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From where Siunqi sat at the head of the long, ornate driftwood table, the voices blended seamlessly with the sound of the tides. It was another interminable meeting, another day of listening to the Tapeu emissaries carry on about terms for new trade routes. The Sanqo were being called upon to secure them, and the leaders of the island faction’s houses were throwing tantrums about what was being asked of them.
But none of this mattered to Siunqi while his daughter remained missing.
The Sanqo ruler began to lose track of how many moon cycles Walumaq had been away, vanishing from view as his ships set off to return to Haqiliqa. What has it been now? Two? Three? Only Iaqa knows. With no word yet from Atoyaqtli, all he could do was sit and wait.
Siunqi hated to sit and wait.
His fingers absently traced the smooth contours of a polished coral pendant hanging from his neck, a gift from Walumaq when she was a child. He fondly remembers the day she had found the coral on the beach. How her stunning blue eyes—their brilliant hue that seemed to hold the endless depths of the ocean, so unlike anyone else’s he’s ever met—lit up as she marveled at its intricate patterns and vibrant array of deep reds and oranges, shaped by the relentless sea. How she had treasured it, turning it over in her hands to admire its otherworldly beauty, and the way it seemed to glow in the sunlight. He had it crafted into a pendant, as a token to keep her close even when he was far away.
“…security for the trade routes must be ensured,” one of the Tapeu emissaries insisted, their words snapping with impatience as they gripped the edge of the table. “We need assurance that our goods will reach Qiapu safely.”
“But the compensation you offer is insufficient,” retorted one of the Sanqo leaders. “We demand a significant share of Qiapu’s weapon production. Our own armaments are outdated. Without proper defenses, how do you expect us to protect your goods? For the scale of protections we’re providing, this is the only adequate payment.”
“Great Siunqi,” a voice called, jarring him back to the present. He forced himself to refocus. “What say you?”
“Yes, what is your ruling? Because we will be left with nothing if—“
“We are taking ships away from our own protection to secure your trade routes,” another Sanqo leader interrupted. “It’s only fair that we are adequately compensated for—“
“And now you want to weaken us further by taking our weapons?” a Tapeu emissary quickly countered. “This is unreasonable! We cannot afford to leave ourselves defenseless just to appease your demands.”
Siunqi raised a hand, signaling for silence. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, the pendant cool against his skin. “Both sides present valid concerns,” he began, his voice calm and measured. “The Tapeu need secure trade routes to maintain stability. The Sanqo must foster trust with Achutli, but also require better armaments to ensure our protection and capability.”
He paused, allowing his words to settle. The men around the table waited to see what he would say next. After a long moment, the separate parties muttered within their group, wondering where this was going.
As the murmuring started to pick up in volume, he spoke again, raising his voice over the din of discussion and debate. “I propose a compromise. The Sanqo will provide the necessary security for the Tapeu trade routes, using a smaller portion of Qiapu’s weapon production, sufficient to upgrade our defenses without straining Qiapu’s resources. The remaining majority of the weapons will continue to go to the Tapeu. Additionally, Qiapu can supply the Sanqo with a reasonable amount of their mining resources at a reduced rate, which will help compensate for the costs of this protection for their goods. I believe this arrangement benefits all factions and fosters goodwill.”
There was a murmur of contemplation around the table. He looked around the table, seeing the calculation in the eyes of both parties. Siunqi continued, “This way, the Tapeu gain the security they need, the Sanqo enhance our defenses, and Qiapu sees increased trade and resource exchange. It is not everything either side wants in full, but it is a fair compromise that strengthens our alliances and prepares us for the challenges ahead.”
The Tapeu emissaries and Sanqo leaders exchanged looks, weighing the proposal. A few outbursts sprung up, which were quickly quelled, and a more amenable deliberation followed.
As Siunqi prepared to speak again, the door to the council chamber burst open. A guard rushed in, his face flushed with urgency. “Great Siunqi, there’s a disturbance outside in the courtyard. The Aqu’ala and the Qisiaqu houses have come to blows again. It’s escalating quickly.”
“Those two again?” someone shouted from somewhere among those gathered at the table. “Will they never settle their petty squabbles? There are more pressing matters! This is obnoxious!” Siunqi couldn’t see who was speaking, but judging by the voice, it was likely Tuqalo, someone who always likes to hear himself speak more than contributing anything meaningful.
The Tapeu emissaries exchanged confused glances, asking one another what was going on. The blustering and round-bellied man sitting beside Tuqalo, Qlochupi, looses a cynical laugh. “Those two houses have been warring with one another generations before we were exiled to this forsaken island,” he says, answering the unasked question between bites of his roasted lamb shank. “I don’t think they even remember what they’re fighting about!”
