For the first time since my arrival, there has been a period of time where nothing urgent is taking place, and it’s been immensely off-putting. There was no fanfare at dinner, finding myself alone when it came time to eat; no special appearances or dining guests were present while I ate. I’m mildly amused that, after only one night at the palace, I have already been left to my own devices, largely ignored and passed over as I wander the grounds. Yet I can’t help but wonder, even if it’s unprovoked, if I’m being actively ostracized from regular noble activity.
Before dinner, I had left Nuqasiq to be by herself at the loom and made my way to the dining hall, considering our exchange and what could be derived from her warnings regarding the jade scarf I found on the floor, left behind by Onixem. While I consumed succulent pieces of guinea pig and roasted sweet potatoes and yuca, something within me felt the urgent need to confront Onixem and find out what is the story behind this jade hummingbird. We are merely acquaintances, hardly having a single pleasant exchange other than her grunt after the confrontation by the marketplace, which I assume was her way of thanking me for interfering. There’s a part of me that feels I’m being overly intrusive, thrusting myself into her life without her consent. Yet there’s a nagging part of me that suspects something unlawful is taking place, of which Onixem could be culpable.
After finishing my meal, my walk takes me by the throne room, where I’m surprised to hear a conversation occurring through the undisturbed silence in the grounds at such a late time of night. The discussion between a male and female doesn’t seem panicked or urgent—in fact, it appears to be business as usual, with how unenthused and flat the muffled voices sound, all while in the dimly lit room. Guards rush past without confronting me, occasionally shouting orders to one another. I slowly approach the opening to the room and peer in, attempting to not give away my presence so I can listen in as I’m goaded by my curiosity.
Inside the room, the Arbiter and Anqatil are conversing. I’m positioned to the side of the throne, in which Achutli sits on the oversized chair while Anqatil stands directly in front of him, hands clasps and her arms rest behind her back. While Achutli wears next to nothing, other than an orange and red loin cloth along with the large headpiece as he had when I first encountered him, Anqatil wears a form-fitted red dress with gold thread outlining the bottom and arm holes, as well as a gold and orange cape that cascades down to the floor, and her hair is tied in yet another elaborate braid, twisting around her scalp before collecting into a bun behind her head. Both appear stoic, expressing little emotion, though their tone is, in fact, tense and severe.
“Indeed, Sapa, this… unexpected visitor… is a distressing turn of events,” Anqatil says to Achutli. Sapa? Yet another term of which I’m unfamiliar; it’s probably another title. These Tapeu love their titles. “The unexpected return can certainly bring about unease.”
“Her presence is a nuisance,” Achutli says angrily, his voice echoing throughout the hollow chamber. “Why did you not do more to prevent this from happening?”
“I apologize, Sapa,“ Anqatil concedes. “You mother was very persistent with–“
“Pah!,” the Arbiter sputters aloud with a slight scowl, gripping the arms of the throne firmly and tensing his muscles. “I must speak to her caretaker at once. This betrays the arrangement that was agreed upon.”
“I understand your concerns, Sapa,” Anqatil says. “It is essential to maintain the stability and harmony within the realm. However, due to our alliance, we must tread carefully. They are a vital part to the overall plan.”
“The possibility of her true identity being revealed only increases with her existence in Qapauma. We cannot allow her to stake a claim in the line of succession.”
“Perhaps the matter will take care of itself. There is always one way we can–“
“I have told you,” Achutli shouts, his eyes grow large and an intensity washes over his face, “the prophecy has stated I cannot be responsible for the murder of my own flesh without losing my position of power. Stop suggesting this or I will throw you out of my court permanently!”
“Apologies, Sapa,” Anqatil says while taking a step back and bowing deeply. I can see she wants to say something else, but thinks better of it and changes tact. “Rest assured, I shall handle this matter with utmost discretion.”
“What have you heard from the seekers we dispatched?” Achutli asks, his voice calming only slightly while he leans back into the throne after having waved away the previous discussion, all while looking visibly annoyed.
“There is, at present, nothing to report, Sapa,” Anqatil says somewhat coldly. “None have sent anyone with word of any findings. Perhaps the feat is proving more difficult than anticipated.”
“This is taking too long,” the Arbiter shouts as if throwing a tantrum, his high-pitched voice making it difficult for me not to laugh and blow my cover. “Send someone else, someone more efficient.”
“Sapa,” Anqatil says almost patronizingly, if I didn’t know better, “It has only been a few moon cycles, and we have only sent the most loyal people who follow orders. Let us not be too hasty, and give them a little more time. Perhaps by the next moon cycle, they’ll–“
“That is too long!” Achutli says, emphasizing the last two words with some intensity. “Who knows how powerful Xaqilpa will be by then. If he is not managed and is allowed to proceed without his power being checked, he could be detrimental to my rule.”
