AN: I do not own The Incas trilogy by A. B. Daniel, nor do I own the Hunger Games or the Tudors. There is an important AN at the end of the chapter.
Chapter 1 – Te Amo
The Huaylas Cordillera, the 5th of April, 1533
On foot, leading his horse by its bridle and carefully picking his way through the crumbling rocks, Peeta presses on. Only two porters bearing tent poles and canvases precede him. The path is just wide enough for his bay horse to follow him without shying.
They had been travelling cautiously along a cliff top since dawn, pressing on through fog so thick that they had not been able to see either the sky above or the river that they could hear grumbling angrily far below. But now, the fog clears from the bottom of the cliff as though it had been suddenly inhaled into a giant's mouth. It stretches itself thin, coils into wisps and shreds itself to nothingness on the sharp rocky edges. A warm breath of air caresses Peeta's face.
He blinks, puts one hand on his horse's shoulder, and comes to a halt. In an instant, the light becomes dazzling, the sky a pure blue. And in this sudden clarity Peeta realises that the expeditionary force has only come halfway along the cliff top. The path does not lead up into a great valley as they had imagined, but rather into a breach in the mountainside, a gully so narrow that it seems merely to have been cleaved open with a giant axe. Drops of moisture on the leaves and fronds of a myriad luxuriant plants clinging to the cliff face sparkle in the sun's rays. Six hundred feet below, the swirling river, fattened by the recent rains, growls like a wildcat. It is so full of earth and pebbles torn from its banks that its water is now a dark ochre colour, the same hue as the mud that the Incas use to cob walls. Although from this height it is difficult to make out the finer details, Peeta knows that tree trunks, branches, clumps of grass, orchids and cantutas occasionally float by in the turbid current.
He glances back at the long column following some way behind him. It looks like an immense, variegated snake against the verdurous rock face. The column is headed by a hundred or so porters stopping under their loads of gold, while following them are almost as many llamas, packed like donkeys. Then come the Spaniards, leading their horses along by the reins, with Coriolanus Snow's blood-red feather visible even at this distance. Finally, the big dais of their favourite 'guest', the Inca general Woof, is borne along at the column's rear.
Only a week after the Battle of Cajamarca, Peeta and Katniss had left the hut, their little sanctuary, where she had tended to his wounds with tender hands and where they had learned so much about the other, and returned to Cajamarca. Peeta had wanted nothing else but to stay hidden with her, but the more rational side of him knew that they could not survive in this new world on their own. Katniss could always seek refuge amongst her people, the Indians who are still out there in the mountains, waiting for the Emperor's summoning, that will not come. But Peeta needed the protection of the conquistadores. Fortunately for him, Katniss made it clear that she would not disappear into the mountains, but instead return to the Inca, to serve him during his captivity. Apparently she was close to Emperor Gloss, an adviser of sorts. Peeta will never forget the looks they received from his fellow conquistadores when they rode back into Cajamarca. Finnick and Thresh had been beside themselves with worry for him and welcomed him back with open arms, but the others glanced at him with disbelieve and loathing in their eyes.
Shortly upon his return Coin had immediately pulled Peeta aside, although a bit roughly, to hear what his cause for abandoning them had been. Peeta had told him the partial truth; that Katniss, who was an important figure to the Emperor, had been in danger, and that he had saved her from certain death. He had deliberately left out the fact that Katniss already holds a special place in his heart and that he could never live another day without her. Coin had believed him and even patted his shoulder and complimented him on a job well done.
Only a few days later when he was about to leave Coin's quarters after having been given his new assignments, he overheard the quarrel of the Snow brothers. Apparently Coriolanus had been furious and had tried his best to have Peeta condemned as a traitor to the realm. Fortunately for Peeta, Coin would hear nothing of the sort.
'I was told you considered my treatment of Señor Mellark far too lenient. You said he deserved a greater punishment.' Coin had said.
'Brother, I simply thought, that a man who..' Coriolanus had started, but he was quickly interrupted by Coin, with a force in his voice that Peeta had seldom heard.
'What business do you have to think? If I were you I would not think, if thinking makes me come to the wrong conclusions. If King Charles had seven peasants, he could make seven lords. But if he had seven lords, he could not make one Peeta Mellark. His Majesty treasures the boy immensely. Don't you forget that.'
And apparently none of the conquistadors did forget that, and it was instead Peeta's abandonment, that had been forgotten and never to be spoken of again.
Peeta had left Cajamarca five weeks earlier to join Coriolanus, who had gone south in search of gold – as much gold as he could possibly get his hands on. This is the return journey, and the goal of their mission had been more than adequately achieved.
Coriolanus is as crafty as he is violent. He cheerfully uses both lies and brutality to achieve his ends, and somehow he had persuaded the captured Inca Gloss' chief general to accompany the conquistadors. Consequently, Woof, famous for his ferocity, is following them in his palanquin all the way to Cajamarca, with the intention of joining his master there. He has a mere twenty warriors escorting him. Peeta cannot help but admire Coriolanus' feat, despite his contempt for him – a contempt that grows more pronounced with each passing day. Certainly, the peaceful capture of the Inca general might lessen – perhaps – the men's constant fear. Ever since what the Spaniards had taken to calling among themselves 'the Great Battle of November', not one soldier had woken in the morning without dreading an attack by Gloss' army during the day that lay ahead. The rumour is that it is still a large and powerful force.
"Hola!" grumbles Finnick behind Peeta. "Would his lordship deign to move forward, or must we stay planted on the spot until Christmas?"
Peeta smiles without replying. Finnick had been grumpy since morning. He is tired of leading his horse instead of riding it. Or perhaps it is the absence of his usually inseparable companion, Thresh the African, who is walking a little further back in the column, that is the cause of his ill humour.
They set off again, still moving cautiously, holding the horses' bridles close to the bit to prevent the animals bolting.
Soon enough they fall into a regular rhythm of climbing up and up, happy to feel the sun warm their faces at last. A shadow passes over Peeta before veering off and travelling across the cliff face like a gust of air made visible. Peeta turns his face skywards: an enormous bird is gliding slowly, lazily between the two sides of the canyon, not once beating its wings. It looks huge to him, even though it is so high up and far away. What was it Katniss had called that majestic bird?
A mockingjay?
Peeta measures in half-day blocks the passing of the remaining time that stands between him and Katniss. It goes by excruciatingly slow. He would look ahead at each mountain ridge that they come to and hope in vain that it would be the last, that beyond it they will at last begin the descent towards Cajamarca.
