“You have completely lost your mind,” Paxilche complains, completely baffled after I’ve stated my intentions. The others stand around in the low light of the early morning and stare at me dumbfounded, as well, waiting to see if what I’ve just stated was some kind of joke. “Do you even know what you’re suggesting?”
I’m well aware at the risk involved in what I’ve just proposed. In fact, I dismissed the idea when it initially came to me during my attempts at sleep. Clearly, you must be exhausted, I thought to myself. Yet the more I considered it, the more it made sense. Since then, it’s been my singular focus, having also meditated on it during my morning’s ritual. I can think of no other plan to best the Eye in the Flame, or at least catch them off guard.
“She has spent entirely too much time on the continent,” Naqispi adds. “This is further evidence that we need to return her to her papa sooner rather than later.”
“Do not condescend to the princess,” Pomacha scolds his comrade in a low growl.
“It’s certainly fair to point out this plan being completely ludicrous, however,” Chiqama says. “We are likely to be killed on sight the moment we step foot inside their territory.”
“And what’s not to say that the cult hasn’t already reached Analoixan?” Atoyaqtli mentions. “By the time we execute this plan—if we succeed at all, which is a big ‘if’—we may be too late, and we arrive to a decimated city.”
The group goes back to staring at me, anticipating my response. Naqispi watches me in disbelief, ready to charge out the door of the inn and into the Qespina streets. Though the village is relatively small, the lack of patronage at such a meeting place is stark and jarring. In Sanqo, whether it be the capital city of Haqiliqa or a tiny fishing village, our taverns are consistently packed with patrons consuming spirits and enjoying spirited debate. The silence here is deafening—even my whispers feel as though I’m shouting. But fortunately, this means there isn’t anyone else around to place their judgement onto me, as well.
My plan requires a lot more convincing, but I stand by my convictions, knowing this is the best course of action. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. “There is a strategic advantage in gaining the Auilqa as allies. Before you carry on scoffing and dismissing the notion, allow me to explain. Yes, it’s understood that the faction are isolationists. However, what’s also known their fierce warrior prowess. Their tenacity is something of legend, rivaling the great warrior factions such as the Tuatiu.
“Additionally, it’s something the Eye in the Flame will not expect. Their plan to attack Analoixan and Qapauma relies on facing only the Ulxa and Tapeu, respectively. Two locations on opposite sides of the continent. I imagine they believe there won’t be enough time for other factions to become involved and assist; through Saxina, they saw to it that the closest faction that could aid the Ulxa are out of the way, attacking the Qiapu to ensure they’re too shorthanded to help, even if they desired to do so. By involving the Auilqa, we can overwhelm their forces unexpectedly and shift the balance of power to our side!”
“That’s an adorable premise and all,” Naqispi says, shuffling toward me, “but what makes you believe the Auilqa will go along with this plan? You even mention, they’re an isolationist faction. So why would they help their nemesis, the Ulxa?”
“It’s a valid point,” Chiqama agrees, joined by the others’ nods and grunts of concurrence. “I recall my studies long ago, where we were taught about the conflict between the Ulxa and the Auilqa. While to the rest of us they may appear to be the same—similar gods of worship, similar appearances and cultures, similar savagery—they have a deep-rooted hatred for one another that spans way back, before the Timuaq appeared. Even though I doubt they remember why they’re fighting in the first place, there is no love lost between the two sides.”
“How will we convince them to aid in the fight against the cult, Princess Walumaq?” Pomacha asks, his tone more mellow than that of the others.
“After all,” Naqispi says between swigs of chicha, “in the shadow of common threats, even rival factions can find their paths entwined.”
“Do you only speak like a bard when you desire to mock someone?” Chiqama asks Naqispi mockingly. Naqispi just chuckles and shakes his head.
“While they both have their supposed differences,” I begin my response, “they can both acknowledge that they value their strength and independence. The Eye in the Flame seek to force everyone to yield to their might. Though they may not like it, the Ulxa are their neighbors to the south. If the Ulxa falls, the Eye in the Flame are likely to move onto Auilqa in the quest for control over all of Pachil. They could bring the fight to those whose ultimate mission is to make every faction submit to them. That goes directly against the Auilqa desire of independence.”
“Sure, but the Auilqa could assume they’re capable of taking on the threat if it reaches their village,” Atoyaqtli says.
I point to Paxilche, Pomaqli, and myself. “We have seen the destruction they’re capable of. You,” I point to the Sanqo warriors, “have tangentially seen it yourselves. It will be part of the argument to explicitly describe what we’ve witnessed. The fact that members of two separate factions have joined together and traveled this far should be an indicator of how vital it is that they aid us.”
Naqispi snorts derisively. “Your mission is noble, dear princess, but my sole purpose was to retrieve you and return you back to Sanqo. We have spent entirely too much time jawing and getting nowhere. Plus, the men and I are overextending ourselves already, thanks to your friend, Paxilche, here. Why am I now adding the opportunity to risk my life at the hands of the Auilqa? They don’t care for me any more than I care for them. Why should I care what happens to the Ulxa or the Auilqa?”
‘Overextending themselves, thanks to Paxilche’? What does that mean? In what have the Sanqo warriors involved themselves? This is greatly concerning. I must inquire about this, but not now; perhaps I will confront Paxilche if all goes well here.
“I understand your apprehension, Naqispi,” I begin, then hold up a hand to temper his protest at being identified as such. “You’ve already got a tale to tell those back in Sanqo about your adventures on the continent.”
“Iaqa knows you’ve done nothing but speak about the Waqash every waking moment,” Chiqama interjects to lament.
“However,” I continue, “imagine the tales of which you’ll be able to speak when you return to the taverns of Haqiliqa. How you were part of the discussions that unified the Sanqo to not just one, but three factions, including the isolationist Auilqa! You’ll be hailed a hero not only for your expertise in combat, but in diplomacy, as well!”
Naqispi leans back with his arms folded and chuckles, a wry smile playing across his lips. “‘Hero of diplomacy’, eh?” he says, both amused and sarcastically. “Never thought that’d be a title to chase. Combat, glory, riches—those I understand. But diplomacy?” He shakes his head and scrunches his face as if he smelled something foul.
“Tales and titles don’t fill one’s cup nor provide a warm bed at night,” he says. “You’re asking me to gamble on the unknown, on the chance that these savages will even listen to us, let alone join our cause. And for what? The satisfaction of a job well done? The gratitude of people who’ve never spared a thought for the likes of me?”
Naqispi steps forward with a serious demeanor now, though a rogue’s spark still glints in his eyes. “I’ll stand by you and the others when the fight comes, you know that. I’ve got no love for these Eye in the Flame cultists, and less for what they stand for. But I need more than just the promise of a good story to tell. What’s really in it for me, dear princess? What rewards can I expect from risking my neck in Auilqa territory, hm?”
