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Inca Moon

by Patrick Carmichael

502 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #01-0233; ISBN 1-55212-833-4; US$37.00, C$42.50, EUR30.50, £21.50

Inca Moon is a historical novel of mystery and adventure set in the Inca Empire of ancient South America. A young woman thrown into royal court intrigue searches the Andes for a murderer.

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about the book      about the author      excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book Qori Qoyllur is the daughter of a humble fisherman. She doesn't know the beaches she calls home are part of the mighty Inca Empire. Innocence is shattered when an assassin finds her father, and a terrible secret is revealed. Summoned by mysterious nobles who claim friendship, and beset by unknown enemies, Qori goes to the holy city of Cuzco in search of vengeance. Thus begins a journey into the secret heart of a vast land where demigods rule millions in one of the most majestic, brutal, and tragic empires of the ancient world. Inca Moon is a tale of courage and intrigue, ruthless ambition, and devotion betrayed. With Qori we travel through deserts, mountains, and jungles, face armies and assassins, experience the pomp and rituals of a vanished world. We follow her through tangled loves and loyalties, share emotions and personal tragedies, see her rise to become an Inca healer and, covertly, a special agent to the emperor. On this journey we meet great lords and ladies, heroes and scoundrels: Reclusive Lord Atoq is an elegant man who directs the imperial spy web from his country estate. With the old emperor on his deathbed and conspiracy threatening to plunge the empire into civil war, Lord Atoq must send his elite agents into peril. Qori loves him like a father, but what secrets is he holding back? Lady Sisa is breathtakingly beautiful. Men want her; women envy her. Why is she so feared? Tanta Karwa is a healer to nobility and Qori's beloved mother-in-law. She knows the truth but cannot speak it. He who rules the jungle, Condin Savana, Wizard of the East, sees Qori's destiny. He will arm her, but he will not interfere with fate. These and other vivid characters inhabit the world of Qori Qoyllur. Based on old Spanish accounts and modern findings, this novel brings the Inca Empire alive with gripping authenticity.

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About the Author Patrick Carmichael divides his time between Canada and South America. He has traveled the Andes from Ecuador to Chile, and is a veteran of numerous archaeological expeditions to remote corners of Peru. He grew up in Manitoba but his passion for the Andes drew him early and continues to lure him back. When not roaming cloud-wrapped mountains, exploring deserts, or studying the remains of vanished cultures, Patrick lives with his wife in Calgary, where writing is great and fly-fishing superb.

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Excerpts

Note to Readers INCA MOON
translated from the original
Crónica de la India Qori Qoyllur
Archivo Nacional
Section: Viceroyalty of Peru
Document: #31/R17/210
Author: Oral Testimony of an Indian Woman
Scribe: Doña Catalina de Quintana

 

Note to Readers

The events in this book took place when the Inca Empire was vast and
outwardly secure, the old emperor rested on his laurels, and the
future Spanish invasion of 1532 was an undreamt nightmare. To
Doña Catalina de Quintana we owe an enormous debt for painstakingly
recording this account, though her chapter headings reveal she
was horrified by many deeds candidly described herein, and felt
obliged to warn Christian readers of exotic pagan rituals and intimate
sins of the flesh. Nonetheless, she faithfully took dictation from
its author, the Inca woman Qori Qoyllur, whose life in a world
strange yet familiar is told in her own words. Of all the millions
whose bones fill the Andean soil, the voice of Qori Qoyllur travels
alone through time to tell a personal story, a story revealing the raw
truth of a life in a world now vanished.

