106 — Walumaq

We stand rooted to the spot, our breath caught as the cold, unyielding stares of the Ulxa shaman and the Auilqa warriors pierce through us. The shaman points at us accusatorially, with the eyes of the turquoise serpent tattoo that wraps around his arm glinting malevolently. Though the shaman is Ulxa, his arrival flanked by Auilqa warriors sends a shiver of foreboding dread through me.

Tlexnín scowls. “You,” she practically spits the words at him. “Are you aligned with them? Those who have betrayed us when we are at our most vulnerable? Are you responsible for the captivity of our people?”

“The Auilqa seizure of Ulxa territory is only until you are deposed,” the shaman says cooly. “There have been whispers of your desire to cease Ulxa traditions and rituals. You have allowed a treacherous enemy to gain strength and nearly wipe out our people. It is evident that you have gone mad, and you must be stopped.”

“You would go against the Itztecatl?” Tlexnín asks, incensed. “I have been chosen! Do you not believe, then, that it is the will of the gods to seek out rituals and traditions that honors the gods and values human life?”

“The Itztecatl,” the shaman replies with a sigh. “Perhaps that is the tradition that needs to be changed.”

Tlexnín tries to storm up to the shaman, but is stopped by both the imposing presence of the Auilqa warriors and Atoyaqtli and Pomacha holding her back. It doesn’t, however, stop her from expressing her disdain for the person. “You dare to insult me by challenging my vision for a better, stronger Ulxa by questioning the rituals you claim to hold sacred?”

The shaman raises his voice slightly, growing impatient. “The rituals we have practiced for generations upon generations are what has curried favor from the gods, what has protected us from danger and kept the Ulxa strong and prosperous.”

“The same favor and protection that has led to our captivity?” Tlexnín snaps back. As one could imagine, this does not please the Auilqa warriors standing nearby, waiting for any excuse to strike the Ulxa leader. They snarl, taking another step or two closer to Tlexnín, though she does not relent as she glares at the shaman.

I feel Paxilche’s eyes boring into me. Saqatli’s, too. I know they watch me, anticipating my interjection, but I’m uncertain how to de-escalate the situation. This seems like a matter to be settled among the Ulxa, debating traditions and ceremonies that honor their ancestors and the gods while showing that human life should be valued, too. It doesn’t feel like it’s my place to interfere, yet I know, deep down, that leaving a resolution to be made between these two parties could bring less than desirable results.

Before the shaman can signal the Auilqa warriors to recapture Tlexnín, I take a measured step forward. “If I may,” I state. All parties involved — from Tlexnín to the shaman to the waiting Auilqa warriors — are not entirely receptive to a third party attempting to insert themselves into this conflict. But it is something I anticipated, and thus I am not deterred.

“I understand the grievances of both sides,” I say, alternating my glances between the shaman and Tlexnín. “For you, respected shaman, Tlexnín’s desire to change Ulxa traditions must feel like a betrayal of everything you and your people hold sacred. The rituals and ceremonies you uphold are the lifeblood of your culture, passed down through generations as a testament to your people’s resilience and devotion. To see these traditions questioned or altered is to feel your ancestors’ voices being silenced, which is a profound pain that I can only imagine.”

“And you, Tlexnín,” I continue, turning to the Ulxa leader, who is listening intently, “your desire to move away from practices you see as harmful is also rooted in a wish for a better future. You envision a path where the Ulxa can thrive without the necessity of rituals that may no longer serve the people. You seek progress and enlightenment, hoping to guide your people towards a future where they are no longer bound by what you see as outdated customs.”

Tlexnín’s expression softens slightly, and her posture becomes less confrontational as she relaxes her shoulders. I pause and carefully choose my next words. Taking another step forward, I make sure to sincerely address the two sides.

“We must find a way to honor both the past and the future. There is wisdom in tradition and in evolution. These are difficult waters we navigate, where respect for our heritage must meet the necessity of change. If we allow ourselves to be torn apart by these differences, we will only pave the way for our enemies to exploit our divisions.”

