Home
----See I've come to burn your kingdom down //
IP: 68.7.7.249
Posted on June 12, 2013 at 08:25:58 AM by Nepenthe//Croe

This post may contain some language, and situations inappropriate for children under the age of 13.



Croe found she was able to read the signs. Not just the ones in Quechua, but the others, too -- or most of them. The Spanish and French came easily; the English was harder. Amidst the complex and at times beautiful lines of the Asian languages, a word emerged like a song. The assassin found herself taking time, time she may not have had to waste, just to look at all the words, wondering. For whatever reason, this proclivity for languages was more surprising -- and disconcerting -- than her physical abilities. It raised the question of where she was from, originally, and what language was native to her. Could she be sure? And hadn't it been said that speaking a second language was like acquiring a second soul?

How many souls did she have?

But no -- there wasn't time for that. Star- and sign-gazing, maybe, but not questions of identity, not fruitless probing of the darkness where her past should have been. She took a deep breath of the crisp night air, and shivered. It was cold, even for the Andes at 2,500 metres above sea level. Here the mountains met the jungle, and the weather tended toward a temperate damp. Winter, then. Croe wondered what month. Her black eyes roved the streets, still busy despite the hour, and fell on a vendor selling hats and scarves, blankets and toys made from alpaca wool and alpaca skin. She relieved him of a dark striped poncho when his back was turned to her, and made her way to the road.

The way to the ruins was dark -- closed to tourists. Croe slipped easily through a gate meant to deter vehicles, gazing up the moonlit switchbacks weaving up the hillside to the peninsula of mountain where Machu Picchu perched. On its tip rose a taller mountain like a spire, surrounded on three sides by the river: nothing but sheer rock for a few thousand feet, topped with improbable vegetation.

It was going to be a long climb.

Fortunately, and miraculously, she was able to keep mostly to the road. Only two night watchmen passed her with their flashlights, on the climb. She veered off into the trees and brush when she saw them coming, huddled deep and still. They were casual, oblivious. It was clear they didn't expect anyone to trespass at this hour. Maybe the whole site was closed for reconstruction, or research. Or maybe everyone knows better. Maybe even thieves know better than to venture into an Incan ruin alone, at night. Croe wondered what evils were lurking in the shadows of the stones, and whether they were more dangerous than her. She smiled.

The climb was long, but she was fit and healthy; in a few hours she had reached the top of the road and was looking down onto the ruined city, grateful for a night so clear. The buildings looked almost whole in the ghostly half-light. She squatted on a stone, surveying her surroundings, one hand idly caressing the amulet around her neck.

If I were a faerie temple, where would I hide?

Silly question, really. It seemed obvious that her prize would be hidden in the farthest corner of this place, as removed as possible from the path of the unwary. Her night-black eyes, alive with stars, travelled across Machu Picchu and up the side of the mountain spire, narrowing. There would be buildings there, she knew. A cave, to the Inca, was a pathway for the Gods.

Perhaps they were right.




Replies:

Post a reply:
Name:
Email:
Subject:
Message:
Link Name:
Link URL:
Image URL:
Password To Edit Post:







Create Your Own Free Message Board or Free Forum!
Hosted By Boards2Go Copyright © 2020


<-- -->