Table of Contents

Map
Title Page
Note to Readers
Pronunciations

I	In which the Events that begin this account Commence without hesitation.	1
II	In which is told a Woeful Tale of circumstance and Murder Foul.	18
III	Of how the Twins were Summoned, and of that which befell them in the Desert Wastes.	25
IV	Of the Micheq, and Perils faced in the Jaws of the Great Speaker.	40
V	In which Qori meets an Old Woman, Lord Achachi becomes Suspect, Qhari is Strangled, and the Hatun Kuraka drinks maize beer with the Apu Panaqa.	57
VI	Of Qori's life in the Convent, the Foolish Tales these Indians tell of their Origins, the Solitary Vice, and of how word arrives from an unexpected quarter.	71
VII	In which Qori has Dance Lessons, is saved by a most Outrageous Lie, eats Roast Guinea Pig with peanut sauce, and Lies again.	86
VIII	In which Unspeakable Sins are confessed, of which Maidens and Youths must not read.	98
IX	In which Qori is judged before the great Ladies of the Empire, and of how the Devil caused these Indians to make Despicable Sacrifices in their Heathen Temples.	98
X	In which a New Life begins, the Dead Feast Together, and too much maize beer is drunk.	121
XI	Concerning the Wedding Night, of which only Married Persons may read, and then of the Hidden Valley, where is met Lord Achachi.	136
XII	In which Qori meets the Empress, Sorcerers Perform, a Disgusting Addiction is spoken of, an old wound is healed, and Horrible Truths are revealed.	153
XIII	Of the Sacred Paths, and a Pagan Rite of womanhood where Qori lies, drinks too much, and deceives Lord Sapaca.	168
XIV	In which a Strange Battle takes place according to the customs of these Indians, and Startling Revelations are laid forth.	180
XV	In which the Hapless Couple is summoned, a Perilous Mission into Lands Unknown is assigned, and the old Warlord laughs.	194
XVI	Of a journey through the clouds to a Forbidding Land, where Death stalks the hunters.	204
XVII	In which Qori meets the Wizard of the East, and is taken to the Spirit World where she is beset by Demons.	214
XVIII	In which Eagle Woman claims her first Victim, the Savage Chief glares, a vile soldiers' oath is spoken, Carnal Temptations descend in the night, Qori lies - which she does so often this scribe will no longer remark upon it - and Lord Atoq gambles.	228
XIX	In which Qori performs a Remarkable but Unseemly Feat, and witnesses the Abominable Vice.	242
XX	Of how the Deceitful and Deadly Arts were practiced by these Indians.	256
XXI	In which Strange Vessels ply the great inland sea, a Secret Council meets, Death roams the night, and Qori learns a new recipe for peanut sauce.	273
XXII	In which is given a Sordid Narrative detailing the manner in which these misguided Indians Sinned Mightily with their bodies, and reveled in Obscene Acts of Lust which no persons of pure heart should read lest they be infected with vile impulses.	288
XXIII	In which a Maiden Foully Murdered is discovered amid the Towers of the Dead, and the howling Phuku Demon attacks.	302
XXIV	Of those who Survived and those who did not, and of Secrets hitherto unknown revealed by Lord Atoq, after which Qori is Punished.	315
XXV	In which the consequences of Abhorrent Conduct are visited upon the sinners, Lord Sapaca drinks maize beer with Lord Wallpaya, and these Indians debase themselves further.	326
XXVI	Of the Heathen Emperor whom these Indians called the Ideal Pattern of All Things, and the Immense Reverence in which he was held, and of how a Great Treachery came to pass.	342
XXVII	In which the Conspirators further ignite their Plot, the drought is ended, maize beer is served, and a Desperate Battle rages with deeds of such Daring and Courage that had it not happened just so it would not be believed.	356
XXVIII	Of how the battle concluded, and then of a Strange Wedding where a summons most ominous arrives.	370
XXIX	In which Qori and Tanta Karwa have audience with the two most Powerful Women in the realm, and Tragedy Descends.	385
XXX	Concerning events at the Temple of Wiraqocha where the prospects of Princess Koka worsen, Qori dresses as a boy, Lord Aquixe receives a False Message, and a Mysterious Man attends Lord Sapaca.	397
XXXI	In which the Fated Meeting comes to pass, and what its outcome was.	414
XXXII	In which matters take startling New Turns, the significance of what has occurred is fully realized, Secrets are Confessed, and previously obscure incidents explained.	426
XXXIII	Of how the matter of Princess Koka came to an end, and what that end was.	445
XXXIV	In which is related a tale so evil and foully perverse that it is Beyond Mortal Comprehension, and should not be read by those of tender disposition.	459
XXXV	In which the True Horror is revealed.	476
XXXVI	Being the concluding part of this Twisted Tale, in which all matters are settled. . . almost.	492

Sources
Author's Note

excerpt from Chapter 1

In which the Events that begin this account
Commence without hesitation.

