No matter how reluctant I typically am to wake up so early in the morning, any doubt is cast away when I see the faint green and beige of the shoreline through the mist after such a long time on the sea. I’ve been on my share of ships before, of course, but setting off to the continent is a thrilling and surreal prospect. Anything undoubtedly beats circling our home island, Sanqo, over and over again—and don’t get me wrong, just setting foot on a ship is wonderful in its own right. However, I never thought I needed adventure so desperately, and I’m learning that exploring the unknown (to me, at least) is something my heart has needed all this time. It requires a lot of restraint to disguise my giddiness and look as calm and regal as my father, but there’s no question it will to seep out as the coast of the continent comes more into view.
A fierce determination is painted on the face of each oarsmen as Siunqi barks commands to the crew, and we gradually approach our destination. Every rower looks chiseled of stone, with their exposed, dense muscles flexing as they grip the oars. Hanging on the side of our ships are a variety of shields that bear family sigils, similar to the main hall of the castle. These shields, our Sanqo colors, and my father’s cape are a stark contrast amongst the neutral wood tones. I use my hand to periodically secure the blue and red macaw feather I’ve braided into my hair, given to me by my mother, Cheqansiq, for good fortune on this journey. The feather, as well as the slightly sweet scent of seaweed that tinges the air, brings about a feeling of nostalgia for the home we all have left behind.
After the ships reach the rocky shores, each man drags their vessels out of the water onto the beach with a series of thuds. There are sporadic sprouts of long grasses that jut outward higher up the banks, and after a few long strides from the water, we arrive at wisps of grass that appear like a balding man’s effort to hang onto the few strands of remaining hair. Siunqi tells me during our journey to the continent that we cannot trust the people enough to dock in their harbor just yet and must be diligent about our mission, discrediting my brother, Pahua’s, plan to be deceptive and travel under the guise of being merchants.
“That boy has a childlike imagination,” Siunqi says, and I know full well he did not mean that as a compliment.
“So why should we meet with the Tapeu at all?” I ask. “It seems as though the entire journey is fraught with danger. He’s at least aware of that much.”
“As much history and situational awareness as your brother gets wrong,” he says, “he’s correct about our people being being cast away to the island. With the rebuild, it’s an opportunity for the Sanqo to diplomatically right past wrongs. The Arbiter is offering peace, and if it means sparing our ships to the cause, it’s a small cost.”
“And this separatist group wants to disrupt our chances of rejoining the factions of the continent?” I ask.
“Some people never forgive,” he says, “and they prefer the new state of affairs to exist as they are. They gained while we were cast out, and they don’t want us to return to the stature we once had. We have to make sure we’re taking every precaution necessary. Something your brother will never understand.”
“Do you think we’ll be safe?” I ask, genuinely concerned.
“Nothing ever goes according to plan,” he says with a chuckle, “but if I didn’t believe we’d be safe, we wouldn’t be traveling here.”
My father examines the land thoughtfully, eventually snorting in approval, and signals to the men with two fingers pointing upward, then swirling them around in a few small circles. While some remain behind to protect the vessels, the remaining crew begin shouting at one another, pulling shields off from the ships, drawing their weapons and marching away from the shore.
“Stay close and keep a sharp eye on the horizon,” Siunqi commands me, as if I were one of his warriors. “We can’t be certain there aren’t hostiles, and we don’t want to be caught by surprise.”
Two scouts dart ahead of the rest of the men, and after a few long strides, they disappear into the tall grass, the sound of their movements blending in with the winds rustling the surrounding dried vegetation. The rest of the warriors begin marching disorganized in a westward direction. The Sanqo never drill in formations, as far as I recall, because more often than not, the warriors are springing off ships and plundering towns, then quickly rowing back to the island.
After traveling quite a distance inland, and after much complaining by the men about what the rough terrain was doing to their feet, the scouts return to indicate the location of our destination. Judging by their body language, they don’t appear distressed or intimidated by what we’re approaching. While I can’t make out what they’re saying as they talk in hushed tones, they speak confidently to Siunqi and maintain eye contact, which I find impressive, considering how many hold him to such lofty esteem.
“Set up camp nearby,” commands Siunqi to the gathered men. “The scouts have informed me that there are only a few gates, which is slightly concerning, but if we have people posted at the choke points, we will be covered. I will enter with my guards once Atoyaqtli and his men secure the site.” After his remarks, the men scurry to quickly complete their tasks. Siunqi then points to two very young men—probably around my age—and says to them with a stern voice, “guard her during this and do not let her out of your sight. If she stubs her toe on a rock, or a branch causes a scratch on her cheek, I will have your heads.”
A dozen of us resume walking through the tall grass of the meadow, spreading out wide and staying low, using the terrain to camouflage our movements. Others travel off into the nearby cluster of trees with our lieutenant, Atoyaqtli, and after a few steps, vanish into more of the tall grass towards a poor excuse for woods. After a long stretch of rocky terrain, light gray and tan sandstone walls peek out from the horizon once we reach the top of the hill. Two guards clothed in orange and red underneath dark brown leather armor flank either side of the open entryway, standing stationary with the poles of their halberds planted into the ground. The wind picks up slightly, and the dried grasses rustle gently, reminding me of small waves washing ashore, oddly peaceful despite the possibility of a tense situation.
