As we march through the verdant lands of Aimue, the shift from the chilly highlands of Qantua to this milder climate brings a subtle change in the air around us, instilling hope within me that this is a sign of the positive events to come. Having never traveled this far north before—my battles during the war were primarily in the jungles of the continent—I’m not certain what I expected, truth be told, but I didn’t envision a sight such as this. The land here is a panorama of fertility, with small villages nestled amidst sprawling fields reaping bountiful harvests. Those of us unfamiliar with the Aimue territory anticipated approaching a distinguishably visible villages, but only a few roofs peek above the fields of golden grasses that stretch out among the vast plains. Upon asking those within the squadron who are aware of the Aimue lands if we somehow bypassed any civilization, or headed in the wrong direction, they respond with a hearty chuckle and inform us that the homes are built low to the ground, purposely shrouded by the tall grasses and to aid in making their houses aerodynamic so as to not get blown over by the intense winds that sweep these fields. It’s a baffling concept to someone such as myself, who originates from the jungles, and I’m eager to witness these structures.
The farmers’ toils have crafted the landscape in a patchwork of greens and golds, and the richness of the dark soil stretches under our feet. Our passage through these tranquil villages is marked by curious glances from the locals, their faces etched with a blend of awe and caution. The occasional brave villager will peek their heads out from their small huts to glimpse the amalgam of factions represented in our marching army, but when approached, they immediately retreat back into their homes. Supposedly, they are not the most social and engaging faction, according to the few who have interacted with the Aimue. I take it as a their nervousness from seeing an intimidatingly large group of warriors, and we continue on toward our destination.
I watch the rows of crops swaying gently in the breeze, a peaceful sight that belies the urgency of our mission. Each day, when the sun dips lower and casts a warm, amber glow over the fields, the warriors’ conversations turn to hushed tones, their expressions a mix of weariness and skepticism. I sense the shift in their mood, a subtle change from the initial relief at the milder climate to a simmering frustration due to exhaustion from the long journey. Their eyes, once bright with the prospect of battle, now scan the horizon with a hint of disillusionment. Occasionally, people like Tiahesi glance over at me with subtly-cloaked disdain, but I pay them no mind. There will always be those who abhor being powerless to a woman, viewing this as some slight. Yet I have earned the respect of the majority of Qantua warriors, and I am prepared to do whatever I can to maintain that invaluable trust.
During a night’s rest just beyond one of the small farming villages, Mexqutli sits by me at the campfire, holding a bowl of boiled quinoa that’s topped with recently cultivated herbs found during our march and the latest hunt—some dark brown chunks of roasted rabbit.
“I do not want to raise concerns,” Mexqutli says between bites, “but the warriors are discontented with this long march, only to see no action. There is word going around that the Eye in the Flame has been fabricated.”
“What are you saying, exactly?” I confront him. He waves his utensil in the air as if the gesture is an attempt to settle me down. But to me, it sounds as though he buys into these rumors and is pretending to be on my side.
“Look, Inuxeq,” he says, his voice as tranquil as a gently flowing stream. “We have experienced great peril, and you and I know the Eye in the Flame is out there, somewhere beyond the Tuatiu territory. Yet I’m afraid there has been no indication of their presence out this way. How do we know they are in Aimue country?”
“Because,” I shout, drawing the attention of some nearby warriors who look on with curiosity, “when we drove them out of their outpost, they clearly traveled in this direction. They are regrouping in a territory where they don’t need to fear retribution because of how passive the Aimue are. It’s as clear as day!”
“Perhaps we should have started there, at the outpost, and searched for clues to–“
“We know they ran off in this direction,” I interrupt him. “Aimue is a vast territory, but we will find them, I’m confident.”
“Your confidence is admirable,” he says, “but it will not win you any favor among the Qantua warriors. Earning and maintaining their trust is important, and–“
“You don’t think I know this?” I challenge him. “They’re going to be sorry the moment we encounter those gray beasts and powerful sorcerers. What good will their apologies to me be when they die at the feet of these monsters?”
Sianchu now joins the conversation, speaking between bites. “It’s just that we haven’t seen any indication that the cult has been through here. Perhaps Taqsame was correct, that this is a matter than doesn’t require Qantua resources this far from their territory.”
“That is because you would rather the warriors be sent to Tapeu to protect your precious Arbiter from the rebels that sprout like flowers in springtime,” Mexqutli snarks. It’s been a debate that has raged between them throughout the duration of our march to this point. Sianchu will complain about the long journey, and Mexqutli chides him for his grumbling, bringing every protest from the Tapeu military leader back to the rebels claimed to exist in Qapauma. As if I wasn’t tired of their constant bickering before, this lengthy trek to Aimue has made my patience wear thin.
“If the reports are true,” Sianchu squeaks out his response, setting down his bowl to make hand gestures to emphasize his statement, “we should protect the capital and stomp out any rebellions before the sparks turn into full-fledged fires. And if the Eye in the Flame is so adamant about attacking the Arbiter, then the resources will already be in place to defend the throne. It’s the most logical plan.”
“Qantua is not going to send warriors to defend your feeble Arbiter,” Mexqutli remarks. “There are leaders among their council who cheer for the rebellions, wanting them to fall so that they can seize the throne for themselves. Young Taqsame of the council made that abundantly clear. They were reluctant to send this small amount of warriors for our cause, so what makes you believe they would spend any resources to defend a ruler who cannot adequately defend himself? Especially a leader who made threats to withhold distributing resources to said peoples?”
“That is pure hearsay,” Sianchu protests. “There is absolutely no way the Arbiter would extort the people he’s sworn to protect. And anyone not willing to expend warriors to defend the capital are acting treasonous. They should be doing everything in their power to defend the realm, to prevent another Timuaq situation.”
“Your precious Arbiter is the Timuaq reincarnated,” Mexqutli accuses. “It is no wonder warriors like Taqsame see him as weak and are eager to challenge his position as Arbiter. If he cannot control what is happening in his own capital, how can he be expected to control Pachil?”
“Boys,” I shout, having heard this exact circle of argument over and over since we left Hilaqta. “Your arguments are taking away from our main purpose, which is defending Pachil from these monstrous cultists and their creations. Teqosa is correct, that stopping them will stop the biggest threat to our peoples’ existence. What happens in Tapeu is the concern of the Arbiter. Speculation will do us little good; we must focus on the matter before us.”
The two mutter incoherently, scowling at one another as they return to their bowls of food, shoveling its contents with a pout. It will only be a matter of time before they both resume their debate, but at least, for now, there will be some modicum of peace.
The concerns regarding my leadership and decision-making are a genuine concern, however. We have been marching for days, and it’s true that indications of any Eye in the Flame activity has been nonexistent. While normally I would view this as a good sign, taking it to mean they could have given up, I know that this Sunfire is relentless, and their ambitions are great. They will not give up so easily, and I assume they’re biding their time, regrouping before launching another assault on innocent victims. The Sunfire seemed exceedingly confident in their plans, so I know that our travels into Aimue are not for nothing. If I’m being honest, I will be very disappointed if my concerns end up justified.