“Their whole families should be tossed in the sea, so we can finally be done with them,” Tuqalo adds unhelpfully. “I don’t see why we don’t just cast them off Sanqo and divide their lands among those who know how to get along. We’d be much more productive using their lands than they ever were.”
This generated a few “hear, hears” and nods of agreement from those gathered around the table. Siunqi’s eyes narrowed, but he remained composed. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said to the council members. “This matter requires my immediate attention.”
With swift, purposeful strides, he left the council chamber. The echo of his footsteps loudly resounded off the polished stone walls of the grand hall. Even from the hallways, he could hear the shouts and jeers of the two warring houses. He sighed and shook his head, wondering to himself what set them off this time. If he recalled correctly, the last incident was from an imagined slight where one of the two leaders—who could say which one it was, at this point—claimed the other had swapped their chairs at the driftwood table. Three warriors between the two houses died that day.
The yelling grew louder and louder with each step, until Siunqi arrived at the courtyard. It’s a fairly empty space, large enough to conduct combat drills atop the white sands that made up the ground. A few benches lined the perimeter walls for anyone to spectate or rest. Otherwise, the area contained only a few vines brave enough to scale the tall walls, which gave the place its only non-beige color.
It didn’t take long for Siunqi to see the clashing sides. On one side were the Qisiaqu, in woven tunics and tight trousers of ocean blue and bright yellow, leather chest pieces and arm guards with intricate designs resembling the scales of eels, featuring a blend of teal and yellow, and short cloaks in bright yellow worn over one shoulder. On the other side were the Aqu’ala, with the unmistakable tattoos of piranha teeth that frame their mouths and cheeks, creating an impression of perpetual, predatory grins, while wearing traditional tunics and loincloths of a silver and blue with accents of fiery red along the edges, hardened leather chest plates and bracers dyed teal with silver fish-scale patterns, and bright red sashes worn around their waists.
The two sides were chest to chest, shouting into the faces of their foes. There was so much yelling that it was difficult for Siunqi to figure out what caused the fighting to break out this time. But once a member of the Aqu’ala drew their obsidian sword—prompting everyone else present to draw their weapons—he wasted no time, positioning himself between the rival houses.
“Enough!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. “This is not how we conduct ourselves in Sanqo. Lay down your weapons and speak your grievances, or face my wrath.”
The warriors on both sides hesitated, glancing at each other before slowly lowering their arms. Siunqi’s stern gaze met each of theirs, ensuring they understood the severity of his words. After a long pause, the Sanqo ruler was uncertain either side would yield and sheath their weapons. Both sides continued to glare at one another, waiting to see which one would blink first. But finally, fortunately, the leaders of both houses simultaneously returned their weapons to their scabbards, though their scowls remained.
Siunqi turned his attention to the leaders of the two houses. “Aqu’ala, Qisiaqu, your dispute threatens the very fabric of our society. We will resolve this here and now, with words, not weapons.”
Unsurprisingly, it was the hot-headed Anaqu of the Aqu’ala who spoke first. “They stole our banner!” he declared, pointing accusingly at the Qisiaqu leader, Isuma, who rolled his eyes and laughed in disbelief.
“What makes you say this?” Siunqi questioned.
“Our ceremonial banner was proudly displayed among the others in the great hall, and now it is missing!” Anaqu said this so quickly, it was as if it was all one word.
“This is purely false and crafted in the dull one’s mind,” Isuma retorted. “It is not a secret that our two houses dislike each other—“ This warranted an exaggerated scoff from Anaqu and the generals standing beside him. “…yet there is nothing positive to be gained by stealing that disgusting and frightful banner.”
“You want to exert your dominance in a garish display!” Anaqu shouted accusatorially.
“I wouldn’t degrade my wine bearer by soiling their hands with the removal of such a revolting banner,” Isuma replied.
At this, Anaqu lunged forward, but was mercifully restrained by his generals. Isuma, meanwhile, released a pitying laugh and a shake of his head. “Do you see this, Great Siunqi? These savages have no right to call themselves ‘Sanqo’ with such an embarrassing display.”
“If you don’t return our banner to its rightful place, I will see to it that we burn down your entire fiefdom!” Anaqu proclaimed.
“That is enough!” Siunqi yelled. “I will not see two of my houses at war over something so trivial!”
“Trivial?!” Anaqu exclaimed, incensed.