Father walks confidently toward the city, chin raised and chest puffed out, while our warriors hurry to keep up with his pace. Without his eyes looking anywhere but straight ahead, he motions his hands as if to pat the air beside him, gesturing for them to slow down and remain calm.
“Do not look panicked or nervous,” Siunqi cooly says to us. “Be poised, and show them that the Sanqo are strong.”
By the point we can begin seeing the whites of the guards’ eyes, they holler something unintelligible, and a dozen or so men donning orange and red appear atop the wall. A few others poke their heads out into the large entryway, curious about the commotion. Following Siunqi’s command, our men don’t flinch or draw their weapons, but rather continue marching forward. Eventually, one of the city’s guards musters up the courage to shout at us.
“Stop where you are,” he yells, shakily. “Who approaches Chalaqta?”
Without breaking his stride, Siunqi hollers back, “We are expected by your nobles inside this city. If you cannot tell who we are by our colors, you may need to get your vision checked, boy.”
The young guard in ill-fitting garments and worn out sandals points the tip of his halberd in our direction. Before he can attempt any more desperate commands, father interrupts.
“Boy, if you don’t point that halberd anywhere but up, my archers will shoot you and all your compatriots down before you have a chance to soil your tunic.”
The men at the walls stand around, looking at one another, confused. Perhaps I’m biased or spoiled by our warrior culture, but this is the most undisciplined group I have ever seen. I no longer feel tense or nervous, to the point where I have to remind myself to not be overconfident and remain on alert, in case this is some ruse, or stronger, more capable warriors lie in wait.
One of the boys eventually runs into the city, leaving his halberd behind. Siunqi and our men don’t react to this, and we continue walking to within a few sprinted strides of the entrance. From the gate opening, we can see numerous huts and homes contained within the city walls, with high, thatched roofs, and the homes’ walls are made from the same granular sandstone like the ones protecting the city. There is a good amount of commotion from the people, who stop whatever routine they were doing to watch us skeptically as we approach unimpeded, walking through the entrance. The citizens wear basic garments of earth tones and very little jewelry, if any; their olive skin almost blends in with their clothing. There is so much beige and brown that when I look upon father and our warriors wearing the Sanqo colors of ocean blue and bronze, it is jarring how much we stand out. I begin to feel self-conscious—even more so than I typically do with regards to my eyes and my scar. I feel every citizen is not only staring us down while we march through their city, but they are staring at me, specifically.
There is one prominent building that stands high and apart from all the rest, towering like a small mountain within the city. The stones that construct it are gigantic and sharply angled. From the second level, I can see large openings the size of a person built into the sides. Nearly every window has someone standing at it, curiously looking out toward our direction, dressed in the same orange and red colors as the guards, but appearing more polished and shimmering in the sunlight from what I assume is gold jewelry.
Making no eye contact, Siunqi stomps on toward the large building to the sound of his clattering bronze jewelry. He strides past the remaining guards, who look upon him with stupefaction as his cape flows behind him like the wake of a ship, and heads into the plaza where he is—well, not exactly “greeted”, per say—met abruptly by the gathering nobles.
“I am to speak to your high noble, whomever they are,” Siunqi raises his voice to say to no one in particular. “A Tapeu messenger delivered word from the Arbiter.” No one responds to him, looking at one another in confusion. Siunqi rolls his eyes and sighs.
“I am Siunqi,” he says in with annoyance in his tone, “leader of the Sanqo, ruler of the seas, greatest sailor in all of Pachil.” He pauses to await a reaction. Nothing other than more blank stares by the crowd is given, which insults him further.
“I should just sack this entire—“
“You have made quite an entrance, Quraqa Siunqi” someone from behind the gaggle of nobles remarks. Emerging from the crowd is a slender woman in a form-fitting black dress—I’m perplexed as to how she can even move in that garment. A black feather from either a crow or raven dangles from each of her ears, and her dark cocoa brown hair cascades over her shoulders, flowing onto a sparkling, golden necklace made of multiple ropes that drapes across her chest.
“I merely walked into your city,” Siunqi says humorlessly. Now he is the one who appears confused as the woman in black glides toward him, parting the nobles as she makes her way through. At the side of the crowd, the young guard who ran off earlier returns and does his best to blend in, standing with his back to the wall and occasionally sneaking in glances at us.
“According to the guard who alerted me to your arrival,” she says, pointing to the boy against the wall, “it was fairly abrupt. I should apologize for the lack of preparedness from Chalaqta’s soldiers for your expected visit.” There’s a songlike quality to her manner of speech as she draws out the length of certain words. One of my tutors had mentioned the dialects of the different regions on the continent, but it’s something else to witness it. I catch myself gawking at the woman and snap out of my trance, adjusting my posture to stand upright and proud, just as my father and the warriors are doing.
