nods slowly and solemnly as his eyes look to the ground in consideration of what I have said. His hands remain folded behind his back and he starts to pace between a row of quipus.
“I can’t imagine anyone in the capital knows how to read quipus” he says, half-musing, half-asking.
“No,” I sigh. “Therefore, Achutli requires us to send scholars to help inform and carry out any research tasks.” Upachu looks more concerned than when the conversation started.
“And so I’m predicting your question for me is, should we adhere to the orders?” he asks in a slightly hushed tone.
I nod. “I’m not one to disobey orders, but there’s something… off about this. Why not keep the quipus where they are, in Hilaqta, and research from here?”
“I also predict Achutli didn’t get into any specifics, or state why he is ordering this of the Qantua people, yes?”
“Once again, you are correct. He was vague, and his council were all stone faced as he gave his command. I couldn’t get a read on any of them, and I don’t trust them enough to inquire details about the plans. It’s quickly become all politics there, full of whispers and rumors the moment Achutli took power, and I don’t want to be a victim of politics and gossip.”
“Nobility has always thrived and consolidated power through rumors,” he says. “Anyway, this command shows just how little Achutli understands how quipus are utilized, and how we conduct our research. All of our knowledge is passed down and told to upcoming scholars, and the scholars store the knowledge in their memories. Sure, the quipus aid us in recalling the information, but what does he expect to learn by obtaining them?”
“That, I’m unsure,” I say. “What knowledge is even stored here? And why does he want it? It seems out of the ordinary, as if there’s an ulterior motive.”
He stops pacing, frozen in place as he considers the thought he just finished. With a perplexed expression on his face, he turns only his head to look at me.
“Let us discuss this in a more secluded location,” he says, his eyes scanning the room and spotting multiple men slowly pacing between the stacks of quipus and examining them attentively. They are all of varying age and size, but they appear to be conducting their work diligently. However, I understand Upachu’s concern; though Achutli is a new ruler, we must assume there are factions within factions, and loyalties may shift if people feel there’s an opportunity to seize power. Though I doubt any are present in the Great Library, there is no need to take an unnecessary risk.
Upachu calmly walks toward the back of the large room, weaving in and out of the rows and stacks of quipus as if it were business as usual. I concentrate on appearing to be just as calm, attempting to project a stoic expression and not lead anyone onto us. Internally, however, multiple thoughts race around my mind. What does Upachu know? What does Achutli know? I thought this place merely stored records of crops and livestock; could there be something more to this place?
A sliver of light is cast on the floor as we walk away from the cave-like area of the room and toward the front with the intricately assembled stone walls. To the right, there is a subtle opening that could be easily missed had it not been for the setting sun leaving a glowing, golden trail on the ground. Upachu casually walks through the opening and into a small, compact garden, isolated and solitary from the rest of the grounds, the aromas of the well-maintained flowers flood my nose. It’s peaceful out here, only the wind can be heard instead of the bustling crowds just outside the walls to the main entrance. I didn’t believe we were talking for such a long time, however the purplish hues of the evening sky tell me it’s much later than I thought. After inspecting the area, Upachu turns to face me, a serious, concerned expression rests on his weathered face. He clutches the collar of his tunic with his right hand and shifts his fingers around to feel the fibers of the garment.
“He’s after the secrets the Eleven were after,” he concludes. This statement puzzles me, seemingly coming out of nowhere, and I likely failed to disguise my confusion.
“How can you be sure? And why would he seek that?” I ask. “What were they even seeking, aside from a way to defeat the Timuaq? If there’s something to be sought, are you insinuating it's for a devious purpose?” A million other questions swirl in my mind, particularly concerning the confidence and assuredness in the tone of his voice. The fact that he came to this deduction after our relatively brief conversation is alarming and unsettling at the very least. Upachu strokes the tiny green and deep purple leaves of a stem leading up to the red petals of the tall, thin plant.
“I can’t be certain. It is possible he could simply ensure there is a guardian to keep the Timuaq imprisoned. There is also the possibility he could be seeking the power for himself. But all the tales mention how the Eleven searched for an ultimate power that would defeat the Timuaq, and using this knowledge, sacrificed themselves so that our people can be free. If the secret is still out there, someone will try to find it.”
Upachu walks toward a bench in the middle of the garden and sits down with a slight groan. He sits as though the weight of this conversation is too much for his bones to bear standing up. He resumes clutching the collar of his outfit and looks up to take in the view of the endless sky.
