The muscles in my legs burn with each step, but I mustn’t stop moving. My feet pound on the rugged, unforgiving terrain, heavily breathing as I race north of Pichaqta. How do the messengers do this on a regular basis?
After Saxina demanded my removal from the palace grounds, it was clear to me that the investigation into Limaqumtlia’s death was nonexistent. Like a flawed blade, Saxina’s tongue is twisted and doesn’t strike true. Without him being able to give me a straight answer, I know of only one person whom I can trust with seeking true justice for my brother’s murder.
As much as I yearned for a quiet existence, Aqxilapu seems to have a different path for me, if one believed in such things. I once believed Saxina and the authorities were delving into Limaqumtlia’s demise, but with no substantial progress, the responsibility appears to fall squarely on my shoulders to unearth the truth behind that pivotal day. I also can’t complain about escaping the unbearable Taqaiu, who has become even more insufferable with the lack of jubilant patrons—understandably so when one considers the ordinance put in place by Saxina and its severe demands of the Qiapu citizens.
Without hesitation, I returned to my home and grabbed my belongings, enough for the trek to chase down Qumuna and his band of men as he travels north to Qapauma to fulfill his duty of becoming the Arbiter’s aid and honorable representative of Qiapu. Along with a few days’ worth of clothing, I brought along provisions like dried fruits, nuts, and seeds, a cloth bedroll, a flint and stone knife, a couple pouches for water, and some hemp rope.
As I was gathering these items, resting on the wall at the back of the room, I spotted my war club, long unused. I walked over to it and felt its lightweight yet durable build, arguably one of the finest-crafted weapons I’ve ever seen made by my people. It’s a combination of copper and bronze, a resilient hardness as a result of the copper, but the ornate engravings in the bronze, geometric patterns shaped like a condor inscribed into the handle, make it truly unique. When I held it in my hands, it brought back the memory of how I came to possess such an impressive weapon.
It was during the time of the War of Liberation, as many such tales involving a weapon would imaginably occur. In the beginning, before Limaqumtlia would be placed in charge of a band of warriors who would go on to claim much glory in the duration of the war, he and I were warriors in different squads that fought throughout the Qiapu countryside. Though he wasn’t the most capable fighter in his group, I was significantly worse in mine; Limaqumtlia knew enough to effectively combat at least half of the foes on the battlefield, while I spent most of my time hoping to never have to wield my sword.
Most of my squad’s missions, thankfully, involved protecting the delivery of supplies to the villages and towns in our faction’s land, as militants of the Timuaq and their allies would regularly attempt to cut off supply lines. This was the kind of act of service I could support with my skillset: Following the men carrying the heavy load of supplies on pallets, we’d march alongside to make sure there weren’t any enemy forces or opportunistic thieves that would ambush them.
During one mission, our travels brought us to Qespina, a tiny village tucked away in the mountains to the southwest of Pichaqta, close to the source of the mighty Maiu Atiniuq—“Mighty River”, as it’s cleverly named. The village didn’t contain many people who lived there, but much like its similarly creative name, which means “Safe Haven”, it provided respite for the bands of warriors traveling through the region.
As we approached, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. Although this was a small, unassuming town, the road leading up to it was eerily and suspiciously quiet. The terraced farms around the perimeter of the village were lacking the usual activity, with no one present to work the fields. The group of men were about to march on, but I managed to convince them to halt until I could forge ahead and scout the location, placing a bet with the impatient warriors to let me go through with my plan, which involved consuming something foul that I don’t care to repeat.
I scaled the nearby cliffs to get a better perspective of the area below, and discovered a small group of Timuaq-aligned warriors; nearly triple our numbers had seized the town. The village was vulnerable to their large number of advancing Timuaq forces, choking a major supply route connecting Pichaqta to our neighbors.
I was undeterred by my lack any formal combat training and embarked on a mission to take them out. Knowing the mountains better than the Timuaq, I devised a scheme to have our men prepare a trap, drawing them into the narrow valley we just walked. Together, we painstakingly loosened the massive stones that clung to the precipice, then wedged wooden supports and braces between the stones, ready to unleash devastation unto our unsuspecting enemy.
With the trap poised above, I made my way to Qespina, firing a single arrow into a group of enemy combatants to draw their attention to me. Whether I hit an enemy or not, I can’t say—I didn’t stay long enough to inspect my work. I ran down the narrow path between the mountains, being chased by our foes. After I crossed the threshold, our men struck the braces free. I remember the deafening rumble as the first boulder plummeted, triggering an unstoppable cascade. The rockslide thundered down the mountain's flank, and the onslaught of rock and debris consumed most of their ranks. Those who still stood were shot by our archers above, arrows rained down upon their remaining men, and then we easily defeated the small number who stayed behind to guard the village.
