I crouch low, shrouded by the large palm leaves and vegetation, as I keep a watchful eye on the prowling jaguar. It lurks among the verdure, its spotted golden fur is somehow hardly noticeable amid the verdant greens of the jungle. I slow my breathing until it barely escapes my lips. With cautious steps, I circle the trunk of the tree, keeping it between me and the lurking creature. I can’t blink, for fear that, if I do, the jaguar will seize the moment to pounce.
I do my best to remain calm, steady. My pulse slows. I clear my head of all thoughts. I don’t want to give anything away about my location. The jaguar tilts its head up and sniffs the air, hoping to catch my scent. I pause, standing as still as the sentient trees. The toucans and macaws frequently call to one another, as if discussing my whereabouts. In my head, I try my best to silence them, hoping they don’t expose my hiding place.
As I ease my way around the tree, my foot snaps a twig. The crack echoes throughout the entire rainforest. I wince, knowing I’ve just revealed my location. The jaguar’s head whips around and faces me. I’ve been spotted. It races toward me, leaping effortlessly over the stumps and fallen branches on the jungle’s floor. The beast’s strides are seamless, flowing with the ease of a river running its course. In just a few paces, it’s quickly closed the distance to me, chasing me down with relentless fervor.
What do I do now? Maybe I can climb a tree? No, the jaguar is just as avid a climber as I am, perhaps quicker. Do I take off? In which direction? I’m about to turn and run, but I know the effort is pointless. I’ve been caught, with no honest chance of escape. The game is over. The beast has won.
“Okay, okay, you’ve got me,” I groan, raising my hands up as a sign of concession. “I yield! Hey! I said I yield!” The jaguar continues its unceasing pursuit. It charges at full speed. I begin to cower, curling into a ball as though that will minimize the impact. I close my eyes, grimacing in anticipation of the impending collision.
“Alright, Zolotli, you’ve had your fun.” I hear a familiar feminine feline voice call out. The jaguar slides a short distance on all fours over the dirt and dead leaves, coming to a complete halt just moments before crashing into me. Peering out of one eye, I inspect the scene and find the humungous creature eclipsing me. My short, dark brown hair jostles as the golden-furred beast snorts air from its flaring nostrils.
“I wasn’t really going to trounce him!” says Zolotli. I’m not entirely certain I believe the beast, as there’s an intense, hungry look in the jaguar’s eyes. You should know, he has yet to attack and rip me to shreds. Still, I’m more than relieved to remain intact anyway.
An ocelot leaps down from a branch, previously spectating the events from high above the jungle floor. Having one green eye and its other violet, it looks us over judgmentally. Around its neck is a gift from me: a hemp collar embedded with a single turquoise stone. A small token, something I handmade myself. It saunters over to me and Zolotli, the snarling expression of disdain fixed to its face.
“Are you two quite done with your game?” the ocelot asks. “You’ve been going at it all morning.”
“You’re more than welcome to join us, Nochtl,” Zolotli says, flashing his pointed fangs. “I could use something to pick out the flecks of meat from my teeth.”
“A lumbering idiot like you couldn’t catch me if you tried,” Nochtl quips, flicking her crooked, turquoise-tipped tail in irritation.
I shake my head and chuckle. “Alright, you two. I don’t want to be the one cleaning up all the stray fur that’ll fly around if you both start brawling.”
“It’s perhaps for the best,” admits Nochtl. “I’d hate to force the boy to spend the rest of the day picking up your limp bones. Besides, the day is progressing quickly, and I must eat. Shouldn’t you be heading to Qasiunqa anyway, Saqatli?”
“But how about one more game before you go?” Zolotli begs. His pleading eyes grow wide and soft, and his mouth forms a slight pout.
“Noch is right,” I confess. “I should return to the city anyway. I don’t want to hear any grief from my father and brother. But I’ll meet you back here first thing tomorrow morning, Zolotli!”
With that, the two creatures vanish into the depths of the rainforest, moving away from me toward the heart of the wild that I’m so reluctant to leave. There’s something about the jungle, with its vibrant life and untamed beauty, that makes you feel alive and free. Amidst the singing birds and the rustling leaves, I escape the dull routines of life in Qasiunqa. I wish I could linger forever in these groves, far from the clamor and constraints of the city. Yet I’m bound by reality. I know I must return to a world where I don’t belong, where I don’t fit. Not until I’m older and can decide my fate.
A pair of cotingas flutter to a branch nearby. The female, in feathers of brown, and the male, with a purple throat and covered in resplendent blue, exchange warm greetings with me. Shortly thereafter, they take flight, with the male’s wings whistling as they depart. Noticing that I greeted the birds, others, such as a quetzal and a couple of toucans, excitedly greet me and try to start a conversation with me. I apologize as politely as I can, saying that I’m in a rush to go home. They bob their heads and fly away, mentioning that they’ll try again next time.
As far back as I can remember, I’ve been able to speak to animals. Before I could crawl, I’ve been fascinated with creatures of all shapes and sizes. I can’t recall the first animal I spoke with, to be honest with you. But I remember when I realized I was the only one who could speak to them. I was maybe four or five, speaking to some bird—maybe a parakeet or a manakin—and I asked my mother if she spoke to them, too. At first, she looked concerned, but then dismissed it as an innocent child being imaginative. But because of the way she treated me, as if I was merely being cute and not taking me seriously, I knew then that I was different.
You should know that I’ve only ever been interested in speaking to animals, never hunting them. I’d go to the river, and while my father and brother would fish, I would be talking to the creatures instead. Simple topics like ‘how are you doing’ or ‘where are you going’ or ‘are there any predators around’, things like that. I had to be careful because I could be speaking to a rabbit or an iguana, and my brother or father would spear it or kill them with an arrow. As you can imagine, those moments were too traumatizing for me. So from then on, I would warn the animals to run away, only speaking to them when I was alone.
Eventually, even the predators would talk to me. They stopped looking at me as a meal and more as someone who could warn or help them if the people in Qasiunqa were seeking to hunt them. It’s one of the ways I came to meet Nochtl, or ‘Noch’, for short. In time, we would exchange what we knew—she would teach me how to be stealthy and sneak up on my prey; I would give her advanced warning as to where our hunters planned to target, so she could warn the rest of the jungle. I became an ally to the creatures, rather than another threat.
Her leg and tail were caught in my father’s snare. Noch’s leg and tail, that is. I’m sure you had guessed. I had gotten into yet another fight with my brother, Tlazotli. He regularly picks on me because of my eyes, among other things. I’d had enough and decided to walk out into the jungle. He didn’t even come chasing after me! Can you believe it?
Anyway, that night, the mist still clung to the ground as the season’s warm air began curling into the rainforest. I would’ve missed her, overlooked her completely, if it wasn’t for the mewing. She was just a kitten, too. I was taken aback by the turquoise splotch on her tail, which was caught in the trap along with her leg. That’s how the kink formed in it, sadly.