The others exchange nervous glances. Some, like Paxilche and Pomaqli, even begin to show signs of frustration and annoyance in Naqispi’s selfishness. I pay it no mind, understanding his attitude is deeply rooted in the Sanqo way of life. While my father seeks to mend our reputation among the continent’s factions and endeavors to steer our people toward a more civilized bearing, it will always be a part of who we are as a people. We’re born of a lineage steeped in daring exploits of seasoned rogues whose desires flow with the currents of the sea. Navigating the tumultuous tides of our history while aiming to prove that even the wildest spirits can evolve will forever be a challenging feat.
I meet Naqispi’s gaze with a steady, unwavering look. “I know your heart beats for adventure and reward, for tales that will be sung about you long after we’re gone. This mission is not just another tale; it’s your legacy."
I pause, noticing the others are now leaning in after I make that statement. “Imagine not just the accolades and the stories that others will tell of our deeds, but the rewards that await upon your return. The recognition from my father and all of the Sanqo. Your talent in combat is undisputed, but your role in this—your diplomacy, your courage—could be rewarded with more than just words. Land, titles, positions of influence… things that could secure your prosperity and legacy.”
Now I step in closer, softening my voice. “And let’s not forget the adventure itself—the thrill of facing the unknown, of negotiating with the Auilqa. A feat no Sanqo has ever achieved! This is a challenge that could define you, elevate you. Are you not curious to see if you can meet it, to test your mettle as a warrior and leader? This is your chance to do something unprecedented. To be a part of something greater, to have your name not just spoken in the taverns of Haqiliqa, but etched in the annals of history. Yes, it’s a risk, but since when has Naqispi ever backed down from a challenge for fear of danger?”
With this, Naqispi nearly salivates. His eyes look off into the distance, as if he’s envisioning himself receiving such a glorious reception back home. How he’ll be showered with praise and the gifts from Sanqo leadership. There’s an eternal flame dedicated to our representative of the Eleven, Iaqa, but perhaps there could be a place for a statue of him? I’m certain the question is crossing his mind.
As Naqispi daydreams, I address the rest of the men. “I understand, for the rest of you, that you grasp the threat that the Eye in the Flame represents not only to Sanqo, but to all factions. It’s how I know that you want to safeguard our people’s future. I know that your sense of honor and duty will not allow yourselves to stand idly by and watch Pachil burn.
“I also know this is not what you were sent here to do,” I continue. “Returning me to Sanqo was supposed to be a quick endeavor. I ask for your trust and patience. This cult is dangerous and dares to destroy everything our respective factions are working so hard to rebuild. They want to annihilate us, all in the name of some sick and demented cause. We cannot allow that to happen. We mustn’t. A united front against them is our best chance at victory, at peace.”
I fight back the lump forming in my throat. “I ask a lot of you. But if you weren’t the capable warriors you are, I wouldn’t ask you at all. Yes, we could return to Sanqo, fulfill your original mission, and perhaps live to fight another day. But at what cost? The Eye in the Flame will not stop, will not rest, until their darkness engulfs us all. I refuse to give them that satisfaction. I refuse to let fear dictate our path.
“Our actions now, the choices we make, will echo through our history. Will we be remembered as those who watched from the shores, or as the brave warriors who dared to cross perilous waters for the sake of our world?”
I lock eyes with each of those standing before me. “I believe in us. In our strength, in our courage, in our unity. Together, we can turn the tide against this threat. Our people have fought evil before, and I am honored to stand beside you in this fight. As defenders of Pachil, will you join me?”
The men’s eyes shift from one another, to the ground, and back to each other as they consider my words. I stand with my head held high, ready to lead by example, to risk everything for the glimmer of hope that we can forge a future worth fighting for. Honoring my resolve, Pomacha steps forward, pounding his chest in salute. He’s joined by Atoyaqtli, then Naqispi and Pomaqli. Paxilche nods. The only hesitant person remaining is Chiqama. After seeing everyone step forward, however, he grimaces, then reluctantly places a fist over his heart.
We prepare to head west toward the dense, untamed jungles of Auilqa. Our deliberations did not result in losing much of the day, as the light barely peeks about the mountains and continues to cast long shadows of the nearby homes upon the dirt roads. We busy ourselves, tightening straps on worn leather packs and double-checking each weapon for signs of wear or damage. Each of us silently runs through mental lists of essentials for survival in the formidable terrain that lies ahead. A light mist clings to the village before the day’s heat begins to assert itself.
As the others collect their possessions, meticulously rolling cloaks and securing water skins to their belts, a smirking Paxilche approaches me. “That was quite a lot you offered earlier,” he observes, his eyes flickering to where Naqispi stands. “Are you sure your father will be amenable to everything you promised?”
“It’ll be for my father to decide, certainly, but I’m confident that he’ll be too happy for my return to dismiss the idea,” I say with a slight laugh. “Naqispi is a skilled and valuable warrior to have on our side should anything go wrong. And he may not have sounded like it, but he’s a dependable and loyal ally to have on the battlefield. I’m relieved to know he’s joining us, as well as the others, you, and Pomaqli, too.”
“I suppose we will find out,” Paxilche says tentatively. “This is going to be an interesting adventure.”
I look at Paxilche, who eyes me hesitantly. “By now, I’ve likely used all the motivational words I can muster,” I say, cracking a hint of a smirk. “But I know that I would not have the courage to take on this risky challenge if it weren’t for you and the others joining me. I meant every word when I said I wouldn’t bother asking everyone if I didn’t believe you all were capable of taking on this threat with me.”
A small smile creases the corners of his mouth. He remains unsure, which I can understand, given the circumstances. As if taking on the Eye in the Flame wasn’t daunting enough, asking for aid by their victim’s enemy is likely mad. Yet I see no other option, knowing that, while the seven of us are formidable, our numbers are too small to challenge an army. All I can hope for is that whatever we bring to this fight will be enough.
For suns uncounted, our party wanders a realm so unlike the temperate woods of Sanqo. Following along the Maiu Atiniuq, we tread softly over rugs of moss that yield beneath our steps like the chests of slumbering beasts, beneath canopies so dense that the sky becomes a mere memory. Vines thicker than a man’s thigh serve as both obstacle and guide. The jungle’s humid air is thick and heavy, clinging to our skin with the persistence of shadow. It’s laden with a constant hum of an untamed existence that sings in our ears day and night. The cries of unseen creatures are our constant companions, their calls weaving through the foliage and causing me to feel a nervous, cautious excitement.
Though the others march with their respective weapons, I find the one carried by Paxilche to be the most astonishing. It’s not something typically in his possession, unlike the weapons fixed to each of the warriors. Recalling it from our very first encounter, I finally have a moment to examine it, now that we’re not under duress like we were during that time.
The length of the war club is adorned with intricate patterns of gold and copper, gleaming with opulence. Yet the head of the club is edged with a crescent of gleaming metal sharper than the mountain winds. The club’s handle appears smooth to the touch, wrapped with fine threads that are interwoven with tiny beads of turquoise and obsidian. It’s an object of stunning beauty, and a harbinger of destruction.
“How did you come in possession of such a grand weapon?” I inquire as we trudge through the dense vegetation.