We later found the villagers safe in a nearby cave, having the good fortune to be alerted to the approaching Timuaq allies and escaped their clutches by abandoning their homes. As a token of gratitude for crafting the plan that drove out the oppressing forces, the town's leader presented me with what he called the Ridgebreaker—an astounding war club, the intricate engravings on the weapon's handle being a sight to behold. Although my skills in combat deem me entirely unworthy of possessing such an item, I politely accepted the gift nonetheless.
Strapping the Ridgebreaker to my back, I set off to find Qumuna, who had departed earlier in the day well before I started work at the inn. With the overcast skies that have plagued the region for days, it’s difficult to tell what time of day it was when I departed. But I hadn’t planned on stopping to rest when I decided to leave, so what does time matter?
By now I’ve reached the edge of Qiapu territory after many days of travel, and the difference from Pichaqta is drastic: The temperature is warmer, the vegetation is more dense, and the change in elevation is not as drastic, making the travel slightly more comfortable than earlier. Instead of mountains, I walk on rounded hills, and the presence of trees provides much-welcomed shade for this warmer climate. Here, the greens are richer compared to the stark grays and browns of the capital, now that I’ve descended below the tree line. Just beyond these hills is Tapeu territory that stretches along the coast, though the sea is still difficult to see from here despite being this high up. If I went west, I’d find myself in the dangerous jungles of Auilqa. Stories abound of the perils one will encounter if they happen upon the vicious creatures lurking in the land, or the more vicious people who live and survive among them. Best to stay on this side of that boundary.
I take in the scenery, appreciating the calls of birds I’ve never heard and the trees and flowers I’ve never seen, having not been outside of Qiapu, as well as my tours of service having only placed me at locations in the opposite direction within our own territory. I take occasional nourishing sips from the nearby stream that twists and turns as it cuts through the slopes of the hills.
I hear rustling near a patch of trees to my right, sounding like footsteps of a creature treading carefully as it stalks its prey. Perhaps a puma, or maybe a bear? I sense a more sinister predator lurking, watching my movements. I slow my pace and, out of caution, reach for the Ridgebreaker.
An arrow whizzes past my head, and I duck as a reaction. Laughter arises from the nearby trees. Emerging from behind the trunks are a group of men, perhaps a dozen or so, in filthy, torn, white tunics. Their facial hair spans from stubble to full grown beards extending beyond their neck, and cheaply-made woolen caps top their scalps.
“Traveling alone?” one of the men asks rhetorically, his rough and scratchy voice sounds as if it hasn’t been used in some time. “Pretty dangerous to be out here by yourself.”
“Never know who you’re going to run into out in these wilds,” someone else says, his voice sounding high pitched like it’s still being developed. “Scary beasts roam these woods, you know.”
“Mighty fine weapon you’ve got there,” another one says, slightly difficult to understand his words due to his raspiness. “What is that, Qiapu craftsmanship?”
“Fine work, fine work,” the first one says. “Let’s see if you know how to use it.”
I notice most of them carrying swords, rusted and hardly well-maintained, likely stolen off of any unfortunate passerbys. They all wear sandals or other low-cut leather footwear, which gives me an idea. I scan the area for anything I can use to escape this situation, but the men are slowly encircling me like the tightening of a noose.
Thinking on my feet, my gaze darts to a steep, rocky hill nearby, a potential escape route. Fixing my attention on the youngest and leanest of the robbers, I seize an opportunity. With a burst of determination, I charge at him, leveraging my war club to shove him aside. He stumbles, lacking the strength to resist, and I dash forward, heart pounding as shouts echo behind me.
Ascending the hillside demands every ounce of energy, yet my familiarity with the treacherous terrain works in my favor. I hear their pursuit growing distant, their heavy footfalls struggling to keep pace. My nimble strides, along with the sturdy boots I wear, give me an edge. I anticipate their intent to flank me, but the terrain seems to favor my choice to escape.
My calculated ascent continues, confidence bolstering my efforts. If I can just crest this hill, I may outrun them entirely. Yet, as my fingers claw at the rocky outcrop, my hastily packed sack of belongings shifts, upsetting my balance. My foot skids on loose rock, sending me sliding back down. Frustration courses through me, but there's no time for dwelling. The robbers gain ground, reaching out for me.
Regaining my footing, I force myself onward. The summit beckons, tantalizingly close. The undergrowth scratches at my skin as I surge forward, my breath ragged. Finally, I reach the crest, only to be met with disappointment: The dense tree cover has thinned, leaving rocky expanses exposed. Hidden hollows and boulders dot the landscape, and a stream winds its way around the terrain on the other side. If I can reach the water, perhaps I can erase my tracks.
The robbers emerge, their crude laughter turning to puzzled grumbles as they fan out in search of me. My heart pounds in my chest as I settle into the alcove of a gnarled, windswept tree, its roots providing me with cover. Clutching my war club, I wait in tense silence. The robbers' voices draw near, their words exposing their feeling of uncertainty.