“I understand this, Sa–“
“DO YOU?” Achutli barks. “If there wouldn’t be any implications, I would just execute him now before he grows too powerful and can challenge me.”
“He is heavily guarded,” Anqatil reminds the Arbiter. “It will be difficult.”
“I’ll remove the guards. Relieve them of duty.”
“Now you’re not thinking skillfully or rationally, Sapa. The moment anyone finds out you did–“
“You’re the only one who knows. Maybe I will execute you, as well, Anqatil. It’s not as though you’ve been proving your value to me lately.” Anqatil puts on that showman smile I’ve seen her display previously, then graciously curtseys before Achutli.
“I apologize for disappointing you, Sapa,” Anqatil says as she bows. “I will leave you to collect your thoughts and formulate a superior plan.”
She gathers her cape and pivots sharply, now facing my direction. Panicked, I hurriedly step back, looking around the hallway for a plan of escape. Across from me is the garden courtyard, but going there requires me to walk in front of the entryway to the throne room and be easily seen by Anqatil. Behind me is a long stretch of stone hallway with no outlets or openings to any other rooms. There is a window opening further down, letting in the only other amount of light.
Marching past me at a brisk pace are two guards, barrel chested and broad shouldered, towering in height and speaking to one another in short, abrupt sentences. Perhaps it’s the bronze helmets, square faces with hard jawlines, and short, dark hair, but the two look almost identical, which, I’m sure, is the point of wearing uniforms.
“I beg your pardon,” I interrupt their conversation, “but there is a lot of commotion occurring and… well…” I do my best to shrivel in place and appear helpless and meager, aided by my short height which forces me to look up at both of them with my doe eyes. “Could you walk with me to the courtyard? I would feel so much more secure and safe with your strong presence protecting me.”
The two guards look at one another, and with just their eyes, I can see them both concluding that, though this new task I’ve requested of them is tedious and beneath them, they will help the damsel, despite not knowing what this commotion is of which I speak.
“Fine,” one of them grumbles in a deep, rich voice. “Come along, but keep up. We can’t be held back from conducting our patrol.”
The two warriors stride purposefully, their presence strong beside me, leading the way down the corridor. I make a subtle attempt to glance over my shoulder, catching sight of Anqatil emerging from the throne room, her gaze sweeping the surroundings. Swiftly, I avert my attention forward, mirroring the guards' focus and hoping to evade her attention. After a few paces, I steal another glance. Anqatil has veered in the opposite direction, heading towards the palace's private chambers. My curiosity tugs at me, but having narrowly sidestepped a confrontation, I inhale deeply and follow in the wake of my guardians.
The two burly men and I step into the expansive main courtyard, engulfed by a whirlwind of activity. Amidst the tumult, the guards are swept away by the fracas, leaving me to my own devices as they hasten to tend to an issue directed by an evidently significant figure—his attire adorned with more intricate beadwork and a grander bronze helmet. A wave of relief washes over me as I fade into the background, a spectator once more. Nearby, a contingent of palace guards faces the brunt of a fervent scolding from a vibrantly dressed, thin-haired man. His tunic clings tightly, exposing flabby arms that jiggle with every emphatic point he makes.
With Anqatil out of sight, I deem it safe to return to the palace and seek out Onixem. I’m also finally afforded a moment to reflect on what I just overheard. The Arbiter mentioned someone’s presence being a nuisance, and he considered the matter distressing. Could he be speaking of Onixem? She has gone wandering off and gotten involved in a confrontation, and who’s to say she hasn’t done so a few more times before I arrived in Qapauma, as well. I can understand why the Arbiter would be upset with that alone, assuming he has his ways of finding out what’s taking place in his own city. But then to mention she might be in his line of succession? Perhaps she learned of this and doesn’t want the responsibility of being ruler of the land, which could explain her rebellious nature with lashing out and involving herself with this hummingbird group. It doesn’t appear the Arbiter wants her to succeed him either. It’s also a bit concerning to hear Anqatil talk casually about taking care of the matter, or that the matter will take care of itself. Are they hoping Onixem runs off and disappears? Or worse?
Thinking about such consequences worries me deeply, and I’m overwhelmed with the need to find Onixem and get some answers. Despite how she has been less than pleasant to be around during recent interactions, I can start to understand—or at least make excuses for—her impolite demeanor, given the circumstances of what I’ve deduced from the discussion in the throne room. Having a father not wanting you around is something to which I can relate, and it’s particularly painful when they can do anything they want to cast you away.
I feel invisible as the palace guards aimlessly scurry about the grounds. They run past me with apparently more important matters of which to be concerned. I take this opportunity to do some unsupervised exploring, walking about without having to hide my motives.
