Your thoughts travel to the fireplace in your home. The wood pops and crackles, and the furniture and belongings within the single room are cast in a warm orange glow. You think this memory may have been the last time you remember a fire made inside your house, or a time close to it. You are, what, eight, nine, ten years old? Who can remember. Despite the heat of the nearby fire, a draft sweeps through the room, prompting everyone to bundle beneath layers of blankets atop their bedrolls.
“Tell me about our people, aita,” you request of your father. You’ve heard the tale a hundred thousand million times, but you still find each retelling as gripping as the last. Afonzo groans loudly and plops his head on his pillow, but you ignore his complaining, focusing attentively on your father.
“Where do I even start?” he asks rhetorically, but you know where the tale will begin, as it always does.
“In the time before time, The Creator gazed upon the vast expanse of the plains and steppes, a canvas of endless possibility. With gentle hands, The Creator dug His hands into the rich soil and shaped it into the form of a human, a resilient and nomadic being. He gave them legs as sturdy as the ancient trees, for they would walk great distances. He granted them eyes as keen as the soaring eagle, for they would traverse the expansive plains. He adorned them with tawny skin to blend with the golden grasslands, and hair as dark as a moonless night. He breathed life into these beings, and they became the Legido people.
“As they opened their eyes for the first time, they saw the unending horizons before them, and The Creator gifted the them with a love for the open grasslands. They would follow the herds, build their homes of felt and hide, and live off the land. They roamed The Great Fàsach for many generations, before your grandfather’s grandfather, and much further before that.
“For centuries, they would ride on horseback through rolling grasslands that stretched as far as the eye could see. Each day, they moved with the rhythms of the seasons, following the cycles of the grasses and the roaming herds. They learned to read the signs in the sky, to anticipate the shifting winds and the call of migrating birds. They lived in harmony with nature, knowing that their existence was intertwined with the land and its creatures.”
Your father pauses for a brief moment and takes a deep breath in, holding it for a moment as if he’s savoring the air in his lungs. He exhales through his nose and closes his eyes, slowly reopening them before he says, “Our people are resilient and adaptable, and our strength and perseverance is as boundless as the expanse of the steppes,” he says. You notice that, unlike times before, your father stares long into the fire as though he’s been transported to another time.
“Why do our people not live that way anymore?” you wonder aloud. You’ve always wondered what changed, what happened that caused the Legido to abandon their nomadic way of life for the one you now inhabit, but you’ve only thought to ask this now.
“We were shown a new path,” he says simply, and nothing more. You can’t tell how he feels about this, if he even believes his own answer. There’s a longing, melancholic tone to his response, his words tinged with a bittersweet sentiment.
As your mind returns to the present, the world cloaks itself in darkness, the sky stretches out above like a tapestry of inky blue. Lanterns of the expedition dance like twinkling stars, their light mingling with the constellations above, as if the heavens conspire to guide you on this path. The city’s familiar sounds have faded, replaced by the crickets serenading you in the night as Rexurdir whispers its farewells in the soft sighs of the breeze. It’s only now that you realize, each step you take is closer to both fulfilling your destiny and betraying your family.
You march with the group of explorers to Auruma Xosta, the port city that is the final stop before the expedition travels to the unknown. Everyone is expected to begin loading the ships with supplies as soon as you arrive, and it’s because of this that the progress made toward your destination has been excruciatingly slow.
Bits and pieces of conversations occasionally catch your attention, discussing various thoughts about the journey to come. Most are speculations about what to expect: Whether or not there will be people in the lands you reach, how long the journey will take, seasonal patterns and weather conditions ahead of setting sail, their goals and dreams for what’s to come. Some have tried to claim certain roles or duties before you’ve boarded the ships, preferring certain jobs over others. With your limited skillset, you’re not sure where you’ll fit in, but you can only hope it’s not something disgusting like cleaning up after people’s sick.
While the conversations are a nice way to pass the time, you assume the only people who would know anything about anything are Atelmaro Ulloa, Vitor Criato, and the revered Legido ruler, Xiatli. You try not to spend a lot of energy with wishful thinking, although, you admit, the occasional daydream does emerge every once in a while. It’s hard not to, with the allure of adventuring somewhere new too irresistible to deny.
Eliciting an eye roll from you, Benicto and Dorez are muscling and elbowing their way through the fawning masses to be as close to Ulloa as possible, desperate to get the distinguished adventurer to notice them and earn his favor. Fortunately for you, this means they’re too distracted to harass you, making the trek to the port city mercifully more bearable. Riding his steed, Ulloa looks unamused and annoyed by the added attention, occasionally picking up the pace and leaving the adoring crowds momentarily behind for his own entertainment. Those gathered don’t appear to notice, only encouraged to chase him down to shout their questions and remarks more loudly over one another.
While Ulloa is inundated with his devout worshippers, you engage with fellow aspiring adventurers, discovering the inspirations and motivations that led them to join this expedition. Responses span a spectrum, mirroring the diversity in age and gender among the speakers. Yet, a common thread emerges: a shared yearning for a change in their fortunes. Though opinions about Ulloa and Criato vary, they can all agree that braving the hardships and challenges of this expedition outweigh those of life in Legido.
