image [https://miro.medium.com/v2/format:webp/1*O6o4t_tfoIm5g1BhLX-T2g.jpeg]

The first step beyond the Maiu Hatun feels like crossing into another world. The air grows denser, heavier with the scent of damp terrain and wild greenery. The jungle canopy stretches endlessly above, painted in countless shades of green. Sunlight filters through in slanted beams, casting dappled patterns on the undergrowth that carpets the forest floor. Every step forward rustles with the sounds of unseen creatures, and the distant calls of exotic birds echo throughout the jungle, their songs both beautiful and foreboding.

Adjusting the strap of his satchel, Upachu casts a wary glance at the towering trees. “It feels like the entire jungle is all some kind of living, breathing being,” he murmurs in both awe and apprehension.

“Not just any being,” I reply, feeling the oppressive watchfulness of the jungle intensify with each step, “but one that doesn’t particularly want us around.”

Síqalat chuckles softly. “Then let’s make sure it finds us as charming and endearing as possible,” she says with a smirk, giving me the impression I’ve been subtly slighted.

She leads the way, weaving through the thick bamboo stalks that rise like a barricade. Her attention is fixed on a barely visible path ahead, hacking a curved blade at the tangles of vines and roots of the Auilqa jungles that hinder our way forward. Her familiarity with this terrain is almost instinctual, moving with a rhythm that matches the jungle’s own heartbeat, to maintain that analogy. Each step she takes is measured and deliberate, avoiding pitfalls that aren’t visible until she points them out—deep animal tracks hidden beneath thick layers of fallen leaves, or sudden dips in the ground masked by overgrowth. Even as I struggle to keep pace, I marvel at her resilience and the ease with which she navigates this wild, untamed land.

Upachu follows close behind, guiding the llama along and wearing the newly purchased light garments he obtained in Chopaqte. Age spots and purple veins sprawl across his arms and legs, standing out against his pale skin that has likely seen hardly any sunlight in his dozens upon dozens of harvests on Pachil. It’s bizarre to see him out of the thick, white robes I’ve become so accustomed to seeing him wear, and he looks altogether like an entirely different person. Yet his age and frailty are more apparent now, and I grow more apprehensive about having him travel such a treacherous trek alongside me.

I scan the dense foliage, maintaining a position close to the cart for quick access to my glaive. I remain ever ready for the dangers that lurk beneath the beauty of the wilderness, knowing that every shadow could conceal a threat. It becomes immediately apparent why Síqalat wears pants, as my bare legs become regularly nicked and scraped by the low, prickly foliage. She also appears unfazed by the choking humidity while I feel as though I’m melting in the merciless heat that seems to stick to my skin. She moves with an ease that belies her knowledge of this land, unlike my cautious and measured steps that continuously negotiate with the terrain.

“So, Síqalat,” Upachu begins, and I grow nervous about what his inquiry will be, “you don’t present yourself like many of the Achope I’ve ever encountered.”

“That’s because I’m not like many of the Achope,” she counters, maintaining her focus on clearing the obstructing vines.

“I can see that,” Upachu says, undeterred, “particularly with your marked arms and legs. You’re not a typical Achope merchant.”

“That’s because I’m not an Achope merchant,” she says, continuing to toy with Upachu through her enigmatic answers.

“I can see that, as well—I’m not that old that my eyes have yet failed me,” Upachu remarks, occasionally out of breath from exerting himself on the challenging path as he makes his statement. “What is your profession, dear lady? What allows you to maintain your pursuit of Pachil’s finest libations?”

Síqalat doesn’t speak for a moment, perhaps deliberating how to best respond to the question. After a few more swipes and slashes with her curved blade, she finally says, “The Achope are obsessed with profit, seeking to obtain it by any means, but I prefer to be fulfilled by exploration. I was once a trader, I will confess as much, but the Achope way of conducting business is unethical, to say the least. I could no longer abide by their tactics, but travel and discovery are greater passions of mine than profit. Thus, I became what the Achope disparagingly call a ‘wanderer’. Yet I wear the title with pride. I can’t be ostracized by circles I no longer wish to involve myself.”

“A wanderer, or just aimless?” I question.

“Freedom may appear aimless to those with the rigid mind of a warrior,” she retorts pointedly.

