My mind is swimming in a dizzying array lines, curves, and shapes. Since returning to Upachu’s home, I’ve been inundated with glyphs, trying my best to retain as many as my memory will hold. He’s been a patient teacher, uncomplaining of my frequent interruptions and requests to review everything he explained just moments earlier. The process is laborious, requiring numerous breaks so that I have an opportunity to catch my breath. It makes me long for the unrelenting and physically punishing training sessions of the Maqanuiache.
Despite my continued struggles in attempting to comprehend the symbols, I can see the progress. Looking at the papyrus, the swirls and shapes are starting to become clearer to me. While I may not be able to read complete lines yet, I’m understanding the general message being conveyed by the glyphs. It’s allowed me to discuss the concepts and context of what’s being mentioned in these sheets of papyrus with Upachu. While I’ve tried to temper my expectations, I’ve grown confident and proud in my studiousness. I’ve been unable to resist comparing this experience to the higher education obtained by those at the Great Library.
What I’ve discovered, and what has been debated and deliberated by Upachu and myself, has been enlightening. Not only have we been able to decipher what dramatic turn occurred between the members of the Eleven (or Twelve, as Upachu insists they be called), but we have determined who is the mark maker of the papyrus: Sualset.
Utilizing clues within the two batches of papyrus, we determined she was the most likely culprit. This revelation made the context of everything marked on the sheets become increasingly clearer to us. How there was a power struggle between her and this unnamed twelfth person. How there was a seeming conflict of ideologies between the two, debating the use of their capabilities. From what we’ve been able to ascertain, the two fought over protecting the people of Pachil—namely, who they should prioritize over others. I become deeply concerned that these so called ‘protectors’ potentially developed a hierarchy regarding who should seek their aid. It makes me reflect on the Mahuincha, the unfortunate faction who became extinct at the hand of the Timuaq. Was this a part of their deliberations? Or the result?
With the night creeping into Upachu’s home, our tired eyes can no longer distinguish the markings in the torchlight. As such, we reluctantly call it a day. So much progress has been made, yet there is still so much to go. I surprise myself with how interested and consumed I’ve become in learning this new manner of language. This doesn’t involve planning strategy or tactics for use in combat, yet I am captivated by the concept—that a few lines and shapes can have a meaning and spread a message. That someone can craft such a thing to convey ideas without diagrams or speech fascinates me, and I wonder how much else Sualset and the Atima created before it was destroyed by the envious Timuaq.
Upachu returns from feeding the llama and wishing it a good night, a new practice he’s undertaken since my return with his beloved animal. Meanwhile, I’ve bound straw around each clay pot, reapplying their disguises as being bales of hay for our travels, in case any wandering eyes drift to our cart. We’ve stockpiled enough food to get us to Iaqutaq, with the plan of me occasionally hunting to supplement our rations, as well as restocking at each port city before traveling into the Auilqa jungles. Although there’s a chill in the Hilaqta air, the rainforest will be hot and humid, meaning we will require lighter clothing for our journey south. Upachu’s plan of purchasing garments in Achope elicits an eye roll from me, but he is especially keen on the idea. Considering all he possesses are white robes, I relent my criticism and allow him his enthusiasm—“I can wear something involving color for the first time in ages,” as he excitedly puts it.
My thoughts wander, mentally preparing for all that we’re likely to face—and the challenges lurking in our mind’s shadows. The enchanted, shifting forest was difficult, but there’s something nagging inside me, telling me this will be far more complicated and strenuous. In fact, who knows how long it will be before we return to Hilaqta, to Qantua. In addition, dealing with the Auilqa is not something I look forward to, and I fear Upachu’s well-meaning diplomacy being taken the wrong way. All I can hope for is the best outcome while preparing for the worst, and I force myself to clear my head and sleep, so that I may be refreshed for the start of our lengthy journey.
My view is flooded with violet flowers gently drifting on swaying branches. Looking up from my resting place beneath the jacaranda tree, the sun is bright and warm, healing my spirit in its nurturing embrace. It’s the first time in quite a while since I’ve had such restful sleep. Rolling my head to its side, she sits, her legs crossed as she takes in the all-to-familiar view of our lake among the grayish-green hills. Her black-and-golden cape flows like a banner in the wind, though I feel no such breeze brushing my cheeks. Her golden shield and spear rest on the ground by her side, and a golden headpiece rests daintily upon her head. It’s difficult for me to determine which is more radiant: the sun or her.
