114 — Inuxeq
The regal figure of Nuqasiq strides forward, her golden crown catching the dying light, transforming her into a spectral queen draped in ethereal luminescence. She moves with a measured, purposeful grace as she approaches. The dozen or so palace guards escorting her fan out, heads on a swivel to vigilantly seek out any possible threats.
“Nuqasiq!” Haesan shouts, her tone a mix of elation and disbelief.
Nuqasiq’s eyes find Haesan, and a rare, soft smile touches her lips, transforming her austere face into something almost maternal. “Haesan, my dear child,” she replies with an undercurrent of affection. The Qantua warriors around us relax slightly, though their grip on their weapons remains firm.
I feel a growing unease twisting in my gut, like this feeling that a storm looms on the horizon. I search the area, looking for anything that might explain this unexpected visit, or any threats chasing down the Queen Mother, yet nothing appears. Despite this, something about Nuqasiq’s sudden appearance doesn’t sit well with me, and I can’t place my finger on why.
Haesan’s excitement falters, her steps hesitant as she stops a few paces short of the regal woman. “What are you doing here?” she asks, eyes wide with a spectrum of emotions.
“We had to escape,” Nuqasiq replies, her tone suddenly somber. “Qapauma is in chaos. The Qente Waila have loosed a full-scale assault on the palace. Achutli’s forces are holding them off, though for how much longer, I cannot be certain. I no longer felt safe inside the capital”
“I see you wisely traveled with a small, nimble force, to be fleet of foot,” I note, observing the paired down group of warriors with which she travels. “But why come here to Qelantu Loh?”
Nuqasiq steadily meets my gaze. “Yes, I brought what I could. The palace was under siege. We had no choice but to flee with what little we could carry, and the reduced size allows us to move covertly. As for coming here, I knew this place would be a haven, and I hoped to find Haesan here. Chalqo, a trusted ally and old friend, often spoke of Qelantu Loh as a safe refuge.”
“I’m afraid Chalqo and his band of musicians have not yet appeared in Qelantu Loh,” Haesan says, her head drooping and shoulders sagging.
The Atima elders exchange uneasy glances, shifting their weight from foot to foot. Concern and skepticism etch their weathered faces. They’re shaken by Nuqasiq’s sudden arrival and grave news regarding Qapauma.
“Well, no matter,” Nuqasiq says, disrupting the morbid silence. “I trusted in the gods to guide my steps. And it seems they led me to the right place.”
Haesan and Nuqasiq exchange warm smiles. It’s as though I can see Haesan’s heart swell in front of me, how she beams with all the brightness of the sun at the mere presence of this elderly woman. Nuqasiq reaches out, gently clasping Haesan’s hands. Their eyes lock in a silent conversation, one filled with deep admiration and love, as if the world around them has momentarily faded away.
“Tell us exactly what happened,” I interject, my voice harsher than intended amid their sentimental reunion. “From the beginning. Please.”
Before Nuqasiq can respond, Haesan steps forward. She places a hand upon my shoulder, then looks from me to Nuqasiq. “We should speak in private,” she insists with an understated urgency. “We don’t want to alarm anyone unwittingly until we can determine what is occurring. Chalqo’s tent is nearby. It will give us the space and privacy we need.”
I nod in agreement, my senses returning to me. Speaking away from the gathered Atima refugees, not wanting to worry them further, is clearly the correct decision. Nuqasiq inclines her head, signaling her assent. Together, we make our way through the dirt paths of the camp, keeping our gazes fixed on the ground. We exchange only cursory nods with the curious onlookers, their eyes following us with a mix of suspicion and hope.
Entering Chalqo’s tent, we find a modest but well-kept space. It’s filled with the faint scent of dried herbs and a subtle aroma of wood smoke. Against one wall rests a carefully arranged variety of instruments. Nuqasiq’s eyes catch sight of a particular instrument: a flute carved from a light wood, adorned with intricate patterns. She pauses, her expression softening as she admires the delicate item.
“This quena,” she murmurs, reaching out to gently touch it. “I recall Chalqo telling me it belonged to his mother. She used to play it during the harvest festivals.” Her voice carries a rare warmth, a glimpse of a side of her I’ve never before seen.
