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“You’ve been saying that since we left those cursed woods,” Chiqama groans.
“It doesn’t make it any less true,” Naqispi points out. “This scar is going to buy me so many ales when we return to Sanqo.”
With his finger, he traces the long, deep scar that mars his face, bandaged by a torn piece of Chiqama’s turquoise clothing, now bespeckled with the rusted red of dried blood. The mark was given to him during our encounter with Waqash, the cat-like beast that could render itself invisible. As I recount the creature’s description and our battle with it, however, I reluctantly come around to Naqispi’s point about how he’ll never have to buy a beverage for himself ever again.
We’ve aimlessly wandered these lands, searching the high, rugged mountains, and the low, grassy plains. We’ve endured pounding rain, scorching heat, howling wind, and relentless nights. We’ve lost track of the number of days since we departed our revered leader, Siunqi, on the shores near Chalaqta. I won’t speak for my men, but I know I’m exhausted, frustrated, and ready to turn around and head back to Sanqo so I can recover from my still aching wounds. Only my sense of duty drives me onward, hoping that we’re close to finding any indication of the Sanqo princess, Walumaq.
We reach a shoreline where the soft hills enter the sea, the waves gently washing up along the rocky beach. Initially, Naqispi believes we’ve made a full circle, but Pomacha explains to him that we’ve only traveled in a southernly direction, making sure to emphasize that Naqispi’s observation is incorrect. Likely due to exhaustion, Naqispi decides this is the moment he will pick a fight with the mighty and stoutly-built Pomacha, squaring up to confront our taciturn giant. With a single look, the large man quickly deescalates the situation, staring down his challenger until Naqispi, to his chagrin, backs away.
Using sticks pilfered from unsuspecting bushes, we observe the shadows’ position and the sun’s movement to eventually determine where on this vast continent we’re located. This period also conveniently serves as a much-needed opportunity for rest, especially after Naqispi’s near-confrontation left us all a bit tense. After some head-scratching and wild gesturing, we settle on traveling in a ‘west-ish’ direction—away from the meandering shoreline that, I’d assume, loops back to Chalaqta, the journey’s origin. All the while, Chiqama grumbles about the day being wasted, earning him some less-than-amused glances and leading him to sulk silently to himself.
After countless days of trekking, our feet heavy and worn out, we reach a well-traveled road, the largest we’ve encountered since we were in the Tapeu coastal city. A debate arises, questioning whether we should go “left” or “right”—what I figure to be “south” versus “north”—and, thanks to being overwhelmingly tired, the discussion becomes rather heated. Before we come to blows, I step between the squabbling parties, suggesting we set up camp and make the determination in the morning. As if awaking from a trance, the three others look around at the surroundings and the setting sun, then at each other, and nod sleepily at no one in particular.
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“Atoyaqtli.” I hear the hushed voice of Chiqama as I groggily stir atop my bedroll. “Travelers, coming from the left.”
With my eyes barely capable of opening, I tilt my head to inspect what Chiqama is attempting to show me. Sure enough, a group of maybe half a dozen people, with llamas tethered to small carts behind them, are gradually approaching our location. They’re all dressed in knee-length tunics, dyed in a multitude of earthy tones and adorned with intricate geometric patterns. At the waist, wide belts of braided red and orange cloth carry a bevy of small tools and leather pouches. Each wears a small, rectangular cap, also in hues of red and orange, with tassels and small beads dangling along the perimeter.
“Should we attack them?” Now it’s Naqispi speaking to me in a low growl. “I haven’t eaten llama in quite some time, and perhaps the carts they’re carrying contain chicha!”
What follows is a loud smack from Pomacha’s heavy-handed swat of the back of Naqispi’s head. Apart from Naqispi’s incoherent whimpering, barely muttering that he was only joking, a heavy silence hangs over our group, their anxious eyes fixed on me, awaiting my command.
“They appear to be nothing more than simple farmers,” I declare. “Perhaps they can indicate where we are, and in which direction we should travel from here. But keep your weapons close, in case they are more threatening than their appearance lets on.”
With this, I pick up my sword of lodged obsidian blades and strap it to my back, ready to grab at a moment’s notice. The others prepare their weapons, as well, before we casually approach the traveling group. I watch closely to see if the travelers possess any weapons of their own and if there are clues that signal they’re more than just farmers. After some time, I notice equipment like hoes and sacks of grain, as well as numerous bushels of root vegetables inside the carts. While I must still be alert, the initial indications are promising so far.
