“Where do I even begin? I suppose the beginning.”
Upachu groans as he seats himself beneath a tree away from our campfire. We stand out amidst the backdrop of pure black, the night sky barely flecked with stars. Qaschiqe may appear asleep, but we’ve taken no chances, and have hopefully moved far enough away to be out of earshot. Upachu pats the wooden chest and takes a deep breath, eyes cast to the ground as he collects himself for the story he’s about to tell. It’s difficult to anticipate what he’s going to say to me, and how difficult it will be for me to hear.
“When your sister approached me after your father…” Upachu starts, then pauses as he reconsiders. “No, I think I need to start before that, even.”
“It begins with the Atima hero, Sualset. If you recall, the Atima were heavily targeted by the Timuaq due to their propensity for influencing many cultural and ritualistic ceremonies in Pachil. The Timuaq wanted to cease any such practices not only to prevent individual expression, but because they feared it would inspire and encourage rebellious tendencies that could hinder their ability to rule effectively. Any faction that would stand up against Timuaq rule were the first to be annihilated.
“So the Atima were natural enemies of the Timuaq. Every ceremony they conducted was seen as an act of rebellion, upholding the traditions that maintained our peoples’ heritage in spite of the Timuaq wanting them erased from Pachil. Though the Atima were adept in cultural and intellectual affairs, they were no match for the Timuaq’s brute strength and military force. It was fairly easy for the titans to decimate the Atima lands and make an example out of them for what happens if you stand to oppose their rule.”
Upachu pauses, and I can see he’s preparing himself for what comes next. He slinks into his oversized robe and shifts his weight where he sits, rubbing the back of his neck, still refusing to make eye contact with me. He decides to grab a chunk of wood the size of a forearm, then unsheathes a knife, simple in construction without any lavish decorations or engravings. Even in the dim light, small flecks of rust appear on the blade. After finding a stone nearby, he begins striking it with the knife to sharpen it.
“The Atima who were able to escape the decimation found their way into Qantua and Aimue,” he continues. “To prevent persecution from the Timuaq, they stayed out of sight and blended in with the factions that accepted them. This, of course, still brought animosity from the Timuaq onto these factions, as you well know. But with the factions the Atima joined being more military-minded, the rulers knew they couldn’t exert their might as easily as they could when the Atima were isolated.
“It was during this time when Sualset connected with your sister. I never knew how they met—your father never told me that much. Knowing her, she was likely assisting the refugees and getting them food and water, and undoubtedly met Sualset that way. But as if she wasn’t rebellious in nature before, her friendship with Sualset most definitely spurred it on. Only the gods knew what fate the Timuaq brought upon themselves by destroying the Atima city of Wichanaqta!”
Upachu pauses sharpening the blade and chuckles at the memories that thought brings, recounting such occasions to himself and smiling ever so slightly with subtle pride and fondness. Knowing about what results from my sister’s meeting with Sualset, I find Upachu’s cheerful recollection insensitive and discourteous. Before I voice my displeasure, however, I force myself to give Upachu the benefit of the doubt.
“I recall hearing about their bond,” I say after a long pause from Upachu, attempting to bring him back on course. I can see he mentally returns to the present, though his eyes are fixed onto a spot on the ground.
“It was a powerful sisterhood,” Upachu recalls. “Once united, they were inseparable. They shared a spirit, and though they were certainly strong and capable apart, they were nearly unstoppable together.”
Whether Upachu knew it or not, the words stung. Though I know my sister and I grew apart, and to this day I have difficulty forgiving her for what she did, I’m nagged with an irresistible twinge of jealously. She and I once shared a bond, and I wish we could have reignited our strong relationship, despite our disagreements. Maybe that’s hindsight. Still, upon hearing Upachu’s account of their friendship, I wish I had the opportunity to rekindle our kinship.
“Anyway,” Upachu continues before I can speak, picking up the block of wood. He tosses the chunk in his hands a few times, then begins whittling it as he says, “it was after they joined forces that a plan began to form. Your father would lament to me how she was going to get herself killed, publicly contesting every Timuaq law as she was doing. However… well, I don’t have to tell you that she didn’t just put her life at risk, but also that of your father’s. I was very sorry to hear what they did to him, all because of her actions.”
Upachu stops carving with the knife and finally looks up at me, and I notice a glint in his eyes as they fill with tears. I still want to object to some of what he’s said previously, but now I find it difficult to do so when I see him welling up with emotion. Reluctantly, I rub his shoulder to console him as he looks down at the lumuli chest.
“She would tell me later it was for the greater good,” Upachu says with a shaky voice, “but how can it be for good when it results in someone needlessly dying from what you’ve done? And not just anyone, but your own father?”
It’s still difficult to hear to this day. Her rebellious acts made her a target of the Timuaq, who were eager to quash the budding rebellion before it fully blossomed. Once they realized who her familial ties were, they tracked our father down and tortured him in public, demanding that he tell them where the rebel cell was hiding. He never told, never uttered a word, and ultimately they killed him in the center of Hilaqta. I was too far away, training at the Maqanuiache in the Tapeu city of Chalaqta, and once word reached me, I was able to go into hiding to prevent facing retaliation and a similar fate. For a while, at least. It kept me off the front lines, however, until the fervor died down and I could become useful in the fight. All that wasted time… I had trouble dealing with the situation my sister put me in—it’s one of the matters I argued with her about, and some of the last words I spoke to her—and by the time I could actually forgive her, it was too late.
