It’s an odd serenity I feel amidst this peaceful, quiet trek through the Qiapu mountains, knowing what I’ve left behind in Pichaqta, and what I may face in Qespina and beyond. The wind swiftly winds through the crags and carries with it the promise of a storm, a harbinger of the trials that lie ahead. But with each step upon these steep, rocky slopes, my resolve hardens like the mountains themselves, unwavering and bold. My determination revitalizes me, knowing that Paxilche, Pomaqli, and I have woven together a solid plan to confront the Eye in the Flame, a beacon of hope that steadies my heart against the coming darkness.
The peaks soar skyward before me, crafting jagged silhouettes against the heavens as the great stone sentinels stand like white-robed elders in a sacred gathering. I tread softly upon the rug of lush green ground that unfurls beneath my feet, its striking color the result of a recent rain. I observe how quickly and aggressively the storms appear and vanish in these mountains, requiring me to take brief shelter beneath the rock formations. A sharp intake of the pure, crisp air fills my lungs, a stark difference from the moist breath of Sanqo, my forested homeland. The mountains’ frozen tears nestle in the rock amongst an expanse of blue sky untouched by the smoke of village hearths. In this moment, I feel the spirits of Pachil gently urge me toward the unknown, toward my destiny.
Occasionally, I retrieve the two amulets, worn around my neck, and gaze upon them, curious as to the true power they wield. Though I question the accuracy regarding the legends spoken by Saxina about the ornate jade and onyx amulet, there must be something to the tales told about them. Seeing the one sorcerer cast balls of flame that hurtled toward his foes, I’m inclined to believe there’s an element of truth behind the stories after all. That said, I wonder how I’ve managed to maintain my capabilities without such amulets, having possessed my ability to manipulate water since I was much younger. There are many mysteries that are currently unsolved, and these amulets are the latest ones to appear, yet I hope the shaman in Qespina will be able to shed light upon what is taking place.
The second, more rustic amulet, a deep black onyx stone with swirls of white and encased in unembellished gold, is a curiosity to me. Paxilche was able to remove this from the slain sorcerer, but none of us had a moment to inspect it closely to learn what it does or where it’s from. That the person who once wore it was able to perform such powerful magic is concerning, and though I hope the shaman has insight into this piece, I’m worried that more of these exist among the cult, providing such power to more people with evil intentions. Bearing this thought in mind, I realize just how urgently I need to reach Qespina.
After what feels like an entire moon cycle climbing up and down mountain slopes, the path on which I travel begins to descend into a narrow valley between two steep peaks. Before setting out on this journey, Paxilche warned me of the dangerous descent ahead, emphasizing the need for careful steadiness to conquer the daunting path. Navigating this route has been anything but easy, and I find myself deeply admiring the Qiapu people for their remarkable resilience in thriving amidst such perilous conditions.
While I take in the various hues of blue among the sheer cliffs and the greenery that clings to them, a panicked shout pierces the gentle whistling of the wind. My head swivels in an effort to identify the direction of the hollering, and instinctually I drop my belongings to chase down the distressed person. The rocky terrain crackles beneath my feet and I sprint toward the yells for help. Eventually, I arrive upon a woman, aged roughly two dozen harvests, her long, dark brown hair tied in a loose braid at the back of her head. She wears a plain, white shawl over her long, white huipil dress, stitched at various locations in blue, magenta, and yellow thread. Her face contorts in anguish, every line etched in deep pain.
Upon seeing me, the poor woman shrieks, “My child! My child! You must save my child!”
“My good lady,” I say, steadying my voice and gently resting my hands upon her shoulders in an effort to calm her down. “What has happened to your child?”
“My boy, Paxo,” she whimpers. “We were gathering plants and herbs for the shaman, to help cure the sick and ailing in our village, and he wandered off into the cave. He always plays while I work. Paxo has a vivid imagination. I shouted to him to stay where I could see him, since I saw the storm coming, yet he scampered off anyway. It was to be but a brief excursion to these cliffs—we would be back in time for me to prepare supper, in time to beat the rain. Or so I thought. I was nearly done with the collecting, but then the violent rains came, quicker than I anticipated, and…”
Her voice trails off and she begins sobbing. I do my best to console her, promising, “I will search for your son. Wait here.”
I hurry to the mouth of the cave, craning my neck in hopes of finding any sign of the lost boy. The rain had ceased moments before my arrival, and my feet squish upon the moist moss that clings to the rock. I navigate the verdant underbrush and find the entrance to the cavern, a gaping maw in the mountain’s side. Water plinks down from the jagged teeth of the overhang, and the cave’s breath is cool and dank.
As I arrive to the sea of black within the cave, I still my breath, straining for the slightest sound. My ears listen attentively for the soft echoes of Paxo’s voice, hoping he has found refuge in this natural sanctuary. Each call I send into the void is a plea, and they return to me as though they fear treading into the vast darkness.
I take slow, steady steps into the cavern’s gloomy shadows that stubbornly adhere to the rocks amidst the midday sun. Hearing nothing but the trickle of water, my feet eventually arrive at a low pool. My breath stops and my heart sinks, fearing the child has been lost to the sudden floods that arrived in a flash. I scramble to think what I can do, and the only thought that comes to my mind is moving this water. But how? Is that possible? Can I displace this significant amount of floodwater to allow me to venture further into the cave? Even if I could, will I have the energy to actually achieve and maintain this?
I resolve that there’s only one way for me to discover if I can. Not seeing the mother or anyone else around, I take a long, deep breath and close my eyes, focusing all my energy on moving this water out and away from this cave. I lift my hands up and out toward the gathered pool and curl my fingers as if attempting to grab ahold of the water, tensing the muscles in my palms and wrists. There’s an intense surge of power as I reach for the water, something that far exceeds anything I’ve ever felt before, and a warmth that grows from my chest. As I shift my stance and separate my arms outward, I guide the water to the sides of the cave, causing the tremendous body of water to curl along the rocky walls, leaving an open, and surprisingly dry, passageway for me to explore.
Before I travel deeper into the cave, I inspect my hands, baffled at the recent development and how they were able to move so much water. I touch my chest, but observe no tightness, and my level of exhaustion is scarcely noticeable. As I ponder what may have caused this, I suddenly recall the amulets that dangle lifelessly from my neck. Could these be responsible for this amplification of my powers?
