The Ugly One Read online

  I heard the laughter of the women and the girls of the llaqta. Not because the rains had arrived, for Inti still reigned in the daytime skies, but because it was Coya Raymi, a time of celebration for the women. It was during this moon cycle, once a year, that the women and Mama Killa were most honored and happy. On the night when Mama Killa was at her fullest, the entire village celebrated with a lavish communal meal, although no one spoke of how meager the feast would be this year. I studied the people and saw the worry carved into their faces like a carefully designed mask.

  A strange shift had occurred in me. But I was so intent on studying the world that I didn’t notice it until Chasca pointed it out to me. It was the night of the full moon. We sat together by the fire, waiting for Uncle Turu to begin his storytelling.

  “You are changing,” Chasca said, her skin glowing a beautiful gold in the firelight.

  “I am?”

  “Yes. You have never sat with me by the fire before.”

  “You are right!” I said in surprise.

  Chasca smiled and put her arm around my back. She rested her head lightly on my left shoulder. Sumac preened himself happily on the other side, and I will say I felt as full and content as Mama Killa at that moment.

  Chasca had spoken truly. As you have heard, I always sat away from the people, at the edge of the group. This was a small observation she had made, but also not so small. I wondered what was different.

  I often forgot myself in my watching and listening. I had been studying the flames of the fire when Chasca spoke to me. But there was another reason, and I thought I knew what it was as I sat with my beautiful sister. The people treated me differently. They smiled my way more often.

  Some of these smiles were fearful. They were tight lipped, with nervous, flitting eyes. These people were afraid of my powers as the yachachisqa, the student of the mighty shaman, or perhaps they were scared of Sumac and his big beak. But other smiles were wide and true. These smiles came for a reason that is difficult to explain. Imagine a girl rushing through her days with her head down, her face hidden behind her hair. Would you grin at such a girl as she scuttled past you in fear? No. Now see this same girl moving slowly, watching you. She will see your smile, yes? So you offer it to her.

  By opening my eyes and my ears, I was creating a world of more smiles for myself. It was an odd and new sensation, to be seen after a lifetime spent feeling as invisible as the very air, and I was still learning to return those smiles.

  One person in particular, Ucho, had changed his ways toward me as quickly as the air turns frigid once Inti sets from the sky. Ucho ignored me completely now. As I reflected on it by the fire, I realized that I hadn’t seen him much over the past moon. I searched the faces and found him on the opposite side of the fire, sitting with his brother and the other boys. His nose had healed, but it would always have a strange twisted appearance at the end. Perhaps it wasn’t me that Ucho avoided, but the Handsome One. I decided it didn’t much matter, as long as he stayed away.

  Sighing happily, I rested my head against Chasca’s as Uncle Turu stepped in front of the fire. Tonight would be one of the people’s favorite stories, a love story, that always sparked much debate after its telling.

  Uncle Turu rose, rubbing his big hands together briskly in expectation. He waited for the people to grow quiet before beginning. When the air was heavy with the silence of the surrounding mountains and every pair of eyes was fixed intently on him, Uncle Turu boomed, “Ñawpa pachapi.”

  There is much power in these opening words, yes? Can you see the people settling onto the earth more comfortably, content to be caught up in the story Uncle Turu would weave for them?

  “Once upon a time there was a girl named Chuguillanto who was more beautiful than any across the empire. She hadn’t a single freckle or mole, and her face was so perfect, the very birds stopped their singing when she walked by, for she was far lovelier than any song they could offer.

  “When she was eight, Chuguillanto was selected to become a member of the Acllahuasi, the convent of the Sun Maidens, in the capital city of Cuzco. Most of the Sun Maidens would become wives to noblemen, or servants to the sacred mummies, or weavers of the finest cloth worn by the Sapa Inca. But such was not to be the fate of Chuguillanto. Because of her great beauty, the emperor himself had chosen her to be the next offering to Inti if the times demanded a human sacrifice. In a convent of thousands of Sun Maidens, such a selection was the greatest of honors.

