Whispering Twilight

by Melissa McShane

  The crowd surged again and was again commanded to stillness by the Sapa Inca. This time, his command was such that they took a step or two back. Bess remained where she was, though she felt exposed without the crowd surrounding her. She simply could not look away, feeling irrationally that if she did, Amaya would die.

  The two struggled on the ground as Uturunku drove his knife ever closer to Amaya’s exposed chest. Then Amaya twisted, got her knee up between them, and shoved Uturunku away before rolling to her feet once more. They were evenly matched in weight and height, Bess realized, and wondered what that would mean for the outcome.

  Again they circled each other, but this time it was Amaya who rushed Uturunku, coming in low to drive her shoulder into his belly with her full weight behind it. It knocked Uturunku back a few paces, but did not knock him down. With a shout of fury, he drove his knife downward into Amaya’s unprotected back, burying it in her lower side.

  Bess screamed. The crowd shifted backwards again, leaving Bess even more out in the open. Uturunku pulled the knife out and shouted again, brandishing it high in the air. Blood flowed from its wicked point to cover his hand. Amaya staggered back, miraculously still upright. She held her knife in a warding position, then crouched, lowering her head. “No!” Bess shouted. “Stand up!”

  Uturunku approached Amaya, step by measured step. Amaya continued to crouch, her head bowed as if in defeat. Then, when Uturunku was only feet from her, she rose from her crouch like a cat leaping at prey and dove at Uturunku’s chest, knocking him over and swiping her claws across his belly.

  Uturunku screamed and shoved Amaya away with his powerful legs. His right hand covered his belly protectively, but a telltale glistening said Amaya’s claws had bit deep. He backed away with his knife in a warding position much as Amaya had done, then closed his eyes, apparently Shaping himself to heal his wound.

  Bess crammed her fist into her mouth to keep herself from shouting advice Amaya definitely did not need. She would have thought Amaya would go in for the kill, with her opponent distracted, but Amaya’s eyes were closed as well, and Bess guessed she was healing her own injury. It would come down to which of them was faster.

  Amaya opened her eyes just as Uturunku did. Gore streaked Uturunku’s midsection, and Amaya’s back was a sheet of blood, but the two of them met at the center of the semicircle as if they were fresh and unwounded. Amaya lost her knife, but seemed not to care; she grabbed Uturunku’s left hand and bore down on it until something snapped. Uturunku let his knife fall and punched Amaya in the face, staggering her. His right hand went for her throat, and Amaya got her arm up just in time to prevent him tearing out her jugular. She slammed her forehead against Uturunku’s prominent nose, making him cry out in pain. Then they separated and again circled each other.

  Bess wound her fists into her skirt and prayed again, this time a confused jumble of thoughts that only a Speaker could untangle. Well, some said God, as the giver of talent, was the possessor of all; perhaps He would accept a prayer so fervent. Both Amaya and Uturunku were breathing heavily, and blood streamed from Uturunku’s nose and from Amaya’s left shoulder. Could Amaya, as an Extraordinary, outlast a mere Shaper? Uturunku looked like the mountain incarnate, sullen and ready to crush anyone who got in his way.

  They had circled far enough that Amaya was now facing Bess. Her eye was swollen and turning purple, and three parallel cuts on her left cheek showed where Uturunku had got in a lucky blow. To Bess’s astonishment, she smiled, a bright, cheerful expression that made Bess draw in a stunned breath. Then Amaya raised both arms and ran forward to embrace her opponent.

  Bess cried out. Uturunku circled Amaya with both powerful arms and dug his claws into her spine. Bess did not know if they were long or strong enough to tear Amaya’s spine from her body, but Uturunku certainly looked as if he intended to try. Amaya did nothing but raise one hand to the base of Uturunku’s neck. Her claws were retracted, and she touched him as gently as a lover might.

  Uturunku went rigid. His claws withdrew, and his arms looked frozen into that position. Amaya shrugged away from him and let him fall helpless to the ground. She faced the Sapa Inca, who had not moved during the entire fight, and shouted something that stilled the crowd. Amaya shouted again, then dropped to one knee beside Uturunku. Her claws, once more fully extended, glinted in the last light of the sun. Then with a single swift movement, she slashed Uturunku’s throat. Blood spurted, and Uturunku convulsed, then fell limp.

