The Last Inca
- 1 -
Zopahua felt sick, and lonely. It had been three days since he had walked, with nothing but his dagger by his hip and the clothes on his back, into the wilderness, and it had been three days since he had last eaten even a morsel of food. The mountain air was cold and still, and the only sound was the trickle of the stream, beside which Zopahua lay. Above him a condor swooped and soared majestically, and for the last ten minutes his eyes had been fixed upon it, his awe tempered only by hunger-induced apathy. On his chest slept a cavy*, which had been given to him by Amauta Ninancoro just before he set off, to serve as an offering. He was sorely tempted to kill it and eat it here and now, but resisted, fearful of the consequences of such an action. The gods would not look upon it lightly, and Zopahua respected and feared them more than anybody or anything else in the entire world. His fast had to last until he reached his destination, no matter how long it took.
After a couple of minutes he crawled over to the stream, and scooped up handfuls of water to his mouth. It was not far now, he hoped, so once he had quenched his thirst he forced himself to his feet and began walking, stumbling along the deserted trail, holding the cavy close to his chest. As he did, he longed for Cuzco. It was the first time in his thirteen years he had ever left the city, and already he missed it terribly. He was so used to the constant sounds and smells of the city, the scent of roasting alpaca and sweet potato, the wondrous embrace of coca, the warmth and comfort of his quarters. This place, with its starkness and desolation, Zopahua thought, must be what Uca Pacha is like, that terrible realm where the damned reside, ruled over by the Great Snake of the earth.
The air grew chillier as he continued his ascent along the winding path, and it was murky twilight when he turned a bend in the road, and suddenly found himself standing before the entrance to the cave. He let out a little gasp of delight and relief, for he knew immediately that this was it. This part of his journey was over.
He entered the cavernous space cautiously, nervous of what secrets the deep shadows could be hiding, and in the dying light he set his eyes on a boulder, that lay almost exactly in the middle of the cave floor. It was quite smooth and round and humongous, almost as tall as him, and Zopahua wondered how many men it had taken to lift it and place it here. He knew that buried beneath was the mummified remains of an ancient warlord, whose name had long since been forgotten. It was said that the spirit of the chief now resided in the boulder, and took the form of various animals when he appeared to travellers who came to invoke him, to seek advice or to secure assistance. Beyond the boulder lay a large pile of bones of all shapes and sizes, many of them human. A skull grinned at Zopahua, its hollow eye sockets making him shiver in the gloom.
He lingered before the boulder, and glanced down at the cavy. It was docile as ever, and he stroked it vaguely. He felt no sympathy for the creature, for he knew what an honour it was to be offered at a huaca** as a sacrifice. Even so, it was with some reluctance that he drew the shiny dagger that he kept by his hip, holding the cavy in his other hand. He muttered a few prayers, and then, holding it by the scruff of its neck, cut open the small creature across its torso so swiftly that it was dead almost instantly, its glistening innards spilling wetly onto the cave floor.
Zopahua gagged and closed his eyes hard, and he felt an overwhelming light-headedness, so intense that it felt as if his soul was floating away from his body. When he opened them again he was in a different place, a mountain top, with nothing but a bright blue sky above him and a sheer drop not far in front of him. In the vast, sweeping valley below, he could see no sign of civilisation; none of the roads or cities or terraced farms of the kingdom of Cuzco. Just wilderness. A tree with crooked branches hung precariously over the edge of the mountainside close to where he stood, and he watched with detached interest as the condor circled above him, eventually gliding down and landing on the branch nearest to him with immense grace.
“Your offering is accepted,” the condor said, its voice crackly and ancient. “Don’t fear, I would not expect one so young to bring a slave or a child, for you are little more than a child yourself.”
Zopahua gulped, and nodded. The condor shifted on the branch, and said,
“What is it that you seek? You are hungry and weary, and have travelled far. It must be something of grave importance for you to undertake such a quest.”
“I…” Zopahua said, struggling to overcome a feeling of unease at talking to a bird. “I come to ask of my destiny. My future. I have been having recurring nightmares, and when I mentioned it to Amauta Ninancoro he said it was a sign, a portent…but he didn‘t know what it meant.”
The condor laughed a deep, growling laugh. The bird stood absolutely still, and the sound seemed to Zopahua to be entirely within his head. “You wish to know the future?”
Zopahua nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes I do.”
“Very well. In your dreams you see storm clouds, don’t you? The sky grows heavier and heavier until it’s almost black. Then, the rain comes. The rain falls, and as it splashes onto your skin and into your hair you realise it’s not water that’s falling from the sky, but blood. But you don’t run for shelter, or collapse to your knees in disgust and terror, but instead you stand and revel in it, until you are the only one who remains, your black hair drenched and your skin stained crimson. You stand, as the blood rises first to your ankles, then your knees, and eventually till it has covered your face and you’re suffocating. You stand, firm and resolute like the boulder in my cave, while others flee. You are the last to remain in this terrible deluge, until eventually even you are swept away.“
The condor gazed straight at Zopahua, its beady eyes full of dark intelligence. The boy took a step back, his eyes wide. “Yes, that’s my dream. But what does it all mean?”
“The future is not set in stone, nor is the meaning of your visions. Evil times are coming, but if you tirelessly devote yourself to supreme Inti and the creator Viracocha then maybe you will live a life full of peace and prosperity. Your destiny depends only on the choices you make. Never forget that.”
With that the condor flapped its wings heavily and flew away, and Zopahua watched it until it was just a dot, disappearing behind the mountains that rose in the distance. He closed his eyes, and after a jolting sensation of falling was once again back in the cave with the boulder. For a few moments the whole world appeared to be rising while at the same time remaining still, reminding him of the time, a few months before, when he and his cousin Pumi had snuck into one of the state warehouses and had drunk too much chicha.
He took one last look at the pile of bones and breathed deeply, and then tentatively picked up the remains of the cavy and carried it outside. He considered making a fire so as to roast the dead creature but quickly realised he lacked even this basic knowledge, so instead he devoured it raw, raising the cavy to his mouth and tearing at its stringy flesh with his teeth. The meat proved very bloody and tasted foul, and in truth did little to ease his hunger.
The stars were out, and in the moonlight Zopahua lay down on the hard floor, and overcome with exhaustion fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep. Once morning came, he began the long trek back to Cuzco, all the while thinking and puzzling over what the condor had said.
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* known also as a guinea pig
** sacred place where a spirit dwells
