In the coolness of the dawn, I grab the purple maize, its hues as rich as the twilight sky, and begin removing the hard kernels. I grind them against the stone metate in the same rhythmic motion I recall my mother doing when I was a young child. It’s one of the few memories I have of her: the sun kissing her face as she worked in the kitchen, humming a sweet melody as she prepared the api for our meal.
I haven’t thought about my mother in quite some time. She passed away unexpectedly when I was eight or nine harvests old—Entilqan was much younger, perhaps too young to remember her. Until I left to attend the Maqanuiache, I would visit the Great Library every day just to have her name recounted, listening to the stories Upachu would tell me of her. The intensity of her feisty warrior’s spirit only rivaling her love of maternity and raising Entilqan and me. How she gave so much of her time to taking care of those in need—a practice she’d continue up until her untimely death. Her love of nature, and music, and preparing meals. Her love of life, and her love persevering through the oppressive Timuaq rule.
Now a fine powder, the ground maize feels like silk between my fingers. Water simmers in the clay pot over the fire, and I gradually blend in the maize powder. As the mixture thickens slowly while I continuously stir, I glance over to see I’m joined by the recovering Upachu, who emerges from his long slumber. I watched over him the entire night as he slept, ready to sprint and contact the healer should anything go wrong with his recovery. He winces in pain as he sits down, yet after taking a few contemplative sniffs of the air, the grimace morphs into a smile.
“Api,” he says as if recalling a warm memory. “I didn’t know you were capable of making such a dish.”
“It’s a special occasion,” I say. “Celebratory of what we’ve achieved so far, and sending us off in the best way possible.”
“Where have all my blankets disappeared to?” Upachu asks, looking around him and trying to locate the missing items.
With a small chuckle, I answer, “I believe Inuxeq took them all with her last night. I believe she slept outside.”
“And avoided the warmth of the indoors? Is she mad? She was already shivering in our mild autumn weather; I can’t imagine how she fared sleeping outdoors!”
I add a touch of cinnamon and cloves I purchased at the nearby market, their pleasing fragrant scents mingling with the earthy maize. “Everyone has their peculiarities,” I say as I return to stirring. For a finishing touch, I drizzle some honey into the mixture, how my mother used to do for me and my sister. Upachu saunters over to me and supports himself on my shoulder with a delicately placed hand. I hear his low, pleased hum as he takes in the aroma, and he pats my shoulder a few times.
“Just how your mother used to make it,” he says, looking off into the distance. “She was a good, noble young woman. I believe she would be very proud of you, Teqosa.”
I know there was no malicious intent, but my heart aches for a moment from the compliment, longing for my mother. This compounds when I begin thinking about my father, then my sister. I try to remember that numerous people have lost someone, that so many on Pachil have experienced grief, but it only makes my feelings persist. How long does grief take? How much time is one allowed?
Abruptly changing the subject, I say, “I’m departing for the first location on the pot. The one nearest Hilaqta. I’m hoping that you’ll recover in time to join me for the other journeys.” As I pour the mixture into wide-mouthed cups, Upachu grunts in the affirmative, absorbing the news I have told him.
“You don’t need a haggard, old man slowing you down,” he says plaintively. I stop what I’m doing for a moment to look at him. His eyes are cast downward, and his lips are pressed into a tight line, holding back a quiver.
“You must recover,” I remind him. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be my companion; it’s that it would be unwise to have you travel in your current condition. I need a healthy Upachu if these glyphs are to be deciphered.”
I walk into his room and return with one of the clay pots I brought in from the cart last night. “Besides, I need someone to decipher these maps and identify where they are trying to direct us. We’ve established that one—this one—is determined to be Qantua, but the other three are a mystery, a mystery I hope you can solve.”
Initially, Upachu looks at me distrustingly, as though I’m attempting to deceive him. I’m perplexed as to how he could perceive my intentions as anything other than well meaning, since he is, after all, wounded. Perhaps it’s the fighter’s mentality engrained within the council elder, someone whose attitude is ill fitted for his aged body. Though I’m aware my time will ultimately come, I can’t, at this moment, imagine what it must be like to have a strong mental fortitude that one’s body can’t match. How frustrating it must be to possess a mind as sharp as his, but to lack the physicality to keep up.
He eventually resigns in agreement to the plan, taking the clay pot and sits nearby, staring at it intently. “The other locations marked on the pots appear random,” he ponders aloud while I resume ladling the remaining api. “There doesn’t seem to be a reason for these destinations to be scattered the way they are. I wonder what the significance of these chosen locations happens to be?”
“I’m pleased to have the best man for the job in identifying them,” I say, briefly turning around to give him a look of assurance. It’s deeply satisfying knowing that, although he may not be joining me for the next stage of the quest, he is going to have a profound impact on how successful we will be in understanding these glyphs.
I hand Upachu the cup of api, then grab the other two containers. “I’ll check on Inuxeq, then I’ll return to make sure you’re well defended and well taken care of. Before I depart, I’m going to speak to Sachanqu about ensuring the safety of a council member.”
Upachu rolls his eyes. “That sack of wind. If he manages to get even one warrior to pop their head in, I will pray in gratitude every morning to every god that has ever blessed a human being on Pachil!”
“Have more faith in him than that,” I say. “He’s a good man, when he lays off the chicha.”
“When does that happen?” Upachu jokingly asks. In response, I simply shake my head and step outside, with api in hand, to see how the Tuatiu warrior is doing.
Leaving the fortress by Hanan Qucha was more pleasant this time, as Sachanqu was in better spirits—and sober, to speak of “spirits”. Declaring my request “much more manageable”, he willingly agreed to not only have his men guard Upachu, but to have multiple warriors positioned day and night at his home, as well as additional warriors assisting him in purchasing food and escorting him to council meetings. It’s the most affable I’ve ever seen Sachanqu, and I was not willing to do or say anything that would quickly alter his mood.
