Гарри Тертлдав - The First Heroes

"Yes, Mother," he said.

"One more game, please?" Kusi pleaded.

Orqo opened his mouth to refuse, but Qori Chullpa silenced him with a brilliant smile. "Of course, Kusi, he has time for one more game." Kusi's face lit up. "I've already won four!" Orqo rolled his eyes and pretended he didn't care. "Your brother has taught you well, then," she said, and she winked at Orqo. He studied the dirt.

"Don't forget, Orqo. Your father." And she stepped back into the palace.

Orqo gathered the beans into two piles and handed Kusi the dice. Kusi beat him quickly, ending the game with a delighted laugh. Orqo tried not to look angry. It was getting harder and harder to beat Kusi. Orqo was glad to be entering the Yachay Wasi soon, to earn the golden earplugs of a noble Inka warrior. Kusi could not follow him to school, not until he, too, came of age.

But Kusi seemed to read his thoughts. "Will you come play with me even when you study to be a warrior?"

Orqo stood up, and stamped his feet to shake off the dust. "No, Kusi, the amauta-kuna will keep me very busy." Truthfully, he was not eager to come under the tutelage of the Yachay Wasi's famously zealous teachers, but if they would keep Kusi from him, perhaps school would be worth the trouble.

"Don't go, Orqo. Let's spin our tops again."

Kusi looked at him with big, eager-puppy eyes. Suddenly Orqo could bear him no longer, his victories, his unrelenting cheerfulness, his constant presence. "No, Kusi. My father is waiting."

"Our father."

For the first time that day, Kusi sounded annoyed. Orqo tried not to smile. "All right. Our father. But he's waiting with my mother."

"Yes. So?"

"She's very beautiful, isn't she?" Orqo allowed himself to gloat a little.

"So?" Kusi said again, sounding even more irritated.

Orqo pressed his advantage. "I've never even seen your mother."

Kusi stabbed at the dirt with his top. "She's the Qoya. She doesn't have to see anyone she doesn't want to see."

"So why does she hide in her rooms? She ought to be running our father's household. Why does my mother have to do all the work?" Now I have him, Orqo thought, as he watched Kusi's face darken like a thundercloud. Suddenly he wanted to hurt Kusi, hurt him so that he would not forget.

"Maybe she's not just lazy," Orqo went on. "Could it be she's ugly? Maybe she's a dwarf or a hunchback like her servants."

Kusi leaped to his feet, his hands in fists. Orqo felt a thrill of pleasure.

Kusi's eyes narrowed. "Is not! She's beautiful, just like your mother! And—and—she's not just beautifu l. She talks to the gods! Can your mother do that?"

Orqo reveled in his newfound power. "Prove it."

Kusi stood for a moment with his shoulders hunched and his fists like knots on his legs. Then he grabbed Orqo by the wrist and pulled him across the courtyard, through one room and another, through another courtyard, then another, through an alley, and into a part of the palace Orqo had never seen. Orqo was vaguely aware of people pausing and turning their heads, but no one tried to stop them. Finally, two tall men jumped aside to let them through a doorway, and two more men no taller than Orqo's waist shouted greetings to Kusi and likewise made way. Kusi pulled Orqo past them into a dark chamber.

Orqo found himself face-to-face with the palest woman he had ever seen. No wonder they called her Mama Runtu, Mother Egg. Her face glowed like the moon in the darkness, and her jaw moved constantly. At first Orqo thought she was trying to speak, then realized she must be chewing kuka leaves. He had heard that she slept with them in her mouth. At her elbow sat a plate bearing a whole qowi, untouched. The scent of the roasted guinea pig filled the air and made Orqo ravenous.

The Qoya betrayed not the least surprise, but merely nodded toward a pile of blankets, much like that on which she herself reclined. Then she waved at a shadowy figure in the corner who was playing a flute. The music stopped, and the woman who had been playing limped painfully from the room, nearly doubled over by the hump on her back. Orqo felt ill.

"Welcome, Orqo." Mama Runtu's voice was light and musical. "Please sit. Are you hungry?" She offered him the qowi.

He shook his head and groped for the blankets. "You know me?" he stammered.

"I watch," she said simply. "Or they watch for me." She glanced to her left, and Orqo saw that their meeting was being observed by a crowd of some eight or ten attendants, none of them the size or shape of a healthy adult person.

"No need to stare," the Qoya added. "We are all injured by the gods. In some of us, the wounds are visible. In others, they are not."

Orqo flushed, and looked at the floor in front of Mama Runtu. She was stranger than he had imagined, though she did have an odd beauty, with her pale skin wreathed in wild black hair. Her lliklla looked plain of fabric but glittered with many jewels.

The Qoya patted the blanket next to her, and Kusi sat down, his chin lifted with pride. They did not touch, but Orqo felt something strong between them, something that frightened him. He wondered what his father would think if he could see them all there together. Orqo knew that Wiraqocha spent little time with Mama Runtu. Enough to make sons, but no more.

"I am glad to have a good look at you," she said smoothly. "The next Inka. I am honored. I think your father would remind us all to remove our shoes." She smiled and slipped her sandals from her feet with one hand. Her attendants did the same. The gesture made Orqo nervous. He wanted to go, but he couldn't give Kusi the pleasure of watching him run. Perhaps he could find a way to leave with his pride intact.

"My father is expecting me," he said. "No doubt." The Qoya leaned back. Her eyes studied him closely, with such intensity that he had to look away again. "Give me your hands," she said suddenly. Orqo stood to approach her. He felt like a giant. When he reached her, he sat on the floor and held out his hands. He wished they wouldn't tremble.

"Ah." Mama Runtu pressed his hands together, then held them to her face. Gently she rubbed his palms against her cheeks. He had never felt skin that soft, not even—he felt a traitor to think this—his mother's.

The Qoya released his hands and looked at him with motherly concern. "Take care, Orqo. Your hands hold your brother's fate. The wanka-kuna told me. Whatever Kusi will become, or not become, is up to you."

Orqo tried to shrug off her words. Why would the sacred stones talk to Mama Runtu? And why would they talk about him?

She sighed. The brightness of her face dimmed, as if a thin cloud had passed over the moon. "Your father must be waiting," she said. "Kusi, show him the way." Kusi looked once at Orqo, a glance of pride and triumph that Orqo did not understand. Hadn't Mama Runtu just said that he held Kusi's fate in his hands?

But Kusi did not seem at all disturbed by her announcement. With a light step—but without speaking—he raced Orqo back to his own part of the palace.

The chill of the water ate into Orqo's bones. But he knew he had to endure the river's cold for as long as he could, to swim as far as possible from Kusi's reach. He squinted at the mountains. Had he passed Tampu yet? Kusi must have soldiers at Tampu. If he could swim far enough below Tampu he might have a chance to escape and regroup his forces. Wiraqocha still commanded some loyalty.

Mama Runtu was mad, he thought. I don't hold Kusi's fate in my hands; he holds mine in his.

But mad or not, the Qoya, like Kusi, had won the hearts of Qosqo's people, while they maligned the faithful Qori Chullpa. Orqo found it hard to understand. Mama Runtu never showed her face outside her palace, never attended a feast or a ceremony. The people never even saw her. And yet they said of the Qoya, What a fine mother! And so kind to her poor servants! No wonder Kusi is thoughtful and generous. Look how gently he speaks to the crippled beggars—just like his mother does. And a skilled young warrior, too! The amauta-kuna never cease in their praises. Then they would whisper, Ah, what an Inka he would make! Why is Wiraqocha so blind?