The crests of the Serra da Mantiqueira rose against the sky like the teeth of a sleeping giant.
"Amantikir," the mountain that weeps, lived up to its name; the morning mist flowed down the slopes covered in dense forest, transforming the trails into ethereal and damp paths.
The air there was colder, a welcome change after the suffocating heat of the valleys, but the terrain was pitiless.
Ubirajara observed the folds of the earth with the eyes of someone reading a strategic map.
They were nearing completion of the survey of the area around the village; this information is vital for expansion and growth.
Beside him, Ubiratan kept a steady pace, carrying the leather cases with the new maps. He looked back at the column of fifty people stretching behind them, a mixture of warriors and the Tupiniquim women who were now part of the group.
"The elders will be surprised when they see us arrive with so many people, won't they?" Ubiratan commented with a slight smile of pride.
Ubirajara looked askance, his face clouded by a concern that had nothing to do with logistics or external enemies. "The elders? I am more worried about Tainá."
Ubiratan let out a short but respectful laugh. "I don't think it will be as complicated as you think, leader. Among our people, it is common for renowned warriors to have more than one wife. Tainá is a strong woman; she didn't expect it to be any different with you, especially now that you dictate the direction of the village."
"I hope so..." Ubirajara murmured.
Internally, he still felt like an outsider. In his previous life, monogamy was the absolute social rule; here, polygamy was a tool for alliance and demographic stability.
He knew that to the Tupi, he was now a "great man," and great men carried great families.
However, the fear of hurting the trust of Tainá, the first person to extend a hand to him in this world was a shadow that accompanied him at every step.
He was not a Tupi warrior born into that culture. Trying to balance his modern self with the self of this world was a burden; he wouldn't be able to respect himself if he simply ignored his moral values.
Moacir approached the vanguard, his gaze sweeping the forest with caution. "It went almost too well with the Tupiniquim.
I am fearful that we might encounter problems now, especially with this larger contingent following us. We are slower and we leave a trail that even a blind man could follow."
Ubirajara tried to console him, but he knew Moacir was right. The supplies, though reinforced by the Tupiniquim, were finite. Every extra day in the woods was a risk of hunger or disease.
"We need to pick up the pace. We are returning, but the mountains still have their secrets."
Suddenly, the peace was interrupted. The vanguard scouts emerged from the side vegetation. Unlike previous times, they did not use the bone whistles; they came in absolute silence, their faces painted with urgency.
"We spotted Tapuias," the head scout reported in a low voice. "They are just below, in the side valley."
A silent but perceptible commotion spread among the women. They knew what encountering hostile tribes meant for them: capture or death.
Ubirajara remained calm, his mind processing the information at high speed.
"How many? What are they doing?" Ubirajara asked.
"About thirty men," the scout replied. "I think they are hunting. They are distracted by the trail of a herd of white-lipped peccaries."
Moacir pondered for a second. "Thirty men... that's a high number for a patrol, but common for a large collective subsistence hunt. Perhaps it's just that."
"Do they know about us? Where are they headed?" Ubirajara was already undoing the straps of his leather backpack.
"They are heading south, and I don't think they have noticed our presence yet. They are too confident in their own territory."
Ubiratan frowned. "The Tupiniquim village we just left is to the south. Is it really a hunt for animals, or are they going to invade our new allies?"
Ubirajara remained silent for a long moment, observing the wind direction. Thirty men were a serious threat to his slow column of fifty people. Letting them pass would be a tactical risk; if they discovered the group's trail later, they could attack from behind during the night.
If they were heading to the Tupiniquim village, he would be allowing the massacre of his new allies before the alliance even dried on paper.
"We are going to defeat them," Ubirajara declared.
The phrase, short and definitive, ignited the fighting spirit of his men. There was an almost religious confidence in Ubirajara's voice, something he had purposefully cultivated through discipline and previous results. He turned to the women and gave quick orders.
"Hide in that rock outcropping above the trail. Do not make noise, do not light a fire. Anahi, Iara... you are in command here. If we do not return by sunset, head west, toward the river."
The two wives nodded firmly. There was a new respect in their eyes; they were seeing Ubirajara, their husband, in war mode for the first time.
The ambush was planned with the precision of a Swiss watch. Ubirajara divided his twenty men into two groups. The goal was not a battle of attrition, but a psychological and tactical shock that would destroy the enemy's will to fight in seconds.
The Tapuias advanced through the valley, laughing and talking softly, carrying longbows and heavy clubs. In the center of the group, a warrior adorned with jaguar teeth and complex jenipapo paintings led the band. He was the target.