I must consider these possibilities at another time. For now, I must search for the boy, Paxo, and ensure he’s somehow safe. I rush into the narrow cave, following its twisting and winding rocky corridor, and calling out the boy’s name into the pitch black. Without any source of light, I resort to navigating the cavern by feeling the rough and rigid sides. Every few steps, I shout the boy’s name, and blindly proceed deeper, deeper into the darkness. After each unanswered call, my fears grow more significantly, worried the boy may be unconscious and difficult to find, or worse.
Just then, as my voice begins to feel worn down after innumerable calls, I tremble with relief as the boy’s faint reply drifts through the air. After I descend lower and lower, I feel the oppressive blackness of the cave wrap around me, a tangible void that my outstretched hands slice through as I search for holds in the cool, unyielding rock. My fingers find purchase, and I hoist myself upward, the grit of the cave wall scraping against my palms. With each heave of my body, the darkness fights back, but the boy’s weak cries spur me on. I ascend, muscles straining and heart pounding, until the darkness begins to relent, giving way to the boy’s pained breaths drawing me ever closer to his side.
“Are you okay, Paxo?” I ask the whimpering boy. He doesn’t respond, but through his soaked tunic, I can feel his chest heaving with each of his tiny breaths. His small body shivers from the damp, cool conditions, so I wrap my shawl around him and help him to his feet. He cries out in pain, causing me to reach for him. At first, he resists, not wanting to put his trust in a stranger he can’t see. I speak softly to him, caressing his face and wiping away his tears. After a few moments, his sobbing becomes more stifled, and I feel his raised arms, signaling to me to lift him up. I carry his tiny body up to my side with the support of my hip. Without a second thought, I begin to sing a lullaby my mother, Cheqansiq, would sing to me:
Hush now, beneath the moon’s soft glow,
Over gentle waves, in dreams we’ll row.
Stars guide our journey, across the deep blue sea,
Cradled by the waters, safe you’ll be.
After lowering ourselves down, we begin our upward trek through the darkness. Paxo’s cries begin to subside as he burrows his face into my shoulder. With one arm wrapped tightly around him, I extend my other hand to feel for the sides of the corridor, guiding us up and toward the mouth of the cave. I continue singing, calming both Paxo and myself as I concentrate on escaping the pitch black.
Rest now, on the whispers of the calming tide,
The sea’s lullaby, where dreams reside.
May the winds be kind, and the waters clear,
In this peaceful harbor, there’s nothing to fear.
The sounds of swishing, swirling water grows louder and louder as we approach, and suddenly a small speck of daylight peeks out from far off in the distance. I tell Paxo that we’re almost there, almost out of this dark, scary cave, and he writhes around, antsy and eager to leave this place. At the opening of the cavern, the silhouette of a body appears, calling out Paxo’s name in a shaky, anxious voice. It’s the mother, and I become self-aware of the confusing and alarming scene she must be witnessing. I start to worry about the unwanted attention I may receive for this, recalling Paxilche’s reverence after I had used my powers against the robbers. However, a boy’s life was in peril, and the desperate pleads for help from the mother compelled me to act—what choice did I possibly have?
We emerge from the cave, the bright sunlight forcing me to shield my squinting eyes as they adjust. A weight from my hip is immediately lifted as the mother grabs ahold of her son and squeezes him in a tight hug, sniffling while she kisses the top of his head.
“Praise Aqxilapu!” the mother exults. “You rescued my boy! But… how did…”
Before she can ask, I smile faintly and raise a hand, signaling her not to worry about the details. “It’s something I've learned to do, a gift from Aqxilapu, perhaps,” I say humbly, not wanting to delve into the complexities of my abilities. “What’s important is that Paxo is safe.”
Her eyes, still wide with wonder and gratitude, flicker between me and the now receding water. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she murmurs, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief.
“It’s not something I fully understand myself,” I admit, “but I believe we all have our unique ways of contributing to the world, our own strengths. Today, I was fortunate enough to use mine to help Paxo.”
She nods slowly, her embrace around Paxo tightening as if affirming her silent vow to never let him out of her sight again. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what I would have done if…”
“There’s no need to trouble yourself with such thoughts,” I interject gently, not wanting her to consider the grim possibilities. “Paxo is safe, and seeing him returned to his mother brings me more than enough joy. Just be careful on your way back to the village—I believe he suffered an unfortunate injury.”
Stricken with panic, she inspects her child carefully, though no visible wounds reveal themselves. Having encountered Paxo in the thick darkness, I can’t provide any direction as to where she should search. With a look of resolve, she says, “Tlalqo will know what to do.”
“Is that your shaman?” I inquire.
She nods. “Many in my village, Qespina, have been complaining of a sore stomach and awaking from fever dreams. The standard remedy for such an ailment is boldo leaves, and I toss in some Yerba matte and muña to help with the taste.” She flashes a quick, nervous smile before her expression returns to complete anxiousness.
“I told Tlalqo I would treat Atnuo,” she continues, now holding Paxo in the same manner I had as I carried him out of the cave, “because he’s been so overwhelmed. The ill… there’s just been so many. And Tlalqo needed to pray, but so many continue to grow ill. I have to tend to the ill while Tlalqo is away. So, I brought my son and traveled up here as quickly as I could, with my basket as I always do, and–“
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” I say, feeling completely rude for interrupting her story, given the state she’s in, “but how can one come in contact with this Tlalqo? He is actually the person I have traveled all this way to seek.” Embarrassed, the woman lowers her head and apologizes, which immediately causes me to feel a twinge of regret for being discourteous. Just then, I notice she additionally becomes uneasy and discomforted.
“Did I offend?” I ask, and just as I’m about to apologize, she waves away my sentiment, appearing troubled.
“It is nothing,” she answers, though I don’t believe there’s truthfulness in her response. I gently press her on this, hoping my recent acts of kindness, enhanced by my softly spoken voice, will encourage her to speak of what ails her. I can see her wrestling with the decision to tell me, shaking her head and looking visibly pained as she makes the determination. I walk alongside her, returning to my belongings and her basket of aromatic herbs. As I retrieve my possessions, she utters in a low tone, “Tlalqo was going to the ritual site, to pray to Aqxilapu for a cure for an illness going through the village, one that we’ve never seen before. It doesn’t respond to our usual remedies.”