He misses everything about Katniss: her voice, her mouth, the nape of her neck, her skin's fragrance of dried grass and peppered flowers. He longs to kiss her shoulders and every part of her skin, but his mouth tastes only the mountain's cold breath. He would wake in the night yearning for her caresses and her whispers, for the infinite silver of her eyes, eyes whose gaze he would lose himself in when they made love. He dreams of her body whose delights she knew how to deny and give to him simultaneously, of her savage tenderness, of they way she would tilt her head forward and half close her eyelids when she whispered that she loved him. He laughs at the memory of her timidity when he had taught her that word in the language of Spain.
Peeta would awake a bashful lover, and go outside, wrapped in his damp blanket, to wait for dawn. He would look for Katniss through the fog and the rain, on the mountaintops and in the depths of the valleys. It is at those moments that Peru, that unknown country as strange as a distant planet, will appear to him as magnificent: magnificent because it is hers. And sometimes, during the course of the expedition's long, long daily marches, he would look into the dark and fearful eyes of the porters and try to find something of her in her people's features.
"Oi! The dreamer there!" Finnick mutters brusquely from behind. He points his gloved hand and say, "Have a look at what's up ahead."
Three hundred paces up the path, set above a bend in the river, a rope bridge joins the two sides of the canyon. The bridge is so long that it sags like a necklace on a flat chest. Peeta slows the pace. Finnick, his cheeks pale, comes up beside him and mutters, "I don't like it. And the horses are going to like it even less."
But Peeta does not hear him. Instead, he whistles appreciatively through his teeth. "By Santiago! How in the world did they build that thing?"
"Who gives a damn, Peeta. Ask yourself instead whether it's going to hold and how you're going to get across it."
"By placing one foot in front of the other, I imagine," teases Peeta, "You're not frightened, are you, Finnick?"
"I'm not frightened, compadre! I just don't like it, that's all."
"Well, old friend, I'm afraid that all you can do is learn to like it. But perhaps your horse will learn to fly, a veritable Pegasus…"
But Finnick looks unconvinced.
They press on to the end of the path. There they discover the massive pillars to which the ropes are attached. Delicately woven strand by strand, each rope is as thick as a man's thigh. The guardrails are made of a complicated system of thinner ropes and knots. The bridge is wider than the track that they had just come up.
Peeta stands transfixed, full of admiration. The Inca builders and architects had managed to create a structure as elegant as it is beautiful, without recourse to any iron tools at all: no saws, no gouges and no planes. Three of the gigantic rope cables support a roadway built of meticulously laid-out logs. A layer of twigs and leaves had been spread on top of the logs, making the way across less dangerous and slippery, and smoothing the surface.
"By the Sacred Virgin", grouses Finnick, "Look there! Look, Peeta, it moves! It sags…"
"Yes. I see it." says Peeta. The bridge is indeed a heavy structure suspended over a very deep ravine, the river growling far below, and the whole thing is undeniably swaying gently in the slight breeze.
"It'll never take the weight of the horses!" insists Finnick.
"Hola, Finnick! I've known you more heroic than this. But rest easy. See the size of those cables and logs? It's a solid piece of work."
A group of Indian guards appears on the other side of the chasm. The rest of the column arrives in straggling groups and now the porters hang around the near end of the bridge apathetically, only interested in seeing how the Strangers and their horses will cross it.
'So they want to see how the Spaniards will cross the bridge, well let them watch this', Peeta thinks as he removes his long blue scarf and begins to wrap it around his bay's eyes. "Do like me, Finnick. Blindfold your horse so that he sees neither the river nor the height."
Peeta murmurs comforting words to his horse – reassuring himself as much as the animal – and, with infinite caution, he sets off between the supporting pillars, holding the bay's bridle high. A few steps later and he finds himself above the abyss. The further he advances, the more violent becomes the rumbling of the river, like a sustained roaring rising from far, far below.
Glancing back through the rope-work he sees the column of men and horses, the Inca general's palanquin, and Coriolanus, recognizable by the feather in his helmet, gathered at the end of the bridge. Everyone is watching him. He roars out: "Follow me, Finnick! All's well – she holds!"
"I'm behind you!" bellows Finnick in his stentorian voice, "Did you think that I'd let you play the hero all by yourself?"
Peeta grins and quickens the pace a little. The bay is doing well and appears confident. They descend easily enough towards the lowest point of the bridge's roadway. Here, though, the slope becomes even steeper. Peeta has to throw his shoulders back to keep his balance as though with each step the heels of his boots are sinking into sludge rather than landing on a bed of branches.
The din of the river below is now deafening. Looking down, Peeta can see whirling, muddy water and enormous waves crashing on the rocks to produce an explosion of foam so violent that it creates a heavy mist in that part of the canyon. He hears a muted sound, a cry. His bay bumps into his shoulder, snorting heavily. As he turns, Peeta hears Finnick bawl, "Goddamned bitch of a bridge!"
Peeta nearly chokes on what he sees. Finnick had slipped and is flat on his arse, legs splayed and one boot already lost into the abyss. But his hand had not let go of his horse' bridle and the animal, its neck arched, its hind legs dug in, had saved its master from a long, long fall to certain death. Heaving himself over, Finnick grabs a guard-rail rope and gets back up onto his knees, breathing heavily. The pink feather in his morion had snapped clean in two and now falls away and floats into the void, swirling around gently in the canyon's air currents. A long times elapses before the furious river swallows it up.
"Are you alright?" asks Peeta concerned.
"Why wouldn't I be?" bellows Finnick.
Peeta sees Coriolanus smiling. The leader of the gold-seeking expedition stands surrounded by his henchmen up at the near end of the bridge. Peeta can see the hateful disdain concentrated in that smile even at that distance, despite the concealing effect of the Governor's brother's beard.
"Let's go." Peeta growls to himself.
But the incident of Finnick's fall has altered the bridge's equilibrium, and the movement of the structure has become much more vigorous, almost as though it is alive. Now it is not only swaying horizontally but has also developed a new rolling movement like that of a wave, as though the logs of the roadway have been caught in a heavy swell at sea. The more the two men and their horses' advance, the more violent the motion becomes. The bay baulks when the bridge jolts at the peak of each 'wave'. Peeta yanks on its bridle, but is soon overcome with a desperate feeling of sickness. In an instant, cold sweat has his shirt and doublet clinging to his body.
And then suddenly, it is all over. They are close enough to the other side for the supporting cables to become taut. The Indian guards waiting there grin at them. With nausea churning his guts and with his heart in his mouth, Peeta speeds up and completes the crossing at a sprint. He yells unwittingly as he does so, as though charging into battle. Seeing his contorted features, the Indian guards stop grinning and scurry away in a group, seeking refuge behind a wall surrounding a nearby group of buildings.
Finnick catches up with Peeta on the big platform at the end of the bridge. They smile broadly as they embrace one another and slap each other's backs.
For almost an hour, the llamas and Indian bearers stream across the bridge without further incident. The deftness with which the porters of the Inca general's palanquin negotiates the crossing is truly impressive. They seem to slide gracefully along the bridge's roadway, completely unmindful of its steep angles. The palanquin itself remains stable and horizontal, and even its curtains barely flutter.
