Naamah's Blessing

Ocllo frowned. “You say his gift comes from bad spirits, yet you have a gift, too. I have seen it.”



I nodded. “It is a gift from my gods.”



Her shrewd eyes narrowed. “How is that different?”



“I did not ask for it, my lady,” I said honestly. “I was born with it. Lord Pachacuti asked for his gift.”



“And the gods gave it to him,” Ocllo observed.



“A fallen spirit who was once a god’s servant, yes. With my aid—aid I gave him because I was young and foolish and knew no better. And the gift that was given him, the gift of the language of ants, was not even the gift he sought. It was given him as a jest, one he has turned to dire ends I daresay not even the spirits themselves could have foreseen.” I opened my arms. My wounded right hand throbbed, wrapped in blood-stained bandages. “My lady, I do not lie. If Lord Pachacuti succeeds in this conquest, he will become more powerful than ever. He will become a god in truth.” I shook my head. “But if you think he cares for the people of Tawantinsuyo, you are wrong. In the end, only bad will come of it.”



Ocllo pursed her lips. “So you say.”



I raised my voice in frustration, unwanted tears stinging my eyes. “I’ve seen it! How can I make you understand?”



“Hush.” Ocllo’s voice deepened, unexpectedly soothing. The corners of her eyes crinkled. “There is one way, child. But I fear it cannot come from you.”



“The ancestors?” I asked.



Cusi’s bandaged hand found mine and squeezed it. Despite the pang of pain, I welcomed her grip.



Finding herself with a captive audience, Ocllo paced the floor of the temple in a leisurely manner, treading with care and drawing her skirts to avoid the ants. “It begins many, many years ago with the first Earth-Shaker,” she said conversationally. “The first Lord Pachacuti, the first Sapa Inca. He told the secret to his Queen, his Queen of Queens, his first wife, the great Mamacoya, and swore that she and her descendants must keep it always.” She nodded to herself. “So we have, every one of us. Have we not?”



Voices murmured in agreement.



My skin prickled. “Will you speak of it now?”



She fixed me with her gimlet gaze. “You say to me that the man who is your husband died, and lives. I ask again, is it true?”



“Aye, it is.”



Ocllo snorted. “I do not mean that he was struck on the head and slept for a time.”



“Bao died,” I said simply. “Everything I told you is true. He was killed by a poisoned dart. He drew no breath, no blood beat in his veins. I felt his body myself, felt it grow cold and stiff. For a long time, not a short time. He journeyed to the Ch’in underworld, and remembers it. And I do not know why this matters to you, but it is true.”



“Because the first Sapa Inca said that one who had returned from death would wield the key to call on the ancestors in our hour of need,” she said. “Call them out of death into life to save their people.”



I stared at her, open-mouthed. “You think Bao can do this? But… but they’re not his ancestors!”



“No.” Ocllo frowned. “That is why we are uncertain. But the prophecy does not say the twice-born would be the one to call them, only that he would wield the key.” She held up a bronze knife like Cusi’s. “This.”



“I don’t understand,” I whispered.



Cusi’s hand tightened on mine. “He would be the one to offer the sacrifice,” she murmured. “It is the sacrifice that calls the ancestors.”



And then I did understand, and I wished that I didn’t.



“You,” I said, my throat tight. “You’re the sacrifice. That’s why you’re afraid, isn’t it?”



Her chin lifted. “I was not afraid when Lord Pachacuti chose me,” she said with dignity. “It was an honor. But I am afraid now…” Her voice broke. “Afraid to be wrong and anger the gods. If I am wrong, they will cast me aside.”



I gazed at her in horror, then glanced at Ocllo, at the other women in the temple. “Is there no other way? Surely there must be!”



One by one, they shook their heads. “You claim Lord Pachacuti is not a god, but you cannot prove it,” Ocllo said, not without sympathy. She gestured at the ants again. “And he holds the power of death in his hands. If the hour of our need is here, the ancestors will answer. It is the only way to be sure. But it must be a true sacrifice, a willing sacrifice, of one of their own.”



“Why?” I could hear a child’s resentment at the unfairness of the world in my voice.



