IN THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER.
[A Yaghan hunter, belonging to the nearest boat attempting to subdue the beast responsible for the collision, abandoned his post without hesitation and dove like an arrow to rescue my officer.
I stood frozen, leaning over the abyss, my knuckles white from gripping the wood so tightly. The seconds began to drag—slow, heavy, and suffocating. The surface of the churning water remained dark and empty. Suddenly, the fervent atmosphere and the cheers of victory that filled the deck faded entirely, swallowed by the shadow of the accident. Only the howling wind answered my silent prayers.
Nothing happened... Absolutely nothing.]
Year 14 of the SuaChie Calendar, Tenth Month (December 1496).
Somewhere in the Sunset Ocean (Pacific).
A little over two months had passed since we left the icy claws of the south behind. Now, the Going Marry rocked with a hypnotic, almost docile cadence, pushed by a warm, steady current amidst the vastness of the Sunset Ocean.
I was seated in the master cabin. The golden light of dusk filtered through the stern windows, illuminating the motes of dust dancing in the stale air and casting long shadows across my oak desk. My countenance, faintly reflected in the glass of the unlit oil lamp, bore a seriousness I scarcely recognized.
I dipped my quill into the inkwell and, with a heavy sigh, continued tracing words onto the yellowed pages of my personal journal. The scratching of the metal nib against the paper was the only sound in the room, barely competing with the rhythmic creaking of the ship's timbers.
For years, I had hated doing this. Logging discoveries and scribbling monotonous descriptions into travel logs or journals was a strict requirement for any captain and senior officer in the kingdom's armada, but I had always found a way to evade it.
I fervently believed that a sailor's mind was the best map; I wanted to keep every detail, every shade of the sea, and every wind I had discovered across my many expeditions safely stored in my own head. I boasted that my memory was storm-proof.
However, all of that had abruptly changed.
The echo of that deadly silence on the deck of the Tequendama I still haunted my nightmares.
Tequa's accident in those freezing waters, during that stupid and avoidable hunting "escapade," had shattered my arrogance. Though a greater tragedy had been averted by a sliver of luck and the bravery of another, the sheer terror of watching my friend and officer sink into the polar abyss because of an impulsive order of mine had branded my soul.
I had learned, in the worst and most painful way possible, that a commander's actions carry real, lethal, and irreversible consequences. Memory can fail, men can die, but ink endures... From that day on, I began to write.
Setting the quill aside, I ran my calloused fingertips over the previous pages, reviewing my own notes for the umpteenth time since our departure from West Strait City.
On the first few leaves, with strokes still unsure, I had documented our escape from the southern labyrinth. I had noted how the very group of local hunters accompanying us—specifically the formidable and silent Kawésqar—had masterfully guided us through a treacherous, intricate maze of black stone channels until spitting us out, safe and sound, into the vastness of the open sea.
The following pages recounted how we had caught an exceptionally favorable current that swept us parallel to the rugged southwestern coast of the Great Quyca.
Our Suaza crew had been permanently joined by a motley group of those locals who could butcher a bit of our language. Their presence proved to be a blessing.
Thanks to their knowledge of the land and sea, the expedition managed to replenish our barrels with fresh water, roots, and dried meat in the vast territory they called the "Great Island" (Chiloé, Chile) of the Chonos.
I smiled faintly as I read the next entry.
After that brief yet vital supply stop, I made the decision that would define our voyage. I ordered the entire fleet to abandon the safety of the coastal current pushing us north, sharply turning the helms toward the vast western horizon.
Both my instinct and the bold prior suggestions of the kingdom's erudite cartographers pointed toward a single objective: we had to cross this immense Sunset Ocean directly from this southern point, charting a diagonal line to the northwest, in search of a direct route to Discovery City in the distant Xiefiba Quyca.
I read my descriptions of that first week after losing sight of the continent's coast.
We sailed in an infinite blue void, with all lookouts on high alert for any sign, no matter how miniscule, of nearby islands. My crew and I were forged for this.
We had spent weeks reading the sea: we noticed the subtle shifts in the swell patterns, the temperature variations that altered the water's color from a deep blue to a deceptive turquoise, and the cloud formations anchoring themselves in the invisible sky.
But the longest entry, dated just over a month after our departure from the Suaza Strait, recounted our greatest triumph.
One morning, amidst low-hanging fog, the lookout had broken the silence to warn of a massive flock of seabirds flying with purpose from the Great Quyca toward the west. Without a second of hesitation, I gave the order to tack and follow their trail across the sky.
Our instinct did not fail us.
By the dawn of the next day, having ventured deep into the high seas, the silhouettes of an uncharted archipelago emerged from the mist, unleashing shouts of jubilation across the crew. My notes reflected the tension of that moment.