Surprisingly, the llama, with its hooves tucked underneath its body and curled up to keep warm, lifts its head at the sound of Upachu’s stifled sobs and positions itself to lay next to him. If I didn’t know better, and despite what I’ve witnessed during our trip so far, I’d believe the creature is actually showing a modicum of sympathy.
“Right, but the papyrus,” Upachu says, taking a moment to pet the llama a few times before wiping his nose. Once he calms himself, he returns to whittling, and I can see a head begin to form at the top of the block, with long grooves twisting to resemble strands of hair. “The consequences of Sualset’s and your sister’s actions against the Timuaq didn’t deter them. In fact, it only made them more aggressive. I needn’t tell you that it nearly put all of Qantua at risk of retaliation by the Timuaq.
“Understanding this, she comes to me one night, with Sualset, at the Great Library. She tells me that Sualset believes the Timuaq may have overlooked some key artifact or relic that could empower them to better resist the Timuaq rule. Sualset presented an object just like what we found in that chest, Teqosa. I can’t be certain it is different than or the same as the ones we have here, but it had the same texture and similar glyphs. Sualset recalled hearing about what this papyrus contained, about the power it could reveal, although she wasn’t quite sure how to achieve it.
“I grew nervous about what she meant by ‘power’. The Timuaq already possessed supernatural abilities, but could the glyphs on the papyrus mutate them into the titans? I wasn’t certain at the time, so I was hesitant to encourage them, at first. Sualset has heard stories of people in other factions who might be able to assist them in unlocking the power of the glyphs. Shamans and priests, or whatever each individual faction uses to designate their spiritual figures.”
The wooden chunk begins transforming into a figurine, facial features start to emerge as he works the blade around the ellipsoid. Upachu is carving faster now, eyebrows furrowed as he maneuvers the blade with more intensity and concentration. Yet he doesn’t break his conversational flow, his voice fluctuating depending on how quickly he’s working.
“Knowing this, the only advice I could give them was to distribute the papyrus in multiple locations in Pachil once they completed their quest. My fear was that, if the Timuaq discovered they possessed these powerful items, they would come down on the Atima and anyone affiliated with them, potentially wiping us all out. If the items were hidden and spread out, there would be a possibility of recovering the information, should the Timuaq attack.
“Sualset had heard discussions of not wanting these items to get into the wrong hands, which is why she had retrieved them and snuck them out of the city during the Timuaq attack. So she agreed to spreading them all over the land, leaving them with someone or someplace she could deem reliable and trustworthy, safe. She says she and your sister were going to travel covertly under the shroud of night to begin, but not before learning what was contained on these ‘scrolls’, as Sualset called them. I didn’t know what this meant, and I pleaded with them to consider not just their safety, but the safety of the Qiapu and Aimue people, reminding her of who was already sacrificed and what they could possibly do to you, Teqosa, if they found out of your relation.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell Upachu that they did, in fact, know of our familial ties, and I did suffer as a result, in the war—something I would tell my sister about when our paths happened to cross much, much later in time. However, I didn’t want to upset Upachu further, and decided against this. Perhaps I will share it at another time.
“She never said initially where they were headed,” he continues, now shaping the body of the statuette and splitting off a long strip that he has formed into a spear or a rod of some kind. “Supposedly Sualset possessed one piece of the information they needed, and your sister said they would seek out the rest before distributing the ’scrolls’, then concoct a plan for using what they learned to defeat the Timuaq. This seemed vague, as though she was believing a fable to actually be real and possible, and I worried that the death of your father had driven her to lunacy. However, the two went off on their quest.
“Many lunar cycles passed, and I feared the worst. I would talk to anyone who may have had a connection to her, to see if there was any news on your sister’s whereabouts, or just to know she was merely alive. Nobody had heard anything, and we carried on with our lives. I’m ashamed to admit, but one benefit to their departure from Hilaqta meant that the Timuaq began to cease punishing our people for your sister and Sualset’s crimes, and there was a tenuous peace.”
Upachu meticulously forms a hand on the figure, then slides the pole through the wooden fingers as if the statue was holding the rod. At the top was a point, making it appear that this is a warrior holding a spear, stoically looking straight ahead.
“Seasons had passed,” Upachu says, “and I started to forget her, not worrying about your sister’s safety as frequently. Then one day, she returns—this time, with others. She says they nearly have all the pieces, but need to decipher a few more things. I ask, ‘what do you need to decipher? What have you already discovered?’ And she tells me they are ancient glyphs, from before even the factions that are on Pachil now, containing the power that will defeat the Timuaq.”
“Is this how the Eleven were able to receive their gifts?” I ask. No one knows for certain how they were able to obtain their supernatural abilities; all the tall tales and spiritual preaching about them states that they were chosen by the gods of Pachil to protect the world from the Timuaq, or that they had always had their powers, but it wasn’t until Pachil was being threatened that the capabilities fully emerged. It’s all hypothetical, albeit the ramblings have spawned numerous religions worshiping the Eleven—some even elevate the Eleven above the originally revered deities.
