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“You know there are supernatural creatures roaming these lands, right?”
Chiqama and I let out another exasperated sigh as we hike these steep hills. We’ve been on these trails for only a couple of days, yet I’m more tired of Naqispi’s postulating than the travels. On the first day, he was mercifully quiet, but ever since, he’s been relentless in regaling us with tales of mythical beasts and powerful sorcerers, whose capabilities go well beyond that of the Eleven. It’s evoked nothing but eye rolls from the rest of us, but Naqispi persists.
“Have I told you about Qapila, the giant capybara-eating serpent that ambushes its prey from the edge of the water?”
“Yes, a thousand times already,” Chiqama moans. “And there hasn’t been any water around for many legs of this trek, so we’re safe from ‘Qapila’.” He waves his hands in mock surrender. Naqispi narrows his eyes and hmms as he thinks.
“Surely I haven’t mentioned Qotli, the large–“
“Reptilian bird with talons the size of its wings,” Chiqama interrupts. “You and reptilian creatures, Naqispi. Your imagination is starting to circle back upon itself. I’m growing concerned for you.”
Undeterred, Naqispi immediately follows up by saying, “okay, I definitely have not said anything about Waliq, the bear the size of a mountain.” Chiqama is silent, refusing to make eye contact with Naqispi, but his efforts are futile—I’m surprised Chiqama doesn’t simply lie just to keep Naqispi quiet, but he’s too honest for his own good. Naqispi excitedly claps his hands, then rubs them together in anticipation for the story he’s about to tell.
“Long ago, when Aqxilapu was forming Qiapu–“
“How on Pachil do you know about Qiapu legends?” Chiqama interjects. He makes a fair point: although the Sanqo are well traveled, we don’t spend an exorbitant amount of time listening to or learning about other factions’ histories or mythologies. I would never confess it to him, but I’m impressed someone like Naqispi actually knows of such things, assuming he’s not fabricating it, as he has with all his other fables.
“If you would stop interrupting me,” Naqispi scolds, then continues. “When Aqxilapu was forming Qiapu, he created the land by merging the mountain ranges together, right? Right? Well, anyway, as he reached for one particular mountain, he revealed the lair of a gigantic bear, Waliq, a fiercely protective creature who fought Him to defend his cubs–“
“Wait, did the male bear give birth to the cubs?” Chiqama asks.
“Well, no. Obviously, there is a mother–“
“So there are two such bears? Where’s the mother? Are there more of these bears than just the two?”
“I don’t know if there are more,” Naqispi responds, growing more and more irritated at the interrogation. “I only know of the two. And the mother is probably out hunting for humans to feed to her cubs.”
“Why didn’t Aqxilapu notice her out and about before forming his land, then?” Chiqama asks. “If I saw a giant bear had made her home in a particular region, I wouldn’t disrupt it just so I can craft my own lands and have to deal with angry bears all the time. It seems unnecessarily intrusive to remove creatures from their habitat so I can move in.”
“Iaqa, spare us,” Pomacha bellows to the heavens, the first words, I believe, I’ve heard him utter since we’ve set foot in these lands. It startles us, to the point where we all fall silent, returning our concentration to hiking this steep, rocky path.
Wandering these labyrinthine trails in the Tapeu highlands grants me an abundance of time to reflect—when not being inundated by Naqispi’s storytelling—the events that led to this journey still ripple in the depths of my memory. Being entrusted with such a mission by the great Sanqo leader, Siunqi, is, of course, an honor, though it comes with its own setbacks. We could be returning to the comforts of our homeland, yet we are the selected few who must carry out our designated task fraught with peril instead. This is the life that we, in accord with our god of the sea, Iaqa, have consciously chosen to embrace.
Since we departed the shores near Chalaqta and received Siunqi’s command to track down Walumaq, I’ve been left baffled and confused, the shock still fresh, and the guilt and shame arise unannounced at the most inopportune moments.
“This doesn’t seem like a wise idea,” I remember telling Siunqi. We’re preparing to depart the island for the continent, which already feels like a monumental decision when one considers we haven’t left Sanqo since the War of Liberation ended nearly a harvest ago. The salty morning air is crisp and refreshing, as the sun that’s hardly above the horizon casts everything in a reddish hue, giving the misconception that everything is calm and still, at peace.