It was still difficult to depart Upachu’s home. Knowing there is the possibility of the assassin looming about Hilaqta, my fears have not been abated, even upon seeing nearly half a dozen warriors arrive to carry out my request of protecting the elder. She is more than capable of taking on a slew of guards, nearly dispatching of me had Inuxeq not come to my aid. My only hope is that she has decided his home has been thoroughly searched, finding nothing, and will leave him be. Clearly, I am not willing to rely on such assumptions, and thus I’m at least mildly comforted that there will be people stationed at Upachu’s home.
The journey through the Qantua countryside, somehow easier to traverse than in times past, is surely a relief to the llama pulling our cart. Though it masks its emotions well, the animal plods on, laden with the clay pot, the chest containing the papyrus, and other supplies. The first destination identified on the clay pot is not far from Hilaqta, presumed to be somewhere between the capital city and the Qantua trading post on the Maiu Qasapaq. How I will be able to find it, however, remains the biggest issue. The only marking on the clay pot is a rust-colored X amidst an indistinguishable sea of sage green. No other landmarks or identifiers are mentioned nor marked upon the map, and I worry that I may be mindlessly roaming the Qantua hills for an undetermined amount of time.
I travel through the heart of Qantua, where the emerald hills subtly reaches towards the heavens, in which a lone condor soars. The late autumn air is crisp, filled with the scent of wet dirt and wild orchids that sprout along the path. Mist hangs low over the valleys, a soft veil that the sun slowly lifts with its golden fingers. Songs of hidden birds call out among the terraces of cornfields that stretch out and hug the hillsides. Herds of llamas graze on the sparse vegetation, their woolen coats blending with the natural tones of the highlands.
Occasionally, I find myself subconsciously looking over my shoulder, as if the assassin is trailing directly behind me. Though I know she would never be so obvious, part of my mind reflexively checks to make certain that I’m not being followed. I try to dismiss the feelings as being overly paranoid, spurred on by recent events, yet my training at the military academy would never allow me to make such a supposition. Even though the landscape is generally scant of any obstacles that would obstruct my ability to see a threat on the horizon, I continue to feel ill prepared should I encounter the assassin once again.
As the sun sits high above me in the sky, I begin to wander off the path, only bringing the llama and the cart part of the way before traveling off road by myself on foot. In my mind, I can’t imagine the location marked on this pot would be directly off the well-traveled road, so I search for any clear indication of what this X could implicate. My eyes sweep the countryside, eagerly hoping to identify some dilapidated ruins or weathered statue—any marker to blatantly grab my attention. As one would expect, nothing stands out. The rolling green hills appear vacant, their lush expanse seemingly untouched and unmarred by a human presence. Aside from the llama, the only other living creature maintaining its presence is the lone condor, gracefully gliding above in circles amidst the azure sky and surveying the world below with keen, discerning eyes.
I grow curious about the continued presence of the condor, having seemingly followed me for quite some distance. Does it deem me a threat? A meal? Its mannerisms are peculiar, to say the least, though the llama doesn’t seem to pay it any attention, seizing the opportunity of a break in travel to feast on grass. As I watch the condor circle above, its grand wings outstretched against the vast sky, I find myself pondering its significance. In Qantua culture, the condor is revered, often seen as a symbol of power and health, a creature that bridges the divide between the heavens and the earth. Its ability to soar high into the sky, closer to Tiqsiqocha, the revered sun god to many factions of Pachil, and yet return to the land, positions it as a messenger or a guide between worlds.
Is the condor’s presence merely coincidental, or does it bear a deeper meaning? In the stories told by the elders at the Great Library in Hilaqta, the condor often appears as a harbinger, sometimes of good fortune, other times as a warning of challenges ahead. Its keen eyes are said to see beyond the veil of the mortal world, understanding truths that remain hidden to us.
But the symbolism of the condor extends beyond my own culture. I recall hearing tales from other factions, where the condor holds varied meanings. In some traditions, it is a carrier of the dead, guiding souls to the afterlife. In others, it is a symbol of freedom and majesty, an emblem of the strength and resilience of nature itself. As the condor continues its flight, unperturbed by the world below, I can’t help but wonder what message it brings to me. Is it a guardian sent by Entilqan to watch over my journey, or a sentinel warning me of the trials to come?
As I ponder what purpose its presence indicates, the condor spirals down and lands before me. Its eyes pierce into my soul like a spear thrust into my chest, as if to appraise my very essence. I make no sudden moves to startle it, yet the almost sentient intensity in which it scrutinizes me makes me believe that scaring it away isn’t possible, as it judges whether I measure up to some inscrutable standard.
“What do you seek, traveler?” a deep, resonating voice reverberates inside my head. The words echo as if spoken from a distant canyon, repeating over and over again as they gradually fade into silence.
I call out, my head swiveling from side to side as my eyes sweep the area, “Who speaks to me?”
“I am before you,” the hollow voice intones, though before me stands neither man nor woman; only the condor holds my gaze. Could this be the harbinger the elders spoke of? I had dismissed their stories as mere folklore, never truly believing in their real-life manifestations. Yet here I stand, witnessing a scene akin to those very tales, unfolding in front of me.
I begin to bow low, fearing I’m before an ancient god of these lands, but the condor interjects, “Rise. There is no need for such formalities, traveler. What do you seek?”
My thoughts become blank, my mind unable to form the words of what my quest has brought me here to achieve. Sensing impatience, I sputter, “I… seek both understanding and a path to serve something greater than myself. My journey here is to unravel the mysteries of the ancient Atima, and to use this understanding in a mission far beyond my personal desires. The fate of the people of Pachil may hinge on what I learn and how I apply this knowledge sourced from the Atima language and their wisdom. I am here not just as a seeker of lost truths, but as a guardian against a darkness that endangers us all.”