Paxilche looks sheepish, his hand reflexively reaching at his back to touch the ornate club. “It was a gift I received during the War of Liberation. They call it ‘Ridgebreaker’. My squadron actually rescued Qespina from the Timuaq. In fact, some recognized me. I… used that to our advantage in locating you. And in keeping the ‘peccaries’ off of you.” He says that last statement with a bit of a smirk.
“It’s impressive,” I say in admiration.
“I wish I had the skill that matches its appearance,” he says.
“You fared well during the assault on the palace,” I remind him. “You don’t give yourself enough recognition.”
A coy smile cracks one side of his mouth. “Let’s just hope I won’t need to use it while we’re in Auilqa,” he muses. I, too, hope he won’t.
We’re faced with the Maiu Xiucoatl, the winding river that snakes between the Qiapu and Auilqa territories and feeds into the great Maiu Atiniuq. The waters churn relentlessly, and I grow worried whether we’ll be able to cross the river at all. However, the Sanqo warriors ease my concerns immediately, setting off to work on fashioning a raft from the bounties the forest. We bind the trunks of fallen trees with strong and pliant vines. Our vessel is crude, yet crafted by Sanqo hands, those who understand the capriciousness of waterways.
As we push off from the bank, the current seizes us immediately, guiding our makeshift craft down the turbulent current. The river roars as white foam hops into our laps. Made from the fallen kapok trees, our paddles dip into the frothing waters, eagerly negotiating with the Maiu Xiucoatl. Though the two Qiapu men struggle to maintain their balance initially, our bodies sway to the river’s rhythm, and our eyes fix onto the far shore. Through sheer willpower, we muscle our way across, landing mercifully ashore and into Auilqa territory.
The rainforest tests our resolve, offering paths that lead not forward, but in circles, ensnaring us in a maze of green and shadow. Yet with each passing day, our destination beckons, drawing us onward with the allure of Qasiunqa's hidden majesty. Resplendent blooms, unlike the muted greens of my temperate home, engage my senses with their enchanting aromas. Though the journey is arduous, the thought of reaching the heart of the Auilqa’s domain propels our weary limbs onward, towards the culmination of our quest.
The city unveils itself with the subtlety of dawn. As the verdant veil of the jungle parts before me, my gaze alights upon the outstretched arms of Qasiunqa. Though a rare sight in the dense foliage, sunlight shines with reckless abandon upon the towering spires of the sprawling city. Just behind the village’s silhouette is a large, rigid mountain seemingly out of place from the rest of the flat terrain. I soon realize it’s not a mountain, but, in fact, a manmade structure, pyramid in shape and built of flat, stone blocks, that rises high above the treetops. I’m quickly reminded that I’m far removed from the salt-sprayed shores of Haqiliqa.
The pointed perimeter walls of the city extend fiercely and proudly skyward, comprised of thatch and foliage interwoven with bone and wood. Despite their harsh composition, the city’s edges are adorned with vibrant and raw colors from feathers and pigments my eyes have never known. As if grown from the very ground, towering edifices rise high above the tremendous trees of the jungle. Bridges suspended by sturdy vines connect the towers, forming a complex and intricate web that gently sways in the breeze. The people move about them with the grace of a puma, treading lightly across these swinging paths.
We hold our collective breaths as we approach the jagged walls surrounding the city. Shouts rise above the sounds of the jungle as the Auilqa warriors raise their spears, ready to hurl them our way. We raise our hands, hoping to deter any conflict. The yells continue, growing more and more severe as they move within their wooden bastions.
An overwhelming number of warriors guard Qasiunqa, spanning the parapets and walls that stretch beyond sight. Each male and female warrior dons headdresses of varying size that fan out in a splendid array of feathers and bone that capture the hues of the jungle. Aside from the woven bamboo pauldrons that drape across their shoulders and the tops of their arms, their dark tan chests are bare. They wear short hip cloths of assorted intricacy: some are plain brown or green while others contain elaborate patterns sewn into their garments. In their hands are mechanisms to throw spears—Atoyaqtli informs us they’re called atlatls—decorated with dangling feathers.
As I step forward, more unintelligible shouts are hurtled at me. I can’t comprehend their language, and when I ask if any speak Merchant’s Tongue, their response is more vitriolic roars. Their muscles tense, each gripping their weapons tightly with the intent to slay us where we stand.
“This was an excellent idea,” quips Naqispi. A few in our group shush him, though I doubt anything we say could put us in deeper water more than we already are.
With splayed hands extended toward them, I take a deep breath and call out, “We mean you no harm. We would like to speak to your leader. We come in peace, not as foes, but as friends. We wish for no conflict.” I bow, hoping the gesture will be seen as a sign of compliance and respect. When I lift myself back up, I’m met with awkward, confused stares.
“At least the shouting’s stopped,” Naqispi sarcastically notes.
Ignoring him, I continue to try to connect with them. I point toward the center of Qasiunqa, “May we enter your city and speak to your leader?” Now I gesture a crown or headdress being placed atop my head. “We seek to defend our homeland, like you. For we face a great danger.” I ball my hand into a fist, place it over my heart, then bow my head solemnly.
I hear Chiqama whisper to someone, “What is she doing?” He’s shushed immediately, and lets out a frustrated sigh.
After what appears to be a lengthy deliberation between the warriors, a few rush off into the city. Is this a good sign, or a sign of terrible things to come? We wait—some more patiently than others—making no sudden movements that could spark any hostility. The eyes of nearly every Auilqa warrior is sharply trained on us with the vigilance of a hawk monitoring its prey. My breath catches in my throat as I feel my heart hammering against my ribs.
An eternity passes, but finally, an elderly man emerges atop the parapet. His face is leathery and weathered, possessing perhaps a wrinkle for every harvest he’s lived on Pachil. Is this their leader? He looks discerningly over us gathered at the jungle’s edge, eyes narrowed as he studies us intently. In a few dozen heartbeats, he shouts down at us.
“Come. Slow.” His yell is more of a croak, and I nearly miss the words said in Merchant’s Tongue.
We exchange nervous glances, then exhale what we hope is far from our last breath. We keep our hands raised as we step cautiously toward the entrance to the great city. Then, with both fear and reverence, I cross into the domain of the Auilqa.
Qasiunqa looks significant and imposing from outside the perimeter walls, but that doesn’t begin to describe the expansive city within. Everywhere my eyes travel, I’m met with the vision of a complicated system of homes and bridges, spanning every which way. Much like the outside, the houses are built with a harsh severity, as though all wood found in the nearby jungles are naturally formed into a pointed spear.
“If I trip over a stone, I’m going to get pierced by an Auilqa bed,” Naqispi observes. We’re all too petrified, or in awe, to silence him. The structures climb as high as the trees, reaching impressive heights that make me feel small and insignificant among the buildings and walls.
