—except those could not be stars, could they, because those were invisible to Bess’s limited vision. Bess gripped Amaya’s arm in sudden fear. “What is that?” she asked. “It cannot be—”
“It is they,” Amaya said. “The Spanish.”
Chapter 33
In which the jaguar warriors return
Bess squinted, trying to bring the specks of light—campfires, and there were so terribly many of them—better into focus. “How did they catch us so quickly?” she asked, feeling faint from something other than the climb.
Amaya, nearly invisible in the darkness before moonrise, shrugged. “They run too,” she suggested. “Run fast, run long.”
“Then we cannot afford to stop for the night. Nosotros viajar por la noche.”
“No. We sleep.” Amaya guided Bess away from the cliff’s edge. “Run soon.”
Bess cast one last glance at the distant campfires, then swept away as many of the loose pebbles as she could and settled in to sleep. For the first time, she wished she had a blanket to pad the hard ground. She would be unable to sleep tonight. She wriggled into a better position and closed her eyes. Perhaps she should tell Mr. Quinn…but it was late, and possibly he was abed, and in any case she knew little more than she had that afternoon. She yawned. It is the comfort of his Voice you crave, she told herself, and then she was asleep.
For once, she woke before Amaya. The sky was still night-dark, and the moon had set. Bess carefully found the lip of the ledge and looked for the campfires, but saw nothing. Her heart gave one painful thump. Suppose they had moved on already? No, it was simply that her eyes were not good enough to perceive banked campfires at more than a mile’s distance.
She turned to find Amaya just sitting up. “We go,” Amaya said. “Fast.”
“Indeed,” Bess agreed.
They half-climbed, half-slid back down the slope and then took off running eastward. This time, Bess was certain she had never run so fast. The sun rose, sending color bleeding back into the landscape that flashed past Bess too quickly for her to admire it. Her breath came and went heavily in her chest, her legs burned with exertion, sharp pains stabbed through her feet like constant pinpricks, and her throat was dry from breathing through her mouth. She no longer knew where they were at all; if Amaya disappeared, Bess would be hopelessly lost. Her spectacles slid and bounced on her nose until finally she removed them and held them clutched in one hand as she ran. Amaya’s treatment did more for her vision than they did.
Her Spoken communications with her reticulum were perfunctory that day, as Bess’s anxieties grew and her ability to run and Speak simultaneously dwindled. She also grew weary of repeating the same information: still running, no one has caught us, we have not reached the Inca city. It was not that she resented her friends, but rather that she felt she was letting them down in not having anything more satisfying to relay. They, for their part, seemed reluctant to share their activities with her, as if their lives paled into frivolity beside the seriousness of Bess’s experience.
They stopped for a few minutes before noon to eat, though Bess was too anxious to taste her food. She watched the horizon to the west, expecting at any moment blue and red Spanish soldiers to pour over the hills into the valley through which they ran. Amaya knelt beside the narrow river that threaded through it, only just too wide for Bess to be able to jump, and drank her fill, gesturing to Bess to do the same. “Need water,” she said, “is more need than food.”
Bess drank, and wished she were in a mood to appreciate it. The mountain rivers were sweet and cold and normally tasted better than the best water available in England. She wiped her mouth with a corner of her bedraggled skirt and asked, “How much farther? ¿Cuánto más lejos?”
Amaya looked off toward the east and shrugged. “Hours,” she said. “Before is sun gone.”
Bess cast one last glance westward, then followed Amaya east.
They were definitely climbing now, their pace slowing as they ascended scrub-covered hills that smelled dry and dusty. It was hard to imagine anything growing here, yet thick tufts of spiny grass dotted even the steepest hillsides, and soft green plants marked both sides of the river. Bess hated to leave it behind, not least because she immediately became thirsty once it had disappeared into distance, but also because it was a landmark even she could see. They crested yet another rise, and Bess’s heart sank when beyond it she saw nothing but more grey and black mountains, more dry, beige hills.
