The sun rose over the eastern Sungate casting its rays on the mountain surrounded by the cloud capped plateau. Stretching away to the West, the Inca trail snaked around the green mountainside and rocky outcrops to the distant terraces, which provided food for the hidden retreat of Machu Picchu. The morning haze partially obliterated the mountains, phallicly thrusting through the cloud forests, guarding the plazas, the temple and the altar, familial dwelling groups and palaces.

The light on it's straight unrelenting path cast it's second shadow on the temple portals, and with cruel accuracy found it's third destination at the altar dedicated to the sun, known as the 'hitching post of the sun'.

Chi walked from the stone building of the Intipunku (the Sungate) down a narrow flight of stone steps, and through the rectangular doorway the whole majestic vista of Machu Picchu was revealed. The beautiful, ruthless landscape stretched away before her. At exactly the same time on the next day when the sun hit the third shadow of the altar, her daughter Chia would become a living sacrifice to Inti, the Sun God of the Inca. Anticipating the horrific event to come, she tried to calm her agitation, as she stopped at one of the fresh water runnels of the city and bathed her face and her long black hair, the water was sweet and refreshing and slaked her thirst...

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The train from Cusco had sped through the spectacular steep sided narrow valley of the Urubamba with its cultivated terraces clinging to the hillsides, climbing ever higher to Machu Picchu, passing tiny villages, crossing and recrossing the frothing white water of the Urubamba river.

As the train drew into the colourful crowded halt of Machu Picchu, the landscape assumed a strange familiarity to Margaret as she threaded her way through the myriad of exuberantly decorated stalls in the busy marketplace, with its hawkers and colourfully dressed plump Andean ladies offering trinkets, stuffed lamas and postcards. Instinctively Margaret knew the direction in which to take the coach for the plateau...

It was a hot day and the crowded bus wound around the perilous track ascending the sides of the hills guarding the plateau. The tourist bus teetering from side to side was crowded with walkers, travellers and sightseers from a worldwide background. The chatter was international but the sentiments were expressed at the magnificence of the scenery. Margaret poised her camera and snapped at the breathtaking views which were ever more spectacular as the rickety bus climbed higher. The feeling of déjà vu increased, as she took the steep path which led from the tourist restaurant to the city hanging in the mountains.

On arrival at Mach Picchu Margaret stood in a daze surveying the well planned familial enclosures. Where was Chia - her daughter? Agitatedly she searched the familiar terraces leading to the scores of small built stone houses. In her dazed state, the fact that she had no children did not manifest itself, and that the houses were partially ruined.

Walking up the stony path that led to the mountain encircled city, Margaret paused and looked over the familiar landscape. Tomorrow was the Summer Solstice, she thought of the 'third shadow'. What was it?

Beryl Richards

The Third Shadow - Part Two