A shout rises above the rest in frustration, coming from the man with the raspy voice. "Where did he go? I want that club!”
I brace myself, focusing on steadying my breath. Then, seizing the moment, I thrust the sack down the slope with all my might, the crashing tumult echoing through the air. The robbers pivot, their attention captured by the sudden chaos.
As they walk over to investigate, I take my chance, slinking down the hillside away from them with the Ridgebreaker in hand. The ground beneath me is treacherous, but I'm driven by desperation and the promise of temporary freedom. Their shouts fade as I gain distance, moving as silently as I can manage. The prospect of capture lingers, urging me to keep moving. Yet, in my focus to be stealthy, I slip on a loose rock, tumbling to the ground. A jolt of pain shoots through my right leg, but there’s no time to tend to my injury. I have to press on, so I run as hard as I can away from these robbers.
A glimmer of hope takes root as I glance back and find no sign of my pursuers. After a short distance, however, my injured leg makes it nearly impossible to continue running. I crouch behind a large rock for cover, a mere short-lived respite, but it grants me time to catch my breath and reassess. My mind races, considering my next move and the pain in my wounded leg as the shouts and hurried footsteps begin to draw closer. My leg doesn’t look bad on the outside, just something on the inside—my knee, perhaps—makes it difficult to bend and push off to run. Should I utilize Ridgebreaker and attempt to reclaim my belongings, or should I capitalize on this fleeting opportunity to distance myself further, hoping my leg can hold up? How much further can I get with this wound?
As I ponder, a presence brushes against my senses—an inexplicable shift in the air. I pivot, heart pounding, believing it to be an unaccounted for pursuer, yet there she stands. A stranger with eyes of piercing blue like that of a cloudless sky, dressed in a deep blue tunic adorned with gleaming bronze jewelry, with a blue and red feather in her hair. She exudes an aura of confidence and power, an undeniable force.
“Are you alright?” Her voice is contradictorily soft, tinged with a muted concern.
Stunned, breathless, and relieved, I manage a nod. She looks in the direction of the thieves, then raises her hand, and I watch in awe as water rises from the nearby stream, coiling and swirling around like a playful serpent.
The robbers in pursuit slide to a halt as they witness the same scene, stupefied and likely also wondering if they’re dreaming. With a flick of her wrist, a wall of water surges between us and the assailants, forming a protective barrier. It gradually rolls closer to them, forcing them to take steps backward in retreat.
“We should move,” she says, nearly a strained whisper. “I’m uncertain how long this will last.”
Is she the Eleven reborn? Is she a goddess? They were supposed to no longer exist. Is this an illusion, a trick of the mind caused by my injury?
Heeding her suggestion, I begin to run away as best I can from the wall of water and move along the stream, checking over my shoulder to see how she’s faring. I notice her stance beginning to weaken, her shoulders slouching and her back hunching over as she slowly walks away from her creation, and I shout for her to abandon her position and join me. She obliges, stumbling as she heads my way, though looking visibly weakened by whatever act of sorcery she performed. By the time she reaches me, the barrier of water begins to fall, dropping to the ground with a woosh before being absorbed into the soil and slowly sliding back to the stream.
I wrap her arm around my neck and hoist her up, supporting her as we begin to race down the bank of the stream. There’s a good distance between us and the robbers now, and even with carrying her in her—and my, admittedly—weakened state, we could possibly elude this danger. Her figure is slight and delicate, making it easy for me to support her, though it still astounds me how someone so petite could create such a significant show of force through water.
I’m still trying to comprehend what spectacle I just witnessed, but force myself to focus my attention on searching where to go and what plan I can hatch to ensure our safety and escape. The robbers begin to regroup and resume their pursuit, leaving us little time to find refuge. I consider my belongings a lost cause, at this point, hoping to just be able to leave with our lives. The stream weaves its way around another hill, then flows between two moderate rocky inclines before winding its way back toward the path, with the foliage along the banks of the stream thick and dense. With a swift nod to one another, we race along the stream and look for cover.
Pushing forward, we find ourselves in a small hollow between a cluster of boulders, our place of hiding concealed by overhanging vegetation. We huddle in the shadows, breaths measured as we watch and wait, the tension in the air thickening with every passing moment. We can’t keep running, especially with this girl in her weakened condition and my leg burning in pain, so my hope is to lose the pursuers, avoid their detection, and cause them to call off the chase, allowing us to slip away.
A cacophony of footsteps trample the leaves and underbrush as the robbers hurry after us. With my heart pounding, I silently hope to myself that our place of hiding will eventually lead us to the safety we desperately seek. Realizing we’re nowhere to be found, they are momentarily thrown off by our sudden disappearance, hesitating and glancing around in confusion, and we hear their muffled curses.
