Year 3 of the SuaChie Calendar, First Month (March 1485).
Duitama Town (Duitama, Colombia), Territory of the Great Northern City.
The frigid wind of the high plateau howled against the outer walls, but inside, the air was thick, sweet, and comfortingly warm. Fuhupqua, barely twelve years old, buried his hands in the clean, raw cotton tunic he had been given that very morning and let out a sigh that plumed in the air before him.
He stood in the center of the Suaza Home, the grand, newly inaugurated building in the great town of Duitama, which now formed part of the Great Northern City's network.
Fuhupqua looked up at the high, perfectly assembled ceiling. Long gone were the days of flimsy straw and mud huts that leaked with the first rains.
Those walls of thick adobe and impeccable geometry had been erected by direct order of the great Zaques and Zipas, under the inscrutable will of the one they all now revered: the Son of Heaven, SuaChie Chuta.
Fuhupqua surveyed the main hall. In one corner, a group of elders who until recently had begged on the cold dirt streets now rested upon thick mats, bundled in woolen blankets, sharing stories by the warmth of a central brazier. At the other end, children younger than him scurried about without bellies swollen from parasites or skin cracked by the cold.
A home, Fuhupqua thought, savoring the word in his mind as though it were an exotic fruit. A home for those of us born with nothing.
For him, an orphan accustomed to sleeping under market eaves, fleeing from town guards and the kicks of merchants, the last two years had been an unreal whirlwind, a dream from which he feared awakening.
His mind drifted back, recalling the beginning of the change. It had been shortly after the great and unprecedented gathering between the lords of the land, the Zaques, and the Son of Heaven. Overnight, lesser leaders and priests began speaking of strange concepts: health, hygiene, unified agriculture.
But what had truly paralyzed Fuhupqua back then was seeing the venerated priests holding thin, light-brown sheets in their hands, smooth and flexible. They called them "leaves," though they came from no tree he knew. Upon them were dark strokes, magical symbols that held silent voices.
At first, Fuhupqua watched from a distance. Mornings and afternoons, he broke his back hauling water or stacking firewood for the town's artisans, barely earning a handful of toasted corn to survive. He would watch the sons of nobles enter the sacred precincts to learn those symbols and feel a pang of bitterness.
It is the magic of lords, not of orphans with dirty hands, he would repeat to himself.
But how wrong he had been. One day, word spread through the alleyways of Duitama: the doors of the new teaching precincts, called "schools," were opening to more students by order of the central government.
Fuhupqua vividly remembered the afternoon when, trembling and covered in dust, he had peered over the school's threshold. The priest in charge, a man with a stern face but kind eyes, did not kick him out.
"Do you wish to know the voice of the symbols, boy?" the master had asked him. "I have nothing to pay you with, my lord... I have no family," Fuhupqua had replied, lowering his head. "Knowledge is not paid for with gold, little one; it is paid for with the mind. Come in."
There, Fuhupqua discovered a new universe. He learned that the dark strokes were not magic, but letters. He learned to write his own name. And what fascinated him most: he discovered numbers, the pure, overwhelming logic that allowed him to count, add, and understand how the world around him worked.
It was that same priest who, just a couple of months ago, had pulled him aside at the end of class.
"The Suaza Home will open soon in town, Fuhupqua. A refuge for the elders and the children with no bloodline to claim them," the master had explained, handing him a clay token bearing a seal. "Present this. You will have a roof and food."
Once again, the fear of rejection had made him hesitate, but upon crossing the Home's doors, he was welcomed with a smile and a warm blanket.
A sudden tug on the fabric of his tunic brought him back to the present.
"Fuhupqua, I dropped my bowl," a raspy voice murmured.
It was Grandfather Nemequa, a blind elder who dwelled in the west wing of the building. Fuhupqua blinked, shaking off the memories, and immediately crouched down with a smile to retrieve the carved wooden bowl from the floor.
"Do not worry, Grandfather. I will bring you a new one right away, and full to the brim," Fuhupqua replied affectionately, adjusting the woolen blanket over the man's frail legs.