We had all proceeded with extreme caution; the gunners were at their stations, and the language experts waited at the bow, tense and prepared for a first diplomatic intervention with any potential locals.
But the surprise was absolute.
The islands were steeped in a deathly silence, completely uninhabited. Worse still, their craggy coastlines offered few useful resources beyond a momentary respite from the monotony of the open sea.
Just as my eyes skimmed my final note, where I described our departure from that archipelago and the current now rocking us, the sharp rapping of knuckles against my wooden door interrupted my thoughts.
I closed the journal slowly, letting the leather clasp snap shut with a soft click.
"Come in," I called out, straightening my back and readopting the posture of a commander who misses nothing.
The heavy oak door creaked open, revealing the imposing figure of Tequa. Before I could utter a single word, I noticed his gaze dart immediately to my hands, lingering on the fresh ink stains smudging my fingers and the bulky journal resting on my desk.
His eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. It wasn't that he had never seen me with a quill; in recent weeks, he had caught me a couple of times. But in all the years he had served as my first mate aboard the King of Shooters, he had never seen me keep such a disciplined habit. I was the man who loathed logbooks, the captain who preferred to trust his memory over parchment.
"Is something the matter, Captain?" I asked, instantly donning a stern tone, lifting my chin, and attempting to project the unshakable authority of an admiral.
Tequa closed the door behind him and stepped into the center of the cabin. His lips trembled slightly, fighting an internal battle to suppress a burst of laughter.
"I merely came to inform you, Admiral, that the lookouts have just spotted land to port," he said, his voice laced with an undeniable tone of amusement. "An island on the horizon."
A pang of shame pierced my chest. My tone had been excessively harsh and rigid.
Ever since that horrific accident in the polar waters, I had punished myself countless times for how close he had come to dying. I had built a wall of absolute seriousness around myself to prevent any further impulsive mistakes, even though he had never once blamed me for his fall.
However, the news dissolved my stiffness.
Our second island, barely a month after leaving that barren, solitary archipelago behind!
My face lit up with genuine excitement, and I leaned forward over the desk.
It was a miscalculation. As I moved, the leather clasp of my journal—which I hadn't properly secured—gave way, throwing the pages wide open. Tequa took a couple of steps closer, and, aided by his enviable height, his gaze fell directly upon the inked parchment.
By pure misfortune, the book had fallen open to the entry detailing his plunge into the ocean. Tequa narrowed his eyes, reading my still-clumsy and uneven handwriting. A crooked, heavily ironic smile spread across his weathered face.
"'The tragic departure of Tequa into the frozen abyss...'" he read aloud, dragging out the words with a theatrical flair. "Admiral, you do know I didn't actually die, right? I am breathing the same air as you right now."
Feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck, I snatched the book away and slammed it shut.
"I didn't write it with that intention!" I defended myself, trying to salvage some dignity. "You know perfectly well I'm still not used to writing chronicles. I meant 'departure' as in your fall from the ship. I'm just terrible at drafting, that's all."
Tequa let out a roaring laugh, shaking his head, immensely enjoying my obvious fluster. I had no desire to further debate my lack of literary talent, so I stood up abruptly, changing the course of the conversation.
"Focus on the mission, Captain," I ordered, gesturing toward the windows. "Regarding the island... What are your thoughts? Is it better we approach and drop anchor right now in the fading light, or should we wait out at sea until tomorrow morning?"
…
Three days later, the freezing atmosphere of the south felt like a distant, feverish dream.
I sat cross-legged on an immaculate woven mat inside the massive main hut of the island's most important chief: the rahi of the Teva clan, a formidable man named Motu.
The climate here was a sweltering paradise; a warm tropical breeze filtered through the high roofs of palm fronds, carrying the scent of sweet flowers and roasted fish wrapped in leaves.
From the moment our anchors touched the crystalline seabed, the locals' reception had been astonishingly kind. Unlike the reserved tribes of the south, these people had immediately surrounded us on the beach, displaying an insatiable curiosity for our sailors' complexions, the fabric of our clothes, and the metal of our weapons.
That extroversion had greatly facilitated the work of our linguistics experts, who hadn't stopped taking notes and comparing phonetics.
Over these three days, I had absorbed everything possible about their culture.
Like every civilization we had encountered under Chuta's command, they were unique. They possessed a profoundly stratified society, where each class had its strictly defined role.
I had come to understand that the various neighboring islands housed diverse family groupings and rival clans, but to the fortune of our scholars, they all shared the same root language.
The island overflowed with resources: sweet-fleshed fruits, tubers, brilliantly colored fish, and fresh timber. But what had most captured my attention, as both an observer and a leader, was their aesthetic.