A long pause follows my answer as the condor continues its unamused gaze, indiscernible as to how it considers my response. I remain in place, uncertain whether any movement I make will offend the creature. The large vulture is frozen still, and I begin to question what is taking place here.
Just as I muster the courage to walk away and continue my search for the marked location on the clay pot’s map, believing the exchange to be over, the voice returns, “Traveler, you stand at the threshold of a journey that will test not just your courage, but the depth of your understanding and the resilience of your spirit. The path ahead is woven with echoes of the past, lessons unlearned, and truths yet to be embraced. You must delve into the very essence of sacrifice, confronting the choices that have defined you and those that have shaped the destinies of others.
"First, you will tread the path once walked by another, embodying their journey through a time of decisive turmoil. There, you will stand where they stood, facing the fears they confronted and wrestling with the choices that shaped their fate. You will feel their fear, grapple with their uncertainty, and understand the depth of their resolve. This is a chance to see through their eyes, to feel what they felt, and to learn from the choices they made.
"But remember, this is only the beginning. Each step forward will demand more from you, challenging your perceptions and asking what you are willing to give for the greater good. The path of understanding is not a gentle one; it is fraught with revelations that may shake the very foundations of your being. What you learn here will shape your actions and decisions as you continue this journey. Be prepared, for the road ahead will ask of you a sacrifice, a relinquishment of something you hold dear. Only through this will you truly comprehend the true value and importance of what you seek and the price it demands.”
Many questions form in my head: how am I to be transported? Whose decision, uncertainty, and resolve am I to experience? And how? How will this be achieved? ‘A relinquishment of something I hold dear,’ the voice says. What sacrifice am I being asked to make? How am I to make this sacrifice?
Before I can ask this series of questions, a loud ringing pierces my ears, and though I reflexively cover them, the sound remains. This high-pitched, unrelenting screeching forces me to fall to my knees and close my eyes in anguish. Though I feel myself shouting out in pain, I can’t hear my agony.
The sound stops, and relief washes over me. When I feel confident enough, I slowly open my eyes. I’m surrounded by a sea of unfamiliar faces, staring blankly at me. Confused, I search the crowd for anyone I recognize, but no one stands out. My head turns just enough to notice, from the corner of my eye, a tall, daunting figure shrouded in a black shadow, their features indistinguishable. Their height is enormous, reminding me of the days of the Timuaq, the colossal titans who ruled Pachil, and I’m grateful those evil beings have been defeated, never to roam the land again.
Yet there’s something disturbing about this moment, and I’m filled with overwhelming dread. A knot forms in my stomach, and I feel on the verge of retching. There’s something about this looming presence that bears down upon me, something tangible, as though it’s not a figment of my imagination, but rather, actually taking place.
“Xiqa,” the towering figure beside me declares. Why is he calling me by my father’s name? “You have been charged with treason. You are being given one last opportunity to right your wrongs, to expose the evil that threatens our way of life, and mercy will be brought upon you. Choose wisely.”
Thoughts of Entilqan flash in my mind. Where she is. Where the location of the rebel base is. With whom she is affiliated. Where they are planning to attack next. These have never been items I’ve even known previously; I was never privy to the information of the rebellious cells before I joined Achutli’s branch of the organization. How am I now able to know these details?
The executioner awaits my response. The crowd awaits my response. Something within me is compelled to reveal everything I know, tell them every detail of the rebellion and its plans. A thought in the back of my mind believes that informing them of what I know will spare my life and that of Entilqan. But will they uphold their word? Will they spare our lives? What if they are simply using me to get to Entilqan, and all of us will suffer? Can I risk such consequences?
Then a thought crosses my mind, and though I can’t describe it, this one feels like my own. The only way that I can ensure that Entilqan lives is if I die. She can only fulfill her purpose, the rebellion’s purpose, the defeat of the Timuaq, if her whereabouts in the Auilqa jungles and the plot they have to ambush the Timuaq marching to Iaqutaq remain hidden from their awareness, from their knowledge. Somehow, the sacrifice of my life feels like the only choice to make. Though I may no longer exist on the physical plane, I will live on through the elders recounting my legacy, and through Entilqan and the rebels who will speak my name for all eternity. I realize I am but a thread that comprises a tapestry, and that my actions today will live on forever.
I look at my executioner with resolve. “I have already made my decision.” Then, I look away, gazing upon the onlookers with an air of confidence. Some weep, some shout in anger or frustration, but amidst the swirl of emotions, I am overcome with a calm serenity. The voices eventually grow muffled and fade, blending in with the whistling wind.
I am at peace as the tall titan raises his mighty axe.
I am at peace as the crowds cry out for justice, for absolution.
I am at peace when the blade is swung at my exposed neck.
I am under the canopy of dense jungle flora, the area dimly lit by a few small, isolated torches placed about. Is this a campsite? Where am I?
“Entilqan,” a woman says to me. Why is she calling me the name of my sister? She stands with the poise of a deity among mortals, her skin a canvas of dark ink in designs and enigmatic symbols that swirl or angle sharply, indicating a myriad of achievements far beyond her years, depending on which faction is her origin.
As she speaks, her gaze is fixed on the horizon, where the world meets the blackened sky, and I feel the breath catch in my throat. “They’re going to execute him if we don’t intervene.”
“There is nothing we can do, Sualset,” I hear myself say, though my voice is not my own. “The Timuaq will kill us if we try to infiltrate that fortress.”