More days pass, and as the journey grows longer, so grows the discontent within the Qantua warriors. We’ve been told that we are close to the capital of Aimue, Xaqelatun, yet the fields seemingly continue on forever without any clear indication of civilization. It’s only when a few well-traveled Qantua warrior shout in excitement that hope starts to wash away the disgruntlement.
In the context of the smaller villages we encountered previously, if Xaqelatun is regarded as an extensive lattice of buildings, one would be forgiven for believing such tales to be fabricated, judging by the appearance of this supposed city. With their construction of homes built low to the ground, it’s nearly impossible to tell whether we’ve reached the city or not by sight alone. Yet we’ve apparently arrived, as those familiar with the Aimue lands speak elatedly about finally being at a destination with more than a few dozen residents. Plans begin forming regarding what leisurely activities they wish to partake during our stay. However, all chatter halts abruptly as a disturbing scene draws closer.
“Is that… smoke?” Sianchu calls out to us. Searching the horizon, we confirm his concerns. Towering columns of thick, black smoke rise skyward to join the clouds, larger than any tree in the Tuatiu jungles I can recall. Mexqutli and I shout to the warriors to hurry toward the city, to offer our support, if needed. I ignore the subtle, irritating pain caused by the tall grasses as they whip and scratch my exposed skin, tracing small, red lines about my arms and legs. All that matters is ensuring the people and the city—whatever may be left of it—is safe, and finding out what is happening.
We arrive to a grizzly scene, one that ties my stomach into knots as I become immediately nauseous. Approaching Xaqelatun, bodies are strewn about like debris after a strong storm. Limbs and body parts, indiscernible whether they once belonged to humans or the animals kept on the farms, are flayed, ripped to pieces and scattered about the ground. As we survey the area, our senses are overwhelmed by a putrescence that defies words—a dense, suffocating aroma of decay, blood, and ruptured entrails, intertwined with the subtle, unsettling sweetness of decomposition. The soil has been stained crimson, rivers of red stream down the wide pathways that connect the various parts of the city. Many of the low, wooden houses have been shattered apart and leveled, walls smashed and splintered, and furniture and other personal belongings have been tossed onto the roads.
“Who caused this?” one of the bewildered warriors asks.
“More like ‘what caused this’,” I correct. “This gore is all too familiar, resembling precisely what Mexqutli, Sianchu, and I encountered at Iantana. Such destruction and devastation is likely the result of the Eye in the Flame. They must’ve already–“
A rustling and several footsteps approach us from one of the paths leading into the heart of the city. Several of the Qantua warriors instruct the intruders to halt, to stop right where they are. The shouting grows louder and more intense as the entities continue progressing toward us, unheeding the calls to stand down. Fearing the worst, I turn to face the incoming assailants, drawing the sword and readying myself for combat.
“We’re in need of help,” the voice of a young woman cries. “Several of us need a healer. So many are in bad condition. Please, you must help us!”
Mexqutli waves a hand, signaling our warriors to back down for the time being, then approaches the barefoot woman, standing along with a handful of others. Her clothes, a simple, hemp wrap dress and shawl, are tattered and bloodied, as are the condition of the others’ garments. Blood had congealed and dried in her light brown hair. At first, I mistakenly believe her to be cradling something in her arms, but soon realize she’s clutching her stomach, holding back a severe gash that has dyed her garments scarlet. With a subtle gesture, Mexqutli calls one of our healers over to assist her, who feebly attempts to stop the bleeding.
“What took place here?” Mexqutli asks, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Who did this to your people?”
“They came out of nowhere,” the woman sputters out between sobs. “It was a normal day, a typical day of harvesting. We had just given thanks to Laytauma and celebrated the incoming harvest only days before. My father, Qalohe, had just returned from the crops with a bundle of maize we were gathering for the quota and was preparing to take a brief rest. He had been out in the fields all morning by that point, along with my brother, Waimeya. The two of them always work long after the sun had set.
“Father had just set down the latest sack of maize he collected when we heard what sounded like rolling thunder, but the sky showed no signs of an incoming storm. It was a storm of a different sort...”
The woman’s voice trails off as she recalls the moment. Placing a hand to her mouth, she cries uncontrollably, and we struggle to calm her. Mexqutli mutters something I’m unable to decipher, but eventually, it appears he’s able to sooth the suffering woman. After she collects herself, she resumes her recounting.
“The attacks were swift and vicious. Not since the Timuaq have I seen such devastation. None of us knew what was happening. But they swooped in like a violent gale, annihilating anything and anyone they came across without remorse. These monsters, beasts I’ve never seen before in my life, rampaged through the village, clawing through our homes and demolishing them as if they were stalks of wheat being scythed. My father tried to defend us, to protect our home. The house has been in our family for generations. But when the beasts arrived…”
Once again, she succumbs to bouts of profuse weeping, wailing at the mere thought of what she and her family encountered.
More rustling, but this time, paired with a resonate, thundering rumble as though the ground beneath us is set to crumble into the three realms of the underworld. Catching sight of the incoming threat, the woman and her companions screech a bloody-curdling scream and point, drawing our attention to the enormous, gray monstrosity. As witnessed previously, its lifeless skin dangles from blackened and decaying muscles and bone. As it snarls, a green bile-like fluid drips from its emerging yellow, pointed teeth. The beast swats away the skeletal remains of nearby houses as though it was bored from its search for… something. Perhaps it’s due to how the houses are constructed that alters my perception, but unlike before, this is the largest size I’ve ever seen these creatures grow; where previously they had only barely reached the height of a Tuatiu home, I now feel like an ant staring up at a mountain, the beast’s heads seemingly reaching the clouds.
Upon seeing us, it looses an otherworldly roar up into the heavens, its blackened fingers gnarled into sharp talons as it howls. It rears back, readying itself, then charges at us, its feet cratering the bloodied soil. It builds up speed until it barrels into a dozen or so of our men, deflecting their spears and swords as though they were reeds in a swamp, simply minor inconveniences. The terrified Aimue villagers run away into the fields. A few warriors release arrows at the monster, but to no avail. Each of their efforts bounces off its gray flesh and drops lifelessly to the ground. Panicked, men begin scurrying away from the area, retreating far beyond the reaches of the beast.
Mexqutli shouts a command to anyone in earshot, “With fire! We must burn the beast with flames!” He unsheathes his enchanted obsidian daggers, then twirls them around in his fingers with needless flourish until both points face the enemy. Almost casually, he walks up to the beast, squaring up for a duel.
