117 — Teqosa
The horn sounds again, its discordant, sorrowful call echoing through the jungle. The haunting tone reverberates through the village, drawing the suspicious eyes of the Auilqa villagers to me, Síqalat, and Upachu. The elder had warned that the noise signifies a threat from outsiders. Given the unfortunate timing of our arrival, we suddenly find ourselves unwelcome, cast in the role of potential intruder.
Síqalat is visibly frustrated, shaking her head in disbelief. “We just rescued their village from a great fire, but a horn blasts, and now we’re the enemy again?”
“Let’s speak to the elders,” Upachu suggests, “and see if we can’t reason with them.”
“The last time we tried that, they still regarded us as a threat,” Síqalat reminds him. “It wasn’t until we helped extinguish the flames that threatened to consume their entire village that they even considered listening to us. These people can’t be reasoned with!”
“But we have to try,” I say. “We can’t let this devolve into violence.”
Though Síqalat looks at me with understandable skepticism, my desire for diplomacy in an otherwise hostile environment feels like the wisest course of action in this circumstance. We must tread carefully to avoid further conflict. These people may distrust us at the moment, but I believe they will listen to reason.
I go to approach the elders gathered in the clearing. Before I can make it two steps, they begin to cower, looking to the villagers to help protect them. A number of villagers stand between us, and I can see that this will not be as straightforward as I had hoped.
“If you will grant me just a moment to speak,” I call out to them over the sound of the wailing horn and the anxious shouts of the villagers.
One of the elders — the one painted blue — points at me accusatorially and yells, “You are the invaders seeking to destroy our village!”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Síqalat remarks. She turns to me, her eyes blazing and jaw clenched, “This is all complete nonsense! A total waste of time! I told you, they cannot be reasoned with.” I understand her frustration, but we must show patience and persistence.
“Wise elder, you are mistaken,” I say with great effort to keep my voice calm. “If we wanted to destroy your village, we would have allowed the fire to burn everything it touched. Instead, we worked diligently to save it — something an invader would not be inclined to do. Do you not agree?”
The elder hesitates, then glances at his companions. Another elder, painted yellow, steps forward, one eyebrow raised and lips pressed into a thin line.
“And why should we believe you?” he asks. “How can we be certain that you are not deceiving us?”
“Because we have offered our help instead of hostility,” I explain. “Because our actions should speak for themselves. When the fire broke out, we risked our lives to to extinguish it. You witnessed us fighting the flames alongside the villagers. Our intentions are of cooperation.”
There’s a brief silence while the elders contemplate among themselves. I take a deep breath, encouraging Síqalat to do the same, so that we allow them the necessary time to deliberate. The elder painted blue lowers his hand slightly, giving me hope that they are considering the evidence, rather than being consumed by irrational fears.
Finally, the elder in yellow speaks up. “Very well,” he says, almost grudgingly. “But be warned, any deception will be met with severe consequences.”
I bow my head respectfully. “Thank you, wise elders. I assure you, we only seek to help and to understand.”
Síqalat smacks her thighs and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Great. With that unnecessary confrontation settled, can we get back to finding out why that awful horn is being sounded?”
“Yes, what is the purpose of the alarm being raised?” Upachu asks. “How much danger are we in?”
“And what outsider would be attacking a small Auilqa village?” I wonder. “Why would another faction seek to attack tribes of an isolationist faction, when their concerns should be rebuilding their own homelands?”
“The tribes of Auilqa,” Síqalat begins, “they don’t operate like the rest of Pachil. In their world, it’s not just about survival — it’s about ascendancy. It’s common to see frequent skirmishes over rivers, fertile land, and hunting grounds. But it’s more than just fighting for resources. For the Auilqa, from what I know, these conflicts are rites of passage, deeply embedded cultural practices that reaffirm their power and establish hierarchies. Each conflict between tribes is a declaration of vitality and dominance. It’s harsh to our understanding, but to them, it’s the very essence of their societal structure, ensuring they remain vigilant and robust.”
“One could argue that this occurs with the other factions, indeed,” Upachu states. “It’s just that the other factions are not as… direct.”
I urgently make my way to the elders. “How can we help? What can we do?” I ask them.
A steady drumming — toom, toomtoom… toom, toomtoom… — gradually grows louder and louder.
“War drums,” Upachu observes, sounding nervous and grim.
“It is the sound of an Auilqa war band approaching,” the elder painted yellow says. “We must prepare for battle.”
