“Come.” The woman beckoned her forward with a hand, but Nina remembered the mamakuna from the acllahuasi, and her animosity that seemed heightened specifically toward Nina. She wasn’t sure any of them could be trusted. As if sensing the root of her hesitation, the mamakuna added, “I will not harm you, child. Come closer so that I can fulfill the emperor’s request.”
Having no other choice, Nina met the woman in the center of the room, underneath a sharp beam of sunlight. The warmth was a much-needed reminder of home. Unexpected that she could find pockets of familiarity among such strangeness.
Up close, Nina could see the woman’s eyes weren’t black, like she had thought, but a color like the darkened ash that lies at the bottom of the hearth in her kitchen back home. “What you are about to witness is something that no other knows the truth of. Not even the emperor. It is a secret between those of us descended from Pachamama and Killa.” She held out her hand, palm up, and Nina thought she was meant to placehers in the mamakuna’s, but instead, a burst of flame shot up from the center of it.
Nina stumbled back out of instinct, filled with equal parts awe and terror.Ikara, her soul whispered.She is like me.
“There is a belief among the men of our land that the fire only presents itself for a girl who has remained untouched. I can see that you have,” the mamakuna said, her eyes glittering like two blocks of burning coal. “And I am sure you can see why this must remain between us.”
“Of course,” Nina breathed. She was entranced by the small fire. It burned in a perfectly contained spiral that tapered to a point at the top. The control it must have taken... Nina was envious. And tempted to ask how she could learn to wield her attay so delicately, but it blinked out of sight, plunging the mamakuna’s face back into shadows.
“Another one of us at the emperor’s side is an opportunity that cannot be mismanaged,” she said, but Nina wasn’t sure what she meant byanother one of us.Another woman? Another Ikara? What kind of opportunity? “Be sure to handle the position with care.” The mamakuna backed out of the sunlight and into the dark, the shape of her growing smaller and darker until she disappeared entirely, leaving Nina alone and with more questions than she came in with.
Behind her, the golden sarcophagi shone obnoxiously, like small suns set against the night sky. From a near distance, she could hear the sounds of the people of the kancha going about their daily lives.
And within her, Nina’s power swirled like the gentle forming of an eddy. A flicker of recognition. A glimpse into the darkness. A reminder of her greatest desire to be free.
34
Nina was distant when she came out of the temple, eyes unfocused as she walked beside Kasik through the kancha grounds. There were walla and attendants everywhere, all of them eyes and ears for the emperor or Kasik’s tayta. Kasik couldn’t ask her what had happened inside Qorikancha or what she was thinking. He couldn’t share the secret that was eating him up inside. It was torture walking beside her knowing that every single step he took in silence was a betrayal.
Whereas he was laden with worry, Nina’s steps were buoyant and hurried. She didn’t know where she was going, but it didn’t seem to matter. Kasik quickened his pace to keep up.
The path they walked was a bright tan stone, and smoother than even the emperor’s road. On either side of them were small buildings where the attendants lived, and larger houses for esteemed guests. To the right, a short wall bordered a ring of bright green grass that was the training grounds, and beside it were the kallankas, crude in their design but no less impressive, that housed the walla.
Kasik missed training with Samaq. A part of him also missed training with Maicu, though those sessions were more of a lesson in restraint. With Samaq, he could let go of the control he spent so much time crafting. His friend had always met him where he was at. Kasik felt a surge of guilt knowing he couldn’t do the same for Samaq. Wherever his friend was, he would have to face his troubles without Kasik. And Kasik would face his own alone.
Farther ahead were the steps that led to the main entrance of the kancha. And behind it, imposing and jagged and tipped with snow, setagainst a gloomy blue sky, was the Rimac mountain range. It was said that the higher one was, the closer to the gods they were, and many people took the risk of climbing those mountains to find them.
Kasik didn’t know if they found what they were looking for—most never came back—but he could appreciate the commitment and the unfailing belief. Something he had possessed not so long ago, but not anymore.
They ascended the stone steps and entered the kancha in silence. Nina’s attention was pinned to the tapestry as she walked by, but her steps didn’t slow. There seemed to be a kind of purpose within her that he had only seen on the road, and he couldn’t help but wonder what, exactly, it meant, and what kind of trouble it would invite.
Only when it was time to make a turn did Nina stop.
“This way,” Kasik said with a sweep of his hand. Instead of turning right as they would have to reach Nina’s room, Kasik veered left, traversing the winding halls by memory, eyes forward and focused on their destination. They passed the walls inlaid with gold, Nina’s hands reaching out to brush against them, eyes sparkling with something he could only describe as appreciation. Then the gold was abruptly gone, and so was Nina’s confidence as the halls became darker and colder and her pace slowed.
“This is the scholar’s wing,” Kasik explained. The walls were a dark stone that seemed to absorb whatever dim light the torches provided. As a child, he had hated walking down this hall, but as he had gotten older, he had come to crave the quiet and the cold and the peace he knew could be found at the end of it.
Their steps echoed in the narrow space. Kasik was forced to drop back and walk behind her so that their shoulders didn’t bump. He wasn’t sure he could handle the contact.
“Tell me about this tutor,” Nina said suddenly.
“Well,” Kasik started, “the man practically raised me. He’s been at the kancha his whole life, first as an apprentice and then as the royal scholar once his mentor died. Then he became my tutor, which I don’t think he was fond of at first. But I softened him, so you’re welcome for that.” Nina glanced over her shoulder, a torch they were passing casting her face in shadow so that he only just caught a glimpse of the hesitant smile she gave him. “He has a sharp mind and a loose tongue. I think you’ll like him.”
They finally reached a tall, narrow door at the end of the hall. “Ready?” Kasik asked, his hand over the handle, waiting for her to accept this on her own. Nina nodded, and he pushed through without knocking. “Master Wara,” he said brightly. “I have brought your next victim.”
The man was where he always was—behind a large desk hunched over rows of quipu. Letters from ayllu lords, petitions from commoners, missives from traveling soldiers, records of the Harvest. Master Wara saw it all, and Nina, who had likely never seen anything like this room, was frozen in the doorway, eyes wide and absorbing every detail of it.
The first time Kasik had been invited back was when he was seven years. The same age when he started weapons training. Kasik preferred the chaos of physical strength, of exertion over education, but it was Master Wara who instilled in him the importance of understanding words and holding them true. Man was nothing without words, without story, and Master Wara was filled with and surrounded by them.
The man pushed aside his task and stood, hands behind his back, as he watched Nina take in his small but grand room with a look of pride in his eyes. Nina stepped forward and reached out a hand to run through racks of quipu that hung from the walls. The threads swung soundlessly, and Kasik was reminded of the many days he had spentbent over a table, fingers sore from knotting and unknotting and learning the written language of their people.
“Are you familiar with quipu?” Master Wara asked.
Nina glanced at Kasik before she turned to Master Wara. “No,” she said, her voice steady. Kasik was seeing her as he had first seen her, cowed but not defeated, her shoulders rigid and her head held high. The gleam of determination in her eyes. “Our ayllu believes that stories and instruction are best told from the mouth.”
“You’re not wrong,” Master Wara said, coming to stand closer to Nina. “But with the expansion of the empire, physical means of communication became necessary. This is mostly official, of course, but there are some histories recorded as well.” He ran his fingers over a particularly dense set of strings. “I’ve noticed that each ayllu has its own story of how life began. You are from Limac, correct?”
