The dawn of October 12th painted the horizon with an orange glow, but Christopher Columbus barely noticed it. His eyes, tired but alert, were fixed on the navigation log where he had just written his last entry.
The quill trembled slightly in his hand as he scrawled the date, his mind divided between hope and uncertainty. They had sailed for weeks in the immensity of the ocean, chasing a dream that many in Europe considered madness.
Now, on the deck of the Santa María, the salty air dried his skin, and the creaking of the sails was a constant reminder of the fragility of their enterprise. When the lookout shouted from the top of the mast, pointing to shadows in the west, Columbus's heart gave a jolt.
Would they be ships of a European kingdom lost in these waters? Or, with more luck, small Eastern junks that would confirm his route to the Indies?
Kneeling briefly, he murmured a prayer, his faith intertwined with ambition.
He stood up, adjusting his hat, and ordered with a gesture that the other two ships, the Niña and the Pinta, commanded by the Pinzón brothers, draw near.
Martín Alonso Pinzón and Vicente Yáñez, both on their respective decks, responded with swift signals, positioning their ships in a defensive formation. The crew, a mosaic of hardened sailors and anxious youths, watched with squinted eyes as the shadows defined themselves on the horizon.
The silence on the Santa María was oppressive, broken only by the lapping of the waves and the groaning of the ropes. Columbus, with his hands clasped behind his back, felt a shiver run down his spine. It was not just the sea breeze; it was the weight of the unknown.
As the shadows drew closer, fear began to filter among the crew like a dense fog. The ships that emerged from the horizon were not the Eastern junks Columbus had imagined, nor the familiar caravels of Europe.
They were imposing vessels, some the size of the Santa María, others much larger, with robust hulls and sails that shimmered under the rising sun. The main sails were painted with a design that chilled Columbus's blood: a silver moon covering a golden sun, a symbol as majestic as it was unknown.
He had never seen such an emblem, not in the ports of Genoa, nor in the accounts of Portuguese travelers, nor in the maps of the Venetian scholars. It was a symbol that spoke of power, but not of a power that he could name.
"Maintain positions!" Columbus shouted, his voice cutting the growing murmur of the crew.
He signaled to the Pinzóns, who nodded from their ships, though their faces reflected the same unease. The unknown ships moved with a coordination that spoke of military experience, keeping out of the range of the Spanish cannons.
Columbus noticed the cannons on the enemy decks, larger than his own, and his heart clenched. In his years as a navigator, he had faced storms and pirates, but never anything like this.
These ships seemed designed for naval warfare, maneuvering with a precision that left them vulnerable. If they tried to shoot, they would be destroyed before aligning a single shot.
"What are these ships?" Martín Alonso Pinzón murmured, approaching Columbus by a small boat. His voice was low, but tense. "They are not Eastern, nor Moorish, nor Christian. Where are we, Cristóbal?"
Columbus did not respond immediately. His eyes scanned the ships, noticing details that only an experienced sailor could appreciate: the reinforced sails, the masts carved with motifs that seemed to narrate stories, and the discipline of the crew, who worked in silence, without the typical chaos of a surprised crew.
"I don't know," he finally admitted, his voice a whisper. "But we cannot face them. Not now."
After minutes of tension, with the sun already rising over the horizon, Columbus made a decision.
"White flag!" he ordered, and a sailor hoisted the white cloth, a universal gesture that he hoped would be understood.
The crew looked at him with disbelief, but no one questioned his authority. The unknown ships reduced their speed, maintaining distance, and one of them, the largest, sent a small boat toward the Santa María.
Columbus felt the weight of every gaze on him, but he maintained his composure, his mind working at full speed to anticipate what was to come.
Several hours later.
Columbus descended from the Santa María, escorted by warriors who left him breathless. They wore leather armor reinforced with iron plates, light but strategically placed to protect vital areas.
Unlike the heavy armor of European knights, these were designed for speed and agility, a testament to a people who valued efficiency in battle. The warriors' faces were impassive, their movements precise, and Columbus could not help but compare them to the most disciplined armies he had seen in his life.
"Who are these men?" he thought, as his boots touched the sand of an unknown beach.
The crew, watching him from the deck, seemed divided between fear and curiosity, murmuring about the supposed inefficiency of the armor. But Columbus, with his analytical gaze, understood their purpose: these were not knights seeking glory, but soldiers prepared for real warfare.
The air was laden with salt and a strange aroma, perhaps of herbs burned in a nearby ritual. In front of him, a young man of about fourteen was waiting, dressed in a white tunic that gleamed under the sun.
A light crown adorned his head, engraved with the same symbol of the moon and the sun that decorated the sails. Despite his youth, the boy emanated a serene authority, his dark eyes evaluating Columbus with a mixture of curiosity and caution.
The crowd that surrounded them, a mixture of warriors, women, children, and elders, watched in silence, their faces painted with vivid colors that Columbus could not interpret.
Outside of the astonishment at the unknown people, another thing that surprised him was the regularity of the constructions in the harbor, and especially the solidity of the harbor's structure. Both characteristics stood out above the European standard. Only important coastal cities had similar constructions.
Columbus approached the young man with caution, the warriors around him were watching to intercept any attack, and although it had not crossed Columbus's mind to do anything that would annihilate his crew, the oppression of those warriors could be felt in the air.
The young man said something, his immature tone not matching the natural authority he showed. Columbus understood nothing of this language, and apparently the Hebrew and Arabic translators did not either. However, he understood that he was greeting him, and by the tone and the way he expressed his message, it seemed to be a friendly greeting.
A week later.