“But how did you jump to the idea that he’s seeking the knowledge sought by the Eleven?” I ask, perhaps a bit too forcefully and accusatorially, though I’m genuinely mystified at how effortlessly he came to this presumption. I may only have a professional loyalty to Achutli, who is taking on the role of Arbiter while we reconstruct the continent, but it’s difficult for me to come to the same assumption as Upachu. “Is there something you know about Achutli or the Tapeu that leads you to this?”
“It’s a tale as old as time,” he says with a sigh and the verbal equivalent of an eye roll. “A seat of power becomes vacant and someone inevitably seeks to control it for themselves, for good, using whatever means necessary.” I mention his view is overly cynical, but Upachu just shrugs off my remark.
“Is such information here, in Hilaqta?” I ask. Upachu looks around conspiratorially, an intensity in his stare when he concludes the coast is clear.
“I can’t be certain,” he says—once again, mind you, and this causes me to feel I’ve approached the wrong person with this matter after all, “but there are stories that the Eleven began their search in Qantua.”
I scoff in disbelief. This is feeling like I’ve made a huge error in my calculations. Upachu was supposed to be scholarly and sagacious, but all his conclusions have been drawn from pure speculation. Looking at him, there’s a deep concern on Upachu’s face, and he begins rapping his fingers on the seat of the bench.
“If all you say is true,” I say with skepticism coating my words, “why isn’t he seeking such precious knowledge himself? Why has he assigned someone else to make the proclamation and execute his order? If it was for a devious purpose, then why has he not kept this purpose hidden? What’s the advantage of putting this plan in the open?” I take some steps closer to him, but remain standing next to where he is seated, looking out onto the grounds and observing how the colors of the flowers seamlessly blend into the sky.
“Maybe he’s trying to buy time to execute his plan while we’re standing around guessing his intentions and taking in the flora,” Upachu says. From the corner of my eye, I can see he is also taking in the view rather than looking up at me to speak.
“And regarding ordering someone else to accomplish the task, perhaps he’s busy, what, with now having to rule over the many bickering factions of the continent,” I postulate. “Delegating tasks to the different factions, getting them to work together to help form unity through a shared purpose?”
I pivot my head to look down at Upachu. He doesn’t seem convinced by my reasoning, furrowing his brow deeper and pursing his lips while in thought, his fingers tapping much quicker now.
“Look, I don’t particularly trust the man any more than you do,” I say, “especially when he thrust himself upon the throne and declared himself the Arbiter before the seat got cold. His intentions may not be good, certainly—that is always a possibility with Achutli. However, I’m not one for directly disobeying a command, Upachu. You know this. And I’ve stalled long enough; I don’t want to draw any more suspicion than I likely already have. So how do we give him what he seeks while simultaneously… not?”
Pondering for a moment, Upachu turns to me from his seated position, nods, and then lets out a long, drawn out sigh.
“I will have my people work on relocating the quipus,” he says, with a hint of dread. “We can deliver the agriculture and resident accounting while stating we are searching for the others that may have been damaged during the war, which is why it has taken so much time to assemble. We don’t have to mention that none have been damaged, to our knowledge, of course. Hopefully that will buy us some time until we find out if the knowledge sought by the Eleven still exists and figure out what to do with that.“
“You’re willing to risk punishment from the capital, and all based on a hunch? Why?” Now I’m even more perplexed. I’m not sure what advice or guidance I was assuming to receive from Upachu—perhaps some kind of vague and sagely paternal wisdom, or hoping there wasn’t any worthwhile information in the Great Library or Qantua at all—but it certainly wasn’t deception.
“What other choice do I have?” he says with a shrug, as if he’s conceding to the inevitability of this plan.
“So you are certain that’s the knowledge Achutli seeks?” I ask, not as a genuine question, but more so to convince myself of its plausibility. Upachu stands up from the bench, letting out a small groan as he lifts himself up, and then rests a hand on my shoulder. His face could read as one of condescension if one didn’t know him as I do, but I recognize it as sincere and paternal.
“Teqosa, I have been on Pachil for countless solar cycles,” he says, his voice now soothing and calm, almost resigned to some fate only known to him. “At this point in my life, there is only so much that this world can present to me that would truly surprise me. Humans tend to be predictable creatures. Their personalities may all differ, but their needs, wants, and desires all remain the same. Humans like Achutli will always want power because they believe that is how they can earn respect. Your sister knew this about him, and deep down, you know this about him, too.”
