112 — Teqosa

Síqalat and I throw our hands up as the Auilqa warriors close in, their weapons leveled at our chests. Their shouts blend into a discordant swirl of unintelligible commands. We’re met with countless snarling faces and burning eyes. The skies begin to darken, as black, ominous clouds slowly creep above us. The warriors jab their spears through the air dangerously close to our faces.

“Okay, okay,” Síqalat says, sounding annoyed. Two of the warriors apprehend her, grabbing her arms and flinging her inland. She puts up minimal resistance, shrugging off their efforts to contain her, and walks toward the warrior with the largest headdress.

I follow close behind, watching the glowering figure before us. His square jaw is lined with the bones of his headdress, covered at the crown in a colorful plumage of red, turquoise, and yellow feathers. His green eyes are shrouded by the elaborate embellishments, but his unwelcome demeanor is unmistakable.

After a series of grunts and vitriolic-sounding sneers, Síqalat translates the man’s words for me. “The leader accuses us of desecrating their sacred place. He says that no outsider is permitted to enter the Tomb of Inqil, and that we are to face a punishment of death for trespassing.”

“That’s preposterous!” I exclaim. This action angers the warriors, who brandish their spears closer to my face. Then, through gnashed teeth, I ask her, “Could you tell them to stand down, before I escalate matters? Please?”

With her hands still raised, she shouts something to the leader, who doesn’t take kindly to her words. Her stance remains defiant, chest puffed out and chin held high while never breaking eye contact with him. After a brief exchange, the man grumbles and ultimately waves away the warriors, allowing me to finally breathe a little easier.

“Tell him,” I say to Síqalat, “that we respect the sacred tomb and only entered to seek answers to allow us to protect all factions of Pachil, the Auilqa included.” I expect he won’t initially appreciate this response, and I will have to continue pleading our case.

She relays this message, which is met with much fury and disgust — as I anticipated. I don’t need to know what he said to understand he still finds our actions abhorrent. Thus, before Síqalat can translate, I continue with my explanation.

“I have been guided by members of the Eleven to discover how we can unite our people against a common enemy. This journey is not one we undertook lightly. We sought the wisdom and strength that only the ancient spirits can provide, to safeguard Pachil from the threats that seek to destroy us all.” Síqalat looks at me skeptically, but with a nod, I encourage her to speak to him.

This elicits a hearty laugh from the man after she repeats my words. When the leader responds, she winces as though his remarks wound her. She turns around to inform me of what he says, but once again, I don’t need to know that he still speaks to us derisively.

“I understand your skepticism,” I say, taking a step forward despite the hostile stares of his warriors. “We understand the sanctity of your traditions and the reverence you hold for this place. Our intent was never to desecrate, but to honor and seek guidance.”

I pause, watching his expression for any sign of softening. There is none. “Please, allow us to explain further,” I urge. “Take us to your elders, to those who can understand the significance of our mission. Let us prove our sincerity and our respect for your ways.”

The leader’s eyes narrow, and his grip on his weapon tightens. It’s clear he remains unconvinced. I can see it in his eyes, the distrust. I know this is not enough, but I hope it’s enough to prevent immediate violence.

Síqalat conveys my words with urgency, and I hold my breath, waiting for the leader’s response. He snaps a command to his warriors, who swiftly move to apprehend us. I comply, unwilling to provoke any further conflict. As the warriors attempt to confiscate the gifts bestowed upon us by Inqil — my glaive and Síqalat’s compass — I hear yelps in anguish. Turning to look at the disruption, the warriors wince and hold their hands as though they were severely burned by touching the items. Could there be a blessing cast upon them? The leader angrily yells a command at us, demanding we retrieve our items. Síqalat chuckles, and when I ask what is amusing about this situation, she states that the leader believes our items are cursed by some evil sorcery.

“We are so doomed,” she laughs uncomfortably. “Not only are we outsiders, but now we’re evil sorcerers.”