Living in the Suaza Home did not mean sitting idle. No one asked them for tributes or gold, but the price of refuge was the community itself. From before the sun rose, Fuhupqua helped sweep the courtyards, hauled fresh water from the new aqueducts, fed the infants, and assisted the elders. It was exhausting work, yet he had never felt so useful, so alive, so important.
Empty bowl in hand, Fuhupqua walked toward the area that most challenged his understanding of the world: the great communal kitchen.
As he passed through the stone archway, a slap of heat and intoxicating aromas enveloped him. There they were, gleaming under the light of the torches and hearths: the great cauldrons brought from the distant and mythical "Central City." They were enormous pots, smooth and heavy, made of a dark orange material that was neither mud nor clay, but metal.
The sound of bubbling broth, the perfect cuts of vegetables, and the meat falling off the bone under these new, incomprehensible methods of cooking made his mouth water. One of the cooks, using a ladle made of a bright, polished material, filled the grandfather's bowl and then handed Fuhupqua another steaming vessel for himself.
Fuhupqua took the bowl with both hands, feeling the heat radiate into his palms. He stared at the thick, savory stew, the product of utensils and knowledge that seemed to have fallen from the stars.
If the world were a body, we were the dirt under its fingernails, Fuhupqua thought, taking a small, respectful sip of the broth, feeling the exquisite, nourishing taste travel down his throat, giving him strength. But the Son of Heaven washed us, gave us words, gave us numbers... and gave us a home.
Pressing the bowl against his chest as if it were the greatest treasure in the world, Fuhupqua returned to the main hall, knowing that, for the first time in his entire life, he was not afraid of tomorrow's arrival.
The following day.
Long before the sun managed to peek its first rays over the eastern hills, Fuhupqua was already on his feet. Now that his classes with the priests had been moved to the morning schedule, his duties at the Suaza Home had to begin at the crack of dawn.
The cold air of the plateau bit at his cheeks as he stepped out into the central courtyard, but he did not mind. He grabbed two large baked-clay pitchers and headed toward the newly installed stone fountains in town.
Drawing fresh water was an increasingly vital task; the strict hygiene measures imposed by the central government had begun to yield an almost miraculous effect. No one coughed up blood in the streets or died of sudden fevers anymore. Washing one's body and hands was now an unwritten yet sacred law.
Furthermore, an unparalleled reward existed for the residents of the home: those who maintained flawless behavior and fulfilled their duties earned the right to bathe with hot water at the end of the week—a luxury Fuhupqua was unwilling to lose.
After hauling enough water for the elders' basins and the communal washrooms, he returned to his dormitory. He stretched and shook out his woolen blanket meticulously, leaving his bed pristine, and then made his way to the domain of heat and aromas: the great kitchen.
"Good morning, Auntie Aba! Good morning, Auntie Suza!" Fuhupqua greeted with a broad smile as he crossed the stone threshold.
The cooks, wreathed in the steam of the great metal pots, their hands coated in cornmeal, smiled back at him.
"Just look at you, boy, awake before the birds," Aba joked, tossing him a clean rag. "Help me organize these bowls for lunch; we have more mouths to feed today than yesterday."
Fuhupqua worked with agility, stacking utensils and sorting the fresh vegetables that had arrived from the markets. As a reward for his labor, he received a simple yet steaming breakfast: a thick potato and corn broth with herbs that restored the warmth to his body and filled him with energy.
With a full stomach and time pressing, he wiped his mouth and prepared to leave for school. However, no sooner had he crossed the building's main portico than a familiar voice stopped him.
"Fuhupqua! Wait a moment, boy."
It was the director of the home, a mature man with a serene face and a measured gait, who was just arriving from the merchant street. Under his arm, he carried a bundle wrapped in raw cotton cloth. The director approached and looked at him with profound affection, placing a warm hand on the boy's shoulder.
"I have seen how hard you strive," the man said softly. "You are the first to wake, the last to complain, and the quickest to learn at the priests' school. I have a gift for you."
