At first, my racing heartbeat is the only sound throbbing in my ears, but when I force myself to focus on the situation at hand, the sights and sounds of the surrounding chaos become clear. Guards in orange and red scramble to the main gate, ready to defend all of us inside the palace grounds from the threat outside the walls. Onixem and I look to see where the attack is taking place—I’m looking so I know where to run to safety, she’s looking, I’m certain, to see where she should to go to fight.
When I investigate closer, I notice the assault is not occurring within the palace walls, but, rather, just on the other side of them. The guards posted atop the wall point to a location just beyond them, shouting orders or directions to others below. Mortifying screams coming from the Qapauma streets reverberate my soul, interwoven with the clashing of metal and thick wooden weapons.
Knowing I can’t fight it, I allow my curiosity to guide me closer to the main gate, in dire need to see what’s happening for myself. I think Onixem is shouting to me, but it blends in with all the other yelling and noise while I progress toward the entrance. Around the wall, people have spilled out of a tall building made of light gray limestone and a subtly sloping wooden roof made of leaves and tree bark and onto the street, numerous bodies lay on the stone ground. Though they’re at a great distance from me, some of the unfortunate victims’ corpses are blackened and charred as if set aflame, likely from trying to escape a small fire that burns near the building.
Without hesitation nor warning, Onixem charges out onto the street, ignoring the commands from guards calling out to her. Occupied with the clash taking place by the palace walls, they don’t put up much of a fight to prevent her from leaving the grounds, and she walks briskly into the calamity. I want to return to the safety of the palace, protected by countless warriors surrounding the Arbiter and the other Tapeu nobility, but with Onixem endangering herself, I’m also compelled to run after her and convince her to return.
My internal debate lasts only a few heartbeats, and with my mind made up, I chase after Onixem. Brushing aside the guards’ feeble attempts to restrain me, I push and shove my way onto the stone streets. Citizens in their plain, beige outfits screech and scurry about the scene, aimlessly running in every different direction. Scanning the area for Onixem, I notice a large group of people fighting, a combination of wooden cudgels, some of which are aflame as though the attacker is simply using a torch, and severe obsidian swords with their multiple black blades embedded into the base of the stick.
The two separate groups slash and hack at one another, bodies and weapons colliding and brawling. It’s evident that two sides are clashing: the appearance of the one group is disturbing, wearing a blood red cloth over their faces, which masks their identities by disguising facial features, and the other cover only their mouths with a green and purple scarf while a streak of black is painted across their eyes. Both sets of combatants wear simple loin cloths in shades of their side’s colors of red and green. Some, anticipating a fight, had the foresight to wear some kind of armor, a protective covering made from bamboo or a thin metal draped over their chest.
I deduce that one side is Onixem’s Qente Waila, the Jade Hummingbird that is seeking to rebel against the current leadership. The other side, however, is unknown to me. Because they’re wearing red, and the Tapeu colors are orange and red, are they Tapeu loyalists defending the realm from the seditious faction? If so, it’s curious that they would then shield their identities in such a grotesque fashion.
Seeing the palace guards employed onto the scene, they quickly attempt to defuse the conflict, swinging their weapons to bludgeon, not kill, the assailants from both sides and bring them into some form of custody. Anyone—wearing green or red cloth—who resists is then met with a swift fate, the palace’s warriors swinging their swords to dispose of any combatants.
Onixem disappears into the fracas, the swirl of bodies fighting and evading and running away all blending together into a confounding tapestry of chaos. Slain fighters fall around me, their blood coating the street in a slick crimson that shimmers from the torchlight, and I immediately fear for Onixem’s safety. A surge of people wearing the green of the Qente Waila take off in one direction, down a small path and away from the pursuing palace guards and red-masked foes.
Instinctively, I hurry after them, trying to stay close while simultaneously making sure I don’t get confused for being complicit with either side by the guards. After a few twists and turns down narrow alleys, squeezing between stone buildings and then large wooden ones the further away from the palace we go, eventually I find that the only people still running at this point are me and assumed members of the Jade Hummingbird, as no combatant in red or orange-and-red are anywhere to be seen.
After one more sharp turn, the group of roughly a half dozen or so vanish, their whereabouts untraceable to the naked eye. Worried that I lost track of them, I frantically search for a sign, a hint, as to where they went. I look down at the ground to try and find footprints, but it’s too dark, with the moonlight barely able to illuminate the area—and I’m furious with myself for not bringing a torch with me, forgotten as I hurriedly chased after Onixem. I feel around the walls for an opening that may have been covered up, and after groping about for a few moments, my hand pushes into one of the stones, sinking into the wall. I gasp in alarm, then watch the wall transform into some kind of entryway, sliding open slightly ajar. I look around to make sure the area is clear of any prying eyes, then pull open the door and slip inside, being sure to close the door behind me. I hear a clack as it shuts, with no trace of light leaking around its edges.