As we are being bound, I quickly explain through Síqalat that Upachu, our companion, as well as the llama and our cart of supplies, are on the other side of the lagoon. The leader hesitates, suspicion etched into his features, especially after the debacle with the magical items. But after a tense moment of deliberation, he begrudgingly orders a few of his warriors to escort us back to retrieve our belongings. They eye us warily, ready to strike at any sign of treachery.

“What on Pachil is happening?” Upachu shouts, noting the Auilqa water crafts ferrying us to and from the tomb. “What do the Auilqa want with us?”

I sigh. “It’s as you would imagine: they think we, as outsiders, have desecrated their sacred tomb by entering it. I managed to convince them to allow us to speak to their elders.”

“Well, this is preposterous,” he scoffs. I’m too exhausted from the perils of the pyramid to exert anything more than a shrug.

The jungles are dense, and the humidity suffocating. At great pace, we’re escorted into parts unknown, onward toward a mysterious destination. Occasional booms of thunder rumble, and the wind begins to pick up intensity. We walk in silence — the warriors focusing on the path ahead while us three outsiders are too nervous to speak. Will they lead us to their elders? Or are we being marched to our deaths in some secluded area of the rainforest?

After walking for nearly an entire day, we eventually arrive upon a small village that is built in a way I have never before seen. Above me, sprawling treehouses twist and coil around ancient trunks, their wooden bridges that connect one structure to the next, swaying from the swirling wind. The buildings are both chaotic and harmonious, constructed of jagged timber that seamlessly blends in with the verdant growth of the village’s surroundings.

As we move further in, I see villagers going about their day — children darting across the rope bridges with effortless agility, despite the strong winds, while adults diligently tend to chores. The wooden walkways creak underfoot, the sound blending with the murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

I try to focus on these details, but apprehension lingers. Every sound, every movement makes me flinch. My captors’ grips tighten slightly as we approach a central clearing. I don’t know if they’ll let us plead our case to the elders, or if this walk through their hidden world is my last.

Our captors coax us to march up toward a large treehouse in the middle of the village. Upachu protests, not wanting to leave the llama and cart behind. The Auilqa are uneasy about this, suspicious about splitting up the three of us in any way. Yet, after Síqalat speaks to them for a length of time, she manages to convince them to allow Upachu to tend to the llama. Escorted by two younger warriors, he leads the animal and the cart in tow to a patch of grass, upon which the creature casually grazes, as though we’re not at all involved in a tense, dangerous situation.

The rest of us scale a long, wooden platform that winds around the base of a thick tree, leading up to a structure painted in various hues of blue, pink, and yellow. There are no walls to this place, only a round roof made from pointed planks of wood to shield the area from the elements. It’s a peculiar place, made from a peculiar people, something to the likes of which I’ve never witnessed.

Around the tree are three elderly men, sitting cross-legged with heads bowed — are they praying? With eyes closed, they don’t appear to awaken or notice our approach, despite our heavy footsteps, trembling thunder, and the creaking of the wooden platform. Each has their faces and wrinkled, withered bodies painted, individually colored entirely in yellow, blue, and pink, like the colors on the structure. Other than simple loin cloths, the three men wear no other clothing, and no other symbols of their significance among the tribe. It’s a tremendous contrast to the warrior who apprehended us, with all the regalia and the elaborate headdress.

The three elders rouse from their hazy stupor after the leader shouts some kind of announcement to them. Too distracted by the scene and our surroundings, Síqalat doesn’t translate what’s said, as she gazes around our location. The three men look wearily upon us, slowly piecing together what’s taking place.

Once they turn to face us, Síqalat begins to speak. The three men look stunned that an outsider is speaking their language, exchanging glances with one another to make sure the others are witnessing the same event. To her credit, Síqalat doesn’t make a remark regarding this, carrying on with confidence — a trait the Auilqa appear to strongly admire and respect.

Not long into her speech, however, Síqalat is interrupted by the leader who apprehended us. He speaks loudly over her, drowning out her words with boorish behavior. Some of the warriors standing by look put off by this, as though this is something they frequently deal with and are displeased by his coarseness. At this, Síqalat remains standing tall, though the tone of her voice turns to one of pleading. This doesn’t appear to be going well at all.