  “Life in the convent was very, very good. The Maidens ate the finest of delicacies the land could provide, served upon plates of ornately carved gold. They slept on raised beds filled with the soft wool of baby alpacas. Their clothes were woven of richly dyed cloths and adorned with beautiful feathers and shells. Four mighty fountains flowed forth from the four corners of the empire, so that each Maiden might bathe herself in waters from her home province. It is said that such waters helped to maintain the beauty and softness of the skin.” Here Uncle Turu fluttered his eyes and delicately rubbed his cheek with his fingers, and the people laughed to see such a strong-faced man pretending to be beautiful.

  “Of course the Sun Maidens’ hearts had to be pure. They couldn’t attend to their duties properly if they didn’t devote themselves entirely to the emperor and to Inti. So they were carefully guarded. Maidens were allowed to leave the convent only in pairs, and they were questioned and inspected upon their return for hidden mementos or charms, a sure sign that a Maiden had allowed herself to fall in love with a man. Such a Maiden would be buried alive for turning her heart elsewhere.

  “Several years passed, and Chuguillanto became known as the most beautiful young woman in all the empire. One day she and another Sun Maiden wandered far from the convent and came across a handsome young herdsman napping under a tree, his llamas grazing on the ichu grass. As the Maidens approached, the scent of their perfume awoke the youth. When he saw them, he scrambled to his feet and bowed low, for he was certain he was gazing upon goddesses.

  “Chuguillanto’s companion laughed and assured the herdsman that they were mortal. Chuguillanto, however, was quiet, for already the llama herder had captivated her. The other Sun Maiden asked the herdsman’s name, and he told her he was called Acoynapa, but it was to Chuguillanto that he truly spoke, for he was as captivated by her as she was by him.

  “The three passed the afternoon together, enjoying one another’s company. Acoynapa wore an unusual silver campu, a pendant, on a thin silver chain about his forehead. Chuguillanto asked to see it, and when Acoynapa leaned closer toward her so she could do so, they both were overcome by the closeness and pulled away quickly.

  “Acoynapa offered the pendant to Chuguillanto as a gift, but she refused, for she knew if the guards discovered it, she would be slain. Acoynapa would be in danger as well. If he was found guilty of capturing a Sun Maiden’s heart, he would be hung from his feet until the blood rushing to his head made it burst from the pressure.” Here Uncle Turu placed his hands on the sides of his head and pulled the hair away from his face, grimacing horribly. He paused to let the image sink in, then went on with the story.

  “Back in the Acllahuasi that night, Chuguillanto tossed about, unable to sleep, for she was in love with the llama herder. Although she was a wise and sensible girl, she resolved to find his home and see him again. Acoynapa also didn’t sleep that night, for he, too, had fallen in love and knew the terrible consequences if he should be found out.

  “The week that followed was full of suffering for the pair. Chuguillanto wandered the hills with her companion, going from home to home looking for Acoynapa. Acoynapa lay in his wasi, unable to sleep or eat. Finally, his mother came to visit him. When she saw the state her son was in, she knew he would die from his lovesickness if she didn’t help. Fortunately, she was a woman of much magic. She shrank her eager son and placed him inside a finely carved wooden staff.

  “The day arrived when Chuguillanto and her companion knocked on the door of Acoynapa’s home. The
mother answered and told the Maidens that Acoynapa had died. She handed Chuguillanto the wooden staff, saying it had been his favorite and she should take it as a way to remember him. Chuguillanto thanked the mother and, clutching the staff to her chest, walked back to the convent with her companion. The guards allowed the staff inside, for it wasn’t concealed and was the property of a dead man who could be no threat.

  “That night, Chuguillanto placed the wooden staff in her room and began sobbing. As the tears flowed down her cheeks and landed on the staff, it began to tremble and transform right before her eyes. Suddenly, kneeling before her was her beloved herdsman! The two embraced with much joy, and Acoynapa explained about the magic powers of the staff.

  “It was in this way that the two lived together in the most heavily guarded convent in the empire without being discovered. By day, Acoynapa hid himself in the staff, and Chuguillanto would walk about holding the stick close to her. At night, once they were safe within the walls of her room, he would transform into his human self.