“It is necessary,” the old woman said soberly. “You know this in your heart, lady. You told me that the man who loved your husband like a son gave his own life for him. To call the ancestors out of death, a life must be given.” She laid a hand on Cusi’s shoulder. “And Cusi has already been chosen. I think maybe it is no accident that she is the one to find the twice-born who wields the key.”



There were solemn nods all around.



“No, of course it’s not!” I said helplessly. “Because gods-bedamned Raphael de Mereliot, Lord Pachacuti, gave her to me knowing he’d already chosen her as the sacrifice, knowing it would cause me pain! That’s the only reason Cusi met Bao, and learned what she did!”



“Did Lord Pachacuti know your husband was twice-born?” Ocllo asked me.



It brought me up short. “No. No, I don’t think so.”



“So mayhap it was the will of the gods after all, and Lord Pachacuti erred because he does not know the secret of the ancestors,” she said softly. “Or maybe you are wrong, and he is only testing our loyalty. Either way, it is not for you to decide the fate of the Quechua. It is for us.” Her gaze settled on Cusi. “And in the end, the choice falls to the chosen one. No one else can make it.”



A faint sigh echoed throughout the temple.



Cusi glanced at me, tears glimmering in her dark eyes. “It is as you told me, is it not, lady? I must choose.”



“I did not know the stakes,” I murmured.



“I did.” Releasing my hand, Cusi clasped hers together before her. “I have chosen,” she announced in an unexpectedly firm voice. “I choose the path of the ancestors.”



SIXTY-ONE



Our midnight gathering concluded, the Maidens of the Sun dispersed to their quarters in the temple. Cusi and I made our way back to my quarters in the palace, the ants streaming alongside us, chittering softly and clicking their ever-hungry mandibles in the moonlight.



She was calm, a mantle of grace and acceptance settled over her small figure.



I was not.



My mind reeled from revelation to revelation. Ah, gods! It seemed cruel, too cruel. I wanted to doubt it, and yet, in my heart of hearts, I could not. From the far side of death, Jehanne had told me the women held the key to thwarting Raphael; had told me Raphael had made a mistake in giving me the girl. And before I’d even embarked on this quest, the Nahuatl Emperor Achcuatli had warned me that I did not understand the ways of Terra Nova. Mayhap Naamah had meant for him to hear the words of her blessing—but she had meant for me to hear his words, too.



Sometimes when the gods thirst, blood is the only sacrifice.



Now I believed. But stone and sea, it hurt.



The ants swarmed up their sisal rope, clambering into a ball. Moving quietly about the bedchamber, Cusi kindled a lamp and turned down the blanket, then turned to leave.



“Will you not stay?” I asked her.



Pausing, she shook her head. “No.” Her voice was soft with regret. “I think it is time for me to be alone and pray, lady. I will pass the night in the far chamber, and in the morning, I will ask Lord Pachacuti to send another handmaid to you. I will tell him it is a sacred matter, for it is true.”



It was on the tip of my tongue to say that I did not want another handmaid, that in a very short time I had grown fond of Cusi—of her dimpled smile, her youthful innocence, and her woefully obvious spying.



But that was the girl I’d known yesterday—or the girl I’d thought I had known. All along, she’d known herself to be a chosen sacrifice. And all along, I had been ignorant of the stakes.



Now the choice was truly hers. It had not been mine to make, and it was not mine to belittle or diminish. Only to understand as best I could.



I inclined my head to her. “Sulpayki, Cusi. I will miss you.”



She smiled a little, one cheek dimpling. “You will see me again, lady. It is only that I cannot be a part of…” She gestured vaguely. “This. I cannot be pulled in two ways any longer.”



I understood.



There was a long road yet to travel between the jungle city of Vilcabamba and the Temple of the Ancestors in the distant capital of Qusqu, a road filled with planning and plotting, warfare and strategy, logistics and subterfuge. I’d no idea how we would make it all work; and there was still the matter of my conflicting oaths to be resolved. There were a thousand details to be considered.



But Cusi was right, that should not concern her now.



Only her choice mattered.



“I pray your gods and ancestors bless you,” I said to her. A rueful smile tugged at my lips. “And I pray I can explain this to Bao. He will not like it. Not at all. I cannot promise that he will agree to it.”



“He has to,” Cusi said simply.



“One does not tell Bao what he has to do,” I murmured. “But I will try.”