Turning around, there is a dim torchlight down and off in the distance. Before me are a set of steep, stone stairs, descending into a long hallways of sorts. Navigating only by feel, I slowly and methodically step down and down, making my way toward the torch with the hopes that I find what I’m searching for. I hear a few muffled voices, and I grow nervous about what they may think of some stranger stalking them and finding this secretive lair, seriously regretting and reconsidering my actions up to this point. Still, I resist the warning screaming in my head to turn around, steeling myself to proceed.
The voices become louder, though still somewhat indistinguishable. The hallways twists and winds around, and the occasional torch illuminates my way forward. I put some effort in calming myself down, my muscles relaxing and no longer as tense as they were moments ago, but that quickly changes once I finally observe the walls that make up this underground pathway: for this entire trek beneath the surface, I’ve assumed the walls were constructed of stone, yet I can now see they are, in fact, human skulls. I begin to scream, but immediately stifle it, clasping my mouth shut with both of my hands.
“Did you hear something?” a voice asks, muffled by the distance. I stop in place, my ears trying to latch onto any keywords, but after a few murmurings, nothing more comes of the initial question. I exhale a small sigh of relief, then gradually make my way over.
The hallway eventually splits into several diverging paths. The voices are tough to hear, a loud swishing and dripping liquid echo off the hardened, hollow walls. I close my eyes and try to focus on the direction of the voices, determining them to be coming from the left tunnel. Though I’m not certain this is correct, I feel I don’t have much choice, and decide to follow my instincts, walking down that path.
There is a dank, cold humidity under the ground, the chill sticking to my skin and causing goosebumps. Rubbing my arms to stay warm, I hurry down the pathway, hoping for, at worst, a torch or some discarded cloth to keep me warm.
My heart sinks when I notice the pathway splits into more diverging directions. Unable to discern where to go, I stand and stare at the options for what feels like an eternity. Do I go left? Right? Veer right? Straight? Back? No indicators as to where the people went, the conversations quieting down to hushes that bounce off the walls and make it tough to deduce where they’re coming from.
Just then, shouts erupt from the direction that veers right, followed by clattering of metal and loud grunts and wails. Is a fight happening in one of the chambers? Are they fighting among themselves, or did some of the red-faced people find them? Or is it the palace guards?
With only one way to find out, I proceed toward the noise, repeatedly telling myself to run at the first sign of trouble. I start to feel as if I’m getting closer to some main chamber, as more torches line the walls and illuminate the increasingly complex construction of the hallway: the walls are now made of smooth limestone, similar to that of the palace and other well-made buildings aboveground, and every so often, tiny alcoves appear where, inset into the wall, is an individual skull—unlike the walls before where the skulls appeared to be piled en masse. Along the floor are dried up husks of corn and withered flowers, gemstones and jewelry covered in a thick coat of dirt and dust. Are these offerings laid at the feet of shrines?
Run at the first sign of trouble, I repeat.
Footsteps patter from behind me, quickly approaching. I grab one of the nearby torches and wave it around, desperately attempting to extinguish it. When its light finally goes out, the alcove I’m in is shrouded in darkness—dark enough that I hope my presence is adequately concealed. The two men yell something at one another, hurrying past me and speeding toward the direction I was initially headed. Something is taking place nearby, and I’ve come too far to not find out what it is.
Run at the first sign of trouble, I repeat.
I focus on my breathing as I cautiously make my way through this dank and stuffy catacomb, slipping into the occasional alcove for cover. I approach a large, round chamber that reaches as high as the many floors of the palace, narrow stone columns extending up into the darkness of the ceiling. I slide on the slick stones that form the gradual decline of the walkway leading into the space, catching myself on the walls to hold myself steady. In the center is a raised platform, roughly the width of a human or two, with the top made of stone, but skulls form the base and perimeter, rising up to the height of one’s knees. The sounds of fighting and weapons clattering grow louder, the silhouettes dancing on the dimly lit walls, the thudding of footsteps rumbling and vibrating the ground, becoming more intense the closer I get.
I know I’ve been telling myself to run at the first sign of trouble, but…
Onixem is caught in the middle of the fighting, swinging a wooden cudgel as she fends off two men: One is balding while the other has his long, dark hair worn in a tight bun at the back of his head, both wearing a thin rope tied around their heads, which is attached to a red cloth that drapes over their faces. Her movement is fluid and swift, her attacks precise, and I have to admit, I’m in awe of her apparent skill.
One of her attackers swipes at her stomach, but she contorts her body out of the way, the blade of his dagger cutting a small tear into her loosely-fitting dress. The other tries to strike while she’s on her back foot, backing her into the catacomb walls. She slides away from the attack, her back pressed against the stones as the dagger barely misses slashing her face. Backhanded, she swings the cudgel at her foe’s arm, causing his hand to smack into the wall and loosen his grip on his dagger. With her right leg, she lifts up her foot and kicks him in his stomach, sending him tumbling backwards and colliding with one of his compatriots, the two falling into each other and onto the ground.