“Involving oneself in the matters of the continent is never a wise idea,” he says with a cunning grin. His instincts have never failed our people, and I know he’s well aware of the risks involved with this journey, so I know to trust him. Yet I still can’t shake this feeling that we’re making a mistake, that we shouldn’t be chasing vague tales that suspiciously and conveniently seem tailored to a highly ambitious leader of an outcast faction.
What’s worse is his decision to bring his young daughter, Walumaq, along for the trek. She is so young, and having her along on this trip is yet another noble I’ll have to keep an eye on and guard, splitting my focus when it needs to be at its sharpest. However, she couldn’t be more opposite of her brash and immature brother, Pahua, and there has always been something that has drawn me to her since she was a fledgling, beyond her jarring blue eyes. It’s as though, instinctually, I knew she was special when the rest of the island couldn’t see it—not even her father, at times—and that she was to be protected at all costs. As Walumaq boards the ship, blue and red feather pinned in her hair, she emits a tranquility and wisened sense of wholeness that goes beyond her years. Perhaps it’s this maturity that has blinded Siunqi into allowing her to come, forgetting that she is but a child.
“We could always say she’s spurned her duties as the daughter of the Sanqo leader,” the throaty voice of Naqispi says, shaking me out of my moment of recollection. He carries his robust and battle-hardened physique with an unapologetic swagger as he traverses the terrain, his angular face bearing the marks of countless skirmishes—from both battle and pub fights. He wears a tousled mane of raven-black hair that falls wildly around his shoulders, matching the untamed intensity in his dark, probing eyes. His tunic is patched together with pieces of ink-infused cloth that shimmer with an otherworldly iridescence as the light reflects from certain angles, and thick tattoos wrap around both of his arms to resemble the curling tentacles of an octopus, his family sigil.
“It’s a lot to take on,” he continues, “following in the footsteps of such a renowned leader. I wouldn’t blame her for running off, to be honest.”
“We are not abandoning our mission,” Chiqama chides in his typical, nasally voice. Though he’s shorter and has a ropey and sinewy build, Chiqama surpasses expectations with his unwavering determination that saw him excel further than many during his trials. His large, sparkling eyes compliment a face that never shies from expressing how he feels. His chestnut hair cascades down his back and sweeps over his colorful tunic of turquoise and coral, a vibrant backdrop for the silver dolphin pendant he wears around his neck. “If anything, I’d rather abandon you so we can finally have a moment of peace.”
“Isn’t that precious,” Naqispi says with a wry smile. “If you think you’ll have any peace while in pursuit of Siunqi’s little girl, you’d be gravely mistaken, my friend. Besides, if you abandon me, you’d miss my charming company too much.”
“Nobody could miss your blathering,” Chiqama says. “You’ve been a thorn on our sides ever since you’ve joined our ranks.”
“Ah, but a rose wouldn't be quite as beautiful without its thorns, now would it?” Naqispi retorts.
“I don’t think that makes a lick of sense,” Chiqama says, looking between me and Pomacha for support. He won’t arouse any reaction from the stoic Pomacha, however: With a shaved head and constant stubble on his jaw and cheeks, his deep and enigmatic eyes highlight an expression that appears perpetually lost in thought, as if concealing emotions or an internal battle better left unspoken. Perhaps he’s simply better at ignoring the bickering than I am. His copper skin, tanned and hardened by constant exposure to sun and wind, blends in almost seamlessly with his minimal, earth-toned loin cloth that is accented by touches of sage green and slate gray. How he travels among these mountains with such little attire is both perplexing and a little unsettling.
“What doesn’t make sense,” Naqispi says, “is this mission. What if Walumaq doesn’t want to be found? How else could we have lost track of her so quickly? Is it really worth risking our lives for someone who ran away?”
His words ring in my ears as my thoughts return to our last day at Chalaqta. Without explanation, Siunqi had rushed his men out of Tapeu in the dark of night after calamity befell the city. One of our warriors races to my post just beyond the walls, overwhelmed with panic that causes him to speak in short, incomprehensible bursts.
