Once I finally settle atop the raft, I must confess that the sensation of my feet leaving solid ground for the first time in my life is surprisingly exhilarating. While the scenery is vaguely familiar, the winding course of the flowing river weaves its way through areas of Tuatiu I’ve never before seen. The ability to see the jungle from this perspective, gliding through its heart over the water, offers a revelation unlike any other.
To say I was trepidatious when we were first presented with the raft in the early morning would be putting it kindly. Even on the steady waters, the wooden vessel bobbed and moved about, causing me to feel nauseous by simply looking upon it. Sianchu wore a mask of bravery as he set foot onto the floating platform, but it became instantly obvious he was having second thoughts, as well, subtly whimpering as he boarded. Mexqutli stated that he had used such a vessel when he was traveling north for his initial quest and seemed to take to the raft with ease, much to the dismay of Sianchu, who resented the Ulxa man’s nonchalant demeanor.
Upon our arrival, we were warmly welcomed by Upuiqu, a seasoned traveler of the Maiu Qasapaq. His stubble-covered face bore the rugged imprints of the ancient mountain range to the east, and while his warm smile was punctuated by a few missing teeth, its genuineness shone brightly through his time-worn features. When Haluiqa opened the Tuatiu borders to trade, Upuiqu was the first person he thought of to navigate the river and coordinate trade with the Qantua post downstream. With his vast experience navigating the waters, it was an obvious choice to make him our guide, and this knowledge was my only comfort when deciding to brave this journey.
“I’ve survived these waters for so many harvests, I’ve lost count!” Upuiqu said cheerfully, his eyes twinkling with the confidence of countless journeys. Sianchu and I exchanged glances, our skepticism undiminished as we eyed the raft's patchwork structure and the swirling waters it was about to brave. Despite Upuiqu's reassurances, the thought of entrusting our lives to this fragile assemblage of logs and vines set a flutter of apprehension in our stomachs. I’ve sharpened my blade numerous times, but I still end up with the occasional cut or scratch. Additionally, the furthest offshore I’ve ever swam up to now was just enough to bathe, and I’m not eager to see how I’d fare if I was forced into the deeper waters.
Once we pushed off the shore, the raft shook and wavered, and I may have yelped out of concern. This only encouraged Upuiqu to laugh harder as he paddled, and if it weren’t for relying on his expertise to navigate the river, I would’ve pushed him overboard without hesitation. Sianchu requested taking the other oar because, as he put it, “I can concentrate on something other than falling into the water.” After what I would argue as being given an extremely brief lesson on how to paddle, we were off, departing my home village toward Qantua territory.
Now that we’ve been on the water for half of the day, I’ve been able to calm myself and enjoy the journey, especially one that doesn’t involve being on my feet for long stretches. Mexqutli “temporarily” takes over the duties of paddling while Sianchu rested, with him saying how he could have gone further, but wanted to make sure he could guarantee having the strength necessary to finish out the day’s rowing. I’m not sure whether he saw my eyes roll or not, but pointing out to Sianchu that Upuiqu is still carrying on without any sign of exhaustion elicited a frown.
As we navigate the river, the scene is a cacophony of foliage and life. The verdant green of the jungle on either side is almost overwhelming, and the dense canopy overhead filters the sunlight, casting dappled patterns onto the water's surface. Trees stretch upwards, their roots plunging deep into the rich soil and creep over rocks. Ferns and orchids cling to their branches, and the air is rich with the intoxicating scent of blooming flowers, mingling with the musky undertones of the rainforest floor. Parrots in their resplendent colors flit above, their squawking blends with the distant calls of howler monkeys. Fish, with their shimmering scales, dart beneath the raft, and every now and then, the water's surface breaks as a caiman slides into the water. The silent shadow of a jaguar can be glimpsed, drinking from the riverbank, its eyes watching our every move. The jungle is alive, teeming with mysteries and wonders, and as we journey deeper, I feel nothing but reverence in this untouched part of the world.
Taking a break from relishing the scenery, I ask, “So, Upuiqu, you’ve met the Qantua before, correct? What can we expect of them? I’ve only interacted with them during the war, but it was predominantly alongside each other on the battlefield. I more or less stayed with my tribesmen throughout the duration.”
Mexqutli chimes in before our navigator can speak, “They are know-it-alls. I have not met a Qantua who does not lord over you the fact they assume to know more than you do.”
“Hmm,” Upuiqu mutters, before contradicting Mexqutli’s statement. “That hasn’t been my experience. No, they are not as condescending as you make them out to be. Sure, some might be patronizing, but those types exist in every faction, let’s be honest.”
Mexqutli grunts in a sign of disagreement and looks down at the water as he continues paddling. While reclining on the raft's floor, Sianchu declares, “I wholeheartedly agree with our intrepid navigator.”
“That is because you have befriended one, which says more about you and only further proves my point,” Mexqutli says. I’m about to interject to prevent another verbal spat between the two men, but Mexqutli lets out a bellowing laugh that is so hearty, he has to stop rowing for a moment to catch his breath. The moment is infectious, and pretty soon, everyone onboard is doubled over in laughter at the sight of Mexqutli unable to contain himself.
“To finally answer your inquiry, my dear,” Upuiqu says with small, residual chuckles still escaping every so often, “they are certainly a wise people, made so only further due to inheriting the numbers of Atima refugees. Their hunger for knowledge and understanding drives them, and they are very quick learners. Overall, they’re very sharp, insightful people, and shrewd businesspeople, as well; they are not easily deceived.”
“So they’re all scholars, then?” I say, almost more as a statement. “I was told there were military leaders, such as the one we are to meet.”
“Not all of them are workers at the Great Library,” Sianchu says, which leaves me slightly confused, as I’ve never before heard of the term or phrase ‘Great Library’. However, he carries on, “There are those who went to the Maqanuiache in Chalaqta; I would say that, if the Tapeu make up a significant majority of students—as would be expected, with the elite academy being in Tapeu territory—Qantua students are easily the second-largest population.”
