It’s too early in the morning for chicha, but I’m too furious to care, and tilt my head back to take a large swig of the malty substance in a nearby wooden cup. The party, led by Haluiqa, left a while ago, leaving me behind to watch the sun rise over the tropical trees encompassing Iantana.
The people of the village carry on as if nothing happened yesterday. As if the Arbiter and the new overseers didn’t whisk away most of our strongest and fiercest warriors for a special mission with a loose, shaky premise. Nobody seems to mind that there was so much talk after the War of Liberation regarding our sovereignty, yet we immediately turn around to serve another master. Instead, villagers resume repairing their homes, tending to their flock of animals, and pulling carts loaded with wares, none the wiser to the realities of our current situation: That we are no more independent than when we served under the Timuaq.
Considering all of this, I scoff and empty the container of the dark brown beverage, its subtly sweet and slightly sour scent titillating my nose and provoking me to consume every last drop remaining. Ignoring the stares from the passerbys, I emerge from my home with my bow and plenty of arrows, ready to convert my anger into something productive. Even with the world spinning from chicha, I can outhunt anyone else in Iantana, and I feel more than encouraged to prove it.
Barreling my way through the crowd of people going about their business, I drag my feet all the way to the edge of the village and set off into the jungles. If it wasn’t for being intoxicated, I’d probably recognize that hunting midday will likely be a fruitless endeavor, but the distraction is much-needed. The air is not as thick with humidity like it is during the hot season, though the warm embrace of the sun still wraps around me like a blanket as it sits almost directly above me by the time I head out, casting very minimally-sized shadows on the jungle floor. Our rainy season will be upon us in due time, but until then, I enjoy my solitary excursions into the dense wilderness.
My trek eventually takes me deep into the jungles without spotting anything worthy of tracking and hunting. Normally, I travel toward the river, Maiu Qasapaq, where I could always go fishing if I get bored with hunting, but it doesn’t appear I went that way this time. I’ve lost track as to how far I’ve traveled away from Iantana, but I reassure myself that it can’t be too far. Did I really drink that much? I’m sure it’ll be fine. Monkeys call to one another from the canopy of the high trees, and even though I mean them no harm, smaller rodents scurry away from me as I approach. Occasionally, I use the sturdy trees to support myself while I take a moment to gather my breath despite exerting minimal effort. I have to chuckle at myself for my poor condition, but it doesn’t stop me—I take another large gulp or seven from the pouch with which I’m hiking, replenished with chicha. The idea is to lighten the load so the container isn’t as heavy for the journey back when I’m carrying my prey. The logic makes sense to me, and I give myself a satisfied nod in agreement.
Finally, the sound of cracking branches is nearby, from a creature whose size must be that close to a deer, I’d assume by the intensity of the sound it’s making as it walks about. Something is lumbering lackadaisically, unaware that it is going for its last walk amongst the vegetation in Tuatiu. I smirk at the notion as I begin slowly retrieving an arrow from my quiver and lift my bow up in front of me. The fletching made of hen feathers tickles the fingers on my right hand as I go to nock the arrow, and the shaft gently rests on my left index finger. I crouch low and use the thicket to hide my presence, gradually and carefully drawing nearer to the target.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
Instinctively, I lower my bow at seeing the silhouette of what appears to be another human. It is walking upright, so I conclude it must be another person, although I’m not sure how they got here or who they are. I can’t distinguish much about them other than they are tall and bald, with splotchy, pale skin. They’re walking away from me, but they must be fatigued based on their uneven, clumsy steps that kick up the dead leaves and twigs. They groan, and I grow concerned that they may have been traveling for days without food or water.
I become alarmed when I suddenly hear growling. Nervous that there may be a predator nearby lustfully looking upon the person as a meal, I scan the jungle for any indication of another creature. When my inspection comes up empty, I my alarm turns to confusion, and then concern. Perhaps the beast is preparing to spring out from wherever it’s hiding and attack me! I ready my bow for the next movement I see, keeping a visual on the person in order to protect them. I resume approaching the stranger cautiously to not alert anything else of my location, but they continue aimlessly wandering the jungle, seemingly unaware of the danger they’re in. They have to be extremely exhausted to be this unsuspecting, and I’m a combination of pity and resentment.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
I extend my hand and reach for their shoulder, but I halt when I see dry flakes or gray skin peeling in large swaths on their back as if it’s barely hanging onto the muscles. At the same time I pull up, the person stops and stands still. They raise their head upward and appear to be sniffing the air in long, large snorts, attempting to identify some scent as an animal does. There’s a whiff of decay and decomposition that attacks my nostrils, and I fight off the urge to gag as it mixes confrontationally with my regretful intoxicated condition. Dark gray and black rotting splotches bespeckle its flesh, with black weblike branches spreading and expanding out from them.
The growing concern within causes me to back away, and I keep my bow between me and the creature. It rotates its torso to investigate what’s behind it, and I’m jarred by its sagging jowls and sharp, pointed teeth as it snarls. Its eyes have a milky film over them, but the red pupils pierce through the cloudiness. I could be hallucinating from the chicha—sun and sky, I kind of hope so—but I determine that at some point, this must’ve been a human, however, it’s no longer one now.