“While they never specified what was precisely translated from those glyphs, one could easily assume based on context that that’s what they were,” he says, carving the figure’s other hand into a fist.
“Do you believe this is the power Achutli and Anqatil seek?” I ask.
“If you were a power-hungry noble who either imposed himself onto the throne, or are of close proximity to it, would you seek this power?” Upachu rhetorically asks, with a slight smirk sliding up a corner of his mouth as he whittles more definition into the figure’s arm. Though the mannerism is irritating, his conclusion is sound. Achutli decided he would become ruler, and if he feels his claim to lead is being threatened, he will do anything to retain control of the land, no doubt about that. It’s easy to assume the advisors he’d employ would be equally power hungry, as well.
“How would Achutli and Anqatil have learned about this, besides witnessing the Eleven marching off to fight the Timuaq head on?” I ask.
“That,” Upachu says, “is something only they will know, I’m afraid. My best guess? They assume the legends are steeped in fact and seek out the source of the abilities for themselves. Or, more likely than that, they want to test and see if there’s any validity in the stories.”
“Where were they able to learn the meaning of the glyphs? Should we be worried that Achutli or Anqatil may have sent more agents to these other locations, as well?” I ask.
“The Arbiter very well could have,” he says, “it’s difficult to ascertain. I’d believe it’s safe to assume that he has, to increase the likelihood that he comes across the source of their powers. As for Anqatil, she’s unfamiliar to me, and I can only make assumptions of her access to such resources.”
It’s deeply concerning, but Upachu is right. The best way forward for us would be to proceed as though Achutli, and possibly Anqatil, have multiple agents sent to search for these glyphs, or whatever means allowed the Eleven to obtain their abilities.
“As to your first question,” Upachu continues, now carving more detail into the statuette’s body, crafting shapes and patterns to give the appearance that the figure is wearing a tunic, “your sister wouldn’t say where the papyrus was deciphered when I asked at first, not wanting to risk my safety by giving me information that the Timuaq would be after. However, I convinced her I was already in danger due to my affiliation with her as is, seeing as she has already frequented the Great Library, and who knows what eyes are watching her every move. So she relented, albeit answering in very vague terms, mentioning she had traveled south to Iaqutaq and sailed from there.”
“That’s not overly helpful,” I say, disheartened. “The waters are a vast place; even traveling the Haqu Minsa alone could land her anywhere, from Achope to Ulxa, even the lands of the Auilqa.”
“That is a fair observation,” Upachu says, “however, there is one source who might have information while also calling Iaqutaq his home.”
I scoff, “you’re not seriously suggesting–“
“Qaschiqe is from Iaqutaq and has traveled to and from there frequently,” Upachu says, holding the knife up in the air and waving it as he makes his point. “Since he mentioned interacting with someone in Iaqutaq with the knowledge of the destroyed outpost, he might provide us with their name and how to contact them.”
“How has he proven his trustworthiness? He tried to steal back the chest with the papyrus! If we travel with him, how can we be sure he won’t attempt to do so again?”
“Ha!” Upachu chortles, then returns to carving more of the figure’s torso. “There’s absolutely no way we can trust him as long as the chest is in his presence. However, we can entice him to assist us with some… let’s say ‘white lies’. We ask him what he knows with the promise of uniting him with the chest. Dangle the carrot in front of the llama, so to speak.”
“I’m not willing to use deception to get results,” I say flatly. “That’s not how I like to operate. He’s likely already anxious about us possessing the chest, wanting to deliver it to Anqatil, and will probably strike again, so no need to maneuver around the issue.”
“Fine,” Upachu says almost as a pout. “He owes us for saving his life anyway. We can simply interrogate him until he gives us the answers we’re after.”
“You mean I will interrogate him,” I clarify.
“Semantics,” Upachu says, shaping the bottom of the block into the figure’s legs. “The result is the same: we need information, his life was spared, so he owes us. We find out the contact we can speak to in Iaqutaq. And then we proceed with caution.”
“He may not give us the information easily,” I posit, “due to his family’s safety. We might need to intervene if the situation takes a turn for the worse.”
“There’s the carrot we can dangle, then!” Upachu says, a little too excitedly for my liking. I glower at him, but he disregards me, pleased with his plan.
“What about the other man he named? Iquna?” I ask. “He supposedly knows of the papyrus, but has conveniently gone missing.”
“The more people Qaschiqe tells of the papyrus,” Upachu says, “the greater the danger we may find ourselves in while we possess it, if the wrong people catch an inkling of what we know and what these items might be. He may have been attempting to notify people as a measure of security—if Qaschiqe were to go missing, someone somewhere could attempt to draw some conclusions, I suppose. Still seems reckless to me. We should see what is actually going on with this Iquna fellow.”
“Do you believe Qaschiqe or Iquna knows what these glyphs mean?” I ask. “Or at least knows of them? It’s possible that either might have heard about the papyrus and went searching for answers, but I find it extremely suspicious that no casualties were accounted for at the fire, yet Iquna has gone missing.”
