“I thought you had forgotten about me.”
“It’s only because I haven’t been able to have a reasonable night’s sleep,” I say to Entilqan.
For the first time in what feels like an eternity, Entilqan and I are reunited atop our hill that overlooks the Qantua valley from our childhood, beneath a jacaranda tree while the setting sun casts its glorious golden glow upon the valley. Just as radiant, my sister sits beside me, arms folded on her knees as she maintains her focus on the landscape, taking it all in. I suddenly become aware of my hands and leg, looking down upon them, and realizing they show no sign of injury, somehow believing the wounds would carry over into my dream state.
Moments after departing the ruins of Wichanaqta, my bones and muscles ached too greatly to continue on for the day, and I required rest. Between the continuous travel and continuous fighting, my sleep has been restless up until now. But tonight? I’ve slept the soundest I can recall in, perhaps, a harvest or three. I can’t determine if it’s from exhaustion, or relief that our search has resulted in something tangible, indicating to us that we are on the correct path.
“How is the ‘Savior of Qantua’ faring these days?” I ask, playfully alluding to the title bestowed upon her by the most devoted worshippers amongst our people. She rolls her eyes and smirks, trying her best to disguise a smile.
“If I may be honest?” she says, turning to give me a look as though she’s asking for my permission before she proceeds. I nod, curious as to what she’ll say. “It’s extremely boring! Especially after everything that took place before… you know… Now, the tranquility is too unsettling. I have no idea what to do with myself.”
“But aren’t you gods supposed to be, I don’t know, answering prayers and smiting nonbelievers?” I ask, half-jokingly. Her expression is enough to let me know just how little I understand about her situation and the afterlife. I raise my hands to concede defeat, and a chuckle escapes my lips.
“You’ve been awfully busy since we last spoke,” she comments, swiftly changing the subject, much to my relief.
“I didn’t realize you would notice,” I say, genuinely surprised.
“I’m the ‘Savior of Qantua’, as you have astutely pointed out. I see everything,” she says, the last part is embellished with the waving of her hands as if to emulate a haunting spirit.
“Your friend, Sualset,” I begin to say, briefly interrupted by her snorting laugh before I continue, “she was quite busy herself before the Eleven departed to combat the Timuaq.”
“She was always up to something,” Entilqan says, however I have trouble determining her tone—is she simply musing? Is she annoyed? Amused? Agitated? Apathetic?
“We found the painted clay pots,” I inform her, as if she wasn’t aware. “Or, well, the pots that became painted once Upachu and I… Right, you know. Anyway, we think they lead to certain locations around Pachil. Any idea where those locations are?”
“She never told us anything of her machinations,” Entilqan says, sounding defeated or distraught. “I believe either Sochumep or Iuqamaq confronter her about it, but she declined to let us into her plans, saying something about how, if we were to be captured by the Timuaq, we could claim ignorance and wouldn’t confess under duress. I told her we would be tortured or put to death whether we knew or not, but…” Her voice trails off, yet she doesn’t need to complete her sentiment for me to understand. Or, perhaps, she realizes to whom she speaks and what I’ve been through while all this was taking place.
Before the thoughts of such harrowing events can flood my mind, and not knowing how much remaining time I have with her tonight, I harken back to the advice Upachu gave me, so that I can turn my anger and frustration into something more constructive.
“I’ve always wondered,” I say, “what was it that motivated you to commit such a profound act of sacrificing yourself?” It’s all I could muster up to say, so that I don’t give away any feelings of betrayal and hurt her actions caused me. Upachu’s suggestion on how to learn of her deep convictions ring in my ear, encouraging me to focus on understanding her rather than any resentment I may feel.
“It wasn’t easy,” she says with a deep exhale, “and it’s not a responsibility I would wish onto anyone else. I suppose I knew there wasn’t any other way. That, in order to save the most people, as many human lives on Pachil as I could, I’d have to make the sacrifice. I wish it didn’t have to be so, but I came to peace with knowing what had to be done.”
“How did you find the strength to devote yourself to such a cause, something that would ultimately take the rest of your life to complete?” I ask.
“Strength isn’t found in the muscles, but in the heart's resolve,” she says, her eyes still gazing out onto the evening landscape. “The knowledge that a better world awaited, that freedom for the people of Pachil was worth every sacrifice, fueled my every step. It wasn’t a choice, but a calling, etched in the very fabric of my being. To see tyranny crumble and a fractured land made whole was worth every heartbeat spent in the pursuit.”
