97 — Walumaq

My eyes snap open. The world sharpens gradually, emerging through a murky haze. Paxilche hovers above me, his face carved with lines of dread, while Saqatli peeks over his shoulder, showing both relief and worry. Noch is nestled by my side, purring faintly, though the vibration is noticeable enough against my tunic. Her warmth is oddly comforting against the chill that has seeped through my clammy skin and into my bones.

As I slowly regain consciousness, I feel as if a shadow has settled over my heart, pulsing with each beat. The moments before I apparently passed out slowly return to me. There’s a dark energy that clings to me like a vicious cloak that threatens to suffocate my spirit. And there are harsh and insidious whispers that circulate in my thoughts, worming their way through the cracks in my mind, prying, pulling.

“Walumaq, can you hear me?” Paxilche’s voice cuts through the fog, anchoring me for a moment against the pull of the hollow abyss. I manage to nod slightly, but the action takes more effort than it should, as though I’m moving through tar.

“I’m okay,” I respond, my strained voice barely climbing out from my throat.

“How are you feeling?” a concerned Saqatli asks.

“I feel… different, changed,” I say. The darkness isn’t just around me — it’s within me now, woven into me. It feels like wading through a marsh where every step is a battle against the suction of mud, and each tug is filled with the urge to just give in, to sink, to let go.

The struggle is incessant. There are voices, dark voices, planting seeds of doubt, blooming fears, twisting my thoughts. It’s as if I’ve swallowed nightfall, and now the black blots out any and all reason.

The whispers intensify, morphing into recognizable voices. My imperious brother, Pahua, recklessly taunts me in a mocking tone, while my father issues stern warnings laced with malice. They twist their familiar tones into something spiteful, venomous, dredging up doubts and fears I’ve long buried.

Are you strong enough, Walumaq?

Why strive so hard, sister? In the end, they’ll only remember your failures.

They all depend on you. Yet you will let them down.

Paxilche squeezes my hand. “We’re here, Walumaq.”

You fool yourself, believing to be something you’re not.

Leadership demands sacrifice, daughter. Are you truly ready to bear that burden?

The voices claw at the walls of my mind. They seek to carve uncertainty into every conviction I’ve ever had. I clutch at my head, trying to physically shake the whispers away.

“Talk to us,” Paxilche urges. “What is happening?”

Saqatli frowns and watches thoughtfully with narrowed eyes. “How can we help?”

Eventually, I sit up, rubbing my temples with my fingers while taking panicked, gasping breaths. “I’m not sure you can,” I confess, slowly calming myself. “It’s like I’m caught in a storm of voices. They are from those whom I trust, but their words… they’re trying to drown me in fear and uncertainty.”

Paxilche’s eyes darken with worry, but he nods with understanding — or trying to. “We won’t let that happen. You’re not alone in this.”

I try for a smile, but it’s like I’m wearing a mask that doesn’t quite fit. “Thank you. I just need to… understand this. Master this.”

But how does one master a storm that uses your own memories and fears as weapons? The voices argue and persuade, a cacophony that threatens to fracture my resolve. They tempt, promising power, the strength to protect, to crush, to control. They promise to shield Sanqo, to bury my enemies beneath waves of shadow. Each offer is a gilded blade, seductive and sharp, if only I embrace the darkness.

The battle within is as fierce as any I’ve faced on the battlefield. Each whisper of power entices me with an easier path, yet I know the cost of such power is too steep.

The battle just beyond continues, waiting for no one. Its clamor is a cruel reminder of the urgency of completing our mission. More shouts, more clashing of weapons, more cries of agony. As the voices of Pahua and Siunqi circle like vultures over dying prey, I steel myself.

“We must carry on,” I say, fighting through the pain that consumes me, emotionally, physically, spiritually. Paxilche and Saqatli — and even Noch — look at me with skepticism, not trusting my words.

I attempt to smile, but it’s like stitching a wound with frayed thread. “I’m fine,” I repeat lie, the falsehood is a heavy stone in my throat. I see the doubt in their eyes, the fear that I might not just be battling the Eye in the Flame, but also an internal darkness that could swallow me whole. How can I blame them? I don’t even trust myself.

As I rise, the darkness coils tighter, like a serpent poised to consume me. It takes some effort to stand as my legs briefly forget their roles. Feeling gradually returns to my muscles, the tingling sensation slowly fading away. More of the scene comes into focus. The ritual site has been altered, disrupted. The items that were carefully placed in particular positions are strewn about, appearing to have been kicked and heavily disturbed. The ceremonial daggers are missing, the incense snuffed out into a smoldering heap, and the patterns etched into the dirt have been wiped away into smudges in the ground.

