101 — Haesan

What’s done is done, yet my mind struggles to grasp the pandemonium before me. I can only look upon Onixem with pure shock. Though, should I be surprised? It’s something she’s stated she has wanted to do countless times before. But for her to actually go through with it, to actually kill both of her parents? I’m at a complete loss for words.

I wrestle with the idea of committing such an act against my father, the Arbiter of Pachil. There are so many reasons for me to despise him, to want him deposed of his position, to answer for his sins. It’s why I wanted to work alongside the Qente Waila, after all. And there’s the supposed prophecy which foretells that Achutli will fall, slain by his own blood. Knowing this destiny binds me to a dark future, I struggle with this calling, this curse.

Yet when I think about doing what Onixem has just done, I can’t envision myself ever killing my father, no matter how much I loathe him and want to see him fall. What hatred must I possess in my heart to carry out such violence? At least Achutli had the decency to give me to two people who could raise me as if I were their child, instead of simply casting me away in the middle of the jungles of Achope. That being said, there has got to be a way for him to suffer for what he’s done — to me and to those innocent lives of Pachil — to seize on the opportunity to only enrich himself at the expense of those he deems lesser.

Exhausted and battered, the Tuatiu warrior peels herself off the ground and struggles to her feet. Dust and dirt cling to her sweat-drenched skin as she steadies herself. Her eyes sweep across the quiet chaos around her, remnants of her clash with Onixem’s parents. Our gazes eventually meet, though hers is one overcome with weariness. What was her name again? Too much has taken place between her arrival and now for me to recall such a thing. However, it appears she recognizes me, as she lowers her head in a solemn bow.

She takes only a few steps toward me before we hear it. Like a rolling thunder, the approaching footsteps of hundreds of warriors thud their way to our location. My heart leaps into my throat, fearing it’s the Eye in the Flame closing in around us. When I see the orange and red tunics of the Tapeu, I’m only mildly relieved; while I’d be more than happy to never see the crimson or ashen gray robes of those cultists ever again, I’m uncertain if Achutli achieving victory is a good sign, either. How will he assert his rule, now that the sun has risen anew in his favor?

As the dust settles, the Tapeu warriors emerge, encircling us. Leather armor hangs heavy on their shoulders, scored by blades and arrows from the day’s brutal encounters. With their edges caked in dried mud, sandals and boots shuffle silently over the scattered debris about the palace grounds. Their faces are streaked with sweat and grime, yet their eyes give no hint of surrender. These men and women are a storm worn thin, yet nowhere near broken.

From behind the line of the Tapeu warriors, an unmistakable figure detaches itself, striding forward with the setting sun crowning him in a brutal halo. His bronze armor clinks with a rhythmic clang of metal that echoes over the battlefield like the ominous tolling of a bell. Red and yellow feathers fan out from his back like the flames of a pyre. It’s him — Achutli, the Arbiter, draped in the orange and red tunic of the Tapeu that’s been speckled and splattered with blood.

He doesn’t see me, or perhaps he chooses not to. His eyes in narrow slits search the horizon for threats. There’s a grace to him, I’ll grant him this much, as he gestures with the bronze spear that extends from his fist. The geometric gold on his turquoise sash glimmers. Upon seeing this, I can only view it as a symbol of the false promise of richness and prosperity under his rule. To Pachil, he is the Arbiter, the unyielding guardian of the land. To me, he’s nothing but a stranger clad in the guise of a father, a man who fears his own blood more than the enemy before him.

Scowling next to him, The Falcon, Anqatil, stands. Though less ornate than the Arbiter’s armor, hers still carries the marks of her high station: deep blues and vibrant reds woven into the fabric beneath her breastplate, which itself is embossed with the stylized image of a swooping falcon, wings outstretched in predatory grace. Lining her shoulders and cresting her helmet are shorter feathers of a less ostentatious plumage, in a mix of dark browns and muted golds.

