Temple (10 page)

After speaking quickly with the town's chieftain, Renco was
escorted to the quarry—a monumental hole that had been dug into the
side of a mountain. He returned a short while later with a
goat-skin sack in his hand. The sides of the sack bulged with
sharp, rocky corners. Renco handed the sack to Bassario and we rode
on.
I did not know what was in that sack, but on the nights when we
stopped to rest, Bassario would slink away to a corner of the camp
and light his own fire. Then he would sit
crosslegged and work over the sack with his back to Renco and
myself.
After eleven days of this most brutal travel, we emerged from the
mountains and beheld a most momentous sight, a vista like none I
have ever witnessed.
We saw the rainforest spread out before us, a seamless carpet of
green stretching out to the distant horizon. The only breaks in the
carpet were the tablelands—the wide, flat step-like formations in
the landscape that marked the grad ual transition from rugged
mountain range to verdant river basin—and the wide bands of brown
that snaked their way
through the dense jungle, the mighty rivers of the
rainforest.
And so we plunged into the jungle.
It was like Hell on earth.
For days we travelled through the eternal shade of the rainforest.
It was wet and it was damp and Lord, how it was dangerous.
Obscenely fat snakes hung from the trees, small rodents scurried
about under our feet, and on one night—I was certain of it—I saw
the veiled outline of a panther, a shadow superimposed on the
darkness, slinking silently on padded paws across a nearby
branch.
And then, of course, there were the rivers, in which there
lurked the greatest danger of all.
Alligators.
Their craggy triangular heads alone were enough to make a man's
blood turn to ice, and their bodies, black and heavy and armoured,
were at least six paces in length. Their eyes always watched
us—unblinking, reptilian, repulsive.
We travelled down the rivers on reed canoes donated to us by the
river villages of Paxu, Tupra and Roya—boats which seemed
pathetically small when compared to the inordinately large reptiles
in the water all around us—and we climbed down the steep cliffs of
the tablelands with the aid of skilled Incan guides.
In the evenings, by the light of the fire, Renco would instruct me
in his language, Quechua. In return, I would teach
him the finer points of swordsmanship with the two glistening
Spanish sabres we had pilfered on our way out of Cuzco.
While Renco and I fenced, if he wasn't toiling away in some corner
of the camp Bassario would often practise his archery. Apparently,
before he was imprisoned (for what I knew not), Bassario had been
one of the finest archers in all of the Incan empire. I believed
it. One evening I saw him throw a rainforest fruit high into the
air and pierce it with an arrow a moment later, such was his
skill.
After a time, however, it became apparent to us that the harsh
terrain of the rainforest had slowed our pursuers somewhat. The
sounds of Hernando and his men hacking at the branches of the
forest behind us grew progressively more faint. Indeed, at one time
I thought that perhaps Her- nando had given up on his
pursuit.
But no. Every day, runners from the various villages we had passed
through would catch us up and inform us of the sacking of their
town. Hernando and his men were still coming.
And so we toiled on.
And then one day, not long after we had left the village of Roya,
at a time when I was walking at the head of our expedition, I
pushed aside a large branch and found myself staring into the eyes
of a snarling cat-like creature.
I fell backwards with a shout, dropping with a loud splat in the
mud.
The next thirig I heard was Bassario chuckling softly.
I looked up and saw that I had revealed a large stone totem of some
sort. The snarling cat that I had seen was nothing but a stone
carving of a great, cat-like creature. But the carving was covered
in a veil of trickling water, giving the unwary traveller—me—the
impression that it was well and truly alive.
As I looked at it more closely, however, I noticed that the stone
carving on the totem was not dissimilar to that of the idol that
was the cause of our frenetic journey. It was a jaguar of some
kind, possessed of large feline fangs, snarling—no, roaring—at the
incautious explorer who happened to stumble upon it.
I have wondered more than once at these Incans' fascination with
the great cats.
They idolise these creatures, treat them as gods. In fact, warriors
who show feline co-ordination in their movements are most revered
in their armies—it is seen as a great skill to be able to land on
one's feet and pounce immediately back into the fray. Such a
warrior is said to be possessed of the jinga.
Why, the very evening before I stumbled so embarrassingly upon the
stone totem, Renco had been telling me that the most feared
creature in their mythology is a great black cat known as the titi
in Agmara, or the rapa in Quechua.
