PREVIOUSLY.
[But it was the obsidian that broke the ice. The leader knew the value of a stone capable of holding an edge that could slice through flesh and leather as if they were water, and the craftsmanship of those tools surpassed anything he had ever seen.
Slowly, the tension in the warrior's shoulders dissipated. He made a subtle gesture with his left hand, and behind him, his men's bows slackened with a faint creak of wood.
The leader looked back at Quemuen, the foreign warrior who had not backed down, and, lowering the tip of his spear toward the damp earth, allowed a cautious, pragmatic smile to touch his face.]
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Year 13 of the SuaChie Calendar, Twelfth Month (February 1st, 1485).
Somewhere in eastern North Quyca, English Settlement.
Seeing the pragmatic smile form on the local leader's face and the lethal tension dissipate from the clearing, Quemuen exhaled the freezing air he had been holding in his lungs. The first obstacle had been overcome. Blood would not stain the grass and earth this afternoon.
Without losing the stoic composure that characterized him, the Suaza military officer knew this was the exact moment to proceed to the next phase. His mind immediately reviewed the strict list of directives that the Son of Heaven had seared into the minds of every soldier and explorer before sending them into the unknown.
Since the beginning of the great Suaza expeditions, whether crossing vast oceans or delving into the continent's thick forests, Chuta had designed a brilliant and meticulous modus operandi for cultural contact.
The doctrine was unyielding: the first step dictated that, before the natives of a new land, the Suaza must present themselves directly, showing neither fear nor hostility, being utterly transparent in their presence.
If the group proved aggressive, the order was to fall back, yielding ground without attacking, until the hostility ceased, and only then attempt the second step. Only in the extreme event that the enemy pursued and violence became inevitable were they authorized to respond with the full might of the kingdom.
Fortunately, they were in the ideal scenario.
The second step mandated presenting gifts of value, learning to communicate as much as possible, and, most importantly, sharing a meal on equal terms. It was an act of mutual vulnerability that broke down more barriers than iron ever could.
Finally, the third step would consist of observing and understanding their society, their faith, and their military might in order to properly "connect" with them.
The lead researcher approached Quemuen from behind. His steps over the fallen leaves were virtually inaudible, but his whisper reached the officer's ear clearly.
"Captain," murmured the scholar, never taking his eyes off the group of natives. "This is an Algonquian-speaking culture, just as we anticipated. But look at the leader's eyes. He has barely glanced at the gemstones or the grain. His attention is locked on the obsidian and the ergonomics of our tools."
Quemuen nodded imperceptibly, confirming the researcher's read.
"They are an independent people, forged by the harshness of this climate," the researcher concluded. "They are militaristic and highly practical. They respect strength and utility above luxury."
"Then we shall show them that we are strong and useful allies," Quemuen replied softly. He straightened and, turning his head slightly toward his squad, gave the order to start the fire and prepare the cauldrons for the meal.
The sudden tactical movement of the Suaza soldiers, breaking their shield formation to retrieve dry firewood and large metal vessels from the cargo boats, made the forest hold its breath once more.
The Algonquian warriors, their reflexes conditioned by a life of constant threats, tensed immediately. Hands returned to caress stone hilts, and arrows lightly scraped against bowstrings.
Quemuen, keenly aware of the delicacy of the moment, raised an open hand to request calm. With a nod, he signaled the translator to accompany him. Both men, unarmed and at a slow but steady pace, walked toward the neutral space carrying the small table with the gifts.
The Algonquian leader raised an eyebrow, halting his men with a slight flick of his wrist, and fixed his piercing gaze upon the translator.
"What are your leather-clad men doing?" the leader asked in a deep, resonant voice, gesturing with his chin toward the improvised 'kitchen'.
The translator bowed his head in a sign of respect before replying in the local tongue, striving to match the warrior's dignified tone.
"It is a gesture of friendship, great lord. We are preparing a meal for all of us. It is our custom to share the fruits of the earth with those who welcome us in peace."