She moves through the ranks of warriors with a swift, calculated precision. The moment her sharp gaze lands on me, it hardens like the obsidian edges of the twin daggers strapped at her waist. There’s a simmering disdain in her eyes, as if I were the sole blemish on the battlefield. She exercises restraint, opting not to charge and slice me with her blades on sight, but instead stands vigilantly by Achutli’s side.

“Secure the area,” Achutli barks his command, pointing in all directions around the grounds. “We must be certain the enemy has been vanquished. Check the palace, and leave no stone unturned.”

Dozens of men leap at the chance to heed the orders, scurrying about the once vibrant terraces and ceremonial courtyards. To think, a celestial celebration had occurred here not long ago, moments before the assault to Qapauma. Now, there’s nothing but desolation everywhere I look.

Achutli looks on at the destruction, as well. He remains expressionless, analyzing the scene without showing any reactions to the devastation. Is he simply putting on a brave mask, or does he genuinely feel nothing for this place?

“Watch the girl, too,” Anqatil instructs, pointing to me with the tilt of her head. “If she tries anything, report to me immediately.”

What ever does she mean by that? I’m confounded by her assertion, and I want to storm over there to confront her. She doesn’t make any other gestures, instead sticking to the hip of Achutli as he walks around the grounds. The watchful eyes of several palace guards feel like restraints around my wrists and ankles, holding me in place for fear of upsetting the wrong person, namely Anqatil. Would she strike me where I stand if I make a gesture she deems threatening?

“You there,” Achutli shouts, looking at the Tuatiu warrior. “From your colors, I see you are Tuatiu. What is a girl of your faction doing so far from the jungles?”

Still woozy, the Tuatiu warrior starts to stagger toward him. However, several of the palace guards bear down upon her position, drawing their halberds as a signal for her to come no closer to their leader. To her fortune — or, should I say instead, to theirs — she halts her progress.

“Arbiter of Pachil, I am here along with warriors sent by the Qantua council to protect the capital,” she says, slightly out of breath.

Anqatil looks around exaggeratedly and splays her arms out wide for showmanship. “I see none of your brethren. Nor do I see the Qantua. Have they all perished in battle? Or have they somehow vanished into the air?”

“I was too busy slaying the minions and sorcerers of the Eye in the Flame to keep track of the dozens upon dozens of warriors I brought to your aid,” the Tuatiu warrior says bitingly. She then smirks, adding, “Perhaps you’d prefer I had left some for you to handle?”

Achutli bursts out laughing, something of which I never thought he’d be capable. To hear it, especially amidst the scene around us, is… jarring. “I like this one!” He walks over to the Tuatiu warrior, chuckling the entire way. His amusement only deepens Anqatil’s scowl.

“What is your name, warrior?” he asks. Now he addresses her as ‘warrior’ and not ‘girl’ as he had just moments ago?

The warrior looks as equally wary as I am. “Inuxeq,” she responds with a tinge of caution. “From Iantana. I have been sent by the Tuatiu leader, Haluiqa, along with the council at Hilaqta.”

“You come highly entrusted by several entities, then,” Achutli remarks, clapping her on her shoulders in what I believe to be some strange show of affection. This entire moment feels surreal to me, how he can treat this relative stranger so warmly, but not his own daughter.

“Was Teqosa included in the decision?” Achutli asks, tilting his head slightly.

Inuxeq nods. “It was he and I who made our case to… inform the council of the Eye in the Flame’s threat upon the capital.”

Oddly, Achutli pauses for a moment — perhaps imperceptible to most, but something of which I take note — before saying, “I’m grateful to still have allies in Qantua.” This statement, and the polite smile he flashes after making it, is even more alarming to me.

“But what about the slain quraqas before her, Sapa,” Anqatil asserts, pointing to Onixem’s dead parents. “They have been struck by arrows, and this one,” she points accusatorially at Inuxeq, “possesses the likely weapon.” Now facing Inuxeq, she shouts, “Explain yourself, Tuatiu girl!”

