Chapter 13
Somehow, all three of us manage to fall asleep due to sheer exhaustion, even with the mountain cold turning our bones to ice.
But sleep isn’t enough to wipe that projection from my mind.
No. All sleep does is amplify some features.
With my eyes closed, I remember the hideous look of fear on the princess’s face.
With the quiet night enveloping us, I remember her cracking voice.
With her warm body pressed against me, I remember her tremors.
Yet, my other senses are dulled. The mud, a mixture of still-wet and beginning to crack as it dries, feels like nothing more than air on my skin.
I sleep, against all odds, but I don’t get any rest.
Mama Killa, our moon, is high in the sky when I wake up again, blinking the image of blood out of my eyes. The Aya Runa are known as master thieves, a title gained only through years of cleverness and bloodshed, but they weren’t supposed to be a threat.
I almost laugh, thinking about the stories parents told their children. Be good, or the Aya Runa will steal you away in the night. What they would do to you was implied, but hours ago, I saw the explicit results.
They projected the aftermath of their torture on the youngest child, a kid no older than Mare. The torn muscle tissue and broken bones poked out of their flesh. The impassive faces of four of the Inka’s children watched on as a simple message appeared in the sky:
PRINCESS YANAMI WANTED AT ALL COSTS
She doesn’t deserve it, the princess had said. I agreed wordlessly. She repeated it once more, and then all she had left to give were the short gasping breaths she struggled to take.
What is it? Mare asked, again and again, because no matter how impatient he got, the princess and I couldn’t speak.
The projection didn’t come with any sound. Silent because they don’t have the strength for both audio and range, the princess had finally declared, falling into a detached analysis of seeing her own family projected bloodied and helpless onto the heavens.
Who? Who isn’t strong? Mare got desperate enough to try to climb over the princess and onto me to stick his head out, but the princess and I worked in tandem to keep him back.
We managed to hold him for however long, seconds, minutes, Gods, it feels like days, it took for the projection to fade away.
Then, like we were both holding our breath, we let Mare tumble onto my lap and stare outside.
He’s on my lap now, still sleeping and without the projection to haunt him.
Anxiety rushes through me. What if it had been Suyai in the heavens, body beaten black and blue? What if it had been Mare, blood flowing freely like during the attack? Or the princess?
“The Aya Runa,” I whisper, testing the words out. High power, low threat. My mother was wrong, but I can’t find any joy in that. My voice is so quiet, I can barely hear it myself over the drizzle still ongoing. “Why would the Aya Runa do this?”
Nothing answers me except for the princess’s slight snore to my side.
After Mare refused to leave my lap to sleep, the princess and I reconfigured ourselves in stunned silence.
Mare didn’t know exactly what happened, but he sensed the tension and refused to let go of my torso.
With the deepest part of the cave free, the princess curled into fetal position with her back to the cave wall and her face just inches away from my thigh.
She had some heat insulation from our bodies around her, even though she rejected any touch or comfort that might have warmed her further.
I sat upright with my legs stretched in front of me.
I’m paying for that position now. My back is stiff and sore, heat radiating out of my lower left side where a muscle knot formed in stark contrast to the numbing cold over the rest of my body.
Mama Killa, our moon, is high in the sky, and, somehow, we’re safe here. The princess is guarded deep in the cave, and Mare is in the safety of my arms. We’re safe, at least the safest we’ll be for a long time.
At least the safest anyone related to the Inka is now. That’s what I keep repeating to fall back to sleep. We’re safe, we’re safe, we’re safe. It doesn’t matter how much I repeat it. It doesn’t change what I saw.
The message. The Aya Runa’s signature glyph.
And the pain, the suppressed pain on the bloodied face of a young girl whose eyes are a perfect match for the girl sleeping right beside me.
I close my eyes, but it’s still there.