I hadn’t given it a second thought. I knew I had to free her. She tried her best to ward me off, snarling and growling. But she was so little that the growls came out as tiny yips. I started speaking to her soothingly, hoping to calm her down and let her know I wasn’t going to cause her any harm. She tilted her head as though she understood what I was saying. I pulled open the cords of agave, meant for much larger prey, and gently freed her. Once I got her out of the snare, she didn’t flee into the underbrush and disappear from sight. She lingered, purring and gazing at me, as if a sense of understanding seemed to pass between us.
“Thank you,” a soft whisper seemed to resonate in my heart, not through words, but through a feeling so profound it left no room for doubt, you know? In that moment, with the moonlight filtering through the canopy and illuminating her turquoise-marked tail, I realized the depth of our connection. Noch had become a companion, a part of my being. And as she nestled closer, her warmth against my skin, I knew this was the beginning of a journey neither of us would have to face alone again.
The presence of Qasiunqa among the rainforest is jarring. In contrast to the living, breathing world of vibrant greens and earthy scents, Qasiunqa feels cold and rigid, its jagged structures rising like the very spikes on a thorny lizard’s back. Sharp and pointed angles, unnatural and unforgiving, jut from everywhere. Sure, the Auilqa try to add what they think is beauty to the walls, painting them in abnormal pigments of pinks, yellows, and blues. Yet it feels like imposing themselves unto nature, forcing something to be beautiful when nature already provides such sights, such wonder.
Just beyond is the great sacred pyramid. Father would boast about the ceremonies that took place there, celebrating all types of celestial events like solstices and equinoxes. He spoke with reverence of witnessing all the great Auilqa rulers, including our current leader, the Great Xolotzi, who would conduct these rituals and make offerings to the gods, specifically Wiqamasqa and Iolatl, the father and mother of creation. However, when his tales turned to the sacrifices, I found myself recoiling. Despite understanding their purpose—to secure bountiful harvests and divine favor—I still covered my ears and cringed. It’s one of the many things Tlazotli teases me for to this day.
I’m met with sidelong glances by each villager I pass. My ability to speak to animals hasn’t been well received around Qasiunqa. Due to my brother’s influence, everyone now perceives me as odd, deranged. I was too honest as a boy, too naïve. In earnest, I would tell everyone what the animals were saying to me, which would receive pitying or condescending laughs. But then I persisted, adamantly telling everyone that the animals would speak. That’s when I began getting ostracized. Teased. Picked on. Even by my father. It meant spending more time in the jungle, which I don’t mind. But it doesn’t make living in our society of warriors any easier.
While I would normally walk past such a commotion, there’s something about the energy taking place at the front gate that grabs my attention. The words frequently repeated are “outsiders” and “scum” and “invaders”. Who could they be speaking of? Such activity doesn’t happen here, even in a relatively quiet place like Qasiunqa.
I slip beneath and between the gawkers’ legs, slithering my way close to the front until I see the seven strange visitors. The outsiders are flanked by more than two dozen of our warriors, making it difficult to see any distinct details. Well, other than the blue and red feather the lone girl of the group wears in her hair, that bobs up and down as they walk toward where the Great Xolotzi resides. The occasional red and white tunic or the bizarre items worn by some of the other men peeks out between the tanned bodies of the Auilqa.
I follow their trek to the throne room along with the swarm of people. There’s a blend of curiosity, suspicion, humor, and a hint of foreboding at the sight of these foreigners. Which am I experiencing, you ask? It’s difficult for me to say. Their reactions are a mixture of many different emotions, thoughts, and feelings:
“Who are these outsiders? What do they want? Their presence here can’t be a coincidence.”
“Their arrival could mean trouble. Remember the last time strangers came through our lands? The crops failed for seasons.”
“That one’s so tall, he might bump his head on the throne room entrance! Do you think they grow them in the fields where they’re from?”
“They look like disguised Ulxa. They’ve come to kill our great ruler!”
“One of them has bizarre eyes, as if they captured the sky!” “They all have bizarre eyes!”
“Is it bravery or folly that brings them to Qasiunqa? Perhaps both?”
The guards fight back the crowd, holding up their spears to block everyone’s access to the great chamber. As the onlookers attempt to push and prod their way in, I notice the wide stances of the warriors, desperately trying to stand their ground. I crouch down low and crawl beneath the legs of one of the guards, sneaking past and scampering over to one of the bushes lining the exterior walls of the throne room.
Now, how do I get in unnoticed? I search the area for a place to scurry off to, hoping I won’t be captured by any guards. Most of the warriors are busy, too occupied with holding back the villagers. So I quickly turn the corner and enter the area, finding a few columns of brownish, dirty stone to hide behind.
It takes a lot of effort to prevent myself from ogling at the room. I’ve never been inside this place before, and my breath escapes me as I stare wondrously at the large trees that act like a roof, shielding the space from the harsh sun. The cool air is a tremendous relief, clinging to me because of the humidity. At the center is one of the sacred calendars father once spoke to me about, to track the passage of time. He told me it’s how our rulers and elders knew when to harvest, or when the celestial events were supposed to take place. There’s supposed to be one at the great sacred pyramid, too. I don’t quite understand how it works, but it looks fascinating.
Nope, I can’t get distracted. I’ve got to focus. I look around for the outsiders, not finding them anywhere. Just then, voices trickle their way to my ears, echoing off the stone and terracotta floor. Tiptoeing toward the sound, I gradually creep around the corner and find the seven strangers standing before the Great Xolotzi. They wear so many items of clothing! Do you think they’re able to breathe amidst the jungle’s humidity? It’s got to be uncomfortable, I would think.
In the shadow of the revered leader, I’m left awestruck. He commands the raised platform with a regal bearing, his presence so formidable, it seems to dwarf the gathered visitors below him. He wears the headdress meant for war, adorned with condor bones that line his jaw and cheek. This grants him a daunting presence, as if he were crafted by the hands of Tlaloqa, the god of death and ruler of the nine levels of the underworld.
There’s indistinguishable muttering, then strange sounds or words coming from the young girl of the group. What are they saying? Are they speaking? Do they come as friend or foe? I can’t discern what’s being exchanged, but the Great Xolotzi looks unamused, maintaining a scowl across his face at all times.
Frustrated, I try to think of a way to listen to what’s being said. Then, it strikes me like a bolt of lightning splitting a mighty palm tree. I carefully sneak between columns and rush over to the large rear entrance of the great throne room. There, numerous bushes and trees stand proudly about the grounds. I close my eyes really tightly, pressing them until my face is almost a grimace, and concentrate on the area around me.
“Hey!” I call out with my mind. “Is anyone here? I need some help.”
A few Bumblebee Hummingbirds, no bigger than the size of my thumb, flutter into view, their tiny wings a blur of motion. The iridescent green of their backs gleams in the sunlight, contrasting sharply with their fiery red throat that seems to catch fire with each shift and turn.