“Fire… near the palace… Pahua… Siunqi’s orders… to leave at once… Prepare to receive them… Prepare the ships…”
Piecing everything together, I send half our men to ready our ships while the rest of us run to the edge of the sparse forest to cover our leader’s escape. When we see them sprinting toward us, one of our men begins firing arrows at the guards atop the walls. I hear Siunqi shouting at us to cease fire, but it’s too late, as arrows begin streaming down upon those running away. We escape with minimal injuries—praise Iaqa—and Siunqi rightfully and dutifully dispatches the offending Sanqo warrior who carelessly fired the arrow.
We make it to the ships, and after tending to some of the wounded, manage to get everyone aboard quickly and efficiently. Siunqi’s scowl answers the only questions worth asking, so I deliver the command to shove off, and our ships enter the water, departing these cursed lands and, fortunately, return to Sanqo.
No sooner than when I turn my back to the shores, locating my seat on the ship to assist with the rowing, I hear Siunqi shouting his daughter’s name. I turn back around to see she’s running off and down along the shoreline. We all halt rowing immediately as Siunqi calls to Walumaq again and again, but she never turns to look at him, not once. I glance over to the ship containing Pahua, who managed to slip on just as we pushed off into the water, face frozen in stupefaction.
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I rise from my seat and grab Siunqi’s shoulder to ask, “Sir, what shall we do?” Looking back on it now, I can see what a mistake I made.
So, we’ve been heading south, as commanded, in search of our leader’s daughter. Though she hadn’t gotten far by the time the four of us left our ships and chased after her, we somehow lost sight of her under the shroud of darkness, and she vanished in the cover of night. While we would most certainly rather be returning to Sanqo, this is what our leader wills us to do, so we shall do it, without question.
“That is a matter between Siunqi and Walumaq,” I remind Naqispi.
“Not when it involves me putting my life on the line, it isn’t!” Naqispi stops hiking and stands among the harsh landscape. “By running off, she’s made her little tantrum or whatever is going on involve all of us now. We could end up paying for her ignorance!”
“We are not owed anything,” I say, turning to face him. “To serve in our ruler’s guard is a gift bestowed upon us, and we knew the possible risks when we said our vows. We don't have all the details, but we do know that what happened in Chalaqta was grim. We need to trust his judgment and work together, because finding Walumaq can uncover the truth about what occurred and why she felt compelled to run away in the first place. This mission is not just about her, it's about all of us, and the future of Sanqo. We can't afford to let our personal grievances and fears get in the way.”
With this, I resume the hike, with Chiqama and Pomacha following close behind.
“If you would like to return to Sanqo and inform our ruler why you decided to defy his orders, you have my permission,” I say, speaking to Naqispi over my shoulder.
With a huff, Naqispi picks up his pace and chases after us, saying, “I didn’t say I wanted to defy his orders. I’m just saying that…” But by then I begin tuning him out to concentrate on the matter at hand. Though we’ve been heading in her last known direction, this land is so expansive, so vast, and Walumaq could be anywhere. I want to believe that we will succeed, and that Siunqi’s daughter will be found safe, yet it’s difficult to fight the notion that Naqispi may be correct, and that this endeavor might be fruitless.
Our trek brings us to a small forest, the path through the brief patch of trees giving us welcomed respite from the harsh sun. I determine that there has to be either a small village or farmhouse on our way that could lead us to her last known whereabouts, or having overheard her speaking of her destination or seen her wandering on a nearby road. Having spent my time in the war entirely on ships, my unfamiliarity with this land means we are drifting aimlessly in our pursuit, with no indication that we’re on the right course. All I can hope for is that, perhaps, the currents of fate can bring us to where we need to be. I will make sure to pray to Iaqa, the one whose eternal flame will always guide us to our destination, and ask that He can show us the way to her.
“What was that?”
Pomacha retrieves his large axe from the harness strapped to his back and tightly grips its handle, extending the weapon just above his shoulders as his head swivels from side to side in anticipation of an incoming threat.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Chiqama says, though he gradually reaches for his sword despite what he declared. Wielding our weapons, the four of us stand in place, scanning the scene for any indication of danger. The stillness is unnerving: Not a creature stirs, and other than the wind lightly rustling the leaves, there are no other noises to accompany our heavy breathing.