The warrior leader processed the words, evaluating the translator's serene face and Quemuen's solemn demeanor. This act of sitting down to eat with strangers required lowering one's defenses, but the evident respect shown by these foreign visitors flattered his warrior's pride. Relaxing his shoulders definitively, the man nodded.
"Your respect honors us," the leader said, and then added with genuine host-like curiosity: "Do you require anything from this forest? If the fire demands meat, my hunters can bring worthy prey."
The translator smiled with gratitude.
"We require nothing, though we thank you deeply. We have abundant provisions. However, should you have any preference in meats, you are free to bring whatever you please, or you may simply sit and taste the delicacies we bring from our distant lands."
The warrior let out a short, rough laugh, a sound that finally shattered the ice of the northern winter.
"We shall taste the food of your lands," he decreed, driving the butt of his spear into the snow.
Half an hour later, the forest clearing had transformed from a potential battlefield into an unusual banquet of cultures.
The local warriors sat in circles around the warm, newly lit fires. Their curious, indecipherable gazes continuously swept over the group of Englishmen.
The English officers, wrapped in their heavy woolens, broke into a cold sweat beneath the intense scrutiny. Their "pale," almost ghostly skin, their abundant facial hair, and their light-colored eyes seemed to both disturb and fascinate the natives, who exchanged whispers while covertly pointing at them.
When the Suaza cooks finished their work, Quemuen personally took charge of distributing the portions. Every man, both local and European, was handed a deep bowl carved from polished wood and a wooden spoon hardened by fire.
Inside the vessel steamed a thick, nourishing stew. There were chunks of tender meat marinated in spices, slices of fresh green avocado—an absolute rarity that melted like butter—and a couple of perfectly cooked golden potatoes. The intoxicating aroma of cumin, pure salt, and animal fat flooded the cold air.
At first, the Algonquian warriors stared into their bowls with evident suspicion. They did not know the strange fruit with the green skin and buttery flesh, nor those yellow tubers that accompanied the meat.
The leader raised his bowl, sniffed it deeply, and, after exchanging a glance with Quemuen—who was already eating calmly to prove it was safe—plunged his spoon in.
He brought a full bite of meat, potato, and avocado to his mouth.
The forest seemed to fall silent as the warrior chewed. For a second, his face was an unreadable mask. Then, his eyes widened in genuine, overwhelming surprise. The burst of rich flavors, the smoothness of the textures, and the comforting warmth of the stew conquered his palate instantly.
He nodded vigorously, emitting a low sound of deep approval. Seeing their leader's reaction, the rest of the warriors attacked their bowls without hesitation. Soon, faces painted for war lit up with smiles of delight, allowing the universal, primal pleasure of a good, shared meal to seal the peace that steel could not forge.
3 days later.
The icy wind of the Northern Dawn whipped across the ship's deck, bringing with it the scent of saltpeter and damp pine. For Lord Edmund Howard, these past three days had been sheer torment.
Seventy-two hours of agonizing wait, pacing the deck or standing on the shore of the beach, his gaze fixed on the dark, impenetrable tree line where Captain Quemuen and the young English officers had vanished.
Edmund adjusted his heavy wool coat, feeling the cold pierce him to the bone. The tension had robbed him of sleep. The night before, consumed by anxiety, he had gone to Fuhupqua, seeking solace or some semblance of certainty.
The Suaza scholar had been brutally honest: if Quemuen failed and the locals rejected them, the only viable alternative would be to weigh anchor and laboriously sail further south, squandering time, provisions, and the men's morale.
Beside him, John Cabot scanned the terrestrial horizon with a brass spyglass, while Fuhupqua waited on the sand with a serenity that Edmund found almost enviable. The researcher showed not a hint of doubt; he trusted blindly in the modus operandi dictated by Chuta.
Suddenly, a stir among the lookouts broke the monotony of the crashing waves.
