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/
Giveaway :
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