“You know,” Naqispi speaks softly, “if this were Qancha—the enormous half-arachnid, half-scorpion I told you about—it would slowly descend from the trees and–“
“Now’s not the time!” I grumble. Just then, a twig snaps to my left. We turn to face the sound, but we find nothing other than trees standing frozen in place, much like ourselves. A shadow blurs from the corner of my eye, darting quickly to flank me. I spin around to face it, my sword of lodged obsidian blades hoisted up near my head and ready to swing.
“THERE!” I shout, and the four of us see it: Though difficult to distinguish among the vegetation, a large cat-like creature snarls at us. Its body is slender and streamlined, and razor-sharp claws dig into the ground as its hind legs coil back. If it wasn’t for the beast bearing its teeth, it would be practically invisible; while initially I believed its fur to be green and brown that merely blended in with the surroundings, I suddenly notice the beams of sunlight breaking through the trees’ leaves that creates a shimmering effect in the shape of its body.
“Waqash!” Naqispi yells, not as a rallying cry, but as though that should mean something.
The beast leaps into the air and I immediately lose sight of it, the camouflaged figure melding into the scenery. Chiqama yelps and falls backward, red slashes appearing on his chest through the turquoise cloth. He’s on his back and looks to be wrestling with the air, struggling to fight something that’s pinning him to the ground. With a grunt, Pomacha brings his battleaxe around, halting mid-swing as he strikes the invisible monster. A loud growl emerges, then a woosh as the creature vanishes from sight. Chiqama rolls onto his side, placing one hand on his chest as he inspects his wounds. I rush over to tend to him, but he brushes me off.
“I’m okay,” he says, his breathing slightly labored. “Just a scratch, nothing more. Give me a hand.”
I hurriedly pull him up, and we both resume our stances, firmly holding our weapons as our focus darts about the area. I look for any bend of the light, hoping to spot the creature before it has an opportunity to stealthily ambush us again.
“Watch out for its–“
Before Naqispi can finish his warning, I’m struck in the arm by a searing pain. As I glance down, blood streaks from a deep laceration to my left arm. I hadn’t seen the attack coming, so my alertness is heightened from panic and adrenaline as I watch for any sudden movements.
“Its tail!” Naqispi completes his statement. “Waqash’s tail can be used like a whip!”
“Thanks for the advanced warning,” Chiqama quips, pointing to my arm. There’s too much going on around us for me to worry about my wound, so I grimace through the pain and prepare for the moment the beast reveals itself.
A tree branch bends, then quickly quivers, drawing my attention up. A prism-like refraction catches my eye, and I immediately holler at everyone, “eyes up!” Taking a long step to the side, I bring my sword back and swing, catching the creature in its arm, noticing its limb is nearly the same length as all of Chiqama. It howls at my slashing attack, and dark, viscous blood streams out of the wound. It must require concentration to remain camouflaged, as we’re better able to see the outline of its body.
Pomacha and Chiqama grit their teeth and swing their weapons—Pomacha bringing his axe down upon the torso while Chiqama lands a blow to the beast’s paw. Before they can strike again, the cat-like monster leaps up and into the trees. I wait for the branches to give away its position, but each bough remains still, as if the creature itself is as light as a bird.
The pain in my upper arm intensifies, making it harder to ignore and concentrate on locating this ‘Waqash’. Naqispi shouts, and Chiqama twists to see the beast hurtling toward him with hardly a chance to evade the incoming attack. Before the cat-like creature collides with him, Naqispi hurls himself between the monster and his comrade, lashing at the air with his sword. His blade jostles as though striking something and slightly bounces, but he’s quickly tumbling backward as a long gash cuts across his face. He screams in agony, clutching at his marred face as he writhes on the ground. I sprint over to him, flailing with our weapons with hopes of hitting the beast and momentarily driving it off. Before I arrive, Chiqama is already at his side and tending to his wound.
“I’ll take care of him,” Chiqama says, ripping a strip off his tunic and wrapping it around his hand. “I’ll return to the fight once his wound is tended to. Go!”
I nod, then turn around to track the creature. Pomacha roars at the sky as if attempting to summon Waqash to him, pounding his chest with his left hand while clutching the mighty axe in his right. I find myself awestruck in the face of this formidable show of strength, and I can't help but wonder if the beast is just as daunted upon seeing the display of sheer power as I am.
