Revolutions

96 - Inuxeq

Without a clear direction for my next steps, I do the only thing I know: I will fight. I will fight the gray-robed followers. I will fight the crimson-robed sorcerers. I will fight the reanimated gray-skinned beasts. I will fight even as my muscles scream for respite. I will fight until not one enemy stands breathing. That is my unyielding vow.

The weight of the coral gemstone in my hand feels more significant than its slight heft suggests. After recovering it from the earlier encounter, I inspect its rough and imperfect surface that peculiarly pulses with a deep glow. With reverent fingers, I loop a strip of my tunic through it to form a makeshift pendant. Tying it around my neck, the stone rests against my skin. I'm trepidatious about possessing an item that provided such power to the sorcerers of this evil entity. Nevertheless, I adjust the knot, securing the gemstone's place over my heart, believing it to be better served under my protection than that of these crazed cultists.

Two gray-robed zealots charge at me, brandishing short obsidian-embedded swords in the air. They both look young, fresh-faced with round eyes that give away their trepidation in pursuing a battle with me. They attack with the ferocity of a jaguar kitten that tries to lunge at you. As they rush toward me, they shout something in the jarring Ulxa tongue, reminding me of the despicable Mexqutli.

Mexqutli. That traitor. Thoughts of his treasonous act race through my mind as I dispatch of these enemies with ease. One brings down his sword, and I duck, causing him to slash the air above me. I land a powerful punch to his stomach, sending him stumbling backwards. My eye catches a glint from the golden handle of the tumi knife in my harness—the knife I retrieved from the ground after my encounter with Xaqilpa. Xaqilpa, who Mexqutli claimed he was seeking to apprehend. Perhaps that is still true, but his attempt to assassinate the Arbiter still tastes bitter on my tongue. That traitor.

While I'm distracted, the other attacker swoops in, swinging his sword wildly toward my torso. I hop back, narrowly avoiding being sliced by the obsidian blades. He strikes at me again, bringing the sword back around for another chance at splitting me in two, forcing me to take many steps back in defense. His companion rejoins the fight, picking himself up off the dirt and sprinting at me. I suppose this wasn't as easy as I believed it to be.

Reaching at my side, I unsheathe the ornate obsidian dagger, the one that belongs to Mexqutli. Mexqutli. That traitor. He misled me the entire journey to Qapauma. What are his true intentions? What else is he lying about? Is he even Iqsuwa? Is he even Ulxa?

Focus, Inuxeq! The two cultists bear down upon me, raising their swords and slashing downward in one fluid motion. I spin out of the way, letting their blades thump into the dirt beside me. A confused expression crosses their faces, shocked that I could maneuver so quickly. They won't have a chance to learn from their mistake.

I spear the nearest cultist with the tip of the dagger, driving it through his throat. A stream of scarlet erupts from his neck as I remove my blade, a stunned look fixes itself permanently. The other swipes at me with his sword, but I twist around, my back facing him. His weapon narrowly misses striking Sachia's bow that's secured over my shoulder—that will be the last time I try this maneuver—and crashes into the wooden shield I retrieved from the fallen warrior during the engagement with Xaqilpa. Xaqilpa, who Mexqutli claimed to seek out, to settle matters diplomatically. Liar. Traitor.

Scowling from the reoccurring thought, I twirl around and backhand the obsidian dagger into his side. He moans from the stabbing pain, loosening the grip on his sword. I bring the dagger back and strike him numerous times through his chest, taking out my frustrations with Mexqutli on this young, misguided boy. What a waste of a life.

Standing tall and recovering my breath, I look down upon the two assailants, wiping a spattering of blood that dots my cheeks. "I assume you've always wanted a crimson robe," I say to no one but myself and the corpses at my feet. "So, congratulations on your promotion."