A hushed discontent moves around the council table like an undercurrent, members engaged in clandestine discussions after Taqsame’s announcement. I sit in stunned silence, the impact of the news bearing down upon me. Resources withheld? Fractured loyalties within the Tapeu faction? Dissent already swirling around the Arbiter's newly-ascended throne? Achutli's reign, barely ripened, is already being threatened by the thorns of rebellion. It leaves me breathless with questions. What incendiary spark has ignited this volatile situation? What transgressions could he have committed in such a short span? Could it be linked to the cryptic directives he entrusted to me, the mission into the enigmatic depths of Qantua? Did he foresee this uprising, seeking a supernatural remedy to quell the impending storm? My mind spins, desperate for answers, as the chamber pulses with the tension of uncertainty. Each time I open my mouth to speak, I find it missing the words I want to say. Thus, I remain seated and left to mull over the council’s discussion.
“Members of the council,” Amalqusi’s voice booms over the murmurs, putting an end to the side discussions. “With the news we’ve received, we, as leaders of the Qantua people, must decide what action we should take, should these rumors show themselves to be true.”
“But that’s simply it,” one of the nobles chimes in. He remains seated, his oversized gold and red robe flows about him as he gestures wildly at Amalqusi. “The withholding of resources is concerning, certainly, and it is a matter that can be negotiated with the Arbiter. But the news of dissent in Qapauma is a mere rumor, not fact. Until we can confirm they are more than hearsay, there is nothing further to discuss.”
“In the whispering winds, secrets will always find their way,” an elder says sagely, who I immediately recognize as Sachamota. He has seen roughly as many harvests as Upachu, yet is not as spritely nor spry, preferring to be economical in his movements, and, likewise, his words. “It is a tale as old as Pachil itself: When the morning light is red, foul weather lies ahead.”
“We must act at once!” Taqsame, stands up from his chair and pounds the table with his fist to emphasize his urgency. Despite his age, his stature commands attention, and he speaks with a ferocity of a warrior hungry for combat. His black hair, like a night sky unburdened by clouds, frames his determined face as his eyes gleam with intensity.
“If the Arbiter is threatening us—a faction that came to his rescue when he needed it most—we cannot show weakness. We should swiftly rally our troops at the border, and at the first instance of trouble, we claim what rightfully belongs to us,” he says, tightly clinching his fist. This riles up those in attendance, creating a cacophony of debates and disputes.
“Everyone, please,” I stand up and holler over the impassioned discussions, hoping to settle everyone down and attempt to bring reason into this matter. Though I would’ve preferred to stay seated and silent as the seasoned politicians deliberate over the issue, watching everyone carry on as they are leaves me with no other choice. “While the prospect of an embargo in addition to the report of alleged rebellious cells in Tapeu are concerning, it would be crucial for Qantua and the allied factions to explore diplomatic avenues first, rather than risking the potential breakdown of the truce and unity achieved after the War of Liberation.”
“Assuming the other factions act diplomatically, as well,” interjects Humina, his face contorted into a fixed display of disapproval.
“But acting impulsively and without diplomacy could risk destabilizing the entire region,” I say. “It's imperative that we assess the situation thoroughly, consider diplomatic avenues, and gather more intelligence before making any decisive moves. A hasty coup could lead to unintended consequences and worsen the already fragile political climate.”
“And if we can hand the Arbiter what he demands, we will return to his good graces,” another council member says, before asking, “But… what was his demand?” There are a few confused looks around the room, but I believe I know what the Arbiter wants: My theory is that he’s after the artifacts Upachu and I discovered. What he figures to do with them still eludes me, but it can’t be for a good purpose. Could it?
Taqsame’s emphatic tone snaps my attention back to the matter at hand, with him saying, “But the Tapeu forces will be weakened as they deal with this rebellious cell. At most, I can concede that we can await to see if such rumors are true. But allowing the Tapeu to maintain rule over the land seems illogical. If they cannot control their own people, how can they control an entire continent filled with independent-minded factions?”
“It’s true that the turmoil within Tapeu presents itself as a moment of vulnerability. Yet let's not rush headlong into action—doing so risks shattering the alliances we've toiled tirelessly to forge,” Amalqusi says, and I’m relieved to hear someone else, especially a highly decorated veteran, agree with my sentiment.
“We must also consider the potential backlash from other factions, who might view our intervention as an unwarranted power grab,” an elder says, looking pensive as he speaks. “A more prudent approach would be to offer diplomatic assistance and monitor the situation closely, ready to act if it becomes absolutely necessary for the stability of the continent.”
“But you know as well as I,” Taqsame says, slamming his fist into his other hand as he makes his point, “that the Tapeu aren't well liked among the other factions. If anything, we could be seen as liberators! Like ourselves, the will of the other factions is to rule their regions independently—it's what we sought as we all united to defeat the oppressive Timuaq and end their rule. We can grant their wishes, without questions, while I doubt the Tapeu will ever do such a thing.”