“I take it we have much to discuss,” Entilqan says, as if she had foreseen this moment taking place.
I pick myself up and sit beside her, taking in the spectacular view of the Qantua hillside. As she typically does, she doesn’t make direct eye contact with me, choosing to instead look out onto the vista. Her face is expressionless, not giving away any hint as to what she’s feeling, or whether she anticipates what I know and wish to talk to her about.
“Where to begin,” I say, searching for the way to start this conversation. Eventually, I land on sharing what I’ve discovered, as though she isn’t some omnipresent spirit. “Upachu and I are traveling to Auilqa. We believe one of the chests Sualset left behind exists there.”
“Upachu,” she chuckles. “How is that old man?”
“At dozens of harvests older than me, he somehow has more energy and vitality,” I joke. “Perhaps it has to do with the copious amount of coca he consumes.” We share a laugh, her smile brighter than the glimmer on her golden crown. Hearing her fills my heart with joy. How I’ve missed that pleasant sound.
“And Auilqa?” she says, surprised. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Their people are… less than hospitable to outsiders, to put it kindly.”
I shrug. “She seems to be directing us there, so there, we shall go. Do you know why that location would have any significance to her?”
It’s her turn to shrug. “She was close to Inqil, I recall. There was a simplicity to Inqil; you always knew where you stood with her. It was likely her connection to nature that Sualset really admired about her. Plus, the Auilqa are smarter and cleverer than one would assume. They have some brilliant innovations and inventions of their own.”
“So, perhaps, it’s because of their innovativeness,” I deduce. “But it could also be the Auilqa’s connectivity to nature, and its importance to them, that led Sualset to hide one of the chests there.”
“It’s likely,” Entilqan acknowledges. “What have you found in these chests?”
“I forget that you’re not privy to Sualset’s machinations,” I state, frustrated at the enigmatic ordinances of the afterlife. She offers a slight, consolatory smile.
“In the most recent chest I discovered, there was an amulet contained within. A lapis lazuli gemstone with–“ I look down upon my chest to see it dangling by its gold chain. Entilqan inspects it closely, then is overcome by bafflement.
“That was the amulet I wore. But… I thought they were destroyed, when we went off to defeat the Timuaq at The Frozen Isles. We each wore ours during the final battle. How did you…”
We both stare at the amulet that hangs across my chest, perplexed by this realization. Is this a fake, or a plain piece of jewelry? Is the papyrus not created by Sualset? Do we possess forgeries?
There is too much to discuss, and not enough time. Though I must find out whether we’re being sent on a false quest, I need to get what information I can out of Entilqan while I have her with me.
“The chests also contain sheets of papyrus with glyphs on them,” I explain, “markings created by Sualset. Or so Upachu and I have determined; now I’m not so sure. They must be, because some detailed what the Eleven were–“ I stop my internal debate, remembering the countless times Upachu insisted on calling them ‘The Twelve’ as a result of what we discovered. Knowing that my engagement with Entilqan can abruptly end at any moment, I need clarification on this matter at once, figuring I can discover the papyrus’ authenticity at a later time through other means.
“Was there a twelfth member of your crew?” I ask. “Part of what was mentioned on the papyrus was a conflict between Sualset and an unnamed member of your group.”
Entilqan flashes a knowing smile. “There was, yes. Before they were banished.”
“Banished?” I echo. Her confirmation of a key detail stated on the papyrus gives me a glint of hope in its legitimacy. “Who was this person? They supposedly brought great conflict to you all, if the glyphs and accounts are to be believed.”
Entilqan releases a sigh through her nose. “Even amongst the chosen, unity was not a given. We were a council of strong wills, clashing as often as converging. But believe me when I say that each dispute, each heated debate, was rooted in a shared commitment to Pachil’s future. The one to whom you refer, who stood so fervently against Sualset, they…” she takes her time in choosing her words, “their ideals were once noble, but then they became twisted, leading to acts that could not be borne. Their banishment was a sorrowful necessity.”
