SIXTY-NINE
After consulting with the priests, Raphael declared that there should be a day of mourning before his coronation.
I had a day to make a plan.
One day.
I cursed myself for telling Raphael to make haste. It was true, our food stores were dwindling at an alarming rate. If the ants had not feasted on the Quechua dead in and around the fortress, the situation would swiftly become dire. But a few days of hunger would have been a few more days in which to plan.
Gods be thanked, the old high priestess Iniquill was a step ahead of me. On the eve of Raphael’s triumph, she summoned a council that included Ocllo, Cusi, Machasu, several other maidens I did not know by name, and me.
“I have spoken with many of you these past days,” Iniquill announced. “And it is my belief that the time of the ancestors is upon us. The sacrifice must be offered.”
Cusi nodded gravely, her pretty face luminous.
“So we must find a way for the twice-born to take the place of the high priest Villac Umu,” the old priestess continued. “This I propose. The ceremony is to be held at dawn. I will inform Lord Pachacuti that the Maidens of the Sun will ensure the sacrifice is in place. At nightfall, a dozen of your men including the twice-born will escort the holy sacrifice Cusi to pass the night in prayer in the temple. I will send my maidens to the temple quarters with many bowls of chicha, so that the priests may celebrate.” She glanced at Machasu, then me. “I am told you possess a drug that will not harm them?”
“Aye, my lady,” I said.
“Then an hour before dawn, your men will escort the sacrifice Cusi into the priests’ quarters. There they will administer the drug, and the twice-born will take Villac Umu’s place.”
I frowned. “Will the priests not be suspicious? Raphael… Lord Pachacuti… keeps his countrymen as prisoners.”
“The priests do not know this,” Iniquill said in a tranquil tone. “But I am told that the Nahuatl who fights among silver-clad warriors is an ally of yours. If he accompanies them, there will be no suspicion. Will he do so?”
“I think so.”
Her eyes glinted beneath wrinkled lids. “You must make it so!”
I took a deep breath. “Then I shall.”
“Good.” Iniquill gave an approving nod. “The Maidens of the Sun weave the wool of the vicuña for the garments of nobles. Tomorrow, we will provide you with fine clothing so that the priests do not doubt your men are in Lord Pachacuti’s favor.”
“What of the ants that keep watch over my companions?” I asked. “They may not allow them to leave.”
“I do not think they do so any longer, lady,” Machasu offered. “Lord Pachacuti has greater purposes for his black river now. They guard him and they keep anyone from leaving the city, but not from moving about within it.”
“You’re right,” I said. “They do, don’t they? That was clever of you to notice.”
Machasu flushed with pleasure. “Thank you, lady.”
“So it is decided?” the high priestess Iniquill inquired.
My palms were sweating, and I rubbed them on my knees. “It is a great deal to arrange in one day, my lady.”
Her dark gaze was implacable. “I can give you no more aid than I have offered. If you are right, if we are all right and have read the signs correctly, it shall be as the ancestors willed it. I suggest you make an offering to them tomorrow. If we are wrong…” Her age-hunched shoulders rose and fell. “I fear we shall pay the price, every last one of us.” Her gaze settled on Cusi, softening with compassion. “And for some, it will be terrible.”
It was not exactly comforting.
In the chamber I shared with Machasu and a handful of other maidens, I drifted in and out of another night of restless sleep, my mind sifting through the myriad details I must accomplish on the morrow. I tossed and turned on my narrow pallet, shifting my body this way and that in a quest for comfort, avoiding the thought that troubled me most.
My oaths.
In all this time, I had still not found a way to resolve that conflict—and I was fast running out of time.
“You must gather stones from the river, Moirin,” Jehanne’s sweet, lilting voice informed me.
I opened my eyes. “What?”
She was perched on the edge of my pallet, her legs tucked beneath her. “Is that not how you discovered it was done? Warding a place within your twilight?”
I glanced around wildly. “Jehanne!”
“Hush.” Jehanne touched my cheek. “I am here. Did I not tell you I would be here at the end?”
“Aye, but—”
“Aye, aye, aye,” she mocked me, leaning forward to kiss my lips. “Do not be alarmed, my beautiful girl. I am here, but you do but dream yet. It will not wake the others. You must gather stones from the river and anoint them with your blood, placing them in Raphael’s quarters so that you might invoke your magic. It is the only way I may come through and speak to him.”
My eyes stung. “Can you turn him from his course?”
“I can but try,” Jehanne said gravely. “I fear it may be too late. But at the least, I mean to free you from his oath. Call my name. It is all you need do.” She kissed me again. “Trust me.”
“Jehanne!”
I startled awake. I could still feel Jehanne’s kiss lingering on my lips, the scent of her perfume in the air.
