Just outside Upachu’s home, I sit in the heart of Hilaqta that pulsates with life as the sun climbs the horizon. It’s like watching the world being painted in real time, the sky transitioning from a somber twilight blue to a burst of fiery pinks and oranges. Around me, the village stirs awake. The air is rich with the scent of maize and smoldering hearths as the sound of llamas and cotingas echo in the distance. People emerge from their stone dwellings, their eyes reflecting the glow of the new day. In its majestic rise, the sun touches each corner of this place, casting long shadows and bathing the terraced fields in a golden glow. It feels like a moment suspended in time, and I’m but a witness, caught in the beauty of a world so fiercely alive.
“Did you sleep outside the entire night?” Teqosa emerges from the dwelling with two cups held in his meaty paws and sits beside me. I chuckle at his question asked in astonishment. Being honest, I even took myself by surprise, considering how freezing cold the Qantua hills are during this season. However, closed in by the stone walls and low, wooden roof, I began to feel cramped and trapped within the otherwise homely confines of Upachu’s abode.
“I felt more at peace under the stars, if that makes sense,” I confess. Once Teqosa returned, and was insistent upon watching over his friend himself, I still wanted to remain close, in case my assistance was needed. Yet as I attempted to sleep indoors, I began to experience discomfort, as though the walls were closing in on me. Thus, it was a simple choice to try a different location.
“I believe you’ve grabbed nearly every blanket Upachu owns,” he says with a laugh I wouldn’t have thought possible to be made by the otherwise serious war veteran. He hands me the cup containing a warm, purple liquid, a beverage I’ve never before seen. It smells sweet, with a hint of a spice that pleases the senses. Before I can ask, he answers, “It’s api. A…” he searches for the words, “thick beverage, or porridge… I’ve never been able to really determine what it best resembles. But it’s made from our purple maize, grown right here on the Hilaqta terraces. I managed to find the spices at the market. I don’t drink it but on special occasions, and I felt now was as good a time as any.”
I lift my cup to toast, a gesture apparently he has never seen. I touch my cup to his, which confuses him at first, then I raise it skyward and say, “To our mission, and to the Eleven, may they guide our way to victory.” He appears slightly unsettled at my toast, and I suddenly recall his professed discomfort with worshipping the Eleven. While I find this unfortunate, it doesn’t deter me from continuing on the traditions of my people, praising those who have brought us out of the darkness and kept us from harm. Although he may not see it, I know their presence is all around us, which is how our paths crossed in the first place, allowing us to unite in our fight against this surging evil that is attempting to fill the void left behind by the defeat of the Timuaq.
The beverage goes down warm and soothingly, being especially delightful amidst this brisk morning. I can sense the feeling returning to my once shivering extremities, and it makes me question how people can willingly inhabit such a freezing territory. The api is a bit too sweet for my taste, apparently infused with honey, but delectable nonetheless, and I thank Teqosa for treating me to more of the Qantua traditions and foods.
“So, we part ways this morning,” he says, looking out onto the Hilaqta scenery.
“Supposedly,” I muse. “Although, will you be able to part from Upachu? How is his recovery?”
Teqosa shrugs, then takes another sip from his cup, his teeth subtly stained purple as he speaks. “As well as a youthful spirit housed inside a wounded elderly man can be, I suppose. He’s restless that he’s unable to go for his routine morning walks around the village, and he wants to join me as I venture south. We both know that’s not possible in his current condition, but I vowed to return after completion of the first part of my quest.”
“And you’re certain you don’t want me watching over him while he regains his strength?” I ask, concerned for the elder’s safety after the recent attack on him and Teqosa.
Speaking in a direct manner, he says, “I’ll discuss this with the council and make preparations for a rotation of multiple guards to be at his door while I’m away.”
“Are you certain that will be enough?” I ask with a slight smirk, knowing how much more capable we are with our respective weapons of choice. He appears to take a small amount of amusement in this, a sight I consider a victory.
“Where is your quest taking you?” I ask, curious as to all the lands he’ll be exploring. “Are the destinations far?”
“One is here in Qantua, thankfully” he says, “down the road on the way to Iaqutaq. From there, it appears I’ll journey to Qiapu, but after that? I can’t decipher the locations well enough. While I’m away, I’m hoping Upachu can spend his time recovering and studying the locations. It should hopefully help him pass the time, at the very least.”
“That sounds like a lot of travel,” I say, ignoring my own journey to get here, let alone the one in which I’m about to go to Aimue, the Eleven willing.
Teqosa nods with a smile. “Yes, but it is imperative I discover the meaning behind these glyphs, and what they meant to the Eleven and the Timuaq, in that members of the defenders believed they should be hidden away.” It fascinates me that he possesses a relic from our saviors, something tangible that could be directly traced back to them.
“I hope you find what you seek, Qantua,” I say. We both exchange a knowing look, aware that we must return to our respective paths if we are to defeat the evil that threatens our peoples. Though the task is daunting, nothing worth achieving came from standing still.
I stand and collect the few belongings I possess, but before I depart, I ask him over my shoulder, “Any words of advice or wisdom for persuading an army of hill people to join a jungle warrior?”
He chuckles, his head bobbing slightly, before answering, “Be genuine, be direct, and be honest. Though I can guess you don’t know how to be anything other than that.”
I smile, as that would have been my reply to his advice had he not beaten me to it. As I wander down the path that leads toward the entrance to the village, I’m overcome by this feeling that he and I will reunite once again, though perhaps much further down the road of life. We have already encountered each other once before, and here we are now, so why would it not be so? We are kindred spirits, as most warriors are, and such spirits always find a way back to one another, of this I’m convinced.
Passing through the tremendous stone opening, I depart the village and emerge out into the rolling, sage green Hilaqta countryside. As the cold wind sweeps through the hills and brushes my cheeks, I’m met by hundreds of Qantua warriors, creating a sea of warriors in gold and black. They’re huddled into various sized groups, their faces aglow in orange and red as they stand around small campfires, chatting with one another. I’m approached by Mexqutli and Sianchu, who look worse for wear as they trudge along.
“Are the conditions at the Arbiter’s residence in the Great Library inadequate?” I ask teasingly.
“The Qantua have these establishments called ‘qusitampo’–“
“‘Joyful Lodges’?” I ask, attempting to translate the language into Merchant’s Tongue. While Sianchu places one hand on his stomach and the other over his mouth, Mexqutli nods and continues.
“It is a wonderful, magical place. It is their version of the inns of Qiapu and Ulxa, except purely for consuming chicha.” At the name of the drink, Sianchu dry heaves, then supports himself on the shoulder of one of the Qantua warriors, who shrugs him aside and returns to his private conversation.
“Does this mean you two have worked out your differences?” I question, watching their reaction closely. They give each other a quick glance before Mexqutli responds.
“While there are still many matters which need to be discussed, we have come to a mutual agreement of gentlemen–“
“A gentleman’s agreement, for the love of…” Sianchu interrupts before gagging intensely, then shakes his head as if the gesture will rid him of the nausea.