“You said ‘by any means,’” I note. “That sounds as though you’ve witnessed this first-hand.”

“Of course, I have!” Síqalat scoffs, her eyes narrowing as a memory seems to grip her. “I have too many stories, too many such instances of which I could speak. In one example, there was a man in Chopaqte, a skilled potter with a small family. The more influential and rich of the Achope nobility forced him into ruinous trades that promised wealth, but were rigged to strip him of everything. He lost his home, his workshop—his dignity. I watched his world collapse for their profit. And that’s not the only instance where the wealthy have taken advantage of those who are not in a position of power. With so many such accounts, I knew I could no longer partake in their greed.”

Her strokes become more assertive as she slashes at the dense vines. “Besides, surely you know of the Achope history in the War of Liberation. They only act if there is wealth to be had—it’s their only motivation. If the act requires the use of deceit or treachery, they don’t find such actions to be beneath them. It’s rampant in Achope, taking advantage of those who lack the means to protect themselves. It’s an injustice of which I desire no part. I would rather explore and learn about all the cultures and factions of Pachil, to celebrate what we have in common, rather than divide because of our differences.”

“So, it appears we found the one honorable Achope in all of their territory,” I remark.

“Teqosa!” Upachu scolds, looking offended. “How can you make such a statement to the person who has willingly offered to guide us through the dangerous Auilqa jungles and lead us to the lagoon!”

“Because we’re paying her,” I respond. “She may conduct herself altruistically, but it’s still for profit, for personal gain in some form.” Though I speak of our guide, it’s Upachu who appears affronted. Síqalat, however, looks indifferent.

“Not all rewards are counted in coin, Qantua warrior,” she declares. “Some of us measure wealth in experiences and knowledge, in performing good deeds, in wanting to make Pachil better while we walk its lands.”

“And perhaps there’s more honor in choosing one’s path than following one laid out by tradition and obligation,” Upachu says. “After all, isn’t that what we’re doing here?”

“Also, as your companion observes,” she says, “how else am I to pursue the finest libations Pachil has to offer? Establishments don’t exactly give away such exquisite delights for free.”

I roll my eyes at the comment. “Perhaps there’s merit in your wanderings,” I concede, albeit not earnestly, “though I’ll reserve judgement for when I see where they lead us.”

Síqalat shakes her head and chuckles, keeping her attention in front of us. “Fear not, oh brave and valiant Qantua warrior. I’ve wandered enough to know when to find the right path, especially when it leads us to something worth discovering—no matter how much I’m being paid.”

Navigating the dense Auilqa jungles proves to be a relentless trial. The bamboo thickets are like an immovable and unyielding wall, with thick clusters that claw at our clothes and gear. My garments stick to my body, restricting my movement as I try to clear our way through this mess of vegetation.

Síqalat’s swings are precise, yet filled with the frustration of our slow progress. Upachu begins muttering under his breath about how the map of these lands on the clay pot do injustice to their treacherous reality. I have to interrupt him, reminding him to hold his tongue about such details. Our guide appears not to notice, not reacting to our exchange. Yet I don’t trust her demeanor. Not until she proves to be trustworthy, which has yet to present itself.

Eventually, I trail behind, swiping at the sweat that beads on my forehead, feeling each droplet trail down like the many rivers we’ve crossed. The deafening sounds of the jungle are unnerving. My alertness and focus are heightened upon hearing the howls and screeches from creatures unseen, and the rustling of leaves as something retreats from our intrusion. Perhaps due to exhaustion—but unlikely, given my conditioning and experience—landmarks of the jungle appear to repeat themselves. I begin to question whether our guide, in fact, knows where we’re going.

“We’re not lost, just momentarily disoriented,” Síqalat assures, her voice carrying an edge of uncertainty that does little to soothe my rising anxiety. The green around us isn’t just overwhelming—it’s oppressive, as if the jungle itself resents our presence.

The further we venture, the more the jungle seems to tighten around us like a noose. Visibility shrinks to mere steps ahead. Vines coil like serpents at our ankles, and the dense vegetation begins to blot out the midday sun, casting everything in perpetual twilight. Upachu stops abruptly, causing me to nearly bump into him.

“I learned about this once, from one of the generals back in Hilaqta,” he says, pulling a strip of cloth from his bag and tying it around a particularly gnarled branch. “We need to mark our trail, or we might never find our way back.”

