Revolutions

95 - Haesan

It's as if the very atmosphere of Qapauma itself has been drawn into our tense standoff. Here I stand, a lone island in a sea of turmoil. I draw gazes sharper than the obsidian blades clutched by warriors beyond these walls. Nuqasiq, my grandmother and a matriarch in every sense, stands firm with eyes ablaze. Across from her, Achutli, the Arbiter—and, reluctantly, my father—is clad in the vibrant orange and red of the Tapeu beneath his ornate bronze armor. His stature is imposing, yet his eyes betray a noticeable momentary flicker of uncertainty towards me. Anqatil lurks in the shadows, waiting, watching, her ambition as transparent as the waters of Haqu Minsa.

Anqatil's cold voice eventually breaks the long silence. "And who is this, dressed as a servant among us? Skulking in the shadows to avoid my gaze? A fitting guise for a rat sneaking through our city's cracks. How very clever of you, Haesan."

Nuqasiq steps forward, her presence commanding. "We stand on the brink of ruin, our city under siege, and all you can muster is pettiness? Scorn for old grievances and false prophecies?" Her gaze then softens as she turns towards me. "And you, child, have shown more mettle than many cloaked in finery." She spits venom with those last words, glaring at Anqatil as they're spoken.

Sneering, Anqatil can't help but to add, "The idea that she," she points a scornful finger at me, "could contribute anything of value is laughable. She should know her place."

"This bores me," Achutli declares, raising his voice. "Our city burns while we stand here locked in a silent battle of wills. This is neither the time nor the place for familial disputes or past grievances." He turns to look out toward the battle that looms on the horizon. "Let us focus on the task at hand. We can settle our differences once the threat has been neutralized."

Anqatil's gaze is piercing, and her lips are pressed into a thin line. She's baffled at how quickly Achutli is detaching himself from this engagement, almost incensed that he's allowing me to live. Unable to let her disdain go unvoiced, she mutters, "If we survive this, justice for your treachery will not be forgotten."

Whether she meant for me to hear this or not, I respond, "I didn't expect to stand here, in the heart of our capital, under such circumstances." My voice is steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within. "But here we are, bound by blood, duty, and the imminent threat at our gates."

"Enough," Achutli says, his gaze shifting from one face to the next. "We have a city to defend, lives to protect." When his eyes meet mine, it's evident that, though he has plenty to say to me, he chooses to bite his tongue. While there is much about the man to abhor, I can at least respect his ability to prioritize.

"Then it is decided," Nuqasiq proclaims, seeking to put an abrupt end to this encounter. Turning to Achutli, she says, "May Iptanqa light your path, my son. And may the winds of Aqxilapu carry you to victory, for the sake of our people and the land that cradles us all. Return to us with honor."

Emotionless, Achutli nods. Lifting his bronze sword toward the sky, he calls the attention of all nearby Tapeu warriors, and is quickly surrounded by a swarm of orange and red tunics. Sianchu lets out an impassioned yell, his gaze fixed adoringly on the ruler. It's a devotion so fervent, it borders on the theatrical, nearly crossing into the realm of parody. After Achutli commands his men and women, they rush off to battle, to defeat the invaders once and for all.

Before following her ruler, however, Anqatil delivers a parting scowl to me. Her glare attempts to intimidate, but I stand tall, chin raised, not giving her the pleasure of seeing me cower to my torturer. When she turns her back to me to join the fray, I release the breath I wasn't aware I was holding and collapse my shoulders.

Watching Achutli lead the Tapeu warriors into battle, Nuqasiq seems to vocalize my thoughts. "How he has amassed such loyalty is something I will never fathom."