  “But, as is always the way, these good times did not last. Famine and plague struck the empire. The dead outnumbered the living, and there weren’t enough hands to bury the bodies piling up in the roads.”

  Uncle Turu clutched his belly in hunger. He mopped his brow in fever and held his head in agony.

  “The Sapa Inca consulted his wise men and was told it was time for a human sacrifice. This was to be Chuguillanto’s moment. Her death would be painless. Filled with the magic of the koka leaves and aca, she wouldn’t feel the fingers wrapped around her throat to stop her breath forever. She would be a messenger to Inti and dwell with him forever as a representative of her people. There was no greater glory.

  “But Chuguillanto knew she was an impure sacrifice, for her heart belonged to Acoynapa. The entire empire would suffer if she was offered to the Sun God, and the Sapa Inca would be cursed. Ignorance was no excuse. She couldn’t allow herself to be sacrificed, but to confess would lead to her death and that of her beloved. What could she do? She and Acoynapa devised a hasty plan. In the middle of the night, they fled to the east, hoping to be taken in by the people of the jungle.

  “But their escape was not meant to be. The gods themselves intervened. As the two were about to reach the jungle, they were turned into stone pillars, one on either side of the road. Neither in the empire nor in freedom, neither together nor apart, they stand for eternity for all to see.”

  Uncle Turu held up his hands in a question. “Did the gods do this in honor of the great love shared by Chuguillanto and Acoynapa, or as a punishment because they broke the laws of the empire? No one is certain. So it was and ever shall be.”

  The people repeated, “So it was and ever shall be.”

  “They were turned to stone in glory!” someone yelled.

  “No! The gods did it because they were insulted!” another responded. Immediately, the debating began, but it was all in good nature. Chasca and I smiled at each other. We had our own disagreement about Chuguillanto.

  “She was a fool,” I whispered. Chuguillanto could have been sacrificed to Inti, could have spent eternity in his constant presence. She gave this up for a mere llama herder. Chasca knew my arguments. I did not need to repeat them.

  My sister answered, “She was courageous in life and lucky to be in love.” Here was one of our greatest differences. Chasca preferred a man. I would choose no less than the Sun God himself if I could. I traced my jagged scar lightly with the back of my fingers. The faraway jungle was closer to me than Chuguillanto’s unblemished beauty.

  Chasca seemed to know my thoughts. “Come,” she said. “Let’s dance the aymaran.” My sister especially enjoyed this ancient dance because of its fast spinning. Several other women were already rising to the beginning sounds of the drums. This was part of the celebration, that the women would dance without the men.

  Although it is true that I was changing, I couldn’t bring myself to dance with anything more than small, careful steps. Sumac clutched my shoulder, his claws digging in tightly so he wouldn’t fall off. To move too quickly might expose my scarred cheek to the people, and I wasn’t prepared to do that. But Chasca quickly abandoned herself to the now rapidly beating drums. Her feet flew in a quickening circle, her hair flowing in an arc behind her as she leaned her head back and reached to Mama Killa with open arms. I stopped dancing and watched, as many others did. My sister was beautiful and free and open. Mama Killa and her children, the stars, shone down on Chasca in gladness, kissing her pure, smooth skin as she laughed and twirled under their magical glow.

  I left the dancers quickly, although I hesitated at the edge of the fire circle to watch. The drums beat more loudly, with a pulsing intensity. Their insistent voices converged into the one pounding sound of dance dance dance. But I was the Ugly One, and the aymaran was not meant for me. Patting Sumac on the head, I turned and made my way back to the wasi alone.

  ***

  That night in my dreams, I again visited the heart of my huaca, my spirit rock. I stood inside the cave. The air was filled with the whispers and echoes of ancient spirits, and on the rock wall I could see a faint carving of my brother Hatun’s face. It was frozen in a moment of horror and fear.

  Two jaguar cubs snarled at each other in play as they frolicked on the dirt floor. I thought to join them and dropped to my hands and knees. Such fun they were having! I inched my way forward, hoping they wouldn’t stop their play before I could pounce on them in surprise.