I call out to the men as we cautiously walk up to them, startling them and the animals immensely. We all attempt to calm the llamas, who, understandably, look distrustingly at us. After a lot of coaxing, everyone finally settles down, and I resume engaging with them.
“Apologies for the abrupt interruption,” I say, palms open and raised toward them. “We are travelers who have just awoken from a brief rest before continuing on to our destination. And… my, those are excellent creatures you’ve got towing your goods! I haven’t seen such fine animals in quite some time!”
The farmers look upon me questioningly, not speaking at first as they evaluate the situation. Seeing four men, dressed as we are in armor and strapped with weapons on potentially dangerous roads, is always going to be a cause for suspicion. I can imagine the number of thieves who await in the shadows to strike upon some unwitting prey. Because of this notion, I attempt to remain pleasant, speaking of the weather and admiring their goods. They continue responding to me with absolute silence, frozen in place and making no sudden movements.
Naqispi offers an apologetic smile, his hand resting solemnly over his heart as he gives a subtle, respectful nod. “I apologize for my awkward and unintentionally intimidating friend,” he says with a hint of warmth. “We have traveled quite a long way, and exhaustion has hindered our ability at social decorum. Besides, it must be stressful to travel these roads with the possibility of thieves lurking about, those scum.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t argue with the progress Naqispi is making with the travelers. They no longer look at one another nervously, instead relaxing their shoulders a bit and breathing a touch easier. Chiqama and Pomacha keep their distance, while Naqispi edges closer to the group with deliberate care, as if wary of startling a sea turtle into retreating back into its shell.
“Yep, it’s been a tiring journey thus far,” he continues. “Where are you gentlemen heading?”
One of the men, with a patchy, black beard and splotches of dirt smeared about his cheeks and forehead, looks back at his cart as he replies. “North to Chalaqta. We had an early harvest, so we decided to sell our vegetables ahead of the others in the region.”
“Clever men, clever men,” Naqispi praises the farmers with his distinct vulpine smile. “The Tapeu will feast on your delicious food and be left wanting for more! Perhaps even the Voice of the Arbiter will partake in your delectables!”
“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we?” Chiqama leans in to mutter into Naqispi’s ear. Noticing the nervous, uncomfortable smiles, Pomacha and I nod in agreement.
Naqispi waves him away like a pestering fly, then carries on. “So since you’re traveling from the direction we’re headed in, do you happen to have any advice for us? Anything we should be aware of? Ideal routes we should be traveling on? Anything?”
The collection of farmers look to one another for any indication as to how they should respond, before one of them—this time, an older man with a dark tanned, weathered face and missing a couple of his incisors—answers the inquiry. “We haven’t been traveling for long, but we haven’t encountered any bandits or dangerous animals. In fact, you’re the first people we’ve seen.”
With an exaggerated relieved sigh, Naqispi says, “That’s comforting to know! There’s only so much from which we can defend ourselves.”
He now casually walks up to the older man, positioning himself very close, almost shoulder-to-shoulder, as he swivels his head to look at the man conspiratorially. Now I grow worried that he’s about to ruin any good favor he earned with his sweet talking, and I ready myself to jump in if the occasion arises.
“You know, I am really inquiring because, back in our home village, we heard this rumor of a remarkable, foreign woman traveling these dangerous roads by herself! I know! Can you believe it? When we heard of such a ludicrous story, my companion here,” he pats my shoulder hard, causing me to involuntarily wince, “thought that, perhaps, we’d encounter her and could offer her our protection, since she’s supposed to be heading in the same direction as us… What a gentleman, indeed, fellow traveler! We just hope she hasn’t become lost or in peril since departing. And since you said we’re the first people you’ve seen during your journey so far, I’m to assume you haven’t encountered her yet? A beautiful, young woman, with distinct blue eyes?”
“Blue eyes…” one of the men says, astonished at the notion. “We would certainly recognize someone with blue eyes! But, our apologies to you. We have encountered no such woman, I fear.”
Naqispi grimaces, and, having served alongside him for a number of harvests now, I catch a glint in his eye, this expression indicating that he’s suppressing the urge to flay these men where they stand, out of frustration. To everyone’s fortune, Pomacha seems to notice this, as well, placing a consoling hand upon his shoulder and calming him down.