Confused, I ask, “So it’s a stomach ache and fever dreams they suffer from? Are there any other symptoms?”
“The feverish dreams leave many on the verge of being incapacitated,” she says. “They speak of being engulfed in flames, devoured by a fiery beast. When they awaken, they experience nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, and ultimately cannot leave their bed from being too weak. The shaman believes it’s connected to the strange things happening around here lately. The land itself feels... wrong.”
“Strange things?” I inquire. “How has the land felt wrong?”
The woman says flatly, “Unnatural storms, disappearing wildlife. There’s a strong sense of unease in the air. Tlalqo is trying to find a cure, or at least a way to ease the suffering, which is why he’s gone to the ritual site to ask Aqxilapu for guidance.”
“But,” she says contemplatively, with a mixture of awe and hope, her eyes suddenly swelling like the full moon’s reflection on the tranquil water’s surface. “Your abilities... Could you... could you use your powers to help cure the sickness that has fallen upon our village? The shaman is at a loss, and we are desperate.”
I take a deep breath, understanding her desperation but also the limitations of my abilities. I reach out, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile. “I wish I could help in that way. While I don’t understand my full capabilities, what I do know is that my abilities are tied to the natural element of water, to control its flow and shape. Healing, especially of mysterious illnesses, requires a different kind of power, one that I don’t possess. I’m not a healer nor a shaman. My skills are more... elemental.”
Seeing her face fall slightly, I continue, “But I promise you, I’m here to understand what’s happening in your village and to help in any way I can. The shaman might be able to use my story, or what I’ve learned, to find a solution.”
The woman nods slowly, her expression a combination of disappointment and gratitude. “Thank you for your honesty, and for saving my son. My people, we’re grasping at any hope we can find.”
I give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s go see the shaman. Perhaps together, we can uncover more about these strange events and find a way to help everyone here.”
After navigating around what appears to be an avalanche that cascaded over the path, bespeckled with moss and tiny patches of grass, and small shrubs and plants growing around the rugged base of the rocks and boulders, we descend down and approach a small village nestled between two steep slopes. The tiny wooden homes line the main path, each wrapped in the middle with colorful bands of cloth or fabric. Suspended from the overhanging thatched roofs are wooden figures of regional animals, painted in magentas, blues, greens and yellows. Despite the vibrant colors, the villagers, wearing felt hats as well as clothes that are similarly colored to the town’s decorations, mill about almost aimlessly, as though the energy has been drained from them.
“These are the few who remain healthy,” the woman says as we arrive in town, Paxo fidgeting restlessly on her hip. “At the rate in which the illness is spreading, they may not be healthy for much longer without a cure.”
Reassuringly, I say, “We will find the cure, I’m certain.” Upon hearing this, the woman’s hesitant expression conveys more than words ever could, yet I steadfastly uphold the hope spoken in my words.
Aware of my appearance, dressed in the Sanqo ocean blue and bronze, I approach the inhabitants cautiously, and ask of the shaman and what’s taking place in this village. Even then, when asking around, the villagers give me curt, vague responses, as though what I speak of will summon some evil entity when uttered aloud.
Discouraged, I look to the woman for guidance in how to discuss Qespina’s recent woes with the villagers. She shrugs, “These have been difficult times, and many have been worn down and exhausted from having to carry on the duties of those who have become ill. It’s the most somber I have seen the village since the Timuaq overran it.”
“I suppose no one will divulge any more information regarding their experiences, then,” I say, a bit disappointed, though I understand the circumstances and can’t fault anyone for it.
The woman nods, saying, “Many believe Aqxilapu has abandoned us, or that we’ve wronged Him. The people of Qespina have tried many different ceremonies and feats to win back His favor, but to no avail.”
I’m curious as to what’s been attempted, wondering if, perhaps, the teachings I’ve received from Alsuaqu would be best delivered here. Just as I’m deciding whether or not to speak of Iaqa and all that he and our lesser gods provide, I notice that Paxo has grown more restless, likely from a combination of his injuries and exhaustion.
“Your son has been through so much,” I tell the woman, “so I will understand if you must tend to him and treat his wounds. If you can direct me to the last known location the shaman was heading, I will be ever so grateful.”
“It’s by the spring down the mountain,” she says, haplessly pointing in a direction leading out of the village. “The source of the Maiu Atiniuq, located in an enormous crater from the dormant volcano.”
The mention of the volcano sends a shiver down my spine as I recall Saxina’s retelling of the legend involving the jade and onyx amulet. Was he speaking the truth after all? Reflexively, I firmly clutch it at my chest, worried about the omen this could indicate. I swallow my fears and focus on the matter at hand as I ask the woman about the significance of this ritual site.
“The location has been prized by the Qiapu for generations upon generations,” she says. “Whenever we have called to Aqxilapu for His guidance, the shamans speak of the surge in energy they feel to enhance their gods given capabilities.”
I take a moment to reflect upon the Qiapu’s reverence for their god, Aqxilapu, identifying the aspects that don’t vary far from the Sanqo’s views of our gods. Much like the surging tide in a storm, gods can be unpredictable in their temperaments, their grander machinations unknown to those who worship them. I consider the Sanqo and our spirituality, in comparison to the Qiapu and the Tapeu, with whom I’ve only briefly interacted. Before my journey to the continent, I was firm in my beliefs, understanding that there was no other way the world in which I lived could possibly function. Yet during my travels, from Haqiliqa to Chalaqta, and from Chalaqta to Pichaqta, I understand that there is so much I don’t understand. I haven’t questioned my beliefs, per se, but I do wonder who is right and who is wrong, or whether we have different names for the same entities, all while culminating toward the same, altruistic goal. With so many factions, and so many societies, and so many generations, I believe ideas and beliefs could become skewed and varied, or tailored to the whims of those whose intentions are impure. Yet after the Timuaq rule, it’s difficult for me to believe that, after everything the people of Pachil have been through, all we’d want is anything other than the accumulated prosperity of all factions.