“While the sentiment for independent rule is shared among many factions,” says another noble—Wamtani, I believe—a younger noble with a strong jaw and short, dark brown hair, wearing a red-trimmed yellow tunic and multiple gold necklaces hanging across his muscular chest, “we must exercise caution in our approach towards Tapeu. A forceful intervention could risk isolating potential allies. It is imperative that we approach this delicately. One plausible strategy might involve extending covert support to dissident factions within Tapeu, empowering them to spearhead their own liberation. In doing so, we maintain the image of a united front without appearing as conquerors.”
"I agree wholeheartedly,” Amalqusi says, and suddenly I grow concerned at what I worry to be my misunderstanding of his true motivations. “The fine balance we've achieved in the wake of the War of Liberation is a testament to our unity and shared vision for a better future. Direct intervention could indeed jeopardize this fragile harmony. Supporting dissident factions discreetly allows us to maintain the appearance of a united front while providing the necessary assistance for Tapeu's internal voices to rise. Together, we can foster change from within, ensuring that the people of Tapeu have a say in their own destiny, and leading to the other factions of Pachil to take control of theirs."
This is madness—there’s no other word for it. We are not even a full harvest from the end of the War of Liberation, and there is already talk of infiltrating the Tapeu rulership? We have issues in Qantua that need our attention, yet they speak of intervening in Tapeu affairs? Although I typically struggle to find the confidence and poise to speak up when discussion over important matters arise, the discourse has ignited my fury and frustration, and I determine enough is enough.
“I beg the council’s pardon,” I say, trying earnestly to control my anger while internally baffled at the direction this discussion has gone. “I understand the urgency of the situation in Tapeu and the threat coming from the Arbiter, but I believe it is in our best interest to refrain from direct intervention.” The room starts to fill with grumbling as the council members shift restlessly in their seats. Speaking over the rumblings, I continue, “our priority should be to ensure the stability and prosperity of Qantua. Getting involved in Tapeu's internal conflicts risks entangling us in a situation that may not serve our long-term interests. Let us focus on consolidating our own strength and securing our borders.”
At this, it becomes impossible to discern anything that’s said in response. Council members clamor, their voices clashing, fingers jabbing the air and gestures sweeping wildly. The fervor of the arguments escalates, reaching a fever pitch, with some on the precipice of actual confrontation. Just as tension threatens to boil over, Amalqusi's commanding voice pierces through, a thunderous resonance that drowns even the most fervent dissenters. With an iron grip, he seizes control, imposing order upon the tumultuous room.
“It’s apparent,” he begins his pronouncement, and the room begins to quiet, “we will be unable to come to a conclusion regarding the received news today. I suggest that each member internalize the issue and the points made, and then we shall reconvene tomorrow to determine how we will proceed.”
Although a few protests and opinions are raised, the council members get up from their seats and trickle toward the exit, carrying on with their vibrant discussions as they depart. Meetings like these serve as a stark reminder of how much I'm out of my element, like a llama in the jungle. Amidst the din of voices, their sharp words cutting through the air like the blades of swords, I stand still for a moment. Their language of influence and power is so different from the straightforward calls and shouts of a battlefield. In the heat of combat, my voice, my command, carried weight and certainty. Here, among these politicians, my words feel blunt and clumsy, lost amidst the refined art of rhetoric and persuasion. I watch as alliances are subtly formed and promises whispered behind veiled expressions. The tactics and strategies of this room are as intricate and elusive as any battlefield maneuver, but they're not mine to command. Every glance and gesture carries meaning, and I can't help but feel like a novice trying to decipher a master's art. I may be a seasoned warrior, but in this arena, I'm still learning the rules of engagement.
After the meeting is adjourned, I hurry to catch Amalqusi on his way out of the chamber. He signals with a nod of his head for me to walk with him as we depart the Great Library, passing through rooms filled with quipus that are stacked as far as the eye can see, being meticulously inspected by those employed to look after the valuable information stored on them.
“I must confess,” I begin, “I am taken aback at your stance with what was discussed, Amalqusi. I would have thought a person with your experience and background would be opposed to having the Qantua engage in another conflict so soon.”
“I acknowledge the need to prioritize our own stability,” he says, his deep voice echoing throughout the large, stone room, “however, the Arbiter’s posturing aside, turning a blind eye to Tapeu's troubles could have repercussions. Tapeu's fate is intricately tied to our own. If we allow internal strife to fester, it might spill over into Qantua, disrupting the very stability we seek to protect. A strategic, measured intervention could not only ensure Tapeu's prosperity, but also fortify our alliances and strengthen our position in the region.”