Standing nearby, Haesan lovingly watches her grandmother. I feel a twinge of regret at having to disrupt their reunion, but there’s no time to waste. “Queen Mother,” I softly urge. “Tell us what occurred in Qapauma after the clash between Achutli’s warriors and the Jade Hummingbird.”
Nuqasiq nods, her fingers lingering on the quena for a moment longer before she turns to face us. “Very well,” she begins, her tone now more serious. “It started with a surprise attack. After the initial clash, the two sides separated in what appeared to be a tentative truce. But then two days later, the Qente Waila unleashed a full-scale assault on the palace. We were caught off guard. The warriors at the palace fought bravely, resisting the surging rebels, but I and the guards I was with were outnumbered and overwhelmed.”
I watch Nuqasiq closely. As she speaks, I note the slight tremor in her hands, and the way her eyes flicker ever so slightly when she mentions the attack. Is it fear, or something else?
“We managed to hold them off long enough to secure an escape route,” Nuqasiq continues. “Achutli stayed behind to lead the defense. He insisted I take palace guards and leave, to find allies and regroup. The small group of warriors and I made our way here, knowing it was our best chance of survival.”
I’m astonished by how close they must have come to death. “The city must have been difficult to navigate. How did you manage to escape the city amidst such chaos?” I ask, wondering how they managed to leave Qapauma with their lives.
“I had a small group of loyal guards who knew the hidden passages of the palace,” she says. Haesan nods along to this, as though she knows what Nuqasiq describes. “We used these secret routes to avoid the main battle areas and slipped out under the cover of night.”
“That must have been terrifying!” Haesan remarks, leaning in closely as Nuqasiq recounts the events of her escape.
“Yes, I was fortunate that the confusion of the battle worked to my advantage,” Nuqasiq says, her face solemn, eyes fixed in a distant stare. “I kept my head down and moved quickly, using the calamity as my shield.”
I frown slightly, sensing a discrepancy. “You mentioned using hidden passages to escape. But now you say you moved through the calamity of the battle. Which was it, Queen Mother? Were the passages not as secure as expected?”
Nuqasiq’s eyes flicker momentarily, and she offers a tight smile. “Both, in a way. The passages allowed us to bypass the initial onslaught, but there were moments we had to navigate through the mayhem above ground, through the streets of the city. The situation was fluid, and we had to adapt quickly.”
I nod slowly, though not entirely convinced. Before I can press further, Haesan intervenes. “It must have been harrowing. I’m so glad you’re safe, grandmother.”
I make my way around the long table at the center of Chalqo’s tent, collecting a thin layer of dust and dirt as I trace my finger along its surface. “When you departed, what was the state of the palace?” I ask. “Is the Arbiter holding his ground?”
“Achutli is holding the palace with an iron grip,” she replies proudly. “The Qente Waila are attacking with an otherworldly ferocity, but are struggling to make any headway. I would hope that this petty feud will be over soon enough.”
I pause, a bit surprised. “Oh, so if the palace is secure, and the Arbiter is mounting a formidable defense, why did you feel the need to flee?”
“His security does not extend to those he deems expendable,” Nuqasiq says with some restraint. “I had to leave to ensure my safety and to rally support from outside.”
“So, you’re dispensable now?” I remark. “I thought you said the Arbiter provided you with security before you fled. You’re the Queen Mother, after all. It’s inexcusable of him to otherwise be so dismissive of your safety.”
“Achutli does not hold any loyalty to family,” Haesan says bitterly. The history behind those words reveals everything I need to know about the Arbiter and his morals. I want to delve deeper, but upon noting the scowl forming across Haesan’s face, I decide it’s best to drop the matter for now.
“I see,” I say, now pacing back and forth alongside the table. “Aside from escaping to Qelantu Loh, did you leave Qapauma with any specific plans or goals in mind?” I ask. Haesan glances at me with confusion and growing irritation. Am I treating Nuqasiq harshly? I genuinely want to understand the Queen Mother’s story.
“My immediate concern was survival,” she says, before abruptly adding, “And to find Haesan and ensure her safety, of course. I didn’t have time to formulate a long-term plan as I fled.”