It sounds bizarre to say, but hearing her words causes me to feel extreme jealousy, and I can only hang my head. The lingering weight of unresolved hurt and simmering anger, borne from her abrupt departure, is a painful reminder of my shortcomings. For someone of her youthful age, she speaks with such wisdom that I will never fully comprehend. And to say so with so much love in her heart for the people of this world, to speak of her act as being ‘her responsibility’, makes it more unfathomable.
I turn to face Entilqan, to finally say what’s been on my heart about what I feel for her, only to awaken on the bedroll laid about beneath the trees. The chill in the air sneaks beneath my blanket, no longer held back by our now-extinguished campfire. Still believing it to be evening, I jolt myself up in panic, worried that I’ve overslept. It isn’t until my attention is drawn to the sorrowful singing trogons that I finally feel relief—not just for acknowledging the embrace of morning, but to be back in the hills of Qantua, even after such a relatively brief time away.
Upachu has begun gathering his belongings and packs up the cart as our llama chews on long stalks of grass. Hearing me stir, he turns to me, smiling with a piece of coca leaf dangling out the side of his mouth.
“You’re addicted to those things,” I say, rebuking him of this habit he’s developed.
He waves away my concern and returns to packing, saying, “when you become my age, what concern do you have of developing dangerous tendencies?” Upachu’s disregard does not assuage my apprehensions, and while I’d like to discard those leaves at my next opportunity, I know he will only purchase more when he’s no longer under my supervision once we return to Hilaqta. Thus, I can only respond with a sigh before picking myself up and grabbing our remaining items to place in the cart.
“Teqosa!” Upachu exclaims, stopping his task immediately to grab ahold of my shoulder. I alertly scan the area for any incoming threat, hurriedly locating the cart so I can retrieve my glaive. “Your wounds!” I react by wincing, but I’m suddenly aware of the fact that I feel no pain, no lingering jolts of electricity shooting through my nerves. Confused, I look down at my limbs and body, and I’m met with with a stunning realization: My wounds have healed entirely. Where I was once gashed and shredded, my skin is smooth and shows no sign of being injured in combat. I pat myself numerous times to be sure, and, in fact, I am not dreaming as I initially believed.
I’m left without words, but Upachu speaks for me, saying, “how did that happen? Was it something you did?”
“I’m… not sure,” I reply. “I ate and drank the same as you. Do you feel any different?”
“Perhaps different than I did twenty harvests ago, with all the aches and pains us elders get to enjoy,” he says, “but no, no demigod-like capabilities yet. To be fair, I haven’t attempted to lift the cart above my head, nor am I eager to try anytime soon.”
“Maybe there was some healing power in the gardens at the Wichanaqta palace,” I say, trying my best to solve this enigmatic riddle. “After all, the plants were able to survive such conditions for an extensive amount of time. It could be the result of having been exposed to some healing powers contained within that ward.”
“I can see that as a possibility, sure,” Upachu says, although his tone suggests he’s not entirely convinced, as he strokes the stubble on his chin.
Trying to not dwell on the matter and considering it settled, I set my bedroll next to the series of clay pots and lumuli chest, and my mind drifts to the other matter at hand. These coveted items demand out utmost attention and care, especially now that we’re returning to Qantua and will be in the densely populated Hilaqta. Though we know these possessions will be relentlessly sought after by Qaschiqe, as well as members of the Eye in the Flame, we’ll have to be mindful of anyone, even strangers, who appear to monitor our every move. When I consider the small number of workers at the Temple of the Titans and how we nearly lost a wooden chest there—to the out-of-shape friend of Upachu, nonetheless—my fears only intensify.
The plan that was discussed as we departed the Atima lands is to secure these items, wrapped in bundles of cloth and disguised as bales of grass and hay for the llama, with each of us taking two of the pots to our homes. Though Upachu has assured me the storeroom inside the Great Library will be safe, with its own covert brick locking system and numerous people present that should deter thieves, I decide to take no chances, not wanting the items out of our sight for a moment. I’ve subtly hinted at the two pots Upachu will take, as those are the pots I’ve been staring at intently during each instance we pause for a break during our travels. The effort may be futile, but I attempt to memorize the layout of what’s painted on them, in case something should happen to them—which, let’s be honest, is a high possibility around Upachu. It’s not ideal nor the most secure plan, but all things considered, it’s the best I can do without a magic ward or traveling without stopping for food or rest.
I give him the two with the most obvious identifying marks: On one, they appear to display the Qantua territory, someplace near Hilaqta, and the other is a tiny island within a lake or surrounded by a moat, amidst a sea of deep green—a shade that differs from the color used for our presumed Qantua map. Could it indicate the vegetation is different? Is it representing a different elevation? A different territory?