“It sounds to me as though you've been swayed by young Taqsame,” I say, resulting in a scoff and chuckle from Amalqusi. I don’t mean to sound insulting—Taqsame’s achievements for his age speak for themselves—yet Amalqusi has always struck me as a steadfast veteran, someone who has seen and experienced much, in that he would be able to think more strategically than merely saying we should be doing so. “Qantua has hardly had the time to rebuild and fortify its ranks with capable warriors, and you speak of thrusting them into combat? No matter how much thought and consideration will be placed into devising a strategy, countless lives will be needlessly lost, at the possibility of portraying Qantua as disruptive rebels.”
“Your concerns for the wellbeing of our people are valid and should be at the forefront of our decision-making, with that, I can agree, and a characteristic of yours I greatly admire,” he says, and while I appreciate the compliment—certainly a shrewd political move to be utilized for council affairs—I await his inevitable counterargument. “However, by refraining from direct intervention, we may inadvertently allow a power struggle in Tapeu to escalate, potentially leading to a destabilized region. We can extend our support in subtler ways, employing diplomatic channels and discreetly aiding sympathetic factions. This way, we can help shape events in Tapeu without risking a direct confrontation that might result in needless loss of life.”
“I'm surprised you would want to have Qantua involved in the affairs of another faction,” I say to him. “When the War of Liberation finally came to a resolution, my understanding is that the factions unified in their agreement to allow the Tapeu only temporary rulership over Pachil. Our truce is hinged on allowing everyone to rebuild their lands, with the Arbiter stepping in as needed. It stands to reason that our engagement in the affairs of another tribe, particularly and especially that of the Tapeu, goes against what was agreed upon.”
“Your point is valid,” he concedes, nodding as we exit the large quipu storage facility, “and it is crucial to honor the truce that was established after the War of Liberation. However, it’s equally important to ensure the broader region remains secure. Tapeu may not be our direct neighbors, but we are all neighboring regions for simply existing in Pachil. What good is a rusted blade?”
The conversation has gone stagnant, with neither side displaying any hint of yielding. This only infuriates me, and it takes a superhuman amount of restraint to not erupt in his face for his bullheadedness. It’s hardly been a harvest since the war ended, and now these men would see us enter another one?
I leave Amalqusi abruptly, steam pouring from my ears as I hurriedly storm off. Knowing I need to collect my thoughts, I make my way to the gardens nestled within the library grounds. I need a tranquil location away from the noise and calamity of blustering politicians.
Returning to the grounds where, what feels like a thousand moon cycles ago, I discussed the Arbiter’s demands with Upachu in this secluded place. I sit in the place he sat, and the delicate fragrance of flowers is already starting to fade. I reflect on the news: Has the Arbiter actually threatened to withhold precious resources from my people, all because I haven’t delivered the artifacts I’ve recovered? Is he aware Upachu and I possess them? Yet what does he believe the Qantua would be hard-pressed to be without? We can farm, we have access to mines, and we practically govern ourselves. What is he trying to leverage against us?
Until that can be deduced, I turn my thoughts to the artifacts themselves. The pots containing the maps feel significant, but I need to decipher the glyphs to learn what truths they hold. Fortunately, I have befriended the Atima representative here in Hilaqta, and I determine I can gather information about the Wichanaqta palace and what took place within its walls. If he has any insights into what they could have researched or invented, it could give me a more defined direction to take my search, rather than wandering Pachil while whatever threat looms is allowed to grow stronger. Especially after encountering this Eye in the Flame cult, I know there is no time to waste.
Feeling more at ease and reassured that I have a solid plan, I make my way back into the Great Library, walking past the workers diligently minding the quipus and surveying the information contained within. There’s a hush in the giant chamber as each person carefully studies the intricately tied knots—as I take regular, steady breaths, they feel jarringly loud amidst the silence. My footsteps echo off the stone walls, though thankfully, the thud of my heavy leather boots doesn’t distract from the workers’ deep concentration.
Off to the side, I see the man I seek, engaged in a quiet, thoughtful conversation with another council member. The Atima representative is robed in white, much like other Qantua scholars, but from there, all comparisons cease, as the rest of his features unquestionably distinguish him as being from another faction. His sharp nose and thin face appear chiseled from stone, and though he is older than I am, he has a thick head of graying hair that is shaved on one side while maintaining a single, long braid on the opposite side where the hair is otherwise cut short. It is said that an untouched braid brings them blessings from their gods, though I’m not sure if that is a story told by them or one fabricated by an outsider from another faction.
“Amaota, if I may beg your pardon and have a word,” I say, interrupting his conversation. The two gentlemen glance my way, unfazed, and the other councilman discreetly exits, granting us our privacy.
“The council is quite rattled by the news from earlier,” he says in his calm, near-whisper of a voice. “Do you really believe the Arbiter is posing some kind of threat to Qantua?”
I say with a sigh, “With Achutli, it’s quite possible. He will not be denied in his pursuit of what he wants, for better or worse.”