“What do you need?” they ask excitedly, hovering in place. They speak so quickly and at such a high pitch, I nearly miss their question.
“There’s an important discussion taking place inside that throne room,” I whisper in my mind, for some reason, as though the Great Xolotzi could hear me from out here. “Could you tell me what’s being said?”
“How are we supposed to do that?” they ask in near unison. “We don’t speak your language!” They seem to not realize they’re speaking to me, despite their concerns, but it’s no matter.
“You won’t need to,” I tell them. “I’ve done this before when eavesdropping on my mother and father, listening in to their hushed conversations from a distance. All you have to do is be nearby, position yourselves within earshot of the meeting, and I’ll do the rest. I’ll be able to hear through you. You will act as my ears!”
“Oh!” they laugh, sounding like a series of hurried squeaks. “We can do that! Just tell us where to go!”
“By the throne room,” I direct them. “The, uh, large manmade cave over there,” I point toward the Great Xolotzi’s location. “There are numerous palm trees upon which you can rest. That should be close enough, I think.”
“Great!” they sporadically cheer. In a flash, they flutter away, speeding toward the top of the great chamber. I wait patiently for them to get into position, closing my eyes and concentrating on hearing any conversation or chatter.
Eventually, I hear a loud, booming voice yell, “I demand to know what these demon spirits believe they can offer my people which we do not already possess. The Auilqa have defended our lands from scum such as them for generations upon generations, and we will continue to do so long after they’re dead.”
His words are followed by a female voice, one that sounds greatly nervous and concerned. “Have I offended him? Did something in what I spoke get mistranslated? My companions look anxious. What do I do?” Does she not speak to the Great Xolotzi directly? To whom does she speak?
There’s more talking—this time, words of which I’m unfamiliar again—followed by more shouting. Then, the Great Xolotzi speaks once more. “These cockroaches wish to infiltrate our lands! They want us to kneel, as they did to the Timuaq. We kneel to no one!”
The woman speaks—or thinks—again. “He must not realize we want to be allies! I must have disrespected him somehow! How do I correct this grave mistake?”
Now, an elderly man talks, appearing to speak to our great leader. “Great Xolotzi, if we allow them a moment to explain themselves one more time before–“
“Execute them now,” the Great Xolotzi commands, rage erupting from him like a volcano. “They should never have been allowed to step foot upon our sacred lands!”
“You are absolutely correct, Great Xolotzi,” the old man agrees. “However, they must be exhausted, having traveled a long distance to reach us.”
“This doesn’t concern me,” the Great Xolotzi says dismissively.
“Certainly,” the old man agrees. “However, if we test their explanation once again after they receive a night’s rest, perhaps they can explain themselves more succinctly as to why they’ve arrived at our walls. Just give them one last chance before you exert the might of the Auilqa.”
The woman thinks to herself, “Are they discussing what’s to become of us?” She’s terrified, like a wounded animal about to be pounced upon by a predator. It’s as though I feel her pulse racing within me, as well.
The Great Xolotzi releases a disgusted grunt. “Fine. I am a fair ruler, unlike their pathetic leaders. I will kill them at dawn.”
There’s movement, and then the voices disappear, vanishing from my mind in an instant like a puff of smoke. The hummingbirds return, flitting about.
“That was fun!” they exclaim. “I hope it went well!”
I don’t have the heart to tell them what actually happened, choosing instead to thank them for their assistance. They excitedly fly off, the furious flapping of their wings causes them to sound as though they’re buzzing away. I try my best not to let my disappointment show, fearing the worst for these outsiders. You should know, the Great Xolotzi is not known to be merciful. While I’m surprised he is allowing them to live just one more night, I’m confident they’ll be executed in the morning. I have to think fast, think what I can do to rescue them. There must be some–
“Hey!” I hear a shout from behind me. Two warriors glare at me, the tips of their spears pointed in my direction. “What do you think you’re doing here, boy?”
“It’s that amber-eyed freak!” the other remarks. “The one thinking he can talk to animals! We should do Auilqa a favor and remove this lunatic from our population.”
Fear and dread consume me. My breathing is reduced to short, quick bursts. Panicked, I look around me, searching for an escape. When nothing comes to mind, I return my attention to the pursuing guards closing in on me. Where do I run? What do I do?
“Ack! What are those?”
The warriors swat around their faces as they’re attacked relentlessly by a swarm of Bumblebee Hummingbirds. The birds buzz about, jabbing viciously at the guards’ eyes and noses, then hurrying away.
Without hesitation, I flee the grounds immediately. I sprint through the reception hall, then toward the entrance. The guards continue forcing the onlookers back, unaware that the outsiders have departed. I push between two of the warriors, squeezing through and returning to the crowd. Before they realize what’s happened, I’m already down the road, heading back into the jungle.
“So what do you think you’re going to do about it?”
Noch stares at me judgmentally, which, to be fair, is how she looks most of the time. We’re sitting on a log by the stream in our favorite grove, watching the setting sun dip below the tall trees of the rainforest. The water burbles as it gently flows passed us. Butterflies, with their vibrant blue or orange wings, flutter about as I inhale the nappy scent of the surrounding moss.
“We’ve got to do something,” I stress, nervous for the strangers and what the Great Xolotzi might do to them. “Please, Noch! Help me out!”
She looks at me for a long moment, unblinking. “You know what they’ll do to me if they find me in your village?”
“But the outsiders aren’t being kept inside Qasiunqa,” I note. “Captors are always kept just outside the city walls, because the Great Xolotzi doesn’t want those who commit crimes to exist inside the city. The prison is just at the edge of the jungle. We’ll be able to–“
“At the edge?” Noch asks. “Where there’s no tree cover? No vegetation? So nothing to hide our presence.”
I frown. She’s correct, as always. Attempting to sneak in will most certainly cause a scene, with the warriors likely to kill Noch on sight. I can’t allow that to happen. Not to my best friend.
“Besides,” she purrs, “why do you want to help them in the first place? They’re humans, and outsiders at that. Why help some strangers?”
“Because,” I say, simply. When that’s not enough for Noch, I continue, “They clearly traveled all this way for some purpose. Strangers never dare travel to Auilqa, or so my father says. So they must be desperate. Something is happening that’s bringing them to Qasiunqa. And that one, that girl… There’s something about her, I can sense it. It felt as though I was hearing her thoughts. The Great Xolotzi just needs to hear them out, give them a chance.”
Noch frowns as much as an ocelot can frown. “You are way too compassionate.”
I sigh, resigned to the idea that these strangers will be killed in the morning. I just wanted a chance to help someone in need, you know? The Great Xolotzi and the villagers never gave them an honest chance. I know what that’s like. It seems unfair, to have these people die simply because they’re different.
But then Noch surprises me. “I’ll help you, Saqatli. Although I think you’re mad, you have a big heart, and it’s typically never wrong. But how do you propose we free them? Xolotzi won’t listen to the likes of us, and attempting to help them escape could see us killed.”
