Earthquakes and tremors followed them as Ichu helped guide the sleds. In the last day as they fled the eruptions at the coast, teams cut trees by the river—old growths that were at least twenty years old—and fashioned them into side slats for the sleds like the newcomers had made. It kept the water out, and they found they could fit even more on the sleds before they took on water. The jaukas did not need to pull as hard, and they could use poles to keep the sleds from the riverbanks. It made them go faster, and they needed all the speed they could muster.
His sister had found a similar spirit in Cosquella. The big girl was strange, but polite. Her father and cousin continued to worsen, despite repeated performances of Flower Sends Out Pollen to remove the ash from their lungs. Elder Sinchi, who led the healers, said the dust might have caused permanent damage from the length of time inside the body. They could only wait and see what would happen at this point. Even if they didn’t worsen, they would likely be weakened the rest of their lives, unable to do any strenuous activity.
The strong survived in the Huaca.
The day after that, the winds came. They could see the eruptions of magma even from here, but now the hot winds brought tiny particles of ash, just like those that had harmed Cosquella’s family. Everyone on the sleds wore cloth masks devised by the Allwiya, and the elders prayed to Tiyu Pacha to clear the air.
Uncle Sky must have had his eye on them, because after only three repetitions of the sign of the sky—fingertips touching, hands changing to view the clouds from different configurations—a wind rose in the other direction. Ichu saw a barrier form, the air clearing above them. He hadn’t realized the air had been so clouded. It held as they traveled, following with them, flakes of ash collecting on top of the transparent dome. Did so much attention from a god mean the storm warriors from the wall of storms were defeated? Or had they moved to a different place?
“I hope the storms will stop any of the Eztli Mecatl following after us,” Ichu told his sister on the next day.
“They are very strong, they are, and resistant to heat,” Cosquella warned from Silluka’s other side, where she was a constant presence, “They will still follow.”
She and Silluka were fast becoming firm friends, and perhaps something more. The two young citizens who had practiced with them in the Huaca, Waskar and Tamaya, sometimes accompanied them, when they were not busy clearing the river of fallen trees and silt. He wished the best for his little sister, now she had found companions. She had not had an easy time in the Huaca, with her missing forearm.
Ichu stared across the four great sleds, holding everyone he had ever known. He’d had relationships with some of the bodycasters here, male and female, but none of them ever lasted. He didn’t bear ill-will to any of them, but none still held his interest. A tinge of sadness touched him at Kuillay’s fate, when the first turtleman landed, but he brushed it away. He could do nothing for the dead.
There was more to this world than he’d thought, and perhaps the right person for him was out there. He held out his hand, studying the lines etched into his skin. He wasn’t so young anymore. What secrets could Elder Quilqi teach him? What did she know, and what had she seen?
The river was growing weaker as the last trees disappeared and the ground turned sandy. The elders kept up their prayers day in and day out, and the bubble of clear air stayed around them. They were almost fully into the desert now, and even the water source of the river was not enough to overcome the dryness. In a few more years, this area would be lush with vegetation, but they had been forced to migrate to a new Huaca earlier than expected. For now, the ground continued to shake, but no new rents had opened up, or changed the course of the river, thankfully.
Every day, he practiced the morning ritual, but pondered what Elder Quilqi had taught them. He tried the moves from different stances, and felt the ampuka trying to connect, but oddly. There were more ways to do even the morning ritual than he’d been taught. All those years of effort. Had they been wasted?
Silluka and Consquella practiced with him, and he marveled at how much his siter had grown in skill in just a few weeks. She used her right arm now, as it was meant to move within the morning ritual, rather than hiding it as she used to. He could see the full motions her arm movements described, though the forearm and hand weren’t there. Was this the intent behind the chayu Elder Quilqi had taught them of? Was his sister besting him in ability? The elder had said he would have to unlearn what he’d learned. Was there enough time for that?
Three days later, as he finished the morning ritual, the air began to clear and the wind against them died down, dissolving the sphere of dust and debris Tiyu Pacha had held back. Ichu said his own silent prayer to the Uncle, then noticed there were still elders at the front of the lead sled, making the sign of the air. Had the god deserted them? The citizen on watch, perched high on the mound of belongings in the middle of the sled, raised a finger, pointing behind them.