“But what could he want?” Amaota asks, perplexed. “If I recall correctly, he sought the quipus from Qantua, which we have delivered. Does he want them all? I say, what does he hope to learn from them that we couldn’t tell him ourselves?”
“I’m afraid that’s a matter that will have to be taken up with him,” I lie. It pains me to be untruthful, but I fear letting anyone other than Upachu know of the papyrus we’ve discovered, especially with the mad cult’s relentlessness in obtaining them for their own nefarious purposes. To me, the fewer people made aware, the safer the Qantua people will be. Amaota appears to accept this and doesn’t press me any further on the issue, allowing me to change the subject.
“I was hoping you could tell me about the Atima nobility,” I inquire. “I never really learned much about them and would like to know more about the stories I’ve heard about them, whether they’re true or not.”
“A sudden interest in the Atima, eh?” he says with a slight chuckle. “Nobody asks me about Atima history anymore. Why do you ask, if I may… ask?”
“The Atima are renowned for their enduring contributions to the culture that remains prevalent throughout Pachil even today,” I answer. “I am trying to acquire insights on the types of items or developments on which they were working, as well as how they created so many valuable innovations.”
“Well, the nobility came to be due to their unquenchable desire for obtaining any and all knowledge,” he responds. “It’s not too dissimilar to the Qantua, to be perfectly honest, but I suppose my people made it more of a personal mission, almost to a fault. They sought answers that seemed impossible to achieve, and would undertake rigorous research to do so, dedicating their lives to whatever they were after. It may not have been the most healthy approach, however, the results are undeniable.”
“Without the Atima, there would be no Merchant’s Tongue,” I say. “I must applaud your people for their remarkable proficiency in language. I've always been intrigued by the ways in which knowledge is preserved in our cultures, like the quipus stored here. Have you ever encountered any methods the Atima used to safeguard their most precious knowledge? I imagine their methods could hold valuable lessons for us all.”
With a slight smirk, he responds, “Feeling protective of the knowledge stored in Qantua, now that the Arbiter's demanding presence is looming, eh, Teqosa? Well, although I was never privy to the methodology, there were rumors regarding the nobility using some system or process to disguise their secrets from the prying eyes of the Timuaq.”
“Do you happen to know what this system entailed?” I ask.
“Something about their use of art, if the stories are to be believed,” he says, stroking his chin as he reflects on the matter. “Since Atima art was highly prized, the rumors say that the nobility passed coded messages contained within their tapestries and sculptures.”
This coincides with the clay pots found by me and Upachu, and I grow excited with the knowledge that we are on the correct path. If etchings on crumbling buildings were the only way of being able to decipher these glyphs, we might find our task too challenging to complete. However, tapestries and sculptures could be more easily preserved, protected or hidden away from the titans’ search for anything they deem threatening.
"Art as a means of encoding knowledge, that's truly ingenious," I reply with a hint of admiration. "It's remarkable how different cultures find creative ways to protect their treasures. I'm sure the Atima's approach must have been exceptionally sophisticated. Do you think any of these tapestries or sculptures might still exist today? Or perhaps records that shed light on this method?"
Amaota thinks on this for a moment before responding, “If I'm not mistaken, such items would be sent to palaces throughout Pachil. They were extremely popular, though I couldn't say with certainty if the messages contained within were recognized; it didn't appear anyone acted on anything they perceived in these works of art, hence my belief that such a thing is pure speculation based off rumors.”
Just then, a loud burst of bellowing laughter and chatter disrupts the once peaceful quiet of the room as four men walk in, led by none other than Taqsame himself, a smug expression beams from his face like a beacon. They strut toward the council chamber, clamoring and joking the entire walk. Before reaching the entrance, however, Taqsame decides to detour and walks directly toward me and Amaota, a vulpine grin cracking the corners of his mouth.
“Peaceful, modest Teqosa,” he says, not giving any attention toward the Atima representative. “Your pleading was quite entertaining.”
“It wasn’t meant to be entertaining, boy,” I say. I’ve given up on formalities with the brash, young man, deciding that politeness is something reserved for the councilmen I respect, not a warmongering child. Taqsame seems to let my gibe roll off his back, his face unmoved. There’s only one reason he wouldn’t attempt to strike back in a verbal sparring, and sure enough, he tells me without any hesitation.
“While I respect your well-meaning efforts, old man,” he says, “I’m proud to say that, after discussing it with a few of the other council members, I’ve been successful in achieving the votes necessary to proceed with my plan.”
“And what plan is this?” I ask, but I already know the answer, and my finger nails dig deeply into my palms as I tightly clench my fists.
“Why, we’re going to plan an assault on Qapauma and take over the throne that rightfully belongs to Qantua. For formality’s sake, the voting will be first thing tomorrow morning. I hope you can come to see my victory for yourself.”