"Movement in the grove!" a sailor shouted.
Edmund felt his heart skip a beat. He squinted against the grayish glare of the sky. From between the birches and tall pines emerged first the expedition's standard, followed by the stoic figure of Quemuen. Behind him came the Suaza guards and the English nobles, unharmed and bearing faces that, though weary, reflected triumph.
Fuhupqua took a step forward to receive them on the shore, while Edmund and Cabot hurriedly descended to the beach. The crunch of boots on the frozen sand was the only sound until the two groups met.
"What is the status of the mission, Captain?" Fuhupqua asked in Suaza, scrutinizing the military man's expressionless face.
Quemuen stopped, exhaling a cloud of vapor, and nodded with a slight bow of his head.
"It is done," he replied with his usual conciseness. "The leader of the first party proved to be a pragmatic man. Over these three days, he guided us to nearby settlements and presented us to other chiefs of his rank."
The Algonquian translator from the Simte Academy, walking beside Quemuen, interjected with an exhausted smile: "Our strength dissuaded them from attacking, but it was the gifts that cemented the peace. The obsidian, the grain, and the gemstones opened every door. They have accepted us as neighbors. We have their permission to build our settlement on this very coast."
Fuhupqua nodded, pleased. He turned to Edmund, who was waiting impatiently for a translation, and switched to English to relay the good news.
Upon hearing the summary, all the tension accumulated in the English noble's shoulders vanished in a long, deep sigh. A smile of pure relief illuminated Edmund's face. There would be no need to sail south. There would be no massacres on the beach. The eccentric method of the Suaza had worked with an efficiency the English Crown could never have achieved at the point of a musket.
"Thank God..." Edmund murmured, rubbing his freezing face. "And thanks to the skill of your men, Researcher. Sound the whistles! Order the immediate disembarkation of the heavy supplies and the builders!"
As the beach erupted into an organized chaos of rowboats, shouting sailors, and wooden crates being unloaded onto the sand, Fuhupqua wasted no time. As an infrastructure expert, the scholar had not been idle during the wait; he and his cartographers had been exploring and measuring the coastal topography.
…
Two hours later, the wind howled against the thick canvas of a large provisional tent erected near the shore. The interior, illuminated by whale oil lamps and warmed by a charcoal brazier, smelled of damp leather and parchment.
Around a large oak table improvised over barrels, Fuhupqua, Quemuen, Edmund, Cabot, and the translator leaned over a crude yet detailed map, drawn in charcoal and ink by the researchers of both nations.
"Here," Fuhupqua said, resting a long, dark finger on a geographical curve of the parchment. "This is the ideal location. It is sheltered from the fiercest ocean winds by this natural bay, it has direct access to an inexhaustible vein of fresh water, and the terrain elevates just enough to offer a natural defensive advantage without hindering construction."
Edmund studied the strokes. He had learned to take every word from the Suaza scholar very seriously. In Fuhupqua's mind, there was no improvisation; this place was not merely intended to house a few wooden cabins to pass the winter, but rather its foundations traced the arteries of a future first-class commercial and port city.
"It is perfect, Researcher. You have my complete approval," Edmund conceded, straightening up with satisfaction. "We shall establish the base camp exactly there."
The English lord clasped his hands behind his back, allowing himself a moment of foundational pride. They had crossed an entire ocean and now, upon that map, their new world was being born.
"Out of courtesy to our crowns and to this new beginning..." Edmund swept his gaze over those present, in a tone more rhetorical than a true request, "what name do you suggest we give our settlement?"
There was a moment of reverential silence, broken only by the crackle of the brazier. Before Edmund could suggest the name of some English monarch or patron saint, the translator from the Simte Academy, his clothes still stained with mud from his expedition in the woods, spoke up.
"Massachusetts," he blurted out suddenly.
Edmund blinked, bewildered by the strange, guttural sonority of the word.
"I beg your pardon? What does that mean?"