“I’m rather proud of my work, too,” Paxilche says with pride, admiring the view.

“Our work,” Saqatli clarifies, the boy’s voice resonating in our minds. It startles me, piercing through the fragile calm I had just managed to construct. For a heartbeat, the darkness seems to creep back at the edges of my thoughts, the twisted voices of my family murmuring once more. I clench my fists, shut my eyes tight, and force myself to breathe deeply. In, out. In, out. Slowly, the phantom whispers dissolve and the reality sets back in. It’s just Saqatli, I have to tell myself. I steady my nerves, reminding myself that here lies a friend, not foe.

The cold rain that hits the warm surface of the devastated landscape scarred by the scorching fires creates an eerie, otherworldly mist that cloaks everything in an opaque fog. Three silhouettes emerge from the gloomy haze, donning the dreaded crimson robes. There’s a malevolence gleaming in their dark eyes and scowls.

“It appears there has been a brief disruption,” one of the robed men says, his voice sounding indifferent to the development before them.

“It is your feathered one,” another states, pointing in my direction. Have they discussed me? What has been shared between them?

“A minor annoyance that will be taken care of swiftly,” the third one charges, sounding greatly bothered by the ordeal. When he glares at me, I recognize him to be the sorcerer I’ve previously dueled in Qespina, his silver and black hair peeking out from his hood.

The gemstones that hang suspended before their chests begin to glow an ominous green, and I immediately know something is about to be unleashed upon us. I shout to alert Paxilche and Saqatli, urging them to brace themselves and find cover. In an instant, a volley of green lightning bolts hurtle toward us. Mercifully, we’re all able to avoid being struck, leaping out of the way to safety. I plunge to the moist stone ground, scraping my palms and knees. But I am safe. For now.

Streaks of energy crackle above me, raising the hairs on my head and neck. I crawl, then stumble to find cover behind a fallen stone statue, its stoic face staring blankly back at me like a corpse. Noch is pressed up against the structure, eyes wide in panic. I let out a series of gentle, soothing shushes and delicately stroke her soft fur with the hopes of calming her. The petting eases us both, and I regain my focus on the terrifying zealots attacking us.

The focus of the sorcerers’ assault moves on to Paxilche and Saqatli, who have crouched behind a destroyed section of a stone wall, barely shielding them from the relentless attacks. Noch looks on worryingly at her companion, and I have to hold and grip her tightly to prevent her from darting off to him.

I search the area for any water, or anything I could use my abilities on to take the sorcerers’ attention away from Paxilche and Saqatli, allowing them to escape. However, it appears the Auilqa boy has made plans of his own. Crouching low, he closes his eyes in deep concentration. Suddenly, a swarm of bugs — mosquitoes, wasps, bees, and locusts — fly from every which direction and hurl themselves around the cultists. The red-robed figures swat at and bat away the pests that tenaciously bite and sting them. Ants climb up their legs, causing the cultists to kick out and flail their limbs wildly. I perk up, seeing the success Saqatli is having by sending in these miniature invaders to give us some reprieve.

As the air thickens with the hum of the insect swarm, the sorcerers close their eyes. They clasp hands, then, after a synchronized, guttural chant, unleash a sudden pulse of energy that bursts from them, expanding in a violent blast. I feel the ripples pressing against me, even behind this makeshift shelter. Instantly, the insects are scattered away, their tiny bodies blown back by the force, leaving not a single one left to buzz.

The sorcerers’ eyes snap open, glowing with a fierce light. With a synchronized chant, they thrust their hands forward, sending a wave of dark psychic energy rippling towards us. The force causes Paxilche and Saqatli to clutch at their heads, groaning in agony. And then it crashes into me like a wave. A searing pain rips through my head, as if something is scratching fervently within my mind. I can only focus on the pain and nothing more. Then, the voices of Pahua and Siunqi surge back.

You play the hero, but you’re just an imitator, Walumaq. A mere visitor to the concept.

You were never meant for greatness. Why do you fight your nature?

Your ambition will be your undoing, sister.

You seek to command the waves, yet you drown in your own doubts.

Why won’t the voices leave me alone? This must be the doing of the sorcerers, their dark powers tapping something within me, tapping into my fears and anxieties. How can I stop this? How do I make the voices go away?

Instinctively, I clutch at the amulets that hang from my neck. Once again, they glow, emitting an almost comforting heat, a gentle, soothing warmth. Could this be the way? How do I channel their powers to heal me from the mental wounds being inflicted upon me?