“Yes, that is what I said,” Mexqutli remarks. “We have agreed to put aside our differences until the Eye in the Flame has been defeated.”
I can’t help but be impressed by this news, and in my surprise, I say, “Had I known all that was required was serving you both chicha,” I’m briefly interrupted by Sianchu’s gagging before I finish my statement, “I would’ve done my best to find the stuff sooner.”
At this, I look upon the gathered warriors and notice something that is initially upsetting.
“This number looks small compared to what we were told we’d receive,” I inquire, noticing that, though the appearance of hundreds of men will always look significant, I was surrounded by many more in my squadron alone when we fought in the war, and our numbers were much greater than this.
Sianchu frowns, then lets out a quick puff of air in disgust. “It was supposedly worked out between Teqosa and one of their officials that this number was sufficient. Something about not wanting to leave Qantua defenseless.”
“But the numbers of cultists could be–“
“I agree,” Mexqutli interrupts. “I had this argument with them just moments before you arrived. It appears the Qantua friend of Sianchu has left us short of hands.”
“Shorthanded,” I correct, before disagreeing. “That doesn’t seem like something he’d do. He knows how important this mission is. We were warned of the Qantua stubbornness, and it appears it’s made work of our numbers. No matter. It will have to do, and I’m confident we will take the fight to the cult.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” Sianchu laments. While I understand his lack of belief, and would certainly appreciate being given more aid with the viable threat that breathes down our necks, his mentality frustrates me. The situation is what it is, which we must make the best of, and this mindset doesn’t prepare oneself to take on the challenge.
Nevertheless, I approach the group of hundreds who have gathered, and try my hand at getting their attention before addressing them. They carry on with their conversations, as if not hearing—or willfully ignoring—my shouts and efforts. I inspect my surroundings and notice that one of the warriors carries a large conch shell, attached to a rope that hangs around his neck. I walk up to him and remove the shell from his person, holding up a finger to quell his protests before blowing into the horn, as I recall seeing done during battles alongside the Maqanuiache graduates. The blaring horn has the desired effect, as the warriors halt their conversations and bring their attention to me. With a quick message of thanks, I return the conch shell horn to its owner, then make my way to the middle of those gathered.
“Now that I have your attention,” I shout, “I am Inuxeq, warrior of the Tuatiu. With me are Mexqutli, an Iqsuwa, and Sianchu, the Shadow of the Arbiter. We are here to–“
“Where’s Teqosa?” someone yells from somewhere among the group. Grunts of agreement spring up. I knew this question would arise, just not so soon.
“Council Member Teqosa has other pressing matters that demand his attention, crucial for the safety and future of Qantua,” I say, my voice cutting through the murmurs.
“And what matter is more pressing than this, the one he supposedly argued for at the council?” another voice challenges, stirring up more voices in agreement.
“Teqosa’s dedication to our cause is unwavering. His decision to focus on another task was not made lightly,” I respond firmly. “He argued fervently for this mission because he knows the strength and capability we possess. The matter he attends to is intertwined with our own—a different front in the same battle for our survival and sovereignty. Just as we confront a visible enemy here, he tackles a hidden threat that could undermine our efforts. Trust that his actions, though unseen, are paving the way for our success. We each have our roles to play in this grand strategy, and Teqosa’s role, for now, requires his presence elsewhere.”
“What are we to do without Teqosa?” someone else asks, stirring more agitation among the warriors. These challenges to our present situation try my patience, and I force myself to take deep, calming breaths before responding.
“His tasks, though separate from ours, are equally vital in ensuring our lands remain protected and prosperous,” I continue, keeping my tone steady. “He trusts in our combined strength and judgment to lead this mission, as he tackles challenges that only he can address. In a battle, not every warrior holds the front line; some must guard the flanks and secure the future. That is what Teqosa is doing—securing our future.”
Grumbles and side conversations break out among the group, signaling their reluctant acceptance, tinged with a modicum of disapproval over the situation. At this, I consider the matter settled, and am about to instruct the warriors as to the next steps, when a number of the men step forward, their expressions expelling pure skepticism. Much like Sianchu had when he arrived in Iantana so many moons ago, these men wear multiple red quipus around their necks that dangle across their chest, tied in numerous elaborate knots. Their rank and projected authority do not go unnoticed by me.
“Teqosa may be off once again on some grand adventure, but why should we take direction from you, an outsider?” one of the men says with a defiant smirk. “This mission was cast upon us by a Qantua, so it is a Qantua we will follow, not some overly ambitious girl in over her head.”
Many mutter in agreement with this, making their displeasure in the situation well known. In my heart, I expected this encounter to be challenging, but not to this severity, this soon. I’m about to unleash a furious, ranting tirade upon these contentious men, but my mind echoes the words Teqosa told me before I set off: Be genuine. Be direct. Be honest It’s time to put his advice to use.
“Overly ambitious? Perhaps,” I say, beginning to pace around nonchalantly amidst their contentious stares. “But let me remind you that ambition has led warriors to victory and nations to greatness. As for being an outsider, well, sometimes it takes a fresh pair of eyes to see the path that those too entrenched in their own ways cannot. Teqosa may not be here, but his trust in me should tell you something. And if his judgment isn’t enough, then I’m more than willing to prove my worth. Not just as a ‘girl in over her head,’ but as a warrior who stands shoulder to shoulder with the bravest of Qantua.”
A few howls erupt throughout those gathered, elbowing one another and seemingly taking pleasure at this war of words, though mostly taunting their male leaders of being spoken to in such manner by a woman. Yet I know what I’m capable of, and if these men knew what I’ve experienced with the threat we’re about to take on, they wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss me. Unfortunately, when we begin our march to Aimue, they’ll find out soon enough. That is, if we ever begin our march. And by the looks on some of the men’s faces, we’re not about to embark just yet.
“Then let us see you prove your worth,” a deep voice resonates amongst the warriors. Emerging from the group that had stepped forward to confront me is a tall man, toned and muscular with olive skin and long, black hair that spills onto his shoulders. Of the men he’s among, he wears a fair number of red quipus around his thick neck, though not nearly the most out of everyone present. He has a square jaw and a sharp, pointed nose placed above a smug smile, and his bushy eyebrows arch with a sense of superiority.
“You dress the part of a warrior,” he continues, his voice dripping with condescension, “but do tell us, what does true valor look like when donned by a girl from Tuatiu? Surely, it’s more than just attire and bold words.”
“What are you proposing?” I ask, curious as to what this warrior believes will put me in my place. This exchange makes Sianchu uneasy, and I hear him muttering something as though he is questioning my actions, yet I’m too focused on the situation at hand to make out his mumbling. Meanwhile, the challenger’s light brown eyes twinkle at this, as though he was expecting my inquiry and has come prepared for the moment I entered his trap.
“An archery challenge, between you and me,” he states. “To see whether your skills are as sharp as your tongue, or if they’re just as empty as your claims of leadership.”
