Dreaming Again

by Jack Dann

  On the forty-third day under the smoking peaks and blood-red skies, we were traversing a high narrow pass when the enanos struck again, as Tagón had said they would. We had been eating and sleeping with our weapons at the ready, never removing our armour in anticipation of another attack, yet nothing could have readied us for the numbers and fury we encountered. They had, as we had been warned, learned from our first encounter, and had chosen a battleground where we were most vulnerable and our horses were of limited advantage. The mountain winds whipped at us as the enanos swarmed up the slopes towards us in full battle cry with shining armour, brandishing their horcas. This time they were stubbornly intent on bringing down our horses, and they attacked them with fury, mortally wounding several of them before we pulled our cavalry deep into our formation for protection. Having lost this advantage, although our dogs continued to defend us ferociously, the battle became a grim blade-on-blade combat, where we were not only outnumbered by greater degrees than in the previous attack, but had less space to manoeuvre.

  We were exposed without a path of retreat, and no conquistador in the history of New Spain fought with such courage and skill against such overwhelming adversaries. I can only thank Our Lord for his gift of wisdom as it appeared we would all die a noble death in that strange and far-flung land, when I sensed that the enano battle plan was to destroy our horses and that nothing that would happen in the heat of the conflict would sway them from this course. I ordered our horses to be presented as momentary prizes for the dwarfs, only for us to quickly encircle the enanos who blindly followed their strategy to their doom. When we were finally able to turn the cannons down-slope and shoot at the waves of dwarfs still swarming towards us, we dared to hope that we could once again be granted a victory by God.

  It was at the very moment when the outcome of the battle was in its most perfect balance that the sky seemed to lighten like a bright dawn springing to life at midday and a frosted wailing filled the air. Despite the danger that lay upon us, we all looked up, as if entranced, to see a gleaming army of winged men-like creatures, armed with silvered bows and gilded arrows, descending from the heavens. The enanos, too, ceased their battle fury and stared skyward, and both our peoples were thrown from our entrancement only as the first flurry of arrows rained down. As we lifted our shields to protect us from this new onslaught, I sensed that the arrows were meant for the enanos, and not my soldiers. I sought out Tagón, who remained chained at the heart of our formation, and he confirmed these were the duendes of which he had spoken.

  Padre Núñez shouted his thanks to the heavens that the angels had come to our aid, and the dwarfs, now caught between two armies, were slaughtered like no army in history. So few enanos remained at the end of the battle that most of their dead could not be carried away. In the silence of our victory, Padre Núñez spoke some words in glory of Our Lord, and we erected a cross before we marched across to the valley beyond the high pass on which we had been exposed.

  There the silver-winged leader of the duendes, who gave his name as Ithilium, alighted before us with his captains, his face shimmering like sunlight on water, and spoke to us in a tongue so strange it sounded to our ears as the wind passing across mountain peaks. Tagón refused to face this foe, but Halin spoke their strange language and interpreted for us, although he reported the duende’s words with anger and contempt. Ithilium offered flattery and praise, promising to share with us the treasures and spoils of the final enano defeat, and his only demand was that all the remaining enano prisoners in our custody be killed at sunrise.

  During the night I sought counsel with my captains on the course we should take at dawn. Padre Núñez exhorted us to kill the remaining enanos, as we had been requested to do, and join the angels in the final battle to destroy what remained of the demons. While most of the captains agreed with this counsel, Luis Velásquez, whose mind and heart I have always placed the highest faith in, spoke of both the enanos and duendes, despite their appearances, as men like us, not the demons and angels of the Holy Writ. Would not any peoples, he appealed, attack those who entered their lands in battle armour and carrying weapons? Were not the most warlike and barbaric nations of New Spain, even those who tore out the hearts of their enemies and ate their flesh, capable of accepting the Lord? Were silver-winged creatures who shone like the sun and spoke like the wind to be trusted merely because, as they flew down from the heavens, they appeared as we imagined angels to appear?