Fuhupqua blinked in bewilderment. In his twelve years of life, the concept of a "gift" was something alien. No one had ever given him anything he didn't have to earn with sweat or blood. He felt a tight knot in his throat and willed his eyes to hold back the tears threatening to spill over.
With trembling hands, he accepted the bundle the director offered him.
"Open it," the man urged, nodding.
As he pulled back the folds of cloth, Fuhupqua's breath hitched.
Inside rested a new tunic. It was not of the coarse fabric he wore; this one was spun from cotton of exquisite fineness, a pristine, clean white, adorned at the edges with subtle geometric embroidery that denoted a quality reserved only for outstanding apprentices.
"I... I do not know what to say, sir," Fuhupqua managed to articulate, as a pair of rebellious tears escaped, tracing wet furrows down his cheeks.
"Say you will keep studying, boy. Now go change, or you will be late."
Fuhupqua nodded vehemently, murmured an avalanche of thanks, and sprinted back to his room. When he emerged minutes later, arrayed in his new white tunic, he felt as if he were floating.
He ran through the streets of Duitama toward the school, and, for the first time, raised his eyes to observe his surroundings with true clarity. His town was changing at a breakneck pace; the dirt roads were now leveled and bordered, straw huts were giving way to firm structures, and the market bustled with mathematical order.
I will be a part of this, he promised himself, clenching his fists as he ran. I will not be left behind. I will move forward with the world.
…
Year 5 of the SuaChie Calendar, Second Month (April 1487).
Central City (Tunja, Colombia), Suaza Kingdom.
Almost two years later, Fuhupqua stood in the very heart of the world: the great Central City. If Duitama, following the central government's guidelines, had transformed into a fully-fledged city, Central City was an unfathomable universe.
Fuhupqua, now fourteen years old, observed from a grand staircase the endless sea of structures and people sprawling before him, marveling at the physical evidence that the teachings of the Son of Heaven had been fulfilled to the letter.
The thoroughfares were as wide as dry rivers, paved and flanked by canals of crystalline water. Traveling along them were marvels that still stole his breath: individual carts, large and robust, transporting heavy goods for merchants, nobles, or the brand-new officials of the newly formalized Suaza Kingdom.
Alongside them, zigzagging with agility, common folk pushed smaller carts laden with the day's purchases. It was a perfect ecosystem where the merchant streets bustled with activity, artisanal workshops rang out with the sound of metal and wood, and vast green spaces speckled the architecture, lending the metropolis the appearance of a living stone jungle.
Fuhupqua caressed the edge of his student tunic, silently thanking the director of the home—whom he had last seen at the end of the previous year when he left the Suaza Home—and the priest of Duitama. Thanks to their recommendations, he was there. He had been accepted to study at the crown jewel of the kingdom: the newly inaugurated Simte Academy.
But his chest swelled with an even greater pride for another reason: he would not just be a student.
His excellence in numbers and writing had earned him an official post as a teacher for the youngest children at the city's basic school. He, the orphan of the alleyways, was now a bearer of the light of knowledge.
That day was the beginning of it all.
The immense central courtyard of the Academy was packed with students, scholars, and nobles, all immersed in a murmur of contained expectation. They were there to hear the opening speech.
Suddenly, a heavy, reverential silence fell over the crowd.
On the elevated platform of polished stone, flanked by elite guards and high priests, a diminutive figure appeared. Fuhupqua held his breath. It was a child of barely five years old, though the gravity of his posture and the unfathomable depth of his gaze made him seem much older.
He wore immaculate tunics of an impeccable cut, adorned with delicate, dazzling details of gold and silver that captured the morning sunlight, making him shine like a star descended to earth.
It was Chuta. The Son of Heaven. The architect of the new world.
And as the boy stepped forward to address his kingdom, Fuhupqua knew, with absolute certainty, that his own history would be split in two from that very morning.
