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Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
Staring down the points of so many raised makeshift weapons, I fear that any sudden movement, or even breathing too loudly, will set these Aimue farmers off into a frenzied fit of fighting. Even more piercing and threatening are the glares I receive from everyone collected here. With the smoldering city behind them, the situation feels dire and grim, as if battle will begin at any given moment.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
I try to take a slow, calming breath, but it catches in my throat. Every instinct screams at me to act, to draw my weapon and defend myself. But I hold still, watching the man tighten his grip around his crude spear. One wrong move, and this could erupt into violence neither of us can afford.
“Wait!” I shout, louder this time. My voice feels raw as the words scrape my throat. “There’s been a huge misunderstanding. We didn’t attack you.”
“A misunderstanding?” one of the Aimue scoffs. “The warriors behind you wear the colors of the Qantua, do they not? The same colors that laid waste to our fields, looted our supplies, and killed anyone who resisted. Now you come back to finish us off?”
“Was it not enough,” another Aimue adds, her thin face covered in soot and ash, “to pillage our homes and wipe out our stocks from the harvest the first time? Did you already deplete the foods you stole from us?”
I’m baffled by their accusations. The only time we set foot in these lands was during a chance encounter with the Eye in the Flame, and discovered their plans to travel to Qapauma after fighting them off from this place. Why, then, are we being confused for attackers?
My frustration rises. This wasn’t us! I want to shout, but I try my best to keep my voice steady—and likely will fail in the effort to do so. “These warriors are Qantua, yes, but we’ve only been through this region once—over a moon cycle ago. We came here to help, not destroy.”
“Help?” The woman laughs bitterly. “You expect us to believe that? Do you think we are fools? You Qantua are all the same. Your warriors came through, wearing the same colors, and left us in even greater ruin.”
I glance back at the warriors behind me, who, like me, are bewildered. No matter what I say, the Aimue farmers seem convinced. “You keep saying we attacked,” I press, my frustration mounting, “but it wasn’t us, I assure you. You need to be clear: when did this happen? Who led the attack?”
“You ask as if you don’t know,” a woman with tear-streaked cheeks spits. “Bore the same cursed symbol—a twelve-pointed sun! Came in the night like thieves, they did. They came and took everything. Our food, our water… whatever little we had left to rebuild.”
The mention of a twelve-pointed sun makes me pause. We bear no such thing. Should I know of this symbol? It sounds familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen such a sigil before.
“A sun, you said? Did you see it clearly? Describe it to me.”
Still holding his makeshift weapon threateningly, the man scowls. “Clear as day,” he says. “A twelve-pointed sun, with a face at the center—its eyes cold, unfeeling. They carried it as if they were gods, as if we were beneath them.”
Another farmer speaks up, his voice cracking. “They came with fire in their eyes, claiming they were the new rulers of Pachil. The sun marked their armor, their weapons.” He spits on the ground toward my feet. “They promised they’d crush anyone who stood in their way. And you wear the same colors. How can we trust you?”
‘New rulers of Pachil’? That sounds like talk from the Eye in the Flame. But they say we wear the same colors as their attackers. Are there Qantua who have joined the cult?
My mind races at the mention of the sun. I gradually recall the blackened coin and the twelve-pointed sun we found in that village, the symbol we couldn’t fully identify at the time. Could this be related?
My gaze snaps to the Aimue leader. “The sun sigil… did they say who led them?”
His eyes narrow. “Their leader didn't need to say much. His warriors spoke of him—a ruthless general who would take Pachil under his rule. They said the Arbiter is too weak to lead every faction, and a stronger ruler should be put in place.”
The farmer’s words send a jolt through me. A stronger ruler… too weak to lead every faction… Who is this Qantua leader making such bold proclamations? My grip tightens on the hilt of my obsidian dagger as the silence stretches between us, pondering who this mysterious person might be.
Behind me, I hear murmurs. I glance back, just enough to see some of the Qantua warriors shifting uneasily. I can barely make out their words—they speak to one another in hushed, conspiratorial tones.
“Sounds like what Tiahesi was saying…” one of them whispers.
“Tiahesi always said Taqsame would bring strength,” another mutters under his breath, though the glances they throw in my direction suggest they’re careful not to be heard clearly. Not careful enough, however.
My blood runs cold. That name, Tiahesi. His betrayal has been a sore spot since he mysteriously vanished when we were last in these lands. But it’s still difficult to accept how many of the Qantua warriors I’m trying to lead might have been swayed by his rebellious actions, or rebellious words uttered when I wasn’t around. Is he somehow connected to Taqsame? That is another name I haven’t thought of in quite some time.