“Not necessarily,” she says, and as she draws closer, the scent of crushed herbs and the natural aroma of the surrounding jungle fills my senses, once again alerting me that this is not, in fact, a dream. “We’ve been successful with our ambushes up to now, and with inside help informing us of the Timuaq’s plans, we could attempt a rescue mission. Sure, the risks are high, since the area is well guarded, but it’s your father. However, you should be the one who decides, whether we save your father or carry on without him.”
There are thoughts that are not my own swirling around in my head like a cyclone, each one a tempest of conflict and duty. Our people’s hopes rest upon my shoulders, and with it comes the crushing realization of the risks we face. The chances are great that we’ll be caught attempting to sneak into the Timuaq fortress where my father is being held captive. The walls are high and smooth, making them difficult to scale, and the channels leading into and out from the fortress and into the Hanan Qucha are heavily guarded. Despite our agility and the shadows that cloak our movements, infiltrating it seems like a venture into the very jaws of death.
But then there’s my father, the pillar of unwavering support in my life. The memory of his encouraging words echo through my mind, his belief in the cause and his pride in my growing role within the rebellion—I’m not sure either of us knew the sharp trajectory in which my rise within the ranks would take. It was never a question of if we would fight, but how fiercely we would resist. I recall his steadfast gaze, the way he accepted the risks and knowing full well the price we might have to pay. It’s a bitter irony; his capture is a direct consequence of the very rebellion he championed through me.
In this tumult of thought, I grapple with the harrowing possibility of losing him. But deeper still, there’s a gnawing realization that his sacrifice—his willingness to face death rather than betray the cause—embodies the very essence of our struggle. It’s a reflection of my own journey, the ultimate choice that looms ahead. In this moment, as I stand on the precipice of decision, I understand with aching clarity: the path of greatest impact may demand the ultimate sacrifice. Just as my father chose silence over betrayal, I begin to see that my own sacrifice could ignite a fire that no Timuaq force could extinguish.
I don’t hear the words of my decision as I speak them aloud, but I know what’s been said. Sualset’s dark eyes, when they finally meet mine, hold the depth of the cenote’s embrace, profound and a little chilling. She does not speak—she does not need to. This is one of the most difficult decisions I will have to make, one I do not take lightly, nor does she. The humid jungle air is filled with solemnity, but also determination.
Having experienced the difficult challenges and choices they faced, and in the throes of this internal battle, a new resolve crystallizes within me. The rebellion, our people’s freedom, the future we fight for—it transcends any single life, even that of my own. The decision is as painful as it is clear: to offer myself, not in defeat, but as a beacon of defiance and hope. It’s this realization of my father’s sacrifice that leads me to understand that of my sister, and what this quest may require of myself.
It’s at this moment of realization when I find myself once again standing before the condor, looking upon me with a judging stare. The resonating voice returns, speaking within my mind. “You claim to seek both understanding and a path to serve something greater than yourself. Do you now understand what they require?”
I nod, feeling a newfound depth in my soul. “I do, spirit. I thought I knew that leadership came with a burden, but I hadn’t known what that burden actually was until now. It’s more than strategy and command; it’s the weight of every life that rests in one’s hands, the silent sacrifices made unseen and unheard. I thought I knew what bravery was, but I only knew of the kind found on battlefields, not the kind found just to survive in this life. True courage is in the choices we make every day, in facing our deepest fears and still choosing to move forward. I thought I knew what love was, but there are different kinds of love that can be expressed, each profound in its own right. Love is not just a shared glance or a whispered promise; it’s a force that drives us to act against all odds, to sacrifice without hesitation.”
Pausing, I look up at the condor, its gaze seeming to penetrate the very core of my being. “These lessons go beyond mere words,” I say. “They are a guiding light for the spirit, leading me towards a truth to which I was once blind. The understanding I seek… it’s not just in ancient glyphs or tactical prowess. It’s in the hearts and stories of those who came before me, in the legacy they've left behind. And my mission, it is not just a duty to a cause or a land, but a commitment to uphold these values, to carry the torch they have passed on.”
The condor tilts its head, its eyes shimmering with a wisdom that transcends time. “Then you are ready, Teqosa of the Qantua. Your path weaves through the tapestry of war and strategy, yet it is equally threaded with the wisdom of the heart. Embrace these truths as your allies.”
With a powerful sweep of its wings, the condor ascends, circling above before gliding gracefully into the distance. Transfixed, I watch as its majestic form becomes one with the sky. As I turn to leave, the ground beneath me trembles with a life force I've never felt before. A sound like the awakening of an ancient deity fills the air, and I whirl around.
Before me, a miraculous transformation unfolds. Where once barren lands stretched, now stands an ageless forest of towering trees, their etched branches rise to greet the sky. Verdant undergrowth carpets the rolling hills with their vibrancy, and gently murmuring secret waterways weave like silken threads.
In this moment, as the spirit of the condor melds with the horizon, I’m left in solitude with my newfound realizations, and a deep clarity settles within me. This journey is more than a conquest over adversaries or a pursuit of hidden truths. It is a quest to forge a legacy that honors the sacrifices of those who came before. It is a journey of understanding the profound depths of leadership, bravery, and love, and channeling that insight to leave an indelible mark on Pachil.
As I cross the threshold into the heart of this enchanted woodland, each step is a solemn drumbeat, resonating with the lessons etched into my being. The air is thick with the essence of sacrifices made, love’s eternal echo, and courage’s undying flame—all the companions that have shepherded me to this fated juncture. The ancient, watchful trees seem to recognize my spirit, nodding in silent acknowledgment of the journey that has sculpted me. I am ready, fortified by the wisdom of the past and eyes alight with the promise of a better future. Here, I stand on the precipice of the unknown, the wild call of destiny resonating in my bones, compelling me forward into the forest.