“Though I wish the greeting was more warmly displayed,” the woman says, the volume of her voice intentionally raised for all present to hear, especially the added derisiveness to her statement, “on behalf of The Arbiter and all of Tapeu, welcome to Chalaqta, honorable quraqa.”
She bows slightly and, with her eyes narrowed as she peeks at the crowd from the corner of her eye, the rest of the nobles in the hall eventually catch on and bow along with her.
“Since I’m certain there was nobody to inform you of it, my name is Iatuq, right hand of The Arbiter—or, as we prefer to call my title in Qapauma, The Voice. I understand Achutli has made a proposition to the great people of Sanqo. We can discuss this in the governing chambers, away from...” she scowls as she pauses, “the others.”
Iatuq leads us down a stone hallway, decorated in many tapestries of orange and red, with subtle blue and green threads woven in. The patterns appear to tell a story of some kind, but we’re moving too quickly for me to get a better look. Designs of people carrying various weapons, along with monstrous figures, fires and destruction, and then eventually the people standing atop the gargantuan beasts seemingly in triumph. Even as we hurry past, I can see the craftsmanship is superb, and I make a mental note to ask who created them.
Entering into a solitary chamber, a tapestry woven into a large map of sorts is draped on the far wall behind a round table and chairs. There are no windows in this room, so it has to be illuminated by multiple torches suspended around the perimeter. On the table are a variety of breads and fruits, many of which I’ve never seen. Yellow bumpy skins with a white flesh and small, black seeds. Tiny oranges with thin skins. Red potato-like spheres with multiple white eyes and sporadic needles poking out. Long, hard, crusty brown pods that look like overly large beans the size of a goat’s tail. I’m simultaneously curious and terrified to try any of the items displayed before us. Out of a nervous habit, I swirl my finger above the chalice of water on the table and swish the fluid to and fro.
Iatuq gradually lowers herself into a chair on the opposite side of the entryway to the room. With one look and a nod from Siunqi, our warriors file out and begin standing at attention just outside. Father grabs one of the pear-shaped fruits, takes a considerable bite as he seats himself, covers his mouth and discretely spits the black seeds into his hand, which he delicately places onto the table.
“We should have you train Chalaqta’s guards,” Iatuq says with a sly smile slowly stretching across her face. Siunqi looks unamused.
“Regarding your daughter,” she says, her face morphing into pouty lips and her head tilting slightly to her right with big, sad eyes in embellished remorse. Father begins to stand up and protest, his hand holding up an index finger pointed in the air, but I gently place my hand on his broad shoulder and tell him I can wait with the men outside. He huffs a sudden burst of air from his nostrils and eventually waves me away. I hear hushed mumbling that gets inaudible as I leave, and I notice the men looking forward and standing still. After a few steps as I go to leave the palace grounds, I feel the presence of two of our Sanqo warriors trailing behind me. I glance back to see them, not once making eye contact with me, but rather inspecting the surroundings for any possible threats.
Nearby is an enclosed plaza that spans the length of four or five houses, lined on both sides with booths made from wooden planks and beige cloth that blends in with the walls of the stone buildings. Traders and merchants in loose-fitting, beige tunics shout to advertise their wares, reminding me of the docks back home—without the sea breeze smelling of brine, of course. The scene is entirely unremarkable except for the ground of this marketplace, which is made up completely of stone laid out in a herringbone pattern that I find mesmerizing. I ponder if I could ask Iatuq about this before we depart Chalaqta.
As I’m deep in thought about the stonework, I spot an elderly woman fixing her gaze upon me, as if to study my appearance. It’s off-putting, and I try to return my attention to the stone ground of the plaza, but I keep noticing her out of the corner of my eye staring intently in my direction. I anticipate the staring is due to my scar and eyes, so reflexively, I try to conceal my features with a long scarf I wrap like a hood. Her jaw drops and her eyes grow like moons as she covers her mouth with her bony, gnarled hands.
“The blue and red feather,” the old woman exclaims, “and… yes! The blue eyes! It’s you!”
I try to determine whether she says this in alarm or excitement as I turn around to face her. I see the old crone, hunched over and pointing at me with a shaking, crooked index finger. Her face is covered in age spots and wrinkles, and her mouth is ajar, filled with wheat-colored teeth bespeckled with brown spots. She wears a dark brown cloak with a hood that barely covers her thinning silver hair, with a strand that is braided down the right side of her cheek. Her eyes are wide in surprise, though the pupils are cloudy with a milky white.
“The blue and red feather!” She remarks again, this time clearly more enthusiastically. I beg her pardon, and she takes tiny steps toward me, kicking up tiny puffs of dirt as she drags her feet, scraping across the stones.
“You’re the uniter! You’re a bit early, but you are the one who is promised, my dear.”
“I… I’m not sure what you mean,” I say, backing away cautiously, as I’m unsure what her intentions are.
“Pachil is unstable, but you can save it,” she says with a mix of intensity and eagerness in her tone. In an instant, her voice turns grim and gravely, “Or, you can destroy it. No matter your decision, however, there isn’t much time.” Her expression drops from delight to solemnity within the same sentence. I start to question the mental health of this poor woman, who perhaps has been neglected for some time.