A hushed discontent moves around the council table like an undercurrent, members engaged in clandestine discussions after Taqsame’s announcement. I sit in stunned silence, the impact of the news bearing down upon me. Resources withheld? Fractured loyalties within the Tapeu faction? Dissent already swirling around the Arbiter's newly-ascended throne? Achutli's reign, barely ripened, is already being threatened by the thorns of rebellion. It leaves me breathless with questions. What incendiary spark has ignited this volatile situation? What transgressions could he have committed in such a short span? Could it be linked to the cryptic directives he entrusted to me, the mission into the enigmatic depths of Qantua? Did he foresee this uprising, seeking a supernatural remedy to quell the impending storm? My mind spins, desperate for answers, as the chamber pulses with the tension of uncertainty. Each time I open my mouth to speak, I find it missing the words I want to say. Thus, I remain seated and left to mull over the council’s discussion.
“Members of the council,” Amalqusi’s voice booms over the murmurs, putting an end to the side discussions. “With the news we’ve received, we, as leaders of the Qantua people, must decide what action we should take, should these rumors show themselves to be true.”
“But that’s simply it,” one of the nobles chimes in. He remains seated, his oversized gold and red robe flows about him as he gestures wildly at Amalqusi. “The withholding of resources is concerning, certainly, and it is a matter that can be negotiated with the Arbiter. But the news of dissent in Qapauma is a mere rumor, not fact. Until we can confirm they are more than hearsay, there is nothing further to discuss.”
“In the whispering winds, secrets will always find their way,” an elder says sagely, who I immediately recognize as Sachamota. He has seen roughly as many harvests as Upachu, yet is not as spritely nor spry, preferring to be economical in his movements, and, likewise, his words. “It is a tale as old as Pachil itself: When the morning light is red, foul weather lies ahead.”
“We must act at once!” Taqsame, stands up from his chair and pounds the table with his fist to emphasize his urgency. Despite his age, his stature commands attention, and he speaks with a ferocity of a warrior hungry for combat. His black hair, like a night sky unburdened by clouds, frames his determined face as his eyes gleam with intensity.
“If the Arbiter is threatening us—a faction that came to his rescue when he needed it most—we cannot show weakness. We should swiftly rally our troops at the border, and at the first instance of trouble, we claim what rightfully belongs to us,” he says, tightly clinching his fist. This riles up those in attendance, creating a cacophony of debates and disputes.
“Everyone, please,” I stand up and holler over the impassioned discussions, hoping to settle everyone down and attempt to bring reason into this matter. Though I would’ve preferred to stay seated and silent as the seasoned politicians deliberate over the issue, watching everyone carry on as they are leaves me with no other choice. “While the prospect of an embargo in addition to the report of alleged rebellious cells in Tapeu are concerning, it would be crucial for Qantua and the allied factions to explore diplomatic avenues first, rather than risking the potential breakdown of the truce and unity achieved after the War of Liberation.”
“Assuming the other factions act diplomatically, as well,” interjects Humina, his face contorted into a fixed display of disapproval.
“But acting impulsively and without diplomacy could risk destabilizing the entire region,” I say. “It's imperative that we assess the situation thoroughly, consider diplomatic avenues, and gather more intelligence before making any decisive moves. A hasty coup could lead to unintended consequences and worsen the already fragile political climate.”
“And if we can hand the Arbiter what he demands, we will return to his good graces,” another council member says, before asking, “But… what was his demand?” There are a few confused looks around the room, but I believe I know what the Arbiter wants: My theory is that he’s after the artifacts Upachu and I discovered. What he figures to do with them still eludes me, but it can’t be for a good purpose. Could it?
Taqsame’s emphatic tone snaps my attention back to the matter at hand, with him saying, “But the Tapeu forces will be weakened as they deal with this rebellious cell. At most, I can concede that we can await to see if such rumors are true. But allowing the Tapeu to maintain rule over the land seems illogical. If they cannot control their own people, how can they control an entire continent filled with independent-minded factions?”
“It’s true that the turmoil within Tapeu presents itself as a moment of vulnerability. Yet let's not rush headlong into action—doing so risks shattering the alliances we've toiled tirelessly to forge,” Amalqusi says, and I’m relieved to hear someone else, especially a highly decorated veteran, agree with my sentiment.
“We must also consider the potential backlash from other factions, who might view our intervention as an unwarranted power grab,” an elder says, looking pensive as he speaks. “A more prudent approach would be to offer diplomatic assistance and monitor the situation closely, ready to act if it becomes absolutely necessary for the stability of the continent.”
“But you know as well as I,” Taqsame says, slamming his fist into his other hand as he makes his point, “that the Tapeu aren't well liked among the other factions. If anything, we could be seen as liberators! Like ourselves, the will of the other factions is to rule their regions independently—it's what we sought as we all united to defeat the oppressive Timuaq and end their rule. We can grant their wishes, without questions, while I doubt the Tapeu will ever do such a thing.”
