My heart sinks at the sound of the ominous, rumbling growl. I’ve barely recovered—if we can call it such—from the initial encounter with the fire pumas, narrowly defeating them and escaping with our lives, only for them to reform and appear even angrier than before. With blood from the wounds in my hand and leg having only just clotted, I gather any inkling of energy still remaining within me and hold the glaive, blade pointed out toward my reincarnated foes.
Upachu eases his way behind the cart, making sure to place it between him and the fiery beasts, and leaving the llama exposed to any incoming attacks. I’d feel pity for the animal if I wasn’t so concerned about my own wellbeing. The creatures slowly circle us, watching and waiting to make their move while baring their blackened stone teeth.
Before they can flank me from either side, I shuffle away from Upachu and the cart, hoping to draw the creatures’ attention away from them and give my companions the possibility to make a break for it. The two pumas and I stare down each other, ready for someone to make a mistake and flinch first. I steel myself for this next fight, hoping I have enough left in me.
One of the fire pumas grows impatient and paws at me, testing to see if I’ll concede my position. Instead, I dart to the side and counter with a quick strike from my glaive, twisting around to get my blade to land in the torso, which worked out well moments before. Unfortunately, I can’t do enough to cause any serious damage, as I miss its ribs and only glance its body. It snarls at me, then flips its hind legs so that it faces me head on, but places itself in the way of its companion.
Seizing the opportunity, I flip my hands on the pole so that both thumbs face back, then bring the glaive around and just above my head, jabbing at it from a high angle. It backs into its fellow fire puma, and while the two collide with each other, I jab again, this time piercing its head. It’s yet another glancing blow, but the front puma’s body jostles enough on impact with the puma behind it that it causes its head to swivel around, enough to evade the brunt of my blow and taking most of the strike on its cheek.
I spin the glaive around, repositioning it into my hands so that my thumbs face toward my target again and keep pushing the advantage. Steadily moving forward, I thrust the weapon at the creature, forcing it backward some more and into the remains of the chamber walls as it paws at the blade defensively, trying to swat it away and regain the advantage. With pain searing throughout my leg and hand, I grit my teeth and press on, changing the direction of my incoming attack with each attempt to keep the beast off-balance.
The puma behind it eventually slips out, preventing itself from being squeezed between its companion and the wall, then readies itself to attack. I spot this from the corner of my eye and hurriedly slide to my right, keeping the fumbling puma in the middle of the other beast and myself. I have to act now and eliminate at least one of these creatures to give myself a chance at surviving this encounter.
I feign a stab at the puma’s shoulder, driving it into the wall to avoid my attack. The maneuver works better than I had hoped: The fire puma clumsily collides with the wall, smashing into it with enough force to bounce off it and tumble to the ground. With its chest exposed, I put every measure of my remaining energy into thrusting the glaive into its body. The blade finds a narrow opening between the joint in its shoulder, penetrating deep into its torso and hitting a rock or something solid contained within its hollow body. I feel the pole vibrate from the impact, striking a vital part of this creature’s being, and it collapses almost instantly, disintegrating into a mound of stones as the light from within extinguishes, much as it had done before.
“The heart!”
I hear Upachu shout at me, his head barely peeking out from behind the cart. He points at the pile of rocks that was once a beastly puma, and with urgency, repeats himself.
“The heart! You have to separate its heart from the rest of the stones, or else it reforms!”
“What on Pachil is supposed to be its heart?” The creature is made almost entirely of scorched rocks with a layer of ash coating the exterior. What is a heart from such a beast supposed to look like?
Before I can search its remains, the other puma lunges toward me, swinging a paw down upon me. I manage to dodge the incoming strike, leaping back and out of the way as the puma comes down onto the rubble of its former companion with a mighty thwump. It scatters the blackened rocks about when it lands, and for a fraction of a moment, I glimpse the rock pile and see what appears to be an ember, a glowing red stone emerging among the ash-colored stones. Is that what Upachu means?
No chance to find out: The remaining puma hurls itself at me, tackling me to the ground and burning my chest with one of its tremendous paws. The claws dig into my shoulder, and I feel my skin searing beneath the weight of the beast. I cry out in agony while my glaive drops from my hands and tumbles just out of reach. I try to push the puma off of me, but when my hands press against its ashy coat, my palms burn from the heat radiating off its stony body.
The fire puma roars triumphantly after finally catching its prey, black, pointed teeth eager to chomp down onto me. Then a thwack, followed by the trickling sound of a tumbling rock. Another thwack, then Upachu’s shouts. He’s hitting the beast with rocks, throwing stones and distracting the creature just enough that it loses focus on me and loosens its paws from pressing down.
Exerting every bit of energy I can, I toss the beast’s limb aside and escape its clutches, my raw hands burning. But I can’t focus on the pain. I have to get out. I manage to crawl over to my glaive before the puma notices. Enraged, it snarls and charges at me, biting down at my shoulder as it runs. I roll out of the way as it darts past, its back and tail now closest to me. Picking myself up off the ground, I grip the pole of the glaive tightly and chase down the puma, ignoring my throbbing wounded leg with each step.
My first strike deflects off the hardened outer crust of the creature, bouncing up and away from me. I regain control and strike again, planting my back leg down and thrusting the glaive at the target. As the puma contorts its body around to reposition itself, the blade pierces its loin, the metal nearly fully slicing all the way through. The puma struggles to stay up and stumbles, falling onto its side. Pulling the glaive back and out of the creature, I roar and slam the weapon into its exposed belly, impaling the puma and driving the pole into it. Before it can finish its yowl, the beast crumbles into a pile, stones falling everywhere as the embers from within go out.