The vast majority of the villagers went bare-chested or completely naked. That didn't scandalize me in the slightest; in our own Suaza Kingdom, nudity was a permitted and common practice in our warmer regions. What truly fascinated me was their profound appreciation for the color red.
I observed Motu sitting across from me.
The rahi possessed a robust physique, covered in elaborate tattoos, but what marked his absolute hierarchical superiority was a spectacular adornment of gleaming red feathers worn over his shoulders and head... It was the color of gods, spirits, and kings.
The initial reception had been so euphoric that they had honored us with a monumental feast on the first night. Respecting their customs and grateful for the welcome, my men and I had participated with fervor; we had drunk, danced, and eaten to the point of exhaustion.
However, at this precise moment, a profound bewilderment clouded my mind.
I had been conversing with Motu for nearly an hour to solidify our diplomatic relations, using one of my Suaza translators as a bridge. Everything was going smoothly until the chief began speaking of the farewell feast they were organizing in our honor for the following night.
The translator, a young scholar who was now sweating profusely and glancing around with obvious discomfort, had relayed Motu's words to me. My brain simply refused to process them with any logic.
I blinked a few times, looking at the rahi, who smiled in utter contentment, and then turned toward the young linguist, leaning in close.
"By the gods, I need you to clarify this for me immediately," I whispered to the translator, furrowing my brow. "Are you telling me that, truly, this immense celebration consists of honoring us by watching the new local couples consummate their union... having sex right there, in front of the entire expedition and the rest of the village?"
The translator swallowed hard. His face, usually serene and analytical, was a portrait of discomfort and apprehension. With a trembling nod, he turned back to Motu and began to convey my blunt concern using the local phonemes he had managed to decipher.
The rahi listened attentively, tilting his head adorned with those dazzling red feathers. Then, he replied with a fluid and melodious speech, accompanied by broad, relaxed gestures that contrasted brutally with my linguist's panic.
While they exchanged words, I sank into my own thoughts, trying to process the cultural shock.
This practice had caught me entirely off guard. In all my years sailing the seas under the banner of the Sun and the Moon, I had never met a people with customs so... uninhibited in front of strangers.
I tried to search my memory for parallels.
The closest thing was the pragmatic tradition of some of the island peoples of our kingdom, in the distant Caribá region. There, they established mandatory marriages between inhabitants of different islands to prevent what they wisely dubbed the "curse of the familiar spirits"—a way of avoiding the malformations, physical weakness, and mental afflictions born of stagnant blood.
I also reflected on our own social structures. In many cultures within our kingdom, the most powerful men could afford to have more than one partner; Chuta himself and other leaders were the perfect examples of this.
I even vividly recalled my expeditions to the east—the Guanza Quyca—where I had witnessed firsthand the practices of certain African cultures where exclusive, established couples simply did not exist.
I had seen all these variations in the flesh, but this was different. Just as I was about to turn my confusion over once more, the translator cleared his throat, drawing my attention.
"Admiral..." the young scholar murmured, regaining a bit of color in his cheeks. "I slightly misinterpreted the nuance. It is not a simple spectacle or some unbridled orgy. It is a sacred ceremony of union for the entire village. They celebrate the new couples, bless potential future unions, and, above all, worship fertility and life itself."
I nodded slowly, processing the information.
"Continue," I prompted, sensing there was more to it.
"Motu has explained his motives," the translator continued. "Upon learning that Captain Tequa will leave a portion of his own crew on this island, along with metal tools that they consider divine treasures, and abundant supplies, the chief wishes to 'formalize' our alliance. He seeks to integrate our blood with theirs, offering the union of the clan's available maidens to the Suaza soldiers and sailors who will reside here."
The fog of my confusion instantly lifted, replaced by the cold logic of a commander. I nodded in profound understanding.
Tequa's mission had never been to return home with me; his supreme duty, ordered by the Central Government, was to settle and establish himself as the paramount leader of the Suaza navy in the vast Xiefiba Quyca and all surrounding island territories.
What better way to ensure the loyalty and success of our outposts than by forging unbreakable blood ties with the local leaders?
I pondered it for a few seconds, weighing my own conservative morals against the kingdom's grand strategy. Finally, I offered a diplomatic smile and nodded.
"Tell him I accept his generous proposal. It is an honor for us," I declared, though my voice betrayed a slight, inevitable discomfort.
As soon as the translator relayed my words, Motu let out a cry of jubilation. Before I could react, the towering chief leapt from his mat, crossed the distance between us in a couple of strides, and enveloped me in a bone-crushing embrace.
"Urgk!" I gasped, taken aback by the sudden, sweaty display of affection. I pushed him back as politely as possible, patting his muscular arms.
I couldn't hold it against him. Looking around, I saw that the faces of his advisors and guards radiated the same warmth and open smiles.
