Chapter 34
Nina was distant when she came out of the temple, eyes unfocused as she walked beside Kasik through the kancha grounds. There
were walla and attendants everywhere, all of them eyes and ears for the emperor or Kasik’s tayta. Kasik couldn’t ask her what
had happened inside Qorikancha or what she was thinking. He couldn’t share the secret that was eating him up inside. It was
torture walking beside her knowing that every single step he took in silence was a betrayal.
Whereas he was laden with worry, Nina’s steps were buoyant and hurried. She didn’t know where she was going, but it didn’t
seem to matter. Kasik quickened his pace to keep up.
The path they walked was a bright tan stone, and smoother than even the emperor’s road. On either side of them were small
buildings where the attendants lived, and larger houses for esteemed guests. To the right, a short wall bordered a ring of
bright green grass that was the training grounds, and beside it were the kallankas, crude in their design but no less impressive,
that housed the walla.
Kasik missed training with Samaq. A part of him also missed training with Maicu, though those sessions were more of a lesson
in restraint. With Samaq, he could let go of the control he spent so much time crafting. His friend had always met him where
he was at. Kasik felt a surge of guilt knowing he couldn’t do the same for Samaq. Wherever his friend was, he would have to
face his troubles without Kasik. And Kasik would face his own alone.
Farther ahead were the steps that led to the main entrance of the kancha.
And behind it, imposing and jagged and tipped with snow, set against a gloomy blue sky, was the Rimac mountain range.
It was said that the higher one was, the closer to the gods they were, and many people took the risk of climbing those mountains to find them.
Kasik didn’t know if they found what they were looking for—most never came back—but he could appreciate the commitment and
the unfailing belief. Something he had possessed not so long ago, but not anymore.
They ascended the stone steps and entered the kancha in silence. Nina’s attention was pinned to the tapestry as she walked
by, but her steps didn’t slow. There seemed to be a kind of purpose within her that he had only seen on the road, and he couldn’t
help but wonder what, exactly, it meant, and what kind of trouble it would invite.
Only when it was time to make a turn did Nina stop.
“This way,” Kasik said with a sweep of his hand. Instead of turning right as they would have to reach Nina’s room, Kasik veered
left, traversing the winding halls by memory, eyes forward and focused on their destination. They passed the walls inlaid
with gold, Nina’s hands reaching out to brush against them, eyes sparkling with something he could only describe as appreciation.
Then the gold was abruptly gone, and so was Nina’s confidence as the halls became darker and colder and her pace slowed.
“This is the scholar’s wing,” Kasik explained. The walls were a dark stone that seemed to absorb whatever dim light the torches
provided. As a child, he had hated walking down this hall, but as he had gotten older, he had come to crave the quiet and
the cold and the peace he knew could be found at the end of it.
Their steps echoed in the narrow space. Kasik was forced to drop back and walk behind her so that their shoulders didn’t bump.
He wasn’t sure he could handle the contact.
“Tell me about this tutor,” Nina said suddenly.
“Well,” Kasik started, “the man practically raised me. He’s been at the kancha his whole life, first as an apprentice and then as the royal scholar once his mentor died.
Then he became my tutor, which I don’t think he was fond of at first. But I softened him, so you’re welcome for that.
” Nina glanced over her shoulder, a torch they were passing casting her face in shadow so that he only just caught a glimpse of the hesitant smile she gave him.
“He has a sharp mind and a loose tongue. I think you’ll like him. ”
They finally reached a tall, narrow door at the end of the hall. “Ready?” Kasik asked, his hand over the handle, waiting for
her to accept this on her own. Nina nodded, and he pushed through without knocking. “Master Wara,” he said brightly. “I have
brought your next victim.”
The man was where he always was—behind a large desk hunched over rows of quipu. Letters from ayllu lords, petitions from commoners,
missives from traveling soldiers, records of the Harvest. Master Wara saw it all, and Nina, who had likely never seen anything
like this room, was frozen in the doorway, eyes wide and absorbing every detail of it.
The first time Kasik had been invited back was when he was seven years. The same age when he started weapons training. Kasik
preferred the chaos of physical strength, of exertion over education, but it was Master Wara who instilled in him the importance
of understanding words and holding them true. Man was nothing without words, without story, and Master Wara was filled with
and surrounded by them.