Without hesitation, and before it turns its entire body to face me, I fire a single direct hit into its sternum. The creature briefly lurches back, but coils as if it’s preparing to spring at me, unfazed by the arrow. I reach back into my quiver, but the beast lunges, its gnarled hands thrust toward me. I roll to my right and tumble to the ground, toppling over into a crouch with one knee stopping my momentum and steadying me. The beast stumbles forward, but its feet catch it before it falls, and it slides a short distance as it tries to spot where I am and redirect itself.
I fire one more arrow through its left breast, hoping the shot to its heart will put an end to this chaotic engagement. Once again, it moves about as if it was never struck and hurls itself at me, gnashing its teeth and swiping with long, blackened fingernails. I roll again, barely twisting out of the way of its clawed hand. Its blundering steps leave it vulnerable for an instant, and I hurriedly grab my dagger to slash at its right calf as a black viscous fluid oozes down the grayed flesh. It totters to one side and releases a primordial scream up to the heavens, then spins to face me once again.
I lunge at it with the hopes my blade strikes anything that could take down the beast. My dagger drags across its torso, a trail of black liquid jetting out in its wake, but once again, the creature looks unbothered. It backhands me, swatting me aside like a mosquito, and I tumble to the ground. Its claws brush my cheeks, and the side of my face immediately burns from the pain.
I speedily jump back onto my feet, but thanks to my excellent decision making, the chicha causes the jungle to swirl around, making me dizzy in the process and losing sight of the monstrous man. It swipes at me with its jagged claws and I barely escape its clutches as it rips through part of my green tunic. I clumsily crawl toward a patch of bushes and shrubs, hoping to conceal my location to give me a chance to regain my composure.
The monster lurches around the area, its head twisting unnaturally left and right without the constraint of fully formed neck muscles. I try to remain still and silent, positioning myself into a crouch and on the balls of my feet. The creature sniffs, nostrils flaring, and looking down to the jungle floor, it spots the drops of my blood trailing in my direction. As the monster’s teeth show a sinister snarl while moving toward me, I touch my free hand to my cheek and inspect it, seeing it nearly covered entirely in red. I shake it off and focus all my attention on timing this one attempt, which, thanks to the condition I’m in, might be the only one I get. I can’t afford to kick myself for the amount of drink in me; I have to concentrate.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
Acting on pure instinct, I lunge forward and strike at its neck, splitting it from ear to decaying ear. More of the oily substance streams out, the beast gurgles a growl, and I dart to the side to avoid getting any of the sludge on me. As the creature desperately flails at its throat, I strike my dagger through the left temple like cutting into a ripe melon. It drops to its knees and falls forward, lying on the ground and resting in a pool of black.
After a few deep breaths, I retrieve my pouch and, to my relief, there are a few swigs remaining. I shrug, empty the container of its contents, and then, out of suspicion, poke the creature with my toe to make sure it is, in fact, dead. Or, well, re-dead, I suppose. Dead again. The point is, I don’t want it attacking me with my guard down.
The only movement from the creature comes as a result of my foot, so I let out a relieved sigh, remove my blade from its skull, and begin investigating whatever it was. Not wanting to get the dark substance on me, I utilize my soiled dagger and a nearby branch and prod at it for inspection. It isn’t carrying any possessions to indicate where it was from, and the only clothing it wears is a leather loincloth that is in complete tatters which, unfortunately for me, doesn’t cover much. Infected lesions cover a significant amount of its body, and both feet are bare and have numerous scratches that scraped the soles raw, likely from dragging its unprotected feet on the jungle ground for a long period of time.
With a bit of a struggle using the tools at my disposal, I flip the creature onto its back. An expression of anger is frozen on its face, its pointed teeth looking ready to snap at me at any instant. Because of all the commotion, I hadn’t noticed that there are markings painted on its forehead. No, wait. They’re not painted on—they’re carved into it. The mixture of dried blood and black bile created a strange, crude symbol that appears to be an eye engulfed in flames. I ponder where I may have seen that symbol before, but nothing comes to mind. Thanks to the chicha, I slowly but eventually come to the realization that there might be more of them wandering the jungle and begin fearing for the safety and wellbeing of Sachia, Haluiqa, and the party of warriors.
I wipe my dagger on the creature’s loincloth and sheath it, then quickly gather my bow and quiver and take off running in the direction I think the party might have probably kind of maybe headed. Hold on a moment. Where am I? I stop my sprinting and take a look at my surroundings. Now I definitely regret the amount of chicha I consumed.
Think, Inuxeq, think. They were heading to… Chalaqta. No, wait… Qapauma! Right, the capital. That’s to the south and east. There’s a rustic path that should be south of the village and starts opposite of the river, Maiu Qasapaq, from which I ventured away. So if I keep heading south and toward the distant mountains sitting to the east, I should eventually run into the path. That’s the hope, anyway.
It’s difficult to see the mountains over the dense trees, but the sun pokes out between the leaves enough for me to regain my bearings. It might be due to my intoxication, but as I head off in the direction I decided to go, confidence grows strong within me. This direction has to be right, I conclude. If it isn’t, our warriors may suffer a cruel fate. The notion of this, combined with my recent experience, frightens me, and I’m motivated to sprint once again. The alcohol in my system is not pleased about this physical exertion, but I am determined to reach my people before any harm can come to them.