“I’m starting to become more and more convinced you’re right about that,” Upachu says, taking a moment to stroke his chin as he considers my theory. “That I only know as little as I do when I’ve directly conversed with the Eleven makes me believe that anyone with the slightest information must know more than they’re letting on. Qaschiqe may know more, but this Iquna person could have feigned ignorance and is up to something nefarious.”
As Upachu finishes up the bottom of the figure’s tunic, I start mulling over all the information he’s discussed. Discovering what these glyphs mean, and who created them, has to be a priority. But who can we trust enough to inquire about them? Discussing them will undoubtedly alert people of their existence and motivate malevolent individuals—which could be Achutli or Anqatil, for all we know. How do we go about this covertly?
More than that, Upachu was one of the last people to see the Eleven—and my sister—before they started their quest to defeat the Timuaq. It would have been a time when they were still relatively innocent, before the weight of Pachil rested on their collective shoulders. One of the last moments they could be their human selves before embarking on a hero’s journey, their lives dedicated solely for one purpose. I would’ve liked to have seen that.
“I still dream of her, you know,” I tell Upachu. “My sister, that is.” It’s the first time I’ve told anyone about my dreams, and admittedly, it’s difficult to do. Upachu nods contemplatively, halting his whittling for a moment.
“At first, they were just glimpses of past moments and shared experiences. Simple things like hunting or playing together. Fishing at our favorite spot. Running around Hilaqta and terrorizing the poor traveling merchants. Going on epic conquests in the hills of the countryside. But lately they’ve become more vivid, more lucid, at locations I’m not certain we were ever together before. And we have conversations, discussions we never had while we were both alive. They’re limited—nothing more than a few sentences for the brief moment we’re talking—but they’ve gotten clearer and clearer, where I can hear what she’s saying instead of only seeing her lips move, but nothing comes out.”
“I can’t tell how much control I have over these dreams, or if I’m actually speaking to her, though it feels real when they occur. But if I see Entilqan in these dreams again, if I could ask her just one question about their journey and the papyrus, what question would you suggest I ask? What do you think is the one thing I need to know?"
Upachu, shaping the feet and nearly finished with the figurine, stops for a moment and thinks, looking off to the side of the campfire for answers. When he finds one, he points the knife at me, bobbing it up and down as he speaks.
"Teqosa, despite how things may have ended, there’s a profound bond between you and your sister—the dreams that connect you to Entilqan are proof of that. Supposing you can control what happens in your dreams, I would ask, 'What was the driving force that gave you the strength to make the ultimate sacrifice?' Sure, we know that she was a stubborn, determined individual who sought to help others, but there must’ve been something that led her to decide to do what she did. Seek to understand the deep convictions that guided her actions and let her voice guide you on your own path. Though she may not be physically present, her spirit lives on in your dreams and in your heart. There’s a solace and wisdom that can be offered by such dreams.”
It’s hard to reflect upon Upachu’s words, having to continue acknowledging Entilqan’s death—the people of Pachil’s regular and continued religious worship of the Eleven makes it even more so. Still, he makes a good point, and I suddenly see that I’ve been approaching my demeanor and exchanges with my sister from the wrong perspective. For too long, I’ve been taking her decisions personally and only considering how they’ve affected me. Though I should still acknowledge my feelings to an extent, I should be carrying forward her legacy while honoring the sacrifices made by her and the Eleven in their battle against the Timuaq. Something drove her, and them, to make the difficult decision. Perhaps this papyrus will give me the nudge in the right direction to better understand.
Upachu inspects his wooden creation, shifting it around in his hands and adjusting the angles to look at it. After taking some time, he eventually nods with a slight grin, chin out while making slight modifications to the nearly finished product. The statue gazes back at him with confidence, holding the spear upright as if ready to accept Upachu’s orders.
We both look up and see the sky beginning to brighten, the blues warming up with a slight gold peeking above the horizon. I look over at Qaschiqe, still sleeping soundly and snoring sporadically. Though the night has begun to leave, it has been a profoundly long day—between traveling, extinguishing the flames of a burning temple, revealing a mysterious chest with ancient glyphs, chasing down a thief of said chest, interrogating said thief, and the lengthy discussion of my sister, the Eleven, and what our next steps should be, “exhausted” doesn’t begin to describe how tired I feel.
After stating how we should at least attempt to get some rest, Upachu falls asleep instantly, mouth agape and snoring loud enough to visibly irritate the llama once again.
I’m roused from my short-lived slumber by the sound of approaching footsteps. Jolted awake, my eyes quickly survey the scene, scanning for any threat. Sword at my side, as my glaive is stored in the cart, too far out of reach, I clutch my weapon and sit upright. A group of men approach, nearly all wearing a red cloth covering and distorting their faces along with slate gray robes, except for one man, whose face is defiantly undisguised. His features are slight and gaunt, bald with arched and furrowed brows that emphasize his piercing stare. Those who aren’t carrying torches wield swords, standing imposingly before me and Upachu.
“You will hand over the chest,” the man says with a deep, resonant voice, his measured enunciation of each word is chilling and menacing, “or you will die.”