As the adrenaline begins to subside, and I can assess the situation, the weight of my injuries floods my senses. I drop to my knees in exhaustion as very muscle and every bone in my body cries out in agony. My vision begins to tunnel, a white blur forms at the edges. Relief is intertwined with the sensation of aching soreness, having not felt this way since the war.
A yell in pain fills the air. I look to see Upachu standing over a pile of rubble, the remains of one of the fire pumas. In his hand, briefly, is the glowing stone, which he then tosses aside and clutches his burnt hand.
“I knew that was going to happen, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less, I’ll tell you,” he says, grimacing.
I follow his lead, walking to the other rubble of remains and, using the tip of my blade, fish out the heart and try to clear it from what was the body of the beast. It stubbornly refuses to separate from the rest of the stones, forcing me to grab it and quickly toss it gingerly before it can burn my already raw hands.
“That was probably a better way to go about it,” Upachu concedes.
“How did you determine those things had hearts?” I say between deep breaths while I recover my strength, using the glaive as a crutch as I walk over to Upachu.
“Those glyphs,” he says. “While I’m not entirely certain what they mean, there is this part…” He walks over to a place on the floor, closest to the protective ward, and points. “Right here, these symbols resemble an animal, much like the pumas, although admittedly crudely drawn–“
“We don’t need to criticize the artistic capabilities of the person whose glyphs ultimately saved our lives,” I respond.
“Sure, sure,” Upachu concedes. “Anyway, see here? Next to the symbol of this puma-like animal is a diamond shape, much smaller than the size of the creature, as though it could fit within the creature itself, with these lines at the top. I concluded the lines were either being emitted from the diamond or something like rain dropping onto it, but with no source of water being close by, I had assumed—and hoped—that dousing those fire pumas with water was not the only way to defeat them.
“If you look here, there is something like an arrow going away from the animal, near its chest, or pointing to the diamond. It appeared to me that this diamond with the lines at the top meant to remove its heart, and since you could see the insides of it glowing between the spaces between its joints, and it burned you with its touch, I figured–“
“So,” I say, slightly annoyed, “your conclusion to remove this glowing ember to defeat the fire pumas for good is purely speculation? This might not even be the solution?”
“Well, it’s an educated guess, at least,” Upachu says, sounding offended.
“You’re still under the spell of those coca leaves,” I say, having hoped the discussion would help alleviate the pain of my injuries. Unfortunately, it doesn’t.
“I suppose we shall see if I’m correct, if those things don’t reform once again.”
I sigh and walk over to the garden. The space is well-manicured as if someone is regularly tending to its upkeep, yet there’s no trace of anyone having existed here in some time. In frustration, I tilt my head back and look up at the sky. It’s then that I notice a shimmer on the forcefield, bending light into a rainbow of colors. I stare at the refracted light, then return my gaze to the garden and pace from side to side at the entryway. This shifts and alters the scene, warping the plants and twisting them into unnatural shapes.
“I believe I can see the edge of the ward,” I say, astonished.
Upachu squints at the entryway, bobbing his head around to adjust his angle, then nods and makes a sound in agreement. He drifts over to the wall near the entrance to the garden, getting his face less than a hand’s length away from the stones’ faces to inspect them. After a few hmm and uh huh responses, he turns to me.
“I’m not certain I know what any of these mean,” he says. “There are so many lines and shapes and images, and I can’t tell what goes with what, or where they even begin.”
I walk over to him, uncertain how much I can help, but I figure a second set of eyes can’t be a detriment. He’s correct, however, that it’s difficult to discern where to begin. The lines swirl and cross one another, forming bizarre shapes and symbols, reminding me of the confusing images on the papyrus we—well, Qaschiqe, I suppose—found.
“They must signify something important, like the glyphs in the chest,” I contemplate aloud. “If they mentioned the pumas…” I search the stones for any image resembling the ones described by Upachu, but nothing appears.
“These seem like symbols and lines,” I tell him. “Maybe these aren’t the ones to tell us about this protective ward. Where were these images you spoke of regarding the fire pumas?”
Dejected, Upachu points to a spot on the floor, markings slightly visible through the dust and debris. Near the pile of rocks from one of the slain beasts is a series of markings, appearing to be more like images than the lines on the wall. Furthermore, these etchings look as if they’ve been carved more recently than those next to Upachu, relatively speaking. Where as the markings we were looking at have begun to fade, withering and eroding over many harvests, these engravings are relatively sharp, as though time hasn’t had a chance to cause them to wither away. It’s as though someone found an empty space on the stone ground and chiseled these images.
After removing some of the remains of the fire pumas—which, blessedly, haven’t reformed… yet—I unearth more of the carvings, revealing the shapes Upachu had described. Near them are more symbols and lines, but one common image that appears is the diamond shape with lines emitting from its top. Enthusiastically, I summon Upachu, but he drags his feet and sulks on his way over.
“What do you make of these?” I ask, pointing to the other symbols appearing after the ones he had mentioned. Once again, he gets close to the markings, narrowing his eyes as if trying to stare through them, but after a moment, he perks up, his face illuminated with excitement.
“Those hearts!” he exclaims. “Stone hearts! The pumas!”
I have to calm him down so he can speak to me coherently, as he rambles off a series of interconnected thoughts and running sentences. He catches his breath, grabs me by my shoulders, and speaks at me.
“Those pumas were protecting the protective ward,” he says. Sensing my confusion, he tries to explain in a different way.