“But wait!” one of the other farmers exclaims. “If she’s heading south, perhaps she has entered Mintaq!” Sensing our confusion, he elaborates further. “Mintaq is a very small village at the southern region of Tapeu territory. It’s not far from the main road, surrounded by a large stretch of farms within the hills. It’s a great place to gather supplies and rest if you’re traveling on to the Qiapu territory, especially with those large mountains.”
“Mintaq, you say…” Chiqama wonders aloud, and as he reflects on this, his tic has returned, clicking his tongue loudly while he thinks.
“You have been a tremendous help,” Naqispi says cheerfully—apparently his anger is no longer simmering beneath the surface. “That is the most excellent advice. Why didn’t you think of that?” He hits me hard on the same shoulder, and I fight back an even larger wince than before as the pain shoots through my entire arm.
We warmly wave goodbye to the farmers as they return to their travels toward Chalaqta, llamas and goods trailing behind. For what feels like the first time since the start of the interaction, I breath easier, as though I’d been holding in my breath for the entire duration. As much grief as I give Naqispi, he was able to get information we need, helping us create a plan of attack. Though it’s disappointing that the travelers hadn’t happened upon Walumaq, we have a destination in our sights, the first village we’ve seen—or even heard of—since beginning this quest. With the Tapeu territory being as expansive as it is, I conclude that the Sanqo princess has to have made a stop at the village on her way to wherever she headed. Being away from the comfort of a palace must certainly make a pampered noble such as herself long for a comfortable bed and a freshly-prepared meal.
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“I’m growing so tired of seeing all this grass,” Naqispi whines. “By the sea! And I’m so tired of seeing scenery entirely of beige. If I don’t see a tree by the time the sun begins to fall, I will slice my wrists open just to finally see a different color than tan or brown.”
“The last time we saw a patch of trees, we were ambushed by the invisible cat creature,” Chiqama reminds him. “At least this way, I’ll be able to better see my death coming, rather than have it pounce on me from a high limb.”
Under normal circumstances, I would tell them to shut their mouths so we can travel in peace. However, these aren’t normal circumstances. We’ve been marching for days, with no sign of the princess anywhere, and our only plan is to arrive at some dull, insignificant small farming village in the off chance she happened to rest there on her way to Iaqa knows where. It’s become more tiresome than Naqispi and Chiqama’s bickering and complaining, which is saying a lot.
After traversing a vast blanket of beige, Chiqama spots the tips of thatched roofs peeking out from the tall grass in the distance. Just as the traveling farmers indicated, the settlement is off the road a ways, yet still visible from our location. The others immediately pick up the pace, hurriedly rushing off to this oasis in the middle of the plains. It’s the first village we’ve seen since departing Chalaqta, and I can see in the men’s faces how eager they are to engage with some kind of civilization.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
We wade through the field of long, tall grass like walking through the sea, keeping our hands and arms above the surface. We swat away the thick stalks as we trek across the rolling plains, singularly focused on reaching this precious milestone. The buildings, in neat rows, gradually grow as they come clearer into view, constructed of dense mud and straw, with golden straw roofs that make the homes blend in with their surroundings.
We anticipated the roads would contain the residents of this small village. However, the dirt paths are barren, lacking any activity one would expect to see. Our progress into the village becomes much slower as we take more cautious steps upon entering. On the opposite side of the town, two buildings stand out distinctively from the others, and not in a pleasant way. They are heavily damaged, their exteriors burnt and partially crumbled, the destruction spilling onto the road. The homes aren’t smoking, indicating to me that they became ruined a bit ago. Was this an accident, caused by a careless individual? If that’s so, then why are there two houses in such a state, and with a good distance between them, suffering the same damage?
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Chiqama mutters quietly to the rest of us. “I don’t like what I’m seeing with those damaged buildings. The person or people responsible might still be around.”
“But then why do the other buildings near those two still remain intact and untouched?” Naqispi observes. He makes a fair point, as I don’t see any other sign of damage on the other buildings. “Perhaps the people who lived in those homes committed some heinous crime and were punished for it?”
“This doesn’t appear to be the way the Tapeu serve their justice,” Chiqama states. “They’re not like our ancestors, pillaging and destroying the people and belongings of those who wronged us.”