Amaya stopped and grabbed Bess’s shoulder, bringing her to a stop as well. “Not alone,” she said in a low voice.
Bess turned and looked behind them. The Spanish soldiers would be vividly visible in their bright uniforms, but she saw no one. “They have not caught us,” she said in the same low voice.
“Not Spanish. Guerreros jaguar.” Amaya squeezed Bess’s shoulder, urging her forward, but at a slower pace. Bess strained to see movement, which was all the warning she with her still-limited vision would have. She inhaled deeply, remembering the rank, musty odor she had smelled outside Lima and praying the wind would be in their favor.
But it was her ears that alerted her. She heard a rushing, scrambling sound as of footsteps through undergrowth, turned, and barely gathered her wits in time to send a blast of mental Speech into the mind of the jaguar warrior who leaped at her. It was not in time to avoid the woman falling on her, knocking her to the ground, and although the jaguar warrior did not attack, Bess had the wind knocked out of her and lay helpless for a moment. She heard more of them coming, heard one shriek in pain, and then Amaya called out something in the Inca language that sounded defiant.
Bess rolled to her knees and half-crawled, half-ran to Amaya’s side, stopping a short distance from her to give her room to maneuver. Amaya was on her feet in a warrior’s crouch, her claws extended, facing down three jaguar warriors clad in loincloths and leather straps. She repeated her words. The warriors, by contrast, stood as if uncertain, and even to Bess’s untrained eyes they did not appear to be about to strike. One bled from five long scratches down his chest. The four stood like that for several moments while the wind whistled around them. Then the middle warrior took a step back and nodded, and Amaya relaxed fractionally.
“I say I fight Cuyuchi,” she said to Bess, and gestured to her to follow. Bess eyed the warriors, but they did not appear to be about to attack, instead turning their backs on Amaya and Bess to help the warrior Bess had incapacitated. From the glances they directed at Bess, she thought they might actually be afraid of her. Good. That made her that much less helpless.
Amaya said something else to the warriors that made them start talking very rapidly amongst themselves. “I say Spanish come,” Amaya murmured. “They no believe. But we go fast too.”
Two of the warriors lifted the fallen one between them, and they set off eastward again. The pace was far too slow for Bess’s comfort, and knowing it was her fault the woman was injured made Bess even more impatient. It is not my fault, she would have killed me, she told herself irritably.
Miss Hanley! Who would have killed you? Are you in danger?
It no longer surprised her that she might inadvertently reach out to the man she loved in moments of distress. I beg your pardon, I should not have Spoken that, she Spoke, and I did not intend to frighten you. We have encountered the jaguar warriors and I was forced to defend myself. But now she must be carried, and we are going so slowly I believe I might scream.
How can you defend yourself? You are no fighter.
Have you never heard? An Extraordinary Speaker can direct a burst of Speech at someone, or at several people in direst need. It incapacitates the person for a time. It is rather like having a shrill horn sound in one’s ear, only it fills the entire body with pain.
Astonishing. But if you are carrying the woman you attacked, that suggests you have come to an accord.
Amaya told them she intends to challenge Uturunku, and it seems that challenge is respected. They will not attack us until it
is resolved.
That means, if Amaya is unsuccessful, you will be surrounded by enemies intent on your death. Forgive me if I begin to question our plan.
I am able to incapacitate a large number of enemies if I must. If the worst happens, I will make my escape. And I trust Amaya’s sense of her own abilities. Even so, we are close to the end, and I am trying to maintain my calm.
I will—damn!
Startled, Bess said, Whatever is the matter?
I must leave you. I apologize for my language, but I—
The connection ended as abruptly as it had begun, fraying and shriveling instantly. Bess tried not to feel bereft. She instead chose to indulge her curiosity. It was entertaining to suppose him a secret government agent, or a military commander—but Mr. Addison was no military man, and if he were a secret government agent, he would likely not stay at his country estate as long or as often as he did. More mysteries. She had been eager for excitement, so she should not complain when it found her.