I know Upachu didn’t mean to do so maliciously, but his mention of my sister is a bit of a punch to my gut. Maybe it’s because I continue questioning how he’s arrived at his conclusion, so it’s easy for me to feel he made this statement to throw me off and rattle me enough to momentarily back away from inquiring what he knows. Either way, I get a pit in my stomach thinking about my sister and what has become of her. Scenes involving me and my sister flood my memory—moments of heartbreak and joy, of frustration and forgiveness, of callousness and compassion—but after a quick second, I force myself to brush off the emotions and resume planning our next steps.
“Ok, where do we even begin with finding their discovery?” I ask. “I don’t believe much is known about what was found, or where it can be found, and it’s not as though they notified anyone of their intentions when it was happening; everything has been left to the storytellers. Besides that, they all perished. This could be a fruitless mission, or a suicide mission if the knowledge exists and is that dangerous.”
“That’s probably why the task has been handed down to you, so that you’ll be the one to meet that fate instead. Maybe you’re right: we should allow Achutli to discover this on his own, then,” Upachu says with a slight smirk. I remark with just how morbid that thought is, no matter how playful he’s attempting to be.
“We can go to the Timuaq temple,” Upachu says, becoming more serious as he discusses the plan. “Someone there might know if the Eleven had visited and what they sought. And if not, perhaps they could lead us in the right direction. It’s nearly a half-day’s trip to get there. We’ll depart Hilaqta in the morning.”
With this, Upachu nods his head in affirmation as if the matter has been decided and there’s nothing further to discuss. He walks back toward the Great Library with his short, shuffling steps, leaving me behind to contemplate everything discussed in solitude. I’m not sure how he came to this conclusion with such certainty, and my instincts tell me there’s more to what he is letting on. My father had trusted him with his life, and I’m inclined to do the same out of habit and proclivity, but even my hunch isn’t certain about what to make of this development. While I’m confident there’s something being unsaid, I’m even more confident that I will have to keep Upachu at arm’s length and not let him onto my suspicions. Perhaps I can glean more information during our travels to the temple he spoke of, the Temple of the Titans.
Every time I pass through the trapezoidal stone opening leading into the towering, ancient Great Library, I feel out of place. For so much of my life, access was only given to nobility, which here in Hilaqta is the council of elders from the most influential and well educated families in Qantua. I, however, am a warrior. And amidst a population that views knowledge and learning as civilized, compared to the brutality and barbarism of war, I believed upon my return home that I would be outcast. However, I have somehow been embraced by certain people in power, perhaps due to my adjacency to the new Arbiter, Achutli, from our time on the battlefield, or, more likely, from the results and consequences of the war. Now I find myself with a seat on the council, granted to me once I crossed the threshold into town several moon cycles ago. As such, I’m greeted warmly, with knowing nods, by the people walking the grounds, wearing vibrant tunics and dresses dyed with the yellows, reds, whites, and greens of their respective native lands.
Blending in with the hilly surroundings, large, brown stones form a perimeter to contain the Great Library, constructed of the same, though slightly smaller, smooth stones. Unlike the huts and homes surrounding the building, the stones are angled and tightly packed, carved intricately to distribute the weight evenly in the event of harmful weather or earthquakes. Creating these stones takes a tremendous amount of time, which is why they’re only seen in a few locations around the continent, unsurprisingly amongst the wealthy nobility. The building looks enormous as I approach, but that’s mostly from the fact it’s built into the hillside. My father used to tell me it was built this way to give visitors and outsiders the impression it’s presence is daunting and larger than life, but he reminded me that, like many things, this was just for appearances; the architects took advantage of the terrain to create an imposing and intimidating structure. Practically speaking, though, it was built at a site for the advantageous purpose that its proximity is to a cave dwelling that keeps an even temperature and humidity year round. This prevents the quipus from becoming brittle and breaking. Whether that was intended or happenstance is anyone’s guess.
Inside the building are rows and rows of stored quipus with their assortment of colors, representing counts for agriculture, armies, and other news and information. Robed men slowly pace about the aisles, attentively inspecting the threaded mechanisms and checking for flaws. I scan the room and eventually locate who I seek. I approach an elderly gentleman with a slightly gaunt face and thinning, white hair, his cheeks and jaw whiskered in white. I gently place my hand upon his shoulder to get his attention, and he turns his entire body toward me. The confused expression on his face quickly lights up when he sees and recognizes me.