Her attention turns to the first assailant, a scowl on her face, and she bashes the man in the head, knocking him to his knees. She brings back the wooden weapon and bats him again, this time knocking him out cold. She looks up and sees me, her eyes express sudden confusion. The distraction of noticing my presence takes her away from the fight, and another red-clothed attacker charges in, crying out before bringing down a torch—no, wait, it’s a dagger, but it’s… on fire? How can that be? Am I imagining things?
The attacker brings the burning blade down at Onixem, but as she maneuvers out of the way, part of her dress catches on fire, flames spurting up her sleeve. Her focus remains on her opponent, swinging her cudgel around and striking a blow at his waist. As he hunches over in pain, she coils back and swings again, smashing his face into a bloodied pulp. The man drops to the ground in a pile, but Onixem persists, ruthlessly pounding the back of his head again and again and again until he’s knocked unconscious.
She looks over to the elevated platform, then at me. With urgency, she points and commands, “grab the blade!”
At first, I can’t determine what she means. Is someone about to attack me? Why grab a blade? Or should I grab a dagger to protect myself? Then I focus on what she’s pointing to and see a glimmering golden item laying idly on the platform. People are battling one another in this tight space, moving this way and that as they fight. I weave through the combatants, dodging swooping blows and ducking stray swipes to dash over to the low dais.
I grab the metallic object and inspect it, seeing what the fuss is about. It’s a long piece of embellished gold, inset with turquoise and sapphires and decorated with an engraved figure at the top, resembling a ruler or god wearing a large, round headdress atop their stoic face. She called it a “blade”, but it doesn’t look like a dagger or any knife I’ve seen, with only a rounded bottom and its golden handle twisting like threads of a rope. Flicking my thumb across it, the rounded edge is, in fact, surprisingly sharp.
A green-scarfed man is thrown into one of the stone columns, the impact of his body knocks the fragile structure to the ground. There’s an eerie pause in the fighting, with all of us looking up and around as a rumble grows louder and louder, then hollowed skulls drop from the ceiling and onto everyone present inside the chamber. The walls of stone and skulls begin to crumble around us, collapsing as rocks rain down onto of some of the men, burying them in the rubble.
“Hurry! We must protect the blade!” Onixem shouts, snapping me out of my trance and bringing me back to the present. She runs toward the opening to the chamber, shoving people aside, friend or foe, and after leaping over a fallen boulder, she reaches me, slightly out of breath. We take off, sprinting through the narrow, winding passageways. Onixem places a hand on my back as if she’s pushing me, willing me forward. We reach an intersection, paths shooting off in all directions, though only one leads to an exit that I’m aware of.
“Which way do we go?” Onixem yells, panicked.
I take a few deep breaths and look around, and after collecting my thoughts, I conclude, “to the right,” said with as much conviction as I can muster.
Men run behind us, shouting something, but I’m too focused on escaping to pay any mind. Onixem has the right of mind to grab a torch and carry it with us to light our way. Instinctively, I grab her with my free hand and pull her along with me as we twist and turn through the hallways. The cavernous path falls behind us, the yelps and grunts of those getting pounded by stones and skulls get lost in the resounding roar of the falling structure.
Though barely visible, I see a large wall blocking our exit. Did I lead us to a dead end? Did I spell our fate with the wrong turn? Then I remember the trick door, requiring pressing a false stone to release the hatch. How do we use the door to get out, though? Onixem and I desperately pat the wall, slapping our hands against every area of the surface. The rumbling intensifies, and we can only smack the wall more frequently, eager to escape.
Onixem lurches forward, her hand pressing into the wall as a stone slides forward. We hear a clack and a sliver of soft, pale moonlight peeks around the edge of the door. She pushes the slab to the side, revealing our salvation. I leap forward, flinging us both out of the mouth of the catacombs and onto the alleyway as fallen remnants entomb those who couldn’t reach the exit. Clouds of dirt and dust erupt from the collapsed entrance, covering us in some debris as we lay on the ground.
I roll onto my back and catch my breath in large gasps, gazing up at the night sky. I would never have thought to be so thankful to see the blinking stars, and I can only chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Onixem gives me an odd look, but after sitting herself up, joins me in our nervy laughter. We look at the small building, its walls now a crumpled pile of stones and wood, some of its roof fallen in. I’m not certain what this building was before, or what’s around it, but I am suddenly aware that such an event might draw wandering eyes to our location. Not wanting to be identified, I pull myself up and motion to Onixem to start moving, getting as far away from here as we can.
We eventually find a clearance and reach the vacant marketplace, void of any merchants or carts. The space is jarringly silent, with no movement other than our own. Finally at a moment of respite, I have a chance to collect my thoughts and inspect the blade more thoroughly.
