Revolutions

57 - Teqosa

The rustling at the door jars me out of my trance as I'm hunched over Upachu's wounded body. His breathing has slowed severely and blood continues to trickle down his robe and chest. I am not a religious nor spiritual man by any means, yet I find myself pleading with Entilqan, the spirit of my sister, to help him any way she can.

A man's voice, tinged with a gentle rasp, cuts through the silence, "Where is the wounded?"

I hear two sets of footsteps enter the room, but my eyes remain fixed on Upachu. I've kept him seated up against the wall, my hand clasping his, and I look at him as though I'm wishing away his pain, waiting for the healing waters of Atima to work their magic.

A hand is placed on my shoulder. "Give the healer space to do his work," I hear Inuxeq say, yet I refuse to leave Upachu's side. She gently attempts to guide me away, and while initially I resist, I eventually concede and allow her to escort me out into the streets.

Much of the hay used to disguise the clay pot has fallen about the dirt road during my rushed effort to retrieve it. As a result, the llama has accepted my carelessness as a generous, gifted meal, scooping up the straw and chewing, the happiest I've ever seen the animal. The moon barely illuminates the streets as Hilaqta is coated in silvery blue. I walk to the wall just outside Upachu's home and sit against it, my back sliding down as my shoulders slump. Inuxeq follows me and sits beside me, keeping her eyes trained on the ground before us.

"Why did I think that would work?" I ask her, stunned at my illogicality.

"It was a tense moment involving someone as close as family," she says, her voice hard as she attempts to console me. Although he isn't family by blood, her ability to discern his significance in my life suggests that I've inadvertently revealed more of my emotions than I care to acknowledge.

"If this were a battlefield, such irrationality could swiftly lead to one's demise," I say.

"But it's not a physical battlefield," Inuxeq reminds me. "Sometimes, the battlefield is within us. It's hard to confront these challenges when it involves a loved one, like a family member or friend. Especially when you feel helpless, or desperate for a different outcome."

"You speak the truth," I acknowledge, "but I thought I was better than this, that I was rational and would be able to handle such situations with resolve. I'm not a spiritual person, and I haven't prayed to the gods since my father passed away. However, I found myself losing all ability to think clearly, to be logical. I should have joined you in searching for the healer, but my actions, or lack thereof, may have led to Upachu's death."

"I understand that feeling," Inuxeq says. "I recently lost a friend of mine. Sachia was his name. Growing up, I had no brothers or sisters—I didn't even know my mother or father. But Sachia and I were close since we were little children. He was the only one who defended me when I was being picked on, and believed in me as I went through warrior training. He rescued me after I was ambushed by the gray creatures, despite the warrior party being slaughtered by the Eye in the Flame's beasts. Even while I sat next to him as he lay dying, I cracked wise. I never told him how much he meant to me, not ever; I only ever teased and joked with him. As his spirit was crossing over into the eternal plane, all I focused on was how I could seek revenge for his death. I haven't been able to process what happened that day, and what affect his loss has had over me. But we all face death, simply by living."

I'm touched by her openness, that she would reveal her emotions to a relative acquaintance about the passing of her friend. It makes me consider my own lack of openness, how I, much like her, have not processed the deaths of my father and sister. It's been several harvests since the passing of my father, and not nearly a harvest since Entilqan and the Eleven fought the Timuaq. How much time is one allowed to grieve, to mourn?