The animals of the jungle watch me with curiosity as I race around the trees and hurdle over fallen branches. For a moment, I become annoyed that such game wasn’t around where I was earlier in my hunting excursion, but I regain my focus on the matter at hand, just in time to avoid getting flattened by a low-hanging branch. The adrenaline of having my head nearly taken off, combined with the concern for the traveling party, carries me onward, and I hurry toward what I hope is the path.
After a long period, and with the sun gradually casting longer shadows upon the jungle floor, I worry that I may have guessed the direction incorrectly. All the vegetation and terrain looks the same, with no visible landmarks or distinctions for me to identify. A knot forms in my stomach as I fear I could be running anywhere in Tuatiu at this point. Still charging on, I swear off alcohol and pledge to be sober for all my remaining days, cursing at myself for allowing the temptation of such worldly pleasures to–
Just then, I see it: The clearing! A distinct space between the thick accumulation of trees at the width of approximately three or four people presents itself to me, and I immediately take back everything I had said moments earlier. This is a path the Tuatiu had cleared centuries ago, even before the Timuaq ruled the continent, to maintain trade routes with the capital and other factions. This was, of course, back when many of the factions cautiously trusted one another, before the Timuaq took advantage of the fractures in a shaky alliance and seized control of the throne.
I almost hesitate upon thinking whether I should go left or right, but I shake the doubt from my head—literally shaking my head—and take off in the direction I assuredly determine is south. Though they got a head start from leaving early in the morning, the band of warriors surprise me in how far they have been able to travel. It feels as if I’ve been running all day to catch up with them, and there isn’t any sign of their presence. I’m nervous that I may have wanted to go the other way after all, and I frantically scan the area for some kind of indication that they were here. To distract myself from any second-guessing, I focus on how I’m going to rescue everyone, and we’re going to figure out what is happening in our jungle.
The sun has begun sinking toward the horizon, just hovering above the tops of the trees, and the humidity starts lifting as the light dims. There’s a small creek gently burbling a short distance off the path, and though I feel the need to keep going, I take the opportunity to catch my breath and hydrate for a much-needed, albeit brief, rest.
Approaching the water, I spot a pair of legs lying on the ground and obscured by surrounding shrubbery. Shaken by recent events, I draw my bow and nock an arrow out of precaution, carefully walking up. I soon realize that nothing is obstructing my view after all—the legs have been completely detached from a body, blood pooling around the isolated limbs. Uncertain if it’s the gory scene or having just run at full speed with a stomach full of alcohol, I partially cover my mouth with my shoulder and fight off the very persistent urge to vomit everywhere.
Without warning, I’m struck with the force of a boulder crashing into me. Except it’s not a stone—it’s a large man with the same flakey, gray skin, towering above me. On its forehead are the same markings from the creature I fought earlier. Its teeth are pointed and sharp, making his snarl and growl much more intimidating. Is this how the prey I’ve hunted feel? Desperately, I pat the ground to grab my bow, but it’s too far out of reach, having been knocked loose out of my hands. My eyes dart around frantically to look for a weapon, or at least anything I could fashion into one, but the clearing is sparse. I watch helplessly as the creature takes slow, plodding steps toward me, appearing to relish this moment of playing with its next victim.
The creature stumbles to one side after getting bludgeoned in the head with a tree limb. I’m still too frozen in fear to move, but my eyes track the beast, noticing it looking around for who or what struck it. I then see Sachia, skin and tunic splattered with red and black as he heaves deep breaths with the thick branch-turned-cudgel held in his hands. He lets out a primordial yell that matches the monster’s as both collide into a flurry of swipes and swings. I hear Sachia cry out in pain and holding the side of his torso, blood spilling out, but he quickly regains his focus to look for the dropped makeshift weapon.
I finally gather my wits and look more earnestly for my bow and arrows, crawling on the ground to gather what I can. I hear more thuds and thwacks behind me, more yells, roars, and battle cries. I nock an arrow into the bow that must’ve belonged to a fallen warrior and spin around on my knees to locate the target. But there’s nothing there. No gray mass standing or lunging at Sachia, nor the Tuatiu warrior striking down the predator.
The peace-filled sounds of animal calls and rushing water contradicts the grizzly scene once I eventually muster up the strength to maneuver around a large tree that stood between me and the massacre, as if it was trying to protect me from what I was about to see. Multiple bodies pulled apart like torn bread, arms and heads severed from their torsos, and streams of red flowing into the creek like tributaries. I can’t determine which body part belongs to whom, and I’m overwhelmed by the distinct scent of blood’s metallic tang. A lone condor already circles the area from the sky, anticipating a hearty feast, and flies have begun buzzing about and landing on the mounds of flesh.
The black, gray, and green of the Tuatiu colors, muted with streaks of already drying blood, can be distinguished within the shredded clothing among the scattered remains. With how mutilated each person’s features are, it’s difficult to recognize anyone, and my heart sinks at the hopelessness of this endeavor. I was too late to rescue anyone, and it’s possible more of the creatures that attacked me and the party are on the loose and capable of striking a severely shorthanded and practically defenseless Iantana—they might already be on their way.
