How was I able to listen to everything being said, inside my mind?
The sun might be rising from its slumber, but I didn’t get a wink of sleep. Yet the entire encounter feels like it came from a dream. That moment when I realized the boy could speak to me, as he was speaking to Walumaq, replays continually in my head. And not by speaking aloud, but through thoughts. How is such a thing possible?
The whole engagement brings numerous items to light. The boy who could speak to animals, and through animals. Saqatli is his name. His eyes, a peculiar, rich amber hue, unlike all the other Auilqa with theirs an emerald green. I was left speechless the moment when I discovered Walumaq possessed supernatural abilities. At the time, I believed her to be the only one with such powers. Until she and the Eye in the Flame appeared, it was something no one had seen since the Eleven. But now, to see that another also has capabilities? What does it mean for Pachil? How do supernatural powers come to be? Do others have such abilities?
And if I’m able to hear along with Walumaq, what does this mean for me? Do I have abilities, as well? If so, what are they? How will I know?
All these questions, without any real answers, kept me awake all night. And that’s before the realization that we all have to face the Auilqa ruler once more. He doesn’t seem too keen on outsiders, and I’ve got the feeling he wishes we were all dead. The boy’s plan seems ludicrously naïve and optimistic. Offering our services to eliminate a problem that’s been plaguing the people of Qasiunqa? Not to mention, the creature sounds daunting and dangerous, to say the least. Who would go for such a deal?
But, the boy makes a fair point: either we are executed by the Auilqa, or we die with dignity fighting a beast of legend. Something like that. I’m not sure I agree with the idea completely, but it’s better than being mercilessly killed by a bunch of savages, I suppose.
After Saqatli and his ocelot companion departed, barely moments before the guards returned, the seven of us had a discussion about this so-called “plan”. Being the warriors they are, Pomaqli, Atoyaqtli, and Pomacha immediately accepted the idea. As expected, however, Naqispi and Chiqama were not as amenable. It took a great amount of coaxing to get them to finally agree, though Naqispi now expects even greater riches if he survives this ordeal. He continually reminds us how gods-forsaken this land is, and how he is going beyond what he was designated to do. I’ll let Walumaq sort that out with him, should we live to see our homelands again.
After our conversations, I try to be discreet when asking Pomaqli if he heard anything, caught any whispers or anything of the like. He looks at me funnily, as though I was speaking in a foreign tongue, and tells me I must be dehydrated if I believe to have heard any voices. So much for that, then.
So after that exchange, I find Walumaq, performing the ritual that I’ve seen her do every morning since we first met. Despite all that’s taking place around us, she appears calm, steadied, centered. With her eyes closed, she breathes in slowly, muttering something under her breath—perhaps a mantra or something to keep herself grounded. I cautiously approach her, not wanting to startle and be disruptive. Though giving the appearance of being in some kind of trance, she’s alerted to my arrival, tilting her head toward me while keeping her eyes closed.
“Care to join me?” she asks. I oblige, sitting down beside her and mimicking her positioning. I cross my legs and sit upright, resting both hands on my knees.
“Um, what do I do?” I ask, embarrassed.
“Just repeat after me,” she instructs. “This is how I connect myself to Pachil, how I was told to do so by Alsuaqu–“
“The spirit speaker,” I excitedly interrupt. Embarrassed at myself, I apologize, but she chuckles and graciously waves away my concerns.
“The purpose is to share a mutual embrace with the land. Acknowledge and welcome it, and allow it to acknowledge and welcome you. Don’t force it if it isn’t present—you don’t want a negative connection to Pachil.”
I follow her lead, taking in slow, deep breaths through my nose, then exhaling through my mouth. She starts to repeat what sounds like a poem, something I’ve heard her say countless times on occasion:
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.
If I’m being honest, at first, I feel awkward and uncomfortable at reciting the words. Though I’m certain she isn’t doing so, I feel as though I’m being judged, setting myself up to be ridiculed later.
As if she’s reading my thoughts, she says in a near whisper, “Calm your mind. Relax yourself.”
I resume the ritual, trying my best to focus on the words and my breathing. After a short period, a warmth radiates from my chest. It’s like I’m being wrapped in a warm blanket during a cold night in Pichaqta. I can’t tell if this is what’s supposed to happen, or if I’m simply imagining this, but I carry on, letting the sensation wash over me.
Eventually, she stops reciting the words and appears to meditate in silence. We pause for a short while, listening to all the sounds of the jungle nearby. The creatures stirring and calling to one another. The wind that disturbs tree branches. The village waking up and starting a new day. The activity of the prison encampment in which we find ourselves.
My attention returns to our predicament and the events from before. Not wishing to spoil the mood, I reluctantly change the conversation to talk about what had happened earlier with the Auilqa boy. She seemed to be as fascinated by the developments as I was.
“What do you think this means?” I asked her. “That I could also hear what you two were conversing about? Pomaqli said he couldn’t hear anything, and nobody else has appeared to react the same way as I have.”
“It could mean a number of things,” she says. “I’ve always been able to manipulate water, and he states he’s always been able to speak to animals. It’s likely a result of something we both have been able to do, something inherent or something we were born with. But you’ve expressed no such capabilities, so I’m confused as to how this has all come to be.”
“Well, whatever it is, I’ll be curious to see if anything manifests from it,” I say. “To see what it means, that is. As for this plan… are we really going to suggest such a thing to a ruler who wants to execute us?”
Walumaq sighs. “I’m not sure we have much of a choice. If we succeed, we are heroes. If we die, well, I suppose we were destined to die anyway.”
It saddens me to hear Walumaq resigned to such a fate. Someone who wants to do so much good for this world, to help those in need, to stop this evil threat that seeks to terrorize all of Pachil. Someone like her doesn’t deserve to die simply because we entered a village. She, at the very least, shouldn’t need a chance to prove herself to a people who want nothing to do with the outside world. But if life was fair, valor would be met with the reverence it rightfully deserves.
The guards rattle the bars of our enclosure, jostling me out of my daze. They say something in their native language—something I’m certain is a crude remark, based on their smirk and sinister laughter. All of our wrists and ankles are bound, our hands tied behind our backs, leaving us little flexibility to maneuver and pick ourselves up. The flopping and floundering about amuses our captors. Once they’ve had their fill of fun, they enter our pen, then use an obsidian dagger to cut loose our legs, allowing us to walk to our date with destiny in the throne room.
Naqispi seizes the opportunity to kick at the guard freeing him, knocking him to the ground as he takes on the swarm of Auilqa warriors attempting to subdue him. He’s outnumbered, and although he manages to land a couple of stiff blows to some of the guards, he’s beaten by the few unaccounted for. They swing thick rods and whip Naqispi until he crumples to the ground. Two of the men take hold of one of Naqispi’s arms, dragging him across the ground and out of the confinement. Seeing this, the rest of us comply without confrontation.
We’re led back to the throne room—a place I once found enchanting, but now look upon with dread. The only pleasant aspect of this situation is the cheerful chirping of birds, merrily carrying on as though we’re not about to face our terrible end. With the sun still shrouded by the dense trees of the jungle, the chamber is dark and daunting. Even then, my white-and-red tunic is drenched, and I choke on the humid air as sweat beads down my forehead. This climate is too much for a man from the mountains, and I question the sanity of anyone wiling to exist in such a place. No wonder the Auilqa are all angry; if I lived here, in these disgusting conditions, I’d be regularly enraged, as well.
The ruler, Xolotzi, stands tall atop the raised platform in the center of the room. He lords over us, a scowl permanently fixed to his face that’s painted in red and white. He appears in the same outfit and headdress as before, and I wonder if he has any alternate garments. Not that the Auilqa wear much of anything—the only items covering any part of their bodies are the armor on their shoulders and the loin cloth that barely hides anything. Even the women warriors. I find it all to be lewd, making me speculate over Walumaq’s decision to travel to such a savage place.
Next to the Auilqa leader is the elderly man from yesterday. He leans over, whispering something to their esteemed ruler. Xolotzi’s reaction remains emotionless—one of his two states of being, other than infuriated. What role does the elderly man play? Is he an advisor? A translator?
