The Light of Machu Picchu

by [Incas 03] The Light of Machu Picchu (retail) (epub)

  Gabriel covered his mouth and nose, stepping back despite himself as he did so. But now the old women crowded around him. Some grabbed his hands, his arms or even his neck, others took hold of the folds of his long tunic. They led him to the center of the room, moving as a large, single body. The harsh smoke eddied around them. It irritated Gabriel’s eyes, but he nevertheless watched the women’s grotesque reflections in the silver disk as they began chanting:

  O Mama Quilla, hold us tight,

  O Moon-Mother, embrace us!

  The senior priestess stoked the embers in the braziers and only then did Gabriel realize that the devices were shaped like roaring pumas. She threw more coca leaves onto them, followed by some small plant roots. Their smell as they burned was very strong, something like incense, and it overwhelmed all the others. But the smoke the roots gave off irritated Gabriel’s eyes even more, so that tears formed beneath his eyelids. The women tightened their grip on him and began swaying from side to side, leading him so firmly along in their dance that he felt like a doll in their hands. They sang plaintively:

  O Moon-Mother,

  In the World Above,

  In the Under World,

  Embrace us,

  The senior priestess broke away and stood to face them. She raised her right hand and touched the silver disk. Their distorted images in it moved with increasing frenzy. She picked up a jug of chicha. Still swaying, she tilted it forward and spilt the bitter liquid all around, even on the embers in the braziers, and chanted:

  O Quilla, drink for us!

  O sweet Mother, drink for him!

  The air in the room had become quite unbreathable. Gabriel gasped for air, his mouth wide open, tears rolling from his smarting eyes. He felt as though there was sand grinding under his eyelids. He wanted to rub them to stop the burning, but the old women holding on to him never gave him the chance. He could barely see the senior priestess placing the resplendent cumbis woven by the temple virgins on the braziers, the fabric’s bright colors reflecting for an instant in the silver disk.

  The smoke died down for a brief moment before coming back twice as thick, heavy and black. The old women’s swaying grew increasingly frenzied.

  The cumbis on the braziers twisted as they burned, their delicate wool fibers dematerializing into tiny green and blue flames that consumed their ornate geometric designs. Their beautiful colors crackled and flared. One after the other, the bolts of fabric in the braziers turned to ash. Gabriel felt the smoke fill his mouth like some abrasive paste and burn his throat and lungs. Each breath he took required enormous effort. He clenched his fingers on the women’s shoulders, and they bore him up with amazing strength, considering their great age, never once ceasing their chant.

  Gabriel opened his eyes with great difficulty, but he could barely see the silver disk or the senior priestess through the smoke. He felt choked and nauseated but the old women held him ever tighter.

  And then, suddenly, they fell silent and stopped swaying.

  He watched the smoke dance in front of Quilla’s silver disk. The smoke rose up in coils of various colors. One whorl was pure white, another yellow, another brown, almost black. Some were gray at the bottom, green in the middle and red at the top. They danced haphazardly to and fro. The heavy smoke near the top of the room twisted back down toward a thick, smooth, rising bank of vapor, then drifted up again before dispersing into diaphanous strands, their mottled tints mingling together. Opaque wisps spiraled up against the silver disk as though trying to bore a hole through it.

  The room was dark and menacing: its walls seemed to be closing in on them like a giant fist squeezing shut. Gabriel felt his throat constrict, as though he was being strangled. All the muscles in his legs, his back and his shoulders suddenly felt so heavy and simultaneously so weak that he could barely stand. His heart beat as though it was trying to burst out of his chest. He kept his eyes open despite the pain, and he thought he glimpsed a face in the silver disk. But a moment later there was nothing, and he was convinced that he was about to die. He saw blood flooding his eyes and mouth. He saw himself falling into the abyss.

  Unable to cry out, Gabriel tore himself away from the hands holding him. He pushed the old women aside, flinging them to the ground, and rushed at the gap in the wall and so out of the room. He scraped his palms and forehead as he moved too quickly through the narrow passage, bolting toward the temple’s exit. Gasping for air, he emerged into the cold, bright morning.

  * * *

  Gabriel lay recovering on the temple’s grass-covered walkway.

  When he eventually looked up, he saw the oldest of the priestesses standing a few paces away. A gaggle of young girls stood behind her, in front of the Temple’s doors. They were all, oddly enough, smiling and laughing, and the old priestess, her grin broad and toothless, uttered a high-pitched laugh.

  ‘I warned you, golden-haired Stranger!’ she guffawed. ‘I told you that you wouldn’t be able to take the Smoke of the Encounter! Only very old men and women can stand it and travel into the silver disk.’

  Gabriel ran his hands over his throbbing head. He sat up and glared at the woman.

  ‘Well, maybe I failed the test,’ he grumbled, ‘or maybe it’s you who can’t produce the Smoke of the Encounter?’

  The very old woman laughed again. But this time her laugh was as short as it was dry.

  ‘Your words are nothing more than a ripple on the lake,’ she flung back at him, her tone serious now. ‘You asked me to take you through the smoke to the Coya Camaquen; I told you that you wouldn’t make it. Thrice you’ve tried, and thrice you’ve failed.’

