Revolutions

94 - Teqosa

The first step beyond the Maiu Hatun feels like crossing into another world. The air grows denser, heavier with the scent of damp terrain and wild greenery. The jungle canopy stretches endlessly above, painted in countless shades of green. Sunlight filters through in slanted beams, casting dappled patterns on the undergrowth that carpets the forest floor. Every step forward rustles with the sounds of unseen creatures, and the distant calls of exotic birds echo throughout the jungle, their songs both beautiful and foreboding.

Adjusting the strap of his satchel, Upachu casts a wary glance at the towering trees. "It feels like the entire jungle is all some kind of living, breathing being," he murmurs in both awe and apprehension.

"Not just any being," I reply, feeling the oppressive watchfulness of the jungle intensify with each step, "but one that doesn't particularly want us around."

Síqalat chuckles softly. "Then let's make sure it finds us as charming and endearing as possible," she says with a smirk, giving me the impression I've been subtly slighted.

She leads the way, weaving through the thick bamboo stalks that rise like a barricade. Her attention is fixed on a barely visible path ahead, hacking a curved blade at the tangles of vines and roots of the Auilqa jungles that hinder our way forward. Her familiarity with this terrain is almost instinctual, moving with a rhythm that matches the jungle's own heartbeat, to maintain that analogy. Each step she takes is measured and deliberate, avoiding pitfalls that aren't visible until she points them out—deep animal tracks hidden beneath thick layers of fallen leaves, or sudden dips in the ground masked by overgrowth. Even as I struggle to keep pace, I marvel at her resilience and the ease with which she navigates this wild, untamed land.

Upachu follows close behind, guiding the llama along and wearing the newly purchased light garments he obtained in Chopaqte. Age spots and purple veins sprawl across his arms and legs, standing out against his pale skin that has likely seen hardly any sunlight in his dozens upon dozens of harvests on Pachil. It's bizarre to see him out of the thick, white robes I've become so accustomed to seeing him wear, and he looks altogether like an entirely different person. Yet his age and frailty are more apparent now, and I grow more apprehensive about having him travel such a treacherous trek alongside me.

I scan the dense foliage, maintaining a position close to the cart for quick access to my glaive. I remain ever ready for the dangers that lurk beneath the beauty of the wilderness, knowing that every shadow could conceal a threat. It becomes immediately apparent why Síqalat wears pants, as my bare legs become regularly nicked and scraped by the low, prickly foliage. She also appears unfazed by the choking humidity while I feel as though I'm melting in the merciless heat that seems to stick to my skin. She moves with an ease that belies her knowledge of this land, unlike my cautious and measured steps that continuously negotiate with the terrain.

"So, Síqalat," Upachu begins, and I grow nervous about what his inquiry will be, "you don't present yourself like many of the Achope I've ever encountered."

"That's because I'm not like many of the Achope," she counters, maintaining her focus on clearing the obstructing vines.

"I can see that," Upachu says, undeterred, "particularly with your marked arms and legs. You're not a typical Achope merchant."

"That's because I'm not an Achope merchant," she says, continuing to toy with Upachu through her enigmatic answers.

"I can see that, as well—I'm not that old that my eyes have yet failed me," Upachu remarks, occasionally out of breath from exerting himself on the challenging path as he makes his statement. "What is your profession, dear lady? What allows you to maintain your pursuit of Pachil's finest libations?"