I clench my jaw, trying to remain focused, but the doubt creeping into these warriors’ voices only adds to the pressure. I know I must address them soon—before these quiet whispers become more than just passive doubts.
However, the Aimue leader is still glaring at me, awaiting a response. His crude weapon never lowers. “We’ve seen the symbol,” he says, his voice hard. “Your people marched through our lands, declaring that this—this sun—was the mark of our new rulers. Whoever they were, your people carried themselves like conquerors.”
I open my mouth to protest, but the words stick in my throat. Conquerors. Rulers. The image of that sun flashes in my mind again. Could it really be tied to Taqsame? He had spoken of the Arbiter’s weakness at the council meeting in Hilaqta. His was always the loudest voice calling for immediate action against the perceived enemies of Qantua. The thought unsettles me.
But before I can respond, another voice speaks—another of the Qantua warriors.
“So, Tiahesi was right after all,” a warrior grumbles behind me. “We should’ve joined with Taqsame. We’re wasting time following her.”
I spin around, fury in my chest. “Who said that?” My voice cuts through the murmurs. “You dare speak of that deserter, Tiahesi, here?”
The warriors look away, none of them bold enough to admit who spoke. But I know they’re thinking it. Tiahesi had planted seeds of dissent before he left, and now, with this new accusation against us, those seeds are starting to grow. He knew something I didn’t. And Taqsame… the thought of the overly ambitious general makes my blood boil.
The moment drags on as I stare down the Qantua warriors, daring one of them to speak up, to betray even a flicker of disloyalty. But no one moves, no one speaks. Not yet. They’re still biding their time, waiting for me to slip.
With a slow breath, I turn back toward the Aimue, pushing the uncertainty of my own warriors to the back of my mind. There’s a greater threat in front of me right now. If I can just get them to listen, I might have a chance of turning my fortunes around.
“Listen,” I say, locking eyes with the Aimue leader, “I don’t know who attacked you, and I have my suspicions as to who’s behind this, but it wasn’t us. The Qantua I command didn’t take your food, didn’t burn your homes. I swear to you, the Qantua behind me are loyal to our cause, not to some warlord who plunders for his own gain. We’ve been fighting the Eye in the Flame since we left Qapauma.”
The Aimue leader weighs my words with much skepticism. “You expect us to believe you don’t know? Your warriors wear their colors. You know who is responsible because you follow him. What’s stopping you from finishing the job your ruler started?” He points a trembling finger at the Qantua warriors behind me. “The twelve-pointed sun, burned into their shields, stitched into their armor. He claimed to be your leader, the one to bring down the Arbiter and take Pachil for himself.”
Was that his plan all along? To march an army across Pachil, using the chaos of the Eye in the Flame as his excuse to seize power? I bite the inside of my cheek, recalling the council meetings, the clashes between Teqosa and Taqsame. Could this be what Taqsame meant when he spoke of “claiming what rightfully belongs” to the Qantua?
Snapping me out of my daze, another Aimue woman remarks, decidedly unconvinced by my response. “Your warriors wear the same armor, the same colors. How do we know you’re not just biding your time?”
My patience frays. “Because if we were here to destroy you, we’d have done it already,” I say sharply. “We’re not your enemy. I swear it.”
The Aimue leader holds my gaze for a long, tense moment, watching me distrustingly. But before I can say more, the murmurs behind me grow louder, drawing my attention back to the Qantua warriors. The whispers have started up again.
“Tiahesi warned us,” one says in a hushed voice. “We should’ve listened to him after all.”
“And what has this Tuatiu done but lead us into more battles?” another mutters.
The quiet grumblings begin to swell, growing into something more dangerous. It’s like watching the cracks spread across a dam, knowing the flood is coming, but unable to stop it.
I take a step toward them, my voice hardening. “You’ll listen to me, or—”
“I’m done listening to you, following you!” The voice cuts through the air and pierces me like an arrow. I search for the source, finding the speaker to be a young Qantua warrior, barely old enough to hold a spear. His face is twisted in anger as he makes his presence known. “You’re not even one of us! Why should we follow you when Taqsame is apparently the one doing something? He’s leading an army. He’s taking control. You’re just dragging us into fights that’ll get us killed!”
“Yeah, Taqsame had a plan,” another warrior now finds his voice, “one that took realaction against the real enemy: The Arbiter.”