The thought then occurs to me. “What if they don't need freeing? What if they prove their worth, their valor, by confronting the very threat we’ve been unable to face?”
“I beg your pardon, Saqatli, but I’m now starting to second guess my initial agreement in helping you.”
“I remember my grandmother would tell these epic stories. I would be sad or upset, especially at my father or brother, and she’d regale me with these tales where the only means to earn respect was to accomplish some great act of valor. Maybe the Great Xolotzi is the same! Maybe these strangers need to prove themselves to him, to earn an audience from our great leader.”
“So you’re basing your entire plan on some tales your grandmother told you?” Noch asks me skeptically.
I nod eagerly, excited at the idea of realizing this plan. “You and the other creatures of the jungles know very well of Quetzelotl–“
“The iridescent lizard beast?” she asks knowingly. “You can’t be serious.”
“Hear me out. That creature has been causing nothing but havoc to our hunters for ages. If they can defeat Quetzelotl, the Great Xolotzi has to listen to them!”
Noch, however, is less than convinced. “But what makes you think they would go along with this wild plan? And what makes you believe that, should they be granted another chance, your ruler will bother to accept it, or even listen?”
“Well, based on your reaction, it’s something that is so crazy, it just might convince the Great Xolotzi,” I shrug. “If anything, he’ll get a good laugh out of it. As for the outsiders, they’re going to die anyway, right? So, why not go out heroically?”
I grin in the way that Noch despises. That grin where I know she knows I’m right. Where I know she’s going to give in and help, much to her chagrin. But I’d like to think that, deep down, she wants to help them just as much as I do.
“I’m really beginning to wish I hadn’t let you talk me into this plan.”
Even under the cover of night, I can see Noch’s reluctance. We’re next to the place where the prisoners are kept, protected by walls three times as high as any man. And as you’d imagine, they’re made extra sharp at the top, for good measure. I hear murmuring deep within the area, until they’re shushed by the guards. There are approximately a dozen or so men, significantly fewer than the number that’s here during the day. This is our chance.
The space between the wooden posts is tight, not large enough to see through the slits. The only way we’ll know for certain as to where they are is by entering the grounds. Which means the guards will have to be dealt with. And even then, there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to drive them all away with what I’ve got planned. Our time with the captives will be brief, at best.
“So, how are you going to distract the guards, to get us in?” Noch inquires, her turquoise tail flits in the moonlight. “Because I refuse to be used as bait.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I say, as the unmistakable stench begins creeping into our nostrils. “I’ve got just the thing.”
“Wait…” she says, sniffing the air before gagging. “You didn’t.” She says this more as a statement than a genuine question. I just smile.
The odor is nauseating, almost unbearable—even pinching my nose shut helps minimally, at best. The smell from nearly a dozen peccaries will have that effect. They identify each other based on their individual scents, but to any other animal, it smells only of pure rot and refuse. Zolotli offered to chase them into the campsite, figuring he’d be hunting them for a meal anyway. But I decided to ask them politely, promising to set out a feast for them the following day. While I’m not going to enjoy collecting all the grubs to make this happen, I tell myself it’ll be worth it if my plan succeeds.
The squadron of peccaries charge into the camp, squealing and roaring as they run around. Their unexpected presence startles the guards, who desperately leap out of the way as the pigs crash into tents, knocking over belongings onto the ground. Although the Auilqa hunt peccary for food, it’s quite a challenge having that many rushing at you when you’re not prepared. I tell them to storm off, quickly, seeing as I don’t want them to get hurt for helping me. They dash off into the shadows of night, scurrying into the undergrowth and out of sight.
The guards shout to one another, eager to chase after the peccaries. After all, an entire squadron just happened to storm the site. This could feed Qasiunqa for a while. The idea is too enticing to resist.
The warriors sprint off into the jungle. They’re in too much of a hurry to tell anyone to stay behind. They’re also too proud to stay behind, not wanting to be the one who didn’t catch the peccary.
Using the technique Noch taught me, we sneak quietly into the prison. A few of the Auilqa prisoners watch us, confused. Are they really seeing what they think they’re seeing? A boy and his ocelot friend stealthily moving about the prison site?
There, deep into the grounds, the opposite side from the entrance, are the outsiders. They’re looking around, trying to see what the pandemonium is about. Eventually, they see an ocelot and an Auilqa boy, standing next to their enclosure. Stone comprises most of it, save for one side of bars made from a tough, thick wood. The space between them is thin enough that placing your hand sideways might not make it through.
I look for the girl, the one whose thoughts I felt at the throne room, and crouch next to the bars. I see the blue and red feather, like a lone star in the dark night sky, and I know it’s her. I close my eyes and focus real hard, trying to channel my thoughts through Noch, and, in turn, to her.
“Hello?” My question comes out more meekly than I intended, but I have to see if this works. She was speaking another language, yet I was able to understand her. Something feels strange about this encounter, however. Something’s odd. Perhaps it’s because I wasn’t close to her before, but her presence feels far greater than what I’m used to. Maybe I haven’t calibrated for speaking to a human, since I’ve been speaking with Noch for the better part of the evening and night.
“Who’s this?” I hear her voice, sounding startled, confused, frightened. “Who is doing this? How are you speaking to me through my thoughts?”
“It’s okay,” I think or say. “My name is Saqatli, and I’m here to help. The ocelot is my friend, Nochtl, or ‘Noch’ for short. She’s kind of how I’m able to talk to you right now.”
“Where are you?” the woman asks. “Are you the boy, with the amber eyes? The one I saw in town earlier?”
“Yes, that would be me,” I reply.
“But… how are you speaking to me… through the ocelot… through my mind?” She sounds confused. You can’t blame her. I’m confused myself.
“I… speak to animals. Something I’ve always been able to do, I suppose. And when you all arrived, I got this feeling from you, this connection. I snuck into the throne room, to see what was going on. I couldn’t understand what you were saying to the Great Xolotzi, but I was somehow able to hear your thoughts. It’s what gave me the idea to come visit you tonight. I want to help.”
“Are you going to break us out of here?” she asks. “Because I’m not sure that’s a great idea. You could endanger yourself, your–“
“Well, that’s why I’m here,” I say. “If you escape, the Great Xolotzi will have his men track you all down and kill you. And these jungles can be treacherous. But I believe I have a way where you can earn the Great Xolotzi’s respect through an act of valor that will cause him to listen to your request of the Auilqa. I believe it’s your best chance.”
“I’m… somehow able to hear you, too. Through my thoughts.” This time, a man’s voice. It startles me, and I can tell that the girl is startled, too. Who is this person that can also connect with me? Is this person with us? Is he a friend? A foe?
“Who is this person speaking?” I ask. “Or, I guess, thinking.”
“I am Walumaq,” the girl’s voice says. “Princess and daughter of the Sanqo ruler, Siunqi, and Cheqansiq.”
“And you, sir?” I ask.
“I am Paxilche, of the Qiapu,” the man’s voice says.