The man pushed aside his task and stood, hands behind his back, as he watched Nina take in his small but grand room with a look of pride in his eyes.
Nina stepped forward and reached out a hand to run through racks of quipu that hung from the walls.
The threads swung soundlessly, and Kasik was reminded of the many days he had spent bent over a table, fingers sore from knotting and unknotting and learning the written language of their people.
“Are you familiar with quipu?” Master Wara asked.
Nina glanced at Kasik before she turned to Master Wara. “No,” she said, her voice steady. Kasik was seeing her as he had first
seen her, cowed but not defeated, her shoulders rigid and her head held high. The gleam of determination in her eyes. “Our
ayllu believes that stories and instruction are best told from the mouth.”
“You’re not wrong,” Master Wara said, coming to stand closer to Nina. “But with the expansion of the empire, physical means
of communication became necessary. This is mostly official, of course, but there are some histories recorded as well.” He
ran his fingers over a particularly dense set of strings. “I’ve noticed that each ayllu has its own story of how life began.
You are from Limac, correct?”
Kasik slowly moved back and out of their periphery. Perhaps they would forget he was there, and he could learn everything
there was to know about Nina. Though they had spent so much time together, it had been under duress. Life or death. He wanted
to know who she was when she was happy, where she had come from, what she enjoyed.
“Yes,” Nina said. “Your creation story is . . . involved.”
Master Wara chuckled. It had taken years for the man to crack a smile in Kasik’s presence. “There are many differing opinions as to the truth of that story.”
Kasik snapped his eyes to Master Wara. He had never been told about these differing opinions. He had only been told the one story and had taken it as absolute. If Master Wara felt Kasik’s incredulity, he ignored it
and continued speaking to Nina. “Kunay Atik says that your ayllu is greatly favored by Pachamama.”
Nina nodded. “The story is that my mamay made offerings to Pachamama for healthy land and healthy children, and Pachamama was so appreciative of being remembered that she imbued the land with favor. Our crops grew overnight. Our animals strengthened. And my siblings and I . . .”
Her voice trailed off. Kasik hadn’t realized he had leaned into the table next to him. It shifted under his weight and both
Nina’s and Master Wara’s attention darted to him. “You may leave now, walla. This is no place for a brute,” his teacher said.
Kasik straightened and rolled his eyes. “I’ll be back soon,” he said to Nina, but her attention was already on the quipu and
the stories contained within.
“Now the fun begins,” he heard Master Wara say as the door closed behind him.
The last time Kasik had trained was the last day he had seen Samaq. Before that, they had taken every opportunity to spar,
not only because it kept them agile and prepared for whatever mission Emperor Maicu sent them on, but because it helped to
ground him. To remind Kasik that he was capable and strong, despite what his tayta thought about him.
Atik was not a man easily impressed, but that hadn’t stopped Kasik from trying. Then, as he grew older, he realized that his
efforts were wasted. Atik was uncompromising and uncaring and incapable of love. If Kasik hadn’t been standing there, alive
and breathing, he would’ve questioned if anyone could love such a man.
But somehow, unexplainably, his mamay had. At least enough to create Kasik. Mindlessly, he wrapped a hand around the achilla
at his neck. It was always cold even though it sat against the heat of his chest. He remembered when his tayta had tossed
it to him after a particularly long day of training. Kasik had only been ten years old at the time, and he had just met Samaq.
Atik had barged into the kallankas and marched to the corner where Kasik’s bed was. The achilla had landed on the bed at his
feet and stared at him. “Wear this, and don’t take it off for anyone. Do you hear?”
Kasik, thinking it meant his tayta cared about him, reached for it with a gentleness that his tayta scoffed at. “It was your
mamay’s. The rest of her things are being burned, and Emperor Yachua thought this might serve a greater purpose.”
Then Kunay Atik left, and Kasik had stared a long time at the space where he no longer stood, the stone pressed so hard into
his palm that it drew blood. In his memory, the stone had been warm, but he knew now that it was only childish fondness that
gilded the moment, for when Samaq pried the achilla from his hands and slipped it over his head, the sting of cold against
his bare chest had brought him back to reality and the truth of his circumstances.