“Survival is understandable,” I say, slightly confused, “but as a leader, wouldn’t you have at least a rudimentary plan? Something you and the Arbiter considered, should anything take a downward turn, such as this rebellion in Qapauma?”
Nuqasiq shifts her posture uncomfortably, then decides to sit on a rickety stool, which groans and creaks as she lowers herself upon it. “In the heat of the moment, my only thought was to get to safety. Now that I’m here, I can begin to plan more strategically.”
I frown, not entirely convinced of Nuqasiq’s explanations. But I’m unable to ask any further questions. Haesan has now approached Nuqasiq, massaging her grandmother’s shoulders.
“You must be exhausted from the ordeal and the long journey,” Haesan says, though she looks at me as she speaks. I have a nagging suspicion that I’ve done something wrong, yet I know not what I could have done to offend. Her gaze lingers, silently reprimanding me, which deepens my unease.
“Let’s get you to a bed,” she continues. “You can reside in Chalqo’s tent while you’re in Qelantu Loh. Here…” Haesan gently guides Nuqasiq to the bedroll made from tall grasses. I find the gesture bizarre — Nuqasiq has shown she’s anything but frail, yet Haesan persists in treating her with such gentle care. It’s a peculiar moment, considering this is the same woman who bravely defended the palace walls from the Eye in the Flame. The contrast between her formidable strength and this tender treatment of her grandmother reveals an unexpected depth to her. Perhaps there is more to Haesan that I must learn.
Before Nuqasiq can rest upon the bedroll, we hear a disruption taking place outside Chalqo’s tent. More shouts and commotion occur, just beyond the perimeter of the campsite. We each look at one another nervously, bracing for whatever events are happening.
A heavy silence hangs over Qelantu Loh, thick as the mist that has started to roll in from the nearby mountains. The atmosphere is tense with an unspoken dread and foreboding, the kind that coils around the spine and prickles the skin. Shadows dance erratically in the light of the dusk, casting elongated, sinister shapes against the walls made of tanned animal hides.
As we depart the tent to investigate, faces emerge from the tent flaps, eyes wide and searching for threats. A sharp and jarring cry from the far distance pierces the air, echoing through the stillness. The noise grows louder and more frantic, as the murmurs morph into calls of alarm. The Qantua warriors stand alert and ready, tightly gripping their weapons.
By the time we arrive at the disturbance, the matter appears to be under control. Several Qantua warriors surround a captive, who is bound by the ankles and wrists at his back. The apprehended person occasionally puts up fits of resistance as he is being dragged by two of the warriors. He’s just a boy, his young face streaked with dirt and sweat, and his wide eyes search for an escape that isn’t there. But the disturbing sight that causes my heart to leap into my throat are the ashen gray robes he wears.
“We caught this one sneaking around the perimeter,” the warrior announces, shoving the captive to the ground before us. “Claims he’s a simple hunter, but along with his garments, we found markings on him that indicate he’s from the Eye in the Flame.”
For good measure, I deliver a swift kick to his stomach, forcing a groan to leave his lips. “That’s for Sachia,” I scowl. Haesan pulls me back before I can deliver another one for Iantana, another for Qapauma, and several more for all the lives needlessly lost at their maniacal hands.
“We caught this one while we were conducting our patrol,” one of the young Qantua warriors says, proudly displaying the cultist as if he were a prized trophy from a successful hunt. “He was out wandering the plains alone. We’ve got a few other teams out looking to make sure there aren’t any others.”
“Bring him to the storage tent,” one of the warriors commands. “We can question him in there — we don’t want to turn this into some spectacle more than it already is.”
I clap the warriors on their backs, congratulating them for a job well done, and follow behind the cultist being carried off by the Qantua. Nuqasiq remains stoic, an expression likely well-practiced given her long exposure to the world of politics. Haesan, on the other hand, looks concerned, fidgeting with and picking at her fingernails.
“What could the presence of this cultist mean?” she asks me in a near whisper on our way to the storage tent. “Are the Eye in the Flame close to Qelantu Loh?”
“We will have to discover the truth for ourselves,” I grunt.
“But what if he doesn’t give us the answers we seek?”
“Oh, he will give us the correct answers,” I respond. I feel a smirk forming at the corner of my mouth. Haesan doesn’t look pleased by my reply, but it’s of no consequence to me.