After Xolotzi grunts a few times, the elderly man turns to face those of us who have gathered. “Behold! You are before the Great Xolotzi, He Who Commands the Jaguar’s–“
“Yes, yes, we know all his gods-forsaken titles,” Naqispi blurts out, earning him multiple swift kicks to his ribs. Hesitating, the elderly man appears confused, uncertain whether he should start from the beginning or continue on. Thankfully, Xolotzi mutters something, and the elderly man picks up after the grand introduction.
“It was determined to allow you one more dawn before judgement was placed upon you. Do you have any final words before the decision is declared?”
As the man speaks, I feel this overwhelming presence, as if something is providing warmth inside my body. It’s reminiscent of the night before, when the boy spoke to us—or “thought” to us; whatever it was that was actually occurring. My eyes search the room, glancing at one corner to the next, yet I see no sign of Saqatli nor his ocelot companion. A subtle hum fills my ears, and I’m briefly distracted before returning to the events taking place in this chamber.
“Yes, Honored One,” Walumaq says, stepping forward slightly to address the elder and Xolotzi, keeping her eyes cast to the ground as she speaks. “We are humbled to return to your gracious presence, and we–“
“The Great Xolotzi states he does not have time for your groveling,” the elderly man says after Xolotzi barks in his Auilqa language. “If there is nothing more, the Great Xolotzi declares–“
“We will fight Quetzelotl!” Walumaq shouts before the elderly man finishes his statement. The entire room, from the elderly man to the warriors lining the walls, all the way to Xolotzi himself, are stunned. They exchange glances with one another, mouths parted like freshly caught fish, perhaps making certain they heard Walumaq correctly. That must be a word they know very well to be shocked into absolute silence.
After a significant pause, Xolotzi reacts in a manner I had never seen until now: he erupts in sardonic laughter.
“By the sea, what is he on about now?” Naqispi demands, visibly irritated at our treatment thus far. Walumaq pats the air, motioning for him to be silent and remain calm. Not now, Naqispi, I hear her… think?
Despite the ruler’s behavior, Walumaq maintains her defiant stance, now staring at him with undaunted boldness as if silently daring him to confront her. “We will defeat this Quetzelotl,” she proclaims. “We have learned that this wretched beast terrorizes your people and plagues your land. Let our actions speak for us. By vanquishing this foul creature, we will demonstrate our commitment to your people and our resolve to stand as trusted allies. We offer this not only as a gesture of goodwill, but as a testament to our shared desire for peace and prosperity.”
Everyone waits with abated breath as the elder relays the message to Xolotzi. The stoic ruler maintains his stone-faced facade, making it nearly impossible to discern whether Walumaq’s words have had the desired impact. One thing is for certain: something about what she said stopped his condescending laughter.
The Auilqa leader places a hand on the elder’s shoulder and casts him aside. He takes a couple steps forward, still expressionless as he looks upon us with an inspecting gaze. My heart catches in my throat. I can no longer distinguish between the drops of sweat stemming from perspiration or nervousness. Is this it? Is he about to declare his judgement? What is to be our fate?
He goes deep into thought, prominently displaying the gold and turquoise cuffs that clatter as he strokes his chin. Following a few grunts, he mutters something to the elder. The older man’s eyes rapidly grow wide, seemingly surprised by the ruler’s words. Xolotzi then stands tall, puffing out his chest, and makes a loud proclamation to everyone present, his words reverberating throughout the stone chamber. The warriors howl and holler, raising their spears high into the air. They shout at us, though I can’t tell if they’re taunts, jeers, or teases—or perhaps even exultations.
To those of us deemed outsiders, all we can do is exchange confused glances. Finally, the elder raises both arms in the air, silencing the crowd. “The Great Xolotzi, whose sagacity eclipses the vast expanse of our lands, has considered the plea of the strangers before us. In his boundless wisdom, he has determined his verdict: the outsiders shall be granted the honor of confronting Quetzelotl. May they find favor in the eyes of Tlaloqa, as our great and noble leader has bestowed upon them his own measure of mercy.”
We’re briskly removed from the throne room and ushered into an area used as an armory. There, everyone reunites with their weapons—obsidian swords, daggers, and a large axe. I stare pensively at my war club, Ridgebreaker. I’m reminded of how I came to obtain such an extravagant weapon, aiding Qespina in their resistance against Timuaq captivity. I possessed such courage once; I hope I can muster up the same courage once more.
While deep in thought, Walumaq walks over, placing a hand on my shoulder. It startles me for a moment, but after I recover, I return my gaze to the weapon.
“Well, I said I hoped I wouldn’t need to use this,” I recall, “and yet, here we are.”
She offers me a consolatory smile. “It’s not my desired outcome, either. But I believe, if we work together, we will persevere. Don’t laugh! I know that may sound a little naïve, but I truly believe it! Everyone here is a skilled and resilient fighter—even you, Paxilche. You wouldn’t have been entrusted with such a weapon if it wasn’t well-earned. You have a greater impact, and a greater purpose, than you acknowledge.”
There’s a brief silence shared between us as I reflect upon her words of encouragement and confidence. I’m honored that she so earnestly believes in us, in me, though I feel it’s misplaced when it comes to my abilities. I may not know much of the Sanqo warrior’s skills, but I’m certain they must be formidable warriors to have the trust of their ruler, Siunqi, to travel so far from their home island to search for and recover their princess. And the abilities of the accomplished Pomaqli are unquestionably impressive; he would not be the lieutenant to the most well-respected general in Pichaqta if they weren’t. Meanwhile, Walumaq’s supernatural abilities needs no explanation.
So, where do I stand in all of this? I may wield an impressive weapon, but am I worthy of possessing it? There are far more credible warriors, more deserving. Yet, somehow, the Ridgebreaker rests with me. I feel the power contained within its gold and copper handle, but I find it difficult to feel such power within myself. I can only wish to not let everyone down if and when the time comes.
Naqispi’s complaining forces a break into our conversation. “They call it ‘mercy’, but we’re merely trading one horrific death for another. Hunting a gigantic lizard creature that no Auilqa warrior has been able to slay? This is a terrible plan.”
A few bob their head in agreement as they inspect and clean their weapons. Upon hearing this, Walumaq’s head droops. Perhaps she’s exhausted all the confidence and good spirit she has, and she’s finally worn down enough to reconsider the path before us. She’s someone who sees so much good in so many people, willing to put herself in harm’s way to protect those she doesn’t even know. My heart breaks at the sight of her discouragement.
“While I would normally agree with you,” I say, pacing slowly toward him, “I believe we’ve stumbled upon a rare chance here. This beast, this Quetzelotl, is a shadow that looms over the people of Auilqa. Yes, it’s a formidable challenge, one that even the bravest warriors of their land have not surmounted. But consider this: Every legend, every story that’s been told to us since we were children, all began with someone facing what everyone else feared. We have the chance to be the turning point, to be the ones who chase away the shadow.”
Although Naqispi remains unconvinced, the others’ attention begins to pique. Seeing Walumaq perk up motivates me to continue. “Lady Walumaq sees the spark in us, the same spark that fuels the stars above. It’s not just skill or bravery she believes in; it’s our ability to stand together, to rise when others fall. We are the bearers of hope, the ones who will be spoken of for generations upon generations.”
I stand before Naqispi to encourage him and erase his doubts—as well as my own. “This isn’t exchanging death for death. This is fighting for life. We are fighting for the life of a people oppressed by fear, for our lives, proving that we are more than our fears, and for the life of a future where such terrors no longer torment the innocent. And we will fight together. For Lady Walumaq, for the Auilqa, for our people, and for ourselves.”
Pomacha plants his meaty palm on my shoulder and gives it an abbreviated squeeze. As I look about those gathered, the warriors are resolute and focused. They stand and pass about knowing nods, exuding a cool, calm confidence. Even Naqispi joins, sheathing his weapons while emitting an air of readiness. With only a glance, Walumaq thanks me. It’s the least I can do for someone who, for whatever reason, genuinely believes in me. I hope to show her belief in me isn’t misplaced.
If I believed the rainforest’s humidity to be torturous before, I hadn’t walked in it midday as we travel to our possible doom. The temperature itself isn’t terrible, but the humidity causes the oppressive heat to cling to us like leeches. We’re nearly swimming our way through the dense jungle. The ripe stench of body odor reminds us that none of us have bathed in days. Adding to it the lack of sleep from the night before, and this journey has become perilously ill advised.
