He repeats the question, but it’s still a faint echo that circles my ears and barely impresses itself into my consciousness. Something about who we should talk to first, or how we should approach achieving our goal? Even though Pomaqli’s inquiry is perfectly valid, frankly it’s been the least of my recent concerns.
These countless days—has it been a moon cycle?—have overwhelmed me, to say the least, and unfolded in a way I never envisioned for my involvement. The mission is an undertaking I hadn’t thought likely, given my original desire for a simple, quiet life at the inn after serving in a long and grueling war. But simplicity was taken away from me the day Limaqumtlia was murdered. Despite being thrust into action, am I the person who should be called upon to find the truth behind my brother’s death? Do I possess what’s necessary to succeed, the strength to persevere when the burden of seeking answers and fighting through the shroud of deception rests upon my shoulders?
It’s because of this that I’m thankful for the alliances I’ve formed, the people who have faithfully fought by my side when such obstacles appear. Knowing I don’t have to take on these challenges alone has been beyond reassuring, beyond anything that can be put into words. It’s not something that comes easily to me, having developed my issues in trusting, well, anyone, multiplied by the assassination while my brother’s advisors and allies stood idly by—another signal of being let down and disappointed by those in whom you place your trust.
Yet, in a world rife with deception and hidden agendas, I’ve managed to overcome the easy excuses for distrusting anyone and everyone, instead choosing to believe in those who have shown to possess an equal desire for seeking truth and justice that so many have shied away from when faced with the same circumstances. This fear of vulnerability, in protecting myself to avoid potential hurt and emotional wounds, is something about myself which I’ve only confronted recently. Recognizing my own insecurities is not an easy admission to make, and I’ve an insufficient supply of chicha to wrestle with them further.
But what has led to this change in conviction? Perhaps it was witnessing Walumaq’s supernatural and unreal capabilities that had me place my wholehearted trust in her. But no, my respect for and trust in her goes beyond such things. Our brief conversation before returning south to Pichaqta enlightened me to a whole other way of thinking, of engaging and interacting with the world. I have a long way from becoming spiritual, if that day will ever come, but her perspective of everything’s interconnectivity and our place within it is moving. It’s my encounter with the Sanqo princess that has challenged my perceptions, displaying an earnest—and maybe naïve—passion for fighting injustices and defeating any evil that rears its ugly head. Not that I’m much older, but how someone so young can be so defiantly brave and resolute, while placing the wellbeing of others before herself… to say it’s admirable does her a disservice. Does she see something I have yet to see in myself? Watching her put her faith and trust in people she hardly knows was initially unfathomable, but now that we’ve confronted dire challenges together, I know it’s woven into the fabric of who she is, qualities which I desire making a part of me, as well.
Along with her, the loyal and unflappable Pomaqli has proven himself an invaluable asset in maneuvering about the chaotic political scene in the Pichaqta palace. What he lacks in personality is more than made up for in his steadfastness and determination. It’s no wonder Qumuna entrusted him with this mission that goes way beyond the scope and scale of his duties as a Qiapu warrior. With Pomaqli and Walumaq joining me in this quest for justice, their deliberate and thoughtful approaches helping to keep my excitable and impulsive nature at bay, it’s easy to feel as though any challenge laid before us can be conquered.
Though the matter of investigating my brother’s death was never going to be simple, the complexities of what’s involved in his assassination has exposed how significant and influential this looming threat is. The broader and far-reaching implications his murder has had not just on Qiapu, but on all of Pachil, allows me to see how interconnected the people and factions of the continent truly are, how everything can affect everyone. I see now that this is not just a Qiapu matter anymore; this Eye in the Flame seeks to disrupt the peace and freedom of all people throughout the land that was so valiantly fought for. I must find any indication that these cultists threaten to impose their will upon those who only seek to rebuild what was lost to the Timuaq. Discovering the meaning and value of the heavily sought after amulets, as well as anyone who can aid us in defeating the Eye in the Flame and end their machinations, becomes imperative. Though we may have been friends in another time, if Saxina played any part in their climb to power, then he must be stopped at all costs.
“We should start with the palace guards and servants,” I assert, catching Pomaqli by surprise, as he clearly did not anticipate me coming out of my self-reflective trance so abruptly. “It’s often those who operate out of sight, often overlooked and underestimated, who are likely to have observed the most significant matters. They are the unseen eyes and ears in places of power, deemed too insignificant to matter.”
“A simple declaration, spoken in a timely manner, would have sufficed as a response to my inquiry,” Pomaqli says, his face maintaining his characteristic stoicism.
“Are you attempting to tease me?” I say, then follow this with embellished theatrics. “Are you warming up to me, oh warrior whose heart is made of stone?” This draws an unmistakable sigh and eye roll of annoyance, which only causes me to laugh heartily at his reaction.
After Pomaqli shakes his head in irritation, we walk toward the servants quarters, located on the far side of the palace and closest to the main entrance of the grounds. The building suffered heavy damage in the assault by the Eye in the Flame. Huge boulders, once meticulously carved and constructed to withstand the mightiest quakes or impacts, lay strewn about like seeds from a farmer sowing their fields. Most of the activity within these walls are around rebuilding structures in close proximity to the main palace building, with workers hurriedly rushing about to address some project in urgent need of attention. Reconstruction of the walls and other palace buildings like visitor quarters and worship chambers has begun, yet the servants quarters was always going to be the last task to be completed. It’s a reminder of society’s unspoken hierarchy: those with the least are always relegated to the end of the line for aid, their needs deemed less urgent in the eyes of the powerful.