What should aid us is the other part of our plan, involving the Great Library. With our access to the vast rooms of knowledge stored within its walls, we may be able to find some kind of markings, carvings, or wall paintings that could tell us where these locations are. While the people of Pachil historically have navigated using the stars and identifying landmarks during their travels, Upachu seems to be of the belief that he has seen stone carvings within the Great Library. It sounds too good to be true, a convenient means to discovering some truths about what’s painted upon the pots.
Though it seems as if everything is well thought out, even the most meticulously woven threads may unravel.
Not since I returned from the war have I been so grateful to see the daunting presence of Hilaqta’s stark gray perimeter walls. Despite the impending threats that seem to be waiting for Upachu and me to let our guards drop before they strike, the sight of a bustling city, its people carrying about their business, unaware of, and unconcerned with, the events we’ve faced over the past few days, is greatly welcomed.
As we travel to Upachu’s home to deliver two of the “bales of hay”, we quickly notice Iache, one of the elders and caretakers of the Great Library, out for a stroll on the Hilaqta streets. Likely a result of the coca leaves, Upachu rushes off to greet his friend and colleague, leaving me behind with the llama and our valuable goods. Much like myself, the llama is reluctant to approach the graying, wisened man, forcing me to stubbornly drag him over to where the two men are conversing.
I’m greeted warmly by a man whose bright smile is as white as the robe he wears—one that isn’t as ill-fitting as Upachu’s, as well. He has patches of gray hair that flank the sides of his head, and age spots dotting his hands and angular face.
“Teqosa!” he shouts, startling the llama enough to jostle the cart. “What a pleasant surprise to see you—and Upachu—walking about!”
“The gods haven’t struck us down yet,” Upachu quips, “though they’ve certainly tried.”
Iache politely laughs at the remark, patting his friend on the shoulder with a hard thwump. Upachu and I exchange a quick glance, as if to say to one another, “if only he knew…”
“I was just catching up with my longtime friend here—sun and sky! How long has it been since we’ve known each other, Upachu? Why, I’d say when the stars called us children, am I right!” He laughs heartily at his own joke, once again slapping Upachu on his shoulder.
“When the maize was nothing more than a shoot, certainly,” Upachu agrees, somewhat wearily.
As if just recalling something, Iache perks up, his face in sudden alarm, and says, “Wait! What are you two doing out here? I would’ve thought you’d be at the Great Library. Shouldn’t you two be at the meeting taking place there, being members of the council and all?”
“What… meeting?” Upachu asks, looking at me with confusion as if I’m responsible.
“The council members were called to a meeting just this morning,” Iache says. “Some messenger arrived. Seemed urgent. Glad I wasn’t summoned—they looked intense!” He chuckles nervously, unable to visibly mask his concern.
Struggling to find the words, I ask, “do you know who summoned it?”
“Can’t say I do, I’m afraid—council matters and all,” Iache says, apologizing with his eyes for his lack of insight. Why would a meeting be called? Has something tragic happened in Qantua? I kick myself for not being available to protect my homeland, instead chasing some sought after item of assumed, undetermined value, all for a potentially power-hungry Arbiter.
“What shall we do about our cart? Our belongings?” Upachu asks, mild panic in his voice.
“I can return it to your home, Upachu,” Iache volunteers. “I was on my way home, so I certainly don’t mind the slight detour. He grins pleasantly, then looks at us expectantly. Something about this doesn’t sit well with me, as if this is too convenient of an occurrence with his timing. That he just happened to encounter Upachu, on his way home?
“Upachu, you stay with the cart and bring it to your home. I can act in your stead, or fetch you if your presence is required,” I command. I may simply be acting paranoid, fearful for another situation similar to what we faced at the Temple of the Titans, but I would rather be overly cautious than too trusting with a matter involving these clay pots and highly coveted lumuli chest.
Upachu nods in agreement, grabbing the reigns for the llama and bidding Iache an abrupt farewell. Not wanting to let on that anything important is contained in the cart, I take a deep breath to calm myself before saying a cordial goodbye, as well, and take off toward the Great Library, leaving Iache where he stood, undoubtedly confused. I convince myself I can tell him we were thrown off by the news of the meeting, and ask for his forgiveness later, should I feel compelled for the need to excuse our bizarre behavior.