More intimidating is that, everywhere we go, the eyes of everyone who lives in Qasiunqa watch us attentively. Their eyes… Each Auilqa possesses the greenest eyes that blend in with the jungle vegetation. With the exception of one curious young boy—whose eyes grab my attention, as they’re distinctly, and curiously, amber—it’s difficult to determine if our presence amazes or frightens them, but no words are said during our march to wherever we’re being led. My breath shakes from my nervousness, but I try my best to keep it together, to not show my fear. To ease my spirit, I softly recite the words of my morning ritual:
Strength of Pachil’s ancient lands, steady and enduring,
Flow of the endless rivers, guiding and sure,
Breath of the sacred winds, ever-present and assuring,
Warmth of the sun’s gentle light, life-giving and pure.
At a point in Qasiunqa where the jungle momentarily loosens its clutches over the city, we’re led to a sacred grove of weathered, ancient stone—the only stone structure I’ve seen since our arrival. The air shifts around me, cooler and thinner than the thick humidity of the rainforest. Sunlight spills through the multitude of palm leaves that cover the span of the building as teensy birds flutter about the space. An emerald curtain of vines drape dramatically from the high ceilings, and the floor is cast in terracotta clay.
As we tread cautiously, a peculiar structure arrests my gaze. In the center of the room stands the enigmatic monolith, crafted from stone and adorned with intricate carvings that spiral inward. The edifice is circular in form, with concentric rings that seem to chart an unknown course, and punctuated by glyphs and symbols, none of which I recognize. The others pay it little heed, with their minds on the path ahead, but I can’t shake the feeling that this creation is meant to mark something significant. Its mystery ensnares my curiosity, but I force myself to snap my attention to the matter at present.
We then enter another, larger chamber, and the throne rises before us, flanked by pillars of rust-colored stone that are etched with shapes and images. Could they tell tales of Auilqa history? A single sunbeam shines upon the seat of power in a ring of the jungle’s filtered light. In a delicate contrast to the austere structures outside, orchids and flowering vines weave around the throne.
As I enter the sovereign's grand chamber, my breath catches at the sight of the figure enthroned before me. Upon his burly chest rests finely crafted ornaments of turquoise, topaz, and garnet, bound together in woven hemp. He rises tall among his people, and his silent authority fills the room. The Auilqa warriors flanking us revere him like he’s a deity incarnate, deeply bowing and avoiding all eye contact with the man.
His unwavering gaze meets mine, eyes like glimmering emeralds, and I’m struck by the might and sheer power that resides within him. It’s then that I notice the headdress that crowns his head, a magnificent and imposing construct of bones, akin to the skeletal wings of some divine creature, that spiral around his square jaw and frame his face. Through his nose and below his lower lip are thick piercings made from turquoise. Stripes of crimson and white paint mark his features, enhancing his fierce stare. At this, my eyes’ focus immediately falls to the floor.
The elderly man says a few words to the powerful individual, then walks over to stand beside the leader. I catch myself kneeling before him. Behind me, the others of our group swat one another, demanding they do the same. After a brief exchange, the elderly man faces us, chin held high.
“Behold!” he announces. “You are before the Great Xolotzi, He Who Commands the Jaguar’s Path, Wielder of the Obsidian Flame, Who Shrouds the Sun of His Enemies, Tamer of the Monsoon’s Might, and Protector of the Virtuous Verdant Expanse.”
“By the sea, that’s an elaborate list of–“ Naqispi is abruptly shushed as he attempts to finish his snarky remark.
“We are honored to be in his presence,” I say, finding my slow and over-enunciated manner of speaking jarring.
The elder translates in their severe language, his voice cracking like ancient wood. Xolotzi listens with an unreadable expression, then speaks in a voice that resonates throughout the entire chamber.
The elder turns back to us with hesitation. “The Great Xolotzi inquires why those who walk in Sanqo and Qiapu shadows dare tread the sacred soil of Auilqa.”
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Please convey to him… that we come with a proposal,” I begin, my voice steadier than I feel, “one that benefits all of our people in the face of a common enemy.” The elderly translator relays my words with a cautious tone as his eyes dart between me and Xolotzi, seeking any sign of the ruler’s disposition.
Xolotzi’s response is a stoic silence, with an expression as indecipherable as stone. It’s a quiet that stretches taut as a bowstring, until he finally nods for me to continue.
“Our lands face a great threat,” I say, choosing my words with deliberate care, “from an enemy known as the Eye in the Flame. They seek to conquer and destroy–“
The translation goes awry. I watch the elder’s face blanch as he speaks to Xolotzi, stumbling with his words. Xolotzi’s brow furrows deeply, and after he grumbles statement, a low murmur ripples through the warriors around us.
What did he say? I try to ask with my eyes, but the elder avoids my gaze.
“We seek your aid, to forge an alliance of mutual respect and strength.” I continue, hoping the sincerity of my plea translates across the chasm of our cultural and language differences.
Xolotzi towers over us. He speaks again with a voice now like a storm on the horizon, and the elder reluctantly faces us, his face ashen.
The elder talks with a nervous quake, “The Great Xolotzi says, you come into our sacred land, uninvited, and speak of threats and aid as if you do not understand the strength of the Auilqa.”
During the translation, Xolotzi’s glare pierces through me, as though he perceives a confrontational exchange. The mood tenses, and I sense my companions shifting uncomfortably behind me.
“Great Xolotzi,” I attempt to clarify, “it is our intention to stand together against a foe that threatens all. We do not wish to impose, but to offer–“
Xolotzi cuts in sharply. The elder trembles slightly as he conveys his message. “The Great Xolotzi demands to know what you can offer that the Auilqa do not already possess. He declares, we have defended our lands long before your arrival, and will continue long after.”
My heart sinks, and I’m at a loss for words. The misunderstanding spirals, and my attempt to navigate the delicate nuances of diplomacy crumble before me. Xolotzi’s warriors tighten their formation, a silent but clear indication of our failing position. The others stand behind me, stunned. I have to say something, correct this misconception.
“We meant no offense. We only offer friendship, strength against a common foe. Please tell him–“
But it’s too late. At Xolotzi’s command, the warriors step forward with clear intent.
Xolotzi makes an enraged declaration, resonating with finality, while contrastingly, the elderly man speaks with trepidation. “The Great Xolotzi believes you mistake our independence for isolation, our strength for solitude. You bring no alliance. You bring the chains of dependency.”
My heart races, panic threading through my veins as I realize my error. In my eagerness to unite against a common enemy, I’ve treaded too closely to the line of disrespect, challenging the pride of a people who’ve never needed to look beyond their borders for strength.
“No, that’s not what I meant!” I plead, overflowing with desperation. “That’s not what we intend at all!“
There’s a brief exchange between Xolotzi and the elderly man. Are they discussing what’s to come of us? Xolotzi’s gaze locks onto mine, searching, judging. For a moment, I dare to hope. Then he turns away, dismissing us with a wave of his hand.
The elder’s voice is soft and regretful. “You are to be held until morning. If you are found guilty, you will be promptly executed. The Great Xolotzi will decide your fate with the rising sun. If you worship a god, I would suggest you pray to them for mercy.” At this, Xolotzi and the elder promptly depart, and we’re abruptly and briskly removed from the throne room.