As for the Spanish cavalrymen and foot soldiers, their own skill are no match for that of the Indians. They urge one another on with loud, pointless shouts, and their movements lack the measured precision of the Indians'. Some even vomit, and most reach the other side of the canyon much paler than they had been when they'd started to cross. Thresh negotiates the bridge without mishap and positions himself next to his two friends, greeting them with a simple wink.
The sun will soon reach its zenith. A light breeze scatters the last remaining clouds heaped in the sky over the western end of the valley. The green of the vegetation acquires the depth of emerald in the sharp new light. Now not just one mockingjay soar through the intensely blue sky but two, three, ten and more whirl high above in a majestic airborne ballet. Peeta cannot help but admire them, and is delighted to see them coming closer and closer. He can make out their long necks quite distinctly, as well as their enormous beaks that are curved like Turkish cutlasses. But their wings are what impress him most. They are entirely and perfectly black, reflecting the sunlight like immense sheets of damask steel. The birds seem never to flap those wings at all, save for the occasional slight quiver as they hover on a gust of air. As far as Peeta can tell, the wingspan of the largest mockingjay is easily greater than the length of a horse.
Now the drama of their whirling begins to intensify. They fall into steeper and steeper dives, and they fly further and further upstream. On their return flights they come in so low that Peeta can hear a sort of screeching sound whistling through the air, audible even through the rumble of the river below.
It happens when the last of the porters are halfway across. A dozen Indians are advancing prudently in pairs, carrying between them the carcasses of young llamas, suspended from bamboo poles. The Spaniards have grown to enjoy the meat of these animals, roasted for their feasts. Most of the bearers have already made significant progress and had adapted the rhythm of the bridge's undulations. But a couple of stragglers seem to be having trouble keeping their balance.
Suddenly, the lead porters come to a halt and look up anxiously at the sky. It is then that Peeta understands. One of the mockingjays has glided so low and so closer to the heads of the last pair of porters that is looks as though it is going to hit them. The two Indians, taken by surprise, raise their arms to protect themselves. They loose their hold on their llamas carcass and it falls into the chasm, twisting and turning as it goes, chased by a second mockingjay, before disappearing into the rapids.
Immediately, the first massive bird of prey turns gracefully and climbs high, only to dive once again at the bridge. The superb and insolent creature seems furious at having lost its prey. Its fellows join in its aerial dance. One after the other, their wings angle forward and their necks pull back into their spotless ruffs, they dive and at the porters, who are now lying flat and shrieking with fright.
Peeta hear them cry; "Mockingjay! Mockingjay!"
As everyone who had crossed already looks on, dumbfounded, two Indians brandish a llama carcass above the rope cables. The last mockingjay comes at them majestically, so slowly that is looks as though it is going to land. It unfurls its talons, its claws as long as a man's fingers, grab hold of its prize and carries it away into the sky.
Peeta, short of breath, hears the Indians chant as the great birds fly away, "Mockingjay! Mockingjay!"
"Mother of God, what's got into them?" asks Finnick, still wide-eyed.
"They consider the mockingjay a sacred animal." explains Peeta. "The Incas see them as messengers from their sun god, and -" But he does not get a chance to explain further. A furious roar makes him turn around.
Coriolanus, standing at the end of the bridge, is hurling insults at the porters as they finish crossing at a run. "Bunch of fucking idiots! Frightened of birds! Who gave you permission to let go of those llamas?"
The porters, their eyes still full of fear, stop dead a few steps away from the Governor's brother. Coriolanus grabs Octavius, the interpreter who had been with them since the landing at Tumbes, roughly by the shoulder and says, "Tell these monkeys that I will not have food wasted!"
Octavius mumbles a few words. With his head lowered, the oldest of the Indian bearers replies almost inaudibly, "They say that one has to feed the mockingjay when it is hungry, or else the Sun God becomes enraged."
"Damned bunch of savages!" screams Coriolanus. "Feeding birds – what next? Who gives a damn about the sun's rage? It's my rage that you should be worried about."
In three quick steps, Coriolanus is past the pillars. He grabs the old porter, and in a single movement lifts him and throws him over the rope cables with the ease of a lumberjack tossing a log. Peeta cannot believe his eyes. He sees the stupefaction on the porter's face, his hands grasping futilely at the empty air as he tumbles into the abyss, his mouth gaping in a silent cry. In an instant the man looks like nothing more than a tiny, gesticulating puppet. He strikes a sharp edge of rock and bounces off it into the river as though he is made of dough, as though he has no spine.
Silence.
Coriolanus turns towards the Spaniards and grins. "Well, it seems there's one at least who can't flap his wings and fly." he says with sinister sprightliness.
The Indians remain dumbfounded. They dare not even look at the river. Thresh cannot hold back a surprised gulp, and his customary grin has given way to a grimace: The African slave, his face grey beneath its normal dark brown, trembles with impotent fury. Peeta, overwhelmed with rage himself, approaches Coriolanus. He stands firmly in front of the Governor's brother, so close that the man can feel Peeta's breath on his face.
"Don Coriolanus, you are nothing more than a filthy pig's shit. You have no heart in that black hollow desert that is your soul."
Coriolanus makes no reply. His eyes narrow so venomously that all that can be seen of them are two slits through which his hatred glows: a deep, infinite hatred. After a pause, he viciously says, "I don't think I heard you right, you whoreson bastard."
"Then let me be clear. Your presence poisons the air, Don Coriolanus. You are no man, no Christian, and you bring shame upon your family's name. Your blood is mud and your brain rotted into sewage long ago." Peeta snarls at him.
"By the blood of Christ!" Coriolanus draws his sword swiftly from its scabbard. Peeta has just enough time to jump back to avoid having his throat sliced open.
With a cry of rage, Coriolanus whips his blade through the air again. But once more Peeta is too quick for him, leaping back with his arms held away from his body as though dancing. Coriolanus, hitting nothing, swings back around on himself.
"The day you die, Don Coriolanus," says Peeta, his voice shaking less and carrying a slightly amused tone, "even the carrion crows won't touch you."
"Defend yourself!" growls Coriolanus, throwing aside his morion. "Unsheathe your sword, you bastard scum!"
Everyone around them has drawn back. Peeta's plaint blade hisses and glints as he draws it from its scabbard with an easy movement of his wrist. For a moment, the two men seem to be moving in slow motion, as though an invisible and impenetrable block has formed between them.
And then Coriolanus lunges.