“While the sentiment for independent rule is shared among many factions,” says another noble—Wamtani, I believe—a younger noble with a strong jaw and short, dark brown hair, wearing a red-trimmed yellow tunic and multiple gold necklaces hanging across his muscular chest, “we must exercise caution in our approach towards Tapeu. A forceful intervention could risk isolating potential allies. It is imperative that we approach this delicately. One plausible strategy might involve extending covert support to dissident factions within Tapeu, empowering them to spearhead their own liberation. In doing so, we maintain the image of a united front without appearing as conquerors.”
"I agree wholeheartedly,” Amalqusi says, and suddenly I grow concerned at what I worry to be my misunderstanding of his true motivations. “The fine balance we've achieved in the wake of the War of Liberation is a testament to our unity and shared vision for a better future. Direct intervention could indeed jeopardize this fragile harmony. Supporting dissident factions discreetly allows us to maintain the appearance of a united front while providing the necessary assistance for Tapeu's internal voices to rise. Together, we can foster change from within, ensuring that the people of Tapeu have a say in their own destiny, and leading to the other factions of Pachil to take control of theirs."
This is madness—there’s no other word for it. We are not even a full harvest from the end of the War of Liberation, and there is already talk of infiltrating the Tapeu rulership? We have issues in Qantua that need our attention, yet they speak of intervening in Tapeu affairs? Although I typically struggle to find the confidence and poise to speak up when discussion over important matters arise, the discourse has ignited my fury and frustration, and I determine enough is enough.
“I beg the council’s pardon,” I say, trying earnestly to control my anger while internally baffled at the direction this discussion has gone. “I understand the urgency of the situation in Tapeu and the threat coming from the Arbiter, but I believe it is in our best interest to refrain from direct intervention.” The room starts to fill with grumbling as the council members shift restlessly in their seats. Speaking over the rumblings, I continue, “our priority should be to ensure the stability and prosperity of Qantua. Getting involved in Tapeu's internal conflicts risks entangling us in a situation that may not serve our long-term interests. Let us focus on consolidating our own strength and securing our borders.”
At this, it becomes impossible to discern anything that’s said in response. Council members clamor, their voices clashing, fingers jabbing the air and gestures sweeping wildly. The fervor of the arguments escalates, reaching a fever pitch, with some on the precipice of actual confrontation. Just as tension threatens to boil over, Amalqusi's commanding voice pierces through, a thunderous resonance that drowns even the most fervent dissenters. With an iron grip, he seizes control, imposing order upon the tumultuous room.
“It’s apparent,” he begins his pronouncement, and the room begins to quiet, “we will be unable to come to a conclusion regarding the received news today. I suggest that each member internalize the issue and the points made, and then we shall reconvene tomorrow to determine how we will proceed.”
Although a few protests and opinions are raised, the council members get up from their seats and trickle toward the exit, carrying on with their vibrant discussions as they depart. Meetings like these serve as a stark reminder of how much I'm out of my element, like a llama in the jungle. Amidst the din of voices, their sharp words cutting through the air like the blades of swords, I stand still for a moment. Their language of influence and power is so different from the straightforward calls and shouts of a battlefield. In the heat of combat, my voice, my command, carried weight and certainty. Here, among these politicians, my words feel blunt and clumsy, lost amidst the refined art of rhetoric and persuasion. I watch as alliances are subtly formed and promises whispered behind veiled expressions. The tactics and strategies of this room are as intricate and elusive as any battlefield maneuver, but they're not mine to command. Every glance and gesture carries meaning, and I can't help but feel like a novice trying to decipher a master's art. I may be a seasoned warrior, but in this arena, I'm still learning the rules of engagement.
After the meeting is adjourned, I hurry to catch Amalqusi on his way out of the chamber. He signals with a nod of his head for me to walk with him as we depart the Great Library, passing through rooms filled with quipus that are stacked as far as the eye can see, being meticulously inspected by those employed to look after the valuable information stored on them.
“I must confess,” I begin, “I am taken aback at your stance with what was discussed, Amalqusi. I would have thought a person with your experience and background would be opposed to having the Qantua engage in another conflict so soon.”
“I acknowledge the need to prioritize our own stability,” he says, his deep voice echoing throughout the large, stone room, “however, the Arbiter’s posturing aside, turning a blind eye to Tapeu's troubles could have repercussions. Tapeu's fate is intricately tied to our own. If we allow internal strife to fester, it might spill over into Qantua, disrupting the very stability we seek to protect. A strategic, measured intervention could not only ensure Tapeu's prosperity, but also fortify our alliances and strengthen our position in the region.”