A faint rustling from the nearby forest catches my attention. From our concealed vantage point, we watch a collection of men storm the scene with fierce determination, their figures cutting through the chaos like retribution itself. The clash of steel against steel rings through the air, and the robbers' futile attempts are met with calculated precision. The numbers are quickly whittled down, with some of the assailants taking off once they realize the hopelessness of their situation. Some of our rescuers give chase, with an archer standing tall and firm, bringing the bow and arrow around and down, then almost casually pulling the draw string back and releasing it with a well-practiced calm and steadiness. A grunt, then the sound of a tumble as one of the fleeing robbers falls to the ground, an arrow plunged into his back.
As the other thieves attempt to escape, and the clearing echoes with their defeated cries, I look back at the remaining men at the scene. I’d be lying if I didn’t confess to being nervous that we replaced one set of robbers for a more dangerous enemy, but when I cast my attention to the group’s leader, I know I can breathe a sign of relief. The girl and I emerge from the hollow, and I join Qumuna as he surveys the aftermath, his gaze drawn around to us. A handful of his men stand on high alert, weapons drawn and poised to strike, perceiving us as a threat. However, Qumuna acts swiftly, a commanding hand raised to halt their aggressive actions.
When we approach, the grizzled general looks dumbfounded, switching his attention between me and the girl. Seeing her worn appearance, he waves his hands and orders his men to quickly fetch her a pouch of water. Two of his other men hurry over to her and ease her to the ground, where she sits and looks to catch her breath.
“Paxilche,” he says in surprise, “what in Pachil are you doing this far north, out of Pichaqta?”
“I’m actually searching for you,” I say, slightly winded myself. “We have important matters to discuss regarding Saxina and the Tempered, though…” I look over at the girl, then look back at Qumuna, “it might have to wait for a later time.”
“And what of this young lady?” Qumuna asks, splaying out his hand as if presenting her. “Who is your traveling companion?”
“My name is Walumaq,” she says in her soft-spoken whisper of a voice.
“We… just happened to meet, with the robbers,” I say, uncertain how to broach the subject.
“Ah, rescuing a damsel in distress, I see.” He ribs me with a smirk.
“Actually, Qumuna, she rescued me, if you can believe it,” I confess. I feel myself gazing, perhaps too long, at the girl, Walumaq. For my entire life, I never believed in deities or supernatural abilities—even the tales told about the Eleven are likely embellished with impossible, untrue details of their feats. What I just witnessed, however, can’t be put into words, and this frail, petite girl has shaken my beliefs to their core.
“How?” he is baffled by the correction, but I choose not to answer. I’m still trying to make sense of what I saw, and I fear any mention of the events that took place will undoubtedly be viewed either with skepticism or worse. She had come to my aid in my time of need, so while Qumuna is a rational man, he can also be practical to a fault. Thus, I’m hesitant to put my rescuer’s life in danger by exposing her capabilities to those who may not take the news well.
“No matter,” he says, mercifully dropping the subject. “It appears Aqxilapu has bid you good fortune, as we happened upon you at the right moment.”
“Yes, we’re very thankful, and grateful for your arrival,” Walumaq says graciously, regaining some of the strength in her voice. Her appearance is that of someone so young, yet she speaks as eloquently as a seasoned noble.
“We had fought off a band of robbers further north of here,” Qumuna says. “We were able to defeat a number of them, but there were a dozen or so who fled. We hesitated turning around, due to my time-sensitive obligations in Qapauma, but we didn’t want them endangering any other travelers or merchants utilizing this route. It seems our instincts were correct to hunt them down. I’m sure the Arbiter will accept my apology and explanation.”
“You’ve always had excellent instincts, Qumuna.” I nod in appreciation. His men return from pursuing the thieves, and one carries my sack of belongings while two others carry the limp body of a deceased robber they chased down. Their exchange is muffled and kept low, eventually leading to Qumuna looking pleased and patting the men on their shoulders before the warriors walk away. After he is handed the sack, Qumuna turns to me and extends it outward.
“I believe this belongs to you, Paxilche.” I accept and am relieved to find everything in its place. It isn’t much, but it’s mine, and I’m glad to have everything returned to me in one piece.
He eventually brings up something I had failed to notice during our efforts to flee to safety. “You wear Sanqo colors, girl,” Qumuna says, the change in his demeanor is abrupt and jarring, now suddenly becoming suspicious and almost accusatory. “Is that by happenstance, or are you–“ he hesitates to complete the statement, but Walumaq finishes the thought for him.
“I am Sanqo,” she says, an air of pride in her wispy voice, or perhaps a regality in her tone I may have missed, as if she’s accustomed to spending time around nobility.
“All the way out here? Away from your island and near the Tapeu and Qiapu border?” Qumuna’s voice starts to sound as though he’s interrogating her.
“It will require some explanation,” she says with surprising confidence, despite her modest tone, “but I am more than willing to discuss the matter with you, if you would be so kind as to oblige.”