“What is this?” I ask, staring at the weapon in my hand. “Seems like there was a lot of fuss about this.”
“I don’t know,” she says, “but we don’t have time to contemplate it. We must go.”
“No, wait a moment,” I say, clutching her wrist before she can walk away. She turns around to face me, looking offended that I would dare touch her, but I ignore her.
“You’ve nearly risked your life for this, for this cause, numerous times. I want to know what is so important about this item that people were fighting over it. Your people and these red-clothed terrors. Were these the same people you were fighting before?”
After a long pause, she finally nods and says, “Yes. I was told to protect the chambers, make sure no one else knew about it. A few days ago, I saw them snooping around the alleyways, and after they spotted me, I fought them off. I didn’t want them aware of the location. But they ran off after you appeared.”
“Hey,” I assertively say, “don’t blame me for that! If you hadn’t been sneaking around, acting all suspicious, I wouldn’t have been curious to follow you. You’re not as subtle as you think you are, you know.”
Onixem looks as if she’s ready to strike me, then thinks better of it, exhaling sharply and shaking her head.
“Perhaps you’re right,” she concedes, “if someone like you can spot my activity, surely there are others who can, as well.”
We leave it at that and make our way to the palace, placing the decorated blade in my satchel. I’m struck by the overwhelmingly familiar feeling of having done this together before. The occasional passerby greets us with the standard “may Iptanqa illuminate your path” salutation. While I nod to accept well-wishes, Onixem rolls her eyes and scoffs.
“Not big on the Eleven worship?” I ask teasingly. She only shakes her head and snorts, which I take it to mean that she doesn’t. With how prevalent the worshippers of the land’s ultimate heroes are around Qapauma, I’m surprised to see she doesn’t follow suit. Then again, she’s joined some rebellious organization, so maybe I shouldn’t be shocked that she’s quick to shirk traditions.
The gates at the palace entrance are significantly calmer than when we left it. Guards stand sentry next to the large opening as others finish cleaning up the debris and destruction from the skirmish that took place just beyond the walls. The bodies have been removed, fires extinguished, and citizens have returned to their homes, no longer running about in panic. Besides the palace guards, the streets are relatively quiet with an uncanny calm.
I keep my head down, gazing at the ground while Onixem and I pass through the gates. A couple of guards perk up, ready to question us and why we’re here, but one man in a well-polished bronze helmet hollers our names—Quraqa Onixem, Quraqa Haesan—and salutes, holding up his right fist by his head, then exploding his hand to splay his fingers. Onixem ignores the military greeting, but I bow, acknowledging the gesture as I continue walking, not wanting to face any questions as to why we were outside the palace grounds during such tumultuous times.
Without another word, Onixem marches past guards posted along the hallway and to her room. Realizing I still possess the blade she fought to protect, I take two steps to chase after her, then immediately think better of it, not wanting to call attention to myself or what I’ve been up to. I discreetly turn around and walk to my room, passing by the throne room. I can hear the Arbiter’s angry, high-pitched voice berating someone, and apparently not learning from my previous lesson, scuttle to an entrance to the room and peer around to listen in.
“No, Sapa,” a meek, nasally voice says, “I do not find it coincidental that such an attack took place so close to the palace.”
“They taunt me, carrying out such terrorism by my palace,” a throaty voice whines. That must be the Arbiter speaking, from what I remember during my initial encounter with him when I arrived. “I will not have such displays prominent in my land.”
“Yes, Sapa,” a collection of voices speak.
“I want you to investigate who those organizations are that dare disrupt the peace in Qapauma, and I want the perpetrators sent to the cells to be interrogated. Who are these fools wearing red and green to hide their faces like cowards, yet engage in such a brazen display of violence? I demand answers. NOW.”
I hear the shuffling of footsteps as those present scurry about, hurriedly vacating the room. I leap away from the door and pretend to be casually walking down the hallway. The men are in such a state of panic that they rush right past me, not acknowledging me once, which is perfectly fine by me at this time.
Returning to my room, my heart races with conflicting emotions as I’m gripped with uncertainty. The clash between the two clandestine organizations, their motives not fully clear, undoubtedly unsettled the city's fragile peace. It has drawn the Arbiter’s attention, and his order to investigate the skirmish could spell disaster if Onixem's involvement with the rebellious Qente Waila is exposed, although I have to wonder: why did I involve myself in this? And yet, as my hand clutches the ritualistic knife inside my satchel, its purpose still veiled in mystery, I can't escape the sense that there is more at stake than meets the eye, and that the intertwined fates between me and Onixem are hurtling toward an uncertain future, where every decision we make will shape the destiny of Pachil itself. What lies ahead is a realm teetering on the edge of transformation, and I can only wonder what perilous paths we shall tread next.