“It sounds to me as though you've been swayed by young Taqsame,” I say, resulting in a scoff and chuckle from Amalqusi. I don’t mean to sound insulting—Taqsame’s achievements for his age speak for themselves—yet Amalqusi has always struck me as a steadfast veteran, someone who has seen and experienced much, in that he would be able to think more strategically than merely saying we should be doing so. “Qantua has hardly had the time to rebuild and fortify its ranks with capable warriors, and you speak of thrusting them into combat? No matter how much thought and consideration will be placed into devising a strategy, countless lives will be needlessly lost, at the possibility of portraying Qantua as disruptive rebels.”
“Your concerns for the wellbeing of our people are valid and should be at the forefront of our decision-making, with that, I can agree, and a characteristic of yours I greatly admire,” he says, and while I appreciate the compliment—certainly a shrewd political move to be utilized for council affairs—I await his inevitable counterargument. “However, by refraining from direct intervention, we may inadvertently allow a power struggle in Tapeu to escalate, potentially leading to a destabilized region. We can extend our support in subtler ways, employing diplomatic channels and discreetly aiding sympathetic factions. This way, we can help shape events in Tapeu without risking a direct confrontation that might result in needless loss of life.”
“I'm surprised you would want to have Qantua involved in the affairs of another faction,” I say to him. “When the War of Liberation finally came to a resolution, my understanding is that the factions unified in their agreement to allow the Tapeu only temporary rulership over Pachil. Our truce is hinged on allowing everyone to rebuild their lands, with the Arbiter stepping in as needed. It stands to reason that our engagement in the affairs of another tribe, particularly and especially that of the Tapeu, goes against what was agreed upon.”
“Your point is valid,” he concedes, nodding as we exit the large quipu storage facility, “and it is crucial to honor the truce that was established after the War of Liberation. However, it’s equally important to ensure the broader region remains secure. Tapeu may not be our direct neighbors, but we are all neighboring regions for simply existing in Pachil. What good is a rusted blade?”
The conversation has gone stagnant, with neither side displaying any hint of yielding. This only infuriates me, and it takes a superhuman amount of restraint to not erupt in his face for his bullheadedness. It’s hardly been a harvest since the war ended, and now these men would see us enter another one?
I leave Amalqusi abruptly, steam pouring from my ears as I hurriedly storm off. Knowing I need to collect my thoughts, I make my way to the gardens nestled within the library grounds. I need a tranquil location away from the noise and calamity of blustering politicians.
Returning to the grounds where, what feels like a thousand moon cycles ago, I discussed the Arbiter’s demands with Upachu in this secluded place. I sit in the place he sat, and the delicate fragrance of flowers is already starting to fade. I reflect on the news: Has the Arbiter actually threatened to withhold precious resources from my people, all because I haven’t delivered the artifacts I’ve recovered? Is he aware Upachu and I possess them? Yet what does he believe the Qantua would be hard-pressed to be without? We can farm, we have access to mines, and we practically govern ourselves. What is he trying to leverage against us?
Until that can be deduced, I turn my thoughts to the artifacts themselves. The pots containing the maps feel significant, but I need to decipher the glyphs to learn what truths they hold. Fortunately, I have befriended the Atima representative here in Hilaqta, and I determine I can gather information about the Wichanaqta palace and what took place within its walls. If he has any insights into what they could have researched or invented, it could give me a more defined direction to take my search, rather than wandering Pachil while whatever threat looms is allowed to grow stronger. Especially after encountering this Eye in the Flame cult, I know there is no time to waste.
Feeling more at ease and reassured that I have a solid plan, I make my way back into the Great Library, walking past the workers diligently minding the quipus and surveying the information contained within. There’s a hush in the giant chamber as each person carefully studies the intricately tied knots—as I take regular, steady breaths, they feel jarringly loud amidst the silence. My footsteps echo off the stone walls, though thankfully, the thud of my heavy leather boots doesn’t distract from the workers’ deep concentration.
Off to the side, I see the man I seek, engaged in a quiet, thoughtful conversation with another council member. The Atima representative is robed in white, much like other Qantua scholars, but from there, all comparisons cease, as the rest of his features unquestionably distinguish him as being from another faction. His sharp nose and thin face appear chiseled from stone, and though he is older than I am, he has a thick head of graying hair that is shaved on one side while maintaining a single, long braid on the opposite side where the hair is otherwise cut short. It is said that an untouched braid brings them blessings from their gods, though I’m not sure if that is a story told by them or one fabricated by an outsider from another faction.
“Amaota, if I may beg your pardon and have a word,” I say, interrupting his conversation. The two gentlemen glance my way, unfazed, and the other councilman discreetly exits, granting us our privacy.
“The council is quite rattled by the news from earlier,” he says in his calm, near-whisper of a voice. “Do you really believe the Arbiter is posing some kind of threat to Qantua?”
I say with a sigh, “With Achutli, it’s quite possible. He will not be denied in his pursuit of what he wants, for better or worse.”
