Priestess of Paracas

by K Patrick Donoghue

  He has told us La Tolita’s culture disappeared somewhere between 300 and 1000 CE, the same general timeframe as the Paracas people disappeared. Perez says archaeologists who have studied La Tolita believe the impetus for their disappearance was a natural disaster. According to these scholars, their settlement, situated at the mouth of the Santiago River, was destroyed by a sudden shift of the river. What caused the river shift is unknown, but sediments found among La Tolita artifacts in the region hint at a volcanic eruption, an event, Cesar says, that may coincide with a suspected eruption of the Chimborazo volcano between 300 and 1000 CE.

  If Cesar’s speculation is correct, that Muran was the ruler of La Tolita, he wonders if the volcanic eruption is what caused the sudden change in her attitude toward the oracles mentioned in her journal. Had they foreseen the eruption and not informed her? Had they informed other cultures in the region but not La Tolita? Had they been blind to it? Muran’s journal is silent on the catalyst for her bloodlust hunt of the oracles, one can only speculate. So says Cesar.

  But in the process of hunting them down, it is apparent she discovered a link to her own past. The oracles were descendants of Muran’s own race, the Munuorians.

  Or so it seems. Evidence backing this supposition is scant at this point, relying predominantly on Mereau’s assessment of the unique qualities of the necklace in Muran’s collection. However, Pebbles’ recollection of Citali’s passing has provided two other tantalizing clues; on her deathbed, Citali spoke of something she hid, something that had been passed down through many generations all the way back to the day of darkness.

  Taken together with everything else, it appears Citali and her forebearers were entrusted with protecting something that belonged to the Munuorians. Something that Muran found out about. Something she wanted.

  So now we are off to follow Citali’s trail, in the hopes of discovering answers to the following: What did Citali hide? Where did she hide it? Why did Muran want it? Each of us has different reasons for wanting to know these answers. For Cesar, it is a matter of historical significance. To Mereau, it is a chance to learn more about what happened to his civilization after the passing of the asteroid he calls Munirvo. For Jennifer, it is a crime to solve.

  In Anlon’s case, I think he only cares to bring peace to Pebbles. He hopes that if the answers are found, it will satisfy Citali’s restless spirit and she will depart Pebbles’ consciousness. There is some merit to his hopes, I believe. In past-life recall cases among children, there does seem to be an undertone of a desire to seek resolution. The spirits that inhabit the children seem to seek closure, to know loved ones are okay, to tell loved ones they are okay. Perhaps that is what Citali seeks — to know whether the ‘something’ she was entrusted to protect indeed eluded Muran.

  Whether that is what Citali wants or not, I am certain that is what Pebbles desires. Now that she knows what Citali was up against, Pebbles wants to know whether she succeeded or failed. Cesar has tried to temper her curiosity by noting that Muran’s passage about the oracles ends with her extolling her triumph over the last oracle. The following passage in the journal discusses a new life, he says, one in which she called herself Wak Chan Ajaw. History records this name as belonging to a powerful Mayan ruler known alternatively as Lady Six Sky, a woman who rose to power a century or so after the Paracas civilization disappeared into the deserts of Nazca.

  For myself, I seek to help Pebbles manage the turmoil inside her brain so that she may pursue this extraordinary investigation to its conclusion. I am also captivated by the possibility of proving to myself that psychic energy lives on after death. Many cultures throughout history have fervently averred as much, but it has never been proved. This is a chance to answer a basic question that humans have asked since the dawn of intelligent thoughts, one I often wonder about myself — what happens to our consciousness when our bodies die? Are our thoughts, personalities, hopes and dreams nothing more than chemical reactions inside our heads, or is the human body just a cocoon for our spirits to develop and mature before it is time for our psychic energy, our essence as individuals, to transform into something else?

  One way or the other, the coming days should illuminate answers for all of us.

  CHAPTER 16: KEEP YOUR HEAD

  La Bahía de Paracas

  Paracas, Peru

  September 26

  Anlon had hoped for an up-close look at the Paracas Candelabra but Cesar told him the geoglyph’s conservator refused to allow them to visit the site.