“If you’re looking for a flaw,” Upuiqu says, “they are incredibly stubborn people. The number of times I’ve unsuccessfully attempted to barter with them? Well, I don’t think there are enough fingers and toes on this raft to count the amount.”
“That bodes well for a diplomatic mission where we’ll need to convince them to aid us,” I think aloud.
“I would advise,” our raftsman says, “as long as you have a well-reasoned and logical argument, with plenty of evidence, you should fare just fine. And be respectful. Keep a cool head, especially because the Qantua are fond of poking holes in one’s argument—I would say they consider that a pastime of theirs. The number of times I’ve had to demonstrate the quality and authenticity of my goods-“
“Allow me to guess,” interrupts Mexqutli in between paddle strokes, “you lack a sufficient amount of fingers and toes among us to count?” Upuiqu frowns, unappreciative of Mexqutli’s sour humor ruining his joke, and our intrepid guide paddles in silence.
“How will we be able to prove the existence of a dangerous organization like the Eye in the Flame?” I wonder.
“The three of us have seen the carnage they can cause,” Mexqutli says. “And we all originate from three separate factions. This might be a way to show that the threat is far-reaching.”
“But it’ll only be our word,” Sianchu says. “We don’t possess any physical proof.”
“I can discuss the amount to which I loathe you, to prove we are not in collusion to deceive the Qantua people,” Mexqutli says, following this with another hearty laugh. Sianchu doesn’t seem too amused by this, however.
A thought suddenly occurs to me, and I hurry over to my belongings. Sianchu panics as he watches me rummage through what I’ve brought with me, grabbing items that I nearly toss off the side while I search. Buried among sacks of provisions is the sword I carried with me from the outpost, inlaid with obsidian and bearing the mark of the Eye in the Flame. Overcome with pride, I hold up the sword, presenting it to everyone.
“The Ulxa sword possessed by the zealots!” I exclaim.
“What about the weapon?” Mexqutli says skeptically. “What does bearing the sword prove?”
I respond, “It contains the markings and is clearly Ulxa by design, with the obsidian in its hilt. If these are scholarly people as they claim to be, they can verify the origin of the sword and determine the truthfulness of our claims. There has to be history involving the Ulxa, their obsessions with fire– sorry, Mexqutli. I meant to say, their history with worship of fire and their deities’ affiliation with it… I think we can craft some conclusive arguments with it!”
“What is to say they won’t believe it to be my sword,” Mexqutli asks, “with me being of Ulxa origin?”
I consider Mexqutli’s point for a moment, my gaze fixed on the rippling water as I formulate a response. Finally, I look up, my eyes reflecting a mix of determination and thoughtfulness.
“You’re right, Mexqutli. They might doubt the sword’s origin, especially with you among us. But this isn’t just about the sword. It’s about the story it tells and the questions it raises. The Qantua value knowledge and evidence. They will want to investigate, to understand. This sword, with its unique traits and the symbol of the Eye in the Flame, is a piece that doesn’t fit with the usual idea of Ulxa weaponry. It suggests something more—something hidden and unknown. It's a mystery they won't be able to ignore. We’re not just presenting a weapon; we’re offering them a chance to uncover a truth that could affect all of Pachil. The Qantua may be cautious, but they are not close-minded. They will see the value in exploring this further.”
The others on the raft ponder my words, carefully weighing the evidence I've laid before them to determine its validity. One by one, the men lift their heads up and nod in affirmation, a slight smile cracking the corners of their mouths. My words seem to resonate with the group, instilling a sense of cautious optimism about their mission.
“It may not be the strongest argument of the cult’s existence,” Sianchu says, “but it’s the closest we’ve got. I can envision them pointing to the item being only a single piece of evidence, and that they may require further investigation before they commit to our cause, but it will most likely move them to action. The Qantua are stubborn, yes, but reasonable people. I believe they will give us a fair chance.”
“Especially with your ties to the Arbiter,” I mention. “There’s a measure of clout behind that, and with the mission he initially sent you on, certain conclusions could be made that connect the two. I was speaking to Mexqutli during our return to Iantana about the possibility of the Arbiter’s notion that the Ulxa are involved in a coup being partially correct, but missing the piece of information that it’s, in fact, an Ulxa cult.”
Mexqutli grows visibly agitated with the direction the conversation has gone, and while I understand why this is, I feel that he is becoming too emotionally invested to think rationally, and is taking the matter too personally. I haven’t accused the Ulxa of being treacherous; it just happens that the origins of this evil entity are from Ulxa. If he and the people of Ulxa are genuinely innocent, he needn’t be concerned. Nevertheless, he has told me half-truths and direct lies before, and I’ve determined to keep a mindful eye on him—to not be too trusting of him and his intentions—so his demeanor here is something of which I will take note.
As we approach the trading post, I take in the breathtaking sight that unfolds before me. The structures, a blend of terrine hues constructed from intricately carved stone blocks that fit perfectly into place, stand proudly against the backdrop of the sage green hills. Beyond, the sunlit terraces showcase vibrant agricultural fields, where maize and quinoa sway in the gentle breeze.
Tiers of stone steps, flanked by ornate carvings, lead up to towering granite walls that encircle the settlement, where a plaza bustles with activity at the heart of the trading post inside. An array of textiles, pottery, and exotic herbs are on display, and suspended textiles, dyed in rich, earthy tones, flutter in the wind like vibrant tapestries, while llamas laden with goods graze peacefully nearby. Traders, adorned with shimmering metal jewelry and dressed in finely woven tunics bursting with the golds, purples, blacks, and greens of every neighboring faction, engage in spirited barter.
As I disembark from the raft, the scent of roasted maize and coca leaves fills the air, mingling with the laughter and chatter of traders. It's a place where cultures converge, where stories are shared, and where there is unity and peace, showing no signs of the threats that loom elsewhere in Pachil.
“You appear to have enough provisions,” Upuiqu says as he ties down his vessel, “but it couldn’t hurt to add any additional items to your stash. Allow me to introduce you to a few traders that can provide you with excellent wares.”