Before he could bluster anything else, Siunqi continued, “If the banner is not found by sunset, we will have another recreated in its place. I will have my finest weavers work on it tirelessly through the night to ensure it will be hanging by sunrise, before you and your house departs Haqiliqa.”
Anaqu maintained his snarl, but threw off the hands that held him back. “Fine,” he conceded with a growl. “But I will have you know that any more such atrocities will notbe tolerated.”
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With a wave of his hand, Anaqu signaled for his men to promptly leave the courtyard. Isuma, however, remained. “You’re going to give in to this petulant child’s whining?” he asked, baffled by Siunqi’s ruling. “He will never be pleased—you know this, correct? You will weave their banner and he will claim that you did his house an injustice by not making the reds bright enough, nor the teeth of the stupid fish sharp enough. He is going to—“
“You are fortunate I do not have your tongue for questioning my ruling, Isuma,” Siunqi said in a low, threatening rumble. “Where you see petulance, I see an unwavering tenacity. Your house would do well to stop provoking such a vitriolic house. Return the banner at once. I don’t care how it’s done, but I expect it to be hanging before the break of dawn.”
Isuma looked bemused. “You accuse me of—“
“For someone so critical of another’s heightened emotions, you might want to work on masking your own,” Siunqi said, turning to the Qisiaqu leader. “Your enjoyment of his venomous accusations betrayed your efforts to appear innocent. It seems to me you believe yourself to be cleverer than you actually are.”
Realizing he had been bested, Isuma conceded with a simple nod, and a knowing smirk. He turned to leave without saying another word. And with that, the Qisiaqu warriors strolled out of the courtyard, walking opposite of where the Aqu’ala departed, of course.
Siunqi was left with his thoughts. He would never admit it aloud, but dealing with the two warring houses felt like managing squabbling children, their constant bickering testing his patience. And speaking of which, the deliberations inside the council chamber were likely to take the rest of the day—if not longer—as the two sides picked apart his proposed ruling on the matter. No, he would not return there any time today, he decided. He would come back to it when he didn’t feel so exhausted.
The Sanqo ruler was met with a series of thumping and thudding as the warriors pounded their chests in salute. He walked past them with a cursory nod, on his way to the terrace that overlooks the Haqu Suquinoq. I need some time to myself, he decided. Time away from the burdens of rulership, for once.
He practically collapsed on the waist-high walls upon his arrival, resting his hands on the cool stone as he took in the rhythmic crashing of the waves. Each deep inhale was filled with the briny sea air, chilling his lungs with every breath. Winter will be arriving soon, he thought to himself. With the change in season, the seas will become rougher as the currents shift, and the trade winds weaken.
His hand reflexively touched the coral pendant. Would this mean Walumaq may have to wait to return home? Will she be stuck on the mainland until spring? With the whispers of a rebellion in Tapeu, will his daughter be trapped among the internal conflict?
Siunqi sighed. He had tried for so many moon cycles to reclaim the honor of the Sanqo, to redeem them in the eyes of the factions of Pachil. But up to now, his efforts had gone nowhere. The debacle in Chalaqta had likely only made matters worse. What had caused the turmoil in the Tapeu city? No one had explained to him how the fires were started, or who was responsible for the riots in the streets.
Pahua continued to refute any indications of his involvement, but Siunqi knew. Despite Pahua’s vehement denials, Siunqi couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that his son had a hand in it. Pahua was rash, reflexive, short-sighted—traits that too often led to disaster. His son cared little for the history of the Sanqo, for what it took to get to where they were, or for the struggle to rebuild a sullied reputation. Yet Siunqi knew that if Pachil was to prosper, it would require all factions working together, unifying under a common purpose.
To his recollection, nothing like that had ever been achieved. Sure, it’s been dreamed of, wished for. Pachil has always had a history of idealists. People will always believe theyare the ones to do the unthinkable, that their vision is what will bring stability and peace to the land. A tale as old as time itself.
Perhaps he was being naïve to think that change is possible. Perhaps, Siunqi lamented, he was never going to restore the Sanqo reputation, turning them into a well-respected faction once again. If it weren’t for Xipai… Siunqi always wondered what made that ruler decide to turn the Sanqo into a faction full of raiders and pirates. What drove him to go against the peaceful accord enjoyed by all on the mainland? How could he not see the wrath his decision would wrought on generations upon generations of people? What makes someone so starved for power to be blinded by the inevitability of their greed and lust for domination?
A hand gently placed on Siunqi’s shoulder startled him. “My apologies,” his wife said sweetly. “I didn’t realize you were so deep in thought.”