Apparently, this creature is as black as the night and almost as
tall as a man even when standing on all four legs. And it kills
with unparalleled ferocity. Indeed, Renco said, it is that most
feared variety of wild animal—the kind that kills for no other
reason than for the pleasure of killing.
'Well done, Brother Alberto,' said Renco as I lay in the mud,
staring up at the totem. 'You've found the first of the totems that
will lead us to Vilcafor.'
'How will they lead us there?' I inquired as I rose to my
feet.
Said Renco, 'There is a code, known only to the most senior of
Incan nobles—'
'But if he tells you, he'll have to kill you,' Bassario interjected
with a rude grin.
Renco smiled indulgently at Bassario. 'True,' said he. 'But in the
event that I should die, I shall need someone to continue my
mission. And to do that, that someone will have to know the code to
the totems.' Renco turned to face me. 'I was hoping
that you would be willing to bear that responsibility,
Alberto.'
The?' said I, swallowing.
'Yes, you,' said Renco. 'Alberto, I see the qualities of a hero in
you, even if you do not. You possess honour and courage in far
greater quantities than the average soul. I would have no
hesitation in entrusting my people's fate to you should the worst
befall me, if you would allow it.'
I bowed my head and nodded, acceding to his wish.
'Good,' Renco smiled. 'You, on the other hand,' he said,
grinning wryly at Bassario, “would give me considerable hesitation.
Now go stand over there.”
Once Bassario had moved to stand some paces away from us, Renco
leaned close to me and indicated the stone carving of the rapa in
front of us. 'The code is simple: follow the rapa's tail.'
'Follow the rapa's tail…' said I, looking at the totem.
Sure enough, out of the back of the carving extended a thin snaking
feline tail, pointing to the north.
'But,' Renco suddenly held up his finger, 'not every totem is to be
followed in this way. It is this rule that only the most senior
nobles know. Indeed, I was only told of it by the high priestess of
the Coricancha when we arrived there to get the idol.'
'What is the rule, then?' I inquired.
'After the first totem every second totem is to be dis trusted. In
those cases, one is to follow the totem in the
direction of the Mark of the Sun.'
'The Mark of the Sun?'
'A mark not tmlike this one,' Renco said, indicating the small
triangular birthmark below his left eye, the dark brown blemish of
skin that looked like an inverted mountain.
'At every second totem after the first one,' he said, 'we are not
to follow the rapa's tail, but rather to go in the direc tion of
the Mark of the Sun.'
'What will happen if one continues to follow the rapa's tail?' I
inquired. 'Won't our enemies ultimately realise that they are
travelling in the wrong direction when they find no more
totems?'
Renco smiled at me. 'Oh, no, Alberto. There are more totems to be
found, even if one goes in the wrong direction.
But they only lead the bamboozled adventurer farther and farther
away from the citadel.'
And so we followed the totems through the rainforest.
They were spaced at varying intervals—some were but a few hundred
paces from their predecessors, others were
some miles overland—so we had to be careful that we travelled in
direct lines. Often we were aided by the river system, since at
times the totems had been carefully placed along the
riverbanks.
Following the totems, we travelled in a northerly direc tion,
crossing the wide rainforest basin until we came to a new tableland
that led up to the mountains.
This tableland stretched from the north to the south for as far as
the eye could see—a giant jungle-covered plateau—a single step that
Our Lord had built to aid him in stepping up from the rainforest to
the mountain foothills. It was dotted with waterfalls all along its
length. It was a truly magnificent sight.
We climbed the tableland's cliff-like eastern face, hauling with us
our reed canoes and paddles. It was then that we came to a final
totem which directed us upriver, toward the gigantic snow-capped
mountains that loomed above the rainforest.
We rowed against the gentle current of the river in the pouring
afternoon rain. After a while, however, the rain stopped and in the
mist that followed it the jungle took on an eerie quality. The
world fell oddly silent and, strangely, the sounds of the
rainforest abruptly vanished.
No birds chirped. No rodents rustled in the underbrush.
I felt a rush of dread flood through my body.
Something was not right here.
Renco and Bassario must have felt it, too, for they paddled more
slowly now, dipping their oars silently into the glassy surface of
the water, as if not daring to break the unnatural silence.
And then we rounded a bend in the river and suddenly we saw a town
on the riverbank, nestled up against the base of the enormous
mountain range. An imposing stone structure stood proudly in the
centre of a cluster of small huts, while a wide moat-like ditch
surrounded the entire enclave.