A gurgling cough catches me by surprise, and I jolt into motion, turning around with my bow drawn. Immediately, I notice the long haired profile of Sachia, with multiple large gashes embedded into his characteristically bulging physique. His broad shoulders have been slashed, with the left arm nearly detached from the socket and hanging on by a small patch of skin. Next to him is a heap of gray, flakey mass, head smashed in as if someone took a war hammer to a melon. There’s a small flicker of light remaining in his eyes, and I rush over to the stream with my pouch to fill it with as much water as I can, avoiding the area further down that is tinged with blood. After a brief moment, I hurry over to him and attempt to pour the chicha-tinged water into his slightly parted lips. He can hardly keep any of it down, and coughs up a good amount after just a few sips.
“Is… is that you, Inuxeq?” he faintly asks, coughing harshly soon after. “How on Pachil did you find us?”
“It’s okay, Sachia,” I say, trying to be comforting and nurturing, though admittedly it doesn’t come naturally to me, and I resist carrying on with our usual teasing banter. With my arms, I awkwardly hold his head up.
“Those… things,” he mutters. “They… unnatural…”
“Were there multiple of those gray-skinned creatures?” I ask. Speaking is difficult for him, so I focus on asking him yes or no questions, for ease. He nods and tries to place a hand on the pouch, but strength has fled from him long ago, and he can barely lift his one good arm. I get the message, though, and assist him with the water again. More pours out of his mouth than goes in, but the cool liquid touching his parched lips is refreshing enough.
“Did anyone survive?”
He nods and meekly holds up two fingers.
“It was that bastard, Sianchu, wasn’t it?”
Sachia doesn’t respond, perhaps protecting Sianchu and the Tapeu for some reason. His head drifts backward, and I have to support it as a mother does a newborn. I lightly slap his cheeks to keep his attention, and he looks around dazed, but eventually meets his eyes with mine. I try to inquire about Sianchu again, but he murmurs intelligibly.
“Was Haluiqa with him?” I ask.
He nods moderately, then tries speaking again, but it only sounds like strained whispers. This causes him to cough in fits, which takes most of his remaining energy, and he collapses in my arms. I try patting his cheeks a few more times, and his eyes, though very dim, focus on me.
“Which way did they go?”
He shakes his head, then weakly pats the ground next to him with two, slow thumps. Beside him, I notice his prized bow, with turquoise stones fixed into parts of the wood. There are numerous flattened silver pieces with engravings on them hammered and wrapped around parts of the upper and lower limbs. The small stones are mostly oval in shape, crudely carved and hardly polished or smoothed. Sachia waves his hand in my direction as if he’s swatting away flies, which he very well could be doing—they have started to amass in the area and have become aggressive with their swarming.
“I can’t take your bow” I say, taken aback by the offer. He offers it to me again, but once more, I decline. Thinking upon it further, I turn down his offer out of denial that he might not survive his condition, wanting to believe that it will remain in his possession forever.
“There’s no way I can hold this thing,” I say, a slight quiver in my voice escapes my attempts to choke it back. “I’m not merely strong enough to use this oversized thing.” My efforts to refrain from teasing vanish, and I feel myself yearning for everything to return to how they were before Sianchu traveled to Iantana.
“You’re the strongest… person I know,” Sachia manages, falling back into more violent coughs and gasps for air. When he settles down, I go to pour him our water, but he refuses my offer and shakes his head. His breathing is forced now, with long, drawn out wheezes, and as much as I want to refuse the inevitability, Sachia looks resigned to what’s about to come. Through heavy eyelids, he looks at me warmly. Tears well up in my eyes, and all I can think of is how angry I am that he’s leaving me.
I tell him, “I’ll always be a better hunter than you—remember that.” He chuckles and shakes his head disapprovingly.
“Even… as I lay dying, you have to–“
Sachia’s voice trails off, giving way to coughing fits, and he no longer supports the weight of his head, letting it carelessly roll to the side. He stares blankly at the leaves of the trees providing shade to where we rest. His heavy, slouched body droops in my arms, and I gently place him upon the ground.
I slump for a brief moment, allowing myself to cry since, mercifully, no one is around to witness it. Once I’m content that I’ve shed enough tears, I take a long, deep breath in, a long, deep breath out, and pick myself up. I grab Sachia’s bow and leather quiver of arrows, then check on my surroundings. The creek continues to flow out to sea, the leaves rustle in the breeze, and the birds chirp and flutter about. Everything carries on existing as if I haven’t just experienced a Pachil-shattering loss. I couldn’t even thank the one person who rescued me, opting to make sarcastic remarks instead. I’m such a pitiful fool, and once again, I’ve let down a fellow warrior on a battlefield. I make a promise to Sachia that I will figure this all out, and that he will not have died to save my futile soul in vain.
The first decision to make: Do I return to Iantana to make sure the creatures haven’t begun a rampage there, or do I hunt down Sianchu and get him to tell me what he knows?