At first, the task is tedious and mind-numbingly boring. It felt almost intrusive to watch these diligently-working servants and low-ranking guards rebuilding chambers of the palace, standing around and observing their movements and mannerisms. I’m reminded of the days when the Timuaq watched over the Qiapu as they slaved away in the forgeries and mines, the titans looking on as my people tirelessly worked all day and all night. It fills me with unease, but I have to remind myself that our purpose here is entirely different, that we are hoping to expose and root out any evil that has seeped its way into Pichaqta.
After a long period of work, the laborers are eventually given a moment to rest, filling up on water and bread in the shade of the few remaining trees still standing throughout the previously well-manicured gardens. People not of noble upbringing would never have been allowed to be there under normal circumstances, but we have entered strange times. Pomaqli identifies this break in their work as an opportune moment to interact with the workers and identify anyone who possesses the traits of a likely dissenter—or, at least, someone disgruntled enough to give us the information we seek.
It’s difficult to interject ourselves into conversations, attempting to blend in seamlessly with those dressed in long, plain, neutral-colored tunics and simple garments. The face of nearly every servant is gaunt and weathered from long, laborious work for significantly little to eat. These are the people whose losses during the Timuaq rule were too difficult to overcome, even amidst the opportunity provided by the reconstruction of Qiapu. It’s a subject that has always bothered me, this idea of a caste system within societies. The Qiapu like to imagine that our way of life—with the trials that determine our next Tempered being open to all, and our worshipped god, Aqxilapu, deems the one worthy to lead our people—distinguishes us from the others who are born into their privilege. Yet even with this, it’s a misconception. One could be born with natural, physical gifts, or the intelligence to lead with wisdom, but opportunity only presents itself to those with access to people of influence within the upper echelons of Qiapu politics. There’s always a small ruling class that controls everything, while the rest are mere subjects, no matter who is in charge. A tale as old as time.
Majority of the workers are too exhausted and too hungry or thirsty to speak. They gaze at the ground with vacant stares while nourishing themselves with bread and water. Yet there is the occasional, brief conversation that springs up among the laborers. Pomaqli and I keep a keen ear on the chatter, hoping to identify someone that could guide us to the information we’re after.
Being more comfortable among his own kind, Pomaqli approaches the guards assigned to the rebuilding task. Though I keep most of my attention on the workers, I can’t help but have one ear trained on his conversations, curious how his demeanor is with his fellow warriors. My only experience with this has been when he has assertively charged through barracks in search of answers. Yet his mannerisms here among the men is loose and casual, a side I haven’t seen of him up to now. He looks more relaxed and comfortable now that he’s away from the politicians and nobility, and, if I’m not mistaken, the occasional smile cracks a corner of his mouth.
After a bit of conversing, Pomaqli’s gaze eventually meets mine, and he signals for me to join him. He presents the men and makes brief introductions—I miss everyone’s name as they’re being spoken—then proceeds to quickly fill me in on the current discussion. Looking around at the gathered group, the guards are all very young, minimal tattoos and piercings found among those present, likely just barely receiving their rite of passage into manhood, if I had to guess.
“I was just speaking to these men about their regular duties around the palace,” Pomaqli says. His assertion in calling them ‘men’ is not lost on me, and I find myself once again impressed at his unexpected adeptness, showing he’s surprisingly adroit in certain social situations. “They were expressing their relief in having their usual routines altered for the palace reconstruction.”
“Not to say we’re thrilled from the reasons why this has occurred,” one of the boys quickly clarifies. The others nervously nod in unison. I smile reassuringly, and a few of them subtly express their relief.
“What were your duties previously?” I inquire.
“It was always some grunt work,” one of the boys laments. “Always cleaning something. Cleaning the troughs for the alpacas and llamas, cleaning the floors of the barracks, cleaning uniforms. Stuff the servants should be doing.”
“You should be grateful you’re getting–“
“That does sound tough,” I cut off Pomaqli’s reflexive scolding of a warrior not blindly accepting their duty, as justifiable as I find his statement to be. I want to attempt to win these boys over, in the hopes that they will work with us in finding some key information or informant. “It’s not what a warrior typically joins the palace guard to do. You want to be on the front lines, or at least protecting the Tempered.”
Most of the boys nod in agreement, although one looks hesitant in acknowledging my remark. I ask him what his thoughts are on the matter, seeing if I should be leery about engaging with these guards in my attempt at making them allies.
He shrugs and looks somewhat nonchalant when he answers. “I think one has to earn the right to protect the Tempered. It shouldn’t be assigned to just anyone.” While Pomaqli pridefully nods in agreement, the others look a bit annoyed with his answer, and I can tell they are eager for action, for a way to prove themselves worthy of being assigned anything that isn’t cleaning troughs.
“That is most certainly true,” I agree, “although would defending the palace during the assault not be proof enough?” With this, I can see the others rallying to my side, although this boy is still not convinced.
“There were a lot of noble deeds and actions performed that day,” he says, which, unfortunately for me, is an equally astute observation. In equal parts, I’m starting to resent and respect this boy who is exceptionally mature for his age.
“Perhaps it was your deeds that got you all assigned to this duty, instead of having to continue cleaning every fleck of dirt off the palace grounds,” I say. “Such bravery doesn’t typically go unnoticed. This should likely be an indication that you all have advanced in the early stages of your military career.” I can see Pomaqli is uncomfortable at my assertions, but I attempt to give him a look that begs for his patience for a little while longer. He seems to get the message, still appearing disconcerted but amenable.
