Revolutions

153 - Walumaq

Iachanisqa's words replay in my mind, over and over, like a river carving its path through stone.

"This world, Pachil, is alive in ways you mortals sense only in fragments."

It's a truth that settles into me like a thorn. I've always felt the pull of the land, the way water bends to my will, the way the jungle seems to know my footsteps. But now, I wonder: is it me bending the land, or is the land allowing me to? Have I been drawing from something I can't see, something I can't feel, but something that feels me?

And if I have... what have I taken?

"Walumaq." Teqosa's low and steady voice disrupts my thoughts. I look up to find his unwavering eyes on me. "What do you make of this?"

I don't know how to answer. What am I supposed to say? That this revelation feels like it's stolen the ground from beneath me? That I've spent this journey believing I was meant for something greater, only to find that greatness might mean the destruction of the world?

"I don't know," I quietly admit. "I don't know what to make of any of it."

"That makes two of us," Upachu mutters, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "If the amulets were made to stop the Timuaq... what does it mean that they're here again? What force is out there now, waiting for us?"

His words cut through me. My breath catches, and my hand instinctively drifts toward the amulet resting against my chest. Its weight feels different now, heavier, like it's somehow grown since Iachanisqa's revelation.

Teqosa frowns, his jaw tightening as he considers the question. "Maybe it's not about a new force," he says. "Maybe it's about us—what we do with the amulets, how we wield them."

"That's a nice thought," Upachu bitingly replies, "but I don't buy it. Things like this don't just appear without a reason. The Twelve didn't sacrifice themselves for nothing, and I doubt we're carrying these things around just for decoration. Something's coming. I can sense it."

Something cold coils in my stomach. I don't want to admit it, but Upachu's right. The amulets were forged for a purpose, bound to the life of Pachil itself. They were never meant to be wielded lightly. So why now? Why us?

The old crone's prophecy drifts back to me, unbidden, her voice rasping in the darkened hut in Chalaqta. "You will unite them, or you will destroy them. The choice will be yours, and the cost will be theirs."

I grip the amulet tightly, my fingers pressing into the cool surface of the stone. What did you mean? I want to ask her, even though I know I never will. Was this what you saw? These amulets, this burden? Or something worse?

Iachanisqa's steady hammering continues in the background, a rhythmic reminder of the choices that led us here. Choices made by Sualset, by the Eleven—and now, by us.

Upachu shakes his head, pacing the chamber like he's trying to outrun his thoughts. "We're playing with something we don't understand," he mutters. "If these things drained the life out of Pachil before, what makes us think we can use them without making it worse? What if we're the ones who end up breaking this world for good?"

"Then maybe we don't use them," I say softly.

The others turn to look at me, their expressions ranging from confusion to disbelief.

"What are you saying?" Síqalat asks, uncharacteristically cautious.

I swallow hard, the words sticking in my throat. "I'm saying... maybe we don't have to follow the same path. Maybe we can find another way to fight, to protect Pachil, without taking from it."