Year 3 of the SuaChie calendar, 10 km south of South City.
The sun mercilessly scorched the skin, and the pulverized earth clung tenaciously to my parched throat. My body, already weakened by prolonged illness and constant food deprivation, barely registered the harshness of the path beneath my feet.
I was merely a child, and the absence of my parents had turned existence in the village into an experience devoid of kindness.
The days blurred into a dense haze of persistent fever and desolate abandonment. People passed by me, their footsteps echoing with indifference, but no one stopped to offer help. I no longer harbored any hope that they would.
A distinct murmur broke the monotonous stillness of my lethargy. Louder voices, heavier footsteps. With considerable effort, I managed to half-open my eyes. A contingent of warriors approached, clad in cured leather armor and gleaming metal.
My heart constricted with dread, a fear already too familiar. Then, my gaze fell upon the child.
He was tiny, barely an infant, but he was carried in the arms of a priest, and his gaze… his eyes possessed an extraordinary color, one as luminous as the clearest day and the other as profound as the darkest night. He was no ordinary child. He was Young Chuta, the one of whom recent stories whispered in the village, the very Son of Heaven.
The warriors halted their advance a short distance away. I heard the elder leader of the village converse with the prodigious infant. My name. My precarious condition. The word 'orphan' floated in the static air. I closed my eyes, anticipating the usual and painful indifference.
But in that instant, I perceived a close presence. I opened my eyes again. Young Chuta was observing me intently. Not with pity, nor with scorn, but with an unusual curiosity, almost… with a deep understanding. He extended a small hand towards me. My fragile body trembled.
"We will take her with us," Young Chuta pronounced, his voice childlike, yet imbued with an authority that completely belied his young age. The village leader nodded without the slightest hesitation. The warriors resumed their movement.
Strong arms gently lifted me from the dusty ground. The journey unfolded in a haze of sensations. The constant swaying of the march, the suffocating heat of the day, the penetrating cold of the night. But, for the first time in a long while, the pang of hunger did not torment me. I received fresh water and a warm gruel that my stomach, surprisingly, accepted.
Days later, the fever finally subsided. I found myself in a dwelling, impeccably clean, wrapped in soft, warm blankets. And there, beside me, remained Young Chuta. He observed me with the intensity of his singular eyes.
"Are you feeling better, Fiba?" he inquired, his voice clear and resonant, using our language with a fluency that suggested he had been born among us. Surprise washed over me upon hearing my name. I nodded with a barely perceptible gesture.
Then, I observed him interact with the revered Pijao priests. The meeting was of utmost importance, I knew instinctively. I heard their grave voices, their profound questions about the designs of the gods, about the uncertain future.
And I heard Young Chuta's answers. A child of barely two years, articulating with wisdom that transcended that of the most respected elders. He explained intricate concepts about distant stars, about the vast expanse of the earth, about the course of rivers, with a logic so irrefutable that the priests nodded with evident astonishment.
My mind, newly freed from the oppressive fog of illness, absorbed his every word with avidity. It was as if the veil of the world was being drawn back before me. The depth with which Chuta understood everything, the way his eyes penetrated beyond the obvious, left me breathless.
He was not simply a child. He was… something far more transcendent.
And in that precise instant, a new and powerful determination germinated within me. I yearned to understand. I wanted to perceive the world as he saw it.
But, above all, I wished to be of use to that extraordinary child who had rescued me.
1 month later.
The Suaza Home proved to be completely different from anything I had ever known. It was not a cold, desolate path, nor a solitary and unprotected hut. It was a vibrant space, teeming with life, where the elders shared their ancient stories and the children, like me, found a secure roof, constant food, and, most importantly, the palpable promise of a future.
The laughter of other orphans echoed through the hallways, a sound to which I was unaccustomed, but which, little by little, began to infuse warmth into my heart.
One day, while diligently folding freshly laundered blankets, Young Chuta approached me, his gaze, though seemingly childlike, possessed immense and profound insight.
"Fiba," he said, his voice soft in tone, yet direct in intent. "I have noticed your innate curiosity. Your eyes are always attentive, observing every detail, your ears listening with keen insight. Would you perhaps like to receive instruction alongside the priests? They possess a vast wealth of knowledge to share."
My heart gave an unexpected leap. To learn? The mere idea was as strange as it was wonderfully unattainable. In my previous existence, learning was a privilege restricted to a fortunate few.
"Yes, Young Chuta. I would very much like to."
Thus began my new life.
The venerable priests instructed me in the intricate forms of the alphabet that Young Chuta had brought with him, teaching me how to precisely trace the words onto the delicate cream-colored paper.
They revealed to me the secrets of numbers, the way they were accurately added and subtracted, and how they served to count the passing days and the position of the stars in the firmament.
