I admit I was flattered. ‘So, in broad terms, what is involved in the ritual of El— of the king-who-sees?’
‘Fasting and meditation, initially.’
Perhaps I had misunderstood after all. ‘You did mention gold . . .’ I was embarrassed to bring the subject up again.
‘Gold dust yes. It is needed for the final part, to gain true sight.’
‘But the ritual is not a way of procuring gold.’ I spoke sternly, to remind him of how little he had to bargain with.
To my surprise, he smiled. Apac Kunya has a severe, though not cruel, face but it changes when he smiles. I wanted to smile back. He said, ‘Not to make it fall from the sky, no. But to tell you where to find it. To become the king-who-sees is to know what is to come.’
Was he saying what I thought he was? ‘Such as?’
‘Anything the will is turned to.’ His smile became wry. ‘This power could be used, among other purposes, to locate hidden treasure. Or it could be used – was most commonly used, when we ruled – to see the future.’
At the time I dismissed his words, but since leaving him I have not been able to put them from my mind. The power of prediction would make moot the need for torture, would be a benefit above gold!
I may be being deceived, for this would not be the first time I have fallen for the lies of others. I have prayed for guidance without cease from leaving the prisoner until I took up my pen tonight. But I so want this to be true!
*
Storms are common in the mountains, though they do not always bring rain. Last night’s did, and this morning the world is fresh and new. Luisa’s step is light as she crosses the courtyard. Although she only came here to escape past mistakes, on a day like this she feels some love for this bleak and unforgiving land.
Halfway across the square of beaten earth she pauses, knowing she is watched. A sideways glance shows Corporal Moreno, lounging under the eaves. He is smiling at her. She hurries on, before he can call out. She gave him coin to smuggle out the letter to her lover, but gold is plentiful here and she could tell he wanted a different payment. Even in heavy skirts the swelling of her belly is becoming obvious, and he thinks her already fallen. Were it not for the iron hand of the garrison commander, she would be fair game. Under her breath she murmurs, ‘Holy Mother, protect me.’
Stepping into the relative safety of the kitchen block, she decides that all men are either self-serving bastards, like the soldiers, or weak fools, like her brother.
No, not all: she recalls the face of Eduardo de Salazar, and knows that one day they will be together again.
*
16 August 1541
The first steps, Apac Kunya claims, are simple. I must eat only certain foods, in limited quantities – a discipline I am used to already – and meditate. This latter skill I thought I had, but prayer, which we have already discussed at length, is not the same, he says: in prayer the mind is caught up in the words offered to Heaven, whilst in true meditation the mind is empty, and receptive. These last three days I have kept to the regime he suggests, and have tried to cultivate this un-minded meditation he recommends.
Is what I do a sin? This Heathen still refuses to accept Jesus as his saviour, for all he admires Our Lord’s teachings. Yet nothing I do – to fast, to meditate – goes against God’s word, and I have seen no sign from Above that I stray.
I have, I must confess, broken out the whip again, for the first time since Brother Pedro left. Such mortification fits with what Apac Kunya tells me of the rituals of an apprentice amautas, and I find it eases my soul even as it pains my body.
It is possible – nay, likely – that I am deluding myself, just as the prisoner’s people deluded themselves. I may know the true heart of this Heathen people through my efforts, but I doubt it will bring me the power he claims to have.
With that in mind I asked him today if, given his foresight, he knows whether my efforts will be rewarded. He has already admitted that the future is rarely a clear and certain path. The only event he has spoken of as fixed is his own death, which, he says, will come soon. Whilst I fear he may be correct, under the circumstances such an assertion requires no special powers to make.
He counselled patience, saying that as I have the aptitude, we must try.
Impatience got the better of me and I said, ‘This would be easier if I knew what I worked towards!’ We have no firm timetable, and Apac Kunya gives no assurances, only suggestions.
He bowed his head. ‘You wish a demonstration?’
‘Yes!’ Was he really offering to make a firm prediction, here and now?
For some moments, Apac Kunya sat very still, eyes downcast. He raised his gaze slowly, looking past me to the rush light. I tried to dismiss my unease at his blank gaze by remembering the tricks of gypsy charlatans back in the town fairs at home. But I do not believe this man is a charlatan. Or perhaps, I do not want to believe it.
Finally he spoke, as though making a casual observation. ‘Do not be here this time tomorrow.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘At this hour,’ he frowned, then said, ‘no, a little earlier: half way between noon and sunset. At that time, you should stand outside, in the courtyard, alone.’
I crossed my arms. ‘Why, pray?’ These were the words of a tinker who told fortunes, not a great scholar with unknown powers.
‘That is all I can know, in here.’ His gaze, clear again now, took in his cell.
‘Is that so?’ I said, getting up to go.
He nodded, not looking happy.
I fear I may have been fooled after all.
*
Luisa is surprised when her brother emerges from the cell block in the middle of the afternoon. These days he spends every hour of daylight with the savage. He starts when he sees her sitting by the well but she will not move. The soldiers are out on exercise, the day is fine but cool and she is at peace.
Gabriel hesitates under the portico, then comes towards her. His expression is odd; perhaps he wishes to talk.