The combat style of the Auilqa is foreign to me. Because of their seclusiveness, not much is known about their faction. They didn’t fight alongside the rest of Pachil in the War of Liberation, and nothing was taught about them to the students at the Maqanuiache. Battling against the Auilqa will be a battle with the unknown.
Villagers retreat into their homes. Before I can question what is happening, they all quickly reemerge, having armed themselves with a bevy of weapons. They are prepared to defend what remains of their village.
“Those are the Auilqa I’m familiar with,” Síqalat remarks with a prideful grin.
The pounding of the drums becomes louder and louder, quickening to a near frenzied pace. Upachu’s concern soon becomes unbearable, frantically running for cover behind the cart. I rush over toward him, retrieving the enchanted glaive bestowed upon me by Inqil herself. Upon placing my hands on the weapon, the blade and etchings faintly glow with a blue light. Under normal circumstances, I would leave the glaive be, fearful for what this might signal. But these are not normal circumstances.
I tighten the grip on my weapon as the enemy emerges from the shadows of the jungle. Their peculiar appearance becomes clearer with each step: unlike the other Auilqa we’ve encountered, the bodies and faces of these warriors are painted a disturbing shade of blood red, and draped over their shoulders are long cloaks of crimson — an odd choice of clothing for a faction that predominately wears simple loincloths and hip cloths in the oppressive humidity of the rainforest.
“Upachu,” I mutter to my companion behind the cart, “remind me what the Auilqa colors are again.”
“Well, that would be brown and dark green,” he replies in a near whisper. “They paint their torsos various colors based on tribal designations, but in general, the clothing would be the colors found in the jungles, even between different tribes.”
I pause, growing concerned as the realization starts to come to me. “So there is no red in their faction colors, correct?”
“The Ulxa wear red and black, and the Qiapu, white and red,” he says, curious where this conversation is going.
“But neither paints their bodies, even in a time of war,” I say, piecing together the dreaded explanation for who is approaching us.
“No, that’s an Auilqa trait,” he says. “The Ulxa have tattoos, and the Qiapu don’t mark their bodies other than for ceremonies. Why do you — “
“The Eye in the Flame approach,” I respond. “But… the warriors are Auilqa.”
An arrow whizzes past my head, embedding into the wall of a nearby home with a solid thwunk. An intense and overwhelming war cry follows. The rumbling of footsteps causes the ground to tremble. Bursting from the foliage of the jungle charge dozens of warriors, holding their paddle-like obsidian swords aloft.
More shouts, this time from the villagers. They bravely rush at their attackers, raising swords, spears, and farming tools. Dirt and dust kicks up into the air, mixing with the humidity to create an opaque haze over the battleground. The clattering of blade against blade, the yells, grunts and groans of combat… sounds I have heard far too often in my time on Pachil.
A swarm of red-painted warriors surround a few hapless women and children. That is where I’m needed urgently. I sprint over, spinning the glaive in my hands, then stab the nearest enemy in his right shoulder with an overhead lunge. I slash down along his back, then sweep his legs with the flat of my blade. He’s flipped onto the ground, and an opening appears. I shout for the women and children to escape, to run away, but they can’t understand the words of Merchant’s Tongue, and only stare at me with fearful eyes.
The attackers move toward me, one to my left, another to my right. I step back, spinning the glaive to reposition it in my hands, while the nearest attacker slides in my direction. He brings his sword up, prepared to strike down with it. Without hesitation, I thrust forward. My blade enters his stomach, quicker than he was prepared for, and the warrior loosens his grip on his weapon.
The attacker to my right sees me as vulnerable and hurries over. The women and children remain huddled together and terrified, my urgent shouts to plead with them to run to safety go unheard. I step to the side to avoid the incoming attack. But the warrior’s blade catches my right shoulder, trailing a large gash down my arm. Aggressively, I swing the glaive at his feet. He sees this and attempts to jump over it, but his reaction is too slow. The glaive catches his trailing foot, and he stumbles to the ground. Bringing the glaive around, I slam the tip of the blade into his chest, then twist, watching the life drain from him.
The women shriek, then scurry away, desperately shielding the children as they move to the homes close by. Through the fog of battle, Síqalat mounts the atlatl — the hook made of bone — to her spear, then hurtles it at a large warrior with a sweeping red cloak. The spear pierces right through his torso, the head of the blade poking out from his back. The warrior’s momentum causes him to tumble forward, landing on the spear and driving it deeper into him.