“We’re not trying to go back,” Síqalat states. “If anything, we should hope to never see the marks, lest we find ourselves traveling in circles. Besides, the Auilqa already mark their paths.”

When she eventually turns back and notices the perplexed looks on our faces, she explains. “As you have experienced, the jungles are dense and confusing to navigate. But the Auilqa have devised a way to identify important trails—paths to water, paths to hunting grounds, paths to locations containing bountiful fruits and herbs. Finding these markings will tell us we’re close to an Auilqa village or encampment, and they can direct us to this lagoon you’re so eager to reach.”

“Do we want to encounter the Auilqa?” I ask, questioning whether this is a result we seek. “Everything ever spoken about them indicates they’re hostile to outsiders. We may want to instead avoid engaging with them.”

“They’re not so bad once you understand their ways,” she says. “Just as with any faction, they, too, have a code by which they live. They’re also quite advanced, if you’ll allow your preconceived notions and biases to be challenged for once.”

I desire to respond to her presumed observations of my character, but the jungle’s humidity saps all energy I have. Thus, instead, I choose to channel it into traversing this difficult land, one that seems to fight me with each step. And if we are lost—which is seemingly becoming more and more likely—I want to ensure I have the ability to get us to safety as quickly as possible.

Síqalat pauses often, her eyes scanning for signs or indications that we’re on the correct course. Despite her confidence, the jungle seems to fold in on itself, paths disappearing as quickly as they emerge. The path she chooses seems arbitrary to my untrained eyes, but there’s a clear method to her madness—or, that is what I tell myself for assurance, though doubt has begun to creep into my mind.

As we push deeper, the sense of isolation tightens around us. Our progress is slow, at best, with the density of bamboo and other vegetation too thick to clear. Undergrowth snags our sandals and boots, frequently tripping us as we trudge through the jungle. The feeling that the territory of the Auilqa does not want us here continues to grow the longer this journey takes.

Triumphantly, she points to a barely visible mark on a gnarled tree trunk. “Aha!” she exclaims. “I found a marking!” Her fingers trace seemingly invisible lines over the moss and bark of a tree. She studies the apparent etchings for a moment, then nods confidently as she concludes their meaning. “A watering hole is nearby. It appears we should go…” her head swivels as she attempts to identify the direction. Retrieving the items dangling from her neck, she inspects it, then pops her head up, repeating this numerous times before concluding, “that way!”

She points in what seems like a random direction. Without further discussion, she begins marching off, clearing vines as though she’s certain we’re headed on the right path. Upachu unflinchingly follows, but I am more hesitant. I look over the place she supposedly sees markings, yet I find nothing. All I see is a patch of moss and the knotted bark of the tree’s trunk.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

“Are we sure this is correct?” I challenge. “All because of some supposed markings and the mechanism that hangs around your neck, you’re certain this is the way?”

Síqalat halts, turns around abruptly to face me, and scowls. “You hired me to navigate the jungles. And now, suddenly, you’re questioning me? Would you like to ‘go on your quest of discovery’ by yourselves?”

“Erm, what my companion means to say,” Upachu stutters, “is that, well, we’re just not accustomed to such a place, and it’s off-putting to be traversing such treacherous trails of which we’re unfamiliar. So, we’re eternally grateful for your wisdom and experience to guide us, despite our reactionary apprehensions.”

Síqalat looks unconvinced, her eyes narrowed as they fix upon mine. With a humph, she turns around and resumes our trek into the thick jungles. Before he follows our guide, Upachu glares at me, wordlessly indicating to me to silence my tongue. If we continue to wander aimlessly, however, I doubt I’ll be able to.

We finally reach a place in the jungle where the trees and underbrush begin to relent, giving way to a more breathable space. Though still thick with towering trees and draping vines, the area opens up enough to allow slants of sunlight to return, dappling the mossy floor. We can finally move more freely and take deeper breaths of the humid, aromatic air.

Relief is short-lived. A low rumbling resonates through the surrounding thicket. Síqalat and I search the jungles for the source, finding nothing, but knowing the threat looms close by. Reaching behind her, Síqalat retrieves a series of poles from a harness at her back. She carefully begins assembling the weapon, attaching the poles together, made from a dark palm wood that appears to be adorned with ornate carvings. The spearhead of polished obsidian glimmers even with the smallest amount of light, and at its base is an intricately carved piece of jade that subtly glows green. At the back, she mounts a hook crafted from bone—called an atlatl, if memory from my time at the Maqanuiache serves.