“Now when did our ancestors ever–“
Before Naqispi can finish his remark, I hear a commotion near one of the houses. Surveying the scene, I don’t notice any movement, I don’t see a sign of anyone or any creature sneaking about. Yet, thanks to our recent encounter with Waqash, I’m not taking the silence lightly.
The four of us draw our respective weapons and hold them out, ready for anyone—or any thing—that approaches us. With every methodical, precise step, we gradually advance toward the suspected building, seamlessly forming a diamond formation. Our gazes are keen, alert for anything suspicious or out of the ordinary. The area is disturbingly still, as if frozen in time.
From around the corner, a loud, high-pitched, incoherent yell precedes a short, gaunt man leaping from behind the home, with some weapon in hand. He swings the mechanism at the side of Chiqama, but his reaction is swift, and he blocks the incoming blow. All of his training, all of his combat experience should inform Chiqama of striking his attacker and disposing of him easily, yet as he brings back his daggers, he pauses and looks at his assailant questioningly. Pomacha is about to join him and swing his axe down upon the enemy when Chiqama raises a single hand, dagger still in his grip, and halts our companion.
“It’s just a boy,” Chiqama says. “Just a young boy.”
With the attacker standing still, paralyzed by fear, I clearly see Chiqama is right, that this is a young boy, no older than maybe a dozen harvests. His arms and legs are mere twigs, and it surprises me that he could hoist the hoe he wielded at all. His face and simple clothing are smudged with dirt and grime, blending in with his dark brown hair. His light brown eyes stare pleadingly at us, as a lone tear trickles down his face.
“What happened here?” I say, placing a gentle hand upon his tiny shoulder and softening my voice, so as to not startle the boy and scare him off. “Where is everyone in your village?”
The boy looks reluctant to answer, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his long tunic. My eyes beg a response from him, which he eventually obliges, bowing his head down low. “They’re off by the stream,” he sniffles. “Waiting until it’s safe to return. I’m supposed to check if the bad people have gone.”
“Sending a boy to check on the security of the village?” Naqispi scoffs. “What kind of insensitive, cowardly–“
“I volunteered,” the boy says, his puny chest swollen with pride. “I was hoping to get revenge, for what they did.”
The boy fights back his tears, and though I don’t ask, I can figure out the implications well enough, reasoning that the child will tell us in due time, when he’s more calm and ready.
“Who were the bad people?” Chiqama inquires. “When were they here?”
The boy thinks for a minute, his eyes closed tightly as he strains his memory for how to respond. “They said they were from… the Eye in the Flame?” His voice lilts upward at the end of his sentences, as if he’s posing questions instead of providing answers. “They wore dirty gray robes? And blood cloths covered their faces? And they demanded to stay in our houses? But then Tachami refused? And then they killed him? Burned him alive? And they did the same to my parents? But I ran away? And…”
The boy begins sobbing, speaking in a blubbering, broken cadence that breaks my heart. Pomacha, tall and daunting, approaches the boy and consoles him with a long hug.
“Was there a young girl among you with blue eyes? Someone wearing blue and bronze clothes?” I ask the grief-stricken boy, receiving perplexed and offended stares from the other three. I, too, am angered with myself, that I must be so insensitive, but we were ordered to find the princess, and he’s the first person we’ve seen in this village.
The child shakes his head, then cries into the stout man’s chest, and as he holds the boy, he glances at the three of us. “We should find these vermin and cut them to shreds,” Pomacha says with controlled anger in his voice. “I’d like to hunt them down and make them bleed.”
I sigh, “Though I agree that such scum needs to face justice, we can’t lose sight of our mission. What our leader, Siunqi, commanded we do.”
“You’re going to allow these people to roam the continent freely?” Naqispi is incensed. “These people terrorized modest farmers just for a place to stay, and Iaqa knows what else.”
“It’s not what we’ve been ordered to do,” I say sternly. “I want to help these innocent victims—I really do—but we were given orders. To go against that of our ruler would be treasonous.”
Chiqama shakes his head. “Atoyaqtli is right, unfortunately. We can’t abandon our mission, as much as we should help these villagers. If those evil people are out there, and they find Walumaq, our situation becomes dire. If anything, finding Walumaq has become more urgent.”