Someone somewhere yells something about resuming their work, and, with a look of disappointment, the boys gather their items and prepare to join the workers at the site. As the overly mature boy marches away, I pull aside the one young guard who grumbled about his assigned duties earlier. He looks confused and startled, so I realize I have to make this brief.
“I wanted to express my gratitude for you stating your impressions on the duties assigned to you and your group of men,” I say in a hushed tone. “We want to be sure that our implementations of rotating palace guard duties has been properly administered. Thank you, and we will address this matter.”
The boy looks simultaneous confused and comforted in this, but upon his further contemplation, he is eventually overcome with an air of achievement that radiates from him as he gathers his belongings and rushes over to rejoin his companions.
“Why would you lie to the boy like that?” Pomaqli angrily asks. “We don’t have the means to implement such a thing, and he might be aware of this!”
“Relax,” I say, patting the air in a signal for him to remain calm. “I think he’s going to be our means of accessing the information we’re after. He’s disgruntled just enough where he might slip some overheard gossip or something he witnessed that could help us. We just have to get him on our side first.”
“I don’t like the use of deception to achieve these results,” Pomaqli growls. “This dishonesty makes us just as distrustful as the man we are trying to confront.”
I pause, carefully considering my response to Pomaqli’s concern. “I understand,” I begin. “In a perfect world, we wouldn’t need to resort to such tactics. But remember who we’re dealing with here. The Eye in the Flame, Saxina—they’ve shown they lack a code of honor. We’re forced into an uncomfortable position, in a battle of wits and determination on their shadowy ground.”
I glance toward the young guards and servants who are diligently resuming their work. “It’s not about distrust for the sake of it—that’s never been who I am. It’s about survival, about finding the truth amidst lies. We’re not being dishonest to cause harm, but to protect Qiapu and to reveal the truth. Yes, there’s a fine line to tread, but it’s one we need to walk with caution.”
I gently lay a hand on Pomaqli’s shoulder within this moment of doubt. “We are not like them, my friend. Our intentions are just, our cause righteous. Sometimes, to shed light on darkness, we need to move through the shadows. But we mustn’t lose ourselves in them. Your integrity is vital; it keeps us grounded.”
I find myself looking away, my voice softening, carrying a sense of burden. “In the murky waters of politics and war, the lines between right and wrong often blur. But let’s not forget why we're doing this: for justice, for Limaqumtlia, for Qiapu, and for all of Pachil. We might have to use every tool available to us, but our end goal is to heal, not to wound.”
I let my words sink in, hoping we navigate this complex path without losing sight of our true selves. To my relief, Pomaqli nods in acceptance, albeit with an expression of slight discomfort. We decide to revisit this warrior tomorrow and gradually build up a repertoire with him before we start exploring paths that could lead to Saxina’s involvement with the Eye in the Flame, or directing us to someone who would have witnessed such matters directly.
As we walk away from the palace for the time being, I reflect on my feelings regarding Pomaqli’s acceptance of the plan and trusting me. I realize that I haven’t confronted myself regarding trust. It’s come to my attention that, perhaps, the reason I have difficulty trusting others is that I don’t trust myself, that I don’t act in ways that signal I’m worthy of others’ trust. How can I place such a demand on others when I’m unwilling to demand such standards from myself? The use of deception… is that something a trustworthy person does? Seeing Pomaqli’s discomfort in my actions and in my plan, I suddenly become aware that I can’t make demands and have expectations of others when I can’t uphold such demands and expectations within myself.
Pomaqli notices my quiet self-reflection and inquires about what I’m thinking. I brush it off, telling him that I’m only getting in the correct headspace to continue executing our plan, though without utilizing as much manipulation. He seems content enough with my answer, and we usher ourselves out of the palace, ready to return the following day.
In the most subtle way he can, Saxina has decided to make our lives extremely and unnecessarily difficult.
Upon returning the following morning, we approach the entrance to the palace grounds and are immediately confronted by overly aggressive guards. As though they have something to prove to the omnipresent Saxina, we are assertively forced away from the gate, told that the guards have been commended to never allow us back into the palace. Pomaqli demands to know who instructed such an order, as well as wanting to speak to their superiors, but we’re met with cold, fierce stares that indicate we’re receiving the kinder implementation of what they’ve been ordered to do to us on sight, and that our circumstances can certainly become much worse. With a soothing hand on Pomaqli’s shoulder, I usher him away, and we walk out of earshot of these petulant children.
“We’re going to have to find another way,” I inform a fuming Pomaqli of the obvious. “Let’s avoid sneaking in, as I’d expect Saxina’s got the grounds secured this time. Our best hope is to catch our guard friend as he enters and leaves the grounds, then work our charm that way. We may even get him on our side by using this to our advantage.”
Pomaqli squirms at the last part of my statement. “What do you mean ‘using this to our advantage’, Paxilche? I don’t like the sound of this.”
As if on cue, our young warrior friend turns the corner and approaches the grand entrance to the palace grounds. Pomaqli and I hurry over to intercept him before he crosses the threshold and we can no longer interact with him. We wave him down, and he returns the gesture, although a bit cautiously with a hint of concern.
“May I assist you?” he asks, confused.