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“Qapauma will burn,” I snap, “if Taqsame has his way.”
The warriors exchange glances, and I can see the doubt in their faces. If Taqsame really is moving south with an army, how long will it take before more Qantua start questioning me? How soon will they defect, abandoning the cause and allowing the Eye in the Flame to prosper?
Looking back at the Aimue, there’s a smirk on the farmers’ faces. “You’ve got your own problems,” one of the farmers sneers. “Looks like your people don’t even know whose side they’re on.”
The truth is, I don’t know whose side they’re on either. I’ve been barely holding this group together, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to for much longer. My control over these warriors has been fragile during the best of times. Now, with word spreading that one of their own is making a push for the capital, I know how tempting it will be for the glory seekers—those who want to be there when the Qantua seize the throne.
I think back to the council, to Teqosa’s argument with Taqsame, to the simmering rage in Taqsame’s eyes when he spoke of reclaiming Pachil by any means necessary. I didn’t believe it at the time. I thought he was just a young general, hungry for power, blinded by his ambitions. But now? This… this must be Taqsame’s doing. He’s the one who’s caused Xaqelatun to fall into further disarray, who’s committed these atrocities.
I feel this moment slipping through my fingers. Both sides—the Aimue and these Qantua warriors—are bearing down upon me, and I don’t know what I can say or do to avoid the inevitable.
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
“Look,” I say, almost defeatedly, “the people of Xaqelatun have been through so much, during a time when peace and prosperity were supposed to reign. First, it was the Eye in the Flame and their horrific beasts, and now this. I understand why you would be distrusting of outsiders, especially those who wear the colors of your recent attackers. But I speak the truth. It was not us who attacked you. That’s not who I am. I only seek to stop the Eye in the Flame before they grow stronger and destroy all of Pachil, as they nearly did to my people in Tuatiu.”
The lead Aimue farmer considers my words, but I can see the mistrust still etched on his face. At this point, I’m not sure if anything I say will get through to him.
Before I can push further, a new voice breaks through the silence. “Maybe we should hear her out,” says one of the younger Aimue farmers. He steps forward, his battered and aged spear lowered. “What if she’s telling the truth? What if they didn’t attack us? What if we’re wrong?”
The older Aimue bristles. “You’d trust them? After what’s happened?” His face hardens, but I can feel the ripple of uncertainty passing through the group of farmers.
“I don’t know if I trust them,” he admits, “but I’m not sure we have a choice. Look around.” His voice drops as he gestures to the ruins of their city. “We’ve already lost so much. And if they were going to attack us, they wouldn’t be standing here, wanting to talk. If we keep fighting, if we fight them, well… what if we’d be fighting the wrong battle?”
His words spark a murmur among the Aimue, some glancing at one another with doubt creeping into their expressions. I see my opening, the briefest sliver of a chance to avoid bloodshed.
“You’re right,” I say, raising my voice so everyone can hear. “You’ve already lost enough. Don’t throw away what’s left, fighting those who come in peace. We need to stand together, against the real enemy: the Eye in the Flame.”
“We’re wasting time here.”
I turn just in time to see the young warrior speak to the gathered Qantua, continuing to dissent. The grumbling rises again. “Tiahesi was right,” he states. “We should have followed him when he left. Taqsame is the true leader of the Qantua. You,” he now glares at me, “are nothing but a Tuatiu, an outsider pretending to lead us.”
I look the young warrior dead in his eyes, saying cooly, “Taqsame doesn’t care about the Aimue or the Qantua. He’ll burn it all down and leave ruins in his wake if it means he gets the power he wants.”
The warrior scoffs. “At least he’s doing something. You’re just dragging us into pointless battles. Taqsame is taking action. He’s claiming what’s ours.”
“And what’s that?” I challenge, charging toward him. “A burnt city? A scorched land? Is that what you want? Your precious Taqsame is not trying to better the Qantua—he’s marching to seize power for himself.”
The warrior’s face twists with anger, and he doesn’t back down. “Maybe power is what we need. Maybe it’s time the Qantua took control of Pachil.” Behind him, I can see the other Qantua warriors watching, waiting, their loyalty teetering on the edge. They’re waiting, expecting me to falter, to fail.
But what can I say? What do I have left that will convince them?
Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.
“Taqsame’s plan,” I begin with a hardening voice, “isn’t a path to glory or power. It’s a path to ruin. He’s not thinking of the Qantua, nor the entirety of Pachil—he’s thinking of himself, of what he can take.”