For the first time in many long days, hope stirred in my breast. Jehanne had saved me from Raphael’s ambition before. If anyone could do it again, it was her.
Although it was not yet dawn, I rose and dressed. Summoning the twilight, I slipped forth from my quarters, taking with me the satchel that contained the wurari poison and the thorns wrapped in a length of fabric.
Following the pull of Bao’s diadh-anam, I walked unseen through the streets of Qusqu. As the course through the city was not so straightforward as the bond between Bao and me, it took me several false turns and sojourns into blind alleys before I found the humble dwellings on the outskirts of the city where Bao and the others were lodged. The sun was rising in the east. In the twilight, it painted the snow-capped mountains beyond Qusqu with a mantle of pale silvery flame.
I stepped over the threshold of the dwelling that held Bao and a dozen others. Fast asleep, he had not sensed my approach. His face was serene and beautiful in sleep, but I could see the bright shadow that limned him, the shadow of death that Cusi had seen.
Releasing the twilight, I whispered his name. “Bao!”
He woke swiftly, reaching for a staff that wasn’t there, and then yawned, his eyes crinkling. “Moirin.”
The others stirred, waking more slowly. “Lady Moirin,” Prince Thierry greeted me, his voice raspy with sleep. “I understand Raphael is to be coronated on the morrow. Tell me you come bearing welcome news.”
“Whether or not it is welcome, I cannot say,” I said. “But I come bearing a plan.”
I told them.
I showed them the stoppered jar of wurari, explaining its usage and the timing of its effects. I unrolled the fabric-wrapped thorns, warning them that they must be very, very careful not to prick themselves.
“This will be a tricky business to coordinate,” Thierry murmured. “How do we avoid rousing Raphael’s suspicions?”
“Raphael has well nigh forgotten your existence for the moment, your highness,” I said to him. “The priestess Iniquill will assure him the Maidens of the Sun will see that the sacrifice is in place. I do not think he will take notice. And if the dead speak true…” I took a deep breath. “He will be otherwise distracted.”
“Thinking on his forthcoming deification, no doubt,” Balthasar Shahrizai muttered. “The mad bastard.”
Bao gazed fixedly at me. “That’s not what you meant, is it?”
I shook my head. “No. My lady Jehanne…” I took another deep breath, my chest feeling tight. My sense of hope faded. Giving voice to my dream, it sounded as wild and unlikely as all the rest of our plan. “She means for me to summon her. She means to convince Raphael to free me from the oath I swore.”
“Is such a thing possible?” Bao asked in a steady tone. “Can you summon her?”
Hot tears slid from my eyes. “Stone and sea, I don’t know! But we have placed our faith in the dead, and it is too late to turn back now.”
“Moirin—”
“No.” Prince Thierry raised one hand for silence, and there was command in the gesture. “Lady Moirin speaks the truth. We have made our choice. I have made my choice. I will not falter.” He paused. “A dozen men, you say?”
Wiping my eyes, I nodded. “Assuming he is willing, I will send Eyahue to bring you suitable garb. And if all goes according to plan, Temilotzin will come to fetch you before nightfall.”
“We will be ready,” Thierry said firmly. “That I promise you.” He glanced sidelong at Bao. “Messire Bao, when it comes to it, the moment in the temple… do you know what needs to be done?”
Bao was quiet.
“Do you?” I asked him.
“Yes, Moirin.” Bao met my gaze, one hand dropping to finger the hilt of the bronze knife shoved into the waistband of his breeches. He smiled sadly. “Your handmaiden Cusi told me what was needful. I only wish it was not.”
“So do I,” I whispered.
Summoning the twilight once more, I took my leave of them. The sun had cleared the mountain range, and the city of Qusqu was stirring to life.
I needed stones.
I waded in the canals to gather them, my skirts hiked and wrapped around my knees. It took longer than I would have reckoned, but at last I collected four smooth, fist-sized stones, rattling along the walls of the canals, carried by the current. These, I stowed carefully in the bottom of my satchel.
By the time I had finished, it was noon, and the sun stood high overhead. I had to release the twilight and inquire of passersby to find Eyahue. As ever, the wily old pochteca had landed on his feet. Within a few days’ time, he had established himself in Qusqu as a force for trade, and I found him talking with other traders in the market-place.
“Do you see these animals, lady?” he demanded, indicating several shaggy beasts with haughty, long-nosed faces. “The Quechua use them to bear burdens.” He sucked at his teeth, rocking back on his heels. “Pity they’re bred for the mountains. No one’s ever managed to get a breeding pair alive through the jungles.”
I touched his cheek. “Eyahue, I am here to honor a promise, and I have a favor to ask you,” I said in Nahuatl. “Gods willing, it will be the last one.”