I perform the only action I know how: I recite the mantra from my morning ritual, holding the gemstones firmly in my scratched palm and meditate. As I speak the words, I feel the world slowing down around me. The calamity of the battles in the distance, the discordant disturbances from the sorcerer’s attacks, the voices of my family — all of it vanishes from my thoughts. I hear what I can only describe as an emptiness, a hollow, serene quiet. I know there is fighting and danger surrounding me, yet I feel as though I’m floating in the waters off the shores of Sanqo. I’m overcome by a peaceful stillness, and I focus upon its healing powers. The warmth of the amulets now fills me, and I feel restored, rejuvenated. There’s an indescribable clarity, as if all understanding reveals itself to me.

My ears catch more chanting. I glance over the stone barrier to inspect what’s happening now, only to find the three figures lifting their hands to the skies. What are they doing now? With a flash, their amulets shine in a hideous green light. Then, a wave of darkness — no, of shadows — crawls along the ground, twisting like seeking tendrils that reach out toward us. I immediately recognize what’s occurring, having encountered it in Qespina.

“Watch out for the–“ But my warning is too late. As if aware of our presence, despite our best to remain hidden, the shadowy tendrils dart at us like a striking serpent. It winds around and ensnares us, closing in and restricting us as if we’ve been bound by rope. Yet what occurred in my previous engagement with the shadows doesn’t happen, where our life is slowly drained from us. Instead, the world shifts and warps, distorting my vision.

The three sorcerers grow to immense size, taller than the trees of the jungle, or the temple of Analoixan. Have they performed some other defiant feat through dark magic? Or is this a trick of the mind? With resonate thuds, they stomp toward us, a smirk creasing the corners of their mouths.

I turn, glancing at Paxilche and Saqatli. The Auilqa boy’s head twists and darts about frantically from one side to another, eyes wide with a terror from something that appears to threaten him from all directions. A silent scream is etched across his face as he recoils from unseen horrors that seem to swarm around him. Seeing her friend distressed, Noch risks her life to sprint over to him. With a few leaps, she dodges the incoming bolts of lightning that scorch the ground behind her. She nuzzles up to him, hoping to comfort the boy, but the horror from which he suffers causes his face to contort disturbingly as the shadows close in around him.

Huge obsidian spikes erupt from the ground around me. I shift this way and that, trying to avoid being speared by the spikes. They retract, leaving no trace, then reappear from the dirt. Curious, I defiantly try to touch one of the spikes while it stands sentient. My hand goes straight through, lost inside the structure seemingly made from shadows. Could this be in my imagination? Am I hallucinating these traps and spikes?

But as I ponder this, the shadow wraps around my wrists tightly, binding me to the ground. I pull and pull, trying to break free, but I’m tethered by the dark tendrils that pin me in place. Soon, I find myself sinking, sinking into the soil. Is this not a figment of my imagination after all? Am I being plunged beneath the dirt? Panic sets in, and I struggle to loose myself from my bindings. More tendrils twist around my ankles and feet, and I feel the pressure of being sucked underground, slowly being buried alive.

There’s a shout, then a swirl of clouds. Could this be Paxilche’s doing, or more dark magic by the Eye in the Flame? I crane my neck as the shadowy vines continue to restrict my movement, barely able to see Paxilche. He stands, raising his arms skyward and shifting them about, as if maneuvering and shaping the clouds. A darkness sets in, cloaking the area in almost pitch blackness. I lose sight of him, coughing violently as dirt trickles into my mouth, gritty and suffocating, as I’m relentlessly pulled under like I’m caught in a riptide. The mineral taste invades my senses, the grains of soil coating my tongue as I struggle for air.

My eyes are forced close as a bright light blinds me. The restraints around my wrists and feet loosen, no longer feeling as if I’m being pulled beneath the surface. I squint, and the scene gradually comes back into sight. Paxilche stands tall, arms spread wide apart, as beams of sunlight flood the area, which glows in the low mist. Even with the setting sun, the battlefield is washed in gold. The shadows hastily retreat, retracting back to the sorcerers’ location and swirling around them in some sort of protective ward. Yet, importantly, we’re now freed from our constraints.

With my hands unencumbered, I jut out my arms toward the cultists. While it may not be an entire body of water, perhaps I can control just enough of the mist and light rain that persists. I twist my hands one over another as if turning a wheel, whirling the mists into a spiral. I close my eyes, concentrating on channeling the powers of the amulets to help execute my plan. The warmth radiates on my chest, the gradually intensifying heat telling me the gemstones are ready to assist me.

Faster and faster, I twirl the mists and rain, generating a vortex that whooshes as it winds about the space. When I open my eyes, I see a tremendous, towering whirlpool or water spout that defies nature, eagerly awaiting my command. I clinch my hands as if grabbing it as it soars in the air, and a shimmering stream of otherworldly ultraviolet light flies to it from my chest, infusing itself within the rotating winds and water droplets.