At first, my racing heartbeat is the only sound throbbing in my ears, but when I force myself to focus on the situation at hand, the sights and sounds of the surrounding chaos become clear. Guards in orange and red scramble to the main gate, ready to defend all of us inside the palace grounds from the threat outside the walls. Onixem and I look to see where the attack is taking place—I’m looking so I know where to run to safety, she’s looking, I’m certain, to see where she should to go to fight.
When I investigate closer, I notice the assault is not occurring within the palace walls, but, rather, just on the other side of them. The guards posted atop the wall point to a location just beyond them, shouting orders or directions to others below. Mortifying screams coming from the Qapauma streets reverberate my soul, interwoven with the clashing of metal and thick wooden weapons.
Knowing I can’t fight it, I allow my curiosity to guide me closer to the main gate, in dire need to see what’s happening for myself. I think Onixem is shouting to me, but it blends in with all the other yelling and noise while I progress toward the entrance. Around the wall, people have spilled out of a tall building made of light gray limestone and a subtly sloping wooden roof made of leaves and tree bark and onto the street, numerous bodies lay on the stone ground. Though they’re at a great distance from me, some of the unfortunate victims’ corpses are blackened and charred as if set aflame, likely from trying to escape a small fire that burns near the building.
Without hesitation nor warning, Onixem charges out onto the street, ignoring the commands from guards calling out to her. Occupied with the clash taking place by the palace walls, they don’t put up much of a fight to prevent her from leaving the grounds, and she walks briskly into the calamity. I want to return to the safety of the palace, protected by countless warriors surrounding the Arbiter and the other Tapeu nobility, but with Onixem endangering herself, I’m also compelled to run after her and convince her to return.
My internal debate lasts only a few heartbeats, and with my mind made up, I chase after Onixem. Brushing aside the guards’ feeble attempts to restrain me, I push and shove my way onto the stone streets. Citizens in their plain, beige outfits screech and scurry about the scene, aimlessly running in every different direction. Scanning the area for Onixem, I notice a large group of people fighting, a combination of wooden cudgels, some of which are aflame as though the attacker is simply using a torch, and severe obsidian swords with their multiple black blades embedded into the base of the stick.
The two separate groups slash and hack at one another, bodies and weapons colliding and brawling. It’s evident that two sides are clashing: the appearance of the one group is disturbing, wearing a blood red cloth over their faces, which masks their identities by disguising facial features, and the other cover only their mouths with a green and purple scarf while a streak of black is painted across their eyes. Both sets of combatants wear simple loin cloths in shades of their side’s colors of red and green. Some, anticipating a fight, had the foresight to wear some kind of armor, a protective covering made from bamboo or a thin metal draped over their chest.
I deduce that one side is Onixem’s Qente Waila, the Jade Hummingbird that is seeking to rebel against the current leadership. The other side, however, is unknown to me. Because they’re wearing red, and the Tapeu colors are orange and red, are they Tapeu loyalists defending the realm from the seditious faction? If so, it’s curious that they would then shield their identities in such a grotesque fashion.
Seeing the palace guards employed onto the scene, they quickly attempt to defuse the conflict, swinging their weapons to bludgeon, not kill, the assailants from both sides and bring them into some form of custody. Anyone—wearing green or red cloth—who resists is then met with a swift fate, the palace’s warriors swinging their swords to dispose of any combatants.
Onixem disappears into the fracas, the swirl of bodies fighting and evading and running away all blending together into a confounding tapestry of chaos. Slain fighters fall around me, their blood coating the street in a slick crimson that shimmers from the torchlight, and I immediately fear for Onixem’s safety. A surge of people wearing the green of the Qente Waila take off in one direction, down a small path and away from the pursuing palace guards and red-masked foes.
Instinctively, I hurry after them, trying to stay close while simultaneously making sure I don’t get confused for being complicit with either side by the guards. After a few twists and turns down narrow alleys, squeezing between stone buildings and then large wooden ones the further away from the palace we go, eventually I find that the only people still running at this point are me and assumed members of the Jade Hummingbird, as no combatant in red or orange-and-red are anywhere to be seen.
After one more sharp turn, the group of roughly a half dozen or so vanish, their whereabouts untraceable to the naked eye. Worried that I lost track of them, I frantically search for a sign, a hint, as to where they went. I look down at the ground to try and find footprints, but it’s too dark, with the moonlight barely able to illuminate the area—and I’m furious with myself for not bringing a torch with me, forgotten as I hurriedly chased after Onixem. I feel around the walls for an opening that may have been covered up, and after groping about for a few moments, my hand pushes into one of the stones, sinking into the wall. I gasp in alarm, then watch the wall transform into some kind of entryway, sliding open slightly ajar. I look around to make sure the area is clear of any prying eyes, then pull open the door and slip inside, being sure to close the door behind me. I hear a clack as it shuts, with no trace of light leaking around its edges.