They had reached a hill and begun to climb. To Bess’s surprise, stones placed into the steep hillside formed a staircase that made the climb easier, though she still used her hands at times to assist herself. After only a few steps, her toes recognized where she was: the stone steps leading down from the Inca city plaza. Her heart sped up. So close. Now Amaya had only to defeat Uturunku, and…well, then so much else must happen, including convincing the Sapa Inca of the dire necessity for fleeing the city. But Bess felt equal only to facing one thing at a time.
She was breathing heavily despite her improved lungs when she reached the top of the stairs. The jaguar warriors were setting down the woman Bess had blasted, who appeared able to walk again, if unsteadily. She shot Bess a look of fear, and Bess gazed coolly back. That is right, I only look like a helpless target, she Spoke to the woman. Obviously the warrior did not understand Bess’s words, but her dark face blanched, and she scampered away, using her hands to support her in her awkward, four-legged run. The other warriors walked ahead of Amaya through a gap in the wall before them.
Bess had never seen the plaza so clearly, and she looked about with interest despite their precarious situation. She still could not see to the far end, where the gate opened on the path to the palace, but there were several dark doorways in the wall, and the smell of roasted vegetables and maize emanated from several. Suppertime.
Bess glanced over her shoulder at the setting sun. If they had made up enough ground, they might be far enough ahead of the Spanish that Mendoza’s troops would make camp for the night. A frisson of unease passed over her—suppose the jaguar warriors came upon the Spanish at night, and decimated them?—but she reminded herself that she had no control over what happened when the Incas and the Spanish came to blows, and decided to reserve her worry for things that directly affected her.
Men and women engaged in crossing the plaza had all stopped as Bess and Amaya and their “escort” entered. The nearest pair of women clutched each other’s hands as if for mutual support. Then, almost casually, those people all drifted to the edges of the plaza without disappearing through the doors. Two of the jaguar warriors ran off across the plaza toward the mountain; the remaining one ran away eastward, to a gap in the wall similar to the one they had entered by. Bess took a step closer to Amaya. “What happens now?”
“They call to see,” Amaya said. “Everyone sees. I fight, I win.”
Bess hoped Amaya’s confidence was not misplaced. More people emerged from the doorways, all of them silent as ghosts. Bess looked for Quispe and Inkasisa, but they were all too far away to be more than blurs even to her enhanced vision.
A flash of gold in the distance drew Bess’s attention. Through the gate to the palace came a familiar litter bearing a throne that caught the light of the setting sun and magnified it until it appeared to be on fire. Bess watched the Sapa Inca’s approach and relaxed her fists, which were clenched tightly enough that her nails dug into her palms. A whiff of the same incense she had once smelled in the Sapa Inca’s throne room came to her nose, carried by a breeze that brushed her cheeks, and was followed by the scent of cooking meat. She was too anxious for the smell to rouse her hunger.
She watched the throne approach until it was several dozen yards away and still blurry, outside the range of Amaya’s alteration. The bearers set the litter down and knelt in reverent positions that to Bess made them appear to be strangely carved stones.
Sweeping movement on all sides drew Bess’s attention from the throne. Everyone in the plaza had knelt facing the Sapa Inca, most of them flat on their faces with their hands outstretched. Bess did not know how they could watch Amaya and Uturunku fight if they had their faces pressed into the filthy stone. Her hands were clenched again. She wiped her damp palms on her skirt.
Then dark, lithe figures began pouring into the plaza from all sides except that of the mountain and the palace. Jaguar warriors took places all around the edge of the plaza in a lopsided semicircle facing the Sapa Inca, standing within the circle made by the kneeling Incas as if those men and women were praying to them. They took no notice of the kneeling figures, but Bess saw that they were careful not to step on anyone.
She glanced back at the throne and saw that more people, these dressed in bright robes, had joined the Sapa Inca and stood watching the assembly. One of them had paler hair than the others and might be Achik. Bess had almost forgotten about the Seer. He might be as much an obstacle as Uturunku. Again, a worry for later.