    The south wind drove us before white-fringed waves. Cold spray lashed my face. Another echoing boom of thunder rolled across the lake taking my breath with it. Now just four lengths behind us the lead boat swooped in like an eagle. Its flankers, slipping from sight and then rising on the crests, gained steadily. Lightning laced the darkness. I huddled in the stern of our reed boat watching the great sail of our pursuer coming up on the right. They're going to take us broadside, I thought. Capture is inevitable. Better to die by my own hand.
    When the rain hit I looked back at the island of Taquile, only to see it vanish behind the gray-black veil racing toward us. I pulled my cloak tighter and drew my knees under my dress. Something whizzed past my ear. A shout jerked my head to the bow. The bowman gestured wildly over the side. He was alone, his mate gone. A second volley of sling stones whistled by, one catching the helmsman in the thigh, but he held on. The eagle boat, now two lengths out to our right, began closing. Pitching and rolling in their craft, the spearmen poised and the slingers reloaded.
    I heard them shouting. They were Aymara speakers, but at first I couldn't tell from which nation. Qolla? I wondered, or Pacaje? No, Lupaqa. It doesn't matter; they're all against us. I slipped a hand under my shawl seeking Eagle Woman - my spirit-sister, and gripped the reassuring outline of her wooden tube. She lay snug against my breast, suspended from a cord at my neck. Her deadly secret can save me from the dishonor of capture, I thought. Be brave and unsheathe her now.
    The squall hit with a blast that snapped our lines leaving the square reed sail flapping helplessly, pinned only to the top of the mast. The bowman leapt to catch a trailing rope, but the boat pitched sending him over the side. I grabbed a pole and held it out to the flailing arms in the water, struggling to keep my balance while the boat heaved and rolled sideways against the wind. The eagle boat fared little better, but her sail was intact and her crew worked frantically to lower it while the warriors huddled together. The wind threw a cold, cutting rain in my face, which then became a sheet-downpour of such intensity that the eagle boat turned to a shadowy blur, its flankers lost to sight.
    "Take the steering oar," the helmsman shouted.
    "I can't let go of this pole," I called back.
    The rain bounced off the water blinding me. The man alongside tugged frantically, almost pulling me overboard. The stern swung out leaving us broadside to the wind, near capsizing. Suddenly the pole went slack. Nothing. He'd lost his grip. The lake was his bed now.
    I lunged for the stern and took hold of the steering oar. "To the left," the helmsman shouted in my ear, "try to turn the bow." He scrambled to the mast, fighting to bring the sail under control.
    The rain turned to stinging, bouncing hail, and in moments the craft filled with frozen pellets. The eagle boat slammed against us but no one tried to board, all hands there occupied bailing hailstones. I crouched over the oar, chin on my breast against the pounding, biting ice stones, unable to see more than arm's length. The helmsman appeared on his knees in front of me, frantically casting handfuls of ice over the side, but we sank lower under the weight while the waves rose around us.
    An avalanche of water crashed over me tearing the oar from my grasp. The boat rolled, floundering sideways. Then a second wave hit and in a blink I found myself in the water, thrashing to reach the surface.
    Reed boats float, at least until they become too sodden, and when I poked gasping to the surface I glimpsed the long bottom of our craft bobbing nearby. Beyond it the mast of the eagle boat wavered, and then above the din came shouts and the mast vanished. All this in an instant for the hail bounced off the water into my face, and then another wave plunged me under. Fighting hard I surfaced once more, but I could no longer see our boat or knew in which direction I faced. A hand thrust up beside me. I grabbed. My helmsman came up, sputtering and swallowing as much water as air.