His blade slides along Peeta's and Peeta parries, his knees and waist bent, lifting the locked swords above his shoulder. The weapons' hilts slam loudly together. Peeta shoves Coriolanus back and turns as their blades disengage, a grim smile on his lips. The Governor's brother is heavy, breathless with rage, drunk with an uncontrollable urge to violence. He whips the air with his sword like a rabid dog wagging its tail. Peeta contends himself with parrying his opponent's slashes and thrusts with small strokes. He can read the mad rage in Coriolanus' eyes. Then, with a sudden jump, he is in close, his torso side on to Coriolanus. He slips his blade beneath Coriolanus' – and now, Peeta has the upper hand. With all the strength in his arm, he heaves on the interlocked swords, and with a powerful flick of his wrist flings his arm wide to the right. Coriolanus' sword tinkles like a bell as it lands at Finnick's feet and Finnick cannot help but smile.
Peeta pushes the point of his sword into the cloth of his adversary's doublet, forcing him back. Coriolanus' mouth twisted, his eyes communicating an emotion that Peeta has never seen in him before. 'He's frightened.' Peeta thinks with pleasure.
"You forget that suffering has two faces, Don Coriolanus," he says in a low voice, breathing heavily, "You enjoy seeing fear in the eyes of others. But how do you feel now? What have you to say to that wrench in your guts? One or two more steps and you too might learn to fly."
Peeta forces Coriolanus further and further back as he speaks, right to the edge of the canyon, to the very spot from where the Governor's brother had thrown the unfortunate porter. "Gather you wits, man. I'm not going to kill you. But know that the Governor, Don Alvaro, shall be the one to judge your misdeeds. Certainly, you are bringing a lot of gold back to Cajamarca, together with an important general who serves the master of that place. But none of that shall buy you your redemption."
"By the Virgin, threaten me all you want! We shall see who will be the one who suffers in the end." Coriolanus says this with a contemptuous snigger, but everyone present perceives that his bravado is a façade. The humiliation he had just suffered had been too great, too public, and too spectacular.
"Peace, my lords. The point has been made." interrupts Finnick as he lays his hand on Peeta's arm. "God is my witness, and I say to you that two conquistadors cannot fight one another: it ain't dignified, it ain't natural, and it goes against the good fortune of the Conquest! Don Coriolanus, here is your sword. Let us be on our way, if you please."
Coriolanus and Peeta eye one another scornfully. Peeta lowers his sword. But it is Coriolanus who lowers his gaze. Behind them, the hanging that encloses General Woof's palanquin falls back down silently.
As the column sets off, Thresh takes Peeta by the arm. He walks with him for a while in silence. Then he leans over to speak into his ear and murmurs, "Thank you."
Cajamarca, the 14th of April, 1533: dawn
"I love you."
Katniss murmurs the words in the pale dawn rising over Cajamarca. The darkness of night still lingers, but the smoke rising over the thatched roofs is now slowly turning blue in the growing light. She is all alone.
She had stolen away from the palace in which Gloss is being kept prisoner. She leaves it behind her now as she moves like a quick shadow along the narrow streets laid out on the slope overlooking the main square. Soon she arrives at the river and the access street to the Royal Road.
"I love you." she repeats, "Te amo."
The language of the Spaniards came to her so easily that everyone was amazed, whether conquistador or Indian. It had also roused an old mistrust among her own people, and once again there was whispering behind her back. But she does not care.
She ran stealthily alongside the houses, staying close to the shadows of the walls in order to evade the guards watching over Gloss' palace and its ransom room piled high with treasure. The mere sight of this precious haul intoxicated those who had won the battle of Cajamarca and who had had the audacity to lay their hands on Emperor Gloss. It was as though they imagined that gold would yield to them the magical powers that they lacked.
The plunder inspired a deep and silent sadness in Katniss. The strangers were insatiable. In search of still more booty to stuff into the large ransom room, Don Coriolanus Snow had gone to sack the temple at Pachacamac, far, far away on the shore of the southern sea. And because his brother was late returning, the Governor, Don Alvaro Snow, had sent Peeta and a few reliable men after him.
Peeta…
She lets his name settle into her heart, the sound of it so foreign, yet so tender to her… she calls to mind his face, his image… the Stranger with sun-coloured hair, with pale, pale skin, with the mark of the puma crouching on his shoulder, the mark that is their bond, their secret link that she will reveal to him one day.
Peeta has no love of gold. Many times she had watched him stand by, indifferent to, even irritated by his companions' delirious rapture at the mere touch of a few gold leaves. Peeta does not accept that an Indian should be beaten because of a trifling offence, even less that they should be chained or killed. Peeta had even saved the Emperor from the sword.
Katniss recalls Gloss' words, the words he had spoken when he had still had all the power of an Emperor. On the eve of the Great Battle, seeing the Strangers for the first time, he had murmured, 'I like their horses. But as for them, I don't understand.'
Like him, Katniss can say, 'I love one of among them, the one who leaped across the ocean for me. But as for the rest of them, I don't understand.'
Now Katniss has left behind the high walls surrounding Cajamarca. As she ascends the lower slopes of the Royal Road, her pace slows. The adobe-walled houses are fewer now and sit further apart. Dawn is lighting up the mountainsides, breathing life into the corn and quinua fields that rustles in the morning breeze. Occasionally she sees a peasant, already bowed beneath some burden, silhouetted against the growing pale radiance of day. Katniss heart fills with an uneasy tenderness. She feels an urge to run to the man and help him carry his burden. She thinks about the suffering weighing on her people.
Her people!
Because now she who for so long had been the odd child with silver eyes, the awkward girl who was too tall and too thin, now she knows how much all those who live in the Inca Empire form what she calls 'her people'. They do not all speak the same language or wear the same clothes, and only superficially do they believe in the same gods. Often they had warred among themselves, and the spirit of war is within them still. Yet, in her heart, Katniss wishes them all to be blood brothers.
By the time she reaches the pass, the day is well established. Light shimmers on the marsh and spreads across the immense plain, right up to the mountains that conceal the road to Cuzco. As happens each time she returns here, Katniss cannot stop the flood of her memories. She remembers those days in the not so distant past when the entire plain had been covered by the white tents of Gloss' invincible army. It had been the army of an Emperor who had known how to defeat the cruelty of his brother Titus, the madman from Cuzco.
The steam rises from the baths over on the opposite slope. Gloss was resting there, giving thanks to his father Inti by fasting. Her breath short, her heart constricted, Katniss remembers, as though they were forever tattooed into her skin, those endless days when news of the Strangers' slow approach was brought to them. She remembers the time when everyone had scoffed at them, and the fear that she had felt bloom within her. And then she remembers that dawn when all of a sudden he had appeared: him, Peeta. He was so handsome, so attractive that his beauty had been incomprehensible to her.