“You speak of strange folklore, miss,” I say in an effort to defuse the situation, “but I’m not sure I have heard of this fable you mention from the continent. I’m from—“
“Sanqo. Yes, I know,” she interrupts. “You have traveled a ways to arrive here, but you will be traveling much more. Much more. Not as far as the ones seeking to destroy the continent, of course.” It could be an acute observation, since I am wearing the ocean blue, teal, and bronze of the Sanqo, after all. However it’s still unsettling, particularly in the way she has said this so definitively, along with her other ramblings. At once, she stops advancing toward me and abruptly covers her mouth with her withering hands, like a child realizing they’ve done something wrong.
“Oh dear,” she mutters. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.” She looks worried, her words filled with remorse. It’s disconcerting the immediacy in which her expressions change, like the direction of the wind during a voracious storm on the seas.
“I’m sorry, child,” she says, nearly bursting into tears. “I didn’t mean to cause you distress, Walumaq. I feared I may say too much to frighten you away.”
How does she know my name? Now my curiosity morphs to concern. Who is this woman? Why does she believe Pachil is in trouble? And how is she certain I can save it? Or destroy it? And there are others traveling from far away? Who are they?
My retreat backwards is suddenly halted as I run into someone, a burly physique whose metallic jewelry clanks after the collision. I turn to apologize when I recognize at once who I bumped.
“Why weren’t you watching Walumaq? Protecting her?” Siunqi shouts to our warriors, who skid to a halt and hunch over, out of breath as they hurriedly reach our location. They speak over each other with a multitude of inaudible excuses, but I look up at father and gently grab his forearm to get his attention.
“It’s okay, father,” I say, calmly. “She meant me no harm. We were just speaking of the architect behind the amazing pattern in stone.” The two warriors stutter as they try to explain how I got swept away by the bustling marketplace and they only lost my whereabouts for a brief moment, but Siunqi is having none of it and scolds them like a scornful parent. During this, I see the elderly woman mumbling something as she clutches a necklace made of wooden beads painted in various shades of red, blue, and yellow.
My pleas for Siunqi and the two warriors to take it easy on the old woman fall on deaf ears. The guards ordered to protect me chase after the crone through the plaza. She is surprisingly spry and dashes away, much faster than I nor the men chasing her would have assumed. Eventually, they disappear out of view and become swallowed by the crowds in the marketplace.
Siunqi grunts and shakes his head, then grabs my arm and ushers me away, back toward the palace. He whistles, and emerging from the mass of people appear the warriors, quickly following behind us. I grow concerned for the old woman with whom I spoke, hoping I didn’t get her into any trouble and that she’s okay. Somehow, I’ll have to find her to make her explain herself, though at this time, I’m uncertain how I’ll be able to escape long enough to do so.
We briskly leave the plaza and toward a smaller building separate from the multistoried one in which we originally met Iatuq. The guards have learned of our identities and presence quickly, allowing us to enter without the issues experienced before. The building we approach is still significantly larger than the nearby homes that surround the palace grounds, and two more orange-and-red-clothed guards stand at attention as we walk past them.
Siunqi appears to have calmed down, the scowl on his face slowly morphing into relief and reassurance. I can tell he wants to scold me for vanishing off to the marketplace, opening his mouth to speak, but reconsiders and lets out a frustrated humph. I attempt to distract him by asking about his discussion with the mysterious woman, Iatuq, and commenting on all the phrases and titles I’ve never heard before, such as quraqa. Siunqi grunts and bites on the diversion like a fish to bate.
“The meeting went as one would expect,” Siunqi says in a low tone, almost inaudible amidst the commotion of the guards and nobles milling about, “which is to say, blandly and without any revelation for us.”
“Iatuq has put us in the guest quarters for our time here. I’ve sent our men to grab our belongings from the ships. I must warn you, however,” Siunqi says, stopping me and holding my right arm, looking into my eyes with a profound seriousness, his voice becoming less than a whisper. “We must watch every word we say while we are here. Pretend that every wall here has ears. Do you understand?”
I nod in agreement, though I’m startled by the intensity of his words. After receiving my acknowledgement, Siunqi stands up tall and straight and in an instant, displays a warm politician’s smile, cheerfully saying, “now then, we have been invited to dinner by The Voice herself. I’ll have our men bring in your things, and you can change into a garment for a formal meal. Looks like you’ll be enjoying the full spectrum of a diplomatic excursion after all!”
There’s commotion occurring outside the chamber, alerting Siunqi to see what it’s about. Before he has a chance to walk out to investigate what’s happening, a man bursts into the room. His teal and bronze cape flowing behind him, and his metal necklaces clatter, announcing his entrance. His strong jaw holds a vulpine grin, and there’s a glint in his eye as he looks at our stunned faces.
“Hello, father! Sky Eyes!” Pahua says. “I hear dinner is about to be served soon. It’s a good thing—I’m simply famished after making the long journey from Haqiliqa!”