It’s too early in the morning for chicha, but I’m too furious to care, and tilt my head back to take a large swig of the malty substance in a nearby wooden cup. The party, led by Haluiqa, left a while ago, leaving me behind to watch the sun rise over the tropical trees encompassing Iantana.
The people of the village carry on as if nothing happened yesterday. As if the Arbiter and the new overseers didn’t whisk away most of our strongest and fiercest warriors for a special mission with a loose, shaky premise. Nobody seems to mind that there was so much talk after the War of Liberation regarding our sovereignty, yet we immediately turn around to serve another master. Instead, villagers resume repairing their homes, tending to their flock of animals, and pulling carts loaded with wares, none the wiser to the realities of our current situation: That we are no more independent than when we served under the Timuaq.
Considering all of this, I scoff and empty the container of the dark brown beverage, its subtly sweet and slightly sour scent titillating my nose and provoking me to consume every last drop remaining. Ignoring the stares from the passerbys, I emerge from my home with my bow and plenty of arrows, ready to convert my anger into something productive. Even with the world spinning from chicha, I can outhunt anyone else in Iantana, and I feel more than encouraged to prove it.
Barreling my way through the crowd of people going about their business, I drag my feet all the way to the edge of the village and set off into the jungles. If it wasn’t for being intoxicated, I’d probably recognize that hunting midday will likely be a fruitless endeavor, but the distraction is much-needed. The air is not as thick with humidity like it is during the hot season, though the warm embrace of the sun still wraps around me like a blanket as it sits almost directly above me by the time I head out, casting very minimally-sized shadows on the jungle floor. Our rainy season will be upon us in due time, but until then, I enjoy my solitary excursions into the dense wilderness.
My trek eventually takes me deep into the jungles without spotting anything worthy of tracking and hunting. Normally, I travel toward the river, Maiu Qasapaq, where I could always go fishing if I get bored with hunting, but it doesn’t appear I went that way this time. I’ve lost track as to how far I’ve traveled away from Iantana, but I reassure myself that it can’t be too far. Did I really drink that much? I’m sure it’ll be fine. Monkeys call to one another from the canopy of the high trees, and even though I mean them no harm, smaller rodents scurry away from me as I approach. Occasionally, I use the sturdy trees to support myself while I take a moment to gather my breath despite exerting minimal effort. I have to chuckle at myself for my poor condition, but it doesn’t stop me—I take another large gulp or seven from the pouch with which I’m hiking, replenished with chicha. The idea is to lighten the load so the container isn’t as heavy for the journey back when I’m carrying my prey. The logic makes sense to me, and I give myself a satisfied nod in agreement.
Finally, the sound of cracking branches is nearby, from a creature whose size must be that close to a deer, I’d assume by the intensity of the sound it’s making as it walks about. Something is lumbering lackadaisically, unaware that it is going for its last walk amongst the vegetation in Tuatiu. I smirk at the notion as I begin slowly retrieving an arrow from my quiver and lift my bow up in front of me. The fletching made of hen feathers tickles the fingers on my right hand as I go to nock the arrow, and the shaft gently rests on my left index finger. I crouch low and use the thicket to hide my presence, gradually and carefully drawing nearer to the target.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
Instinctively, I lower my bow at seeing the silhouette of what appears to be another human. It is walking upright, so I conclude it must be another person, although I’m not sure how they got here or who they are. I can’t distinguish much about them other than they are tall and bald, with splotchy, pale skin. They’re walking away from me, but they must be fatigued based on their uneven, clumsy steps that kick up the dead leaves and twigs. They groan, and I grow concerned that they may have been traveling for days without food or water.
I become alarmed when I suddenly hear growling. Nervous that there may be a predator nearby lustfully looking upon the person as a meal, I scan the jungle for any indication of another creature. When my inspection comes up empty, I my alarm turns to confusion, and then concern. Perhaps the beast is preparing to spring out from wherever it’s hiding and attack me! I ready my bow for the next movement I see, keeping a visual on the person in order to protect them. I resume approaching the stranger cautiously to not alert anything else of my location, but they continue aimlessly wandering the jungle, seemingly unaware of the danger they’re in. They have to be extremely exhausted to be this unsuspecting, and I’m a combination of pity and resentment.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
I extend my hand and reach for their shoulder, but I halt when I see dry flakes or gray skin peeling in large swaths on their back as if it’s barely hanging onto the muscles. At the same time I pull up, the person stops and stands still. They raise their head upward and appear to be sniffing the air in long, large snorts, attempting to identify some scent as an animal does. There’s a whiff of decay and decomposition that attacks my nostrils, and I fight off the urge to gag as it mixes confrontationally with my regretful intoxicated condition. Dark gray and black rotting splotches bespeckle its flesh, with black weblike branches spreading and expanding out from them.
The growing concern within causes me to back away, and I keep my bow between me and the creature. It rotates its torso to investigate what’s behind it, and I’m jarred by its sagging jowls and sharp, pointed teeth as it snarls. Its eyes have a milky film over them, but the red pupils pierce through the cloudiness. I could be hallucinating from the chicha—sun and sky, I kind of hope so—but I determine that at some point, this must’ve been a human, however, it’s no longer one now.