Sianchu has other plans in mind: heeding the call, he tears a strip of cloth and ties it around an arrow. Then, reaching into his satchel, he retrieves a flint and furiously strikes it against his sword, sparks flying in various directions until a few catch the cloth and begin setting it alight. Setting his sword down, he grabs the bow hanging on his back and nocks the aflame arrow. In one fluid action, he lets the arrow fly through the air, soaring toward its target.
Before it can reach the beast, however, the monster swats away the incoming projectile like a mosquito buzzing about its head, rendering the effort a failed attempt. In retaliation, the monster releases another loud roar before lifting its leg up and stomping with a heavy whoomp. The ground rumbles like a quake, sending ripples of raised soil like a gigantic wave that emanates from the point of impact. Countless men are knocked onto their feet, with some getting consumed by the opening and closing of the ground like jaws of a crocodile clamping down onto its prey, their shouts quickly muffled as they’re swallowed into the land.
“Well, that is certainly new,” Mexqutli remarks. His observation is unfortunately correct: the reflexes of such a lumbering brute are the quickest I’ve yet seen, as if its abilities have been enhanced in some way. Have the Eye in the Flame improved upon their process in creating these creatures?
A terrible cacophony of trembling gradually approaches us, and we’re soon surrounded by dozens of the creatures, each eyeing us greedily as one would a meal after being starved for days on end. They gnash their teeth like exposing a cruel, wicked smile, their mouths making loud smacks with each chomp. Several of the Qantua warriors cry out in terror, and a number flee the area, running off and disappearing into the grasses.
“Cowards, the lot of them,” Sianchu scowls, clinching his sword tightly as he prepares himself for battle. Punishment for their cowardice is swift: As the men attempt their escape, several of the gray creatures chase them down in but a few long strides. Then, they snatch the warriors up into their clutches, skewering them with their jagged claws and separating limbs from their torsos like plucking petals from a flower.
The remaining beasts snarl at us, bearing their rotting teeth with a low grumble as they watch our actions attentively. I search the destruction for wood I can set aflame and use as a torch, seeing various planks scattered about. Grabbing one, I rush over to Sianchu and hold it out to him, implying I want to light it. He gives me a reluctant look, as though he doesn’t expect me to fare any better than he had with his arrow. However, I’m insistent, adamantly shaking the piece of timber near his face. With a sigh, he grabs his flint and, after a couple of half-hearted strikes, sparks it alight.
I turn around and watch Mexqutli charge at the creatures, unleashing a furious battle cry as he sprints past the Qantua warriors frozen in place like stone statues. With his obsidian daggers, he swipes wildly at the monsters, no grace or time-tested technique in use whatsoever. The flailing and aimless attacks appear to work: As the beasts’ tremendous fists start to fall down upon Mexqutli and the helpless warriors, the monsters begin to disintegrate into ash one by one each time the blade penetrates the creatures’ molten flesh and muscle.
“I need to get me one of those,” Sianchu mutters, and I sense a hint of jealousy in his remark.
Before I rush off into the fray, I look at him over my shoulder, holding the slowly burning piece of wood as I say, “In the meantime, we can’t stand back and do nothing. We must do what we can.”
Nearly half a dozen warriors desperately swing their swords at the monsters, hopelessly fending off the incoming blows the creature unleashes. I sprint toward them, holding the flaming piece of wood aloft like a weapon. With gritted teeth, I lunge forward. While the gray creature’s attention is on some hapless warriors, beating them senseless with its clenched fists, I plunge the jagged piece of wood into what remains of its calf. In an instant, the beast goes up in flames, flapping and flailing its limbs to try and extinguish the fire. No sooner than when I warn the others to move out of its way, the monster comes crashing down into one of the nearby homes with a massive thwunk, catching the remaining pieces of the structure aflame.
Empty handed, I frantically search for more wood to set on fire. With the beast turning the home into a tinderbox, I fight through the flames and grab more pieces of wood, instructing the others to follow suit and use them to fight the creatures. “It’s our only chance,” I yell to them, and I gingerly handle the sword-sized piece with both hands. Before my forearms are kissed by the flames, I quickly make my way to another monster and launch the wood toward it. When it lands, the creature’s foot begins to catch fire, but it rapidly stomps down, immediately putting out the fire before any more harm can come to it. It’s disappointing, to say the least.
Enraged, the beast takes its blackened foot and ferociously stomps down, creating more waves of turf that surge toward us. I dash away just as the terrain lifts me off my feet, sending me hurtling into the sky. My arms flap about, grasping at the air, and what feels like a moon cycle later, I crash into the ground with a hard thud, the impact knocking the wind out of my lungs.
Stunned, I lay on the ground, writhing in pain as my right arm screams in agony. I fight through it, knowing nothing good can come from me staying in one place with rampaging enemies about, and I force myself onto my feet. Scores of warriors are beaten into the ground by the smashing fists of the gray beasts. We’re losing invaluable numbers of fighters to just these few monsters, and for a brief moment, I regret marching such an army to these lands. Perhaps the council and military leaders who were less inclined to aid us in this mission were right to limit the amount of warriors granted to this cause.
I shake the thoughts from my mind. I know what awaits us if we don’t confront this challenge head on. A warrior knows what they have dedicated their lives to by committing to this path. Our code is to protect those who are unable to protect themselves from what threatens our societies’ pursuit of a peaceful existence. These men and women wouldn’t be here if they didn’t adhere to the duty they swore to serve. It goes beyond simple citation of an oath; being a warrior is entrenched in one’s bones. We know no other way to exist.
Clenching my teeth, I muster up the strength to hunt down these beasts and make them pay for bringing harm to the innocent and unsuspecting people of Aimue. Searching the area, I find my possessions scattered about the ground and rush over to pick up Sachia’s bow. I rip a scrap off my Qantua shawl, wrapping it around the tip of my arrow. I hurry over to the flaming heap that was once an Aimue home, but find it’s slowly starting to extinguish, lacking the food it requires to sustain itself. I don’t have many more uses of this tactic left before I have to resort to other means, so I need to capitalize on this while I still can.
After dipping the arrow into the flame, I quickly nock and release it at the humungous target that is the creature. With it being too occupied in causing excessive damage, it fails to notice the ball of flame hurtling toward it, striking its side and instantly setting it alight. Jolts of pain shoot through my right arm as it urges me to stop, but I power through, knowing I can’t quit now while there are others in need of my help. I repeat this with two more arrows, rapidly catching them on fire and releasing them toward any gray mass within sight. A few others catch on to my plan and begin wrapping their arrows in cloth, then setting them on fire and loosing their bows onto the treacherous monsters terrorizing the city.
One by one, the beasts fall in an enormous mass of fire, their howls of anguish sounding like triumphant music to my ears. There’s a sense we’re turning the tide of this battle, taking out these horrifying creatures and making progress in extinguishing the Eye in the Flame’s plans.
It’s during this brief moment of feeling victorious, this respite from the fiery storm the cultists have unleashed—and taking pleasure in my joke regarding “extinguishing the Eye in the Flame”—when the battle does, in fact, turn.