Pomacha and Naqispi consider this, then, with a resigned sigh, eventually show their agreement, though I can still sense their hesitation. It’s not something I’m happy about doing, leaving a grieving people to fend for themselves while we search for a jaded noble. Yet I pledged a solemn oath to uphold and defend the will of the Sanqo people, and I cannot shirk my duties until the mission is completed. These are unfortunate circumstances, but it’s something that is well beyond my control.
Just as we’re discussing returning the boy to his people and finding a way to briefly assist them before we continue south, a series of rumbling footsteps grows louder, approaching the village. Pomacha alerts us to the impending threat, causing us to turn to face the incoming enemy. It’s difficult to distinguish anything from their silhouettes, at first, appearing as mere specks on the horizon. As they come closer, their tunics are red and white, marching toward us with purpose. We’re immediately alarmed at the sight of the red cloth, and we draw our weapons, firmly prepared for battle.
“It appears we’re getting our wish and serving justice to this scum after all,” Naqispi says, his smile welcoming the thought of taking the fight to these foes.
But then our rivals come into view, and the red they wear are not shrouding their faces, nor are they wearing gray robes. The men are heavily tattooed and wear multiple piercings among their ears, noses, and lips. They’re too organized to be robbers or thieves, and it occurs to me that these men must be warriors, though not from Tapeu. They’re just as foreign to this land as we are, which raises different suspicions.
“Halt!” One of the men shouts at us, his eyes sharp and scanning the group. “State your business here in Mintaq. You wear the colors of Sanqo, far from your known waters. What brings you to this place?”
The man towers over the others of his band of warriors, grand in stature and apparent rank. His broad shoulders are almost entirely black from tattoos, with obsidian and gold piercings following along his ears and bottom lip. His stance is cautious but not overtly aggressive, his hand resting near the hilt of his own weapon, and his men stand alert, ready to respond to his command.
“Whose business is it of yours to question our presence here?” I ask in response. “You have rightly identified our origin, yet I’m unfamiliar with yours—I can only see that you, too, are not from Tapeu.” My men’s muscles grow tense, bracing themselves for a confrontation with these strange warriors. Pomacha positions himself between the enemy and the village boy, shielding him from any incoming attack.
“We are from Qiapu. I am Qumuna, a general serving under the Tempered’s command,” he says, his voice stern, though I sense a slight curiosity still lingers. “We are here simply to resupply on our way to Qapauma, where I am to serve as emissary for my people. But your presence here intrigues me, armed and in a distressed village…” He looks beyond us to inspect the burned and damages buildings behind us. “What is the purpose of your journey?”
“We, too, are here to resupply, and we arrived upon this destruction, too late to respond,” Naqispi chimes in, his hand tightly gripping his sword. “Yet this boy speaks of the invaders wearing red, shrouding their identities, and I find it convenient that you, too, appear to be wearing said color. Equally convenient that it shares a likeness with the Qiapu colors. How can we be certain the damage wasn’t caused by you, now circling back to finish the task you started?”
“Accusing Qiapu warriors of such brutality is a grave mistake,” this Qumuna says, his eyebrows furrow in a mix of frustration and disbelief. “We are here on a mission of peace and diplomacy, not destruction. The Eye in the Flame, a cult we both seem to be aware of, dons red as well, but it’s a darker, bloodier shade, unlike the Qiapu’s bright hue. Our honor and duties bind us to protect the innocent, not harm them.”
I’m taken aback by the mention of the Eye in the Flame, awareness of the people mentioned by the village boy. Yet before I can inquire how he and his men know of this enemy, Naqispi marches assertively toward the men, who, despite their readiness for a fight, show no aggression.
“There would be no need for accusations if there wasn’t evidence of such destruction that you seem all too familiar with. Why should we believe your claims of honor and duty when your crimes against this village have been witnessed? Why should we not kill you where you stand?”
My men and the men of this Qumuna draw their weapons. Meanwhile, the alleged Qiapu general’s expression remains stoic, though his eyes reveal a flicker of impatience with Naqispi’s brashness. He then shifts his gaze to me, particularly eyeing my multi-obsidian-bladed sword.
He addresses Naqispi directly, his voice steady. “You question our integrity, yet I see your leader wields a weapon that bears resemblance to those used by the Ulxa, known associates of the Eye in the Flame. It’s as suspicious as our presence might seem to you. But hurling accusations based on appearances helps no one.”