I look around at the assembled warriors and leaders, maintaining my compassionate gaze. “Both of you are fighting for the heart and spirit of your people, for the preservation of your identity and the promise of a future. But this division weakens you, making it easier for external threats like the Eye in the Flame to exploit and conquer. They thrive on discord and the fractures between us. Have we not learned from battling the Timuaq? If we remain fractured, we will fall. But if we unite, respecting both traditions and the need to adapt, we can stand strong. Let us not allow our differences to weaken us. Instead, let us forge a new path together, one that honors the ancestors while embracing the future.”

The shaman’s eyes narrow. “Words are easy, Sanqo. What do you know of our pain, our struggles? Our gods demand respect, and Tlexnín seeks to strip that away.”

I nod. “I may not know your specific struggles, but I do know that the Eye in the Flame is a threat to all of us. They have ravaged our lands, manipulated our people, and now seek to control us all. The attack on Analoixan was just one part of their plan to sow discord and division among us. Witnessing the devastation they have brought to your people only proves the urgency defeating them, to ensure my people, and all people of Sanqo, are safe.”

Skepticism etches every line of the shaman’s face. “You speak of unity, but how do we know you truly understand our plight and are not just another outsider looking to impose your will?”

I meet his eyes, my gaze unwavering. “I understand your doubt. Words are fragile threads, easily broken. To ensure the safety of Tlexnín and that of all people of Pachil, I am willing to prove my commitment to diplomacy and unity with actions, not just words.”

The shaman steps forward, and his weathered hand points to the mountain that looms over the horizon, its peak shrouded in the distant swirling mist. “If you are sincere and truly seek to unite us, you must prove it. Undertake a trial, one that honors our traditions and demonstrates your commitment. You will face the Tepeyōllotl. Scale the mountain, and light the signal fire at its peak. Only then will we believe your words hold weight. Complete it, and we will grant Tlexnín temporary freedom to discuss terms.”

“No!” Paxilche’s voice rings out, sharp and immediate. “This is madness! She has nothing to prove to you!”

Though silent, Tlexnín shakes her head, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “This is unnecessary. The goddess called Walumaq has already proven herself — “

I raise a hand to quiet them, my gaze locked with that of the shaman. “If this is what it takes to show my commitment, then so be it. I accept your challenge. I will undertake the Tepeyōllotl and light the signal fire. Through this trial, we will bridge our differences and stand united against the true enemy.”

The gathered Auilqa warriors murmur among themselves, uncertain and concerned. The shaman, meanwhile, nods. His expression remains hard, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — respect, perhaps, or maybe curiosity. “Very well,” he says. “Prepare yourself, Sanqo.”

The Ulxa landscape is a perplexing wonder, seemingly changing from one step to the next. When we first arrived to the territory, we traversed a tropical rainforest. This eventually gave way to a more disparate landscape, an abrupt difference to our first moments in their lands. Now, we once again move through dense jungle, as the hot and humid air sticks to my skin.

The morning light filters through the thick leaves above, casting scattered patches of brightness on the ground. Each step is a challenge, with the ground containing a mix of mud and twisted roots that threaten to reach up and trip us. The smell of damp foliage and decay mixes with the sharp scent of sweat. Ahead, the imposing figure of a massive mountain rises as we draw closer, watching our progress.

“You do not have to do this, goddess,” Tlexnín informs me. “We can find another solution to this situation. You do not need to interfere with the petty squabbles of the Ulxa.”

I rest a hand on her shoulder, much to the chagrin of the frowning Auilqa warriors standing guard around her. “We weren’t exactly given much of a choice, once we were caught in the act of helping you escape. It seemed like an apt distraction at the time. But I’ve endured trials before, and I will prove myself once more.”

“The Ulxa leader is right, you know,” Paxilche now chimes in. “This is ludicrous.

“I would rather choose diplomacy over war,” I assert, growing more and more impatient with Paxilche’s warmongering ways. Where has the reluctant man gone, the one who wanted nothing but a quiet, peaceful life in the shadow of his brother, the Tempered?