I start my search at Onixem’s room, to see if she’s present, or at least find hints as to her whereabouts. When I enter, however, nobody is there, the vacant space dimly lit by a torch in the back corner. Looking around, she keeps her space tidy and organized: clothes are neatly folded and sorted by color, hand-carved wooden statuettes stand in a straight line, and her sewing tools are arranged by size, as well as the colored threads situated to span the rainbow and provide color to an otherwise stark stone room. I assume someone had been here recently judging by the lit torch, and if I had to guess, maybe Onixem arrived to her room, realized the scarf was missing, then went to search for it.
I decide to retrace her potential path and make my way to the sewing room adjacent to the garden. A rustling noise of frenzied movement reaches my ears, and I proceed cautiously. Peering around the corner of the entrance, I catch sight of a silhouette brandishing a torch in an agitated frenzy. The light sweeps erratically across the room, casting fleeting shadows on looms and walls that shift and twist with the person’s movement. Abruptly, the figure whirls around, locking eyes with me and revealing their identity. Surprise registers on Onixem's face, her gaze darting between me, the hallway, the room, and back to me.
“What are you doing here?” she asks confrontationally.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I reply.
“It doesn’t concern you,” she says, her voice almost a growl.
“It appears as though you’re searching for something,” I say. “Perhaps I can help.”
“You can’t,” she snaps, nearly interrupting me. With this, I decide to approach the matter with some diplomacy—and a little deception—rather than challenging her with direct aggression. Carrying a torch, I walk over to the loom where she was sitting earlier in the day and pretend to look around the stool and the device. From my satchel, I pull out her jade scarf and discreetly drop it onto the floor. Feigning surprise, I stand up with the scarf in my other hand, and while holding it up, I look at it as if I’ve never seen a scarf in my entire life.
“Is… this what you’re looking for?” I say, knowing the answer, of course. She tries to quickly snatch it from me, but I clutch it tightly in my fist and twist away, my torch between her and me.
“What is the significance of this scarf?” I ask, shifting it between my fingers until the jade hummingbird is prominently displayed. Her face contorts in anger, her mouth sliding into a snarl. “Is there something important about this hummi–“
“Silence!” she shushes me, her voice nearing a whisper. “Give it to me now.”
“Not until you tell me what this is about. I saw you at the marketplace, fighting off those men in the red scarves covering their faces. And I’ve recently learned that there is something significant about what this hummingbird represents—so much so that it can’t be revealed to the Arbiter without suffering severe consequences. So what is the meaning behind this hummingbird?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Try me,” I defiantly challenge her. She’s taller than me, and I’ve witnessed her ability to fight, so I understand she could easily, and forcefully, take her scarf back. But I hold my ground, lifting my chin up high and puffing my chest out slightly, looking up into her eyes unblinkingly. If she wanted to retrieve her scarf, she can do so with aggression, but the fact she hasn’t done so yet tells me she wants, needs, an ally. I can't quite pinpoint the source of this certainty, but as I observe her, her vulnerability apparent, an unwavering conviction settles within me.
“Why should I even trust you?” she says.
"I understand that trust is not easily given, and I won't pretend to know everything about your beliefs or goals,” I say, then begin infusing my voice with warmth and sincerity. “But consider this: we both want what's best for Pachil, even if we may have different paths in mind. We've seen the hardships faced by the people, and we both want to see a realm where everyone can thrive and live without fear. If there's any way we can find common ground or work together, even just a hint, it could make a difference.” I begin to approach her cautiously, softening my gaze.
“We don't have to agree on everything, but knowing a bit more about your perspective could give me a clearer understanding, and maybe allow me to help.”
I prepare for her to oppose me, fight to reclaim her scarf, but, astonishingly, she puts up little resistance, instead opting to practically drop down onto a stool and pout, crossing her arms while pursing her lips.
“Are you going to report me to Anqatil or the Arbiter?” she asks, surprisingly mellow and almost sounding defeated.
“Not if you tell me what this is. Unless you’re murdering children or enslaving people like the Timuaq reborn, in which case…” I leave my words hanging there, trying to bring a little levity to the otherwise tense situation. She might be getting involved with something that could put her, the Tapeu rule, and the reconstruction efforts, in great danger, and I need to know if there is something of which to be aware.
She takes a while to respond, and after a long period of silence, I start to worry that my instincts were incorrect, that I’ve upset her enough that she won’t give me an answer, leaving me in the dark about this hummingbird organization.
“Qente Waila,” she says out of nowhere. It takes me a moment to work out what that means in my head.
“Jade Hummingbird?” I ask for clarification. She nods before continuing her explanation.
“For generations, people were abused by the Timuaq rule. Only if you were one of them, or if you cast aside your morals and obediently did as they commanded, would you be treated well. Achutli, this ‘Arbiter’,” she spits out the ruler’s title as if it tastes bitter in her mouth, “is no different. People and factions are being favored, the ones he doesn’t like are outcast and blamed for no reason. If he’s allowed to continue to rule, Pachil will not be any better off than it was when the Timuaq ruled.”
