My silence at Chalqo’s question has been too long, but I’m at a genuine loss for words. I shouldn’t be surprised by his presence in Qapauma for Chasqa Quimi, the festival celebrating the celestial event, Wataq Sami, since he is known to commemorate every occasion in Pachil. Yet seeing him and Qane standing before me among the busy street is unexpected nonetheless.
“So, what brings you to Qapauma?” Chalqo repeats his question, staring at me with a wooden grin fixed to his face as he patiently awaits my response. I can’t determine whether I’ve masked my shock or not, particularly with his performative smile. His light blue tunic would’ve stood out most days in the capital city, but with preparations being made for the upcoming festival, he blends in with all the other villagers and the decorations. I glance at Qane, who looks at me with mild nervousness—and maybe a little guilt—in his eyes.
“Like many, I’m here because I’m drawn by the celestial spectacle of Wataq Sami,” I finally respond, hoping my voice carries the right combination of casual interest and dismissiveness. “It’s a momentous occasion, one that unites all corners of Pachil in wonder and celebration.” My eyes drift towards the bustling crowd to reinforce my stated reason for being here. However, it’s difficult for me to believe what I’m saying.
Chalqo’s grin doesn’t waver, but there’s a slight tilt of his head, as though he’s prompting for more explanation. “And Qapauma is a city rich with history and culture,” I add, waving my splayed hand about the air as I steer the conversation towards safer waters. “I believed it to be an opportunity to learn, which was too valuable to miss.”
“Is that why you decided to depart Qelantu Loh in such haste?” he asks, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “After all, I’d have thought it obvious that I, along with my band of merry musicians, would be performing for the festival in the capital city.”
The question—and the astuteness in his perception—catches me slightly off guard, but I attempt to disguise my surprise with a measured smile. Choosing my words carefully, I confess, “My departure from Qelantu Loh was motivated by more than just the desire for cultural enrichment and celebration of Chasqa Quimi, of course! The celestial event is a rare occurrence, one that draws scholars and artists alike. It seemed opportune to come and learn, to be part of something larger than any one faction.”
“The city’s legacy, its contributions to our shared histories—it’s a wellspring of knowledge and inspiration,” I continue, weaving my narrative with care and hoping my tone is steady, betraying none of the turmoil within. I pause, noting Chalqo’s attentiveness to my every word. “Indeed, my hope was to cross paths with those who appreciate such values. So, I must praise the Eleven for having me cross paths with you, Chalqo, who is known for your… let’s say, harmonious contributions to our cultural gatherings.”
His smile falters for a moment, replaced by a more contemplative expression. “Harmonious contributions,” he echoes. “An interesting choice of words, given the discord that seems to follow the politics of our day. After all, you of all people should know, given the circumstances which resulted in your desperate flight from this city ‘rich with history and culture’, as you put it.”
Chalqo briefly glances away before returning his attention to me. His expression is as though he’s disappointed. In me? In the circumstances? There’s a feeling within me as if someone or something is speaking to me, indicating Chalqo is losing trust in me. Perhaps it’s my own self-doubt telling me this. Yet despite only knowing Chalqo briefly, I’m equally disappointed in myself for my dishonesty.
With a cold expression now fixed to his face, Chalqo slowly steps in closer to me as Qane looks on with concern, saying, “Allow me to attempt the question again. What brings you to Qapauma, Lady Haesan?” He watches me with great interest, his gaze never leaving mine.
I sigh, aware that my facade has been exposed. “There’s a sinister organization that threatens Qapauma—The Eye in the Flame. Well, Qapauma and Analoixan, actually. They plan to strike sometime during the festival. Since learning of their existence, I’ve grown terrified of what they plan to do, and determined to put a stop to it.”
“And how did you learn of this ‘Eye in the Flame’?” Chalqo asks inquisitively.
“Through Onixem, a resident at the palace” I answer. Qane’s eyes grow wide with nervousness. Does he fear I’ll expose something that shouldn’t be discussed? I’ve determined there’s no use in trying to hide the explanation of my presence here, though I will conveniently leave out all mention of the Qente Waila—Chalqo needs not to be made aware of my connections to them.
Chalqo eyes me suspiciously. “When did you have a moment to speak to someone from the palace? You’ve been gone no longer than a single sleep.”
“She informed me of their existence during our shared time at the palace. Upon my arrival, she updated me of their plans,” I say, which isn’t necessarily false.
Chalqo’s expression remains impassive, yet there’s a flicker of curiosity—or is it concern?—in his eyes as he processes my admission. “And this organization, the Eye in the Flame, it compels you to return to a city from which you once fled in fear?” He speaks with a blend of skepticism and genuine intrigue.
“Yes, my conscience wouldn’t allow me to stand idly by. And now that I’ve learned that their plans are not just threats, but imminent actions against Qapauma and Analoixan, I’ve become even more dedicated to stopping them.”
“A commendable stance, Lady Haesan,” he says as his expression softens, though the analytical glint in his eyes remains. “Yet such a perilous endeavor seems a heavy burden for one to bear alone. How do you intend to confront such a formidable foe?” His question is pointed, and I can see he seeks to uncover not just my plans, but also any allies whose identities I might be concealing.
I hesitate, wary of revealing too much. “I seek to ally with those who share a common interest in preserving peace and thwarting those who wish to sow discord. The specifics of my plan are… evolving.”
Chalqo nods slowly as his usual theatrics are replaced by a grave appearance. “In a city where alliances are as shifting as the sands, one must choose their allies with utmost care.” He pauses, fixing me with a probing look. “Does Lady Nuqasiq factor into your plans? After all, her influence in Qapauma is obviously significant.”