I cautiously make my way to the cart and draw my glaive, my head on a swivel to brace for a surprise attack. Upachu posts up next to the llama, comforting the animal with gentle strokes along its neck in an effort to comfort himself, as well. We’re all tense, steadying our breathing as if that is what will tip the predator to our location, like it hasn’t spotted us already.

A tremendous roar catches me off guard, but before I can comprehend what’s happening, I’m struck and pinned to the ground by a ferocious jaguar, larger than any jungle cat I’ve ever witnessed. The beast is larger than the brawniest man I’ve encountered, with paws that take up my entire torso. Its claws dig into my shoulders, blood rushing down my chest and arms. There’s a searing pain as if I’ve been put into a fire, and I soon realize the jaguar has somehow slipped past my leather armor and pierced through my tunic, peeling back my flesh.

I swing my fists at the animal, but it leaps away from me. Has it a sense of mercy? Is it toying with me, playing with its prey? I look up to find Síqalat thrusting at the beast with quick strikes from her spear. She narrowly misses with the tip of her blade as the creature contorts its body to barely dodge the incoming attacks, but it’s enough to fend the jaguar off of me.

Síqalat takes a few measured steps back, then lunges at the jaguar. I don’t even see the spear leave her hands—the release is that quick. It soars toward the animal like lightning from the sky, striking the hind quarters of the creature. It looses a terrible yowl, baring its pointed teeth. To take out its frustration, it charges at the nearest prey: the llama that’s strapped into a harness to pull our cart. With its limited mobility, the llama bleats in fear, watching as the predator furiously races at it. Upachu lets out a slight, panicked squeak of a holler, crouching lower and lower behind the wooden cart.

A whistling wind whizzes past my ears, and I see Síqalat retracting her spear using some fantastical mechanism, pulling the spear back into her hands. With eyes narrowed, she focuses on the jaguar, then uses the atlatl to launch the spear once more at the jaguar. Once again, it pierces the back of the beast, knocking it off its course in pursuit of its prey. There’s a warmth on my chest, and suddenly, I’m overwhelmed by the sensation of knowing the jaguar is going to attack the llama no matter the cost. It’s as though I understand its thoughts, if an animal can think in Merchant’s Tongue, repeating them over and over and over. I will claim my prey. I will claim my prey. I will claim my prey.

With the animal disoriented, I rush toward it, spinning the glaive in my hands to point the tip of the blade at my target. With a quick thrust, I force my weapon forward, jamming it into the creature’s side. It yowls once more, red pouring from the wounds to its body, but it fights through the pain, determined to continue its pursuit of the llama. I twist the blade, and the beast drops, crying out once more before succumbing to its wounds. It claws at the dirt a couple of times before, finally, ceasing.

I take a few deep breaths before I pull my glaive out of the jaguar’s torso. I look over at Upachu, who points at me, mouth agape. When I look down and inspect my body, I notice that my shoulder and torso display no signs of having ever been struck. The lapis lazuli gemstone that’s suspended from my neck glows an ethereal blue, as if it has a life of its own. My mind races to all the moments I’ve suffered terrible wounds, yet have been able to walk away from the battle unscathed. Is this yet another instance? Is this a result of the gemstone… or something else?

I’m not given a spare moment to reflect upon the events, as Síqalat marches over toward the beast. She retrieves her spear, twirling it with a flourish before disassembling it and placing the weapon into the harness on her back. She investigates the felled jaguar, tilting her head to and fro as though the limp corpse is speaking to her and she’s trying to understand what it says.

Then, Síqalat sucks in air through her teeth. “We need to hide the jaguar.” She says this as fact, abrupt and emotionlessly. Upachu and I look at one another curiously, and she explains herself. “The marking was close, so this may be near the Auilqa hunting grounds, not their source of water. There could be–“

Before she can complete her statement, and before I can confront her about misinterpreting the invisible markings, there’s a tremendous disturbance in the surrounding jungles. Too much movement, as if an entire army has swarmed around us. My pulse quickens, and I point the tip of my glaive here, there, and everywhere, looking for where the threat is going to strike.