When I’m out of sight from the two elders, I pick up my pace, lightly jogging as I weave through the crowded Hilaqta streets. The palace guards offer me a sharp, traditional salute, placing their right fist over their heart and watching me as they bow deeply. I return the gesture with a fist over my heart and a nod as I walk past speedily—jogging by without any acknowledgement will be taken as an offense, of course, even to the warriors stationed at the Great Library.
Deep within the mountain, at the back of the tremendous vicinity, is the chamber, one with no window openings nor any exposure to the outside world. Though Iache never mentioned it specifically, I assume this would be the location of such an urgent meeting with its ability to be more easily secured and isolation to prevent curious eyes and ears.
The sentry posted on either side of the door watch me quickly approach, then stand at ease when they’re able to recognize me and open the door. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the brightness of the chamber, illuminated with dozens of torches along the walls and candles atop the round table placed at the center. Seated around the circular table are four elders of the Great Library—the fifth place, meant for Upachu, is vacant—five nobles of the great houses, and two other military leaders, among whom I would constitute the third place.
The representatives comprising the great houses, in fact, consists of four Qantua families of significant influence and one Atima official, elected by their refuges. Upon receiving the Atima refugees, our elders decided that their people should also be included in our political decisions. This entailed assimilating those interested in participating in our society and blending the two factions into one. While not a perfect union, I find it to be a significant achievement, though it’s unfortunately not an act that all factions of Pachil undertook.
“Teqosa!” a member seated at the table shouts with a resonating voice—I’m becoming oddly self-aware at how frequently my name has been shouted today. The man is a formidable presence, with a towering stature reminiscent of the great ceiba trees in the lands to the south. Following along his strong jaw is a wide smile framed by his long, straight, black hair. His deep-set eyes seemingly peer into the very depths of one's being. He wears armor constructed of ornate leather, tanned and treated to a near-black and proudly bearing the marks and tears caused by countless weapons in the countless battles he’s fought. Beneath the protective layer is a tunic of finely woven fabrics in the Qantua colors of black and gold.
“Amalqusi, as I live and breathe,” I say, walking to him and mutually clutching his forearm as he does mine. The esteemed military leader was vital in defeating the Timuaq and protecting Qantua, and as such, has been unquestionably rewarded with a place on the council. I feel truly undeserving to serve alongside someone whose legacy far surpasses my own humble contributions.
“What’s kept you from attending the meeting, Teqosa?” I’m asked by one of the Qantua nobles—Humina, I believe. “This is a matter of great urgency, and you’re just now strolling in? And where is Upachu?” His jowls flutter as he speaks accusatorially to me, the thinning coif atop his shining head bouncing to and fro.
“I sincerely apologize for my tardiness,” I say, bowing low with a fist over my heart. “As we were approaching the Great Library, Upachu felt ill, so I returned him to his home. I hope you can forgive me for my late arrival.” Inside, I’m frustrated with myself, for using such a lie as an excuse—especially one that could be easily disproven. I’ll have to get to Iache and Upachu quickly after this meeting and handle this delicately.
“It’s fine!” Amalqusi says jovially, attempting to diffuse the situation with his pleasant smile. “We had only just begun the meeting—you haven’t missed much at all.” It appears my statement is deemed acceptable among most members of the council, though not without receiving annoyed and curious stares from those of the nobility. As I arrive to my seat and lower myself into the chair, I note that I will have to walk a careful line when engaging with them throughout this meeting.
“Allow me to catch you up,” Taqsame says, “since it’s going to affect the future, the power and prosperity of Qantua.”
The youngest councilman in attendance, Taqsame’s deeds during the war are highly circulated around Qantua and have reached as far as the capital—some even say he should have been tapped to be our emissary. However, I find it difficult to discern what he is going on about, saying ‘power and prosperity’? From what I know of the man comprising the other military representative seat, he is not one for showmanship, so why he has chosen those words is beyond me, and the manner in which he speaks, though peculiar, causes a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“Just moments earlier,” he says, standing with an air of gravitas as he presents the information to everyone, “a messenger was dispatched from our emissary in Qapauma, informing us that, due to not responding quickly enough for his liking, the Arbiter has threatened to withhold resources from the Qantua until we deliver on what was promised to him.”
“Traitor!” one of the councilmen shouts. Taqsame waves a hand to calm the man down before continuing.
“But he also mentioned fractious cells within the Tapeu faction, seeking to rebel against the Arbiter and cast him out of his seat of power. If the rumors are to be believed, an outright rebellion will mount by the beginning of the next moon cycle. The stars have aligned, and destiny beckons us to seize this opportunity. The time is now for us to strike!”
