The Ugly One Read online

  “Finally, that feathered menace is gone long enough that I can do what I want!” Ucho snarled.

  He pushed me roughly, but I stood stiff and tall. I would not let him knock me over. I would not let him see my fear.

  “You might think we’re finished, but we’re not,” Ucho went on. “I don’t care that you fixed my brother’s shoulder. There is no balance between us, Ugly One! My mother rambles on and on to me about you. I know I must be in your future, and I won’t ignore my duty. But I warn you, I will make you miserable every day.”

  His scarred nose and hot breath were too close to my face. His anger pulsed its way through my skin and squeezed my heart. Why did he hate me so? Were these new threats because of what Sumac had done to his nose? Or did Ucho torment me because I was so ugly?

  “And that evil shaman friend of yours? He won’t be protecting you much longer!” Ucho continued with another shove. “There is already talk of sending him away. He is the reason the rains don’t come. All the people are saying so. They will drive him out of the village forever, and they will kill your bird. Then I will come for you, Loathsome One!” He shook his head in disgust. “That hair doesn’t hide anything. My scar is nothing compared with yours. You are hideous. Who would ever choose a life with you? I would poke out my eyes so I wouldn’t have to gaze upon such a hideous wife.”

  A loud squawking from above suddenly gave me hope. I risked glancing upward, and true enough, Sumac was flying toward us. I was filled with gratitude, but taking my eyes from Ucho was a mistake. He seized the opportunity to push me off my feet. I landed on my side with such force, my breath rushed past my lips. As I lay on the earth, dust rising up in a thick haze, Sumac plummeted toward me with a loud cry. There was no confusing the sound he made. He would attack Ucho with his entire feathered being. Ucho realized this, for he scrambled off just before the Handsome One landed next to me.

  I felt a pain above my eye, and when I put my hand to my forehead, it was wet and sticky. I pulled my fingers away and saw a small smear of blood, as red as Sumac’s regal back. A sharp rock glistened next to me on the ground. I must have hit my head on it when I fell. Sumac bobbed his head in agitation. I reached out with my other hand and petted him, trying to soothe him as much as myself.

  I considered telling someone about Ucho’s attack. Ucho had often hurt me with his words, but never before with his hands. This wasn’t the way of our people. But what if he blamed Sumac? What if it was decided that the bird was somehow at fault? I couldn’t risk losing my feathered companion. He was so much more than a friend to me. He was my shield in life, my link to Beyond, my connection to my own self. I held him close to my face, breathing in his feathery belly, trying to reassure both of us.

  As soon as I felt steady, I rose and made my way to the Paqo’s wasi. He was the one person who could comfort me and bring stillness to my spirit. Thoughts spun about in my mind like a swirl of dust caught in the wind, but the ones that spiraled back the strongest were Ucho’s words about the shaman. He is the reason the rains don’t come. They will drive him out of the village forever.

  ***

  The Paqo and I sat outside his wasi by a small fire he had built. He had treated my forehead with a poultice of dried plant leaves mixed with water.

  “It’s a small scrape. There will be no scar,” he said, but his voice was detached, and his eyes studied the faraway mountains, as if he were not truly with me.

  “Thank you,” I said. Then, to lighten the heaviness I felt, I added, “I didn’t think I needed another one.”

  This brought a chuckle from my teacher. “Scars are interesting things, New Voice. Ucho will carry the one on his nose for the rest of his days.”

  “I think he must be very angry about that,” I replied.

  “Who would be happy to gain such a scar?”

  I touched the river skin by my lip. Ucho’s nose wasn’t nearly as horrid to look upon as my disfigured face. Then again, he hadn’t given me my scar, and I was partly responsible for his.

  “He said he will make me miserable for the rest of my days.”

  “The boy speaks rashly. He lives up to his name, Hot Pepper.” The Paqo sighed. He spoke slowly now, and each word seemed weighted with meaning. “Names are interesting things.”

  I studied my feet as I whispered, “Yes.”

  “Your sister, she calls you Micay.”

  “Yes. It’s my birth name.”