“Interesting,” I say, undeterred by his poor attempt at an insult. “It sounds to me as if you’re using a competition to get a few more of those knots tied around your quipu. If your talent is as uninspired as your taunts, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a while longer for those knots.” Whoops and hollers spring up among the gathered men, and although Sianchu remains nervous, most of the warriors join Mexqutli in a hearty laugh at my response.
With more pressing matters at stake, I attempt to hurry this challenge along by asking, “So what are the parameters? What will you have me do?”
“Simple,” he says, implying that, for a Tuatiu girl, he believes the matter will be anything but. “Hit the single target at a standard distance, with the range extending until one of us misses entirely.”
“Surely, you jest,” I say in disbelief. “If such a menial task is what registers as ‘skill’ among the Qantua, I have greatly overestimated their capabilities.”
“I admire the confidence,” he says, “which will bring me even greater joy when I send you back to your jungle hut empty-handed.”
We’re led on a long walk toward the barracks nestled up against the perimeter walls of Hilaqta. Inside the secured fortification, young warriors train, practicing sword techniques and releasing arrows into hay targets from a fairly short, safe range. We disrupt their activities to retrieve the targets for use in our petty competition, one that only impedes our progress in defeating the Eye in the Flame. We then wander into a field, where half a dozen warriors place the bales of hay at various distances throughout the countryside.
Noticing my agitation, Mexqutli walks alongside me, and I see that, while he initially attempts to place a hand upon my shoulder, thinks the better of it and keeps his hand to himself. Sianchu, on the other hand, struggles to keep pace, huffing and puffing while sweating profusely, likely still feeling the effects of the chicha from the night before.
“This is a tremendous waste of time,” I grumble to the Ulxa warrior. “These fools would rather attack harmless straw than the actual evil that threatens our lands. Do they not feel any urgency to fight an actual enemy? Have they not a care in the world that their people could be destroyed in an instant? I’m beginning to think we’ve sought aid from the wrong faction.”
Mexqutli chuckles, which only irritates me further, but says, “Your frustration is understandable, Tuatiu. Let us remember that the enemy is powerful, and we will require all the assistance we can receive. The Qantua are prideful people, and they do not follow someone so easily. Prove to them that you are the warrior they should follow if they want to be victorious in battle. Use your fiery passion as motivation to dispose of this pathetic challenger. The sooner you defeat him, the sooner you earn their respect, and the sooner we can continue on with our mission.”
“I’ve always had to prove something, Mexqutli,” I say, growing angrier by the word. “The matter of my capabilities can never be accepted. It’s never enough that I fought in the War of Liberation and proved my valor then. Why is it so difficult to believe I am someone to fight alongside? Why must everything be a fight?”
Mexqutli stops for a moment, and I turn to see him studying the ground. Then, he looks up at me and says, “You are not alone in having such feelings. I have existed on Pachil for many more harvests than you, and I am afraid it does not get any easier. There will always be detractors, and one must always prove themselves to someone, constantly. But you are a warrior, rich in spirit and full of fight. I may not have known you for long, but I am surprised to hear you speak so. You do not appear to me as one who fears a fight. Life is a fight, so embrace the battle.”
With this, he returns to Sianchu, and the two of them stand off to the side as a dozen or so of the Qantua warriors have completed the preparations. The other hundreds of warriors assemble by the fortress, looking on at the spectacle that’s about to begin.
My eyes sweep the field, familiarizing myself with the targets’ locations, as well as watching the quivering branches to sense the wind’s direction. Then, someone announces with a throaty, high-pitched shriek of a voice, “Shooting from left to right, the challengers will be given eight arrows for the eight targets. The cloth has been dyed with three circles: red, blue, and yellow, each of greater difficulty than the one prior, with yellow being the dead center. The first to hit a lesser color than their competitor loses, the challenge is finished, and a winner declared. We will start with Tiahesi, followed by the Tuatiu girl.”
This Qantua man, Tiahesi, gives me his trademark smirk as he casually nocks an arrow and, without a wasted movement, releases it into the yellow circle of the target, all in the matter of a couple of heartbeats. He steps back and exaggeratedly presents the place upon which I’m to take my shot. I recognize his effort to influence my attempt, seeking to play mind games. However, I only focus on what I can control, which is my arrow.
The announcer states it’s my time. I run my fingers over the roughly cut turquoise stones embedded into Sachia’s bow, feeling the smooth grain of the wood and bits of silver. I wish he was here to see this, though part of me senses his presence as if he’s standing beside me, smiling that warm smile and looking on with pride. He will help guide my arrow to its destination, just as he has been anointed by the Eleven to lead me here. I nock an arrow and pull the string taut, with both eyes focused on the yellow circle.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out. Release.
I can hear Mexqutli’s distinct voice explode in celebration, clapping and cheering me on. I’m only made aware that I’ve matched my opponent’s arrow when the announcer states we are to move on to the target. Sure enough, my arrow has slid just a hair beside Tiahesi’s, both dead center on the target. My opponent retains his smug demeanor, playing to the crowd and stating how everyone gets lucky once in a while.
We move onto the next target, and, again, we both hit the yellow circle, with my arrow glancing his on its way to striking the hay bale. For the next four targets, this result repeats, matching each other arrow for arrow. By the third arrow, his smile began to fade, but it’s the fifth arrow when Tiahesi’s smile is replaced completely by a scowl.
“It appears we should increase the challenge,” he announces, which intrigues not just the spectating warriors, but me, as well. What does he have in mind now? “No more of this practice. We should test our true skills by hitting a sequence of multiple targets, each appearing only after the previous one has been hit. Move the targets behind the trees and, at your discretion, bring them out at random. If there’s any hesitation, the competitor is out.”
“This needlessly risks someone’s life,” I say, “having them manipulate the targets could see them struck by a stray arrow.”
“Then don’t miss,” he says simply, his smug smile returning.
While I am confident in my abilities, the potential to miss and pierce an unwitting bystander does not sit well with me. Perhaps this is all part of his ploy to discredit me, some way to show my recklessness and inability to protect others, or that I’m too soft and not strong enough to lead. Surely, he faces the same scrutiny, but as an outsider, I’ll face it a hundredfold.
The bales of hay have been moved and remain out of sight, hidden among the few trees that dot the Qantua hills. I squint, looking to see any trace of where the targets have been placed, noticing only a few instances of stray pieces of fallen straw in certain areas that were dropped as they were dragged to their hiding places. Their distance isn’t too much further than where they were placed before, giving me the hope that I’ll be able to maintain my accuracy.
The announcer has me turn my back, so as to not get any advanced warning of where the targets will be, and I can only hear the results of Tiahesi’s shots. Three cheers spring from the crowd, growing more in jubilation with each successful arrow. I hear a cackle as Tiahesi relishes in his accomplishment.
“Now we’ll really see what you’ve got, jungle girl,” he boasts. I want to punch him in his square jaw, or kick him in his nethers, but choose to calm myself and let my arrows speak for me.