  ‘Maybe the Coya Camaquen can’t hear me. Maybe she’s gone to the Other World.’

  The old priestess grimaced contemptuously as Gabriel voiced his fear.

  ‘You are arrogant, golden-haired Stranger. You cannot stand the smoke, so you pretend to know what Quilla’s silence signifies better than I do! Know that had She wanted to, She would have drawn your last breath from you in there. Quilla’s domain has always been denied to men still in their prime. It has been thus since the dawn of time! And yet the pachacuti has begun building, and our Mother the Moon needs you.’

  Gabriel shrugged. He turned aside from the old woman and her criticisms and walked away, taking off his long tunic as quickly as he could. But the priestess ran after him, grabbed his wrist, and commanded:

  ‘No! You cannot leave like this. You must serve Quilla until She has forgiven you your impiety.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The woman said nothing, but simply pointed at the young girls.

  ‘Follow the daughters of the Moon and do everything that they ask you.’

  ‘No,’ protested Gabriel. ‘I’ve had enough of this stupidity for today!’

  ‘Follow them,’ repeated the priestess, not releasing his hand. ‘It is Quilla’s will. She will answer all your questions.’

  * * *

  ‘Apinguela! Apinguela!’ cried the young girl in the prow.

  ‘Apinguela! Apinguela!’ chorused the twenty young women in the boat, pointing at a gentle-sloped little island, very low in the water.

  Gabriel stood up awkwardly to see what they were pointing at. He took hold of the long reed-vessel’s mast. But the craft’s motion on the small choppy waves forced him to sit down again. His useless effort was met with a teasing laugh. The women began chanting fervently:

  The Sun,

  The Moon,

  Day and night,

  Spring and winter,

  Stone and mountains,

  Corn and cantuta.

  O Quilla,

  You are the milk and the seed,

  You open your legs

  To receive the passion of the night,

  O Quilla, it is Your will that

  He who leaves Titicaca

  Is already on the path home.

  The wind blew from the south and filled the strange-looking sail made of tightly braided totora, a fine and supple reed. It wa
s almost as efficient as a Spanish canvas sail. The hull was made of the same material, bundled together in large bunches on which the young women lay. The vessel had no keel, no rudder, and no oar, and it moved forward by fits and starts, steered only by the set of the sail and with long poles where the lake was shallow enough. It took them almost an entire day to reach the little island that the Daughters of the Moon called Apinguela. And not once throughout the day did they stop their laughing and singing.

  Gabriel was the only man aboard. For hours, he had been the focus of their attention and the butt of their jokes. But not one of his shipmates would give him a straight answer when he pestered them with: ‘Where are we going? To do what? What does Quilla want with me?’

  ‘You’ll see, you’ll see,’ they replied, chuckling. ‘Mama Quilla is thinking only of your happiness!’

  Nor had they allowed him to help steer the craft. They stuffed him with chicha and fruits of the jungle. His belly full and his senses dulled by the sun beating down like a white flame on the lake, he had fallen asleep for the better part of the day, only to wake with his heart in his mouth.

  The wind now carried evening’s coolness to them, and the shadows of the rocks on the little island’s approaching shore were long in the light of the setting sun. All the women were silent now. The only sounds were those of the creaking rigging on the mast and the reed hull cutting through the waves. The Daughters’ expressions were taut, serious, watchful.

  Gabriel, surprised, stood up again. He ran his gaze over the island shore, looking for some sign of life or some boat coming to meet them. But there was nothing on the island’s slopes except jumbled slabs of rock from the cracks of which grew tufts of ichu or bushes stunted by the wind.

  ‘Apinguela!’ cried the girl in the bow again.

  The girl closest to Gabriel pointed to the island’s eastern point.

  ‘There,’ she said quietly, pointing at a shadow bigger than the others on the face of one of the rocks where it rose from the lake. ‘Apinguela! Our Mother the Moon’s womb is open.’

  Gabriel made out a yawning cave at the water’s edge. In the rock was a giant fissure that led into the island’s heart.

  * * *

  The Daughters of the Moon began busying themselves even before they entered the cave. While some dropped the sail, others began steering the vessel with long poles. Still others took out some glowing embers that they had brought along in a clay bowl and with them lit a dozen torches. In the middle of the craft, meanwhile, four women removed the cumbis that were wrapped around a stone urn and fifteen gold figurines of llamas and small-breasted women, their arms held across their breasts.

  As the barque slipped through the huge crevice, Gabriel felt a warm breeze coming out of the cave. The flames on the torches flickered for a moment, and then they were in. The air in the cavern’s interior was still and warm. The cave’s walls, from the waterline to the top of the natural vault, were smooth and covered with a thin layer of moss. The water was perfectly still, without a single ripple on its surface, and was so clear that they could make out the shallow lake bottom by torchlight alone.

  All the women were standing in silence and facing forward.

  Gabriel tried to stand too but a number of firm hands forced him back down.