Returning from their pursuit of the Qantua warriors who had abandoned the fight, the gray creatures began unleashing a fury of assaults, the likes of which I had never seen from them. Expecting them to stomp and create more surges of dirt, they surprise us all: with a guttural shout, they wave their arms as if commanding the sky, then thrust their arms forward, unleashing a powerful gust of wind. We’re battered by a barrage of wreckage from the ruined homes, along with loose rocks, ash, and soil. The fortunate ones are launched off their feet and tumble backwards, colliding with trees and foundations of skeletal structures as they’re flung about. However, the less fortunate are impaled by the spear-like planks from the destroyed houses, or bludgeoned by heavy debris.
Though I uselessly raise my arms to my face in an effort to shield myself from the incoming gales, I’m thrown through the air like a leaf in a storm, flying past the desolated remains of the wooden homes. With every drop of energy and resolve I possess, I manage to extend my hand and clasp onto a lone, vertical support from the house’s structure, preventing myself from flying any further. Instinctually, however, it’s my strong arm, the one I use the most: my right arm. My wounded arm. It loses all remaining strength, and without warning, loosens my grip on the post, unable to sustain myself and prevent me from tossing and tumbling over the ground. My green and black tunic is ripped to shreds as I’m carved up by the fragmented debris, slicing my skin with hundred of nicks and cuts.
As I attempt to pick myself up, I immediately drop to the ground. My ankle screams in agony, rebelling against the weight of my body with every effort to stand, sending waves of searing pain coursing through me. I can only look on as the gray beasts slaughter our lines, battering the warriors who dare confront them. I search the scene for any sign of Mexqutli and find him, unconscious on the ground many streets away, his obsidian daggers lying on either side of his body.
“Sianchu!” I shout, hoping the wind carries my voice over to him. Mercifully, his voice pierces through the chaos, urgently calling out my name as he frantically searches for my location.
“Mexqutli is down!” I yell. “Find his daggers!”
Eventually, Sianchu’s stout frame comes into view, his eyes cast to the ground and arms extended outward at his side as he aimlessly wanders about the battlefield. Have I called upon the wrong person to achieve this task?
“Twenty paces to the right!” I instruct him. “No, your right, you fool!”
At the mercy of the Eleven, Sianchu eventually stumbles upon Mexqutli’s body—literally. While on the ground, his eyes light up as he spots the obsidian daggers, eagerly grabbing them and lifts himself up. With renewed vigor and energy, he charges into the fracas, a black blade on each side. From the ground, I watch as he bravely lunges at the beasts, swinging the knives about and slicing into their loose, gray flesh. The power of the blades don’t appear to work, however, and Sianchu stands, panicked at the realization he may be exposed to the monsters’ retaliation.
“Strike their bones or muscle, Sianchu!” I scream. With this, he nods and turns, ducking down and narrowly avoiding being taken out by the swooping fists of a gray creature. From his crouched position, he drives the blade into the beast’s shin, which cracks open like a delicate egg. Sianchu leaps out of the way as the monster topples to the ground, landing a whisker away from where he once stood.
Sianchu, looking relieved, breaks into a celebratory smile, but I shout to remind him, “Keep going! The fight isn’t finished!”
As if just realizing this, Sianchu returns to the battle and begins leveling more of the gray creatures, one swing of the blade at a time. Other Qantua warriors crafted a system to start a fire, set the arrows aflame, then hand them to the archer, who looses the flaming projectiles at the enemy. The beasts notice this and unleash another overwhelming gust of wind toward them, putting the operation to an abrupt halt.
I crawl along the dirt to retrieve Sachia’s bow, hoping I can get into a position to launch fire arrows of my own and return to the fight. Impeding upon my plans, however, a colossal gray foot thwumps beside me. As it stands over me, my face is splattered with drops of the black, viscous drool of the large beast, wreaking of rot and spoiled meat. I’m laying helpless before the monster, entirely exposed as my weapons have been cast about the area. As if it recognizes my condition, the creature tauntingly smiles a toothy grin, relishing in my ultimate demise. It lifts its foot slowly, teasingly, dangling it over my body and leaving me in a state of despair. Has it come to this? Is this how I die?
There’s a sudden pause in the commotion. The creature looks out into the horizon as if searching for something, as though it’s hearing its name being called. The other gray beasts possess the same look of curiosity and confusion, sweeping their gaze about the landscape. Then, as though someone ushered to them an inaudible command to our human ears, they stop what they’re doing and mindlessly walk to the south. Have they been summoned? Who has put an end to this battle? Why are they not finishing what they started and kill everything in sight?
As the monsters run into the horizon, all who remain look at one another to try and figure out what to do with this development. Baffled, those who stand among the ruined remains of Xaqelatun search for the source of this turn of events. Do we chase them down and continue fighting? Do we let them go and lick our wounds? How do we solve the riddle of what just occurred?
Catching his breath, Sianchu makes his way to my position, and we’re eventually joined by a limping and severely wounded Mexqutli. There’s a tremendous gash across the entirety of his torso, his blood blending in with the red cloth of his Ulxa colors. Blood drips from his left arm, and his face and body are smattered with bruises. Yet despite all his injuries, he attempts to abate my concerns with a gravely, “I am okay, Inuxeq.”
“What has driven these creatures away?” I wonder aloud to the other two. “There must be something that’s causing them to run with haste to the south. Is there some disturbance with which we should be aware?”
“Perhaps we were too much for the creatures,” Mexqutli says. “Perhaps they realize they cannot contend with our resiliency.”
“You may have lost a lot of blood,” I reply, “but you most certainly haven’t lost your sarcastic humor.” The Iqsuwa cracks a brief smile and chuckles, throwing him into a coughing fit.
“We should assess the numbers, see how many warriors we lost,” Sianchu says. “Someone will need to report back to Hilaqta and inform them of the count, and perhaps they will reinforce our squadron.”
“That is thinking wishfully,” Mexqutli says. “There is no way they–“
I shush the two men and train my ear to the wind. Something is capturing my attention, a familiar sound. A rhythmicthud thud thud sounding off in the distance. I’m reminded of the pounding I heard in Iantana, before the assault on my village. Those drums… the Hu… Huet…
“The Huetloia,” I mutter aloud to myself. “The drumming.”
“Do you hear the drums, Inuxeq?” Mexqutli asks with a grave expression.
“Would the Huetloia’s sole purpose be to create these gray monsters, Mexqutli?” I inquire, still piecing together what we witnessed and what it could all mean.
“The Huetloia can be used for that purpose, you are correct,” Mexqutli answers. “However, it can also be used as a beacon for its creations, summoning them to their master.”
Panic crashes into me as I realize why the creatures were heading south, and what territory lies in that direction.
“They are headed to Tapeu. We must march to Qapauma,” I say with intense urgency, “and FAST!”