“But who was this person? What became of them?” I must know while Entilqan is still present. I can already feel myself slipping, feel this dreamlike world drifting away from me.
“They are a threat to Pachil,” she replies, staring intensely into my eyes. “There is a disturbance in Pachil, and I know it stems from them. They seek the destruction of every faction deemed weak. We should have done more than banish them. If they are not stopped, Teqosa, Pachil is doomed.”
I’m stirred awake, with Upachu hovering over me, a concerned look fixed onto his face.
He apologizes. “You were talking in your sleep, something that sounded desperate and concerning. I thought it best to awaken you. Sorry if I disrupted something important.”
I sigh. Although he did interrupt, I can’t fault him for worrying about me. “It’s okay, Upachu. I appreciate you looking out for me. It was Entilqan. I saw her again. It’s left me with more questions than answers.”
The sun gradually enters the room, peeking over the nearby buildings and high hills in the distance. The room smells sweetly of the api that boils over the fire. The papyrus, strewn about the floor haphazardly, is cast in a golden light. I roll off the bedroll and assist Upachu in rolling up the sheets and binding them with twine.
“That’s never a good sign,” he says. “How much were you able to discuss with her?”
“Well, it’s left me questioning the legitimacy of these items we’ve come to possess, that’s one thing. She saw me wearing the amulet, which apparently belonged to her and was worn by her during the final battle with the Timuaq on the Frozen Isles. So, is this a real amulet, or did Sualset place fake items of jewelry inside the chests.”
A look of concern cloaks Upachu’s face. “What about the papyrus? Are these also false items?”
“The details contained on them were confirmed by Entilqan,” I say. “About the twelfth member of the Eleven–“
“The Twelve,” Upachu corrects.
I roll my eyes and continue. “She also noted the internal conflict, how that twelfth member was banished. But then she said something of great concern, moments before I woke up. She said how this person is a threat to Pachil, how the collective should have done more than banish them, how Pachil is doomed if they are not stopped.”
Upachu appears stunned. “Could this be the Sunfire? Could the twelfth member be seeking revenge and utter destruction because of this internal conflict?”
“It would explain how they know of the amulets, if one is, in fact, missing from the first chest we discovered,” I reason. “The Ulxa had their champion for the Eleven, Qixana. But what if there were two, and the conflict stemmed from two power-wielding people with opposing views seeking to join the cause? Maybe Sualset inserted herself into this conflict, which made matters worse?”
“If Entilqan confirmed the internal struggle, it feels as if the papyrus must be authentic,” Upachu states. “I have hope that we’re not being sent on some fool’s errand.”
I agree. “We’ll need to discover more about this amulet, though. Who created it, why was it found in the chest, what does it do.“
“Is it real,” Upachu adds. “It certainly looks pretty, at least. Might fetch a few silvers, or even some gold pieces, from some unwitting buyer.”
“Would you prefer to give it to your newfound love, the llama?” I ask.
“Did my ears just witness a joke coming from the stern and serious Teqosa?” Upachu gives me a friendly punch on the shoulder.
“I suppose we’ll learn soon enough whether these chests are real,” Upachu resumes our discussion. “Your sister’s enigmatic warning is concerning, however.”
“Indeed. I’m uncertain whether we’ll get to all of the chests in time to collect the information and power contained within to aid us in defeating this threat. We must travel too far, and overcome so much, just for the opportunity. This may be all for nothing.”
“We must still try, Teqosa,” he says, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “If the power is great enough for this evil to seek it out, then we must do everything we can to beat them to it and stop them.”
I know he’s correct, but the task is daunting nonetheless. Pachil is a significantly large and expansive land. To travel it all on foot will take many moon cycles, at best, and likely many harvests, at worst. And if what I faced at the first site is any indication, the travel may be the easy part of this whole quest. I look over at Upachu, who has hobbled over to pour more api into his bowl, and I wonder how much of this journey can he sustain? He is vibrant and spry for his advanced age, certainly, but his age is still advanced. How much will he be able to endure as we venture throughout all of Pachil?
The sun now commands the clear, blue sky as it begins its long journey to reunite with the horizon. The song of the quetzals is faint and sparse, now that many of them have migrated to warmer climates, and the brisk Qantua air rushes between the buildings. Upachu and I say our farewells to the guards at the door, thanking them for their vigilance in protecting his home as they prepare their own departure back to the fortress for reassignment. I’m grateful to Sachanqu for lending his men to this cause, making a mental note to thank him with a jug of the finest chicha upon our return.