Perhaps I’m too young to be considering such things so deeply. Perhaps these reflections are better served for pondering during a long journey between cities, between lands, and not amidst trials that require my immediate assistance. Yet these are thoughts that continually weigh heavily on my mind, knowing that these are philosophies that have been grappled for many, many, many harvests before my time. They won’t be solved anytime soon, but I am grateful to be exposed to so many differing views and beliefs all the same.
I ask the woman if there is anything to which I should be aware or cautious of before I embark on the journey to this spring. The journey before me will be treacherous, of that I’m certain, and any insights will assist me greatly.
Unfortunately for me, she shakes her head, then says flatly, “If the matters to which I’ve spoken are not enough to deter you, then you will test your resolve if you arrive at the ritual site.”
Perhaps I should feel discomforted by her statement—and, if I can be honest, it was a bit disquieting—yet I brush it aside as a mother’s instinctual worry, much as how my mother feared for my safety as I expressed my desires to join my father, Siunqi, on this journey. Perhaps she was correct to be worried. Nevertheless, I inhale a deep breath, defiantly fling my belongings over my shoulder, and, after a quick nod, say to the woman, “Then I shall be off to meet the shaman, Tlalqo, and we will remedy what ails Qespina and Pachil.”
She appears confused and worried, grabbing my wrist and warning me, “You do not need to do this, outsider. The conflicts here are for the Qiapu and the Tempered to resolve. You should not concern yourself with such dire matters.”
I respond to her with a warm, gentle smile, “My lady, it may not make sense to you now, but helping those who are in need of help, this is what the gods have deemed to be my destiny.”
My anticipation of her uncertainty is, for better or worse, correct, but I’m not discouraged. I say my farewells to Paxo and the woman, observing that, especially once witnessing my powers, she never introduced herself to me. Is this a common practice of the Qiapu, as a result of something I’ve done, or something she’s witnessed of me? Of all that’s taken place, this notion troubles me the most, and I feel it’s something I will have to bear in mind if such a scenario arises again.
The departure from Qespina and travels into the mountain scenery is jarring. Where once the atmosphere was solemn and dark, the walk toward the spring is vibrant and, taking into account the season that differs here in the south compared to the north where I’m from, I’m momentarily taken aback by the resurgent blossoms appearing among the landscape. I observe how my breathing has eased compared to my time in Pichaqta, the elevation not regularly pressing against my lungs as it once did.
The sun begins setting as I arrive upon a bountiful valley filled with violets, blues, reds, and oranges from the abundance of flora among the rich soil. The scenery is peaceful, showing no sign of any recent disturbances, and I begin to question whether I’ve arrived at the correct location to which the woman directed me. Shouldn’t there be an indication of missing animals, of disastrous weather conditions? But no sooner than when I question this do I see an old, bare-chested man kneeling amongst tall, golden grasses. I can only hear random mutterings in some language to which I’m unfamiliar, his head bowed so low that I worry the crown of antlers will fall to the ground. The wrinkles in his aged, tanned skin form deep crags that extend through his entire back, painted in thick, light blue lines and patterns that are indiscernible to me. Afraid of startling him, I attempt to make noises to alert him to my presence, but he is deep in prayer, from which I apparently cannot jolt him.
“Excuse me, Tlalqo?” I say more as a question. The shaman slowly lifts his head up and turns to me, his eyes slowly opening, as though he’s been stirred from a deep slumber. He only stares at me, without saying a word, likely trying to determine whether I’m real or part of his meditation.
“I am Walumaq, daughter of Cheqansiq and the great Sanqo ruler, Siunqi. I have traveled from Pichaqta to request your guidance regarding two precious and sought after amulets of your people, with which I hope you can aid me. But I have also been made aware of troubles plaguing the people of Qespina, and I would life to offer my assistance in exchange of your knowledge.”
He looks at me sleepily, uttering in a low, gravely voice, “I may be able to assist you with the amulets. However, I have come here to our sacred site to ask for Aqxilapu’s guidance, yet He speaks to me not. It is unlikely an outsider such as yourself will be able to help us if our own god has spurned us. We have wronged Him somehow, and I fear we have run out of time to correct our mistake.”
“That can’t be,” I say, a bit surprised at his lack of desire to continue searching for an answer. “We can’t give up so easily. There must be a reason why these strange occurrences are taking place. Let us work together. Perhaps these amulets hold the key.”
I remove the two amulets from around my neck and present them to Tlalqo, suspending them by my hand in the air. The elderly man squints and gazes upon them, studying each one carefully without placing so much as a finger on them. Should I not have allowed them to touch my skin?
“The Quyluquna,” he says, suddenly mystified. “How did you come to possess these sacred items?”
“You know of them?” I ask, assuming the strange, foreign word or name is in reference to the amulets.
“They are two of the ancient amulets crafted by the great blacksmith, Iachanisqa,” he says. “Created for Aqxilapu to defeat the many evil beasts and beings of the land.”
“I recall the tale of Iachanisqa,” I say. “One of these was responsible in defeating Ninaxu, the great beast of the volcano.”
“You know of Qiapu history,” he says, stunned and impressed. I nod, and a prideful grin spans his face.
“Unfortunately, with regards to this obsidian amulet,” I hold up the item in question, “I don’t know of its history nor the power it possesses. I encountered a user wearing it, but it was used for conducting sinister deeds against the Qiapu people. Yet perhaps these can be used to heal the ills of your people and the land.”
“These may be capable of doing such a thing,” the shaman ponders aloud. “Perhaps Aqxilapu was not answering my calls to summon Him because He was waiting for the amulets’ return.”
“Or, perhaps, the amulets are being returned to their rightful owner,” a mysterious voice jarringly sounds out of nowhere. Tlalqo and I turn, and my heart sinks into my stomach when I see a tall man, his silver and black hair combed back neatly, wearing the blood red robe of the Eye in the Flame. His eyes, black like the onyx stone in the amulet, begin to glow a fiery orangish-red as a sinister smirk marks his face.
“I’m grateful you have brought them to me,” he says, his deep, dark voice is a terrible growl. “Eztletiqa’s blessing shines brightly upon me, and now His full power can be realized.”
