Dark Sun, Bright Moon, by Oliver
Sparrow, was published in July 2014 and is available for sale on Amazon in
both paperback and ebook.
“Dark Sun, Bright Moon describes people isolated in the Andes, without
the least notion of outsiders. They evolve an understanding of the universe
that is complementary to our own but a great deal wider. The book explores
events of a thousand years ago, events which fit with what we know of the
region's history,” says Sparrow.
In the Andes of a thousand years ago, the Huari empire is sick. Its
communities are being eaten from within by a plague, a contagion that is not of
the body but of something far deeper, a plague that has taken their collective
spirit. Rooting out this parasite is a task that is laid upon Q’ilyasisa, a
young woman from an obscure little village on the forgotten borders of the
Huari empire.
This impossible mission is imposed on her by a vast mind, a sentience
that has ambitions to shape all human life. Her response to this entails
confrontations on sacrificial pyramids, long journeys through the Amazonian
jungle and the establishment of not just one but two new empires. Her legacy
shapes future Andean civilization for the next four hundred years, until the
arrival of the Spanish.
Dark Sun,
Bright Moon takes the reader on a fascinating adventure that includes human
sacrifice, communities eaten from within, a vast mind blazing under the
mud of Lake Titicaca, and the rise and fall of empires cruel and kind.
Excerpt
A priest knelt before her, a feather from his head-dress tickling her
face. His musky odour of old incense and stale blood was rank, even here on the
windy summit of the pyramid. Four other priests held her body tipped slightly
forwards, and the pressure that this put on her tired old joints hurt far more
than the fine, cold bite of the knife at her neck. Quick blood ran thick down
her chin and splashed into the waiting bowl. Then the flow weakened, the
strength went out of her and she died, content.
Seven elderly pilgrims had set out for Pachacamac, following their
familiar river down to the coast and then trudging North through the desert
sands. Two of the very oldest of them needed to be carried in litters, but most
were able to walk with no more than a stick to help them in the sand. Lesser
members of the community had been delegated to carry what was necessary. These
would return home. The elderly would not.
The better-regarded families of the town were expected to die as was
proper, sacrificed at the Pachacamac shrine for the betterment of the
community. Such was to be their last contribution of ayni, of the reciprocity
that assured communal harmony and health. It was also their guarantee of a
smooth return to the community's soul, to the deep, impersonal structure from
which they had sprung at birth.
The Pachacamac complex appeared to them quite suddenly from amongst
the coastal dunes. They paused to marvel at its mountain range of pyramids, its
teeming myriad of ancient and holy shrines.
Over the millennia, one particular pyramid had come to process all of
the pilgrims who came from their valley. They were duly welcomed, and guards
resplendent in bronze and shining leather took them safely to its precinct.
They had been expected. The priests were kind, welcoming them with
food and drink, helping the infirm, leading them all by easy stages up to the
second-but-last tier in their great, ancient pyramid. The full extent of the
meandering ancient shrine unveiled itself like a revelation as they climbed.
Then, as whatever had been mixed with their meal took its effect, they were
wrapped up snug in blankets and set to doze in the late evening sun, propped
together against the warm, rough walls of the mud-brick pyramid. Their dreams
were vivid, extraordinary, full of weight and meaning.
The group was woken before dawn, all of them muzzily happy, shriven of
all their past cares, benignly numb. Reassuring priests helped them gently up
the stairs to the very top tier. In the predawn light, the stepped pyramids of
Pachacamac stood sacred and aloof in an ocean of mist.
Each pilgrim approached their death with confidence. A quick little
discomfort would take them back to the very heart of the community from which
they had been born. They had been separated from it by the act of birth, each
sudden individual scattered about like little seed potatoes. Now, ripe and
fruitful, they were about to return home, safely gathered back into the
community store. It was to be a completion, a circle fully joined. Hundreds of
conch horns brayed out across Pachacamac as the dawn sun glittered over the
distant mountains. Seven elderly lives drained silently away as the mist below
turned pink.
About the
Author:
Oliver Sparrow was born in the Bahamas,
raised in Africa and educated at Oxford to post-doctorate level, as a biologist
with a strong line in computer science. He spent the majority of his working
life with Shell, the oil company, which took him into the Peruvian jungle for
the first time. He was a director at the Royal Institute for International
Affairs, Chatham House for five years. He has started numerous companies, one
of them in Peru, which mines for gold. This organisation funded a program of
photographing the more accessible parts of Peru, and the results can be seen at
http://www.all-peru.info. Oliver knows modern Peru very well, and has
visited all of the physical sites that are described in his book Dark Sun,
Bright Moon.
To learn more, go to http://www.darksunbrightmoon.com/