I move up to the spot, nocking an arrow and taking a long, slow breath in, then a long, slow breath out. The announcer shouts for the first target, which appears by a small creek in the foreground. Before the men have a chance to place it, my arrow has been released, sailing toward the hay bale and striking yellow. Another shout, this time the hay bale is far off in the distance, up a hill and to my right. In one motion, I quickly nock an arrow and release it, hurtling toward the still-moving target. Once again, it strikes the yellow circle, this time with such impact that it startles the operator of the target, who leaps back and crouches behind the tree.
On the third shout, I almost miss the location entirely. It’s only by chance that my eye catches the tanned bale of hay between two thick tree trunks, the three-ringed target nearly shrouded in shadow. I release one more arrow toward the narrow space between the trees and can barely tell whether I’ve struck yellow once again. One of the men who moved the target into position walks around the tree to inspect the shot, then gives a signal and yells, “Yellow!”
Tiahesi is incensed, protesting to the announcer that I hesitated, but the crowd is in ecstasy, cheering arguably as loud for me as their own competitor. Mexqutli is running among the group, slapping hands with them and patting them on their shoulders. Sianchu’s celebration is more subdued, with a subtle, prideful smile and a clinched fist that he punches at waist height.
“Enough!” Tiahesi declares with a growl. “We shall see who the true warrior is.”
“Have you not said this already, good sir?” Mexqutli snarks, which, amazingly, has sent the gathered warriors into fits of laughter. Tiahesi, however, remains undeterred, approaching the announcer and discussing something to him in a hushed voice.
The announcer waves his hands in a large, sweeping gesture, then states, “For the final three shots, our competitors will be blindfolded and must hit the target. These will be judged by color struck, followed by the arrow that is the closest to the center.”
The cheers of the crowd at this announcement is entirely incoherent as they scream at the top of their lungs, completely taken by surprise. Once they calm themselves, they watch me attentively for my reaction. I speak of nothing that can’t be recounted accurately by Mexqutli and Sianchu when I say that I show no reaction to this development. For one, I refuse to give my opposition the satisfaction that he has caught me by surprise. But also, and more importantly, it doesn’t surprise me that such an obstacle would be presented, one in which I’m confident I’ll best my foe.
While Tiahesi plays up to the crowd, pumping his fists and beating his chest, I study the locations of each target. As I’m approached by one of the Qantua warriors, I glance over at my challenger, who gives me yet another smug smile before we’re both blindfolded. The world becomes black as the thick cloth covers my eyes, barely falling below my nose as I feel the rough fabric on my face. The wind whistles, singing along with the birds that flutter about the hills, and I replay in my mind where each bale of hay has been positioned, the golden columns, with a multi-colored piece of fabric attached, standing proudly in the fields.
During the long silence as I await my turn, I steady my breathing, concentrating on reimagining the field and where the targets reside. I hear a shwip, shwip, shwip, followed by several loud, boisterous cheers. My assumption is that he’s hit the yellow circle, judging by his overconfidence in declaring this challenge, but soon, the cheers turn into gasps. Has he missed? Are they so overcome with shock at his astonishing accuracy? I’m not informed of his resulting effort, only told by the announcer that they are ready for my attempt.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
I nock the first arrow and feel the breeze on my cheeks. The wind travels gently from left to right, just enough to affect the course of my arrow. I raise the bow slightly, then release. After hearing a solid thwunk, the crowd claps and cheers, with Mexqutli’s holler rising above them all. Two more to go.
I nock the second arrow, feeling the soft feathers and resting it gently upon my forefinger. Those gathered grunt and groan nervously as I twist and turn my bow to angle my shot. Are they rooting for me to succeed? Are they rooting against me? I must block out such thoughts and concentrate, focus on the next yellow circle. I envision the landscape, recalling the next hay bale’s location, and shift my stance to line myself up with the target.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
Thwap
More cheers, louder this time, with Mexqutli reminding me there’s one more target remaining. For the first time in a while, I hear Sianchu call out my name in excitement. The competition is almost complete, mine for the taking, I just know it. Only one more to go.
I nock the third and final arrow, feeling my heart pounding like a war drum that swells in my ears. This target was to the right, a little higher than the rest. The wind has picked up, changing direction slightly toward me, so I’ll have to alter the angle once more. I pull back the string, the arrow resting against my lip. Not a word is uttered by anyone present, as the grounds are washed in silence. Even blindfolded, I do as I’ve been taught, placing my left foot in front and keeping both eyes on the target. I whisper to Sachia, asking him to guide my arrow true.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
Thwoomp
The raucous is deafening, as the gasps and cheers are unlike any sound I’ve ever heard, louder than the greatest waterfall, louder than the mightiest storm. I lift the blindfold cautiously, my eyes taking a moment to adjust to the bright late morning sun. There is a pair of arrows for each of the three targets, and on the first two, my green-feathered arrows are equal to the blue-feathered ones of my opponent. It’s the third and final hay bale where, amazingly, the arrow with blue feathers have just barely struck red while my green-feathered arrow is, once again, perfectly center.
Without a word, Tiahesi nods in approval, then nothing more. My back is swatted repeatedly by congratulatory Qantua warriors, their grins from ear to ear. Mexqutli revels in my feat, boasting loud enough for the entire territory to hear of my achievement. Sianchu approaches and, with a beaming smile, bows deeply.
Most of the men who initially stepped forward to confront me have now approached with hesitancy, as though expecting me to punish them for their opposition to my leadership. But the day is full of surprises for everyone, as I—shocking even myself—show them leniency. Their eyes grow wide at hearing this, uncertain if I speak the truth.
“There would have been a time when I would punish those who challenged me,” I say. Then, looking between Mexqutli and Sianchu, I continue, “However, it’s not easy to accept an outsider as one of your own until they can prove themselves. You are protecting your people, wanting to ensure you are not being led by an imposter, someone unworthy. It would be foolish of me to dismiss you for doing your due diligence. I hope to continue doing what I can to earn your trust, and I hope this is the first step toward achieving that.”
With nods of understanding, they salute me—or, I believe the gestures to be a salute, and will need Teqosa to clarify this for me upon our next encounter. There are still those who unquestionably doubt my ability to lead among the hundreds, which will be the case for any band of warriors, as I doubt a mere archery competition will win over everyone completely. Yet today, I’ve earned the respect of the Qantua warriors, and so long as they’re willing to be led, I am willing to lead them.
We march away from the setting sun as it begins its descent behind the hills, turning the scenery into various shades of green and darker green. As we approach the edge of Qantua territory after a long day of walking, the warriors continue to recount the results of the morning’s events. While I may have initially felt the contest from earlier in the day was a waste, preventing us from taking on the cultists, perhaps it’s the rally we need to get the Qantua warriors to buy in so we can take the fight to the enemy. What awaits us is anyone’s guess, but whatever threats we’re about to encounter, we’ll be prepared, more united than before.