“I want to hear about Xiatli the Exalted,” Afonzo says in the echoes of your memory, somehow bored with the previous, engaging story about your people. Although he is older than you, you question where he has learned such a word, not being something that is taught in schools. You lament his choice in subject matter, as well, since the story has no mystique, no appeal.
A light glimmers in your father’s eye, and you note it’s not the fire that causes it. Unlike his recounting of the ways of your ancestors, a proud grin slowly grows upon his face as he fondly prepares to tell this story.
“How my father’s father told it to me,” he begins, “is that, at some point, the plains became unforgiving to our people. The soil began to dry up, with long periods of drought occurring between the moments of rain, which caused the grasses to stop growing, and the herds began to thin out. The land was in disarray, thrown off-balance by some unforeseen circumstance. The Legido pleaded with The Creator and tried everything to bring back the rains: dances, rituals, offerings, and even entertained some grimmer, darker alternatives. Nothing had worked, and the dry seasons lasted much longer than the ones with rain. Or so it seemed.
“One day, while the people were traversing The Great Fàsach, a man with skin that emitted a golden light, shining brighter than the sun, and clothing and armor made of shimmering gold, soared down from the heavens and approached the traveling band.”
“Xiatli!” Afonzo squeals with delight, evoking you to sigh. However, your father beams with pride, then continues.
“Xiatli spoke of a bountiful place to the west, where the seasons were never dry and one could live off the land in abundance. Never again would the people starve. Never again would they suffer from the devastating weather. Never again would they have to travel far for water or shelter. The leaders of the tribe questioned this, speaking of the tall, jagged peaks that were impassable.
“‘Fear not’, Xiatli said, ‘for I can provide you with safe passage. All I ask is that you pledge your loyalty to me, and I will bring prosperity to your people.’
“The people, in their wisdom, heeded His command and followed Him west to the Cores Altas, the mountains with peaks that cut through the sky. Though some of them doubted and were certain they were being led to their deaths, they pressed on and scaled the mountains, climbing its steep slopes and weathering the cold, forceful winds. Yet Xiatli kept His promise, and they never starved nor felt the chill of the snowy storms that beat down upon them relentlessly.
“They reached the lands we now inhabit, lush and green. Paradise. The Legido no longer needed to chase the herds, since the game was in abundance in this new land. Fish filled the streams, and Xiatli bestowed upon us the knowledge to farm, as well as hunting more effectively. Our felt tents were replaced by wood and mud, then, later, decorated by skilled craftsman with terracotta and stucco.
“The people asked if He was sent by The Creator, and Xiatli, ever so modest, exclaimed that He was sent because the Legido are the chosen people, that He will ensure they will thrive for generations to come.”
You remember later questioning your father about Xiatli’s promise to the Legido about living in abundance, how that was no longer the case once the drought found them in the region they now inhabit. You wondered about the stranger’s name—Xiatli—how it sounds nothing like those used by your people. At first, you asked if the Legido people upset Xiatli or The Creator to deserve the drought, and your father replied that this was a test by Xiatli to ensure we never forgot about our resilience.
But as the drought continued, and the crops dried up, and the people starved, you continued to ask, slowly doubting Xiatli’s ability to uphold His promise. Your father scolded you for lacking in faith, that it’s people like you thinking in such a way that has brought on the drought. There was perhaps one season, you think you can recall, that brought a plentiful harvest, and the people rejoiced and sung Xiatli’s praises. But that was so long ago, maybe even around the last time your family sat around the fireplace.
It wasn’t until explorers returned with tales of adventure and endless treasure that your beliefs started to come around. Seeing these brave men and women arrive in the town square with carts and carts full of astonishing riches, jewels in colors you’ve never thought possible, precious metals that shined like a thousand torches, and exotic animals tamed and put on display only sparked your imagination. Yes, once these victorious voyagers paraded through Rexurdir, your belief in Xiatli and The Creator was reignited, and you knew anything is possible.
Now, the first timid rays of the sun mingle with the fading stars, and like a benevolent artist, it casts a warm glow as it spills its radiant palette, painting the indigo sky with tender strokes of rose and gold. You relish the moment of quiet splendor, where the dawn unveils the boundless potential of a new day. You consider how this might be your last opportunity to experience peace and solitude in Legido.
Above the forest rise towers of sails, looming like billowing sheets of white clouds above the treetops. Just outside the limits of the village are numerous tents interspersed with the trees, spanning as far as the eye can see. Columns of smoke from extinguished campfires within the few sporadic clearings rise to the sky as the plain-clothed people mill about the temporary abodes, preparing for the day’s work. If you had to guess, you’d assume a population almost as large as Rexurdir’s exists among the tents, and you grow slightly concerned when you wonder how so many will be able to fit onto the vessels.
Auruma Xosta reveals itself to you through the trees, the thatched roofs and white stucco walls piercing through the deep green leaves. This village is much smaller than Rexurdir, and not as resplendent, with no mosaics sprawling on the walls and dirt roads replacing cobblestone. Yet you can't help but be charmed by its quaintness; its small size exudes a certain endearing humility and modesty. You can feel the energy as you walk about Auruma Xosta, how the village buzzes with excitement, anticipation, and anxiousness.