Emboldened by the murmurs of the others, another warrior speaks up. “And what are you thinking of, Tuatiu? Your words are hollow, and we’re wasting time. If we follow Taqsame, at least we’d be doing something. You claim the Eye in the Flame still exists, yet they’ve been nowhere to be found since Qapauma. You’re just leading us around in circles, chasing specters.”
“I’m leading you to survive,” I snap, feeling the frustration rising. “Taqsame doesn’t care if you survive. You’re a tool to him, nothing more. You think he’s going to share his power when he’s through? No, he’ll leave you to rot, just like he left this city to burn.”
The warrior scoffs. “And what’s your plan? You’re not Qantua. You don’t even know us.”
I grit my teeth, but he’s right. I’m not Qantua, and every step of the way, they’ve made sure I know it. But I’m here, standing in front of them, trying to hold things together while everything is crumbling. That has to count for something.
My voice trembles with anger. “If you follow him, if you leave here to join him, then you’re no better than those who attacked Xaqelatun. You’ll be feeding into the same cycle of destruction that has eluded peace for generations.”
I take a step forward, locking eyes with him. “But if you stay—if you fight for freedom, for each other—then you become something more. You become the ones who stop the cycle. The ones who refuse to be dust blown by another man’s storm. You want to know my plan? My plan is survival, yes—but not just for today. For tomorrow. For your children and theirs. My plan is that when this battle against the Eye in the Flame ends, it’s you who stand victorious, as the ones who finally chose to live.”
There’s a beat of silence. I can hear the mutterings around me, the whispers of those who still question my leadership. The young warrior looks ready to respond, but before he can, a voice breaks through like a crack of thunder.
“She’s right.”
Heads turn as a figure steps forward from the crowd of warriors—a Qantua warrior, older than most, with a weathered face and the scars of countless battles carved into his skin. He looks at me with time-worn eyes and a crooked nose likely broken numerous times in combat.
“She’s right,” he repeats, as his commanding voice booms across the gathered warriors. “I’ve seen men like Taqsame before. Hungry for power. Driven by their own ambition. They speak of unity and strength, but all they leave behind is ruin—we needn’t look further than here to see proof.”
The younger warriors shift uneasily under his gaze as he walks among his people. “I fought alongside many great generals during the War of Liberation—men and women who had the strength and wisdom to lead us out of darkness. But I also fought against those who wanted power for its own sake. They thought they could claim Pachil for themselves, thought they could seize control and bend others to their will. And do you know where they are now?”
His eyes sweep the group, landing on the dissenting warriors. “Dead. Or worse—forgotten.”
There’s a pause as he stops pacing, standing with his square jaw raised. “Taqsame is no different. I’ve heard the stories. He had some impressive victories during the war, sure. But I’ve seen men like him rise and fall, believing they were invincible, that warriors should follow them blindly into the abyss. And I can tell you this—men like him don’t bring greatness. They bring war. And destruction.”
The young warrior who had confronted me earlier swallows hard, but his defiance hasn’t completely faded. “But Taqsame’s taking action,” he argues weakly. “He’s—”
“Action for himself,” the aged warrior cuts him off. “Taqsame wants the throne. He doesn’t care about the Qantua, about Pachil, or about anyone standing in his way. Follow him, and you’ll be nothing more than kindling for the fire he plans to start.”
The veteran turns to me, giving me a nod. “You think following someone like him will bring honor to the Qantua?” he asks over his shoulder. “It won’t. The real honor comes from fighting the battles that need to be fought. Not chasing the whims of a man with too much ambition and too little regard for his people.”
He steps back, his stance strong, unwavering, as the other warriors finally fall silent. They’re beginning to understand. For the first time, I see a glimmer of doubt in the eyes of those who had once wavered.
“We’ve witnessed the destructive force of the Eye in the Flame,” he continues. “And her own people have suffered by their hand. If this Tuatiu warrior believes they’re still out there, then they’re still out there.”
I swallow hard, feeling a wave of relief. I turn back to the Aimue, who have been watching this entire exchange with wary eyes. The farmers are still tense, their weapons still raised, but there’s a noticeable shift in their stance—a hint of hesitation.
“If we fight each other,” I say, my voice louder now, more confident, “then we’re doing exactly what the Eye in the Flame wants. They’re sowing division, and we’re tearing ourselves apart while they grow stronger.”