“It was I who killed them, Sapa,” Onixem declares, stepping away from my side and approaching Anqatil. “They were my parents who massacred quraqas as we sought protection in the throne room, upon their many other misdeeds in service to the Eye in the Flame. They needed to be stopped, so I put an end to them, before they caused any more destruction.”

“You?” Anqatil says, perplexed, her words and gestures more exaggerated and pronounced than usual when in the presence of Achutli. “Killing your own parents? What evidence do you possess as proof? If anything, you could have killed them in the name of our enemy, attempting to claim innocence for such a heinous act!”

“I was witness to their treasonous acts,” I say as I force the nervous lump down my throat. “They were performing a ritual in the name of the Sunfire and their god, Eztletiqa. They were sorcerers, and–“

“We’re to believe you?” Anqatil says, now jabbing the air at me. “The one who’s to betray their own father? Is this some kind of sick joke?” She now turns to Achutli, “Sapa, surely you don’t believe this nonsense!”

Inuxeq steps forward. “They were, indeed, sorcerers for the Eye in the Flame. While I am not privy to the events inside the throne room, they were seeking to attack anyone they considered an enemy to the Eye in the Flame. It is also true that this one,” she points to Onixem, “was brave enough to stand up to her parents and stop their terrible acts by killing them.”

Achutli looks piercingly at Inuxeq, then at Onixem, eyes narrowed as though he’s trying to stare through them, trying to look into their spirit. Then, as if the gods or the Eleven or whomever suddenly strikes him with a conclusion, he snaps his head up and smiles. “If the one called Inuxeq declares it so, then it is so. There is no reason to doubt her claim.” When Anqatil goes to object, Achutli repeats himself with added emphasis, “There is no reason to doubt her claim.”

Anqatil appears incensed, not wanting to drop the matter. She scoffs, then shuffles to his side and mutters something inaudibly to him. Achutli, however, has already moved on, stepping away from us and walks toward the desecrated ceremonial courtyard where the nobility once festively gathered. Anqatil stands there, stunned, as he leaves her behind.

He doesn’t make it far before another stampede rumbles, gradually growing in intensity. Achutli stops and turns, investigating the disturbance along with the rest of us. Before I notice anything, the guards have their weapons drawn, pointed toward the demolished gates of the palace grounds. Achutli’s bemused face suddenly turns to scorn as he looks on to see who approaches

Marching between the remnants of the gate, two armies arrive in the courtyard. One wears the familiar black and gold, the colors of the Qantua warriors, looking bruised, beaten, and battle worn. These are the warriors who are led by Inuxeq and her Ulxa companion. Though, of note, the red and black of the Ulxa is nowhere to be found at present. My heart sinks, hoping he hasn’t been killed in battle, but fearing the worst for him.

The other army — a matter of great concern — is the arrival of the Qente Waila, their prominent jade green and magenta flamboyantly paraded among their numbers. Some hold magenta banners with a green hummingbird stitched into the middle, waving defiantly overhead. Weapons held at their sides, they exude an air of triumph, chins proudly raised and chests puffed out. I’m taken aback at the sight. These are rebels, seeking to depose Achutli, yet they stride into the palace grounds with such confidence, unafraid of any repercussions they could face?

One of the leaders is Texani, a face I haven’t seen since we began planning for preparations of the impending assault. He looks around, taking in the destruction of the palace, yet he doesn’t seem to notice Onixem nor me. Maybe he’s pretending not to know me, his lack of acknowledgement being an effort not to expose my intentions or mission with the Qente Waila — a mission that has been completely cast aside, now that there’s been an assault on Qapauma.

The palace guards begin to charge at the Qente Waila. Achutli calls out to them, demanding that his men stand down. Anqatil follows his command by instructing them to remain ready at the first sign of trouble, which seems to annoy Achutli. Does he find her to be overstepping?

“So, the rebels have decided to reveal themselves, have they?” Achutli shouts, his throaty voice raises to a high pitch, defying the commanding presence he seeks to exude. “The factions of Pachil are grateful you have decided to turn yourselves in, after your poor attempts to depose my rulership.”