“Nuqasiq’s role in Qapauma is indeed complex,” I admit cautiously as the mention of her name sends a shiver down my spine. All this time I’ve been in Qapauma, I’ve possessed the constant thought of disappointing Nuqasiq if she discovered my existence in this place. Chalqo’s mention of having ‘fled in fear’ stings, but the observation is accurate. Being here, with Achutli’s and Anqatil’s watchful presence looming over the city, puts me in constant danger.
Yet with my seeking revenge for Achutli’s actions against me, coupled with the threat of the Eye in the Flame, my presence has become more than just necessary. Hearing Texani’s initial reluctance to aid the helpless residents of this city, it’s apparent nothing would be done to warn those in a position of power to prepare a defense against the army that is allegedly ready to strike with supernatural forces. I have no choice but to risk my life if it means the possibility of saving others. Though I want nothing more than to see Achutli unseated from the throne, there are more pressing matters at hand.
A thought comes to mind at Chalqo’s mention of Nuqasiq’s name. Venturing cautiously into hazardous territory, I ponder aloud, “Perhaps you could be a liaison to Nuqasiq? My intentions are genuine, to assist in safeguarding Qapauma, but I’m not exactly welcomed in the palace.”
Chalqo contemplatively strokes his chin. “Contacting Lady Nuqasiq will be a great challenge, given your circumstances and considering the guards that are constantly in her presence. However, there’s a formal gathering at the palace for Chasqa Quimi—a celebration, but also a moment for crucial conversations among Tapeu’s leadership and nobility, or quraqa, as they consider themselves. It might be an opportune setting to discuss the impending threat.”
"But that’s exactly when the Eye in the Flame plans to strike, during Chasqa Quimi,” I say with a concerned frown. “If we wait until the festival to warn her, it could be too late!”
Chalqo meets my gaze. “Indeed, the timing is far from ideal, and the risk is great. However, it’s also when the palace’s defenses will be at their strongest, expecting to protect the quraqa from any external threats. Paradoxically, this heightened security could offer us cover. Moreover, Lady Nuqasiq will be surrounded by Tapeu’s most influential—those who can enact immediate measures against the threat. As the graduates of the Maqanuiache frequently say, it’s a double-edged sword, but it’s the edge we must grasp."
“But, attending such an event,” I pause, slightly perplexed by the early version of his plan, “I worry about being recognized.”
“Ah, but there are ways to blend in, to be seen without being known,” Chalqo says with a vulpine smile. “The nobility wear many masks to disguise their intentions and machinations. And while, like the quraqa, you will not be wearing one literally, a suitable disguise could afford you the anonymity you need. Lady Yachaman has access to the servants’ quarters, and you could join her as a means of infiltrating the palace.”
My stomach twists into knots at the prospect. Is such a task possible? The idea of infiltrating the palace gathering while everyone is in celebratory delirium intrigues me, yet the risk of exposure to Achutli or Anqatil frightens me. Despite my reservations, Chalqo’s suggestion sparks a flicker of hope. It would be daring and adventurous, and I could be confident that the news of the Eye in the Flame would reach someone who could take action. Just as well, I would very much enjoy seeing Nuqasiq once again. But then I’m overcome with a thought that is unrelenting in its need to be answered.
“Can you not speak to Nuqasiq directly?” I inquire, curious as to his illusiveness. “Do you not have a means of delivering the news to her yourself?”
“While I do maintain a rapport with Lady Nuqasiq, the intricacies of her position and mine dictate a certain,” Chalqo searches the air for the words, “shall we say, discretion. It could inadvertently expose us both to unwarranted scrutiny.”
There’s something nagging me about his response to my question. While I’m aware of his connection to Nuqasiq, along with a brief summary of their history, my mind becomes fixated on what scrutiny the two of them could possibly face. Are they not to be seen together? Is there more to their history of which I’m unaware?
A touch frustrated, I press him further, “But if the threat is imminent as we know it to be, wouldn’t directness be more prudent? Time is a luxury we do not have, Chalqo.”
“I understand your urgency, Lady Haesan, and I share it,” he says with a genuine concern shadowing his usual performative demeanor. “However, our actions must be as strategic as they are swift. Lady Nuqasiq is well-versed in the art of palace intrigue. By ensuring your message is delivered in a manner that she can maneuver to her and Tapeu’s advantage, we amplify our chances of success. Under a veil of anonymity, your presence at the gathering could provide just the leverage needed. Lady Nuqasiq values actions that speak, sometimes louder than direct words. Your courage to stand with Tapeu, taking the risks necessary to deliver your message while masked in plain sight, might be the powerful statement needed to sway her to action.”
Chalqo’s answer is still unsatisfying and leaves me with more unanswered questions. His hands-off approach to my request and in assisting me with delivering the news of a dire threat to Qapauma is infuriating, to say the least. For someone who took me in when I was ailing and in need, I can’t understand his reluctance to help me now. Is there something about Tapeu politics I might be misunderstanding?
“Returning to the discussion regarding your mission against this Eye in the Flame,” he says, noticeably changing the subject, “you should know that your bravery in confronting such darkness does not go unnoticed. Whether in the shadows or the light of the festival, you will not be alone in this fight.”
As his assurance lingers, I’m left more confounded. Is he aligned with an entity unbeknown to me, or even Nuqasiq? Is this perhaps why he speaks in riddles? Does he need to be mindful of what he says, and where? Maybe I should be equally mindful, as well.