Síqalat curses, struggling to pull a cord mechanism to retrieve her spear. But her weapon is stuck, lodged into the corpse of the fallen warrior. Behind her, two more Auilqa warriors in red run for her, obsidian swords held high. I don’t think she notices them, too focused on getting back her spear.
I hoist my glaive up to my waist, then hurry over to her. My chest begins pulsating with a warmth while I run. The amulet. But this time, it’s both the blue and turquoise amulets, the combined greenish blue hues illuminating my upper torso. It’s then that I can clearly anticipate the enemy’s moves. Where they are going to strike. How they plan to take down Síqalat.
Time slows to a crawl. I can see who will strike and how, whose attack I should stop first. I adjust the position of the glaive, ready to deflect the first attacker’s blow. As his sword comes down, I grip my weapon tightly, hoping I can resist his incoming attack and hold onto the glaive. If I cannot, the other attacker will get a free attempt at an exposed Síqalat.
Neither warrior gets a chance to attack her. When the blade meets the shaft of my glaive, a blue light emanates upon impact. Immediately, the two assailants are flung backward into the air, sailing away from me and Síqalat. Unmistakable burns cover their bodies, as if struck by lightning or met with a torch and set aflame. Yet no fire has touched them, nor are they set alight as they soar above the ground. I’m left standing baffled, wondering what on Pachil just happened.
The two attackers lie dead on the ground, their bodies now burnt husks. But I don’t feel any pain. I look down at my hands, and they remain unscarred. No burns, no blisters… They are perfectly fine. In fact, when I glance at my shoulder, it, too, appears as though no blade had come in contact with me. Could it be… the power of the amulets?
Stunned, Síqalat turns around. Relief immediately washes over her as she realizes how close she came to death. “Thank the golden scales that you were nearby! I would’ve been skewered!” She plants a foot on the fallen foe, then heaves upward, finally loosing her spear. She wipes the blade clean on the dead warrior’s red cloak. “Now, where were we?”
Síqalat attaches the atlatl while searching for the next target of her ire. Shouts made in horror draw her attention. Another brawny Auilqa warrior dashes toward the elders, teeth bared, wielding a sickeningly long paddle nearly the size of his body, studded with dozens of obsidian blades.
Just as he closes in on them, however, he’s knocked over onto his side. He rolls several times until his lifeless body slides to a halt. The pole stands up defiantly out of the warrior’s head. I turn to Síqalat, who looks over to the downed warrior with a prideful smirk. Almost casually, she jogs to retrieve her spear, flicking the cord mechanism to loose it, then inspects the warrior’s large paddle with curiosity. She lifts it off the ground, shakes loose the dirt resting on the wooden handle, then tests its weight.
“It’s a bit too heavy for me,” she remarks over the discordant sounds of battle, before tossing it back to the ground. “But it’s pretty nice, if you’ve any interest.” Unamused, I shake my head. She shrugs. “Suits yourself.” Without another word, she bolts back into the fray, spear in hand.
I check on the elders, making sure they haven’t been harmed during the skirmish. They wave me away. “We will be fine,” the one in yellow says. “We need to return to the hut in the trees, for safety.”
I look at the series of bridges and planks that span from tree to tree. The intricate web stretches high above the rainforest floor. A group of villagers loose arrows from their high vantage point of the bridges. Now I understand why they construct their dwellings in such a way, keeping themselves off the ground and away from predators, or predatory Auilqa tribes.
I help them to their feet, then check for any incoming threats. The battle surges around us. So many dead, all of this unnecessary. All while these Auilqa have seemingly succumbed to the influence of the maniacal cult. What occurred that converted these otherwise isolationist tribesmen into zealots for their cause?
There is no time to dwell on this. I must get these three to safety. Upon determining the best route, I wave them on to follow me. We avoid most of the combat, finding an alternate path to the long, wooden plank that leads to the platform in the trees. Their movements are agonizingly slow. Each step is a cautious shuffle as they struggle against the urgency of the situation. My fingers rap the shaft of my glaive in frustration and impatience, urging them on while keeping a wary eye on the unfolding calamity around us.
By the time we reach the plank, a sudden rush of rival Auilqa warriors close in on our position. They look around for an enemy, then locate us during our attempt to flee to safety. Seeing this, I stand between the elders and the attackers, ready to defend them from these assailants.
“Hurry!” I command the elders. “Run up to the platform. I will make sure these pursuers never reach your location.”