During our travels to the Qantua trading post by the Maiu Qasapaq, we inevitably pass by the area where I encountered the enchanted shifting forest. The hills roll on endlessly with sparingly little vegetation. Hovering above, a condor soars effortlessly in the sky, tipping its wing as I continue on. I nod and give it a subtle salute, placing a fist over my heart. A chuckle in bewilderment escapes me, alarming Upachu while I shake my head in disbelief. When he questions what I find so amusing, I point out the location, the place that was so fraught with danger and mystery. He looks out onto the blank hillside, puzzled by the difference between my description and what his eyes are witnessing. I shrug, lifting my hands to concede as I acknowledge the bizarre revelation of this scene.
We make our way down the path that bends around and winds through the hills, eventually beginning its descent down toward the Maiu Qasapaq. There, in the distance and along the bank of the mighty river, rests the Qantua trading post. The structures blend in with the reddish-brown terrain, made from rust-colored stone much different than the materials found and used in the high elevations of Hilaqta. Just beyond that, maize and quinoa grow within the numerous terraces that surround the grounds of the trading post below it. And barely visible through the haze of humidity, a modest sprinkling of palm trees and other tropical vegetation reside on the opposite shore, marking the edge of the Tuatiu territory.
We start to traverse the sloping trail when a dark, billowing cloud begins encompassing us. Searching the sky above, there’s been no indication of rain or severe weather. Then, the realization strikes me like lightning, and I hurry to the cart. Confused, Upachu looks questioningly at me. I’m just able to shout a command at him, yelling for him to duck, when a dagger flies through the inky smoke. A taunting cackle soon follows.
“Just my good fortune,” the woman’s familiar sultry, stilted purr echoes through the dark cloud. “All I had to do was bide my time, and I knew you cowards would flee Hilaqta, landing right into my waiting arms.”
I pat around the cart, and my hands finally reach the glaive. A sudden, searing pain pierces the side of my waist. Planted into the cart is an obsidian dagger, shivering from the momentum of having been thrown. Its blade barely bit into my torso, and I clutch the freshly made wound.
“I am to assume you have the chest, correct?” Her inquiry is more of a teasing insult than a genuine question. I turn to face the assassin, her silhouette gradually comes into view. Her unmistakable adorned leather cuirass emerges from the smoke, and her face is nearly shrouded by the black hood on her cape, save for her blood red lips curled into an amused smile.
“Your wordlessness is answer enough,” she says. “Hand me the chest, and I will make sure your death is swift and painless.”
I twist around and retrieve the glaive. Grabbing it, I spin and slash the air as she darts to one side, avoiding my blade. I twirl my weapon in both hands, bringing the glaive forward and down with a quick strike. Once again, she sidesteps the blow, then lunges at me with a dagger in her hand. I swing to my right and deflect her thrust. My body reminds me of the wound gaping open on that side, and I wince as a jolt of pain rushes through my nerves.
She’s quick as a puma, hopping back and recoiling before attempting another strike. I swing the shaft to my left as if I’m stirring a pot, parrying the effort. With my blade touching the ground, I fling the weapon upward. It slices her flowing cape as she spins around to dodge my blade. Tightly gripping the hilt, I thrust the glaive forward, hoping to catch her as she twists out of the way. However, it pings as it deflects off her cuirass.
“I do enjoy our dances,” she jeers. “Let us see if you are as fleet of foot as me.”
She reaches into the pouch tied at her waist and pinches a substance. Before I can react, she lifts her fingers to her pursed lips and blows. Sparks illuminate the area, and my eyes burn as I’m momentarily blinded by the sheer white. I shield my face with my forearm, then feel the force of a kick upon my chest. I crash into the cart, my back cracking against the stiff wood. With my right hand, I haplessly swoop the glaive around, only slicing the air. Another chuckle floods my ears.
“I suppose not,” she says, disappointedly.