It’s an odd serenity I feel amidst this peaceful, quiet trek through the Qiapu mountains, knowing what I’ve left behind in Pichaqta, and what I may face in Qespina and beyond. The wind swiftly winds through the crags and carries with it the promise of a storm, a harbinger of the trials that lie ahead. But with each step upon these steep, rocky slopes, my resolve hardens like the mountains themselves, unwavering and bold. My determination revitalizes me, knowing that Paxilche, Pomaqli, and I have woven together a solid plan to confront the Eye in the Flame, a beacon of hope that steadies my heart against the coming darkness.
The peaks soar skyward before me, crafting jagged silhouettes against the heavens as the great stone sentinels stand like white-robed elders in a sacred gathering. I tread softly upon the rug of lush green ground that unfurls beneath my feet, its striking color the result of a recent rain. I observe how quickly and aggressively the storms appear and vanish in these mountains, requiring me to take brief shelter beneath the rock formations. A sharp intake of the pure, crisp air fills my lungs, a stark difference from the moist breath of Sanqo, my forested homeland. The mountains’ frozen tears nestle in the rock amongst an expanse of blue sky untouched by the smoke of village hearths. In this moment, I feel the spirits of Pachil gently urge me toward the unknown, toward my destiny.
Occasionally, I retrieve the two amulets, worn around my neck, and gaze upon them, curious as to the true power they wield. Though I question the accuracy regarding the legends spoken by Saxina about the ornate jade and onyx amulet, there must be something to the tales told about them. Seeing the one sorcerer cast balls of flame that hurtled toward his foes, I’m inclined to believe there’s an element of truth behind the stories after all. That said, I wonder how I’ve managed to maintain my capabilities without such amulets, having possessed my ability to manipulate water since I was much younger. There are many mysteries that are currently unsolved, and these amulets are the latest ones to appear, yet I hope the shaman in Qespina will be able to shed light upon what is taking place.
The second, more rustic amulet, a deep black onyx stone with swirls of white and encased in unembellished gold, is a curiosity to me. Paxilche was able to remove this from the slain sorcerer, but none of us had a moment to inspect it closely to learn what it does or where it’s from. That the person who once wore it was able to perform such powerful magic is concerning, and though I hope the shaman has insight into this piece, I’m worried that more of these exist among the cult, providing such power to more people with evil intentions. Bearing this thought in mind, I realize just how urgently I need to reach Qespina.
After what feels like an entire moon cycle climbing up and down mountain slopes, the path on which I travel begins to descend into a narrow valley between two steep peaks. Before setting out on this journey, Paxilche warned me of the dangerous descent ahead, emphasizing the need for careful steadiness to conquer the daunting path. Navigating this route has been anything but easy, and I find myself deeply admiring the Qiapu people for their remarkable resilience in thriving amidst such perilous conditions.
While I take in the various hues of blue among the sheer cliffs and the greenery that clings to them, a panicked shout pierces the gentle whistling of the wind. My head swivels in an effort to identify the direction of the hollering, and instinctually I drop my belongings to chase down the distressed person. The rocky terrain crackles beneath my feet and I sprint toward the yells for help. Eventually, I arrive upon a woman, aged roughly two dozen harvests, her long, dark brown hair tied in a loose braid at the back of her head. She wears a plain, white shawl over her long, white huipil dress, stitched at various locations in blue, magenta, and yellow thread. Her face contorts in anguish, every line etched in deep pain.
Upon seeing me, the poor woman shrieks, “My child! My child! You must save my child!”
“My good lady,” I say, steadying my voice and gently resting my hands upon her shoulders in an effort to calm her down. “What has happened to your child?”
“My boy, Paxo,” she whimpers. “We were gathering plants and herbs for the shaman, to help cure the sick and ailing in our village, and he wandered off into the cave. He always plays while I work. Paxo has a vivid imagination. I shouted to him to stay where I could see him, since I saw the storm coming, yet he scampered off anyway. It was to be but a brief excursion to these cliffs—we would be back in time for me to prepare supper, in time to beat the rain. Or so I thought. I was nearly done with the collecting, but then the violent rains came, quicker than I anticipated, and…”
Her voice trails off and she begins sobbing. I do my best to console her, promising, “I will search for your son. Wait here.”
I hurry to the mouth of the cave, craning my neck in hopes of finding any sign of the lost boy. The rain had ceased moments before my arrival, and my feet squish upon the moist moss that clings to the rock. I navigate the verdant underbrush and find the entrance to the cavern, a gaping maw in the mountain’s side. Water plinks down from the jagged teeth of the overhang, and the cave’s breath is cool and dank.
As I arrive to the sea of black within the cave, I still my breath, straining for the slightest sound. My ears listen attentively for the soft echoes of Paxo’s voice, hoping he has found refuge in this natural sanctuary. Each call I send into the void is a plea, and they return to me as though they fear treading into the vast darkness.
I take slow, steady steps into the cavern’s gloomy shadows that stubbornly adhere to the rocks amidst the midday sun. Hearing nothing but the trickle of water, my feet eventually arrive at a low pool. My breath stops and my heart sinks, fearing the child has been lost to the sudden floods that arrived in a flash. I scramble to think what I can do, and the only thought that comes to my mind is moving this water. But how? Is that possible? Can I displace this significant amount of floodwater to allow me to venture further into the cave? Even if I could, will I have the energy to actually achieve and maintain this?
I resolve that there’s only one way for me to discover if I can. Not seeing the mother or anyone else around, I take a long, deep breath and close my eyes, focusing all my energy on moving this water out and away from this cave. I lift my hands up and out toward the gathered pool and curl my fingers as if attempting to grab ahold of the water, tensing the muscles in my palms and wrists. There’s an intense surge of power as I reach for the water, something that far exceeds anything I’ve ever felt before, and a warmth that grows from my chest. As I shift my stance and separate my arms outward, I guide the water to the sides of the cave, causing the tremendous body of water to curl along the rocky walls, leaving an open, and surprisingly dry, passageway for me to explore.
Before I travel deeper into the cave, I inspect my hands, baffled at the recent development and how they were able to move so much water. I touch my chest, but observe no tightness, and my level of exhaustion is scarcely noticeable. As I ponder what may have caused this, I suddenly recall the amulets that dangle lifelessly from my neck. Could these be responsible for this amplification of my powers?
