Revolutions

33 - Inuxeq

The feeble tendrils of sunlight creep through the gaps in my rustic, wooden home, rousing me from a restless slumber. Soot and ember from yesterday's battle mingle with the oppressive humidity of the jungle air, making each breath laborious. My long-awaited return to Iantana brings relief tinged with unease—sleep may have been within reach at some point, yet the weight of recent events means I can't yet be at peace.

Iantana has been fortunate not to see more destruction by the attacking gray beasts, only seeing its external walls and the houses that were built nearby them suffer the greatest damage. There's a lot of work to be done to repair everything, accumulating the wood and supplies to ensure the village is better protected should another attack of this magnitude occur. Yet with the knowledge we've acquired regarding these creatures, I'm confident we can be better prepared to take them on and defeat them swiftly.

What causes me to awaken to much sorrow, however, is witnessing the death of Sachia. Again. Except this time, he was one of those wretched monsters, transformed into a gruesome warrior for this evil group. My gaze lingers on the bow and arrows, reclaimed from the aftermath of his clash with the creatures. In their silent presence, I find myself mourning the loss of a dear friend. Though some of his physical features remained, his mind was unsound, lost to whatever spell he was put under. It was as though we had never met, as though I were a stranger. No, more than that—I was his unquestioned enemy, a threat that must be eliminated. Tragically, I can't determine which death he suffered is worse: seeing his condition after he was killed by the gray beasts, or watching him disintegrate into ash after becoming a gray beast himself?

The thought I'm most upset with is that, when the time came, and lives were at risk, I couldn't bring myself to kill him. It was clear as a cloudless sky that it was no longer the Sachia I knew, that it was no longer my longtime friend, yet I couldn't do what was needed to be done. I froze, like a fearful child, not the warrior I've been trained to become. I could've been slaughtered by his claws, and he could've been allowed to devastate the people he once called his own, because I didn't have the mental fortitude to move past the sentimentality and strike him down. What will I do if this happens again? Can I trust myself to do the right thing if—or when—the time comes? Am I worthy of calling myself a Tuatiu warrior?

I wrestle with these realizations as I force myself off my bedroll and out into the daylight sun. The reconstruction efforts have already begun, as people move about diligently like ants around a hill, carrying supplies and working together to repair the damage. The air is filled with the sounds of villagers pounding the wood and materials with their hammers, shouting instructions, hoisting beams and large logs, or grunting in their exertion to lift, pull, push, or carry. The work will require tireless effort, but resiliency is a trait all Tuatiu people possess.

I notice that, along with the supplies to rebuild the structural integrity of the wall, colorful embellishments appear, as well. Where before, the wall was simple and constructed solely of wood, some villagers prepare various methods for enhancing the wall's appearance. Workers surround large clay pots with long wooden paddles as they stir a green liquid—likely paint formed with crushed and boiled plants and algae—and others have gathered various green items, such as green-dyed cloth. Some of the workers are carving intricate patterns into the beams and supports while others, including Chiqani, to my astonishment, collect and lay out clay to dry in the sun, forming them into a variety of shapes that will be mounted upon the wall. Seeing Chiqani and others crafting these decorations, I feel myself swelling with pride in our people, admiring how quickly we overcome conflict and transform the destruction into something beautiful.

A few yells, followed by a loud thump draw my attention to one section of the reconstructed wall. Haluiqa is present, having just assisted the team of workers in setting a large support post into the ground to anchor the construction of the wall. Makeshift scaffolding made with bamboo webs around the village's perimeter, and I spot new buildings being crafted behind the newly developed wall.