Revolutions

6 - Inuxeq

It's too early in the morning for chicha, but I'm too furious to care, and tilt my head back to take a large swig of the malty substance in a nearby wooden cup. The party, led by Haluiqa, left a while ago, leaving me behind to watch the sun rise over the tropical trees encompassing Iantana.

The people of the village carry on as if nothing happened yesterday. As if the Arbiter and the new overseers didn't whisk away most of our strongest and fiercest warriors for a special mission with a loose, shaky premise. Nobody seems to mind that there was so much talk after the War of Liberation regarding our sovereignty, yet we immediately turn around to serve another master. Instead, villagers resume repairing their homes, tending to their flock of animals, and pulling carts loaded with wares, none the wiser to the realities of our current situation: That we are no more independent than when we served under the Timuaq.

Considering all of this, I scoff and empty the container of the dark brown beverage, its subtly sweet and slightly sour scent titillating my nose and provoking me to consume every last drop remaining. Ignoring the stares from the passerbys, I emerge from my home with my bow and plenty of arrows, ready to convert my anger into something productive. Even with the world spinning from chicha, I can outhunt anyone else in Iantana, and I feel more than encouraged to prove it.

Barreling my way through the crowd of people going about their business, I drag my feet all the way to the edge of the village and set off into the jungles. If it wasn't for being intoxicated, I'd probably recognize that hunting midday will likely be a fruitless endeavor, but the distraction is much-needed. The air is not as thick with humidity like it is during the hot season, though the warm embrace of the sun still wraps around me like a blanket as it sits almost directly above me by the time I head out, casting very minimally-sized shadows on the jungle floor. Our rainy season will be upon us in due time, but until then, I enjoy my solitary excursions into the dense wilderness.

My trek eventually takes me deep into the jungles without spotting anything worthy of tracking and hunting. Normally, I travel toward the river, Maiu Qasapaq, where I could always go fishing if I get bored with hunting, but it doesn't appear I went that way this time. I've lost track as to how far I've traveled away from Iantana, but I reassure myself that it can't be too far. Did I really drink that much? I'm sure it'll be fine. Monkeys call to one another from the canopy of the high trees, and even though I mean them no harm, smaller rodents scurry away from me as I approach. Occasionally, I use the sturdy trees to support myself while I take a moment to gather my breath despite exerting minimal effort. I have to chuckle at myself for my poor condition, but it doesn't stop me—I take another large gulp or seven from the pouch with which I'm hiking, replenished with chicha. The idea is to lighten the load so the container isn't as heavy for the journey back when I'm carrying my prey. The logic makes sense to me, and I give myself a satisfied nod in agreement.

Finally, the sound of cracking branches is nearby, from a creature whose size must be that close to a deer, I'd assume by the intensity of the sound it's making as it walks about. Something is lumbering lackadaisically, unaware that it is going for its last walk amongst the vegetation in Tuatiu. I smirk at the notion as I begin slowly retrieving an arrow from my quiver and lift my bow up in front of me. The fletching made of hen feathers tickles the fingers on my right hand as I go to nock the arrow, and the shaft gently rests on my left index finger. I crouch low and use the thicket to hide my presence, gradually and carefully drawing nearer to the target.

Long, slow breath in. Long, slow breath out.

Instinctively, I lower my bow at seeing the silhouette of what appears to be another human. It is walking upright, so I conclude it must be another person, although I'm not sure how they got here or who they are. I can't distinguish much about them other than they are tall and bald, with splotchy, pale skin. They're walking away from me, but they must be fatigued based on their uneven, clumsy steps that kick up the dead leaves and twigs. They groan, and I grow concerned that they may have been traveling for days without food or water.