“Where do I even begin? I suppose the beginning.”
Upachu groans as he seats himself beneath a tree away from our campfire. We stand out amidst the backdrop of pure black, the night sky barely flecked with stars. Qaschiqe may appear asleep, but we’ve taken no chances, and have hopefully moved far enough away to be out of earshot. Upachu pats the wooden chest and takes a deep breath, eyes cast to the ground as he collects himself for the story he’s about to tell. It’s difficult to anticipate what he’s going to say to me, and how difficult it will be for me to hear.
“When your sister approached me after your father…” Upachu starts, then pauses as he reconsiders. “No, I think I need to start before that, even.”
“It begins with the Atima hero, Sualset. If you recall, the Atima were heavily targeted by the Timuaq due to their propensity for influencing many cultural and ritualistic ceremonies in Pachil. The Timuaq wanted to cease any such practices not only to prevent individual expression, but because they feared it would inspire and encourage rebellious tendencies that could hinder their ability to rule effectively. Any faction that would stand up against Timuaq rule were the first to be annihilated.
“So the Atima were natural enemies of the Timuaq. Every ceremony they conducted was seen as an act of rebellion, upholding the traditions that maintained our peoples’ heritage in spite of the Timuaq wanting them erased from Pachil. Though the Atima were adept in cultural and intellectual affairs, they were no match for the Timuaq’s brute strength and military force. It was fairly easy for the titans to decimate the Atima lands and make an example out of them for what happens if you stand to oppose their rule.”
Upachu pauses, and I can see he’s preparing himself for what comes next. He slinks into his oversized robe and shifts his weight where he sits, rubbing the back of his neck, still refusing to make eye contact with me. He decides to grab a chunk of wood the size of a forearm, then unsheathes a knife, simple in construction without any lavish decorations or engravings. Even in the dim light, small flecks of rust appear on the blade. After finding a stone nearby, he begins striking it with the knife to sharpen it.
“The Atima who were able to escape the decimation found their way into Qantua and Aimue,” he continues. “To prevent persecution from the Timuaq, they stayed out of sight and blended in with the factions that accepted them. This, of course, still brought animosity from the Timuaq onto these factions, as you well know. But with the factions the Atima joined being more military-minded, the rulers knew they couldn’t exert their might as easily as they could when the Atima were isolated.
“It was during this time when Sualset connected with your sister. I never knew how they met—your father never told me that much. Knowing her, she was likely assisting the refugees and getting them food and water, and undoubtedly met Sualset that way. But as if she wasn’t rebellious in nature before, her friendship with Sualset most definitely spurred it on. Only the gods knew what fate the Timuaq brought upon themselves by destroying the Atima city of Wichanaqta!”
Upachu pauses sharpening the blade and chuckles at the memories that thought brings, recounting such occasions to himself and smiling ever so slightly with subtle pride and fondness. Knowing about what results from my sister’s meeting with Sualset, I find Upachu’s cheerful recollection insensitive and discourteous. Before I voice my displeasure, however, I force myself to give Upachu the benefit of the doubt.
“I recall hearing about their bond,” I say after a long pause from Upachu, attempting to bring him back on course. I can see he mentally returns to the present, though his eyes are fixed onto a spot on the ground.
“It was a powerful sisterhood,” Upachu recalls. “Once united, they were inseparable. They shared a spirit, and though they were certainly strong and capable apart, they were nearly unstoppable together.”
Whether Upachu knew it or not, the words stung. Though I know my sister and I grew apart, and to this day I have difficulty forgiving her for what she did, I’m nagged with an irresistible twinge of jealously. She and I once shared a bond, and I wish we could have reignited our strong relationship, despite our disagreements. Maybe that’s hindsight. Still, upon hearing Upachu’s account of their friendship, I wish I had the opportunity to rekindle our kinship.
“Anyway,” Upachu continues before I can speak, picking up the block of wood. He tosses the chunk in his hands a few times, then begins whittling it as he says, “it was after they joined forces that a plan began to form. Your father would lament to me how she was going to get herself killed, publicly contesting every Timuaq law as she was doing. However… well, I don’t have to tell you that she didn’t just put her life at risk, but also that of your father’s. I was very sorry to hear what they did to him, all because of her actions.”
Upachu stops carving with the knife and finally looks up at me, and I notice a glint in his eyes as they fill with tears. I still want to object to some of what he’s said previously, but now I find it difficult to do so when I see him welling up with emotion. Reluctantly, I rub his shoulder to console him as he looks down at the lumuli chest.
“She would tell me later it was for the greater good,” Upachu says with a shaky voice, “but how can it be for good when it results in someone needlessly dying from what you’ve done? And not just anyone, but your own father?”
It’s still difficult to hear to this day. Her rebellious acts made her a target of the Timuaq, who were eager to quash the budding rebellion before it fully blossomed. Once they realized who her familial ties were, they tracked our father down and tortured him in public, demanding that he tell them where the rebel cell was hiding. He never told, never uttered a word, and ultimately they killed him in the center of Hilaqta. I was too far away, training at the Maqanuiache in the Tapeu city of Chalaqta, and once word reached me, I was able to go into hiding to prevent facing retaliation and a similar fate. For a while, at least. It kept me off the front lines, however, until the fervor died down and I could become useful in the fight. All that wasted time… I had trouble dealing with the situation my sister put me in—it’s one of the matters I argued with her about, and some of the last words I spoke to her—and by the time I could actually forgive her, it was too late.