“You are not going to believe this,” I say to him, almost as a challenge. Pomaqli looks on with curiosity and suspicion, though at least he hides it well enough to be discreet. “Without using names, we informed your superiors of the conditions of the guard assignments, making sure not to implicate anyone. And wouldn’t you know, we were dropped from our assignment, no longer allowed to administer advice on such affairs for the betterment and well-being of the hard working warriors inside the palace!”
“Is this true?” he asks Pomaqli.
“It sounds almost too absurd to believe, doesn’t it,” he dryly responds, looking at me with near exasperation. I recognize that he’s going to be furious with me and this machination I’ve crafted without consulting him, but it’s the only way I can see us gaining access into the palace without sneaking in and risking execution. While it’s unfair to risk the unwitting life of another for our cause, I feel that the circumstances leave us no other options. It’s more dishonesty, more abuse of trust, but at this point, what other choice do we have left?
“And now we’ve been banned from the palace,” I say, putting on an engaging street performance, “banished from its grounds! It’s completely disgraceful!”
There’s a hesitation in the boy’s expression and demeanor, and I get a sinking feeling that he may be too reluctant to join my fictitious cause. He occasionally glances toward the palace, as though hoping someone will come to rescue him from this situation—and maybe even himself.
“All we wanted,” I say, bringing his focus back to me and the perceived situation, “was to ensure the guards are being treated with respect and dignity, that the duties are rotated on an equal basis, and to establish a clearer path to promotion within the ranks. Is that so much to expect from our leadership?”
The boy nods in eager agreement. Pomaqli rolls his eyes and steps away, but to alleviate any concerns, I make it appear as though he’s too upset with the recent events to talk about them any further.
“Is there anything I can do to assist you both?” he asks, leaning in closely and expectantly.
“Well, there’s something…” I quickly turn away, feigning disappointment in myself—although perhaps it isn’t actually so much an act. “No, no, I refuse to risk your standing among your peers and potentially ruin a promising career as a warrior.” I hesitate, catching a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. It’s like a shadow passing over a bright day, quick and almost missed, but it’s there. His eagerness is laced with a tinge of fear, the kind that speaks of a young heart grappling with the weight of big decisions.
“No, I want to help!” he urges, although his voice cracks slightly, betraying the bravado. I feel as though the young guard is attempting to convince himself with this speech. “It’s for the betterment of the guards, of all the guards, not just myself! We can’t let things stand as they are!”
I feel Pomaqli’s glare burning into my side, but I can’t allow him to throw away this opportunity. Though it’s understandable to loathe yet more use of deception, he must see that this is for the greater good, for the ultimate protection of Qiapu, rescuing it from the throes of chaos and pure evil we’ve encountered already. I shake away the concern and focus on gaining this invaluable ally.
“Your intentions are noble, but I can’t have you potentially turned into a mine worker,” I say, embellishing my act with a wince.
His determination is admirable, yet his hands give a slight tremble, and there’s a momentary glance over his shoulder, as if he fears being overheard or caught in our presence. It’s clear this is a leap into the unknown for him, a step that straddles the line between duty and rebellion.
In a conspiratorial tone, he says, “Let me be your eyes and ears inside the palace. It’s so commendable how you’ve risked your reputation to confront injustice within the palace. To join such an honorable cause is all I’ve ever wanted to do in my life. I can help you get the information you need to present in front of the Tempered. We can enact change!”
His resolve strengthens his stance, but there’s a palpable tension in his shoulders, like he’s bracing for an unseen blow. I nod, appreciating his courage while feeling a pang of responsibility for the risks in which he’s about to partake.
“Thank you for your service to this cause. We are most certainly going to bring change to Pichaqta.”
I get the boy’s name—Iachaqe—and tell him to meet us here, just beyond the palace gates and out of sight of the guards, to inform us of any discrepancies he notices within the palace, to include people and events that look suspicious or are acting out of place. After he notifies us of the state of affairs, we can work on getting an audience with the Tempered to present these atrocities and demand action. As he rushes off, the bounce in his step doesn’t quite mask the apprehensive glance he casts back our way, like a young bird taking its first uncertain flight. The burden of what he’s agreed to do sits visibly on his young shoulders, a mix of excitement and anxiety about the path he’s just chosen.
“Did you have to lie so blatantly to the boy?” Pomaqli says, not hiding his complete disgust at the plan. “You are setting him up to be banished from Qiapu for committing treason if Saxina ever discovers what’s taking place here. Not only that, but if Saxina discovers we’re behind this ruse, we will likely face execution, and I can only imagine what form that will take if he’s intermingling with a cult like the Eye in the Flame!”
I wince as I’m confronted once again with not only the perilous situation I’ve ensnared us in, but also the unsettling ease with which I wield deception as a tool. It’s a chilling realization, how naturally the art of manipulation flowed from me, especially when it involved a young, unsuspecting Qiapu guard, all in the relentless pursuit of my goals. Pomaqli speaks the truth, and we will suffer grave consequences if our plan is found out. However, all I can hope for is that the ends justify the means, and that nothing materializes from placing this boy, an innocent bystander, in harm’s way.
“I didn’t lie when I said we’re going to bring change to Pichaqta,” I reply, telling this answer to justify my actions to myself more than as a response to Pomaqli. “He’s going to help us take down Saxina, to the effect where he won’t need to worry about the wrath of the Tempered, particularly once the Tempered has been exposed. Now, we just have to bide our time until the moment presents itself, and then strike while the iron’s hot.”