For a moment she wonders what would have happened if Peeta had been forced to stay behind with the Incas as the Emperor's 'guest'. Would something have happened to him? Probably. Would she have been able to save him? She wants to believe that she could have persuaded Gloss to spare him. And what if Gloss had decided to listen to his generals and captains and destroyed the Strangers that night, while Peeta had been his 'guest'. Then all the cruelty the Strangers had brought with them, would have been demolished, Peeta would have been safe under her protection and the Empire would have endured.
She does not want to contemplate what had truly happened after that day. The Emperor Gloss is now but a shadow of his former self, a prisoner in his own palace while his temples are destroyed.
Thus had been accomplished the will of the sun god.
Thus had been fulfilled the terrible words of the deceased Inca Brutus, who had once come to her in the form of a child and said, "That which is too old comes to an end, that which is too big shatters, that which is too strong loses its force… that is what the great pachacuti means… Some die, and others grow. Have no fear for yourself, Katniss…. You are what you are meant to be. Have no fear, for in the future the puma will be with you."
Thus, from the other world, the former Inca had simultaneously announced to her Gloss' fall and Peeta's coming.
In truth, ever since her lips had kissed Peeta's, ever since she had kissed his strangely marked shoulder, there had been many things that Katniss had not been able to understand. There were so many sensations, so many unknown emotions now living within her. And living with so much strength that it seems as of the claws of a real puma are lacerating her heart.
There are those emotions that urge her to say, "I love you." The words, that Peeta had stubbornly laboured to teach her. He had become irritated, as she had sat there smiling while she listened to him, refusing to repeat the words after him. And then there is the mystery: how can a Stranger, an enemy, be the puma who will go with her into the future?
Katniss walks slowly to the end of the plateau that stretches across the head of the pass. She wraps her cloak about herself and lies down on the still-wet grass covering the slope. She gazes at the highest peals in the east, contemplating the sun's first rays. Katniss closes her eyes. She lets the light caress her eyelids and drive away the tears that had formed under them. And as soon as the sun had warmed her face, the image of Peeta, appears to her against the red underside of her eyelids. Peeta, the handsome Stranger with eyes like the sky, who laughs as innocently as a child, and whose touch is so tender.
Once more her lips form the words. She whispers them as though, they can fly above the earth like hummingbirds. "I love you."
As they approach Cajamarca, Peeta, unable to hold himself back, spurs on his horse. He rides to the head of the column at a full trot. His blood surges. He has not slept a wink since his encounter with Coriolanus three days earlier. Three nights spent contemplating the stars or sharing the watch at a campsite or a tambo. But today it is finally over.
He is going to be with Katniss once more.
In a little while he will be gazing into her silver, silver eyes, he will be able to touch her tender mouth, so tender that her kiss melts him, making him oblivious to reality. Only two more leagues and he will be able to see her tall and slender figure, unique among Indian women. And the awareness of this alone arouses his very soul.
He hopes as well that nothing has happened to her during his long absence. There had been talk, as he was leaving Cajamarca, of the arrival of mariscal Thread Almagro, the Snows' old brother-in-arms, bringing with him yet more troops and horses.
Peeta is trembling with joy and almost yells his lungs out in order to banish his apprehension. He passes stretchers, borne by Indians, on which the heaviest treasures lie: a great gold bowl, a gold statue, a gold chair, and gold mural plaques torn from temple walls. Gold, gold, and yet more gold! It is everywhere – in wicker baskets, in hide sacks, in woven saddle-packs. The porters are bent double, bowed under its weight, and the llamas have all but disappeared beneath their burdens. The column had slowed because of it, as though the entire expedition had, since Jauja, become weighed down with all the gold and silver of Peru.
And to think that this is all only a sample: rumour has it that these treasures are nothing in comparison with what will soon arrive from Cuzco. The Governor had sent three men there on a reconnaissance mission, including the execrable Claudio Templesmith.
The Spanish cavalrymen are permanently on alert. Their nerves frayed, their dark gazes mistrustful of everything, they watch for the slightest sign of unrest among the ever-docile Indians. Peeta has not many friends in that group. All except Finnick and Thresh are all Coriolanus men. The personal enmity between him and the Governor's brother is well known by everyone for some time… and their recent duel has frozen the two men into an icy mutual hatred. The Governor's red-plummed brother now goes out of his way to avoid Peeta, more from caution than sensitivity.
As he arrives alongside the palanquins of two high priests from the Pachacamac temple, priests whom Coriolanus had bound in chains, Peeta hears a familiar voice hailing him, "Would Your Grace be in a great hurry, then?"
Peeta pulls on his reins. With a graceful volte, his horse compliantly comes up alongside Thresh. The big black man, one of Peeta's few intimate friends, had been on foot for twenty days now. The price of horses had become prohibitive, but what is more to the point, two days before they had left Pachacamac Coriolanus had forbidden Thresh to take the horse of any dying or already dead man. The memory of his insult still rings shrill on the two friends' ears, "Holá, darkie! Who do you take yourself for? Have you forgotten that horses are reserved for caballeros carrying the sword? Just because you kicked a few Indian arses, you don't have the right to regard yourself as a man!"
Leaning forward on his horse's neck, Peeta reaches down and warmly shakes the hand that Thresh is holding out to him. The African giant might have had no horse, but his leather doublet is brand new and as supple as a second skin. His breeches are tailored with all sorts of fabrics sent from Spain to Cajamarca. These are the latest Castile fashion: large green, red, yellow and pale blue stripes of felt or satin, and even a little lace on the cords of Thresh's boots.
"So where are you trotting off to so quickly?" asks Thresh.
"There's a stench round here," growls Peeta, looking directly at Coriolanus' escort. "I need to breathe fresher air."
The black giant gives him a wicked grin. "Ah… and there was I thinking that you were spurred on by an urgency of, how shall I put it, a higher order."
Peeta gives a hint of a smile. "Why, what else could there be, other than my haste to present the Governor with my report of the mission?"
"Hoh! I see nothing else, indeed."
Thresh nods. Then he falls silent, not bantering anymore. Peeta's gaze falls upon the mountain ridges surrounding Cajamarca. A few months earlier, this alien landscape had harboured nothing but menace. Now it has become familiar, almost friendly. And now, of course, it also holds for him the most wondrous promise.
Peeta pulls his feet from the stirrups and jumps nimbly to the ground. While he leads his horse using one hand, he wraps his other arm around Thresh's shoulders and leans in close to his friend. "You're right," he says in a low voice, his eyes aglow. "I am in a hurry… and it has nothing to do with that bastard Coriolanus."
Thresh wriggles his eyebrows at him and with a subtle context asks, "Well?"
Peeta makes a vague gesture towards the mountains, "Katniss says that she can't marry me. She is some sort of priestess in their ancient religion. Marriage is forbidden her, even marriage to an Indian. But still…"
"But still?"
"But still, I love her. Damn and blast it, Thresh! Just thinking of her makes my heart explode like a volley of grapeshot. I love her as though I had never known the meaning of the word before."