…
(Excerpt taken from Chapter 17, POV of Chuta)
["Welcome, everyone. You are the first members of this new Simte Academy," I greeted them all loudly from the stage of the academy's presentation hall. "Today we will begin this journey together, and in the future, you will guide the rest, just as I am doing now," I said in an emotional tone, seeing the faces of the people sitting before me filled with hope.
"The first two weeks will be a leveling period, where a group of volunteer teachers and priests will teach or review the necessary knowledge to begin your new studies," I informed everyone about the first classes they would have.
"After the two weeks, you will be given vocational aptitude tests. These tests will be optional, depending on the knowledge you seek," I announced aloud. "For instance, if anyone here wishes to learn about agriculture, they may choose to take the aptitude tests for 'Nature,' which incorporates knowledge such as livestock farming, fish farming, and forestry, among other specific subjects, though its main element to measure would be agriculture. This test will gauge general knowledge of the chosen subject, with a focus on your desired field of study," I continued explaining.]
…
The following day.
The morning sun filtered through the high lattices of the student dormitory, illuminating the motes of dust dancing in the air. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Fuhupqua kept his eyes glued to the light-brown paper documents resting on his lap.
The day after Chuta's overwhelming speech, the reality of his new life had struck him with the weight of a sledgehammer: for the first time in his fourteen years, he possessed the power to choose his own destiny.
The pamphlets, printed with a precise, dark ink that still smelled faintly of resin, detailed the courses that Simte Academy offered its most outstanding pupils. Beyond the basic knowledge that he himself now taught the younger ones, there existed deep and specialized disciplines. His mind was torn, caught at a crossroads between two areas that sparked his fascination: Nature and Construction.
Fuhupqua closed his eyes for a moment.
He knew the earth well; as a child, he had scraped through the mud with his fingernails to sow and survive, and he knew that agriculture was the pillar sustaining the new kingdom. However, as he opened his eyes and brushed his fingertips against his room's thick masonry walls, he knew what his true passion was.
The miracle of transforming stone, wood, and mortar into impenetrable refuges, into aqueducts and palaces, called to him with a magnetic force. He wanted to build the world the Son of Heaven had promised.
Two hours later.
With his decision made and his heart beating fast against his ribs, Fuhupqua walked the broad corridors of the Academy. The scent of fresh lime and cedar wood enveloped him as he stopped before a classroom in the east wing. Above the stone lintel, a sign beautifully carved in dark wood read in flawless lettering: Civil Construction.
He took a deep breath and crossed the threshold.
The classroom was already occupied by a dozen young men murmuring nervously. Fuhupqua took a seat at one of the polished wooden desks, marveling, as always, when he looked toward the windows. The openings were not covered by skins or cloths, but by panes of glass—a magical invention that let in the sunlight but blocked the cold wind of the savanna.
After a few minutes of anxious waiting, the heavy oak door opened.
A man in the prime of his life entered, with broad shoulders and a piercing gaze, clad in the dark green tunic that distinguished the higher masters. He walked to the front of the classroom, set a parchment scroll upon his desk, and looked at his students with a serene smile.
"Be welcome. My name is Nemequene," the master introduced himself, his deep voice echoing off the stone walls. "And I shall be your guide in the art of shaping the world."
The master began his introduction with contagious passion. Pacing among the desks, Nemequene confessed to them, a gleam of pride in his eyes, that he had been one of the fortunate few to receive direct instruction from Young Chuta himself.
"To hear the Son of Heaven speak of what is possible to erect... it is something that shatters your mind, only to rebuild it," Nemequene murmured, stopping before the window and tracing the glass. "It makes you realize we have been living in burrows."
Fuhupqua, unable to contain the thirst for knowledge burning in his throat, raised his hand and spoke, breaking the reverential silence of the room.
"Master Nemequene..." he began, his voice firm yet respectful. "What 'divine' things about construction has the Son of Heaven revealed to you? What lies beyond this?"
Nemequene turned toward him. His smile widened, almost as if he had been expecting the question.