  A large padded foot suddenly blocked my path. It was the mother jaguar. She studied me with yellow eyes and an open mouth. I wasn’t frightened of her sharp teeth, for I knew she wouldn’t hurt me. Her breath was hot and animal on my face, and a delicate rainbow snaked its way slowly from deep within her throat and out past her lips. I inhaled it into my own being and held it deep within my chest, where it tingled warm and magical. I didn’t want to release it, but my chest was burning for fresh air. I opened my mouth with a roar. The rainbow rushed toward the cubs in a swirl and wrapped them in its misty colors. They froze, one of them in midpounce, then dried up and quickly disappeared into the ground.

  “Look,” Mother Jaguar said.

  Crawling closer, I studied the spot where the cubs had been. Something creamy and delicate burst forth from the dark earth and began to grow. It was a tiny, perfect toadstool.

  “Soon,” Mother Jaguar said. With great tenderness, she scooped up the fragile toadstool in her mouth and was gone in one mighty leap.

  I awoke. The wasi was very dark, and I pulled my blanket tightly around my shoulders to keep out the cold air. I knew the dream was an important message, but now that I was awake, I could remember none of it. It was a gift, to have the spirits speak with me in such a manner. They honored me with their presence. To forget their message was a failure that further convinced me I was not the right and true apprentice to the shaman. I had listened, but still the voice of Beyond was silent to my straining ears. I had watched, but my eyes were blind to its sacred vision. My timid feet couldn’t even dance the aymaran.

  Lying there that night, I made a decision to follow what my heart told me was the sad but steady path. I would end my studies with the Paqo. I would tell him in the morning.

  11

  Inti

  Sun Father

  EARLY the next day, I went to my huaca. This was my favorite place to greet Inti each morning. As I sat there, the night’s cold seeping from the rock’s strong body through my thick woolen cloak, I had a vague sense that somehow the huaca had been a part of the dream that danced in the dark just out of memory’s reach. I tried to call it forth, concentrating on the sacred stone and what it might have to say, but there was nothing. No huaca voice. No language from Beyond. I would visit the Paqo after the greeting to tell him of my decision.

  Sumac perched erect on my shoulder as if he were standing guard, awaiting the rising of the Sun God. The remaining clouds in the sky were thin and deep red. Inti would soon show himself. I rose
and held my arms to the sky. “Oh, Inti,” I chanted.

  “Inti, Inti, Inti,” Sumac mimicked in his bird voice. He had begun copying many sounds lately, and “Inti” was the first word he had learned.

  I kept my focus on the Sun God. “Great Father of the Inca. Shine glory on us in safety. Shine glory on us in peace. Shine glory on us in wisdom. Keep our minds clear in light. Keep our hearts young in warmth. Keep our feet straight on the light path, for we are your children. Inti, Inti, Great Father of the Inca.”

  Here I added my own personal prayer to the sun. It was perhaps selfish of me to do so, but every morning I implored, “And please, Mighty Inti, remove my scar.” I knew he could do it if he so chose. But how was an ugly, scarred girl to convince the Sun God she was worthy of such attention? I kissed my fingers and bowed to the sky, the mountains silent witnesses to my worship.

  The cool wind blew my hair this way and that as Inti first appeared on the horizon. I smiled at him, gladness radiating from my heart. I should have been praying for rains, yes, but the warmth of Inti’s rays on my face brought me much joy. How could I ignore such happiness? It was a true mystery to me, how the Sun Maiden Chuguillanto could choose a short life with a llama herder rather than eternity with Inti. Watching his fiery body rise between the distant mountains, I could feel him in my own beating heart, spreading love throughout my chest and warming my entire being. He was our father, the most powerful of the gods. And he shone on me as if I were just as worthy as the beautiful Chuguillanto.

  The greeting done, I sat to enjoy a light breakfast alone with Sumac. The moment I removed the pouch of cold cooked corn, he jumped to the ground and squawked in delight. The Handsome One favored the golden corn above all else, a sure sign he was a true bird of Inti and not of the faraway jungles. He took a kernel in his beak and ate it hungrily, flipping the soft discarded casing onto the dirt.