She paused. “Can you tell me one thing, lady? Why does Lord Pachacuti seek such power if it is wrong?”



“There is a hunger in him,” I said. “Nothing has ever been enough to fill it.”



“Like the ants,” she said.



“Very like the ants,” I said. “But Raphael is a human being. He has been hurt badly by many losses. It has twisted his hunger into something unnatural, just as he has turned the ants’ hunger to unnatural ends.”



She cocked her head. “But it is not why you came, is it? You say to him that you came because of a child, a little girl.”



“Aye.” I nodded. “Far, far away, she is in danger. I came because I swore an oath to protect her, and the only one who can do this is her brother, Prince Thierry. I came to bring him home. But it is complicated, Cusi. I am responsible for Lord Pachacuti’s gift, too. I believe the gods meant for me to attempt to stop him.” My throat tightened. “But I never knew it could come at such a cost.”



Cusi patted my uninjured hand gently. “Do not cry for me, lady. We are also to blame. We took him to be a god.” A frown creased her brow. “Or do you think I am not worthy of paying the price?”



“Not worthy!” I laughed through the tears that stung my eyes. “Oh, Cusi, no! I think you are more than worthy. It just seems cruel that the gods, or the ancestors, require the fairest and brightest of blossoms, one only just beginning to bloom.”



Blushing a little, she ducked her head. “Should we offer them anything less?” she asked in a low tone.



“No,” I said after a long moment. “No, I suppose not. But I cannot help being sad, and you will have to forgive me for it. I do not mean to dishonor your courage.”



“You have a kind heart.” Cusi glanced shyly up at me. “Lord Pachacuti knows this, too. Now that I know you, I see the ways he tries to hurt you. Tomorrow you must tell Lord Pachacuti you are angry at him for choosing me to serve you. He will expect you to be angry and shout.”



I wiped my eyes. “He will, won’t he?”



“Yes.” She took my bandaged hand. “I think the bleeding has stopped. Do not let him see this, or he may wonder. I will be careful, too.”



I wanted to answer, but no words came.



Letting go my hand, Cusi gave me an impulsive hug, pressing her soft cheek against mine. “I am glad I have chosen,” she whispered. “And I am glad we share blood, and you are a sister to me now.”



I returned her embrace, kissing her cheek. “You honor me.”



With that, Cusi took her leave, retreating to her cot in the outer chamber. I lay awake while the lamp burned low and guttered, leaving me in darkness. At last I fell into a fitful sleep.



I dreamed of blood trickling over stone, rivulets swelling to streams. I dreamed of a vast doorway filled with darkness; and beyond it, a living storm, a churning maelstrom of wings and thunder and lightning.



I dreamed of flowers; of a field of marigolds bursting into blossom, of dahlias quickening beneath my touch, liana blossoming on the vine, thousands upon thousands of blossoms raising a humble, fragile bulwark against the coming darkness and the gathering storm.



I dreamed of bones, ancient bones, beginning to stir.



And I awoke to sunlight, and emptiness.



Cusi was gone.



SIXTY-TWO



Does your cruelty know no bounds, my lord?” I shouted at Raphael. “Gods bedamned, Raphael! You knew! You sent poor Cusi to attend me, knowing you meant to sacrifice her all along!”



Lounging on his throne, Raphael de Mereliot shrugged and stuffed a few leaves into his mouth. “Forgive me, Moirin. It amused me.”



I clenched my wounded hand into a fist, the pain anchoring me. “I do not forgive you.”



“You don’t have a great deal of choice, do you?” Raphael’s gaze hardened. “Anyway, I do but honor the lass by bestowing the gift of sacrifice upon her. She volunteered for it.” He gestured carelessly around the throne room at his handmaidens. “They all volunteered, Moirin. Each and every last one of them.”



I glowered at him, not needing to feign bitterness.



He laughed. “Such a look!” Swinging himself upright, Raphael rose and paced across the floor, accompanied by a skittering stream of ants. “Ah, Moirin.” His fingers trailed across my cheek, down my throat. Once upon a time, I would have ached to have him touch me thusly. Now it made my stomach roil. “My hot-tempered little bear-witch, my useful tool. Tell me, who would you choose to take Cusi’s place?”