Sianchu goes to protest, but Mexqutli holds up a hand and stops him, saying with a slight bow of the head, “We would most certainly welcome any additional supplies.” The Tapeu man looks questioningly at him, but he returns the stare with one that appears to indicate that we should remain silent. I will have to discuss this with him when we’re not among too many curious ears.
Led by Upuiqu as we walk through the grounds, we follow the rhythmic clang of metal on metal to a tent constructed up against the perimeter walls. There, a skilled metalworker, surrounded by masterful pieces spanning from jewelry to weaponry, plies his craft at a wooden stall. His weathered hands, a testament to years of dedication, deftly manipulate molten metals, forging them into intricate works of art. Around his neck, a pendant beset with jade and obsidian drapes over his simple white and red tunic and gleams in the sunlight.
“This is Huaina, the best metalworker in all of Pachil,” Upuiqu boasts, his chest swollen with pride. “You would have to travel nearly a moon cycle to Qiapu in order to find work half as good!”
As if we couldn’t be heard, Huaina’s thick eyebrows, like smudged charcoal, are furrowed in concentration as he continues pounding upon a strip of metal. A small jade ornament hangs from a single nostril of his straight nose, and his skin of polished bronze bears jagged tattoos reminiscent of steep mountain peaks.
Mexqutli and Sianchu inspect the wares, glancing over the jewelry and occasionally picking up a sword or spear and testing its weight. I, on the other hand, have a different matter to discuss with the metalworker, and I retrieve the cultist sword to present it to him.
“I understand you are incredibly skilled and well experienced, as evidenced by the items on display,” I say to Huaina. “I want to inquire about a weapon I possess and receive your consultation regarding its origins.”
He pauses his work, lifting his deep-set, almond-shaped eyes to meet mine. They gleam with the hue of rich, dark soil as he then casts his gaze down to the weapon. With a gravely voice that bellows and rumbles like a jaguar’s growl, he asks, “What’s a Tuatiu doin’ with an Ulxa sword?”
I can’t resist smirking at his response as he confirms my suspicions and my plan on approaching the council in Hilaqta with such evidence.
“Can you tell me any other features or details about this weapon that could explain its origins?” I ask, trying my best to not lead him to a preconceived conclusion. He gives the sword a once-over, contorting his mouth into funny shapes as he mulls over the aspects of the weapon to determine his assessment.
“There’re crude markings on that hilt,” he says gruffly. “Obviously Ulxa by the craftsmanship and obsidian. Ain’t seen nothin’ like that e’er etched into a weapon handle. Most likely a symbol to represent where they’re from, but not somethin’ I’m familiar with.”
“Would you know if there’s something in the materials used to craft this sword that would allow it to be set alight?” I ask.
He looks at me questionably, saying, “Ain’t never seen no weapon set on fire. Metal don’t burn like a torch. Sounds like somethin’ the Eleven would do, though.”
Huaina proceeds to take the weapon from me and inspect it closely, scanning the sword from blade to hilt. He moves it about and twists it around, the light dancing on the edge of the metallic blade. He abruptly hands it back to me and says, “There’s some residue on the blade. Looks oily, like it’s dipped in somethin’.”
Is that what the cultists were doing when they wipe their hands across the blade? Are they trickling an oil onto the weapon that makes it easier to set aflame? Does that mean those members aren’t using magic after all, but, rather, it’s an illusion? That doesn’t explain the Sunfire and his ability to cast fire from his hands, but it may be something to consider and investigate further.
Inside my pouch are a few copper pieces, which I promptly toss onto the table. Huaina watches them fall and tumble on the surface, but doesn’t show any urgency nor desire to retrieve them. He offers a simple nod as a show of thanks, then grabs his hammer and returns to his work. Though some might perceive his succinctness as brusque, I genuinely appreciate the concise exchange.
“Did you learn anything from your flirtations?” Sianchu asks me after I step away from the stall. If he considers that flirtatious, I have to wonder about his interactions with women.
Etiquette aside, I respond, “He confirmed the sword is Ulxa-made, and mentioned the existence of an oily substance on the blade. I’m thinking the cultists might apply some ointment before they set their weapons on fire, though that is just my speculation. However, if the Qantua are as perceptive and wise as everyone seems to make them out to be, they might have some way of discovering what is being used, which could further prove our point.”
“Well done, little one,” Sianchu says, and though I take offense to what I’m sure he deems an endearing term, he looks thoroughly impressed. I’ll take the tiny victory without any further confrontation.
After filling our bellies with delectable roasted guinea pig and root vegetables, we part ways with Upuiqu and begin the next stage of our journey to Hilaqta.
The moon illuminates the rugged hills of Qantua that stretch before us, casting long, eerie shadows. I tread carefully, the soft thud of my boots against the dry earth are the only sound breaking the stillness. I clutch the bow of Sachia, my fingers caressing the feathers of the arrow nocked and ready. Ahead of me, Mexqutli moves with the grace of a panther, his two obsidian daggers gleaming dully in the moonlight, while Sianchu is slightly behind us and clutches his large sword, his head swiveling from side to side as he inspects the scenery.
The night feels alive, humming with an unseen energy. But that energy becomes tangible when a low growl ripples through the quiet. At the guttural sounds, I instinctively shift into a defensive stance. Emerging from the shrubs ahead, we become surrounded by a pack of wild dogs, their fur matted and eyes wild. As if their numbers aren’t unsettling enough, the predatory glint in their eye adds a chilling layer of dread.
"Wild dogs, hunting in a pack,” Mexqutli mutters. “This is not a good sign."
I nod, whispering, “We must stay close and cover each other's backs."
As if on cue, one of the dogs lunges at Sianchu, who swings his sword with precision. The blade connects with the dog's side, sending it reeling back with a yelp. Yet the creature's pack mates aren’t deterred and circle closer, snarling and baring their sharp teeth that almost glow in the moonlight.
I release my arrow, aiming for a dog that’s flanking to our left. It yelps and stumbles to the dirt, but two more take its place. I draw another arrow, readying my shot.