His gaze sharpened. “It is time you told me what you intend to do with the wurari, is it not?”
Nodding, I told him.
“So that’s the secret of the ancestors,” he mused. “You put a great deal of faith in dreams and portents, lady. I’ll not risk my neck to aid you in this madness.”
“I am not asking you to risk your neck,” I said. “But if you would collect the clothing from the women’s temple and deliver it to our men, it would be a kindness.”
Eyahue cackled and rubbed his hands together. “Easily done! I’m always glad to pay a visit to the Maidens of the Sun.”
That left Temilotzin.
He was not so hard to find. Lord Pachacuti’s most trusted warriors were housed in the palace—and the Jaguar Knight was more trusted than most. I found Temilotzin and asked him what I must. For a mercy, I found him alone, and did not need to dissemble for the sake of onlookers.
He laughed deep in his chest. “You wish me to fetch your fellows to the temple? That is all?”
“Aye.” I hesitated, mindful of the fact that I was asking Temilotzin to risk his neck. “It’s a dangerous favor to grant. If we fail on the morrow, Raphael… Lord Pachacuti… will learn that you betrayed him.”
“Little warrior,” Temilotzin said fondly, laying one hand on my shoulder. “I will do as you ask. If you fail, I will do my best to kill Lord Pachacuti myself before he learns of my betrayal.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He shrugged. “Prince Manco and the Quechua who place their faith in him are fools. No man should possess such power. Lord Pachacuti will not be content with Tawantinsuyo. Sooner or later, if he is not stopped, his gaze will turn to the Nahuatl Empire.”
“You’re a wise man, Temilotzin,” I said.
The Jaguar Knight smiled wryly. “Unlike the Quechua, the Nahuatl have had years to learn to distrust the ambitions of the strangers from across the sea. It is a pity, for this Raphael was not like the others, those men of Aragonia. He taught our ticitls how to stave off the spotted sickness that kills.” He touched a finger to his temple. “But I think since then he has become sick himself, and there is no cure for it but death.”
“I fear you’re right,” I murmured.
Temilotzin nodded. “I will pray for you.”
Taking my leave of him, I made my way to the Temple of the Ancestors. Outside the edifice, there were vendors selling flowers. Many of them were unfamiliar to me, but I was pleased to see garlands of orange and gold marigolds. It seemed a hopeful omen, reminding me of the field I’d caused to blossom in Bhaktipur.
Whether through careless magnanimity or simple carelessness, save for my bow and quiver, Raphael had not taken my personal possessions from me. The value of those few items I had to trade was vastly in excess of the value of the flowers, but there was no point in being stingy at such a time.
The Quechua vendor stared in disbelief when I asked to trade a gold armband that had been one of Emperor Achcuatli’s gifts for his stock of marigold garlands, but he swiftly agreed before the foolish foreign woman could change her mind. He and his assistant helped me carry them into the temple.
My chest tightened again as I entered the place in which Cusi intended to offer up her life.
It was an imposing, somber space. On one wall was the familiar sun-disk emblem depicting the god Inti. Before it stood an altar on which the headdress of the Sapa Inca rested, waiting for Raphael to lay claim to it. But it was the other end of the temple that made my breath catch in my throat.
The preserved remains of eight previous Quechua emperors were seated in a gallery. The bodies themselves were tightly wrapped in dingy cerements that clung to their ancient bones, the flesh beneath long since wasted away, but they had been lovingly dressed in fine garments of brightly dyed wool and adorned with gold jewelry and head-pieces, feather mantles laid over their shoulders. War-clubs inlaid with precious stones rested in the crooks of their arms, and flowers were heaped at their feet, in their laps, around their necks.
It was terrible… and strangely beautiful.
There were other Quechua making offerings, although not as many as I might have expected. I wondered if it was because the Sapa Inca Yupanqui had not yet been embalmed and joined the ranks of the ancestors, or because Lord Pachacuti the Earth-Shaker had overturned the order of their world.
Following their lead, I gathered an armload of garlands and ascended the stairway that bisected the gallery. I could not help but avert my gaze from the apex of the stairs, the highest place in the temple. If all went according to plan, that was where it was to be done.
Instead, I made myself gaze at the faces of the ancestors themselves as I turned into the gallery. They were sunken and featureless beneath their wrappings, but for all of that, they possessed a strange dignity. The walls behind them were carved with elaborate depictions of Quechua deities.
One by one, I greeted the ancestors, laying garlands around their necks, piling them in their laps.
“Forgive me, my lords,” I whispered. “I am one who has brought this scourge to your people. Although I have no right to ask, I beg you to aid them in their time of need. For their sake, and the sake of the world.”
Over and over, I repeated my offering and my prayer until my arms were empty.
The dead kept their silence.