"Look around you, boys," the master said, opening his arms to encompass the room. "This building of the Simte Academy, with its two-story high sections and a subterranean level carved into pure rock—it seems to you the pinnacle of the incredible, does it not?"
The students nodded almost in unison. Until a couple of years ago, any structure taller than a large hut was a myth.
"Well, the Son of Heaven looked me in the eyes," Nemequene continued, dropping his voice to a whisper heavy with awe, "and assured me that this is merely child's play. He told us that, in the future, it will be possible to defy the clouds by building colossal edifices... made solely and exclusively of metal and glass."
The impact of his words was physical. Several students gasped, and a stupefied silence seized the room.
Fuhupqua felt a shiver run down his spine.
A mountain of metal? Transparent towers holding up the sky?
Everyone in that room knew mud, they knew the hardness of stone, they had seen the thick mortar that bound the building's blocks, and they were even beginning to grow accustomed to the marvel of glass in their windows. But the idea of erecting an entire building out of such materials shattered the boundaries of what their minds, so recently pulled from antiquity, could process.
One of Fuhupqua's classmates, a robust youth from a family of artisans, raised his hand, his brow deeply furrowed from the effort of imagining such madness.
"But, Master..." the boy stammered. "To support something so grand, what would be used? The bronze with which we make our common tools? Or do they mean the iron the militia just brought?"
Nemequene slowly shook his head, his eyes shining with the secret of an era to come.
"Neither one nor the other. Iron is hard, yes, but it is brittle against the weight of the heavens," he explained, resting both hands on his desk. "The Son of Heaven and the central government's forgemasters are working in the shadows to perfect a new material. A purified alloy, something vastly stronger and more flexible than common iron. An unbreakable skeleton that will be able to support these constructions."
Fuhupqua leaned forward over his desk, clenching his fists in sheer excitement. The world opening before him was infinite.
"Will we... will we study how to use that, Master?" Fuhupqua asked, his voice vibrating with yearning.
Nemequene stared at him intently, assessing the fire in the young orphan's eyes.
"It is highly possible, Fuhupqua," he replied, nodding gravely. "But let it be clear: that knowledge is not handed to just anyone. It will be only for those of you who have the strength to stay, who withstand the frustration, and who continue studying until pushing your minds to the very limit of what is possible."
As the entire classroom seemed to vibrate with visions of glass towers and skeletons of gleaming metal, and all the youths imagined themselves as the great architects of tomorrow, a trembling hand rose from the back row.
It was another classmate, a nervous-looking boy who swallowed loudly before speaking.
"Master Nemequene... with all due respect, but..." the boy grimaced in obvious reluctance. "Is the rumor true that, in order to calculate these immense structures, we will also be forced to study... advanced mathematics?"
The grand architectural epiphany deflated at once. Nemequene swept his gaze over his students' faces, whose expressions of divine awe had suddenly transformed into pure earthly panic, and simply nodded in solemn silence.
A heavy, pitiful chorus of sighs adorned the classroom, echoing against the mortar walls and newly polished glass. Fuhupqua offered a small, resigned smile. Building the sky, it seemed, was going to require quite a few headaches.
.
----
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
Thank you all for your support. Let's get straight to the chapter comments.
CHAPTER COMMENTS
First, I'd like to mention that Fuhupqua and other characters who will appear in the following chapters represent those who studied from the very beginning, following Chuta's educational reforms.
Second, the main story will take a backseat for the time being, until I come up with... I mean, start the new subplot.
AUTHOR'S COMMENTS
First, I'd like to announce that the new section "Abroad" is coming. In this chapter, I'll be exploring the theme we discussed earlier.
The perspective of other characters on the changes.
We'll have a very detailed section and several chapters about the English colonizing Northern Quyca.
Another section will cover the expansion and distant territories in Southeast Asia and East Asia.
And as for the announced Spanish colony in the South, perhaps it will be a few years before it's explained in such detail.
---
Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future (Chapter 91) (ON HOLD)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis (Chapter 34) (ON HOLD)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 14) (ON HOLD)
You can find them on my profile.]