Just outside Upachu’s home, I sit in the heart of Hilaqta that pulsates with life as the sun climbs the horizon. It’s like watching the world being painted in real time, the sky transitioning from a somber twilight blue to a burst of fiery pinks and oranges. Around me, the village stirs awake. The air is rich with the scent of maize and smoldering hearths as the sound of llamas and cotingas echo in the distance. People emerge from their stone dwellings, their eyes reflecting the glow of the new day. In its majestic rise, the sun touches each corner of this place, casting long shadows and bathing the terraced fields in a golden glow. It feels like a moment suspended in time, and I’m but a witness, caught in the beauty of a world so fiercely alive.
“Did you sleep outside the entire night?” Teqosa emerges from the dwelling with two cups held in his meaty paws and sits beside me. I chuckle at his question asked in astonishment. Being honest, I even took myself by surprise, considering how freezing cold the Qantua hills are during this season. However, closed in by the stone walls and low, wooden roof, I began to feel cramped and trapped within the otherwise homely confines of Upachu’s abode.
“I felt more at peace under the stars, if that makes sense,” I confess. Once Teqosa returned, and was insistent upon watching over his friend himself, I still wanted to remain close, in case my assistance was needed. Yet as I attempted to sleep indoors, I began to experience discomfort, as though the walls were closing in on me. Thus, it was a simple choice to try a different location.
“I believe you’ve grabbed nearly every blanket Upachu owns,” he says with a laugh I wouldn’t have thought possible to be made by the otherwise serious war veteran. He hands me the cup containing a warm, purple liquid, a beverage I’ve never before seen. It smells sweet, with a hint of a spice that pleases the senses. Before I can ask, he answers, “It’s api. A…” he searches for the words, “thick beverage, or porridge… I’ve never been able to really determine what it best resembles. But it’s made from our purple maize, grown right here on the Hilaqta terraces. I managed to find the spices at the market. I don’t drink it but on special occasions, and I felt now was as good a time as any.”
I lift my cup to toast, a gesture apparently he has never seen. I touch my cup to his, which confuses him at first, then I raise it skyward and say, “To our mission, and to the Eleven, may they guide our way to victory.” He appears slightly unsettled at my toast, and I suddenly recall his professed discomfort with worshipping the Eleven. While I find this unfortunate, it doesn’t deter me from continuing on the traditions of my people, praising those who have brought us out of the darkness and kept us from harm. Although he may not see it, I know their presence is all around us, which is how our paths crossed in the first place, allowing us to unite in our fight against this surging evil that is attempting to fill the void left behind by the defeat of the Timuaq.
The beverage goes down warm and soothingly, being especially delightful amidst this brisk morning. I can sense the feeling returning to my once shivering extremities, and it makes me question how people can willingly inhabit such a freezing territory. The api is a bit too sweet for my taste, apparently infused with honey, but delectable nonetheless, and I thank Teqosa for treating me to more of the Qantua traditions and foods.
“So, we part ways this morning,” he says, looking out onto the Hilaqta scenery.
“Supposedly,” I muse. “Although, will you be able to part from Upachu? How is his recovery?”
Teqosa shrugs, then takes another sip from his cup, his teeth subtly stained purple as he speaks. “As well as a youthful spirit housed inside a wounded elderly man can be, I suppose. He’s restless that he’s unable to go for his routine morning walks around the village, and he wants to join me as I venture south. We both know that’s not possible in his current condition, but I vowed to return after completion of the first part of my quest.”
“And you’re certain you don’t want me watching over him while he regains his strength?” I ask, concerned for the elder’s safety after the recent attack on him and Teqosa.
Speaking in a direct manner, he says, “I’ll discuss this with the council and make preparations for a rotation of multiple guards to be at his door while I’m away.”
“Are you certain that will be enough?” I ask with a slight smirk, knowing how much more capable we are with our respective weapons of choice. He appears to take a small amount of amusement in this, a sight I consider a victory.
“Where is your quest taking you?” I ask, curious as to all the lands he’ll be exploring. “Are the destinations far?”
“One is here in Qantua, thankfully” he says, “down the road on the way to Iaqutaq. From there, it appears I’ll journey to Qiapu, but after that? I can’t decipher the locations well enough. While I’m away, I’m hoping Upachu can spend his time recovering and studying the locations. It should hopefully help him pass the time, at the very least.”
“That sounds like a lot of travel,” I say, ignoring my own journey to get here, let alone the one in which I’m about to go to Aimue, the Eleven willing.
Teqosa nods with a smile. “Yes, but it is imperative I discover the meaning behind these glyphs, and what they meant to the Eleven and the Timuaq, in that members of the defenders believed they should be hidden away.” It fascinates me that he possesses a relic from our saviors, something tangible that could be directly traced back to them.
“I hope you find what you seek, Qantua,” I say. We both exchange a knowing look, aware that we must return to our respective paths if we are to defeat the evil that threatens our peoples. Though the task is daunting, nothing worth achieving came from standing still.
I stand and collect the few belongings I possess, but before I depart, I ask him over my shoulder, “Any words of advice or wisdom for persuading an army of hill people to join a jungle warrior?”
He chuckles, his head bobbing slightly, before answering, “Be genuine, be direct, and be honest. Though I can guess you don’t know how to be anything other than that.”
I smile, as that would have been my reply to his advice had he not beaten me to it. As I wander down the path that leads toward the entrance to the village, I’m overcome by this feeling that he and I will reunite once again, though perhaps much further down the road of life. We have already encountered each other once before, and here we are now, so why would it not be so? We are kindred spirits, as most warriors are, and such spirits always find a way back to one another, of this I’m convinced.
Passing through the tremendous stone opening, I depart the village and emerge out into the rolling, sage green Hilaqta countryside. As the cold wind sweeps through the hills and brushes my cheeks, I’m met by hundreds of Qantua warriors, creating a sea of warriors in gold and black. They’re huddled into various sized groups, their faces aglow in orange and red as they stand around small campfires, chatting with one another. I’m approached by Mexqutli and Sianchu, who look worse for wear as they trudge along.
“Are the conditions at the Arbiter’s residence in the Great Library inadequate?” I ask teasingly.
“The Qantua have these establishments called ‘qusitampo’–“
“‘Joyful Lodges’?” I ask, attempting to translate the language into Merchant’s Tongue. While Sianchu places one hand on his stomach and the other over his mouth, Mexqutli nods and continues.
“It is a wonderful, magical place. It is their version of the inns of Qiapu and Ulxa, except purely for consuming chicha.” At the name of the drink, Sianchu dry heaves, then supports himself on the shoulder of one of the Qantua warriors, who shrugs him aside and returns to his private conversation.
“Does this mean you two have worked out your differences?” I question, watching their reaction closely. They give each other a quick glance before Mexqutli responds.
“While there are still many matters which need to be discussed, we have come to a mutual agreement of gentlemen–“
“A gentleman’s agreement, for the love of…” Sianchu interrupts before gagging intensely, then shakes his head as if the gesture will rid him of the nausea.