As we march through the verdant lands of Aimue, the shift from the chilly highlands of Qantua to this milder climate brings a subtle change in the air around us, instilling hope within me that this is a sign of the positive events to come. Having never traveled this far north before—my battles during the war were primarily in the jungles of the continent—I’m not certain what I expected, truth be told, but I didn’t envision a sight such as this. The land here is a panorama of fertility, with small villages nestled amidst sprawling fields reaping bountiful harvests. Those of us unfamiliar with the Aimue territory anticipated approaching a distinguishably visible villages, but only a few roofs peek above the fields of golden grasses that stretch out among the vast plains. Upon asking those within the squadron who are aware of the Aimue lands if we somehow bypassed any civilization, or headed in the wrong direction, they respond with a hearty chuckle and inform us that the homes are built low to the ground, purposely shrouded by the tall grasses and to aid in making their houses aerodynamic so as to not get blown over by the intense winds that sweep these fields. It’s a baffling concept to someone such as myself, who originates from the jungles, and I’m eager to witness these structures.
The farmers’ toils have crafted the landscape in a patchwork of greens and golds, and the richness of the dark soil stretches under our feet. Our passage through these tranquil villages is marked by curious glances from the locals, their faces etched with a blend of awe and caution. The occasional brave villager will peek their heads out from their small huts to glimpse the amalgam of factions represented in our marching army, but when approached, they immediately retreat back into their homes. Supposedly, they are not the most social and engaging faction, according to the few who have interacted with the Aimue. I take it as a their nervousness from seeing an intimidatingly large group of warriors, and we continue on toward our destination.
I watch the rows of crops swaying gently in the breeze, a peaceful sight that belies the urgency of our mission. Each day, when the sun dips lower and casts a warm, amber glow over the fields, the warriors’ conversations turn to hushed tones, their expressions a mix of weariness and skepticism. I sense the shift in their mood, a subtle change from the initial relief at the milder climate to a simmering frustration due to exhaustion from the long journey. Their eyes, once bright with the prospect of battle, now scan the horizon with a hint of disillusionment. Occasionally, people like Tiahesi glance over at me with subtly-cloaked disdain, but I pay them no mind. There will always be those who abhor being powerless to a woman, viewing this as some slight. Yet I have earned the respect of the majority of Qantua warriors, and I am prepared to do whatever I can to maintain that invaluable trust.
During a night’s rest just beyond one of the small farming villages, Mexqutli sits by me at the campfire, holding a bowl of boiled quinoa that’s topped with recently cultivated herbs found during our march and the latest hunt—some dark brown chunks of roasted rabbit.
“I do not want to raise concerns,” Mexqutli says between bites, “but the warriors are discontented with this long march, only to see no action. There is word going around that the Eye in the Flame has been fabricated.”
“What are you saying, exactly?” I confront him. He waves his utensil in the air as if the gesture is an attempt to settle me down. But to me, it sounds as though he buys into these rumors and is pretending to be on my side.
“Look, Inuxeq,” he says, his voice as tranquil as a gently flowing stream. “We have experienced great peril, and you and I know the Eye in the Flame is out there, somewhere beyond the Tuatiu territory. Yet I’m afraid there has been no indication of their presence out this way. How do we know they are in Aimue country?”
“Because,” I shout, drawing the attention of some nearby warriors who look on with curiosity, “when we drove them out of their outpost, they clearly traveled in this direction. They are regrouping in a territory where they don’t need to fear retribution because of how passive the Aimue are. It’s as clear as day!”
“Perhaps we should have started there, at the outpost, and searched for clues to–“
“We know they ran off in this direction,” I interrupt him. “Aimue is a vast territory, but we will find them, I’m confident.”
“Your confidence is admirable,” he says, “but it will not win you any favor among the Qantua warriors. Earning and maintaining their trust is important, and–“
“You don’t think I know this?” I challenge him. “They’re going to be sorry the moment we encounter those gray beasts and powerful sorcerers. What good will their apologies to me be when they die at the feet of these monsters?”
Sianchu now joins the conversation, speaking between bites. “It’s just that we haven’t seen any indication that the cult has been through here. Perhaps Taqsame was correct, that this is a matter than doesn’t require Qantua resources this far from their territory.”
“That is because you would rather the warriors be sent to Tapeu to protect your precious Arbiter from the rebels that sprout like flowers in springtime,” Mexqutli snarks. It’s been a debate that has raged between them throughout the duration of our march to this point. Sianchu will complain about the long journey, and Mexqutli chides him for his grumbling, bringing every protest from the Tapeu military leader back to the rebels claimed to exist in Qapauma. As if I wasn’t tired of their constant bickering before, this lengthy trek to Aimue has made my patience wear thin.
“If the reports are true,” Sianchu squeaks out his response, setting down his bowl to make hand gestures to emphasize his statement, “we should protect the capital and stomp out any rebellions before the sparks turn into full-fledged fires. And if the Eye in the Flame is so adamant about attacking the Arbiter, then the resources will already be in place to defend the throne. It’s the most logical plan.”
“Qantua is not going to send warriors to defend your feeble Arbiter,” Mexqutli remarks. “There are leaders among their council who cheer for the rebellions, wanting them to fall so that they can seize the throne for themselves. Young Taqsame of the council made that abundantly clear. They were reluctant to send this small amount of warriors for our cause, so what makes you believe they would spend any resources to defend a ruler who cannot adequately defend himself? Especially a leader who made threats to withhold distributing resources to said peoples?”
“That is pure hearsay,” Sianchu protests. “There is absolutely no way the Arbiter would extort the people he’s sworn to protect. And anyone not willing to expend warriors to defend the capital are acting treasonous. They should be doing everything in their power to defend the realm, to prevent another Timuaq situation.”
“Your precious Arbiter is the Timuaq reincarnated,” Mexqutli accuses. “It is no wonder warriors like Taqsame see him as weak and are eager to challenge his position as Arbiter. If he cannot control what is happening in his own capital, how can he be expected to control Pachil?”
“Boys,” I shout, having heard this exact circle of argument over and over since we left Hilaqta. “Your arguments are taking away from our main purpose, which is defending Pachil from these monstrous cultists and their creations. Teqosa is correct, that stopping them will stop the biggest threat to our peoples’ existence. What happens in Tapeu is the concern of the Arbiter. Speculation will do us little good; we must focus on the matter before us.”
The two mutter incoherently, scowling at one another as they return to their bowls of food, shoveling its contents with a pout. It will only be a matter of time before they both resume their debate, but at least, for now, there will be some modicum of peace.
The concerns regarding my leadership and decision-making are a genuine concern, however. We have been marching for days, and it’s true that indications of any Eye in the Flame activity has been nonexistent. While normally I would view this as a good sign, taking it to mean they could have given up, I know that this Sunfire is relentless, and their ambitions are great. They will not give up so easily, and I assume they’re biding their time, regrouping before launching another assault on innocent victims. The Sunfire seemed exceedingly confident in their plans, so I know that our travels into Aimue are not for nothing. If I’m being honest, I will be very disappointed if my concerns end up justified.