Ubirajara positioned his men in the "Column Formation," an innovation he had adapted for the jungle. Instead of a wide line, the Tupi warriors formed a human arrow, focused on piercing the center of the enemy mass.
When the Tapuias entered the kill zone, Ubirajara gave the signal: a single tongue click that was repeated by the others.
The attack was a lightning strike. The Tupi warriors emerged from the shadows not with screams, but with a terrifying silence.
The Decapitation Unit, led personally by Ubirajara and Moacir, shot forward like a projectile.
They did not stop to duel with the side scouts; they simply trampled them, using their hardened leather shields to clear a path.
In less than ten seconds, the column had pierced the enemy line. Ubirajara and Moacir reached the Tapuia leader before he could even string his bow. Ubirajara dodged a club strike with a fluid movement, the result of his exhaustive training, and used the handle of his own weapon to disarm the opponent.
Moacir, coming from the opposite side, neutralized the two bodyguards with precise strikes to their joints.
The Tapuia leader was thrown to the ground, with the tip of Ubirajara's short spear pressed against his Adam's apple. Around them, the rest of the enemy band froze.
They had never seen anything like it. It wasn't a tribal brawl; it was a technical execution. The speed of the attack and the immediate capture of their chief left them paralyzed with terror.
"Surrender, or he dies now!" Ubirajara roared.
The fight ended before the leaves even stopped falling from the trees. About fifteen Tapuias were captured, while the rest scattered into the woods in total panic.
As the prisoners were being tied up, Ubirajara noticed something unusual. One of the prisoners, a middle-aged man with scars indicating years of previous captivity, observed Ubirajara with a strange expression.
"Who are you?" Ubirajara asked, approaching him.
To his surprise, the man replied in a slurred but perfectly understandable Tupi. "My name is Jucan. I learned your language when I was a captive of the coastal Tupi, many summers ago."
Ubirajara felt his interest spark. "Where do you come from? Why were you headed south?"
Jucan spat on the ground, but his gaze was one of resignation. "We are Arawaks. We come from the north. My village was wiped out by others like us, and we were pushed into these mountain lands. We were hunting, yes... but also looking for a place where we could settle away from the war coming down from the great river."
The confirmation hit Ubirajara hard. Arawaks.
The same threat Juriti had mentioned. They weren't just "savages"; they were part of a migration bringing new technologies and military tactics that was pressing the entire tribal ecosystem of the Southeast.
Ransacking the spoils of the captured, Ubirajara noticed the particularities. They carried small weaving artifacts and remains of shields that, though rustic, showed signs of lamination, the technique of gluing layers of wood that Juriti had described.
"Ubiratan, look at this," Ubirajara said, examining a fragment of wood. "They have new knowledge. They are useful."
Ubirajara made a pragmatic decision. He would not execute the prisoners. The village needed specialized labor and information about the north.
"We are taking them with us. We will assimilate them."
"Our village is already larger than many medieval European cities; it can house a few more foreigners, provided they accept our law."
The conflict was the final point of the expedition. With the new prisoners and the knowledge of the Arawak threat, Ubirajara gave the final order to return.
They marched with renewed vigor, crossing the last folds of the Mantiqueira toward the Paraíba valley.
Ubirajara walked in silence, reviewing his mental maps. He brought with him the exact location of the hematite mines, the landmarks for future mining settlements, and knowledge of the river routes.
As soon as he returned, his priority would be to establish a sesmaria, a term he adapted from the future to define state exploration zones to extract iron from the stream.
In the late afternoon of the thirtieth day, the forest began to open up. The group stopped at the top of a hill that offered a panoramic view of the valley below. In the distance, bathed in the golden light of dusk, Tekoá appeared on the horizon.
Ubirajara stopped, feeling a lump in his throat. From afar, the village no longer looked like a simple cluster of malocas.
The adobe walls of the Community Center glowed under the setting sun, rising above the reinforced palisades.
Smoke from the kitchens and potteries rose in straight columns, indicating the industrial activity that had begun to spread through the village. It was a vision of civilization amidst the green chaos.
"There it is," Moacir whispered, with a note of reverence in his voice. "Our home."
Ubirajara observed the disproportionate growth of the settlement. It already looked more like a city than a village. His heart raced.
He returned with knowledge of the iron's location, with allies, with new subjects... and with a diplomatic and marital complication that would test his leadership like no army ever could.
He looked at Anahi and Iara, who observed the magnitude of their new home with wide eyes, and then at the trail leading to the main gate, where Tainá would certainly be waiting for him.
"Let's go down," Ubirajara commanded, adjusting the plume of his helmet. "The expedition is over."