Revolutions

78 - Haesan

I'm frozen in place at the sight of Anqatil, the unwavering loyalist to Achutli—and my sadistic torturer. Her permanent look of disdain is fixed upon me, and I feel her staring daggers into me. My throat tightens and my mouth dries up like a drought. I fear looking up at her, worried she will identify me and signal my presence to Achutli. She clearly takes this as a sign of disrespect.

"Do they speak?" Anqatil snarls. "How dare they not address me when I'm present!"

Yachaman elbows me in the side. "Apologies, Great Falcon," Yachaman says with a bow. I echo the statement, muttering low so as to not have my voice easily recognizable. Or so I hope.

"I dislike repeating myself," Anqatil says, her teeth gritted, as she indicates her initial inquiry has been left unanswered.

"We are seeking a blessing from the temple," Yachaman manages to stutter. "I am to strengthen the bond with whom I am bound to ensure the prosperity and protection of–"

"Yes, yes," Anqatil says, waving her hand contemptuously. "Chasqa Quimi and all of that. I swear to the Eleven, these fanatics are exasperating."

I keep my gaze fixed at her leather sandals, which are embellished with various gemstones running up the front of her feet. Occasionally, I glance over at Yachaman, catching her defiant stance that exudes confidence. Her comfort among nobles, especially one who is chastising us for being out of place, is impressive. For better or worse, it's likely well-rehearsed. That thought hurts my heart.

"Servants can pray to their gods when festivities are not taking place," Anqatil eventually states. "Hurry off back to your post before I report you to Iatuq."

Yachaman bows multiple times, quickly saying, "Yes, Great Falcon. Thank you, Great Falcon." She grabs my arm and pulls me away. Had she not, I would have perhaps remained in place in stunned silence. I keep my head hung low as we scurry away.

"You are terrible at being a servant," Yachaman scolds. "One would think spending enough time around them, you'd be better practiced."

The jibe stings more than I anticipated. While I consider Yachaman a friend and not my bonded servant, the distinction of our histories and upbringing has always influenced our dynamic, whether I'm willing to admit it or not. I hope to one day have Yachaman as my equal, yet I know how challenging it will be to achieve that; societies of Pachil place a significance on class and social standing, and moving up is nearly impossible, compared to falling down.

Yachaman's remark echoes a discomfort I've known since childhood—a discomfort born from witnessing the rigid divides of our society firsthand. I'm transported me back to a chilly evening in Chopaqte. I was playing among the garden—some game only the imagination of a child can conjure up—when a loud crash pierced the otherwise quiet scene. Hidden behind the lush foliage, I remember watching as a young servant clumsily spilled wine over Suntu's meticulously maintained garments. Fear washed over the boy's face as Suntu approached, his presence as imposing as the stone statues that guarded the estate. The expected reprimand hung heavy in the air, a lesson in the harshness of our societal hierarchies I was all too familiar with.

The memory lingers as a stark reminder of the gulf between our worlds. It's a world to which I can only relate tangentially, something I will never truly understand. Yet it fuels my resolve to bridge that divide, to foster a world where compassion outweighs the deemed significance of one's birth.

As we hurry off, I reflect on something Anqatil mentioned. Iatuq... That name sounds familiar. Isn't she one of the advisors to Achutli? 'The Voice', she's called. Yes, that sounds right—it's a name I've heard come up during discussions within the throne room. Each advisor to the Arbiter has some title like this, which is generally used by those whose place is directly beneath the esteemed noble. The advisors are posted throughout Pachil as the eyes and ears of the Arbiter. They report back after a number of moon cycles, returning to Qapauma on a short visit. It's probable that Iatuq timed her return to the capital in conjunction with the festivities. My understanding from the whispers throughout the palace is that she can't help herself from attending any celebratory gathering that could lift her status.