I crouch low, shrouded by the large palm leaves and vegetation, as I keep a watchful eye on the prowling jaguar. It lurks among the verdure, its spotted golden fur is somehow hardly noticeable amid the verdant greens of the jungle. I slow my breathing until it barely escapes my lips. With cautious steps, I circle the trunk of the tree, keeping it between me and the lurking creature. I can’t blink, for fear that, if I do, the jaguar will seize the moment to pounce.
I do my best to remain calm, steady. My pulse slows. I clear my head of all thoughts. I don’t want to give anything away about my location. The jaguar tilts its head up and sniffs the air, hoping to catch my scent. I pause, standing as still as the sentient trees. The toucans and macaws frequently call to one another, as if discussing my whereabouts. In my head, I try my best to silence them, hoping they don’t expose my hiding place.
As I ease my way around the tree, my foot snaps a twig. The crack echoes throughout the entire rainforest. I wince, knowing I’ve just revealed my location. The jaguar’s head whips around and faces me. I’ve been spotted. It races toward me, leaping effortlessly over the stumps and fallen branches on the jungle’s floor. The beast’s strides are seamless, flowing with the ease of a river running its course. In just a few paces, it’s quickly closed the distance to me, chasing me down with relentless fervor.
What do I do now? Maybe I can climb a tree? No, the jaguar is just as avid a climber as I am, perhaps quicker. Do I take off? In which direction? I’m about to turn and run, but I know the effort is pointless. I’ve been caught, with no honest chance of escape. The game is over. The beast has won.
“Okay, okay, you’ve got me,” I groan, raising my hands up as a sign of concession. “I yield! Hey! I said I yield!” The jaguar continues its unceasing pursuit. It charges at full speed. I begin to cower, curling into a ball as though that will minimize the impact. I close my eyes, grimacing in anticipation of the impending collision.
“Alright, Zolotli, you’ve had your fun.” I hear a familiar feminine feline voice call out. The jaguar slides a short distance on all fours over the dirt and dead leaves, coming to a complete halt just moments before crashing into me. Peering out of one eye, I inspect the scene and find the humungous creature eclipsing me. My short, dark brown hair jostles as the golden-furred beast snorts air from its flaring nostrils.
“I wasn’t really going to trounce him!” says Zolotli. I’m not entirely certain I believe the beast, as there’s an intense, hungry look in the jaguar’s eyes. You should know, he has yet to attack and rip me to shreds. Still, I’m more than relieved to remain intact anyway.
An ocelot leaps down from a branch, previously spectating the events from high above the jungle floor. Having one green eye and its other violet, it looks us over judgmentally. Around its neck is a gift from me: a hemp collar embedded with a single turquoise stone. A small token, something I handmade myself. It saunters over to me and Zolotli, the snarling expression of disdain fixed to its face.
“Are you two quite done with your game?” the ocelot asks. “You’ve been going at it all morning.”
“You’re more than welcome to join us, Nochtl,” Zolotli says, flashing his pointed fangs. “I could use something to pick out the flecks of meat from my teeth.”
“A lumbering idiot like you couldn’t catch me if you tried,” Nochtl quips, flicking her crooked, turquoise-tipped tail in irritation.
I shake my head and chuckle. “Alright, you two. I don’t want to be the one cleaning up all the stray fur that’ll fly around if you both start brawling.”
“It’s perhaps for the best,” admits Nochtl. “I’d hate to force the boy to spend the rest of the day picking up your limp bones. Besides, the day is progressing quickly, and I must eat. Shouldn’t you be heading to Qasiunqa anyway, Saqatli?”
“But how about one more game before you go?” Zolotli begs. His pleading eyes grow wide and soft, and his mouth forms a slight pout.
“Noch is right,” I confess. “I should return to the city anyway. I don’t want to hear any grief from my father and brother. But I’ll meet you back here first thing tomorrow morning, Zolotli!”
With that, the two creatures vanish into the depths of the rainforest, moving away from me toward the heart of the wild that I’m so reluctant to leave. There’s something about the jungle, with its vibrant life and untamed beauty, that makes you feel alive and free. Amidst the singing birds and the rustling leaves, I escape the dull routines of life in Qasiunqa. I wish I could linger forever in these groves, far from the clamor and constraints of the city. Yet I’m bound by reality. I know I must return to a world where I don’t belong, where I don’t fit. Not until I’m older and can decide my fate.
A pair of cotingas flutter to a branch nearby. The female, in feathers of brown, and the male, with a purple throat and covered in resplendent blue, exchange warm greetings with me. Shortly thereafter, they take flight, with the male’s wings whistling as they depart. Noticing that I greeted the birds, others, such as a quetzal and a couple of toucans, excitedly greet me and try to start a conversation with me. I apologize as politely as I can, saying that I’m in a rush to go home. They bob their heads and fly away, mentioning that they’ll try again next time.
As far back as I can remember, I’ve been able to speak to animals. Before I could crawl, I’ve been fascinated with creatures of all shapes and sizes. I can’t recall the first animal I spoke with, to be honest with you. But I remember when I realized I was the only one who could speak to them. I was maybe four or five, speaking to some bird—maybe a parakeet or a manakin—and I asked my mother if she spoke to them, too. At first, she looked concerned, but then dismissed it as an innocent child being imaginative. But because of the way she treated me, as if I was merely being cute and not taking me seriously, I knew then that I was different.
You should know that I’ve only ever been interested in speaking to animals, never hunting them. I’d go to the river, and while my father and brother would fish, I would be talking to the creatures instead. Simple topics like ‘how are you doing’ or ‘where are you going’ or ‘are there any predators around’, things like that. I had to be careful because I could be speaking to a rabbit or an iguana, and my brother or father would spear it or kill them with an arrow. As you can imagine, those moments were too traumatizing for me. So from then on, I would warn the animals to run away, only speaking to them when I was alone.
Eventually, even the predators would talk to me. They stopped looking at me as a meal and more as someone who could warn or help them if the people in Qasiunqa were seeking to hunt them. It’s one of the ways I came to meet Nochtl, or ‘Noch’, for short. In time, we would exchange what we knew—she would teach me how to be stealthy and sneak up on my prey; I would give her advanced warning as to where our hunters planned to target, so she could warn the rest of the jungle. I became an ally to the creatures, rather than another threat.
Her leg and tail were caught in my father’s snare. Noch’s leg and tail, that is. I’m sure you had guessed. I had gotten into yet another fight with my brother, Tlazotli. He regularly picks on me because of my eyes, among other things. I’d had enough and decided to walk out into the jungle. He didn’t even come chasing after me! Can you believe it?
Anyway, that night, the mist still clung to the ground as the season’s warm air began curling into the rainforest. I would’ve missed her, overlooked her completely, if it wasn’t for the mewing. She was just a kitten, too. I was taken aback by the turquoise splotch on her tail, which was caught in the trap along with her leg. That’s how the kink formed in it, sadly.