Without hesitation, and before it turns its entire body to face me, I fire a single direct hit into its sternum. The creature briefly lurches back, but coils as if it’s preparing to spring at me, unfazed by the arrow. I reach back into my quiver, but the beast lunges, its gnarled hands thrust toward me. I roll to my right and tumble to the ground, toppling over into a crouch with one knee stopping my momentum and steadying me. The beast stumbles forward, but its feet catch it before it falls, and it slides a short distance as it tries to spot where I am and redirect itself.
I fire one more arrow through its left breast, hoping the shot to its heart will put an end to this chaotic engagement. Once again, it moves about as if it was never struck and hurls itself at me, gnashing its teeth and swiping with long, blackened fingernails. I roll again, barely twisting out of the way of its clawed hand. Its blundering steps leave it vulnerable for an instant, and I hurriedly grab my dagger to slash at its right calf as a black viscous fluid oozes down the grayed flesh. It totters to one side and releases a primordial scream up to the heavens, then spins to face me once again.
I lunge at it with the hopes my blade strikes anything that could take down the beast. My dagger drags across its torso, a trail of black liquid jetting out in its wake, but once again, the creature looks unbothered. It backhands me, swatting me aside like a mosquito, and I tumble to the ground. Its claws brush my cheeks, and the side of my face immediately burns from the pain.
I speedily jump back onto my feet, but thanks to my excellent decision making, the chicha causes the jungle to swirl around, making me dizzy in the process and losing sight of the monstrous man. It swipes at me with its jagged claws and I barely escape its clutches as it rips through part of my green tunic. I clumsily crawl toward a patch of bushes and shrubs, hoping to conceal my location to give me a chance to regain my composure.
The monster lurches around the area, its head twisting unnaturally left and right without the constraint of fully formed neck muscles. I try to remain still and silent, positioning myself into a crouch and on the balls of my feet. The creature sniffs, nostrils flaring, and looking down to the jungle floor, it spots the drops of my blood trailing in my direction. As the monster’s teeth show a sinister snarl while moving toward me, I touch my free hand to my cheek and inspect it, seeing it nearly covered entirely in red. I shake it off and focus all my attention on timing this one attempt, which, thanks to the condition I’m in, might be the only one I get. I can’t afford to kick myself for the amount of drink in me; I have to concentrate.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
Acting on pure instinct, I lunge forward and strike at its neck, splitting it from ear to decaying ear. More of the oily substance streams out, the beast gurgles a growl, and I dart to the side to avoid getting any of the sludge on me. As the creature desperately flails at its throat, I strike my dagger through the left temple like cutting into a ripe melon. It drops to its knees and falls forward, lying on the ground and resting in a pool of black.
After a few deep breaths, I retrieve my pouch and, to my relief, there are a few swigs remaining. I shrug, empty the container of its contents, and then, out of suspicion, poke the creature with my toe to make sure it is, in fact, dead. Or, well, re-dead, I suppose. Dead again. The point is, I don’t want it attacking me with my guard down.
The only movement from the creature comes as a result of my foot, so I let out a relieved sigh, remove my blade from its skull, and begin investigating whatever it was. Not wanting to get the dark substance on me, I utilize my soiled dagger and a nearby branch and prod at it for inspection. It isn’t carrying any possessions to indicate where it was from, and the only clothing it wears is a leather loincloth that is in complete tatters which, unfortunately for me, doesn’t cover much. Infected lesions cover a significant amount of its body, and both feet are bare and have numerous scratches that scraped the soles raw, likely from dragging its unprotected feet on the jungle ground for a long period of time.
With a bit of a struggle using the tools at my disposal, I flip the creature onto its back. An expression of anger is frozen on its face, its pointed teeth looking ready to snap at me at any instant. Because of all the commotion, I hadn’t noticed that there are markings painted on its forehead. No, wait. They’re not painted on—they’re carved into it. The mixture of dried blood and black bile created a strange, crude symbol that appears to be an eye engulfed in flames. I ponder where I may have seen that symbol before, but nothing comes to mind. Thanks to the chicha, I slowly but eventually come to the realization that there might be more of them wandering the jungle and begin fearing for the safety and wellbeing of Sachia, Haluiqa, and the party of warriors.
I wipe my dagger on the creature’s loincloth and sheath it, then quickly gather my bow and quiver and take off running in the direction I think the party might have probably kind of maybe headed. Hold on a moment. Where am I? I stop my sprinting and take a look at my surroundings. Now I definitely regret the amount of chicha I consumed.
Think, Inuxeq, think. They were heading to… Chalaqta. No, wait… Qapauma! Right, the capital. That’s to the south and east. There’s a rustic path that should be south of the village and starts opposite of the river, Maiu Qasapaq, from which I ventured away. So if I keep heading south and toward the distant mountains sitting to the east, I should eventually run into the path. That’s the hope, anyway.
It’s difficult to see the mountains over the dense trees, but the sun pokes out between the leaves enough for me to regain my bearings. It might be due to my intoxication, but as I head off in the direction I decided to go, confidence grows strong within me. This direction has to be right, I conclude. If it isn’t, our warriors may suffer a cruel fate. The notion of this, combined with my recent experience, frightens me, and I’m motivated to sprint once again. The alcohol in my system is not pleased about this physical exertion, but I am determined to reach my people before any harm can come to them.
