Chapter 2 of GOB!

Hey everyone! Happy Hispanic Heritage Month! I hope you've had a nice rest of September. I've been pretty busy finishing up some trading card designs for Saturday AM, but now that I'm done with the project, I'm freed up to focus on GOB again!

Here is my rough draft of Chapter 2! I may make some adjustments to it later - but I'm happy enough to share it as it is :)

I hope you enjoy this Sketch of Chalchi wearing a Mexican Styled Dress! I drew it up for the occasion~ 💃🏻 🇲🇽 🌼

Chapter 2 - Woven Paths

Several minutes later, I found myself trying to stand straight on a shaky wooden stool. If the boys hadn’t heard my shrieks of pain from inside the hut, I’d be shocked. Every slight movement invited the sharp poke of my mother’s sewing needle. Dang, did those things hurt!

“You wouldn’t get jabbed if you just stayed still,” mom remarked, as if I was constantly fidgeting in the dress.

“I am! You know I hate these things!” I snapped, shifting my weight to avoid another jab. She yanked the strings of the dress tight—almost too tight—as if annoyed at my protest. The fabric bit into my ribs, and I sucked in a sharp breath. This dress had more frills than any girl should have to deal with.

“You wouldn’t need to be here in the first place if you hadn’t torn your old dress,” she said. I bit back another complaint, letting out a frustrated sigh instead. Maybe if I kept quiet, she’d drop it. But, of course, Mom wasn’t about to let it go.

“And don’t think I didn’t hear you on the roof earlier. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told you not to be up there!”

Oof, she knows. I should’ve been surprised, but the thatched roof and thin mud walls had ears. “I wasn’t doing anything!” I blurted out, attempting to cover myself. “I was just sitting up there.” I held my breath, hoping she hadn’t heard anything about my jump.

“It doesn’t matter! You’re lucky you didn’t fall and get hurt,” she replied, frustration creeping into her voice.

“S-Sorry…” I muttered, my tone deflating. Her expression softened slightly as she looked at me.

“Sweetheart, I worry about your future. You're almost old enough to get married or start a business of your own you know.”

Marriage. The one word I wanted to avoid the most. In our country of Kulcan, marriage began at sixteen. I was fourteen—not quite old enough to be sent out on my own but I already felt the weight of expectation pressing down on me. As she continued, I turned to peer out the open window, wishing for the jungle’s familiar sounds to break the tension.

“I hoped you would continue my work and become a seamstress, but you haven’t been preparing for these things as well as I’d hoped.”

I hardily registered her words. My thoughts drifted toward the jungle, wondering if that strange wind would appear again soon.

“Chima?” she asked, sensing I wasn’t listening. Just then, a rustle drew our attention. A baby parrot swooped onto a nearby branch, squawking cheerfully. It was a colorful little bird, mostly blue with a tuft of feathers on its head. We knew him well—“Paco.” We found him abandoned as a hatchling and nursed him back to health. He’d grown attached to us, often dropping by for a visit.

As we watched the bird, she resumed her sewing, but I could tell her thoughts lingered on my future. I could almost hear her rehearsing her worries. I turned back to her. “Ma, I don’t care about becoming a seamstress or a wife. I never did,” I declared for what felt like the hundredth time.

Kulcani girls were taught from an early age to be homemakers—cooks, cleaners, and caretakers. Pursuing the arts or becoming a merchant were other options too, but none of it mattered to me.

She let out a weary breath. “I know. And I don’t mean to keep coming down on you about it. It's just…life can be so unpredictable and I just want you to have something stable.” For a moment, she paused her sewing, her fingers holding a stitch in the red cloth. 

“That’s why I’ve talked with your papa and grandma about it. And we’ve agreed to start looking for a potential husband for you.”

I turned in shock, nearly toppling off the stool. “What?! Are you serious?”

In my rush, I shifted again and winced as the needle pricked me. But I barely felt the pain. All I could think about was what she’d said.

“How could you do that behind my back? You should have told me—” As I was about to snap at her more, I caught the look in her eyes. She seemed to hate this as much as I did. 

I didn't get it. Isn’t this what she wanted?

I turned away in confusion to avoid her gaze. “Ma, look, you shouldn’t have to bother with that stuff, okay? I don’t need a husband. I have plenty of other things I can focus on.”

“Such as?” My mother asked, genuinely surprised.

“Like being a fighter!” I said, my expression equally as serious as hers.

“Oh! That again…” Her head dropped down in defeat. If she had been disappointed before, she looked even more defeated now. After that lengthy pep talk, I think she’d given up on convincing me. She decided to humor me this once.

“Are you sure it's what you really want to do? You want to be one of the great heroes from our storytales?” she asked.

“Yup! That’s the plan!” I smiled a little. “And to all the naysayers who say women can’t be fighters, I’m going to prove them wrong! I’ll show them I can be the first woman warrior of Kulcan!”

Just then, from the other side of the beaded curtain separating us from the prayer room, I heard a familiar voice. “You know that’s impossible, Chima. It’s against the law.”

It was Chalchi, my older twin sister, meditating in the prayer room. Even from behind the beads, she couldn’t help but chime in. Sitting on her knees, hands folded in prayer, she looked calm and composed. We were twins, yet we couldn't be more different—she was prim, proper, and always diligent in her studies. I could care less.