From the corner of my eye, I see the elders nervously nodding before they begin to ascend the plank. I hold my glaive at the ready, rotating the tip of the blade to point at one attacker, then the other, then the next, and then the other. Shifting my weight, I take a wide, defensive stance, watching them all closely to see who will strike at me first. My amulets flicker and come to life. The shaft of the glaive pulsates blue once again, ready for the coming fight.
Then, a terrible rumble quakes the ground beneath all of us. We’re jostled off-balance, losing our footing as the terrain shifts and trembles under our feet. The low growl of the tremors quickly escalate into a violent roar. The trees of the village sway precariously, their branches thrashing against the sky. I leap for the platform, and with one hand, I grip the nearest support while clinging to my glaive with the other.
Structures and wooden platforms creak and groan under the pressure. Amidst the screams of alarm and terror, I see a mother clutching her child, huddling under a sturdy beam. A section of walkway gives way, plummeting to the rainforest floor below, but the main bridges hold firm.
The battle turns frenzied amid the quaking ground. A red-cloaked warrior lunges at his opponent. The tremors make their movements erratic. They attempt to maintain their balance with each desperate strike and parry. But eventually, their bodies collide with a force that sends them both tumbling to the ground.
One of the Auilqa invaders sees an opportunity to attack me. With his sword, he swings wildly, wishful that his strike will land. But he loses his footing, stumbling as a violent tremor rips through the terrain. He’s sent sprawling, and I seize the moment. I reluctantly release the support, then swiftly adjust my stance. In a quick motion, I bring down the glaive upon the fallen enemy, slicing a long, deep gash along his body. The other attackers prioritize their stability, backing up and eagerly trying to steady themselves.
A particularly strong jolt sends a treehouse tilting dangerously. I watch in horror as its supports buckle, the walls caving inwards. Miraculously, the occupants scramble out, their panicked faces streaked with soot, just before it crashes to the ground.
Dust and ash fill the air, making it hard to see, hard to breathe. My eyes sting as I search the village, taking in the scene of destruction. The elders huddle together within the treehouse, their worried faces gazing out into the village. Warriors from both tribes stumble and fall. The battle is momentarily forgotten as they fight to stay upright. Yet even amid the quakes, their eyes remain locked on each other, untrusting of the other.
A loud crack suddenly splits the air. I turn to see one of the larger trees splintering at its base. The trunk fractures under the relentless shaking and starts to topple. Shouts of warning ring out. People scatter, clearing the path of its descent. It crashes down with a thunderous impact, sending a shockwave through the ground, but sparing the heart of the village.
The tremors finally begin to subside, and the ground’s rage ebbs into a gentle tremble. Warriors from both sides rise to their feet. There is an eerie silence in the air, thick with the scent of smoke, ash, and blood. The invaders are visibly shaken, and their confident stances are now replaced with wary glances and uneasy shuffles. Battle has been momentarily suspended in the aftermath of nature’s fury.
Upachu emerges from behind the cart a few paces away, eyes wide with a sudden determination. He moves with a purpose that seems foreign to him, a man driven by something beyond his usual meekness. Síqalat tentatively steps closer, and we both watch him with curiosity and concern.
He extends his arms wide, palms facing the ground, and begins to move them in slow, sweeping motions. The villagers and invaders alike watch him with a mixture of interest and caution. Upachu closes his eyes, and I can see his lips moving, though no sound reaches me. It’s as if he’s invoking something, someone. His movements are deliberate, almost ritualistic, and I can see the confusion on the faces of the gathered Auilqa.
Standing nearby, Síqalat whispers urgently to me. “If my translation is correct,” she pauses, tilting her head as she tries to make out the words, “it sounds as if he’s calling upon the… spirits of the land? He’s invoking the wisdom of Pachil itself, asking for their guidance.”
I nod, not fully understanding but sensing the profundity of the moment. Upachu’s gestures grow more animated, his hands tracing intricate patterns in the air. The ground seems to respond to his movements, as a faint hum resonates beneath our feet. It’s as if he’s communing with the very heart of the Auilqa jungle.
A low murmur rises from the invaders. Their initial hostility gives way to a reluctant awe. Some of them begin to lower their weapons, uncertainty clouding their faces. They recognize the significance of Upachu’s actions, even if they don’t understand his words.
Upachu drops to his knees, pressing his hands flat against the ground. He bows his head, and for a moment, it’s as though everything around us stands still. When he looks up again, his eyes are different — brighter, almost with a surreal glow. He lifts his hands and begins to call out to all gathered.