Surprisingly, the llama, with its hooves tucked underneath its body and curled up to keep warm, lifts its head at the sound of Upachu’s stifled sobs and positions itself to lay next to him. If I didn’t know better, and despite what I’ve witnessed during our trip so far, I’d believe the creature is actually showing a modicum of sympathy.
“Right, but the papyrus,” Upachu says, taking a moment to pet the llama a few times before wiping his nose. Once he calms himself, he returns to whittling, and I can see a head begin to form at the top of the block, with long grooves twisting to resemble strands of hair. “The consequences of Sualset’s and your sister’s actions against the Timuaq didn’t deter them. In fact, it only made them more aggressive. I needn’t tell you that it nearly put all of Qantua at risk of retaliation by the Timuaq.
“Understanding this, she comes to me one night, with Sualset, at the Great Library. She tells me that Sualset believes the Timuaq may have overlooked some key artifact or relic that could empower them to better resist the Timuaq rule. Sualset presented an object just like what we found in that chest, Teqosa. I can’t be certain it is different than or the same as the ones we have here, but it had the same texture and similar glyphs. Sualset recalled hearing about what this papyrus contained, about the power it could reveal, although she wasn’t quite sure how to achieve it.
“I grew nervous about what she meant by ‘power’. The Timuaq already possessed supernatural abilities, but could the glyphs on the papyrus mutate them into the titans? I wasn’t certain at the time, so I was hesitant to encourage them, at first. Sualset has heard stories of people in other factions who might be able to assist them in unlocking the power of the glyphs. Shamans and priests, or whatever each individual faction uses to designate their spiritual figures.”
The wooden chunk begins transforming into a figurine, facial features start to emerge as he works the blade around the ellipsoid. Upachu is carving faster now, eyebrows furrowed as he maneuvers the blade with more intensity and concentration. Yet he doesn’t break his conversational flow, his voice fluctuating depending on how quickly he’s working.
“Knowing this, the only advice I could give them was to distribute the papyrus in multiple locations in Pachil once they completed their quest. My fear was that, if the Timuaq discovered they possessed these powerful items, they would come down on the Atima and anyone affiliated with them, potentially wiping us all out. If the items were hidden and spread out, there would be a possibility of recovering the information, should the Timuaq attack.
“Sualset had heard discussions of not wanting these items to get into the wrong hands, which is why she had retrieved them and snuck them out of the city during the Timuaq attack. So she agreed to spreading them all over the land, leaving them with someone or someplace she could deem reliable and trustworthy, safe. She says she and your sister were going to travel covertly under the shroud of night to begin, but not before learning what was contained on these ‘scrolls’, as Sualset called them. I didn’t know what this meant, and I pleaded with them to consider not just their safety, but the safety of the Qiapu and Aimue people, reminding her of who was already sacrificed and what they could possibly do to you, Teqosa, if they found out of your relation.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell Upachu that they did, in fact, know of our familial ties, and I did suffer as a result, in the war—something I would tell my sister about when our paths happened to cross much, much later in time. However, I didn’t want to upset Upachu further, and decided against this. Perhaps I will share it at another time.
“She never said initially where they were headed,” he continues, now shaping the body of the statuette and splitting off a long strip that he has formed into a spear or a rod of some kind. “Supposedly Sualset possessed one piece of the information they needed, and your sister said they would seek out the rest before distributing the ’scrolls’, then concoct a plan for using what they learned to defeat the Timuaq. This seemed vague, as though she was believing a fable to actually be real and possible, and I worried that the death of your father had driven her to lunacy. However, the two went off on their quest.
“Many lunar cycles passed, and I feared the worst. I would talk to anyone who may have had a connection to her, to see if there was any news on your sister’s whereabouts, or just to know she was merely alive. Nobody had heard anything, and we carried on with our lives. I’m ashamed to admit, but one benefit to their departure from Hilaqta meant that the Timuaq began to cease punishing our people for your sister and Sualset’s crimes, and there was a tenuous peace.”
Upachu meticulously forms a hand on the figure, then slides the pole through the wooden fingers as if the statue was holding the rod. At the top was a point, making it appear that this is a warrior holding a spear, stoically looking straight ahead.
“Seasons had passed,” Upachu says, “and I started to forget her, not worrying about your sister’s safety as frequently. Then one day, she returns—this time, with others. She says they nearly have all the pieces, but need to decipher a few more things. I ask, ‘what do you need to decipher? What have you already discovered?’ And she tells me they are ancient glyphs, from before even the factions that are on Pachil now, containing the power that will defeat the Timuaq.”
“Is this how the Eleven were able to receive their gifts?” I ask. No one knows for certain how they were able to obtain their supernatural abilities; all the tall tales and spiritual preaching about them states that they were chosen by the gods of Pachil to protect the world from the Timuaq, or that they had always had their powers, but it wasn’t until Pachil was being threatened that the capabilities fully emerged. It’s all hypothetical, albeit the ramblings have spawned numerous religions worshiping the Eleven—some even elevate the Eleven above the originally revered deities.