“Hey, Chalchi,” I said sharply, annoyance bubbling up. “Why don’t you stick your nose out of other people’s conversations? Nobody asked you!”

“No, she’s right in the end, my love. It’s just… the way things are,” she confessed, turning to grab a cloth and wipe the warrior paint off my face—a final reminder of all the things I couldn’t be.

“But why do we have to always live by the rules? Rules suck!” I complained. “Shouldn’t you be supporting me if I want to do something different?”

My mother sighed again. “We do support you and love you, but we also want you to pursue more realistic things.”

Paco had fluttered into the hut, landing on Chalchi’s shoulder. Of all of us, he seemed most attached to her, nuzzling against her cheek as she remained unfazed, gently petting him with a single finger.

“Becoming a seamstress is a noble profession too,” Chalchi added, her voice calm and measured. “You are good at it, aren’t you?”

“I guess so,” I mumbled, “but it’s not what I want to do! I want something more fun and exciting!”

“Fun and exciting are vague terms,” Chalchi replied, arching an eyebrow. “You’d be better off finding something else to pursue and letting go of this… obsession you have with fighting.”

“It’s not an obsession; it’s my dream!” I shot back, the heat rising in my chest. “And you can make fun of me all you want for it, but I’m going to make it happen!” Just then, I shifted my leg, and a sharp gasp from behind me made me freeze. It wasn’t me who got poked this time; it was Mom, and a thin line of blood formed where the needle had pricked her.

“Ah! I’m sorry, Ma! I—” 

“It’s alright, just a little scratch,” she reassured me.

Chalchi hearing what had happened, rose to part the curtains. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” She assessed Mom’s wound from a distance before reaching out her hand.

A soft, blue glow began to emanate from her palm, swirling toward Mom like smoke. Chalchi moved her fingers in a rhythmic motion, and I watched in fascination as the glow concentrated around the wound, sealing it instantly.

Chalchi was a priestess in training—one of the other paths a woman could take. They performed many important tasks for the community and the gods, using their powers to support the warriors. I had thought about following that same path, but the endless studying turned me off. Still, a pang of jealousy twisted in my stomach. Her powers felt so cool, so revered. And everyone admired her for it.

As the bleeding stopped and the skin healed, Chalchi turned to me, her expression as serious as ever. “Really, Chima, we’re only giving you suggestions. There’s no need to get upset.”

“I’m not upset! You just don’t get it.” I crossed my arms and bit the side of my lip.

“Hmph.” She closed her eyes, turning away. “It would benefit you to learn a few manners. But to each their own, I suppose.”

“You’ll only be treated like a fool if you continue acting like one. Just like that crazy banana god…”

“What did you call me?!” I shouted, feeling a vein pop.

“You know I don’t like it when you talk like that, young lady. Chima is just as talented and brilliant as anyone else,” Mom interjected. 

“Ugh! I’m so sick of you always putting me down!” I jumped off the stool, ready to unleash my frustration. Paco sensed my impending explosion, opening his beak wide and flaring his wings, hissing defensively.

“If anyone’s a fool here, it’s you!” I shouted, lifting the stool, my eyes locked on Chalchi. “So take this, you damn diva!” 

Chalchi flinched and quickly dashed into the prayer room, while Paco flew away in a panic. Mom attempted to stop me, but it was too late; I hurled the stool at Chalchi. It missed her and crashed against the wall, splintering into pieces. I could feel Mom’s fury simmering behind me. It happened to be one of the few stools we had for guests.

“...Oops,” I muttered weakly.

“Chima!!” My mom’s voice boomed, startling the other birds in the trees outside.

*** 

Later that night, as I repaired the stool, Mom and Chalchi stepped out to discuss arrangements for the ceremony with some temple keepers. Alone at last, I vented my frustrations aloud. “Stupid Chalchi! Thinks she knows everything,” I grumbled. Then switching it up I began mimicking her girly tone. “Just like that crazy banana god…” Seriously, she is so dumb! Who believes in stupid fruit gods anyway?

Dipping my brush into sticky beeswax, I attached the last piece of wood. “There, that should do it,” I thought, inspecting my work. The glue was dripping down the wood and some pieces didn’t look like it was put on quite right, but I was more than done. “Eh, good enough,” I decided, turning to grab my candle, I shuffled toward my reed mat.

“I’ll get back at her tomorrow,” I plotted, blowing out the flame. “Then she’ll see who the real fool is!” Exhaustion washed over me as I settled into bed. It had been quite a day. I pulled the handmade blankets over myself and nestled my head into my pillow.

“I’ll prove to her and everyone else that I can be anything I want to be…” My last train of thought melting away by the comfort of my bed.

**

At some point a few hours later, I had kicked off the covers, snoring softly while Mom and Chalchi lay tucked in their blankets on their mats. The wind picked up again, and the bells on the dreamcatcher chimed, ringing softly throughout the night. Suddenly, that same mystical wind returned, swirling through the trees like a snake. It was heading straight for our hut.

Once it reached the open window, it slipped in quietly and coiled itself around me, wrapping me in its embrace.

The next thing I knew, I was hearing a strange voice calling out to me from the darkness. 

“Ya know, if you really want to become a warrior, I can make you into one!”

END