Chalqo appears prepared to depart, but before he turns away, he looks to me as though he has one more matter to discuss. “Lady Haesan,” he begins, “Your sudden departure…” He looks as if he seeks the right words to say. “It left many questions in its wake. I understand the importance of the cause with which you speak, but alliances and trust are built on transparency, on knowing one can rely on said allies.”
Though I can understand what he means, the same could be said to him with regards to his enigmatic responses to my inquires and presentation of alarming news. I sense his underlying disappointment and concern, along with a begrudging respect for my bravery in traveling to Qapauma with all the risk involved.
Chalqo continues, “Let us ensure our paths and our intentions are clearly shared. For the sake of Pachil, for the sake of whatever semblance of peace we aim to preserve.”
I want to say something in response, something that challenges his definition of ‘alliance’. Yet I sense the sincerity and the slight hurt behind his typically theatrical exterior, causing a twinge of guilt to shoot through my heart. Indeed, my unannounced departure was done so in a regrettable fashion. Despite this, Chalqo appears to be understanding and willing to help, albeit tangentially. Perhaps I should show gratitude for this, but I can’t put my finger on what irks me about our encounter.
With his statement finished, Chalqo nods to me before he departs, much to Qane’s relief. I feel unsettled, being given only a vague concept of a risky plan. He’s keeping something from me—of this, I’m certain—yet the words to confront him about this catch in my throat. Frustrated yet determined, I sigh and return to the Qente Waila base, to consort with Yachaman on this latest development to the plan.
“Were you out counting the stars midday?” Yachaman says, looking less than pleased when I present the idea of infiltrating the palace in disguise. I attempt to reassure her that the plan might actually work, but she stops me before I can get another word in.
“Do you not understand how needlessly risky this is? Not only do the quraqa not respect the servers unless they want something, but if you’re caught being some place to which you’re not assigned, you could be punished. And do you know what the punishment is?” I shake my head. “It’s death, Haesan. They immediately assume the purpose is of ill intent, and thus the punishment is death, without question, right then and there.”
“Then I suppose this is why we must use extra caution,” I say. Yachaman is unconvinced, and frankly, so am I. The plan is entirely ludicrous, sneaking into the palace under the guise of being a servant. But I can’t enter through the front gate; Anqatil will have me apprehended and likely murdered. And with the festivities taking place, the number of palace guards will certainly be increased, to protect the nobility. That means more watchful eyes ready to expose my intrusion.
“And what to you propose I say to those who ask me regarding my return?” Yachaman asks forcefully. Oh, right. I forgot about the bonding ceremony. My understanding of the circumstances is that, due to the bonding ritual, she’s to be my servant until her servitude has been deemed fulfilled. When I departed the palace, she was to leave the palace, as well, even if she wasn’t certain of my whereabouts, as she is not to be on the grounds without her bond present. It’s an archaic practice—one I will most certainly set out to change—but one in which I must respect its rules. For now.
“You could,” I look to the sky for ideas, “say that I’ve been murdered! On the path! On my way to Chopaqte! We were ambushed by robbers!”
Although I’m pretty proud of myself for improvising the plan, Yachaman looks at me skeptically. “You are too excited about being murdered, Haesan,” she says. “Besides, not only would I be asked how I survived the attack, the news of your death would most certainly be circulated around Qapauma, and an investigation into your whereabouts would be launched.
“Additionally, announcing your death falsely would not only disrespect our traditions, but it could also invoke severe penalties if the falsehood is discovered. Moreover, it could complicate the ritual bond’s status, drawing unwanted attention to both of us. According to our customs, the death of one bonded in a ritual ceremony carries significant spiritual and legal obligations. If they find no use for me, I could be sent away to Aimue, risking my family’s wellbeing and safety.”
The response stings, but those are valid points. I hadn’t considered what the implications could mean for Yachaman and her family if I was to die, raising the stakes of my plan significantly.
“Okay, new plan,” I say, willing some brilliant insight to strike me like a bolt of lightning. When one doesn’t appear immediately, I grow concerned, and I become disheartened at the sight of a scrutinizing Yachaman. Fortunately, inspiration manages to find me after all.
“What if,” I begin while Yachaman continues to meet my gaze with a clear expression of doubt, “you indicate that you have returned to seek a blessing from the temple within the palace grounds, as a sacred rite. During my studies in Chopaqte, I learned all about certain practices conducted by the various factions throughout Pachil. My understanding is that, for the Tapeu, it is believed that certain blessings will strengthen one’s connection to Pachil, enhancing one’s attunement to the world’s natural rhythms and purifying their spirit to better serve the gods. Claim that you seek such a blessing from the temple grounds—a rite of spiritual purification as a servant’s solemn duty. You can say this act is to fortify the bond we share, ensuring not only the protection of those bound by it, but also aligning our spirits with Pachil’s grace.”
Yachaman’s face is frozen in contemplation. However, it’s not of contempt, which is a slight improvement from the previous expression. Though I’m not entirely confident in my understanding of Tapeu practices, I was present on palace grounds long enough to understand that the nobility are highly spiritual people. What right would they have to question someone’s effort to connect to the gods of our land?
“So how do I explain your presence at the palace?” she asks. She hasn’t rejected my idea outright, which I take as an extremely positive sign.
I respond, riding the excitement like a raft on the tide, “I can be a spiritual accompaniment, or a guidance seeker, on a path to understanding the deep connections we share with Pachil. We can say it’s part of my journey to witness and learn from the ceremonial practices that bind us to the land and the divine, because observation and reflection will bring us closer to our own spiritual awakening.”
Yachaman smirks. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were some palace shaman. Or a colossal fibber. Either way, that’s quite a story you managed to weave on a whim.”