“Now he’s speaking to the Auilqa in their own tongue,” Síqalat translates to me. “He’s recounting the history of their ancestors, explaining the true rituals that honor the land, not the distorted practices preached by the Eye in the Flame.”
The invaders are transfixed, their attention wholly captured by Upachu’s words. They all glance at each other, doubt creeping into their eyes. So, too, do the villagers, shifting uncomfortably, yet mingling with what I gather to be a newfound respect.
Upachu rises to his feet, his voice growing stronger. He points to the ground, then to the sky, seemingly invoking the spirits of Pachil and heavens. His gestures are fluid, confident, as though this is something he’s done a hundred times before. He steps forward, closer to the invaders, his tone imploring yet authoritative.
“Now he reminds them,” Síqalat continues telling me, “that the Eye in the Flame seeks only to corrupt and destroy. He tells them that they do not honor their ancestors; in fact, they desecrate their memory. Upachu asks them to remember the true spirit of the Auilqa, to stand against those who would use the Auilqa traditions for their personal gain.”
A few of the invaders lower their weapons entirely, stepping back in reverence. The leaders among them nod slowly, their hardened, stern faces softening. If I didn’t know better, Upachu’s words — somehow speaking to them in their own tongue — have reached them, stirring something deep within. I can only hope that he has shown them a path back to their roots, away from the corruption of the Eye in the Flame.
One of the elders, the one painted in blue, steps forward. His eyes are narrowed, but there is a light in them that wasn’t there before. He speaks softly, his words directed at Upachu, though I can only catch fragments through Síqalat’s hurried whispers.
“He says… you speak truth… ancient ways… remember who we are.”
The elder’s voice rises, addressing his people. His words are passionate, filled with a fervor that stirs the crowd. They listen, some nodding, others still wary but clearly affected by Upachu’s display. He locks eyes with Upachu and speaks a few words to him, then turns to face the Auilqa invaders. Síqalat translates, her eyes glistening with hope.
“He’s asking for… a truce to discuss the future of their people.”
Upachu nods, bowing his head in respect. He gestures for me, Síqalat, and the other villagers to approach. The tension eases, replaced by a tentative understanding. Weapons are lowered, and the warriors on both sides step back, their stances relaxed and no longer ready to pounce.
The village elder in pink extends a hand to Upachu, something I take to be a gesture of goodwill and recognition. Upachu takes it, his grip firm but gentle. A leader from the invading Auilqa steps up to them with a solemn face. He speaks for a brief moment, then joins his hands with those of the village elders. They all stand together, signaling a possible reconciliation, their hands clasped in a promise of peace.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. As I watch, I feel a sense of awe at what Upachu has accomplished. He has somehow given us a chance to bridge the divide, to find common ground in the face of a greater enemy. It’s a start, a tentative step towards a peace that at one point seemed almost impossible.
In a show of solidarity, the invading Auilqa warriors shed their scarlet cloaks, tossing them into a pile in the center of the village. Unflinchingly, they set them alight, standing before the flames with pride. What was once a dangerous encounter, now the two villages have been unified. From what I’ve been told of Auilqa society, this may only be temporary. But for now, they are united under a common cause.
Síqalat returns from speaking with one of the Auilqa leaders. Judging from her pleased expression, it’s clear she has good news to share. Her eyes gleam with a mix of triumph and relief as she approaches us.
“We’ve got ourselves an escort through the rest of Auilqa territory,” she announces, her voice filled with pride. “They’ve agreed to guide us safely to the border of Qiapu.”
“You’ve done well,” I remark, pleasantly surprised by this development. “How did you manage to convince them?”
She smirks, with a hint of mischief in her eyes. “I reminded them of our shared goal to protect our lands from greater threats. Upachu’s invocation of the land’s spirit and wisdom helped them see reason. They realize now that the Eye in the Flame is a danger to all, and for such an isolationist faction, they are eager to stand with us. They understand that our mission could benefit all of Pachil, including the Auilqa. Or, that’s what I reinforced with them, anyway.”
Upachu nods with a thoughtful expression. “The land speaks to those who listen,” he says sagely. “And they heard its call.”
Síqalat continues, “They’ve informed me that we’ll be stopping by Qasiunqa, the Auilqa capital in the heart of Pachil, before crossing into Qiapu. It should be a straightforward journey from there.”