  “He said there are no roads to the site and hiking to the Candelabra is prohibited,” Cesar had relayed to the group.

  So, Anlon and his traveling companions did the next best thing and hopped aboard a tour boat excursion. At first, Anlon had been apprehensive about the possibility of Pebbles experiencing a trance while on a boat filled with other life-jacketed tourists, but the fear proved unfounded.

  When the boat slowed its engines to allow tourists to take photographs of the geoglyph, Anlon said to Pebbles, “It looks like it could just blow away in this wind.”

  “I know. It’s crazy that it hasn’t. I heard a couple of people chatting with the tour guide. Did you know they had an 8.0 earthquake here in 2007? It wiped out the whole town of Paracas, apparently, but didn’t do diddly-squat to the Candelabra. Talk about built to last.”

  Jennifer, seated on the opposite side of Anlon, nudged against him in order to ask Pebbles a question without shouting over the wind, gaggling tourists and rumble of the idling engines. “Are you getting anything? Any tingles? Flashbacks?”

  “Nope. Nothing.”

  “That’s so strange. Then why do you think you added it to the oasis drawing?”

  “Beats me. I don’t remember drawing any of that picture.”

  “And you don’t remember Citali making the design in the sand by the pond during your vision?”

  Pebbles shook her head.

  “Strange,” Jennifer said, her voice trailing off. She leaned back, her bulky life jacket releasing its pressure on Anlon’s.

  The wind whipped up, almost blowing off Anlon’s baseball cap as he turned to talk with Cesar, seated on the other side of the boat with Mereau and Sanjay. Leaning forward, he said, “It does look like it’s intended to be a landmark for ships approaching the cove, doesn’t it?”

  “It does, but its placement puzzles me. The Candelabra is really only visible to ships close enough to the coastline to see the cove entrance.”

  “I agree,” Mereau said, his voice rising as the boat driver increased power to the engines. “There are other more meaningful landmarks available to a sea captain seeking the cove, ones visible from open waters as well as from the coast.”

  Anlon nodded. It was true. During the drive from Lima to Paracas, Anlon had studied a map app on his cell phone. Just beyond the entrance of Paracas Bay was a small set of islands known as Islas Ballestas. Farther north, there was another small island chain, Islas Chincha. Directly west of the cove was a large island, Isla Sangayan. Seafarers approaching the cove from any direction would encounter these islands long before they ever saw the Candelabra.

  “I see what you mean,” Anlon said as the boat turned toward Islas Ballestas, Peru’s version of the Galapagos Islands.

  Mereau stood and stepped over to Anlon’s side of the boat and slid into a gap between Anlon and Pebbles. “I find it meaningful that Citali lived so close to islands with rich sea life, both plant and animal. Her diet would have bolstered her gensae.”

  How true, thought Anlon. The abundance of cryptochrome-rich algae and plankton in the waters surrounding Paracas meant many of the fish, birds and other sea life up the food chain in the area had heavy cryptochrome concentrations, an essential nutrient found in animals that could detect and interact with the Earth’s magnetic field.

  This was meaningful to Mereau because the same type of habitat had once flourished in the waters surrounding Mereau’s ancient island homeland, Munuoria, meaning Citali had been nourished
with the same kinds of nutrients that had once fueled the Munuorians’ gensae, their magnetic sixth sense. To Anlon, it was another data point that suggested a connection between Citali and Mereau’s people.

  Later, after the boat excursion docked in Paracas cove, Jennifer drove the group to the nearby Museo Histórico Paracas, where a number of the elongated skulls found at the various sites of the Paracas necropolis were displayed.

  Here, too, Pebbles exhibited no reaction upon seeing the skulls. This surprised Anlon more than the lack of reaction when they passed by the Candelabra geoglyph, considering she had experienced a seizure and a vision when she viewed photographs of the Paracas mummies aboard Sol Seaker. Then again, walking by glass display cases of the skulls in the midst of a crowded museum was not the same as seeing photographs of the full mummies in the cemeteries where they were unearthed.