A burly figure with broad shoulders standing beside Texani laughs heartily, setting off a ripple of laughter among the others, like stones cast into still water. “You seem to misunderstand the situation, Achutli,” the man says, his wide grin stretches across his boxy, square jaw. By not using his title, Achutli is visibly agitated. “We’ve spent the whole of the day defending this great city and your pathetic palace.”

“The palace that lay in ruins? That palace?” Achutli asks, pointing behind him at the crumbled remains of the structure. “Clearly, you were working in tandem with the Eye in the Flame to make sure Qapauma was destroyed!”

The burly man laughs once again. “Quite the imagination, Achutli. I’m not surprised to hear you say anything to save face, since your feeble efforts to defend your precious throne failed catastrophically. Did you forget there are civilians who live beyond the palace walls? The people you’re supposed to defend, yet left to be slaughtered by the Eye in the Flame? Fortunately for Qapauma, the Jade Hummingbird was at the ready, fighting for the people.”

The Qente Waila gathered at the courtyard lift their weapons and let out a fierce battle cry. The whoop is so loud that it causes the Tapeu warriors in the distance to stop their search around the palace grounds and look at what’s happening here. The Qantua warriors, meanwhile, look visibly uncomfortable, exchanging nervous glances with one another and uncertain what they should be doing, or whose side they should be on. They fought alongside the Jade Hummingbird, both parties defending the city valiantly. Yet they were brought here under the pretense that they were protecting it in the name of the Arbiter.

While Anqatil looks enraged, Achutli is unamused. “You don’t fight for the people; you only seek to destabilize Pachil. Your so-called rebellion only brings more chaos and suffering.”

Texani takes a step forward, thrusting his sword to emphasize his point. “When the historians at the Great Library of Hilaqta speak of this day, they will speak of the Qente Waila rescuing the land from tyranny — that of the Eye in the Flame, and that of you!”

“The only tyrants are the rebels seeking to depose the one stabilizing entity of this land,” Anqatil shouts in response.

Irritated, Inuxeq storms to the front, placing herself between the two combative sides. “This is madness,” she shouts, reprimanding the two groups. “There is a bigger threat that seeks to destroy all of Pachil. Unless one of you brainless stalks of maize defeated their leader — the one called ‘Sunfire’ — they will come back, and with more of those gray beasts. And if you idiots keep fighting amongst yourselves, we’ll all be dead before we even have a chance to defend our homes!”

Leaders from both sides take offense to Inuxeq’s harsh words. I feel the need to step in, to defend her position, before the two sides unify in their dislike of her and imprison her for contempt. But Achutli won’t listen to me, and I’m not confident the Qente Waila won’t consider me inconsequential.

The Jade Hummingbird and Achutli’s loyal defenders start up their spat once again. The accusations fly — each calling the other tyrannical, or a threat to Pachil, or corrupt, or naïve. They slowly come together, mere steps from one another. The Qente Waila intimidatingly thump their wooden shields with their weapons. The palace guards thrust their weapons in short jabs toward those in jade green. The Qantua stand back — wisely, I would say — watching the calamity unfold.

“You will lay down your arms and face justice, or be crushed under my heel like the cockroaches you are!” Achutli demands, glaring at the Qente Waila and pointing his bronze spear threateningly.

The rebels refuse, shouting back, “We will never bow down to a tyrant who harbors cultists!”

Achutli looks baffled by this accusation, and Anqatil scoffs, making a show of how utterly offended she is. “You accuse falsely,” Anqatil derides them, “just as everything that’s come out of your mouths has been lies.”

“Then what say you of Xaqilpa?” Texani yells over the discordant shouting. “Is he not a member of your council, oh wise and all-knowing Arbiter? Because he has been seen on countless occasions colluding with the Eye in the Flame! You have allowed those cultists to infiltrate your throne room! Did you not think us capable of discovering this information?” I hold my breath, hoping he doesn’t explain further how he came upon this news. Will he reveal his source? Am I to face swift repercussions?