“While they never specified what was precisely translated from those glyphs, one could easily assume based on context that that’s what they were,” he says, carving the figure’s other hand into a fist.
“Do you believe this is the power Achutli and Anqatil seek?” I ask.
“If you were a power-hungry noble who either imposed himself onto the throne, or are of close proximity to it, would you seek this power?” Upachu rhetorically asks, with a slight smirk sliding up a corner of his mouth as he whittles more definition into the figure’s arm. Though the mannerism is irritating, his conclusion is sound. Achutli decided he would become ruler, and if he feels his claim to lead is being threatened, he will do anything to retain control of the land, no doubt about that. It’s easy to assume the advisors he’d employ would be equally power hungry, as well.
“How would Achutli and Anqatil have learned about this, besides witnessing the Eleven marching off to fight the Timuaq head on?” I ask.
“That,” Upachu says, “is something only they will know, I’m afraid. My best guess? They assume the legends are steeped in fact and seek out the source of the abilities for themselves. Or, more likely than that, they want to test and see if there’s any validity in the stories.”
“Where were they able to learn the meaning of the glyphs? Should we be worried that Achutli or Anqatil may have sent more agents to these other locations, as well?” I ask.
“The Arbiter very well could have,” he says, “it’s difficult to ascertain. I’d believe it’s safe to assume that he has, to increase the likelihood that he comes across the source of their powers. As for Anqatil, she’s unfamiliar to me, and I can only make assumptions of her access to such resources.”
It’s deeply concerning, but Upachu is right. The best way forward for us would be to proceed as though Achutli, and possibly Anqatil, have multiple agents sent to search for these glyphs, or whatever means allowed the Eleven to obtain their abilities.
“As to your first question,” Upachu continues, now carving more detail into the statuette’s body, crafting shapes and patterns to give the appearance that the figure is wearing a tunic, “your sister wouldn’t say where the papyrus was deciphered when I asked at first, not wanting to risk my safety by giving me information that the Timuaq would be after. However, I convinced her I was already in danger due to my affiliation with her as is, seeing as she has already frequented the Great Library, and who knows what eyes are watching her every move. So she relented, albeit answering in very vague terms, mentioning she had traveled south to Iaqutaq and sailed from there.”
“That’s not overly helpful,” I say, disheartened. “The waters are a vast place; even traveling the Haqu Minsa alone could land her anywhere, from Achope to Ulxa, even the lands of the Auilqa.”
“That is a fair observation,” Upachu says, “however, there is one source who might have information while also calling Iaqutaq his home.”
I scoff, “you’re not seriously suggesting–“
“Qaschiqe is from Iaqutaq and has traveled to and from there frequently,” Upachu says, holding the knife up in the air and waving it as he makes his point. “Since he mentioned interacting with someone in Iaqutaq with the knowledge of the destroyed outpost, he might provide us with their name and how to contact them.”
“How has he proven his trustworthiness? He tried to steal back the chest with the papyrus! If we travel with him, how can we be sure he won’t attempt to do so again?”
“Ha!” Upachu chortles, then returns to carving more of the figure’s torso. “There’s absolutely no way we can trust him as long as the chest is in his presence. However, we can entice him to assist us with some… let’s say ‘white lies’. We ask him what he knows with the promise of uniting him with the chest. Dangle the carrot in front of the llama, so to speak.”
“I’m not willing to use deception to get results,” I say flatly. “That’s not how I like to operate. He’s likely already anxious about us possessing the chest, wanting to deliver it to Anqatil, and will probably strike again, so no need to maneuver around the issue.”
“Fine,” Upachu says almost as a pout. “He owes us for saving his life anyway. We can simply interrogate him until he gives us the answers we’re after.”
“You mean I will interrogate him,” I clarify.
“Semantics,” Upachu says, shaping the bottom of the block into the figure’s legs. “The result is the same: we need information, his life was spared, so he owes us. We find out the contact we can speak to in Iaqutaq. And then we proceed with caution.”
“He may not give us the information easily,” I posit, “due to his family’s safety. We might need to intervene if the situation takes a turn for the worse.”
“There’s the carrot we can dangle, then!” Upachu says, a little too excitedly for my liking. I glower at him, but he disregards me, pleased with his plan.
“What about the other man he named? Iquna?” I ask. “He supposedly knows of the papyrus, but has conveniently gone missing.”
“The more people Qaschiqe tells of the papyrus,” Upachu says, “the greater the danger we may find ourselves in while we possess it, if the wrong people catch an inkling of what we know and what these items might be. He may have been attempting to notify people as a measure of security—if Qaschiqe were to go missing, someone somewhere could attempt to draw some conclusions, I suppose. Still seems reckless to me. We should see what is actually going on with this Iquna fellow.”
“Do you believe Qaschiqe or Iquna knows what these glyphs mean?” I ask. “Or at least knows of them? It’s possible that either might have heard about the papyrus and went searching for answers, but I find it extremely suspicious that no casualties were accounted for at the fire, yet Iquna has gone missing.”