More days pass, and as the journey grows longer, so grows the discontent within the Qantua warriors. We’ve been told that we are close to the capital of Aimue, Xaqelatun, yet the fields seemingly continue on forever without any clear indication of civilization. It’s only when a few well-traveled Qantua warrior shout in excitement that hope starts to wash away the disgruntlement.
In the context of the smaller villages we encountered previously, if Xaqelatun is regarded as an extensive lattice of buildings, one would be forgiven for believing such tales to be fabricated, judging by the appearance of this supposed city. With their construction of homes built low to the ground, it’s nearly impossible to tell whether we’ve reached the city or not by sight alone. Yet we’ve apparently arrived, as those familiar with the Aimue lands speak elatedly about finally being at a destination with more than a few dozen residents. Plans begin forming regarding what leisurely activities they wish to partake during our stay. However, all chatter halts abruptly as a disturbing scene draws closer.
“Is that… smoke?” Sianchu calls out to us. Searching the horizon, we confirm his concerns. Towering columns of thick, black smoke rise skyward to join the clouds, larger than any tree in the Tuatiu jungles I can recall. Mexqutli and I shout to the warriors to hurry toward the city, to offer our support, if needed. I ignore the subtle, irritating pain caused by the tall grasses as they whip and scratch my exposed skin, tracing small, red lines about my arms and legs. All that matters is ensuring the people and the city—whatever may be left of it—is safe, and finding out what is happening.
We arrive to a grizzly scene, one that ties my stomach into knots as I become immediately nauseous. Approaching Xaqelatun, bodies are strewn about like debris after a strong storm. Limbs and body parts, indiscernible whether they once belonged to humans or the animals kept on the farms, are flayed, ripped to pieces and scattered about the ground. As we survey the area, our senses are overwhelmed by a putrescence that defies words—a dense, suffocating aroma of decay, blood, and ruptured entrails, intertwined with the subtle, unsettling sweetness of decomposition. The soil has been stained crimson, rivers of red stream down the wide pathways that connect the various parts of the city. Many of the low, wooden houses have been shattered apart and leveled, walls smashed and splintered, and furniture and other personal belongings have been tossed onto the roads.
“Who caused this?” one of the bewildered warriors asks.
“More like ‘what caused this’,” I correct. “This gore is all too familiar, resembling precisely what Mexqutli, Sianchu, and I encountered at Iantana. Such destruction and devastation is likely the result of the Eye in the Flame. They must’ve already–“
A rustling and several footsteps approach us from one of the paths leading into the heart of the city. Several of the Qantua warriors instruct the intruders to halt, to stop right where they are. The shouting grows louder and more intense as the entities continue progressing toward us, unheeding the calls to stand down. Fearing the worst, I turn to face the incoming assailants, drawing the sword and readying myself for combat.
“We’re in need of help,” the voice of a young woman cries. “Several of us need a healer. So many are in bad condition. Please, you must help us!”
Mexqutli waves a hand, signaling our warriors to back down for the time being, then approaches the barefoot woman, standing along with a handful of others. Her clothes, a simple, hemp wrap dress and shawl, are tattered and bloodied, as are the condition of the others’ garments. Blood had congealed and dried in her light brown hair. At first, I mistakenly believe her to be cradling something in her arms, but soon realize she’s clutching her stomach, holding back a severe gash that has dyed her garments scarlet. With a subtle gesture, Mexqutli calls one of our healers over to assist her, who feebly attempts to stop the bleeding.
“What took place here?” Mexqutli asks, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Who did this to your people?”
“They came out of nowhere,” the woman sputters out between sobs. “It was a normal day, a typical day of harvesting. We had just given thanks to Laytauma and celebrated the incoming harvest only days before. My father, Qalohe, had just returned from the crops with a bundle of maize we were gathering for the quota and was preparing to take a brief rest. He had been out in the fields all morning by that point, along with my brother, Waimeya. The two of them always work long after the sun had set.
“Father had just set down the latest sack of maize he collected when we heard what sounded like rolling thunder, but the sky showed no signs of an incoming storm. It was a storm of a different sort...”
The woman’s voice trails off as she recalls the moment. Placing a hand to her mouth, she cries uncontrollably, and we struggle to calm her. Mexqutli mutters something I’m unable to decipher, but eventually, it appears he’s able to sooth the suffering woman. After she collects herself, she resumes her recounting.
“The attacks were swift and vicious. Not since the Timuaq have I seen such devastation. None of us knew what was happening. But they swooped in like a violent gale, annihilating anything and anyone they came across without remorse. These monsters, beasts I’ve never seen before in my life, rampaged through the village, clawing through our homes and demolishing them as if they were stalks of wheat being scythed. My father tried to defend us, to protect our home. The house has been in our family for generations. But when the beasts arrived…”
Once again, she succumbs to bouts of profuse weeping, wailing at the mere thought of what she and her family encountered.
More rustling, but this time, paired with a resonate, thundering rumble as though the ground beneath us is set to crumble into the three realms of the underworld. Catching sight of the incoming threat, the woman and her companions screech a bloody-curdling scream and point, drawing our attention to the enormous, gray monstrosity. As witnessed previously, its lifeless skin dangles from blackened and decaying muscles and bone. As it snarls, a green bile-like fluid drips from its emerging yellow, pointed teeth. The beast swats away the skeletal remains of nearby houses as though it was bored from its search for… something. Perhaps it’s due to how the houses are constructed that alters my perception, but unlike before, this is the largest size I’ve ever seen these creatures grow; where previously they had only barely reached the height of a Tuatiu home, I now feel like an ant staring up at a mountain, the beast’s heads seemingly reaching the clouds.
Upon seeing us, it looses an otherworldly roar up into the heavens, its blackened fingers gnarled into sharp talons as it howls. It rears back, readying itself, then charges at us, its feet cratering the bloodied soil. It builds up speed until it barrels into a dozen or so of our men, deflecting their spears and swords as though they were reeds in a swamp, simply minor inconveniences. The terrified Aimue villagers run away into the fields. A few warriors release arrows at the monster, but to no avail. Each of their efforts bounces off its gray flesh and drops lifelessly to the ground. Panicked, men begin scurrying away from the area, retreating far beyond the reaches of the beast.
Mexqutli shouts a command to anyone in earshot, “With fire! We must burn the beast with flames!” He unsheathes his enchanted obsidian daggers, then twirls them around in his fingers with needless flourish until both points face the enemy. Almost casually, he walks up to the beast, squaring up for a duel.