  The large craft moved deeper into the cave, the women pushing it along with their poles. They reached a point where the cave split into two shadowy passageways. The Daughters of the Moon took the one on the left, which was larger and which grew suddenly deeper so that the bottom of the inlet could no longer be seen through the emerald water.

  The unexplained heat grew more intense here. Sweat beaded on Gabriel’s forehead and streamed down his spine. The passageway grew narrower, and the rounded edges of the totora vessel squeaked quietly against the moss.

  They went a further eighty codos or so, then stopped. Gabriel was stunned to see an enormous silver disk, at least as large as the one in the Room of Sacrifices in the Temple of the Moon, blocking their way.

  The women silently placed their torches in holders carved into the mossy walls. They began chanting quietly again.

  Then everything happened so quickly that Gabriel had no time to protest or even to understand what was going on.

  In no time at all, the youngest of the Daughters of the Moon whipped off their clothes and dived into the water. Then those still on the vessel undressed too. Gabriel, embarrassed, sat up and leaned against the wall of the cave. He wanted to look away, but the women, instead of being abashed, came over to him and removed his tunic, then went on to tear off his shirt and yank down his breeches.

  ‘Holà!’ he cried, trying to push them away. ‘What are you doing?’

  His voice echoed loudly through the cave. The silver disk seemed to tremble. But he was answered only with laughter. The women were more forceful now, and tore away his underclothes. Then, because he was still resisting, they bound his wrists together with a thin but strong-fibered rope.

  ‘God’s blood – you’re all mad!’ cried Gabriel, his voice again reverberating in the confines of the cave.

  Yet his shock, his embarrassment at his nakedness, and the chicha-induced intoxication still throbbing through his head made his resistance as futile as that of a newborn babe.

  As he clumsily tried to free himself from the rope binding his hands, the women deftly tied its other end around the stone urn’s long, chiseled neck.

  Gabriel saw two Daughters of the Moon lift it up and realized, too late, that they intended to throw it overboard.

  The urn went over the side of the boat with a splash. Gabriel made one last-ditch effort to hold it back but the rope cut deeply into his wrists. He gave a furious, desperate cry as he was yanked over the side behind it. He had just enough time to take one last gulp of air before his face slapped against the water and he was dragged under.

  * * *

  Gabriel was surprised to find the water as warm as the air in the cave. The further down he went, the hotter it became. His descent was short, a few fathoms at most. He touched the rocky bottom with his fingers and looked up through the clear water to see the light of the torches reflected on the surface. But they seemed completely out of reach.

  He tried again to untie his hands, but in vain. And then all the Daughters of the Moon appeared around him, swimming like mermaids. Some were holding the little gold figurines, which glinted in the water like fish scales.

  Gabriel’s lungs were running out of air. His chest felt as though it was burning, and he began to panic.

  The women continued darting around him, brushing past him, stroking him, touching him. He wanted to cry out for them to release him. But the women just carried on dancing around him, their underwater ballet becoming slower and slower. He saw them lift the cover off the urn and put their statues into it.

  His temples were pounding furiously, and the fire in his lungs now spread throughout his body, surging through his muscles as though his blood was boiling. The sensation of drowning dulled his senses. He thought he could still feel the Daughters stroking his face, his buttocks, and his belly. He struggled and kicked, banging against them. But they simply pressed in closer to him. He felt their thighs and arms around him.

  Then something gave way.

  Gabriel stopped thinking about life or death. He felt a woman’s body against his, and he recognized Anamaya’s warmth. He surrendered.

  Immediately he felt relieved, transported, protected.

  He looked for his lost but never forgotten beloved’s face.

  But before he could find it, the tongue of fire licked the inside of his lungs once again. A raucous cry tore its way from his throat.

  His eyes closed as he realized that he was breathing once again.

  His naked skin slipped wetly against the girls’ arms and breasts as they passed him along to the vessel.

  Gabriel found that breathing gave him as much pain as being almost drowned had.

  I didn’t see her face, he thought, des
olate with grief.

  He shuddered and convulsed. His teeth chattered. He felt himself being wiped down, the women’s hands stroking him and making the blood flow again through his veins. When he opened his eyes, his vision was blurred by tears of emotion. But he could see the Daughters of the Moon smiling down at him.

  ‘I didn’t see her face,’ he murmured.

  ‘Mama Quilla only reveals herself when she deems it fit,’ replied one of the women gently.

  ‘Not Quilla’s face,’ Gabriel protested. ‘Anamaya’s!’

  ‘Quilla is every face,’ said another woman.

  At last, warmth returned to his body, thanks to the women’s caresses.

  He made a final effort to conjure up a mental image of Anamaya, to gather together all her features in his mind’s eye. He wanted desperately to make her real enough to touch with his fingers.

  But his attempts were in vain.

  All he could feel were the insistent caresses of the Daughters of the Moon on his body, and the light touch of their lips as they moved across his flesh, seeking to pleasure him. He felt their fingers tightening around his erection, and without looking he knew that thighs were parting over his loins before being lowered onto his yearning manhood.

  Gabriel surrendered to their warmth, seeking solace for Anamaya’s absence.

  CHAPTER 20

  Vilcabamba, March 1539

  ‘Listen! Listen!’