This year, whether you’re young or old, try your hand at illustrating the chapters of this story, told in turn by six authors. And maybe see your drawing published in our magazine. This month, it’s Nine, six years old, from Le Chesnay, who created images to go with Daniel Picouly’s words.
Boating on the lake
2. The silver spell
Itipulco is both, but he can’t say so. He is the son of a god in the dark night, when Inti the Sun slips to the bottom of the lake like a brand new penny, while the stars sparkle and prattle like gossips in the sky. In the gray morning light, Itipulco turns back into a little boy as the tinkling school bell rings and he has to run over the dozy straw so as not to be late. Itipulco has a hard time reciting his poem. He’s tired. All night long, clad in silvery scales, he had been diving into Lake Titicaca, looking for Capacati. Capaca who? says a small voice. Capacati! The goddess of troubled waters, the guardian of deep secrets, the only one who knows where Itipulco’s mother is being held prisoner, whose name must never be spoken or else the spiny coral cave where she is being kept will never be found. Capacati, the goddess with a thousand bulging eyes, is so ugly that she never shows herself. Except when someone gives her one of those shimmering blue, licorice-flavored fish. To help Itipulco, the gleaming fish let themselves be caught while pretending to escape for fun. Paryaqaqa, the jealous god of the waters, does not want to help Itipulco find his mother. Why? No one knows. Fortunately, the Firefly Bird, his friend with gold-spun wings, flies above him all night long, lighting his way to the blue-backed fish. But for the first time since day has been day, and night has been night, Itipulco’s friends don’t see the tiniest handful of blue on the shore at their feet. To be continued.