In the coolness of the dawn, I grab the purple maize, its hues as rich as the twilight sky, and begin removing the hard kernels. I grind them against the stone metate in the same rhythmic motion I recall my mother doing when I was a young child. It’s one of the few memories I have of her: the sun kissing her face as she worked in the kitchen, humming a sweet melody as she prepared the api for our meal.
I haven’t thought about my mother in quite some time. She passed away unexpectedly when I was eight or nine harvests old—Entilqan was much younger, perhaps too young to remember her. Until I left to attend the Maqanuiache, I would visit the Great Library every day just to have her name recounted, listening to the stories Upachu would tell me of her. The intensity of her feisty warrior’s spirit only rivaling her love of maternity and raising Entilqan and me. How she gave so much of her time to taking care of those in need—a practice she’d continue up until her untimely death. Her love of nature, and music, and preparing meals. Her love of life, and her love persevering through the oppressive Timuaq rule.
Now a fine powder, the ground maize feels like silk between my fingers. Water simmers in the clay pot over the fire, and I gradually blend in the maize powder. As the mixture thickens slowly while I continuously stir, I glance over to see I’m joined by the recovering Upachu, who emerges from his long slumber. I watched over him the entire night as he slept, ready to sprint and contact the healer should anything go wrong with his recovery. He winces in pain as he sits down, yet after taking a few contemplative sniffs of the air, the grimace morphs into a smile.
“Api,” he says as if recalling a warm memory. “I didn’t know you were capable of making such a dish.”
“It’s a special occasion,” I say. “Celebratory of what we’ve achieved so far, and sending us off in the best way possible.”
“Where have all my blankets disappeared to?” Upachu asks, looking around him and trying to locate the missing items.
With a small chuckle, I answer, “I believe Inuxeq took them all with her last night. I believe she slept outside.”
“And avoided the warmth of the indoors? Is she mad? She was already shivering in our mild autumn weather; I can’t imagine how she fared sleeping outdoors!”
I add a touch of cinnamon and cloves I purchased at the nearby market, their pleasing fragrant scents mingling with the earthy maize. “Everyone has their peculiarities,” I say as I return to stirring. For a finishing touch, I drizzle some honey into the mixture, how my mother used to do for me and my sister. Upachu saunters over to me and supports himself on my shoulder with a delicately placed hand. I hear his low, pleased hum as he takes in the aroma, and he pats my shoulder a few times.
“Just how your mother used to make it,” he says, looking off into the distance. “She was a good, noble young woman. I believe she would be very proud of you, Teqosa.”
I know there was no malicious intent, but my heart aches for a moment from the compliment, longing for my mother. This compounds when I begin thinking about my father, then my sister. I try to remember that numerous people have lost someone, that so many on Pachil have experienced grief, but it only makes my feelings persist. How long does grief take? How much time is one allowed?
Abruptly changing the subject, I say, “I’m departing for the first location on the pot. The one nearest Hilaqta. I’m hoping that you’ll recover in time to join me for the other journeys.” As I pour the mixture into wide-mouthed cups, Upachu grunts in the affirmative, absorbing the news I have told him.
“You don’t need a haggard, old man slowing you down,” he says plaintively. I stop what I’m doing for a moment to look at him. His eyes are cast downward, and his lips are pressed into a tight line, holding back a quiver.
“You must recover,” I remind him. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be my companion; it’s that it would be unwise to have you travel in your current condition. I need a healthy Upachu if these glyphs are to be deciphered.”
I walk into his room and return with one of the clay pots I brought in from the cart last night. “Besides, I need someone to decipher these maps and identify where they are trying to direct us. We’ve established that one—this one—is determined to be Qantua, but the other three are a mystery, a mystery I hope you can solve.”
Initially, Upachu looks at me distrustingly, as though I’m attempting to deceive him. I’m perplexed as to how he could perceive my intentions as anything other than well meaning, since he is, after all, wounded. Perhaps it’s the fighter’s mentality engrained within the council elder, someone whose attitude is ill fitted for his aged body. Though I’m aware my time will ultimately come, I can’t, at this moment, imagine what it must be like to have a strong mental fortitude that one’s body can’t match. How frustrating it must be to possess a mind as sharp as his, but to lack the physicality to keep up.
He eventually resigns in agreement to the plan, taking the clay pot and sits nearby, staring at it intently. “The other locations marked on the pots appear random,” he ponders aloud while I resume ladling the remaining api. “There doesn’t seem to be a reason for these destinations to be scattered the way they are. I wonder what the significance of these chosen locations happens to be?”
“I’m pleased to have the best man for the job in identifying them,” I say, briefly turning around to give him a look of assurance. It’s deeply satisfying knowing that, although he may not be joining me for the next stage of the quest, he is going to have a profound impact on how successful we will be in understanding these glyphs.
I hand Upachu the cup of api, then grab the other two containers. “I’ll check on Inuxeq, then I’ll return to make sure you’re well defended and well taken care of. Before I depart, I’m going to speak to Sachanqu about ensuring the safety of a council member.”
Upachu rolls his eyes. “That sack of wind. If he manages to get even one warrior to pop their head in, I will pray in gratitude every morning to every god that has ever blessed a human being on Pachil!”
“Have more faith in him than that,” I say. “He’s a good man, when he lays off the chicha.”
“When does that happen?” Upachu jokingly asks. In response, I simply shake my head and step outside, with api in hand, to see how the Tuatiu warrior is doing.
Leaving the fortress by Hanan Qucha was more pleasant this time, as Sachanqu was in better spirits—and sober, to speak of “spirits”. Declaring my request “much more manageable”, he willingly agreed to not only have his men guard Upachu, but to have multiple warriors positioned day and night at his home, as well as additional warriors assisting him in purchasing food and escorting him to council meetings. It’s the most affable I’ve ever seen Sachanqu, and I was not willing to do or say anything that would quickly alter his mood.