Thresh bursts out laughing. "I know this is hard for you, but maybe it will do you better to do like me, my friend. Love many of them at once! One here, one there, but always and everywhere one to want you. A tender bed here, a fiery one there… then you will know what it means to love!"
There is a certain restraint in Peeta's smile as he returns to his saddle. "There are times, compañero, when I wish you weren't so witty."
Thresh seems about to smile, but his expression remains as dark as his skin. "I too wish it. And then again…"
"And then?"
The column has slowed and grown longer, and now it grounds to a halt. The royal road has grown narrower at the approach to the last peak before Cajamarca.
"And then what?" insists Peeta.
Thresh shakes his head. He motions to Peeta to gallop on ahead. "I'll tell you some other time, when you're in less of a hurry."
The hammering that startles Katniss from her sleep is not that of her heart. It is the stamping of men and horses and the noise is thrumming through the ground. She sits up, rises and goes to hide in a hedge of acacia and agave close to the Royal Road.
The herd of llamas that had been grazing quietly in a neighbouring pasture now shoot past her and flee, bounding nervously as they go, to the other side of the ridge. The instantly familiar clinking of the Spaniard's iron weapons rings through the balmy air. It slowly increases in volume, along with laughter, bursts of speech, and the click-clacking of hooves on flagstones.
Katniss catches sight of them coming out of a small wood at the foot of the slope. She sees the lances and colourful plumes of the horsemen first, then their sombre bearded faces beneath their morions, before the Indian porters and the Spaniards on foot finally appear. She can now see the entire slow-moving column that is led by the Governor's brother.
Katniss breaths in quick, staccato gasps. She looks for him.
She scrutinizes each face, each man's apparel but she cannot see Peeta among the men approaching the ridge. She cannot make out his black doublet, nor his reddish-brown horse with the long white stain on its hindquarters. Neither can she make out the blue scarf that normally helps her pick him out from afar. Katniss fingers tremble without her realizing it. Her heart beats strongly – too strongly. She is ashamed of her fear, and she pulls a low branch aside to see more clearly, despite the risk of being seen herself.
At last the blue patch of the scarf appears fleetingly behind a palanquin. She catches a brief glimpse of the bay and she lets out a little spontaneous laugh.
And then she freezes.
Her gaze does not linger on Peeta. Rather, it remains fixed on the hangings that encloses the palanquin. She recognizes the markings and colours, the slanted lines of blood-red and sky-blue rectangles and triangles.
It is General Woof's palanquin. Gloss' most powerful warrior.
So, the Strangers had convinced him to travel all the way to the Emperor's prison. By what ruse, what treachery had they accomplished this?
Katniss watches Peeta pass, riding in front of the palanquin as though guarding it. Her heart is no longer beating so fast at the prospect of seeing him. A shadow looms over her joy. She understands how things stand. She knows, better than any, what is to become of the Emperor.
A cry from behind her causes her to turn around. A small group of riders is coming from the other side of the ridge, negotiating the very steep slope with some difficulty. Leading them is Governor Alvaro 'Coin' Snow, the leader of the Spaniards, dressed in black, his grey beard standing out against a strange white garment full of holes. A little way behind him comes Thread. He has a frightening appearance. A green bandana covers one eye. The pockmarked and chapped skin of his face is covered in rusty blotches that the sparse hairs of his beard fail to hide.
Another cry rings through the air, followed by others. Laughter echoes; lances and pikes are raised and waved about. When the long column of horsemen is just a stone's throw away from him, Don Alvaro jumps agilely from his horse and walks, his arms flung wide, towards his brother. Before they have even embraced, Katniss has already reached the long grass and is running towards the town along the shepherds' steep path.
The ridge's last slope is very steep for the horses. Peeta guides his steed cautiously, holding the reins chest high. The flagstones are slippery, and the porters falter. Their talking cease as he approaches; it is known among the Indians that he speaks a little of their language.
Calls and cries ring out from the head of the column. Peeta urges on his horse and moves away from the Inca general's palanquin. He sees Coriolanus Snow meet his brother Alvaro high up on the narrow plateau at the ridge's crest. Peeta cannot help but grin mordantly. Don Alvaro has donned his most impressive finery in which to welcome his brother. He wears a Cadiz lace ruff around his neck, an item that must have cost him its weight in gold, though it contrasted nicely with his meticulously trimmed beard. But whatever sartorial efforts the Governor had made, it is still his brother Coriolanus, bigger and seeming more assured in the power of his body and eminent origins, who looks like a genuine prince.
The brothers embrace enthusiastically in front of the entire company. The Governor's two young brothers stand in the background, Cray, with his dark curls, and the diminutive Marvel, with his beauty spot on his neck, watch the proceedings with their hats in their hands and grins on their faces. Peeta knows what those grins are worth. What really grabs his attention is the ill-looking fellow with a scowling face that is ugly enough to frighten children. Although Peeta has only laid eyes on his a few times previously, years ago before they had left for the Peruvian coast, he recognises him instantly.
So, Don Thread Almagro had indeed come from Panama during Peeta's absence. He who, out of his own pocket, had paid for Coin's most ambitious adventure, who had given of himself for it, who had dreamed of becoming an Adelantado alongside his old companions, he on whom King Charles the Fifth had only bestowed the title of Lieutenant of Tumbes, with a miserable salary and a hidalgo's title: Don Thread had come to claim his due!
The porters begin to move forward again. They advance cautiously down the broad, slippery steps that plunge down to the outskirts of the town. The interpreter, Octavius, his thin lips shut tight, his eyes darting and evasive, stay close to the most richly decorated palanquin, that of General Woof.
When the palanquin and its retinue reach the square where the Governor, his brothers, and Don Thread Almagro had already arrived, the litter's curtains open slightly. Through the gap, Peeta sees a powerful hand appear, large enough to crush a llama's throat. Octavius scurries up to the gap, bent double and murmurs a few words that Peeta cannot hear. He stands upright again and barks an order. The porters stand still, their eyes lowered. The hanging enclosing the palanquin slowly rises.
General Woof wears a magnificent blue unku made of a blend of cotton and wool. The tunics' weave is strewn with gold sequins. Very fine tocapus outline a crimson band around the general's waist. His long, thick hair falls to his shoulders, partly concealing his gold earlobe plugs. They seem smaller than those worn by other nobles that Peeta had seen. Yet Woof's face commands respect. It is difficult to guess his age: he had the power and impassiveness of a statue, as though he had been sculpted from a block of sacred rock hewn from the mountains.
He moves forward and glances at Peeta and growls a few words, "I must see my master."