Turning around, there is a dim torchlight down and off in the distance. Before me are a set of steep, stone stairs, descending into a long hallways of sorts. Navigating only by feel, I slowly and methodically step down and down, making my way toward the torch with the hopes that I find what I’m searching for. I hear a few muffled voices, and I grow nervous about what they may think of some stranger stalking them and finding this secretive lair, seriously regretting and reconsidering my actions up to this point. Still, I resist the warning screaming in my head to turn around, steeling myself to proceed.
The voices become louder, though still somewhat indistinguishable. The hallways twists and winds around, and the occasional torch illuminates my way forward. I put some effort in calming myself down, my muscles relaxing and no longer as tense as they were moments ago, but that quickly changes once I finally observe the walls that make up this underground pathway: for this entire trek beneath the surface, I’ve assumed the walls were constructed of stone, yet I can now see they are, in fact, human skulls. I begin to scream, but immediately stifle it, clasping my mouth shut with both of my hands.
“Did you hear something?” a voice asks, muffled by the distance. I stop in place, my ears trying to latch onto any keywords, but after a few murmurings, nothing more comes of the initial question. I exhale a small sigh of relief, then gradually make my way over.
The hallway eventually splits into several diverging paths. The voices are tough to hear, a loud swishing and dripping liquid echo off the hardened, hollow walls. I close my eyes and try to focus on the direction of the voices, determining them to be coming from the left tunnel. Though I’m not certain this is correct, I feel I don’t have much choice, and decide to follow my instincts, walking down that path.
There is a dank, cold humidity under the ground, the chill sticking to my skin and causing goosebumps. Rubbing my arms to stay warm, I hurry down the pathway, hoping for, at worst, a torch or some discarded cloth to keep me warm.
My heart sinks when I notice the pathway splits into more diverging directions. Unable to discern where to go, I stand and stare at the options for what feels like an eternity. Do I go left? Right? Veer right? Straight? Back? No indicators as to where the people went, the conversations quieting down to hushes that bounce off the walls and make it tough to deduce where they’re coming from.
Just then, shouts erupt from the direction that veers right, followed by clattering of metal and loud grunts and wails. Is a fight happening in one of the chambers? Are they fighting among themselves, or did some of the red-faced people find them? Or is it the palace guards?
With only one way to find out, I proceed toward the noise, repeatedly telling myself to run at the first sign of trouble. I start to feel as if I’m getting closer to some main chamber, as more torches line the walls and illuminate the increasingly complex construction of the hallway: the walls are now made of smooth limestone, similar to that of the palace and other well-made buildings aboveground, and every so often, tiny alcoves appear where, inset into the wall, is an individual skull—unlike the walls before where the skulls appeared to be piled en masse. Along the floor are dried up husks of corn and withered flowers, gemstones and jewelry covered in a thick coat of dirt and dust. Are these offerings laid at the feet of shrines?
Run at the first sign of trouble, I repeat.
Footsteps patter from behind me, quickly approaching. I grab one of the nearby torches and wave it around, desperately attempting to extinguish it. When its light finally goes out, the alcove I’m in is shrouded in darkness—dark enough that I hope my presence is adequately concealed. The two men yell something at one another, hurrying past me and speeding toward the direction I was initially headed. Something is taking place nearby, and I’ve come too far to not find out what it is.
Run at the first sign of trouble, I repeat.
I focus on my breathing as I cautiously make my way through this dank and stuffy catacomb, slipping into the occasional alcove for cover. I approach a large, round chamber that reaches as high as the many floors of the palace, narrow stone columns extending up into the darkness of the ceiling. I slide on the slick stones that form the gradual decline of the walkway leading into the space, catching myself on the walls to hold myself steady. In the center is a raised platform, roughly the width of a human or two, with the top made of stone, but skulls form the base and perimeter, rising up to the height of one’s knees. The sounds of fighting and weapons clattering grow louder, the silhouettes dancing on the dimly lit walls, the thudding of footsteps rumbling and vibrating the ground, becoming more intense the closer I get.
I know I’ve been telling myself to run at the first sign of trouble, but…
Onixem is caught in the middle of the fighting, swinging a wooden cudgel as she fends off two men: One is balding while the other has his long, dark hair worn in a tight bun at the back of his head, both wearing a thin rope tied around their heads, which is attached to a red cloth that drapes over their faces. Her movement is fluid and swift, her attacks precise, and I have to admit, I’m in awe of her apparent skill.
One of her attackers swipes at her stomach, but she contorts her body out of the way, the blade of his dagger cutting a small tear into her loosely-fitting dress. The other tries to strike while she’s on her back foot, backing her into the catacomb walls. She slides away from the attack, her back pressed against the stones as the dagger barely misses slashing her face. Backhanded, she swings the cudgel at her foe’s arm, causing his hand to smack into the wall and loosen his grip on his dagger. With her right leg, she lifts up her foot and kicks him in his stomach, sending him tumbling backwards and colliding with one of his compatriots, the two falling into each other and onto the ground.