Sianchu has other plans in mind: heeding the call, he tears a strip of cloth and ties it around an arrow. Then, reaching into his satchel, he retrieves a flint and furiously strikes it against his sword, sparks flying in various directions until a few catch the cloth and begin setting it alight. Setting his sword down, he grabs the bow hanging on his back and nocks the aflame arrow. In one fluid action, he lets the arrow fly through the air, soaring toward its target.
Before it can reach the beast, however, the monster swats away the incoming projectile like a mosquito buzzing about its head, rendering the effort a failed attempt. In retaliation, the monster releases another loud roar before lifting its leg up and stomping with a heavy whoomp. The ground rumbles like a quake, sending ripples of raised soil like a gigantic wave that emanates from the point of impact. Countless men are knocked onto their feet, with some getting consumed by the opening and closing of the ground like jaws of a crocodile clamping down onto its prey, their shouts quickly muffled as they’re swallowed into the land.
“Well, that is certainly new,” Mexqutli remarks. His observation is unfortunately correct: the reflexes of such a lumbering brute are the quickest I’ve yet seen, as if its abilities have been enhanced in some way. Have the Eye in the Flame improved upon their process in creating these creatures?
A terrible cacophony of trembling gradually approaches us, and we’re soon surrounded by dozens of the creatures, each eyeing us greedily as one would a meal after being starved for days on end. They gnash their teeth like exposing a cruel, wicked smile, their mouths making loud smacks with each chomp. Several of the Qantua warriors cry out in terror, and a number flee the area, running off and disappearing into the grasses.
“Cowards, the lot of them,” Sianchu scowls, clinching his sword tightly as he prepares himself for battle. Punishment for their cowardice is swift: As the men attempt their escape, several of the gray creatures chase them down in but a few long strides. Then, they snatch the warriors up into their clutches, skewering them with their jagged claws and separating limbs from their torsos like plucking petals from a flower.
The remaining beasts snarl at us, bearing their rotting teeth with a low grumble as they watch our actions attentively. I search the destruction for wood I can set aflame and use as a torch, seeing various planks scattered about. Grabbing one, I rush over to Sianchu and hold it out to him, implying I want to light it. He gives me a reluctant look, as though he doesn’t expect me to fare any better than he had with his arrow. However, I’m insistent, adamantly shaking the piece of timber near his face. With a sigh, he grabs his flint and, after a couple of half-hearted strikes, sparks it alight.
I turn around and watch Mexqutli charge at the creatures, unleashing a furious battle cry as he sprints past the Qantua warriors frozen in place like stone statues. With his obsidian daggers, he swipes wildly at the monsters, no grace or time-tested technique in use whatsoever. The flailing and aimless attacks appear to work: As the beasts’ tremendous fists start to fall down upon Mexqutli and the helpless warriors, the monsters begin to disintegrate into ash one by one each time the blade penetrates the creatures’ molten flesh and muscle.
“I need to get me one of those,” Sianchu mutters, and I sense a hint of jealousy in his remark.
Before I rush off into the fray, I look at him over my shoulder, holding the slowly burning piece of wood as I say, “In the meantime, we can’t stand back and do nothing. We must do what we can.”
Nearly half a dozen warriors desperately swing their swords at the monsters, hopelessly fending off the incoming blows the creature unleashes. I sprint toward them, holding the flaming piece of wood aloft like a weapon. With gritted teeth, I lunge forward. While the gray creature’s attention is on some hapless warriors, beating them senseless with its clenched fists, I plunge the jagged piece of wood into what remains of its calf. In an instant, the beast goes up in flames, flapping and flailing its limbs to try and extinguish the fire. No sooner than when I warn the others to move out of its way, the monster comes crashing down into one of the nearby homes with a massive thwunk, catching the remaining pieces of the structure aflame.
Empty handed, I frantically search for more wood to set on fire. With the beast turning the home into a tinderbox, I fight through the flames and grab more pieces of wood, instructing the others to follow suit and use them to fight the creatures. “It’s our only chance,” I yell to them, and I gingerly handle the sword-sized piece with both hands. Before my forearms are kissed by the flames, I quickly make my way to another monster and launch the wood toward it. When it lands, the creature’s foot begins to catch fire, but it rapidly stomps down, immediately putting out the fire before any more harm can come to it. It’s disappointing, to say the least.
Enraged, the beast takes its blackened foot and ferociously stomps down, creating more waves of turf that surge toward us. I dash away just as the terrain lifts me off my feet, sending me hurtling into the sky. My arms flap about, grasping at the air, and what feels like a moon cycle later, I crash into the ground with a hard thud, the impact knocking the wind out of my lungs.
Stunned, I lay on the ground, writhing in pain as my right arm screams in agony. I fight through it, knowing nothing good can come from me staying in one place with rampaging enemies about, and I force myself onto my feet. Scores of warriors are beaten into the ground by the smashing fists of the gray beasts. We’re losing invaluable numbers of fighters to just these few monsters, and for a brief moment, I regret marching such an army to these lands. Perhaps the council and military leaders who were less inclined to aid us in this mission were right to limit the amount of warriors granted to this cause.
I shake the thoughts from my mind. I know what awaits us if we don’t confront this challenge head on. A warrior knows what they have dedicated their lives to by committing to this path. Our code is to protect those who are unable to protect themselves from what threatens our societies’ pursuit of a peaceful existence. These men and women wouldn’t be here if they didn’t adhere to the duty they swore to serve. It goes beyond simple citation of an oath; being a warrior is entrenched in one’s bones. We know no other way to exist.
Clenching my teeth, I muster up the strength to hunt down these beasts and make them pay for bringing harm to the innocent and unsuspecting people of Aimue. Searching the area, I find my possessions scattered about the ground and rush over to pick up Sachia’s bow. I rip a scrap off my Qantua shawl, wrapping it around the tip of my arrow. I hurry over to the flaming heap that was once an Aimue home, but find it’s slowly starting to extinguish, lacking the food it requires to sustain itself. I don’t have many more uses of this tactic left before I have to resort to other means, so I need to capitalize on this while I still can.
After dipping the arrow into the flame, I quickly nock and release it at the humungous target that is the creature. With it being too occupied in causing excessive damage, it fails to notice the ball of flame hurtling toward it, striking its side and instantly setting it alight. Jolts of pain shoot through my right arm as it urges me to stop, but I power through, knowing I can’t quit now while there are others in need of my help. I repeat this with two more arrows, rapidly catching them on fire and releasing them toward any gray mass within sight. A few others catch on to my plan and begin wrapping their arrows in cloth, then setting them on fire and loosing their bows onto the treacherous monsters terrorizing the city.
One by one, the beasts fall in an enormous mass of fire, their howls of anguish sounding like triumphant music to my ears. There’s a sense we’re turning the tide of this battle, taking out these horrifying creatures and making progress in extinguishing the Eye in the Flame’s plans.
It’s during this brief moment of feeling victorious, this respite from the fiery storm the cultists have unleashed—and taking pleasure in my joke regarding “extinguishing the Eye in the Flame”—when the battle does, in fact, turn.