She stands, and as she does so feels her son kick, hard enough to make her bend like a reed. Suddenly the earth kicks back, and she is falling. She reaches for support, but there is none. The air is still and silent but beneath her the ground bucks and heaves. She stumbles in panic, hearing Gabriel shout something about the well. She looks over her shoulder to see the stone she had been sitting on shift, tip and disappear. She can no longer stand, and drops to her knees, too numb with terror to form a prayer.
The shaking lessens, and she comes to her senses enough to cry out, ‘Jesu save us!’
Finally the jolts become tremors, and then cease.
Before she can find strength to move, her brother’s arms are around her, supporting her.
‘It’s all right, Lui, everything will be all right.’ Distant cries and crashes sound as the rest of the garrison feels the after-effects of the tremor.
He has not called her Lui in years, has not spoken like that since they left Spain. All at once she is back in the family home, and when Gabriel says ‘Don’t cry,’ she hears his younger, softer voice, speaking in the darkness, after Father had come to her. With his wife dead, she is all he has, he says . . . she jerks upright, pushing her brother away.
‘Lui?’
But the long-buried memory has awoken, and she cannot stand to be touched. She stands. ‘Leave me alone! I cannot bear it . . .’
‘Can’t bear what, Lui? It’s all right, really it is. That was an earthquake, but a miracle too, you won’t believe what has happened! I was told of this, well not in so many words but told nonetheless . . .’
She looks at him through her tears. He is invigorated, excited: oblivious. Always, there is some piece of knowledge, some idea, that blinds him to the truth that stares him in the face! She cuts through his prattling flow: ‘Why did you bring me here?’
He pauses, rocks back. ‘I . . . I did not bring you to the valley, you were sent, from Cuzco, because . . .’ He can’t say it, but hi
s eyes go to her swollen belly, and in that moment she hates him. She wants to know why he insisted she come with him to New Castile, whether it was to save her from their father, or punish her for her wayward ways, but all he can do is remind her of her more recent sin.
She finishes the sentence for him. ‘Because I did what is natural to man and woman. Unlike you . . .’
His face falls. ‘I never have . . .’ he whispers.
‘In your heart, you have, and God sees that. I know how twisted you are, for all your learning.’
‘Please Luisa, don’t say that.’
Finally, she is getting through to him, making him feel, not just think. ‘I only speak the truth. You love the truth, do you not? Well, the truth is our father is a monster – you he only beat – and you are a pervert, and I will not be punished for following my heart, save by God alone.’ She stalks off, unsteadily. He does not call out after her.
It is only later, alone in bed, that she considers that, had she not stood to greet her brother, she would have been sitting on the wall beside the well when the earthquake hit, on the very stone that fell. He saved her life. No, that was God’s hand. Her foolish brother will not acknowledge his flaws, he could not save her from their monstrous sire and now he is oblivious even to the works of the God he professes to serve, preferring instead the words of a Heathen.
*
18 August 1541
‘You knew! How did you know?’
I had not planned to greet my prisoner-turned-teacher with those words, not least because I knew the answer to the question, but even this morning wonder at his prediction brimmed over in me.
‘Were many hurt?’ he asked in return.
‘In the quake? No, only minor injuries, from a fire in the kitchen.’
‘Good. I saw . . . a possible loss.’
I thought of Luisa, and the well. A happy chance, I had thought at the time before correcting myself and thanking God for sparing my sister. Had Apac Kunya seen that with his unearthly sight? ‘Did you know who could have been lost, or how that might have come about?’ I asked carefully.
‘No. This power, my friend, it is like grasping smoke. When you reach out, you disturb the patterns. The more precision you apply, the faster the truth will fly from you.’
‘And can what you see be changed?’ I was willing, at least, to entertain the truth of his claim, and my mind raced with the implications.
‘It was forbidden to try, for that went against the gods. But we inherited tales from those we took the power from, of how what is seen will come to pass, even if the act of trying to avoid it makes it so. We could not change the future, but we could prepare for what it brought.’
‘Can you show me more? Foretellings that reach farther afield perhaps?’
‘I can try. But I will need to see the sun.’
Suspicion stung my breast, though only briefly: this man had neither means nor strength to effect an escape. But nor was he in a position to make demands. ‘That is not possible.’
He shrugged, his maimed shoulder rising only fractionally. ‘Then I cannot demonstrate what we work towards.’
‘Explain!’ I demanded.
‘The power I hold is tied to two material anchors: gold dust to awaken it, and the sun’s light to allow it to function.’
‘Heathen claptrap,’ I muttered. Yet his prediction, while cryptic and vague, had come true.
‘I do not claim to know why this is. Some of my peers tried to unlock the links between the world of touch and the worlds of mind and spirit. But they are all dead now. I am the last amautas.’
He had implied as much before, but hearing it said made me reconsider. ‘Then I will indulge you. But,’ I warned him sternly, ‘if my indulgence gives no firm results then I will consider your first prediction to be mere fluke.’
I told the guards I wished them to check the integrity of the cell, although this building is converted from the old residences of the natives, and suffered little damage in the earthquake. The corporal gave me an odd look, but assigned a man to escort the prisoner outside.