  Anlon watched Pebbles closely. She seemed downcast, almost depressed, a disposition noticed by everyone in the group. Jennifer came up beside her and wrapped an arm around Pebbles’ shoulder. “Don’t get all bummed out. We’ve got lots more to look at.”

  “I know. It’s just, I thought being here, seeing things, sniffing the air, feeling the breeze would stir something up from Citali,” Pebbles said. “Paracas is so beautiful. The ocean, the cliffs, the beaches. I can’t imagine Citali wouldn’t have felt the same way.”

  “Maybe it’s because there are no ruins left of Citali’s city,” Cesar said.

  “Maybe. But I thought I’d stand on a spot, sort of like Sanjay did when he went to Pearl Harbor, look around and see something familiar, something I would remember…I mean…something Citali would remember.”

  “Well, let’s keep moving,” Anlon said. “Sooner or later, we’re going to hit one of those spots. One of the necropolis sites, perhaps.”

  The first cemetery they visited was close to the museum, on the desert plain near the hillside where the Candelabra was carved. There, they met up with an archaeologist colleague of Cesar’s who provided them a tour of the site.

  Unfortunately, there was not much to see, just empty holes. According to the archaeologist, the mummies that had once been buried there had been removed from the site for preservation reasons. As the archaeologist launched into a broken-English description of the burial practices of the Paracas people, Anlon noticed Pebbles step away from the group. Thinking a trance was imminent, he came up beside her. He did not want her to fall into one of the holes. Pebbles turned to him and said, “This is a waste of time.”

  Anlon wrapped his arm around her waist. “Hang in there. We’ve got two more sites to go.”

  Their next stop was the ancient cemetery at Oof Wari Kayán on the slopes of the Cerro Colorado mountain overlooking Paracas Bay. As they walked around the perimeter of burial plots, Anlon detected a change in Pebbles’ demeanor. She had been walking a few steps ahead of him, her hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans. As she shifted her gaze from the cemetery to the surrounding landscape, her pace slowed, and her hands slipped from her pockets. Seconds later, she halted and let out a small gasp.

  Standing at the tower window, Citali soaked in the sunshine. In the distance, the waters of the cove sparkled silver atop the canvas of deep blue beneath. She watched the boats of fishermen returning from their predawn expeditions pass by the vessels of the city’s naval forces on their way out to sea.

  In the city, the streets bustled with activity. Traders and their trains of carriers lugged provisions into the city from the northern trails. Waiting for them were merchants, haggling prices before the goods were even unloaded. In the opposite direction traveled tradesmen from the city on their way to meet waiting canoes along the riverbank. They would return at dusk, after making the rounds to sell their wares in the villages that lined the river.

  Citali shifted her view to a group of women leading children for their morning lessons. They bowed as they passed, a few of the children touching their hands to their foreheads. She smiled and touched hers in response. Turning away from the window, Citali saw her attendant enter the chamber.

  “You have a visitor, Seer. She has requested an audience.”

  “Who is she?”

  “She did not give a name. She says she is acquainted with Seer Nonali.”

  “She knows my sister but does not give a name?” Citali turned to face the attendant. “Where does she come from?”

  “The woman did not mention her city, but I can tell she is not of our people. She wears gold and silver in her hair, on her wrists and ankles. She dresses like our queen, but she is not our queen.”

  “Does she seek a blessing? A reading?”

  “I do not think so, Seer. Her attitude is of one who comes to tell, not to ask.”

  Citali frowned. Most often when foreigners sought an audience, they came to ask her to bless their children or sailor men. Or to know whether clouds over the sea would bring rain to their crops or if it was safe to build homes in valleys below the rocky mountains.

  “Lead her to the worship room. Offer her refreshment. Tell her I will be with her shortly.”

  With the attendant gone, Citali picked up her necklace from the table by the bed. She had not finished clasping it when a sharp pain sliced into her back. Wincing, Citali pulled the string of golden tiles away from her neck and the pain abated. She sat down on the edge of the haybed and once again raised the necklace. This time when she clasped it into place, there was no pain in her back, but her forehead began to throb, and her eyes blurred.