No matter how reluctant I typically am to wake up so early in the morning, any doubt is cast away when I see the faint green and beige of the shoreline through the mist after such a long time on the sea. I’ve been on my share of ships before, of course, but setting off to the continent is a thrilling and surreal prospect. Anything undoubtedly beats circling our home island, Sanqo, over and over again—and don’t get me wrong, just setting foot on a ship is wonderful in its own right. However, I never thought I needed adventure so desperately, and I’m learning that exploring the unknown (to me, at least) is something my heart has needed all this time. It requires a lot of restraint to disguise my giddiness and look as calm and regal as my father, but there’s no question it will to seep out as the coast of the continent comes more into view.
A fierce determination is painted on the face of each oarsmen as Siunqi barks commands to the crew, and we gradually approach our destination. Every rower looks chiseled of stone, with their exposed, dense muscles flexing as they grip the oars. Hanging on the side of our ships are a variety of shields that bear family sigils, similar to the main hall of the castle. These shields, our Sanqo colors, and my father’s cape are a stark contrast amongst the neutral wood tones. I use my hand to periodically secure the blue and red macaw feather I’ve braided into my hair, given to me by my mother, Cheqansiq, for good fortune on this journey. The feather, as well as the slightly sweet scent of seaweed that tinges the air, brings about a feeling of nostalgia for the home we all have left behind.
After the ships reach the rocky shores, each man drags their vessels out of the water onto the beach with a series of thuds. There are sporadic sprouts of long grasses that jut outward higher up the banks, and after a few long strides from the water, we arrive at wisps of grass that appear like a balding man’s effort to hang onto the few strands of remaining hair. Siunqi tells me during our journey to the continent that we cannot trust the people enough to dock in their harbor just yet and must be diligent about our mission, discrediting my brother, Pahua’s, plan to be deceptive and travel under the guise of being merchants.
“That boy has a childlike imagination,” Siunqi says, and I know full well he did not mean that as a compliment.
“So why should we meet with the Tapeu at all?” I ask. “It seems as though the entire journey is fraught with danger. He’s at least aware of that much.”
“As much history and situational awareness as your brother gets wrong,” he says, “he’s correct about our people being being cast away to the island. With the rebuild, it’s an opportunity for the Sanqo to diplomatically right past wrongs. The Arbiter is offering peace, and if it means sparing our ships to the cause, it’s a small cost.”
“And this separatist group wants to disrupt our chances of rejoining the factions of the continent?” I ask.
“Some people never forgive,” he says, “and they prefer the new state of affairs to exist as they are. They gained while we were cast out, and they don’t want us to return to the stature we once had. We have to make sure we’re taking every precaution necessary. Something your brother will never understand.”
“Do you think we’ll be safe?” I ask, genuinely concerned.
“Nothing ever goes according to plan,” he says with a chuckle, “but if I didn’t believe we’d be safe, we wouldn’t be traveling here.”
My father examines the land thoughtfully, eventually snorting in approval, and signals to the men with two fingers pointing upward, then swirling them around in a few small circles. While some remain behind to protect the vessels, the remaining crew begin shouting at one another, pulling shields off from the ships, drawing their weapons and marching away from the shore.
“Stay close and keep a sharp eye on the horizon,” Siunqi commands me, as if I were one of his warriors. “We can’t be certain there aren’t hostiles, and we don’t want to be caught by surprise.”
Two scouts dart ahead of the rest of the men, and after a few long strides, they disappear into the tall grass, the sound of their movements blending in with the winds rustling the surrounding dried vegetation. The rest of the warriors begin marching disorganized in a westward direction. The Sanqo never drill in formations, as far as I recall, because more often than not, the warriors are springing off ships and plundering towns, then quickly rowing back to the island.
After traveling quite a distance inland, and after much complaining by the men about what the rough terrain was doing to their feet, the scouts return to indicate the location of our destination. Judging by their body language, they don’t appear distressed or intimidated by what we’re approaching. While I can’t make out what they’re saying as they talk in hushed tones, they speak confidently to Siunqi and maintain eye contact, which I find impressive, considering how many hold him to such lofty esteem.
“Set up camp nearby,” commands Siunqi to the gathered men. “The scouts have informed me that there are only a few gates, which is slightly concerning, but if we have people posted at the choke points, we will be covered. I will enter with my guards once Atoyaqtli and his men secure the site.” After his remarks, the men scurry to quickly complete their tasks. Siunqi then points to two very young men—probably around my age—and says to them with a stern voice, “guard her during this and do not let her out of your sight. If she stubs her toe on a rock, or a branch causes a scratch on her cheek, I will have your heads.”
A dozen of us resume walking through the tall grass of the meadow, spreading out wide and staying low, using the terrain to camouflage our movements. Others travel off into the nearby cluster of trees with our lieutenant, Atoyaqtli, and after a few steps, vanish into more of the tall grass towards a poor excuse for woods. After a long stretch of rocky terrain, light gray and tan sandstone walls peek out from the horizon once we reach the top of the hill. Two guards clothed in orange and red underneath dark brown leather armor flank either side of the open entryway, standing stationary with the poles of their halberds planted into the ground. The wind picks up slightly, and the dried grasses rustle gently, reminding me of small waves washing ashore, oddly peaceful despite the possibility of a tense situation.
