Moon Blood and Salt Flowers

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"He has pale skin and too much hair on his face," said the oldest of the visiting souls. Her name was Mama Micay and she had founded a kin line that had married into Inca royalty.

"Yes, but his penis is quite fine," said her son, Kusi. His spirit sat on the floor, having accorded the sole chair, a place of honor, to Mama Micay.

Amaya stirred the pot of boiling quinoa and glanced across the room to where Kusi's daughter Runatay, by far more curious, hovered over Fernando, watching him sleep. The three souls had been helpful, directing her to stores of grain, salt, dried potatoes and even some spices, then to the estate's few unbroken pots. Kusi had also ignited a fire for her to cook with.

"You approve of him, then?" she inquired, respecting the wisdom of her elders.

"Well, we hardly know him," Mama Micay demurred, "but his spirit looks bright enough."

"And he has a thick, strong penis." Kusi regretted not having one in the spirit life.

"This is a good man. His spirit overflows with kindness," said Runatay, making her way back to join the others. She had married an Inca prince, whose estate this had been.

Spaniards had found Runatay's husband's mummy and carried it, and his finery and treasure, away. However, the looters had not found the three less exalted mummies in a secret funerary chamber behind the storehouse. Amaya had made the mummies very happy by unearthing them and brushing dust and bits of debris from their wrappings. She'd then unwrapped the mummies and brought them out to join her in the main chamber. It was disrespectful to leave mummies shut away during jiwa when their spirits came to visit.

Runatay regarded Amaya kindly. "Your young man comes from strong kin ties? Good people? Good villages?"

"Yes." Amaya tasted the quinoa and found it ready. She set it aside to cool. "His uncle is the Viceroy in Lima."

"I do not know the town," complained Mama Micay. "Is a Viceroy a chief?"

"You died before the Spanish came," Amaya informed her. None of the spirits knew of the Spanish. They simply returned to the world every year wondering where their family had gone.

"Who are you talking to?"

She looked over to see that Fernando had awakened and was propped up on one elbow, looking her way. Hours ago, guided by the souls, she had found a store of coca leaves and had made a paste for him to suck on for pain. He had not surprised her by subsequently falling asleep.

"The souls," she answered. He might as well know. How else could she explain the fire, or having found so much food? Or that there were now mummies arrayed behind her. "This house is being visited by three of them. They have never seen a Spaniard before."

"I thought I heard the wind and then you answered."

"Their voices are very thin because they have not had family to speak with for so long."

"He speaks oddly, but passably like a human," said Mama Micay.

Fernando could not hear their words, Amaya knew, so she simply bent over the quinoa again until he joined her, squatting at her side. The mummies captured his attention and he studied them. Firelight bronzed their dark, hard skin and highlighted their high cheekbones and strong noses; their huddled bodies glinted with the sheen of colorful, feathered cloaks and abundant gold ornaments. Their eyes were closed so they looked peaceful, as if sleeping.

"Are these the bodies of the souls? They are beautiful," he said, his voice low with reverence. She doubted he had ever seen an Inca mummy.

"Discerning," said Kusi.

"Polite," approved Runatay.

"You have pleased them," Amaya told him. Flashing him a smile, she ladled a thick mash of quinoa, maize and mild yellow pepper into a shallow bowl. "We have been discussing whether you are good enough for me."

"Do we need their approval?" He took the bowl from her hand and watched her scoop another for herself.

"No, but it's wise to listen to those who have existed so much longer than we have."

They ate quickly because they were hungry, scooping fingers full of the mash and laughing when some would fall, or their lips smacked though the food was only passable. Afterward, however, Fernando looked anxiously toward the door to the house. Darkness cloaked the hills, obscuring everything beyond the sturdy lintel.

"We should not have stopped for so long. Now it is night again, night with no moon. The spirit flowers will find us—"

All three souls laughed. The sound was like a rising wind and caused the man to look around at the mummies.

"He doesn't know," Runatay chided her elders. "He thinks the flowers can sprout here."

"He thinks we're peasants," sniffed Mama Micay.

"Tell him to stay away from the walls," suggested Kusi. "And that I would like to watch another demonstration of his virility."

"Don't make him self-conscious," Amaya warned.

"What are they saying?" Fernando looked both worried and annoyed.

"That we're safe here. They told me earlier." Using the haft of a broken ax, she dug at a soft spot in the dirt covering the floor, the same place she had dug earlier while he slept. A few fingerbreadths down, reflecting back the fitful light, was the unmistakable gleam of gold. "A gold floor, covered by one of clay. Mama Micay says gold is cold to sit on, but clay floors when packed properly and smoothed are very fine."

"A floor of gold?" The acquisitiveness of his race made even that simple question into something else. Seeing the censure in her eyes, he shook his head. "I won't disturb a brick, not one. But I still do not think I can sleep tonight."

"Then stay awake with me."

"I will for tonight and tomorrow. But when there is moon again, I will ride back to Potosi, leave you here, safe, with water, food—spirits to talk to."

Leave her? Her heart hammered in the hollow where her soul should be. "I cannot be parted from you. Not now! We have joined hearts! I will follow—"

"Amaya!" Fiercely he clasped her to him and, though she fought not to yield, he quieted her with kisses. "You must stay here. This place is safe, no one knows. I am not leaving you, I am asking you to keep my heart safe! You make me whole, one soul! I cannot lose you, never, because my heart would be broken." He gazed deep into her eyes. "The corregidor is dead. If I take you back with me, I cannot protect you. The men who own the mines will find you and they will take you from me. They will want the girl who can see demons and they will put you back in the mines."

"Fernando, I—"

"I have a duty to my uncle. I must see what has become of the city and the mines, but then I will arrange soldiers, and ride to Lima."