I hadn’t given it a second thought. I knew I had to free her. She tried her best to ward me off, snarling and growling. But she was so little that the growls came out as tiny yips. I started speaking to her soothingly, hoping to calm her down and let her know I wasn’t going to cause her any harm. She tilted her head as though she understood what I was saying. I pulled open the cords of agave, meant for much larger prey, and gently freed her. Once I got her out of the snare, she didn’t flee into the underbrush and disappear from sight. She lingered, purring and gazing at me, as if a sense of understanding seemed to pass between us.
“Thank you,” a soft whisper seemed to resonate in my heart, not through words, but through a feeling so profound it left no room for doubt, you know? In that moment, with the moonlight filtering through the canopy and illuminating her turquoise-marked tail, I realized the depth of our connection. Noch had become a companion, a part of my being. And as she nestled closer, her warmth against my skin, I knew this was the beginning of a journey neither of us would have to face alone again.
The presence of Qasiunqa among the rainforest is jarring. In contrast to the living, breathing world of vibrant greens and earthy scents, Qasiunqa feels cold and rigid, its jagged structures rising like the very spikes on a thorny lizard’s back. Sharp and pointed angles, unnatural and unforgiving, jut from everywhere. Sure, the Auilqa try to add what they think is beauty to the walls, painting them in abnormal pigments of pinks, yellows, and blues. Yet it feels like imposing themselves unto nature, forcing something to be beautiful when nature already provides such sights, such wonder.
Just beyond is the great sacred pyramid. Father would boast about the ceremonies that took place there, celebrating all types of celestial events like solstices and equinoxes. He spoke with reverence of witnessing all the great Auilqa rulers, including our current leader, the Great Xolotzi, who would conduct these rituals and make offerings to the gods, specifically Wiqamasqa and Iolatl, the father and mother of creation. However, when his tales turned to the sacrifices, I found myself recoiling. Despite understanding their purpose—to secure bountiful harvests and divine favor—I still covered my ears and cringed. It’s one of the many things Tlazotli teases me for to this day.
I’m met with sidelong glances by each villager I pass. My ability to speak to animals hasn’t been well received around Qasiunqa. Due to my brother’s influence, everyone now perceives me as odd, deranged. I was too honest as a boy, too naïve. In earnest, I would tell everyone what the animals were saying to me, which would receive pitying or condescending laughs. But then I persisted, adamantly telling everyone that the animals would speak. That’s when I began getting ostracized. Teased. Picked on. Even by my father. It meant spending more time in the jungle, which I don’t mind. But it doesn’t make living in our society of warriors any easier.
While I would normally walk past such a commotion, there’s something about the energy taking place at the front gate that grabs my attention. The words frequently repeated are “outsiders” and “scum” and “invaders”. Who could they be speaking of? Such activity doesn’t happen here, even in a relatively quiet place like Qasiunqa.
I slip beneath and between the gawkers’ legs, slithering my way close to the front until I see the seven strange visitors. The outsiders are flanked by more than two dozen of our warriors, making it difficult to see any distinct details. Well, other than the blue and red feather the lone girl of the group wears in her hair, that bobs up and down as they walk toward where the Great Xolotzi resides. The occasional red and white tunic or the bizarre items worn by some of the other men peeks out between the tanned bodies of the Auilqa.
I follow their trek to the throne room along with the swarm of people. There’s a blend of curiosity, suspicion, humor, and a hint of foreboding at the sight of these foreigners. Which am I experiencing, you ask? It’s difficult for me to say. Their reactions are a mixture of many different emotions, thoughts, and feelings:
“Who are these outsiders? What do they want? Their presence here can’t be a coincidence.”
“Their arrival could mean trouble. Remember the last time strangers came through our lands? The crops failed for seasons.”
“That one’s so tall, he might bump his head on the throne room entrance! Do you think they grow them in the fields where they’re from?”
“They look like disguised Ulxa. They’ve come to kill our great ruler!”
“One of them has bizarre eyes, as if they captured the sky!” “They all have bizarre eyes!”
“Is it bravery or folly that brings them to Qasiunqa? Perhaps both?”
The guards fight back the crowd, holding up their spears to block everyone’s access to the great chamber. As the onlookers attempt to push and prod their way in, I notice the wide stances of the warriors, desperately trying to stand their ground. I crouch down low and crawl beneath the legs of one of the guards, sneaking past and scampering over to one of the bushes lining the exterior walls of the throne room.
Now, how do I get in unnoticed? I search the area for a place to scurry off to, hoping I won’t be captured by any guards. Most of the warriors are busy, too occupied with holding back the villagers. So I quickly turn the corner and enter the area, finding a few columns of brownish, dirty stone to hide behind.
It takes a lot of effort to prevent myself from ogling at the room. I’ve never been inside this place before, and my breath escapes me as I stare wondrously at the large trees that act like a roof, shielding the space from the harsh sun. The cool air is a tremendous relief, clinging to me because of the humidity. At the center is one of the sacred calendars father once spoke to me about, to track the passage of time. He told me it’s how our rulers and elders knew when to harvest, or when the celestial events were supposed to take place. There’s supposed to be one at the great sacred pyramid, too. I don’t quite understand how it works, but it looks fascinating.
Nope, I can’t get distracted. I’ve got to focus. I look around for the outsiders, not finding them anywhere. Just then, voices trickle their way to my ears, echoing off the stone and terracotta floor. Tiptoeing toward the sound, I gradually creep around the corner and find the seven strangers standing before the Great Xolotzi. They wear so many items of clothing! Do you think they’re able to breathe amidst the jungle’s humidity? It’s got to be uncomfortable, I would think.
In the shadow of the revered leader, I’m left awestruck. He commands the raised platform with a regal bearing, his presence so formidable, it seems to dwarf the gathered visitors below him. He wears the headdress meant for war, adorned with condor bones that line his jaw and cheek. This grants him a daunting presence, as if he were crafted by the hands of Tlaloqa, the god of death and ruler of the nine levels of the underworld.
There’s indistinguishable muttering, then strange sounds or words coming from the young girl of the group. What are they saying? Are they speaking? Do they come as friend or foe? I can’t discern what’s being exchanged, but the Great Xolotzi looks unamused, maintaining a scowl across his face at all times.
Frustrated, I try to think of a way to listen to what’s being said. Then, it strikes me like a bolt of lightning splitting a mighty palm tree. I carefully sneak between columns and rush over to the large rear entrance of the great throne room. There, numerous bushes and trees stand proudly about the grounds. I close my eyes really tightly, pressing them until my face is almost a grimace, and concentrate on the area around me.
“Hey!” I call out with my mind. “Is anyone here? I need some help.”
A few Bumblebee Hummingbirds, no bigger than the size of my thumb, flutter into view, their tiny wings a blur of motion. The iridescent green of their backs gleams in the sunlight, contrasting sharply with their fiery red throat that seems to catch fire with each shift and turn.