She suddenly shrieks, startled by some event. A loud thump follows, but I feel no impact. As the scene gradually comes into view, it’s then I realize Upachu has struck her with some blunt object while she clutched at her eyes. Had he thrown dirt or sand at her face? He stands beside her and lifts the large plank of wood, swinging it at her body once more. This time, however, she catches it with her free hand. She grinds her teeth as she flings the plank aside, then punches him in his stomach. He crumples to the ground as his breath gets knocked out of his lungs.
She wipes the back of her head and sees the sticky residue coat her leather glove. “Foolish, old man,” she snarls. She spins the dagger around in her hand, exposing the blade, and stretches upward, ready to bring the knife down upon his curled body.
I smash my glaive into her torso. It smacks her dark leather cuirass and knocks her backward, disrupting her treacherous deed. Disappointingly, her armor is stronger than I anticipated. Nevertheless, I continue to thrust the glaive at her, jabbing at various parts—her legs, then her arms, her head, then her legs once more.
She continues her retreat, hoping backward up the hill to avoid my incoming strikes. At once, she leaps back, contorts her body, then flings a dagger at me. I grimace as it catches my left shoulder before flying off. I fight through the pain, realizing she’s without weapons. Just as the thought crosses my mind, however, two obsidian blades soar through the air, finding their way back to her hands as though tethered to her. A sinister smile stretches across her face.
“You were not expecting that, were you?” she says mockingly.
I drop to one knee, overwhelmed by the pain. It’s as though a fire courses through my blood, burning every part of my body. I feel as if I’ve been thrown into an erupting volcano, the agony washing over me entirely. It’s too much to bear, and try as I might, I can’t gather the strength to stand. I gnash my teeth, biting down hard as I try to fight through the anguish, but to no avail.
She inspects my body, noting the blackened blood streaming down my leg and chest as I writhe in pain. “Oh, you poor thing. You are not looking too well. Could it be the poison rubbed on my daggers?”
She paces about as she ponders aloud. “Hmm, I would imagine so. A special concoction made from the tree frogs of the jungle and blessed by the Tletlazotl, the sacred monks of Ulxa. It is a pity, as there is no known cure.”
The assassin strolls around me, relishing my condition, my pain. I now feel as though I’ve been set alight, as the invisible burning scorches every fiber of my skin. My blood feels like it’s boiling as it surges through my body. Involuntarily, I groan at the pain’s intensity, unable to concentrate on anything other than my affliction.
The laughter accompanying her next words is cold and mirthless. “Oh, the look on your face, it is priceless. Truly, do you not find it fascinating? The way your body betrays you, writhing and convulsing in an attempt to rid itself of the venom coursing through your veins.” She pauses to allow a shadow of mock concern to flit across her face. “But, alas, it is a futile endeavor. The poison is relentless, much like the grip of death itself.”
With each labored breath, the world spins. The edges of my vision blur, causing the assassin’s figure to become a specter at the periphery of my fading consciousness. The pain is a relentless tide, threatening to drag me under its dark waves. Yet within this ocean of torment, her words anchor me to the cruel reality that my end approaches.
She casually steps toward me, dragging her leather sandals along the dirt. “I should end this quickly. But I am enjoying this too much to cease your misery. Perhaps I should slowly drain the blood from your elder friend in front of you while I wait for the poison to finish you off, eh?”
A part of me feels as if I have let Entilqan down, succumbing to this assassin sent by a terrible evil. She warned me of an impending doom, yet I am not strong enough to defeat this attacker. I am not worthy enough to face the danger that threatens Pachil if I cannot overcome the threat that confronts me here. I have taken on numerous challenges in my life, vanquished numerous foes, yet this is how it’s to end for me? Is this truly how I die?
If this is to be my final moment, I will cherish it, rather than live in torment. My mind is brought to happier, simpler times. Of my mother and father. Of Entilqan. Of my childhood home. Of the blooming jacaranda tree. The Timuaq may have oppressed our people for generations, yet we found solace in each other. We persevered through unity, through love. I will join my family soon, in the ethereal plane that awaits us all. I can only hope that Wiqamasqa, the god of all creation, will find my life worthy of serving at His side.
Through the spasms, I clutch the amulet that hangs from my neck, gripping it tightly as I remember all that I’ve experienced with this journey. How the guardian condor taught me of the interconnectivity of everything that exists and existed on Pachil. How it connected me to Entilqan and Xiqa, showing me how they sacrificed themselves for a cause greater than themselves. How the enchanted forest showed me that there is a harmony and balance to life.