  After much discussion, I announced to my captains that I would retreat for some hours to ponder our fate and the choices it had thrust upon me. I spoke again to Tagón and Halin, whose steadfast nature I had grown to like and trust since his capture. Tagón showed no surprise when I confided to him what Ithilium had demanded of me. He spoke, as he had in the past, of what he called the ‘words of the wind’ that the duende’s spoke, referring not simply to the sound of their tongue, but the very changeability of the meaning of what they say.

  Well before sunrise I had made my decision and informed my captains that we would seek the duende’s friendship, but not surrender to their demands to put our enano prisoners to death. Padre Núñez protested with vehemence and the captains other than Luis Velásquez now stood against me, their weapons raised. There was no will among those captains to battle what they believed to be angels in defence of demons, and Padre Núñez convinced them I had been infected by a strange fever. Velásquez, sensing events had conspired against both of us, then too turned on me, brandishing his sword in support of the others as I was placed in chains.

  I can only give thanks for my humble life to the quick-wittedness of my most loyal captain Luis Velásquez in convincing the other captains who were once under my command that he was at one with their mutinous plans. In the depths of the night, he and a dozen of his most trusted soldiers came to me and freed me from my chains, informing me of their true convictions. There, under cover of a darkness filled with the memory of countless corpses, we made our fateful decision. After we had released the enano prisoners, we rode away furiously, led by Tagón who rode behind me on my horse despite his fear, and we entered a hidden valley before the sky of Nueva Tierra began to turn the now familiar crimson of dawn.

  So ends the largest of the four fragments of Cristóbal de Vargas account. I have used the original Spanish words where the meaning of the English equivalent would be misleading or inadequate. The word enano simply means ‘dwarf, and perhaps the English term may have sufficed, which is why I have used it at times, but the Spanish word duende translates as ‘elf or ‘goblin’, and we have sufficient description to be certain that this nomenclature would be totally inaccurate. The last three fragments provide further insight into the nature of the entrada which translates as an ‘entrance’ or ‘portal’. It is impossible to be certain exactly how much time has elapsed between the first and second fragments, but estimates have placed the following events somewhere between three months and one year after Cristóbal de Vargas escape.

  Translator’s note

  Still, I could not fully trust Tagón’s people, who remain by nature a secretive race, despite the hospitality they have shown me and those few men who remained loyal to me. Although Tagón and those enano leaders who survived the slaughter have assiduously learned our tongue while we still struggle with theirs, my efforts to bring the Word of Our Lord to them remained thwarted and it seemed to me they listened to what I have to say only out of an awkward politeness. Whether they worshipped no god, idol or being of any kind, as they maintained, I could not say, for this claim could merely be a symptom of their secretiveness. I was now firmly convinced, however, of the existence of their souls, and I persisted in preaching God’s mercy to them.

  Though the enanos steadfastly refused to take us to their towns and cities (and we can only assume they must have these), and would not even divulge their general location, Tagón eventually decided he would show his gratitude for our actions against the duendes. He announced that, together with a small company of his soldi
ers, he would lead us on an expedition to the smoke-shrouded mountain that he claimed contained the Boca D’oro, the Mouth of Gold, the source of the exquisite high grade gold that adorned their helmets.

  While Luis Velásquez counselled that the enano’s purpose in bringing us to this place could be entrapment, my counter was that I had seen no duplicity in the motives of these dwarven men and that they had sworn to share with us equally the gold of the expedition once the royal fifth had been taken for Emperor Charles.

  By mid-morning of the second day of our journey to the Boca D’oro, we had no choice but to leave our mounts behind, as the incline and loose stones made the path treacherous for our horses. After a further three days climbing, our armour weighing heavily on our back and the air growing strangely hotter as we ascended, we entered the smoke plumes that clouded the summit. Soon the enanos lifted their shields, and Tagón warned us to do the same, as we drew closer to the fiery peak that thundered like a storm above us. Despite the smoke, I could see the gilded arrows shoot from what seemed a flaming lake of molten gold cradled by the mountain top. With their free hands, the enanos held out urns they had brought to capture the glowing rain, showing great skill in anticipating the flight and not allowing the fiery gold to sear their skin. To our joy, on inspection of the contents of a filled vessel, we could see the most pure gold cooling to an exquisite shine before our eyes. Tagón gave us each an urn and counselled us on the techniques of catching the golden arrows.