Making your way through the city takes a short amount of time, and in just a few blocks, you reach the humble harbor that can hardly accommodate the number of people working them. The large ships are barely able to squeeze into the wharfs, and crates of cargo pile up into wooden, manmade mountains on the docks. Nearly a dozen vessels anchored out in the waters are forced to wait for their turn to load up with supplies.
Your group is corralled to an area by one of the docks, and you feel that the heat and stench from the surrounding unbathed bodies is just a precursor to what you can expect during the long journey on the ship. A man climbs atop one of the nearby crates, though judging by the size of the large-waisted fellow, you are worried that the makeshift platform won’t be able to support his weight for long. Even though it’s the morning, stubble already shadows his face, and his brown tousled hair flops about in the sea breeze. His extended arms hold a parchment, and he squints to decipher the text.
His hollering halts the idle chatter, “Lads, line up over here,” he points to the last remaining vacant space on the pier, “to get your dock assignments. Ladies, to the storeroom; you will be assigned your sewing and mending duties, as well as getting the food prepared and preserved. Now, go!”
With that, everyone unenthusiastically makes their way to their designated areas. Before you can join the others, a hand grasps your shoulder. With a jolt, you turn and see a familiar face, a practiced smile subtly curling the corners of their mouth.
“Iker!” you exclaim. “You made it! I wasn’t sure I would see you in Auruma Xosta.”
“I wasn’t sure, either,” he says with a glint of reservation in his eyes. “Initially, I was going to stay in Rexurdir and help my family on the farm. But once my father heard the whispers about Ulloa and Criato’s expedition, he made me join. My bags were packed for me before I made it home. Practically pushed me out the door.”
You empathize with Iker, knowing of his reluctance to join the expedition and desire to be with his family; a part of you wishes you could remain with your family, as well. Since you are both set to journey to the far off land, however, you attempt to infuse your enthusiasm into the situation, hoping to lift his spirits—and your own.
“Well,” you say with a pause, searching your mind for anything that could be encouraging and motivating, “we’re about to embark on an incredible adventure, something most folks back in our village can only dream of. And we have to remember that we’re doing this for our families, to make life better back home. You know, it's a bit scary now, but once we set sail, you'll see. There's a whole world out there waiting for us, and when we return, we’ll be hailed as heroes, with stories that'll have everyone in awe. This is our chance at something extraordinary!”
Iker contemplates this, his brows knitting together before a slow nod follows. You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, hoping to have settled both of your nerves, before you hear shouting. Is the person yelling at you two? Looking around the docks, a short, stocky man with tufts of dark gray hair shooting from the sides of his head stomps over to you, his eyes glaring intensely.
“Are you both on holiday?” he charges, stopping short of getting in your face as he screeches at you both. “You’re more fit for a tea party than a dock. Earn your keep and get to work, you laggards!”
Panicked, and uncertain what to do or where to go, you and Iker exchange a wide-eyed, silent glance. The man's pointed kick urges you both into action, and he sends you both off to gather provisions. You hurriedly pack food, water, clothing, and medical supplies along with the other gathered men and women. Laden with supplies, you tirelessly load the carts and transport them to the docks, destined for the waiting ships. The unyielding sun beats down upon you, intensifying the already challenging day of strenuous labor.
The days stretch on in this manner, an unending cycle packing and loading supplies and provisions onto ships. Why so much cargo? How long is this journey going to take? With each passing day, a steady stream of individuals abandon their ambitions of adventure, deserting the bustling port. However, you and Iker press on with the thankless work, fighting through the aches and pains in bones and muscles located in places you were unaware existed.
After a number of days like this, there eventually comes a time when the workers at the wharf are summoned together. A throng of individuals pack the docks, and out of fear of falling into the sea below, you and Iker leave the space that’s closer to the provisional platform in exchange for a place in a much safer distance toward the back of the crowd. Like the nearby waves that crash upon the shore, the people murmur and mutter to one another while they await whatever announcement is to come. Too exhausted to speak, you and Iker find a stack of crates at the pier to sit upon, just barely within earshot of where the speakers stand, and revel in the rare moment of respite. The amount of remaining cargo has reduced significantly, and you’re curious just how much more packing and loading will be needed.
A commotion, then tremendous pomp and circumstance causes the mass of people to part. Deafening applause and cheers ring out, the furor and excitement is uncontainable. Men and women alike weep at the sight, and those with children lift them upon their shoulders, pointing and swelling with pride that they are witnessing history come to life.
You and Iker climb a little bit higher to better see over the swell of people, and there He is: like a brilliant jewel, Xiatli strides across the grounds with a sagely expression, nodding occasionally to the greetings and shouts he receives. He’s clad in a gold tunic—or, at least, it appears to be gold, since every part of him, from his armor to his headpiece to the sandals on his feet, is illuminated with a golden hue. His elaborate headpiece is embellished with golden feathers that cascade down to his muscular shoulders, and intricate gold leaves ornament
His face like a mask. You’ve never before seen the deity that walks among men, and He is more transcendent than you’ve ever dreamt.
“I can’t believe it’s Him!” Iker exclaims, nearly falling off the crate as he can hardly contain his excitement. “It’s Xiatli!”