I say with slight trepidation, “Let’s hope that whoever asks us believes it. We don’t have much time to prepare, with the celebration taking place in two nights. We’ll need the servant’s garments for me to wear; one with a hood, if you can find or craft one. I’ll return to preparing the safe houses with supplies, and we’ll reconnect soon. I just hope this plan works.”
The days leading up to Chasqa Quimi are filled with vibrant colors, sporadic singing, and scents of every cooked food one can imagine. Qapauma has come alive with celebration, as the jovial atmosphere is nearly tangible. A rainbow covers what seems to be every plain, gray stone that comprises the palace. Music swells over the protective perimeter walls and onto the nearby streets. If it weren’t for the mission Yachaman and I are undertaking, I’d feel more enthusiastic and cheerful instead of the severe nervousness and dread that courses through me.
While typically reserved for the Tapeu nobility, for one day, the residents of Qapauma join the quraqa in exchanging their neutral-colored garments for something bright and colorful. This exception is not reserved for servants, however, who must maintain their bland and ordinary outfits. At any other time, the clothes are designed to have the servants deemed practically invisible as they blend into the stone walls. Now, with the array of colors adorning the palace, they stand out harshly against the radiant decorations. This observation is not lost on me, and only adds to my fears of being identified and caught.
“Perhaps next time, Yachaman, you can find robes for me that are more stiff and scratchy,” I complain, itching my arms as the long and bulky garment feels rough against my skin.
“You are more than welcome to craft your own, Lady Haesan,” Yachaman chides. “It was the best I could find under the circumstances. Besides, with these being men’s robes, it masks your figure better. You’ll thank me when the nobles overlook you, passing you off as some boy instead of marking you as a target for their unsavory attentions.”
“‘Unsavory attentions’? Does that actually happen here?” I ask, frightened. Yachaman doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to. She doesn’t go into additional detail, yet I can make plenty of assumptions as to what people in power do to those who aren’t privileged to it. During my time among nobility, I’ve seen my share of some disturbing displays out in the open; I can only imagine what takes place in private.
Lifting the hood over my long, black hair that’s tied into a tight bun at the back of my head, I conceal my face in shadow and keep my gaze low. My fear causes my eyes to drop to the floor, not wanting to make inadvertent eye contact with anyone who could identify me. Yachaman walks closely by my side, her arm brushing against mine in a way that’s almost comforting and reassuring. Though my doubts about this plan have gone back and forth in the days leading up to now, I’m more than relieved to have her with me through this risky endeavor.
In the wide courtyard that lies in front of the main palace building, the nobility have gathered among the exotic flora not native to the Tapeu region. In fact, many of the beautiful flowers blossoming among the grounds are those that are found back in the jungles of Achope, many surprisingly surviving in this relatively arid and dry region. I’m stunned that they have thrived here, persevering in the harsh and foreign environment. Strangely, I feel a connection to them, knowing that, though they’re displaced, they can still manage to live in a place not of their own origin.
“Why are you not following me!” Yachaman scolds in a near whisper, and I realize I’ve lost my focus to stop and admire the reds, yellows, and oranges of the botanical gardens. “If you are caught standing around, they’ll confront you and kill us both. Do you want to spoil this plan before it’s even begun?”
I quickly apologize and attach myself to Yachaman’s side once again. We weave our way through the nobles, who stand about in their bright, tight garments, socializing and gossiping about the latest rumors. Who is losing their fortunes to ill-conceived trade deals with the Achope. Who is secretly having an affair with whom. Which families’ ancestral relics are declared forgeries by the high priests. Who is consulting with the soothsayers to alter their fate foretold in the celestial patterns. Their conversations elicit eye rolls from me—making me grateful for this hood that shrouds my face—and I don’t miss being among these types one bit.
There’s a bored boy standing in solitude who catches my attention. He’s entirely unengaged with anyone, instead choosing to stare off and watch the incoming sunset paint the sky. He’s peculiar and seemingly out of place, yet he dresses like the Tapeu nobility, in tight-fitting clothes that awkwardly misshape his slight frame. He’s approached by a man and a woman dressed in deep red garments, and is immediately reprimanded for standing off to the side as he is. I assume the two people are his parents, the way they speak to him, and I want to look away, leaving this matter to be settled between them. However, the colors of their outfits strike me as odd, and I begin to feel ill at the sight of them. Their blood red colors remind me of the robes worn by members of the Eye in the Flame—those with supernatural capabilities, as opposed to their counterparts wearing ashen gray. Surely, it’s a coincidence, and I initially brush it off as my concerns regarding the impending attack by the cult. But it unsettles me nonetheless.
I feel my arm being pulled away in an opposing direction. “If you don’t stick with me, I’m going to leave you behind to get mauled by the quaraqa for sport!” Yachaman says to me through her gnashed teeth. I nod briskly and scuttle up to her side once again. We rush off toward the servants’ quarters, where preparations are being made for the celebrations. The roasting meats of cuy, deer, and boar, rubbed with an exotic blend of spices, please my senses. This is abruptly replaced with the overwhelming sting of grain alcohol that pierces my nose as we breeze by the tremendous amounts of chicha. Servants shout instructions to one another as they scurry about the place, carrying various pots, jars, or platters.
Someone shouts to us, and my heart immediately sinks at the recognition of their voice. I clutch Yachaman’s arm tightly, feeling my pulse quicken as the person charges toward us. Her towering figure grows larger and larger until she’s standing directly in front of us. A scowl crosses her lips as she barks out her vitriolic inquiry, and my eyes immediately dart down to the dark leather sandals on her feet.
“Tell me what you are doing here, now” Anqatil demands.