The citadel of Vilcafor.
But none of us had much care for the great citadel. Nor
did we take much notice of the village around it that lay in
smouldering ruins.
No. We only had eyes for the bodies, the scores of bodies
that lay crumpled on the main street on the town, covered
in blood.
Race turned the page, looking for the next chapter, but it wasn't
there. This, it seemed, was the last page of the manuscript.
Damn it, he thought.
He peered out the window of the Hercules and saw the engines
mounted on the green-painted wing outside, saw the snow-capped
peaks of the Andes gliding by beneath them.
He looked over at Nash sitting on the other side of the
aisle, working on a laptop computer.
'Is this all there is?“ he asked.
'I'm sorry?' Nash frowned.
'The manuscript. Is this all we have?'
'You mean you've finished translating it already?”
'Did you find the location of the idol?'
'Well, kind of,' Race said, looking down at the notes he'd taken as
he'd translated the manuscript. They read:
• LEAVE CUZCO-ENTER MTNS.
• VILLAGES: RUMAC, SIPO. HUANCO. OCUYU.
• COLCOPAUCARTAMBO RIVER—QUARRY THERE.
• 11 DAYS—COME TO RAINFOREST.
• RIVER VILLAGES: PAXU, TUPRA, ROYA.
• STONE TOTEMS—CARVED IN SHAPE OF CAT-LIKE CREATURE—LEAD TO CITADEL
AT VILCAFOR.
• TOTEM CODEmFOLLOW THE RAPA'S TAIL FOR FIRST TOTEM.
AT EVERY SECOND TOTEM AFTER THAT, FOLLOW THE 'MARK OF THE
SUN'.
FOLLOWED TOTEMS NORTH ACROSS RAINFOREST BASIN—-CAME TO TABLELAND
LEADING UP TO MOUNTAIN FOOTHILLS.
AT FINAL TOTEM WENT UPRIVER TOWARD MTNS-.-FOUND CITADEL IN
RUINS.
'What do you mean you've kind of found it?' Nash asked.
'Well, that's the thing,' Race said. 'The manuscript virtually ends
in mid-sentence when they reach the town of Vilcafor. There's
obviously more to be read, but it isn't here.' He didn't add that
he was beginning to find the story kind of interesting and actually
wanted to read more of it. 'You're sure this is all we have?'
'I'm afraid so,' Nash said. 'Remember, this isn't the original
manuscript, but rather a half-finished copy of it, transcribed by
another monk many years after Santiago wrote the original. This is
all there is, this is all that the other monk managed to copy from
the original.'
He frowned. 'I was hoping we'd get the exact location of the idol
from it, but if it doesn't give us that, then what I need to know
are the generalities: where to look, where to start looking. We've
got the technology to pinpoint the location of the idol/f we know
where to begin our search. And
by the sound of things, from what you've read so far, it appears
that you have enough there to tell me where to start
looking. So tell me what you know.'
Race showed Nash his notes, told him the story of Renco Capac and
his flight from Cuzco. He then explained that from what he'd read,
Renco had made it to his intended destination—a citadel-town at the
base of the Andes known as Vilcafor.
He also told Nash that, so long as they knew one particular fact,
the manuscript detailed how to get to that town.
'And what fact is that?“ Nash said.
'Assuming the stone totems are still there,' Race said,
'you have to know what the “Mark of the Sun” is. If you don't know
what it is, then you can't read the totems.'
Nash frowned and turned to Walter Chambers, the anthropologist and
Incan expert, sitting a few seats away.
'Walter. Do you know anything about a “Mark of the Sun”
in Incan culture?'
'The Mark of the Sun? Why, yes, of course.'
“What is it?'
Chambers shrugged, came oven 'It's just a birthmark, really. Kind
of like Professor Race's there.' He nodded with his chin at Race's
glasses, indicating the dark triangular blemish on the skin under
his left eye. Race cringed. Ever since he was a kid, he'd hated
that birthmark. He thought it looked like a smudged coffee stain on
his face.
'The Incans thought birthmarks were signs of distinc tion,'
Chambers said. 'Signs sent from the gods themselves.
The Mark of the Sun was a special kind of birthmarkla blemish on
the face, just below the left eye. It was special because the
Incans believed that it was a mark sent from their most powerful
god, the Sun God. To have a child with such a mark was regarded as
a great honour. The Mark of the Sun indicated that that particular
child was special, in some way destined for greatness.'