  I can only describe the feeling as joyous, as Luis Velásquez and those twelve conquistadors who had remained loyal to me scoured in all directions in the heat of that brilliant sun-lake, capturing the rain of gold in our vessels until they were filled to the brim. And the wonders of that moment at the jaws of the Boca D’oro were soon to be intensified to even greater heights when a chance gust of wind cleared the smoke momentarily. To our astonishment, hovering above the centre of the lake of molten gold, was revealed a scene so achingly beautiful to us that we could only stand transfixed and hold our breaths within us. There, as if a window had been opened in the air, were the snow-capped mountains and blue sky of New Spain as we had known them.

  Although the smoke soon obscured the vision, we knew at once that we had found an entrada back to our world. Our joy soon turned to ash, however, as we concluded that there was no boat or other means that could be used to traverse the heat of the flaming lake. Tagón told us that he had seen ‘the vision of the blue heavens’, as he referred to it, on his other expeditions to the Boca D’oro, but that he had not thought that the place it showed was real. I questioned Tagón on whether he had seen such a vision elsewhere, but he said it was unique to the lake.

  The passage of time between the second and third fragments of Cristóbal de Varga’s account is even less certain. It could be a substantial period. While there have been some studies that have pointed to subtle stylistic variations in the third and fourth fragments compared to the first two, these will necessarily be less evident in the English translation.

  Translator’s note

  Betrayal can numb your soul like the coldest of frosts. I do not accept its bitterness lightly and I pray fervently to always have the will to battle the illusive rapture that it promises. Yet I also recognise that the affirmation of one must sometimes necessarily mean the betrayal of another, and I could only place my faith in the Lord that I have chosen wisely.

  So it was that I turned my back on the enanos and led those few men that had remained loyal to me to the high lofts of the duendes. There, where the winds keened in wild rhythms against our armour, we were captured and brought in chains before Ithilium by whose side stood Padre Núñez. It was in the face of this tall bright-winged angel in a palace of marble and electrum that I revealed my betrayal. As the duende leader had now learned our tongue, I offered him directly the means to destroy their enemy, promising to reveal the secret paths to the hidden cities of the enanos. For Padre Núñez and the captains and soldiers who had formerly been under my command, my offer was of limitless gold and the means to return with it to New Spain.

  Such was my bargain that both Ithilium and Padre Núñez immediately embraced me, barely hesitating to hear what I required in return. When those soldiers from whom I had parted heard of my promises, they, to a man, returned with great joy to my command and we were all once again united in spirit and intent. Padre Núñez spoke of how he had brought the duendes to Our Lord and how all the winged ones had allowed themselves to be baptised in His Name. My confession that I had made no progress with the enanos only confirmed to Padre Núñez what he had always believed: that these demons had no soul and could not be saved even through our most pious efforts. In returning to New Spain laden with gold for the glory of His Imperial Majesty and the Empire, we knew we would accomplish all that we had set out to do, and our tale would be spoken of whenever the feats of Hernán Cortés and Francisco Pizarro were lauded.

  I can barely speak of the exquisite rapture we felt on the day that soon followed as the duendes each lifted a conquistador into the sky and carried us, as if we were a host of angels, across the crimson heavens of Nueva Tierra to the Boca D’oro. There, those of my men who saw the fiery lake for the first time rejoiced in its splendour and filled vessels I had encouraged them to bring with the flaming rain of gold that flew from its molten surface. And their joy grew to still greater heights when, as had occurred on my last expedition to this mountain peak, the smoke dissipated for a moment, and floating above the surface of the lake in the distance appeared a window to the blue skies and familiar snow-capped peaks of the Andes.