“That’s making a lot of leaps in logic. The Arbiter has barely begun the process for rebuilding Pachil, which is something that is most certainly going to take many, many harvests to complete—maybe even a full generation. It seems early to make declarative assessments of what he is and isn’t doing. Are you certain these acts you mention are happening, or is this just the group’s opinions?”
“Factions like the Ulxa are already suffering because of his dislike of their people, of their customs, their way of life. Quraqa families in Tapeu are suffering a similar fate.”
“I don’t understand. Why are the Ulxa being targeted? And noble Tapeu families? Have they done something to deserve his ire?”
“He blames the Ulxa for supplying the Timuaq with warriors and helping them maintain their stranglehold on the land. The Tapeu families are simply those who, at one point, challenged him and his claim to the throne.”
“But, they did, didn’t they? Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but that’s how the Timuaq were able to get so many warriors to fight the resistance and sustain their rule. It was because of the Ulxa.”
“Is that what your tutor taught you?” she asks with a tinge of condescension. “I should expect nothing less from an Achope.”
“I will concede that the Achope were initially prosperous during the Timuaq rule,” I say, and she scoffs, turning her back to me and shaking her head in feigned disbelief. “However, our history, like that of every faction, is complex and not without its moments of regret. As time passed, we saw the impact of the Timuaq’s oppression on the realm's people, and we could not stand idly by. When the moment came to choose between profit and principles, we made the difficult decision to stand with the resistance, fighting against the tyranny of the evil titans. It was a choice born out of the desire to rectify past mistakes and strive for a more just and united realm, much like what you and the Qente Waila strive for.”
I can see Onixem wants to say more, but that the grounds of her argument are loosening beneath her. She frowns and lowers her head, continuing to not face me and look out into the gardens across the hallway from the sewing room, the moon dimly illuminating the flowering plants and muting their colors.
“So is that why you’ve joined the Qente Waila? To support a rebellious organization?”
“I never said I was–“
“Right, right,” I say quickly, holding my hands up, scarf pinched between my thumb and index finger, and trying to prevent any more unnecessary combativeness. I sit down next to her, getting as close to eye level as I can, even though I’m still shorter than her while seated.
“Who were you fighting when I arrived in the alley near the marketplace?” I ask. She hesitates to respond, and I can see her mulling over the decision on whether or not to answer me. As eager as I am to find out, I resist the urge to press the matter, fiddling with the green scarf to calm myself down until her internal battle concludes.
“We’re not sure yet,” she says. Her use of ‘we’ when discussing the matter, despite her earlier protests, is most definitely not lost on me. “There have been more and more reports recently regarding with whom they could be affiliated. There are suspicions and guesses, but nothing certain.”
I wait to see if she elaborates any more, but Onixem only looks longingly at the scarf. As a gesture of peace, and for her overall compliance, I hand the green scarf to her, which she promptly folds so that the hummingbird vanishes in layers of fabric. She nods, and I take it to be a sign of thanking me, so I return the wordless nod.
As she responds, my attention narrows down on her mannerisms, fixated on facial nuances and tics that hint at the veracity of her words. It's an indescribable sensation, one that gripped me during our exchange in the sewing room. Not only could I instinctively discern her honesty, but an ethereal hue of blue seemed to envelop her—a curious phenomenon that sparks contemplation of the supernatural. Despite her initial reluctance, she's shown a rare sincerity, a quality I find myself appreciating. Her choice to be forthcoming, instead of resorting to physical aggression to evade my questioning, intrigues me further. It beckons the question of whether she recognizes the potential for alliance or if she's merely employing a façade, delicately maneuvering to reclaim damning evidence without resorting to escalation.
Before I can question her further, a far off commotion rumbles through the halls, sounding as though it’s coming from the main entrance of the palace. Guards sprint past the sewing room entryway and down the hall, shouting at one another as they hurry to the outside. Onixem and I exchange glances, then follow them to see what’s causing a stir, our curiosity getting the better of us.
Commanders yell at their men, and guards rush into action, positioning themselves at key points atop the wall and looking down onto the scene below, bows drawn at the ready. Other men run through the entrance at the walls and out onto the streets, swords in hand. Screams and shouts fill the air, coming from behind the walls, and in the dark of night, an orange glow erupts from the other side of the stonework.
“Is… that fire?” I ask, aware that I must sound idiotic, for it’s apparent that’s what it is. Someone shouts in alarm as servants scuttle from a building next to the dining hall toward the supposed fire, hauling buckets and big, heavy clay jugs. They look around, confused, to see where they need to go, trying to locate where the flames are in order to douse them with the minuscule amount of water they can carry.
“We’re under attack!” a guard shouts. “Man your stations!”