“I know I’m old, but there’s not a council meeting I’m forgetting, is there?” he asks. A sly smirk slowly slides from the corners of his mouth denoting the tone behind his question.
“Your memory is sharper than any weapon I’ve ever wielded, Upachu. Or, at least, that’s what my father always said.”
“Your father always knew how to pour honey into one’s ears,” he says, his eyes cast downward slightly and his smirk turning into pursed lips as he briefly reflects on the memories spurred on by this sentiment.
“So what brings you to the Great Library, Teqosa?” he asks, after a short chuckle. “Surely, it can’t be to count the color variety of all the quipus. They did teach you how to count at the military academy, correct?”
I know Upachu is trying to elicit a laugh from me, but the matter at hand is too pressing for me to be amused. Seeing this, Upachu stares at me with his large, chestnut-colored eyes, bracing himself for the request I’m about to ask of him.
“I came to seek your advice. You provided my father with guidance over the years, and I hope you can do the same for me.”
He raises an eyebrow and initially maintains his smirk, but his face grows concerned, undoubtedly mirroring the expression on mine. It takes me a moment to collect my thoughts and figure out how to broach this subject. During the travel from Qapauma to my home, I pondered the task given to me by Achutli, the Arbiter. It commands a lot from our people—if it can even be achieved—and it doesn’t sit well with me. Because of this, I haven’t done anything about it, but also, I honestly don’t know how to go about conducting what’s been asked of me. I’m a warrior, not an explorer or politician, so how would I know where to begin? Fortunately, I wasn’t given a deadline, but I can only imagine Achutli will want results at some point. It’s taken much deliberation, not wanting to burden anyone else with what’s been ordered of me, but I ultimately determine I need some guidance, and if anyone knows how to handle such a situation, it’s someone wisened and experienced with Tapeu politics, like Upachu.
“I was given orders by Achutli,” I begin. Upachu furrows his brow and looks at me as if he will gain better understanding of my words by looking at them departing my lips. “I’ve been withholding this since I’ve arrived in Hilaqta because I’m uncertain what to do. He expects us to share our knowledge of the Timuaq and transport all quipus we have pertaining to their use of magic to be examined and stored in the capital.”
I let the words hang in the air. Upachu nods slowly and solemnly as his eyes look to the ground in consideration of what I have said. His hands remain folded behind his back and he starts to pace between a row of quipus.
“I can’t imagine anyone in the capital knows how to read quipus” he says, half-musing, half-asking.
“No,” I sigh. “Therefore, Achutli requires us to send scholars to help inform and carry out any research tasks.” Upachu looks more concerned than when the conversation started.
“And so I’m predicting your question for me is, should we adhere to the orders?” he asks in a slightly hushed tone.
I nod. “I’m not one to disobey orders, but there’s something… off about this. Why not keep the quipus where they are, in Hilaqta, and research from here?”
“I also predict Achutli didn’t get into any specifics, or state why he is ordering this of the Qantua people, yes?”
“Once again, you are correct. He was vague, and his council were all stone faced as he gave his command. I couldn’t get a read on any of them, and I don’t trust them enough to inquire details about the plans. It’s quickly become all politics there, full of whispers and rumors the moment Achutli took power, and I don’t want to be a victim of politics and gossip.”
“Nobility has always thrived and consolidated power through rumors,” he says. “Anyway, this command shows just how little Achutli understands how quipus are utilized, and how we conduct our research. All of our knowledge is passed down and told to upcoming scholars, and the scholars store the knowledge in their memories. Sure, the quipus aid us in recalling the information, but what does he expect to learn by obtaining them?”
“That, I’m unsure,” I say. “What knowledge is even stored here? And why does he want it? It seems out of the ordinary, as if there’s an ulterior motive.”
He stops pacing, frozen in place as he considers the thought he just finished. With a perplexed expression on his face, he turns only his head to look at me.
“Let us discuss this in a more secluded location,” he says, his eyes scanning the room and spotting multiple men slowly pacing between the stacks of quipus and examining them attentively. They are all of varying age and size, but they appear to be conducting their work diligently. However, I understand Upachu’s concern; though Achutli is a new ruler, we must assume there are factions within factions, and loyalties may shift if people feel there’s an opportunity to seize power. Though I doubt any are present in the Great Library, there is no need to take an unnecessary risk.