I step into the dimly lit storage tent, shadows flickering across the walls from a single torch. The scent of food supplies mingles with the acrid odor of the cultist’s blood and sweat. My eyes immediately lock onto the captive at the center. Bound at the wrists and ankles, his ashen gray robe seems to meld into the shadows. Bruises and cuts mar his face, clear evidence of the Qantua warriors’ rough handling. The sight of his wounds causes a subtle smile to cross my lips.
The temperature begins to drop, as the tent flaps occasionally rustle in the cool dusk breeze. Haesan stands beside me, biting her lip and wringing her hands, while Nuqasiq remains a silent observer with an unreadable expression. The two Qantua warriors, clad in their gold and black tunics, stand guard near the entrance. Their eyes never leave the prisoner, hands resting lightly on the hilts of their weapons. Every sound — every breath — is amplified in the stillness.
I step forward, the sound of my boots against the packed dirt floor breaking the heavy silence. I feel the eyes of everyone in the tent on me, waiting to see what I will do. The captive looks up, chest heaving with labored breaths. The lone torch catches the sweat on his brow, illuminating his scars. His fear betrays the mask of defiance he tries to wear.
“You know why you’re here,” I say in a low, measured tone. “Speak, and perhaps you will leave this tent with your life.”
The captive remains silent, pressing his lips together tightly. Outside, the camp continues its quiet evening routines. But within the confines of this tent, the world is reduced to this moment, this confrontation.
Even in the dim light, I can see the captive smirking at me. That smug look ignites something fierce within, and I decide to do something about it. I stride forward with a grin spreading across my face as I approach. The bound prisoner’s eyes widen just a fraction too late. With a swift, unrelenting motion, my foot connects squarely with the center of his face. The impact reverberates through the room in a sickening crunch. Both the captive and Haesan shriek, their voices intertwining discordantly in shock and pain, stunned by the inevitable strike.
“Tell us what we want to know, now!” I command. The cultist spits his blood out onto the ground, wiping his mouth into the collar of his robe. Haesan rests a hand on my shoulder, then stares at me intensely, eyebrows raised. I shrug off her effort to pacify me, my anger too fierce to be tempered by her silent plea for restraint.
Haesan takes a step closer to the cultist. Speaking softly, she says to him, “Tell us what we need to know. The Eye in the Flame’s plans, their next move. We can end this before more blood is shed.”
A few paces back, Nuqasiq observes the exchange with keen eyes. Slowly stepping forward with a commanding presence, she calmly says, “Your silence will only lead to more suffering, for you and your brethren. Choose wisely.”
The captive’s gaze shifts between us. He’s measuring our resolve, calculating the possibilities and likely outcomes. The shadows seem to close in around him. The flickering torch casts ghostly images at the edges of his vision, playing tricks on the mind. His shoulders sag slightly, as though the fight is draining from him, replaced by a weary resignation.
Sensing this shift, I lean in, my voice barely above a whisper but as sharp as a blade. “Start talking. Now.”
The torch’s flame wavers, teetering on the edge of extinguishing. The young prisoner swallows hard, which sounds jarringly loud in the stillness. He continues to defy our demands, remaining silent, testing my patience. We need immediate answers, and I’m starting to believe this boy doesn’t have them, which would explain his lack of response.
“I know nothing!” the child lies. He speaks quickly, too quickly, obviously only fearing for his life. I am not here to play games.
I’ve had enough. “If you’re not going to tell me anything useful, you clearly have no use for your tongue,” I tell the boy.
I turn to the Qantua warrior and extend my hand. “Warrior, hand me your dagger. I’m going to have this boy’s tongue.”
Haesan gasps. “Inuxeq! You wouldn’t!”
The warrior hands me his blade. It feels awkward and poorly balanced, too heavy at the hilt. But it will do. Perhaps I can have my revenge for Sachia at the expense of this useless cultist.
The boy grimaces, anticipating the dagger’s cold touch. Haesan’s pleads to me are muted and blend in with the wind. But the child gives us no other choice, and I fail to see the good that will come from sparing his life and allowing him to return to his people.
I take a few more steps toward him, extending the blade out and preparing to carry out my spoken promise. “O-o-okay!” he finally shouts. “What is it you want to know?”