Before our departure, along with the aid of the elder to translate for us, the Auilqa warriors spoke to us briefly about the last known location of this Quetzelotl. A band of hunters set out to the west, searching for small game. To their misfortune, they crossed paths with the dreaded creature. Though they fought valiantly, only one barely survived long enough to return to Qasiunqa before succumbing to his grievous afflictions. It was an unpleasant recounting of the fate of the latest victims to encounter the legendary beast, describing the grizzly scene and the warrior’s horrific wounds. It’s not the type of tale that instills confidence in our upcoming endeavor.
“So, do you know of the Quetzelotl?” Chiqama challenges Naqispi.
“Why on Pachil would I know about Auilqa creatures?” he retorts.
“You were rattling off every creature on the continent on our journey to Qiapu. I assumed you were some expert on mythological beasts.”
“Every tale I heard involving Auilqa discussed the people, not any creatures,” Naqispi quips. “The people are savage enough that I figured even terrible monsters avoided them.”
“Can we please stop calling their people ‘savage’?” Walumaq requests. “They may have customs different than ours, and speak a different tongue, but that does not make them savages.” A few grunts and groans spontaneously sound among us. Does that mean they accept?
A rustling in the nearby bushes forces everyone to a halt. Weapons are drawn, and all eyes dart about the jungle to locate the potential threat. The Sanqo warriors, well trained and well versed with one another, immediately surround Walumaq and assume a formation that covers all directions. Pomaqli and I clutch our weapons and swivel our heads, searching for the source of the noise.
An ocelot leaps out from the undergrowth. But before we can react, I notice the hemp collar with a turquoise stone embedded, and shout for everyone to stand down. Peeking out slightly from behind the trunk of a tree, a boy with alarmingly bright, amber eyes looks on. At the sight of him, Walumaq immediately calls out, “Saqatli!” The name sounds familiar, and I soon recall its affiliation to the boy who ‘spoke’ to Walumaq and me.
“By the sea, what are you doing out here?” Walumaq scolds the young boy.
He winces at the remark. “I wanted to join you, to help you defeat Quetzelotl.”
“This is no place for a boy,” Walumaq says assertively. “You could get yourself killed!”
“It’s his bright idea,” Naqispi chimes in. “So he should have the honor of dying alongside the rest of us.” Chiqama smacks Naqispi upside the head, starting a brief scuffle between the two Sanqo warriors. Like an impatient parent, Atoyaqtli commands the two to cease at once. They abruptly oblige, though not without exchanging scowls and what I imagine to be a few expletives in the Sanqo language.
“Princess Walumaq makes a good point, son,” Atoyaqtli says. “Your parents will be searching for you, worrying about you. You should return to them.”
“My parents don’t care for me,” the boy murmurs. “Especially my father. Every day, he and my brother remind me that, with the way I am, I’m no Auilqa.” Saqatli’s shoulders slump and he practically wilts in resignation. Many of us around grimace at the statement, with Chiqama approaching the boy to console him, albeit awkwardly.
“Sheesh, I’m sorry, kid,” Naqispi apologizes, rubbing the back of his head. “My father was like that, too. He loved his drink more than his own family. To speak of his kindness would be like seeking fresh water in the brine of the sea. It’s unfair to grow up with a parent like that, something any child shouldn’t have to endure.” Naqispi joins Chiqama and hunches over to look Saqatli in his eyes, gently placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But you know how you get back at them?” The boy shakes his head. “You prove them wrong. You become the person they never imagined you could become. Because it’s who you were destined to be.”
Saqatli’s face is awash with resolve and determination. He returns Naqispi’s gaze, presses his lips together, and gives a quick nod. Naqispi smiles and pats the boy on the shoulder a few times.
“Well, I guess he can’t head home just yet,” he says. “He’s got a lizard to squash along with us!”
As we resume our travels toward the beast, I overhear Chiqama tease Naqispi. “I didn’t know you had a heart!” he jokes. “Better watch out—people might think you actually care for someone other than yourself!” They playfully spar with one another for a moment, to the amusement of Saqatli, Pomacha, and Pomaqli, before Atoyaqtli separates them.
The trek seemingly takes forever. We travel high and low, weaving about the trees and slashing at the interfering vines to clear our path. It’s an arduous journey, one that worries me over how much we’re exerting ourselves just to reach this legendary beast. We’ve nearly exhausted our supply of water, with no source in sight. We question how much further we should go before setting up camp for the night, when Walumaq asks Saqatli if he’s aware of any spring or stream.
“Noch says there’s a small stream just north of here,” the boy replies. “It’s actually really close.”
“Whatever,” Chiqama interrupts. “I’m dying of thirst. I’ll let Pomacha carry me, if that’s what it takes.”
“You’ll let me?” Pomacha asks, pretending to be offended. Or is he serious?
Another rustling causes an to end the bickering immediately. This time, however, it’s a series of tremendous booms, much louder than what we heard upon Saqatli and Noch’s arrival. Huge snaps and cracks echo throughout the jungle, not coming from twigs or even branches, but almost as if whole trees are being broken in half. The ground trembles at our feet, gradually increasing in intensity. Birds cry out as they flutter away. Deer and rabbits run toward us, deeming us a lesser threat than whatever they’re trying to escape.
We rush to the closest cover we can find and draw our weapons. The tremors escalate, making it tough to stabilize ourselves and stand our ground. The silhouette of a creature larger than any home in Qiapu emerges, backlit by the now setting sun. A rainbow sheen glistens off the creature’s body from its iridescent scales, and… are those torches? No, the fire is coming from the creature’s eyes! Its long snout moves from side to side with each step, as it licks the air with its long, crimson tongue.
I attempt to make eye contact with the others. Some are too fixated on tracking Quetzelotl, but I’m able to connect with Atoyaqtli and Pomaqli. They gesture with their hands, something I take to signal I should maneuver around the beast. I take a few steps to position myself behind it, hoisting the Ridgebreaker up and level with my shoulders, ready to pounce when the opportunity presents itself.
A sudden snap sounds beneath my foot. Nine hells. Quetzelotl spins around rapidly, each stomp sending shockwaves about the ground. I’m nearly knocked off my feet from the tremors, but manage to catch myself, propping myself up by the trunk of a tree before I stumble.
The monstrosity unleashes an otherworldly roar, exclaiming its excitement at finding its next meal. The embers of its eyes begin glowing brightly. Then, suddenly, a stream of fire launches in my direction. I manage to just leap out of the way before getting scorched by the incoming flames. They ignite the shrubbery nearby, illuminating where I once stood and releasing the bitter scent of burnt foliage.
With its attention on me, Naqispi and Atoyaqtli emerge from their places of hiding. They swing their swords at Quetzelotl’s hind legs. But their swords deflect off the creature’s shimmering scales, throwing them off-balance. Stunned, the two immediately retreat, running back toward the trees behind the beast. However, the lizard’s tail flings like a whip, striking them both before they can escape. They’re sent soaring off into the jungle, colliding with various trees and bushes in their flight path.
Walumaq studies the landscape, hoping to find a source of water she can utilize. With the creature’s attention already on me, I shout to Saqatli, “Get her to the stream!” I point off in a random direction, unsure where this water source is, but hoping I can indicate my intentions nonverbally. At first, he’s confused, unable to discern my command. Then, he perks up, as if hearing something off in the distance. It must be that telepathic manner he uses to speak. He rushes toward Walumaq, pointing in the direction toward which he’s running. The two of them and the ocelot take off into the depths of the jungle.
Quetzelotl’s roar returns my attention back to the matter at hand. With Atoyaqtli and Naqispi out of sight, three of us remain, futilely surrounding the beast. I grab ahold of the cumbersome Ridgebreaker, watching the lizard attentively as I search for an opening. From behind the creature, Pomacha lets out a primordial yell and hacks at the dormant tail. His axe skitters off the surface, sliding down the length of the back end.
Before Quetzelotl can react, Chiqama jumps out from behind a shrub and lunges forward. He plunges his sword into the beast’s belly, with the tip of the weapon barely breaking through the armor. It wedges between two scales, but is embedded and stuck. Chiqama haplessly tries to remove it, tugging and pulling at the lodged weapon, but struggles to loosen it free. The creature hurriedly turns around, flinging him to the ground as the sword remains planted into its side.