It was still difficult to depart Upachu’s home. Knowing there is the possibility of the assassin looming about Hilaqta, my fears have not been abated, even upon seeing nearly half a dozen warriors arrive to carry out my request of protecting the elder. She is more than capable of taking on a slew of guards, nearly dispatching of me had Inuxeq not come to my aid. My only hope is that she has decided his home has been thoroughly searched, finding nothing, and will leave him be. Clearly, I am not willing to rely on such assumptions, and thus I’m at least mildly comforted that there will be people stationed at Upachu’s home.
The journey through the Qantua countryside, somehow easier to traverse than in times past, is surely a relief to the llama pulling our cart. Though it masks its emotions well, the animal plods on, laden with the clay pot, the chest containing the papyrus, and other supplies. The first destination identified on the clay pot is not far from Hilaqta, presumed to be somewhere between the capital city and the Qantua trading post on the Maiu Qasapaq. How I will be able to find it, however, remains the biggest issue. The only marking on the clay pot is a rust-colored X amidst an indistinguishable sea of sage green. No other landmarks or identifiers are mentioned nor marked upon the map, and I worry that I may be mindlessly roaming the Qantua hills for an undetermined amount of time.
I travel through the heart of Qantua, where the emerald hills subtly reaches towards the heavens, in which a lone condor soars. The late autumn air is crisp, filled with the scent of wet dirt and wild orchids that sprout along the path. Mist hangs low over the valleys, a soft veil that the sun slowly lifts with its golden fingers. Songs of hidden birds call out among the terraces of cornfields that stretch out and hug the hillsides. Herds of llamas graze on the sparse vegetation, their woolen coats blending with the natural tones of the highlands.
Occasionally, I find myself subconsciously looking over my shoulder, as if the assassin is trailing directly behind me. Though I know she would never be so obvious, part of my mind reflexively checks to make certain that I’m not being followed. I try to dismiss the feelings as being overly paranoid, spurred on by recent events, yet my training at the military academy would never allow me to make such a supposition. Even though the landscape is generally scant of any obstacles that would obstruct my ability to see a threat on the horizon, I continue to feel ill prepared should I encounter the assassin once again.
As the sun sits high above me in the sky, I begin to wander off the path, only bringing the llama and the cart part of the way before traveling off road by myself on foot. In my mind, I can’t imagine the location marked on this pot would be directly off the well-traveled road, so I search for any clear indication of what this X could implicate. My eyes sweep the countryside, eagerly hoping to identify some dilapidated ruins or weathered statue—any marker to blatantly grab my attention. As one would expect, nothing stands out. The rolling green hills appear vacant, their lush expanse seemingly untouched and unmarred by a human presence. Aside from the llama, the only other living creature maintaining its presence is the lone condor, gracefully gliding above in circles amidst the azure sky and surveying the world below with keen, discerning eyes.
I grow curious about the continued presence of the condor, having seemingly followed me for quite some distance. Does it deem me a threat? A meal? Its mannerisms are peculiar, to say the least, though the llama doesn’t seem to pay it any attention, seizing the opportunity of a break in travel to feast on grass. As I watch the condor circle above, its grand wings outstretched against the vast sky, I find myself pondering its significance. In Qantua culture, the condor is revered, often seen as a symbol of power and health, a creature that bridges the divide between the heavens and the earth. Its ability to soar high into the sky, closer to Tiqsiqocha, the revered sun god to many factions of Pachil, and yet return to the land, positions it as a messenger or a guide between worlds.
Is the condor’s presence merely coincidental, or does it bear a deeper meaning? In the stories told by the elders at the Great Library in Hilaqta, the condor often appears as a harbinger, sometimes of good fortune, other times as a warning of challenges ahead. Its keen eyes are said to see beyond the veil of the mortal world, understanding truths that remain hidden to us.
But the symbolism of the condor extends beyond my own culture. I recall hearing tales from other factions, where the condor holds varied meanings. In some traditions, it is a carrier of the dead, guiding souls to the afterlife. In others, it is a symbol of freedom and majesty, an emblem of the strength and resilience of nature itself. As the condor continues its flight, unperturbed by the world below, I can’t help but wonder what message it brings to me. Is it a guardian sent by Entilqan to watch over my journey, or a sentinel warning me of the trials to come?
As I ponder what purpose its presence indicates, the condor spirals down and lands before me. Its eyes pierce into my soul like a spear thrust into my chest, as if to appraise my very essence. I make no sudden moves to startle it, yet the almost sentient intensity in which it scrutinizes me makes me believe that scaring it away isn’t possible, as it judges whether I measure up to some inscrutable standard.
“What do you seek, traveler?” a deep, resonating voice reverberates inside my head. The words echo as if spoken from a distant canyon, repeating over and over again as they gradually fade into silence.
I call out, my head swiveling from side to side as my eyes sweep the area, “Who speaks to me?”
“I am before you,” the hollow voice intones, though before me stands neither man nor woman; only the condor holds my gaze. Could this be the harbinger the elders spoke of? I had dismissed their stories as mere folklore, never truly believing in their real-life manifestations. Yet here I stand, witnessing a scene akin to those very tales, unfolding in front of me.
I begin to bow low, fearing I’m before an ancient god of these lands, but the condor interjects, “Rise. There is no need for such formalities, traveler. What do you seek?”
My thoughts become blank, my mind unable to form the words of what my quest has brought me here to achieve. Sensing impatience, I sputter, “I… seek both understanding and a path to serve something greater than myself. My journey here is to unravel the mysteries of the ancient Atima, and to use this understanding in a mission far beyond my personal desires. The fate of the people of Pachil may hinge on what I learn and how I apply this knowledge sourced from the Atima language and their wisdom. I am here not just as a seeker of lost truths, but as a guardian against a darkness that endangers us all.”