He turned to face Cheqansiq, smiling warmly at the sight of his loving partner. The smile grew even wider when he noticed the chalices of wine in her hand. “I heard about the council chamber, so I assumed you could use a drink.”
After taking the chalice and drinking a heavy swig from it, he placed his free hand on top of hers, giving it a quick, loving squeeze. “I fear the Sanqo will forever be at war with the factions of the mainland. Somehow, the life of heartless raiders has been woven into the tapestry of our people, and I don’t know how to undo what’s been done.”
“Ah, so your usual lamentations, then?” she said with a cheeky grin. Siunqi snorted out a laugh and shook his head, pivoting it to take in the nearby waters. Cheqansiq then sighed deeply, joining her husband in looking out over the neighboring sea. “I do not envy your position of leadership, that is for certain. But you are resourceful, and determined—it’s what makes you a worthy ruler of the Sanqo.”
Siunqi sighed once again, lowering his head and frowning. He glanced at the wine, but decided against taking another sip—he was too distraught to drink. “But what if my efforts aren’t enough to change the course we’re on? What if the Sanqo are destined to remain trapped in this cycle of conflict?”
After setting down her chalice atop the wall, she drew Siunqi’s face to look at her, then held his shoulders, squeezing them softly. “Unfortunately, these matters take time. I know you hate the word ‘patience’, husband, but you must practice it, I’m afraid. You are working to undo generations of history. A sturdy ship isn’t crafted in one night.”
“You and your Puqia sayings,” Siunqi teased, trying—and failing—to hide his smile. “The dolphin are too playful for their own good.”
“But you know I’m right,” she said, stepping in closer and wrapping her arms around the ruler’s neck. “My house is very wise, which is why it was wise of you to marry into it.”
Siunqi playfully mocked being offended. “I married into your house? Are you forgetting the bloodline of my family? How we—“
A commotion brought their conversation to a halt. Two of the palace warriors stepped aside at attention as a clattering of metal clinked discordantly. A burst of air rushed from Siunqi’s nostrils at the sight, his lips tightened into a thin line.
“Have I interrupted something? Is this what you’ve been up to, as opposed to your duties as ruler?” Pahua asked, taking a big pull of chicha from his metallic cup and tossing it aside, letting it clatter along the stone ground. He flung his teal and bronze cape around to cover his right shoulder as he leaned against a point in the wall a few paces from Siunqi, stumbling slightly before regaining his balance.
“What is it that you want, boy?” Siunqi barked his question.
Pahua’s eyes narrowed, and a scowl slowly curled his mouth. “I heard you decided not to rejoin the council, father. Is that because your knees grew tired from groveling to the Tapeu?”
“By the sea, Pahua,” Siunqi remarked, exasperated. “You don’t know the first thing about generating and maintaining diplomatic relationships.”
“That’s because they shouldn’t exist with inferior factions,” Pahua retorted. “The Tapeu are on the cusp of a civil war, and we are doing nothing to capitalize on it. Why should they be allowed to rule over the entire land when they can’t even get their house in order? If we’re going to allow—“
“You’ve come all this way to disrupt my peace just to waste your chicha-tainted breath over the Tapeu?” Siunqi interjected. “At the end of the War of Liberation, the factions got together in Chalaqta to decide that—“
“The factions are only out for themselves!” Pahua remarked. “They place a carved idol on the throne, one that speaks not with its own voice, but with the words of those who placed it. All so they can do as they please within their own territories.”
“That is the entire point, you foolish child!” Siunqi scolded. “The Arbiter was chosen to oversee the reconstruction of Pachil while distributing resources as needed. In turn, each faction is allowed to rule their lands and their people as they see fit.”
“All so they can return to conspiring against one another and plot out their wars,” Pahua charged, slurring his words a bit. “These factions, like the Arbiter, seek out only what will benefit them. If we don’t do the same and look out for the Sanqo, we will be taken advantage of until our people are run into the ground!”
Siunqi shook his head in disbelief. But before he could speak further on the matter, Cheqansiq placed her hands upon his chest, trying to tame the wild beast that raged within. “Boys,” she chided, alternating her glances at both men, “this bickering is counterproductive. You only seek to divide our home by such talk. It would be best to leave these matters to rest.”
She turned to Pahua. “Your father is ruling with the guidance and wisdom Iaqa provides. If the foresight shown to him by the Eleven indicates that diplomacy will lead to peace and prosperity for the Sanqo, then he is wise to listen.”
“Such misguided idealism will lead us to our doom,” Pahua countered. He reached for his metallic mug, only to find its presence missing.