Spotting Pomacha, the monster’s eyes illuminate brightly, signaling another fire attack. I shout to warn Pomacha, but he’s already on the move. A fiery trail blazes behind him as Quetzelotl unleashes a flurry of flames. A dense smoke from the on-fire plants creeps onto the scene, shrouding the iridescent creature in a thick, black cloud. I lose sight of the beast, straining to find it amidst the fumes.
Quetzelotl’s head peeks up above the smoke. I can hardly see, but it raises its body to almost stand upright. Then, in one lumbering motion, it stomps down with its forelegs, creating a shockwave of fissures that erupt with flames. A blazing inferno of torched vegetation now surrounds the creature, making it nearly impossible to reach it. How do we attack this beast now?
An eruption of water floods the area. It crashes about Quetzelotl, extinguishing the flames and clearing a visible path to the creature. Standing close by, Walumaq twists and weaves her hands about, manipulating the stream to wash away the fires and keep the monster off-balance. My eye catches the amulets, with green and deep violet radiating from her chest, and the glow from one of the stones practically smolders the other two. Do they possess abilities themselves? Are they enhancing hers?
No time to think about that now. The water colliding with the beast’s glimmering body reveals slivers of openings between the scales. If we can penetrate its armor, we might be able to finally strike down this creature. I shout the revelation to those nearby, hoping they can seize the opportunity. Atoyaqtli and Pomacha hurtle toward Quetzelotl, viciously swinging their weapons. Pomaqli soon follows closely behind. He slides on the ground, landing beneath the monster and, maneuvering into a crouching position, slices upward. With pinpoint accuracy, they embed their weapons into the narrow openings.
A green viscous sludge oozes from the beast, coating Pomaqli and the ground around him. Furious, Quetzelotl roars, then lifts its frontside upward. I yell a desperate warning, terrified of it crushing our companions. Atoyaqtli and Pomacha manage to escape, but Pomaqli struggles to get out from beneath it in time. The beast surges downward, creating an enormous tremor that rumbles the area. Naqispi and Chiqama fling themselves out of the way as trees topple over from the impact. Although Chiqama’s weapon dislodges, the quake knocks everyone to the ground. Pomaqli stumbles over the newly raised terrain, getting his foot caught in a fissure. Fire bursts from the opening, singeing Pomaqli’s leg. He screams in agony, rolling about the ground to urgently extinguish the flames spreading to his tunic.
I search the space for Walumaq, but she’s nowhere to be found. Hunched over her, Saqatli grabs ahold of her and cradles her in his arms. He shouts something at her, and I think it’s to awaken her. But she doesn’t respond, falling unconscious. The water splashes everywhere, creating patches of sticky mud that make it difficult to maneuver.
Quetzelotl marauds toward me as if relishing seeing its helpless prey cornered. Hopelessly, I swing Ridgebreaker, eager to land a knockout blow. My club hardly makes an impact, bouncing off its shimmering scales. The creature’s eyes begin to glow—I’m aware of what that means. I slowly move away to avoid what’s coming, wrestling with the muck in an effort to escape. An unbearable heat rushes behind me as the flames engulf the area. The thuds coming from the monster pick up in pace as it charges toward me. Mercifully finding a drier patch of land, I sprint through the dense jungle, ducking and dodging the fallen vegetation. With a long stride, I attempt to hurdle a downed tree, but being weighed down by the mud, I lack the agility, and my foot catches the bark. I trip, tumbling to the ground like a loose stone.
I turn back to see Quetzelotl slowly raising itself up. My eyes dart about and find it’s about to crash down upon Walumaq and Saqatli! The ocelot tries to draw the beast’s attention away, slashing its claws against the toughened scales. But the creature’s focus refuses to be diverted. It lifts up upon its hind legs, towering above the tops of the trees. A shadow beneath its tremendous silhouette shrouds its victims, marking the place where it’s about to land.
My mind searches for any options, any way I can protect the boy and Walumaq. I reach out and feel myself scream, yet I can’t hear any words. Everything goes quiet as I brace for the creature’s destructive force to creature utter annihilation. It’s not supposed to end like this. Not now. Not for her.
There’s a sudden pop in my ears, and then I notice a subtle but distinct shift in the air around me. The air feels thicker, almost palpable. I feel disoriented, dizzy, as though something stirs within me. Bright flashes overwhelm my vision, causing me to look up at the dark, ominous clouds swirling above. There’s a soft pitter patter as droplets of rain gently hit the leaves.
My eyes glare at the creature, willing it to cease whatever it’s about to do. As my arm extends, I feel this energy coalescing in my forearm and wrist and flowing into Ridgebreaker. Winds begin to pick up, kicking up twigs and dead leaves as it swirls around me. There’s a deafening crack, then, from the heavens, a bolt of lightning flashes from the clouds, striking Quetzelotl. The creature falls backwards, dropping to the ground and writing in pain.
A ringing in my ears, caused by the thunder’s roar, contorts my face into a wince. I look perplexedly at my war club in stunned silence, then toward the downed creature. Was this by happenstance? Or was this caused by… me?
Quetzelotl is infuriated, growling and snarling as the glowing flames inside its eyes intensify. It searches the area, then the sky, seeking someone or something to blame for its condition. As it slowly gets up onto all fours, the other warriors take advantage of its weakened state. They hack and slash at the monster, flailing as they try to connect with more openings between its scales. Even Noch, the boy’s ocelot companion, joins in the melee.
More tapping resonates throughout the scene. At first, I believe the noise to be more rain drops, but soon find the floor of the jungle moving in a sea of black and brown. It’s then I realize the sound isn’t from rain, but in fact from swarming ants—all varieties, such as Bala and Fire ants—rush at Quetzelotl. They climb up its scaly feet and disappear between the spaces. The monster thrashes about, trying desperately to shake off the incoming ants.
With the creature distracted, the warriors chop and hack at any vulnerable openings they can find. More dark green slime flows out from its gaping wounds. The men continue attacking relentlessly, swinging their weapons through gnashed teeth. My eyes find Walumaq sitting upright and resting her back against a tree. Seated next to her, Saqatli’s eyes are closed, likely concentrating on manipulating the ants.
I dash over to Walumaq’s side. She’s suffered a few bruises and abrasions, but, thankfully, nothing severe. There’s a fogginess to her—those blue eyes stare at me in a daze. I scoop her into my arms. Her delicate body droops, dangling with her blue and bronze tunic. She mutters something, but her voice is drowned out by the yowling creature, grunting warriors, and incoming storm. No matter; I’m just relieved she’s well.
With its last gasp, Quetzelotl tries once more to lay waste to us. The flame from its eyes glow a brilliant orange, announcing its incoming strike. The rain increases, pouring down in sheets as it quenches the last of the fires. So, too, does it extinguish the beast. The light in its eyes turn to smoldering embers, then goes black. With one last heave from its chest, it releases a hissing sigh as the body crumples into a heap. The warriors are covered in mud and green gloop, panting as they can finally catch their collective breaths.
We survey the fallen creature with a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and disbelief expressed upon our faces. The once fearsome form that plagued Qasiunqa is now merely a lifeless mass. Rain streams down my face, mingling with the sweat and grime. The jungle is now silent, save for the hiss of rain patting against the leaves. Our desperate defense seems almost surreal as we stand amidst the devastation wrought by the beast.
I look down at Ridgebreaker, gripped in my hands. The weapon feels foreign now, its surface still crackling faintly. How did this happen? Was it truly me who called down the lightning, who commanded the storm? I gaze upward as the clouds begin to part, revealing glimpses of a sky colored in the deep oranges, magentas, and blues of a setting sun.
As we set off to return to Qasiunqa, the confrontation with the Eye in the Flame at Analoixan looms in my mind. It’s a formidable shadow on the horizon that draws ever closer. But for now, in the aftermath of our battle against Quetzelotl, there’s an unexpected peace. Easing from a torrent to a whisper, the rain seems to wash away the immediate fears, leaving behind a trail of resolve and a sense of readiness for whatever lies ahead.
The jungle around us is coming alive again. The sounds of life return as if to remind us that the world keeps going, no matter the darkness we face. And as the first rays of the setting sun break through the parting clouds, I feel a quiet confidence settling in my bones. We’ve faced the impossible yet again, and emerged not only intact, but transformed. Whatever waits for us in Qasiunqa, in Analoixan, across the breadth of Pachil, we will meet it head-on. We all exchange knowing glances among ourselves, realizing that we are a united front, ready to carve our path through the challenges ahead.
