Prologue
May 31, 1969
Respect your body’s wisdom. He’d probably been told that every day of his eighteen years, yet One Reed’s racing heart simply puzzled him.
The girl entering the museum’s Music Room looked nothing like the silver-haired woman he sought, the Daughter of the Moon. She wasn’t even the prettiest girl he’d seen this week, though she had a wide-eyed beauty all her own. Her shoulder-length hair glowed like cornsilk against her bronze skin. Tiny purple flowers covered her mini-skirt, which barely reached her fingertips. It bore no resemblance to the full-length teal gown he’d seen in his vision, yet he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She followed her parents to the second row of damask-draped folding chairs and claimed the aisle seat.
What if it was a false vision? The thought made him miss a note and the flute screeched, earning him a scowl from Grandfather. One Reed avoided his eyes, remembering how Grandfather had insisted on him coming even after Dumbarton Oaks refused to pay the additional airfare.
“We must honor the prophecy,” Grandfather told the Elders. They had drained the village’s emergency fund to send him. One Reed and Grandfather had arrived in Washington, D.C., almost a week ago for the Pre-Columbian Studies Symposium. Tomorrow they would leave on the long flight back to Lima and then endure an equally long bus ride home to the coastal desert region nestled between the Pacific and the Andes. This ceremony was One Reed’s last chance to find the Daughter of the Moon.
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