To my relief, Texani says nothing more of this, asserting, “You are corrupt, Achutli, and you must step down, or prepare to be deposed!” The Qente Waila’s unified shouts of ‘corrupt! corrupt!’ ring throughout the courtyard. Tapeu warriors and palace guards begin shoving the rebels, who shove back in turn. A skirmish breaks out, as both sides use their shields to push their opponents to the ground. Inuxeq barely escapes, somehow appearing far from the clash and next to the Qantua warriors a safe distance away, much to my astonished relief.

“Enough!”

The yelled words reverberate over the din of the fighting. Aside from the stray, occasional shove, the Tapeu warriors and rebels stop abruptly. Their heads swivel from side to side to see who made such a loud pronouncement.

From the corner of the courtyard, Nuqasiq briskly approaches the gathering. Flanked by a slew of guards in orange and red, her face is a mask of pure rage. With just her gaze alone, I’m certain she would burn these petulant children to ash.

“Look what this conflict has wrought!” she remarks, commanding attention from all sides. “Our home lies in ruins, and our people suffer while we tear each other apart. Is this the Pachil we fought for? Is this the legacy we wish to leave for our children?”

“This infighting must end. We face threats that seek to destroy everything we hold dear. They do not care for your allegiances, your titles, or your lands. They will annihilate everything if we continue down this path of division. If their leader lives, the Eye in the Flame will return stronger than before. We cannot afford to be divided when the true enemy lurks in the shadows.”

She pauses, her gaze sweeps over the rebels and the loyalists, before continuing with a more deliberate tone. “In our moment of need, we must have a leader who can unite us, someone who understands the true essence of Pachil. We need a leader who can bring hope through wisdom and compassion.”

Nuqasiq now stares at Achutli. “If you are not fit to unite the people of Pachil, perhaps it is time for new leadership, indeed.” She now looks among all who are present. “But this decision must not come from violence and chaos. It must come from a shared vision for our future — a future where we stand together against the true darkness that threatens us.”

One of the Qente Waila leaders smirks. “Your words are honey, Queen Mother. You ask for unity, for mercy. Yet do you believe your son would offer such kindness upon those who see his corrupt ways for what they really are? How can we work alongside in unison with one who harbors the enemy within his court?”

“Your son only seeks to enrich the quraqas within his own circle,” Texani shouts, “while everyone else is left to starve, to work their hands to the bone only to support his corrupt ways–“

“Do you not think I don’t know this?” Nuqasiq states. There’s a pause, as we’re all too shocked by this to speak. Has she actually acknowledged, actually confessed, her own son’s corruption? Has she just expressed disappointment in her own son and made clear her desire to have him step down?

She continues, “It is because of this that I plead with him, with my son, to end his corrupt ways, and make amends with the people he’s sworn to serve by helping the Tapeu find a leader we all can stand behind. We must all work together, help each other, or else evil like the Eye in the Flame, like the Timuaq, will see us into extinction.”

There’s not a closed mouth in the entirety of the palace grounds. Stunned, we can only stand frozen in place. Achutli glares at his mother, astonished that she would cast her own son into the fires of chaos. His voice shaking from fury and vitriol, he spits out his words to her, “So you’re the ‘blood’ that betrays me! I always knew you did not want me to be Arbiter!”

Then, like a wave crashing into the shore, the Qente Waila resume the skirmish, shouting at Achutli, “You are the destroyer of Pachil! Your reign must end!”

I want it all to stop! I want the fighting to cease, and the sides to reconcile! But they’re engaged in battle, two sides that sought to protect Qapauma, now fighting one another. Over and over in my head, I repeat the words, Stop! Stop this insanity! Stop! Yet no one heeds my call.

I now plead aloud, “Stop! Stop this insanity!” I know I must possess the power to influence everyone here — I was able to stop Teqotlo and Aluxeqwel’s horrific sacrificial slaughtering in the throne room. Why is it not working? Then, doubt creeps into my mind. That was my doing… wasn’t it? I wonder to myself.

Something tugs at my arm. I look over, and Onixem has clasped my right arm.

Confused, I ask, “What are you doing?”