  A cry went up from the watching warriors, and Bess tensed, unable to tell if it was angry or exultant. Then, with a rush of sound like the gusting wind, but louder, every warrior dropped to one knee before Amaya. Amaya, covered in Uturunku’s blood and breathing as heavily as if she had run those stone steps a dozen times, stood with her chin high and her eyes fixed on the Sapa Inca. Bess hurried to Amaya’s side. No one tried to stop her. “What did you do?” she whispered.

  “I say I am Shaper raro,” Amaya said. “I kill—” She dropped back into, first the Inca language, then Spanish, a long string of words Bess’s distressed mind could barely make out.

  She tried to translate. “You kill with a touch, but to fight is jaguar honor?”

  Amaya shrugged as if her English was not equal to interpreting Bess’s words. “I am Uturunku,” she said.

  Movement around Bess startled her. The jaguar warriors had converted their kneeling position to a full obeisance. Bess looked at the Sapa Inca and discovered, to her shock, that he had descended from his throne and was walking toward Bess and Amaya, followed by the brightly robed courtiers.

  The Sapa Inca stopped three feet from them. His handsome face was perfectly composed, as if he had not just witnessed bloody death. He held up one hand as if for silence, and a courtier stepped forward and knelt beside Uturunku’s body. The courtier removed something from around Uturunku’s neck—the strangely shaped gold pendant—and wiped it off on his robe, seeming unconcerned about the bloody smear it left. He then handed it to the Sapa Inca, as always careful not to touch the emperor.

  The Sapa Inca looked at it, then at Amaya. Still without expression, he lifted it high and said something in a voice that carried to all corners of the plaza. Bess caught the word Uturunku. Then he settled the pendant around Amaya’s neck. Amaya made a low bow to the emperor and said something that made him smile, the barest twitch of the lips.

  He looked past Amaya to Bess, and the smile vanished. He said something that sounded like a question, and Bess saw a glimpse of thought in which she was featured, but in her Inca robe and gown. Amaya spoke at length. After only a few words, the courtiers began murmuring, but Amaya kept speaking, pitching her voice to be heard over them. The Sapa Inca held up his hand once more and snapped out a command that silenced them. Amaya continued. Bess wished, irrationally, that Uturunku were still alive to translate—but, then, if he were alive, she likely would not be, and there would be no one to translate for.

  Finally, Amaya finished speaking. The Sapa Inca regarded her silently. “I say about the Spanish,” Amaya said. “I say about the kill—the children.”

  Still the Sapa Inca said nothing, but Bess knew he was considering Amaya’s words closely, because fragments of thought struck her with such force it made her head whirl: thoughts of his warriors armed like Europeans, of fire and fleeing women, of the vast treasure chambers beneath the mountain. Then he turned on his heel and walked back to his throne, gesturing to Amaya to follow. Bess trotted in her wake, though she was not certain the Sapa Inca might not suddenly remember he was afraid she could read his mind and order her executed.

  They followed the throne back across the short, grassy plain and into the palace. At some point, indistinguishable to Bess from everywhere else in the dark, smelly corridors, the Sapa Inca descended from his throne and continued on foot. Eventually they entered a room Bess recognized, the one with the stool that was not a throne. Sapa Inca seated himself, and his courtiers ranged themselves on all sides. This time, Bess saw Achik amon
g them. He did not look happy. He glared at Bess as if willing her to be silent, though Bess had no idea what he thought she might say.

  Sapa Inca spoke to Amaya, a few short words only. “He say, England fight with Inca,” Amaya told Bess.

  So it was back to that again. Bess wanted to laugh, then scream, then laugh again at how the Sapa Inca still thought he could win this battle. “No,” she said, shaking her head so the Sapa Inca would understand her. “There is no time, even if they were inclined to ally with you.” She stopped, realizing Amaya’s English was not equal to the task of translating all that. What a coil—her limited Spanish translated into Incan speech and back again to Amaya’s limited English. “No Inglés,” she said. “Los españoles llegar ahora. Matar a todos. Las mujeres y los niños ir.” Keep it simple: tell him the Spanish intend to kill all the Incas, even the women and children.