“I thought you had forgotten about me.”
“It’s only because I haven’t been able to have a reasonable night’s sleep,” I say to Entilqan.
For the first time in what feels like an eternity, Entilqan and I are reunited atop our hill that overlooks the Qantua valley from our childhood, beneath a jacaranda tree while the setting sun casts its glorious golden glow upon the valley. Just as radiant, my sister sits beside me, arms folded on her knees as she maintains her focus on the landscape, taking it all in. I suddenly become aware of my hands and leg, looking down upon them, and realizing they show no sign of injury, somehow believing the wounds would carry over into my dream state.
Moments after departing the ruins of Wichanaqta, my bones and muscles ached too greatly to continue on for the day, and I required rest. Between the continuous travel and continuous fighting, my sleep has been restless up until now. But tonight? I’ve slept the soundest I can recall in, perhaps, a harvest or three. I can’t determine if it’s from exhaustion, or relief that our search has resulted in something tangible, indicating to us that we are on the correct path.
“How is the ‘Savior of Qantua’ faring these days?” I ask, playfully alluding to the title bestowed upon her by the most devoted worshippers amongst our people. She rolls her eyes and smirks, trying her best to disguise a smile.
“If I may be honest?” she says, turning to give me a look as though she’s asking for my permission before she proceeds. I nod, curious as to what she’ll say. “It’s extremely boring! Especially after everything that took place before… you know… Now, the tranquility is too unsettling. I have no idea what to do with myself.”
“But aren’t you gods supposed to be, I don’t know, answering prayers and smiting nonbelievers?” I ask, half-jokingly. Her expression is enough to let me know just how little I understand about her situation and the afterlife. I raise my hands to concede defeat, and a chuckle escapes my lips.
“You’ve been awfully busy since we last spoke,” she comments, swiftly changing the subject, much to my relief.
“I didn’t realize you would notice,” I say, genuinely surprised.
“I’m the ‘Savior of Qantua’, as you have astutely pointed out. I see everything,” she says, the last part is embellished with the waving of her hands as if to emulate a haunting spirit.
“Your friend, Sualset,” I begin to say, briefly interrupted by her snorting laugh before I continue, “she was quite busy herself before the Eleven departed to combat the Timuaq.”
“She was always up to something,” Entilqan says, however I have trouble determining her tone—is she simply musing? Is she annoyed? Amused? Agitated? Apathetic?
“We found the painted clay pots,” I inform her, as if she wasn’t aware. “Or, well, the pots that became painted once Upachu and I… Right, you know. Anyway, we think they lead to certain locations around Pachil. Any idea where those locations are?”
“She never told us anything of her machinations,” Entilqan says, sounding defeated or distraught. “I believe either Sochumep or Iuqamaq confronter her about it, but she declined to let us into her plans, saying something about how, if we were to be captured by the Timuaq, we could claim ignorance and wouldn’t confess under duress. I told her we would be tortured or put to death whether we knew or not, but…” Her voice trails off, yet she doesn’t need to complete her sentiment for me to understand. Or, perhaps, she realizes to whom she speaks and what I’ve been through while all this was taking place.
Before the thoughts of such harrowing events can flood my mind, and not knowing how much remaining time I have with her tonight, I harken back to the advice Upachu gave me, so that I can turn my anger and frustration into something more constructive.
“I’ve always wondered,” I say, “what was it that motivated you to commit such a profound act of sacrificing yourself?” It’s all I could muster up to say, so that I don’t give away any feelings of betrayal and hurt her actions caused me. Upachu’s suggestion on how to learn of her deep convictions ring in my ear, encouraging me to focus on understanding her rather than any resentment I may feel.
“It wasn’t easy,” she says with a deep exhale, “and it’s not a responsibility I would wish onto anyone else. I suppose I knew there wasn’t any other way. That, in order to save the most people, as many human lives on Pachil as I could, I’d have to make the sacrifice. I wish it didn’t have to be so, but I came to peace with knowing what had to be done.”
“How did you find the strength to devote yourself to such a cause, something that would ultimately take the rest of your life to complete?” I ask.
“Strength isn’t found in the muscles, but in the heart's resolve,” she says, her eyes still gazing out onto the evening landscape. “The knowledge that a better world awaited, that freedom for the people of Pachil was worth every sacrifice, fueled my every step. It wasn’t a choice, but a calling, etched in the very fabric of my being. To see tyranny crumble and a fractured land made whole was worth every heartbeat spent in the pursuit.”