The luminescent figure approaches the platform and stands noticeably taller than Ulloa or Criato by roughly a head’s length. The crowd abruptly falls silent at His slight gesture, and He takes a moment to look upon those gathered, relishing the scene.
“My chosen people,” Xiatli begins, His powerful, commanding voice sounding otherworldly, as though he speaks to you all from another plane of existence, “today we stand on the precipice of destiny. You are the vanguard of a new age, the pioneers who will carve a destiny into uncharted lands. What lies ahead is both challenge and opportunity, but remember this: In adversity, we find strength—it is the crucible through which heroes emerge.”
There’s a long pause as the crowd considers this, then, eventually—gradually—a steady wave of applause swells over those gathered, until there are eruptions of cheers. Xiatli, looking on with pride, pats the air in a gesture to calm the crowd before continuing.
“Together, we carry the hopes of the Legido. We are bound by purpose, united by vision. When future generations speak your names, they will resonate through every realm, every corner of Pachil. Forge ahead, my people, for greatness is your birthright, and destiny awaits your hand."
He splays his hands as though to present the ships, standing with his chin inclined. Looking from atop the vessels stand nervous, fretful men, as if they’re preparing to be confronted by some imposing beast. Once the crowd finishes their exuberant celebrations, they begin making their way to the ships, pushing and shoving their way onto the piers as shouts rain down from those gatekeepers already aboard.
“We better get moving,” Iker nervously says, “or we’re going to be left behind!”
The two of you weave through the bodies, slipping between and maneuvering around, twisting and turning, tightly holding onto the few belongings you possess, until you find the edge of the dock and nearly fall in; Iker has to grab you to stop you from dropping into the sea! You turn to locate the nearest ship and find people have already begun boarding. Isn’t there more work to be done on the docks?
No matter. You call to Iker and surge ahead, using your possessions as a shield to push aside any bodies that get in your way.
“Come on, Iker!” you shout, though you fear the swath of people may have muffled your voice. “This way!”
“I’m right behind you,” Iker says, already panting.
A wall of people resist your efforts to push ahead, some kicking backwards at you in retaliation. Still, you persist, blocking the blows with your bag of belongings and, gritting your teeth, you give one last shove and force yourself forward.
“Just a little further, Iker!” You continue to yell as loudly as you can, hoping to be heard over the rest of the clamoring and hollering. Between a few of the people in front of you, you see daylight: The plank leading up to the ship is well within sight. Your heart swells with excitement, knowing you’re this close to reaching your destination and getting onboard. The air you breathe in is no longer stuffy, scents of the briny sea tingles your senses.
A man at the top of the plank holds a parchment, scanning it and occasionally writing down marks. You faintly hear him talking to those approaching him, but it’s difficult to decipher what he’s asking. He looks panicked and well out of his depth, waving people aboard and hardly taking a moment to peel his eyes away from the parchment.
“We’re nearly there!” Your feet finally touch the inclining wooden boards that wobble and shake with each step. Only a few people stand between you and the deck of the ship, which is looking more and more crowded by the moment. Adding to your fears, you look across the pier and notice the foreman or manager or someone who also holds a parchment in his hands aggressively pushing people away, turning them down and shouting, “We’re full! We’re full! Try another vessel! Get off! We’re full!”
Oh no! Will that happen to you and Iker? Are you about to be turned away? There doesn’t appear to be enough room, and you worry that you and Iker will be left behind, abandoned and forced to reconcile with your family, who has surely noticed you’ve gone missing by now and you haven’t had a chance to write to them to tell them that you’re okay, and that you’re on this ship to seek out a new, better life for them, and that you only want to make them proud and put an end to their struggles by discovering the wealth and prosperity you’ve been promised. If only you can
Get.
On.
That.
Ship.
At the top of the plank, you dive forward and land on top of your belongings with a solid thump. You’ve made it! You’ve made it! And you can hear the foreman or manager or someone tell the unfortunate souls behind you, “I’m sorry, we’re full. Please turn back.” And there’s a fight between the people trying to get on and the burly men forcing them off. And a few people are thrown, falling, falling, falling, and splash into the waters below. And a pit in your stomach grows when you look around to make sure none of those people is Iker, who was just behind you. Where’s Iker? Where did he go? He was right behind you, you swear. And you search and search and look around the deck of the ship and don’t see him anywhere.
“IKER!” You shout to the white, fluffy clouds above. “Iker, where are you?”
You clamber and hoist yourself up to look over the ledge of the deck, the barrier that’s your only safety from tumbling into the sea. You frantically scan the pier as people scramble about the harbor, desperately trying to find a ship to board, when there he is: Iker clutches his bag to his chest like he’s protecting a child, and he’s looking, looking around.
“Iker!” you shout down to him, and he looks up with his sulking, sorrowful eyes. And you know you’re not going to travel with him to the new land. You know he’s getting abandoned here in Auruma Xosta. You know your only friend will be worlds away from wherever you’re heading. You both are all alone, in your own way, surrounded by unfamiliar people.
Mostly unfamiliar people.
“Well, look what stowed away upon our ship, Dorez.”
You turn and see the awful, awful sight that makes you want to hurl yourself overboard.
“Little Oilaskoa,” Dorez says to Benicto. “This journey might not be so bad after all.”