“Why were you sent out here, alone and so far from your main force?” I begin.
The boy doesn’t look at me as he answers. “I was sent to scout for any threats to the Eye in the Flame, and to find villages we could… use.”
“What do you mean by ‘use’?” I charge. “What exactly were your orders?”
He hesitates, searching the ground for a response. “To find places where we could convert the inhabitants into warriors for the cause.”
“The gray creatures,” I mutter. I feel the blood coursing through my veins, and the drumming of my heart swells in my ears as my anger grows. Before I unleash my rage and strike the child, Haesan takes a step closer to the captive.
“How are they creating the gray creatures?” she asks. “I thought magic in Pachil was supposed to have vanished when the Eleven vanquished the Timuaq.”
Now the boy smirks. “There is a ritual performed by the Sunfire. With the beating of the Huetloia, the one true god, Eztletiqa, speaks through the Sunfire and converts the dead into warriors, giving them redemption. A new life, a new purpose.”
“Is there a way to stop the transformation? Or reverse it?” Haesan’s brows furrow as she tries to better understand.
“No one has ever come back from it,” the boy replies. “Once they change, they are redeemed forever, obedient to the Sunfire and the will of Eztletiqa.”
I could have told Haesan all of that, having learned of the process through my discussion with Mexqutli. Mexqutli… Just the thought of his name enrages me. However, I must focus on the present, on the interrogation at hand. “Are there more scouts like you?” The boy nods. “How many scouts are out there, and where are they?”
“I do not know how many, but there are others,” he says. “We were sent in different directions to cover more ground.”
“Your numbers,” I say, stepping closer as I interrogate him further. “How many of you are left? Where are they regrouping?”
The boy starts shaking. “I do not know the exact number. We are regrouping and waiting for Eztletiqa to tell us the right moment to strike. There is a village to the north, in Aimue territory, in the hills just beyond the Maiu Antumalal. It is where the Sunfire is planning something big, waiting for the new moon, though they do not tell lowly scouts like me everything.”
I sense a lie being told. I raise my fist, ready to strike the boy with the back of my hand. “What is he planning, boy?”
The captive whimpers, cringing and lowering his head. “I do not know!” he yells. “I am being honest! If I return from my scouting mission with news, I am to be promoted. Maybe then, I will know more. But I do not know anything the great Sunfire is planning — it was only something I overheard during one of our meals. I swear to you!”
Haesan places a hand on my shoulder. “That is enough, Inuxeq,” she says, her soothing voice hoping to calm me before I carry out any violence. I let this go, for the moment.
“The new moon,” Nuqasiq repeats — I nearly forgot she was still present. “That is not long from now.”
“Where do they plan to strike first?” I ask. “Is Qapauma the main target?”
“Yes, Qapauma is the main target,” he says. “Before the new moon, the Sunfire will look to convert more villages to our cause. But Qapauma is believed to be the heart of power, and when we take it, the rest will fall.”
“We have gotten all we can out of this boy,” I say, done with this conversation. Haesan looks upon me with great concern. The young captive’s eyes are struck with fear as he realizes what’s to come. I toss the dagger to the Qantua warrior and retrieve Sachia’a bow, raising it and pointing it at the cultist. I nock an arrow, its metallic tip glints in the dim light, ready to deliver justice for my fallen friend and all those lost to the Eye in the Flame’s cruelty.
“Wait!” Haesan’s voice rings out, urgent and pleading. She steps between me and the prisoner, holding out her hands to stop me. “Inuxeq, we need him. He might know more, and killing him now won’t bring back the dead.”
I pause, my heart pounding. I’m overwhelmed by the need for vengeance, the need for justice. I see the earnestness in Haesan’s eyes, her misguided belief that there’s another way.
“This is for Sachia,” I whisper, my voice trembling with emotion, before delivering a swift kick to the captive’s ribs. He groans, doubling over in pain, but still alive.
Turning to Haesan, I lower my bow, the anger simmering, but controlled. “We will keep him alive,” I say through my gnashed teeth, “for now. But he will not escape justice forever.”
The Qantua warriors exchange a glance, then nod curtly. They step forward, taking hold of the captive more firmly.