    "Kick your legs. Keep your head up," I shouted. He clung to me in terror pulling me down. "Your tunic," I yelled, "take it off." But he ignored me, eyes wild with fear. My wool clothes weren't made for swimming, and their weight alone was enough to drag me under. I took a deep breath and let my head sink, pulling the tupu pins and shaking loose from my heavy cloak and dress. Sandals, shoulder bag and bonnet went with them until I was naked, except for Eagle Woman who remained on a cord at my neck. When the weight of my clothes passed from me, so did the helmsman's grip. I surfaced gulping air, and for an instant I saw him clutching my empty dress. Then a wave passed over and he surfaced no more. I drifted alone with the night and the storm.
    They can't swim, at least none I've ever seen. Though the people of Lake Titiqaqa pass their lives beside it and on it, the waters are too cold for play. Since I was raised on the shores of the ocean I could swim as well as a seal, though it was years since I'd done so, but once learned it's not forgotten. Now free and alone I floated easily on the swells. No cries for help, no wreckage, no sign of other survivors. The pursuit boats had met the same fate and vanished with their crews. The hail turned back to rain and slackened, but continued in a steady downpour. The worst of the squall passed but the night remained black.
    Drift with the wind, I thought, and eventually you'll reach the north shore. But how long can I last in these frigid waters? My teeth chattered and I could no longer feel the water against my skin. I pressed my fingers together but felt nothing.
    Swim! I ordered myself. Keep moving. You're the only one who knows the plans of the Aymara lords. The Emperor depends on you.
    Even while forcing my limbs to move I knew I'd never reach shore. But there were reed banks at the shallow north end of the lake, and, it was said, even floating islands.
    I had heard of the curious floating islands on the journey to Lake Titiqaqa. They are the domains of the Uru people, a nasty, brutish lot by all accounts, many of who hire themselves out as laborers on the mainland, though they stay apart and are despised by everyone. They speak an incomprehensible language, quite unrelated to any of the civilized dialects of the region, and no one knows where they came from, though they claim to have been there since creation.
    Were the floating islands somewhere ahead, or was I in the wrong part of the lake?
    For an eternity I thrashed in the icy water until my arms became too heavy to lift. I rolled on my back and tried kicking my feet, but they hardly responded. I wasn't even sure I was headed in the right direction. Only the rain and the swells and the blackness witnessed my struggle, and they didn't care. I envisioned myself as a tiny lamp flickering in a cold, black, cavernous room, and sputtering into blissful sleep. The face of my brother Qhari floated beside me. He held out his arms, beckoning me to rest... and drift with him... forever.
    Something... something pressing against me. I was with Qhari now and didn't want to leave, warm and sliding off to sleep. I moved a hand to brush the thing away. It wouldn't leave. My eyelids fluttered open. Reeds? I floated over a bed of them, rising and falling with the swells. I clutched a handful and rolled over. A dense mass lay just ahead. With numb hands I pulled my way toward it, and with the last of my strength heaved my arms over the bank. Pressing my face against the spongy mass, I let my legs float free. The bank itself moved with the swells. I realized I had reached one of the floating islands, land of the despised Uru.
    "Well, well, look at the garbage the lake washed up." The hostile voice spoke in the Lupaqa dialect. I looked up wearily. He towered over me, hands on his hips, legs set apart against the roll of the island.
    There were other survivors, after all.
    "There weren't any women in our boats," he said, "so you must have been in the one we chased. I thought I saw a woman just before we went over."
    "Please," I said in Lupaqa, reaching a hand to him.
    "Do you know how many men died trying to stop you? No, you evil bitch, there were no orders about taking prisoners."
    He knelt over me and unfastened the mace hanging at his side. I dug my toes into the bank below water and slipped numb hands to my breast. Eagle Woman hung there, but I could scarcely move my fingers to unlock her stinger.
    He raised his mace. "Now, this little fish goes back in the lake, forever."