One of the elders — the one painted pink — begins to speak with a weathered, strained voice, as though his throat has not spoken in ages. The one in blue seems to agree, nodding solemnly. I’ve had enough by now. I need to know what’s going on, so that I may react and respond to it.

I touch Síqalat’s shoulder and inquire about what’s happening. She sighs. “I repeated what you said about us seeking answers inside the tomb, but then this rotten maize husk of a leader goes on about us desecrating the sacred tomb again. It appears the elders agree, that outsiders don’t belong there, and that we’ve committed a terrible act. I don’t know what else to say, Teqosa. I don’t think they’re going to believe us about being led by dead members of the Eleven and whatever elaborate explanation we come up with. I’m at a total loss.”

I glance at Síqalat, seeing the strain in her eyes. She’s done all she can, but now it falls to me. I need to find the words that will bridge this chasm between us. But what can I say to make them understand? How can I make them see that our actions were driven by a profound respect for their customs, rather than a desire to defile them?

Then it comes to me — an understanding that a heartfelt plea for empathy might. The Auilqa are a proud people, deeply rooted in their traditions and beliefs. They value strength and resilience, but they also hold their ancestors and their wisdom in the highest regard. If I can connect with that, show them the sincerity of our quest and the reverence we hold for their ancient spirits, perhaps we stand a chance.

I step forward, meeting the gaze of each elder. “Honorable elders,” I begin. “We did not take this journey lightly, nor did we seek to desecrate your sacred grounds. We came seeking guidance, driven by a deep respect for the wisdom of the ancients. We know that the tombs of the Eleven are places of great power, and we approached with the humility and reverence such places deserve.”

I pause, searching their faces for any sign of softening. The leader who apprehended us sneers, but I press on. “The world is in turmoil,” I continue, “and dark forces are rising that threaten us all. They seek to plunge our lands into chaos and suffering. We have seen the devastation they bring, and we cannot stand idly by while Pachil falls into darkness. That is why we sought the knowledge that only the ancestors of the Auilqa could provide, with their renowned capabilities that can help us defeat this evil.”

One of the elders, the one in blue, shifts slightly, his eyes narrowing. Is he listening? “In our quest, we have been guided by the spirits of the Eleven,” I say, and I see some eyebrows raise. “They led us to your tomb, not to defile it, but to seek the strength and wisdom needed to unite our people against this common enemy. It is only through unity that we can hope to stand against such a threat.”

I take another breath, feeling a glimmer of hope as I follow Síqalat’s example, standing tall and proud while I speak. “I understand that our presence here is an affront to your traditions. For that, I apologize deeply. But know that our actions were born of desperation and a desire to protect all the factions of Pachil, including the Auilqa.”

The elder painted in yellow leans forward slightly. His eyes are sharp, assessing. “And what proof do you have of this guidance?” he asks, his voice measured. He speaks Merchant’s Tongue?

I shake off the disbelief and focus on the matter at hand, nodding to Síqalat, who produces the items we received from Inqil. “These were given to us by Inqil herself,” I declare. “These items are sacred, bestowed upon us to aid in our quest. They are a testament to our sincerity and the truth of our words.”

The elders exchange glances, and I can see the wheels turning in their minds. The leader opens his mouth to speak, extending his hands out as if to warn them about the items’ embodiment of evil, but the elder in yellow holds up a hand to silence him. “You speak with conviction,” the elder in yellow says contemplatively. “And the items you present are indeed of great significance, items that could only be crafted by and for the gods.”

He looks at the other elders, who nod in agreement. “We will consider your words and the evidence you have provided. For now, you will remain under our watch until we have reached a decision. But know this: your fate, and perhaps the fate of Pachil, rests on the truth of your claims.”

We’re led back to Upachu, and then temporarily confined to the empty clearing by the large treehouse. We’re surrounded by dozens of warriors under the intense sun. Síqalat finds the overabundance of security amusing, but with their spears pointed at us as the fierce look in their eyes, I fail to find humor in our situation.