My silence at Chalqo’s question has been too long, but I’m at a genuine loss for words. I shouldn’t be surprised by his presence in Qapauma for Chasqa Quimi, the festival celebrating the celestial event, Wataq Sami, since he is known to commemorate every occasion in Pachil. Yet seeing him and Qane standing before me among the busy street is unexpected nonetheless.
“So, what brings you to Qapauma?” Chalqo repeats his question, staring at me with a wooden grin fixed to his face as he patiently awaits my response. I can’t determine whether I’ve masked my shock or not, particularly with his performative smile. His light blue tunic would’ve stood out most days in the capital city, but with preparations being made for the upcoming festival, he blends in with all the other villagers and the decorations. I glance at Qane, who looks at me with mild nervousness—and maybe a little guilt—in his eyes.
“Like many, I’m here because I’m drawn by the celestial spectacle of Wataq Sami,” I finally respond, hoping my voice carries the right combination of casual interest and dismissiveness. “It’s a momentous occasion, one that unites all corners of Pachil in wonder and celebration.” My eyes drift towards the bustling crowd to reinforce my stated reason for being here. However, it’s difficult for me to believe what I’m saying.
Chalqo’s grin doesn’t waver, but there’s a slight tilt of his head, as though he’s prompting for more explanation. “And Qapauma is a city rich with history and culture,” I add, waving my splayed hand about the air as I steer the conversation towards safer waters. “I believed it to be an opportunity to learn, which was too valuable to miss.”
“Is that why you decided to depart Qelantu Loh in such haste?” he asks, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “After all, I’d have thought it obvious that I, along with my band of merry musicians, would be performing for the festival in the capital city.”
The question—and the astuteness in his perception—catches me slightly off guard, but I attempt to disguise my surprise with a measured smile. Choosing my words carefully, I confess, “My departure from Qelantu Loh was motivated by more than just the desire for cultural enrichment and celebration of Chasqa Quimi, of course! The celestial event is a rare occurrence, one that draws scholars and artists alike. It seemed opportune to come and learn, to be part of something larger than any one faction.”
“The city’s legacy, its contributions to our shared histories—it’s a wellspring of knowledge and inspiration,” I continue, weaving my narrative with care and hoping my tone is steady, betraying none of the turmoil within. I pause, noting Chalqo’s attentiveness to my every word. “Indeed, my hope was to cross paths with those who appreciate such values. So, I must praise the Eleven for having me cross paths with you, Chalqo, who is known for your… let’s say, harmonious contributions to our cultural gatherings.”
His smile falters for a moment, replaced by a more contemplative expression. “Harmonious contributions,” he echoes. “An interesting choice of words, given the discord that seems to follow the politics of our day. After all, you of all people should know, given the circumstances which resulted in your desperate flight from this city ‘rich with history and culture’, as you put it.”
Chalqo briefly glances away before returning his attention to me. His expression is as though he’s disappointed. In me? In the circumstances? There’s a feeling within me as if someone or something is speaking to me, indicating Chalqo is losing trust in me. Perhaps it’s my own self-doubt telling me this. Yet despite only knowing Chalqo briefly, I’m equally disappointed in myself for my dishonesty.
With a cold expression now fixed to his face, Chalqo slowly steps in closer to me as Qane looks on with concern, saying, “Allow me to attempt the question again. What brings you to Qapauma, Lady Haesan?” He watches me with great interest, his gaze never leaving mine.
I sigh, aware that my facade has been exposed. “There’s a sinister organization that threatens Qapauma—The Eye in the Flame. Well, Qapauma and Analoixan, actually. They plan to strike sometime during the festival. Since learning of their existence, I’ve grown terrified of what they plan to do, and determined to put a stop to it.”
“And how did you learn of this ‘Eye in the Flame’?” Chalqo asks inquisitively.
“Through Onixem, a resident at the palace” I answer. Qane’s eyes grow wide with nervousness. Does he fear I’ll expose something that shouldn’t be discussed? I’ve determined there’s no use in trying to hide the explanation of my presence here, though I will conveniently leave out all mention of the Qente Waila—Chalqo needs not to be made aware of my connections to them.
Chalqo eyes me suspiciously. “When did you have a moment to speak to someone from the palace? You’ve been gone no longer than a single sleep.”
“She informed me of their existence during our shared time at the palace. Upon my arrival, she updated me of their plans,” I say, which isn’t necessarily false.
Chalqo’s expression remains impassive, yet there’s a flicker of curiosity—or is it concern?—in his eyes as he processes my admission. “And this organization, the Eye in the Flame, it compels you to return to a city from which you once fled in fear?” He speaks with a blend of skepticism and genuine intrigue.
“Yes, my conscience wouldn’t allow me to stand idly by. And now that I’ve learned that their plans are not just threats, but imminent actions against Qapauma and Analoixan, I’ve become even more dedicated to stopping them.”
“A commendable stance, Lady Haesan,” he says as his expression softens, though the analytical glint in his eyes remains. “Yet such a perilous endeavor seems a heavy burden for one to bear alone. How do you intend to confront such a formidable foe?” His question is pointed, and I can see he seeks to uncover not just my plans, but also any allies whose identities I might be concealing.
I hesitate, wary of revealing too much. “I seek to ally with those who share a common interest in preserving peace and thwarting those who wish to sow discord. The specifics of my plan are… evolving.”
Chalqo nods slowly as his usual theatrics are replaced by a grave appearance. “In a city where alliances are as shifting as the sands, one must choose their allies with utmost care.” He pauses, fixing me with a probing look. “Does Lady Nuqasiq factor into your plans? After all, her influence in Qapauma is obviously significant.”