Qumuna gestures towards the surrounding devastation with a sweep of his hand. “We are all victims of these cultists in one way or another. Our best chance to combat this threat is by sharing information and resources, not by turning on each other over circumstantial evidence. As I said, I am here en route to fulfilling my diplomatic duty to Qapauma. Our goals may align more than you realize.”
“Cultists?” I sputter out, confused. “They are more than just brutal thieves or robbers? What threat has this evil brought upon your people? And what can you tell us about their activity and where they are located?”
“The Eye in the Flame…” he takes a moment to consider how to respond, his expression softening at my confusion, “they are more than mere bandits. They are a cult with dark intentions, spreading chaos and destruction. They have infiltrated many places, even attacking our revered leader in Qiapu—it’s believed they were behind his assassination.”
“His assassination?” I say, purely baffled by this news. These cultists are attacking leaders and nobility, but also innocent villagers? Their cruelty knows no bounds, and my concern for Walumaq’s safety grows exponentially at this realization.
Qumuna nods gravely. “It’s a matter I plan to discuss with the Arbiter when I eventually reach Qapauma. Recently, during our travels, we aided a Qiapu traveler who was with a Sanqo maiden. She resembled you in some ways. The brother of our late leader, a man named Paxilche, accompanied her. She mentioned this cult’s existence in Chalaqta, where she encountered them, and spoke of their disgusting means of intimidating innocents and executing their deemed foes. This burned building is reminiscent of the story she told. It seems the Eye in the Flame’s reach extends far and wide, preying on all of Pachil.”
I become as motionless as stone. He speaks of Walumaq! He has encountered the Sanqo princess! This is the first information we’ve received that indicates she’s still alive, that our mission can continue!
Trying not to give away any emotional reaction to this, I glance at my men, who return the exchanged looks of astonishment at this revelation. The four of us immediately lower our weapons, recognizing that our fight is not with these men, and that they could lead us to what we’ve been after for such an extensive amount of days.
Astutely sensing our shift in demeanor, Qumuna asks, “Do you seek someone specific? Your concern seems to go beyond mere curiosity.”
Realizing there is no longer a need for pretenses, I say, “We are searching for a Sanqo princess, who was last seen traveling southward, away from Chalaqta. This is the first good news we’ve received since our great ruler sent us on this quest to search for her.”
“Ah, yes, she did appear to be of a noble lineage. Walumaq, if I recall her name correctly. She was accompanying Paxilche to Pichaqta, the Qiapu capital. There were some important matters with which she felt compelled to assist him, and they traveled south not long ago. She is likely still there, along with my trusted lieutenant, Pomaqli, as the matter was of great significance and required speaking to the Tempered, Saxina.”
The wave of information that’s crashed into us is beyond rejuvenating, our faith in our purpose restored. He likely senses our palpable relief, as a warm smile forms on Qumuna’s face. I begin to blurt out an apology for our initial misunderstanding, but the Qiapu warrior waves a hand as a gesture to dismiss my concerns.
“These are tense times,” he says, “and they require working together against a common enemy, so that we may once again know peace.”
We assist the villagers in returning to their homes, and even begin repairing the damages done to the other two houses, including that of the boy. There is someone in the village who takes claim in watching over him and taking him into their family—a mother and father who lost their son to an unfortunate illness many harvests ago. Pomacha gives the boy one more huge hug before sending him on his way. It will be a tough road for the newly formed family to travel upon, and we wish them well with Iaqa’s blessing.
Qumuna and his men decide to assist the villagers of Mintaq a while longer, to ensure that the Eye in the Flame or their like does not return, as well as protecting the vulnerable town from predatory and opportunistic bandits. With a wink, the future Qiapu emissary says he’s put off upholding his duty this long—“what’s a few more days?” We thank him for his assistance in guiding us to where we will hopefully encounter the Sanqo princess, and even Naqispi manages a short-worded apology and show of gratitude, something I never before believed possible.
We depart the farming village with full hearts. Our spirits have been greatly lifted and there’s a tangible relief among us, that this has all not been for naught. No longer must we wander these lands aimlessly. Merciful Iaqa has blessed us, may He forever light our path. We have a destination, to the Qiapu capital of Pichaqta. What we will find there, only Iaqa knows, but it’s the closest we’ve been to completing our mission and finally—finally—being able to return home.