“What’s to say they won’t go back on their word the moment you complete this trial?” Paxilche questions. This is a fair point, one that I’ve been considering during our trek to the base of this lone mountain in the middle of the Ulxa hillside. The Auilqa have betrayed us before, and there isn’t anything stopping them from doing so once again.

“I believe in showing strength through unity and diplomacy,” I declare flatly. “If we want to forge a new path, one where the factions can coexist and thrive, we must be willing to take risks. If we let fear dictate our actions, we will be no better than the ones who seek to divide and conquer us.”

There’s a doubt and disbelief in Paxilche’s eyes. “Diplomacy will mean nothing if we’re all dead or enslaved.”

I study the mountain that seems to beckon me to it. “War only leads to more suffering. The path we are on is fraught with dangers, but it is also one that can best lead to lasting peace.”

Paxilche clenches his fists, looking away with a frown. “I hope you’re right, Walumaq. But if they betray you, if they betray us, I will not hesitate to make them pay.”

I look back at Paxilche. “If the Auilqa go back on their word, then we will face that challenge when it comes. But for now, I must show them that we are sincere in our desire for peace and cooperation. I must show them that we are allies.”

When we arrive at the base of the mountain, the Ulxa shaman gathers us together ceremoniously. Tlexnín stands proudly by his side, planting her weapon firmly into the ground and staring straight ahead at our group. I find this act remarkable; considering their harsh disagreement earlier that nearly came to violence, their ability to honor this ritual despite their differences speaks of the value the Ulxa place in these ancient traditions.

To their credit, the Auilqa warriors show their respect for the proceedings, solemnly bowing their heads and holding their weapons down low, rather than at the ready. The Sanqo warriors, Saqatli, and Pomaqli follow next, awkwardly standing in a way to express their compliance, though uncertain where to position themselves or what to do. It’s Paxilche’s demeanor that infuriates me, folding his arms and scowling at the two Ulxa distrustingly as though he’s eager to pick a fight. I’m about to scold him for his immaturity when the shaman makes a pronouncement.

“The Tepeyōllotl is a sacred trial that tests one’s endurance, courage, and reverence for our gods and the spirits of the land. Created by Wiqamasqa at the dawn of Pachil, this ancient ritual has been conducted by our people since time immemorial. It signifies the final measure of an initiate, proving they are ready to defend Ulxa and join the ranks of our honored warriors.”

Lifting his hands and staff toward the sky, he looks up and shouts, “Though this ritual is meant for the Ulxa, today we open this sacred trial to an outsider for the first time in Ulxa history. May Wiqamasqa and Iolatl witness our act of goodwill and grant us Their blessing on this day. If the spirits of our ancestors deem the Sanqo princess worthy, may they look upon her with favor and guide her steps to the summit.”

If not for the shaman pointing out a narrow gap made from cut down trees, I would never have seen the path that is shrouded by the thick vegetation. Other than the clothes on my back and the amulets around my neck, I’m given no tools, no supplies, as I’m sent off to scale the mountain. I must endure all this mountain subjects me to, braving its untamed wilderness, fierce elements, and unseen dangers.

Saqatli and Noch look on nervously, as the boy clutches his ocelot companion closely to console him. Pomaqli and the Sanqo warriors watch me with curiosity, wondering if I will actually go through with such a trial. So, too, does Tlexnín, stunned to see an outsider partake in the traditions of her people. Yet there’s a sense of pride exuding from them all, watching a princess, someone who has spent the majority of her life in the comfort of noble confines, undertake such a challenge.

Paxilche glowers, refusing to make eye contact with anyone present. I understand why he may view this as unnecessary, as some meaningless, fruitless endeavor. The Auilqa have given us no indication that they can be trusted, and the Ulxa will be interlocked in an internal quarrel of which we need not be a part. But neither side wants to see the complete destruction of Pachil, to see every faction kneel before the Eye in the Flame. They are the true enemy, the ones we should be fighting. So if my actions today bring us one step closer to unity, I cannot believe this is all for nothing, as he does.