Father walks confidently toward the city, chin raised and chest puffed out, while our warriors hurry to keep up with his pace. Without his eyes looking anywhere but straight ahead, he motions his hands as if to pat the air beside him, gesturing for them to slow down and remain calm.
“Do not look panicked or nervous,” Siunqi cooly says to us. “Be poised, and show them that the Sanqo are strong.”
By the point we can begin seeing the whites of the guards’ eyes, they holler something unintelligible, and a dozen or so men donning orange and red appear atop the wall. A few others poke their heads out into the large entryway, curious about the commotion. Following Siunqi’s command, our men don’t flinch or draw their weapons, but rather continue marching forward. Eventually, one of the city’s guards musters up the courage to shout at us.
“Stop where you are,” he yells, shakily. “Who approaches Chalaqta?”
Without breaking his stride, Siunqi hollers back, “We are expected by your nobles inside this city. If you cannot tell who we are by our colors, you may need to get your vision checked, boy.”
The young guard in ill-fitting garments and worn out sandals points the tip of his halberd in our direction. Before he can attempt any more desperate commands, father interrupts.
“Boy, if you don’t point that halberd anywhere but up, my archers will shoot you and all your compatriots down before you have a chance to soil your tunic.”
The men at the walls stand around, looking at one another, confused. Perhaps I’m biased or spoiled by our warrior culture, but this is the most undisciplined group I have ever seen. I no longer feel tense or nervous, to the point where I have to remind myself to not be overconfident and remain on alert, in case this is some ruse, or stronger, more capable warriors lie in wait.
One of the boys eventually runs into the city, leaving his halberd behind. Siunqi and our men don’t react to this, and we continue walking to within a few sprinted strides of the entrance. From the gate opening, we can see numerous huts and homes contained within the city walls, with high, thatched roofs, and the homes’ walls are made from the same granular sandstone like the ones protecting the city. There is a good amount of commotion from the people, who stop whatever routine they were doing to watch us skeptically as we approach unimpeded, walking through the entrance. The citizens wear basic garments of earth tones and very little jewelry, if any; their olive skin almost blends in with their clothing. There is so much beige and brown that when I look upon father and our warriors wearing the Sanqo colors of ocean blue and bronze, it is jarring how much we stand out. I begin to feel self-conscious—even more so than I typically do with regards to my eyes and my scar. I feel every citizen is not only staring us down while we march through their city, but they are staring at me, specifically.
There is one prominent building that stands high and apart from all the rest, towering like a small mountain within the city. The stones that construct it are gigantic and sharply angled. From the second level, I can see large openings the size of a person built into the sides. Nearly every window has someone standing at it, curiously looking out toward our direction, dressed in the same orange and red colors as the guards, but appearing more polished and shimmering in the sunlight from what I assume is gold jewelry.
Making no eye contact, Siunqi stomps on toward the large building to the sound of his clattering bronze jewelry. He strides past the remaining guards, who look upon him with stupefaction as his cape flows behind him like the wake of a ship, and heads into the plaza where he is—well, not exactly “greeted”, per say—met abruptly by the gathering nobles.
“I am to speak to your high noble, whomever they are,” Siunqi raises his voice to say to no one in particular. “A Tapeu messenger delivered word from the Arbiter.” No one responds to him, looking at one another in confusion. Siunqi rolls his eyes and sighs.
“I am Siunqi,” he says in with annoyance in his tone, “leader of the Sanqo, ruler of the seas, greatest sailor in all of Pachil.” He pauses to await a reaction. Nothing other than more blank stares by the crowd is given, which insults him further.
“I should just sack this entire—“
“You have made quite an entrance, Quraqa Siunqi” someone from behind the gaggle of nobles remarks. Emerging from the crowd is a slender woman in a form-fitting black dress—I’m perplexed as to how she can even move in that garment. A black feather from either a crow or raven dangles from each of her ears, and her dark cocoa brown hair cascades over her shoulders, flowing onto a sparkling, golden necklace made of multiple ropes that drapes across her chest.
“I merely walked into your city,” Siunqi says humorlessly. Now he is the one who appears confused as the woman in black glides toward him, parting the nobles as she makes her way through. At the side of the crowd, the young guard who ran off earlier returns and does his best to blend in, standing with his back to the wall and occasionally sneaking in glances at us.
“According to the guard who alerted me to your arrival,” she says, pointing to the boy against the wall, “it was fairly abrupt. I should apologize for the lack of preparedness from Chalaqta’s soldiers for your expected visit.” There’s a songlike quality to her manner of speech as she draws out the length of certain words. One of my tutors had mentioned the dialects of the different regions on the continent, but it’s something else to witness it. I catch myself gawking at the woman and snap out of my trance, adjusting my posture to stand upright and proud, just as my father and the warriors are doing.
