by Lisa Shea
“You punished her with your belt,” I snapped.
“It is my right as a husband! To reprimand her when she does wrong. To teach her the error of her ways.”
“You beat her worse than any man here would ever beat an animal,” I growled.
“I disciplined her,” he corrected. “If she had just admitted what she’d done, I would have stopped. But instead she insisted that she had done nothing wrong. She lied to me! I had to beat that lying out of her. But she would not recant. And I hit her … I hit her …”
My voice was calmer than I could have imagined possible. “You killed her.”
His eyes glowed with heat. “She brought it on herself. If she had been a dutiful wife, she would not have driven me to it. It was her own fault.”
Stark quiet hung over the stables. The only sound was the soft whoof of the horse’s breath.
A man’s voice came from behind us. Steady. Even. “You killed your wife?”
I turned. It was the grey-haired lord, his hand resting lightly on the sword at his hip.
Ramsey drew up to his full height. “You stay out of this. This is between me and my woman here. She is my property.”
Robert’s voice was a growl. “Not yet, she isn’t. And she never will be.”
Ramsey’s snarl rose high. “We have an arrangement!”
My father’s voice came from the doorway, hoarse. “Never. I will never let my daughter anywhere near you.”
Ramsey’s eyes focused in on me, sharp hatred flaring in them. “This is all your fault, you whore. If you had not come out to the stables to fornicate with your lover –”
Robert stepped before me, his hand dropping to the sword at his hip.
The lord’s voice was low. “MacAvoy. Stilton.”
The two soldiers who had been sitting with Robert came around past him and took Ramsey by each arm. Ramsey looked like he might shake them off.
Robert pulled his sword an inch from his scabbard.
I knew that look in his eyes.
Apparently Ramsey did as well. He eased back, allowing the men to lead him out of the stables.
My father came over to stand in front of us. “My darling girl, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
I curled back within Robert’s arms. “I am now.”
My father’s gaze went from my contented glow to Robert’s sturdy eyes. A smile came to his lips. “I should have trusted in your dreams,” he murmured. Then he shepherded the rest of the onlookers out of the stables.
I turned to look up at Robert. I could barely catch my breath. “You are real. And you found me.”
He ran a hand tenderly along my brow. “I shall always find you,” he vowed.
His eyes flicked to the doorway, and then he drew me in close. “Stay with me,” he murmured.
“Always.”
There was a noise, and I was tempted to turn, but instead I remained against him.
Safe.
At peace.
*
Peace settled into my bones as I lounged on the cushioned chair on the sunlit patio. I drew my gaze out over the beautiful terraces and gardens of Machu Picchu.
Bliss.
I tucked my white shawl around my shoulders, laying out the fabric of my long, turquoise dress so that it protected my feet from the spring breeze. I picked up a piece of warm cornbread from the pottery plate at my side, nibbling at it.
Life was as it should be. It had been five long years since the good king Huayna Capac had died of the strange spotted malady which seemed to have arrived with the explorers from over the ocean. But he had lived a long life, nearly eighty years, and his two sons had learned well from his fine example. Atahualpa now reigned over the northern stretches of the empire, while Huáscar controlled the south.
And meanwhile, life here in the resort city high in the mountains was as peaceful as it always had been. The surrounding river kept it safe from attack. The beautiful temples always brought me solace. There was plenty of food for all.
I looked down at the long road leading up to the city, and my brow drew together. A horseman was approaching at high speed, urgency shining in every motion of man and beast. Who could it –
My heart leapt, and a wide smile came to my lips.
It was Otorongo.
I giggled at the nickname I had given him many years ago, when we were youngsters together. He was certainly as strong as that spotted puma, and just as able to move silently through the jungle. He was one of the finest warriors I had ever seen.
I was glad he was returning to the city. I had missed him these long months he was away. I’d even begun having strange dreams about him. Dreams where we wore odd clothing and walked through fantastical landscapes. I’d asked the priests about them, and they had interpreted them to mean that a change was coming to our lands.