Peeta is not sure if he had understood him right. Octavius is bustling about at one end of the palanquin. The Inca general raises a hand, pushing the interpreter back without even touching him. Then Woof approaches one of the porters. He takes the man's load from him. The porter trembles, staring fixedly at the ground, his hands empty. Woof places the enormous basket on his back. Bent double under its weight, he enters the town.
"Now", Gloss affirms slowly, "they will free me."
The Emperor is seated on his royal tripod, a cape of fine wool hanging over his shoulders. His voice is muted, hardly breaking the silence.
The room is dark and permanently dark. Neither light nor drafts find their way in, and smoke from the braziers had blackened the stones, the tops of the crimson tapestries and contains only carved wooden ceremonial vases, albeit magnificent ones, for holding sacred beer. Most of the gold pots, silver goblets and statues of the gods have all long since been added to the heap in the ransom room.
The Emperor had his servants, wives and concubines leave the room every time Katniss visits. These moments of intimacy are all that remains of their lost liberty.
Gloss' silhouette, radiating pathos, appears from the shadows. Katniss cannot help but shiver when she thinks that he who had been the Inca, the very brightness of the sun, is slowly slipping towards the Under World. The Llatu, the royal band, is still on his forehead, and in it are fixed the black and white feathers of the curiquingue, the symbol of the Emperor's supreme power. Katniss notices that he no longer wears gold plugs in his earlobes. His left lobe, a gaping ring of dead flesh, hangs down to his shoulder. His wives had woven him a bandana of the finest alpaca wool in which to wrap his hair, and he wears it so that it conceals the torn lobe of his other ear.
Katniss averts her gaze from the pitiful signs of a power in decline. It seems to her that a little more of Gloss' soul leaves him with each passing day. The virgins still weave his tunics for each new day. He is still served his meals in earthenware that no one else uses. His retinue, whether they are men or women, and including the few noblemen who are his fellow prisoners in the Cajamarca palace, still fear his word as they had always done. The Strangers bow before addressing him, and the Spanish Governor accords him the respect due an Emperor. And yet, Katniss cannot help but see it all as a masquerade playing itself out. The Emperor has developed a stoop, his face has grown sallow, and the red of his eyes has become even bloodier. His mouth is less beautiful, less imperial. His whole body seems to have shrunk.
The conqueror in him, the son of the great Brutus, has disappeared. Gloss is still the Emperor who lives in the Cajamarca palace, but he is no longer the powerful progeny of the sun who had defeated his brother, the madman of Cuzco. He is merely a prisoner without chains who dreams of his liberation.
Katniss wants to tell him what she had seen on the mountain road. She wants to warn him that Woof had been there in his palanquin. But she does not dare, and Gloss repeats, "They have their gold now. They will let me go."
"I'm not sure." replies Katniss, looking away.
"What did you say?"
"I'm not sure." she repeats.
Gloss gestures irascibly in the direction of the ransom room, "I choose the biggest room in my palace, I designated a line on the wall to mark the height of the ransom pile. It has now been reached."
"I remember, my Lord," agrees Katniss gently. "The Strangers laughed… they thought that you had been seized by madness."
"I told them where to find our gold and silver. I told them that they could take it all, from every house except my father's."
"I know, my Lord."
A sly smile lights Gloss' face. "I realise that I'm talking to the wife of my father's Sacred Double…"
Katniss lets a moment pass, and then replies, "My Lord, those who went to Pachacamac have returned today."
"How do you know this?"
Katniss makes no reply. She does not want to emphasize the weakness of his position. Again the Inca grins, "Isn't that what I was telling you? I'm going to be freed."
"My Lord," Katniss says in a voice so low that it is barely audible, "the big room is filled with gold, with all our sacred objects, both the most ancient and those that the smiths have only just finished. But the Strangers will not leave your kingdom. They will want to go to the Sacred City. They will fill the biggest room, and then they will take the gold of Cuzco. And even if they swore to you by their god and their king not to touch anything belonging to your father Brutus, the mere sight of the gold will make them forget their promise. You know it, my Lord…"
Gloss lowers his gaze as he lets her words sink in. But Katniss does not stop talking but instead continues gently, "More Strangers will arrive in your kingdom, my Lord. They too will bring weapons and horses, and they too will want gold."
"Yes," murmurs Gloss, "I don't like that new one, that very ugly one-eyed man…". The words come out of Gloss' mouth with difficulty, as though he is a hesitant child once more.
"His name is Thread Almagro."
"I don't like him," repeats the Inca. "His eye lies. He and those who came with him take my women without my permission. They laugh when I forbid it. He says that he is the Snows' friend, but his eye tells me that it isn't so…"
"Why would these men be here, my Lord, if not to take yet more gold?"
"Alvaro's brother will protect me." affirms Gloss. "He is powerful."
"Coriolanus? Forgive me, my Lord, but don't trust him. His heart is false."
Gloss shakes his head. "No! He is powerful, and the others are frightened of him."
As gently as possible Katniss tells him, "You say that because he has great bearing, because he has a proud eye and he dresses more carefully than the others, who are slovenly and as dirty as the animals that they have brought with them and that now infest our streets. The feather above his helmet may be red, but his soul is black."
A look of shameful hope comes over Gloss' face. "He promised that he would help me. If he doesn't…" His voice lowers slightly. He motions to Katniss to approach. A glow of naive excitement has returned to his eyes. "If he doesn't, the thousands of warriors mobilized by my loyal generals will deliver me. Woof is at Jauja, waiting in readiness. He will tell the others…"
Katniss stifles a cry, "Oh, my Lord…"
As she hesitates, they hear shouts echoing across the patio. A servant bows at the threshold of the room. Katniss knows what he is going to say, and her blood runs cold. "My Lord… General Woof is here. He asks whether you deign to look upon him."
At first, Gloss does not move. Then the full meaning of the words reaches him, and the colour drains from his face. "I am a dead man." he whispers.
"May he enter?" asks the servant again, who has not heard him.
"I am dead." Gloss repeats.
At the palace entrance, Woof has not taken off the load weighing on his back. Peeta watches the Inca general, who is bent double like a supplicant carrying his cross.
Thread mutters "Let's us be done with this damned comedy! The only thing this monkey has to do is tell us where he has hidden the rest of the gold."
Coin raises his black-gloved hand. "Patience, Thread, patience…"
The Inca warrior guarding the entrance to the patio had retreated respectfully as Woof had come forward. Water spouts from the mouth and the tail of a stone serpent set in a low fountain in the centre of the patio. All around bloom the bright red corollas of the cantuta, the Inca flower. A servant whose only job is to collect the wilted petals stands by them.
Once Woof has crawled on his knees into the middle of the courtyard, Gloss comes out of the room. Peeta has trouble recognizing him. Behind the Inca, in the shadows that half hides her features, he sees Katniss. When at last she lifts her face towards him, it is only with the greatest of difficulty that he manages to restrain himself from going to her.