“The fire pumas were an extra measure of protecting whatever is in that garden. But they also possessed the key to neutralize the barrier. If you look here,” he points to a diamond with the lines next to a semicircle, “it appears to indicate that we need to hold one of these stone-heart things up to the ward.”
“Does anything else need to happen?” I ask, hoping that burning my hand by holding the stone will be enough of a sacrifice.
“There’s one way to find out,” he says. His demeanor has completely changed, humming a made up tune and giddily walking over to one of the stones. He’s prepared to grab it, but then thinks better of it, choosing to walk to the cart and use my sword as a mechanism to hit the stone and roll it closer to the ward. I cringe with each swat of the rock, worried about the effects this is having on the sharpness of my blade.
“Who do you think etched those glyphs into the floor?” I ask him, trying to distract myself from thinking about my sword getting dull. “They’re different from the markings in the stones on the wall, so could they be a set of instructions from whomever created this barrier?”
“That’s an,” smack, “astute,” smack, “observation,” smack, “coming from,” smack, “a warrior,” smack.
“Perhaps this is the work of Sualset, before she departed Wichanaqta with the papyrus?” I surmise. “That could explain why those carvings on the floor aren’t as weathered as the ones on the wall.”
Upachu finishes hitting the stone over to the protective ward, then looks at me expectantly. When I finally realize what he’s wordlessly implying, I roll my eyes and walk over, blowing on my reddened palms as if that will protect them from the inevitable burning they’ll suffer. I take a few deep breaths, concentrate on the matter at hand, and widen my stance so that I can grab the stone and raise it to the ward in one fell swoop.
The rock scorches my tender hands, causing me to involuntarily wince. But I fight through the pain, hoisting the stone up to the ward and uttering a silent prayer to any deity who cares to listen. The ear-splitting sound of crashing lightning, crackling and popping, throttles me as I persist with holding up the fire puma’s heart. My eyes close tightly as I hang on, feeling a vibration of electricity jolting through my arm as the wound on my hand throbs.
And then, nothing.
Silence.
I open one eye, shifting my focus about, seeing nothing but the garden in front of me and the crumbled walls. Same as it was before presenting the rock to the barrier. The stone no longer burns my hand, however, and instead feels ice cold, soothing the pain. I look around, confused, and then, with my other hand, test to see if the ward remains. When my arm goes through the entryway unimpeded, I exhale in relief. Upachu peeks through his hands, then nods assuredly.
“Just as I expected!” he says boastfully.
We enter the grounds, floral aromas immediately overwhelming our senses. I’m overcome with boundless joy as I stand among the tremendous variety of plants, their bright colors I never imagined were possible. Judging by the exterior, the space is likely to be the size of a large home, yet the vast amount of hues of the flowers and trees seem to go on forever. I turn to look at Upachu and smile, beaming as I feel healed just by being in this place, this warm, comforting feeling.
And then the space turns to dull browns and greens, the plants shriveling and withering, crumpling into wrinkled masses. The grass at our feet dries up into a floor of beige, the leaves of the trees instantly turn brown and drop onto the ground like they were made of stone. Where there once was delight, I now feel mortified, hoping we didn’t destroy this garden nor our opportunity to learn the meaning of these glyphs on the papyrus.
Panicked, I scramble around the grounds, wiping away the decaying flowers and pushing aside the rotting stems and branches. My eyes dart around the dying garden, looking for something, anything, that can indicate what we’re searching for. Yet nothing other than the death of all the once-living plants catches my attention. I move about the area, scanning the ground for any clue, then check the walls, only to see withering ivy now scaling the stones. Everything around us has died, destroyed by opening the protective barrier, and I can feel nothing but hopelessness and despair. We’ve wronged whatever was keeping the life contained within this place alive, and we’ve ruined any chance we have of finding the answers we seek.
“We have come so far, and for what?” Upachu says, sitting down upon a stone structure. He appears as defeated as I am, placing his elbows on his legs and slouches, eventually resting his head in his hands. As I approach him, I observe the stone seat on which he’s sitting, realizing it’s not a bench, but rather a fountain, dried up and inactive. I pace around it, looking for a mechanism in which to deliver water, or where water can flow into it, but find only four large clay jugs, the same reddish-brown color as those of the farmer we met on our way to Wichanaqta, the width of which will barely fit in my wrapped arms.
“Upachu,” I say, “what if we need to fill this fountain with water? What if that will revive these gardens?”
“There’s no source of water around here,” he says. “We are days away from the shore, and to fill it with enough water will take far too long.”
“But the farmer nearby has jugs filled with water. There must be a spring or some source nearby, if one man is carrying all that water by himself.”
Upachu considers my observation, then nods and pops up, growing excited with the prospect of healing the withering gardens.
“It can’t hurt,” he says. “At worst, we will have created the most desolate bird bath.”
We return to the home of the farmer, who is out tending to and ploughing his fields. He uses a taklla, the long, wooden pole roughly his height, points it perpendicular to the ground, and stomps his foot down on the foot rest that crosses the large main piece. As we arrive, he halts his work, wiping his brow with his wrist, but greets us pleasantly this time when we meet.
“Did you find what you were searching for?” he asks, shouting to us as we approach.
“Yes, but if you don’t mind me asking,” I begin to inquire, but stop myself as I prepare for any possible reaction he may have. Though we managed to appease him once before, I am nervous in asking about his water source. I fear that it may be sacred to him and his family, being the only one outside of having to travel to the shore, and I wouldn’t want to offend. I take a deep breath, then say, “I observed your jugs of water upon our first interaction, and I would be honored if you would direct me to its source, if you would be so kind.”