Ichu scanned the horizon. There were turtlemen visible in the distance, moving without hurry, confident of their superiority. Uncle Sky must have ceased his protection in case more might was needed against the invaders. He hoped.
There were shouts, and bodycasters began lining the backs of the sleds, ready if the turtlemen tried anything. There were at least ten following them, but as he watched, two split off, disappearing into the low brush to either side of the river. Then another three appeared from different cover. So there were more than that, but a core party making themselves known. For what reason?
Silluka and Cosquella came up behind him, Lugopo riding Silluka’s shoulder. “How did they survive the winds and dust?” His sister asked.
“They are strong warriors,” Cosquella said. It was a refrain she had kept up the past few days.
“But you said you knew ones who taught you skills,” Silluka asked her.
He should join the others protecting the sleds. Despite the need to watch the invaders for aggressive movement, Ichu turned to the young woman. If she had information, that might be the difference between holding their own, and being overrun.
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“We did. The first ones to come, they were desperate enough to cross the boiling sea between the islands. Even these few were much stronger than us, weren’t they, bolstered by the harshness of their land. They were teachers and craftsmen from their island, persecuted and chased. I don’t remember much of them, I don’t, only what they showed us. They left when I was young, taking their chances further into the interior.”
“Can you tell us more about them? What they might fear? What might defeat them?” Ichu urged. “We must know more, now. I barely held off one of them, but here…” he spread a hand out toward the shapes in the distance. They weren’t rushing, but he’d seen how fast they could move. There would be an engagement again, sometime soon.
“I can tell you a little, but my father would know much more. He isn’t well, though, not at all,” Cosquella said.
“Is it worth asking, so we can defend ourselves?” Silluka suggested gently. “We could help protect him then.” We, she said, not they. His sister already thought better of herself, with just a little practice. He tamped down his smile, but he was proud.
“I think it is,” Cosquella said. “I need to check on him today in any case, I do. He has not been well the last few days, even with your village’s help.”
Ichu led the way to the small healing center, near the rear of the second sled. Kallpa and his nephew lay on mats, along with one of the Huaca who had broken his leg falling between two of the sleds.
“Daughter,” Kallpa croaked when they entered. Ichu hadn’t seen him since the elders had taken him for healing, but he looked much worse now than he had then, his face pale and lips purple. His nephew was sleeping or unconscious, laying behind him.
“Father, how are you feeling?” Cosquella knelt by his side, still up to Ichu’s chest even on her knees. She was a very tall girl. “Can I get you anything? Are the healers treating you well, yes?”
She grasped his hand, and Kallpa squeezed back weakly. Even this little exertion was making him pant. “I am tired, Cosquella, I am. I fear even with the healer’s efforts, I have little time. I am not the man I was.”
“Don’t say that, you,” Cosquella said.
“It is true. To deny truth is…to ignore the gods.” He had to pause for breath, even with that little speech.
“Father, can you tell us of the Eztli Mecatl? There are some following us. I fear we may have to fight them, I do. I don’t think these are like the ones we knew.”
Kallpa tried to sit up, but fell back to his mat, gasping, purple lips gaping. Ichu clenched his fists, hating they were witness to the older man’s weakness. He would squeeze every bit of knowledge from Elder Quilqi, if it would help them live longer, fuller lives. He went to the other side of the mat, and with Cosquella’s help, lifted her father slowly until he was resting against a large bolster.
“Thank you,” he panted. Silluka crept closer behind Cosquella, resting her hand on the larger woman’s shoulder. Lugopo twisted this way and that, their large gleaming eyes seeming to catalog what was in the healing center. Ichu was surprised to see the same white and black aura slowly gain strength around them. It was as when the Allwiya had demonstrated the device that showed the ampuka. They leapt from Silluka’s shoulder, gathering stray pieces of wood, cloth, and little pieces of metal, breaking small bits from the frame of the tent.
“If the Eztli Mecatl are following…then I must tell you more about…them, I must.” Kallpa had to stop with each sentence. “These are not…the ones you knew as a child. These are…the ones they fled from. They are strong as a group…but even stronger by themselves.”
Ichu wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Wait. You say they are stronger in fewer numbers?”