The muscles in my legs burn with each step, but I mustn’t stop moving. My feet pound on the rugged, unforgiving terrain, heavily breathing as I race north of Pichaqta. How do the messengers do this on a regular basis?
After Saxina demanded my removal from the palace grounds, it was clear to me that the investigation into Limaqumtlia’s death was nonexistent. Like a flawed blade, Saxina’s tongue is twisted and doesn’t strike true. Without him being able to give me a straight answer, I know of only one person whom I can trust with seeking true justice for my brother’s murder.
As much as I yearned for a quiet existence, Aqxilapu seems to have a different path for me, if one believed in such things. I once believed Saxina and the authorities were delving into Limaqumtlia’s demise, but with no substantial progress, the responsibility appears to fall squarely on my shoulders to unearth the truth behind that pivotal day. I also can’t complain about escaping the unbearable Taqaiu, who has become even more insufferable with the lack of jubilant patrons—understandably so when one considers the ordinance put in place by Saxina and its severe demands of the Qiapu citizens.
Without hesitation, I returned to my home and grabbed my belongings, enough for the trek to chase down Qumuna and his band of men as he travels north to Qapauma to fulfill his duty of becoming the Arbiter’s aid and honorable representative of Qiapu. Along with a few days’ worth of clothing, I brought along provisions like dried fruits, nuts, and seeds, a cloth bedroll, a flint and stone knife, a couple pouches for water, and some hemp rope.
As I was gathering these items, resting on the wall at the back of the room, I spotted my war club, long unused. I walked over to it and felt its lightweight yet durable build, arguably one of the finest-crafted weapons I’ve ever seen made by my people. It’s a combination of copper and bronze, a resilient hardness as a result of the copper, but the ornate engravings in the bronze, geometric patterns shaped like a condor inscribed into the handle, make it truly unique. When I held it in my hands, it brought back the memory of how I came to possess such an impressive weapon.
It was during the time of the War of Liberation, as many such tales involving a weapon would imaginably occur. In the beginning, before Limaqumtlia would be placed in charge of a band of warriors who would go on to claim much glory in the duration of the war, he and I were warriors in different squads that fought throughout the Qiapu countryside. Though he wasn’t the most capable fighter in his group, I was significantly worse in mine; Limaqumtlia knew enough to effectively combat at least half of the foes on the battlefield, while I spent most of my time hoping to never have to wield my sword.
Most of my squad’s missions, thankfully, involved protecting the delivery of supplies to the villages and towns in our faction’s land, as militants of the Timuaq and their allies would regularly attempt to cut off supply lines. This was the kind of act of service I could support with my skillset: Following the men carrying the heavy load of supplies on pallets, we’d march alongside to make sure there weren’t any enemy forces or opportunistic thieves that would ambush them.
During one mission, our travels brought us to Qespina, a tiny village tucked away in the mountains to the southwest of Pichaqta, close to the source of the mighty Maiu Atiniuq—“Mighty River”, as it’s cleverly named. The village didn’t contain many people who lived there, but much like its similarly creative name, which means “Safe Haven”, it provided respite for the bands of warriors traveling through the region.
As we approached, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. Although this was a small, unassuming town, the road leading up to it was eerily and suspiciously quiet. The terraced farms around the perimeter of the village were lacking the usual activity, with no one present to work the fields. The group of men were about to march on, but I managed to convince them to halt until I could forge ahead and scout the location, placing a bet with the impatient warriors to let me go through with my plan, which involved consuming something foul that I don’t care to repeat.
I scaled the nearby cliffs to get a better perspective of the area below, and discovered a small group of Timuaq-aligned warriors; nearly triple our numbers had seized the town. The village was vulnerable to their large number of advancing Timuaq forces, choking a major supply route connecting Pichaqta to our neighbors.
I was undeterred by my lack any formal combat training and embarked on a mission to take them out. Knowing the mountains better than the Timuaq, I devised a scheme to have our men prepare a trap, drawing them into the narrow valley we just walked. Together, we painstakingly loosened the massive stones that clung to the precipice, then wedged wooden supports and braces between the stones, ready to unleash devastation unto our unsuspecting enemy.
With the trap poised above, I made my way to Qespina, firing a single arrow into a group of enemy combatants to draw their attention to me. Whether I hit an enemy or not, I can’t say—I didn’t stay long enough to inspect my work. I ran down the narrow path between the mountains, being chased by our foes. After I crossed the threshold, our men struck the braces free. I remember the deafening rumble as the first boulder plummeted, triggering an unstoppable cascade. The rockslide thundered down the mountain's flank, and the onslaught of rock and debris consumed most of their ranks. Those who still stood were shot by our archers above, arrows rained down upon their remaining men, and then we easily defeated the small number who stayed behind to guard the village.