“You have completely lost your mind,” Paxilche complains, completely baffled after I’ve stated my intentions. The others stand around in the low light of the early morning and stare at me dumbfounded, as well, waiting to see if what I’ve just stated was some kind of joke. “Do you even know what you’re suggesting?”
I’m well aware at the risk involved in what I’ve just proposed. In fact, I dismissed the idea when it initially came to me during my attempts at sleep. Clearly, you must be exhausted, I thought to myself. Yet the more I considered it, the more it made sense. Since then, it’s been my singular focus, having also meditated on it during my morning’s ritual. I can think of no other plan to best the Eye in the Flame, or at least catch them off guard.
“She has spent entirely too much time on the continent,” Naqispi adds. “This is further evidence that we need to return her to her papa sooner rather than later.”
“Do not condescend to the princess,” Pomacha scolds his comrade in a low growl.
“It’s certainly fair to point out this plan being completely ludicrous, however,” Chiqama says. “We are likely to be killed on sight the moment we step foot inside their territory.”
“And what’s not to say that the cult hasn’t already reached Analoixan?” Atoyaqtli mentions. “By the time we execute this plan—if we succeed at all, which is a big ‘if’—we may be too late, and we arrive to a decimated city.”
The group goes back to staring at me, anticipating my response. Naqispi watches me in disbelief, ready to charge out the door of the inn and into the Qespina streets. Though the village is relatively small, the lack of patronage at such a meeting place is stark and jarring. In Sanqo, whether it be the capital city of Haqiliqa or a tiny fishing village, our taverns are consistently packed with patrons consuming spirits and enjoying spirited debate. The silence here is deafening—even my whispers feel as though I’m shouting. But fortunately, this means there isn’t anyone else around to place their judgement onto me, as well.
My plan requires a lot more convincing, but I stand by my convictions, knowing this is the best course of action. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. “There is a strategic advantage in gaining the Auilqa as allies. Before you carry on scoffing and dismissing the notion, allow me to explain. Yes, it’s understood that the faction are isolationists. However, what’s also known their fierce warrior prowess. Their tenacity is something of legend, rivaling the great warrior factions such as the Tuatiu.
“Additionally, it’s something the Eye in the Flame will not expect. Their plan to attack Analoixan and Qapauma relies on facing only the Ulxa and Tapeu, respectively. Two locations on opposite sides of the continent. I imagine they believe there won’t be enough time for other factions to become involved and assist; through Saxina, they saw to it that the closest faction that could aid the Ulxa are out of the way, attacking the Qiapu to ensure they’re too shorthanded to help, even if they desired to do so. By involving the Auilqa, we can overwhelm their forces unexpectedly and shift the balance of power to our side!”
“That’s an adorable premise and all,” Naqispi says, shuffling toward me, “but what makes you believe the Auilqa will go along with this plan? You even mention, they’re an isolationist faction. So why would they help their nemesis, the Ulxa?”
“It’s a valid point,” Chiqama agrees, joined by the others’ nods and grunts of concurrence. “I recall my studies long ago, where we were taught about the conflict between the Ulxa and the Auilqa. While to the rest of us they may appear to be the same—similar gods of worship, similar appearances and cultures, similar savagery—they have a deep-rooted hatred for one another that spans way back, before the Timuaq appeared. Even though I doubt they remember why they’re fighting in the first place, there is no love lost between the two sides.”
“How will we convince them to aid in the fight against the cult, Princess Walumaq?” Pomacha asks, his tone more mellow than that of the others.
“After all,” Naqispi says between swigs of chicha, “in the shadow of common threats, even rival factions can find their paths entwined.”
“Do you only speak like a bard when you desire to mock someone?” Chiqama asks Naqispi mockingly. Naqispi just chuckles and shakes his head.
“While they both have their supposed differences,” I begin my response, “they can both acknowledge that they value their strength and independence. The Eye in the Flame seek to force everyone to yield to their might. Though they may not like it, the Ulxa are their neighbors to the south. If the Ulxa falls, the Eye in the Flame are likely to move onto Auilqa in the quest for control over all of Pachil. They could bring the fight to those whose ultimate mission is to make every faction submit to them. That goes directly against the Auilqa desire of independence.”
“Sure, but the Auilqa could assume they’re capable of taking on the threat if it reaches their village,” Atoyaqtli says.
I point to Paxilche, Pomaqli, and myself. “We have seen the destruction they’re capable of. You,” I point to the Sanqo warriors, “have tangentially seen it yourselves. It will be part of the argument to explicitly describe what we’ve witnessed. The fact that members of two separate factions have joined together and traveled this far should be an indicator of how vital it is that they aid us.”
Naqispi snorts derisively. “Your mission is noble, dear princess, but my sole purpose was to retrieve you and return you back to Sanqo. We have spent entirely too much time jawing and getting nowhere. Plus, the men and I are overextending ourselves already, thanks to your friend, Paxilche, here. Why am I now adding the opportunity to risk my life at the hands of the Auilqa? They don’t care for me any more than I care for them. Why should I care what happens to the Ulxa or the Auilqa?”
‘Overextending themselves, thanks to Paxilche’? What does that mean? In what have the Sanqo warriors involved themselves? This is greatly concerning. I must inquire about this, but not now; perhaps I will confront Paxilche if all goes well here.
“I understand your apprehension, Naqispi,” I begin, then hold up a hand to temper his protest at being identified as such. “You’ve already got a tale to tell those back in Sanqo about your adventures on the continent.”
“Iaqa knows you’ve done nothing but speak about the Waqash every waking moment,” Chiqama interjects to lament.
“However,” I continue, “imagine the tales of which you’ll be able to speak when you return to the taverns of Haqiliqa. How you were part of the discussions that unified the Sanqo to not just one, but three factions, including the isolationist Auilqa! You’ll be hailed a hero not only for your expertise in combat, but in diplomacy, as well!”
Naqispi leans back with his arms folded and chuckles, a wry smile playing across his lips. “‘Hero of diplomacy’, eh?” he says, both amused and sarcastically. “Never thought that’d be a title to chase. Combat, glory, riches—those I understand. But diplomacy?” He shakes his head and scrunches his face as if he smelled something foul.
“Tales and titles don’t fill one’s cup nor provide a warm bed at night,” he says. “You’re asking me to gamble on the unknown, on the chance that these savages will even listen to us, let alone join our cause. And for what? The satisfaction of a job well done? The gratitude of people who’ve never spared a thought for the likes of me?”
Naqispi steps forward with a serious demeanor now, though a rogue’s spark still glints in his eyes. “I’ll stand by you and the others when the fight comes, you know that. I’ve got no love for these Eye in the Flame cultists, and less for what they stand for. But I need more than just the promise of a good story to tell. What’s really in it for me, dear princess? What rewards can I expect from risking my neck in Auilqa territory, hm?”