There is one room beyond the cell, with an open doorway. As soon as Apac Kunya had clear sight of the bright courtyard beyond he tensed, like a hunting dog. When we stepped into the light he paused, and turned his face to heaven. The soldier who walked behind holding the prisoner’s chains made to kick him, until I held up a hand.
Apac Kunya carried on, walking slowly now, like a man in a trance.
‘Let the chain play out, and remain where you are,’ I instructed the soldier, and began to walk alongside Apac Kunya. When the chain reached full stretch I murmured, ‘You must stop now.’
Apac Kunya obeyed, though his face remained raised. His eyes were closed yet there was movement behind the lids, as when one dreams. His lips formed soundless words. I was reminded of the ecstasy of divine communion.
He sighed then muttered, ‘Your people fight each other for the spoils of our land, brother against brother.’
Indeed they do, but he could have heard the guards outside his cell speaking of that. ‘This is commonly known.’
He froze, then began murmuring again. I made out the words ‘Your sister . . .’
‘What of her?’ I have not spoken to him of Luisa, but again, he could have heard her mentioned by the guards.
He whispered, ‘She will find what she wants, soon . . . but in the end, she will get what she believes she deserves.’
Despite his vague words, to hear Luisa spoken of in this way filled me with cold dread, as though I looked down on events from a high mountain, unable to intervene as disaster unfolded. I fear he has spoken a painful truth, even if the details are not yet clear.
I was tempted to ask him further questions, but Corporal Moreno emerged from the cell block to inform me, in a voice somewhat lacking in respect, that there was nothing wrong with the prisoner’s accommodation.
Back in the cell, speaking quietly to avoid curious ears, Apac Kunya told me of what I must do next if I am to become the king-who-sees.
I do not yet know whether I dare.
*
E, my love,
I know why you did not reply to my last letter; I understand. But now I must tell you of a graver matter. I fear my brother has fallen under the spell of a Heathen warlock. A corporal in the garrison has told me of allowances being made, of overhearing strange conversations. I myself witnessed from the kitchen the Heathen being given temporary liberty, and falling into a trance in the courtyard.
I tell you this not only in the hope it may convince you that I should not be in this place, but because it is my Christian duty. I have also sent a letter up the valley with a servant, to meet with the good Father who leads the mission, telling them to bring forward their return and root out this sorcery.
May the blessed Virgin protect and bless us both,
L
*
20 August 1541
As I write this two small but heavy sacks sit on my desk. I had to lie to Captain Rodriguez to borrow his keys, saying I wished to check the strong-room to ensure the share of the spoils belonging to my family was in order. He knows I have little interest in such things, but no doubt assumed my request was on Luisa’s behalf.
It was strange to see so much gold in one place. Stranger still that it languishes in the dark. It stirred no greed or wonder in me, only unease at the price paid to get it.
I have no idea which soldier considers these two sacks to be his. They were easy enough to smuggle out in my robes.
As Apac Kunya instructed I have eaten a pinch of the gold dust, rolled in bread, washed down with wine in which a little more was sprinkled. I felt nothing at the time but now, two hours later, I am calm; I think I feel the change in me begin. Once I have made my record for the evening I will meditate, knowing I am one step closer to gaining the ultimate knowledge.
*
Luisa has stopped asking her brother to hear her confession. He is the only priest in the garrison, and so conducts ma
ss and the other necessary offices. But he does so distractedly, as though his calling matters less than the Heathen prisoner who waits in the dark for him. Luisa shudders to think of what they get up to, what Gabriel will have to confess when his betters return.
Instead of talking to him, within or outside the confessional, she spends the time praying, alone.
She does not know whether her letter reached Father de la Cruz, but she prays that the might and order of the Church will return soon, to save them all.
*
22 August 1541
Soon I will take the final step.
It is past midnight, and soon the guards will leave the cell block for the night. I have eaten my last meal of bread and gold. The remaining gold dust I have transferred to a knapsack. In a few hours I will go to the cell block for the last time, and release my mentor and friend.
We will use a pool farther up the mountain, part of the natives’ terrace cultivations. It is barely deep enough for me to immerse myself in, but all that matters is that I emerge from the water, washing off the gold the amautas spread over me with the correct words and gestures, as the sun rises above the hills. I am sure now that Apac Kunya is right, and that when he completes the ritual I will become blessed with true foresight, as he has been. And I will use it for good, as he has tried to.
Time is short. We may only have one chance.
I must put down my pen now, and clear my mind in preparation.
*
Luisa once heard that the smell of human flesh burning is like roasting pork. Now she will find out if this is true.
Father de la Cruz is with the warlock, giving the Heathen a last chance to embrace the True Faith. From her place under the portico she sees the bound man shake his head. Father de la Cruz turns away from the stake in the centre of the courtyard, his face set. As soldiers come forward to stack the last faggots on the pyre the priest approaches her seat, his expression softening.
‘You did the right thing, child.’ It is the gentlest speech she has ever heard from this hardest of clerics.
She is touched, but her gaze still drifts to the far side of the square, where Gabriel stands between two guards, his head lowered.
Tales from the Vatican Vaults Page 18