“Yes, that is what I said,” Mexqutli remarks. “We have agreed to put aside our differences until the Eye in the Flame has been defeated.”
I can’t help but be impressed by this news, and in my surprise, I say, “Had I known all that was required was serving you both chicha,” I’m briefly interrupted by Sianchu’s gagging before I finish my statement, “I would’ve done my best to find the stuff sooner.”
At this, I look upon the gathered warriors and notice something that is initially upsetting.
“This number looks small compared to what we were told we’d receive,” I inquire, noticing that, though the appearance of hundreds of men will always look significant, I was surrounded by many more in my squadron alone when we fought in the war, and our numbers were much greater than this.
Sianchu frowns, then lets out a quick puff of air in disgust. “It was supposedly worked out between Teqosa and one of their officials that this number was sufficient. Something about not wanting to leave Qantua defenseless.”
“But the numbers of cultists could be–“
“I agree,” Mexqutli interrupts. “I had this argument with them just moments before you arrived. It appears the Qantua friend of Sianchu has left us short of hands.”
“Shorthanded,” I correct, before disagreeing. “That doesn’t seem like something he’d do. He knows how important this mission is. We were warned of the Qantua stubbornness, and it appears it’s made work of our numbers. No matter. It will have to do, and I’m confident we will take the fight to the cult.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” Sianchu laments. While I understand his lack of belief, and would certainly appreciate being given more aid with the viable threat that breathes down our necks, his mentality frustrates me. The situation is what it is, which we must make the best of, and this mindset doesn’t prepare oneself to take on the challenge.
Nevertheless, I approach the group of hundreds who have gathered, and try my hand at getting their attention before addressing them. They carry on with their conversations, as if not hearing—or willfully ignoring—my shouts and efforts. I inspect my surroundings and notice that one of the warriors carries a large conch shell, attached to a rope that hangs around his neck. I walk up to him and remove the shell from his person, holding up a finger to quell his protests before blowing into the horn, as I recall seeing done during battles alongside the Maqanuiache graduates. The blaring horn has the desired effect, as the warriors halt their conversations and bring their attention to me. With a quick message of thanks, I return the conch shell horn to its owner, then make my way to the middle of those gathered.
“Now that I have your attention,” I shout, “I am Inuxeq, warrior of the Tuatiu. With me are Mexqutli, an Iqsuwa, and Sianchu, the Shadow of the Arbiter. We are here to–“
“Where’s Teqosa?” someone yells from somewhere among the group. Grunts of agreement spring up. I knew this question would arise, just not so soon.
“Council Member Teqosa has other pressing matters that demand his attention, crucial for the safety and future of Qantua,” I say, my voice cutting through the murmurs.
“And what matter is more pressing than this, the one he supposedly argued for at the council?” another voice challenges, stirring up more voices in agreement.
“Teqosa’s dedication to our cause is unwavering. His decision to focus on another task was not made lightly,” I respond firmly. “He argued fervently for this mission because he knows the strength and capability we possess. The matter he attends to is intertwined with our own—a different front in the same battle for our survival and sovereignty. Just as we confront a visible enemy here, he tackles a hidden threat that could undermine our efforts. Trust that his actions, though unseen, are paving the way for our success. We each have our roles to play in this grand strategy, and Teqosa’s role, for now, requires his presence elsewhere.”
“What are we to do without Teqosa?” someone else asks, stirring more agitation among the warriors. These challenges to our present situation try my patience, and I force myself to take deep, calming breaths before responding.
“His tasks, though separate from ours, are equally vital in ensuring our lands remain protected and prosperous,” I continue, keeping my tone steady. “He trusts in our combined strength and judgment to lead this mission, as he tackles challenges that only he can address. In a battle, not every warrior holds the front line; some must guard the flanks and secure the future. That is what Teqosa is doing—securing our future.”
Grumbles and side conversations break out among the group, signaling their reluctant acceptance, tinged with a modicum of disapproval over the situation. At this, I consider the matter settled, and am about to instruct the warriors as to the next steps, when a number of the men step forward, their expressions expelling pure skepticism. Much like Sianchu had when he arrived in Iantana so many moons ago, these men wear multiple red quipus around their necks that dangle across their chest, tied in numerous elaborate knots. Their rank and projected authority do not go unnoticed by me.
“Teqosa may be off once again on some grand adventure, but why should we take direction from you, an outsider?” one of the men says with a defiant smirk. “This mission was cast upon us by a Qantua, so it is a Qantua we will follow, not some overly ambitious girl in over her head.”
Many mutter in agreement with this, making their displeasure in the situation well known. In my heart, I expected this encounter to be challenging, but not to this severity, this soon. I’m about to unleash a furious, ranting tirade upon these contentious men, but my mind echoes the words Teqosa told me before I set off: Be genuine. Be direct. Be honest It’s time to put his advice to use.
“Overly ambitious? Perhaps,” I say, beginning to pace around nonchalantly amidst their contentious stares. “But let me remind you that ambition has led warriors to victory and nations to greatness. As for being an outsider, well, sometimes it takes a fresh pair of eyes to see the path that those too entrenched in their own ways cannot. Teqosa may not be here, but his trust in me should tell you something. And if his judgment isn’t enough, then I’m more than willing to prove my worth. Not just as a ‘girl in over her head,’ but as a warrior who stands shoulder to shoulder with the bravest of Qantua.”
A few howls erupt throughout those gathered, elbowing one another and seemingly taking pleasure at this war of words, though mostly taunting their male leaders of being spoken to in such manner by a woman. Yet I know what I’m capable of, and if these men knew what I’ve experienced with the threat we’re about to take on, they wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss me. Unfortunately, when we begin our march to Aimue, they’ll find out soon enough. That is, if we ever begin our march. And by the looks on some of the men’s faces, we’re not about to embark just yet.
“Then let us see you prove your worth,” a deep voice resonates amongst the warriors. Emerging from the group that had stepped forward to confront me is a tall man, toned and muscular with olive skin and long, black hair that spills onto his shoulders. Of the men he’s among, he wears a fair number of red quipus around his thick neck, though not nearly the most out of everyone present. He has a square jaw and a sharp, pointed nose placed above a smug smile, and his bushy eyebrows arch with a sense of superiority.
“You dress the part of a warrior,” he continues, his voice dripping with condescension, “but do tell us, what does true valor look like when donned by a girl from Tuatiu? Surely, it’s more than just attire and bold words.”
“What are you proposing?” I ask, curious as to what this warrior believes will put me in my place. This exchange makes Sianchu uneasy, and I hear him muttering something as though he is questioning my actions, yet I’m too focused on the situation at hand to make out his mumbling. Meanwhile, the challenger’s light brown eyes twinkle at this, as though he was expecting my inquiry and has come prepared for the moment I entered his trap.
“An archery challenge, between you and me,” he states. “To see whether your skills are as sharp as your tongue, or if they’re just as empty as your claims of leadership.”
