I close my eyes and brace myself the way I would for a physical strike. It’s still not enough. As she begins to tell the story, to rewrite the legend I’ve known for so long, I’m pummeled.
“The first of our people were the two children of Inti the Sun God, who emerged from a cave on Isla del Sol, but the only thing strong enough to break free of Inti’s cave was sunlight itself. So Inti gave his children, Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo, a Sun Staff made of sun rays to break their way out. They were told to take the Sun Staff from Inti and find fertile land to build an empire to worship him. Inti then used sun rays to sculpt the stones in the cave in the shape of a Feline, Ave, and Serpent to create the Guardians who would look over this new empire, theTawantinsuyo, by channeling their samay through the three realms. As they walked, Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo learned from him and used the Sun Staff to awaken different stone formations in the shape of people to build the populace.”
The princess stops there.
“I know that, princess. We all know that–”
“Why do the Guardians have infinite samay when we don’t?”
I shut my mouth. It’s such a stupidly simple question, I almost want to laugh.
“Because they’re our Guardians. They were awakened by Inti himself,” I say, each word slow and confused.
The princess does laugh, and it’s a fractured thing. Rough and disjointed, like she can barely breathe.
“They were awakened by his sun rays. The same rays the first Inka used. Is that not the point of the Sun Staff? That it’s the power of Inti himself?”
“You’re laughing at me,” I respond to her taunting questions.
“Then the story goes that the Sun Staff was seen as too powerful to have among the normal populace, so it was returned to its birthplace after Cusco was founded,” she continues without acknowledging me.
“Are you telling me that isn’t true?”
Again, she makes no effort to address my questions directly. She looks at the fire, stares at it like it’s a loyal audience. “Now, if the Guardians were awakened by the same rays we were, then the only difference between them and people is the stone we came from. And if the only difference between the Guardians’ samay and ours is that theirs is infinite, then the stone the Guardians came from must be the source of infinite samay.”
It’s all a twisted version of the stories I grew up with. Infinite samay, the first Inka, mimicry, and its punishment. Folklore always has gaps in knowledge, but I never attempted to fill them in until now.
My words are careful when I speak. “So the Guardians are made from the Samay Stone.”
“The other way around. The Samay Stone inside of me is a piece of the Guardians. Inti didn’t give us the Samay Stone. He gave us the Guardians that he sculpted from stones in the cave with his sunlight. It’s that cave, lost to history, that is the source of infinite samay, not Inti, not the Guardians. He used the cave to produce life and then sank it because he didn’t trust us with the stone itself.”
“But he trusted the Guardians,” I whisper in awe. Is this sacrilege or the end of my world as I know it?
“That was his mistake,” the princess speaks plainly, as if she’s not criticizing our greatest god. “The Guardians gave us the stone anyway… or we took it from them. That I don’t know.”
I remember the last thing the Guardians said to me.
Protect her because it’s our fault.
“They gave it to us,” I say, with all the certainty I can muster after having my beliefs usurped in a few seconds. “They gave it to us, and they regret it.”
“I don’t care what they feel anymore. I’ve tried to speak with them ever since my mother told me this story, and they’ve never said a single word. And then they alert us of a calamity, showing everyone that I’m worth absolutely nothing to them, that I’m not worthy of being the hero despite having a piece of themforcedinside of me. Do you know how that feels, champion? Do you know how much worse this all was knowing the truth?”
“You’re not worthless,” I say on instinct.
“Don’t speak on things you have no right to. You’re the Guardians’ chosen, but you can’t even tell me the truth behind the last calamity.”
“It was a war,” I defend myself, but it’s hopeless. I’m weak once again, not physically this time, but in all the ways it matters.
“Over this stone, champion. It was a war waged over the stone that is inside of me even now. The stone that holds all my life energy hostage. The stone I’ve had to kill for, the only reason anyone has ever thought I was worth a damn thing–”
“Yanami,” I say, and my voice breaks. Because I can’t breathe. My vision blurs, and I rub my eyes to catch any tears. My emotions are overflowing, still so raw from Inti Raymi and the projection. I need to stay quiet. I look at Mare and see that he’s still sleeping.
“But none of this answers the question you asked,” the princess says, reserved and distant, her emotional outburst already in the past and shut away.
I’ve long forgotten whatever question had spurred this on. I’m enthralled by Yanami herself, by the story she weaves, the revelations, and the lies unveiled. What had I asked? The princess is waiting for me.
“Your mother’s home,” I remember. “You said Amantani was your mother’s home, but that can’t be true because your mother is Inkan.”