I stand by the cart, anticipating any sour reaction he may have to my inquiry and readying myself to draw my glaive, if need be. Though he wasn’t much of a fighter in our initial meeting, I’ve witnessed enough bizarre events to believe that anything is possible, and he may have been holding back. It may be my exhaustion or injury-induced delirium, but no matter what, I’m not taking chances.
To my relief, he instead casts his gaze up to the sky, considering my request. After a brief moment, he looks upon Upachu and I with a warm smile.
“My family frequently used that spring,” he says, reflecting on days long passed. “Starting since many, many generations ago. The legend goes that, at the request of an Atima ruler, the Auilqa water goddess, Iolatl, formed the spring using water from their sacred land—some stories even say it was poured from the mouth of a… what’s the word? A crocodile?—and because of this, it can never run dry.”
All of Pachil is filled with stories like this, tales from long ago to explain the formation of our land or how things came to be. Before the war, I used to question these justifications, believing them to be fabrications told to keep people in line and insert a sense of morals into society. But since then? I still retain some skepticism, but it’s difficult to dismiss such ideologies after everything I’ve seen. Noticing his jugs filled with water amidst an otherwise barren land only tells me I am correct in assuming the source of water is indeed sacred, and that I’m to treat it with utmost respect.
The farmer describes a route to get to a spring nestled in a grove—“you can’t miss it, since it’s the only wild area with anything growing there,” he says. We thank him once again for his help, then go on our way, not wasting much time. Sure enough, after walking a fair distance, and much to the chagrin of the cart-pulling llama, it appears: Amidst nothing but brown, dried dirt and rugged terrain is a patch of otherworldly green trees, bright like the color of new sprouts. The plant life is abrupt, appearing out of nowhere with a clear delineation of where the growth begins and promptly ends. There isn’t anything more than a few birds, as far as the presence of animals are concerned, nothing wanting to make the trek out to this watering hole in the middle of nowhere.
Much like the garden contained within the palace, there are countless varieties of plants and flowers, all packed tightly into an area the size of a few houses, or the palace grounds. It’s as though the garden was a microcosm to this space, with the fountain acting as the spring. The pool of water is fairly significant, likely requiring a quarter of a day to travel around it in its entirety. The surface is tranquil and calm, causing me to feel relaxed and take in the lush scenery. The deep blue of the water is surreal, like that of a sapphire, and feeling as though I stumbled onto something equally as precious.
The llama—the happiest it’s ever been, I’m sure—drinks from the spring for the duration of our time there. Upachu and I fill up the four clay jugs, barely able to lift them onto the cart. For good measure, he and I take handfuls of water to nourish our weary selves, not having any food or drink in what seems like many moon cycles ago. The water is surprisingly cold, chilling my throat with each sip, its coolness reminding me of the brief time I spent fighting in the mountains of Qiapu.
I worry about the animal being able to traverse the rough landscape to return to the palace garden, contemplating how often we’ll have to wait to rest up before resuming the trek. Astonishingly, for a single llama, it navigates the terrain with ease, moving about the quickest I’ve seen since departing Hilaqta so long ago. Reflecting upon that makes me chuckle, recalling how initially I wanted nothing to do with the creature, but now thanking every deity on Pachil for it’s existence during our journey.
Before re-entering the chamber, I withdraw my glaive and hold it out, ready to strike anything that wants to see us harmed. This humors Upachu, somehow convinced our safety is all but guaranteed, yet I still proceed with caution. The piles of stones from the fire puma remain in their original places, a reassuring sight, yet equally frustrating, as Upachu takes pleasure in teasing me about my excessive caution.
The garden is still decrepit and decaying, the greenish-browns and graying plants wilting and withering away. If it weren’t for the jugs of water we possess, I would be completely disheartened at the loss of a once beautiful space. However, without haste, we begin lifting the clay jugs off the cart and pouring them into the basin of the fountain.
Within moments, life is restored into the garden. Vibrant color returns to the flowers, the stalks and stems of the plants jolt upright. The grass at our feet returns to a rich, deep green, soft to the touch, and the aromatic bouquet floods the space with its sweet and refreshing scent. There’s the soothing sound of water steadily trickling from the top of the fountain as it falls gently into the basin and seemingly carries on infinitely.
At the bottom of the fountain where we set the emptied clay jugs, a series of symbols and images appear upon the surface. On the reddish-brown clay are now lines of white, blue, and crimson, marks rapidly being painted on by an invisible hand. After the lines and symbols have been completed, Upachu and I investigate the jugs, looking to see what is displayed. The lines and shapes look familiar somehow, though I can’t place from where I know them. It’s only when Upachu blurts out the answer that I see what it is.
“That’s Pachil!” he shouts, excited at making the realization. “There, that blue line, is Maiu Qasapaq, flowing into Haqu Minsa. And that red mark would be where Hilaqta is, although…” he pauses as he reconsiders, “perhaps not, since Hilaqta is right next to Hanan Qucha, but the marking doesn’t appear to be.”
I glance at the other three jugs and notice that the red mark is not in the same place—the crossing red lines are in different spots on this map of Pachil. They must be other places throughout the land, though I’m not certain where their precise locations are. I point these out to Upachu, who looks them over and strokes the stubble on his chin.
“Other points of interest,” Upachu muses.
“Do you think the answers we seek will be at these locations?” I ask.
“Let’s hope.”
