On the stones of the pyramid

found at Machu Ticchu

There is inscribed for all to see

a story, perhaps true.

Those who knew first hand of this

have died, centuries past

But here, transcribed, find the account

and story told at last.

 

He stood upon the pyramid

with eyes cast to the sky

And drew his measure flawlessly

with ancient piercing eyes.

He was the reader of the sun

the listener of the stars

The teller of both bad and good,

the forecaster of wars.

 

He knew the drought had parched the crops

which now were nearly dead,

But the clouds that at last appeared

shown only thunder head.

Menacingly they blocked the sun

for nearly two full weeks

From which the lightening and the sun

had cut the clouds in streaks.

 

Though old by Inca standards then,

still strength remained within

As he reached out and loosed a cloth

to test the building wind.

The cloth blew far and rapidly

beyond the cities edge

Which meant, at last, he must fulfill

his lifelong, solemn pledge.

 

1

"Oh Gods, what catastrophe

have you sent us this day?

How shall I, a mortal being

serve your divine way?"

 

Past centuries had lent but one

act to change the heavens,

The death of maidens, unspoiled

in the amount of seven.

 

The king approached the holy man

to gain his best advice,

With heavy heart, his hand upturned

he, too, addressed the skies.

"If blood must be the sacrifice

then it shall be so,

But even I, the king of all

dislike such truth to know.

 

That the Gods would demand of us

such human price to pay

But I, the instrument of this

can do little but pray."

Chosen for their chastity

the maidens stood atop

The pyramid called Sin-op-et

accepting their cruel lot.

 

The holy man prayed spirit words

and gestured frantically

For a sign, some certain sign,

but none did any see.

For then the wind blew harder still

and clouds churned in the sky

As all the dwellers of that place

looked on, some to cry.

 

The king stepped up to bleed himself

then let the droplets blow

Into the wind they might appease

but still the wind said no.

  

2

The high priest at the altar stone

placed arms across his breast

And mumbled incantations so

that each girl might profess

Her life might save many more

from angry deities

Who sent the darkness of the skies

and now requires such deeds.

 

The first maiden, Ak-ju-ra-na,

was brought before the stone

Her tear drenched face in horror

through no fault of her own.

There she lay back upon the rock

with arms and legs outstretched

The victim of an endless chain

her God, they said, had sketched.

 

The high priest held the ritual

knife that soon would be

The carrier of her young soul

     throughout eternity.

He would remove her living heart

and hold it to the wind

So that it might pacify

the Gods to peace again.

 

As he raised the knife, the wind decreased

to a profound extent,

Gently he let down the blade

as if to relent.

He looked skyward then, as did all,

for some directing sign,

But nothing came, save wind again,

of the Gods design.

 

Again he rose the cruel, cruel blade

when a shaft of sun shown through

The clouds that had been black so long

now returned to blue.

The priest glanced at the king who stood

in awe of such events

And lowered gently, one more time

the blade that a death presents.

3

One voice within the crowd spoke out,

"Let go the girl Ra-na"

The king looked down in grim repose

and spoke, "It is the law."

A last and final time there rose

the messenger of death

And Ra-na, innocent in life

took in a last deep breath.

 

Red drops fell on the forearms

of the king and holy man

But not the blood of Ra-na

shed by their command.

The blue clouds of the sky had changed

to a pale crimson tint

As if to offer blood, their own,

by raindrops heaven sent.

 

The king fell to his knees in fright

as did the holy man

For all the city ran with red

by some divine command.

The girl, Ra-na, stood on the stone

where she had nearly died

And red with rain, both arms outstretched

she screamed, "I am their bride!"

 

Then slowly, ever slowly, eased

the storm of raining blood

And cleared the color of pale red

that soaked into the mud.

Soon the showers cleansed the city

as minutes seemed like days

Then settled there upon the land

a bright new morning haze.

 

Ra-na who, scant hours before,

knew sacrifice was near

Now accepted the king's scepter

to all the cities cheer.

And so Queen Ra-na took her throne

to sit beside the king

And for many more years to come

ruled nearly everything.

4

 No more did sacrifices cost

the innocent their lives,

And no more did the red rain come

to haunt the ill advised.

 

Epilog:

Perhaps the red rain was just a freak of nature. Perhaps red clay was picked up by a whirlwind and dropped in rain at such a time and place as to seem miraculous. I can only convey the story of the stones.  You must be the judge.