by John McCuaig
Minco coughed and spluttered, struggling for breath and gagging when the only air he could find was rancid with the stench that was pouring from Taipi’s mouth to hang in a miasma around him. As the beast growled deeply, Minco could see strings of rotted meat stuck between its teeth. He felt his stomach lurch.
“Get it over with,” Minco rasped, “I hope you choke on my flesh.”
Taipi’s head nodded forward but suddenly it stopped, motionless in the echoing chamber. Minco could feel Taipi’s great strength slowly ebbing away until at last, he could break free from its fingers. As he pulled away, Taipi stumbled to one side and Minco saw Inguill standing directly behind where the High Priest had been. He looked down and saw that his own axe was deeply embedded deep into the back of Taipi’s skull.
Inguill had saved him. Now, that she was safe, she crumbled back to the ground.
“Inguill!” he called her name in desperation as he rushed to her side. He took her in his arms and wiped the sweat from her brow. Her eyes opened and Minco felt blind terror for her when he saw her deep, almost black irises were beginning to cloud over.
“The statue,” she managed to whisper, though her voice nearly gone. “Hurry...please.”
“What do I need to do with it?” he asked urgently, almost impatiently as tears now spilled unheeded down his cheeks.
“Smash it...” she gave Minco one last, dazzling smile before she lost consciousness.
Minco stood and grasped his truncheon. The mad sounds of screaming, snarling undead made him feel exhausted. The beasts had broken through the rubble and now they rushed up the passageway towards the main chamber. He looked at Pizarro- he was already lining up his men, their muskets aimed at the entrance of the chamber. Once his last order had been given, he too headed for the black altar.
He and Minco arrived at the same time. “Do it!” Pizarro screamed at the Protector. “Smash that damned thing!”
Minco raised the short, sturdy weapon high above his head but before he brought it back down, he stared right at the Spaniard for a moment. “My thanks for your help with Taipi back there.” His voiced was laced with sarcasm. “We could have had this all finished by now if you had shot the Priest.” The gunfire started behind them. The undead army were now in view of the soldiers.
“This isn’t the time or the place,” Pizarro snapped. But there was still terror in his voice. “Just get it done, man!” His eyes glanced over to the entrance. “We can have a talk about that later. Now please hurry up. Do it before your woman dies and they get to my men.”
Minco would not forget what the Spaniard had done but for now, he let out a howl of anger he brought the weapon down upon the effigy of Supay with all his might.
The brittle, golden statue split in half with a crack too loud to be natural. Minco looked up as an eerie silence settled over the chamber.
“I think we’ve done it,” said Pizarro. “The screaming has stopped at last.” Both men looked towards the soldiers guarding the passageway and as they did, they saw the remaining survivors had begun to realise they had defeated Supay’s accursed army. They began to hoot with glee, jumping up and down and hugging everyone around them. The mass of approaching beasts had unceremoniously fallen dead in the middle of their charge and now lay in a heap of broken, rotten flesh. The danger was finally over.
Pizarro turned to face Minco again but the Incan was gone. Not needing to search, he found him kneeling over the prone figure of Inguill. Pizarro moved to stand behind the Incan.
“Inguill...Inguill,” Minco whispered as he gently patted her cheeks. “Wake up, my love.” She stirred and slowly, her eyes opened. Minco burst into tears of relief. Once again her beautiful, knowing eyes held the dark, reflective warmth, that trace of clever playfulness, they used to have. She smiled and Minco felt his heart leap at the sight.
Pizarro walked away from them, feeling once again like an intruder in their private moments. He would have much rather that she had perished, that witch with the foul mouth. Glancing at Minco, he would have preferred if they both had died in here.
He returned to his men and split them into two groups. Addressing the first half, he said, “Go outside, and make certain they’re all dead before we even attempt to leave the city.” The group saluted and marched off without question, their trust and respect for him now even stronger than before. They believed he was the one who had saved them from the undead army.
Pizarro kept a close eye on them both, as Minco helped Inguill back up to her feet. He sat alone and in silence by the marble altar as he waited for his soldiers to return, thinking long and hard about what he was going to do with these two lovers.
He didn’t wait long. Two of his men came running back up the long, dark hallway. Pizarro instinctively drew his sword but one of the soldiers waved an unspoken negative at him. It was not the undead that had them running full pelt for the chamber.
“The city is on fire,” the first soldier shouted, “It’s almost upon us.” They knew the fire wouldn’t reach this far into the pyramid but without the great doors, the smoke most certainly would.
Without giving any orders, Pizarro took off down the long hallway, gesturing for the rest of the group to follow his lead. He stopped at the entrance to count his followers as they emerged. As they filed by him, he caught sight of Minco and Inguill, limping along after his soldiers.
“I’m glad that you both made it,” he said, his smile was now doing overtime. “It’s good that we managed to destroy the statue in time.”
“Get out of our damn way,” Minco snarled back. “And don’t forget we still need to have that little talk about you just watching me fight Taipi.” The look he gave told Pizarro everything that he had suspected.
The Incan was not going to let this go.
*****
The bottom of the long passageway was littered with a mass of rotting bodies. There was no space to get around them, so they all had no choice but to clamber over them to get out of the pyramid. The fear was clear in each one of the soldiers’ eyes as they crunched and slid their way over the scores of rotting corpses. The hole that the undead made in the fallen doorway had been completely blocked with carcasses, so that they had to be dragged, one by one, out of the way to make a gap large enough for them all to get through.