“Yes…” Kallpa had to stop then, coughing. Cosquella held his hand, looking helpless and angry she could not help her father.
Then Lugopo swung down, a strange funnel of wood, metal and cloth gripped in several tentacles. The white and black glow was even stronger around them, throwing a shadow in the dark tent. “Apologies for intrusion,” the circlet chirped. “Have created devious trap—for breathing!” They placed the device in front of Kallpa’s mouth. “Mighty words will be aided so color changing reverses.”
Kallpa must have been used to the inventions of his own Allwiya because he let Lugopo strap the filter in front of his mouth. He took several breaths, then sat up straighter.
“Many thanks, Allwiya,” he said. “Can you craft one for my nephew, yes?”
“With great ease!” Lugopo swung away.
“Can I do anything else for you?” Cosquella asked, but her father held up a hand. He already seemed more animated, his face gaining color.
“Simply listen, you all. This is important.” His voice was muffled behind the funnel, but still audible. “You asked of their numbers, you did. What I stated was correct. These Eztli Mecatl will become stronger as their numbers reduce, not weaker. This is why the one you fought on his own was so formidable.” He paused again to catch his breath, and Ichu leaned in with the others. “They have the power of blood, given to them by their god.” Kallpa held up a finger. “Just one, for their home island is tiny, it is. But it is a powerful god. I never learned their name, I didn’t. The Eztli Mecatl we learned from were heretics, fleeing from the practices of their people, and so they would not say the god’s name.”
Kallpa rested again, wheezing, which turned into coughing. Cosquella got him a skin of water and Ichu studied her father. He was perhaps younger than he looked, aged from a hard farm life. Maybe Ichu himself would have looked similar in another thirty years. Why would any choose to live away from the protection of the Huaca?
When he finished coughing, and had some water, Kallpa began again.
“Their power fortifies them, makes their bodies nearly invincible, and pervades every part of them. If one falls, another may partake of them, and gain their strength, they can, even while fighting. The ones I spoke to viewed this as a corruption of their original path, though they would not even say what that was. Beware the strongest of their warriors. They can even call metal and earth to them, as armor.”
He fell into another coughing fit, one hand pressed to his chest.
“Father, are you alright?” Cosquella leaned toward him. “What can I do for you?”
“This took more of a toll than…I thought,” he gasped. “But I have to tell you one more…ahh…thing, I do.” He clutched his chest. “Lay me back, you.”
Ichu helped Cosquella get him prone again. He groaned.
“We should go. Thank you for your wisdom, Kallpa,” Ichu said, but Kallpa held up a weak hand.
“One last thing. Cosquella, closer.” Even with Lugopo’s funnel, the man’s face was deathly pale again. The Allwiya was with his nephew, affixing a second device to his face.
“You don’t have to tell me now,” Cosquella said. “It’s too much.”
“If I do not tell you now…I may not get a chance, no.” Kallpa’s voice was weak.
“Don’t say that, Father.”
“Hush. Listen. Your mother. I told you…she passed away when you were born.” Kallpa’s eyelids were fluttering as he struggled to stay conscious. “Don’t stop me, you. She was…special, your mother. The Eztli Mecatl, they…they…”
He fell silent.
“What, Father?” Cosquella pressed a hand to his cheek.
Silluka crowded next to her, supporting the older man’s arm with her stump and checking for a pulse with her hand.
“I’ll get the healers,” Ichu said.
“He’s still alive, but unconscious,” Silluka said as he left. “His pulse is weak.”
By the time Ichu got back with Elder Sinchi herself, Kallpa’s breathing was shallow. The healer shoed them out as she began the first moves of Tree Sap Flows, used to keep the blood moving.
“I’m sure he’ll be well soon,” Silluka was saying to Cosquella, who was shaking her head. Her strange hair didn’t even ruffle in the breeze.
The hot breeze. He blinked, particles stinging his eyes. The air stank of rotten eggs.
Ichu’s head whipped around as the river shook, waves slapping against the new boards fixed to the sides of the sled. The wind was coming from the opposite direction. From inland, not from the coast.
He could see the mound forming ahead, pushing the river back toward them in a crest of water.
“Volcano!” he called.