The others exchange nervous glances. Some, like Paxilche and Pomaqli, even begin to show signs of frustration and annoyance in Naqispi’s selfishness. I pay it no mind, understanding his attitude is deeply rooted in the Sanqo way of life. While my father seeks to mend our reputation among the continent’s factions and endeavors to steer our people toward a more civilized bearing, it will always be a part of who we are as a people. We’re born of a lineage steeped in daring exploits of seasoned rogues whose desires flow with the currents of the sea. Navigating the tumultuous tides of our history while aiming to prove that even the wildest spirits can evolve will forever be a challenging feat.
I meet Naqispi’s gaze with a steady, unwavering look. “I know your heart beats for adventure and reward, for tales that will be sung about you long after we’re gone. This mission is not just another tale; it’s your legacy."
I pause, noticing the others are now leaning in after I make that statement. “Imagine not just the accolades and the stories that others will tell of our deeds, but the rewards that await upon your return. The recognition from my father and all of the Sanqo. Your talent in combat is undisputed, but your role in this—your diplomacy, your courage—could be rewarded with more than just words. Land, titles, positions of influence… things that could secure your prosperity and legacy.”
Now I step in closer, softening my voice. “And let’s not forget the adventure itself—the thrill of facing the unknown, of negotiating with the Auilqa. A feat no Sanqo has ever achieved! This is a challenge that could define you, elevate you. Are you not curious to see if you can meet it, to test your mettle as a warrior and leader? This is your chance to do something unprecedented. To be a part of something greater, to have your name not just spoken in the taverns of Haqiliqa, but etched in the annals of history. Yes, it’s a risk, but since when has Naqispi ever backed down from a challenge for fear of danger?”
With this, Naqispi nearly salivates. His eyes look off into the distance, as if he’s envisioning himself receiving such a glorious reception back home. How he’ll be showered with praise and the gifts from Sanqo leadership. There’s an eternal flame dedicated to our representative of the Eleven, Iaqa, but perhaps there could be a place for a statue of him? I’m certain the question is crossing his mind.
As Naqispi daydreams, I address the rest of the men. “I understand, for the rest of you, that you grasp the threat that the Eye in the Flame represents not only to Sanqo, but to all factions. It’s how I know that you want to safeguard our people’s future. I know that your sense of honor and duty will not allow yourselves to stand idly by and watch Pachil burn.
“I also know this is not what you were sent here to do,” I continue. “Returning me to Sanqo was supposed to be a quick endeavor. I ask for your trust and patience. This cult is dangerous and dares to destroy everything our respective factions are working so hard to rebuild. They want to annihilate us, all in the name of some sick and demented cause. We cannot allow that to happen. We mustn’t. A united front against them is our best chance at victory, at peace.”
I fight back the lump forming in my throat. “I ask a lot of you. But if you weren’t the capable warriors you are, I wouldn’t ask you at all. Yes, we could return to Sanqo, fulfill your original mission, and perhaps live to fight another day. But at what cost? The Eye in the Flame will not stop, will not rest, until their darkness engulfs us all. I refuse to give them that satisfaction. I refuse to let fear dictate our path.
“Our actions now, the choices we make, will echo through our history. Will we be remembered as those who watched from the shores, or as the brave warriors who dared to cross perilous waters for the sake of our world?”
I lock eyes with each of those standing before me. “I believe in us. In our strength, in our courage, in our unity. Together, we can turn the tide against this threat. Our people have fought evil before, and I am honored to stand beside you in this fight. As defenders of Pachil, will you join me?”
The men’s eyes shift from one another, to the ground, and back to each other as they consider my words. I stand with my head held high, ready to lead by example, to risk everything for the glimmer of hope that we can forge a future worth fighting for. Honoring my resolve, Pomacha steps forward, pounding his chest in salute. He’s joined by Atoyaqtli, then Naqispi and Pomaqli. Paxilche nods. The only hesitant person remaining is Chiqama. After seeing everyone step forward, however, he grimaces, then reluctantly places a fist over his heart.
We prepare to head west toward the dense, untamed jungles of Auilqa. Our deliberations did not result in losing much of the day, as the light barely peeks about the mountains and continues to cast long shadows of the nearby homes upon the dirt roads. We busy ourselves, tightening straps on worn leather packs and double-checking each weapon for signs of wear or damage. Each of us silently runs through mental lists of essentials for survival in the formidable terrain that lies ahead. A light mist clings to the village before the day’s heat begins to assert itself.
As the others collect their possessions, meticulously rolling cloaks and securing water skins to their belts, a smirking Paxilche approaches me. “That was quite a lot you offered earlier,” he observes, his eyes flickering to where Naqispi stands. “Are you sure your father will be amenable to everything you promised?”
“It’ll be for my father to decide, certainly, but I’m confident that he’ll be too happy for my return to dismiss the idea,” I say with a slight laugh. “Naqispi is a skilled and valuable warrior to have on our side should anything go wrong. And he may not have sounded like it, but he’s a dependable and loyal ally to have on the battlefield. I’m relieved to know he’s joining us, as well as the others, you, and Pomaqli, too.”
“I suppose we will find out,” Paxilche says tentatively. “This is going to be an interesting adventure.”
I look at Paxilche, who eyes me hesitantly. “By now, I’ve likely used all the motivational words I can muster,” I say, cracking a hint of a smirk. “But I know that I would not have the courage to take on this risky challenge if it weren’t for you and the others joining me. I meant every word when I said I wouldn’t bother asking everyone if I didn’t believe you all were capable of taking on this threat with me.”
A small smile creases the corners of his mouth. He remains unsure, which I can understand, given the circumstances. As if taking on the Eye in the Flame wasn’t daunting enough, asking for aid by their victim’s enemy is likely mad. Yet I see no other option, knowing that, while the seven of us are formidable, our numbers are too small to challenge an army. All I can hope for is that whatever we bring to this fight will be enough.
For suns uncounted, our party wanders a realm so unlike the temperate woods of Sanqo. Following along the Maiu Atiniuq, we tread softly over rugs of moss that yield beneath our steps like the chests of slumbering beasts, beneath canopies so dense that the sky becomes a mere memory. Vines thicker than a man’s thigh serve as both obstacle and guide. The jungle’s humid air is thick and heavy, clinging to our skin with the persistence of shadow. It’s laden with a constant hum of an untamed existence that sings in our ears day and night. The cries of unseen creatures are our constant companions, their calls weaving through the foliage and causing me to feel a nervous, cautious excitement.
Though the others march with their respective weapons, I find the one carried by Paxilche to be the most astonishing. It’s not something typically in his possession, unlike the weapons fixed to each of the warriors. Recalling it from our very first encounter, I finally have a moment to examine it, now that we’re not under duress like we were during that time.
The length of the war club is adorned with intricate patterns of gold and copper, gleaming with opulence. Yet the head of the club is edged with a crescent of gleaming metal sharper than the mountain winds. The club’s handle appears smooth to the touch, wrapped with fine threads that are interwoven with tiny beads of turquoise and obsidian. It’s an object of stunning beauty, and a harbinger of destruction.
“How did you come in possession of such a grand weapon?” I inquire as we trudge through the dense vegetation.