He repeats the question, but it’s still a faint echo that circles my ears and barely impresses itself into my consciousness. Something about who we should talk to first, or how we should approach achieving our goal? Even though Pomaqli’s inquiry is perfectly valid, frankly it’s been the least of my recent concerns.
These countless days—has it been a moon cycle?—have overwhelmed me, to say the least, and unfolded in a way I never envisioned for my involvement. The mission is an undertaking I hadn’t thought likely, given my original desire for a simple, quiet life at the inn after serving in a long and grueling war. But simplicity was taken away from me the day Limaqumtlia was murdered. Despite being thrust into action, am I the person who should be called upon to find the truth behind my brother’s death? Do I possess what’s necessary to succeed, the strength to persevere when the burden of seeking answers and fighting through the shroud of deception rests upon my shoulders?
It’s because of this that I’m thankful for the alliances I’ve formed, the people who have faithfully fought by my side when such obstacles appear. Knowing I don’t have to take on these challenges alone has been beyond reassuring, beyond anything that can be put into words. It’s not something that comes easily to me, having developed my issues in trusting, well, anyone, multiplied by the assassination while my brother’s advisors and allies stood idly by—another signal of being let down and disappointed by those in whom you place your trust.
Yet, in a world rife with deception and hidden agendas, I’ve managed to overcome the easy excuses for distrusting anyone and everyone, instead choosing to believe in those who have shown to possess an equal desire for seeking truth and justice that so many have shied away from when faced with the same circumstances. This fear of vulnerability, in protecting myself to avoid potential hurt and emotional wounds, is something about myself which I’ve only confronted recently. Recognizing my own insecurities is not an easy admission to make, and I’ve an insufficient supply of chicha to wrestle with them further.
But what has led to this change in conviction? Perhaps it was witnessing Walumaq’s supernatural and unreal capabilities that had me place my wholehearted trust in her. But no, my respect for and trust in her goes beyond such things. Our brief conversation before returning south to Pichaqta enlightened me to a whole other way of thinking, of engaging and interacting with the world. I have a long way from becoming spiritual, if that day will ever come, but her perspective of everything’s interconnectivity and our place within it is moving. It’s my encounter with the Sanqo princess that has challenged my perceptions, displaying an earnest—and maybe naïve—passion for fighting injustices and defeating any evil that rears its ugly head. Not that I’m much older, but how someone so young can be so defiantly brave and resolute, while placing the wellbeing of others before herself… to say it’s admirable does her a disservice. Does she see something I have yet to see in myself? Watching her put her faith and trust in people she hardly knows was initially unfathomable, but now that we’ve confronted dire challenges together, I know it’s woven into the fabric of who she is, qualities which I desire making a part of me, as well.
Along with her, the loyal and unflappable Pomaqli has proven himself an invaluable asset in maneuvering about the chaotic political scene in the Pichaqta palace. What he lacks in personality is more than made up for in his steadfastness and determination. It’s no wonder Qumuna entrusted him with this mission that goes way beyond the scope and scale of his duties as a Qiapu warrior. With Pomaqli and Walumaq joining me in this quest for justice, their deliberate and thoughtful approaches helping to keep my excitable and impulsive nature at bay, it’s easy to feel as though any challenge laid before us can be conquered.
Though the matter of investigating my brother’s death was never going to be simple, the complexities of what’s involved in his assassination has exposed how significant and influential this looming threat is. The broader and far-reaching implications his murder has had not just on Qiapu, but on all of Pachil, allows me to see how interconnected the people and factions of the continent truly are, how everything can affect everyone. I see now that this is not just a Qiapu matter anymore; this Eye in the Flame seeks to disrupt the peace and freedom of all people throughout the land that was so valiantly fought for. I must find any indication that these cultists threaten to impose their will upon those who only seek to rebuild what was lost to the Timuaq. Discovering the meaning and value of the heavily sought after amulets, as well as anyone who can aid us in defeating the Eye in the Flame and end their machinations, becomes imperative. Though we may have been friends in another time, if Saxina played any part in their climb to power, then he must be stopped at all costs.
“We should start with the palace guards and servants,” I assert, catching Pomaqli by surprise, as he clearly did not anticipate me coming out of my self-reflective trance so abruptly. “It’s often those who operate out of sight, often overlooked and underestimated, who are likely to have observed the most significant matters. They are the unseen eyes and ears in places of power, deemed too insignificant to matter.”
“A simple declaration, spoken in a timely manner, would have sufficed as a response to my inquiry,” Pomaqli says, his face maintaining his characteristic stoicism.
“Are you attempting to tease me?” I say, then follow this with embellished theatrics. “Are you warming up to me, oh warrior whose heart is made of stone?” This draws an unmistakable sigh and eye roll of annoyance, which only causes me to laugh heartily at his reaction.
After Pomaqli shakes his head in irritation, we walk toward the servants quarters, located on the far side of the palace and closest to the main entrance of the grounds. The building suffered heavy damage in the assault by the Eye in the Flame. Huge boulders, once meticulously carved and constructed to withstand the mightiest quakes or impacts, lay strewn about like seeds from a farmer sowing their fields. Most of the activity within these walls are around rebuilding structures in close proximity to the main palace building, with workers hurriedly rushing about to address some project in urgent need of attention. Reconstruction of the walls and other palace buildings like visitor quarters and worship chambers has begun, yet the servants quarters was always going to be the last task to be completed. It’s a reminder of society’s unspoken hierarchy: those with the least are always relegated to the end of the line for aid, their needs deemed less urgent in the eyes of the powerful.