We later found the villagers safe in a nearby cave, having the good fortune to be alerted to the approaching Timuaq allies and escaped their clutches by abandoning their homes. As a token of gratitude for crafting the plan that drove out the oppressing forces, the town's leader presented me with what he called the Ridgebreaker—an astounding war club, the intricate engravings on the weapon's handle being a sight to behold. Although my skills in combat deem me entirely unworthy of possessing such an item, I politely accepted the gift nonetheless.
Strapping the Ridgebreaker to my back, I set off to find Qumuna, who had departed earlier in the day well before I started work at the inn. With the overcast skies that have plagued the region for days, it’s difficult to tell what time of day it was when I departed. But I hadn’t planned on stopping to rest when I decided to leave, so what does time matter?
By now I’ve reached the edge of Qiapu territory after many days of travel, and the difference from Pichaqta is drastic: The temperature is warmer, the vegetation is more dense, and the change in elevation is not as drastic, making the travel slightly more comfortable than earlier. Instead of mountains, I walk on rounded hills, and the presence of trees provides much-welcomed shade for this warmer climate. Here, the greens are richer compared to the stark grays and browns of the capital, now that I’ve descended below the tree line. Just beyond these hills is Tapeu territory that stretches along the coast, though the sea is still difficult to see from here despite being this high up. If I went west, I’d find myself in the dangerous jungles of Auilqa. Stories abound of the perils one will encounter if they happen upon the vicious creatures lurking in the land, or the more vicious people who live and survive among them. Best to stay on this side of that boundary.
I take in the scenery, appreciating the calls of birds I’ve never heard and the trees and flowers I’ve never seen, having not been outside of Qiapu, as well as my tours of service having only placed me at locations in the opposite direction within our own territory. I take occasional nourishing sips from the nearby stream that twists and turns as it cuts through the slopes of the hills.
I hear rustling near a patch of trees to my right, sounding like footsteps of a creature treading carefully as it stalks its prey. Perhaps a puma, or maybe a bear? I sense a more sinister predator lurking, watching my movements. I slow my pace and, out of caution, reach for the Ridgebreaker.
An arrow whizzes past my head, and I duck as a reaction. Laughter arises from the nearby trees. Emerging from behind the trunks are a group of men, perhaps a dozen or so, in filthy, torn, white tunics. Their facial hair spans from stubble to full grown beards extending beyond their neck, and cheaply-made woolen caps top their scalps.
“Traveling alone?” one of the men asks rhetorically, his rough and scratchy voice sounds as if it hasn’t been used in some time. “Pretty dangerous to be out here by yourself.”
“Never know who you’re going to run into out in these wilds,” someone else says, his voice sounding high pitched like it’s still being developed. “Scary beasts roam these woods, you know.”
“Mighty fine weapon you’ve got there,” another one says, slightly difficult to understand his words due to his raspiness. “What is that, Qiapu craftsmanship?”
“Fine work, fine work,” the first one says. “Let’s see if you know how to use it.”
I notice most of them carrying swords, rusted and hardly well-maintained, likely stolen off of any unfortunate passerbys. They all wear sandals or other low-cut leather footwear, which gives me an idea. I scan the area for anything I can use to escape this situation, but the men are slowly encircling me like the tightening of a noose.
Thinking on my feet, my gaze darts to a steep, rocky hill nearby, a potential escape route. Fixing my attention on the youngest and leanest of the robbers, I seize an opportunity. With a burst of determination, I charge at him, leveraging my war club to shove him aside. He stumbles, lacking the strength to resist, and I dash forward, heart pounding as shouts echo behind me.
Ascending the hillside demands every ounce of energy, yet my familiarity with the treacherous terrain works in my favor. I hear their pursuit growing distant, their heavy footfalls struggling to keep pace. My nimble strides, along with the sturdy boots I wear, give me an edge. I anticipate their intent to flank me, but the terrain seems to favor my choice to escape.
My calculated ascent continues, confidence bolstering my efforts. If I can just crest this hill, I may outrun them entirely. Yet, as my fingers claw at the rocky outcrop, my hastily packed sack of belongings shifts, upsetting my balance. My foot skids on loose rock, sending me sliding back down. Frustration courses through me, but there's no time for dwelling. The robbers gain ground, reaching out for me.
Regaining my footing, I force myself onward. The summit beckons, tantalizingly close. The undergrowth scratches at my skin as I surge forward, my breath ragged. Finally, I reach the crest, only to be met with disappointment: The dense tree cover has thinned, leaving rocky expanses exposed. Hidden hollows and boulders dot the landscape, and a stream winds its way around the terrain on the other side. If I can reach the water, perhaps I can erase my tracks.
The robbers emerge, their crude laughter turning to puzzled grumbles as they fan out in search of me. My heart pounds in my chest as I settle into the alcove of a gnarled, windswept tree, its roots providing me with cover. Clutching my war club, I wait in tense silence. The robbers' voices draw near, their words exposing their feeling of uncertainty.