If I can find any amusement or enjoyment at all in my journey, it’s that the beginning of this trial is surprisingly peaceful. The jungle around the mountain is pleasingly serene, as I’m serenaded by the multitude of birds that fly high from branch to branch, from tree to tree. Though hot and sticky, the air is sweet, smelling of the lush vegetation that surrounds me. While deep down I understand that there are treacheries abound that await me, I appreciate this quiet, calm moment — something that is all too rare since my departure from Sanqo.

As I begin my ascent, the world grows quiet around me. The only sounds are the crunch of my footsteps on the rocky path and the whisper of the wind. For the first time in a long while, I find myself alone with my thoughts.

My mind drifts to my family back home in Sanqo. I think of my father, the stoic leader who always believed in me, even when I doubted myself. I remember my mother’s gentle strength, a quiet but powerful force that guided me through the toughest times.

I recall the Sanqo warriors who have stood by my side through every trial. Loyal, brave, and unwavering, they have been my constant companions on this journey. So, too, have I found comfort in Saqatli, Noch, and Pomaqli. Though there have been moments that have tested our collective resolve, their faith in me has been a source of strength, pushing me to persevere even when the odds seemed insurmountable.

A small smile touches my lips as I think of our camaraderie, the shared laughter, and the unspoken bond that ties us together. They are more than warriors — they are my family, my tribe. Their support means everything to me, and I am determined not to let them down.

After a while, my delightful stroll up a gradual incline through the rainforest becomes immediately perilous. The vegetation begins to tighten around me like a noose, closing in tighter and tighter as a dense thicket of thorny vines claw at my clothes. I struggle to get free, as my tunic snags on the branches. I try to shield my face, but the thorns mercilessly scratch my arms.

I fail to find a way out. I’m surrounded by the thick vines that wrap around my feet. The sharp thorns dig into my ankles each time I tug to break loose. They refuse to let me go, trying to hold me in place. My tunic tears as I move, and each pivot of my head is met with more prickles that slash my cheeks.

My amulet catches one of the vines, and my neck is stuck in place. I’m caught, unable to move. It’s as though the vines seek to strangle me, pulling the necklace tight around my throat. My breaths become panicked gasps. I can’t breathe. Each move I make seems to bind me tighter and tighter. Blood trickles down from my forehead into my eyes. The bird calls are mocking laughter. I must find a way out. Soon.

My hand clasps my amulet. Then, my mind clasps an idea. If there is enough humidity here, perhaps I can create some kind of barrier. Perhaps I can collect enough moisture to slip free of these vines. Perhaps I can escape.

I concentrate on the environment around me. My fingers tingle as I feel myself connecting to the small droplets of water entrapped within this jungle. My skin cools as my sweat mingles with the humidity. Vapor swirls around my body, and I feel the grip of the vines loosening. I take one step forward, and my foot slides through the thicket. I take another step. Then, another. The dense growth begins to concede, the moisture softens the thorns, and I’m able to slip through the thick vegetation, finally free.

I breathe a sigh of relief, the cool air filling my chest. Looking back, I see nothing but a blanket of verdant green. Is that where I came from? How will I get back? Must I endure this to return to the group? A pit starts to form in my stomach, but I shake it off, determined to focus on this later and carry on with the trial. There’s no turning back now.

The sound of rushing water disrupts my concentration as I travel over the increasingly rocky terrain. It grows louder as I near what I soon find is a river cutting through the landscape. Through the trees, I barely see the melting ice caps above at the mountain’s peak, which appears to feed this large stream. The currents of the clear water are swift and powerful, creating a white foam as they crash against the rocks.

Searching the area, the way up the mountain is more manageable if I can cross this river. The side I’m on rises sharply, and the face of the cliff is smooth with minimal places to put my hands and climb up. There’s a danger in crossing it, though, as the width and chaotic currents pose an equally difficult challenge.