Onixem ignores me, calling to Texani and the Qente Waila leaders, “I have Haesan! She is the daughter of the Arbiter!” She begins pulling me toward them. Is she… apprehending me?

I ask — no, I demand an answer from Onixem, “What are you doing!” Once again, she doesn’t respond. I do my best to resist, dragging my feet and pulling away from her. I try to wrest my arm free, but she latches on, locking her arm around mine. She goes to grab me with her other hand, but I spin away, struggling to break free.

You don’t want to do this, I think, pleading inside my head for Onixem to stop whatever plan she thinks she’s enacting. I’m not the enemy! I’m trying to help!

For a brief moment, I feel as though I see doubt seep into Onixem’s mind. It reminds me of the moment in the throne room, when her parents were mercilessly killing the nobles for their dark purposes. Am I having an effect here, now?

I keep repeating the near mantra over and over in my head. I’m not your enemy, Onixem. I can help, but I can only do so if I’m free. You don’t want to do this.

I feel her grip on my arm loosen slightly. Whether this is my doing or the result of her own internal battle with guilt, I can’t be certain. All I know is, this is my chance. I yank my arm free, her hand now grasping at air. I go to run, but another pair of hands grabs my shoulders. It’s another member of the Qente Waila, her look is severe and resolute.

“I’ve got her, Sister Onixem,” she says. She’s siding with Onixem? “We can bring her to the leaders, see what they want to do with her. We can use her capture as a means for negotiating with Achutli.”

“Or with the Queen Mother, at least,” another one chimes in, joining this misguided plan.

“Don’t call her that!” the other one scolds. “That’s acknowledging their power!”

All the while, Onixem looks dazed, staring blankly at nothing. Is she confused as to what she should do? Is she conflicted about going through with this plan?

The two members of the Jade Hummingbird drag me away, toward the skirmish taking place in front of the ruined palace. A few shouts cry out above the muddled noises of fighting, sounding as though the rebels look to retreat, to regroup. I’m being yanked away from the palace now, and I can see we’re all confused about what’s happening. Where are they taking me? What’s going to happen to me? I thought I was part of the original plan, seeking to help them depose Achutli, but now I’m captive? Was this their intention all along?

In an instant, my vision goes black. The world is nothing but muffled sounds of yelling and a sharp ringing in my ears. I feel myself cringe at the noise, but… am I actually cringing? Am I still alive? Have I been knocked unconscious?

The scene suddenly reappears before my eyes. I gasp as though I’ve been holding my breath for an extended period underwater. Everything around me is blurry, and my eyes have to adjust to the brightness, even during the setting sun. The fighting sounds to be a ways in the distance, far from wherever we are. I can finally hear the breeze that brushes against my cheeks.

“I wasn’t sure that would work,” a woman’s voice says next to me, sounding a bit amused. She’s clutching my arm tightly, and we’re both walking toward a mass of bodies, standing at attention.

“Onixem?” I squeak out my question, trying to wrestle out of her grip. I look at the figure, squinting to see who’s apprehending me. The shade of green is difficult to distinguish, but when I notice her height is shorter than that of the Tapeu noble, I realize I’m no longer being held captive by the Qente Waila.

She snickers. “You want to go back to them? No, no. I could see they had ill intentions once it was announced that you’re the Arbiter’s daughter. It seemed to me it was best that we all got out of that mayhem. I ordered the warriors to the city’s north, to relocate and regroup. Figure out what on Pachil we’re to do now.”

We approach the awaiting Qantua army, standing in a field just outside the now mutilated city walls. They’ve begun collecting their belongings, preparing for a long march away from this desolated place. The waters of the Haqu Suquinoq gently wash upon the shore. A wind rustles the tall reeds as it sweeps the grassy dunes. The sun dips behind the mountains far in the west, coating everything in hues of blues and purples. The serene setting is nothing like what we experienced just moments earlier — or for the entire day, for that matter.

“So,” Inuxeq asks, now that I’ve finally caught my breath, “where do we go from here?”