Her attention turns to the first assailant, a scowl on her face, and she bashes the man in the head, knocking him to his knees. She brings back the wooden weapon and bats him again, this time knocking him out cold. She looks up and sees me, her eyes express sudden confusion. The distraction of noticing my presence takes her away from the fight, and another red-clothed attacker charges in, crying out before bringing down a torch—no, wait, it’s a dagger, but it’s… on fire? How can that be? Am I imagining things?
The attacker brings the burning blade down at Onixem, but as she maneuvers out of the way, part of her dress catches on fire, flames spurting up her sleeve. Her focus remains on her opponent, swinging her cudgel around and striking a blow at his waist. As he hunches over in pain, she coils back and swings again, smashing his face into a bloodied pulp. The man drops to the ground in a pile, but Onixem persists, ruthlessly pounding the back of his head again and again and again until he’s knocked unconscious.
She looks over to the elevated platform, then at me. With urgency, she points and commands, “grab the blade!”
At first, I can’t determine what she means. Is someone about to attack me? Why grab a blade? Or should I grab a dagger to protect myself? Then I focus on what she’s pointing to and see a glimmering golden item laying idly on the platform. People are battling one another in this tight space, moving this way and that as they fight. I weave through the combatants, dodging swooping blows and ducking stray swipes to dash over to the low dais.
I grab the metallic object and inspect it, seeing what the fuss is about. It’s a long piece of embellished gold, inset with turquoise and sapphires and decorated with an engraved figure at the top, resembling a ruler or god wearing a large, round headdress atop their stoic face. She called it a “blade”, but it doesn’t look like a dagger or any knife I’ve seen, with only a rounded bottom and its golden handle twisting like threads of a rope. Flicking my thumb across it, the rounded edge is, in fact, surprisingly sharp.
A green-scarfed man is thrown into one of the stone columns, the impact of his body knocks the fragile structure to the ground. There’s an eerie pause in the fighting, with all of us looking up and around as a rumble grows louder and louder, then hollowed skulls drop from the ceiling and onto everyone present inside the chamber. The walls of stone and skulls begin to crumble around us, collapsing as rocks rain down onto of some of the men, burying them in the rubble.
“Hurry! We must protect the blade!” Onixem shouts, snapping me out of my trance and bringing me back to the present. She runs toward the opening to the chamber, shoving people aside, friend or foe, and after leaping over a fallen boulder, she reaches me, slightly out of breath. We take off, sprinting through the narrow, winding passageways. Onixem places a hand on my back as if she’s pushing me, willing me forward. We reach an intersection, paths shooting off in all directions, though only one leads to an exit that I’m aware of.
“Which way do we go?” Onixem yells, panicked.
I take a few deep breaths and look around, and after collecting my thoughts, I conclude, “to the right,” said with as much conviction as I can muster.
Men run behind us, shouting something, but I’m too focused on escaping to pay any mind. Onixem has the right of mind to grab a torch and carry it with us to light our way. Instinctively, I grab her with my free hand and pull her along with me as we twist and turn through the hallways. The cavernous path falls behind us, the yelps and grunts of those getting pounded by stones and skulls get lost in the resounding roar of the falling structure.
Though barely visible, I see a large wall blocking our exit. Did I lead us to a dead end? Did I spell our fate with the wrong turn? Then I remember the trick door, requiring pressing a false stone to release the hatch. How do we use the door to get out, though? Onixem and I desperately pat the wall, slapping our hands against every area of the surface. The rumbling intensifies, and we can only smack the wall more frequently, eager to escape.
Onixem lurches forward, her hand pressing into the wall as a stone slides forward. We hear a clack and a sliver of soft, pale moonlight peeks around the edge of the door. She pushes the slab to the side, revealing our salvation. I leap forward, flinging us both out of the mouth of the catacombs and onto the alleyway as fallen remnants entomb those who couldn’t reach the exit. Clouds of dirt and dust erupt from the collapsed entrance, covering us in some debris as we lay on the ground.
I roll onto my back and catch my breath in large gasps, gazing up at the night sky. I would never have thought to be so thankful to see the blinking stars, and I can only chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Onixem gives me an odd look, but after sitting herself up, joins me in our nervy laughter. We look at the small building, its walls now a crumpled pile of stones and wood, some of its roof fallen in. I’m not certain what this building was before, or what’s around it, but I am suddenly aware that such an event might draw wandering eyes to our location. Not wanting to be identified, I pull myself up and motion to Onixem to start moving, getting as far away from here as we can.
We eventually find a clearance and reach the vacant marketplace, void of any merchants or carts. The space is jarringly silent, with no movement other than our own. Finally at a moment of respite, I have a chance to collect my thoughts and inspect the blade more thoroughly.