Returning from their pursuit of the Qantua warriors who had abandoned the fight, the gray creatures began unleashing a fury of assaults, the likes of which I had never seen from them. Expecting them to stomp and create more surges of dirt, they surprise us all: with a guttural shout, they wave their arms as if commanding the sky, then thrust their arms forward, unleashing a powerful gust of wind. We’re battered by a barrage of wreckage from the ruined homes, along with loose rocks, ash, and soil. The fortunate ones are launched off their feet and tumble backwards, colliding with trees and foundations of skeletal structures as they’re flung about. However, the less fortunate are impaled by the spear-like planks from the destroyed houses, or bludgeoned by heavy debris.
Though I uselessly raise my arms to my face in an effort to shield myself from the incoming gales, I’m thrown through the air like a leaf in a storm, flying past the desolated remains of the wooden homes. With every drop of energy and resolve I possess, I manage to extend my hand and clasp onto a lone, vertical support from the house’s structure, preventing myself from flying any further. Instinctually, however, it’s my strong arm, the one I use the most: my right arm. My wounded arm. It loses all remaining strength, and without warning, loosens my grip on the post, unable to sustain myself and prevent me from tossing and tumbling over the ground. My green and black tunic is ripped to shreds as I’m carved up by the fragmented debris, slicing my skin with hundred of nicks and cuts.
As I attempt to pick myself up, I immediately drop to the ground. My ankle screams in agony, rebelling against the weight of my body with every effort to stand, sending waves of searing pain coursing through me. I can only look on as the gray beasts slaughter our lines, battering the warriors who dare confront them. I search the scene for any sign of Mexqutli and find him, unconscious on the ground many streets away, his obsidian daggers lying on either side of his body.
“Sianchu!” I shout, hoping the wind carries my voice over to him. Mercifully, his voice pierces through the chaos, urgently calling out my name as he frantically searches for my location.
“Mexqutli is down!” I yell. “Find his daggers!”
Eventually, Sianchu’s stout frame comes into view, his eyes cast to the ground and arms extended outward at his side as he aimlessly wanders about the battlefield. Have I called upon the wrong person to achieve this task?
“Twenty paces to the right!” I instruct him. “No, your right, you fool!”
At the mercy of the Eleven, Sianchu eventually stumbles upon Mexqutli’s body—literally. While on the ground, his eyes light up as he spots the obsidian daggers, eagerly grabbing them and lifts himself up. With renewed vigor and energy, he charges into the fracas, a black blade on each side. From the ground, I watch as he bravely lunges at the beasts, swinging the knives about and slicing into their loose, gray flesh. The power of the blades don’t appear to work, however, and Sianchu stands, panicked at the realization he may be exposed to the monsters’ retaliation.
“Strike their bones or muscle, Sianchu!” I scream. With this, he nods and turns, ducking down and narrowly avoiding being taken out by the swooping fists of a gray creature. From his crouched position, he drives the blade into the beast’s shin, which cracks open like a delicate egg. Sianchu leaps out of the way as the monster topples to the ground, landing a whisker away from where he once stood.
Sianchu, looking relieved, breaks into a celebratory smile, but I shout to remind him, “Keep going! The fight isn’t finished!”
As if just realizing this, Sianchu returns to the battle and begins leveling more of the gray creatures, one swing of the blade at a time. Other Qantua warriors crafted a system to start a fire, set the arrows aflame, then hand them to the archer, who looses the flaming projectiles at the enemy. The beasts notice this and unleash another overwhelming gust of wind toward them, putting the operation to an abrupt halt.
I crawl along the dirt to retrieve Sachia’s bow, hoping I can get into a position to launch fire arrows of my own and return to the fight. Impeding upon my plans, however, a colossal gray foot thwumps beside me. As it stands over me, my face is splattered with drops of the black, viscous drool of the large beast, wreaking of rot and spoiled meat. I’m laying helpless before the monster, entirely exposed as my weapons have been cast about the area. As if it recognizes my condition, the creature tauntingly smiles a toothy grin, relishing in my ultimate demise. It lifts its foot slowly, teasingly, dangling it over my body and leaving me in a state of despair. Has it come to this? Is this how I die?
There’s a sudden pause in the commotion. The creature looks out into the horizon as if searching for something, as though it’s hearing its name being called. The other gray beasts possess the same look of curiosity and confusion, sweeping their gaze about the landscape. Then, as though someone ushered to them an inaudible command to our human ears, they stop what they’re doing and mindlessly walk to the south. Have they been summoned? Who has put an end to this battle? Why are they not finishing what they started and kill everything in sight?
As the monsters run into the horizon, all who remain look at one another to try and figure out what to do with this development. Baffled, those who stand among the ruined remains of Xaqelatun search for the source of this turn of events. Do we chase them down and continue fighting? Do we let them go and lick our wounds? How do we solve the riddle of what just occurred?
Catching his breath, Sianchu makes his way to my position, and we’re eventually joined by a limping and severely wounded Mexqutli. There’s a tremendous gash across the entirety of his torso, his blood blending in with the red cloth of his Ulxa colors. Blood drips from his left arm, and his face and body are smattered with bruises. Yet despite all his injuries, he attempts to abate my concerns with a gravely, “I am okay, Inuxeq.”
“What has driven these creatures away?” I wonder aloud to the other two. “There must be something that’s causing them to run with haste to the south. Is there some disturbance with which we should be aware?”
“Perhaps we were too much for the creatures,” Mexqutli says. “Perhaps they realize they cannot contend with our resiliency.”
“You may have lost a lot of blood,” I reply, “but you most certainly haven’t lost your sarcastic humor.” The Iqsuwa cracks a brief smile and chuckles, throwing him into a coughing fit.
“We should assess the numbers, see how many warriors we lost,” Sianchu says. “Someone will need to report back to Hilaqta and inform them of the count, and perhaps they will reinforce our squadron.”
“That is thinking wishfully,” Mexqutli says. “There is no way they–“
I shush the two men and train my ear to the wind. Something is capturing my attention, a familiar sound. A rhythmicthud thud thud sounding off in the distance. I’m reminded of the pounding I heard in Iantana, before the assault on my village. Those drums… the Hu… Huet…
“The Huetloia,” I mutter aloud to myself. “The drumming.”
“Do you hear the drums, Inuxeq?” Mexqutli asks with a grave expression.
“Would the Huetloia’s sole purpose be to create these gray monsters, Mexqutli?” I inquire, still piecing together what we witnessed and what it could all mean.
“The Huetloia can be used for that purpose, you are correct,” Mexqutli answers. “However, it can also be used as a beacon for its creations, summoning them to their master.”
Panic crashes into me as I realize why the creatures were heading south, and what territory lies in that direction.
“They are headed to Tapeu. We must march to Qapauma,” I say with intense urgency, “and FAST!”