  “Micay. Beautiful Round Face.”

  “I’ve been told I was a beautiful baby with a perfect, round face,” I said. It was impossible for me to imagine this baby self. I had always been the Ugly One. Beautiful Round Face was some other person, some other baby, not me.

  The Paqo said, “Strange how close the two names are. Micay. Millay. Beauty and horror just a click of the tongue apart. One moment in time, and a life veers off on a different path.”

  “Yes.”

  We sat in silence. The fire cracked and popped.

  “Why do you sit on the rock?” he asked.

  I didn’t understand. My bottom rested flat upon the earth. But then, I never knew when an unexpected question might wind its way to me from the shaman. “I’m not sitting on a rock,” I said cautiously, wary of a trick from my teacher.

  “The rock you sit on so often. Why do you sit on that rock?”

  He meant my huaca. Did he know it held a spirit? I wondered if he might take it from me if I told him, but to lie to the shaman wasn’t possible. “It holds power. It is a huaca.”

  The Paqo waved his hand dismissively at what I had thought was an important revelation. “Of course it is a huaca. But there are many huaca. What drew you to that one?”

  I had never wondered this before. “I’m not certain. I think it must have called to me.”

  “It’s good that you have it. You will need its strength,” the shaman said, and then his gaze fixed itself once again upon some faraway point. His eyes became distant, like secrets carved in stone.

  I wanted to ask if I would need the strength of the huaca because the Paqo would be leaving soon. Were the people going to drive him away? Did he know this already? And I wondered, if he had truly been a mighty shaman in the capital city of Cuzco, why had he left there to come to our small, unimportant llaqta? Had he done something terrible? I needed him here with me. What would I do if he left? These questions lurked in my throat, but I remained quiet as I sat next to my teacher. As long as I didn’t ask them, I didn’t have to act on the answers.

  ***

  It was as I sat on my rush mat, eating the meager evening meal with my family, that I gathered the courage to place my questions into the air for others to hear. “I’ve been told that the people blame the Paqo for the lack of rains,” I said, forcing my voice to be clear and steady. “I’ve heard they want to drive him out of the village. Is this true?”

  Mama, Papa, and Chasca went still, their spoons frozen in midair. Only the steam from the quwi stew continued to move lazily upward, as if nothing unusual had just happened. Without them saying a word, I knew it was true. Ucho had been right.

  The silence became awkward. Father cleared his throat, and I could see he was about to rattle off some nonsense. Chasca leaned toward me and spoke first. She put her hand softly on mine and smiled faintly. “Don’t worry, Micay. They are too scared of the shaman to actually do it.”

  I nodded at my sister, and my family continued with the meal, trying to pretend all was well when it was not. I wondered, How long will it be before the people’s fear of hunger overpowers their fear of my teacher?

  14

  Capac Raymi

  Magnificent Festival

  THREE worlds dwell within the night sky,” the Paqo said as he pointed toward the stars flickering their small, icy fires. We were lying on the ground studying the countless twinkling daughters of Inti and Mama Killa on this most important of nights, Capac Raymi. It was the shortest night of the year, the only night when, for one breathless moment at dawn, the barriers betwe
en this world and the spirit world were bridged.

  “There is the below world, the land of the past and our ancestors, home of the ground-dwelling fox, the toad, and the mighty serpent.” The Paqo pointed low in the black cloth of the night sky, and there, in the pattern of the stars, were the ground animals. He continued. “Just above is this world, the place of now, the dwelling of the plants, the people, and the fierce jaguar.” Here he pointed to midsky and the stars outlining the jaguar ready to pounce. “And higher yet is the upper world, the future, home of the sky spirits, the rainbow, lightning, stars, sun, moon, and condor.” He pointed to the stars in the uppermost sky, drawing the shape of the condor in flight with his fingers.

  The Paqo sat up, and I did the same. “Each animal has its own message, its own meaning,” he said. “The serpent below, the jaguar in the middle, and the condor above, one sitting atop the other. And all three worlds are connected through the spiral.” With his finger, he made a rising spiral in the night air. His voice was quiet and solemn as he asked, “But what else is there, New Voice, aside from the spiral, aside from these worlds?”