Gloss seats himself slowly on a red wood bench, about a handsbreadth from the ground. It is his usual seat. Some women approach, ready to serve him. Woof at last unburdened himself of his load, giving it into the hands of a porter who had followed him from the outskirts of the town. He removes his sandals and raises his hands towards the cloud-veiled sun, his palms turn skywards. Tears run down his rugged face as words escapes from his mouth. Peeta makes out a few offerings of gratitude to Inti, and some mumbled expressions of love for the Inca. Then Woof approaches his master. While continuing to weep, the general kisses Gloss' face, his hands, and his feet. Gloss remains still as if Woof is only a ghost brushing past him. His eyes gaze at an invisible point in the distance. Peeta has often seen the Inca, but he has never managed to fathom his reactions or his facial expressions.
"You are gladly received, Woof," says the Inca eventually. His voice is monotonous and cold.
Woof straightens up and again raises his palms towards the sky. "Had I been there," he says in a resonant voice, "none of this would have happened. The Strangers would never have laid a hand on you."
Gloss turns towards him at last. Peeta is trying to attract Katniss' attention when Coin grabs his shoulder. Impressed by the events, the Governor asks. "What are they saying?"
"They are greeting one another." Peeta replies.
"Strange way to say hello." mutters Coin.
Woof stands up. His face has regained its usual impassive and noble composure. "I waited for your orders, my Lord." he says in a low voice. "Each day, each time that our father the Sun rose into the sky, I felt the urge to come to your rescue. But, as you know, I could not do so against your wishes. And the chaski bearing your command never came. O my Lord, why did you not order me to annihilate the Strangers?"
Gloss makes no reply.
The Inca general waits in silence for an answer, for some encouraging words. They do not come. They will never come.
Coin asks again. "What are they saying now?"
Peeta feels the infinite and magnificent silver of Katniss eyes speak to him, and in that moment he suddenly understands. It is anger that makes Gloss so still, that has frozen him in that terrible silence. "The general regrets not having served the Inca better." murmurs Peeta. "He regrets that he has been taken prisoner…"
Woof takes to steps back. "I waited for your orders, my Lord." he repeats. "We were alone, isolated. Your generals – Chaff and Captain Cato and the rest – were alone. If you do not order it, they will not come to liberate you."
And with that Woof turns his back on his master and walks slowly from the patio, his shoulders sagging as though they now bear a heavier load than the one he had entered with.
Peeta advances carefully through the dark, feeling his way past the sacks, baskets and jars. The secret passage begins from the very heart of the palace, from the end of a small room in which the mullus, those pink shells so important during Inca rituals, are kept.
Katniss had revealed it to him shortly after the Great Battle. He had to promise her to keep it secret. He remembered jesting with her, saying, 'So, would you mind if I brought the Governor here?'
Back then, the words they spoke to each other were still uncertain. Action had taken the place of talk. They could only express and share their love physically. But they did not always have the chance to escape to the cabin by the hot springs, the hut where they had spent their first night together. So this passage had become their trysting place.
As he crosses the room, Peeta sinks his hand into a large jar of shells. Doing so evokes an oddly pleasant impression of the sea. The trapezoid niches now so familiar to him surround the room. All the gold statues they had once contained had been removed at the beginning of the Spanish occupation, and the alcoves are not covered with cotton hangings. He lifts one, his heart racing.
The tunnel had been dug at a slight rising angle. A thin layer of beaten earth covers the rock. Katniss had explained to him that, during ancient times, the tunnel system had crisscrossed through the entire hill, passing through the acclahuasi and reaching the snail-shaped fortress, the one the conquistadors had demolished upon their arrival. The passage is remarkably clean and dry, and chests in which reserves of food and clothes had once been stored still sit in recesses at intervals along the way. A rumbling rises up from the belly of the earth: it is the sound of the underground rivers flowing beneath the mountain.
Peeta's eyes have not yet adapted to the darkness, and he utters a surprised cry when a hand lands on his own as lightly as a butterfly.
"Katniss!"
Her hand flutters against his face, taps lightly on his full lips, caresses his cheeks, and gently touches his eyelids, his forehead. Peeta tries to kiss her, to hold her, but she embraces him and then dodges away from him immediately. They laugh softly.
The moment he stops grasping for her, she stops evading him. Now he feels the breath close to his own lips and at last he can make out her proffered face. They both smile even though they are unable to see another clearly through the darkness.
"You're here." Katniss whispers tenderly.
Peeta senses in her voice a timidity, or rather a sense of modesty so profound that he is overwhelmed by it. Those simple words have travelled far in her heart and her soul before reaching her lips.
She is so close that he can smell her scent.
When he draws her to him, she surrenders herself demurely. Peeta's arms closes around her, he feels her firm breasts against his chest, her lithe legs pressed along the length of his own. In no time at all, the two lovers are clutching at one another, their loins afire, their senses made dizzy by the vertigo of passion. All the energy and desire within them, all the accumulated self-constraint of their waiting is released in an instant. They feel a sudden, quivering thrill that they sustain by caressing each other's bodies.
Peeta wants to be the embodiment of tenderness. He runs his hands through Katniss thick, black hair. They hold one another still for a moment. Their hearts pound so strongly that it feels as though one pulse beats for the both of them. Katniss takes the lead, placing her lips on his, touching him, undressing him, pushing him back with gentle but insistent motions so that he bends his knees and slides slowly down to the ground. Peeta feels her mouth travelling over his body, running across his face, his neck, his chest, a wave of warmth on his skin.
Then he allows his own hands their freedom. They grip Katniss' smooth, strong thighs, naked under her fine wool tunic, parting them gently but firmly. He thinks he hears a new sound, a groan that blends with the subterranean murmuring of the rivers. Katniss whispers a few lively, happy sounds into his ear, words that he does not understand.
'She is so light' Peeta thinks to himself as their naked bodies burns and melts into each other. And then, overwhelmed by her caresses, he soars away with her while she whispers the words that become his undoing, "Te amo."
AN: The first chapter of part two!
This story is for all the readers who have read part one, 'The Princess of the Sun'. Part one will only stay here on fanfiction for about a week or so, and then I'll remove it. For all the readers who find the 'The Gold of the Incas' after 'The Princess of the Sun' is removed, I recommend that you read part one by reading the first book of The Incas trilogy by A. B. Daniel. This is only an adaptation of the real story, where I use the Hunger Games characters to tell the story. But I did change Peeta's character's upbringing to fit this version of the story better. Any new readers are always welcome to PM me if you wish to know who is who.
Stay tuned for many new adventures in the "New World".
Glossary:
Cantutas – A sacred flower
Unku – A shirtless tunic that reaches he knee and is worn by men
Tocapus – A pattern with symbolic meaning.
Chaski – A messenger
Acclahuasi – The Virgins' house.