“Nuqasiq’s role in Qapauma is indeed complex,” I admit cautiously as the mention of her name sends a shiver down my spine. All this time I’ve been in Qapauma, I’ve possessed the constant thought of disappointing Nuqasiq if she discovered my existence in this place. Chalqo’s mention of having ‘fled in fear’ stings, but the observation is accurate. Being here, with Achutli’s and Anqatil’s watchful presence looming over the city, puts me in constant danger.
Yet with my seeking revenge for Achutli’s actions against me, coupled with the threat of the Eye in the Flame, my presence has become more than just necessary. Hearing Texani’s initial reluctance to aid the helpless residents of this city, it’s apparent nothing would be done to warn those in a position of power to prepare a defense against the army that is allegedly ready to strike with supernatural forces. I have no choice but to risk my life if it means the possibility of saving others. Though I want nothing more than to see Achutli unseated from the throne, there are more pressing matters at hand.
A thought comes to mind at Chalqo’s mention of Nuqasiq’s name. Venturing cautiously into hazardous territory, I ponder aloud, “Perhaps you could be a liaison to Nuqasiq? My intentions are genuine, to assist in safeguarding Qapauma, but I’m not exactly welcomed in the palace.”
Chalqo contemplatively strokes his chin. “Contacting Lady Nuqasiq will be a great challenge, given your circumstances and considering the guards that are constantly in her presence. However, there’s a formal gathering at the palace for Chasqa Quimi—a celebration, but also a moment for crucial conversations among Tapeu’s leadership and nobility, or quraqa, as they consider themselves. It might be an opportune setting to discuss the impending threat.”
"But that’s exactly when the Eye in the Flame plans to strike, during Chasqa Quimi,” I say with a concerned frown. “If we wait until the festival to warn her, it could be too late!”
Chalqo meets my gaze. “Indeed, the timing is far from ideal, and the risk is great. However, it’s also when the palace’s defenses will be at their strongest, expecting to protect the quraqa from any external threats. Paradoxically, this heightened security could offer us cover. Moreover, Lady Nuqasiq will be surrounded by Tapeu’s most influential—those who can enact immediate measures against the threat. As the graduates of the Maqanuiache frequently say, it’s a double-edged sword, but it’s the edge we must grasp."
“But, attending such an event,” I pause, slightly perplexed by the early version of his plan, “I worry about being recognized.”
“Ah, but there are ways to blend in, to be seen without being known,” Chalqo says with a vulpine smile. “The nobility wear many masks to disguise their intentions and machinations. And while, like the quraqa, you will not be wearing one literally, a suitable disguise could afford you the anonymity you need. Lady Yachaman has access to the servants’ quarters, and you could join her as a means of infiltrating the palace.”
My stomach twists into knots at the prospect. Is such a task possible? The idea of infiltrating the palace gathering while everyone is in celebratory delirium intrigues me, yet the risk of exposure to Achutli or Anqatil frightens me. Despite my reservations, Chalqo’s suggestion sparks a flicker of hope. It would be daring and adventurous, and I could be confident that the news of the Eye in the Flame would reach someone who could take action. Just as well, I would very much enjoy seeing Nuqasiq once again. But then I’m overcome with a thought that is unrelenting in its need to be answered.
“Can you not speak to Nuqasiq directly?” I inquire, curious as to his illusiveness. “Do you not have a means of delivering the news to her yourself?”
“While I do maintain a rapport with Lady Nuqasiq, the intricacies of her position and mine dictate a certain,” Chalqo searches the air for the words, “shall we say, discretion. It could inadvertently expose us both to unwarranted scrutiny.”
There’s something nagging me about his response to my question. While I’m aware of his connection to Nuqasiq, along with a brief summary of their history, my mind becomes fixated on what scrutiny the two of them could possibly face. Are they not to be seen together? Is there more to their history of which I’m unaware?
A touch frustrated, I press him further, “But if the threat is imminent as we know it to be, wouldn’t directness be more prudent? Time is a luxury we do not have, Chalqo.”
“I understand your urgency, Lady Haesan, and I share it,” he says with a genuine concern shadowing his usual performative demeanor. “However, our actions must be as strategic as they are swift. Lady Nuqasiq is well-versed in the art of palace intrigue. By ensuring your message is delivered in a manner that she can maneuver to her and Tapeu’s advantage, we amplify our chances of success. Under a veil of anonymity, your presence at the gathering could provide just the leverage needed. Lady Nuqasiq values actions that speak, sometimes louder than direct words. Your courage to stand with Tapeu, taking the risks necessary to deliver your message while masked in plain sight, might be the powerful statement needed to sway her to action.”
Chalqo’s answer is still unsatisfying and leaves me with more unanswered questions. His hands-off approach to my request and in assisting me with delivering the news of a dire threat to Qapauma is infuriating, to say the least. For someone who took me in when I was ailing and in need, I can’t understand his reluctance to help me now. Is there something about Tapeu politics I might be misunderstanding?
“Returning to the discussion regarding your mission against this Eye in the Flame,” he says, noticeably changing the subject, “you should know that your bravery in confronting such darkness does not go unnoticed. Whether in the shadows or the light of the festival, you will not be alone in this fight.”
As his assurance lingers, I’m left more confounded. Is he aligned with an entity unbeknown to me, or even Nuqasiq? Is this perhaps why he speaks in riddles? Does he need to be mindful of what he says, and where? Maybe I should be equally mindful, as well.
