Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [173]
“None here,” I said. “Lord Pachacuti killed the only man in our company to possess the ability to understand them.”
Ocllo frowned. “You say his gift comes from bad spirits, yet you have a gift, too. I have seen it.”
I nodded. “It is a gift from my gods.”
Her shrewd eyes narrowed. “How is that different?”
“I did not ask for it, my lady,” I said honestly. “I was born with it. Lord Pachacuti asked for his gift.”
“And the gods gave it to him,” Ocllo observed.
“A fallen spirit who was once a god’s servant, yes. With my aid—aid I gave him because I was young and foolish and knew no better. And the gift that was given him, the gift of the language of ants, was not even the gift he sought. It was given him as a jest, one he has turned to dire ends I daresay not even the spirits themselves could have foreseen.” I opened my arms. My wounded right hand throbbed, wrapped in blood-stained bandages. “My lady, I do not lie. If Lord Pachacuti succeeds in this conquest, he will become more powerful than ever. He will become a god in truth.” I shook my head. “But if you think he cares for the people of Tawantinsuyo, you are wrong. In the end, only bad will come of it.”
Ocllo pursed her lips. “So you say.”
I raised my voice in frustration, unwanted tears stinging my eyes. “I’ve seen it! How can I make you understand?”
“Hush.” Ocllo’s voice deepened, unexpectedly soothing. The corners of her eyes crinkled. “There is one way, child. But I fear it cannot come from you.”
“The ancestors?” I asked.
Cusi’s bandaged hand found mine and squeezed it. Despite the pang of pain, I welcomed her grip.
Finding herself with a captive audience, Ocllo paced the floor of the temple in a leisurely manner, treading with care and drawing her skirts to avoid the ants. “It begins many, many years ago with the first Earth-Shaker,” she said conversationally. “The first Lord Pachacuti, the first Sapa Inca. He told the secret to his Queen, his Queen of Queens, his first wife, the great Mamacoya, and swore that she and her descendants must keep it always.” She nodded to herself. “So we have, every one of us. Have we not?”
Voices murmured in agreement.
My skin prickled. “Will you speak of it now?”
She fixed me with her gimlet gaze. “You say to me that the man who is your husband died, and lives. I ask again, is it true?”
“Aye, it is.”
Ocllo snorted. “I do not mean that he was struck on the head and slept for a time.”
“Bao died,” I said simply. “Everything I told you is true. He was killed by a poisoned dart. He drew no breath, no blood beat in his veins. I felt his body myself, felt it grow cold and stiff. For a long time, not a short time. He journeyed to the Ch’in underworld, and remembers it. And I do not know why this matters to you, but it is true.”
“Because the first Sapa Inca said that one who had returned from death would wield the key to call on the ancestors in our hour of need,” she said. “Call them out of death into life to save their people.”
I stared at her, open-mouthed. “You think Bao can do this? But… but they’re not his ancestors!”
“No.” Ocllo frowned. “That is why we are uncertain. But the prophecy does not say the twice-born would be the one to call them, only that he would wield the key.” She held up a bronze knife like Cusi’s. “This.”
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
Cusi’s hand tightened on mine. “He would be the one to offer the sacrifice,” she murmured. “It is the sacrifice that calls the ancestors.”
And then I did understand, and I wished that I didn’t.
“You,” I said, my throat tight. “You’re the sacrifice. That’s why you’re afraid, isn’t it?”
Her chin lifted. “I was not afraid when Lord Pachacuti chose me,” she said with dignity. “It was an honor. But I am afraid now…” Her voice broke. “Afraid to be wrong and anger the gods. If I am wrong, they will cast me aside.”
I gazed at her in horror, then glanced at Ocllo, at the other women in the temple. “Is there no other way? Surely there must be!”
One by one, they shook