“Interesting,” I say, undeterred by his poor attempt at an insult. “It sounds to me as if you’re using a competition to get a few more of those knots tied around your quipu. If your talent is as uninspired as your taunts, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a while longer for those knots.” Whoops and hollers spring up among the gathered men, and although Sianchu remains nervous, most of the warriors join Mexqutli in a hearty laugh at my response.
With more pressing matters at stake, I attempt to hurry this challenge along by asking, “So what are the parameters? What will you have me do?”
“Simple,” he says, implying that, for a Tuatiu girl, he believes the matter will be anything but. “Hit the single target at a standard distance, with the range extending until one of us misses entirely.”
“Surely, you jest,” I say in disbelief. “If such a menial task is what registers as ‘skill’ among the Qantua, I have greatly overestimated their capabilities.”
“I admire the confidence,” he says, “which will bring me even greater joy when I send you back to your jungle hut empty-handed.”
We’re led on a long walk toward the barracks nestled up against the perimeter walls of Hilaqta. Inside the secured fortification, young warriors train, practicing sword techniques and releasing arrows into hay targets from a fairly short, safe range. We disrupt their activities to retrieve the targets for use in our petty competition, one that only impedes our progress in defeating the Eye in the Flame. We then wander into a field, where half a dozen warriors place the bales of hay at various distances throughout the countryside.
Noticing my agitation, Mexqutli walks alongside me, and I see that, while he initially attempts to place a hand upon my shoulder, thinks the better of it and keeps his hand to himself. Sianchu, on the other hand, struggles to keep pace, huffing and puffing while sweating profusely, likely still feeling the effects of the chicha from the night before.
“This is a tremendous waste of time,” I grumble to the Ulxa warrior. “These fools would rather attack harmless straw than the actual evil that threatens our lands. Do they not feel any urgency to fight an actual enemy? Have they not a care in the world that their people could be destroyed in an instant? I’m beginning to think we’ve sought aid from the wrong faction.”
Mexqutli chuckles, which only irritates me further, but says, “Your frustration is understandable, Tuatiu. Let us remember that the enemy is powerful, and we will require all the assistance we can receive. The Qantua are prideful people, and they do not follow someone so easily. Prove to them that you are the warrior they should follow if they want to be victorious in battle. Use your fiery passion as motivation to dispose of this pathetic challenger. The sooner you defeat him, the sooner you earn their respect, and the sooner we can continue on with our mission.”
“I’ve always had to prove something, Mexqutli,” I say, growing angrier by the word. “The matter of my capabilities can never be accepted. It’s never enough that I fought in the War of Liberation and proved my valor then. Why is it so difficult to believe I am someone to fight alongside? Why must everything be a fight?”
Mexqutli stops for a moment, and I turn to see him studying the ground. Then, he looks up at me and says, “You are not alone in having such feelings. I have existed on Pachil for many more harvests than you, and I am afraid it does not get any easier. There will always be detractors, and one must always prove themselves to someone, constantly. But you are a warrior, rich in spirit and full of fight. I may not have known you for long, but I am surprised to hear you speak so. You do not appear to me as one who fears a fight. Life is a fight, so embrace the battle.”
With this, he returns to Sianchu, and the two of them stand off to the side as a dozen or so of the Qantua warriors have completed the preparations. The other hundreds of warriors assemble by the fortress, looking on at the spectacle that’s about to begin.
My eyes sweep the field, familiarizing myself with the targets’ locations, as well as watching the quivering branches to sense the wind’s direction. Then, someone announces with a throaty, high-pitched shriek of a voice, “Shooting from left to right, the challengers will be given eight arrows for the eight targets. The cloth has been dyed with three circles: red, blue, and yellow, each of greater difficulty than the one prior, with yellow being the dead center. The first to hit a lesser color than their competitor loses, the challenge is finished, and a winner declared. We will start with Tiahesi, followed by the Tuatiu girl.”
This Qantua man, Tiahesi, gives me his trademark smirk as he casually nocks an arrow and, without a wasted movement, releases it into the yellow circle of the target, all in the matter of a couple of heartbeats. He steps back and exaggeratedly presents the place upon which I’m to take my shot. I recognize his effort to influence my attempt, seeking to play mind games. However, I only focus on what I can control, which is my arrow.
The announcer states it’s my time. I run my fingers over the roughly cut turquoise stones embedded into Sachia’s bow, feeling the smooth grain of the wood and bits of silver. I wish he was here to see this, though part of me senses his presence as if he’s standing beside me, smiling that warm smile and looking on with pride. He will help guide my arrow to its destination, just as he has been anointed by the Eleven to lead me here. I nock an arrow and pull the string taut, with both eyes focused on the yellow circle.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out. Release.
I can hear Mexqutli’s distinct voice explode in celebration, clapping and cheering me on. I’m only made aware that I’ve matched my opponent’s arrow when the announcer states we are to move on to the target. Sure enough, my arrow has slid just a hair beside Tiahesi’s, both dead center on the target. My opponent retains his smug demeanor, playing to the crowd and stating how everyone gets lucky once in a while.
We move onto the next target, and, again, we both hit the yellow circle, with my arrow glancing his on its way to striking the hay bale. For the next four targets, this result repeats, matching each other arrow for arrow. By the third arrow, his smile began to fade, but it’s the fifth arrow when Tiahesi’s smile is replaced completely by a scowl.
“It appears we should increase the challenge,” he announces, which intrigues not just the spectating warriors, but me, as well. What does he have in mind now? “No more of this practice. We should test our true skills by hitting a sequence of multiple targets, each appearing only after the previous one has been hit. Move the targets behind the trees and, at your discretion, bring them out at random. If there’s any hesitation, the competitor is out.”
“This needlessly risks someone’s life,” I say, “having them manipulate the targets could see them struck by a stray arrow.”
“Then don’t miss,” he says simply, his smug smile returning.
While I am confident in my abilities, the potential to miss and pierce an unwitting bystander does not sit well with me. Perhaps this is all part of his ploy to discredit me, some way to show my recklessness and inability to protect others, or that I’m too soft and not strong enough to lead. Surely, he faces the same scrutiny, but as an outsider, I’ll face it a hundredfold.
The bales of hay have been moved and remain out of sight, hidden among the few trees that dot the Qantua hills. I squint, looking to see any trace of where the targets have been placed, noticing only a few instances of stray pieces of fallen straw in certain areas that were dropped as they were dragged to their hiding places. Their distance isn’t too much further than where they were placed before, giving me the hope that I’ll be able to maintain my accuracy.
The announcer has me turn my back, so as to not get any advanced warning of where the targets will be, and I can only hear the results of Tiahesi’s shots. Three cheers spring from the crowd, growing more in jubilation with each successful arrow. I hear a cackle as Tiahesi relishes in his accomplishment.
“Now we’ll really see what you’ve got, jungle girl,” he boasts. I want to punch him in his square jaw, or kick him in his nethers, but choose to calm myself and let my arrows speak for me.