Mexqutli leaps forward, slashing at a dog with his dual daggers, and their obsidian edges leave behind deep gashes. With a hurt whimper, the injured dog drops back, giving Mexqutli just a momentary breather. But these creatures are persistent, and similar to the beasts attacking me, two more advance as one falls back. He slashes with his daggers left and right. One dog yelps as a dagger finds its mark, but the other dodges, snapping at Mexqutli's leg. He jumps back, narrowly avoiding a nasty bite.
Sianchu, spotting the danger, barrels into the attacking dog, knocking it aside with the sheer force of his bulk. His sword swings down in an arc, narrowly missing the dog as it scrambles away. I release an arrow toward the retreating creature, but it avoids being struck as it darts off into the shroud of night.
I quickly nock another arrow, letting it fly. But there are too many, and we're getting overwhelmed. A sharp pain in my leg makes me stagger, and I glance down to see a dog latched onto my calf. With a roar, I kick it off, then drop my bow—it won’t be quick enough now—and reach for the cultist’s sword. Engaging the nearest dog, I parry its lunges, and the blade meets its teeth in a frenzied clash.
As Mexqutli dispatches another, I see him caught off-guard by a canine leaping from a hidden ditch. It tackles him to the ground, its teeth aiming for his throat. Without thinking, I sprint and plunge my sword deep into the dog's side, causing its grip on Mexqutli to loosen as life drains from animal.
“You have my thanks," Mexqutli pants, scrambling up and retrieving his dropped dagger.
A sharp whistle cuts through the battle sounds. It's Sianchu, signaling us to regroup. We back towards him, forming a triangle with our weapons held out. The dogs, realizing they're outmatched, begin to retreat, a few limping, others carrying the weight of their wounded or dead kin.
"We can't let them go," I shout. "They'll only come back.”
Sianchu nods, then gestures to a nearby hill. "Higher ground," he suggests.
After hastily retrieving my bow and quiver of arrows, we sprint, reaching the hilltop just as the dogs regroup for another attack. The height advantage is clear: from here, my arrows find their targets with ease, Mexqutli's daggers fly with deadly accuracy, and Sianchu’s sword creates a barrier no canine wishes to cross. The tide of the battle shifts in our favor. Slowly but surely, the pack diminishes. The few remaining dogs, realizing the battle is lost, flee into the wilderness.
We stand victorious atop the hill, chests heaving, relieved to hear only the wind rushing through the hills.
"That was too close," Mexqutli murmurs, wiping his daggers clean.
"It always is," Sianchu says, sheathing his blade.
“I used the cultist’s sword, though,” I say as I catch my breath. “I can’t be certain if cleaning it of the canines’ blood will remove the oily residue. I may have hindered our ability to present credible evidence to show the cult’s existence.”
Sianchu winces at the news, but then, to my surprise, says, “If they aren’t satisfied with our testimony and the sword being presented as is, I doubt we would have fared successfully with them in the first place. Besides, we needed to be alive in order to speak with them. You did what needed to be done, and I am grateful for it.”
Grabbing the sword was a reaction to being attacked, utilizing whatever is nearby to defend ourselves, but I hadn’t considered the possible threat to our credibility this may have had. His generous words of support put me at ease, and I thank him for the vote of confidence as we pick up where we left off on our journey.
The light of the morning could not arrive soon enough, gently blanketing the landscape in luscious gold. Despite knowing we would be traveling to the Qantua highlands, the chill in the air is something I was not prepared for, and the cool breeze brushes my skin, causing me to shiver involuntarily. Adding to the agonizing pain from the wound to my leg, my feet begin to ache and swell after the long journey traversing the hilly terrain. Nevertheless, I press on with the determination to reach our destination, hobbling and turning away Mexqutli and Sianchu’s persistent offers of assistance.
After traversing the fluctuating elevation of this land for most of the morning, we round one large, sage green hill and are finally rewarded with a welcomed sight. Large, looming stone walls, like manmade mountains, spring up from behind the rolling hills. Appearing at first as tiny specks, then growing larger as we approach, guards in gold and black tunics line the perimeter and stand at attention as we draw near. Sianchu moves to the front of our group and marches with confident strides, which evokes an exaggerated eye roll from Mexqutli.
“I am here on behalf of the great Arbiter, Achutli, on official business,” Sianchu shouts, his voice resonates like a conch horn. “I am to speak to your council regarding very urgent matters.”
The guards hesitate, exchanging looks with one another in the hopes that their compatriots will better know what to do in this situation. This tests Sianchu’s patience, and he motions us to follow him through the huge opening between the impressive walls. As if to confirm the action we’ve already decided to take, one of the young men yells, “Yes, yes, make your way to the Great Library.”
That term again… ‘Great Library’. I suppose I’ll learn of its importance soon enough.
Within the city, homes are constructed from ruggedly hewn stones, nothing like the smooth ones used to form the perimeter wall. Yet every stone is meticulously positioned, showcasing the Qantua’s masterful craftsmanship. The citizens wear a range of attire, from pristine white robes to understated tunics crafted from the fine threads of alpaca and llama. The people stare as we walk the streets, and I grow self-aware of the excess of my exposed skin, something to which I’m sure the residents of Hilaqta are not accustomed. I remind myself to browse the nearby market for a vendor selling such items, hoping to protect myself from the cold—and prying eyes.
Located adjacent to one of the taller hills in the region, a daunting building towers above the rest of the city like the few mountains off in the distance. It’s larger than any tree I’ve ever seen in the Tuatiu jungles, rising almost as high as the clouds.
Charging out of the grounds and toward us is a muscular man, perhaps closer to Mexqutli’s age. His flowing black hair trails behind him like a cape, and gold necklaces drape over his red, black, and gold tunic. He has a boxy face with piercing dark brown eyes, and his square jaw is more pronounced as a result of being clinched in anger. Considering he’s departing the place we want to go, I can only hope to avoid whatever infuriated this man.
Not matching the man’s furious demeanor, Sianchu approaches him and exclaims jovially, “Teqosa! By the stars in Pachil!”