  Amaya translated this. The Sapa Inca’s face went cold, and he replied at length. “He say, Incas strong, kill Spanish.”

  “Perhaps,” Bess said. “But the Spanish know you have weapons. Saber tienes armas. They will burn—quemar la ciudad. If you choose to fight, send the innocents away first.” She wished she could shake sense into the Sapa Inca. She had no doubt the Incas and the Spanish were at least evenly matched; the Incas might have the advantage of numbers, even. But that was only this one company of Spanish soldiers. If they fell, more would take their place.

  “Please,” she said, interrupting Amaya’s translation. She took a step forward and knelt before the emperor. Then, her heart in her throat at her daring, she Spoke to him directly. She Spoke of Spanish cities dotting the South American continent. She Spoke of Spanish soldiers in gleaming ranks of blue and red, marching endlessly on the mountains. She Spoke images of Incan children fallen in death at those soldiers’ hands. And she Spoke an image of the Incas, hidden away in the mountain fastness where no Spaniard would ever think to look.

  When she dared look up, the Sapa Inca looked as if he had gone catatonic. Only his blinking eyes told her he was still alive. “Please,” she said again, praying once more that her words would reach this man. “Do not let them destroy you. No destruir.” She realized as she spoke those last words that she had not indicated who was not to destroy whom, and realized further it did not matter.

  Amaya began speaking. Bess had no idea how much of that she understood, but she kept her gaze locked with the Sapa Inca’s, willing him to see sense. When Amaya finished speaking, he remained silent long enough that Bess began to despair. She had Spoken to the emperor, incurring who knew what penalties, and she was almost certainly dead, and Amaya with her if the woman chose to defend her.

  The Sapa Inca rose from his stool and said something that made his courtiers twitter like jaybirds. Then he extended his hand to Bess as if to help her rise. Hesitantly, Bess took it, and the twittering rose in volume until it echoed off the black walls of the chamber. The Sapa Inca released her when she stood and said something else, this time to Amaya. Amaya nodded. “He say, they hide the women and children and treasure. They fight to kill.”

  It was the best Bess could have hoped for, but she still felt downcast. She had envisioned, for a moment, the Inca people hiding in the mountains, preserving their culture—but that was a fool’s dream, and could never happen, certainly not if the Incas’ treasure was involved. The Incas were every bit as warlike as the Spanish. She nodded. “What do we do? Can we help?”

  Amaya spoke to the Sapa Inca again. He turned and said something to his courtiers, most of whom nodded. Achik burst out into speech that the Sapa Inca cut short with a word and a gesture. Achik looked past him at Bess, who was surprised and a little frightened at how angry he looked. Then Achik came forward and gestured to Bess to follow him. “The Sapa Inca say, Achik shows,” Amaya said. “You help move. I go with guerreros jaguar.”

  Achik led her through the palace to his own room. Now that Bess’s eyesight was improved, she could see more clearly that the many pots and bowls bore knotted strings tied around their mouths. The strings all looked unique. Bess fingered one of them, marveling at the tightness and complexity of the knots, and Achik said something irritable that even Bess could tell meant “stop playing with my possessions.”

  He spoke to Bess, and Bess caught glimpses of his thoughts, of Achik kneeling beside someone lying on a pallet and assisting that person in drinking from one of the bowls, of the Seer smearing red paste over a wound. So Achik was a healer or herbalist as well as a Seer. Bess gathered as many pots as she could and loaded them into coarsely woven sacks. Achik did not help. When she had filled three sacks, he took two of them and left the room, motioning her to follow. Bess lifted the final sack, and they descended again to the grassy field in front of the palace, where they handed off their burdens to a couple of strapping Inca men.

  Bess looked past the men toward the plaza, which bustled with movement, and saw someone approaching at a loping run. It was Amaya, once again wearing her Spanish blouse, which was now stained with blood. “Where will they go?” Bess asked. “The Incas?”

  Amaya shrugged. “Is other city. Other tesoros.”