I move up to the spot, nocking an arrow and taking a long, slow breath in, then a long, slow breath out. The announcer shouts for the first target, which appears by a small creek in the foreground. Before the men have a chance to place it, my arrow has been released, sailing toward the hay bale and striking yellow. Another shout, this time the hay bale is far off in the distance, up a hill and to my right. In one motion, I quickly nock an arrow and release it, hurtling toward the still-moving target. Once again, it strikes the yellow circle, this time with such impact that it startles the operator of the target, who leaps back and crouches behind the tree.
On the third shout, I almost miss the location entirely. It’s only by chance that my eye catches the tanned bale of hay between two thick tree trunks, the three-ringed target nearly shrouded in shadow. I release one more arrow toward the narrow space between the trees and can barely tell whether I’ve struck yellow once again. One of the men who moved the target into position walks around the tree to inspect the shot, then gives a signal and yells, “Yellow!”
Tiahesi is incensed, protesting to the announcer that I hesitated, but the crowd is in ecstasy, cheering arguably as loud for me as their own competitor. Mexqutli is running among the group, slapping hands with them and patting them on their shoulders. Sianchu’s celebration is more subdued, with a subtle, prideful smile and a clinched fist that he punches at waist height.
“Enough!” Tiahesi declares with a growl. “We shall see who the true warrior is.”
“Have you not said this already, good sir?” Mexqutli snarks, which, amazingly, has sent the gathered warriors into fits of laughter. Tiahesi, however, remains undeterred, approaching the announcer and discussing something to him in a hushed voice.
The announcer waves his hands in a large, sweeping gesture, then states, “For the final three shots, our competitors will be blindfolded and must hit the target. These will be judged by color struck, followed by the arrow that is the closest to the center.”
The cheers of the crowd at this announcement is entirely incoherent as they scream at the top of their lungs, completely taken by surprise. Once they calm themselves, they watch me attentively for my reaction. I speak of nothing that can’t be recounted accurately by Mexqutli and Sianchu when I say that I show no reaction to this development. For one, I refuse to give my opposition the satisfaction that he has caught me by surprise. But also, and more importantly, it doesn’t surprise me that such an obstacle would be presented, one in which I’m confident I’ll best my foe.
While Tiahesi plays up to the crowd, pumping his fists and beating his chest, I study the locations of each target. As I’m approached by one of the Qantua warriors, I glance over at my challenger, who gives me yet another smug smile before we’re both blindfolded. The world becomes black as the thick cloth covers my eyes, barely falling below my nose as I feel the rough fabric on my face. The wind whistles, singing along with the birds that flutter about the hills, and I replay in my mind where each bale of hay has been positioned, the golden columns, with a multi-colored piece of fabric attached, standing proudly in the fields.
During the long silence as I await my turn, I steady my breathing, concentrating on reimagining the field and where the targets reside. I hear a shwip, shwip, shwip, followed by several loud, boisterous cheers. My assumption is that he’s hit the yellow circle, judging by his overconfidence in declaring this challenge, but soon, the cheers turn into gasps. Has he missed? Are they so overcome with shock at his astonishing accuracy? I’m not informed of his resulting effort, only told by the announcer that they are ready for my attempt.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
I nock the first arrow and feel the breeze on my cheeks. The wind travels gently from left to right, just enough to affect the course of my arrow. I raise the bow slightly, then release. After hearing a solid thwunk, the crowd claps and cheers, with Mexqutli’s holler rising above them all. Two more to go.
I nock the second arrow, feeling the soft feathers and resting it gently upon my forefinger. Those gathered grunt and groan nervously as I twist and turn my bow to angle my shot. Are they rooting for me to succeed? Are they rooting against me? I must block out such thoughts and concentrate, focus on the next yellow circle. I envision the landscape, recalling the next hay bale’s location, and shift my stance to line myself up with the target.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
Thwap
More cheers, louder this time, with Mexqutli reminding me there’s one more target remaining. For the first time in a while, I hear Sianchu call out my name in excitement. The competition is almost complete, mine for the taking, I just know it. Only one more to go.
I nock the third and final arrow, feeling my heart pounding like a war drum that swells in my ears. This target was to the right, a little higher than the rest. The wind has picked up, changing direction slightly toward me, so I’ll have to alter the angle once more. I pull back the string, the arrow resting against my lip. Not a word is uttered by anyone present, as the grounds are washed in silence. Even blindfolded, I do as I’ve been taught, placing my left foot in front and keeping both eyes on the target. I whisper to Sachia, asking him to guide my arrow true.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
Thwoomp
The raucous is deafening, as the gasps and cheers are unlike any sound I’ve ever heard, louder than the greatest waterfall, louder than the mightiest storm. I lift the blindfold cautiously, my eyes taking a moment to adjust to the bright late morning sun. There is a pair of arrows for each of the three targets, and on the first two, my green-feathered arrows are equal to the blue-feathered ones of my opponent. It’s the third and final hay bale where, amazingly, the arrow with blue feathers have just barely struck red while my green-feathered arrow is, once again, perfectly center.
Without a word, Tiahesi nods in approval, then nothing more. My back is swatted repeatedly by congratulatory Qantua warriors, their grins from ear to ear. Mexqutli revels in my feat, boasting loud enough for the entire territory to hear of my achievement. Sianchu approaches and, with a beaming smile, bows deeply.
Most of the men who initially stepped forward to confront me have now approached with hesitancy, as though expecting me to punish them for their opposition to my leadership. But the day is full of surprises for everyone, as I—shocking even myself—show them leniency. Their eyes grow wide at hearing this, uncertain if I speak the truth.
“There would have been a time when I would punish those who challenged me,” I say. Then, looking between Mexqutli and Sianchu, I continue, “However, it’s not easy to accept an outsider as one of your own until they can prove themselves. You are protecting your people, wanting to ensure you are not being led by an imposter, someone unworthy. It would be foolish of me to dismiss you for doing your due diligence. I hope to continue doing what I can to earn your trust, and I hope this is the first step toward achieving that.”
With nods of understanding, they salute me—or, I believe the gestures to be a salute, and will need Teqosa to clarify this for me upon our next encounter. There are still those who unquestionably doubt my ability to lead among the hundreds, which will be the case for any band of warriors, as I doubt a mere archery competition will win over everyone completely. Yet today, I’ve earned the respect of the Qantua warriors, and so long as they’re willing to be led, I am willing to lead them.
We march away from the setting sun as it begins its descent behind the hills, turning the scenery into various shades of green and darker green. As we approach the edge of Qantua territory after a long day of walking, the warriors continue to recount the results of the morning’s events. While I may have initially felt the contest from earlier in the day was a waste, preventing us from taking on the cultists, perhaps it’s the rally we need to get the Qantua warriors to buy in so we can take the fight to the enemy. What awaits us is anyone’s guess, but whatever threats we’re about to encounter, we’ll be prepared, more united than before.