Your thoughts travel to the fireplace in your home. The wood pops and crackles, and the furniture and belongings within the single room are cast in a warm orange glow. You think this memory may have been the last time you remember a fire made inside your house, or a time close to it. You are, what, eight, nine, ten years old? Who can remember. Despite the heat of the nearby fire, a draft sweeps through the room, prompting everyone to bundle beneath layers of blankets atop their bedrolls.
“Tell me about our people, aita,” you request of your father. You’ve heard the tale a hundred thousand million times, but you still find each retelling as gripping as the last. Afonzo groans loudly and plops his head on his pillow, but you ignore his complaining, focusing attentively on your father.
“Where do I even start?” he asks rhetorically, but you know where the tale will begin, as it always does.
“In the time before time, The Creator gazed upon the vast expanse of the plains and steppes, a canvas of endless possibility. With gentle hands, The Creator dug His hands into the rich soil and shaped it into the form of a human, a resilient and nomadic being. He gave them legs as sturdy as the ancient trees, for they would walk great distances. He granted them eyes as keen as the soaring eagle, for they would traverse the expansive plains. He adorned them with tawny skin to blend with the golden grasslands, and hair as dark as a moonless night. He breathed life into these beings, and they became the Legido people.
“As they opened their eyes for the first time, they saw the unending horizons before them, and The Creator gifted the them with a love for the open grasslands. They would follow the herds, build their homes of felt and hide, and live off the land. They roamed The Great Fàsach for many generations, before your grandfather’s grandfather, and much further before that.
“For centuries, they would ride on horseback through rolling grasslands that stretched as far as the eye could see. Each day, they moved with the rhythms of the seasons, following the cycles of the grasses and the roaming herds. They learned to read the signs in the sky, to anticipate the shifting winds and the call of migrating birds. They lived in harmony with nature, knowing that their existence was intertwined with the land and its creatures.”
Your father pauses for a brief moment and takes a deep breath in, holding it for a moment as if he’s savoring the air in his lungs. He exhales through his nose and closes his eyes, slowly reopening them before he says, “Our people are resilient and adaptable, and our strength and perseverance is as boundless as the expanse of the steppes,” he says. You notice that, unlike times before, your father stares long into the fire as though he’s been transported to another time.
“Why do our people not live that way anymore?” you wonder aloud. You’ve always wondered what changed, what happened that caused the Legido to abandon their nomadic way of life for the one you now inhabit, but you’ve only thought to ask this now.
“We were shown a new path,” he says simply, and nothing more. You can’t tell how he feels about this, if he even believes his own answer. There’s a longing, melancholic tone to his response, his words tinged with a bittersweet sentiment.
As your mind returns to the present, the world cloaks itself in darkness, the sky stretches out above like a tapestry of inky blue. Lanterns of the expedition dance like twinkling stars, their light mingling with the constellations above, as if the heavens conspire to guide you on this path. The city’s familiar sounds have faded, replaced by the crickets serenading you in the night as Rexurdir whispers its farewells in the soft sighs of the breeze. It’s only now that you realize, each step you take is closer to both fulfilling your destiny and betraying your family.
You march with the group of explorers to Auruma Xosta, the port city that is the final stop before the expedition travels to the unknown. Everyone is expected to begin loading the ships with supplies as soon as you arrive, and it’s because of this that the progress made toward your destination has been excruciatingly slow.
Bits and pieces of conversations occasionally catch your attention, discussing various thoughts about the journey to come. Most are speculations about what to expect: Whether or not there will be people in the lands you reach, how long the journey will take, seasonal patterns and weather conditions ahead of setting sail, their goals and dreams for what’s to come. Some have tried to claim certain roles or duties before you’ve boarded the ships, preferring certain jobs over others. With your limited skillset, you’re not sure where you’ll fit in, but you can only hope it’s not something disgusting like cleaning up after people’s sick.
While the conversations are a nice way to pass the time, you assume the only people who would know anything about anything are Atelmaro Ulloa, Vitor Criato, and the revered Legido ruler, Xiatli. You try not to spend a lot of energy with wishful thinking, although, you admit, the occasional daydream does emerge every once in a while. It’s hard not to, with the allure of adventuring somewhere new too irresistible to deny.
Eliciting an eye roll from you, Benicto and Dorez are muscling and elbowing their way through the fawning masses to be as close to Ulloa as possible, desperate to get the distinguished adventurer to notice them and earn his favor. Fortunately for you, this means they’re too distracted to harass you, making the trek to the port city mercifully more bearable. Riding his steed, Ulloa looks unamused and annoyed by the added attention, occasionally picking up the pace and leaving the adoring crowds momentarily behind for his own entertainment. Those gathered don’t appear to notice, only encouraged to chase him down to shout their questions and remarks more loudly over one another.
While Ulloa is inundated with his devout worshippers, you engage with fellow aspiring adventurers, discovering the inspirations and motivations that led them to join this expedition. Responses span a spectrum, mirroring the diversity in age and gender among the speakers. Yet, a common thread emerges: a shared yearning for a change in their fortunes. Though opinions about Ulloa and Criato vary, they can all agree that braving the hardships and challenges of this expedition outweigh those of life in Legido.