The animals of the jungle watch me with curiosity as I race around the trees and hurdle over fallen branches. For a moment, I become annoyed that such game wasn’t around where I was earlier in my hunting excursion, but I regain my focus on the matter at hand, just in time to avoid getting flattened by a low-hanging branch. The adrenaline of having my head nearly taken off, combined with the concern for the traveling party, carries me onward, and I hurry toward what I hope is the path.
After a long period, and with the sun gradually casting longer shadows upon the jungle floor, I worry that I may have guessed the direction incorrectly. All the vegetation and terrain looks the same, with no visible landmarks or distinctions for me to identify. A knot forms in my stomach as I fear I could be running anywhere in Tuatiu at this point. Still charging on, I swear off alcohol and pledge to be sober for all my remaining days, cursing at myself for allowing the temptation of such worldly pleasures to–
Just then, I see it: The clearing! A distinct space between the thick accumulation of trees at the width of approximately three or four people presents itself to me, and I immediately take back everything I had said moments earlier. This is a path the Tuatiu had cleared centuries ago, even before the Timuaq ruled the continent, to maintain trade routes with the capital and other factions. This was, of course, back when many of the factions cautiously trusted one another, before the Timuaq took advantage of the fractures in a shaky alliance and seized control of the throne.
I almost hesitate upon thinking whether I should go left or right, but I shake the doubt from my head—literally shaking my head—and take off in the direction I assuredly determine is south. Though they got a head start from leaving early in the morning, the band of warriors surprise me in how far they have been able to travel. It feels as if I’ve been running all day to catch up with them, and there isn’t any sign of their presence. I’m nervous that I may have wanted to go the other way after all, and I frantically scan the area for some kind of indication that they were here. To distract myself from any second-guessing, I focus on how I’m going to rescue everyone, and we’re going to figure out what is happening in our jungle.
The sun has begun sinking toward the horizon, just hovering above the tops of the trees, and the humidity starts lifting as the light dims. There’s a small creek gently burbling a short distance off the path, and though I feel the need to keep going, I take the opportunity to catch my breath and hydrate for a much-needed, albeit brief, rest.
Approaching the water, I spot a pair of legs lying on the ground and obscured by surrounding shrubbery. Shaken by recent events, I draw my bow and nock an arrow out of precaution, carefully walking up. I soon realize that nothing is obstructing my view after all—the legs have been completely detached from a body, blood pooling around the isolated limbs. Uncertain if it’s the gory scene or having just run at full speed with a stomach full of alcohol, I partially cover my mouth with my shoulder and fight off the very persistent urge to vomit everywhere.
Without warning, I’m struck with the force of a boulder crashing into me. Except it’s not a stone—it’s a large man with the same flakey, gray skin, towering above me. On its forehead are the same markings from the creature I fought earlier. Its teeth are pointed and sharp, making his snarl and growl much more intimidating. Is this how the prey I’ve hunted feel? Desperately, I pat the ground to grab my bow, but it’s too far out of reach, having been knocked loose out of my hands. My eyes dart around frantically to look for a weapon, or at least anything I could fashion into one, but the clearing is sparse. I watch helplessly as the creature takes slow, plodding steps toward me, appearing to relish this moment of playing with its next victim.
The creature stumbles to one side after getting bludgeoned in the head with a tree limb. I’m still too frozen in fear to move, but my eyes track the beast, noticing it looking around for who or what struck it. I then see Sachia, skin and tunic splattered with red and black as he heaves deep breaths with the thick branch-turned-cudgel held in his hands. He lets out a primordial yell that matches the monster’s as both collide into a flurry of swipes and swings. I hear Sachia cry out in pain and holding the side of his torso, blood spilling out, but he quickly regains his focus to look for the dropped makeshift weapon.
I finally gather my wits and look more earnestly for my bow and arrows, crawling on the ground to gather what I can. I hear more thuds and thwacks behind me, more yells, roars, and battle cries. I nock an arrow into the bow that must’ve belonged to a fallen warrior and spin around on my knees to locate the target. But there’s nothing there. No gray mass standing or lunging at Sachia, nor the Tuatiu warrior striking down the predator.
The peace-filled sounds of animal calls and rushing water contradicts the grizzly scene once I eventually muster up the strength to maneuver around a large tree that stood between me and the massacre, as if it was trying to protect me from what I was about to see. Multiple bodies pulled apart like torn bread, arms and heads severed from their torsos, and streams of red flowing into the creek like tributaries. I can’t determine which body part belongs to whom, and I’m overwhelmed by the distinct scent of blood’s metallic tang. A lone condor already circles the area from the sky, anticipating a hearty feast, and flies have begun buzzing about and landing on the mounds of flesh.
The black, gray, and green of the Tuatiu colors, muted with streaks of already drying blood, can be distinguished within the shredded clothing among the scattered remains. With how mutilated each person’s features are, it’s difficult to recognize anyone, and my heart sinks at the hopelessness of this endeavor. I was too late to rescue anyone, and it’s possible more of the creatures that attacked me and the party are on the loose and capable of striking a severely shorthanded and practically defenseless Iantana—they might already be on their way.
