Revolutions

59 - Haesan

The man's hushed words bring a shiver to my spine. Frozen in place, I stand still, glancing over to Yachaman to determine the level of threat we face. For a brief moment, I contemplate utilizing my plate, still containing pieces of uneaten meat and root vegetables, as a weapon, flinging it at my assailant as a distraction so Yachaman and I can escape to safety. My eyes dart about the rest of the festive scene, searching for Qane or Chalqo, but neither are anywhere to be found. It's moments such as this where I wonder just how much safety the young Tapeu palace guard actually provides.

After my lack of response, the man says, "If you are for the cause, you are among friends. If not, well, I cannot assure you your safety. Meet at the seamstress' tent at the sound of the trompe."

I faintly hear his footsteps walk away, but when I turn to see who the man was, there is no individual nearby; a crowd of people engaged in festive merriment stand or dance, as though nothing devious or sinister had taken place. Did they not see the man speaking to me? Should I make inquiries about the possibility of people supporting 'the cause' existing among the camp?

"Did you get a good look at the man who spoke to me?" I ask Yachaman, hoping she might be able to identify him. She winces and shakes her head in short, quick bursts.

"My sincerest apologies," she says. "He blends in with the others pretty well, with dark brown hair and wearing the neutrally-toned tunics. However, he had a plain, dark green scarf covering most of his face. It's not to say that there are others among the inhabitants who would possess such an item, but-"

"... if we hurry, we might be able to find someone walking around with the scarf now," I say, enthusiastically finishing her thought. We nod, setting our dishes down where we were previously seated, and rush off in the direction Yachaman saw the blur of this mysterious figure move. Our heads swivel back and forth, frantically seeking a person with a green scarf—or any green item of clothing, for that matter. Once, I admired the warmth and hospitality of Qelantu Loh's residents, but now their well-meaning interruptions, with constant offerings of food and invitations to dance, are hindering our progress.

After much searching, and many mistaken identities, Yachaman and I turn to each other and grimace at the missed opportunity. Had I not been too cowardly to turn around and face my pursuer directly, we could have confronted him about the meaning of all of this. After all, we were in a public place, surrounded by many eyes and ears to provide a level of protection should things have gone awry. Self-doubt begins to creep in. Am I in over my head, attempting to engage with the Qente Waila? Do I have the courage and mental fortitude to handle joining their cause?

Without much time for self-loathing, the unmistakable sound Chalqo described as "a regal animal dying nobly" blares throughout the campsite, which could only be the trompe.

"We've run out of time," I lament. "I was hoping we could isolate the man. Do we appear where he told us to? Is this a trap?"

Unconvinced, Yachaman reasons, "With permission to speak openly, if they wanted to harm us, and this campsite contains the numbers of rebels we could assume it has, we would have been disposed of much sooner. I believe he wants to speak to us in earnest, likely gauging our interest. Although, if we engage with them and don't provide them with the answers they seek, they will most likely kill us before we can leave the tent, so as to not expose their identities."

"That sounds reassuring," I sigh. With whom am I getting involved? Beyond my interactions with Onixem and overhearing conversations about them, what do I truly know about the Jade Hummingbird? For all I know, they could be lunatics seeking to resurrect the defeated Timuaq and enslave humanity. Are these the types of people with whom I want to engage?