Once I finally settle atop the raft, I must confess that the sensation of my feet leaving solid ground for the first time in my life is surprisingly exhilarating. While the scenery is vaguely familiar, the winding course of the flowing river weaves its way through areas of Tuatiu I’ve never before seen. The ability to see the jungle from this perspective, gliding through its heart over the water, offers a revelation unlike any other.
To say I was trepidatious when we were first presented with the raft in the early morning would be putting it kindly. Even on the steady waters, the wooden vessel bobbed and moved about, causing me to feel nauseous by simply looking upon it. Sianchu wore a mask of bravery as he set foot onto the floating platform, but it became instantly obvious he was having second thoughts, as well, subtly whimpering as he boarded. Mexqutli stated that he had used such a vessel when he was traveling north for his initial quest and seemed to take to the raft with ease, much to the dismay of Sianchu, who resented the Ulxa man’s nonchalant demeanor.
Upon our arrival, we were warmly welcomed by Upuiqu, a seasoned traveler of the Maiu Qasapaq. His stubble-covered face bore the rugged imprints of the ancient mountain range to the east, and while his warm smile was punctuated by a few missing teeth, its genuineness shone brightly through his time-worn features. When Haluiqa opened the Tuatiu borders to trade, Upuiqu was the first person he thought of to navigate the river and coordinate trade with the Qantua post downstream. With his vast experience navigating the waters, it was an obvious choice to make him our guide, and this knowledge was my only comfort when deciding to brave this journey.
“I’ve survived these waters for so many harvests, I’ve lost count!” Upuiqu said cheerfully, his eyes twinkling with the confidence of countless journeys. Sianchu and I exchanged glances, our skepticism undiminished as we eyed the raft's patchwork structure and the swirling waters it was about to brave. Despite Upuiqu's reassurances, the thought of entrusting our lives to this fragile assemblage of logs and vines set a flutter of apprehension in our stomachs. I’ve sharpened my blade numerous times, but I still end up with the occasional cut or scratch. Additionally, the furthest offshore I’ve ever swam up to now was just enough to bathe, and I’m not eager to see how I’d fare if I was forced into the deeper waters.
Once we pushed off the shore, the raft shook and wavered, and I may have yelped out of concern. This only encouraged Upuiqu to laugh harder as he paddled, and if it weren’t for relying on his expertise to navigate the river, I would’ve pushed him overboard without hesitation. Sianchu requested taking the other oar because, as he put it, “I can concentrate on something other than falling into the water.” After what I would argue as being given an extremely brief lesson on how to paddle, we were off, departing my home village toward Qantua territory.
Now that we’ve been on the water for half of the day, I’ve been able to calm myself and enjoy the journey, especially one that doesn’t involve being on my feet for long stretches. Mexqutli “temporarily” takes over the duties of paddling while Sianchu rested, with him saying how he could have gone further, but wanted to make sure he could guarantee having the strength necessary to finish out the day’s rowing. I’m not sure whether he saw my eyes roll or not, but pointing out to Sianchu that Upuiqu is still carrying on without any sign of exhaustion elicited a frown.
As we navigate the river, the scene is a cacophony of foliage and life. The verdant green of the jungle on either side is almost overwhelming, and the dense canopy overhead filters the sunlight, casting dappled patterns onto the water's surface. Trees stretch upwards, their roots plunging deep into the rich soil and creep over rocks. Ferns and orchids cling to their branches, and the air is rich with the intoxicating scent of blooming flowers, mingling with the musky undertones of the rainforest floor. Parrots in their resplendent colors flit above, their squawking blends with the distant calls of howler monkeys. Fish, with their shimmering scales, dart beneath the raft, and every now and then, the water's surface breaks as a caiman slides into the water. The silent shadow of a jaguar can be glimpsed, drinking from the riverbank, its eyes watching our every move. The jungle is alive, teeming with mysteries and wonders, and as we journey deeper, I feel nothing but reverence in this untouched part of the world.
Taking a break from relishing the scenery, I ask, “So, Upuiqu, you’ve met the Qantua before, correct? What can we expect of them? I’ve only interacted with them during the war, but it was predominantly alongside each other on the battlefield. I more or less stayed with my tribesmen throughout the duration.”
Mexqutli chimes in before our navigator can speak, “They are know-it-alls. I have not met a Qantua who does not lord over you the fact they assume to know more than you do.”
“Hmm,” Upuiqu mutters, before contradicting Mexqutli’s statement. “That hasn’t been my experience. No, they are not as condescending as you make them out to be. Sure, some might be patronizing, but those types exist in every faction, let’s be honest.”
Mexqutli grunts in a sign of disagreement and looks down at the water as he continues paddling. While reclining on the raft's floor, Sianchu declares, “I wholeheartedly agree with our intrepid navigator.”
“That is because you have befriended one, which says more about you and only further proves my point,” Mexqutli says. I’m about to interject to prevent another verbal spat between the two men, but Mexqutli lets out a bellowing laugh that is so hearty, he has to stop rowing for a moment to catch his breath. The moment is infectious, and pretty soon, everyone onboard is doubled over in laughter at the sight of Mexqutli unable to contain himself.
“To finally answer your inquiry, my dear,” Upuiqu says with small, residual chuckles still escaping every so often, “they are certainly a wise people, made so only further due to inheriting the numbers of Atima refugees. Their hunger for knowledge and understanding drives them, and they are very quick learners. Overall, they’re very sharp, insightful people, and shrewd businesspeople, as well; they are not easily deceived.”
“So they’re all scholars, then?” I say, almost more as a statement. “I was told there were military leaders, such as the one we are to meet.”
“Not all of them are workers at the Great Library,” Sianchu says, which leaves me slightly confused, as I’ve never before heard of the term or phrase ‘Great Library’. However, he carries on, “There are those who went to the Maqanuiache in Chalaqta; I would say that, if the Tapeu make up a significant majority of students—as would be expected, with the elite academy being in Tapeu territory—Qantua students are easily the second-largest population.”