“But what could he want?” Amaota asks, perplexed. “If I recall correctly, he sought the quipus from Qantua, which we have delivered. Does he want them all? I say, what does he hope to learn from them that we couldn’t tell him ourselves?”
“I’m afraid that’s a matter that will have to be taken up with him,” I lie. It pains me to be untruthful, but I fear letting anyone other than Upachu know of the papyrus we’ve discovered, especially with the mad cult’s relentlessness in obtaining them for their own nefarious purposes. To me, the fewer people made aware, the safer the Qantua people will be. Amaota appears to accept this and doesn’t press me any further on the issue, allowing me to change the subject.
“I was hoping you could tell me about the Atima nobility,” I inquire. “I never really learned much about them and would like to know more about the stories I’ve heard about them, whether they’re true or not.”
“A sudden interest in the Atima, eh?” he says with a slight chuckle. “Nobody asks me about Atima history anymore. Why do you ask, if I may… ask?”
“The Atima are renowned for their enduring contributions to the culture that remains prevalent throughout Pachil even today,” I answer. “I am trying to acquire insights on the types of items or developments on which they were working, as well as how they created so many valuable innovations.”
“Well, the nobility came to be due to their unquenchable desire for obtaining any and all knowledge,” he responds. “It’s not too dissimilar to the Qantua, to be perfectly honest, but I suppose my people made it more of a personal mission, almost to a fault. They sought answers that seemed impossible to achieve, and would undertake rigorous research to do so, dedicating their lives to whatever they were after. It may not have been the most healthy approach, however, the results are undeniable.”
“Without the Atima, there would be no Merchant’s Tongue,” I say. “I must applaud your people for their remarkable proficiency in language. I've always been intrigued by the ways in which knowledge is preserved in our cultures, like the quipus stored here. Have you ever encountered any methods the Atima used to safeguard their most precious knowledge? I imagine their methods could hold valuable lessons for us all.”
With a slight smirk, he responds, “Feeling protective of the knowledge stored in Qantua, now that the Arbiter's demanding presence is looming, eh, Teqosa? Well, although I was never privy to the methodology, there were rumors regarding the nobility using some system or process to disguise their secrets from the prying eyes of the Timuaq.”
“Do you happen to know what this system entailed?” I ask.
“Something about their use of art, if the stories are to be believed,” he says, stroking his chin as he reflects on the matter. “Since Atima art was highly prized, the rumors say that the nobility passed coded messages contained within their tapestries and sculptures.”
This coincides with the clay pots found by me and Upachu, and I grow excited with the knowledge that we are on the correct path. If etchings on crumbling buildings were the only way of being able to decipher these glyphs, we might find our task too challenging to complete. However, tapestries and sculptures could be more easily preserved, protected or hidden away from the titans’ search for anything they deem threatening.
"Art as a means of encoding knowledge, that's truly ingenious," I reply with a hint of admiration. "It's remarkable how different cultures find creative ways to protect their treasures. I'm sure the Atima's approach must have been exceptionally sophisticated. Do you think any of these tapestries or sculptures might still exist today? Or perhaps records that shed light on this method?"
Amaota thinks on this for a moment before responding, “If I'm not mistaken, such items would be sent to palaces throughout Pachil. They were extremely popular, though I couldn't say with certainty if the messages contained within were recognized; it didn't appear anyone acted on anything they perceived in these works of art, hence my belief that such a thing is pure speculation based off rumors.”
Just then, a loud burst of bellowing laughter and chatter disrupts the once peaceful quiet of the room as four men walk in, led by none other than Taqsame himself, a smug expression beams from his face like a beacon. They strut toward the council chamber, clamoring and joking the entire walk. Before reaching the entrance, however, Taqsame decides to detour and walks directly toward me and Amaota, a vulpine grin cracking the corners of his mouth.
“Peaceful, modest Teqosa,” he says, not giving any attention toward the Atima representative. “Your pleading was quite entertaining.”
“It wasn’t meant to be entertaining, boy,” I say. I’ve given up on formalities with the brash, young man, deciding that politeness is something reserved for the councilmen I respect, not a warmongering child. Taqsame seems to let my gibe roll off his back, his face unmoved. There’s only one reason he wouldn’t attempt to strike back in a verbal sparring, and sure enough, he tells me without any hesitation.
“While I respect your well-meaning efforts, old man,” he says, “I’m proud to say that, after discussing it with a few of the other council members, I’ve been successful in achieving the votes necessary to proceed with my plan.”
“And what plan is this?” I ask, but I already know the answer, and my finger nails dig deeply into my palms as I tightly clench my fists.
“Why, we’re going to plan an assault on Qapauma and take over the throne that rightfully belongs to Qantua. For formality’s sake, the voting will be first thing tomorrow morning. I hope you can come to see my victory for yourself.”