“What do you need?” they ask excitedly, hovering in place. They speak so quickly and at such a high pitch, I nearly miss their question.
“There’s an important discussion taking place inside that throne room,” I whisper in my mind, for some reason, as though the Great Xolotzi could hear me from out here. “Could you tell me what’s being said?”
“How are we supposed to do that?” they ask in near unison. “We don’t speak your language!” They seem to not realize they’re speaking to me, despite their concerns, but it’s no matter.
“You won’t need to,” I tell them. “I’ve done this before when eavesdropping on my mother and father, listening in to their hushed conversations from a distance. All you have to do is be nearby, position yourselves within earshot of the meeting, and I’ll do the rest. I’ll be able to hear through you. You will act as my ears!”
“Oh!” they laugh, sounding like a series of hurried squeaks. “We can do that! Just tell us where to go!”
“By the throne room,” I direct them. “The, uh, large manmade cave over there,” I point toward the Great Xolotzi’s location. “There are numerous palm trees upon which you can rest. That should be close enough, I think.”
“Great!” they sporadically cheer. In a flash, they flutter away, speeding toward the top of the great chamber. I wait patiently for them to get into position, closing my eyes and concentrating on hearing any conversation or chatter.
Eventually, I hear a loud, booming voice yell, “I demand to know what these demon spirits believe they can offer my people which we do not already possess. The Auilqa have defended our lands from scum such as them for generations upon generations, and we will continue to do so long after they’re dead.”
His words are followed by a female voice, one that sounds greatly nervous and concerned. “Have I offended him? Did something in what I spoke get mistranslated? My companions look anxious. What do I do?” Does she not speak to the Great Xolotzi directly? To whom does she speak?
There’s more talking—this time, words of which I’m unfamiliar again—followed by more shouting. Then, the Great Xolotzi speaks once more. “These cockroaches wish to infiltrate our lands! They want us to kneel, as they did to the Timuaq. We kneel to no one!”
The woman speaks—or thinks—again. “He must not realize we want to be allies! I must have disrespected him somehow! How do I correct this grave mistake?”
Now, an elderly man talks, appearing to speak to our great leader. “Great Xolotzi, if we allow them a moment to explain themselves one more time before–“
“Execute them now,” the Great Xolotzi commands, rage erupting from him like a volcano. “They should never have been allowed to step foot upon our sacred lands!”
“You are absolutely correct, Great Xolotzi,” the old man agrees. “However, they must be exhausted, having traveled a long distance to reach us.”
“This doesn’t concern me,” the Great Xolotzi says dismissively.
“Certainly,” the old man agrees. “However, if we test their explanation once again after they receive a night’s rest, perhaps they can explain themselves more succinctly as to why they’ve arrived at our walls. Just give them one last chance before you exert the might of the Auilqa.”
The woman thinks to herself, “Are they discussing what’s to become of us?” She’s terrified, like a wounded animal about to be pounced upon by a predator. It’s as though I feel her pulse racing within me, as well.
The Great Xolotzi releases a disgusted grunt. “Fine. I am a fair ruler, unlike their pathetic leaders. I will kill them at dawn.”
There’s movement, and then the voices disappear, vanishing from my mind in an instant like a puff of smoke. The hummingbirds return, flitting about.
“That was fun!” they exclaim. “I hope it went well!”
I don’t have the heart to tell them what actually happened, choosing instead to thank them for their assistance. They excitedly fly off, the furious flapping of their wings causes them to sound as though they’re buzzing away. I try my best not to let my disappointment show, fearing the worst for these outsiders. You should know, the Great Xolotzi is not known to be merciful. While I’m surprised he is allowing them to live just one more night, I’m confident they’ll be executed in the morning. I have to think fast, think what I can do to rescue them. There must be some–
“Hey!” I hear a shout from behind me. Two warriors glare at me, the tips of their spears pointed in my direction. “What do you think you’re doing here, boy?”
“It’s that amber-eyed freak!” the other remarks. “The one thinking he can talk to animals! We should do Auilqa a favor and remove this lunatic from our population.”
Fear and dread consume me. My breathing is reduced to short, quick bursts. Panicked, I look around me, searching for an escape. When nothing comes to mind, I return my attention to the pursuing guards closing in on me. Where do I run? What do I do?
“Ack! What are those?”
The warriors swat around their faces as they’re attacked relentlessly by a swarm of Bumblebee Hummingbirds. The birds buzz about, jabbing viciously at the guards’ eyes and noses, then hurrying away.
Without hesitation, I flee the grounds immediately. I sprint through the reception hall, then toward the entrance. The guards continue forcing the onlookers back, unaware that the outsiders have departed. I push between two of the warriors, squeezing through and returning to the crowd. Before they realize what’s happened, I’m already down the road, heading back into the jungle.
“So what do you think you’re going to do about it?”
Noch stares at me judgmentally, which, to be fair, is how she looks most of the time. We’re sitting on a log by the stream in our favorite grove, watching the setting sun dip below the tall trees of the rainforest. The water burbles as it gently flows passed us. Butterflies, with their vibrant blue or orange wings, flutter about as I inhale the nappy scent of the surrounding moss.
“We’ve got to do something,” I stress, nervous for the strangers and what the Great Xolotzi might do to them. “Please, Noch! Help me out!”
She looks at me for a long moment, unblinking. “You know what they’ll do to me if they find me in your village?”
“But the outsiders aren’t being kept inside Qasiunqa,” I note. “Captors are always kept just outside the city walls, because the Great Xolotzi doesn’t want those who commit crimes to exist inside the city. The prison is just at the edge of the jungle. We’ll be able to–“
“At the edge?” Noch asks. “Where there’s no tree cover? No vegetation? So nothing to hide our presence.”
I frown. She’s correct, as always. Attempting to sneak in will most certainly cause a scene, with the warriors likely to kill Noch on sight. I can’t allow that to happen. Not to my best friend.
“Besides,” she purrs, “why do you want to help them in the first place? They’re humans, and outsiders at that. Why help some strangers?”
“Because,” I say, simply. When that’s not enough for Noch, I continue, “They clearly traveled all this way for some purpose. Strangers never dare travel to Auilqa, or so my father says. So they must be desperate. Something is happening that’s bringing them to Qasiunqa. And that one, that girl… There’s something about her, I can sense it. It felt as though I was hearing her thoughts. The Great Xolotzi just needs to hear them out, give them a chance.”
Noch frowns as much as an ocelot can frown. “You are way too compassionate.”
I sigh, resigned to the idea that these strangers will be killed in the morning. I just wanted a chance to help someone in need, you know? The Great Xolotzi and the villagers never gave them an honest chance. I know what that’s like. It seems unfair, to have these people die simply because they’re different.
But then Noch surprises me. “I’ll help you, Saqatli. Although I think you’re mad, you have a big heart, and it’s typically never wrong. But how do you propose we free them? Xolotzi won’t listen to the likes of us, and attempting to help them escape could see us killed.”