How was I able to listen to everything being said, inside my mind?
The sun might be rising from its slumber, but I didn’t get a wink of sleep. Yet the entire encounter feels like it came from a dream. That moment when I realized the boy could speak to me, as he was speaking to Walumaq, replays continually in my head. And not by speaking aloud, but through thoughts. How is such a thing possible?
The whole engagement brings numerous items to light. The boy who could speak to animals, and through animals. Saqatli is his name. His eyes, a peculiar, rich amber hue, unlike all the other Auilqa with theirs an emerald green. I was left speechless the moment when I discovered Walumaq possessed supernatural abilities. At the time, I believed her to be the only one with such powers. Until she and the Eye in the Flame appeared, it was something no one had seen since the Eleven. But now, to see that another also has capabilities? What does it mean for Pachil? How do supernatural powers come to be? Do others have such abilities?
And if I’m able to hear along with Walumaq, what does this mean for me? Do I have abilities, as well? If so, what are they? How will I know?
All these questions, without any real answers, kept me awake all night. And that’s before the realization that we all have to face the Auilqa ruler once more. He doesn’t seem too keen on outsiders, and I’ve got the feeling he wishes we were all dead. The boy’s plan seems ludicrously naïve and optimistic. Offering our services to eliminate a problem that’s been plaguing the people of Qasiunqa? Not to mention, the creature sounds daunting and dangerous, to say the least. Who would go for such a deal?
But, the boy makes a fair point: either we are executed by the Auilqa, or we die with dignity fighting a beast of legend. Something like that. I’m not sure I agree with the idea completely, but it’s better than being mercilessly killed by a bunch of savages, I suppose.
After Saqatli and his ocelot companion departed, barely moments before the guards returned, the seven of us had a discussion about this so-called “plan”. Being the warriors they are, Pomaqli, Atoyaqtli, and Pomacha immediately accepted the idea. As expected, however, Naqispi and Chiqama were not as amenable. It took a great amount of coaxing to get them to finally agree, though Naqispi now expects even greater riches if he survives this ordeal. He continually reminds us how gods-forsaken this land is, and how he is going beyond what he was designated to do. I’ll let Walumaq sort that out with him, should we live to see our homelands again.
After our conversations, I try to be discreet when asking Pomaqli if he heard anything, caught any whispers or anything of the like. He looks at me funnily, as though I was speaking in a foreign tongue, and tells me I must be dehydrated if I believe to have heard any voices. So much for that, then.
So after that exchange, I find Walumaq, performing the ritual that I’ve seen her do every morning since we first met. Despite all that’s taking place around us, she appears calm, steadied, centered. With her eyes closed, she breathes in slowly, muttering something under her breath—perhaps a mantra or something to keep herself grounded. I cautiously approach her, not wanting to startle and be disruptive. Though giving the appearance of being in some kind of trance, she’s alerted to my arrival, tilting her head toward me while keeping her eyes closed.
“Care to join me?” she asks. I oblige, sitting down beside her and mimicking her positioning. I cross my legs and sit upright, resting both hands on my knees.
“Um, what do I do?” I ask, embarrassed.
“Just repeat after me,” she instructs. “This is how I connect myself to Pachil, how I was told to do so by Alsuaqu–“
“The spirit speaker,” I excitedly interrupt. Embarrassed at myself, I apologize, but she chuckles and graciously waves away my concerns.
“The purpose is to share a mutual embrace with the land. Acknowledge and welcome it, and allow it to acknowledge and welcome you. Don’t force it if it isn’t present—you don’t want a negative connection to Pachil.”
I follow her lead, taking in slow, deep breaths through my nose, then exhaling through my mouth. She starts to repeat what sounds like a poem, something I’ve heard her say countless times on occasion:
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.
If I’m being honest, at first, I feel awkward and uncomfortable at reciting the words. Though I’m certain she isn’t doing so, I feel as though I’m being judged, setting myself up to be ridiculed later.
As if she’s reading my thoughts, she says in a near whisper, “Calm your mind. Relax yourself.”
I resume the ritual, trying my best to focus on the words and my breathing. After a short period, a warmth radiates from my chest. It’s like I’m being wrapped in a warm blanket during a cold night in Pichaqta. I can’t tell if this is what’s supposed to happen, or if I’m simply imagining this, but I carry on, letting the sensation wash over me.
Eventually, she stops reciting the words and appears to meditate in silence. We pause for a short while, listening to all the sounds of the jungle nearby. The creatures stirring and calling to one another. The wind that disturbs tree branches. The village waking up and starting a new day. The activity of the prison encampment in which we find ourselves.
My attention returns to our predicament and the events from before. Not wishing to spoil the mood, I reluctantly change the conversation to talk about what had happened earlier with the Auilqa boy. She seemed to be as fascinated by the developments as I was.
“What do you think this means?” I asked her. “That I could also hear what you two were conversing about? Pomaqli said he couldn’t hear anything, and nobody else has appeared to react the same way as I have.”
“It could mean a number of things,” she says. “I’ve always been able to manipulate water, and he states he’s always been able to speak to animals. It’s likely a result of something we both have been able to do, something inherent or something we were born with. But you’ve expressed no such capabilities, so I’m confused as to how this has all come to be.”
“Well, whatever it is, I’ll be curious to see if anything manifests from it,” I say. “To see what it means, that is. As for this plan… are we really going to suggest such a thing to a ruler who wants to execute us?”
Walumaq sighs. “I’m not sure we have much of a choice. If we succeed, we are heroes. If we die, well, I suppose we were destined to die anyway.”
It saddens me to hear Walumaq resigned to such a fate. Someone who wants to do so much good for this world, to help those in need, to stop this evil threat that seeks to terrorize all of Pachil. Someone like her doesn’t deserve to die simply because we entered a village. She, at the very least, shouldn’t need a chance to prove herself to a people who want nothing to do with the outside world. But if life was fair, valor would be met with the reverence it rightfully deserves.
The guards rattle the bars of our enclosure, jostling me out of my daze. They say something in their native language—something I’m certain is a crude remark, based on their smirk and sinister laughter. All of our wrists and ankles are bound, our hands tied behind our backs, leaving us little flexibility to maneuver and pick ourselves up. The flopping and floundering about amuses our captors. Once they’ve had their fill of fun, they enter our pen, then use an obsidian dagger to cut loose our legs, allowing us to walk to our date with destiny in the throne room.
Naqispi seizes the opportunity to kick at the guard freeing him, knocking him to the ground as he takes on the swarm of Auilqa warriors attempting to subdue him. He’s outnumbered, and although he manages to land a couple of stiff blows to some of the guards, he’s beaten by the few unaccounted for. They swing thick rods and whip Naqispi until he crumples to the ground. Two of the men take hold of one of Naqispi’s arms, dragging him across the ground and out of the confinement. Seeing this, the rest of us comply without confrontation.
We’re led back to the throne room—a place I once found enchanting, but now look upon with dread. The only pleasant aspect of this situation is the cheerful chirping of birds, merrily carrying on as though we’re not about to face our terrible end. With the sun still shrouded by the dense trees of the jungle, the chamber is dark and daunting. Even then, my white-and-red tunic is drenched, and I choke on the humid air as sweat beads down my forehead. This climate is too much for a man from the mountains, and I question the sanity of anyone wiling to exist in such a place. No wonder the Auilqa are all angry; if I lived here, in these disgusting conditions, I’d be regularly enraged, as well.
The ruler, Xolotzi, stands tall atop the raised platform in the center of the room. He lords over us, a scowl permanently fixed to his face that’s painted in red and white. He appears in the same outfit and headdress as before, and I wonder if he has any alternate garments. Not that the Auilqa wear much of anything—the only items covering any part of their bodies are the armor on their shoulders and the loin cloth that barely hides anything. Even the women warriors. I find it all to be lewd, making me speculate over Walumaq’s decision to travel to such a savage place.
Next to the Auilqa leader is the elderly man from yesterday. He leans over, whispering something to their esteemed ruler. Xolotzi’s reaction remains emotionless—one of his two states of being, other than infuriated. What role does the elderly man play? Is he an advisor? A translator?