My heart sinks at the sound of the ominous, rumbling growl. I’ve barely recovered—if we can call it such—from the initial encounter with the fire pumas, narrowly defeating them and escaping with our lives, only for them to reform and appear even angrier than before. With blood from the wounds in my hand and leg having only just clotted, I gather any inkling of energy still remaining within me and hold the glaive, blade pointed out toward my reincarnated foes.
Upachu eases his way behind the cart, making sure to place it between him and the fiery beasts, and leaving the llama exposed to any incoming attacks. I’d feel pity for the animal if I wasn’t so concerned about my own wellbeing. The creatures slowly circle us, watching and waiting to make their move while baring their blackened stone teeth.
Before they can flank me from either side, I shuffle away from Upachu and the cart, hoping to draw the creatures’ attention away from them and give my companions the possibility to make a break for it. The two pumas and I stare down each other, ready for someone to make a mistake and flinch first. I steel myself for this next fight, hoping I have enough left in me.
One of the fire pumas grows impatient and paws at me, testing to see if I’ll concede my position. Instead, I dart to the side and counter with a quick strike from my glaive, twisting around to get my blade to land in the torso, which worked out well moments before. Unfortunately, I can’t do enough to cause any serious damage, as I miss its ribs and only glance its body. It snarls at me, then flips its hind legs so that it faces me head on, but places itself in the way of its companion.
Seizing the opportunity, I flip my hands on the pole so that both thumbs face back, then bring the glaive around and just above my head, jabbing at it from a high angle. It backs into its fellow fire puma, and while the two collide with each other, I jab again, this time piercing its head. It’s yet another glancing blow, but the front puma’s body jostles enough on impact with the puma behind it that it causes its head to swivel around, enough to evade the brunt of my blow and taking most of the strike on its cheek.
I spin the glaive around, repositioning it into my hands so that my thumbs face toward my target again and keep pushing the advantage. Steadily moving forward, I thrust the weapon at the creature, forcing it backward some more and into the remains of the chamber walls as it paws at the blade defensively, trying to swat it away and regain the advantage. With pain searing throughout my leg and hand, I grit my teeth and press on, changing the direction of my incoming attack with each attempt to keep the beast off-balance.
The puma behind it eventually slips out, preventing itself from being squeezed between its companion and the wall, then readies itself to attack. I spot this from the corner of my eye and hurriedly slide to my right, keeping the fumbling puma in the middle of the other beast and myself. I have to act now and eliminate at least one of these creatures to give myself a chance at surviving this encounter.
I feign a stab at the puma’s shoulder, driving it into the wall to avoid my attack. The maneuver works better than I had hoped: The fire puma clumsily collides with the wall, smashing into it with enough force to bounce off it and tumble to the ground. With its chest exposed, I put every measure of my remaining energy into thrusting the glaive into its body. The blade finds a narrow opening between the joint in its shoulder, penetrating deep into its torso and hitting a rock or something solid contained within its hollow body. I feel the pole vibrate from the impact, striking a vital part of this creature’s being, and it collapses almost instantly, disintegrating into a mound of stones as the light from within extinguishes, much as it had done before.
“The heart!”
I hear Upachu shout at me, his head barely peeking out from behind the cart. He points at the pile of rocks that was once a beastly puma, and with urgency, repeats himself.
“The heart! You have to separate its heart from the rest of the stones, or else it reforms!”
“What on Pachil is supposed to be its heart?” The creature is made almost entirely of scorched rocks with a layer of ash coating the exterior. What is a heart from such a beast supposed to look like?
Before I can search its remains, the other puma lunges toward me, swinging a paw down upon me. I manage to dodge the incoming strike, leaping back and out of the way as the puma comes down onto the rubble of its former companion with a mighty thwump. It scatters the blackened rocks about when it lands, and for a fraction of a moment, I glimpse the rock pile and see what appears to be an ember, a glowing red stone emerging among the ash-colored stones. Is that what Upachu means?
No chance to find out: The remaining puma hurls itself at me, tackling me to the ground and burning my chest with one of its tremendous paws. The claws dig into my shoulder, and I feel my skin searing beneath the weight of the beast. I cry out in agony while my glaive drops from my hands and tumbles just out of reach. I try to push the puma off of me, but when my hands press against its ashy coat, my palms burn from the heat radiating off its stony body.
The fire puma roars triumphantly after finally catching its prey, black, pointed teeth eager to chomp down onto me. Then a thwack, followed by the trickling sound of a tumbling rock. Another thwack, then Upachu’s shouts. He’s hitting the beast with rocks, throwing stones and distracting the creature just enough that it loses focus on me and loosens its paws from pressing down.
Exerting every bit of energy I can, I toss the beast’s limb aside and escape its clutches, my raw hands burning. But I can’t focus on the pain. I have to get out. I manage to crawl over to my glaive before the puma notices. Enraged, it snarls and charges at me, biting down at my shoulder as it runs. I roll out of the way as it darts past, its back and tail now closest to me. Picking myself up off the ground, I grip the pole of the glaive tightly and chase down the puma, ignoring my throbbing wounded leg with each step.
My first strike deflects off the hardened outer crust of the creature, bouncing up and away from me. I regain control and strike again, planting my back leg down and thrusting the glaive at the target. As the puma contorts its body around to reposition itself, the blade pierces its loin, the metal nearly fully slicing all the way through. The puma struggles to stay up and stumbles, falling onto its side. Pulling the glaive back and out of the creature, I roar and slam the weapon into its exposed belly, impaling the puma and driving the pole into it. Before it can finish its yowl, the beast crumbles into a pile, stones falling everywhere as the embers from within go out.