For the first time since my arrival, there has been a period of time where nothing urgent is taking place, and it’s been immensely off-putting. There was no fanfare at dinner, finding myself alone when it came time to eat; no special appearances or dining guests were present while I ate. I’m mildly amused that, after only one night at the palace, I have already been left to my own devices, largely ignored and passed over as I wander the grounds. Yet I can’t help but wonder, even if it’s unprovoked, if I’m being actively ostracized from regular noble activity.
Before dinner, I had left Nuqasiq to be by herself at the loom and made my way to the dining hall, considering our exchange and what could be derived from her warnings regarding the jade scarf I found on the floor, left behind by Onixem. While I consumed succulent pieces of guinea pig and roasted sweet potatoes and yuca, something within me felt the urgent need to confront Onixem and find out what is the story behind this jade hummingbird. We are merely acquaintances, hardly having a single pleasant exchange other than her grunt after the confrontation by the marketplace, which I assume was her way of thanking me for interfering. There’s a part of me that feels I’m being overly intrusive, thrusting myself into her life without her consent. Yet there’s a nagging part of me that suspects something unlawful is taking place, of which Onixem could be culpable.
After finishing my meal, my walk takes me by the throne room, where I’m surprised to hear a conversation occurring through the undisturbed silence in the grounds at such a late time of night. The discussion between a male and female doesn’t seem panicked or urgent—in fact, it appears to be business as usual, with how unenthused and flat the muffled voices sound, all while in the dimly lit room. Guards rush past without confronting me, occasionally shouting orders to one another. I slowly approach the opening to the room and peer in, attempting to not give away my presence so I can listen in as I’m goaded by my curiosity.
Inside the room, the Arbiter and Anqatil are conversing. I’m positioned to the side of the throne, in which Achutli sits on the oversized chair while Anqatil stands directly in front of him, hands clasps and her arms rest behind her back. While Achutli wears next to nothing, other than an orange and red loin cloth along with the large headpiece as he had when I first encountered him, Anqatil wears a form-fitted red dress with gold thread outlining the bottom and arm holes, as well as a gold and orange cape that cascades down to the floor, and her hair is tied in yet another elaborate braid, twisting around her scalp before collecting into a bun behind her head. Both appear stoic, expressing little emotion, though their tone is, in fact, tense and severe.
“Indeed, Sapa, this… unexpected visitor… is a distressing turn of events,” Anqatil says to Achutli. Sapa? Yet another term of which I’m unfamiliar; it’s probably another title. These Tapeu love their titles. “The unexpected return can certainly bring about unease.”
“Her presence is a nuisance,” Achutli says angrily, his voice echoing throughout the hollow chamber. “Why did you not do more to prevent this from happening?”
“I apologize, Sapa,“ Anqatil concedes. “You mother was very persistent with–“
“Pah!,” the Arbiter sputters aloud with a slight scowl, gripping the arms of the throne firmly and tensing his muscles. “I must speak to her caretaker at once. This betrays the arrangement that was agreed upon.”
“I understand your concerns, Sapa,” Anqatil says. “It is essential to maintain the stability and harmony within the realm. However, due to our alliance, we must tread carefully. They are a vital part to the overall plan.”
“The possibility of her true identity being revealed only increases with her existence in Qapauma. We cannot allow her to stake a claim in the line of succession.”
“Perhaps the matter will take care of itself. There is always one way we can–“
“I have told you,” Achutli shouts, his eyes grow large and an intensity washes over his face, “the prophecy has stated I cannot be responsible for the murder of my own flesh without losing my position of power. Stop suggesting this or I will throw you out of my court permanently!”
“Apologies, Sapa,” Anqatil says while taking a step back and bowing deeply. I can see she wants to say something else, but thinks better of it and changes tact. “Rest assured, I shall handle this matter with utmost discretion.”
“What have you heard from the seekers we dispatched?” Achutli asks, his voice calming only slightly while he leans back into the throne after having waved away the previous discussion, all while looking visibly annoyed.
“There is, at present, nothing to report, Sapa,” Anqatil says somewhat coldly. “None have sent anyone with word of any findings. Perhaps the feat is proving more difficult than anticipated.”
“This is taking too long,” the Arbiter shouts as if throwing a tantrum, his high-pitched voice making it difficult for me not to laugh and blow my cover. “Send someone else, someone more efficient.”
“Sapa,” Anqatil says almost patronizingly, if I didn’t know better, “It has only been a few moon cycles, and we have only sent the most loyal people who follow orders. Let us not be too hasty, and give them a little more time. Perhaps by the next moon cycle, they’ll–“
“That is too long!” Achutli says, emphasizing the last two words with some intensity. “Who knows how powerful Xaqilpa will be by then. If he is not managed and is allowed to proceed without his power being checked, he could be detrimental to my rule.”