After Xolotzi grunts a few times, the elderly man turns to face those of us who have gathered. “Behold! You are before the Great Xolotzi, He Who Commands the Jaguar’s–“
“Yes, yes, we know all his gods-forsaken titles,” Naqispi blurts out, earning him multiple swift kicks to his ribs. Hesitating, the elderly man appears confused, uncertain whether he should start from the beginning or continue on. Thankfully, Xolotzi mutters something, and the elderly man picks up after the grand introduction.
“It was determined to allow you one more dawn before judgement was placed upon you. Do you have any final words before the decision is declared?”
As the man speaks, I feel this overwhelming presence, as if something is providing warmth inside my body. It’s reminiscent of the night before, when the boy spoke to us—or “thought” to us; whatever it was that was actually occurring. My eyes search the room, glancing at one corner to the next, yet I see no sign of Saqatli nor his ocelot companion. A subtle hum fills my ears, and I’m briefly distracted before returning to the events taking place in this chamber.
“Yes, Honored One,” Walumaq says, stepping forward slightly to address the elder and Xolotzi, keeping her eyes cast to the ground as she speaks. “We are humbled to return to your gracious presence, and we–“
“The Great Xolotzi states he does not have time for your groveling,” the elderly man says after Xolotzi barks in his Auilqa language. “If there is nothing more, the Great Xolotzi declares–“
“We will fight Quetzelotl!” Walumaq shouts before the elderly man finishes his statement. The entire room, from the elderly man to the warriors lining the walls, all the way to Xolotzi himself, are stunned. They exchange glances with one another, mouths parted like freshly caught fish, perhaps making certain they heard Walumaq correctly. That must be a word they know very well to be shocked into absolute silence.
After a significant pause, Xolotzi reacts in a manner I had never seen until now: he erupts in sardonic laughter.
“By the sea, what is he on about now?” Naqispi demands, visibly irritated at our treatment thus far. Walumaq pats the air, motioning for him to be silent and remain calm. Not now, Naqispi, I hear her… think?
Despite the ruler’s behavior, Walumaq maintains her defiant stance, now staring at him with undaunted boldness as if silently daring him to confront her. “We will defeat this Quetzelotl,” she proclaims. “We have learned that this wretched beast terrorizes your people and plagues your land. Let our actions speak for us. By vanquishing this foul creature, we will demonstrate our commitment to your people and our resolve to stand as trusted allies. We offer this not only as a gesture of goodwill, but as a testament to our shared desire for peace and prosperity.”
Everyone waits with abated breath as the elder relays the message to Xolotzi. The stoic ruler maintains his stone-faced facade, making it nearly impossible to discern whether Walumaq’s words have had the desired impact. One thing is for certain: something about what she said stopped his condescending laughter.
The Auilqa leader places a hand on the elder’s shoulder and casts him aside. He takes a couple steps forward, still expressionless as he looks upon us with an inspecting gaze. My heart catches in my throat. I can no longer distinguish between the drops of sweat stemming from perspiration or nervousness. Is this it? Is he about to declare his judgement? What is to be our fate?
He goes deep into thought, prominently displaying the gold and turquoise cuffs that clatter as he strokes his chin. Following a few grunts, he mutters something to the elder. The older man’s eyes rapidly grow wide, seemingly surprised by the ruler’s words. Xolotzi then stands tall, puffing out his chest, and makes a loud proclamation to everyone present, his words reverberating throughout the stone chamber. The warriors howl and holler, raising their spears high into the air. They shout at us, though I can’t tell if they’re taunts, jeers, or teases—or perhaps even exultations.
To those of us deemed outsiders, all we can do is exchange confused glances. Finally, the elder raises both arms in the air, silencing the crowd. “The Great Xolotzi, whose sagacity eclipses the vast expanse of our lands, has considered the plea of the strangers before us. In his boundless wisdom, he has determined his verdict: the outsiders shall be granted the honor of confronting Quetzelotl. May they find favor in the eyes of Tlaloqa, as our great and noble leader has bestowed upon them his own measure of mercy.”
We’re briskly removed from the throne room and ushered into an area used as an armory. There, everyone reunites with their weapons—obsidian swords, daggers, and a large axe. I stare pensively at my war club, Ridgebreaker. I’m reminded of how I came to obtain such an extravagant weapon, aiding Qespina in their resistance against Timuaq captivity. I possessed such courage once; I hope I can muster up the same courage once more.
While deep in thought, Walumaq walks over, placing a hand on my shoulder. It startles me for a moment, but after I recover, I return my gaze to the weapon.
“Well, I said I hoped I wouldn’t need to use this,” I recall, “and yet, here we are.”
She offers me a consolatory smile. “It’s not my desired outcome, either. But I believe, if we work together, we will persevere. Don’t laugh! I know that may sound a little naïve, but I truly believe it! Everyone here is a skilled and resilient fighter—even you, Paxilche. You wouldn’t have been entrusted with such a weapon if it wasn’t well-earned. You have a greater impact, and a greater purpose, than you acknowledge.”
There’s a brief silence shared between us as I reflect upon her words of encouragement and confidence. I’m honored that she so earnestly believes in us, in me, though I feel it’s misplaced when it comes to my abilities. I may not know much of the Sanqo warrior’s skills, but I’m certain they must be formidable warriors to have the trust of their ruler, Siunqi, to travel so far from their home island to search for and recover their princess. And the abilities of the accomplished Pomaqli are unquestionably impressive; he would not be the lieutenant to the most well-respected general in Pichaqta if they weren’t. Meanwhile, Walumaq’s supernatural abilities needs no explanation.
So, where do I stand in all of this? I may wield an impressive weapon, but am I worthy of possessing it? There are far more credible warriors, more deserving. Yet, somehow, the Ridgebreaker rests with me. I feel the power contained within its gold and copper handle, but I find it difficult to feel such power within myself. I can only wish to not let everyone down if and when the time comes.
Naqispi’s complaining forces a break into our conversation. “They call it ‘mercy’, but we’re merely trading one horrific death for another. Hunting a gigantic lizard creature that no Auilqa warrior has been able to slay? This is a terrible plan.”
A few bob their head in agreement as they inspect and clean their weapons. Upon hearing this, Walumaq’s head droops. Perhaps she’s exhausted all the confidence and good spirit she has, and she’s finally worn down enough to reconsider the path before us. She’s someone who sees so much good in so many people, willing to put herself in harm’s way to protect those she doesn’t even know. My heart breaks at the sight of her discouragement.
“While I would normally agree with you,” I say, pacing slowly toward him, “I believe we’ve stumbled upon a rare chance here. This beast, this Quetzelotl, is a shadow that looms over the people of Auilqa. Yes, it’s a formidable challenge, one that even the bravest warriors of their land have not surmounted. But consider this: Every legend, every story that’s been told to us since we were children, all began with someone facing what everyone else feared. We have the chance to be the turning point, to be the ones who chase away the shadow.”
Although Naqispi remains unconvinced, the others’ attention begins to pique. Seeing Walumaq perk up motivates me to continue. “Lady Walumaq sees the spark in us, the same spark that fuels the stars above. It’s not just skill or bravery she believes in; it’s our ability to stand together, to rise when others fall. We are the bearers of hope, the ones who will be spoken of for generations upon generations.”
I stand before Naqispi to encourage him and erase his doubts—as well as my own. “This isn’t exchanging death for death. This is fighting for life. We are fighting for the life of a people oppressed by fear, for our lives, proving that we are more than our fears, and for the life of a future where such terrors no longer torment the innocent. And we will fight together. For Lady Walumaq, for the Auilqa, for our people, and for ourselves.”
Pomacha plants his meaty palm on my shoulder and gives it an abbreviated squeeze. As I look about those gathered, the warriors are resolute and focused. They stand and pass about knowing nods, exuding a cool, calm confidence. Even Naqispi joins, sheathing his weapons while emitting an air of readiness. With only a glance, Walumaq thanks me. It’s the least I can do for someone who, for whatever reason, genuinely believes in me. I hope to show her belief in me isn’t misplaced.
If I believed the rainforest’s humidity to be torturous before, I hadn’t walked in it midday as we travel to our possible doom. The temperature itself isn’t terrible, but the humidity causes the oppressive heat to cling to us like leeches. We’re nearly swimming our way through the dense jungle. The ripe stench of body odor reminds us that none of us have bathed in days. Adding to it the lack of sleep from the night before, and this journey has become perilously ill advised.