It was Fuhupqua who answered, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at the English noble with magisterial calm. "It is the name by which the local people refer to themselves and to this region, Lord Howard. It means 'place of the great blue hills.'"
Fuhupqua gestured toward the open entrance of the tent. In the distance, beyond the pine line, rose smooth yet imposing elevations of earth that, beneath the midday mist and the leaden sky, took on a deep bluish hue.
"The great blue hills," Fuhupqua continued, his tone heavy with indisputable pragmatism. "Christening the settlement in the tongue of the natives is not merely a curiosity, milord. It is a diplomatic move. It will prove to the local chiefs that we have not come to erase their existence, but to integrate ourselves into their landscape. A degree of respect that will buy us years of peace."
Edmund looked toward the distant hills, weighing the relentless logic of the Suaza. It was a difficult name for an English tongue, wild and alien. And yet, it perfectly embodied the success of the strategy that had kept them alive.
The nobleman nodded slowly and offered a smile of satisfaction. "Massachusetts it shall be, then. Let it be recorded in the logs. Today, we begin to build."
…
The echo of the first axe strike against the bark of a centennial pine marked the true birth of Massachusetts.
Edmund Howard's words had not remained sheltered inside the tent. Barely minutes after naming the settlement, the English lord took the lead of his men, shouting orders with a voice that cut through the freezing wind.
Dozens of English workers, bundled in thick wool with their breath condensing into white clouds, plunged into the grove wielding axes and saws. The penetrating scent of fresh resin, turned earth, and sawdust began to permeate the coastal air, mingling with the perennial smell of Atlantic saltpeter.
While the wood creaked and the trees fell with dull thuds, opening clearings in the forest, John Cabot already had his eyes set on the horizon. The explorer was not born to fell timber, but to chart the edges of the world.
With his polished navigational instruments and a small crew of weathered sailors, Cabot boarded an agile skiff and pulled away from the shore. His mission was vital: to plumb the depths, chart the currents, and map every bay, cove, and cliff along the nearby shores to secure the future routes of the fledgling colony.
On dry land, the logistics of construction were a crucible of two worlds.
Edmund had brought with him experienced English master builders, proud men of their trade who at first looked upon the foreign scholar with suspicion. However, Edmund had laid down an unwavering directive: Fuhupqua was the supreme architectural authority.
And it was not long before the Englishmen understood why. The Suaza researcher possessed a mathematical understanding of the terrain and materials that bordered on genius. His pragmatism crushed any resistance.
"We do not need palaces; we need the men to survive the winter," Fuhupqua had decreed the first morning, walking through the incipient mud. "We shall start with the barracks."
Under his instruction, the English masters directed the crews to erect immense wooden longhouses. There were no ornaments or delicacies; they were robust structures, sealed with pitch and moss to block the freezing gusts, designed inside with a single purpose: to house endless rows of stacked bunks. They were functional, austere, and above all, warm.
Some two hundred meters away, on a rise that visually dominated both the beach and the new settlement, Captain Quemuen operated with a synchrony diametrically opposed to the noisy English chaos.
Without shouts or clumsy tools, the Suaza military engineers and soldiers raised their own camp. Their modular structures, designed for rapid assembly, rose with geometric precision.
Edmund, watching them from the corner of his eye as he oversaw the clearing, knew full well what this demarcated enclave meant: it was the seed of the future embassy of the Suaza Kingdom in the new territory, a physical reminder that England was not alone, but neither was she the sole master of these lands.
Days melted into weeks of relentless labor. The virgin landscape was transformed.
Soon, the camp ceased to be a handful of tents and became a pulsing village. The constant smoke from the communal kitchens perfumed the air with the smell of stews and baked bread.
The deafening screech of the newly installed sawmills drowned out the sound of the waves, while the rhythmic ringing of hammers against anvils in the forges and workshops dictated the pulse of daily life.
With the necessities of shelter and sustenance met, Fuhupqua shifted his attention to the most critical front for the settlement and its long-term survival: the docks.
