Son of the Sun: An Inca Love Story

Breathless

Isabella Veliane Pizarro

Kanan and I walk farther up the mountainside along a hidden trail beneath many bushes for half a day's journey. We climb uphill onto carved stones to keep from falling off the side or rolling down the dangerous terrain, and though my feet slip a few times, Kanan is right there to catch me. His firm hand keeps mine in a protective grip right before I crumble to the ground or slip off the side of the mountain. I offer him a sheepish smile with every save, thankful for the quick rescues, and he returns them with a gentle grin of his own. And as embarrassing as it is to slip in front of him, this leads to me learning my first word in his mother tongue.

After my first couple of falls and saves, I look for a way to say thank you and can only come up with a bow. At first, he is confused. His eyebrows furrow over his sunlit gaze and push his dark strands of hair back from his forehead in frustration by the barrier. It isn't until I clasp my hands together and widen my eyes with a generous smile that he finally understands what I have been asking him.

He asks something in his language quizzically, and I nod back eagerly, poorly repeating the word to the best of my abilities. Despite the awful pronunciation, he knows what I am trying to do and smiles, elated by the effort.

So, for the rest of our walk, I continuously repeat that same word if I fall or tumble into him. Kanan glows each time, proud of my small progress, and goes along, tugging my hand with him. And as odd as it is to admit to myself, seeing as I know nothing about this man, I like the feel of his large hand wrapped around my mine. The protection brings me reassuring warmth, something unknown to me with the men I've encountered in my life. And though I could have enjoyed this walk with him forever, we finally reach the top of the mountain.

For the first time since we began our climb, I look down at the area on the other side of the cliff, my awe replacing any exhaustion. The rising sun paints a heavenly glow on the mystical city awakening below us, completely hidden from the conquer of man. Large huts made of stone wrap around the long landscape in intricate designs, with people tending to their different duties for the day. The children mull about in beautiful tri-colored cloths while the women wear long gowns and sashes at their waists. The bulky men were sleeveless cream tops and brown tunics under colorful robes, similar to what Kanan's wearing now, though his seems to be covered in more gold than anyone else's. Some, I notice, are wearing traditional hats, covering their heads full of thick, long hair as they walk about, and a group of what look to be soldiers make their way to the end of the village.

What really catches my attention are the exotic animals gathering behind wooden fences, their long necks like nothing I've seen before.

It's like I'm in a new world entirely, looking down at every part of its thriving soil. It's all so . . . lively. So freshly green and beautiful. They're just as ahead as those in Spain, with their stone and brick walls with thatches shielding the tops in impressive roofs. The hands of men tend and pluck mazes of golden corn, which is something distinct to me, coming from another world.

"Oh my," I breathe, speechless. Who are these people? And why are they so unlike any civilization I've ever known?

Though that isn't saying much, seeing as my family and I were captured from Africa when I was only five years of age and I've only really known Seville, Spain. Seville's a beautiful city, but from the horrible experiences I've endured, I know I can never go back and experience that bountiful life.

How can there be a life when I—when they—destroyed—

"Isabella?" Kanan's soft voice whispers into my ear, interrupting my distraught thoughts.

I look up at Kanan, whose amber gaze burns deeply into my own. I blink rapidly, bringing myself back to him and trying my best to dispose of whatever expression I had, not wanting him to worry.

He sees right through my façade, unconvinced.

Kanan frowns and runs a comforting finger down my cheek, capturing a tear I don't remember releasing. I know he's confused as to why I'm crying, and I wish I could tell him, but alas, there's nothing but discouragement there. But his presence is enough for me. Despite our predicament, I'm thankful he's found me. I'm not sure where I'd be if he didn't, or what Francisco and his men would do to me if they had recaptured me. The thought momentarily troubles me.

The trail we took along the steep mountains and over the desert hills will make it hard for those men to follow, so we'll be safe for at least a little while. Their coordinates, from what I gathered of their conversations, is towards the other side of the land, far enough away from Kanan's people.

I offer him a watery smile once my tears are gone, and he returns it with a kind one of his own. With one more stroke of his fingers, he releases my face to reclaim my hand and gestures to the city below us with his free arm. The brick steps below are well carved and wide enough for us to walk down together.

Sucking in a nervous breath, I allow Kanan to bring me further into this unknown land.