Alzheimers in Atacama
Chapter 7 — Arrows in the Dark and a Desperate Revenge
Kaspi's assassins find the cottage and kill the old couple. The lovers flee but are overtaken — Allpa is struck by arrows. In a final act of fury, Chaska and Allpa kill all four hunters.
← Karl Swainston / Alzheimers in Atacama
"But your beauty is special, my sweet," Chirapa added. "Your star is waiting for you and your lover, and time is short. You must race before death ends this life's quest, and you must endeavor once again to find the key of union in another life. You were both released by El Niño in Atacama's breast, but you are not orchids, and you are not of this earth.
"But I can hear the killers ascending the hills now, and I can feel the danger of loss for you. You must go! Chirapa, wake Allpa, and they must flee—but tell them what they must do for the star of their fate, that ancient star of their birth."
Chirapa was about to wake Allpa, but first spoke to Chaska, "Listen, my child. You're eighteen, and you must lay with Allpa. Even if your cause is lost, you must love him in that intimate way. Do you understand? I can't tell you any more, as it's your fate, and the stars forbid me to."
Chaska did not reply, but looked up at the aged woman and lowered her eyes.
"She understands, my husband. Now bid them go, as danger is fast approaching," uttered the old woman.
The old man gathered Allpa's senses, which had been lost in sleep, and told him the direction in which to head. But a sharp knock on the door arrested all the attention and nerves of those inside.
Hawka calmly said to his charges, "Go," pointing to an exit to the rear. He then joined his wife's arms, and they walked to the front door.
It only lasted a minute. Chirapa was shot with an arrow first, but did not die instantly. Her assassins were troubled that her aged spouse wasn't concerned; instead, he knelt down to her side and said, "The Star is glowing, and knows their children are close."
The next arrow struck the old man's skull, and he fell upon the breast of his aged wife.
"Get them, and kill them!" thundered the main assassin, and all four set off in hot pursuit.
The trail was quick, as both Allpa and Chaska were still exhausted. Against such a foe, they didn't have a chance of making the higher climbs of the mountains, and with each stride, their pursuers closed the distance twice as fast.
The first arrow struck Allpa in the back. He fell, and a second entered his side. He knew all was lost, and Chaska screamed. The four assassins had their prey, and they laughed.
They knew Allpa was certainly dead, or would be soon, and that the maid was to be their booty. The leader approached the girl first. As she lay holding her Allpa, she saw a silent instruction in his eyes, and she moved slowly to one side. The lead assassin had only taken a couple of steps and stood right before the two laid on the ground.
Allpa lunged with his foot and connected heavily with the man, who was flung headlong backward, unable to prevent his plunge to the jagged rocks below.
Chaska was not slow in her tactics either. Maddened to the point of not caring about her own death, she snatched up the enemy's bow and threw it to Allpa along with an arrow. Allpa fired the first shot, killing another assassin instantly. With the arrow still embedded in his own body, he withdrew another and shot the next man approaching him.
The final assassin was about to run at them, but Chaska grabbed hold of Allpa's knife and lunged herself at him. The sharp steel entered his side first, before resting deep in his heart. All were dead.
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About Karl Swainston
Karl Swainston is a writer and storyteller whose work is forged from a life lived across the North of England and far beyond. Growing up on a Leeds council estate in the 1960s, Karl's journey was anything but linear. By the age of thirty, he had already lived a dozen lives: from the rigors of grammar school to a degree in Latin, a stint as a fishmonger, a period of discovery living in Marseille, and a return to the hustle of London. Whether working as a postman, a builder, or competing as a county-level chess player, he was, above all, an avid reader—constantly documenting the world around him. This restless spirit continued into his professional life. Karl later taught in Bradford, where he ran a specialist unit for 244 of the most excluded students from across the region—young people whom even the local Pupil Referral Units could not accommodate. Working alongside his old friend Malcolm, Karl spent his days navigating the volatility of Bradford's most aggressive and dysfunctional teenagers. Throughout his life, Karl has been an avid runner and has always shared his home with a rotating cast of beloved dogs and cats—companions who have been constant witnesses to his work. As a writer, Karl's range is as expansive as his history. He works across a wide breadth of genres, including fiction and short stories, autobiography and memoir, biography, non-fiction, and metaphysical writing, as well as providing sharp commentary, opinion, analysis, and essays. Whether writing about his years managing the Harrogate Arms or offering insights from his current adopted home in South East India, where he lives in a simple village with his dog, Bambi, Karl's voice reflects the full, untidy, and deeply human breadth of life. He continues to draw on the rich, decades-long tapestry of his experiences to tell stories that matter, proving that no matter where you live, the human story remains the same.
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