“I understand this, Sa–“
“DO YOU?” Achutli barks. “If there wouldn’t be any implications, I would just execute him now before he grows too powerful and can challenge me.”
“He is heavily guarded,” Anqatil reminds the Arbiter. “It will be difficult.”
“I’ll remove the guards. Relieve them of duty.”
“Now you’re not thinking skillfully or rationally, Sapa. The moment anyone finds out you did–“
“You’re the only one who knows. Maybe I will execute you, as well, Anqatil. It’s not as though you’ve been proving your value to me lately.” Anqatil puts on that showman smile I’ve seen her display previously, then graciously curtseys before Achutli.
“I apologize for disappointing you, Sapa,” Anqatil says as she bows. “I will leave you to collect your thoughts and formulate a superior plan.”
She gathers her cape and pivots sharply, now facing my direction. Panicked, I hurriedly step back, looking around the hallway for a plan of escape. Across from me is the garden courtyard, but going there requires me to walk in front of the entryway to the throne room and be easily seen by Anqatil. Behind me is a long stretch of stone hallway with no outlets or openings to any other rooms. There is a window opening further down, letting in the only other amount of light.
Marching past me at a brisk pace are two guards, barrel chested and broad shouldered, towering in height and speaking to one another in short, abrupt sentences. Perhaps it’s the bronze helmets, square faces with hard jawlines, and short, dark hair, but the two look almost identical, which, I’m sure, is the point of wearing uniforms.
“I beg your pardon,” I interrupt their conversation, “but there is a lot of commotion occurring and… well…” I do my best to shrivel in place and appear helpless and meager, aided by my short height which forces me to look up at both of them with my doe eyes. “Could you walk with me to the courtyard? I would feel so much more secure and safe with your strong presence protecting me.”
The two guards look at one another, and with just their eyes, I can see them both concluding that, though this new task I’ve requested of them is tedious and beneath them, they will help the damsel, despite not knowing what this commotion is of which I speak.
“Fine,” one of them grumbles in a deep, rich voice. “Come along, but keep up. We can’t be held back from conducting our patrol.”
The two warriors stride purposefully, their presence strong beside me, leading the way down the corridor. I make a subtle attempt to glance over my shoulder, catching sight of Anqatil emerging from the throne room, her gaze sweeping the surroundings. Swiftly, I avert my attention forward, mirroring the guards' focus and hoping to evade her attention. After a few paces, I steal another glance. Anqatil has veered in the opposite direction, heading towards the palace's private chambers. My curiosity tugs at me, but having narrowly sidestepped a confrontation, I inhale deeply and follow in the wake of my guardians.
The two burly men and I step into the expansive main courtyard, engulfed by a whirlwind of activity. Amidst the tumult, the guards are swept away by the fracas, leaving me to my own devices as they hasten to tend to an issue directed by an evidently significant figure—his attire adorned with more intricate beadwork and a grander bronze helmet. A wave of relief washes over me as I fade into the background, a spectator once more. Nearby, a contingent of palace guards faces the brunt of a fervent scolding from a vibrantly dressed, thin-haired man. His tunic clings tightly, exposing flabby arms that jiggle with every emphatic point he makes.
With Anqatil out of sight, I deem it safe to return to the palace and seek out Onixem. I’m also finally afforded a moment to reflect on what I just overheard. The Arbiter mentioned someone’s presence being a nuisance, and he considered the matter distressing. Could he be speaking of Onixem? She has gone wandering off and gotten involved in a confrontation, and who’s to say she hasn’t done so a few more times before I arrived in Qapauma, as well. I can understand why the Arbiter would be upset with that alone, assuming he has his ways of finding out what’s taking place in his own city. But then to mention she might be in his line of succession? Perhaps she learned of this and doesn’t want the responsibility of being ruler of the land, which could explain her rebellious nature with lashing out and involving herself with this hummingbird group. It doesn’t appear the Arbiter wants her to succeed him either. It’s also a bit concerning to hear Anqatil talk casually about taking care of the matter, or that the matter will take care of itself. Are they hoping Onixem runs off and disappears? Or worse?
Thinking about such consequences worries me deeply, and I’m overwhelmed with the need to find Onixem and get some answers. Despite how she has been less than pleasant to be around during recent interactions, I can start to understand—or at least make excuses for—her impolite demeanor, given the circumstances of what I’ve deduced from the discussion in the throne room. Having a father not wanting you around is something to which I can relate, and it’s particularly painful when they can do anything they want to cast you away.
I feel invisible as the palace guards aimlessly scurry about the grounds. They run past me with apparently more important matters of which to be concerned. I take this opportunity to do some unsupervised exploring, walking about without having to hide my motives.