  Like most people, I knew of the three worlds and the spiral connecting them. But I had not heard of anything else. “There is more?” I asked in surprise.

  The Paqo chuckled. “New Voice, where is it you seek to be?”

  I sought to be where I was, studying the stars with my teacher. There was nowhere I would rather be, but I thought I knew what his question meant. “Beyond?”

  He grunted in approval. “Ari. Beyond. The hummingbird represents Beyond.”

  I had never truly thought about what Beyond actually was or where it could be found. Was it a place? Did hummingbirds flitter their way to the stars? Was Beyond past the stars?

  Difficult questions often churned within me when I was with the Paqo, but even so I treasured our time together. I would rather be confused sitting under the stars with him than be with the people, as we had been earlier that night. Ordinarily, I would have enjoyed the festival of Capac Raymi, when the conch shell was blown loudly to the sky to welcome the spirit world on this shortest of nights. But I preferred to forget this night’s celebration. Not because the conch call had felt weak, as if it couldn’t even reach to the tops of the mountains, let alone carry our message all the way to the sky world. And not because the feast had been so meager that the people could barely smile at one another. I chose to forget this night because of the disturbing glances cast toward my teacher when the people thought he wasn’t looking.

  I had been oblivious to these glances before, but once Ucho opened my eyes, I saw how some people felt. They blamed the Paqo for the hard times. They murmured that if he were a good shaman right and true, the spirits wouldn’t be punishing us. They asked in accusing whispers, Didn’t the rains slow the very year he arrived in the village? Fear flickered on their faces like a hungry, growing flame. I am willing to say I was glad they were scared, for it prevented them from taking action. But it was just a matter of time before the pain of empty stomachs swallowed their fear of my teacher. And then he would be gone.

  “The llama leads the sky river to our world,” the Paqo went on, and I was glad for this moment, this now. The llama in the sky was formed in the blackness between the stars. I knew the boys who tended the llama herd would be performing their own special ceremonies and customs in the days that followed to ensure the safety and fortune of our village’s animals.

  We sat together now, the Paqo and I, watching. I tried to spy any stars coming down to the earth as shimmering, golden-haired maidens. There certainly wasn’t any corn for them to steal. The mighty sky river lowered breath by breath, its sacred light following a path it had known since before the time of the ancestors. Finally, just before the dawn, it hovered on the horizon and touched the land. Earth world and spirit world were one.

  The Paqo rose and began to chant. I stood by his side, staring at the connected worlds. My entire body tingled, especially my shoulder where Sumac’s claws dug tightly into the skin. My teacher’s voice swirled around me and rose into the endless above. With each hushed breath I took, the cold air wrapped itself around my beating heart and lifted the hairs on my neck. I felt the connection of all the worlds and the endless power of the spiral. It wasn’t Beyond, but I was filled with gratitude for this moment.

  The Paqo finished his chant and turned to me. “New Voice, it is time to tell you. I will be leaving.”

  So it was true. My teacher would abandon me. Next, the people would take Sumac away. I would be alone, and it would be worse than ever before, for now I knew what it meant to have constant companionship, both human and feathered. How could I bear to return to my old way of being?

  I was trying to be brave, and the effect of my fears combined with bent courage must have given me a comical appearance, for suddenly the shaman laughed mightily, the gap in his front teeth showing in the moonlight. He put his fingers on my shoulder, and Sumac moved closer to my face to make room for the strong hand. “Don’t despair. I’m going on a journey. I won’t be gone long.”

  I could feel my entire body shaking like a tender leaf in a powerful gust of wind, my relief was so great.

  “I must go to meet with the other shamans. It is time to find out what we have done to displease the spirits. The paqos must join powers to talk with the other world.”

  I heard this explanation, but my mind was focused inward. I was repeating, It is a short journey. He isn’t leaving forever. He isn’t leaving me. But the Paqo’s next words brought me back. “And you will come with me, New Voice.”