As the adrenaline begins to subside, and I can assess the situation, the weight of my injuries floods my senses. I drop to my knees in exhaustion as very muscle and every bone in my body cries out in agony. My vision begins to tunnel, a white blur forms at the edges. Relief is intertwined with the sensation of aching soreness, having not felt this way since the war.
A yell in pain fills the air. I look to see Upachu standing over a pile of rubble, the remains of one of the fire pumas. In his hand, briefly, is the glowing stone, which he then tosses aside and clutches his burnt hand.
“I knew that was going to happen, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less, I’ll tell you,” he says, grimacing.
I follow his lead, walking to the other rubble of remains and, using the tip of my blade, fish out the heart and try to clear it from what was the body of the beast. It stubbornly refuses to separate from the rest of the stones, forcing me to grab it and quickly toss it gingerly before it can burn my already raw hands.
“That was probably a better way to go about it,” Upachu concedes.
“How did you determine those things had hearts?” I say between deep breaths while I recover my strength, using the glaive as a crutch as I walk over to Upachu.
“Those glyphs,” he says. “While I’m not entirely certain what they mean, there is this part…” He walks over to a place on the floor, closest to the protective ward, and points. “Right here, these symbols resemble an animal, much like the pumas, although admittedly crudely drawn–“
“We don’t need to criticize the artistic capabilities of the person whose glyphs ultimately saved our lives,” I respond.
“Sure, sure,” Upachu concedes. “Anyway, see here? Next to the symbol of this puma-like animal is a diamond shape, much smaller than the size of the creature, as though it could fit within the creature itself, with these lines at the top. I concluded the lines were either being emitted from the diamond or something like rain dropping onto it, but with no source of water being close by, I had assumed—and hoped—that dousing those fire pumas with water was not the only way to defeat them.
“If you look here, there is something like an arrow going away from the animal, near its chest, or pointing to the diamond. It appeared to me that this diamond with the lines at the top meant to remove its heart, and since you could see the insides of it glowing between the spaces between its joints, and it burned you with its touch, I figured–“
“So,” I say, slightly annoyed, “your conclusion to remove this glowing ember to defeat the fire pumas for good is purely speculation? This might not even be the solution?”
“Well, it’s an educated guess, at least,” Upachu says, sounding offended.
“You’re still under the spell of those coca leaves,” I say, having hoped the discussion would help alleviate the pain of my injuries. Unfortunately, it doesn’t.
“I suppose we shall see if I’m correct, if those things don’t reform once again.”
I sigh and walk over to the garden. The space is well-manicured as if someone is regularly tending to its upkeep, yet there’s no trace of anyone having existed here in some time. In frustration, I tilt my head back and look up at the sky. It’s then that I notice a shimmer on the forcefield, bending light into a rainbow of colors. I stare at the refracted light, then return my gaze to the garden and pace from side to side at the entryway. This shifts and alters the scene, warping the plants and twisting them into unnatural shapes.
“I believe I can see the edge of the ward,” I say, astonished.
Upachu squints at the entryway, bobbing his head around to adjust his angle, then nods and makes a sound in agreement. He drifts over to the wall near the entrance to the garden, getting his face less than a hand’s length away from the stones’ faces to inspect them. After a few hmm and uh huh responses, he turns to me.
“I’m not certain I know what any of these mean,” he says. “There are so many lines and shapes and images, and I can’t tell what goes with what, or where they even begin.”
I walk over to him, uncertain how much I can help, but I figure a second set of eyes can’t be a detriment. He’s correct, however, that it’s difficult to discern where to begin. The lines swirl and cross one another, forming bizarre shapes and symbols, reminding me of the confusing images on the papyrus we—well, Qaschiqe, I suppose—found.
“They must signify something important, like the glyphs in the chest,” I contemplate aloud. “If they mentioned the pumas…” I search the stones for any image resembling the ones described by Upachu, but nothing appears.
“These seem like symbols and lines,” I tell him. “Maybe these aren’t the ones to tell us about this protective ward. Where were these images you spoke of regarding the fire pumas?”
Dejected, Upachu points to a spot on the floor, markings slightly visible through the dust and debris. Near the pile of rocks from one of the slain beasts is a series of markings, appearing to be more like images than the lines on the wall. Furthermore, these etchings look as if they’ve been carved more recently than those next to Upachu, relatively speaking. Where as the markings we were looking at have begun to fade, withering and eroding over many harvests, these engravings are relatively sharp, as though time hasn’t had a chance to cause them to wither away. It’s as though someone found an empty space on the stone ground and chiseled these images.
After removing some of the remains of the fire pumas—which, blessedly, haven’t reformed… yet—I unearth more of the carvings, revealing the shapes Upachu had described. Near them are more symbols and lines, but one common image that appears is the diamond shape with lines emitting from its top. Enthusiastically, I summon Upachu, but he drags his feet and sulks on his way over.
“What do you make of these?” I ask, pointing to the other symbols appearing after the ones he had mentioned. Once again, he gets close to the markings, narrowing his eyes as if trying to stare through them, but after a moment, he perks up, his face illuminated with excitement.
“Those hearts!” he exclaims. “Stone hearts! The pumas!”
I have to calm him down so he can speak to me coherently, as he rambles off a series of interconnected thoughts and running sentences. He catches his breath, grabs me by my shoulders, and speaks at me.
“Those pumas were protecting the protective ward,” he says. Sensing my confusion, he tries to explain in a different way.