After explaining the exchange with the elders, the three of us remain in silence. Rain begins lightly pelting us while we wait, tapping the leaves and dotting the ground. Upachu paces the limited space, his face etched with worry. Síqalat sits cross-legged, her brow furrowed in deep thought. I occasionally glance up at the treehouse, as if my stares will hurry up the elder’s decision.

Upachu finally breaks the silence. “What do you think they’ll decide?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

I shrug, trying to mask my own anxiety. “I don’t know. We’ve presented our case as best we could. Now, it’s in their hands.”

Upachu stops pacing and looks at me intently. “And what if they decide we’re a threat?”

“We have to be prepared for that possibility,” I admit. “But we also have to trust that our intentions will shine through.”

Síqalat nods slowly, her expression softening slightly. “I hope you’re right, Teqosa. I really do.”

The sky darkens further, clouds roiling with a near sentient anger. Rain falls in heavy sheets. Without warning, a jagged flash of lightning splits the sky, illuminating the village in a harsh, white light. The accompanying thunderclap is a roar of fury, shaking the very ground we stand on.

A massive bolt strikes a tree at the edge of the village, igniting it instantly. Flames leap up, hungrily consuming the dry wood and underbrush. Fueled by the storm’s winds, the fire spreads rapidly. Villagers scream, scrambling to douse the flames. A thick smoke moves through the village like a stalking predator, and the air fills with the smell of burning wood.

The fire spreads with a relentless hunger, leaping from one structure to the next. Fueled by the wind and the dry, wooden huts, the flames crackle and roar. I can feel the heat even from a distance, and I watch as the orange beast devours everything in its path. I exchange knowing glances at Síqalat and Upachu; we all understand there’s no time to lose. We need order. We need a plan.

I grab the nearest villager by the shoulders, his eyes wide with fear. “We need to form a bucket brigade, now! Spread the word!”

At first, the villager looks at me, confused. Right, he doesn’t speak Merchant’s Tongue, I suddenly realize. Albeit clumsily, I do my best to gesture for water and dousing the flames. He nods, his fear momentarily replaced by determination, and he begins to relay my instructions to the others. I spot Upachu and call out to him, “Use the llama and cart to bring water! There must be buckets or pots around here so you can transport to a river or spring to collect water!” He nods, then guides the llama as he searches for a source of water.

The storm’s rain is heavy, but it’s not enough to quench the voracious flames. We need every drop of water we can muster. Síqalat is already moving, herding villagers into a rough line, instructing them on how to pass the buckets quickly and efficiently. I join the line, my muscles straining with each handoff as they are filled and passed along. The heat is oppressive, the smoke choking, but there’s no time to think about discomfort.

The heat is suffocating, and the air is thick with smoke. I can barely see through the haze, but the desperate cries of the villagers cut through the chaos. I’m drawn to the yells of anguish, as if someone is in need of help. My eyes eventually lock onto a mother and her young child, trapped within the burning confines of their home. Their panicked faces are covered with soot and dirt, searching for any way out.

“Get back!” I shout, but the words are swallowed by the deafening roar of the fire. I reach the hut just as the beam gives way and collapses. My hands shoot up, catching the heavy wood before it can crush the helpless pair. The weight is immense, and I struggle to hold the beam. But my eyes catch a pulsating glow at my chest. Looking down slightly, I notice the turquoise stone emitting an ethereal light, and an overwhelming power courses through me. The energy feels warm, healing, and I no longer feel exhausted from carrying this wooden beam. I lift it high above my head with ease, then urge the mother to escape.

The mother’s eyes meet mine, wide with fear, but also gratitude. “Go!” I shout, my voice strained. “Take your child and go!”

She hesitates for a heartbeat, then grabs her child and scrambles out from under the beam. The fire spirals around me, causing me to suffocate from the immense heat. But I hold on until I see them clear of the wreckage. With a final grunt, I heave the beam to the side, letting it crash to the ground.

But now I’m surrounded, as flames lick at my heels. I pivot, seeking a path to safety. The fire is everywhere, a wall of orange and red. I can feel the heat searing my skin, the smoke stinging my eyes. I can barely see a few feet ahead. I need to stay calm, to think clearly. Panic will only make things worse.

