Tinqa Reaper_james

Marietta had found her holiday in Peru was, in some ways, not too different to what she was used to at home. She’d come on this trip to watch an ancient ceremony known as the tinqa. In several Andes villages the natives had resisted the influx of foreign blood from back to the conquistadors and still celebrated the old ways. The tinqa was one of the sun-god rituals which demanded the shedding of human blood; formally this had been done in the classic manner of prisoner meeting obsidian knife, but since there weren’t any prisoners anymore and murder was frowned on by those in the lowlands, the descendants of Atahaulpa made do with each other and as much punishment as they could deal out.

Where Marietta had been surprised was that everybody fought. You could round a corner and see two five year old kids bashing the hell out of each other, and in fact they had. The womenfolk got involved as well, albeit with a little segregation; they never tangled in public and always only with either friends or family. One thing she hadn’t been surprised at was the level of caution shown towards her from near all she had come across; Spaniards were still regarded with hostility and fear.

The tourist and her local guide were making their way down one of the backstreets away from the centre when they were stopped by a woman of about her own age; although she was not in local dress they had seen her often. Pinta growled in his throat and loudly demanded what the meaning of this was, the defiant answer was enough to make the villager laugh openly and derisively.

‘Well?’

‘She wants to fight you.’ The translator was nearly doubled over in mirth, though the girl didn’t seem to share the amusement.

‘Oh? Really?’

‘Yes. She will not, of course, such a thing is not permitted.’

‘And why is that?’ Marietta was looking at the stranger closely now.

‘She is nothing.’ Pinta spat a glob of phlegm onto the rocky earth. ‘She is not allowed to take part in any festivities, especially not this one.’

‘I see.’ Marietta mused. ‘Why was she banned?’

‘She offended the son of a local man. She used to work for the government, for their federales.’ The Spanish term was the closest he could find. ‘Now she is no-one, a ghost.’

‘So she shows disrespect?’ That she could understand, it was near to her own culture.

‘Much.’

‘And yet she challenges me to fight?’

‘Foolishly. You do not accept of course.’

‘Where I come from, pal, if a girl wants to fight then you fight.’ Back home had been a barrio with it’s fair number of girl gangs. Marietta began to slip the straps of her pack off her shoulders. ‘And if you don’t fight then you have no honour.’

‘But you…’

‘Besides, none of your local girls have had the guts to even approach me, have they? Where’s the respect there?’

‘But…’ His face coloured somewhere between purple and crimson.

‘Go away, I don’t need you to translate anymore.’ Marietta waited until the man was gone before turning back, to find the other girl still there and looking eager now. What sounded like the same question was repeated and the Spaniard smiled and nodded.

The effect was akin to lighting a fluorescent tube. The local clapped her hands in obvious delight, walked a few steps and beckoned urgently – Marietta picked up her pack and cautiously followed.

A field by a mountain stream, shielded by rockfalls and hard to get to. It had taken the best part of half an hour’s stiff walk to reach this sheltered area out of the wind. A few llama’s watched the two women before bending their heads and cropping the short grass.

‘This is where we shall fight.’ Her new guide announced in flawless Espaniol.

‘You speak Spanish?’

‘Of course, everyone does in the lowlands. But I have a question.’

‘Si?’

‘Why do you fight? Pinta told you what I am.’

‘That’s why.’

‘I do not understand.’ She admitted.

‘I’m an outcast too, am I not? I’m Hispanic and up here that is not such a good thing. Besides, I know how you watched me, the look in your eyes. When you know what to look for, it’s blindingly obvious. Now, how do we have our own tinqa?’

‘This won’t be lucha libre.’

‘Fine by me.’ The pack hit the earth and Marietta looked across to find the other woman pulling her skirt up and tucking it into a belt, leaving her legs free. ‘Ready?’

In reply the Incan dropped into a crouch and shifted to one side, Marietta copied her, slowly circling around, feeling for an opening.

With a rush the two slammed together, arms twining around backs in a bearhug whilst scrabbling for balance. The Spaniard was taken aback by the ferocity of this girl as both writhed and twisted to break free or throw the other down. A knee lanced up, catching her square between the legs; with an agonised cry she reeled back, stumbling on the grass before the stranger was onto her like a wildcat, burying both hands in the dark locks and tugging hard, pulling her to the floor. Grimacing from the pain, scalp burning, Marietta twisted as she fell, landing atop her foe with enough impact to wind herself but managed to get her forearm beneath the girl’s chin whilst her other hand tried loosening the hair-grip.

Half-choking, the Incan bucked hard and managed to get the Hispanic off her back, although she could do nothing about the arm, now trapping her in a tight kneeling headlock. Marietta grimaced and held on - grunting in pain as an elbow rammed into her chest. Blood singing in her ears, the local repeated the blow, even harder as desperation leant her greater strength and she was free, scrabbling to her feet before she could be pulled back down, kicking Marietta in the flank hard enough to roll her over.

The Hispanic had been dazed by hitting her forehead on a rock, hard enough to split it open and so was only dimly aware of her foe above her. She felt her legs being pulled apart though, and certainly felt the hobnailed boot crash down into once, twice, three times, her face contorting with pain, fingers groping down to hold herself. The local smiled briefly at the sight before being pulled down by a hand locked around her ankle; once on the ground the two immediately set to again – fingers locked in a trial of strength, hissing and cursing into each other’s face that ended when Marietta heaved herself atop her nameless opponent and managed to ram her wrists into the grass.

‘Got…you…’She gasped, as a trickle of blood seeped down her face.

‘No…no…never.’ The two looked into each others’ eyes, breathing hard.

‘Ye…he…he..es. Give in.’

‘No!’ A hand was wrested free and thumped into Marietta’s chin, snapping the head back and throwing her off.

Reeling by now, both managed to get to their feet but only just. The Hispanic saw her foe weaving towards where the rocks formed a platform that jutted into the stream and pursued, catching her and wrapping both arms beneath hers, linking the hands at the back of her neck in a classic hold, kicking the legs away so that both fell heavily, the Incan face down and Marietta on top. Totally immobilised the stranger shrieked in despair at the trap, wriggle as she might she just couldn’t get free; as the girl sank further down the tourist allowed herself to twist to the side, rolling the Incan up and ontop of her, the rock stopping anything else but still keeping the brunette trapped tight.

A prison that only got stronger as the denim jeans crossed just below the bare knees and immobilised the local’s legs as well.

‘Do you give in yet?’

‘Not yet.’ An almighty twist around. ‘I can get out of this.’

‘Sure you can.’ The hands released her chin, only for one to clamp down even harder as the other held the head in a vice grip. The local girl moaned and thrashed as she figured what was happening but to no avail.

Marietta smiled in triumph as the motions grew weaker and more erratic.

‘Buenas Noces, senorita.’