  They were the kinds of sensations Citali felt when the Earth stirred beneath the mountains, but these were weak. They did not ripple like waves. This typically meant the disturbance was far away.

  Perhaps this woman comes to tell me Nonali has sensed a disturbance too.

  Citali rose from the bed and started for the tower stairs. As she descended them, her eyes blurred again, and she experienced a moment of dizziness. Stopping to steady herself against the wall encasing the circular staircase, Citali felt a new sensation sweep through her mind and body. Fear. She quickened the pace of her descent.

  The woman has come to bring me other news. Nonali is in danger! Has the northern tyrant attacked her city?

  The woman was kneeling when Citali entered the worship room. She wore a hooded cloak. With her head lowered, she said, “Seer. Keeper. Sister. I bow before you and ask for your help.”

  Despite the practiced formality of the greeting, the voice that delivered it was young. Citali judged the woman to be no more than fourteen.

  “Stand and remove your hood.”

  The visitor did as instructed, revealing a woman of the river tribes in the far north, her skin redder than those of the south, her black hair shorn at ear length in an even line that circled her head; her face, hair and neck were adorned with a variety of gold and silver jewelry, elaborate finery for one so young.

  “You have come a long way, child. What brings you so far south?”

  “I come to deliver a message on behalf of Seer Nonali and to receive your answer.”

  The answer caused Citali to frown. Nonali’s city was located more than a full cycle of the moon from the heart of the river tribe settlements, a strenuous journey whether one chose to follow the desert coastline or follow the river before crossing the mountains. And Nonali’s city was nearly two cycles of the moon from Citali’s. Unless, of course, one decided to shorten the trek by backtracking to the coast and sailing south. Still, it was an arduous journey under any circumstances, even for the toughest of men.

  “What is your name?”

  “I am Rashana.”

  “Tell me, Rashana, why would Seer Nonali choose to deliver a message to me through a foreigner?”

  “She did not say, Seer Citali.”

  “Very well. What is the message?”

  “The masked lady is coming.”

  So, the rumors were true. The tyrant was pushing south. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Rashana.

  “This message comes from Nona
li or from the masked lady?”

  “From both, Seer,” Rashana said. “There is more to the message. One part from Seer Nonali and one from the masked lady.”

  “Speak.”

  “Seer Nonali says: the masked lady seeks that which was hidden. Give her what she asks for, show her the way. Take the river, lead her into the cave and she will honor the pledge.”

  Citali swooned. Her mind raced. Under no circumstances would Nonali have spoken such words to a messenger. Rashana lifted a bag from beneath her cloak. She held it out toward Citali.

  “The masked lady says: listen to your sister.”

  She opened the bag and withdrew Nonali’s head.

  Pebbles’ eyes flashed open. She was in the middle row of the van. Anlon was seated on one side of her, Sanjay on the other. Outside, she saw Cesar and Mereau talking with the necropolis archaeologist. Jennifer sat in the driver’s seat, looking back at Pebbles.

  “Effing bitch!” Pebbles punched the back of the driver’s seat.

  Jennifer recoiled. “Hey, what’s that for?”

  “Out of my way,” Pebbles said. She crawled over Anlon and yanked the sliding door open.

  “Where are you going?” asked Anlon.

  She stumbled out of the van, her eyes focused on the city of Paracas below. Looking to the left and right, she paced back and forth, squinting through the reflection of the sun bouncing off the desert slope of the mountain.

  “Which way did you go, Citali? Give me some help here?” Pebbles whispered.

  She heard car doors slam and footsteps kicking up sand. A voice from behind, Cesar’s voice, asked, “Is everything all right?”

  Pebbles marched down the slope a little and peered north. “The closest river is that way, right? We crossed over it coming down from Lima. Near Pisco.”

  The archaeologist answered for Cesar. “Si, senorita, Rio Pisco is the closest.”

  Waving for the others to follow her, Pebbles said, “Come on, let’s go.”