Revolutions

132 - Teqosa

I can only stare dumbfounded at the space now left empty after the cult priest's departure. I turn to look at Síqalat, to ensure I am not the only witness to such an event. With her mouth agape, she stands as still as the stone structures surrounding us, seemingly unable to move. Her eyes remain fixed to the spot where the evil leader once stood.

"Look out!"

A shout alerts me to the incoming projectile hurtling toward me. I duck just in time as a ball of fire blazes over my head. Síqalat narrowly avoids being struck, and the orb of fire soars through the air, smashing into the crumbling stone wall of this chamber.

Searching for the source, I watch as Auilqa warriors, with blood red streaks across their faces and bare chests, storm into the ruins of this sacred place. They possess a wide range of expressions: fear, confusion, anger. Much like us, they, too, wonder what to make of this latest development, having been abandoned and left behind by someone they chose to worship.

Someone yells a command in the disjointed Auilqa tongue. Behind the slew of warriors, figures in the crimson robes emerge. With their faces shrouded by the shadow of their hoods, they point their crooked, knobby fingers in our direction. Having us surrounded, the Auilqa turn to look at us, slowly raising their tightly-clutched spears.

"That can't be good," Síqalat remarks.

"What did they say?" I inquire somewhat under my breath, as though the volume of my voice might set off the combat.

"They said," she answers while gradually constructing the components of her spear, not making any sudden movements, "we are the enemy that seek to disrupt the prophecy. And we must be stopped, as the priest commanded."

The young man in the white and red of Qiapu whips his head around to look at her and me. Alarmed, he asks, "You speak the tongue of Auilqa?" Síqalat raises a single eyebrow and nods curtly.

"Anyway," she says, sounding annoyed at the interruption, "if we're going to make it out of here alive, it appears we're going to need to get through the lot of them. And I'd guess there are several thousand waiting to cut us down like stalks of maize."

Slowly turning her head to the recent arrivals—the professed allies who curiously appeared suddenly—she continues, "If any of you have any good ideas as to how we're supposed to make that happen, I'm open to suggestions."

There's an abrupt gasp. The young woman—the one with the most startling blue eyes—covers her mouth with her hands in shock. I turn to see what has startled her, and it's a decapitated head, shoved through a spike that rests by an oddly-shaped device that rests on a stand made of stone. Through an extravagant headpiece made from bone and feathers, the frozen expression on the face is one of sheer terror, as though the victim was not expecting this fate.

"That's... Xolotzi," the young woman mutters. She gags, quickly turning away from the horrific sight.

"Who's that?" Síqalat inquires.

"The leader of the Auilqa," one of their warrior companions says. He is clad in coral and teal, with touches of deep blue and bronze. Perhaps he's of the Sanqo, judging by the colors. "Well, he was," the man corrects himself.

"They made a spectacle of taking his life, the life of their own ruler," says the one in white and red. He reaches behind him and retrieves the large, black war club strapped to his back. I have never seen the weapon's equal, admiring the intricate patterns of gold and copper adorning it, and turquoise embedded among ornate carvings throughout. Holding the club in his hands, he mutters, "These lunatics won't stop until everything is ash. Looks like we must fight our way out."