Temple

by Matthew Reilly

  “Uncle, what is going on here?”

  “It is my fault, my nephew. It is all my fault.”

  The weighty stone door to the citadel rolled shut behind us with a resounding thud.

  The interior of the two-story pyramid was dark, illuminated only by the light of a few handheld torches. I saw a dozen frightened faces huddled in the darkness before me—women holding children, men bearing injuries or wounds. I guessed that they were all Vilcafor’s kin, those fortunate enough to have been inside the citadel when the slaughter had occurred.

  I also noticed a square-shaped hole in the stone floor—into and out of which some of the men climbed every few moments. There seemed to be a tunnel of some land down there.

  “It is a quenko,” Bassario whispered in my ear.

  “What is that?” I inquired.

  “A labyrinth. A maze. A network of tunnels carved into the rock underneath a town. There is a famous one not far outside Cuzco. Originally, quenkos were designed as escape tunnels for the ruling elite—only the royal family of a given town would know the code that would enable them to navigate the labyrinth’s confusing array of tunnels.

  “Now, however, quenkos are mainly used for sport and gambling at festival time. Two warriors are placed inside the maze, along with five adult jaguars. The warrior who successfully navigates the quenko—and evades the jaguars—and finds the exit first, wins. It is very popular to gamble on the result. I would imagine, however, that the quenko in this town is used more for its original purpose—as a tunnel through which royalty can beat a hasty retreat.”

  Now it happened that Vilcafor guided us to a corner of the citadel where there was a fire. He begged us to sit in some hay. Some servants arrived and gave us water.

  “So, Renco. You have the idol?” said Vilcafor.

  “I do.” Renco pulled the idol—still cloaked in its magnificent silken cloth—from his leather satchel. He uncovered the glistening black-and-purple carving and the small group gathered in the corner of the citadel gasped as one.

  If it were at all possible, I do believe that in the flickering orange light of the citadel the idol’s snarling feline features attained a new level of malevolence.

  “You are truly the Chosen One, my nephew,” said Vilcafor. “The one destined to save our idol from those who would take it away from us. I am proud of you.”

  “And I you, Uncle,” said Renco, although I gathered from the inflection in his voice that he was anything but ‘Tell me what happened here.”

  Vilcafor nodded.

  Then he spoke thusly: “I have heard of the inroads the gold-eaters have been making into our country. They have penetrated villages both in the mountains and in the wetland forests. I have long believed that it is only a matter of time before they find this secret encampment

  “With this in mind, two moons ago I ordered a new path be constructed, a path that would lead deep into the mountains, away from these gold-lusting barbarians. But this path would be a special path—once it was used it could be destroyed. Then, owing to the terrain in these parts, there would be no other entrance into the mountains within twenty days’ travel from here. Any pursuer would lose weeks trying to follow us, by which time we would be long gone.”

  “Go on,” said Renco.

  “My engineers found the perfect place for this path, a most wondrous canyon not far from here. It is a wide circular canyon with an enormous finger of rock protruding up through the middle of it

  “As it happened, the walls of this canyon were perfect for our new path and I ordered the commencement of building work immediately. All went well until the day my engineers arrived at the summit of the canyon. For on that day, as they looked down on the canyon beneath them, they saw it”

  “What did they see, Uncle?”

  “They saw a building of some kind—a building made by man—situated on top of the enormous finger of stone.”

  Renco cast a worried glance in my direction.

  “I immediately ordered the construction of a rope bridge, and then, accompanied by my engineers, I crossed that bridge and examined the structure on top of it.”

  Renco listened in silence.

  “Whatever it was, it was not built by Incan hands. It looked like a religious structure of some sort, a temple or shrine not unlike others which have been found elsewhere in these forests. Temples built by the mysterious empire that inhabited these lands many years before our own.

  “But there was something very strange about this particular temple. It had been sealed by a great boulder. And on this boulder were inscribed many pictures and markings which not even our most holy men could decipher.”

  “What happened then, Uncle?” said Renco.

  Vilcafor lowered his eyes. “Someone suggested that perhaps this was the fabled Temple of Solon, and if it was, then in it there would be a most fabulous treasure of emeralds and jade.”

  “What did you do, Uncle?” said Renco seriously.

  “I ordered that the temple be opened,” said Vilcafor, bowing his head. “And in doing so, I unleashed an evil like none I have ever seen. I unleashed the rapa.”

  Night fell and Renco and I repaired to the roof of the citadel to keep watch over the town and look for this animal that they call the rapa.

  Unsurprisingly, Bassario went off to a shadowy corner of the great stone fortress and sat with his back to the room, doing whatever it was that he did.

  From the roof of the citadel, I looked out over the village.

  Now, it must be said that after our journey through the forests, I had become accustomed to the sounds of the nighttime jungle. The croaking of frogs, the droning of insects, the rustling of the high branches as monkeys scampered among them.

  But there were no such sounds here.

  The forest surrounding the village of Vilcafor was absolutely silent.

  No animal made a sound. Not a living thing stirred.