"Lima? Without me?" Behind her, Mama Micay muttered again about having never heard of the place.

He was silent for a while, his profile etched by firelight. When he spoke again, he used words crisp with resolve. "No. Not without you. When I go to Lima, I want you to come with me."

"You won't need me there." What would he need with a girl who saw demon flowers, if he was far from where they sprouted? More than that, she dreaded facing the Viceroy and the Inquisition's priests.

"Not need, want. I have wanted you since I first saw you in Kullaka. I want you to stay with me, always, not go back to your village. The more time I spend with you, the surer I am that I have found the other half of my being. On the bridge, I knew. I need you to teach me, help me recognize my ignorance; help me stop things that are wrong. I love you, Amaya."

Her heart tumbled. All along he had shared the same feelings as she. "I have no soul, yours or mine. The flower did not kill me because I have no soul to take."

"Or because God spared you. Amaya, I know you have a soul because mine touches yours with every kiss."

When his mouth descended to meet hers, hot and open, so that she tasted his strength and life, her heart leaped from her loins to her lips and yearned to join with his. Maybe what his soul felt and believed to be another soul was only her heartbeat, the heat of her blood. Or maybe, about this, he and his Spanish god knew something her people did not.

Runatay urged her to follow him. "Give him your promise; make him the one who is always yours."

"Remember that a man is happy when his penis is happy," said Kusi.

"Have children," was Mama Micay's advice. "They will be tall and know where Lima is."

Somewhere beyond this house with its gold floor and three vocal mummies was a stone city under siege, filled with spirit flowers and Spanish dreams of silver. Above the city rose a mountain riddled with shafts that bloomed death. Into the city flowed a river of ghostly evil. When Fernando returned to Potosi, he would find the streets and churches populated by corpses—and people helpless with terror. And the only monsters would be those who had risen from their own ranks.

She could not protect any of them from salt flowers. She could only protect him.

Cupping her hands to his face, she gazed into the bright certainty of a true soul. "I'll wait for you," she whispered. She kissed the joy from his lips, drank of their sweetness. "But I will not let you leave until the moon shows her face again. I love you too much."

She covered them both with a blanket. Beneath it, she explored Fernando's body as she had not the first time. His flesh flowed beneath her eager hands like a landscape, hard ridges and hot hollows, perhaps not as sweet-smelling as before but possessing a muskiness she found seductive and rich. He had less hair on his body than she had feared; most of him was smooth, his skin silken and salty to her kisses.

Every part of him, it seemed to her, was hard, including his penis, which she could barely remember ever being soft. For her, it was the most beautiful part of him, stiff and ready, of good length and excellent thickness just as the spirits had reported. She took him in hand, claiming him for herself.

She explored his hardness, marveling at the way it filled her hand with supple, intoxicating heat. Yes, she wanted this inside her again.

His hands too were busy, learning her curves, taking privileges with her round breasts and the flare of her hips, the swell of her buttocks that so well-filled his palms. Together they slid into position, she above him. His groans and utterances urged her on, sometimes in Spanish, telling her his body was truly hers to use. She gripped his penis and placed it at the slick entrance into her body.

"I will ride you," Amaya said, "the way you ride your horse."

He groaned aloud as she sheathed him.

She heard Kusi complaining to Mama Micay about the blanket.

"Enough," the older spirit told her son. "You and all men will spend the whole of future time without a penis. Now stop lamenting about yours and let this young woman enjoy his."

* * * *

Seven days after jiwa Amaya walked back to the Spanish road.

Fernando had left several days earlier, riding the horse back to Potosi. Mama Micay, Kusi and Runatay had gone even before he did, their time in the living world limited by the sun and the moon. The spirits said they would return and asked if she would do them the kindness of tending to their mummies. Before leaving, Amaya had rewrapped the mummies with great care and placed them back into their hiding place.

Finding a good vantage from which to watch the road, Amaya hid the water and food she had taken from the house and began her vigil. For two days she observed the passage of llama trains and mitayos, travelers and soldiers and priests. On the third day she saw a column of Spanish soldiers approach, led by a man riding a red horse.

Recognizing Fernando, Amaya ran down the hill, her shawl with all the colors of the sun flaring around her shoulders as she cried his name. He dismounted and ran toward her also. When he reached her, he swept her up in his arms and the world spun with his smile at its center.

"You waited for me," he said and received her answer on his lips.

"Two more days and I would have gone to the city to look for you."

His face grew grim. "Many died in the city, many hundreds. The dying has stopped and now the miners are saying it was plague, and requesting a new mita be taken from the villages to replace the workers."

Her heart sank as she knew for certain what the next jiwa would bring. "Beatriz and the children?"

"They have gone to La Plata. Corregidor Garces has a brother there who will look after them."

She was glad. Potosi was no longer a good place to raise children.

"Will you come with me, Amaya? To Lima?"

"I never belonged in Kullaka," she said. "I do not belong in the mines. I belong with you and never want us to be apart again!"

"Never. You have my solemn vow."

Once again she watched his tall body mount a horse and let him swing her up behind him. A few of the soldiers exchanged leers and snickers but she felt nothing more than pity for them. They did not know Fernando and they did not know her.

As she settled her shawl about her shoulders, she adjusted the third tupu that pinned the fabric at her shoulder. This tupu was much longer, with a hard shank of gilded, razor-sharp bronze. Mama Micay had told her to take it off her mummy as a wedding gift.

Lima was far away, but if salt flowers could find their way into mountains there was no telling where else they might appear.

Now was not the time to be complacent about the habits of evil things.

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Author's note: Although I made up the salt flowers, I have been down in the mines of Potosi and they are scary! The silver is gone but the mountain remains. Though known as Alto Peru during colonial times, the location where this story takes place is now Bolivia.