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384 pages, Hardcover
First published September 22, 2015
The mist has fallen below the terrace. They are standing under a deep-blue vault still lit by the last stars. Slowly, Waman turns full circle. The town and the valleys around are smothered by a billowy white surf. He and Candía are alone among volcanoes rising from this sea of cloud like jagged figures wearing icy caps and robes. Among sleeping gods. The sun leaps from behind a ridge, changing the surf to smoke and fire. Not the gelatinous red sun of the desert, but a blazing sphere of gold in a sky so clear the eye, if it could look, might see the eternal firestorms raging on the solar face.
Like everyone in Cusco, they are divinely drunk. Not the private drinking of Spaniards but a communal drunkenness hosted by the state in honour of its gods and institutions.