I don’t have a spare moment to comprehend how many warriors surround us. Something within me yells to duck. Not questioning the voice, I heed its warning. A spear nearly skims the top of my head, planting itself into the bark of a tree. Síqalat immediately drops her weapon to the ground and raises her hands, then quietly suggests we do the same.

I’m initially left confused, but once a few dozen figures emerge from the dense jungle, I comprehend the situation immediately. We’re surrounded by dozens of warriors. They’re hardly clothed, wearing only a slim loin cloth, and their bodies are painted in numerous bold swaths of red, blue, and yellow. Their headdresses are made from animal bone, obscuring their features. Though they’re much shorter than the three of us, each person, both man and woman, are stocky and muscular. Their spears are pointed at our heads, and through their headdresses, their scowling, gnashed teeth heighten their intense presence.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Síqalat says, patting the air to abate the daunting warriors. Then she speaks in a foreign tongue, a language I’ve never before heard. It’s harsh and jarring, sounding ferocious, despite her calm and tranquil facial expressions. I’m quickly reminded of Mexqutli, the Ulxa warrior accompanying Inuxeq. I begin to wonder if, perhaps, our water vessel took a wrong course, and we mistakenly landed upon the shores of Ulxa.

“What is happening?” Upachu dares to ask. “What are they saying?” The warriors are not thrilled by his actions, jabbing the air around Upachu’s face and shouting angrily. They test my patience, and I have to restrain my instincts to grab my glaive and defend my friend. I back down for now, but if they keep this up, I can’t guarantee I’ll remain peaceful and obliging.

After what I take to be Síqalat asking them a question—to which they nod curtly—she makes us aware that we are, in fact, in Auilqa, explaining, “It seems we’ve offended the nearby Auilqa tribe. They’re already angry that not one, but three outsiders have appeared in their territory, and to add to it, they’re incensed that we have killed on their land.”

Upachu chuckles. “Well, that’s an easy problem to solve! We don’t want the jaguar, so we can just–“

Before he finishes his statement, several warriors jab their spears once more at Upachu. He winces and whimpers, cowering as he takes a few steps back. The restless llama loudly expresses its discomfort as the men and women close in on us, showing us the points of their blades. These warriors continue to test the limits of my patience, and they’re about to discover what happens when it’s been depleted.

“Inform them that, if they continue to threaten my friend, they will leave me no choice but to defend ourselves,” I snarl, my voice breaking slightly as I do my best to contain my anger.

Síqalat speaks to them in Auilqa, her hands making large, expressive gestures. The warriors remain displeased, eventually cutting off her explanation to yell at her more in a sign of increased hostility.

Suddenly, a blue hue appears out of my periphery. I don’t see anything that would cast such light, and I grow nervous that they’ve cast some spell, or the area contains a ward that could cause us harm. Síqalat and Upachu don’t react, however, making me wonder what’s actually going on.

But then, as I glance at the one Auilqa warrior who’s predominately done the talking and interaction with Síqalat, I start to sense what these warriors are planning, what their intentions are. If we make a false move, they’ll attempt to thrust their spears at us—that much is obvious. Yet most of them appear reluctant to do so, instead adjusting their stance in a way to escape should anything bad happen. They would rather this encounter be over, if anything, positioning themselves to be as far away as they reasonably can without appearing to retreat. Something is causing them to suddenly fear us, though I can’t determine what that is. Perhaps this is something we can use to our advantage.

I feel a warmth at my chest. Shocked and worried, the native Auilqa shout and point, raising their spears at me while cautiously backing away. Curious, I peek down and find the amulet is glowing, gradually pulsing a azure light. Could it be that this is the cause of their reluctance? And, is this what’s causing me to comprehend their plan for interacting with us here?

Síqalat begins to say something, her voice now sounding more confident and booming, as if she’s making a pronouncement. The warriors still keep their spears raised, but now look upon me with… reverence? What has changed? Could the amulet really have turned this entire encounter in our favor?

More words are exchanged, and the Auilqa speak quickly, as if they’re nervous about something. Síqalat turns to me, holding out her hand like I’m being presented to them. Then, almost under her breath, she mutters, “I need you to make some boastful and proud declaration. I don’t care what you say—it’s not as if they’ll understand it—but you need to speak like you’re a god.”