Upachu calmly walks toward the back of the large room, weaving in and out of the rows and stacks of quipus as if it were business as usual. I concentrate on appearing to be just as calm, attempting to project a stoic expression and not lead anyone onto us. Internally, however, multiple thoughts race around my mind. What does Upachu know? What does Achutli know? I thought this place merely stored records of crops and livestock; could there be something more to this place?
A sliver of light is cast on the floor as we walk away from the cave-like area of the room and toward the front with the intricately assembled stone walls. To the right, there is a subtle opening that could be easily missed had it not been for the setting sun leaving a glowing, golden trail on the ground. Upachu casually walks through the opening and into a small, compact garden, isolated and solitary from the rest of the grounds, the aromas of the well-maintained flowers flood my nose. It’s peaceful out here, only the wind can be heard instead of the bustling crowds just outside the walls to the main entrance. I didn’t believe we were talking for such a long time, however the purplish hues of the evening sky tell me it’s much later than I thought. After inspecting the area, Upachu turns to face me, a serious, concerned expression rests on his weathered face. He clutches the collar of his tunic with his right hand and shifts his fingers around to feel the fibers of the garment.
“He’s after the secrets the Eleven were after,” he concludes. This statement puzzles me, seemingly coming out of nowhere, and I likely failed to disguise my confusion.
“How can you be sure? And why would he seek that?” I ask. “What were they even seeking, aside from a way to defeat the Timuaq? If there’s something to be sought, are you insinuating it's for a devious purpose?” A million other questions swirl in my mind, particularly concerning the confidence and assuredness in the tone of his voice. The fact that he came to this deduction after our relatively brief conversation is alarming and unsettling at the very least. Upachu strokes the tiny green and deep purple leaves of a stem leading up to the red petals of the tall, thin plant.
“I can’t be certain. It is possible he could simply ensure there is a guardian to keep the Timuaq imprisoned. There is also the possibility he could be seeking the power for himself. But all the tales mention how the Eleven searched for an ultimate power that would defeat the Timuaq, and using this knowledge, sacrificed themselves so that our people can be free. If the secret is still out there, someone will try to find it.”
Upachu walks toward a bench in the middle of the garden and sits down with a slight groan. He sits as though the weight of this conversation is too much for his bones to bear standing up. He resumes clutching the collar of his outfit and looks up to take in the view of the endless sky.
“But how did you jump to the idea that he’s seeking the knowledge sought by the Eleven?” I ask, perhaps a bit too forcefully and accusatorially, though I’m genuinely mystified at how effortlessly he came to this presumption. I may only have a professional loyalty to Achutli, who is taking on the role of Arbiter while we reconstruct the continent, but it’s difficult for me to come to the same assumption as Upachu. “Is there something you know about Achutli or the Tapeu that leads you to this?”
“It’s a tale as old as time,” he says with a sigh and the verbal equivalent of an eye roll. “A seat of power becomes vacant and someone inevitably seeks to control it for themselves, for good, using whatever means necessary.” I mention his view is overly cynical, but Upachu just shrugs off my remark.
“Is such information here, in Hilaqta?” I ask. Upachu looks around conspiratorially, an intensity in his stare when he concludes the coast is clear.
“I can’t be certain,” he says—once again, mind you, and this causes me to feel I’ve approached the wrong person with this matter after all, “but there are stories that the Eleven began their search in Qantua.”
I scoff in disbelief. This is feeling like I’ve made a huge error in my calculations. Upachu was supposed to be scholarly and sagacious, but all his conclusions have been drawn from pure speculation. Looking at him, there’s a deep concern on Upachu’s face, and he begins rapping his fingers on the seat of the bench.
“If all you say is true,” I say with skepticism coating my words, “why isn’t he seeking such precious knowledge himself? Why has he assigned someone else to make the proclamation and execute his order? If it was for a devious purpose, then why has he not kept this purpose hidden? What’s the advantage of putting this plan in the open?” I take some steps closer to him, but remain standing next to where he is seated, looking out onto the grounds and observing how the colors of the flowers seamlessly blend into the sky.
“Maybe he’s trying to buy time to execute his plan while we’re standing around guessing his intentions and taking in the flora,” Upachu says. From the corner of my eye, I can see he is also taking in the view rather than looking up at me to speak.
“And regarding ordering someone else to accomplish the task, perhaps he’s busy, what, with now having to rule over the many bickering factions of the continent,” I postulate. “Delegating tasks to the different factions, getting them to work together to help form unity through a shared purpose?”