At first, the task is tedious and mind-numbingly boring. It felt almost intrusive to watch these diligently-working servants and low-ranking guards rebuilding chambers of the palace, standing around and observing their movements and mannerisms. I’m reminded of the days when the Timuaq watched over the Qiapu as they slaved away in the forgeries and mines, the titans looking on as my people tirelessly worked all day and all night. It fills me with unease, but I have to remind myself that our purpose here is entirely different, that we are hoping to expose and root out any evil that has seeped its way into Pichaqta.
After a long period of work, the laborers are eventually given a moment to rest, filling up on water and bread in the shade of the few remaining trees still standing throughout the previously well-manicured gardens. People not of noble upbringing would never have been allowed to be there under normal circumstances, but we have entered strange times. Pomaqli identifies this break in their work as an opportune moment to interact with the workers and identify anyone who possesses the traits of a likely dissenter—or, at least, someone disgruntled enough to give us the information we seek.
It’s difficult to interject ourselves into conversations, attempting to blend in seamlessly with those dressed in long, plain, neutral-colored tunics and simple garments. The face of nearly every servant is gaunt and weathered from long, laborious work for significantly little to eat. These are the people whose losses during the Timuaq rule were too difficult to overcome, even amidst the opportunity provided by the reconstruction of Qiapu. It’s a subject that has always bothered me, this idea of a caste system within societies. The Qiapu like to imagine that our way of life—with the trials that determine our next Tempered being open to all, and our worshipped god, Aqxilapu, deems the one worthy to lead our people—distinguishes us from the others who are born into their privilege. Yet even with this, it’s a misconception. One could be born with natural, physical gifts, or the intelligence to lead with wisdom, but opportunity only presents itself to those with access to people of influence within the upper echelons of Qiapu politics. There’s always a small ruling class that controls everything, while the rest are mere subjects, no matter who is in charge. A tale as old as time.
Majority of the workers are too exhausted and too hungry or thirsty to speak. They gaze at the ground with vacant stares while nourishing themselves with bread and water. Yet there is the occasional, brief conversation that springs up among the laborers. Pomaqli and I keep a keen ear on the chatter, hoping to identify someone that could guide us to the information we’re after.
Being more comfortable among his own kind, Pomaqli approaches the guards assigned to the rebuilding task. Though I keep most of my attention on the workers, I can’t help but have one ear trained on his conversations, curious how his demeanor is with his fellow warriors. My only experience with this has been when he has assertively charged through barracks in search of answers. Yet his mannerisms here among the men is loose and casual, a side I haven’t seen of him up to now. He looks more relaxed and comfortable now that he’s away from the politicians and nobility, and, if I’m not mistaken, the occasional smile cracks a corner of his mouth.
After a bit of conversing, Pomaqli’s gaze eventually meets mine, and he signals for me to join him. He presents the men and makes brief introductions—I miss everyone’s name as they’re being spoken—then proceeds to quickly fill me in on the current discussion. Looking around at the gathered group, the guards are all very young, minimal tattoos and piercings found among those present, likely just barely receiving their rite of passage into manhood, if I had to guess.
“I was just speaking to these men about their regular duties around the palace,” Pomaqli says. His assertion in calling them ‘men’ is not lost on me, and I find myself once again impressed at his unexpected adeptness, showing he’s surprisingly adroit in certain social situations. “They were expressing their relief in having their usual routines altered for the palace reconstruction.”
“Not to say we’re thrilled from the reasons why this has occurred,” one of the boys quickly clarifies. The others nervously nod in unison. I smile reassuringly, and a few of them subtly express their relief.
“What were your duties previously?” I inquire.
“It was always some grunt work,” one of the boys laments. “Always cleaning something. Cleaning the troughs for the alpacas and llamas, cleaning the floors of the barracks, cleaning uniforms. Stuff the servants should be doing.”
“You should be grateful you’re getting–“
“That does sound tough,” I cut off Pomaqli’s reflexive scolding of a warrior not blindly accepting their duty, as justifiable as I find his statement to be. I want to attempt to win these boys over, in the hopes that they will work with us in finding some key information or informant. “It’s not what a warrior typically joins the palace guard to do. You want to be on the front lines, or at least protecting the Tempered.”
Most of the boys nod in agreement, although one looks hesitant in acknowledging my remark. I ask him what his thoughts are on the matter, seeing if I should be leery about engaging with these guards in my attempt at making them allies.
He shrugs and looks somewhat nonchalant when he answers. “I think one has to earn the right to protect the Tempered. It shouldn’t be assigned to just anyone.” While Pomaqli pridefully nods in agreement, the others look a bit annoyed with his answer, and I can tell they are eager for action, for a way to prove themselves worthy of being assigned anything that isn’t cleaning troughs.
“That is most certainly true,” I agree, “although would defending the palace during the assault not be proof enough?” With this, I can see the others rallying to my side, although this boy is still not convinced.
“There were a lot of noble deeds and actions performed that day,” he says, which, unfortunately for me, is an equally astute observation. In equal parts, I’m starting to resent and respect this boy who is exceptionally mature for his age.
“Perhaps it was your deeds that got you all assigned to this duty, instead of having to continue cleaning every fleck of dirt off the palace grounds,” I say. “Such bravery doesn’t typically go unnoticed. This should likely be an indication that you all have advanced in the early stages of your military career.” I can see Pomaqli is uncomfortable at my assertions, but I attempt to give him a look that begs for his patience for a little while longer. He seems to get the message, still appearing disconcerted but amenable.
