Read La Achiqué Online
Once upon a time, high in the Peruvian mountains, there lived a brother and a sister who had only each other in the world. They were poor, but they were brave, and they always stayed together. They walked along narrow mountain paths, shared what little food they found, and slept beneath the stars when they had no roof above their heads.
One morning, as they wandered through the hills, they saw a little bird carrying a potato flower in its beak.
—Look, said the sister. —That bird must know where food grows.
So the two children followed the bird over stones and dry grass, across a small stream, and up a gentle slope. At last they reached a field where wild potatoes grew beneath the earth.
The children were filled with joy.
—We will not go hungry today, said the boy.
They began to gather what they could. But not far from that place stood a lonely hut of mud and straw, and inside it lived La Achiqué.
The people of the mountains feared her. She was old, bitter, and cruel. Her eyes were sharp, and her voice could sound sweet only when she wished to deceive someone. When she saw the two children, she smiled in a way that made the cold wind seem warmer than her face.
—Poor little ones, she called. —Come to my hut. I will give you food and a place to rest.
The boy looked tired, and the sister felt sorry for him.
—Perhaps she is telling the truth, said the boy softly.
But the sister was careful. Still, seeing no other place to go, they followed the old woman to her hut.
Inside, the fire burned low, and shadows danced on the walls. La Achiqué gave them a little food and told them to wait while she prepared more.
—You, girl, she said, turning to the sister, —go outside and bring some firewood.
The sister stepped outside, but as she bent to lift the sticks, she heard her brother cry out from inside the hut.
At once she understood that something was wrong.
She rushed to the doorway and saw La Achiqué reaching for the boy with cruel hands. Quick as a spark, the sister seized a handful of ashes from the hearth and threw them into the old woman’s eyes.
La Achiqué gave a terrible cry.
—Ah! My eyes! she shouted.
The sister grabbed her brother’s hand.
—Run! she cried.
Out of the hut they ran, over the rocky ground and into the open hills. Behind them came La Achiqué, angry and howling, stumbling but still chasing them.
The children ran until their feet ached and their breath came fast. At midday they reached a high place where a great condor rested upon the rocks, with wings folded like a dark cloak.
—Grandfather Condor, the sister pleaded, —hide us, for La Achiqué is close behind.
The condor opened his mighty wings and covered the children beneath them. Only a moment later La Achiqué came limping up the path.
—Have you seen two children pass this way? she asked.
—No one has passed here, replied the condor calmly.
La Achiqué narrowed her eyes.
—Then let me see what is under your wings.
The condor waited until she came near. Then, with one strong sweep of his great wings, he sent a blast of wind against her. La Achiqué staggered backward, slipped on the stones, and tumbled down the slope.
But she was not defeated yet.
Before long, the children heard her voice again, rising from below like a bitter wind.
—You cannot escape me! she cried.
So the brother and sister ran on.
Soon they came to a puma resting beside a hill of tall grass. His golden eyes were bright, but his face was calm.
—Lord Puma, said the boy, —please help us. La Achiqué is chasing us.
The puma rose at once.
—Hide behind the rocks, he told them.
The children crouched low while the puma stood proudly in the path. When La Achiqué arrived, she drew back in fear.
—Move aside, beast, she hissed.
—I move for no one who hunts the innocent, said the puma.
With a growl that rolled across the hills, he sprang forward. La Achiqué stumbled away and fled down another path, shouting with anger.
The children thanked the puma and hurried on.
Evening began to fall. The mountains turned purple, and the sky grew colder. The children were tired again, and this time they found a little skunk beneath a bush.
—Good friend, said the sister, —can you help us too?
The skunk twitched his tail.
—I am small, he said, —but even the small can be useful.
He hid the children among the bushes and waited quietly. When La Achiqué arrived once more, muttering and searching, the skunk lifted his tail and let out such a sharp and dreadful smell that the old woman cried out and covered her face.
—Away! Away! she shouted, stumbling blindly down the mountain.
The children could not help smiling, even in the middle of their fear.
—Thank you, said the boy.
—Never forget, replied the skunk, —that help may come in many shapes.
At last the children climbed higher and higher until they reached the edge of a great cliff. The sky above them was darkening, and below them the valleys stretched far into shadow.
There was nowhere else to run.
The brother and sister held each other’s hands.
—What shall we do now? asked the boy.
The sister looked up at the heavens.
—Let us ask for help, she said.
So they lifted their eyes to the sky and prayed with all their hearts for protection.
At that very moment, a strong rope of light came down from above, bright as moonlight and firm as braided wool.
—Climb, cried the sister.
The children began to rise, hand over hand, higher and higher, above the cliff and beyond the reach of danger.
Then La Achiqué came at last to the edge of the same great height. When she saw the children escaping into the sky, her face twisted with fury.
—You will not leave me behind! she screamed.
She seized the shining rope and began to climb after them. But her heart was full of anger, and her hands were heavy with cruelty.
Higher she climbed, and higher still.
Then the rope trembled.
It could not bear her weight.
With a terrible cry, La Achiqué lost her hold and fell from the sky. Down she fell upon the mountains, and where she struck the earth, the rocks rose in long ridges and broken chains.
And so, the old people say, the great Andes stretched farther across the land. In some places the peaks are sharp, in others wide and rough, as if they still remembered the fall of La Achiqué.
As for the two children, they were carried safely upward into the heavens. Some say they became bright lights in the night sky. Others say they were simply blessed and protected forever. But all agree that courage, love, and kindness guided them when fear walked close behind.
And in the villages of the high Andes, people remembered the tale for many years. They told it by the fire on cold nights, teaching their children to be wise, to stay close to those they love, and to trust that even in dark times, help may appear from the sky, from the earth, or from the heart of a friend.
The end