“If you’re looking for a flaw,” Upuiqu says, “they are incredibly stubborn people. The number of times I’ve unsuccessfully attempted to barter with them? Well, I don’t think there are enough fingers and toes on this raft to count the amount.”
“That bodes well for a diplomatic mission where we’ll need to convince them to aid us,” I think aloud.
“I would advise,” our raftsman says, “as long as you have a well-reasoned and logical argument, with plenty of evidence, you should fare just fine. And be respectful. Keep a cool head, especially because the Qantua are fond of poking holes in one’s argument—I would say they consider that a pastime of theirs. The number of times I’ve had to demonstrate the quality and authenticity of my goods-“
“Allow me to guess,” interrupts Mexqutli in between paddle strokes, “you lack a sufficient amount of fingers and toes among us to count?” Upuiqu frowns, unappreciative of Mexqutli’s sour humor ruining his joke, and our intrepid guide paddles in silence.
“How will we be able to prove the existence of a dangerous organization like the Eye in the Flame?” I wonder.
“The three of us have seen the carnage they can cause,” Mexqutli says. “And we all originate from three separate factions. This might be a way to show that the threat is far-reaching.”
“But it’ll only be our word,” Sianchu says. “We don’t possess any physical proof.”
“I can discuss the amount to which I loathe you, to prove we are not in collusion to deceive the Qantua people,” Mexqutli says, following this with another hearty laugh. Sianchu doesn’t seem too amused by this, however.
A thought suddenly occurs to me, and I hurry over to my belongings. Sianchu panics as he watches me rummage through what I’ve brought with me, grabbing items that I nearly toss off the side while I search. Buried among sacks of provisions is the sword I carried with me from the outpost, inlaid with obsidian and bearing the mark of the Eye in the Flame. Overcome with pride, I hold up the sword, presenting it to everyone.
“The Ulxa sword possessed by the zealots!” I exclaim.
“What about the weapon?” Mexqutli says skeptically. “What does bearing the sword prove?”
I respond, “It contains the markings and is clearly Ulxa by design, with the obsidian in its hilt. If these are scholarly people as they claim to be, they can verify the origin of the sword and determine the truthfulness of our claims. There has to be history involving the Ulxa, their obsessions with fire– sorry, Mexqutli. I meant to say, their history with worship of fire and their deities’ affiliation with it… I think we can craft some conclusive arguments with it!”
“What is to say they won’t believe it to be my sword,” Mexqutli asks, “with me being of Ulxa origin?”
I consider Mexqutli’s point for a moment, my gaze fixed on the rippling water as I formulate a response. Finally, I look up, my eyes reflecting a mix of determination and thoughtfulness.
“You’re right, Mexqutli. They might doubt the sword’s origin, especially with you among us. But this isn’t just about the sword. It’s about the story it tells and the questions it raises. The Qantua value knowledge and evidence. They will want to investigate, to understand. This sword, with its unique traits and the symbol of the Eye in the Flame, is a piece that doesn’t fit with the usual idea of Ulxa weaponry. It suggests something more—something hidden and unknown. It's a mystery they won't be able to ignore. We’re not just presenting a weapon; we’re offering them a chance to uncover a truth that could affect all of Pachil. The Qantua may be cautious, but they are not close-minded. They will see the value in exploring this further.”
The others on the raft ponder my words, carefully weighing the evidence I've laid before them to determine its validity. One by one, the men lift their heads up and nod in affirmation, a slight smile cracking the corners of their mouths. My words seem to resonate with the group, instilling a sense of cautious optimism about their mission.
“It may not be the strongest argument of the cult’s existence,” Sianchu says, “but it’s the closest we’ve got. I can envision them pointing to the item being only a single piece of evidence, and that they may require further investigation before they commit to our cause, but it will most likely move them to action. The Qantua are stubborn, yes, but reasonable people. I believe they will give us a fair chance.”
“Especially with your ties to the Arbiter,” I mention. “There’s a measure of clout behind that, and with the mission he initially sent you on, certain conclusions could be made that connect the two. I was speaking to Mexqutli during our return to Iantana about the possibility of the Arbiter’s notion that the Ulxa are involved in a coup being partially correct, but missing the piece of information that it’s, in fact, an Ulxa cult.”
Mexqutli grows visibly agitated with the direction the conversation has gone, and while I understand why this is, I feel that he is becoming too emotionally invested to think rationally, and is taking the matter too personally. I haven’t accused the Ulxa of being treacherous; it just happens that the origins of this evil entity are from Ulxa. If he and the people of Ulxa are genuinely innocent, he needn’t be concerned. Nevertheless, he has told me half-truths and direct lies before, and I’ve determined to keep a mindful eye on him—to not be too trusting of him and his intentions—so his demeanor here is something of which I will take note.
As we approach the trading post, I take in the breathtaking sight that unfolds before me. The structures, a blend of terrine hues constructed from intricately carved stone blocks that fit perfectly into place, stand proudly against the backdrop of the sage green hills. Beyond, the sunlit terraces showcase vibrant agricultural fields, where maize and quinoa sway in the gentle breeze.
Tiers of stone steps, flanked by ornate carvings, lead up to towering granite walls that encircle the settlement, where a plaza bustles with activity at the heart of the trading post inside. An array of textiles, pottery, and exotic herbs are on display, and suspended textiles, dyed in rich, earthy tones, flutter in the wind like vibrant tapestries, while llamas laden with goods graze peacefully nearby. Traders, adorned with shimmering metal jewelry and dressed in finely woven tunics bursting with the golds, purples, blacks, and greens of every neighboring faction, engage in spirited barter.
As I disembark from the raft, the scent of roasted maize and coca leaves fills the air, mingling with the laughter and chatter of traders. It's a place where cultures converge, where stories are shared, and where there is unity and peace, showing no signs of the threats that loom elsewhere in Pachil.
“You appear to have enough provisions,” Upuiqu says as he ties down his vessel, “but it couldn’t hurt to add any additional items to your stash. Allow me to introduce you to a few traders that can provide you with excellent wares.”