Someone somewhere yells something about resuming their work, and, with a look of disappointment, the boys gather their items and prepare to join the workers at the site. As the overly mature boy marches away, I pull aside the one young guard who grumbled about his assigned duties earlier. He looks confused and startled, so I realize I have to make this brief.
“I wanted to express my gratitude for you stating your impressions on the duties assigned to you and your group of men,” I say in a hushed tone. “We want to be sure that our implementations of rotating palace guard duties has been properly administered. Thank you, and we will address this matter.”
The boy looks simultaneous confused and comforted in this, but upon his further contemplation, he is eventually overcome with an air of achievement that radiates from him as he gathers his belongings and rushes over to rejoin his companions.
“Why would you lie to the boy like that?” Pomaqli angrily asks. “We don’t have the means to implement such a thing, and he might be aware of this!”
“Relax,” I say, patting the air in a signal for him to remain calm. “I think he’s going to be our means of accessing the information we’re after. He’s disgruntled just enough where he might slip some overheard gossip or something he witnessed that could help us. We just have to get him on our side first.”
“I don’t like the use of deception to achieve these results,” Pomaqli growls. “This dishonesty makes us just as distrustful as the man we are trying to confront.”
I pause, carefully considering my response to Pomaqli’s concern. “I understand,” I begin. “In a perfect world, we wouldn’t need to resort to such tactics. But remember who we’re dealing with here. The Eye in the Flame, Saxina—they’ve shown they lack a code of honor. We’re forced into an uncomfortable position, in a battle of wits and determination on their shadowy ground.”
I glance toward the young guards and servants who are diligently resuming their work. “It’s not about distrust for the sake of it—that’s never been who I am. It’s about survival, about finding the truth amidst lies. We’re not being dishonest to cause harm, but to protect Qiapu and to reveal the truth. Yes, there’s a fine line to tread, but it’s one we need to walk with caution.”
I gently lay a hand on Pomaqli’s shoulder within this moment of doubt. “We are not like them, my friend. Our intentions are just, our cause righteous. Sometimes, to shed light on darkness, we need to move through the shadows. But we mustn’t lose ourselves in them. Your integrity is vital; it keeps us grounded.”
I find myself looking away, my voice softening, carrying a sense of burden. “In the murky waters of politics and war, the lines between right and wrong often blur. But let’s not forget why we're doing this: for justice, for Limaqumtlia, for Qiapu, and for all of Pachil. We might have to use every tool available to us, but our end goal is to heal, not to wound.”
I let my words sink in, hoping we navigate this complex path without losing sight of our true selves. To my relief, Pomaqli nods in acceptance, albeit with an expression of slight discomfort. We decide to revisit this warrior tomorrow and gradually build up a repertoire with him before we start exploring paths that could lead to Saxina’s involvement with the Eye in the Flame, or directing us to someone who would have witnessed such matters directly.
As we walk away from the palace for the time being, I reflect on my feelings regarding Pomaqli’s acceptance of the plan and trusting me. I realize that I haven’t confronted myself regarding trust. It’s come to my attention that, perhaps, the reason I have difficulty trusting others is that I don’t trust myself, that I don’t act in ways that signal I’m worthy of others’ trust. How can I place such a demand on others when I’m unwilling to demand such standards from myself? The use of deception… is that something a trustworthy person does? Seeing Pomaqli’s discomfort in my actions and in my plan, I suddenly become aware that I can’t make demands and have expectations of others when I can’t uphold such demands and expectations within myself.
Pomaqli notices my quiet self-reflection and inquires about what I’m thinking. I brush it off, telling him that I’m only getting in the correct headspace to continue executing our plan, though without utilizing as much manipulation. He seems content enough with my answer, and we usher ourselves out of the palace, ready to return the following day.
In the most subtle way he can, Saxina has decided to make our lives extremely and unnecessarily difficult.
Upon returning the following morning, we approach the entrance to the palace grounds and are immediately confronted by overly aggressive guards. As though they have something to prove to the omnipresent Saxina, we are assertively forced away from the gate, told that the guards have been commended to never allow us back into the palace. Pomaqli demands to know who instructed such an order, as well as wanting to speak to their superiors, but we’re met with cold, fierce stares that indicate we’re receiving the kinder implementation of what they’ve been ordered to do to us on sight, and that our circumstances can certainly become much worse. With a soothing hand on Pomaqli’s shoulder, I usher him away, and we walk out of earshot of these petulant children.
“We’re going to have to find another way,” I inform a fuming Pomaqli of the obvious. “Let’s avoid sneaking in, as I’d expect Saxina’s got the grounds secured this time. Our best hope is to catch our guard friend as he enters and leaves the grounds, then work our charm that way. We may even get him on our side by using this to our advantage.”
Pomaqli squirms at the last part of my statement. “What do you mean ‘using this to our advantage’, Paxilche? I don’t like the sound of this.”
As if on cue, our young warrior friend turns the corner and approaches the grand entrance to the palace grounds. Pomaqli and I hurry over to intercept him before he crosses the threshold and we can no longer interact with him. We wave him down, and he returns the gesture, although a bit cautiously with a hint of concern.
“May I assist you?” he asks, confused.