It sounds bizarre to say, but hearing her words causes me to feel extreme jealousy, and I can only hang my head. The lingering weight of unresolved hurt and simmering anger, borne from her abrupt departure, is a painful reminder of my shortcomings. For someone of her youthful age, she speaks with such wisdom that I will never fully comprehend. And to say so with so much love in her heart for the people of this world, to speak of her act as being ‘her responsibility’, makes it more unfathomable.
I turn to face Entilqan, to finally say what’s been on my heart about what I feel for her, only to awaken on the bedroll laid about beneath the trees. The chill in the air sneaks beneath my blanket, no longer held back by our now-extinguished campfire. Still believing it to be evening, I jolt myself up in panic, worried that I’ve overslept. It isn’t until my attention is drawn to the sorrowful singing trogons that I finally feel relief—not just for acknowledging the embrace of morning, but to be back in the hills of Qantua, even after such a relatively brief time away.
Upachu has begun gathering his belongings and packs up the cart as our llama chews on long stalks of grass. Hearing me stir, he turns to me, smiling with a piece of coca leaf dangling out the side of his mouth.
“You’re addicted to those things,” I say, rebuking him of this habit he’s developed.
He waves away my concern and returns to packing, saying, “when you become my age, what concern do you have of developing dangerous tendencies?” Upachu’s disregard does not assuage my apprehensions, and while I’d like to discard those leaves at my next opportunity, I know he will only purchase more when he’s no longer under my supervision once we return to Hilaqta. Thus, I can only respond with a sigh before picking myself up and grabbing our remaining items to place in the cart.
“Teqosa!” Upachu exclaims, stopping his task immediately to grab ahold of my shoulder. I alertly scan the area for any incoming threat, hurriedly locating the cart so I can retrieve my glaive. “Your wounds!” I react by wincing, but I’m suddenly aware of the fact that I feel no pain, no lingering jolts of electricity shooting through my nerves. Confused, I look down at my limbs and body, and I’m met with with a stunning realization: My wounds have healed entirely. Where I was once gashed and shredded, my skin is smooth and shows no sign of being injured in combat. I pat myself numerous times to be sure, and, in fact, I am not dreaming as I initially believed.
I’m left without words, but Upachu speaks for me, saying, “how did that happen? Was it something you did?”
“I’m… not sure,” I reply. “I ate and drank the same as you. Do you feel any different?”
“Perhaps different than I did twenty harvests ago, with all the aches and pains us elders get to enjoy,” he says, “but no, no demigod-like capabilities yet. To be fair, I haven’t attempted to lift the cart above my head, nor am I eager to try anytime soon.”
“Maybe there was some healing power in the gardens at the Wichanaqta palace,” I say, trying my best to solve this enigmatic riddle. “After all, the plants were able to survive such conditions for an extensive amount of time. It could be the result of having been exposed to some healing powers contained within that ward.”
“I can see that as a possibility, sure,” Upachu says, although his tone suggests he’s not entirely convinced, as he strokes the stubble on his chin.
Trying to not dwell on the matter and considering it settled, I set my bedroll next to the series of clay pots and lumuli chest, and my mind drifts to the other matter at hand. These coveted items demand out utmost attention and care, especially now that we’re returning to Qantua and will be in the densely populated Hilaqta. Though we know these possessions will be relentlessly sought after by Qaschiqe, as well as members of the Eye in the Flame, we’ll have to be mindful of anyone, even strangers, who appear to monitor our every move. When I consider the small number of workers at the Temple of the Titans and how we nearly lost a wooden chest there—to the out-of-shape friend of Upachu, nonetheless—my fears only intensify.
The plan that was discussed as we departed the Atima lands is to secure these items, wrapped in bundles of cloth and disguised as bales of grass and hay for the llama, with each of us taking two of the pots to our homes. Though Upachu has assured me the storeroom inside the Great Library will be safe, with its own covert brick locking system and numerous people present that should deter thieves, I decide to take no chances, not wanting the items out of our sight for a moment. I’ve subtly hinted at the two pots Upachu will take, as those are the pots I’ve been staring at intently during each instance we pause for a break during our travels. The effort may be futile, but I attempt to memorize the layout of what’s painted on them, in case something should happen to them—which, let’s be honest, is a high possibility around Upachu. It’s not ideal nor the most secure plan, but all things considered, it’s the best I can do without a magic ward or traveling without stopping for food or rest.
I give him the two with the most obvious identifying marks: On one, they appear to display the Qantua territory, someplace near Hilaqta, and the other is a tiny island within a lake or surrounded by a moat, amidst a sea of deep green—a shade that differs from the color used for our presumed Qantua map. Could it indicate the vegetation is different? Is it representing a different elevation? A different territory?