I start my search at Onixem’s room, to see if she’s present, or at least find hints as to her whereabouts. When I enter, however, nobody is there, the vacant space dimly lit by a torch in the back corner. Looking around, she keeps her space tidy and organized: clothes are neatly folded and sorted by color, hand-carved wooden statuettes stand in a straight line, and her sewing tools are arranged by size, as well as the colored threads situated to span the rainbow and provide color to an otherwise stark stone room. I assume someone had been here recently judging by the lit torch, and if I had to guess, maybe Onixem arrived to her room, realized the scarf was missing, then went to search for it.
I decide to retrace her potential path and make my way to the sewing room adjacent to the garden. A rustling noise of frenzied movement reaches my ears, and I proceed cautiously. Peering around the corner of the entrance, I catch sight of a silhouette brandishing a torch in an agitated frenzy. The light sweeps erratically across the room, casting fleeting shadows on looms and walls that shift and twist with the person’s movement. Abruptly, the figure whirls around, locking eyes with me and revealing their identity. Surprise registers on Onixem's face, her gaze darting between me, the hallway, the room, and back to me.
“What are you doing here?” she asks confrontationally.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I reply.
“It doesn’t concern you,” she says, her voice almost a growl.
“It appears as though you’re searching for something,” I say. “Perhaps I can help.”
“You can’t,” she snaps, nearly interrupting me. With this, I decide to approach the matter with some diplomacy—and a little deception—rather than challenging her with direct aggression. Carrying a torch, I walk over to the loom where she was sitting earlier in the day and pretend to look around the stool and the device. From my satchel, I pull out her jade scarf and discreetly drop it onto the floor. Feigning surprise, I stand up with the scarf in my other hand, and while holding it up, I look at it as if I’ve never seen a scarf in my entire life.
“Is… this what you’re looking for?” I say, knowing the answer, of course. She tries to quickly snatch it from me, but I clutch it tightly in my fist and twist away, my torch between her and me.
“What is the significance of this scarf?” I ask, shifting it between my fingers until the jade hummingbird is prominently displayed. Her face contorts in anger, her mouth sliding into a snarl. “Is there something important about this hummi–“
“Silence!” she shushes me, her voice nearing a whisper. “Give it to me now.”
“Not until you tell me what this is about. I saw you at the marketplace, fighting off those men in the red scarves covering their faces. And I’ve recently learned that there is something significant about what this hummingbird represents—so much so that it can’t be revealed to the Arbiter without suffering severe consequences. So what is the meaning behind this hummingbird?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Try me,” I defiantly challenge her. She’s taller than me, and I’ve witnessed her ability to fight, so I understand she could easily, and forcefully, take her scarf back. But I hold my ground, lifting my chin up high and puffing my chest out slightly, looking up into her eyes unblinkingly. If she wanted to retrieve her scarf, she can do so with aggression, but the fact she hasn’t done so yet tells me she wants, needs, an ally. I can't quite pinpoint the source of this certainty, but as I observe her, her vulnerability apparent, an unwavering conviction settles within me.
“Why should I even trust you?” she says.
"I understand that trust is not easily given, and I won't pretend to know everything about your beliefs or goals,” I say, then begin infusing my voice with warmth and sincerity. “But consider this: we both want what's best for Pachil, even if we may have different paths in mind. We've seen the hardships faced by the people, and we both want to see a realm where everyone can thrive and live without fear. If there's any way we can find common ground or work together, even just a hint, it could make a difference.” I begin to approach her cautiously, softening my gaze.
“We don't have to agree on everything, but knowing a bit more about your perspective could give me a clearer understanding, and maybe allow me to help.”
I prepare for her to oppose me, fight to reclaim her scarf, but, astonishingly, she puts up little resistance, instead opting to practically drop down onto a stool and pout, crossing her arms while pursing her lips.
“Are you going to report me to Anqatil or the Arbiter?” she asks, surprisingly mellow and almost sounding defeated.
“Not if you tell me what this is. Unless you’re murdering children or enslaving people like the Timuaq reborn, in which case…” I leave my words hanging there, trying to bring a little levity to the otherwise tense situation. She might be getting involved with something that could put her, the Tapeu rule, and the reconstruction efforts, in great danger, and I need to know if there is something of which to be aware.
She takes a while to respond, and after a long period of silence, I start to worry that my instincts were incorrect, that I’ve upset her enough that she won’t give me an answer, leaving me in the dark about this hummingbird organization.
“Qente Waila,” she says out of nowhere. It takes me a moment to work out what that means in my head.
“Jade Hummingbird?” I ask for clarification. She nods before continuing her explanation.
“For generations, people were abused by the Timuaq rule. Only if you were one of them, or if you cast aside your morals and obediently did as they commanded, would you be treated well. Achutli, this ‘Arbiter’,” she spits out the ruler’s title as if it tastes bitter in her mouth, “is no different. People and factions are being favored, the ones he doesn’t like are outcast and blamed for no reason. If he’s allowed to continue to rule, Pachil will not be any better off than it was when the Timuaq ruled.”