Before our departure, along with the aid of the elder to translate for us, the Auilqa warriors spoke to us briefly about the last known location of this Quetzelotl. A band of hunters set out to the west, searching for small game. To their misfortune, they crossed paths with the dreaded creature. Though they fought valiantly, only one barely survived long enough to return to Qasiunqa before succumbing to his grievous afflictions. It was an unpleasant recounting of the fate of the latest victims to encounter the legendary beast, describing the grizzly scene and the warrior’s horrific wounds. It’s not the type of tale that instills confidence in our upcoming endeavor.
“So, do you know of the Quetzelotl?” Chiqama challenges Naqispi.
“Why on Pachil would I know about Auilqa creatures?” he retorts.
“You were rattling off every creature on the continent on our journey to Qiapu. I assumed you were some expert on mythological beasts.”
“Every tale I heard involving Auilqa discussed the people, not any creatures,” Naqispi quips. “The people are savage enough that I figured even terrible monsters avoided them.”
“Can we please stop calling their people ‘savage’?” Walumaq requests. “They may have customs different than ours, and speak a different tongue, but that does not make them savages.” A few grunts and groans spontaneously sound among us. Does that mean they accept?
A rustling in the nearby bushes forces everyone to a halt. Weapons are drawn, and all eyes dart about the jungle to locate the potential threat. The Sanqo warriors, well trained and well versed with one another, immediately surround Walumaq and assume a formation that covers all directions. Pomaqli and I clutch our weapons and swivel our heads, searching for the source of the noise.
An ocelot leaps out from the undergrowth. But before we can react, I notice the hemp collar with a turquoise stone embedded, and shout for everyone to stand down. Peeking out slightly from behind the trunk of a tree, a boy with alarmingly bright, amber eyes looks on. At the sight of him, Walumaq immediately calls out, “Saqatli!” The name sounds familiar, and I soon recall its affiliation to the boy who ‘spoke’ to Walumaq and me.
“By the sea, what are you doing out here?” Walumaq scolds the young boy.
He winces at the remark. “I wanted to join you, to help you defeat Quetzelotl.”
“This is no place for a boy,” Walumaq says assertively. “You could get yourself killed!”
“It’s his bright idea,” Naqispi chimes in. “So he should have the honor of dying alongside the rest of us.” Chiqama smacks Naqispi upside the head, starting a brief scuffle between the two Sanqo warriors. Like an impatient parent, Atoyaqtli commands the two to cease at once. They abruptly oblige, though not without exchanging scowls and what I imagine to be a few expletives in the Sanqo language.
“Princess Walumaq makes a good point, son,” Atoyaqtli says. “Your parents will be searching for you, worrying about you. You should return to them.”
“My parents don’t care for me,” the boy murmurs. “Especially my father. Every day, he and my brother remind me that, with the way I am, I’m no Auilqa.” Saqatli’s shoulders slump and he practically wilts in resignation. Many of us around grimace at the statement, with Chiqama approaching the boy to console him, albeit awkwardly.
“Sheesh, I’m sorry, kid,” Naqispi apologizes, rubbing the back of his head. “My father was like that, too. He loved his drink more than his own family. To speak of his kindness would be like seeking fresh water in the brine of the sea. It’s unfair to grow up with a parent like that, something any child shouldn’t have to endure.” Naqispi joins Chiqama and hunches over to look Saqatli in his eyes, gently placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But you know how you get back at them?” The boy shakes his head. “You prove them wrong. You become the person they never imagined you could become. Because it’s who you were destined to be.”
Saqatli’s face is awash with resolve and determination. He returns Naqispi’s gaze, presses his lips together, and gives a quick nod. Naqispi smiles and pats the boy on the shoulder a few times.
“Well, I guess he can’t head home just yet,” he says. “He’s got a lizard to squash along with us!”
As we resume our travels toward the beast, I overhear Chiqama tease Naqispi. “I didn’t know you had a heart!” he jokes. “Better watch out—people might think you actually care for someone other than yourself!” They playfully spar with one another for a moment, to the amusement of Saqatli, Pomacha, and Pomaqli, before Atoyaqtli separates them.
The trek seemingly takes forever. We travel high and low, weaving about the trees and slashing at the interfering vines to clear our path. It’s an arduous journey, one that worries me over how much we’re exerting ourselves just to reach this legendary beast. We’ve nearly exhausted our supply of water, with no source in sight. We question how much further we should go before setting up camp for the night, when Walumaq asks Saqatli if he’s aware of any spring or stream.
“Noch says there’s a small stream just north of here,” the boy replies. “It’s actually really close.”
“Whatever,” Chiqama interrupts. “I’m dying of thirst. I’ll let Pomacha carry me, if that’s what it takes.”
“You’ll let me?” Pomacha asks, pretending to be offended. Or is he serious?
Another rustling causes an to end the bickering immediately. This time, however, it’s a series of tremendous booms, much louder than what we heard upon Saqatli and Noch’s arrival. Huge snaps and cracks echo throughout the jungle, not coming from twigs or even branches, but almost as if whole trees are being broken in half. The ground trembles at our feet, gradually increasing in intensity. Birds cry out as they flutter away. Deer and rabbits run toward us, deeming us a lesser threat than whatever they’re trying to escape.
We rush to the closest cover we can find and draw our weapons. The tremors escalate, making it tough to stabilize ourselves and stand our ground. The silhouette of a creature larger than any home in Qiapu emerges, backlit by the now setting sun. A rainbow sheen glistens off the creature’s body from its iridescent scales, and… are those torches? No, the fire is coming from the creature’s eyes! Its long snout moves from side to side with each step, as it licks the air with its long, crimson tongue.
I attempt to make eye contact with the others. Some are too fixated on tracking Quetzelotl, but I’m able to connect with Atoyaqtli and Pomaqli. They gesture with their hands, something I take to signal I should maneuver around the beast. I take a few steps to position myself behind it, hoisting the Ridgebreaker up and level with my shoulders, ready to pounce when the opportunity presents itself.
A sudden snap sounds beneath my foot. Nine hells. Quetzelotl spins around rapidly, each stomp sending shockwaves about the ground. I’m nearly knocked off my feet from the tremors, but manage to catch myself, propping myself up by the trunk of a tree before I stumble.
The monstrosity unleashes an otherworldly roar, exclaiming its excitement at finding its next meal. The embers of its eyes begin glowing brightly. Then, suddenly, a stream of fire launches in my direction. I manage to just leap out of the way before getting scorched by the incoming flames. They ignite the shrubbery nearby, illuminating where I once stood and releasing the bitter scent of burnt foliage.
With its attention on me, Naqispi and Atoyaqtli emerge from their places of hiding. They swing their swords at Quetzelotl’s hind legs. But their swords deflect off the creature’s shimmering scales, throwing them off-balance. Stunned, the two immediately retreat, running back toward the trees behind the beast. However, the lizard’s tail flings like a whip, striking them both before they can escape. They’re sent soaring off into the jungle, colliding with various trees and bushes in their flight path.
Walumaq studies the landscape, hoping to find a source of water she can utilize. With the creature’s attention already on me, I shout to Saqatli, “Get her to the stream!” I point off in a random direction, unsure where this water source is, but hoping I can indicate my intentions nonverbally. At first, he’s confused, unable to discern my command. Then, he perks up, as if hearing something off in the distance. It must be that telepathic manner he uses to speak. He rushes toward Walumaq, pointing in the direction toward which he’s running. The two of them and the ocelot take off into the depths of the jungle.
Quetzelotl’s roar returns my attention back to the matter at hand. With Atoyaqtli and Naqispi out of sight, three of us remain, futilely surrounding the beast. I grab ahold of the cumbersome Ridgebreaker, watching the lizard attentively as I search for an opening. From behind the creature, Pomacha lets out a primordial yell and hacks at the dormant tail. His axe skitters off the surface, sliding down the length of the back end.
Before Quetzelotl can react, Chiqama jumps out from behind a shrub and lunges forward. He plunges his sword into the beast’s belly, with the tip of the weapon barely breaking through the armor. It wedges between two scales, but is embedded and stuck. Chiqama haplessly tries to remove it, tugging and pulling at the lodged weapon, but struggles to loosen it free. The creature hurriedly turns around, flinging him to the ground as the sword remains planted into its side.