“The fire pumas were an extra measure of protecting whatever is in that garden. But they also possessed the key to neutralize the barrier. If you look here,” he points to a diamond with the lines next to a semicircle, “it appears to indicate that we need to hold one of these stone-heart things up to the ward.”
“Does anything else need to happen?” I ask, hoping that burning my hand by holding the stone will be enough of a sacrifice.
“There’s one way to find out,” he says. His demeanor has completely changed, humming a made up tune and giddily walking over to one of the stones. He’s prepared to grab it, but then thinks better of it, choosing to walk to the cart and use my sword as a mechanism to hit the stone and roll it closer to the ward. I cringe with each swat of the rock, worried about the effects this is having on the sharpness of my blade.
“Who do you think etched those glyphs into the floor?” I ask him, trying to distract myself from thinking about my sword getting dull. “They’re different from the markings in the stones on the wall, so could they be a set of instructions from whomever created this barrier?”
“That’s an,” smack, “astute,” smack, “observation,” smack, “coming from,” smack, “a warrior,” smack.
“Perhaps this is the work of Sualset, before she departed Wichanaqta with the papyrus?” I surmise. “That could explain why those carvings on the floor aren’t as weathered as the ones on the wall.”
Upachu finishes hitting the stone over to the protective ward, then looks at me expectantly. When I finally realize what he’s wordlessly implying, I roll my eyes and walk over, blowing on my reddened palms as if that will protect them from the inevitable burning they’ll suffer. I take a few deep breaths, concentrate on the matter at hand, and widen my stance so that I can grab the stone and raise it to the ward in one fell swoop.
The rock scorches my tender hands, causing me to involuntarily wince. But I fight through the pain, hoisting the stone up to the ward and uttering a silent prayer to any deity who cares to listen. The ear-splitting sound of crashing lightning, crackling and popping, throttles me as I persist with holding up the fire puma’s heart. My eyes close tightly as I hang on, feeling a vibration of electricity jolting through my arm as the wound on my hand throbs.
And then, nothing.
Silence.
I open one eye, shifting my focus about, seeing nothing but the garden in front of me and the crumbled walls. Same as it was before presenting the rock to the barrier. The stone no longer burns my hand, however, and instead feels ice cold, soothing the pain. I look around, confused, and then, with my other hand, test to see if the ward remains. When my arm goes through the entryway unimpeded, I exhale in relief. Upachu peeks through his hands, then nods assuredly.
“Just as I expected!” he says boastfully.
We enter the grounds, floral aromas immediately overwhelming our senses. I’m overcome with boundless joy as I stand among the tremendous variety of plants, their bright colors I never imagined were possible. Judging by the exterior, the space is likely to be the size of a large home, yet the vast amount of hues of the flowers and trees seem to go on forever. I turn to look at Upachu and smile, beaming as I feel healed just by being in this place, this warm, comforting feeling.
And then the space turns to dull browns and greens, the plants shriveling and withering, crumpling into wrinkled masses. The grass at our feet dries up into a floor of beige, the leaves of the trees instantly turn brown and drop onto the ground like they were made of stone. Where there once was delight, I now feel mortified, hoping we didn’t destroy this garden nor our opportunity to learn the meaning of these glyphs on the papyrus.
Panicked, I scramble around the grounds, wiping away the decaying flowers and pushing aside the rotting stems and branches. My eyes dart around the dying garden, looking for something, anything, that can indicate what we’re searching for. Yet nothing other than the death of all the once-living plants catches my attention. I move about the area, scanning the ground for any clue, then check the walls, only to see withering ivy now scaling the stones. Everything around us has died, destroyed by opening the protective barrier, and I can feel nothing but hopelessness and despair. We’ve wronged whatever was keeping the life contained within this place alive, and we’ve ruined any chance we have of finding the answers we seek.
“We have come so far, and for what?” Upachu says, sitting down upon a stone structure. He appears as defeated as I am, placing his elbows on his legs and slouches, eventually resting his head in his hands. As I approach him, I observe the stone seat on which he’s sitting, realizing it’s not a bench, but rather a fountain, dried up and inactive. I pace around it, looking for a mechanism in which to deliver water, or where water can flow into it, but find only four large clay jugs, the same reddish-brown color as those of the farmer we met on our way to Wichanaqta, the width of which will barely fit in my wrapped arms.
“Upachu,” I say, “what if we need to fill this fountain with water? What if that will revive these gardens?”
“There’s no source of water around here,” he says. “We are days away from the shore, and to fill it with enough water will take far too long.”
“But the farmer nearby has jugs filled with water. There must be a spring or some source nearby, if one man is carrying all that water by himself.”
Upachu considers my observation, then nods and pops up, growing excited with the prospect of healing the withering gardens.
“It can’t hurt,” he says. “At worst, we will have created the most desolate bird bath.”
We return to the home of the farmer, who is out tending to and ploughing his fields. He uses a taklla, the long, wooden pole roughly his height, points it perpendicular to the ground, and stomps his foot down on the foot rest that crosses the large main piece. As we arrive, he halts his work, wiping his brow with his wrist, but greets us pleasantly this time when we meet.
“Did you find what you were searching for?” he asks, shouting to us as we approach.
“Yes, but if you don’t mind me asking,” I begin to inquire, but stop myself as I prepare for any possible reaction he may have. Though we managed to appease him once before, I am nervous in asking about his water source. I fear that it may be sacred to him and his family, being the only one outside of having to travel to the shore, and I wouldn’t want to offend. I take a deep breath, then say, “I observed your jugs of water upon our first interaction, and I would be honored if you would direct me to its source, if you would be so kind.”