Sianchu goes to protest, but Mexqutli holds up a hand and stops him, saying with a slight bow of the head, “We would most certainly welcome any additional supplies.” The Tapeu man looks questioningly at him, but he returns the stare with one that appears to indicate that we should remain silent. I will have to discuss this with him when we’re not among too many curious ears.
Led by Upuiqu as we walk through the grounds, we follow the rhythmic clang of metal on metal to a tent constructed up against the perimeter walls. There, a skilled metalworker, surrounded by masterful pieces spanning from jewelry to weaponry, plies his craft at a wooden stall. His weathered hands, a testament to years of dedication, deftly manipulate molten metals, forging them into intricate works of art. Around his neck, a pendant beset with jade and obsidian drapes over his simple white and red tunic and gleams in the sunlight.
“This is Huaina, the best metalworker in all of Pachil,” Upuiqu boasts, his chest swollen with pride. “You would have to travel nearly a moon cycle to Qiapu in order to find work half as good!”
As if we couldn’t be heard, Huaina’s thick eyebrows, like smudged charcoal, are furrowed in concentration as he continues pounding upon a strip of metal. A small jade ornament hangs from a single nostril of his straight nose, and his skin of polished bronze bears jagged tattoos reminiscent of steep mountain peaks.
Mexqutli and Sianchu inspect the wares, glancing over the jewelry and occasionally picking up a sword or spear and testing its weight. I, on the other hand, have a different matter to discuss with the metalworker, and I retrieve the cultist sword to present it to him.
“I understand you are incredibly skilled and well experienced, as evidenced by the items on display,” I say to Huaina. “I want to inquire about a weapon I possess and receive your consultation regarding its origins.”
He pauses his work, lifting his deep-set, almond-shaped eyes to meet mine. They gleam with the hue of rich, dark soil as he then casts his gaze down to the weapon. With a gravely voice that bellows and rumbles like a jaguar’s growl, he asks, “What’s a Tuatiu doin’ with an Ulxa sword?”
I can’t resist smirking at his response as he confirms my suspicions and my plan on approaching the council in Hilaqta with such evidence.
“Can you tell me any other features or details about this weapon that could explain its origins?” I ask, trying my best to not lead him to a preconceived conclusion. He gives the sword a once-over, contorting his mouth into funny shapes as he mulls over the aspects of the weapon to determine his assessment.
“There’re crude markings on that hilt,” he says gruffly. “Obviously Ulxa by the craftsmanship and obsidian. Ain’t seen nothin’ like that e’er etched into a weapon handle. Most likely a symbol to represent where they’re from, but not somethin’ I’m familiar with.”
“Would you know if there’s something in the materials used to craft this sword that would allow it to be set alight?” I ask.
He looks at me questionably, saying, “Ain’t never seen no weapon set on fire. Metal don’t burn like a torch. Sounds like somethin’ the Eleven would do, though.”
Huaina proceeds to take the weapon from me and inspect it closely, scanning the sword from blade to hilt. He moves it about and twists it around, the light dancing on the edge of the metallic blade. He abruptly hands it back to me and says, “There’s some residue on the blade. Looks oily, like it’s dipped in somethin’.”
Is that what the cultists were doing when they wipe their hands across the blade? Are they trickling an oil onto the weapon that makes it easier to set aflame? Does that mean those members aren’t using magic after all, but, rather, it’s an illusion? That doesn’t explain the Sunfire and his ability to cast fire from his hands, but it may be something to consider and investigate further.
Inside my pouch are a few copper pieces, which I promptly toss onto the table. Huaina watches them fall and tumble on the surface, but doesn’t show any urgency nor desire to retrieve them. He offers a simple nod as a show of thanks, then grabs his hammer and returns to his work. Though some might perceive his succinctness as brusque, I genuinely appreciate the concise exchange.
“Did you learn anything from your flirtations?” Sianchu asks me after I step away from the stall. If he considers that flirtatious, I have to wonder about his interactions with women.
Etiquette aside, I respond, “He confirmed the sword is Ulxa-made, and mentioned the existence of an oily substance on the blade. I’m thinking the cultists might apply some ointment before they set their weapons on fire, though that is just my speculation. However, if the Qantua are as perceptive and wise as everyone seems to make them out to be, they might have some way of discovering what is being used, which could further prove our point.”
“Well done, little one,” Sianchu says, and though I take offense to what I’m sure he deems an endearing term, he looks thoroughly impressed. I’ll take the tiny victory without any further confrontation.
After filling our bellies with delectable roasted guinea pig and root vegetables, we part ways with Upuiqu and begin the next stage of our journey to Hilaqta.
The moon illuminates the rugged hills of Qantua that stretch before us, casting long, eerie shadows. I tread carefully, the soft thud of my boots against the dry earth are the only sound breaking the stillness. I clutch the bow of Sachia, my fingers caressing the feathers of the arrow nocked and ready. Ahead of me, Mexqutli moves with the grace of a panther, his two obsidian daggers gleaming dully in the moonlight, while Sianchu is slightly behind us and clutches his large sword, his head swiveling from side to side as he inspects the scenery.
The night feels alive, humming with an unseen energy. But that energy becomes tangible when a low growl ripples through the quiet. At the guttural sounds, I instinctively shift into a defensive stance. Emerging from the shrubs ahead, we become surrounded by a pack of wild dogs, their fur matted and eyes wild. As if their numbers aren’t unsettling enough, the predatory glint in their eye adds a chilling layer of dread.
"Wild dogs, hunting in a pack,” Mexqutli mutters. “This is not a good sign."
I nod, whispering, “We must stay close and cover each other's backs."
As if on cue, one of the dogs lunges at Sianchu, who swings his sword with precision. The blade connects with the dog's side, sending it reeling back with a yelp. Yet the creature's pack mates aren’t deterred and circle closer, snarling and baring their sharp teeth that almost glow in the moonlight.
I release my arrow, aiming for a dog that’s flanking to our left. It yelps and stumbles to the dirt, but two more take its place. I draw another arrow, readying my shot.