A shout rises above the rest in frustration, coming from the man with the raspy voice. "Where did he go? I want that club!”
I brace myself, focusing on steadying my breath. Then, seizing the moment, I thrust the sack down the slope with all my might, the crashing tumult echoing through the air. The robbers pivot, their attention captured by the sudden chaos.
As they walk over to investigate, I take my chance, slinking down the hillside away from them with the Ridgebreaker in hand. The ground beneath me is treacherous, but I'm driven by desperation and the promise of temporary freedom. Their shouts fade as I gain distance, moving as silently as I can manage. The prospect of capture lingers, urging me to keep moving. Yet, in my focus to be stealthy, I slip on a loose rock, tumbling to the ground. A jolt of pain shoots through my right leg, but there’s no time to tend to my injury. I have to press on, so I run as hard as I can away from these robbers.
A glimmer of hope takes root as I glance back and find no sign of my pursuers. After a short distance, however, my injured leg makes it nearly impossible to continue running. I crouch behind a large rock for cover, a mere short-lived respite, but it grants me time to catch my breath and reassess. My mind races, considering my next move and the pain in my wounded leg as the shouts and hurried footsteps begin to draw closer. My leg doesn’t look bad on the outside, just something on the inside—my knee, perhaps—makes it difficult to bend and push off to run. Should I utilize Ridgebreaker and attempt to reclaim my belongings, or should I capitalize on this fleeting opportunity to distance myself further, hoping my leg can hold up? How much further can I get with this wound?
As I ponder, a presence brushes against my senses—an inexplicable shift in the air. I pivot, heart pounding, believing it to be an unaccounted for pursuer, yet there she stands. A stranger with eyes of piercing blue like that of a cloudless sky, dressed in a deep blue tunic adorned with gleaming bronze jewelry, with a blue and red feather in her hair. She exudes an aura of confidence and power, an undeniable force.
“Are you alright?” Her voice is contradictorily soft, tinged with a muted concern.
Stunned, breathless, and relieved, I manage a nod. She looks in the direction of the thieves, then raises her hand, and I watch in awe as water rises from the nearby stream, coiling and swirling around like a playful serpent.
The robbers in pursuit slide to a halt as they witness the same scene, stupefied and likely also wondering if they’re dreaming. With a flick of her wrist, a wall of water surges between us and the assailants, forming a protective barrier. It gradually rolls closer to them, forcing them to take steps backward in retreat.
“We should move,” she says, nearly a strained whisper. “I’m uncertain how long this will last.”
Is she the Eleven reborn? Is she a goddess? They were supposed to no longer exist. Is this an illusion, a trick of the mind caused by my injury?
Heeding her suggestion, I begin to run away as best I can from the wall of water and move along the stream, checking over my shoulder to see how she’s faring. I notice her stance beginning to weaken, her shoulders slouching and her back hunching over as she slowly walks away from her creation, and I shout for her to abandon her position and join me. She obliges, stumbling as she heads my way, though looking visibly weakened by whatever act of sorcery she performed. By the time she reaches me, the barrier of water begins to fall, dropping to the ground with a woosh before being absorbed into the soil and slowly sliding back to the stream.
I wrap her arm around my neck and hoist her up, supporting her as we begin to race down the bank of the stream. There’s a good distance between us and the robbers now, and even with carrying her in her—and my, admittedly—weakened state, we could possibly elude this danger. Her figure is slight and delicate, making it easy for me to support her, though it still astounds me how someone so petite could create such a significant show of force through water.
I’m still trying to comprehend what spectacle I just witnessed, but force myself to focus my attention on searching where to go and what plan I can hatch to ensure our safety and escape. The robbers begin to regroup and resume their pursuit, leaving us little time to find refuge. I consider my belongings a lost cause, at this point, hoping to just be able to leave with our lives. The stream weaves its way around another hill, then flows between two moderate rocky inclines before winding its way back toward the path, with the foliage along the banks of the stream thick and dense. With a swift nod to one another, we race along the stream and look for cover.
Pushing forward, we find ourselves in a small hollow between a cluster of boulders, our place of hiding concealed by overhanging vegetation. We huddle in the shadows, breaths measured as we watch and wait, the tension in the air thickening with every passing moment. We can’t keep running, especially with this girl in her weakened condition and my leg burning in pain, so my hope is to lose the pursuers, avoid their detection, and cause them to call off the chase, allowing us to slip away.
A cacophony of footsteps trample the leaves and underbrush as the robbers hurry after us. With my heart pounding, I silently hope to myself that our place of hiding will eventually lead us to the safety we desperately seek. Realizing we’re nowhere to be found, they are momentarily thrown off by our sudden disappearance, hesitating and glancing around in confusion, and we hear their muffled curses.