What should aid us is the other part of our plan, involving the Great Library. With our access to the vast rooms of knowledge stored within its walls, we may be able to find some kind of markings, carvings, or wall paintings that could tell us where these locations are. While the people of Pachil historically have navigated using the stars and identifying landmarks during their travels, Upachu seems to be of the belief that he has seen stone carvings within the Great Library. It sounds too good to be true, a convenient means to discovering some truths about what’s painted upon the pots.
Though it seems as if everything is well thought out, even the most meticulously woven threads may unravel.
Not since I returned from the war have I been so grateful to see the daunting presence of Hilaqta’s stark gray perimeter walls. Despite the impending threats that seem to be waiting for Upachu and me to let our guards drop before they strike, the sight of a bustling city, its people carrying about their business, unaware of, and unconcerned with, the events we’ve faced over the past few days, is greatly welcomed.
As we travel to Upachu’s home to deliver two of the “bales of hay”, we quickly notice Iache, one of the elders and caretakers of the Great Library, out for a stroll on the Hilaqta streets. Likely a result of the coca leaves, Upachu rushes off to greet his friend and colleague, leaving me behind with the llama and our valuable goods. Much like myself, the llama is reluctant to approach the graying, wisened man, forcing me to stubbornly drag him over to where the two men are conversing.
I’m greeted warmly by a man whose bright smile is as white as the robe he wears—one that isn’t as ill-fitting as Upachu’s, as well. He has patches of gray hair that flank the sides of his head, and age spots dotting his hands and angular face.
“Teqosa!” he shouts, startling the llama enough to jostle the cart. “What a pleasant surprise to see you—and Upachu—walking about!”
“The gods haven’t struck us down yet,” Upachu quips, “though they’ve certainly tried.”
Iache politely laughs at the remark, patting his friend on the shoulder with a hard thwump. Upachu and I exchange a quick glance, as if to say to one another, “if only he knew…”
“I was just catching up with my longtime friend here—sun and sky! How long has it been since we’ve known each other, Upachu? Why, I’d say when the stars called us children, am I right!” He laughs heartily at his own joke, once again slapping Upachu on his shoulder.
“When the maize was nothing more than a shoot, certainly,” Upachu agrees, somewhat wearily.
As if just recalling something, Iache perks up, his face in sudden alarm, and says, “Wait! What are you two doing out here? I would’ve thought you’d be at the Great Library. Shouldn’t you two be at the meeting taking place there, being members of the council and all?”
“What… meeting?” Upachu asks, looking at me with confusion as if I’m responsible.
“The council members were called to a meeting just this morning,” Iache says. “Some messenger arrived. Seemed urgent. Glad I wasn’t summoned—they looked intense!” He chuckles nervously, unable to visibly mask his concern.
Struggling to find the words, I ask, “do you know who summoned it?”
“Can’t say I do, I’m afraid—council matters and all,” Iache says, apologizing with his eyes for his lack of insight. Why would a meeting be called? Has something tragic happened in Qantua? I kick myself for not being available to protect my homeland, instead chasing some sought after item of assumed, undetermined value, all for a potentially power-hungry Arbiter.
“What shall we do about our cart? Our belongings?” Upachu asks, mild panic in his voice.
“I can return it to your home, Upachu,” Iache volunteers. “I was on my way home, so I certainly don’t mind the slight detour. He grins pleasantly, then looks at us expectantly. Something about this doesn’t sit well with me, as if this is too convenient of an occurrence with his timing. That he just happened to encounter Upachu, on his way home?
“Upachu, you stay with the cart and bring it to your home. I can act in your stead, or fetch you if your presence is required,” I command. I may simply be acting paranoid, fearful for another situation similar to what we faced at the Temple of the Titans, but I would rather be overly cautious than too trusting with a matter involving these clay pots and highly coveted lumuli chest.
Upachu nods in agreement, grabbing the reigns for the llama and bidding Iache an abrupt farewell. Not wanting to let on that anything important is contained in the cart, I take a deep breath to calm myself before saying a cordial goodbye, as well, and take off toward the Great Library, leaving Iache where he stood, undoubtedly confused. I convince myself I can tell him we were thrown off by the news of the meeting, and ask for his forgiveness later, should I feel compelled for the need to excuse our bizarre behavior.