A gurgling cough catches me by surprise, and I jolt into motion, turning around with my bow drawn. Immediately, I notice the long haired profile of Sachia, with multiple large gashes embedded into his characteristically bulging physique. His broad shoulders have been slashed, with the left arm nearly detached from the socket and hanging on by a small patch of skin. Next to him is a heap of gray, flakey mass, head smashed in as if someone took a war hammer to a melon. There’s a small flicker of light remaining in his eyes, and I rush over to the stream with my pouch to fill it with as much water as I can, avoiding the area further down that is tinged with blood. After a brief moment, I hurry over to him and attempt to pour the chicha-tinged water into his slightly parted lips. He can hardly keep any of it down, and coughs up a good amount after just a few sips.
“Is… is that you, Inuxeq?” he faintly asks, coughing harshly soon after. “How on Pachil did you find us?”
“It’s okay, Sachia,” I say, trying to be comforting and nurturing, though admittedly it doesn’t come naturally to me, and I resist carrying on with our usual teasing banter. With my arms, I awkwardly hold his head up.
“Those… things,” he mutters. “They… unnatural…”
“Were there multiple of those gray-skinned creatures?” I ask. Speaking is difficult for him, so I focus on asking him yes or no questions, for ease. He nods and tries to place a hand on the pouch, but strength has fled from him long ago, and he can barely lift his one good arm. I get the message, though, and assist him with the water again. More pours out of his mouth than goes in, but the cool liquid touching his parched lips is refreshing enough.
“Did anyone survive?”
He nods and meekly holds up two fingers.
“It was that bastard, Sianchu, wasn’t it?”
Sachia doesn’t respond, perhaps protecting Sianchu and the Tapeu for some reason. His head drifts backward, and I have to support it as a mother does a newborn. I lightly slap his cheeks to keep his attention, and he looks around dazed, but eventually meets his eyes with mine. I try to inquire about Sianchu again, but he murmurs intelligibly.
“Was Haluiqa with him?” I ask.
He nods moderately, then tries speaking again, but it only sounds like strained whispers. This causes him to cough in fits, which takes most of his remaining energy, and he collapses in my arms. I try patting his cheeks a few more times, and his eyes, though very dim, focus on me.
“Which way did they go?”
He shakes his head, then weakly pats the ground next to him with two, slow thumps. Beside him, I notice his prized bow, with turquoise stones fixed into parts of the wood. There are numerous flattened silver pieces with engravings on them hammered and wrapped around parts of the upper and lower limbs. The small stones are mostly oval in shape, crudely carved and hardly polished or smoothed. Sachia waves his hand in my direction as if he’s swatting away flies, which he very well could be doing—they have started to amass in the area and have become aggressive with their swarming.
“I can’t take your bow” I say, taken aback by the offer. He offers it to me again, but once more, I decline. Thinking upon it further, I turn down his offer out of denial that he might not survive his condition, wanting to believe that it will remain in his possession forever.
“There’s no way I can hold this thing,” I say, a slight quiver in my voice escapes my attempts to choke it back. “I’m not merely strong enough to use this oversized thing.” My efforts to refrain from teasing vanish, and I feel myself yearning for everything to return to how they were before Sianchu traveled to Iantana.
“You’re the strongest… person I know,” Sachia manages, falling back into more violent coughs and gasps for air. When he settles down, I go to pour him our water, but he refuses my offer and shakes his head. His breathing is forced now, with long, drawn out wheezes, and as much as I want to refuse the inevitability, Sachia looks resigned to what’s about to come. Through heavy eyelids, he looks at me warmly. Tears well up in my eyes, and all I can think of is how angry I am that he’s leaving me.
I tell him, “I’ll always be a better hunter than you—remember that.” He chuckles and shakes his head disapprovingly.
“Even… as I lay dying, you have to–“
Sachia’s voice trails off, giving way to coughing fits, and he no longer supports the weight of his head, letting it carelessly roll to the side. He stares blankly at the leaves of the trees providing shade to where we rest. His heavy, slouched body droops in my arms, and I gently place him upon the ground.
I slump for a brief moment, allowing myself to cry since, mercifully, no one is around to witness it. Once I’m content that I’ve shed enough tears, I take a long, deep breath in, a long, deep breath out, and pick myself up. I grab Sachia’s bow and leather quiver of arrows, then check on my surroundings. The creek continues to flow out to sea, the leaves rustle in the breeze, and the birds chirp and flutter about. Everything carries on existing as if I haven’t just experienced a Pachil-shattering loss. I couldn’t even thank the one person who rescued me, opting to make sarcastic remarks instead. I’m such a pitiful fool, and once again, I’ve let down a fellow warrior on a battlefield. I make a promise to Sachia that I will figure this all out, and that he will not have died to save my futile soul in vain.
The first decision to make: Do I return to Iantana to make sure the creatures haven’t begun a rampage there, or do I hunt down Sianchu and get him to tell me what he knows?