  I looked down at the bodies that lay strewn all over the main street

  “What happened here?” I inquired of Renco softly.

  At first he did not reply. Then at last he said, “A great evil has been unleashed, my friend. A great evil.”

  “What did your uncle mean when he said that the temple they found might have been ‘the Temple of Solon’? Who or what is Solon?”

  Said Renco, “For thousands of years, many great empires have inhabited these lands. We do not know much about these empires, except what we have learned from the buildings they left behind and the stories that have been passed down through the local tribes.

  “One popular tale among the tribes of this region pertains to a strange empire of men who called themselves the Moxe, or Moche. The Moxe were prolific builders, and according to the local natives, they worshiped the rapa. Some say that they even tamed the rapa, but this is disputed.

  “Anyway, the fable that the local tribes most like to tell about the Moxe concerns a man named Solon. According to legend, Solon was a man of remarkable intellect, a great thinker, and as such, he soon became chief advisor to the supreme Moxe emperor.

  “When Solon reached old age, as a reward for his years of loyal service, the emperor presented him with a hoard of fabulous riches and bequeathed to him a temple to be built in his honor. The emperor said that Solon could have the temple built at any location he desired, in whatever shape or form. Whatever he wanted, the emperor’s best engineers would build.”

  Renco stared out into the darkness.

  “It is said that Solon requested his temple be built at a secret location and that all his riches be placed inside it. Then he instructed the emperor’s most able huntsmen to capture a pack of rapas and place them inside the temple with his treasure.”

  “He put a pack of rapas inside the temple?” said I incredulously.

  “That is so,” said Renco. “But to understand why he did that, you must understand what Solon wanted to achieve. He wanted his temple to be the ultimate test of human conduct.”

  “What do yo
u mean?”

  “Solon knew that word of the immense treasure inside his temple would spread quickly. He knew that greed and avarice would drive adventurers to seek it out and plunder its riches.

  “And so he made his temple a test. A test of the choice between fabulous wealth and certain death. A test designed to see if man could control his own wanton greed.”

  Renco looked at me. “The man who conquers his greed and chooses not to open the temple lives. The man who succumbs to temptation and opens the temple in search of fabulous wealth will be killed by the rapas.”

  I took this in silently.

  “This temple that Vilcafor has spoken of,” said I, “the one situated atop a giant finger of stone. Do you think it is Solon’s temple?”

  Renco sighed. “If it is, then it saddens me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it means that we have come a long way to die.”

  I stayed with Renco a while on the roof of the citadel, staring out into the rain.

  An hour passed.

  Nothing emerged from the forest Another hour. Still nothing.

  At which time, Renco instructed me to repair to the citadel and sleep. I happily obeyed his command, so fatigued was I from our long journey.

  And so I retired to the main body of the citadel, where I lay down on a mound of grass. A couple of small fires burned in the corners of the room.

  I rested my head in the hay, but no sooner had my eyelids touched than I felt an insistent tapping on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and found myself looking at the ugliest face I have ever seen in my entire life.

  An old man stood crouched in front of me, smiling at me with a toothless grin. He had horrid tufts of gray hair sticking out from his eyebrows, nose and ears.

  “Greetings, gold-eater,” said the ancient fellow. “I have heard of what you did for young Prince Renco—aiding his escape from his cage—and I wanted to express my profound gratitude to you.”

  I looked around the citadel. The fires were now out, the people who had previously been huddled about the room were now silent, sleeping. I must have actually fallen asleep, at least for a short time.

  “Oh,” said I. “Well, you . . . you are welcome.”

  The old man pointed a bony finger at my chest and nodded knowingly. “Take heed, gold-eater. Renco is not the only one whose destiny lies with that idol, you know.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “What I mean is Renco’s role as guardian of the Spirit of the People comes directly from the mouth of the Oracle at Pachacámac.” The old man smiled that same toothless grin. “And so does yours.”

  I had heard of the Oracle at Pachacámac. She was the venerable old woman who kept watch over the temple-shrine there. The traditional keeper of the Spirit of the People.

  “Why?” said I. “What has the Oracle said of me?”

  “Soon after the gold-eaters arrived on our shores, the Oracle announced that our empire would be crushed. But she also foretold that so long as the Spirit of the People stayed out of the hands of our conquerors, our soul would live on. But she made it very clear that only one man—and one man only—could keep the idol safe.”

  “Renco.”

  “Correct. But what she said in full was this:

  “ ‘There will come a time when he will come,

  A man, a hero, beholden of the Mark of the Sun.

  He will have the courage to do battle with great lizards,

  He will have the jinga,

  He will enjoy the aid of bravehearted men,

  Men who would give of their lives, in honor of his noble cause,

  And he will fall from the sky in order to save our spirit.

  He is the Chosen One.’”

  “The Chosen One?” said I.

  “That is right.”

