Prelude to a Royal Death
Abrasive cries and wales screamed forth into the Andean skies as the sacred Apus, near and far, braced themselves, horridly anticipating more...
Not one observer could stand to watch. Even the birds, propped high on the church's façade had to turn away from the gruesome view surreally befalling so many stories below on the grounds in front of the Santo Domingo Church.
The brightest light had just been extinguished right as the last sawing sounds abruptly ceased.
I awoke in a sweat, wondering where I'd been. The clock read: 10:42 p.m., as I shook my head, fearing the vivid visions might have lasting effects.
It'd been three weeks since my arrival to the ancient capital. Since then, I'd been staying at Hostal Iquique on Calle Recoleta, right at the border between old and new town Cuzco. I opted for this location, mostly, given my familiarity with the neighborhood, following my previous two lengthy trips to the Andean city. If anywhere in Cuzco formed my haunts, Calle Recoleta, a 10-minute walk from the Plaza de Armas, would be my claim.
Hours before, I had solidified plans for a four-day venture along a route that defined an empire. More specifically, a route that, over time, resolved a conflict of two empires, between the reigning champions of both Old World and New.
In my many years of study and travel, I had read and heard about the tales of the legendary Sapa Incas following the 1531 Spanish incursion: Manco Inca and his many iterations in both Cuzco and beyond; as well as his three Vilcabamba-based sons, Sayri Tupac, Titu Cusi, and Tupac Amaru.
I'd also been told by my friend in Lima that the long road to Vilcabamba was one of the most fascinating trails and tales to be had whilst in the Cuzco Region; at least concerning the later decades of Incan existence and resistance, years following the initial Spanish conquest of Perú.
The interchange with José was integral in my decision to venture to the Last Refuge of the Incas.
"Si realmente quieres un viaje, no veo ningún lugar mejor para ir. (If you really want a trip, I don't see anyplace better to go.)" he affirmed.
Having my sights set on returning to Cuzco and the Sacred Valley but not much more, I responded, "Pero no entiendo por qué. (But I don't understand why.)"
José demanded, "Patricio! Recuerda las historias que te conté toda la semana pasada. Lo verás más claro! (Patricio! Remember back to the stories I told you all of last week. It'll become clearer!)"
My friend's message was clear. We'd visited the best museums in Lima, walked all over the capital city talking about Peru's history, ancient, modern, and present. We had eaten meals together, both in public and at his home, discussed even more history, myths, literature, and music. And now was the time to delve deeper into making all of this come fully alive. I knew he was right. For I simply needed to conjure the courage to venture beyond my cultural comfort zone.
But, first, I needed real rest. I hadn't been sleeping well for nights. So, after my first flash of nightmare, surely the result of a tale José once told, I had little choice but to succumb to my slumberous fate.