I spot a narrow gap between two burning huts, a small opening that might lead to safety. It’s a tight squeeze, but it’s my only option. The fire crackles and hisses, the flames reaching out like fingers trying to grasp at me. I dash forward as the heat presses against me. The gap is narrow, but I push through, the flames grazing my skin.

On the other side, the fire is still spreading, consuming everything in sight. I need to find more water, to keep fighting the blaze. I spot Upachu with the llama and cart, and the villagers form a line around him. They move with purpose, working hard to extinguish the flames. I rush to join them, grabbing a bucket and passing it along the line.

Water splashes onto the fire, creating hissing clouds of steam. The fire tries its best to resist our efforts, but we are relentless in snuffing them out. But even as the fires slowly start to fade, we are running out of water to fight the remaining flames.

One last idea occurs to me, as my eyes fall on the piles of dirt and ash surrounding the village. I demand an empty bucket. “Start using dirt and ash!” I shout, grabbing a nearby villager and showing them how to scoop the soil and soot into the buckets. “It will suffocate the flames! Hurry!”

The villagers quickly adapt. We pass bucket after bucket of dirt and ash, throwing it onto the flames. The effect is immediate. The dirt smothers the fire, while the ash helps to dampen the heat.

The flames hiss and sputter, fighting against us, but ultimately succumb to our unfaltering efforts to extinguish them. The embers glow one last time before going out, and the rain begins washing away the last remnants of the fire.

We catch our collective breaths, surveying the damage. Smothered by dirt and ash, somehow the village stands. While a number of homes were destroyed by the fire, many more were saved as a result of our teamwork. Chests heaving, Síqalat and Upachu look on with relief.

Perhaps due to exhaustion, I almost don’t notice the woman I saved approaching, her child clinging to her leg. She speaks rapidly in the Auilqa language, her voice filled with awe. Síqalat steps forward, translating her words for me, though her expression shows she’s struggling to believe them herself.

“She says you are a demigod,” Síqalat relays. “She saw the way you lifted the beam, how the amulet glowed. She thinks you have been sent by the gods to save them.”

I glance down at the amulet around my neck and its faint, steady glow. The villagers’ eyes are on me, looking upon me with reverence. At this, a pit begins to form in my stomach.

Another voice speaks up, this time from the elders painted in pink. He steps forward, his gaze fixed on me with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, something that looks almost like… worship.

“You have shown great bravery and strength, outsider,” he says through Síqalat’s translation. “We questioned your presence here, your intentions. But now, seeing what you have done, perhaps the gods have indeed guided you to us.”

I can see the change in the villagers’ faces, the shift from the distrust and hesitance we were initially met with upon our arrival, to one of admiration. They murmur amongst themselves, nodding and gesturing towards the amulet. I feel Síqalat’s eyes on me, and when I meet her gaze, I see a glimpse of something I hadn’t seen before: genuine belief.

“Maybe it’s not just a story,” she mutters, almost to herself. “Maybe you really are meant for something greater.”

The expression causes me great concern. Although I may be viewed as something more to these people, as a symbol or beacon of hope, I know that I am just a warrior, someone trying to do what is right for Pachil. I was doing what anyone would do when faced with a dire situation: help those who are in need. There is nothing more to my actions than that.

The elder painted in blue speaks next, a prideful smile spreading wide across his face. “Your actions have shown your true nature. We will listen to your story, and we will consider that you were indeed meant to enter the tomb.”

“Well, let’s hope that is the end of that,” Síqalat says with a smirk while clapping me on the back. “I don’t want to have to go through any more trials while we’re in Auilqa territory!”

Suddenly, a mighty horn blast reverberates through the village, shaking the trees and sending birds into flight. The elders’ faces harden, their eyes narrowing in suspicion and concern.

“This horn,” one elder says slowly, “signals that our lands are threatened by outsiders, by intruders.”

The other elders turn to me, their previous expressions of approval now replaced with wary scrutiny.