“And why would that be?” I ask, suspicious.

Síqalat shrugs. “It could be because I… said you were?”

“That’s because he is!” Upachu exclaims. I glare at him, and he subtly shrugs. “What? You are. You heal yourself, and–“

“Wait, you are a god?” Síqalat asks.

Now I’m furious at both the Auilqa warriors for threatening Upachu, at Síqalat for this ridiculous lie, and at Upachu for encouraging it.

“Not. Now.” I demand, scolding them through my teeth. “Focus on the matter at hand.”

“Right, well,” Síqalat stutters, “they’re scared about the glowing amulet, and they can’t figure out which deity you’re supposed to be. They worry you may bring despair upon their hunt and harvest now.”

“They’re not entirely wrong,” I say. “Because I will bring despair upon them if they don’t let us be.”

“Perhaps,” Upachu starts. He glances at the warriors, motioning as though to ask them if he can talk to me. After another curt nod from the Auilqa tribe’s supposed leader, Upachu continues, “We can use this to our advantage. Now, hold on, Teqosa! Hear me out! Maybe we can play on this idea that you’re a deity, and—I said, hear me out! We play on this idea, and let’s perhaps offer the jaguar to them, presenting it as a gift. A blessing, if you will.”

Síqalat contemplates this, then nods. “It would be a way to show them you honor their land. Maybe they’ll even direct us to your destination, this supposed lagoon you keep mentioning.”

The misunderstanding, the inability to communicate—it makes me incredibly annoyed. There should be a simpler solution, one that doesn’t play off the misguided perception that I’m some god, some embodiment of Pachil’s deities. The use of such deception bothers me, and I find it immoral to mislead these people.

However, our quest remains, and this is yet one more obstacle attempting to hinder our progress. If presenting this jaguar as some kind of gift will place us in the Auilqa’s good graces, then perhaps it can be excused as a means to keep the peace. It could end hostilities while we search their land for the next location marked on the clay pot’s map.

Swallowing my pride, I walk over to the felled jaguar. Hoisting its body up, straining my muscles to lift the oversized beast, I bring my arms out as if to present it to the Auilqa warriors. “May this kill be a token of good faith and peace between our people,” I declare, trying to feign regality, even though I feel anything but.

The Auilqa look upon me with curiosity, inspecting the jaguar in my arms. Síqalat speaks, what I presume to be a translation of my proclamation, though she does so with a bit more flourish than how I did so. The warriors exchange glances, mumbling something to one another. Curiously, I find myself overtaken by a sudden sense of calm. Then, eventually expressing their pleasure with wide grins, they accept, taking the hefty beast off my hands. It takes four of them to carry the creature away, as the others lower their spears and appear to swell with pride.

They’re about to walk away with our kill when Síqalat stops them abruptly. There’s a lengthy exchange—one that seems to irritate the Auilqa warriors. I become concerned, wondering if she’s just squandered the good will that was so difficult to earn. After a long pause where the world seems to grind to a halt, one of the Auilqa warriors speaks in a lively and excited manner.

With our curiosity piqued, we can no longer remain in the dark. “Síqalat,” I command, “what is happening now?”

She shushes me and waves me away, then continues her exchange for a while longer before the Auilqa warriors depart. They disappear into the jungle, vanishing like the morning mist in the harsh midday sun, leaving no trace, no footprints, to indicate they were even here. Was this all in my imagination?

Síqalat beams. “Well, gentlemen, I have just received directions as to how to get to this lagoon you’re after. As long as we follow the blue markers with this symbol,” she draws in her palm what looks to be a long oval with the shape of a sun over it and two triangles, “we will reach our destination. You are welcome!”

“What exactly did you promise them, Síqalat?” I confront her. “What words passed that you’ve yet to share?”

She appears to carefully consider her reply, taking a heartbeat too long. Her smile flickers, and eventually, without responding, she turns to lead the way into the jungle, her steps silent against the soft ground. Upachu shrugs, grabbing ahold of the llama’s reins and pulling the animal along to follow behind our hired guide.

As the last of the warriors disappear, a prickling sense of unease coils tight within me. Síqalat’s confident smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and I wonder if she, too, senses the threads of fate tangling around us. All is not what it appears to be.