“I’m starting to become more and more convinced you’re right about that,” Upachu says, taking a moment to stroke his chin as he considers my theory. “That I only know as little as I do when I’ve directly conversed with the Eleven makes me believe that anyone with the slightest information must know more than they’re letting on. Qaschiqe may know more, but this Iquna person could have feigned ignorance and is up to something nefarious.”
As Upachu finishes up the bottom of the figure’s tunic, I start mulling over all the information he’s discussed. Discovering what these glyphs mean, and who created them, has to be a priority. But who can we trust enough to inquire about them? Discussing them will undoubtedly alert people of their existence and motivate malevolent individuals—which could be Achutli or Anqatil, for all we know. How do we go about this covertly?
More than that, Upachu was one of the last people to see the Eleven—and my sister—before they started their quest to defeat the Timuaq. It would have been a time when they were still relatively innocent, before the weight of Pachil rested on their collective shoulders. One of the last moments they could be their human selves before embarking on a hero’s journey, their lives dedicated solely for one purpose. I would’ve liked to have seen that.
“I still dream of her, you know,” I tell Upachu. “My sister, that is.” It’s the first time I’ve told anyone about my dreams, and admittedly, it’s difficult to do. Upachu nods contemplatively, halting his whittling for a moment.
“At first, they were just glimpses of past moments and shared experiences. Simple things like hunting or playing together. Fishing at our favorite spot. Running around Hilaqta and terrorizing the poor traveling merchants. Going on epic conquests in the hills of the countryside. But lately they’ve become more vivid, more lucid, at locations I’m not certain we were ever together before. And we have conversations, discussions we never had while we were both alive. They’re limited—nothing more than a few sentences for the brief moment we’re talking—but they’ve gotten clearer and clearer, where I can hear what she’s saying instead of only seeing her lips move, but nothing comes out.”
“I can’t tell how much control I have over these dreams, or if I’m actually speaking to her, though it feels real when they occur. But if I see Entilqan in these dreams again, if I could ask her just one question about their journey and the papyrus, what question would you suggest I ask? What do you think is the one thing I need to know?"
Upachu, shaping the feet and nearly finished with the figurine, stops for a moment and thinks, looking off to the side of the campfire for answers. When he finds one, he points the knife at me, bobbing it up and down as he speaks.
"Teqosa, despite how things may have ended, there’s a profound bond between you and your sister—the dreams that connect you to Entilqan are proof of that. Supposing you can control what happens in your dreams, I would ask, 'What was the driving force that gave you the strength to make the ultimate sacrifice?' Sure, we know that she was a stubborn, determined individual who sought to help others, but there must’ve been something that led her to decide to do what she did. Seek to understand the deep convictions that guided her actions and let her voice guide you on your own path. Though she may not be physically present, her spirit lives on in your dreams and in your heart. There’s a solace and wisdom that can be offered by such dreams.”
It’s hard to reflect upon Upachu’s words, having to continue acknowledging Entilqan’s death—the people of Pachil’s regular and continued religious worship of the Eleven makes it even more so. Still, he makes a good point, and I suddenly see that I’ve been approaching my demeanor and exchanges with my sister from the wrong perspective. For too long, I’ve been taking her decisions personally and only considering how they’ve affected me. Though I should still acknowledge my feelings to an extent, I should be carrying forward her legacy while honoring the sacrifices made by her and the Eleven in their battle against the Timuaq. Something drove her, and them, to make the difficult decision. Perhaps this papyrus will give me the nudge in the right direction to better understand.
Upachu inspects his wooden creation, shifting it around in his hands and adjusting the angles to look at it. After taking some time, he eventually nods with a slight grin, chin out while making slight modifications to the nearly finished product. The statue gazes back at him with confidence, holding the spear upright as if ready to accept Upachu’s orders.
We both look up and see the sky beginning to brighten, the blues warming up with a slight gold peeking above the horizon. I look over at Qaschiqe, still sleeping soundly and snoring sporadically. Though the night has begun to leave, it has been a profoundly long day—between traveling, extinguishing the flames of a burning temple, revealing a mysterious chest with ancient glyphs, chasing down a thief of said chest, interrogating said thief, and the lengthy discussion of my sister, the Eleven, and what our next steps should be, “exhausted” doesn’t begin to describe how tired I feel.
After stating how we should at least attempt to get some rest, Upachu falls asleep instantly, mouth agape and snoring loud enough to visibly irritate the llama once again.
I’m roused from my short-lived slumber by the sound of approaching footsteps. Jolted awake, my eyes quickly survey the scene, scanning for any threat. Sword at my side, as my glaive is stored in the cart, too far out of reach, I clutch my weapon and sit upright. A group of men approach, nearly all wearing a red cloth covering and distorting their faces along with slate gray robes, except for one man, whose face is defiantly undisguised. His features are slight and gaunt, bald with arched and furrowed brows that emphasize his piercing stare. Those who aren’t carrying torches wield swords, standing imposingly before me and Upachu.
“You will hand over the chest,” the man says with a deep, resonant voice, his measured enunciation of each word is chilling and menacing, “or you will die.”