I must consider these possibilities at another time. For now, I must search for the boy, Paxo, and ensure he’s somehow safe. I rush into the narrow cave, following its twisting and winding rocky corridor, and calling out the boy’s name into the pitch black. Without any source of light, I resort to navigating the cavern by feeling the rough and rigid sides. Every few steps, I shout the boy’s name, and blindly proceed deeper, deeper into the darkness. After each unanswered call, my fears grow more significantly, worried the boy may be unconscious and difficult to find, or worse.
Just then, as my voice begins to feel worn down after innumerable calls, I tremble with relief as the boy’s faint reply drifts through the air. After I descend lower and lower, I feel the oppressive blackness of the cave wrap around me, a tangible void that my outstretched hands slice through as I search for holds in the cool, unyielding rock. My fingers find purchase, and I hoist myself upward, the grit of the cave wall scraping against my palms. With each heave of my body, the darkness fights back, but the boy’s weak cries spur me on. I ascend, muscles straining and heart pounding, until the darkness begins to relent, giving way to the boy’s pained breaths drawing me ever closer to his side.
“Are you okay, Paxo?” I ask the whimpering boy. He doesn’t respond, but through his soaked tunic, I can feel his chest heaving with each of his tiny breaths. His small body shivers from the damp, cool conditions, so I wrap my shawl around him and help him to his feet. He cries out in pain, causing me to reach for him. At first, he resists, not wanting to put his trust in a stranger he can’t see. I speak softly to him, caressing his face and wiping away his tears. After a few moments, his sobbing becomes more stifled, and I feel his raised arms, signaling to me to lift him up. I carry his tiny body up to my side with the support of my hip. Without a second thought, I begin to sing a lullaby my mother, Cheqansiq, would sing to me:
Hush now, beneath the moon’s soft glow,
Over gentle waves, in dreams we’ll row.
Stars guide our journey, across the deep blue sea,
Cradled by the waters, safe you’ll be.
After lowering ourselves down, we begin our upward trek through the darkness. Paxo’s cries begin to subside as he burrows his face into my shoulder. With one arm wrapped tightly around him, I extend my other hand to feel for the sides of the corridor, guiding us up and toward the mouth of the cave. I continue singing, calming both Paxo and myself as I concentrate on escaping the pitch black.
Rest now, on the whispers of the calming tide,
The sea’s lullaby, where dreams reside.
May the winds be kind, and the waters clear,
In this peaceful harbor, there’s nothing to fear.
The sounds of swishing, swirling water grows louder and louder as we approach, and suddenly a small speck of daylight peeks out from far off in the distance. I tell Paxo that we’re almost there, almost out of this dark, scary cave, and he writhes around, antsy and eager to leave this place. At the opening of the cavern, the silhouette of a body appears, calling out Paxo’s name in a shaky, anxious voice. It’s the mother, and I become self-aware of the confusing and alarming scene she must be witnessing. I start to worry about the unwanted attention I may receive for this, recalling Paxilche’s reverence after I had used my powers against the robbers. However, a boy’s life was in peril, and the desperate pleads for help from the mother compelled me to act—what choice did I possibly have?
We emerge from the cave, the bright sunlight forcing me to shield my squinting eyes as they adjust. A weight from my hip is immediately lifted as the mother grabs ahold of her son and squeezes him in a tight hug, sniffling while she kisses the top of his head.
“Praise Aqxilapu!” the mother exults. “You rescued my boy! But… how did…”
Before she can ask, I smile faintly and raise a hand, signaling her not to worry about the details. “It’s something I've learned to do, a gift from Aqxilapu, perhaps,” I say humbly, not wanting to delve into the complexities of my abilities. “What’s important is that Paxo is safe.”
Her eyes, still wide with wonder and gratitude, flicker between me and the now receding water. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she murmurs, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief.
“It’s not something I fully understand myself,” I admit, “but I believe we all have our unique ways of contributing to the world, our own strengths. Today, I was fortunate enough to use mine to help Paxo.”
She nods slowly, her embrace around Paxo tightening as if affirming her silent vow to never let him out of her sight again. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what I would have done if…”
“There’s no need to trouble yourself with such thoughts,” I interject gently, not wanting her to consider the grim possibilities. “Paxo is safe, and seeing him returned to his mother brings me more than enough joy. Just be careful on your way back to the village—I believe he suffered an unfortunate injury.”
Stricken with panic, she inspects her child carefully, though no visible wounds reveal themselves. Having encountered Paxo in the thick darkness, I can’t provide any direction as to where she should search. With a look of resolve, she says, “Tlalqo will know what to do.”
“Is that your shaman?” I inquire.
She nods. “Many in my village, Qespina, have been complaining of a sore stomach and awaking from fever dreams. The standard remedy for such an ailment is boldo leaves, and I toss in some Yerba matte and muña to help with the taste.” She flashes a quick, nervous smile before her expression returns to complete anxiousness.
“I told Tlalqo I would treat Atnuo,” she continues, now holding Paxo in the same manner I had as I carried him out of the cave, “because he’s been so overwhelmed. The ill… there’s just been so many. And Tlalqo needed to pray, but so many continue to grow ill. I have to tend to the ill while Tlalqo is away. So, I brought my son and traveled up here as quickly as I could, with my basket as I always do, and–“
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” I say, feeling completely rude for interrupting her story, given the state she’s in, “but how can one come in contact with this Tlalqo? He is actually the person I have traveled all this way to seek.” Embarrassed, the woman lowers her head and apologizes, which immediately causes me to feel a twinge of regret for being discourteous. Just then, I notice she additionally becomes uneasy and discomforted.
“Did I offend?” I ask, and just as I’m about to apologize, she waves away my sentiment, appearing troubled.
“It is nothing,” she answers, though I don’t believe there’s truthfulness in her response. I gently press her on this, hoping my recent acts of kindness, enhanced by my softly spoken voice, will encourage her to speak of what ails her. I can see her wrestling with the decision to tell me, shaking her head and looking visibly pained as she makes the determination. I walk alongside her, returning to my belongings and her basket of aromatic herbs. As I retrieve my possessions, she utters in a low tone, “Tlalqo was going to the ritual site, to pray to Aqxilapu for a cure for an illness going through the village, one that we’ve never seen before. It doesn’t respond to our usual remedies.”