I attempt to calm myself and focus my mind. However, the sound of the water is deafening, making it hard to hear myself think. Nevertheless, I draw my attention to the water. I extend a hand, channeling my abilities to manipulate it, and aiming to settle the turbulent currents for a safe passage across.

The water responds to my command. Bit by bit, it starts to rise and form a path, making footholds for me to step on and cross. It’s not what I expected, acting as if the water has a mind of its own, but it will do. I inspect the platform, making sure it’s stable. When I determine it’s safe, I cautiously place my foot onto it. The water quickly resists, sinking as the river starts to split and drift away in various directions.

I cast my hand out again, concentrating more and harder this time. Something is fighting me, I feel it. Something senses me, viewing my efforts as an intrusion. I look around, yet nothing comes into sight. I clench my jaw, my other hand gripping the amulets’ gemstones, and I impose my will onto the water. The steps emerge, this time holding steady, enticing me to walk upon them.

Still leery, I step onto the newly formed path. Then, the doubts and fears whisper into my mind. It’s the voices of my father and brother once again, reminding me of the burden I carry by taking on this challenge, and telling me that I will fail.

Do you think you can lead, little sister? You, who always followed?

Every mistake you make tarnishes not just your name, but our people’s legacy, Walumaq.

Those voices again. Making me question myself. Causing doubt to seep into my thoughts. Why have they chosen my father and brother? I can’t give in. I refuse to allow them to take ahold of me.

You are the Princess of Sanqo. Failure is a luxury you cannot afford.

Look at you, playing the hero. When will you learn? Heroes are just martyrs in disguise.

I am fighting for truth. For unity. For the good of the people of Pachil. I will not give in. I will persevere.

With each step, the path solidifies. The water embraces my feet, guiding them across. I go to place my next foot, and the water rises to meet it. The voices slowly begin to fade. The river’s current flows violently beneath me, cold water splashing around me, but I’m unperturbed. I move steadily, finding my confidence growing with every stride.

The water slowly lowers me to the other side of the river. My feet squish along the muddy bank. But I’ve made it! I’ve reached the other side! The water carries on, flowing down toward the sea. I can’t help but grin, knowing I’ve made it past one more challenge.

My eyes seek out the remainder of the mountain, looking ahead to see what more awaits me. The sun has begun its descent, slowly arcing back down toward the ground. The rocky surface is tinged with gold, and the snowy peaks glisten in the sunlight. At one point, it was difficult to breath due to the dense humidity, but now I struggle with the thin air and drastic change in altitude.

I take a deep breath and start the climb. The first few steps are easy enough, with a gentle incline of packed dirt and stone. But I’ve witnessed the mountain’s deceptive nature before, and soon, the path narrows and steepens, with barely a ledge carved into the steep slope.

I grip the cold, jagged rocks with trembling fingers. Each placement of my feet sends a jolt of pain through my calves. The sacred mountain silently judges my every move. Every gust of wind threatens to send me plummeting into the abyss below. I can’t afford to slip. Not now. Not after all I’ve overcome.

Loose rocks skitter away beneath my boots, the sound echoing among the howling winds. My breath comes in ragged gasps, and each inhale struggles with the thin, biting air. A fierce burst of wind whips past, nearly knocking me off balance. I reach out instinctively, my fingers brushing against the rough surface of the rock. Yet the grip is not there, and I begin to stumble down the face of the mountain. Somehow, I’m able to cling to a sharp rock, scraping my hands and knees as I barely manage to hang on. My heart pounds, and I wait for the wind to die down and catch my breath.

As I pause, I press my forehead against the cold stone. Continuing to climb this mountain will be impossible without any sturdy handholds. My eyes sweep the area, searching for any indentions or crevasses in the surface, but none appear. How am I going to scale this icy mountain?

