Lair of the Mountain Kings

The Andes Mountains rose around Lina and her family. A lush green tapestry of trees covered the steep mountain walls surrounding them. Her eyes followed the mountain upward. A dirt trail zigzagged up the mountain, leading to the stone ruins of Machu Picchu at the crest.
“We have to climb all the way up there?” asked Teresa.
“We can take a bus, if you’d like,” said Uncle Jorge.
“I’d like that very much,” said Teresa.
“Me, too,” said Aunt Paola.
They loaded onto a bus and off it went. A dust cloud sprayed from the wheels as the bus sped along. Trees whooshed by as the bus went faster and faster. Again, Lina and Teresa looked out their windows, as the world passed them by.
The bus slowed as it reached the switchback. It turned carefully, tracing a path uphill. Periodically, the bus passed by backpackers who climbed the steps alongside the bus road.
Alpacas waited on the hillside near Machu Picchu, too.
“Where do you think the Alpaca farm is located?” asked Teresa.
“There isn’t a farm. Those are wild Alpacas.”
The bus came to a stop again. Another bus was sat in their way. The clutch whirred as the bus driver put the bus into reverse. As was the custom, the bus headed downhill had the right of way. Lina’s bus backed down the hill to the next switchback, where the bus coming downhill passed safely. The bus continued on again, speeding uphill.
With each turn, Lina could see parts of the dirt road above and below. She could also see parts of Machu Picchu at each switchback. The higher up the hill the bus traveled, the more she saw. After almost a dozen switchbacks, the bus came to the clearing below the ruins.
Everyone gathered outside the bus, while Uncle Jorge made plans for where they would go first.
“Oh Jorge, let’s let the girls discover the area by themselves.”
“But I wanted to show them Huayna Picchu.”
“We can go up there later.”
“Alright, we’ll meet right here in one hour.”
“One hour?” asked Lina.
“Two hours?”
“Two hours is better,” replied Lina. She grabbed her cousin by the hand and ran towards the ruins.
“I want you girls to stay together,” Uncle Jorge called after his nieces. They ran through an opening, disappearing into the maze of stone walls and old castle ruins.
As Teresa ran after Lina, she dragged her hand on the wall. Her fingertips passed effortlessly over the seams between stones. The sandstone felt smooth under her touch.
“They’re like giant bricks!” she exclaimed.
“But there’s no cement to hold them together!” Lina called back.
Lina turned left and right down pathways until she was deep in the heart of the ruins. Other people strolled through the ruins as Lina and Teresa continued running along.
Teresa broke free of Lina’s grasp and darted in the opposite direction. Lina followed for a few moments, then turned back. They played hide-and-seek in the citadel, ducking through passageways and hiding around corners.
Lina poked her head over a section of wall. She could see the top of Teresa’s pony-tailed head bobbing along. Lina snuck through an opening in the wall and jumped around the corner, ready to pounce her cousin.
The pony tail did not belong to Teresa at all, but another Peruvian girl, about the same height and weight as Teresa.
“I thought you were someone else,” apologized Lina. The girl motioned down the walkway. Lina followed her directions, running through the maze of rooms and hallways in the citadel. As she turned a corner, her body smacked into Uncle Jorge’s stout figure. Teresa stood between Uncle Jorge and Aunt Paola.
“There you are. I thought I told you two to stay together,” said Uncle Jorge.
“We were just playing hide-and-go-seek,” replied Lina.
‘This isn’t a place for running around. From now on, the two of you will stay with us.”
Lina lowered her head and pouted, fallingl into step behind her Uncle. For a short time, they continued walking through the ruins of the Citadel. They strolled along, like everyone else. Finally, Uncle Jorge stopped in his tracks and turned about to face Lina.
“I’m not mad with you. It’s just that Machu Piccu is a sacred place.”
“I know, Uncle Jorge.”
“Have you ever heard of the seven wonders of the world? You’re standing inside one right now. Centuries ago, Incas built this fortress. This was before trucks and busses. Imagine the great effort that would take.”
Lina turned her head about. It was quite a thing to imagine, men hauling stones up the mountainside, using only horses and old wagons.
She tilted her head, looking downhill. A long dirt-colored squiggle ran down the side of the mountain. Busses traveled up and down the dirt road. Uncle Jorge tugged at Lina’s shoulder.
“I still have something I want to show you,” he said.
The girls followed Uncle Jorge through the maze of rooms and hallways. He led them through the citadel, climbing up stone steps as he went further and further up the hill.
“How much further?” asked Lina.
“One more set of steps,” reassured her Uncle.
They followed Uncle Jorge up the steps. In the clearing, a crowd gathered around a tower, made of stone.
“Here we are,” said Uncle Jorge.
“What is it?” asked Lina.
“The hitching post of the sun.”
“I don’t see any hitching post,” said Teresa.
“Actually, that tower is the temple of the sun. Inside, that’s where you’ll find the hitching post.”