Confused, I ask, “So it’s a stomach ache and fever dreams they suffer from? Are there any other symptoms?”
“The feverish dreams leave many on the verge of being incapacitated,” she says. “They speak of being engulfed in flames, devoured by a fiery beast. When they awaken, they experience nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, and ultimately cannot leave their bed from being too weak. The shaman believes it’s connected to the strange things happening around here lately. The land itself feels... wrong.”
“Strange things?” I inquire. “How has the land felt wrong?”
The woman says flatly, “Unnatural storms, disappearing wildlife. There’s a strong sense of unease in the air. Tlalqo is trying to find a cure, or at least a way to ease the suffering, which is why he’s gone to the ritual site to ask Aqxilapu for guidance.”
“But,” she says contemplatively, with a mixture of awe and hope, her eyes suddenly swelling like the full moon’s reflection on the tranquil water’s surface. “Your abilities... Could you... could you use your powers to help cure the sickness that has fallen upon our village? The shaman is at a loss, and we are desperate.”
I take a deep breath, understanding her desperation but also the limitations of my abilities. I reach out, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile. “I wish I could help in that way. While I don’t understand my full capabilities, what I do know is that my abilities are tied to the natural element of water, to control its flow and shape. Healing, especially of mysterious illnesses, requires a different kind of power, one that I don’t possess. I’m not a healer nor a shaman. My skills are more... elemental.”
Seeing her face fall slightly, I continue, “But I promise you, I’m here to understand what’s happening in your village and to help in any way I can. The shaman might be able to use my story, or what I’ve learned, to find a solution.”
The woman nods slowly, her expression a combination of disappointment and gratitude. “Thank you for your honesty, and for saving my son. My people, we’re grasping at any hope we can find.”
I give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s go see the shaman. Perhaps together, we can uncover more about these strange events and find a way to help everyone here.”
After navigating around what appears to be an avalanche that cascaded over the path, bespeckled with moss and tiny patches of grass, and small shrubs and plants growing around the rugged base of the rocks and boulders, we descend down and approach a small village nestled between two steep slopes. The tiny wooden homes line the main path, each wrapped in the middle with colorful bands of cloth or fabric. Suspended from the overhanging thatched roofs are wooden figures of regional animals, painted in magentas, blues, greens and yellows. Despite the vibrant colors, the villagers, wearing felt hats as well as clothes that are similarly colored to the town’s decorations, mill about almost aimlessly, as though the energy has been drained from them.
“These are the few who remain healthy,” the woman says as we arrive in town, Paxo fidgeting restlessly on her hip. “At the rate in which the illness is spreading, they may not be healthy for much longer without a cure.”
Reassuringly, I say, “We will find the cure, I’m certain.” Upon hearing this, the woman’s hesitant expression conveys more than words ever could, yet I steadfastly uphold the hope spoken in my words.
Aware of my appearance, dressed in the Sanqo ocean blue and bronze, I approach the inhabitants cautiously, and ask of the shaman and what’s taking place in this village. Even then, when asking around, the villagers give me curt, vague responses, as though what I speak of will summon some evil entity when uttered aloud.
Discouraged, I look to the woman for guidance in how to discuss Qespina’s recent woes with the villagers. She shrugs, “These have been difficult times, and many have been worn down and exhausted from having to carry on the duties of those who have become ill. It’s the most somber I have seen the village since the Timuaq overran it.”
“I suppose no one will divulge any more information regarding their experiences, then,” I say, a bit disappointed, though I understand the circumstances and can’t fault anyone for it.
The woman nods, saying, “Many believe Aqxilapu has abandoned us, or that we’ve wronged Him. The people of Qespina have tried many different ceremonies and feats to win back His favor, but to no avail.”
I’m curious as to what’s been attempted, wondering if, perhaps, the teachings I’ve received from Alsuaqu would be best delivered here. Just as I’m deciding whether or not to speak of Iaqa and all that he and our lesser gods provide, I notice that Paxo has grown more restless, likely from a combination of his injuries and exhaustion.
“Your son has been through so much,” I tell the woman, “so I will understand if you must tend to him and treat his wounds. If you can direct me to the last known location the shaman was heading, I will be ever so grateful.”
“It’s by the spring down the mountain,” she says, haplessly pointing in a direction leading out of the village. “The source of the Maiu Atiniuq, located in an enormous crater from the dormant volcano.”
The mention of the volcano sends a shiver down my spine as I recall Saxina’s retelling of the legend involving the jade and onyx amulet. Was he speaking the truth after all? Reflexively, I firmly clutch it at my chest, worried about the omen this could indicate. I swallow my fears and focus on the matter at hand as I ask the woman about the significance of this ritual site.
“The location has been prized by the Qiapu for generations upon generations,” she says. “Whenever we have called to Aqxilapu for His guidance, the shamans speak of the surge in energy they feel to enhance their gods given capabilities.”
I take a moment to reflect upon the Qiapu’s reverence for their god, Aqxilapu, identifying the aspects that don’t vary far from the Sanqo’s views of our gods. Much like the surging tide in a storm, gods can be unpredictable in their temperaments, their grander machinations unknown to those who worship them. I consider the Sanqo and our spirituality, in comparison to the Qiapu and the Tapeu, with whom I’ve only briefly interacted. Before my journey to the continent, I was firm in my beliefs, understanding that there was no other way the world in which I lived could possibly function. Yet during my travels, from Haqiliqa to Chalaqta, and from Chalaqta to Pichaqta, I understand that there is so much I don’t understand. I haven’t questioned my beliefs, per se, but I do wonder who is right and who is wrong, or whether we have different names for the same entities, all while culminating toward the same, altruistic goal. With so many factions, and so many societies, and so many generations, I believe ideas and beliefs could become skewed and varied, or tailored to the whims of those whose intentions are impure. Yet after the Timuaq rule, it’s difficult for me to believe that, after everything the people of Pachil have been through, all we’d want is anything other than the accumulated prosperity of all factions.