  Again I offered an expression that my teacher found humorous.

  “Don’t look so surprised. How else are you to learn the ways of the shaman?”

  He felt I was worthy! The mighty Paqo wanted me to accompany him on an important journey as his apprentice. I tried to tell him I would follow this path and make him proud, but no words could find their way past the lump that suddenly lodged in my throat like a huge boulder. I tried to stand tall and look at him with eyes that could stare down challenges and not falter, but my shoulders shook and my eyes filled with tears. Still, I kept my gaze firmly on my teacher, and his eyes held mine securely, like a strong tree trunk one could clutch in a storm. He smiled as the tears trickled their way down my cheeks.

  I lifted my fingers to my lips and kissed the tips in reverence. “Pachis,” I said in a shaky whisper, glad to have the word sound at all.

  My teacher nodded and spoke in a voice I had never heard before, matching my quiet tone. “Don’t thank me yet, New Voice. On a journey such as this, one can never know what might happen. The spirits are already angry for reasons no one understands.” He paused, then added with a hint of fear in his voice, “I can only hope they will be kind to us.”

  I wasn’t certain if the Paqo meant the spirits or the other shamans. I realized that I still didn’t know the right and true reasons why the Paqo had come to our llaqta. If the wagging tongues of the people were correct, he had been exiled to our small place in the mountains by the Sapa Inca himself. How would such a shaman be received by the other paqos? And what would they think of the Ugly One trailing along behind him?

  15

  Taskikaru

  Journey

  ARE you certain you have enough blankets to keep you warm?” Mama questioned as I put the last of my things into a wrap to carry on my back. The nights would be cold, though we would have the protective walls of the tampus, the guesthouses set along the trail for travelers.

  “Yes, Mama,” I said. “I packed the warmest ones you made for me.” I hoped my calm voice would reassure her. I knew it wasn’t easy for her to watch me go. I remembered back almost three years ago when Hatun left to work for the Sapa Inca, guarding and repairing the many roads that wove their way to the four corners of the empire. Hatun had been eager to serve his time, as all boys did when they became young men. He had been impatient with Mama as she fussed over him in the moments before he left. I vowed not to snap
at her as he had done.

  Mama’s face creased with lines of worry. She asked, “You will be careful?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “You will mind the Paqo? Listen to what he says?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Do not leave his side.”

  “I won’t, Mama.”

  “And you will come back to us?” I could tell that this last question was the one that truly mattered. Mama didn’t want to lose her youngest child. I knew she was being brave, trying to say goodbye with grace, but it was difficult for her.

  I placed my hands on her shoulders as I answered. “Of course, Mama. I will come back to you.”

  “Wife, let the child be,” said Father. “She is under the protection of the mighty Paqo. She will be fine.” Father’s faith in the shaman was complete. As far as he was concerned, Mama’s distress was bothersome. He would rather spend his time worrying about more important things, such as the number of owl hoots he’d heard in the night or how many spiders he’d sighted scurrying across his path.

  Chasca pulled Mama toward her. “Micay will be fine. Don’t be scared,” she said, and Mama let Chasca hug her tightly in reassurance.

  As I left our wasi and walked to the Paqo’s home with Sumac perched proudly on my shoulder, I thought about how Mama hadn’t leaned in to kiss me goodbye. I would have turned away as I always did to save her from having to kiss such an ugly daughter, but I was sad that she hadn’t even tried.

  ***

  I had heard much of the great Incan trails that crisscrossed our mighty empire. I knew my brother and other young men devoted years to maintaining the roads and their little sisters, the bridges. But I had never journeyed along these paths before. I hadn’t shown my fear to Mama, but of course I was nervous to leave my home.

  The Gathering was to take place at Wiñay Wayna, a holy place several days away that was known for its beautiful orchids and many flowing fountains. Wiñay Wayna was not far from Sacred Sun City at Machu Picchu. I would be close to the Sacred Rock that spoke its powerful messages to those who were worthy, a rock whose presence I felt more and more strongly as we made our way on the path. But we weren’t going to Sacred Sun City.