I close my eyes and give in to my fate, squeezing the gemstone in my palm, ready to rejoin Pachil. There’s a sudden warmth that grows from my closed hand. I feel the warmth flood my body, wrapping me in its nurturing embrace. I am at peace, letting the feeling flow through and cleanse me until I am whole. I slowly open my eyes to find both myself and the brilliant blue hue of the lapis lazuli glowing. There is no pain within me, no agony. Am I departing to the ethereal plane?
The assassin looks on, mouth agape and eyes wide. Stunned. Her arms dangle helplessly at her side, loosely grasping the obsidian daggers. I rise, standing tall before her, glaive in hand. She takes slow, careful steps back at the sight of my resurgence. Her lips don’t move, yet it’s as though her silky voice sounds within my head, and I hear her speak.
This cannot be! The poison… There is no cure! How can he stand? How can he still be alive?
She snaps out of her trance, the grip on her weapons tightening firm. I sense it: She watches me, studies me, seeking a weakness, an area to strike.
Throw the first dagger, then thrust with your right. I hear her, though she never says this aloud. Had I heard her thoughts?
It’s as though everything is developing slowly, moving at a snail’s pace. She coils her body back, prepared to toss the dagger held in her left hand. I can see what’s about to take place. I can prepare myself for what’s about to come.
I take a quick step, dashing toward her and to my left. My glaive drags behind me, low, scraping the dirt. I twist my body, rotating my shoulders, and fling the glaive around. Before the dagger has left her hand, my blade catches her shoulder, halting her progress. She winces, and the dagger clumsily leaves her hand, tumbling about the ground. I ram my right shoulder into her, knocking her back.
She stumbles, confused by my sudden burst of speed. She scowls, lunging forward with her right arm. But I see this coming. I hear her thoughts. Anger has consumed her—she’s no longer thinking clearly, tactically.
Before she can extend her thrust, I’ve stepped to the side once more, easily avoiding her strike. My left hand grabs the shaft of my glaive, and, with the hilt, I slam the weapon into her face. Crimson streams from her mouth and nose, and she releases a whimper in shock.
“You are supposed to be dead!” she howls. “The chest is mine!”
I slowly approach her, the glaive clutched in my hands. “As long as I live, the evil you serve will never possess the chest.” I bring the glaive around, over my head, prepared to drop the blade upon her.
You must flee! NOW!
She leaps away, her fingers desperately clutching a pouch at her side. I can’t let her escape again! I need to end this, so that she can never harm us any further! My blade falls toward the ground, my muscles burn as I exert all the energy contained within me.
An eruption of black smoke fills the air. No! No, not again! I fight through the inky cloud, swinging my glaive in every direction, hoping to strike the elusive assassin before she disappears. I flail about desperately, but my weapon hits nothing. No! NO! This can’t be!
By the time the cloud dissipates, she has vanished without a trace. I eagerly search the ground for any sign of her footsteps, yet the dirt doesn’t betray her presence. I slam the glaive down in frustration, furious that she has managed to escape yet again. Right then and there, I vow that, when I see her again—because I will see her again—I will end her life and grant her no mercy. She may be relentless in her pursuit of the chest, but she will learn that my determination is greater than anything she may possess.
I rush over to Upachu, who is resting against the wheel of the cart. “I had to settle down the llama,” he manages to say, though his voice is strained and sounding parched. I search for a water skin and hand it to him, which he drinks as though he’s been without it for days. Aside from the dirt that has soiled his robe and smudges his face, his outward appearance thankfully doesn’t show any signs of harm.
In between gulps, he says, “I suppose we’ve discovered that the amulet is real. Sun and sky, what happened!” He speaks more as a remark than inquiry, his focus fixed on the gemstone on the gold chain. “I see her slowly making her way toward you, and the next thing I know, you’re emitting this blue, radiant glow brighter than the sun!”
“And look!” he exclaims, clutching at my tunic and moving the fabric about. “No wounds! It’s like Wichanaqta, after the fire pumas! Teqosa, I think…” he stops, but is too excited to contain himself, “I think you’re a god!”