I stand by the cart, anticipating any sour reaction he may have to my inquiry and readying myself to draw my glaive, if need be. Though he wasn’t much of a fighter in our initial meeting, I’ve witnessed enough bizarre events to believe that anything is possible, and he may have been holding back. It may be my exhaustion or injury-induced delirium, but no matter what, I’m not taking chances.
To my relief, he instead casts his gaze up to the sky, considering my request. After a brief moment, he looks upon Upachu and I with a warm smile.
“My family frequently used that spring,” he says, reflecting on days long passed. “Starting since many, many generations ago. The legend goes that, at the request of an Atima ruler, the Auilqa water goddess, Iolatl, formed the spring using water from their sacred land—some stories even say it was poured from the mouth of a… what’s the word? A crocodile?—and because of this, it can never run dry.”
All of Pachil is filled with stories like this, tales from long ago to explain the formation of our land or how things came to be. Before the war, I used to question these justifications, believing them to be fabrications told to keep people in line and insert a sense of morals into society. But since then? I still retain some skepticism, but it’s difficult to dismiss such ideologies after everything I’ve seen. Noticing his jugs filled with water amidst an otherwise barren land only tells me I am correct in assuming the source of water is indeed sacred, and that I’m to treat it with utmost respect.
The farmer describes a route to get to a spring nestled in a grove—“you can’t miss it, since it’s the only wild area with anything growing there,” he says. We thank him once again for his help, then go on our way, not wasting much time. Sure enough, after walking a fair distance, and much to the chagrin of the cart-pulling llama, it appears: Amidst nothing but brown, dried dirt and rugged terrain is a patch of otherworldly green trees, bright like the color of new sprouts. The plant life is abrupt, appearing out of nowhere with a clear delineation of where the growth begins and promptly ends. There isn’t anything more than a few birds, as far as the presence of animals are concerned, nothing wanting to make the trek out to this watering hole in the middle of nowhere.
Much like the garden contained within the palace, there are countless varieties of plants and flowers, all packed tightly into an area the size of a few houses, or the palace grounds. It’s as though the garden was a microcosm to this space, with the fountain acting as the spring. The pool of water is fairly significant, likely requiring a quarter of a day to travel around it in its entirety. The surface is tranquil and calm, causing me to feel relaxed and take in the lush scenery. The deep blue of the water is surreal, like that of a sapphire, and feeling as though I stumbled onto something equally as precious.
The llama—the happiest it’s ever been, I’m sure—drinks from the spring for the duration of our time there. Upachu and I fill up the four clay jugs, barely able to lift them onto the cart. For good measure, he and I take handfuls of water to nourish our weary selves, not having any food or drink in what seems like many moon cycles ago. The water is surprisingly cold, chilling my throat with each sip, its coolness reminding me of the brief time I spent fighting in the mountains of Qiapu.
I worry about the animal being able to traverse the rough landscape to return to the palace garden, contemplating how often we’ll have to wait to rest up before resuming the trek. Astonishingly, for a single llama, it navigates the terrain with ease, moving about the quickest I’ve seen since departing Hilaqta so long ago. Reflecting upon that makes me chuckle, recalling how initially I wanted nothing to do with the creature, but now thanking every deity on Pachil for it’s existence during our journey.
Before re-entering the chamber, I withdraw my glaive and hold it out, ready to strike anything that wants to see us harmed. This humors Upachu, somehow convinced our safety is all but guaranteed, yet I still proceed with caution. The piles of stones from the fire puma remain in their original places, a reassuring sight, yet equally frustrating, as Upachu takes pleasure in teasing me about my excessive caution.
The garden is still decrepit and decaying, the greenish-browns and graying plants wilting and withering away. If it weren’t for the jugs of water we possess, I would be completely disheartened at the loss of a once beautiful space. However, without haste, we begin lifting the clay jugs off the cart and pouring them into the basin of the fountain.
Within moments, life is restored into the garden. Vibrant color returns to the flowers, the stalks and stems of the plants jolt upright. The grass at our feet returns to a rich, deep green, soft to the touch, and the aromatic bouquet floods the space with its sweet and refreshing scent. There’s the soothing sound of water steadily trickling from the top of the fountain as it falls gently into the basin and seemingly carries on infinitely.
At the bottom of the fountain where we set the emptied clay jugs, a series of symbols and images appear upon the surface. On the reddish-brown clay are now lines of white, blue, and crimson, marks rapidly being painted on by an invisible hand. After the lines and symbols have been completed, Upachu and I investigate the jugs, looking to see what is displayed. The lines and shapes look familiar somehow, though I can’t place from where I know them. It’s only when Upachu blurts out the answer that I see what it is.
“That’s Pachil!” he shouts, excited at making the realization. “There, that blue line, is Maiu Qasapaq, flowing into Haqu Minsa. And that red mark would be where Hilaqta is, although…” he pauses as he reconsiders, “perhaps not, since Hilaqta is right next to Hanan Qucha, but the marking doesn’t appear to be.”
I glance at the other three jugs and notice that the red mark is not in the same place—the crossing red lines are in different spots on this map of Pachil. They must be other places throughout the land, though I’m not certain where their precise locations are. I point these out to Upachu, who looks them over and strokes the stubble on his chin.
“Other points of interest,” Upachu muses.
“Do you think the answers we seek will be at these locations?” I ask.
“Let’s hope.”