A long pause follows my answer as the condor continues its unamused gaze, indiscernible as to how it considers my response. I remain in place, uncertain whether any movement I make will offend the creature. The large vulture is frozen still, and I begin to question what is taking place here.
Just as I muster the courage to walk away and continue my search for the marked location on the clay pot’s map, believing the exchange to be over, the voice returns, “Traveler, you stand at the threshold of a journey that will test not just your courage, but the depth of your understanding and the resilience of your spirit. The path ahead is woven with echoes of the past, lessons unlearned, and truths yet to be embraced. You must delve into the very essence of sacrifice, confronting the choices that have defined you and those that have shaped the destinies of others.
"First, you will tread the path once walked by another, embodying their journey through a time of decisive turmoil. There, you will stand where they stood, facing the fears they confronted and wrestling with the choices that shaped their fate. You will feel their fear, grapple with their uncertainty, and understand the depth of their resolve. This is a chance to see through their eyes, to feel what they felt, and to learn from the choices they made.
"But remember, this is only the beginning. Each step forward will demand more from you, challenging your perceptions and asking what you are willing to give for the greater good. The path of understanding is not a gentle one; it is fraught with revelations that may shake the very foundations of your being. What you learn here will shape your actions and decisions as you continue this journey. Be prepared, for the road ahead will ask of you a sacrifice, a relinquishment of something you hold dear. Only through this will you truly comprehend the true value and importance of what you seek and the price it demands.”
Many questions form in my head: how am I to be transported? Whose decision, uncertainty, and resolve am I to experience? And how? How will this be achieved? ‘A relinquishment of something I hold dear,’ the voice says. What sacrifice am I being asked to make? How am I to make this sacrifice?
Before I can ask this series of questions, a loud ringing pierces my ears, and though I reflexively cover them, the sound remains. This high-pitched, unrelenting screeching forces me to fall to my knees and close my eyes in anguish. Though I feel myself shouting out in pain, I can’t hear my agony.
The sound stops, and relief washes over me. When I feel confident enough, I slowly open my eyes. I’m surrounded by a sea of unfamiliar faces, staring blankly at me. Confused, I search the crowd for anyone I recognize, but no one stands out. My head turns just enough to notice, from the corner of my eye, a tall, daunting figure shrouded in a black shadow, their features indistinguishable. Their height is enormous, reminding me of the days of the Timuaq, the colossal titans who ruled Pachil, and I’m grateful those evil beings have been defeated, never to roam the land again.
Yet there’s something disturbing about this moment, and I’m filled with overwhelming dread. A knot forms in my stomach, and I feel on the verge of retching. There’s something about this looming presence that bears down upon me, something tangible, as though it’s not a figment of my imagination, but rather, actually taking place.
“Xiqa,” the towering figure beside me declares. Why is he calling me by my father’s name? “You have been charged with treason. You are being given one last opportunity to right your wrongs, to expose the evil that threatens our way of life, and mercy will be brought upon you. Choose wisely.”
Thoughts of Entilqan flash in my mind. Where she is. Where the location of the rebel base is. With whom she is affiliated. Where they are planning to attack next. These have never been items I’ve even known previously; I was never privy to the information of the rebellious cells before I joined Achutli’s branch of the organization. How am I now able to know these details?
The executioner awaits my response. The crowd awaits my response. Something within me is compelled to reveal everything I know, tell them every detail of the rebellion and its plans. A thought in the back of my mind believes that informing them of what I know will spare my life and that of Entilqan. But will they uphold their word? Will they spare our lives? What if they are simply using me to get to Entilqan, and all of us will suffer? Can I risk such consequences?
Then a thought crosses my mind, and though I can’t describe it, this one feels like my own. The only way that I can ensure that Entilqan lives is if I die. She can only fulfill her purpose, the rebellion’s purpose, the defeat of the Timuaq, if her whereabouts in the Auilqa jungles and the plot they have to ambush the Timuaq marching to Iaqutaq remain hidden from their awareness, from their knowledge. Somehow, the sacrifice of my life feels like the only choice to make. Though I may no longer exist on the physical plane, I will live on through the elders recounting my legacy, and through Entilqan and the rebels who will speak my name for all eternity. I realize I am but a thread that comprises a tapestry, and that my actions today will live on forever.
I look at my executioner with resolve. “I have already made my decision.” Then, I look away, gazing upon the onlookers with an air of confidence. Some weep, some shout in anger or frustration, but amidst the swirl of emotions, I am overcome with a calm serenity. The voices eventually grow muffled and fade, blending in with the whistling wind.
I am at peace as the tall titan raises his mighty axe.
I am at peace as the crowds cry out for justice, for absolution.
I am at peace when the blade is swung at my exposed neck.
I am under the canopy of dense jungle flora, the area dimly lit by a few small, isolated torches placed about. Is this a campsite? Where am I?
“Entilqan,” a woman says to me. Why is she calling me the name of my sister? She stands with the poise of a deity among mortals, her skin a canvas of dark ink in designs and enigmatic symbols that swirl or angle sharply, indicating a myriad of achievements far beyond her years, depending on which faction is her origin.
As she speaks, her gaze is fixed on the horizon, where the world meets the blackened sky, and I feel the breath catch in my throat. “They’re going to execute him if we don’t intervene.”
“There is nothing we can do, Sualset,” I hear myself say, though my voice is not my own. “The Timuaq will kill us if we try to infiltrate that fortress.”