I smiled. Anyone could see that the explorers arriving on our shores were intriguing. But I knew the power of the Incan empire would last a thousand years. Look at the roads we had created, criss-crossing all of the land. Look at our temples. Our granaries. Our education and astronomy. We were the ultimate civilization on earth.
The explorers would soon return to wherever they had come from, and life would go on.
The horse vanished from view, and I leaned back against the elegant chair, taking another bite of cornbread. I washed it down with a sip of corn beer. In just a minute or so –
I grinned as the footsteps came flying up the steps. I rose to my feet, leaning against the railing which overlooked the gardens below.
Otorongo burst onto the patio, his brow dripping with sweat, his lungs heaving with the effort. His eyes drew to mine, and he soaked me in like a dying man soaks in his first taste of water.
His voice breathed out of him. “Elizabeth.”
I blinked in surprise. That was the name I had heard in my dreams. My brow drew into a frown. “Did you stop and talk with a priest along the way up here, Otorongo? They want you to call me Elizabeth rather than Inti? What’s next? Shall I start calling you Robert?”
He shook his head and crossed the distance between us with two long strides. He took my hands up in his, his gaze serious.
“Inti, it has begun. The civil war has begun.”
14 – Inca Destiny
Otorongo stood before me, his dark hair askew from his wild ride, his gaze soaking into me. His voice was hoarse and insistent. “Elizabeth … I mean Inti … we have to go. We have to get you to safety. Atahualpa and Huáscar have begun their civil war. The Incan empire is about to be torn apart.”
I laughed in merriment, tucking my white shawl around my shoulders against the cool spring breeze. I looked out from the terrace over the stunning gardens of Machu Picchu.
“We have had peace for five long years since the death of their father, Huayna. Why in the world would the two sons begin a war now?”
Otorongo took my hands. “Huáscar was the legitimate heir, birthed from Huayna’s sister. Atahualpa, while a favorite son, was bastard born. It seems that Huáscar now feels that, being the proper descendant, he deserves the entire empire. Not just a chunk of it.”
My brow creased. “I am sure this is just talk. They will sort it out.”
Otorongo shook his head. “It has begun. Huáscar has imprisoned Atahualpa. Atahualpa’s generals are determined to help him escape.”
My eyes went wide. “Then we must get word to Huáscar. To warn him. War would destroy what we have all worked so hard to achieve.”
He looked out over the terraced gardens, south and west to the far, far distance where the capital lay. “Surely Huáscar knows that his enemies are plotting to free his captive. And this civil war is only a part of our danger.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, a cold chill coming to me. “What is it, Otorongo? Is it these dreams I’ve been having? What could they mean?”
He looked down into my eyes. “Oh, Inti, do you trust me?”
I nodded. “We have known each other since we were quite young
. You are the one who accompanied me here to Machu Picchu, when my stepmother had my father send me here all those years ago. You have always been someone I could depend on.”
He drew in a deep breath, then let it out. “Please believe me when I tell you that the Incan Empire is about to end. The Spanish conquistadors will wait for the two sides to nearly wipe each other out. When Atahualpa has Huáscar captured, Pizarro will descend and grab Atahualpa.”
His eyes shadowed. “Atahualpa will gather up every last bit of gold, silver, and precious stone that he can as ransom – but in the end the Spanish will kill him anyway. They will have drained the Empire’s coffers dry, eliminated both main enemy forces, and laid waste to the rest of the locals through disease.”
My brow creased. “Otorongo, how can you know all of this? Surely your dreams have not shown you this level of detail.”
His fingers closed more tightly on mine. “You have to believe me. We have to go, or –”
An edged voice came from the entryway. “Or what, Otorongo?”
Otorongo turned. His well-muscled arms flexed instinctively, and I knew his sleeveless white soldier’s tunic covered a matching body honed from years of training. There was not the slightest hesitation as he stepped forward, his body shielding me from the newcomer.
