Chapter 9 #2
The blackened leaves the kunay and mamakuna had given her tore her away from herself, from her thoughts and hopes and dreams,
and only then, after a full day in the fresh air, could she feel the difference.
“I’ll be fine without it,” Nina reassured him.
Kasik nodded, and they fell into silence again, save for the crackling fire and the singing forest. Nina looked over her shoulder,
into that shrouded dark, and shivered.
“I’ve never been this far from home,” she admitted. “Everything is so unfamiliar.”
“It’s the Tuta Kulla.” Kasik looked into the shadows. “The dark forest can be disorienting. My men and I like to tell stories
to pass the time and fill the silence. Remind us who we are.”
She wasn’t entirely sure why, but she found herself saying, “I like stories.”
Kasik laughed, the sound deep and comforting and inviting her closer. “I’ll tell you one while I prepare our dinner, then.”
Nina’s cheeks burned—she’d forgotten why they had started a fire in the first place—and leaned away from the stability of
his body.
Kasik moved around the fire, setting up sticks for a spit and using a large flat rock to prepare the hares.
He pulled a small knife from his boot and spoke as he worked, and Nina found a comfortable spot to listen to the timbre of his voice pull her into a past so distant the stories had turned into fables.
“This story,” he began, “is about the creation of our world and people. The creator god, Viracocha, emerged from the sea and
saw that the land was empty. Craving companionship, he created beings from stone. But they were brutal and unintelligent and
incapable of the deference Viracocha craved, so he destroyed them all and began again.
“Viracocha wanted warmth, so he created the sun and its god, Inti. He wanted rest, so he created the moon and its goddess,
Killa. Finally, he wanted the essence of life threaded through the earth, so that the land could sustain and nourish and thrive,
and he created Pachamama.
“Soon, the land was covered in flora and fauna of all kinds. Viracocha and his children were content for a while, but the
children did not praise him as he had wanted. They became indifferent to him, and so he gave them his power to create beings,
hoping for gratitude in return.
“But Pachamama and Killa took advantage of that gift and created Ikara—a woman with the essence of her creator’s power threaded
through her. They called it attay, and it is said that it gave her the power to control and destroy—and with it, she turned
the world to carnage. Rivers of red flowed, and the earth began to thirst for blood.
“To balance the scales, Viracocha created a stone that could protect people from the Ikara, and a man who, immune to the Ikara’s
attay, could render their power useless with one touch.” Kasik touched the stone around his neck.
Nina remembered the stone she had seen on that market day, how it had seemed to swirl with life and beckon her closer. Achilla, the woman had called it, but that wasn’t the only familiar part of Kasik’s story.
Ikara. The word called to her, like a whisper that demanded her ear.
“In fear,” Kasik continued, “the Ikara ran. The man searched the ends of the earth for the Ikara, until finally, he found her. But instead of killing her as he was commanded, he fell in love.
“Together, they created three children: one boy, and two girls. The girls were born with power just like the Ikara’s, and
the woman was pleased that their line would continue. All was well, until one night, the gods appeared to the man in a dream.
“ ‘She manipulates you with her power,’ Inti told him. ‘Remember your true purpose,’ Viracocha hissed. Angry with their interference, Killa and Pachamama banished
all the gods, including themselves, to the upper realm where they could no longer communicate with the living.
“But the man had learned the truth, and his love shattered like the illusion that it was. Fearful for his life and the lives
of his children, he finally killed the Ikara.
“The children ran and hid, never to be seen again. From their line came more Ikara with the power to control the elements,
and even the will of people. Wars were fought, hundreds upon thousands died, and thus started the Harvest, to find the children
of the Ikara and dampen their powers for the safety of everyone.
“Over time, attay has waned and disappeared altogether, but the Harvest continues, to remind us of the responsibility we have
to our people, and to the gods.”
Nina had begun eating while Kasik spoke, and now the meat sat in her belly like a rock. This was not the creation story Nina
knew. In her story, Pachamama had created them all, and had done so with love. The women were not called Ikara, and they did
not have attay, but they did share in Pachamama’s power to nourish and sustain the land.
The power Kasik spoke of was absurd, yet she couldn’t help but question her own mind and the memories she had buried deep or forgotten with time.
Was it possible that she had misunderstood their history, as is so often the case due to the innocence and disinterest of childhood?
More alarming than that, was it possible the story had been purposely altered, that her mamay had taught them something entirely different to suit her own needs?
But no, Nina couldn’t believe that. Her mamay had always been truthful with them, sharing her fears and concerns, her doubts
and dreams, and encouraging her and her sisters to do the same. She had taught Nina to center herself anytime her own mind
felt unfamiliar, like when she thought she could see and do things that were impossible.
You are the master of your mind, Mamay would always say. That Nina would doubt her now because of a story told by a stranger said more about Nina’s character
than her mamay’s.
Nina realized that Kasik was telling her this story to further drive home the point he had argued all day—Nina had a responsibility
to see through. She was merely a tool.
A means to an end.
To Kasik, she was powerless, but Nina’s strength came from her love for her family, and she was doing all this for them, something
he could not understand. There was no reason to believe that she had to obey his every command without question or take his
every word for absolute truth. The only truth that mattered was Nina’s vow, and she intended to carve her own path while keeping
it.