Valley of the Jaguar

The pyramid-shaped temple in front of Si consisted of several tiers. The large square at its base was flooded with people. Not everyone fit onto it. The ground around it was dry and hard, yet firm enough to stand on.

Si had no idea whether every inhabitant normally attended The Blodo Night, but rumors were circulating that three gods would be present. Although she was somewhat skeptical—she still questioned whether His Holiness himself was truly divine—she, too, wanted to catch a glimpse of the strangers. From what she had heard from the others working in the stables, this had never happened before.

She had hesitated about coming. She hadn’t heard anything from Suyai for days. Would she truly be sacrificed tonight? Or was she already dead? Si didn’t know whether she could bear the death of the woman who had stood by her side. And yet, Suyai deserved to see a familiar face as her end approached. If she hadn’t given Si the chance to escape His Holiness, her life wouldn’t have been in danger. Perhaps Suyai would have been the one caring for the deity’s alpacas and llamas now.

The work had been hard, and she had felt filthy all day. The clothes she wore had been given to her by Nalin. Still, Diriq and she had been kind to her—just like the others. Si had drawn immense strength from them. She wished they were with her now, but she had lost them in the press of the crowd while searching for Suyai. Against all reason, she hoped she might be able to free the woman in an unguarded moment. So far, there was no sign of her.

Drums sounded.

People stepped aside to create a path. Fourteen warriors dressed in red carried a palanquin toward a raised platform where a small grandstand stood. They were flanked by an equal number of men holding torches.

Once the deity had taken his place on the platform, another platform followed, borne by priests, on which three men were seated.

Si stared at them, mouth agape. The clothing they wore was unlike anything she had ever seen. Their skin was lighter than hers—one of them was even completely pale. He also wore a strange object over his eyes. Another one had an unusual headpiece, flat with a brim at the front; the other two wore none at all. It confused her—this was not how the gods were depicted. And yet she had no doubt these were gods. They were tall. They were so different.

The three gods joined His Holiness. One took a seat directly beside him; the other two—including the one with the strange object on his nose—sat behind them. Those two must be lesser gods; at least, they seemed to radiate far less power than the one in front.

Unconsciously, Si checked whether the cloth covering her face was still secure. Gods were difficult to deceive, and she didn’t know whether they would tolerate a malformed person like her nearby.

A priest climbed onto another raised platform. With sweeping gestures, he commanded the crowd to fall silent. An expectant tension hung in the air.

“Tonight it is Blood Night—the night on which we thank the gods for the life they have granted us and offer them our blood in exchange for fertile land. That the gods favor us is proven by the unexpected visit of three among them. They appeared in the temple today. They are known by many names—and today they have revealed themselves as Emilio, ruler of the realm of the dead, and his subordinates, Juan and James.”

The names meant nothing to Si; she had been raised with different gods. She had never seen one up close before and could hardly believe her eyes.

“They promise us a prosperous year, pleased as they are with our own deity, ruler of the four winds. We begin the night with the transfer of power from a lesser divine pair, defeated by His Holiness, who will bestow their power upon him.”

A gate opened on the right. Four warriors surrounded two figures dressed in white robes and led them toward the platform where the gods sat.

The hairs on Si’s arms stood on end. She knew the stories. Among her own people, divine blood was sacred; to spill it was strictly forbidden. The ruler of the Muchika—the supposed god made flesh—saw things very differently. He drank the blood of his defeated enemies, especially those with divine blood, to claim their power as his own.

It made her nauseous.

If her face had not been disfigured, that might have been her fate as well. With compassion, she lifted her gaze to the approaching divine pair.

That flowing hair, those angular jaws…

She froze. A paralyzing sensation seized her chest. She pressed a hand against it. For a moment, it was as though everyone around her stood still. She heard only her own rapid breathing and the hum of blood rushing in her ears.

Mother. Father.

Her legs gave way beneath her.

No—this couldn’t be! They had been brought to safety; they were hiding in the cave. They were waiting for her there, until she returned with her sisters.

She had to be imagining it. Everything was simply becoming too much…

The world suddenly shrank. The only thing she could see was the platform.

Si forced her way through the crowd toward the front. I have to be sure. I have to reassure myself.

Otherwise, the image of what was about to happen would haunt her for the rest of her life. She didn’t know how she managed to push past so many people, but eventually she stood almost at the very front.

Her gaze darted helplessly from the man to the woman and back again.

There was no denying it.

These were her parents. A sob escaped her lips.

“Mother! Father!”

Her mother stared ahead, dazed. Si suspected she barely registered what was happening. Perhaps that was for the best. Her father seemed to recognize her voice; his gaze swept the crowd in search of her. He didn’t see her.

My face covering!

Should she remove it? Would it comfort them to know she was still alive? Or would they be horrified by her disfigured face? She didn’t want to cause them more pain—nor did she want to draw the attention of the gods on the platform.

But what else could she do? Watch helplessly as her parents were stripped of their lives?

It truly sank in when her parents were forced to their knees. The priest standing beside them drew a tumi from his belt. He grabbed her mother by the hair and yanked her head back. The ceremonial blade glinted in the moonlight; with a single motion, the priest drew it across her throat.

It was as if that same blade tore open Si’s chest. Pain surged through her body in searing waves, burning to her fingertips, to the roots of her hair.

“No,” she sobbed. “No! Mama!”

She collapsed to her knees. Crying, she curled in on herself as tightly as she could, as though she could hide from reality that way. This couldn’t be happening. Her parents couldn’t die! They were descendants of the gods. This—this couldn’t be possible.

Sobbing, Si stayed on the ground.

No one looked her way.