  “Other treasures?” Bess had assumed the rooms of treasure she had seen in the Sapa Inca’s thoughts were all deep beneath this city. It would make things easier, if they intended to hide the treasure so the Spanish could not get it if they happened to win, if not all of it was here. Bess felt relieved that the Sapa Inca was at least pragmatic enough to consider the possibility that his warriors might be defeated.

  Then Achik was in her face, scowling at her and speaking in the same irritated voice. “He say, to help move treasure,” Amaya said. “I help. Is honor—is duty of guerreros jaguar to protect.”

  Bess had expected to go with the Inca refugees, to defend their retreat if that became necessary, but she was willing to help in whatever way she was needed. And a part of her, an ignoble, selfish part, wanted to see the treasure again now that her vision was improved. She had seen no coin, and she believed the Incas used precious metals solely for religious or artistic purposes. And what art! Think what she could show Lord Ormerod when she returned!

  The halls beneath the palace felt, if anything, closer and more confined now that Bess knew the Spanish were advancing on them. Men and women with the appearance of jaguar warriors brushed past her in the narrow corridors, some of them carrying armloads of golden objects, all of them going in the opposite direction. It made Bess uneasy, though she could not say why. Perhaps it was the furtive way they moved, as if they did not have permission to be here—though that was foolish, because none of them would dare cross the Sapa Inca and steal his treasure.

  Achik stopped outside the age-blackened door, which stood open. Two torches burned on either side of the door, revealing a couple of lumpy sacks tied with long strings at its base. Achik removed one torch and handed it to Bess, saying something to Amaya. “He say, bring treasure,” Amaya said, peering with interest past the door. Possibly she had never seen the treasure chamber before. Bess nodded and entered the room.

  This time, she was prepared for the blinding gleam of the treasures of an empire. Amaya gasped and walked past Bess, her gaze turning in every direction. Despite the need for alacrity, Bess could not help looking around herself. So many beautiful things. Bess ran her fingers over a statuette of a jaguar, then lifted it: solid gold.

  She turned back to tell Achik she did not believe she could carry much, if all of it was as heavy as the statue, and was in time to see the door close.

  A jolt of terror shot through her, and she ran for the door, holding the torch well above her head. She pushed the door, hard, and felt it give only slightly before coming up against something solid. She screamed, in her panic forgetting every language she knew, and beat on the door with her fist.

  Amaya was dragging at her arm, shouting. “He say…away from door,” she exclaimed, slinging Bess behind her. “I not know—”

  There was an explosion, sound so terrifyingly loud it was palp
able, and light, and then nothing.

  Chapter 35

  In which time is running out

  Flickering orange light burned behind Bess’s eyelids. She lay prone atop something hard and pointed that dug into her skin from her ankles to her throat. One hand was uncomfortably warm; the rest of her felt cold, almost clammy. She blinked and tried to sit up, and realized something heavy lay draped across her. If she were covered, why was she still so cold?

  She shifted, and heard a jingling, ringing sound as her blanket slid off her. With a groan, she propped herself on her elbow and opened her eyes fully. The flickering light was the torch, nearly extinguished. She lay atop a disorderly pile of golden objects, some of them hard and pressing uncomfortably into her belly.

  She got to her knees, causing another tinkling cascade, and crawled a few steps before collapsing again. Her head ached so much, and there was a ringing in her ears, the aftereffect of a loud noise, but…no. An explosion. An explosion, deep beneath the palace—

  Bess let out a shriek and snatched up the torch before it could go out completely. When it burned more strongly, she turned in a slow circle, examining her surroundings. The treasure room looked as if someone had bottled it up and shook it hard, scattering its contents. Near where the door had been, Amaya lay collapsed on her back, half-buried in treasure and rubble. Bess ran to her side and tried to turn her over, but the weight was too much for her. She shook Amaya, who did not respond. Wedging the torch carefully against the wall, she listened for breath, and sobbed in relief at finding her still alive.

  She looked past Amaya to where the door had been. The entire wall had come down, along with a good portion of the ceiling. The door was gone.

  Bess sat back on her heels and stared at the wall as if she were a Mover to make the rubble fly away. An explosion. But how? And why? The Incas did not—