Uncle Jorge cut through the crowd. He was eager to show the girls the hitching post of the sun. Inside the tower, more people stood around a small altar. Atop the alter was a short post, made of stone. On either side, there were marks.
“Come here, let me show you something,” Uncle Jorge waggled a figner towards the girls, urging them closer.
Rays of light shone through a slit in the tower. A thin shaft shone down on the hitching post, lining up with a mark on the pedestal.
“Do you know what today is?” asked Uncle Jorge.
“The Festival of the Sun?” stuttered Teresa.
“Correct!. Today is also the shortest day of the year. It is the only day light shines through that hole and onto this altar.”
Uncle Jorge pointed to another slit in the wall of the tower.
“When light shines through that hole, it’s the longest day of the year. The hitching post marked the seasons. The Incas used the hitching post to separate the seasons.”
“But how did they know?” asked Lina.
“The sun and the moon are very powerful natural forces.”
Uncle Jorge leaned over the altar and plucked the egg out of his pocket.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he said.
He sat the egg on the altar, then carefully balanced it between his fingers. When he let loose of the egg, it stood on one end. Everyone gasped.
“How did you do that? Is that a magic trick?” asked Teresa.
“It’s not magic. It’s called the Equinox.”
“Today is not the Equinox. Those are in the spring and fall,” said Aunt Paola.
“Yes it is,” argued Uncle Jorge.
Just then, one of the tour guides stepped up.
“Senor, I have to agree with the lady,” said the female tour guide, “Today is not the Equinox. Equinox occurs in fall and spring, when day and night are of equal length.”
”Then why can I balance the egg on its end?”
“If you are patient, you can balance an egg on one end every day of the year, even on the Winter Solstice, which is what we call today.”
Uncle Jorge started to open his mouth, but a male tour guide nodded his head in agreement with the female tour guide. Uncle Jorge blushed, embarrassed by his confusion. He grabbed his egg and returned it to the safety of his jacket pocket.
Uncle Jorge led Aunt Paola and the girls out of the temple of the sun. As they crossed the top of the mountain ridge, Lina stopped and pointed toward the large mountain peak facing Machu Picchu.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“That’s Huayna Picchu, also known as the new peak,” answered Uncle Jorge. Lina turned toward her Aunt, who quickly nodded her head.
“I know what Huayna Picchu is,” grumbled Uncle Jorge. He continued on across the ridge toward stairs that led down the mountainside. The girls followed along, On either side of the steps, the ground was terraced, like the pasture at Uncle Jorge’s ranch.
“Why are there pastures here if I don’t’ see many Alpaca?” asked Teresa.
Uncle Jorge grumbled as he continued down the steps.
“Jorge, are you going to answer her question?”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because you’re the farmer,” said Aunt Paola.
Uncle Jorge huffed, then turned about. Teresa’s eyes were wide with wonder. She had already forgotten about her Uncle embarrassment. Instead, she wanted to know about the terraces.
“Have a seat,” said Uncle Jorge.
They lined up, sitting in a row along the the stone row of the terrace. Teresa kicked her feet.
“Everywhere your look around Cusco, there’s a mountain. What do you think if you planted potatoes on the side of a mountain?” asked Uncle Jorge.
Teresa shrugged her shoulders.
Uncle Jorge plucked the egg out of his pocket and placed it on a mound of dirt. It rolled down the mound, falling off the stone ledge made by the fence. Lina’s hand snapped out, catching the egg before it cracked on the ground below.
“They’d roll down the mountain. That would be fine if eveyrone lived at the bottom of the hill,” said Uncle Jorge, ”What if they live near the top of the mountain, like me?”
“I guess we’d be riding the truck into Cusco to eat potatoes,” giggled Lina as she tucked the egg into her pocket.
“I guess you’re right,” laughed Uncle Jorge.
“Everything the Inca did at Machu Picchu seemed to be one of the wonders of the world,” said Teresa.
“Every day I’m reminded of the wonders ancient Peruvians accomplished. Whether it was the Temple of the Sun, Aguas Calientes, or the stone terraces, or the Lost City of Machu Picchu.”
“I guess I’m proud to be an Inca,” said Teresa.
“Every summer, I’m reminded how proud I am,” added Lina.
“I just wish I brought you up here earlier. Now the summer’s over and we’re out of time” sighed Uncle Jorge.
“Machu Picchu will be here next year, right?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“Then it’s a date,” said Lina.
Before the sun disappeared below the horizon, Uncle Jorge led the girls to the pickup spot for the busses. They returned down the hill the way they came, zigzagging down the dirt road, leaving a trail of dust behind. At the bottom of the hill, the train’s whistle blew again. The girls fell asleep in Uncle Jorge and Aunt Paola’s arms before the train even left the station.
By the time they arrived at the Ranch, everything was dark. For one final night, they were tucked into bed by Uncle Jorge and Aunt Paola. The cool mountain air blew in through the window. The girls slept in peace, visions of ancient Inca civilizations filled their dreams.