The head priest Manco stood at the edge of the terrace, his eyes darkening with displeasure. A small bouquet of delicate lavender flowers became crushed by his fist, and he flung them angrily at the stone wall.
Perhaps ten years older than us, Manco clearly relished the power that his priest’s position gave him. His richly colored outfit was made from the finest fabrics. His teeth were filed to elegant points and inset with green jade. His face was painted deep blue and his nose held a bone ornament through it.
His gaze swept disapprovingly to Otorongo. “Back far sooner than expected, I see. How dare you interrupt my afternoon plans? And what is this of a war that you have fled? Are you a coward that you run from battle?”
Otorongo’s eyes flashed. “This battle cannot be won,” he growled. “It is a battle with disease. Nearly ninety percent of the Incans will be wiped out by smallpox, typhus, and other illnesses. The few who remain will become slaves of the Spaniards. Our only choice is to escape south, to where those conquistadors cannot reach us.”
Manco looked disapprovingly at Otorongo. “And you would have us scurry away like mice on that back of that beast of yours? The barbaric animal that the invaders have brought with them?”
“It’s a horse,” agreed Otorongo, “and, yes, if we are to stay ahead of what is about to descend on us, then the horse will be critical.”
Manco waved a hand to the terraced gardens below us. “And what of all the farmers? What of the scholars and architects? The researchers and weavers who make this city their home? Do we just abandon them to suffer?”
Otorongo held his gaze. “They may stay here as long as they wish. They may leave with us. But I stand by what I have said. Nearly all who remain within the reach of the Spanish will either fall to their sword or succumb to their diseases. The Incan empire has reached its end.”
Manco’s brow darkened. “It is due to cowards such as you that our army loses its heart. Perhaps in your past life you were a wriggling worm and this had led to your current failure as a human.”
My temper flared and I strode to stand alongside Otorongo. “Manco, how could you say such a thing! You have seen his bravery for yourself. He has defended us here from bandits countless times. He has served nobly in the wars. You, yourself, have sent him on guard with important caravans and he has always brought them back unscathed. There are none who doubt him.”
Manco’s hands clenched into fists. “I doubt him, and that is enough.” He waved a hand in the air. Immediately two of his gold-necklaced guards came to his side. Manco’s lips curled into a smile. “We shall ask the gods for a sign. Perhaps it is time for Otorongo to relinquish this life – to donate his warrior’s blood for the good of us all.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. I believed wholly in reincarnation. Surely my dreams proved that it was real. But if I lost Otorongo now, it could be decades before I saw him again. By then I would be pledged to another … or perhaps dead myself.
Manco’s eyes shone with dark emotion. “Or perhaps the gods will exact a harsher penalty. Perhaps they will demand that Otorongo be burned.”
My heart leapt from my mouth. “No! You cannot do it!”
To be burned was the worst sentence possible. For it meant the cycle would be broken. Otorongo would be lost forever. Completely.
I threw myself to my knees before Manco. “Please, do not do it. Do not burn him. He has had dreams – they are guiding him. Surely we should listen to the message of his dreams.”
Manco scoffed. “Just as you continue to have dreams where you and he are together forever? In some sort of a stubbornly selfish state of loyalty? Do you not know that it is I alone who will choose the proper mate for you?”
I grasped at his robes. “You said yourself that my dreams were a metaphor. They meant a change was coming. And now Otorongo has arrived with the same message!”
Manco made a motion with his hands, and the two guards approached Otorongo from either side. Manco’s face took on a leer. “What I meant, dear Inti, is that this infatuation of yours with Otorongo would come to its end. You were meant for more than a mere warrior. You were meant to partner with a priest.”
He smiled, his pointed teeth sparkling in the sun. “With me.”
My mouth hung open. I had always known that Manco had spent more time than he needed to with me, but I looked on him as an uncle. It had always been Otorongo who had my heart. To think that Manco would now resort to killing Otorongo – perhaps even to burning his body – sent cold fear coursing through my veins.