  I began to wonder whether I fell into the category of a “bravehearted man” who would give of his life to help Renco. I decided that I didn’t

  Then I mused on the Oracle’s use of the word jingo. I recalled that it was a quality most revered in Incan culture. It was that rare combination of poise, balance and speed—the ability of a man to move like a cat

  I recalled our daring escape from Cuzco and the way Renco had leapt lightly from rooftop to rooftop, and how he had slid down the rope to land on the back of my horse. Did he move with the surefooted grace of a cat? Without a doubt

  “What do you mean when you say he will have the courage to do battle with great lizards?” I inquired.

  The old man said, “When Renco was a boy of thirteen, his mother was taken by an alligator as she was retrieving water from the banks of her local stream. Young Renco was with her at the time, and when he saw the monster drag his mother into the river, he dived into the water after her and wrestled with the ugly beast until it released her from its grip. Not many men would leap into a stream to do battle with such a fearsome creature. Not least a boy of thirteen.”

  I swallowed.

  I had not known of this tremendous act of courage that Renco had performed as a boy. I knew he was a brave man, but this? Well. I could never do something like that

  The old man must have read my thoughts. He tapped my chest again with his long bony finger.

  “Don’t dismiss your own brave heart, young gold-eater,” said he. “You yourself displayed enormous courage when you helped our young prince escape from his Spanish cage. Indeed, some would say that you showed the greatest courage of all—the courage to do what was right.”

  I bowed my head in modesty.

  The old man leaned close to me. “I do not believe such acts of courage should go unrewarded either. No, as a reward for your bravery, I would like to present you with this.”

  He held up a bladder which had evidently been taken from the body of a small animal. It appeared to be filled with some variety of liquid.

  I took the bladder. It had an opening at one extremity, through which I surmised the bladder’s holder could pour its contents.

  “What is it?” I inquired.

  “It is monkey urine,” said the old man keenly.

  “Monkey urine,” said I and flatly.

  “It will protect you against the rapa,” said the old man. “Remember, the rapa is a cat, and like all cats, it is a most vain creature. According to the tribes of this region, there are some liquids that the rapa despises with a fury. Liquids which, if smeared all over one’s body, will frighten off the rapa.”

  I smiled weakly at the old man. It was, after all, the first time I had ever been given the excrement of a jungle animal as a token of appreciation.

  “Thank you,” said I. “Such a . . . wonderful . . . gift.” The old man seemed terribly pleased by my response and so he said, “Then I should like to provide you with another.”

  I endeavored to beg off his generosity—lest he give me another variety of animal discharge. But his second gift was not of the physical kind.

  ‘I would like to share with you a secret,” said he.

  “And what secret is that?”

  “If ever you need to escape from this village, enter the quenko and take the third tunnel on the right-hand side. From there, alternate left then right, taking the first tunnel you see every time, but make sure you go to the left first. The quenko will take you to the waterfall overlooking the vast wetland forests. The secret to the labyrinth is simple, one only has to know where to begin. Trust me, young gold-eater, and mark these gifts. They could save your life.”

  Refreshed by my slumber, I wandered, up onto the roof of the citadel once again.

  There I found Renco, nobly keeping his vigil. He must have been supremely fatigued, but he did not betray any such weariness. He just stared vigilantly out over the main street of the town, oblivious to the veil of rain that landed lightly on the crown of his head. I arrived at his side wordlessly and followed his gaze out over the village.

  Aside from the rain, nothing moved.

  Nay, nothing made a sound.

  The eerie stillness
of the village was haunting.

  When he spoke, Renco didn’t turn to face me. “Vilcafor says he opened the temple in daylight. Then he sent five of his finest warriors into it to find Solon’s treasure. They never returned. It was only with the onset of night that the rapas emerged from within the temple.”

  “Are they out there now?” I inquired fearfully.

  “If they are, then I have been unable to see them.”

  I looked at Renco. His eyes were red and he had large bags beneath both of them.

  “My friend,” I said gently, “you must sleep. You have to retain your strength, especially if my countrymen find this town. Sleep now, I shall keep the vigil, and I shall wake you if I see anything.”

  Renco nodded slowly. “As usual, you are right, Alberto. Thank you.”

  And with that he went inside and I found myself standing alone on the roof of the citadel, alone in the night

  Nothing stirred in the village below me.

  It happened about an hour into my watch.

  I had been watching the tiny wavelets of the river, glistening silver in the moonlight, when suddenly a small raft floated into view. I spied three figures standing on the deck of the small vessel, dark shadows in the night.

  My blood ran cold.

  Hernando’s men . . .

  I was about to run to get Renco when the raft pulled alongside the village’s small wooden jetty and its passengers stepped up onto the wharf and I garnered a better look at them.

  My shoulders sank with relief.

  They were not conquistadors.

  They were Incans.

  A man—dressed in the traditional attire of an Incan warrior—and a woman with a small child, all of them covered against the rain by hoods and cloaks.

  The three figures walked slowly up the main street, staring in awe at the carnage that littered the muddy road around them.

  And then I saw it.

  At first I thought it was just the shadow of a swaying branch cast onto the side of one of the huts that lined the street. But then the branch’s shadow swayed away from the hut’s wall and another shadow remained in its place.