Revolutions

83 - Inuxeq

We scoured the lands skirting the Aimue frontier, a relentless and time-devouring task, only to bear a fruitless harvest. Across the sprawling grasslands that stretch to the north of the Maiu Antumalal—the mighty, twisting river that serves as a boundary between the Aimue and Tapeu territories—the faint traces of Tiahesi and a few dozen Qantua warriors' passage are elusive, nearly swallowed by the vast expanse. As the sun begins its descent, the only other sound heard over the tall, rustling grasses is Mexqutli's expletive-laden outbursts.

Discouraged after spending nearly an entire day on the search, we regroup at the campsite, established shortly after our deadly confrontation with the lone sorcerer of the Eye in the Flame. Due to that encounter, as well as the battle among the ruins of Xaqelatun, our numbers have greatly dwindled. We have fallen to just over half the warriors that started this journey, a grim reminder of the deadly mission we've undertaken.

Mexqutli chucks his obsidian daggers onto the ground in disgust, startling the men making preparations for the night's eventual campfire. He plops down onto a tree stump and retrieves a water skin. He dumps the contents into his mouth like a hatchling eager for a meal, yet it's when the pungent fermented sweetness wafts over to me that I realize it is, in fact, chicha. I hesitate to ask where he found some, concerned that I won't like the questionable means he must have used to obtain it.

"That hollow cacao pod, Tiahesi, has eluded our best trackers!" he complains. "How does a group that large evade being detected?"

"Surely, they couldn't have traveled far," Sianchu reasons. "It hasn't yet been a day."

"We must continue searching," I command. Addressing Sianchu, I say, "Check with the Qantua warriors. They may remain tight-lipped, but perhaps there's someone who isn't loyal to Tiahesi and can speak to what they may have overheard or seen."

"Mexqutli," I say, turning to him, "take a few of our scouts and join me in expanding the search to a wider area. He's likely relying on the thick grasses to make finding his tracks more difficult, but there will still be bent grass and other indicators. As Sianchu mentioned, he and the warriors couldn't have traveled far; it's simply a matter of finding where they went."

The pair nod resolutely, ready to take on their respective tasks. With the autumn sun already getting inauspiciously low, we don't have much time to continue our search. My hope is that we can still make progress by–

"His departure is all your fault, you know," a gruff voice grumbles as we're just about to depart from the site. I turn to see who made that remark, yet the coward doesn't stand up to claim their words.

Speaking to no one in particular, I ask, "I beg your pardon?"

After a few heartbeats, a man who has been sharpening the blade of his sword with a stone pitches the rock aside, then stands up, sheathing his weapon in one fluid motion. "I said, Tiahesi's departure is all your fault, jungle girl." He glowers at me with his dark brown eyes. Overtop his black and gold tunic is leather armor nearly resembling a poncho, hanging loose and painted in numerous patterns of black and white. His face's expression challenges me to react, to confront him.

"And what makes you believe–"

"Because," he interrupts, "had you not insulted the man, demeaned the man, and belittled the other Qantua officers, they'd still be here right now."

"What, so because Tiahesi has skin as thin as a maize husk, I have to coddle him? What kind of warrior can't handle direct criticism?"

From the corner of my eye, Sianchu approaches me. I can sense he wants me to temper my words, but I persist. "I have to tread lightly around him because he's overly sensitive, and can't handle losing a contest of skill to a woman? I thought the Qantua were more civilized, more progressive than that."