Amaya suddenly stripped off her satchel and her blouse with no shred of embarrassment and pressed them into Bess’s hands. “It is good,” she said, smiling in reassurance. She turned and walked toward the center of what would have been a circle of jaguar warriors had they not left the Sapa Inca plenty of space. No one spoke. The only sound was that of the evening wind rising to whistle through the gaps in the wall and the cry of a lonely bird seeking its mate. Bess made herself breathe slowly and calmly. She eyed the warriors to either side of her, assessing her chances if she had to turn her Speech on them. She was no gambler, but she knew bad odds when she saw them.
Ahead, another figure approached Amaya, sunlight gleaming off his bald head. Uturunku. He and Amaya met, and Bess heard snatches of speech and caught a glimpse of thought; it was likely Uturunku’s, because it was of Amaya lying dead at his feet. Bess tried not to see it as an ill omen.
Then, to her surprise, they turned their backs on each other and paced toward the sides of the semicircle until they reached the lines of jaguar warriors standing motionless and silent there. A smaller figure, though one still clearly a warrior, ran from the massed ranks toward the throne and stopped before one of the brightly robed figures. That person handed the…child?…a couple of small, straight rods, and the young warrior nodded and ran back to the center of the circle. He, or she, bent and wedged the rods between the stones of the plaza, then stood and ran back to merge with the crowd of warriors. Bess squinted. Not rods; knives, but black, without a hint of steel to catch the fading light.
Bess looked for Amaya. She was balanced on the balls of her feet in preparation to break into a run, and her long hair in its tail fluttered like a flag in the wind. Bess could not see her face clearly. She closed her eyes and prayed, Dear God, protect her.
Someone shouted, a short, single syllable. Bess opened her eyes to see Amaya and Uturunku leap from where they stood and sprint toward the knives in an all-out run.
Chapter 34
In which blood is shed, and an emperor makes a critical decision
A roar went up from the assembled crowd. Bess shrieked in mingled excitement and fear. She had run with Amaya across the mountains of Peru, but it was clear now Amaya had been holding back. She and Uturunku moved like cats, their bare feet barely slapping the paving stones. Amaya was faster by half a breath. She snatched up one of the knives and with a deft kick sent the other flying away from Uturunku’s reaching fingers. Uturunku converted his dive into a roll and dodged Amaya’s first swipe with the
knife. The crowd moved forward a few steps in eagerness, Bess among them, but a cry from the Sapa Inca, whose beautiful voice Bess recognized, stopped them in their tracks.
Amaya held the knife in her left hand. The claws of her right hand were fully extended. She and Uturunku circled each other, and Bess had just realized Amaya was maneuvering so the rays of the setting sun would catch Uturunku in the face when Uturunku lunged, bringing his own claws up and slashing at Amaya’s face.
Amaya jerked back out of his reach, then sidestepped as his other hand came around aimed at her belly. She drove in hard with her shoulder, bearing down on him, knocking him off balance, then swung the knife at his throat. Uturunku moved faster than Bess had believed possible, springing backward in a move Bess had seen Amaya use, then flipping backward again and rolling to come up with the other knife.
Now they circled each other, knives held high in left hands, clawed right hands curved and low. The crowd shifted sideways, taking Bess with it, but did not move forward again. Amaya and Uturunku faced off against each other, neither wanting to be the first to move, both looking for an opening.
Then they launched themselves at each other, colliding in a blur of motion, black knives clashing and clawed right hands clasped as if they intended to settle the fight with arm wrestling. Bess had watched her brothers do this in play and been impressed by how the stored-up energy quivered in their taut arms. This was a thousand times more intense. Blood flowed down both Amaya’s and Uturunku’s right arms as their claws gouged each other. Then Uturunku twisted, got Amaya’s left shoulder beneath him, and bore her to the ground.
Whispering Twilight Page 35