NovaMundi Stories 1 - Curima's Wisdom

Sué, god of the sun smiled, making Curima wrinkles create beautiful shadows. She was old. Even old people considered Curima an elder. “The ancient one”, she was called behind her back. And only behind her back, for she was the mother of the old Chief.

No one else was awake. As she grew older, the need for sleep scattered like her great-grandchildren after doing some mischief.

Because of this, she alone prepared the fire, and some food like quisbún; a sweet corn cake made with cheese, butter, and milk. It was her clan’s favorite food, and she loved to cook it.

The smell awoke the little ones, who with a ruckus started helping the old woman. Her grandchildren followed their kids, and after a while, her only son, the old chief, arrived. He had slipped away while she started to cook to meditate, and of course, to slack off and not help. He would get a burnt quisbún, and a kiss on his forehead for that.

“Today is the day, mother. Are you sure you want to go? This is not an easy trip for a chutoca.” Said the chief worryingly.

“Who are you calling an old woman you ancient oaf? I can do the trip.” Spat Curima to his son.

“Besides, you need me. People respect you here because you’re their chief, but we’re meeting others who don’t respect you. They’ll respect my wisdom and knowledge.” Said Curima while patting her son’s back.

The children finished their meal quickly, followed by their parents. Minutes later, one of the kids entered the house again: “ Caca! Caca! Warriors are asking for you and grandpa!” screamed the kid. “Stop calling me grandmother! I’m your great-grandmother! What will the neighbors think?” smiled Curima.

A large retinue was waiting outside. Everyone was ready to depart, save for the chief, who was still adorning himself with gold. The trip would be long, but his status demanded to be in full regalia even during a stroll. While waiting among the warriors, Curima heard them gossiping.

“Is a meeting between the chiefs necessary? Couldn’t the Zipa or the Zaque as heads of the federation just demand them to bury the hatchet and work together?” whispered one of the warriors.

“ Zipa? Zaque? Did no one ever educate you, child? For years the federation has been such just in name. The chieftains of Muequetá and Hunza are constantly warring succession wars or launching fruitless attacks on each other. Zaquesazipa, called Zipa by some, is called an usurper by others, and I wouldn’t put it behind him to ally himself with the invaders.” Said Curima, horrified.

The warriors stayed silent and looked at Curima with respect. She was wise, she was powerful. Her voice carried whispers from the ancestors, and knowledge of the heavens. This silence would not be broken for hours, and even then, it would be Curima who would break it.

The chief did not dare to break the silence his mother achieved, so with his eyes, he commanded the men to start the long march.

After some hours had passed, Curima grew tired of the silence and said: “Son, do you remember we already did this trip? Twice in fact. The first time you were a baby so you wouldn’t remember, but the second one I hope you do remember.”

“Ah, yes! We accompanied my father to meet with some other chiefs. Issues with the Panches, right?” Said Curima’s son.

“Other visitors had to camp outside the walls,