The idea comes to be in a flash. It’ll be risky, but what part of this trial hasn’t been? I close my eyes and concentrate once more. I reach out, feeling the cool, familiar currents of water around me. Water condenses from the air, pooling around my hand and solidifying into a slick, icy handhold. I grasp it and haul myself upward, straining my muscles to pull me along the unstable, makeshift route.

The climb is relentless. My fingers are numb, hardly able to grip any of the handholds, but I push on. I repeat the process, creating a path where there was none, exerting myself as I continue to scale the mountain. The path narrows even further, barely enough room for my toes. I flatten myself against the rock, my breath shallow, and edge forward. My foot slips, sending a shower of pebbles and ice down the mountainside, and I catch myself just in time. My heart races, fear clawing at my insides, but I force myself to move. One step at a time. One handhold at a time.

The summit is close, so close I can almost touch it. But the path is unforgiving, forcing me to climb over boulders, pull myself up sheer faces of rock, and squeeze through narrow crevices. My hands are raw, my fingers bleeding, but I don’t stop. I reach another smooth section, and again, I call on my power, creating handholds where there were none.

The final stretch looms before me: a daunting, near-vertical ascent up a wall of loose stones and treacherous gravel. My fingers scrabbling for purchase on the unstable surface. Every successful clutch of a handhold feels victorious, but the stones shift treacherously under my weight, threatening to send me plummeting back to the abyss below. There’s no time to relax and celebrate.

My mind is a fog of fatigue as the biting cold gnaws at me. But I force myself to focus, to find the next precarious grip. Sweat mingles with the frost on my skin, as each breath becomes a cloud of vapor in the frigid air.

My fingers brush against a ledge, and I grip it tightly. My knuckles turn as white as the surrounding ice with the effort. The chilling winds howl around me, relentlessly sapping all of my strength. I slowly pull myself upward, my feet searching for any semblance of support.

As I near the summit, my vision blurs. The world is reduced to a narrow tunnel. My hand finally grasps the edge of the summit, fingers digging into the icy rock. With a final, monumental effort, I heave myself over the edge, muscles trembling with the strain.

I collapse onto the flat, icy surface. My chest heaves with ragged breaths. My bones are numb from the cold, yet my limbs burn from exhaustion. For a moment, I just lie there, staring up at the vast expanse of sky. The stars above gradually appear, distant and indifferent.

But I’m rejuvenated and overcome with emotion as I see the tall pyre standing before me, unlit. With my legs shaking, I drag myself to my feet and make my way to it. It’s a simple structure of wood and kindling, but to me, in this moment, it’s one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever laid eyes upon.

I fall to my knees beside the pyre. The flint lies nearby, partially obscured by a thin layer of frost. My fingers, clumsy and numb from the cold, fumble as I reach for it. I rub my hands together, trying to coax some warmth back into them. But the chill bites deep, making even the simplest movement require tremendous effort.

I grasp the flint, feeling its frozen surface against my raw skin. I try to wipe away the ice caked onto it, but my fingers are stiff, uncooperative. Frustration wells up inside me, a desperate fear that I might fail at this final hurdle. I close my eyes for a moment, willing myself to stay calm.

I strike the flint against the steel. Sparks fly, but the kindling remains stubbornly unlit. The ice seems to mock my efforts. Again and again, I try, my hands shaking more with each failed attempt.

On the fifth, maybe the sixth, or maybe the seventh try, a spark finally catches. It’s small at first, a fragile flicker, but I nurture it, shielding it from the wind with my body. Slowly, painstakingly, the flame grows, licking at the edges of the kindling. The moment stretches, each heartbeat an eternity as I watch, barely daring to breathe.

Then, with a sudden rush, the pyre roars to life. The fire bursts upward, bright and fierce against the cold. I stagger back, staring up at the flames, my heart pounding with a mix of exhaustion and elation. I stand there, feeling the warmth on my face as I watch the flames leap and dance, smoke rising to the sky. For what feels like the first time, I feel a sense of accomplishment. I’ve done it. I’ve reached the summit. The wind howls around me, but I stand firm, my head held high. I am strong. I am worthy.