    Eagle Woman came apart, and with newfound strength I lunged upward, driving the stinger into his thigh. He yelled in surprise, covering the wound with his left hand, his right still raised and holding the mace. His eyes bulged, looking at me curiously, then his mouth fell open, tongue out, croaking for breath. Eyelids fluttering, the mace fell from his hand, his raised arm flopped at his side and his chin slumped. Still kneeling upright, all movement ceased.
    I dragged myself out of the water and lay panting beside him, feeling the roll of the island beneath me. Overhead the sky remained dark and the wind blew, but the rain tapered to a drizzle. I was on land, or a sort of land, and alive.
    I had been told the Uru live in small groups on some forty of these floating islands - their undisputed homelands, for none but they can live in such places. They build their islands by harvesting reeds and heaping them waist high, where they rot, providing the spongy ground on which they live.
    "Look, there's someone over there. Isn't that...?" The voice trailed off. I found myself staring up at two more Lupaqa warriors, eyes fixed on their motionless comrade.
    There wasn't time to replace Eagle Woman's stinger, even if I had the strength to raise my head, which I didn't. I lay on my back and stared up at them like a cornered doe. They peered down at me warily. One of them shook the kneeling man. The body fell sideways.
    "Not a mark on him. What did you do to him? Who are you? Speak."
    "Uru," I replied weakly.
    "Uru? Uru women don't lie naked out in a storm. No, you're off that boat we chased. What did you do to him?" he asked gesturing at the fallen man.
    "I found him so. Please, cover me. Help me."
    The two exchanged looks. Their faces remained hard.
    "Should we kill her now, or take her back for 'questioning'?" the short one wondered aloud.
    "Why bother?" his companion replied. "I'm cold and wet. Let's tie her hands and roll her into the lake."
    "Wait." I heaved myself up on one elbow. "I'm worth a hundred llamas."
    "You? Why?"
    "Reward. Your lord wants me alive."
    They looked at each other again. The short one shrugged. "She's probably lying, but - "
    The pole caught him full on the back of his head laying him flat, face down. The other whirled but took a pole butt in the stomach. A second blow laid him beside his companion. The Uru emerged from the night - short, stocky men, their only weapons the long raft poles they held upright like spears. One placed the end of his pole against my forehead, taking aim.
    "Thank you for killing our enemies," I said in Runasimi, the Inca tongue. The man lifted his pole from my head and looked at the others. A babble began, of which I didn't understand a word. He turned back to me and raised his pole again.
    I looked up at him. "Those filthy Lupaqa should sleep well tonight, and all the others I sent to a watery rest," I continued in Runasimi. He paused again, uncertain. Suddenly a woman pushed her way through the crowd and shoved my captor aside, shouting angrily at him. He shrank, showing deference. She knelt and removed her cloak, covering me while muttering in that strange language.
    "Thank you," I said with relief.
    She spoke to me in Runasimi then, or an accented, broken version of it, which I won't attempt to imitate, but the sense of it was this: "You speak the Inca language? I thought so. I was in service at an Inca garrison once. Here, cover yourself." She wrapped her cloak around me, and I was so relieved I paid no heed to her next remarks. "You're not much to look at, but it's not good for our men to see women naked, even skinny ones. Are those breasts? Well, at least you've got proud nipples."
    Male nakedness didn't trouble her. When the men finished stripping the three Lupaqa and began arguing over the spoils she spoke sharply to them. Reluctantly, a cloak and tunic were handed over. She pulled me to my feet and retrieved her own cloak from around my shoulders, spreading it wide to shield me from the others. "Now put those on," she said nodding at the pile of sodden clothes. "I know they're wet but you'll soon warm up, and you won't be needing them for long anyway."
    It was embarrassing having to put on men's clothes, and three sizes too big, but what troubled me more was the way she suggested I wouldn't be needing them for long.

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Catalogue Information

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