The thought then occurs to me. “What if they don't need freeing? What if they prove their worth, their valor, by confronting the very threat we’ve been unable to face?”
“I beg your pardon, Saqatli, but I’m now starting to second guess my initial agreement in helping you.”
“I remember my grandmother would tell these epic stories. I would be sad or upset, especially at my father or brother, and she’d regale me with these tales where the only means to earn respect was to accomplish some great act of valor. Maybe the Great Xolotzi is the same! Maybe these strangers need to prove themselves to him, to earn an audience from our great leader.”
“So you’re basing your entire plan on some tales your grandmother told you?” Noch asks me skeptically.
I nod eagerly, excited at the idea of realizing this plan. “You and the other creatures of the jungles know very well of Quetzelotl–“
“The iridescent lizard beast?” she asks knowingly. “You can’t be serious.”
“Hear me out. That creature has been causing nothing but havoc to our hunters for ages. If they can defeat Quetzelotl, the Great Xolotzi has to listen to them!”
Noch, however, is less than convinced. “But what makes you think they would go along with this wild plan? And what makes you believe that, should they be granted another chance, your ruler will bother to accept it, or even listen?”
“Well, based on your reaction, it’s something that is so crazy, it just might convince the Great Xolotzi,” I shrug. “If anything, he’ll get a good laugh out of it. As for the outsiders, they’re going to die anyway, right? So, why not go out heroically?”
I grin in the way that Noch despises. That grin where I know she knows I’m right. Where I know she’s going to give in and help, much to her chagrin. But I’d like to think that, deep down, she wants to help them just as much as I do.
“I’m really beginning to wish I hadn’t let you talk me into this plan.”
Even under the cover of night, I can see Noch’s reluctance. We’re next to the place where the prisoners are kept, protected by walls three times as high as any man. And as you’d imagine, they’re made extra sharp at the top, for good measure. I hear murmuring deep within the area, until they’re shushed by the guards. There are approximately a dozen or so men, significantly fewer than the number that’s here during the day. This is our chance.
The space between the wooden posts is tight, not large enough to see through the slits. The only way we’ll know for certain as to where they are is by entering the grounds. Which means the guards will have to be dealt with. And even then, there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to drive them all away with what I’ve got planned. Our time with the captives will be brief, at best.
“So, how are you going to distract the guards, to get us in?” Noch inquires, her turquoise tail flits in the moonlight. “Because I refuse to be used as bait.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I say, as the unmistakable stench begins creeping into our nostrils. “I’ve got just the thing.”
“Wait…” she says, sniffing the air before gagging. “You didn’t.” She says this more as a statement than a genuine question. I just smile.
The odor is nauseating, almost unbearable—even pinching my nose shut helps minimally, at best. The smell from nearly a dozen peccaries will have that effect. They identify each other based on their individual scents, but to any other animal, it smells only of pure rot and refuse. Zolotli offered to chase them into the campsite, figuring he’d be hunting them for a meal anyway. But I decided to ask them politely, promising to set out a feast for them the following day. While I’m not going to enjoy collecting all the grubs to make this happen, I tell myself it’ll be worth it if my plan succeeds.
The squadron of peccaries charge into the camp, squealing and roaring as they run around. Their unexpected presence startles the guards, who desperately leap out of the way as the pigs crash into tents, knocking over belongings onto the ground. Although the Auilqa hunt peccary for food, it’s quite a challenge having that many rushing at you when you’re not prepared. I tell them to storm off, quickly, seeing as I don’t want them to get hurt for helping me. They dash off into the shadows of night, scurrying into the undergrowth and out of sight.
The guards shout to one another, eager to chase after the peccaries. After all, an entire squadron just happened to storm the site. This could feed Qasiunqa for a while. The idea is too enticing to resist.
The warriors sprint off into the jungle. They’re in too much of a hurry to tell anyone to stay behind. They’re also too proud to stay behind, not wanting to be the one who didn’t catch the peccary.
Using the technique Noch taught me, we sneak quietly into the prison. A few of the Auilqa prisoners watch us, confused. Are they really seeing what they think they’re seeing? A boy and his ocelot friend stealthily moving about the prison site?
There, deep into the grounds, the opposite side from the entrance, are the outsiders. They’re looking around, trying to see what the pandemonium is about. Eventually, they see an ocelot and an Auilqa boy, standing next to their enclosure. Stone comprises most of it, save for one side of bars made from a tough, thick wood. The space between them is thin enough that placing your hand sideways might not make it through.
I look for the girl, the one whose thoughts I felt at the throne room, and crouch next to the bars. I see the blue and red feather, like a lone star in the dark night sky, and I know it’s her. I close my eyes and focus real hard, trying to channel my thoughts through Noch, and, in turn, to her.
“Hello?” My question comes out more meekly than I intended, but I have to see if this works. She was speaking another language, yet I was able to understand her. Something feels strange about this encounter, however. Something’s odd. Perhaps it’s because I wasn’t close to her before, but her presence feels far greater than what I’m used to. Maybe I haven’t calibrated for speaking to a human, since I’ve been speaking with Noch for the better part of the evening and night.
“Who’s this?” I hear her voice, sounding startled, confused, frightened. “Who is doing this? How are you speaking to me through my thoughts?”
“It’s okay,” I think or say. “My name is Saqatli, and I’m here to help. The ocelot is my friend, Nochtl, or ‘Noch’ for short. She’s kind of how I’m able to talk to you right now.”
“Where are you?” the woman asks. “Are you the boy, with the amber eyes? The one I saw in town earlier?”
“Yes, that would be me,” I reply.
“But… how are you speaking to me… through the ocelot… through my mind?” She sounds confused. You can’t blame her. I’m confused myself.
“I… speak to animals. Something I’ve always been able to do, I suppose. And when you all arrived, I got this feeling from you, this connection. I snuck into the throne room, to see what was going on. I couldn’t understand what you were saying to the Great Xolotzi, but I was somehow able to hear your thoughts. It’s what gave me the idea to come visit you tonight. I want to help.”
“Are you going to break us out of here?” she asks. “Because I’m not sure that’s a great idea. You could endanger yourself, your–“
“Well, that’s why I’m here,” I say. “If you escape, the Great Xolotzi will have his men track you all down and kill you. And these jungles can be treacherous. But I believe I have a way where you can earn the Great Xolotzi’s respect through an act of valor that will cause him to listen to your request of the Auilqa. I believe it’s your best chance.”
“I’m… somehow able to hear you, too. Through my thoughts.” This time, a man’s voice. It startles me, and I can tell that the girl is startled, too. Who is this person that can also connect with me? Is this person with us? Is he a friend? A foe?
“Who is this person speaking?” I ask. “Or, I guess, thinking.”
“I am Walumaq,” the girl’s voice says. “Princess and daughter of the Sanqo ruler, Siunqi, and Cheqansiq.”
“And you, sir?” I ask.
“I am Paxilche, of the Qiapu,” the man’s voice says.