“I want to hear about Xiatli the Exalted,” Afonzo says in the echoes of your memory, somehow bored with the previous, engaging story about your people. Although he is older than you, you question where he has learned such a word, not being something that is taught in schools. You lament his choice in subject matter, as well, since the story has no mystique, no appeal.
A light glimmers in your father’s eye, and you note it’s not the fire that causes it. Unlike his recounting of the ways of your ancestors, a proud grin slowly grows upon his face as he fondly prepares to tell this story.
“How my father’s father told it to me,” he begins, “is that, at some point, the plains became unforgiving to our people. The soil began to dry up, with long periods of drought occurring between the moments of rain, which caused the grasses to stop growing, and the herds began to thin out. The land was in disarray, thrown off-balance by some unforeseen circumstance. The Legido pleaded with The Creator and tried everything to bring back the rains: dances, rituals, offerings, and even entertained some grimmer, darker alternatives. Nothing had worked, and the dry seasons lasted much longer than the ones with rain. Or so it seemed.
“One day, while the people were traversing The Great Fàsach, a man with skin that emitted a golden light, shining brighter than the sun, and clothing and armor made of shimmering gold, soared down from the heavens and approached the traveling band.”
“Xiatli!” Afonzo squeals with delight, evoking you to sigh. However, your father beams with pride, then continues.
“Xiatli spoke of a bountiful place to the west, where the seasons were never dry and one could live off the land in abundance. Never again would the people starve. Never again would they suffer from the devastating weather. Never again would they have to travel far for water or shelter. The leaders of the tribe questioned this, speaking of the tall, jagged peaks that were impassable.
“‘Fear not’, Xiatli said, ‘for I can provide you with safe passage. All I ask is that you pledge your loyalty to me, and I will bring prosperity to your people.’
“The people, in their wisdom, heeded His command and followed Him west to the Cores Altas, the mountains with peaks that cut through the sky. Though some of them doubted and were certain they were being led to their deaths, they pressed on and scaled the mountains, climbing its steep slopes and weathering the cold, forceful winds. Yet Xiatli kept His promise, and they never starved nor felt the chill of the snowy storms that beat down upon them relentlessly.
“They reached the lands we now inhabit, lush and green. Paradise. The Legido no longer needed to chase the herds, since the game was in abundance in this new land. Fish filled the streams, and Xiatli bestowed upon us the knowledge to farm, as well as hunting more effectively. Our felt tents were replaced by wood and mud, then, later, decorated by skilled craftsman with terracotta and stucco.
“The people asked if He was sent by The Creator, and Xiatli, ever so modest, exclaimed that He was sent because the Legido are the chosen people, that He will ensure they will thrive for generations to come.”
You remember later questioning your father about Xiatli’s promise to the Legido about living in abundance, how that was no longer the case once the drought found them in the region they now inhabit. You wondered about the stranger’s name—Xiatli—how it sounds nothing like those used by your people. At first, you asked if the Legido people upset Xiatli or The Creator to deserve the drought, and your father replied that this was a test by Xiatli to ensure we never forgot about our resilience.
But as the drought continued, and the crops dried up, and the people starved, you continued to ask, slowly doubting Xiatli’s ability to uphold His promise. Your father scolded you for lacking in faith, that it’s people like you thinking in such a way that has brought on the drought. There was perhaps one season, you think you can recall, that brought a plentiful harvest, and the people rejoiced and sung Xiatli’s praises. But that was so long ago, maybe even around the last time your family sat around the fireplace.
It wasn’t until explorers returned with tales of adventure and endless treasure that your beliefs started to come around. Seeing these brave men and women arrive in the town square with carts and carts full of astonishing riches, jewels in colors you’ve never thought possible, precious metals that shined like a thousand torches, and exotic animals tamed and put on display only sparked your imagination. Yes, once these victorious voyagers paraded through Rexurdir, your belief in Xiatli and The Creator was reignited, and you knew anything is possible.
Now, the first timid rays of the sun mingle with the fading stars, and like a benevolent artist, it casts a warm glow as it spills its radiant palette, painting the indigo sky with tender strokes of rose and gold. You relish the moment of quiet splendor, where the dawn unveils the boundless potential of a new day. You consider how this might be your last opportunity to experience peace and solitude in Legido.
Above the forest rise towers of sails, looming like billowing sheets of white clouds above the treetops. Just outside the limits of the village are numerous tents interspersed with the trees, spanning as far as the eye can see. Columns of smoke from extinguished campfires within the few sporadic clearings rise to the sky as the plain-clothed people mill about the temporary abodes, preparing for the day’s work. If you had to guess, you’d assume a population almost as large as Rexurdir’s exists among the tents, and you grow slightly concerned when you wonder how so many will be able to fit onto the vessels.
Auruma Xosta reveals itself to you through the trees, the thatched roofs and white stucco walls piercing through the deep green leaves. This village is much smaller than Rexurdir, and not as resplendent, with no mosaics sprawling on the walls and dirt roads replacing cobblestone. Yet you can't help but be charmed by its quaintness; its small size exudes a certain endearing humility and modesty. You can feel the energy as you walk about Auruma Xosta, how the village buzzes with excitement, anticipation, and anxiousness.