Spotting Pomacha, the monster’s eyes illuminate brightly, signaling another fire attack. I shout to warn Pomacha, but he’s already on the move. A fiery trail blazes behind him as Quetzelotl unleashes a flurry of flames. A dense smoke from the on-fire plants creeps onto the scene, shrouding the iridescent creature in a thick, black cloud. I lose sight of the beast, straining to find it amidst the fumes.
Quetzelotl’s head peeks up above the smoke. I can hardly see, but it raises its body to almost stand upright. Then, in one lumbering motion, it stomps down with its forelegs, creating a shockwave of fissures that erupt with flames. A blazing inferno of torched vegetation now surrounds the creature, making it nearly impossible to reach it. How do we attack this beast now?
An eruption of water floods the area. It crashes about Quetzelotl, extinguishing the flames and clearing a visible path to the creature. Standing close by, Walumaq twists and weaves her hands about, manipulating the stream to wash away the fires and keep the monster off-balance. My eye catches the amulets, with green and deep violet radiating from her chest, and the glow from one of the stones practically smolders the other two. Do they possess abilities themselves? Are they enhancing hers?
No time to think about that now. The water colliding with the beast’s glimmering body reveals slivers of openings between the scales. If we can penetrate its armor, we might be able to finally strike down this creature. I shout the revelation to those nearby, hoping they can seize the opportunity. Atoyaqtli and Pomacha hurtle toward Quetzelotl, viciously swinging their weapons. Pomaqli soon follows closely behind. He slides on the ground, landing beneath the monster and, maneuvering into a crouching position, slices upward. With pinpoint accuracy, they embed their weapons into the narrow openings.
A green viscous sludge oozes from the beast, coating Pomaqli and the ground around him. Furious, Quetzelotl roars, then lifts its frontside upward. I yell a desperate warning, terrified of it crushing our companions. Atoyaqtli and Pomacha manage to escape, but Pomaqli struggles to get out from beneath it in time. The beast surges downward, creating an enormous tremor that rumbles the area. Naqispi and Chiqama fling themselves out of the way as trees topple over from the impact. Although Chiqama’s weapon dislodges, the quake knocks everyone to the ground. Pomaqli stumbles over the newly raised terrain, getting his foot caught in a fissure. Fire bursts from the opening, singeing Pomaqli’s leg. He screams in agony, rolling about the ground to urgently extinguish the flames spreading to his tunic.
I search the space for Walumaq, but she’s nowhere to be found. Hunched over her, Saqatli grabs ahold of her and cradles her in his arms. He shouts something at her, and I think it’s to awaken her. But she doesn’t respond, falling unconscious. The water splashes everywhere, creating patches of sticky mud that make it difficult to maneuver.
Quetzelotl marauds toward me as if relishing seeing its helpless prey cornered. Hopelessly, I swing Ridgebreaker, eager to land a knockout blow. My club hardly makes an impact, bouncing off its shimmering scales. The creature’s eyes begin to glow—I’m aware of what that means. I slowly move away to avoid what’s coming, wrestling with the muck in an effort to escape. An unbearable heat rushes behind me as the flames engulf the area. The thuds coming from the monster pick up in pace as it charges toward me. Mercifully finding a drier patch of land, I sprint through the dense jungle, ducking and dodging the fallen vegetation. With a long stride, I attempt to hurdle a downed tree, but being weighed down by the mud, I lack the agility, and my foot catches the bark. I trip, tumbling to the ground like a loose stone.
I turn back to see Quetzelotl slowly raising itself up. My eyes dart about and find it’s about to crash down upon Walumaq and Saqatli! The ocelot tries to draw the beast’s attention away, slashing its claws against the toughened scales. But the creature’s focus refuses to be diverted. It lifts up upon its hind legs, towering above the tops of the trees. A shadow beneath its tremendous silhouette shrouds its victims, marking the place where it’s about to land.
My mind searches for any options, any way I can protect the boy and Walumaq. I reach out and feel myself scream, yet I can’t hear any words. Everything goes quiet as I brace for the creature’s destructive force to creature utter annihilation. It’s not supposed to end like this. Not now. Not for her.
There’s a sudden pop in my ears, and then I notice a subtle but distinct shift in the air around me. The air feels thicker, almost palpable. I feel disoriented, dizzy, as though something stirs within me. Bright flashes overwhelm my vision, causing me to look up at the dark, ominous clouds swirling above. There’s a soft pitter patter as droplets of rain gently hit the leaves.
My eyes glare at the creature, willing it to cease whatever it’s about to do. As my arm extends, I feel this energy coalescing in my forearm and wrist and flowing into Ridgebreaker. Winds begin to pick up, kicking up twigs and dead leaves as it swirls around me. There’s a deafening crack, then, from the heavens, a bolt of lightning flashes from the clouds, striking Quetzelotl. The creature falls backwards, dropping to the ground and writing in pain.
A ringing in my ears, caused by the thunder’s roar, contorts my face into a wince. I look perplexedly at my war club in stunned silence, then toward the downed creature. Was this by happenstance? Or was this caused by… me?
Quetzelotl is infuriated, growling and snarling as the glowing flames inside its eyes intensify. It searches the area, then the sky, seeking someone or something to blame for its condition. As it slowly gets up onto all fours, the other warriors take advantage of its weakened state. They hack and slash at the monster, flailing as they try to connect with more openings between its scales. Even Noch, the boy’s ocelot companion, joins in the melee.
More tapping resonates throughout the scene. At first, I believe the noise to be more rain drops, but soon find the floor of the jungle moving in a sea of black and brown. It’s then I realize the sound isn’t from rain, but in fact from swarming ants—all varieties, such as Bala and Fire ants—rush at Quetzelotl. They climb up its scaly feet and disappear between the spaces. The monster thrashes about, trying desperately to shake off the incoming ants.
With the creature distracted, the warriors chop and hack at any vulnerable openings they can find. More dark green slime flows out from its gaping wounds. The men continue attacking relentlessly, swinging their weapons through gnashed teeth. My eyes find Walumaq sitting upright and resting her back against a tree. Seated next to her, Saqatli’s eyes are closed, likely concentrating on manipulating the ants.
I dash over to Walumaq’s side. She’s suffered a few bruises and abrasions, but, thankfully, nothing severe. There’s a fogginess to her—those blue eyes stare at me in a daze. I scoop her into my arms. Her delicate body droops, dangling with her blue and bronze tunic. She mutters something, but her voice is drowned out by the yowling creature, grunting warriors, and incoming storm. No matter; I’m just relieved she’s well.
With its last gasp, Quetzelotl tries once more to lay waste to us. The flame from its eyes glow a brilliant orange, announcing its incoming strike. The rain increases, pouring down in sheets as it quenches the last of the fires. So, too, does it extinguish the beast. The light in its eyes turn to smoldering embers, then goes black. With one last heave from its chest, it releases a hissing sigh as the body crumples into a heap. The warriors are covered in mud and green gloop, panting as they can finally catch their collective breaths.
We survey the fallen creature with a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and disbelief expressed upon our faces. The once fearsome form that plagued Qasiunqa is now merely a lifeless mass. Rain streams down my face, mingling with the sweat and grime. The jungle is now silent, save for the hiss of rain patting against the leaves. Our desperate defense seems almost surreal as we stand amidst the devastation wrought by the beast.
I look down at Ridgebreaker, gripped in my hands. The weapon feels foreign now, its surface still crackling faintly. How did this happen? Was it truly me who called down the lightning, who commanded the storm? I gaze upward as the clouds begin to part, revealing glimpses of a sky colored in the deep oranges, magentas, and blues of a setting sun.
As we set off to return to Qasiunqa, the confrontation with the Eye in the Flame at Analoixan looms in my mind. It’s a formidable shadow on the horizon that draws ever closer. But for now, in the aftermath of our battle against Quetzelotl, there’s an unexpected peace. Easing from a torrent to a whisper, the rain seems to wash away the immediate fears, leaving behind a trail of resolve and a sense of readiness for whatever lies ahead.
The jungle around us is coming alive again. The sounds of life return as if to remind us that the world keeps going, no matter the darkness we face. And as the first rays of the setting sun break through the parting clouds, I feel a quiet confidence settling in my bones. We’ve faced the impossible yet again, and emerged not only intact, but transformed. Whatever waits for us in Qasiunqa, in Analoixan, across the breadth of Pachil, we will meet it head-on. We all exchange knowing glances among ourselves, realizing that we are a united front, ready to carve our path through the challenges ahead.