Chalqo appears prepared to depart, but before he turns away, he looks to me as though he has one more matter to discuss. “Lady Haesan,” he begins, “Your sudden departure…” He looks as if he seeks the right words to say. “It left many questions in its wake. I understand the importance of the cause with which you speak, but alliances and trust are built on transparency, on knowing one can rely on said allies.”
Though I can understand what he means, the same could be said to him with regards to his enigmatic responses to my inquires and presentation of alarming news. I sense his underlying disappointment and concern, along with a begrudging respect for my bravery in traveling to Qapauma with all the risk involved.
Chalqo continues, “Let us ensure our paths and our intentions are clearly shared. For the sake of Pachil, for the sake of whatever semblance of peace we aim to preserve.”
I want to say something in response, something that challenges his definition of ‘alliance’. Yet I sense the sincerity and the slight hurt behind his typically theatrical exterior, causing a twinge of guilt to shoot through my heart. Indeed, my unannounced departure was done so in a regrettable fashion. Despite this, Chalqo appears to be understanding and willing to help, albeit tangentially. Perhaps I should show gratitude for this, but I can’t put my finger on what irks me about our encounter.
With his statement finished, Chalqo nods to me before he departs, much to Qane’s relief. I feel unsettled, being given only a vague concept of a risky plan. He’s keeping something from me—of this, I’m certain—yet the words to confront him about this catch in my throat. Frustrated yet determined, I sigh and return to the Qente Waila base, to consort with Yachaman on this latest development to the plan.
“Were you out counting the stars midday?” Yachaman says, looking less than pleased when I present the idea of infiltrating the palace in disguise. I attempt to reassure her that the plan might actually work, but she stops me before I can get another word in.
“Do you not understand how needlessly risky this is? Not only do the quraqa not respect the servers unless they want something, but if you’re caught being some place to which you’re not assigned, you could be punished. And do you know what the punishment is?” I shake my head. “It’s death, Haesan. They immediately assume the purpose is of ill intent, and thus the punishment is death, without question, right then and there.”
“Then I suppose this is why we must use extra caution,” I say. Yachaman is unconvinced, and frankly, so am I. The plan is entirely ludicrous, sneaking into the palace under the guise of being a servant. But I can’t enter through the front gate; Anqatil will have me apprehended and likely murdered. And with the festivities taking place, the number of palace guards will certainly be increased, to protect the nobility. That means more watchful eyes ready to expose my intrusion.
“And what to you propose I say to those who ask me regarding my return?” Yachaman asks forcefully. Oh, right. I forgot about the bonding ceremony. My understanding of the circumstances is that, due to the bonding ritual, she’s to be my servant until her servitude has been deemed fulfilled. When I departed the palace, she was to leave the palace, as well, even if she wasn’t certain of my whereabouts, as she is not to be on the grounds without her bond present. It’s an archaic practice—one I will most certainly set out to change—but one in which I must respect its rules. For now.
“You could,” I look to the sky for ideas, “say that I’ve been murdered! On the path! On my way to Chopaqte! We were ambushed by robbers!”
Although I’m pretty proud of myself for improvising the plan, Yachaman looks at me skeptically. “You are too excited about being murdered, Haesan,” she says. “Besides, not only would I be asked how I survived the attack, the news of your death would most certainly be circulated around Qapauma, and an investigation into your whereabouts would be launched.
“Additionally, announcing your death falsely would not only disrespect our traditions, but it could also invoke severe penalties if the falsehood is discovered. Moreover, it could complicate the ritual bond’s status, drawing unwanted attention to both of us. According to our customs, the death of one bonded in a ritual ceremony carries significant spiritual and legal obligations. If they find no use for me, I could be sent away to Aimue, risking my family’s wellbeing and safety.”
The response stings, but those are valid points. I hadn’t considered what the implications could mean for Yachaman and her family if I was to die, raising the stakes of my plan significantly.
“Okay, new plan,” I say, willing some brilliant insight to strike me like a bolt of lightning. When one doesn’t appear immediately, I grow concerned, and I become disheartened at the sight of a scrutinizing Yachaman. Fortunately, inspiration manages to find me after all.
“What if,” I begin while Yachaman continues to meet my gaze with a clear expression of doubt, “you indicate that you have returned to seek a blessing from the temple within the palace grounds, as a sacred rite. During my studies in Chopaqte, I learned all about certain practices conducted by the various factions throughout Pachil. My understanding is that, for the Tapeu, it is believed that certain blessings will strengthen one’s connection to Pachil, enhancing one’s attunement to the world’s natural rhythms and purifying their spirit to better serve the gods. Claim that you seek such a blessing from the temple grounds—a rite of spiritual purification as a servant’s solemn duty. You can say this act is to fortify the bond we share, ensuring not only the protection of those bound by it, but also aligning our spirits with Pachil’s grace.”
Yachaman’s face is frozen in contemplation. However, it’s not of contempt, which is a slight improvement from the previous expression. Though I’m not entirely confident in my understanding of Tapeu practices, I was present on palace grounds long enough to understand that the nobility are highly spiritual people. What right would they have to question someone’s effort to connect to the gods of our land?
“So how do I explain your presence at the palace?” she asks. She hasn’t rejected my idea outright, which I take as an extremely positive sign.
I respond, riding the excitement like a raft on the tide, “I can be a spiritual accompaniment, or a guidance seeker, on a path to understanding the deep connections we share with Pachil. We can say it’s part of my journey to witness and learn from the ceremonial practices that bind us to the land and the divine, because observation and reflection will bring us closer to our own spiritual awakening.”
Yachaman smirks. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were some palace shaman. Or a colossal fibber. Either way, that’s quite a story you managed to weave on a whim.”