Making your way through the city takes a short amount of time, and in just a few blocks, you reach the humble harbor that can hardly accommodate the number of people working them. The large ships are barely able to squeeze into the wharfs, and crates of cargo pile up into wooden, manmade mountains on the docks. Nearly a dozen vessels anchored out in the waters are forced to wait for their turn to load up with supplies.
Your group is corralled to an area by one of the docks, and you feel that the heat and stench from the surrounding unbathed bodies is just a precursor to what you can expect during the long journey on the ship. A man climbs atop one of the nearby crates, though judging by the size of the large-waisted fellow, you are worried that the makeshift platform won’t be able to support his weight for long. Even though it’s the morning, stubble already shadows his face, and his brown tousled hair flops about in the sea breeze. His extended arms hold a parchment, and he squints to decipher the text.
His hollering halts the idle chatter, “Lads, line up over here,” he points to the last remaining vacant space on the pier, “to get your dock assignments. Ladies, to the storeroom; you will be assigned your sewing and mending duties, as well as getting the food prepared and preserved. Now, go!”
With that, everyone unenthusiastically makes their way to their designated areas. Before you can join the others, a hand grasps your shoulder. With a jolt, you turn and see a familiar face, a practiced smile subtly curling the corners of their mouth.
“Iker!” you exclaim. “You made it! I wasn’t sure I would see you in Auruma Xosta.”
“I wasn’t sure, either,” he says with a glint of reservation in his eyes. “Initially, I was going to stay in Rexurdir and help my family on the farm. But once my father heard the whispers about Ulloa and Criato’s expedition, he made me join. My bags were packed for me before I made it home. Practically pushed me out the door.”
You empathize with Iker, knowing of his reluctance to join the expedition and desire to be with his family; a part of you wishes you could remain with your family, as well. Since you are both set to journey to the far off land, however, you attempt to infuse your enthusiasm into the situation, hoping to lift his spirits—and your own.
“Well,” you say with a pause, searching your mind for anything that could be encouraging and motivating, “we’re about to embark on an incredible adventure, something most folks back in our village can only dream of. And we have to remember that we’re doing this for our families, to make life better back home. You know, it's a bit scary now, but once we set sail, you'll see. There's a whole world out there waiting for us, and when we return, we’ll be hailed as heroes, with stories that'll have everyone in awe. This is our chance at something extraordinary!”
Iker contemplates this, his brows knitting together before a slow nod follows. You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, hoping to have settled both of your nerves, before you hear shouting. Is the person yelling at you two? Looking around the docks, a short, stocky man with tufts of dark gray hair shooting from the sides of his head stomps over to you, his eyes glaring intensely.
“Are you both on holiday?” he charges, stopping short of getting in your face as he screeches at you both. “You’re more fit for a tea party than a dock. Earn your keep and get to work, you laggards!”
Panicked, and uncertain what to do or where to go, you and Iker exchange a wide-eyed, silent glance. The man's pointed kick urges you both into action, and he sends you both off to gather provisions. You hurriedly pack food, water, clothing, and medical supplies along with the other gathered men and women. Laden with supplies, you tirelessly load the carts and transport them to the docks, destined for the waiting ships. The unyielding sun beats down upon you, intensifying the already challenging day of strenuous labor.
The days stretch on in this manner, an unending cycle packing and loading supplies and provisions onto ships. Why so much cargo? How long is this journey going to take? With each passing day, a steady stream of individuals abandon their ambitions of adventure, deserting the bustling port. However, you and Iker press on with the thankless work, fighting through the aches and pains in bones and muscles located in places you were unaware existed.
After a number of days like this, there eventually comes a time when the workers at the wharf are summoned together. A throng of individuals pack the docks, and out of fear of falling into the sea below, you and Iker leave the space that’s closer to the provisional platform in exchange for a place in a much safer distance toward the back of the crowd. Like the nearby waves that crash upon the shore, the people murmur and mutter to one another while they await whatever announcement is to come. Too exhausted to speak, you and Iker find a stack of crates at the pier to sit upon, just barely within earshot of where the speakers stand, and revel in the rare moment of respite. The amount of remaining cargo has reduced significantly, and you’re curious just how much more packing and loading will be needed.
A commotion, then tremendous pomp and circumstance causes the mass of people to part. Deafening applause and cheers ring out, the furor and excitement is uncontainable. Men and women alike weep at the sight, and those with children lift them upon their shoulders, pointing and swelling with pride that they are witnessing history come to life.
You and Iker climb a little bit higher to better see over the swell of people, and there He is: like a brilliant jewel, Xiatli strides across the grounds with a sagely expression, nodding occasionally to the greetings and shouts he receives. He’s clad in a gold tunic—or, at least, it appears to be gold, since every part of him, from his armor to his headpiece to the sandals on his feet, is illuminated with a golden hue. His elaborate headpiece is embellished with golden feathers that cascade down to his muscular shoulders, and intricate gold leaves ornament
His face like a mask. You’ve never before seen the deity that walks among men, and He is more transcendent than you’ve ever dreamt.
“I can’t believe it’s Him!” Iker exclaims, nearly falling off the crate as he can hardly contain his excitement. “It’s Xiatli!”