At first, the task felt like the arduous deciphering of an enigmatic code, but with time, the letters and numbers acquired coherent meaning. My mind, which until then had only been concerned with raw survival, devoured each lesson with insatiable avidity.
The priests expressed their astonishment at my remarkable speed; at the way I absorbed knowledge with the efficiency of a sponge.
The months passed without pause. I was now capable of interpreting the detailed records of harvests, of precisely calculating the opportune days for planting, and of comprehending the complex celestial patterns of the stars. However, Young Chuta, always observant and always a step ahead in his wisdom, had even more to offer me.
He led me to a discreet and secluded room; a space filled with maps and diagrams that resembled nothing my eyes had ever contemplated.
"Fiba," he pronounced, pointing to a complex and detailed drawing that represented water currents and wind patterns. "The priests have provided you with the essential foundations. Now, I will instruct you so that you can perceive what others fail to see. So that you can comprehend the subtle whispers of the wind, the most hidden secrets of the earth, and the true intentions residing in the hearts of men."
My eyes widened, filled with astonishment. This was radically different. This was precisely what he saw. What he understood with unusual clarity.
My lessons with Chuta were of a distinct nature. They were not limited to mere numbers and letters, but delved into the underlying logic behind them, into the intricate way the vast world connected.
He taught me to observe keenly, to deduce precise conclusions, and to retain every minute detail in my memory.
He showed me how a small alteration in a bird's flight could indicate an imminent change in wind direction, or how the shape of a path revealed a traveler's recent passage. It was as if my mind, already agile, became even more perceptive, capable of discerning patterns and connections that had previously been invisible to me. I felt that, at last, I was beginning to see the world with the same profound perspective that Young Chuta possessed.
7 months later, Year 4 of the SuaChie calendar.
The months flew by with astonishing rapidity, filled with constant and enriching learning. My days were divided between the meticulous work of religious transcriptions for the priests, where the languages of recently annexed cultures unfolded before me like new and fascinating puzzles, and the private and intensive lessons with Young Chuta.
I could spend hours engrossed in deciphering ancient texts, finding the intrinsic connections between the gods of the Taironas and the Muiscas, feeling how the kingdom was consolidated not only through imposing force, but also through mutual understanding.
One day, while diligently organizing some parchments in the silent library of the Royal Academy, a barely audible whisper caught my attention. Two men, priests whom I saw occasionally, with discreet insignia I had never noticed before, conversed in extremely low voices.
"...the crucial mission of protecting Young Chuta. Only the Shadows possess the capability to handle it."
"...vital information for the East Ocean plan. We require more specialized agents."
My heart abruptly stopped. The Shadows? An enigmatic secret group dedicated to protecting Young Chuta?
The idea struck me with the blunt force of lightning. From the day he had saved me, my sole and fervent desire had been to be useful to him, to safeguard him with my life. This was, without a doubt, my opportunity. I did not hesitate for an instant.
I sought out Young Chuta that same afternoon. I found him in an open courtyard, observing some young people practicing with bows.
"Young Chuta," I said, my voice resonating with unshakeable firmness. He turned, his curious eyes resting on me. "I have heard talk of the 'Shadows'. I wish to join them."
His expression, for a brief instant, became unreadable. "Fiba, do you truly understand what the Shadows are? It is an arduous path… full of dangers. It is a highly specialized group. Its purpose is to protect the kingdom with maximum effectiveness. It is not a path for just anyone. Besides, you are just a young woman with a promising future ahead of you."
"I know," I replied, my determination absolutely unshakeable. "And I am completely prepared. I have assimilated everything the priests have taught me. I have learned everything you, Young Chuta, have imparted to me. I yearn to protect you. I wish to serve the kingdom in the most effective way possible."
Chuta observed me in silence for a prolonged moment, his eyes scrutinizing mine with penetrating intensity. Finally, he nodded with a slight movement of his head. "Very well, Fiba. If that is your unshakeable will. But the training that awaits you will be grueling. There will be no mercy."
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
First, I'd like to say that this chapter was also very long, and I also had to split it into two, but unlike last time, I'll upload the other part tomorrow.
This is because I didn't keep my promise that I wouldn't do it again, haha. It's also because I've received so much support from you over the past two weeks.
Fiba shows us a vision of progress like no other. She shows us what life was like before Chuta united the nations.
Unnecessary Fact of the Day: Jews are expelled from Spain in 1492: The Catholic Monarchs issue the Alhambra Decree, ordering the expulsion of all Jews who didn't convert to Christianity. Which might give a clue as to what might happen to the Suaza Kingdom.
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Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future.
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis from Visions of Future Saga.
You can find them on my profile.]