Just like that, sunlight turns solid, and rock turns to gold. Before me stands a golden staff. At its top, the primitive sun is carved onto a gold disk. The razor-sharp edges of the disk glint in the sunlight. I bring a finger up to it, and it slices through theskin on the pad of my finger like it’s water. Two drops of blood stain the gold.
This disk will cut through anything.
Next to it, a crown with a golden veil. I place it on my head, and the world is filtered by the shimmering gold. I lean on the staff to stand, unsteady on my feet after kneeling to pray. My knees ache, an ache that makes me question how long I stayed in front of the shrine.
Without hesitation, I walk into the cave with the Sun Staff steady in my hand.
Chapter 31
Deep in the cave, past the reach of sunlight, I meet the Guardians. I don’t hesitate before what I say. My mind is made up.
“Why did you do it?” I ask.
They’re in front of me, or they’re around me, or they’re not really here at all. They’re everywhere, in my lungs, in my blood, in my bones. The Ave, the Serpent, and the Feline.
I’m not Yanami. I will repeat myself until my voice gives out if it means getting answers.
“Why did you do it?” I shout.
They speak in unison, one buzzing hive, one screeching mass.
“The Sun Staff is not ours to give. The trials are from Inti himself-”
“Fuck you and Inti and the trials,” I spit out. I’m tired. Sweat drips into my eyes, but I can’t wipe it away with the veil covering my face. “Why did you give us the stone?”
Us, I say. I am not the Inka, not the past ones or the dead ones. I am not the one with a stone for a heart. I am not the martyr or the destroyer.
Or am I both?
“The empire would not survive without it, but we did not know its existence would destroy it as well.”
Just like me, the beings in front of me are not gods, not all-knowing or all-powerful. They were crafted, the same way every human was, with a purpose. To forgive myself, I have to forgive them.
If forgiveness is something any of us, anyone involved with this, deserves.
“Your Hero hid it during the last calamity,” I say.
“Yes.”
There was no reason for Yanami to lie about the history she gave me, but I still hoped it wasn’t true. No, the Guardians don’t deserve forgiveness, and neither do I.
“Then you made the same mistake again,” I press.
“You are a mortal. Remember that when you speak to us.”
I scoff, the harsh sound absorbed by the black cave around us. I hate it. I want the echo, the judgment choir. “No.”
I remember dying. I remember coming back. In the end, Inti gave me more than the Sun Staff, heavy in my hand. Inti pushed me forward in time, into my own self. I wasn’t ready, but Inti thinks I am now.
Let them remember I’m still me. I’m still Sinchinrei, Guardians’ Hero, but also Sinchinrei, Suyai’s other half, Mare’s Idol, Yanami’s lover.
I keep my head up and look each Guardian in the eye one by one. Through my veil, I see them clearly, but I know they don’t see me. Inti gave me much more than the Sun Staff.
The Serpent, Amaru, as I now know their true name to be, is a chimera of all animals that live in the mountains of my home. With the head of bats in caves, llamas on steppes, felines who stalk their prey, Amaru’s face shifts with the little light creeping into the cave we’re in. Their body, though, is one long form, covered in scales and reminding me of the fish I buy at the Limadocks, or even more, the trout I caught with my bare hands in the mountain rivers. Their body ends in a flared tail, the scales catching light to look like a blue-hot fire. Amaru stands on bird-like feet, claws at the end digging into the fresh, humid dirt below us all. An amalgamation of all and nothing, who we were and what we end up.
The Feline, Puma, as I now know their true name to be, is one sharp ray of sunlight. Their coat is an even tan, getting so bright near their stomach, it sheds light itself. Their eyes are made of perfect geometric lines, like the peaks of the mountains or the dark caverns between stones. Puma’s tail flickers, lying low and balanced, impatience or control? Puma’s paws are giant, crushing, indenting their presence into the earth. They are strength, restraint, growth, change, essence, our bodies throughout our lives.
The Ave, Condor, as I now know their true name to be, is three colors, simply yet multi-dimensional. Black wings interspersed with white feathers. Red head, lined with a white neck and a pointed beak at the end. Every color stands on its own, clear and concise beginning and end. Yet each color comes together, unable to be torn apart. Condor flies high. Condor rarely comes down to earth. I can tell by their wings, spanning the whole cave, ready to take flight.
