Revolutions

123 - Haesan

Every heartbeat thunders in my ears. Inuxeq's body presses down on me, her breath hot and fast against my cheek. The ground is rough beneath my palms, and there's a tang of blood on my tongue. I dare not move, not even to whisper a question. My eyes quickly glance to the turquoise-fletched dart by the tree, then back to the imposing figure now standing before us.

The man's piercing gaze settles on us, and his smile is a predator's grin that makes my skin crawl. He slowly approaches, sword remaining sheathed for the time being. His feather-laden metallic helmet shimmers like the sea under a midday sun. Each step he takes is measured, deliberate, as if he's already decided our fate, but wants to savor the moment before revealing his choice.

"I ask again," he says, his tone deceptively calm, "in case you just so happened to not hear me the first time. What brings you here?" The threat in his words is clear: our lives hang in the balance, contingent on the answer we give. I look at Inuxeq, seeking some shared understanding of how we'll navigate this perilous encounter.

Keeping her eyes trained on the stranger, Inuxeq rolls over and remains on all fours for the moment. I force myself to my feet, my legs trembling with the effort. Inuxeq follows, moving slowly and cautiously. My breath slowly returns to me after Inuxeq's body collided with mine. We stand together, shoulder to shoulder, and I try my best to mask the nervousness that causes my chest to tighten.

"Our paths have led us to your domain, Xelhua," I say, my hands splayed out before me, a gesture of peace, much like one would use to approach an anxious animal. "We mean no harm."

He studies me, his eyes narrowing as he grips the blowgun tighter. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring, nearly unbearable and threatening to snap at any moment. The only sound is the occasional flapping of his vibrant, achiote-colored cloak in the wind. His head tilts slightly, the motion is so subtle that it could be mistaken for a shift in the light. I take this as a sign that he wishes for me to continue, to explain myself further.

I swallow hard, summoning all the courage I can muster. "We seek an audience with you," I say, doing my best to keep my voice steady, confident, though the quiver in my heart betrays me. "We are not here by chance, but by necessity. Please, understand that our cause is just and our intentions pure."

Xelhua's gaze remains inscrutable. His eyes, though, seem to pierce through me, searching for any hint of deceit. He takes another step closer, the ground beneath him seemingly trembles as he places his free hand on the hilt of the weapon by his hip. "An audience," he repeats, almost thoughtfully. "And what makes you think I should grant it?"

"Our mission is urgent," I continue, my mind racing as I grasp for the right words. "Our journey is fraught with dangers, and we were told of the possibility that a brave Iqsuwa warrior walked these lands. One who could help us face the battles to come."

Xelhua remains unmoved. His silence is more daunting than any roar of anger. What is he thinking? Is he weighing the truth of my words, or simply deciding whether we're worth the trouble of sparing? Either way, I fear that any movement I make could sway him in the wrong direction.

Then, finally, he snorts a brief, wary laugh. "My days of battle are long behind me. I have seen empires rise and fall, warriors come and go. I have bled for causes that are now dust and ash." He looks past us, as if witnessing the ghosts of battles long gone. "Why should I leave my sanctuary and walk the path of blood and obsidian once more?"

"Because," I find myself saying, the words tumbling out before I can fully grasp them, "Qapauma is on the brink of chaos. The Achutli loyalists and the Qente Waila are tearing the city apart. We need your strength, your wisdom. We need you, Xelhua."

"Achutli?" he questions, the word foreign on his tongue, as if testing it out for the first time. A moment of confusion crosses his features, quickly masked by an overwhelming weariness. How long has he been in isolation, I wonder, cut off from the world and its endless conflicts?