“And what about this Taqsame?” one of the Aimue speaks up. “If he’s as dangerous as you say, why should we trust you? Why should we believe you’ll protect us when your own warriors are turning against you?”
I hesitate, not sure how to answer. But before I can, the aged Qantua warrior speaks again. “Because she’s right,” he says calmly. “And because if we don’t fight the real enemy together, then we’ll all fall—Qantua, Aimue, Tuatiu… it won’t matter. Taqsame will be the least of our worries.”
“If you don’t believe me now, I won’t blame you,” I say, speaking to Aimue, Qantua—everyone willing to listen. “You’ve suffered. You’ve lost. But fighting each other will only leave more bodies on the ground. I swear to you—our fight is with the Eye in the Flame. They’ve torn through Pachil, just as they’ve torn through your lives. And now there’s another threat moving across the land, coming for Qapauma.”
I can see the Aimue’s discerning looks, but I persist, as an idea comes to me, quick like a strike of lightning. “I don’t expect you to trust me,” I say, looking directly into the eyes of the defeated and exhausted farmers. “But I offer you something tangible: protection. We’ll take your most vulnerable, those who can’t fight, and bring them with us to Qapauma. There’s a camp on the way, maintained by Atima refugees. We’ll find safety there, or we’ll die defending them.”
I’m met with a sea of confused faces. “The Atima?” a woman farmer asks. “But they were exterminated by the Timuaq. They still exist?”
I allow myself a coy smile. “You’d be surprised. They are a resilient people, much like yourselves. They have a campsite near the Tapeu mountains, and they could really use people who know how to work the land.”
The Aimue farmers exchange glances, the doubt still present, but softening. The mention of a safe place, a sanctuary away from the horrors of war, seems to have struck their hearts. I press on, feeling the balance tilt in my favor.
“I confess, I’m not just here to protect your people. I’m here to rally every brave warrior that can still fight to defend Qapauma, and Pachil, from the Eye in the Flame. Taqsame doesn’t know what awaits his army, but perhaps he can be persuaded. Besides, if Qapauma falls, there will be nothing left of Pachil, and nothing left for him to rule. Everything we know will be consumed in fire. I need your warriors to stand with me. Together, we can stop the madness.”
I see the hesitation in their eyes. They’ve been burned before, and they’re not eager to throw themselves back into the fire. But there’s also something else in their look—something buried beneath the scars of loss and betrayal.
“And what guarantee do we have that you’ll keep your word?” the Aimue leader asks, his expression not as rigid as before. “That you won’t just lead us to our deaths?”
“There are no guarantees,” I admit, my voice steady. “But I swear this on my honor: I will defend your people with my life. We’ll get them to safety, and I’ll return with reinforcements who will help you rebuild your lives. But I can’t do that without your help, without warriors who will stand against the Eye in the Flame.”
The silence stretches again as the Aimue leader considers my words once more. Slowly, his makeshift weapon lowers, though the wariness in his eyes remains. “I must confess,” he says slowly, “this sounds like a tremendous test of our faith. But if what you say is true, we’ll give you what we can. The old, the wounded, they’ll go with you to this Atima campsite. And we can send those to seek revenge against those who ruined our home. But make no mistake—we’ll hold you to your word. If you fail us, the gods will not forget.”
The stress finally melts from my chest. It’s not a full victory, but it’s enough for now.
One of the Qantua warriors suddenly emerges from behind the slew of bodies crowded around me. His face is pale, and his expression is strained with worry. “Inuxeq,” he gasps, “I’ve just come from scouting the nearby roads. The villages and way stations on the southern routes… they’ve been abandoned or destroyed.”
A sinking feeling pulls at my stomach. “Destroyed?”
He nods, eyes wide. “They’re burning everything as they move south. They must have taken an alternative path, avoiding the main roads and hiding from plain sight. But they’re not far. Maybe a few days ahead, maybe less.”
I clench my fists. Taqsame is burning a path through the countryside, moving through villages no one else knows about, devastating any resistance and claiming everything in his way. If we don’t move now, we’ll lose our chance to stop him before he reaches Qapauma. And the Eye in the Flame? They’re not far behind.
I eagerly look up at the sky, as though the moon that has slowly begun to appear in the midday sky will suddenly have grown full. Alas, it’s still a tiny sliver, barely visible. “We move for Qapauma immediately,” I declare. “We need every sword, every spear we can get. We’ll send the vulnerable to Qelantu Loh, but the rest of us must get to Qapauma before it’s too late.”