I say with slight trepidation, “Let’s hope that whoever asks us believes it. We don’t have much time to prepare, with the celebration taking place in two nights. We’ll need the servant’s garments for me to wear; one with a hood, if you can find or craft one. I’ll return to preparing the safe houses with supplies, and we’ll reconnect soon. I just hope this plan works.”
The days leading up to Chasqa Quimi are filled with vibrant colors, sporadic singing, and scents of every cooked food one can imagine. Qapauma has come alive with celebration, as the jovial atmosphere is nearly tangible. A rainbow covers what seems to be every plain, gray stone that comprises the palace. Music swells over the protective perimeter walls and onto the nearby streets. If it weren’t for the mission Yachaman and I are undertaking, I’d feel more enthusiastic and cheerful instead of the severe nervousness and dread that courses through me.
While typically reserved for the Tapeu nobility, for one day, the residents of Qapauma join the quraqa in exchanging their neutral-colored garments for something bright and colorful. This exception is not reserved for servants, however, who must maintain their bland and ordinary outfits. At any other time, the clothes are designed to have the servants deemed practically invisible as they blend into the stone walls. Now, with the array of colors adorning the palace, they stand out harshly against the radiant decorations. This observation is not lost on me, and only adds to my fears of being identified and caught.
“Perhaps next time, Yachaman, you can find robes for me that are more stiff and scratchy,” I complain, itching my arms as the long and bulky garment feels rough against my skin.
“You are more than welcome to craft your own, Lady Haesan,” Yachaman chides. “It was the best I could find under the circumstances. Besides, with these being men’s robes, it masks your figure better. You’ll thank me when the nobles overlook you, passing you off as some boy instead of marking you as a target for their unsavory attentions.”
“‘Unsavory attentions’? Does that actually happen here?” I ask, frightened. Yachaman doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to. She doesn’t go into additional detail, yet I can make plenty of assumptions as to what people in power do to those who aren’t privileged to it. During my time among nobility, I’ve seen my share of some disturbing displays out in the open; I can only imagine what takes place in private.
Lifting the hood over my long, black hair that’s tied into a tight bun at the back of my head, I conceal my face in shadow and keep my gaze low. My fear causes my eyes to drop to the floor, not wanting to make inadvertent eye contact with anyone who could identify me. Yachaman walks closely by my side, her arm brushing against mine in a way that’s almost comforting and reassuring. Though my doubts about this plan have gone back and forth in the days leading up to now, I’m more than relieved to have her with me through this risky endeavor.
In the wide courtyard that lies in front of the main palace building, the nobility have gathered among the exotic flora not native to the Tapeu region. In fact, many of the beautiful flowers blossoming among the grounds are those that are found back in the jungles of Achope, many surprisingly surviving in this relatively arid and dry region. I’m stunned that they have thrived here, persevering in the harsh and foreign environment. Strangely, I feel a connection to them, knowing that, though they’re displaced, they can still manage to live in a place not of their own origin.
“Why are you not following me!” Yachaman scolds in a near whisper, and I realize I’ve lost my focus to stop and admire the reds, yellows, and oranges of the botanical gardens. “If you are caught standing around, they’ll confront you and kill us both. Do you want to spoil this plan before it’s even begun?”
I quickly apologize and attach myself to Yachaman’s side once again. We weave our way through the nobles, who stand about in their bright, tight garments, socializing and gossiping about the latest rumors. Who is losing their fortunes to ill-conceived trade deals with the Achope. Who is secretly having an affair with whom. Which families’ ancestral relics are declared forgeries by the high priests. Who is consulting with the soothsayers to alter their fate foretold in the celestial patterns. Their conversations elicit eye rolls from me—making me grateful for this hood that shrouds my face—and I don’t miss being among these types one bit.
There’s a bored boy standing in solitude who catches my attention. He’s entirely unengaged with anyone, instead choosing to stare off and watch the incoming sunset paint the sky. He’s peculiar and seemingly out of place, yet he dresses like the Tapeu nobility, in tight-fitting clothes that awkwardly misshape his slight frame. He’s approached by a man and a woman dressed in deep red garments, and is immediately reprimanded for standing off to the side as he is. I assume the two people are his parents, the way they speak to him, and I want to look away, leaving this matter to be settled between them. However, the colors of their outfits strike me as odd, and I begin to feel ill at the sight of them. Their blood red colors remind me of the robes worn by members of the Eye in the Flame—those with supernatural capabilities, as opposed to their counterparts wearing ashen gray. Surely, it’s a coincidence, and I initially brush it off as my concerns regarding the impending attack by the cult. But it unsettles me nonetheless.
I feel my arm being pulled away in an opposing direction. “If you don’t stick with me, I’m going to leave you behind to get mauled by the quaraqa for sport!” Yachaman says to me through her gnashed teeth. I nod briskly and scuttle up to her side once again. We rush off toward the servants’ quarters, where preparations are being made for the celebrations. The roasting meats of cuy, deer, and boar, rubbed with an exotic blend of spices, please my senses. This is abruptly replaced with the overwhelming sting of grain alcohol that pierces my nose as we breeze by the tremendous amounts of chicha. Servants shout instructions to one another as they scurry about the place, carrying various pots, jars, or platters.
Someone shouts to us, and my heart immediately sinks at the recognition of their voice. I clutch Yachaman’s arm tightly, feeling my pulse quicken as the person charges toward us. Her towering figure grows larger and larger until she’s standing directly in front of us. A scowl crosses her lips as she barks out her vitriolic inquiry, and my eyes immediately dart down to the dark leather sandals on her feet.
“Tell me what you are doing here, now” Anqatil demands.