Paxilche looks sheepish, his hand reflexively reaching at his back to touch the ornate club. “It was a gift I received during the War of Liberation. They call it ‘Ridgebreaker’. My squadron actually rescued Qespina from the Timuaq. In fact, some recognized me. I… used that to our advantage in locating you. And in keeping the ‘peccaries’ off of you.” He says that last statement with a bit of a smirk.
“It’s impressive,” I say in admiration.
“I wish I had the skill that matches its appearance,” he says.
“You fared well during the assault on the palace,” I remind him. “You don’t give yourself enough recognition.”
A coy smile cracks one side of his mouth. “Let’s just hope I won’t need to use it while we’re in Auilqa,” he muses. I, too, hope he won’t.
We’re faced with the Maiu Xiucoatl, the winding river that snakes between the Qiapu and Auilqa territories and feeds into the great Maiu Atiniuq. The waters churn relentlessly, and I grow worried whether we’ll be able to cross the river at all. However, the Sanqo warriors ease my concerns immediately, setting off to work on fashioning a raft from the bounties the forest. We bind the trunks of fallen trees with strong and pliant vines. Our vessel is crude, yet crafted by Sanqo hands, those who understand the capriciousness of waterways.
As we push off from the bank, the current seizes us immediately, guiding our makeshift craft down the turbulent current. The river roars as white foam hops into our laps. Made from the fallen kapok trees, our paddles dip into the frothing waters, eagerly negotiating with the Maiu Xiucoatl. Though the two Qiapu men struggle to maintain their balance initially, our bodies sway to the river’s rhythm, and our eyes fix onto the far shore. Through sheer willpower, we muscle our way across, landing mercifully ashore and into Auilqa territory.
The rainforest tests our resolve, offering paths that lead not forward, but in circles, ensnaring us in a maze of green and shadow. Yet with each passing day, our destination beckons, drawing us onward with the allure of Qasiunqa's hidden majesty. Resplendent blooms, unlike the muted greens of my temperate home, engage my senses with their enchanting aromas. Though the journey is arduous, the thought of reaching the heart of the Auilqa’s domain propels our weary limbs onward, towards the culmination of our quest.
The city unveils itself with the subtlety of dawn. As the verdant veil of the jungle parts before me, my gaze alights upon the outstretched arms of Qasiunqa. Though a rare sight in the dense foliage, sunlight shines with reckless abandon upon the towering spires of the sprawling city. Just behind the village’s silhouette is a large, rigid mountain seemingly out of place from the rest of the flat terrain. I soon realize it’s not a mountain, but, in fact, a manmade structure, pyramid in shape and built of flat, stone blocks, that rises high above the treetops. I’m quickly reminded that I’m far removed from the salt-sprayed shores of Haqiliqa.
The pointed perimeter walls of the city extend fiercely and proudly skyward, comprised of thatch and foliage interwoven with bone and wood. Despite their harsh composition, the city’s edges are adorned with vibrant and raw colors from feathers and pigments my eyes have never known. As if grown from the very ground, towering edifices rise high above the tremendous trees of the jungle. Bridges suspended by sturdy vines connect the towers, forming a complex and intricate web that gently sways in the breeze. The people move about them with the grace of a puma, treading lightly across these swinging paths.
We hold our collective breaths as we approach the jagged walls surrounding the city. Shouts rise above the sounds of the jungle as the Auilqa warriors raise their spears, ready to hurl them our way. We raise our hands, hoping to deter any conflict. The yells continue, growing more and more severe as they move within their wooden bastions.
An overwhelming number of warriors guard Qasiunqa, spanning the parapets and walls that stretch beyond sight. Each male and female warrior dons headdresses of varying size that fan out in a splendid array of feathers and bone that capture the hues of the jungle. Aside from the woven bamboo pauldrons that drape across their shoulders and the tops of their arms, their dark tan chests are bare. They wear short hip cloths of assorted intricacy: some are plain brown or green while others contain elaborate patterns sewn into their garments. In their hands are mechanisms to throw spears—Atoyaqtli informs us they’re called atlatls—decorated with dangling feathers.
As I step forward, more unintelligible shouts are hurtled at me. I can’t comprehend their language, and when I ask if any speak Merchant’s Tongue, their response is more vitriolic roars. Their muscles tense, each gripping their weapons tightly with the intent to slay us where we stand.
“This was an excellent idea,” quips Naqispi. A few in our group shush him, though I doubt anything we say could put us in deeper water more than we already are.
With splayed hands extended toward them, I take a deep breath and call out, “We mean you no harm. We would like to speak to your leader. We come in peace, not as foes, but as friends. We wish for no conflict.” I bow, hoping the gesture will be seen as a sign of compliance and respect. When I lift myself back up, I’m met with awkward, confused stares.
“At least the shouting’s stopped,” Naqispi sarcastically notes.
Ignoring him, I continue to try to connect with them. I point toward the center of Qasiunqa, “May we enter your city and speak to your leader?” Now I gesture a crown or headdress being placed atop my head. “We seek to defend our homeland, like you. For we face a great danger.” I ball my hand into a fist, place it over my heart, then bow my head solemnly.
I hear Chiqama whisper to someone, “What is she doing?” He’s shushed immediately, and lets out a frustrated sigh.
After what appears to be a lengthy deliberation between the warriors, a few rush off into the city. Is this a good sign, or a sign of terrible things to come? We wait—some more patiently than others—making no sudden movements that could spark any hostility. The eyes of nearly every Auilqa warrior is sharply trained on us with the vigilance of a hawk monitoring its prey. My breath catches in my throat as I feel my heart hammering against my ribs.
An eternity passes, but finally, an elderly man emerges atop the parapet. His face is leathery and weathered, possessing perhaps a wrinkle for every harvest he’s lived on Pachil. Is this their leader? He looks discerningly over us gathered at the jungle’s edge, eyes narrowed as he studies us intently. In a few dozen heartbeats, he shouts down at us.
“Come. Slow.” His yell is more of a croak, and I nearly miss the words said in Merchant’s Tongue.
We exchange nervous glances, then exhale what we hope is far from our last breath. We keep our hands raised as we step cautiously toward the entrance to the great city. Then, with both fear and reverence, I cross into the domain of the Auilqa.
Qasiunqa looks significant and imposing from outside the perimeter walls, but that doesn’t begin to describe the expansive city within. Everywhere my eyes travel, I’m met with the vision of a complicated system of homes and bridges, spanning every which way. Much like the outside, the houses are built with a harsh severity, as though all wood found in the nearby jungles are naturally formed into a pointed spear.
“If I trip over a stone, I’m going to get pierced by an Auilqa bed,” Naqispi observes. We’re all too petrified, or in awe, to silence him. The structures climb as high as the trees, reaching impressive heights that make me feel small and insignificant among the buildings and walls.