Mexqutli leaps forward, slashing at a dog with his dual daggers, and their obsidian edges leave behind deep gashes. With a hurt whimper, the injured dog drops back, giving Mexqutli just a momentary breather. But these creatures are persistent, and similar to the beasts attacking me, two more advance as one falls back. He slashes with his daggers left and right. One dog yelps as a dagger finds its mark, but the other dodges, snapping at Mexqutli's leg. He jumps back, narrowly avoiding a nasty bite.
Sianchu, spotting the danger, barrels into the attacking dog, knocking it aside with the sheer force of his bulk. His sword swings down in an arc, narrowly missing the dog as it scrambles away. I release an arrow toward the retreating creature, but it avoids being struck as it darts off into the shroud of night.
I quickly nock another arrow, letting it fly. But there are too many, and we're getting overwhelmed. A sharp pain in my leg makes me stagger, and I glance down to see a dog latched onto my calf. With a roar, I kick it off, then drop my bow—it won’t be quick enough now—and reach for the cultist’s sword. Engaging the nearest dog, I parry its lunges, and the blade meets its teeth in a frenzied clash.
As Mexqutli dispatches another, I see him caught off-guard by a canine leaping from a hidden ditch. It tackles him to the ground, its teeth aiming for his throat. Without thinking, I sprint and plunge my sword deep into the dog's side, causing its grip on Mexqutli to loosen as life drains from animal.
“You have my thanks," Mexqutli pants, scrambling up and retrieving his dropped dagger.
A sharp whistle cuts through the battle sounds. It's Sianchu, signaling us to regroup. We back towards him, forming a triangle with our weapons held out. The dogs, realizing they're outmatched, begin to retreat, a few limping, others carrying the weight of their wounded or dead kin.
"We can't let them go," I shout. "They'll only come back.”
Sianchu nods, then gestures to a nearby hill. "Higher ground," he suggests.
After hastily retrieving my bow and quiver of arrows, we sprint, reaching the hilltop just as the dogs regroup for another attack. The height advantage is clear: from here, my arrows find their targets with ease, Mexqutli's daggers fly with deadly accuracy, and Sianchu’s sword creates a barrier no canine wishes to cross. The tide of the battle shifts in our favor. Slowly but surely, the pack diminishes. The few remaining dogs, realizing the battle is lost, flee into the wilderness.
We stand victorious atop the hill, chests heaving, relieved to hear only the wind rushing through the hills.
"That was too close," Mexqutli murmurs, wiping his daggers clean.
"It always is," Sianchu says, sheathing his blade.
“I used the cultist’s sword, though,” I say as I catch my breath. “I can’t be certain if cleaning it of the canines’ blood will remove the oily residue. I may have hindered our ability to present credible evidence to show the cult’s existence.”
Sianchu winces at the news, but then, to my surprise, says, “If they aren’t satisfied with our testimony and the sword being presented as is, I doubt we would have fared successfully with them in the first place. Besides, we needed to be alive in order to speak with them. You did what needed to be done, and I am grateful for it.”
Grabbing the sword was a reaction to being attacked, utilizing whatever is nearby to defend ourselves, but I hadn’t considered the possible threat to our credibility this may have had. His generous words of support put me at ease, and I thank him for the vote of confidence as we pick up where we left off on our journey.
The light of the morning could not arrive soon enough, gently blanketing the landscape in luscious gold. Despite knowing we would be traveling to the Qantua highlands, the chill in the air is something I was not prepared for, and the cool breeze brushes my skin, causing me to shiver involuntarily. Adding to the agonizing pain from the wound to my leg, my feet begin to ache and swell after the long journey traversing the hilly terrain. Nevertheless, I press on with the determination to reach our destination, hobbling and turning away Mexqutli and Sianchu’s persistent offers of assistance.
After traversing the fluctuating elevation of this land for most of the morning, we round one large, sage green hill and are finally rewarded with a welcomed sight. Large, looming stone walls, like manmade mountains, spring up from behind the rolling hills. Appearing at first as tiny specks, then growing larger as we approach, guards in gold and black tunics line the perimeter and stand at attention as we draw near. Sianchu moves to the front of our group and marches with confident strides, which evokes an exaggerated eye roll from Mexqutli.
“I am here on behalf of the great Arbiter, Achutli, on official business,” Sianchu shouts, his voice resonates like a conch horn. “I am to speak to your council regarding very urgent matters.”
The guards hesitate, exchanging looks with one another in the hopes that their compatriots will better know what to do in this situation. This tests Sianchu’s patience, and he motions us to follow him through the huge opening between the impressive walls. As if to confirm the action we’ve already decided to take, one of the young men yells, “Yes, yes, make your way to the Great Library.”
That term again… ‘Great Library’. I suppose I’ll learn of its importance soon enough.
Within the city, homes are constructed from ruggedly hewn stones, nothing like the smooth ones used to form the perimeter wall. Yet every stone is meticulously positioned, showcasing the Qantua’s masterful craftsmanship. The citizens wear a range of attire, from pristine white robes to understated tunics crafted from the fine threads of alpaca and llama. The people stare as we walk the streets, and I grow self-aware of the excess of my exposed skin, something to which I’m sure the residents of Hilaqta are not accustomed. I remind myself to browse the nearby market for a vendor selling such items, hoping to protect myself from the cold—and prying eyes.
Located adjacent to one of the taller hills in the region, a daunting building towers above the rest of the city like the few mountains off in the distance. It’s larger than any tree I’ve ever seen in the Tuatiu jungles, rising almost as high as the clouds.
Charging out of the grounds and toward us is a muscular man, perhaps closer to Mexqutli’s age. His flowing black hair trails behind him like a cape, and gold necklaces drape over his red, black, and gold tunic. He has a boxy face with piercing dark brown eyes, and his square jaw is more pronounced as a result of being clinched in anger. Considering he’s departing the place we want to go, I can only hope to avoid whatever infuriated this man.
Not matching the man’s furious demeanor, Sianchu approaches him and exclaims jovially, “Teqosa! By the stars in Pachil!”