“Though I wish the greeting was more warmly displayed,” the woman says, the volume of her voice intentionally raised for all present to hear, especially the added derisiveness to her statement, “on behalf of The Arbiter and all of Tapeu, welcome to Chalaqta, honorable quraqa.”
She bows slightly and, with her eyes narrowed as she peeks at the crowd from the corner of her eye, the rest of the nobles in the hall eventually catch on and bow along with her.
“Since I’m certain there was nobody to inform you of it, my name is Iatuq, right hand of The Arbiter—or, as we prefer to call my title in Qapauma, The Voice. I understand Achutli has made a proposition to the great people of Sanqo. We can discuss this in the governing chambers, away from...” she scowls as she pauses, “the others.”
Iatuq leads us down a stone hallway, decorated in many tapestries of orange and red, with subtle blue and green threads woven in. The patterns appear to tell a story of some kind, but we’re moving too quickly for me to get a better look. Designs of people carrying various weapons, along with monstrous figures, fires and destruction, and then eventually the people standing atop the gargantuan beasts seemingly in triumph. Even as we hurry past, I can see the craftsmanship is superb, and I make a mental note to ask who created them.
Entering into a solitary chamber, a tapestry woven into a large map of sorts is draped on the far wall behind a round table and chairs. There are no windows in this room, so it has to be illuminated by multiple torches suspended around the perimeter. On the table are a variety of breads and fruits, many of which I’ve never seen. Yellow bumpy skins with a white flesh and small, black seeds. Tiny oranges with thin skins. Red potato-like spheres with multiple white eyes and sporadic needles poking out. Long, hard, crusty brown pods that look like overly large beans the size of a goat’s tail. I’m simultaneously curious and terrified to try any of the items displayed before us. Out of a nervous habit, I swirl my finger above the chalice of water on the table and swish the fluid to and fro.
Iatuq gradually lowers herself into a chair on the opposite side of the entryway to the room. With one look and a nod from Siunqi, our warriors file out and begin standing at attention just outside. Father grabs one of the pear-shaped fruits, takes a considerable bite as he seats himself, covers his mouth and discretely spits the black seeds into his hand, which he delicately places onto the table.
“We should have you train Chalaqta’s guards,” Iatuq says with a sly smile slowly stretching across her face. Siunqi looks unamused.
“Regarding your daughter,” she says, her face morphing into pouty lips and her head tilting slightly to her right with big, sad eyes in embellished remorse. Father begins to stand up and protest, his hand holding up an index finger pointed in the air, but I gently place my hand on his broad shoulder and tell him I can wait with the men outside. He huffs a sudden burst of air from his nostrils and eventually waves me away. I hear hushed mumbling that gets inaudible as I leave, and I notice the men looking forward and standing still. After a few steps as I go to leave the palace grounds, I feel the presence of two of our Sanqo warriors trailing behind me. I glance back to see them, not once making eye contact with me, but rather inspecting the surroundings for any possible threats.
Nearby is an enclosed plaza that spans the length of four or five houses, lined on both sides with booths made from wooden planks and beige cloth that blends in with the walls of the stone buildings. Traders and merchants in loose-fitting, beige tunics shout to advertise their wares, reminding me of the docks back home—without the sea breeze smelling of brine, of course. The scene is entirely unremarkable except for the ground of this marketplace, which is made up completely of stone laid out in a herringbone pattern that I find mesmerizing. I ponder if I could ask Iatuq about this before we depart Chalaqta.
As I’m deep in thought about the stonework, I spot an elderly woman fixing her gaze upon me, as if to study my appearance. It’s off-putting, and I try to return my attention to the stone ground of the plaza, but I keep noticing her out of the corner of my eye staring intently in my direction. I anticipate the staring is due to my scar and eyes, so reflexively, I try to conceal my features with a long scarf I wrap like a hood. Her jaw drops and her eyes grow like moons as she covers her mouth with her bony, gnarled hands.
“The blue and red feather,” the old woman exclaims, “and… yes! The blue eyes! It’s you!”
I try to determine whether she says this in alarm or excitement as I turn around to face her. I see the old crone, hunched over and pointing at me with a shaking, crooked index finger. Her face is covered in age spots and wrinkles, and her mouth is ajar, filled with wheat-colored teeth bespeckled with brown spots. She wears a dark brown cloak with a hood that barely covers her thinning silver hair, with a strand that is braided down the right side of her cheek. Her eyes are wide in surprise, though the pupils are cloudy with a milky white.
“The blue and red feather!” She remarks again, this time clearly more enthusiastically. I beg her pardon, and she takes tiny steps toward me, kicking up tiny puffs of dirt as she drags her feet, scraping across the stones.
“You’re the uniter! You’re a bit early, but you are the one who is promised, my dear.”
“I… I’m not sure what you mean,” I say, backing away cautiously, as I’m unsure what her intentions are.
“Pachil is unstable, but you can save it,” she says with a mix of intensity and eagerness in her tone. In an instant, her voice turns grim and gravely, “Or, you can destroy it. No matter your decision, however, there isn’t much time.” Her expression drops from delight to solemnity within the same sentence. I start to question the mental health of this poor woman, who perhaps has been neglected for some time.