The air in Dawn City was warm, impregnated with the aroma of tropical flowers and the slight murmur of a distant market. Christopher Columbus, sitting in a carved wooden chair inside a stone and wood house, watched the play of shadows that the sunlight projected through the open windows.
A week had passed since he and his crew were escorted to this city, a place that defied everything he knew about the world. The paved streets, buildings with intricate mosaics and canals that reflected the sky seemed taken from a dream, not from the wild lands he expected to find on his route to the Indies.
His men, stripped of weapons and any object that could be considered a threat, were housed in similar homes, treated with a hospitality that bordered on the disconcerting.
Columbus, with his navigator's mind always calculating, knew that this kindness was not free. No one, not even the most generous kingdoms in Europe, offered so much without expecting something in return.
The daily meetings with Chuta, the young leader of this Suaza Kingdom, were a whirlwind of emotions for Columbus.
At first, he had confused the fourteen-year-old boy, dressed in white tunics and a crown with the moon-over-sun symbol, with a king. But Chuta, with a disarming humility, had corrected him: "I am not a king, señor Columbus. Only a guide for my people."
Those words, pronounced in an almost perfect Spanish after just a few days of learning, left Columbus stunned. He had never met anyone with such a capacity to absorb a language, let alone a child who handled diplomacy with the cunning of a veteran monarch.
The meetings, although presented as negotiations, seemed more like lessons to perfect the locals' Spanish. However, each conversation was carefully orchestrated, accompanied by discreet but visible military maneuvers: archers on the rooftops, boats patrolling the docks, a silent reminder that any rebellion would be crushed.
Columbus, now seated at a table covered with exotic fruits and corn bread, reflected on Chuta's genius. The young man had not only learned his language, but had balanced hospitality with a calculated deterrence.
During a naval demonstration, the Suaza ships, with their golden and silver sails, had surrounded the Santa María, the Niña and thePinta with a precision that made the Pinzón brothers pale.
"These are no savages," Martín Alonso Pinzón had murmured in private, his voice laden with respect and fear.
Columbus had nodded, knowing that this kingdom possessed an organization and a power that rivaled those of Europe. However, he had managed to convince Chuta of a possible alliance.
"Our kingdoms can be friends," he had told him in a meeting, bowing with deference. "I will take your message to the Catholic Monarchs, and I will return to forge ties of trade and peace."
Chuta had accepted, but with strict conditions: no map of their lands, no precise mention of their location, and the promise that any betrayal would be answered with force.
A month later.
Columbus was again on the deck of the Santa María, the salty wind whipping his face as he watched the Suaza ships that escorted them. They were majestic vessels, larger than his own, sailing with a precision that seemed supernatural.
For weeks, they had zigzagged, taken detours and circled, an obvious effort to mislead the Spaniards about the exact location of the Suaza Kingdom. Columbus could not blame Chuta for his caution; he himself would have done the same in his place. The young man's wisdom fascinated and unsettled him in equal measure.
"It's as if he had eyes in the sky," he commented to one of his assistants, who was scrawling notes with a frown.
"Or as if this sea were their home," Columbus commented on his assistant's remark, looking at the golden sails that shone in the distance.
The food supply provided by the Suaza was another marvel. Boxes of dried fruits, smoked fish and breads that maintained their flavor even after weeks at sea filled the holds of the Spanish ships. Columbus tasted an unknown fruit, sweet and sour at the same time, and thought about how these small details reflected the kingdom's sophistication.
"They have given us enough to go and return," he said to Vicente Yáñez Pinzón, who was supervising the cargo. "It is a gesture of trust, but also a warning: they know we don't need to look for them again if we don't want trouble."
Hours later, the silhouette of dry land appeared on the horizon. Columbus, with his spyglass in hand, recognized the contours of the Portuguese coast. His heart quickened; they were close to home, but the weight of his mission was greater than ever.
He had promised Chuta to mediate an alliance with the Catholic Monarchs, and although the idea of a friendship with this powerful kingdom excited him, it also filled him with anxiety.
How would he convince Isabel and Fernando to ally with a people as advanced as them, so different, without revealing too much?
His dream of becoming the greatest explorer of his time was still alive, but now it was intertwined with a greater challenge: to ensure that this alliance did not turn into a conflict.
As the Santa María approached the coast, Columbus turned to one of the Suaza warriors who remained on the deck, a man with an impassive face and light leather and iron armor.
"Tell your guide, Chuta, that I will keep my word," he said in his careful Spanish, hoping the message would arrive intact. The warrior nodded, his dark eyes evaluating him without emotion.
Columbus felt a chill; this was not the end of his journey, but the beginning of something much greater.
He looked toward the horizon, where the Suaza ships began to turn, ready to disappear into the vast ocean, and he knew that his destiny, and that of Europe, had changed forever.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
I hope you like the chapter and that the change isn't too abrupt. But I want to clarify what the specific decisions were for the new expansion.
On the other hand, I want to ask if you'd like a perspective on Columbus's meeting with the Catholic Monarchs, or if you'd rather learn about this from the Suaza emissaries' response.
If you reply quickly, I can add that chapter after the next one I already have planned.
Unnecessary Fact of the Day: The sails used on ships were made of linen and hemp, due to their physical properties. Cotton was also used, but its physical properties weakened and it tended to rot.
The Kingdom's ships are made of cotton, and I'm already planning some plots where they'll be updated or a new technology will be designed to improve these sails.
By the way, new images are coming in the comments. Finally!
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Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future (Chapter 80)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis (Chapter 28)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 9) (PAUSED)
You can find them on my profile.]