I send the twisting whirlwind at the sorcerers. The near-cyclone smashes into their protective ward, yet stops abruptly. I gnash my teeth and tense my muscles, bracing myself to thrust the vortex through their dark barrier. A resonate rumbling shakes the ground, sending vibrations that ripple through the landscape, trembling with the might of the unleashed powers that causes cracks to spiderweb across the surface. The roar of two forces colliding intensifies, and I feel the resistance to my abilities fighting me every step of the way. Yet I persist, using all the strength I can muster to defeat their evil powers.

A hand rests on my shoulder and gives it a slight squeeze. I’m startled until I turn to see Saqatli, his amber eyes meeting mine, followed by an assuring nod. He turns his attention to our foe, and suddenly there’s an energy, a force, that joins mine. I feel more powerful, more in control of the vortex that yearns to take out the barrier and conquer our enemy. I can’t give into the hate, I refuse to allow it to possess me and my intentions. Instead, I focus on wanting to safeguard, to secure Analoixan and protect it from this outside threat.

Concern and disbelief shrouds the sorcerers’ faces, looking on as their magic holds no resistance to our combined efforts. From my periphery, Paxilche lifts a hand in the air. Thunder growls as lightning now streaks through the dimming sky, a storm amidst the serene evening. Returning my gaze to the Eye in the Flame, their amulets begin radiating their dreadful glow once more, building up to another terrifying feat of dark magic. They must be stopped before they can enact their terrible plan.

“The gemstones!” I shout, hoping to alert Paxilche. “It’s enhancing their powers! Strike the stones free!”

A searing bolt of lightning crackles, striking the barrier and deflecting off. I need to eradicate this ward, now. Releasing a primordial yell, I summon every drop of my spirit and will the surging vortex into the ward. My body rebels, every fiber of my being aflame with the toll of effort. I feel myself weakening from the exertion, but I have to succeed. Analoixan, and Pachil, depend on me.

With one more push, the vortex breaks through, smashing into the crimson robed foes. Then, another bolt forks and strikes them, singeing their garments upon impact. They scatter, flying backward and landing on their backs with a resounding thud. Laying dormant where they once stood, three fragments of emerald gemstones appear like extinguished torches on broken copper chains.

Another crack like a whip, and more bolts of lightning crash upon the slain sorcerers. I fear it’s happening again — Paxilche is giving in to his anger and rage. This is not the way! He must be stopped!

“We can’t allow ourselves to be swayed by the darkness!” I shout at Paxilche. Ignoring my cries, he lifts his hands once more, ready to bring more lightning down upon the Eye in the Flame members before us. Hurried footsteps alert me to Saqatli, sprinting toward Paxilche. The boy tackles him, disrupting the terrible deed. Paxilche punches Saqatli, pushing him off, then picks himself up. Noch flings herself at Paxilche, clawing and scratching at him until he ceases.

“They are the enemy!” he declares. “Look what they’ve done to Analoixan, to us! They don’t deserve mercy!”

“That is not our decision to make!” I reply, anger and frustration welling up inside me.

“Then whose decision is it, huh? Tlexnín and the Ulxa will just use them for their savage and disgusting ceremony. Is that the fate you prefer for them?”

I’m speechless, uncertain how to respond. He’s correct, of course, but we can’t be the executioners, the ones to decide how justice should be dealt. Though I seek to protect all of Pachil, the Ulxa territory is not our land.

“I may disagree with their methods, but it should ultimately be up to the Ulxa to decide,” I finally conclude. But Paxilche refuses to listen, sending one final series of lightning down upon the zealots. They’re scorched instantly, blackened into unrecognizable heaps where they lay.

“How could you!” I yell, furious at his actions, deliberately going against my wishes. He continues to ignore me, walking over to the gemstones, crouching down, and retrieving them. He inspects the emeralds in his hand for a moment, then closes his palm around them. He looks up, hearing the discordant sounds of the distant fighting still occurring.

Saqatli meekly approaches me, eyes cast downward as if he is the one responsible for the mayhem that just happened. Noch loyally walks closely alongside him, her turquoise tail flicking about behind her. He looks as though we didn’t succeed in defeating the enemy, and, honestly, I feel the same. I extremely dislike what transpired, disagreeing with how justice was dealt and finding Paxilche’s actions distasteful and mortifying. Who is he becoming? What else is he capable of?

I place a consoling hand upon Saqatli’s shoulder, now being the one to comfort him. He forces a reluctant smile, hardly lifting his eyes to glance at me. With the sounds of war still raging, I know we can’t sulk and wish for an outcome that can never be. We must return to the fray to put an end to this battle once and for all.

“Let’s find the others,” are the only words I can muster to say, before we set off.