“That’s making a lot of leaps in logic. The Arbiter has barely begun the process for rebuilding Pachil, which is something that is most certainly going to take many, many harvests to complete—maybe even a full generation. It seems early to make declarative assessments of what he is and isn’t doing. Are you certain these acts you mention are happening, or is this just the group’s opinions?”
“Factions like the Ulxa are already suffering because of his dislike of their people, of their customs, their way of life. Quraqa families in Tapeu are suffering a similar fate.”
“I don’t understand. Why are the Ulxa being targeted? And noble Tapeu families? Have they done something to deserve his ire?”
“He blames the Ulxa for supplying the Timuaq with warriors and helping them maintain their stranglehold on the land. The Tapeu families are simply those who, at one point, challenged him and his claim to the throne.”
“But, they did, didn’t they? Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but that’s how the Timuaq were able to get so many warriors to fight the resistance and sustain their rule. It was because of the Ulxa.”
“Is that what your tutor taught you?” she asks with a tinge of condescension. “I should expect nothing less from an Achope.”
“I will concede that the Achope were initially prosperous during the Timuaq rule,” I say, and she scoffs, turning her back to me and shaking her head in feigned disbelief. “However, our history, like that of every faction, is complex and not without its moments of regret. As time passed, we saw the impact of the Timuaq’s oppression on the realm's people, and we could not stand idly by. When the moment came to choose between profit and principles, we made the difficult decision to stand with the resistance, fighting against the tyranny of the evil titans. It was a choice born out of the desire to rectify past mistakes and strive for a more just and united realm, much like what you and the Qente Waila strive for.”
I can see Onixem wants to say more, but that the grounds of her argument are loosening beneath her. She frowns and lowers her head, continuing to not face me and look out into the gardens across the hallway from the sewing room, the moon dimly illuminating the flowering plants and muting their colors.
“So is that why you’ve joined the Qente Waila? To support a rebellious organization?”
“I never said I was–“
“Right, right,” I say quickly, holding my hands up, scarf pinched between my thumb and index finger, and trying to prevent any more unnecessary combativeness. I sit down next to her, getting as close to eye level as I can, even though I’m still shorter than her while seated.
“Who were you fighting when I arrived in the alley near the marketplace?” I ask. She hesitates to respond, and I can see her mulling over the decision on whether or not to answer me. As eager as I am to find out, I resist the urge to press the matter, fiddling with the green scarf to calm myself down until her internal battle concludes.
“We’re not sure yet,” she says. Her use of ‘we’ when discussing the matter, despite her earlier protests, is most definitely not lost on me. “There have been more and more reports recently regarding with whom they could be affiliated. There are suspicions and guesses, but nothing certain.”
I wait to see if she elaborates any more, but Onixem only looks longingly at the scarf. As a gesture of peace, and for her overall compliance, I hand the green scarf to her, which she promptly folds so that the hummingbird vanishes in layers of fabric. She nods, and I take it to be a sign of thanking me, so I return the wordless nod.
As she responds, my attention narrows down on her mannerisms, fixated on facial nuances and tics that hint at the veracity of her words. It's an indescribable sensation, one that gripped me during our exchange in the sewing room. Not only could I instinctively discern her honesty, but an ethereal hue of blue seemed to envelop her—a curious phenomenon that sparks contemplation of the supernatural. Despite her initial reluctance, she's shown a rare sincerity, a quality I find myself appreciating. Her choice to be forthcoming, instead of resorting to physical aggression to evade my questioning, intrigues me further. It beckons the question of whether she recognizes the potential for alliance or if she's merely employing a façade, delicately maneuvering to reclaim damning evidence without resorting to escalation.
Before I can question her further, a far off commotion rumbles through the halls, sounding as though it’s coming from the main entrance of the palace. Guards sprint past the sewing room entryway and down the hall, shouting at one another as they hurry to the outside. Onixem and I exchange glances, then follow them to see what’s causing a stir, our curiosity getting the better of us.
Commanders yell at their men, and guards rush into action, positioning themselves at key points atop the wall and looking down onto the scene below, bows drawn at the ready. Other men run through the entrance at the walls and out onto the streets, swords in hand. Screams and shouts fill the air, coming from behind the walls, and in the dark of night, an orange glow erupts from the other side of the stonework.
“Is… that fire?” I ask, aware that I must sound idiotic, for it’s apparent that’s what it is. Someone shouts in alarm as servants scuttle from a building next to the dining hall toward the supposed fire, hauling buckets and big, heavy clay jugs. They look around, confused, to see where they need to go, trying to locate where the flames are in order to douse them with the minuscule amount of water they can carry.
“We’re under attack!” a guard shouts. “Man your stations!”