I pivot my head to look down at Upachu. He doesn’t seem convinced by my reasoning, furrowing his brow deeper and pursing his lips while in thought, his fingers tapping much quicker now.
“Look, I don’t particularly trust the man any more than you do,” I say, “especially when he thrust himself upon the throne and declared himself the Arbiter before the seat got cold. His intentions may not be good, certainly—that is always a possibility with Achutli. However, I’m not one for directly disobeying a command, Upachu. You know this. And I’ve stalled long enough; I don’t want to draw any more suspicion than I likely already have. So how do we give him what he seeks while simultaneously… not?”
Pondering for a moment, Upachu turns to me from his seated position, nods, and then lets out a long, drawn out sigh.
“I will have my people work on relocating the quipus,” he says, with a hint of dread. “We can deliver the agriculture and resident accounting while stating we are searching for the others that may have been damaged during the war, which is why it has taken so much time to assemble. We don’t have to mention that none have been damaged, to our knowledge, of course. Hopefully that will buy us some time until we find out if the knowledge sought by the Eleven still exists and figure out what to do with that.“
“You’re willing to risk punishment from the capital, and all based on a hunch? Why?” Now I’m even more perplexed. I’m not sure what advice or guidance I was assuming to receive from Upachu—perhaps some kind of vague and sagely paternal wisdom, or hoping there wasn’t any worthwhile information in the Great Library or Qantua at all—but it certainly wasn’t deception.
“What other choice do I have?” he says with a shrug, as if he’s conceding to the inevitability of this plan.
“So you are certain that’s the knowledge Achutli seeks?” I ask, not as a genuine question, but more so to convince myself of its plausibility. Upachu stands up from the bench, letting out a small groan as he lifts himself up, and then rests a hand on my shoulder. His face could read as one of condescension if one didn’t know him as I do, but I recognize it as sincere and paternal.
“Teqosa, I have been on Pachil for countless solar cycles,” he says, his voice now soothing and calm, almost resigned to some fate only known to him. “At this point in my life, there is only so much that this world can present to me that would truly surprise me. Humans tend to be predictable creatures. Their personalities may all differ, but their needs, wants, and desires all remain the same. Humans like Achutli will always want power because they believe that is how they can earn respect. Your sister knew this about him, and deep down, you know this about him, too.”
I know Upachu didn’t mean to do so maliciously, but his mention of my sister is a bit of a punch to my gut. Maybe it’s because I continue questioning how he’s arrived at his conclusion, so it’s easy for me to feel he made this statement to throw me off and rattle me enough to momentarily back away from inquiring what he knows. Either way, I get a pit in my stomach thinking about my sister and what has become of her. Scenes involving me and my sister flood my memory—moments of heartbreak and joy, of frustration and forgiveness, of callousness and compassion—but after a quick second, I force myself to brush off the emotions and resume planning our next steps.
“Ok, where do we even begin with finding their discovery?” I ask. “I don’t believe much is known about what was found, or where it can be found, and it’s not as though they notified anyone of their intentions when it was happening; everything has been left to the storytellers. Besides that, they all perished. This could be a fruitless mission, or a suicide mission if the knowledge exists and is that dangerous.”
“That’s probably why the task has been handed down to you, so that you’ll be the one to meet that fate instead. Maybe you’re right: we should allow Achutli to discover this on his own, then,” Upachu says with a slight smirk. I remark with just how morbid that thought is, no matter how playful he’s attempting to be.
“We can go to the Timuaq temple,” Upachu says, becoming more serious as he discusses the plan. “Someone there might know if the Eleven had visited and what they sought. And if not, perhaps they could lead us in the right direction. It’s nearly a half-day’s trip to get there. We’ll depart Hilaqta in the morning.”
With this, Upachu nods his head in affirmation as if the matter has been decided and there’s nothing further to discuss. He walks back toward the Great Library with his short, shuffling steps, leaving me behind to contemplate everything discussed in solitude. I’m not sure how he came to this conclusion with such certainty, and my instincts tell me there’s more to what he is letting on. My father had trusted him with his life, and I’m inclined to do the same out of habit and proclivity, but even my hunch isn’t certain about what to make of this development. While I’m confident there’s something being unsaid, I’m even more confident that I will have to keep Upachu at arm’s length and not let him onto my suspicions. Perhaps I can glean more information during our travels to the temple he spoke of, the Temple of the Titans.