“What is this?” I ask, staring at the weapon in my hand. “Seems like there was a lot of fuss about this.”
“I don’t know,” she says, “but we don’t have time to contemplate it. We must go.”
“No, wait a moment,” I say, clutching her wrist before she can walk away. She turns around to face me, looking offended that I would dare touch her, but I ignore her.
“You’ve nearly risked your life for this, for this cause, numerous times. I want to know what is so important about this item that people were fighting over it. Your people and these red-clothed terrors. Were these the same people you were fighting before?”
After a long pause, she finally nods and says, “Yes. I was told to protect the chambers, make sure no one else knew about it. A few days ago, I saw them snooping around the alleyways, and after they spotted me, I fought them off. I didn’t want them aware of the location. But they ran off after you appeared.”
“Hey,” I assertively say, “don’t blame me for that! If you hadn’t been sneaking around, acting all suspicious, I wouldn’t have been curious to follow you. You’re not as subtle as you think you are, you know.”
Onixem looks as if she’s ready to strike me, then thinks better of it, exhaling sharply and shaking her head.
“Perhaps you’re right,” she concedes, “if someone like you can spot my activity, surely there are others who can, as well.”
We leave it at that and make our way to the palace, placing the decorated blade in my satchel. I’m struck by the overwhelmingly familiar feeling of having done this together before. The occasional passerby greets us with the standard “may Iptanqa illuminate your path” salutation. While I nod to accept well-wishes, Onixem rolls her eyes and scoffs.
“Not big on the Eleven worship?” I ask teasingly. She only shakes her head and snorts, which I take it to mean that she doesn’t. With how prevalent the worshippers of the land’s ultimate heroes are around Qapauma, I’m surprised to see she doesn’t follow suit. Then again, she’s joined some rebellious organization, so maybe I shouldn’t be shocked that she’s quick to shirk traditions.
The gates at the palace entrance are significantly calmer than when we left it. Guards stand sentry next to the large opening as others finish cleaning up the debris and destruction from the skirmish that took place just beyond the walls. The bodies have been removed, fires extinguished, and citizens have returned to their homes, no longer running about in panic. Besides the palace guards, the streets are relatively quiet with an uncanny calm.
I keep my head down, gazing at the ground while Onixem and I pass through the gates. A couple of guards perk up, ready to question us and why we’re here, but one man in a well-polished bronze helmet hollers our names—Quraqa Onixem, Quraqa Haesan—and salutes, holding up his right fist by his head, then exploding his hand to splay his fingers. Onixem ignores the military greeting, but I bow, acknowledging the gesture as I continue walking, not wanting to face any questions as to why we were outside the palace grounds during such tumultuous times.
Without another word, Onixem marches past guards posted along the hallway and to her room. Realizing I still possess the blade she fought to protect, I take two steps to chase after her, then immediately think better of it, not wanting to call attention to myself or what I’ve been up to. I discreetly turn around and walk to my room, passing by the throne room. I can hear the Arbiter’s angry, high-pitched voice berating someone, and apparently not learning from my previous lesson, scuttle to an entrance to the room and peer around to listen in.
“No, Sapa,” a meek, nasally voice says, “I do not find it coincidental that such an attack took place so close to the palace.”
“They taunt me, carrying out such terrorism by my palace,” a throaty voice whines. That must be the Arbiter speaking, from what I remember during my initial encounter with him when I arrived. “I will not have such displays prominent in my land.”
“Yes, Sapa,” a collection of voices speak.
“I want you to investigate who those organizations are that dare disrupt the peace in Qapauma, and I want the perpetrators sent to the cells to be interrogated. Who are these fools wearing red and green to hide their faces like cowards, yet engage in such a brazen display of violence? I demand answers. NOW.”
I hear the shuffling of footsteps as those present scurry about, hurriedly vacating the room. I leap away from the door and pretend to be casually walking down the hallway. The men are in such a state of panic that they rush right past me, not acknowledging me once, which is perfectly fine by me at this time.
Returning to my room, my heart races with conflicting emotions as I’m gripped with uncertainty. The clash between the two clandestine organizations, their motives not fully clear, undoubtedly unsettled the city's fragile peace. It has drawn the Arbiter’s attention, and his order to investigate the skirmish could spell disaster if Onixem's involvement with the rebellious Qente Waila is exposed, although I have to wonder: why did I involve myself in this? And yet, as my hand clutches the ritualistic knife inside my satchel, its purpose still veiled in mystery, I can't escape the sense that there is more at stake than meets the eye, and that the intertwined fates between me and Onixem are hurtling toward an uncertain future, where every decision we make will shape the destiny of Pachil itself. What lies ahead is a realm teetering on the edge of transformation, and I can only wonder what perilous paths we shall tread next.