Perhaps I’m too young to be considering such things so deeply. Perhaps these reflections are better served for pondering during a long journey between cities, between lands, and not amidst trials that require my immediate assistance. Yet these are thoughts that continually weigh heavily on my mind, knowing that these are philosophies that have been grappled for many, many, many harvests before my time. They won’t be solved anytime soon, but I am grateful to be exposed to so many differing views and beliefs all the same.
I ask the woman if there is anything to which I should be aware or cautious of before I embark on the journey to this spring. The journey before me will be treacherous, of that I’m certain, and any insights will assist me greatly.
Unfortunately for me, she shakes her head, then says flatly, “If the matters to which I’ve spoken are not enough to deter you, then you will test your resolve if you arrive at the ritual site.”
Perhaps I should feel discomforted by her statement—and, if I can be honest, it was a bit disquieting—yet I brush it aside as a mother’s instinctual worry, much as how my mother feared for my safety as I expressed my desires to join my father, Siunqi, on this journey. Perhaps she was correct to be worried. Nevertheless, I inhale a deep breath, defiantly fling my belongings over my shoulder, and, after a quick nod, say to the woman, “Then I shall be off to meet the shaman, Tlalqo, and we will remedy what ails Qespina and Pachil.”
She appears confused and worried, grabbing my wrist and warning me, “You do not need to do this, outsider. The conflicts here are for the Qiapu and the Tempered to resolve. You should not concern yourself with such dire matters.”
I respond to her with a warm, gentle smile, “My lady, it may not make sense to you now, but helping those who are in need of help, this is what the gods have deemed to be my destiny.”
My anticipation of her uncertainty is, for better or worse, correct, but I’m not discouraged. I say my farewells to Paxo and the woman, observing that, especially once witnessing my powers, she never introduced herself to me. Is this a common practice of the Qiapu, as a result of something I’ve done, or something she’s witnessed of me? Of all that’s taken place, this notion troubles me the most, and I feel it’s something I will have to bear in mind if such a scenario arises again.
The departure from Qespina and travels into the mountain scenery is jarring. Where once the atmosphere was solemn and dark, the walk toward the spring is vibrant and, taking into account the season that differs here in the south compared to the north where I’m from, I’m momentarily taken aback by the resurgent blossoms appearing among the landscape. I observe how my breathing has eased compared to my time in Pichaqta, the elevation not regularly pressing against my lungs as it once did.
The sun begins setting as I arrive upon a bountiful valley filled with violets, blues, reds, and oranges from the abundance of flora among the rich soil. The scenery is peaceful, showing no sign of any recent disturbances, and I begin to question whether I’ve arrived at the correct location to which the woman directed me. Shouldn’t there be an indication of missing animals, of disastrous weather conditions? But no sooner than when I question this do I see an old, bare-chested man kneeling amongst tall, golden grasses. I can only hear random mutterings in some language to which I’m unfamiliar, his head bowed so low that I worry the crown of antlers will fall to the ground. The wrinkles in his aged, tanned skin form deep crags that extend through his entire back, painted in thick, light blue lines and patterns that are indiscernible to me. Afraid of startling him, I attempt to make noises to alert him to my presence, but he is deep in prayer, from which I apparently cannot jolt him.
“Excuse me, Tlalqo?” I say more as a question. The shaman slowly lifts his head up and turns to me, his eyes slowly opening, as though he’s been stirred from a deep slumber. He only stares at me, without saying a word, likely trying to determine whether I’m real or part of his meditation.
“I am Walumaq, daughter of Cheqansiq and the great Sanqo ruler, Siunqi. I have traveled from Pichaqta to request your guidance regarding two precious and sought after amulets of your people, with which I hope you can aid me. But I have also been made aware of troubles plaguing the people of Qespina, and I would life to offer my assistance in exchange of your knowledge.”
He looks at me sleepily, uttering in a low, gravely voice, “I may be able to assist you with the amulets. However, I have come here to our sacred site to ask for Aqxilapu’s guidance, yet He speaks to me not. It is unlikely an outsider such as yourself will be able to help us if our own god has spurned us. We have wronged Him somehow, and I fear we have run out of time to correct our mistake.”
“That can’t be,” I say, a bit surprised at his lack of desire to continue searching for an answer. “We can’t give up so easily. There must be a reason why these strange occurrences are taking place. Let us work together. Perhaps these amulets hold the key.”
I remove the two amulets from around my neck and present them to Tlalqo, suspending them by my hand in the air. The elderly man squints and gazes upon them, studying each one carefully without placing so much as a finger on them. Should I not have allowed them to touch my skin?
“The Quyluquna,” he says, suddenly mystified. “How did you come to possess these sacred items?”
“You know of them?” I ask, assuming the strange, foreign word or name is in reference to the amulets.
“They are two of the ancient amulets crafted by the great blacksmith, Iachanisqa,” he says. “Created for Aqxilapu to defeat the many evil beasts and beings of the land.”
“I recall the tale of Iachanisqa,” I say. “One of these was responsible in defeating Ninaxu, the great beast of the volcano.”
“You know of Qiapu history,” he says, stunned and impressed. I nod, and a prideful grin spans his face.
“Unfortunately, with regards to this obsidian amulet,” I hold up the item in question, “I don’t know of its history nor the power it possesses. I encountered a user wearing it, but it was used for conducting sinister deeds against the Qiapu people. Yet perhaps these can be used to heal the ills of your people and the land.”
“These may be capable of doing such a thing,” the shaman ponders aloud. “Perhaps Aqxilapu was not answering my calls to summon Him because He was waiting for the amulets’ return.”
“Or, perhaps, the amulets are being returned to their rightful owner,” a mysterious voice jarringly sounds out of nowhere. Tlalqo and I turn, and my heart sinks into my stomach when I see a tall man, his silver and black hair combed back neatly, wearing the blood red robe of the Eye in the Flame. His eyes, black like the onyx stone in the amulet, begin to glow a fiery orangish-red as a sinister smirk marks his face.
“I’m grateful you have brought them to me,” he says, his deep, dark voice is a terrible growl. “Eztletiqa’s blessing shines brightly upon me, and now His full power can be realized.”