Heeding his call, Waqash pounces upon Pomacha, revealing its green-and-brown-striped fur as it snarls down at its prey. He avoids getting pinned, stumbling backward, but catching himself in a slide. He lunges forward, bearing the battleaxe down onto the cat-like creature, slashing at its tapered waist and nearly slicing it in half. As the dark crimson fluid begins to pour out of the wound, the monster howls, then slashes at Pomacha, tearing through his barrel-chested body. He only winces, grinding his teeth before swinging the axe again at the limping feline.
I rush over, plant my front foot down, then lunge at Waqash, thrusting my sword at its exposed torso. I pierce through its fur and flesh, the squishing skin offering little resistance to my blade as it penetrates the creature’s body. I drive the weapon until my hands reach fur, stopping with a thwump as my fists collide with the beast. Waqash’s head tilts back to release an otherworldly yowl, filling the air with the sounds of its anguish. It tries once more to swipe at me with its claws, but Pomacha clobbers its paw with one more blow from his axe as the limb limply drops. The creature’s body collapses, tongue falling out of its mouth as a pool of blood grows beneath the lifeless corpse, covering my sandals and painting my feet red.
Pomacha and I stand next to Waqash, bracing for any sudden movements in case the creature is feigning its death. Watching it attentively, we wait for several dozens of heartbeats, holding our weapons at the ready. After a quick glance at one another, we exchange a nod and gradually lower our guard, though still looking upon the beast with suspicion. Eventually, we take a chance with our safety by turning our backs to it and return to Chiqama and Naqispi.
Chiqama helps Naqispi up, the two of them hobble over to look at the deceased beast with a sigh of relief. Chiqama has wrapped Naqispi’s head to cover the wound, as a long, diagonal slash across his right eye and down to his chin is patched up in the turquoise cloth now dotted with red.
“Of all the monsters you told us about,” Chiqama says, looking at Naqispi, “you could’ve said something about the giant camouflaged cat.”
“I didn’t think any of them were actually real,” Naqispi says defensively. “I was merely trying to pass the time on this arduous journey, since you’re far from entertaining.”
“Are we going to face more of those things?” Chiqama asks, a slight quiver in his voice.
“Iaqa knows,” Naqispi says with a shrug.
“Then we better be on the lookout,” Pomacha says with a grunt, strapping the axe to his back before walking away and resuming the search.
“I suppose that is that,” Naqispi says with a smirk and raising his hands.
“How’s your wound?” I ask, before apologizing as I realize I’ve rudely pointed at his head.
“Eh, I guess we’ll see when the bandage is removed,” he says. “Can’t be any worse than yours.” He looks down at my arm, and I realize I’ve almost forgotten about my own injuries.
“When the adrenaline from the fight wears off, I’ll most certainly be made aware, I’m afraid,” I tell him. Naqispi flashes that famous vulpine grin, then pats me on my good shoulder before shuffling his feet to catch up with the other two.
We exit the edge of the tree line and enter a vast, empty clearing of rock, with the sun bearing down on us once again. Looking out into the landscape, a deep valley containing another patch of woods is far off into the distance, and just beyond that, a column of smoke rises from what I assume—and hope—is a campfire or a village. It means, however, we’ll have to hike this rocky terrain for quite some time before we’re able to descend into the cover of the trees and reach the source of the smoke.
With the forest and the fight behind us—figuratively and literally—my thoughts return to our duty and what’s been asked of us. Admittedly, it’s difficult to not resent Siunqi’s daughter, blaming her for preventing us from returning home, enduring punishing encounters, and knowing we will undoubtedly face more challenges. Yet there must be a reason she ran off, a reason she would forego the safety of returning to Sanqo to pursue some cause within the continent. Something compelled her to stay, and, if nothing else, I am determined to learn what that is.
The wind whispers the stories of these Tapeu lands through its high peaks, and the air is thin enough to carry them far. It’s a place where the earth kisses the sky, where jagged rocks cut through the heavens themselves, where every breath feels like stolen moments. We are Sanqo warriors, born to the salt and sea, but now we stand, out of our depths, on an undertaking that defies the very laws of our nature. Three of my comrades trudge beside me, our eyes sweeping the unforgiving terrain, searching for her—the one who slipped away into these wilds. As we traverse these stony spires, I can’t help but feel that the mountains themselves are keeping her secrets, guarding them with silent, towering resolve.