“You are not going to believe this,” I say to him, almost as a challenge. Pomaqli looks on with curiosity and suspicion, though at least he hides it well enough to be discreet. “Without using names, we informed your superiors of the conditions of the guard assignments, making sure not to implicate anyone. And wouldn’t you know, we were dropped from our assignment, no longer allowed to administer advice on such affairs for the betterment and well-being of the hard working warriors inside the palace!”
“Is this true?” he asks Pomaqli.
“It sounds almost too absurd to believe, doesn’t it,” he dryly responds, looking at me with near exasperation. I recognize that he’s going to be furious with me and this machination I’ve crafted without consulting him, but it’s the only way I can see us gaining access into the palace without sneaking in and risking execution. While it’s unfair to risk the unwitting life of another for our cause, I feel that the circumstances leave us no other options. It’s more dishonesty, more abuse of trust, but at this point, what other choice do we have left?
“And now we’ve been banned from the palace,” I say, putting on an engaging street performance, “banished from its grounds! It’s completely disgraceful!”
There’s a hesitation in the boy’s expression and demeanor, and I get a sinking feeling that he may be too reluctant to join my fictitious cause. He occasionally glances toward the palace, as though hoping someone will come to rescue him from this situation—and maybe even himself.
“All we wanted,” I say, bringing his focus back to me and the perceived situation, “was to ensure the guards are being treated with respect and dignity, that the duties are rotated on an equal basis, and to establish a clearer path to promotion within the ranks. Is that so much to expect from our leadership?”
The boy nods in eager agreement. Pomaqli rolls his eyes and steps away, but to alleviate any concerns, I make it appear as though he’s too upset with the recent events to talk about them any further.
“Is there anything I can do to assist you both?” he asks, leaning in closely and expectantly.
“Well, there’s something…” I quickly turn away, feigning disappointment in myself—although perhaps it isn’t actually so much an act. “No, no, I refuse to risk your standing among your peers and potentially ruin a promising career as a warrior.” I hesitate, catching a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. It’s like a shadow passing over a bright day, quick and almost missed, but it’s there. His eagerness is laced with a tinge of fear, the kind that speaks of a young heart grappling with the weight of big decisions.
“No, I want to help!” he urges, although his voice cracks slightly, betraying the bravado. I feel as though the young guard is attempting to convince himself with this speech. “It’s for the betterment of the guards, of all the guards, not just myself! We can’t let things stand as they are!”
I feel Pomaqli’s glare burning into my side, but I can’t allow him to throw away this opportunity. Though it’s understandable to loathe yet more use of deception, he must see that this is for the greater good, for the ultimate protection of Qiapu, rescuing it from the throes of chaos and pure evil we’ve encountered already. I shake away the concern and focus on gaining this invaluable ally.
“Your intentions are noble, but I can’t have you potentially turned into a mine worker,” I say, embellishing my act with a wince.
His determination is admirable, yet his hands give a slight tremble, and there’s a momentary glance over his shoulder, as if he fears being overheard or caught in our presence. It’s clear this is a leap into the unknown for him, a step that straddles the line between duty and rebellion.
In a conspiratorial tone, he says, “Let me be your eyes and ears inside the palace. It’s so commendable how you’ve risked your reputation to confront injustice within the palace. To join such an honorable cause is all I’ve ever wanted to do in my life. I can help you get the information you need to present in front of the Tempered. We can enact change!”
His resolve strengthens his stance, but there’s a palpable tension in his shoulders, like he’s bracing for an unseen blow. I nod, appreciating his courage while feeling a pang of responsibility for the risks in which he’s about to partake.
“Thank you for your service to this cause. We are most certainly going to bring change to Pichaqta.”
I get the boy’s name—Iachaqe—and tell him to meet us here, just beyond the palace gates and out of sight of the guards, to inform us of any discrepancies he notices within the palace, to include people and events that look suspicious or are acting out of place. After he notifies us of the state of affairs, we can work on getting an audience with the Tempered to present these atrocities and demand action. As he rushes off, the bounce in his step doesn’t quite mask the apprehensive glance he casts back our way, like a young bird taking its first uncertain flight. The burden of what he’s agreed to do sits visibly on his young shoulders, a mix of excitement and anxiety about the path he’s just chosen.
“Did you have to lie so blatantly to the boy?” Pomaqli says, not hiding his complete disgust at the plan. “You are setting him up to be banished from Qiapu for committing treason if Saxina ever discovers what’s taking place here. Not only that, but if Saxina discovers we’re behind this ruse, we will likely face execution, and I can only imagine what form that will take if he’s intermingling with a cult like the Eye in the Flame!”
I wince as I’m confronted once again with not only the perilous situation I’ve ensnared us in, but also the unsettling ease with which I wield deception as a tool. It’s a chilling realization, how naturally the art of manipulation flowed from me, especially when it involved a young, unsuspecting Qiapu guard, all in the relentless pursuit of my goals. Pomaqli speaks the truth, and we will suffer grave consequences if our plan is found out. However, all I can hope for is that the ends justify the means, and that nothing materializes from placing this boy, an innocent bystander, in harm’s way.
“I didn’t lie when I said we’re going to bring change to Pichaqta,” I reply, telling this answer to justify my actions to myself more than as a response to Pomaqli. “He’s going to help us take down Saxina, to the effect where he won’t need to worry about the wrath of the Tempered, particularly once the Tempered has been exposed. Now, we just have to bide our time until the moment presents itself, and then strike while the iron’s hot.”