“We’ll take it from here,” one of them says, his tone cold and final. “He won’t be a threat to anyone.”
I nod, feeling a mixture of relief and unease. As they drag the captive away, I catch a final glimpse of the young boy’s terrified eyes. The warriors’ silent, knowing exchange with one another lingers in my mind. But I can’t watch over the prisoner all night when I’ve got important matters to discuss with Haesan.
As we step out of the tent and make our way to Chalqo’s residence, the cool night air rushes over me. I catch Haesan’s eye, her relief palpable, but a shadow of worry still darkens her face. She looks down toward the ground and fidgets with her fingers.
“Nuqasiq is right,” she says nervously. “The new moon is not long from now. We may not have enough time to gather an army in Aimue and return to defend Qapauma. This might be for nought.”
I stop and turn to her, my voice edged with frustration. “We can’t just abandon the plan to gather support in Aimue. Without a proper force, we won’t stand a chance against the Eye in the Flame.”
Haesan’s eyes flash with desperation. “But if we don’t act quickly, Qapauma will fall! We need to prioritize what’s most urgent.”
Previously trailing behind, Nuqasiq steps forward. “Haesan has a point, Inuxeq. Time is of the essence. Perhaps we should consider a more direct approach. A smaller, elite force could strike at the heart of the Eye in the Flame’s operations, disrupting their plans before they come to fruition.”
I glare at Nuqasiq, her calm demeanor infuriating me. “And how do you propose we do that with the limited numbers we have? We need more than a handful of warriors to take on the Sunfire and his cult.”
Nuqasiq smiles slightly with a crafty glint in her eyes. “There are ways to fight that do not always rely on sheer numbers. We could use the element of surprise, guerrilla tactics, and strategic sabotage. It has worked before in other battles.”
Haesan looks between us, torn. “We can’t ignore that Qapauma is in immediate danger. If we lose it, we lose everything. The Eye in the Flame will use the city’s resources to strengthen their position even further.”
I shake my head, trying to stay composed. “If we don’t gather more support, we risk being overwhelmed. Qapauma faces two dangers: one of the Jade Hummingbird and the other of Achutli’s loyalists. The Aimue are already suffering under the Eye in the Flame’s raids. If we can rally them, we not only gain allies, but we can also put up a strong resistance to weaken the cult’s influence in the north, and a band of warriors to help for the battles to the south.”
Nuqasiq steps closer to Haesan. “Think of the people, Haesan. Every moment we delay, more lives are lost. We can’t afford to wait.”
I take a deep breath, struggling to maintain control. “And if we rush into this, we risk everything. We need a balanced approach. Rallying the Aimue will give us the numbers and the moral high ground.”
Haesan pulls away from Nuqasiq, facing me directly. “But what if we don’t have time for a balanced approach? The capital is not only under duress by the internal struggles of the Tapeu, but the looming Eye in the Flame, as well. What if Qapauma falls before we can gather enough support?”
Nuqasiq’s eyes narrow slightly. “Inuxeq, your strategy is sound, but it’s not adaptable to the current urgency. Sometimes, the best plans need to be flexible.”
I feel a surge of anger, but force myself to remain calm. “Flexibility is one thing, recklessness is another. We can’t let panic dictate our actions. If we do, the Eye in the Flame will exploit it.”
Haesan’s face hardens. “And what if being overly cautious leads to our downfall? We need to find a way to act swiftly and effectively.”
Nuqasiq’s gaze locks with mine, her expression inscrutable. “We must weigh our options carefully. A decisive, bold move could save many lives, but hesitation could doom us all. Let us find a way to merge our strategies. Speed and strength. Precision and power. Together, we can forge a path to victory.”
We stand in a brief moment of silence, mulling over the decision that needs to be made. The scout’s revelations hang over us like a dark cloud. The urgency of the new moon’s approach presses down on us, forcing us to question every move.
Haesan’s voice trembles with emotion. “I respect your leadership, Inuxeq, but I need to know you’re willing to adapt. We can’t afford to be divided in our purpose.”
“I understand,” I say, clenching my fists. “But now I must question, what is our purpose?”
More silence. More discomfort. The debate is far from over, but we must find a way to move forward. The fate of Qapauma, and perhaps all of Pachil, depends on it.