The luminescent figure approaches the platform and stands noticeably taller than Ulloa or Criato by roughly a head’s length. The crowd abruptly falls silent at His slight gesture, and He takes a moment to look upon those gathered, relishing the scene.
“My chosen people,” Xiatli begins, His powerful, commanding voice sounding otherworldly, as though he speaks to you all from another plane of existence, “today we stand on the precipice of destiny. You are the vanguard of a new age, the pioneers who will carve a destiny into uncharted lands. What lies ahead is both challenge and opportunity, but remember this: In adversity, we find strength—it is the crucible through which heroes emerge.”
There’s a long pause as the crowd considers this, then, eventually—gradually—a steady wave of applause swells over those gathered, until there are eruptions of cheers. Xiatli, looking on with pride, pats the air in a gesture to calm the crowd before continuing.
“Together, we carry the hopes of the Legido. We are bound by purpose, united by vision. When future generations speak your names, they will resonate through every realm, every corner of Pachil. Forge ahead, my people, for greatness is your birthright, and destiny awaits your hand."
He splays his hands as though to present the ships, standing with his chin inclined. Looking from atop the vessels stand nervous, fretful men, as if they’re preparing to be confronted by some imposing beast. Once the crowd finishes their exuberant celebrations, they begin making their way to the ships, pushing and shoving their way onto the piers as shouts rain down from those gatekeepers already aboard.
“We better get moving,” Iker nervously says, “or we’re going to be left behind!”
The two of you weave through the bodies, slipping between and maneuvering around, twisting and turning, tightly holding onto the few belongings you possess, until you find the edge of the dock and nearly fall in; Iker has to grab you to stop you from dropping into the sea! You turn to locate the nearest ship and find people have already begun boarding. Isn’t there more work to be done on the docks?
No matter. You call to Iker and surge ahead, using your possessions as a shield to push aside any bodies that get in your way.
“Come on, Iker!” you shout, though you fear the swath of people may have muffled your voice. “This way!”
“I’m right behind you,” Iker says, already panting.
A wall of people resist your efforts to push ahead, some kicking backwards at you in retaliation. Still, you persist, blocking the blows with your bag of belongings and, gritting your teeth, you give one last shove and force yourself forward.
“Just a little further, Iker!” You continue to yell as loudly as you can, hoping to be heard over the rest of the clamoring and hollering. Between a few of the people in front of you, you see daylight: The plank leading up to the ship is well within sight. Your heart swells with excitement, knowing you’re this close to reaching your destination and getting onboard. The air you breathe in is no longer stuffy, scents of the briny sea tingles your senses.
A man at the top of the plank holds a parchment, scanning it and occasionally writing down marks. You faintly hear him talking to those approaching him, but it’s difficult to decipher what he’s asking. He looks panicked and well out of his depth, waving people aboard and hardly taking a moment to peel his eyes away from the parchment.
“We’re nearly there!” Your feet finally touch the inclining wooden boards that wobble and shake with each step. Only a few people stand between you and the deck of the ship, which is looking more and more crowded by the moment. Adding to your fears, you look across the pier and notice the foreman or manager or someone who also holds a parchment in his hands aggressively pushing people away, turning them down and shouting, “We’re full! We’re full! Try another vessel! Get off! We’re full!”
Oh no! Will that happen to you and Iker? Are you about to be turned away? There doesn’t appear to be enough room, and you worry that you and Iker will be left behind, abandoned and forced to reconcile with your family, who has surely noticed you’ve gone missing by now and you haven’t had a chance to write to them to tell them that you’re okay, and that you’re on this ship to seek out a new, better life for them, and that you only want to make them proud and put an end to their struggles by discovering the wealth and prosperity you’ve been promised. If only you can
Get.
On.
That.
Ship.
At the top of the plank, you dive forward and land on top of your belongings with a solid thump. You’ve made it! You’ve made it! And you can hear the foreman or manager or someone tell the unfortunate souls behind you, “I’m sorry, we’re full. Please turn back.” And there’s a fight between the people trying to get on and the burly men forcing them off. And a few people are thrown, falling, falling, falling, and splash into the waters below. And a pit in your stomach grows when you look around to make sure none of those people is Iker, who was just behind you. Where’s Iker? Where did he go? He was right behind you, you swear. And you search and search and look around the deck of the ship and don’t see him anywhere.
“IKER!” You shout to the white, fluffy clouds above. “Iker, where are you?”
You clamber and hoist yourself up to look over the ledge of the deck, the barrier that’s your only safety from tumbling into the sea. You frantically scan the pier as people scramble about the harbor, desperately trying to find a ship to board, when there he is: Iker clutches his bag to his chest like he’s protecting a child, and he’s looking, looking around.
“Iker!” you shout down to him, and he looks up with his sulking, sorrowful eyes. And you know you’re not going to travel with him to the new land. You know he’s getting abandoned here in Auruma Xosta. You know your only friend will be worlds away from wherever you’re heading. You both are all alone, in your own way, surrounded by unfamiliar people.
Mostly unfamiliar people.
“Well, look what stowed away upon our ship, Dorez.”
You turn and see the awful, awful sight that makes you want to hurl yourself overboard.
“Little Oilaskoa,” Dorez says to Benicto. “This journey might not be so bad after all.”
