Dean Crawford
The Nemesis Origin
I
‘Your time has come, Chaska.’
The interior of the tent was dark, filled with deep shadows that seemed to move with the buffeting winds that rumbled outside as though demons were crawling up the walls. Small candles flickered weakly in the bitterly cold air as Chaska huddled beneath thick blankets, her dark and wary eyes framed by jet black hair. She sat in one corner of the tent as behind her an older woman named Karu, a village elder, densely braided her hair with beads and decorative ribbons.
Chaska was revered as the most beautiful girl in the village by far, and it was that beauty that she now hated the most for she knew what awaited her outside. No family had accompanied her on her journey, for they were not blessed to visit this most sacred of places. Somewhere outside in the darkness she could hear the sound of chanting, the croaking tones of an old man who had probably been through this ritual a hundred times, his melodic singing rising and falling with the winds that howled across the lonely mountains.
Karu was about the same age as Chaska’s grandmother, but her features held none of the familiarity of family or even friends. Every single person who had accompanied Chaska on the long journey was a stranger, likewise chosen, some said by the gods themselves, to travel into the upper realms where few dared to tread. That the journey was sacred was known to all among the Empire, but there was a finality about this journey that enshrouded those who had accompanied Chaska in sadness. The apocalypse that had consumed their world, the invaders from the east with their guns and their diseases, had decimated Chaska’s people through war and pestilence. Now, with almost all of their strongholds and cities fallen, this would be the last time the realm of the gods was visited by humans.
Karu gently parted the braids of her hair and cupped her chin in one hand, her voice soothing as she murmured softly in Quechuan.
‘This is a great day, for you shall travel to meet Viracocha, the father of the gods. There, you will reside in paradise alongside Him, and speak to us of the future through the shamans.’
The tent rumbled as fresh gusts of icy wind swept past outside as though seeking her out. Shaska shivered and pulled the blankets tighter about her shoulders as Karu finished braiding her hair and stood. With a hunched gate, Karu shuffled across the tent to a drawstring bag and produced from within it a beaker that she handed to Chaska.
‘Drink, for it will prepare you for your journey.’
Chaska looked down at the beaker to see within a dark liquid that reflected the candlelight like oil as it swirled. It smelled sweet and looked thick, and she recoiled from it instinctively as she had done many times before.
‘Do not be afraid,’ Karu urged. ‘It will help you.’
Reluctantly Shaska reached out and took the beaker of chica into her hands, and with a deep breath she held it to her lips and drank. The chica was cold, but it felt hot as it flooded into her stomach and she winced as she handed the beaker back, her head beginning to swirl.
‘Good girl,’ Karu said. ‘Your mother would be proud.’
Karu put the beaker away and then turned to Chaska, a motherly expression on her features as she reached out with gnarled old hands.
‘It is time, come.’
Chaska felt a deep twinge of fear as she reached out from beneath her blankets and Karu pulled her to her feet, the blankets falling away to reveal the finest dress that Cashka had ever worn. Tightly woven patterns of geometric shapes adorned the material, and woven into its fabric were fine threads of pure gold. On Chaska’s fingers were rings likewise of pure gold, each one worth more than her father would earn in his entire life, and in the flickering candles it seemed as though she were glowing with tiny flames of light.
‘You are beautiful,’ Karu said with a broad smile, ‘truly fit for Viracocha’s side.’
Taking Chaska’s much smaller hand, Karu led her to the tent entrance and reached out to push it aside. A gust of cold air rippled through the tent and Chaska shivered again as she was led outside, her shoes crunching on thick snow.
The mountains smashed across the horizon all around her, the sky aflame with burnished rivers of molten metal in the glow of the sun rising far behind the ranges. Banners of cloud ripped and torn by the vigorous winds tumbled across the sky, the snowcapped peaks bathed in a rich orange glow. The cold wind whipped her hair into a frenzy of snaking black lines as she was turned by Karu and looked ahead to where a path wound its way to the very peak of the mountain.
Hundreds of royal aides turned to look at her, shivering as they lined the path with flaming torches that gusted and crackled on the wind. One by one they began to chant in time with an old crone who waited for Chaska with one bony hand resting upon a staff at at his side.
‘Go now,’ Karu urged her softly. ‘Your name means very bright star, Chaska, and that is what you shall become.’
Karu’s hands guided her gently towards the old crone, and as Chaska stepped forward she realized that she had lost her balance and that she felt oddly calm. Her stomach churned with warmth despite the bitter cold and her head swam as though she were extremely tired as the chica flowed through her bloodstream. She briefly remembered the same smell of chica from her past, her father drinking the beer outside their family home far away to the north. Grief pinched at Chaska’s eyes as she thought of her parents and her brothers and sisters, so far away.
Your mother would be proud, Karu had said. Chaska’s only comfort emerged as she realized that her family would probably already be awaiting her at Viracocha’s side, for the fearsome conquistadores had been almost upon their village before she had been spirited away by the elders.
The old crone, Qasa, beckoned her forward with a smile, his few remaining teeth like broken moss-covered gravestones guarding the entrance to an ancient cave. From other tents appeared five more girls, likewise dressed in elaborate clothes and with their hair braided, all young and all beautiful. They joined Chaska, their own chaperones helping the girls to link hands. The company made Chaska feel better as Qasa turned and began leaping and dancing and cackling as he made his way between the flaming torches and beckoned the girls to follow him.
The girls stumbled their way up the rocky path, icy cold snow seeping into their shoes and the bitter winds chilling their bodies. With a start Chaska realized that the path was lined not just by royal servants but also by warriors, their flaming torches and the weapons of war in their hands. They chanted and hummed, their eyes seemingly fixed upon Chaska as she walked among the other girls toward the top of the mountain. At the peak, silhouetted against the blinding flare of the setting sun, she could just make out warriors standing in a ring around a single, smaller figure who stood alone in their midst.
Qasa reached the top of the mountain, the howling winds tugging at Qasa’s threadbare clothes and wispy white hair, although he seemed oblivious to the bitter chill as he thrust his staff towards the sky and his cries and chants reached new heights. The girls reached the peak and as one they stood in a row facing the brilliant sunlight as the ring of warriors opened, the bravest and most noble remaining in the Empire gesturing for the girls to enter the ring.
Chaska looked inside and saw a lone girl.
Unlike Chaska and her companions the girl awaiting them could not be called beautiful. Her eyes were too large, deep black discs that seem to reflect everything they saw as though the girl did not want to be a part of the world in which she lived. Her mouth was pinched, her lips thin and her skin pale as though she were ill. The only thing that she shared in common with Chaska and the others was her densely braided black hair and her hugely elongated skull.