That morning he had crossed the Warmi Wañusqa Pass, four thousand two hundred meters high. Afterwards, a descent of several hundred meters had left me on the plains of Pakaymayu. I sat down to rest for a while and eat, surrounded by steep mountains with white snow peaks and gorges carved into peaks.
But the day was not over. We had to overcome another hill, so I prepared to attack the slope. Ifraín, my guide, stayed behind, engrossed in other tasks. Soon, he was sweating again. I left the ruins of Runkuraqay, a cylindrical tower that watches over the valley, to my right. I moved forward alone, me, the slope, stones and grass combed by the wind.
Already close to the hill, the slope calmed down into a narrow and closed landing like an amphitheater. Grass and cattails surrounded two small lagoons. Footsteps echoed behind me. I stepped aside to let them pass. It must be a porter, I thought, but when I turned I saw no one. I assumed the wind had fooled me. I continued walking and, again, the sound of footsteps reached me. I moved away again, turned around and saw only the tall grass.
The path straightened out to reach the hill and I did not turn back until I reached the top. A descent followed along paved steps, the original Inca path, which had been saved from erosion and the passage of horses. The grass of the heights was left behind. A fluff of intimpas, cedars and laurels darkened the slopes and, soon, I reached the ruins of Sayacmarca, strategically placed on a spur that controlled the road.
With Ifraín we discussed the events of the day after dinner.
“This is a road with too much history,” he reasoned. You cannot go around at night. It is when the spirits run and, if you fall asleep, they may suck your marrow without you realizing it.
The cold was intense and we warmed our hands with a cup of coca tea.
“My sister lives in a small mountain town,” he explained. One morning she went out before dawn and, as she approached a rock, it seemed to her that someone, a shadow, had hidden behind her. When she looked out she no longer found anyone. Weeks later she began to feel pain in her knee. She went to the doctor, but she couldn’t see anything. She went to the hospital and visited other doctors, but none of them found the problem, even though they did all kinds of tests. Finally she went to the village healer, who listened to her and, after examining her, told her that this shadow would be someone who had left a black table, a curse, and who had fled so that they would not see him, hoping that the first one who passed by would will take away their evils. And she was the first. The healer cast some spells and cured her.
All the stars were shining in the sky. We pour ourselves a few drops of liquor.
“Qiya,” Ifrain said, pointing to the moon. “Click,” he said, pointing to the stars. See the southern cross up there? -He drew the constellation on the ground-. This is how the empire was divided into four parts in Inca times. The Inca had four advisors, one for each of his, the one from the north, the one from the east, the one from the west and the one from the south.
Ifrain raised the cup and offered a few drops of liquor to the Pachamama. He then greeted the nearby mountains.
-The apu, the spirits of the mountains, watch over our passage along the roads.
The stars outlined the black silhouette of the crests. Below, like a curtain, thick shadow covered the world. Two days later, the first light of day would swallow that shadow and give me Machu Picchu.