These people seemed to live in a constant state of joy, in perfect communion with their surroundings. They were practically living in paradise, and we had just been invited to become a part of it.
One week later.
The Great Expedition was once again surrounded by the unforgiving immensity of the Sunset Ocean. We had left the paradise of the Teva behind and, over the past few days, had sighted numerous new islands silhouetted against the blue horizon.
However, we had not dropped anchor. Our navigation expert had studied the winds, the stars, and the currents, estimating with mathematical precision that we were merely a month away from reaching our final destination: Discovery City.
I was secluded in my cabin aboard my fast new Yaguar-class vessel, writing by the light of a swaying lamp. The hull's timber creaked with a mournful groan. I was rushing to pen the final entry in my journal, knowing perfectly well that I wouldn't be able to touch a quill again for at least two days.
The sky had bruised into a livid violet, and the barometer had plummeted; we had spotted a massive storm in our path, and the sea was already beginning to bare its foam-white teeth.
Just as I dotted the final period and flipped the leather cover shut; a frantic, hurried knock echoed at my door.
I sprang to my feet and opened it. There, drenched by the first drops of rain and the sea spray, stood my new first mate.
"Admiral!" he shouted over the howling wind tearing through the corridors. "Captain Tequa reports a drastic shift in wind direction!"
I didn't waste a second. Grabbing my coat, I moved at a brisk pace toward the quarterdeck, approaching the helm. The air was thick with electricity and moisture, and the waves were starting to batter the hull with mounting fury.
I drew my brass spyglass and scoured the distance through the encroaching mist. To starboard, I could make out Tequa's ship, an imposing Tequendama I serving as my heavy escort on this voyage.
"What do they report, Officer?" I yelled, without taking my eye off the lens.
The communications officer, clinging to the rigging beside me, rapidly interpreted the frantic movements of the neighboring ship's signal flags.
"They confirm a geographical shift in position, Admiral!" he shouted back. "The currents indicate we've crossed out of the southern half of the world and are now entering the northern hemisphere! The winds are violently pushing us west, straight into the heart of the squall!"
I nodded, feeling my pulse quicken. I aimed the spyglass directly at the quarterdeck of the Tequendama I. There, standing tall and defying the swell, was Tequa. He was looking at me from across the distance.
With one hand, he pointed at the dark, intimidating storm front rising before us like a wall of obsidian. With the other, he made a sharp, military gesture we both knew by heart: Hold formation. Break through.
All fear vanished, replaced by the burning spark of my adventurous sailor's soul.
I lowered the spyglass, gripped the railing of the quarterdeck, filled my lungs with the cold, stormy air, and roared with all my might into the gale, as if nature itself could hear my defiance.
My sailors, infected by the visceral energy of the moment, responded with war cries of pure determination, readying themselves for battle against the sea.
"Officer!" I ordered the flag-bearer, a savage smile stretching across my face. "Relay the message to every ship in the fleet! Secure the lines, unfurl the storm sails! We are sailing straight through this nightmare!"
One month later.
Year 14 of the SuaChie Calendar, Eleventh Month (January 1497).
Xiefiba Quyca (Southeast Asia).
Discovery City (Surigao, Philippines), Mai Archipelago.
The sea, which weeks prior had tried to swallow us whole, now rocked us with the gentleness of a calm lake. We had managed to skirt the worst of that infernal tempest thanks to the maneuverability of our ships and the discipline of our people.
At long last, we were approaching our destination. The majestic coastlines and structures of Discovery City rose on the horizon, bathed in the warm morning light. We entered the bay with our heads held high and profound confidence in our hearts.
Our arrival did not go unnoticed; as we closed the distance, several swift, small vessels sailed out to meet us. My chest swelled with pride upon seeing the unmistakable, characteristic Sun and Moon of our beloved Suaza Kingdom fluttering from their masts.
Emotion boiled in my veins. After nearly seven agonizing and wondrous months of uninterrupted voyage—battling the southern ice, uncovering hidden cultures in forgotten paradises, and braving the wrath of the ocean—we had reached the farthest frontier of our civilization.
Yet, as I watched the small boats welcome us, a cold, heavy knot formed in my throat. I turned my head to look one last time at the Tequendama I, sailing majestically by our side.
I knew that the moment I set foot on that port, our time would run out.
The inescapable moment of my final farewell with Tequa was fast approaching—my friend, my former officer, and my brother of the sea. A man whom, by the mandate of his new life and duty in these distant lands, I would not see again for a very, very long time.
.
----
.
[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Thank you all for your support.
I just want to clarify that this arrival at Discovery City coincides almost exactly with the birth of Chuta's child.
And that there will also be a Vasco da Gama section in Journeys.]