When I’m out of sight from the two elders, I pick up my pace, lightly jogging as I weave through the crowded Hilaqta streets. The palace guards offer me a sharp, traditional salute, placing their right fist over their heart and watching me as they bow deeply. I return the gesture with a fist over my heart and a nod as I walk past speedily—jogging by without any acknowledgement will be taken as an offense, of course, even to the warriors stationed at the Great Library.
Deep within the mountain, at the back of the tremendous vicinity, is the chamber, one with no window openings nor any exposure to the outside world. Though Iache never mentioned it specifically, I assume this would be the location of such an urgent meeting with its ability to be more easily secured and isolation to prevent curious eyes and ears.
The sentry posted on either side of the door watch me quickly approach, then stand at ease when they’re able to recognize me and open the door. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the brightness of the chamber, illuminated with dozens of torches along the walls and candles atop the round table placed at the center. Seated around the circular table are four elders of the Great Library—the fifth place, meant for Upachu, is vacant—five nobles of the great houses, and two other military leaders, among whom I would constitute the third place.
The representatives comprising the great houses, in fact, consists of four Qantua families of significant influence and one Atima official, elected by their refuges. Upon receiving the Atima refugees, our elders decided that their people should also be included in our political decisions. This entailed assimilating those interested in participating in our society and blending the two factions into one. While not a perfect union, I find it to be a significant achievement, though it’s unfortunately not an act that all factions of Pachil undertook.
“Teqosa!” a member seated at the table shouts with a resonating voice—I’m becoming oddly self-aware at how frequently my name has been shouted today. The man is a formidable presence, with a towering stature reminiscent of the great ceiba trees in the lands to the south. Following along his strong jaw is a wide smile framed by his long, straight, black hair. His deep-set eyes seemingly peer into the very depths of one's being. He wears armor constructed of ornate leather, tanned and treated to a near-black and proudly bearing the marks and tears caused by countless weapons in the countless battles he’s fought. Beneath the protective layer is a tunic of finely woven fabrics in the Qantua colors of black and gold.
“Amalqusi, as I live and breathe,” I say, walking to him and mutually clutching his forearm as he does mine. The esteemed military leader was vital in defeating the Timuaq and protecting Qantua, and as such, has been unquestionably rewarded with a place on the council. I feel truly undeserving to serve alongside someone whose legacy far surpasses my own humble contributions.
“What’s kept you from attending the meeting, Teqosa?” I’m asked by one of the Qantua nobles—Humina, I believe. “This is a matter of great urgency, and you’re just now strolling in? And where is Upachu?” His jowls flutter as he speaks accusatorially to me, the thinning coif atop his shining head bouncing to and fro.
“I sincerely apologize for my tardiness,” I say, bowing low with a fist over my heart. “As we were approaching the Great Library, Upachu felt ill, so I returned him to his home. I hope you can forgive me for my late arrival.” Inside, I’m frustrated with myself, for using such a lie as an excuse—especially one that could be easily disproven. I’ll have to get to Iache and Upachu quickly after this meeting and handle this delicately.
“It’s fine!” Amalqusi says jovially, attempting to diffuse the situation with his pleasant smile. “We had only just begun the meeting—you haven’t missed much at all.” It appears my statement is deemed acceptable among most members of the council, though not without receiving annoyed and curious stares from those of the nobility. As I arrive to my seat and lower myself into the chair, I note that I will have to walk a careful line when engaging with them throughout this meeting.
“Allow me to catch you up,” Taqsame says, “since it’s going to affect the future, the power and prosperity of Qantua.”
The youngest councilman in attendance, Taqsame’s deeds during the war are highly circulated around Qantua and have reached as far as the capital—some even say he should have been tapped to be our emissary. However, I find it difficult to discern what he is going on about, saying ‘power and prosperity’? From what I know of the man comprising the other military representative seat, he is not one for showmanship, so why he has chosen those words is beyond me, and the manner in which he speaks, though peculiar, causes a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“Just moments earlier,” he says, standing with an air of gravitas as he presents the information to everyone, “a messenger was dispatched from our emissary in Qapauma, informing us that, due to not responding quickly enough for his liking, the Arbiter has threatened to withhold resources from the Qantua until we deliver on what was promised to him.”
“Traitor!” one of the councilmen shouts. Taqsame waves a hand to calm the man down before continuing.
“But he also mentioned fractious cells within the Tapeu faction, seeking to rebel against the Arbiter and cast him out of his seat of power. If the rumors are to be believed, an outright rebellion will mount by the beginning of the next moon cycle. The stars have aligned, and destiny beckons us to seize this opportunity. The time is now for us to strike!”