More intimidating is that, everywhere we go, the eyes of everyone who lives in Qasiunqa watch us attentively. Their eyes… Each Auilqa possesses the greenest eyes that blend in with the jungle vegetation. With the exception of one curious young boy—whose eyes grab my attention, as they’re distinctly, and curiously, amber—it’s difficult to determine if our presence amazes or frightens them, but no words are said during our march to wherever we’re being led. My breath shakes from my nervousness, but I try my best to keep it together, to not show my fear. To ease my spirit, I softly recite the words of my morning ritual:
Strength of Pachil’s ancient lands, steady and enduring,
Flow of the endless rivers, guiding and sure,
Breath of the sacred winds, ever-present and assuring,
Warmth of the sun’s gentle light, life-giving and pure.
At a point in Qasiunqa where the jungle momentarily loosens its clutches over the city, we’re led to a sacred grove of weathered, ancient stone—the only stone structure I’ve seen since our arrival. The air shifts around me, cooler and thinner than the thick humidity of the rainforest. Sunlight spills through the multitude of palm leaves that cover the span of the building as teensy birds flutter about the space. An emerald curtain of vines drape dramatically from the high ceilings, and the floor is cast in terracotta clay.
As we tread cautiously, a peculiar structure arrests my gaze. In the center of the room stands the enigmatic monolith, crafted from stone and adorned with intricate carvings that spiral inward. The edifice is circular in form, with concentric rings that seem to chart an unknown course, and punctuated by glyphs and symbols, none of which I recognize. The others pay it little heed, with their minds on the path ahead, but I can’t shake the feeling that this creation is meant to mark something significant. Its mystery ensnares my curiosity, but I force myself to snap my attention to the matter at present.
We then enter another, larger chamber, and the throne rises before us, flanked by pillars of rust-colored stone that are etched with shapes and images. Could they tell tales of Auilqa history? A single sunbeam shines upon the seat of power in a ring of the jungle’s filtered light. In a delicate contrast to the austere structures outside, orchids and flowering vines weave around the throne.
As I enter the sovereign's grand chamber, my breath catches at the sight of the figure enthroned before me. Upon his burly chest rests finely crafted ornaments of turquoise, topaz, and garnet, bound together in woven hemp. He rises tall among his people, and his silent authority fills the room. The Auilqa warriors flanking us revere him like he’s a deity incarnate, deeply bowing and avoiding all eye contact with the man.
His unwavering gaze meets mine, eyes like glimmering emeralds, and I’m struck by the might and sheer power that resides within him. It’s then that I notice the headdress that crowns his head, a magnificent and imposing construct of bones, akin to the skeletal wings of some divine creature, that spiral around his square jaw and frame his face. Through his nose and below his lower lip are thick piercings made from turquoise. Stripes of crimson and white paint mark his features, enhancing his fierce stare. At this, my eyes’ focus immediately falls to the floor.
The elderly man says a few words to the powerful individual, then walks over to stand beside the leader. I catch myself kneeling before him. Behind me, the others of our group swat one another, demanding they do the same. After a brief exchange, the elderly man faces us, chin held high.
“Behold!” he announces. “You are before the Great Xolotzi, He Who Commands the Jaguar’s Path, Wielder of the Obsidian Flame, Who Shrouds the Sun of His Enemies, Tamer of the Monsoon’s Might, and Protector of the Virtuous Verdant Expanse.”
“By the sea, that’s an elaborate list of–“ Naqispi is abruptly shushed as he attempts to finish his snarky remark.
“We are honored to be in his presence,” I say, finding my slow and over-enunciated manner of speaking jarring.
The elder translates in their severe language, his voice cracking like ancient wood. Xolotzi listens with an unreadable expression, then speaks in a voice that resonates throughout the entire chamber.
The elder turns back to us with hesitation. “The Great Xolotzi inquires why those who walk in Sanqo and Qiapu shadows dare tread the sacred soil of Auilqa.”
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Please convey to him… that we come with a proposal,” I begin, my voice steadier than I feel, “one that benefits all of our people in the face of a common enemy.” The elderly translator relays my words with a cautious tone as his eyes dart between me and Xolotzi, seeking any sign of the ruler’s disposition.
Xolotzi’s response is a stoic silence, with an expression as indecipherable as stone. It’s a quiet that stretches taut as a bowstring, until he finally nods for me to continue.
“Our lands face a great threat,” I say, choosing my words with deliberate care, “from an enemy known as the Eye in the Flame. They seek to conquer and destroy–“
The translation goes awry. I watch the elder’s face blanch as he speaks to Xolotzi, stumbling with his words. Xolotzi’s brow furrows deeply, and after he grumbles statement, a low murmur ripples through the warriors around us.
What did he say? I try to ask with my eyes, but the elder avoids my gaze.
“We seek your aid, to forge an alliance of mutual respect and strength.” I continue, hoping the sincerity of my plea translates across the chasm of our cultural and language differences.
Xolotzi towers over us. He speaks again with a voice now like a storm on the horizon, and the elder reluctantly faces us, his face ashen.
The elder talks with a nervous quake, “The Great Xolotzi says, you come into our sacred land, uninvited, and speak of threats and aid as if you do not understand the strength of the Auilqa.”
During the translation, Xolotzi’s glare pierces through me, as though he perceives a confrontational exchange. The mood tenses, and I sense my companions shifting uncomfortably behind me.
“Great Xolotzi,” I attempt to clarify, “it is our intention to stand together against a foe that threatens all. We do not wish to impose, but to offer–“
Xolotzi cuts in sharply. The elder trembles slightly as he conveys his message. “The Great Xolotzi demands to know what you can offer that the Auilqa do not already possess. He declares, we have defended our lands long before your arrival, and will continue long after.”
My heart sinks, and I’m at a loss for words. The misunderstanding spirals, and my attempt to navigate the delicate nuances of diplomacy crumble before me. Xolotzi’s warriors tighten their formation, a silent but clear indication of our failing position. The others stand behind me, stunned. I have to say something, correct this misconception.
“We meant no offense. We only offer friendship, strength against a common foe. Please tell him–“
But it’s too late. At Xolotzi’s command, the warriors step forward with clear intent.
Xolotzi makes an enraged declaration, resonating with finality, while contrastingly, the elderly man speaks with trepidation. “The Great Xolotzi believes you mistake our independence for isolation, our strength for solitude. You bring no alliance. You bring the chains of dependency.”
My heart races, panic threading through my veins as I realize my error. In my eagerness to unite against a common enemy, I’ve treaded too closely to the line of disrespect, challenging the pride of a people who’ve never needed to look beyond their borders for strength.
“No, that’s not what I meant!” I plead, overflowing with desperation. “That’s not what we intend at all!“
There’s a brief exchange between Xolotzi and the elderly man. Are they discussing what’s to come of us? Xolotzi’s gaze locks onto mine, searching, judging. For a moment, I dare to hope. Then he turns away, dismissing us with a wave of his hand.
The elder’s voice is soft and regretful. “You are to be held until morning. If you are found guilty, you will be promptly executed. The Great Xolotzi will decide your fate with the rising sun. If you worship a god, I would suggest you pray to them for mercy.” At this, Xolotzi and the elder promptly depart, and we’re abruptly and briskly removed from the throne room.