A faint rustling from the nearby forest catches my attention. From our concealed vantage point, we watch a collection of men storm the scene with fierce determination, their figures cutting through the chaos like retribution itself. The clash of steel against steel rings through the air, and the robbers' futile attempts are met with calculated precision. The numbers are quickly whittled down, with some of the assailants taking off once they realize the hopelessness of their situation. Some of our rescuers give chase, with an archer standing tall and firm, bringing the bow and arrow around and down, then almost casually pulling the draw string back and releasing it with a well-practiced calm and steadiness. A grunt, then the sound of a tumble as one of the fleeing robbers falls to the ground, an arrow plunged into his back.
As the other thieves attempt to escape, and the clearing echoes with their defeated cries, I look back at the remaining men at the scene. I’d be lying if I didn’t confess to being nervous that we replaced one set of robbers for a more dangerous enemy, but when I cast my attention to the group’s leader, I know I can breathe a sign of relief. The girl and I emerge from the hollow, and I join Qumuna as he surveys the aftermath, his gaze drawn around to us. A handful of his men stand on high alert, weapons drawn and poised to strike, perceiving us as a threat. However, Qumuna acts swiftly, a commanding hand raised to halt their aggressive actions.
When we approach, the grizzled general looks dumbfounded, switching his attention between me and the girl. Seeing her worn appearance, he waves his hands and orders his men to quickly fetch her a pouch of water. Two of his other men hurry over to her and ease her to the ground, where she sits and looks to catch her breath.
“Paxilche,” he says in surprise, “what in Pachil are you doing this far north, out of Pichaqta?”
“I’m actually searching for you,” I say, slightly winded myself. “We have important matters to discuss regarding Saxina and the Tempered, though…” I look over at the girl, then look back at Qumuna, “it might have to wait for a later time.”
“And what of this young lady?” Qumuna asks, splaying out his hand as if presenting her. “Who is your traveling companion?”
“My name is Walumaq,” she says in her soft-spoken whisper of a voice.
“We… just happened to meet, with the robbers,” I say, uncertain how to broach the subject.
“Ah, rescuing a damsel in distress, I see.” He ribs me with a smirk.
“Actually, Qumuna, she rescued me, if you can believe it,” I confess. I feel myself gazing, perhaps too long, at the girl, Walumaq. For my entire life, I never believed in deities or supernatural abilities—even the tales told about the Eleven are likely embellished with impossible, untrue details of their feats. What I just witnessed, however, can’t be put into words, and this frail, petite girl has shaken my beliefs to their core.
“How?” he is baffled by the correction, but I choose not to answer. I’m still trying to make sense of what I saw, and I fear any mention of the events that took place will undoubtedly be viewed either with skepticism or worse. She had come to my aid in my time of need, so while Qumuna is a rational man, he can also be practical to a fault. Thus, I’m hesitant to put my rescuer’s life in danger by exposing her capabilities to those who may not take the news well.
“No matter,” he says, mercifully dropping the subject. “It appears Aqxilapu has bid you good fortune, as we happened upon you at the right moment.”
“Yes, we’re very thankful, and grateful for your arrival,” Walumaq says graciously, regaining some of the strength in her voice. Her appearance is that of someone so young, yet she speaks as eloquently as a seasoned noble.
“We had fought off a band of robbers further north of here,” Qumuna says. “We were able to defeat a number of them, but there were a dozen or so who fled. We hesitated turning around, due to my time-sensitive obligations in Qapauma, but we didn’t want them endangering any other travelers or merchants utilizing this route. It seems our instincts were correct to hunt them down. I’m sure the Arbiter will accept my apology and explanation.”
“You’ve always had excellent instincts, Qumuna.” I nod in appreciation. His men return from pursuing the thieves, and one carries my sack of belongings while two others carry the limp body of a deceased robber they chased down. Their exchange is muffled and kept low, eventually leading to Qumuna looking pleased and patting the men on their shoulders before the warriors walk away. After he is handed the sack, Qumuna turns to me and extends it outward.
“I believe this belongs to you, Paxilche.” I accept and am relieved to find everything in its place. It isn’t much, but it’s mine, and I’m glad to have everything returned to me in one piece.
He eventually brings up something I had failed to notice during our efforts to flee to safety. “You wear Sanqo colors, girl,” Qumuna says, the change in his demeanor is abrupt and jarring, now suddenly becoming suspicious and almost accusatory. “Is that by happenstance, or are you–“ he hesitates to complete the statement, but Walumaq finishes the thought for him.
“I am Sanqo,” she says, an air of pride in her wispy voice, or perhaps a regality in her tone I may have missed, as if she’s accustomed to spending time around nobility.
“All the way out here? Away from your island and near the Tapeu and Qiapu border?” Qumuna’s voice starts to sound as though he’s interrogating her.
“It will require some explanation,” she says with surprising confidence, despite her modest tone, “but I am more than willing to discuss the matter with you, if you would be so kind as to oblige.”