“You speak of strange folklore, miss,” I say in an effort to defuse the situation, “but I’m not sure I have heard of this fable you mention from the continent. I’m from—“
“Sanqo. Yes, I know,” she interrupts. “You have traveled a ways to arrive here, but you will be traveling much more. Much more. Not as far as the ones seeking to destroy the continent, of course.” It could be an acute observation, since I am wearing the ocean blue, teal, and bronze of the Sanqo, after all. However it’s still unsettling, particularly in the way she has said this so definitively, along with her other ramblings. At once, she stops advancing toward me and abruptly covers her mouth with her withering hands, like a child realizing they’ve done something wrong.
“Oh dear,” she mutters. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.” She looks worried, her words filled with remorse. It’s disconcerting the immediacy in which her expressions change, like the direction of the wind during a voracious storm on the seas.
“I’m sorry, child,” she says, nearly bursting into tears. “I didn’t mean to cause you distress, Walumaq. I feared I may say too much to frighten you away.”
How does she know my name? Now my curiosity morphs to concern. Who is this woman? Why does she believe Pachil is in trouble? And how is she certain I can save it? Or destroy it? And there are others traveling from far away? Who are they?
My retreat backwards is suddenly halted as I run into someone, a burly physique whose metallic jewelry clanks after the collision. I turn to apologize when I recognize at once who I bumped.
“Why weren’t you watching Walumaq? Protecting her?” Siunqi shouts to our warriors, who skid to a halt and hunch over, out of breath as they hurriedly reach our location. They speak over each other with a multitude of inaudible excuses, but I look up at father and gently grab his forearm to get his attention.
“It’s okay, father,” I say, calmly. “She meant me no harm. We were just speaking of the architect behind the amazing pattern in stone.” The two warriors stutter as they try to explain how I got swept away by the bustling marketplace and they only lost my whereabouts for a brief moment, but Siunqi is having none of it and scolds them like a scornful parent. During this, I see the elderly woman mumbling something as she clutches a necklace made of wooden beads painted in various shades of red, blue, and yellow.
My pleas for Siunqi and the two warriors to take it easy on the old woman fall on deaf ears. The guards ordered to protect me chase after the crone through the plaza. She is surprisingly spry and dashes away, much faster than I nor the men chasing her would have assumed. Eventually, they disappear out of view and become swallowed by the crowds in the marketplace.
Siunqi grunts and shakes his head, then grabs my arm and ushers me away, back toward the palace. He whistles, and emerging from the mass of people appear the warriors, quickly following behind us. I grow concerned for the old woman with whom I spoke, hoping I didn’t get her into any trouble and that she’s okay. Somehow, I’ll have to find her to make her explain herself, though at this time, I’m uncertain how I’ll be able to escape long enough to do so.
We briskly leave the plaza and toward a smaller building separate from the multistoried one in which we originally met Iatuq. The guards have learned of our identities and presence quickly, allowing us to enter without the issues experienced before. The building we approach is still significantly larger than the nearby homes that surround the palace grounds, and two more orange-and-red-clothed guards stand at attention as we walk past them.
Siunqi appears to have calmed down, the scowl on his face slowly morphing into relief and reassurance. I can tell he wants to scold me for vanishing off to the marketplace, opening his mouth to speak, but reconsiders and lets out a frustrated humph. I attempt to distract him by asking about his discussion with the mysterious woman, Iatuq, and commenting on all the phrases and titles I’ve never heard before, such as quraqa. Siunqi grunts and bites on the diversion like a fish to bate.
“The meeting went as one would expect,” Siunqi says in a low tone, almost inaudible amidst the commotion of the guards and nobles milling about, “which is to say, blandly and without any revelation for us.”
“Iatuq has put us in the guest quarters for our time here. I’ve sent our men to grab our belongings from the ships. I must warn you, however,” Siunqi says, stopping me and holding my right arm, looking into my eyes with a profound seriousness, his voice becoming less than a whisper. “We must watch every word we say while we are here. Pretend that every wall here has ears. Do you understand?”
I nod in agreement, though I’m startled by the intensity of his words. After receiving my acknowledgement, Siunqi stands up tall and straight and in an instant, displays a warm politician’s smile, cheerfully saying, “now then, we have been invited to dinner by The Voice herself. I’ll have our men bring in your things, and you can change into a garment for a formal meal. Looks like you’ll be enjoying the full spectrum of a diplomatic excursion after all!”
There’s commotion occurring outside the chamber, alerting Siunqi to see what it’s about. Before he has a chance to walk out to investigate what’s happening, a man bursts into the room. His teal and bronze cape flowing behind him, and his metal necklaces clatter, announcing his entrance. His strong jaw holds a vulpine grin, and there’s a glint in his eye as he looks at our stunned faces.
“Hello, father! Sky Eyes!” Pahua says. “I hear dinner is about to be served soon. It’s a good thing—I’m simply famished after making the long journey from Haqiliqa!”