  There could no longer be any doubts that my plan would be successful. The duendes each grasped a soldier firmly and, spreading their glorious silver wings, began their flight across the lake, taking care not to be scorched by the gilded flames that shot skywards. Thus it was that my men, laden with vessels of the captured golden rain, were carried towards the entrada to New Spain.

  I must say, my men, for Ithilium gave no order for me to be lifted skyward and instead approached me in a manner that brought me great displeasure. The duende leader had me immediately disarmed and spoke to me sternly in his clear but breathful-accented Spanish of his disappointment that I had not given him the true secrets of the enano cities. I protested that I had told him no falsehoods, but my words fell on deaf ears. When the smoke of the Boca D’oro suddenly cleared again, my eyes turned to the lake and I saw the entrada appear once more, with my men held by the duendes almost upon it.

  Then it was that something occurred which no man should ever have the misfortune to behold. I have witnessed many battles and countless deaths as a conquistador, but the scene before me on that day is a scene that only the devil himself could conceive. With a windblown order from Ithilium, one by one, the duendes released their grips on my men and allowed them to fall from the sky into the molten gold of the lake. The screams and struggles of those who could see what was about to happen to them were something beyond bearing. There was no defence against this most hideous of crimes for we had placed complete trust in the duendes and my men had no opportunity to reach for their swords, and had this been possible, it would still not have saved them from their fate.

  It was with a strangled heart that I saw my most loyal captain, Luis Velásquez, fall into the lake, momentarily rising to the surface like a golden statue of a screaming man, only to sink again, never to emerge. With the entrada still visible above the Boca D’oro, I shuddered with the thought that the last thing my dearest friend Luis Velásquez would see was the blue skies of New Spain within reach before him.

  I turned my fury on Ithilium, but he now had me constrained by chains and my invectives had merely the effect of the ravings of a madman from whom all control had been taken. Ithilium’s calmness was as if his betrayal was as natural as the wind over which none of us had any power. In his almost voiceless Spanish, with words that chilled my soul, he spoke of the joy of baptism that his people had now exchanged with mine.

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nbsp; That this text was indeed written by the conquistador Cristóbal de Varga is generally accepted. Stylistically the material has been shown to correlate strongly with his other known writings. The other Spaniards mentioned in the fragments have been confirmed as members of his expedition into the eastern Andes in 1542. The only other historically verifiable fact in the account is that no member of de Varga’s expedition of discovery and conquest was recorded as returning to Lima. The final fragment is the shortest of all. Despite its brevity, it presents us with information from which we can glean the circumstances under which Cristóbal de Varga wrote this account.

  Translator’s note

  As a young man I had always believed it is the outcomes of battles that determine a soldier’s life. I cannot say that I still hold this to be true. Perhaps the decision not to enter a battle is of greater importance. I have learned many things among the enanos. In truth I am in far greater debt to these steadfast dwarven men than to His Imperial Majesty, and had they not rescued me from my imprisonment by the duendes, I have no doubt I would have suffered, if not the same fate of my men, something far more grave.

  The inevitable conclusion that I will never return to New Spain, let alone to Spain itself, has seared my soul, but after so many years, I have finally become resigned to it. I take some solace in my nightly solitude that I have never, in truth, betrayed my most faithful friends, the enanos. And yet, I wonder endlessly at the twistings and turnings of my own mind, for, in reality, I had nothing to offer the duendes when I proffered my fateful bargain so long ago. It was a bargain based on a falsehood, as I had not been entrusted then with the knowledge of the enanos hidden cities. Perhaps these people with no god and no idol are far wiser than I am. Perhaps they were aware that I would have betrayed them if I had known their secrets, rather than merely feigning that knowledge to the duendes in order to trick them into aiding our return to New Spain. It pains me to admit I do not know what path I would have chosen had I, in fact, been in possession of those truths that the enanos had not yet entrusted to me.