“Not necessarily,” she says, and as she draws closer, the scent of crushed herbs and the natural aroma of the surrounding jungle fills my senses, once again alerting me that this is not, in fact, a dream. “We’ve been successful with our ambushes up to now, and with inside help informing us of the Timuaq’s plans, we could attempt a rescue mission. Sure, the risks are high, since the area is well guarded, but it’s your father. However, you should be the one who decides, whether we save your father or carry on without him.”
There are thoughts that are not my own swirling around in my head like a cyclone, each one a tempest of conflict and duty. Our people’s hopes rest upon my shoulders, and with it comes the crushing realization of the risks we face. The chances are great that we’ll be caught attempting to sneak into the Timuaq fortress where my father is being held captive. The walls are high and smooth, making them difficult to scale, and the channels leading into and out from the fortress and into the Hanan Qucha are heavily guarded. Despite our agility and the shadows that cloak our movements, infiltrating it seems like a venture into the very jaws of death.
But then there’s my father, the pillar of unwavering support in my life. The memory of his encouraging words echo through my mind, his belief in the cause and his pride in my growing role within the rebellion—I’m not sure either of us knew the sharp trajectory in which my rise within the ranks would take. It was never a question of if we would fight, but how fiercely we would resist. I recall his steadfast gaze, the way he accepted the risks and knowing full well the price we might have to pay. It’s a bitter irony; his capture is a direct consequence of the very rebellion he championed through me.
In this tumult of thought, I grapple with the harrowing possibility of losing him. But deeper still, there’s a gnawing realization that his sacrifice—his willingness to face death rather than betray the cause—embodies the very essence of our struggle. It’s a reflection of my own journey, the ultimate choice that looms ahead. In this moment, as I stand on the precipice of decision, I understand with aching clarity: the path of greatest impact may demand the ultimate sacrifice. Just as my father chose silence over betrayal, I begin to see that my own sacrifice could ignite a fire that no Timuaq force could extinguish.
I don’t hear the words of my decision as I speak them aloud, but I know what’s been said. Sualset’s dark eyes, when they finally meet mine, hold the depth of the cenote’s embrace, profound and a little chilling. She does not speak—she does not need to. This is one of the most difficult decisions I will have to make, one I do not take lightly, nor does she. The humid jungle air is filled with solemnity, but also determination.
Having experienced the difficult challenges and choices they faced, and in the throes of this internal battle, a new resolve crystallizes within me. The rebellion, our people’s freedom, the future we fight for—it transcends any single life, even that of my own. The decision is as painful as it is clear: to offer myself, not in defeat, but as a beacon of defiance and hope. It’s this realization of my father’s sacrifice that leads me to understand that of my sister, and what this quest may require of myself.
It’s at this moment of realization when I find myself once again standing before the condor, looking upon me with a judging stare. The resonating voice returns, speaking within my mind. “You claim to seek both understanding and a path to serve something greater than yourself. Do you now understand what they require?”
I nod, feeling a newfound depth in my soul. “I do, spirit. I thought I knew that leadership came with a burden, but I hadn’t known what that burden actually was until now. It’s more than strategy and command; it’s the weight of every life that rests in one’s hands, the silent sacrifices made unseen and unheard. I thought I knew what bravery was, but I only knew of the kind found on battlefields, not the kind found just to survive in this life. True courage is in the choices we make every day, in facing our deepest fears and still choosing to move forward. I thought I knew what love was, but there are different kinds of love that can be expressed, each profound in its own right. Love is not just a shared glance or a whispered promise; it’s a force that drives us to act against all odds, to sacrifice without hesitation.”
Pausing, I look up at the condor, its gaze seeming to penetrate the very core of my being. “These lessons go beyond mere words,” I say. “They are a guiding light for the spirit, leading me towards a truth to which I was once blind. The understanding I seek… it’s not just in ancient glyphs or tactical prowess. It’s in the hearts and stories of those who came before me, in the legacy they've left behind. And my mission, it is not just a duty to a cause or a land, but a commitment to uphold these values, to carry the torch they have passed on.”
The condor tilts its head, its eyes shimmering with a wisdom that transcends time. “Then you are ready, Teqosa of the Qantua. Your path weaves through the tapestry of war and strategy, yet it is equally threaded with the wisdom of the heart. Embrace these truths as your allies.”
With a powerful sweep of its wings, the condor ascends, circling above before gliding gracefully into the distance. Transfixed, I watch as its majestic form becomes one with the sky. As I turn to leave, the ground beneath me trembles with a life force I've never felt before. A sound like the awakening of an ancient deity fills the air, and I whirl around.
Before me, a miraculous transformation unfolds. Where once barren lands stretched, now stands an ageless forest of towering trees, their etched branches rise to greet the sky. Verdant undergrowth carpets the rolling hills with their vibrancy, and gently murmuring secret waterways weave like silken threads.
In this moment, as the spirit of the condor melds with the horizon, I’m left in solitude with my newfound realizations, and a deep clarity settles within me. This journey is more than a conquest over adversaries or a pursuit of hidden truths. It is a quest to forge a legacy that honors the sacrifices of those who came before. It is a journey of understanding the profound depths of leadership, bravery, and love, and channeling that insight to leave an indelible mark on Pachil.
As I cross the threshold into the heart of this enchanted woodland, each step is a solemn drumbeat, resonating with the lessons etched into my being. The air is thick with the essence of sacrifices made, love’s eternal echo, and courage’s undying flame—all the companions that have shepherded me to this fated juncture. The ancient, watchful trees seem to recognize my spirit, nodding in silent acknowledgment of the journey that has sculpted me. I am ready, fortified by the wisdom of the past and eyes alight with the promise of a better future. Here, I stand on the precipice of the unknown, the wild call of destiny resonating in my bones, compelling me forward into the forest.