One gray morning, Edmund walked along the beach, dodging wooden debris. The wind lashed at his cloak as he approached the waterline, where Fuhupqua was overseeing the unloading of heavy materials from the Suaza cargo ships. The English workers, faces flush with exertion, descended from the boats along wooden gangways, hauling sacks that seemed to weigh like lead.
"Beware the moisture! Stack them upon the thick canvas!" Fuhupqua ordered in an accented but impeccable English.
Edmund paused to watch in fascination. It was not hewn stone or simple timber that the Suaza were unloading. They were heavy sacks filled with a grayish powder—a prepared cement mix—and long, ribbed rods of dark iron that rang metallically when they struck against one another.
Fuhupqua planned to drive these metal bones into the seabed and fuse them with liquid stone, defying the very tides themselves. It was a construction technology that left the English masters scratching their heads in absolute marvel.
"Researcher," Edmund called out, raising his voice above the roar of the sea and the bustle of the stevedores. Fuhupqua turned, nodding in greeting. "I must confess that observing your work is a privilege. In the name of England, and my own, I thank you profoundly for this aid. A city without a good port is like a body without a mouth; it can neither feed itself nor trade. You are giving us life."
Fuhupqua maintained his serene expression, allowing the compliment to do nothing to alter his firm posture. "There is no need for thanks, milord. This is simply what was agreed upon. A safe harbor benefits the commercial flow of our own ships just as much as yours."
What was agreed upon.
Edmund felt the phrase resonate in his mind, unearthing vivid memories of the past few weeks. As he watched a pair of laborers pour water over the gray powder, forging that miraculous paste, his mind traveled back in time.
He remembered the fleet's arrival at Guanzauba City, and later Dawn City, following their departure from England.
The culture shock had not been solely architectural, but procedural. Barely had the English anchors touched the bottom in the kingdom's waters when squads of Suaza officials, their noses and mouths covered with strange masks of treated cloth, boarded their ships. They had inspected every hold, every barrel of grain, every man.
They searched for lice, fleas, rats, and any sign of febrile disease with a meticulousness that bordered on paranoia. They had burned herbs with an acrid stench on the lower decks and forced the crews to submit to steam baths and strong soaps before allowing them to set foot in the city. Even here, before unloading, Quemuen's inspectors had examined the timber and the food.
Edmund blushed slightly at the memory.
At first, his aristocratic pride had been wounded. He had considered those inspections an intolerable insult, a bureaucratic inconvenience, and even a crude excuse by the Suaza to confiscate and steal portions of their valuable cargo under the pretext of "plagues" or "contamination." He had been on the verge of drawing his sword in Guanzauba City, convinced they were being humiliated.
But now, standing before the cold Northern Dawn Ocean (Atlantic), seeing his men healthy, strong, and working without a single fever, dysentery, or plague decimating their ranks, Edmund's perspective changed radically.
Edmund let out a sigh, feeling a burden he hadn't even known he carried lift from his shoulders. The Suaza were assuming a monumental share of the responsibility for keeping the expedition alive, sharing the weight of leadership.
Edmund looked at Fuhupqua, who had already turned back to instruct an English foreman on how to position the iron rods. The nobleman smiled to himself, adjusting the collar of his coat against the gusting wind.
"Massachusetts," he murmured, feeling a warmth and a sense of accomplishment as he watched the settlement grow.
.
----
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
Thank you all for your support.
I just wanted to let you know that I'll stop writing so many comments in the author's notes, and instead answer your questions when you have them.
Also, I'll only use the author's notes for announcements or news about the novel.
I miss the UFDs a bit, so here's one.
Unnecessary Fact of the Day: Did you know that the first expedition to circumnavigate the Earth included John Cabot's son (I don't remember if he was a captain)?
The most interesting thing is that he was among those who surrendered at the beginning and returned after a few weeks on the Argentinian coast.
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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.]