Revolutions

168 - Teqosa

I wake with the taste of iron on my tongue and the cold bite of stone against my back. My chest aches—not the sharp pain of a wound, but a dull, hollow ache, like something vital has been ripped away. My hand drifts to my neck, searching for the weight of the amulet that should be there. My fingers find only bare skin. The absence feels heavier than the amulet ever did.

Around me, the world slowly comes into focus. Out of the haze, shapes sharpen. The jagged stone walls, the faint flicker of dying embers, the strained faces of those who must have carried me out of that nightmare. Walumaq crouches nearby, her jaw tight as she diligently monitors the shadows. Paxilche paces restlessly, his movements jittery like a storm looking for something to destroy. Síqalat leans against the wall, clutching her spear in one hand with a distant gaze. Noticing I'm stirring, Saqatli gently tugs at Walumaq's sleeve and directs her attention toward me.

"You're awake," Walumaq says as relief flickers across her face. But no sooner than it appears, it's quickly buried beneath urgency. "Can you move?"

I try to sit up, but my body resists and fights me. My limbs feel sluggish and heavy. A hand presses firmly on my shoulder, steadying me. Saqatli. His amber calm and watchful eyes meet mine. He doesn't speak, but strangely, I find his presence comforting.

"What happened?" My voice is a cracked and dry rasp.

"What do you think happened?" Paxilche snaps, still pacing. "Xiatli happened. He walked through us like we were nothing. Like we didn't even exist. We're only alive because for whatever reason, he didn't pursue us. At least not urgently."

My fingers curl into the dirt, grounding me as I wrestle with the fragments of my dream and the reality we've returned to. Glimpses of that moment before my world turned black come to me, but they're lost in the haze of everything that occurred after. I can't determine what events happened when, and who was involved with what.

"Pomacha is gone," Upachu says quietly from where he sits cradling Nochtl, the ocelot barely stirring in his arms. His voice is steady, but his expression is haunted. "And we're lucky the rest of us aren't."

Paxilche halts his pacing, crossing his arms with a sharp exhale. "We're not lucky," he mutters, his voice low. "We're trapped. Outnumbered, outmatched, and barely holding on. It's only a matter of time before Xiatli and his savages hunt us down, and we have to confront him again."

"We survived," Walumaq interjects bitingly. "All things considered, we're fortunate to have escaped with our lives. But he's right"—she sighs, casting her eyes to the ground and speaking to everyone and no one in particular—"we can't stay here."

"Where would we go?" Paxilche asks, voice rising. "Every step we take just leads us deeper into his territory. There's nowhere safe. Not in Qiapu. Perhaps not anywhere. We don't even know what happened to the Eye in the Flame; they're still out there somewhere."

Walumaq's gaze narrows. "You're not helping. We find safety by making it. We don't sit here and wait to be hunted down."

"And what about him?" Paxilche points toward me. "How he's still alive is a clear blessing from the gods, but he can barely walk, let alone fight."

"I'll manage," I say, even though I'm not sure it's true. I force myself to sit up, ignoring the way my body protests. The world tilts slightly, and my vision blurs, but I grip the rough fabric of my tunic and hold steady.

A faint sound echoes through the cavernous corridors. A rhythmic noise—low, deliberate, like heavy boots pounding against the loose rocks. Paxilche's eyes widen, and he jerks his head toward the direction of the disturbance.

"There's that noise again," he notes, tightening his grip on his huge war club. "I told you. They're already looking for us."

The group stiffens as the sound grows louder, closer. Walumaq is the first to move, looking gravely in the direction of our pursuers. "We can't wait for them to find us. Let's move."