Siunqi left Cheqansiq and followed the wall to where his son propped himself up. Standing not even a hand’s distance from Pahua’s face, he muttered in a near whisper, voice shaking with restrained fury, “It’s your ignorance that makes me relieved Walumaq was born first.”
“And where is this exalted heir?” Pahua questioned, mockingly looking around as if searching for his sister. Then, pretending the answer suddenly arrived to him, he stated, “Ah, that’s right! She’s off galavanting around the mainland, skirting her duties as an heiress. All because you failed to protect her, just as you fail to protect Sanqo.”
Siunqi clasped the collar of Pahua’s tunic. Through gnashed teeth, he snarled, “I would give my life to have the two of you trade places. I would rather you be lost to the sea or ravaged by the creatures of the continent, if it meant I could have her returned to me alive.”
“Enough, husband!” Cheqansiq desperately tried to pry Siunqi off their son, but he violently shrugged her off. She tumbled to the ground, her face marked with scrapes from the ragged stone wall.
Standing so close that he could feel Pahua’s breath, Siunqi hissed, “You have never been, and never will be, fit to rule.”
Pahua struggled to break free of his father’s grasp, fighting to pull Siunqi off of him. But the Sanqo ruler’s grip was too tight. He pinned Pahua in place, pushing his son to where his back arced over the edge of the wall.
In a desperate attempt to free himself, Pahua’s hand reached up, gripping his father’s wrist, trying to loosen the iron hold. A few weak strikes with his free hand went unnoticed by the Sanqo ruler. The argument between the two grew louder, drowning out the incoming tide that collided with the wall and the rocks below.
“Let go!” Pahua shouted, his voice breaking with a mix of fear and anger. He could feel the rough stone edge digging into his back. His chest was getting compressed, and he had difficulty finding breath. The struggle became more frantic, with each movement bringing them dangerously close to the edge.
In a final, frantic surge of energy, Pahua reached forward, planting a hand upon his father’s chest. He let out a distressed yelp and pushed with all his might. Caught off guard by the sudden force, Siunqi lost his balance. The eyes of the Sanqo ruler widened in shock, his grip slipping.
Pahua watched in horror as his father teetered on the edge, his hands grasping at empty air. Siunqi’s body tipped backward, and with a look of betrayal etched on his face, he fell over the precipice of the wall.
The world seemed to freeze for a moment. Only the rushing wind and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs below dared to make a sound, carrying on as though this wasn’t happening. Pahua’s heart leapt into his throat as he stared at his hand, realizing he was clutching the coral pendant that Siunqi faithfully wore around his neck. The delicate piece now felt like a heavy burden in his palm.
Cheqansiq’s scream pierced the air, shattering the moment of stunned silence. The sound of Siunqi’s fall echoed up from below, followed by a sickening thud. Pahua’s breath came in short, ragged gasps as he stared at the pendant.
“What have you done!” his mother shrieked. “By the sea, Pahua, what have you done!”
A flurry of blows pounded Pahua’s chest. An inconsolable Cheqansiq punched and punched her son, unleashing all the grief and anger and sorrow and horror she felt in that moment. Pahua tried to stop the incoming attacks, tried to grab ahold of her flailing wrists. The fists came from all angles, striking him in the face and shoulder and arm and ear and nose. As he shielded himself, his shoulder knocked a chalice to the ground with a loud clank.
“Mother, I’m sorry!” Pahua pleaded. “I didn’t mean to! It was an—“
It didn’t matter what he said, how he apologized. Cheqansiq wasn’t hearing any of it. “How could you do such a thing! You insufferable fool! How could you! How could you!”
“Mother, stop!” he yelled, his voice cracking. Pahua searched for anyone who could help, any guard or servant who could restrain her, but no one was present. He grabbed her wrists, his grip tightening as he pushed her back. “Stop, you don’t understand!”
But Cheqansiq’s screams only grew louder, more frantic. “Murderer! You’ve killed him! You—”
In that split second, fear overtook him. His eyes locked onto his mother’s for a brief, heart-wrenching moment. Her voice cut off as Pahua, acting on pure, misguided instinct, thrust her away from him. With a desperate, impulsive shove, Pahua flung his mother over the edge.
Her eyes widened in shock and betrayal, mirroring those of Siunqi’s just moments before. Her scream mingled with the rushing wind as she fell. Pahua’s heart pounded as he watched his mother plummet, her arms flailing to grab ahold of anything, only to grasp air. The realization of what he had done crashed over him like a wave, too late to stop what’s been set in motion.