Otorongo’s hand dropped to the copper axe which hung at his hip …
I grabbed at Manco’s hand. “If there is war coming, then clearly there should be a sacrifice at the capital – at Cuzco. That is what the gods would demand.”
Manco paused, looking down at me. “It is true. If there is a civil war, then only the greatest of sacrifices could appease them.”
His eyes moved to Otorongo and glittered. “A sacrifice such as a renowned warrior.”
Faint hope sparkled in my breast. If I could but buy us some time, then perhaps we would figure out a way out of this. “I would go, too, to see my parents,” I pressed. “It is a long journey – two weeks – and I have not made it once in the long years since arriving here. If there are to be … discussions … about my future, then meeting with my parents would be an important next step.”
Manco’s face now shone with satisfaction. “Yes. Yes. This will all be perfect. Your warrior will escort you to your fate – and he to his.”
Otorongo’s eyes moved to mine in concern. “Cuzco … but Huáscar and his armies are in Cuzco. And his captive brother, Atahualpa –”
I chimed in, “Your dreams say that Atahualpa will soon escape. He will undoubtedly head north, to Quito, to his stronghold. So for a time, at least, Cuzco will be safe. Maybe this is the message the gods have for us. That we should go, together, to Cuzco and make our sacrifice. It is two week’s walk. Surely we can invest two weeks for the safety of our empire?” I turned on Manco. “And you would not want to rob the gods of their sacrifice, would you? When they have sent these dreams to guide us?”
Manco was nodding, and he waved back his guards. “What you say makes good sense. I have, myself, been hearing rumors of discontent. If this is truly bubbling over, then now is the time to act.” His eyes drew to Otorongo, and the sharp teeth shone in the sun. “Will you come willingly with us, great warrior?”
Otorongo’s gaze was shadowed, but his eyes moved to me. “You are sure this is the path you wish to take?”
I nodded. For I now saw, if I fled with Otorongo, that Manco would send every weapon in his arsenal after us. He would hunt us down and drag us back. Then he wo
uld force me by his side – and Otorongo would be burnt … burnt … lost forever …
I pressed my lips together. I trusted that Otorongo meant what he had seen. A great danger lurked in our future. But I also knew that a powerful danger was right here on the terrace with us. And one small mis-step …
I brought a bright smile to my face. “It has been many years since I left the capital. I have long dreamed of visiting with my father and stepmother again. I will just need a short time to pack, and then we can get started.”
As I expected, the llamas and porters were ready by the time I came downstairs with my woven bag of items. A number of farmers were gathered around, staring with interest at the horse, but Otorongo’s attention was fully on the stairs as I descended. His shoulders eased in relief as I came to his side.
Manco scoffed as he looked over Otorongo’s steed. “Big and burly. The beasts will never work well in our mountainous terrain.”
Otorongo’s gaze shadowed. “They have been working quite well for the Spanish at taking over other regions, for a man can fight while riding on them. Soon mounted horsemen will mow down the final remnants of the Incan army.”
Manco’s face became surly. “Not if our sacrifice is accepted. Then this future you see will be set to rights again.”
By the look on Otorongo’s face, I doubted that this could be true.
A slim woman came running up to me, her eyes wide with surprise. “Inti! Are you leaving?”
I nodded. “Yes, Cava. Otorongo has brought us troubling news. We must go to Cuzco and examine the signs. Perhaps a sacrifice will be required.”
Her mouth went round, and she glanced at Otorongo. It was a moment before she said, “That would, of course, be a great honor.”
I nodded. “An immense honor for whoever is chosen.”
She twined her fingers into mine. “Safe travels, my dear friend.”
I looked from her sweet innocence to the steadfast farmers who had taken a break from their chores. To the loyal porters who stood ready to assist us on our journey. Then my eyes moved to hold Otorongo’s. I saw the sadness within those depths.
Everything was about to end.
My heart fell. So much beauty. So much life and desire and plans for the future – and none of it would matter. If Otorongo’s dreams were to become a reality, everything I cared for deeply would simply cease.
