Naamah's Blessing

ridge above it stood a double line of Quechua warriors clad in quilted cotton armor. They carried wooden shields, spears or stone-headed war-clubs, and their faces were impassive.
    Eyahue called out to them, telling them that we were traders in search of a party of white-faced strangers. One of the Quechua warriors pointed at the quay without replying, indicating permission to tie up.
    “Should we arm ourselves?” Balthasar murmured.
    Seeing the splendid city, I was acutely aware of our unimposing appearance. We were sweaty and hungry and grimy, hardly in any condition to impress anyone. At least the armor would help. “I think we’d better.”
    So we docked at the quay, unloading those trade goods we had left in store. The men donned their armor—or at least those who had not lost it to the river, for we were a few sets short by now. Of that which remained, much of it was rusted, the leather straps half-rotted by the jungle’s damp heat. The shining company that had set out from Orgullo del Sol was considerably diminished. Still, it was something.
    The Quechua watched without comment. Bao nudged me, pointing with his chin. Following his gaze, I saw that there were more black ants swarming atop the ridge above us, winding in streams around the warriors’ sandaled feet. The Quechua ignored them utterly.
    The sick feeling returned.
    I glanced at Denis, who shook his head. He looked as ill as I felt. “I don’t know, Moirin. They want… I don’t know.” He rubbed helplessly at his twitching nose. “Whatever it is, it’s unnatural.”
    Eyahue repeated our inquiry regarding the white-faced strangers, addressing the Quechua in a cajoling tone. This time, the lead warrior inclined his head and replied. “He says we are expected,” Eyahue reported, sounding puzzled. “And they will escort us into the presence of Lord Pachacuti.”
    “What about Prince Thierry and his men?” I asked.
    The old
pochteca
shook his head. “He said nothing of them.”
    The Quechua leader beckoned, then turned and began to climb a series of steps carved into the side of the mountain, his men falling in behind him. On the ridge, pools of ants awaited us.
    Bao and I exchanged a glance. “I go first,” he said firmly, unslinging his staff. “No arguments.”
    Swallowing hard, I nodded. “None here.”
    Following the Quechua, we climbed the steps to the ridge, where the pool of ants parted for us, transforming itself into a divided stream. As we climbed the next set of stairs, ascending into the heights, twin rivulets of ants poured alongside us, following our progress. Although their presence unsettled me, I did my best to ignore them.
    “Do you know this Lord Pachacuti?” I asked Eyahue.
    “No.” He shrugged. “He’s new since last I was here. Some ambitious son of the Emperor, I reckon.”
    “Why’s that?” I asked.
    Eyahue grunted. “The name means ‘Earth-Shaker.’ It was the name the first Emperor of Tawantinsuyo took for himself; the
Sapa Inca
, they call him.” He eyed the stream of ants with distaste. “The Quechua believe one worthy of the name comes every so often to reorder the world.”
    “Oh.”
    We reached the first hanging bridge. It swayed underfoot, jostled by the tread of the Quechua who preceded us. I reached out with both hands to steady myself on the thick cables woven of sisal, and flinched. They were crawling with ants.
    Bao turned back. “Steady, Moirin,” he said in a calm voice. “You can do this. We’ve endured worse.”
    I smiled gratefully at him. “We have, haven’t we?”
    Fighting to maintain my balance, I averted my gaze from the green chasm yawning beneath us and kept it fixed on Bao’s back, comforted by his sure-footed tread. We crossed the bridge and continued. Upward and upward we climbed, passing terraces cut into the face ofthe mountain. Farmers labored beneath the hot sun, unperturbed by the sight of armored men and our entourage of ants.
    At last we reached the palace, passing through tall wooden doors emblazoned with gold disks depicting the Quechua sun god.
    Far from being deterred, the ants streamed through the doors alongside us. With the sounds of the jungle hushed by thick stone walls, I could
hear
them, a faint rustling sound that set my skin to crawling anew. No one we passed seemed to find it the least bit unusual, which unnerved me all the more.
    Our reticent escorts led us to a vast hall where dozens of young women danced attendance on the figure seated