As soon as they got to outside of the pyramid, they saw that the sky was already full of smoke. The dry and dusty buildings of Huacas were more than half ablaze. It seemed the fires Minco had set earlier to attract the beasts had spread rather than dying down and at the rate it was moving, it would not be long before even the pyramid was surrounded by flames every bit as hungry as the undead had been.
“Everyone, head straight for the gates,” Pizarro called out as he surveyed the damage. “Don’t stop for anything until you are outside the city gates. We’ll meet up there.”
In silence, the group walked quickly towards the exit, stepping round bodies where they could, clambering over them where they could not. Minco felt a small slice of grim satisfaction that there would be no need for a burial detail. A mass cremation was already taking place.
As they reached the outside gates, they all turned to look on as the flames slowly devoured this place of evil. It somehow seemed a fitting end to this dark place.
Inguill slipped her hand into Minco’s and held on tight. “This is all good news,” she said with a look of content on her face. “Now that the city is at last destroyed, no one can ever use its evil powers again. We’ll be free of its curse forever.” Minco smiled at her and gladly returned her strong grip.
“Come on my love,” she said. “Let us go home.” Minco felt tears of relief once more threatening to spill out to his cheeks and he pulled Inguill tightly against him, kissing her forehead. He held them back, this was not a feeling he felt comfortable with.
Almost as one, the survivors of Cuzco, conquerors of Huacas, slowly turned away from the fire and walked down the path and onto the road back to the capital.
20-
The return to Cuzco
It was a long, strange journey back to the capital. As they marched along the once busy road, nothing moved in the jungle around them and no sounds could be heard. It seemed that like Huacas, even the birds and animals had long since abandoned this place.
Masses of bodies lay all along all the paths and roads they came across. The survivors could not help but stare at the array of half-eaten men, women and children. Once or twice, a living person was seen creeping out of the jungle. Somehow, they had managed to keep themselves hidden away from the undead and now they were timidly and slowly emerging from their hiding places, as they heard the shouts of rejoice that the army of Supay had finally been vanquished. Although they had managed to stay alive, the shock and sadness were still etched all over their faces.
A few hours after they left Huacas, Minco stopped in his tracks and watched as a single middle-aged man dropped to his knees by the bodies of two young children. He could see that they had recently been turned, for as their mouths were still covered in dried and caked in blood. The man held the little girls in his arms and sobbed inconsolably, crying out, pleading to the power of the gods as he rocked them gently. Minco could not feel sorry for this man. He only felt deep disgust rising up from the pit of his stomach. How could a father just stay hidden away in a hole while his children were unsafe? He wanted to strike the man down but as his hand moved to the handle of his axe; Inguill gently placed her own hand on his.
“Please, Minco. There has been more than enough bloodshed these last few days. His sorrow and eternal shame will be his punishment, and he is welcome to it.”
Reluctantly, Minco let go of his axe and carried on walking. Inguill thought the man would never know how close he had just come to joining his children in death. Minco’s foul mood had not improved when Pizarro came up to the front to join him.
“Don’t forget your promise, Incan,” the Spaniard said clearly enough for everyone around to hear. “The gold is to be mine. I helped you get rid of this curse and now you must keep your end of the bargain.”
“Do not presume to tell me my duty,” Minco said, his eyes not meeting with Pizarro’s greedy gaze. Trust me; you will soon have all the gold that you crave so dearly.”
Pizarro slowed his pace down and looked distrustfully at Minco. Even after he had given his word, Pizarro was still not entirely sure he could trust the Incan. Especially not now, considering that he had left the man to fight the High Priest all alone. Only a few of his men had been left alive and his erstwhile hostage was back at Cuzco, now in the hands of Minco’s men. He needed some more assurance that he would be getting his gold, so he decided to go back down the line and talk to Yupanqui, the Kings younger brother.
Inguill’s dark eyes shifted to Minco once the Spaniard had fallen back into line and out of earshot. “Are you going to let him have the gold?”
“If it was my decision to make, then it would be a no,” he replied. “Unfortunately, the decision must be left to the King. I just hope he realises that even though it was Taipi that raised the dead, it was prompted by all the trouble the Spaniards caused. We need the King to make the right decision, and I pray that he gives me the call.”
Inguill looked back at Pizarro as he laughed and chatted amongst the others. The sight made her cringe. She too hoped the King would come to the right decision.
*****
As they made their way home, scores of refugees who were afraid to travel alone to the capital joined them; they seemed to need the protection of the soldiers. In less than a day and a night, they had gathered two hundred or more people along the way.
The journey got even stranger. The people they collected sang songs of victory as they walked along but they somehow felt nothing more than hollow to both Minco and Inguill. They had seen far too much death and destruction to feel any kind of happiness. Minco thought long and hard about what was left of the mighty Empire. Most of its soldiers had been called to Cuzco even before the beasts attacked. There were probably less than a thousand men left and they were spread throughout the vast empire in various towns and garrisons. The Empire still had a few enemies and their present weakness might just be the opening they after. He needed to get the army back up to strength- somehow.
Inguill also thought about the future, her future. She knew she would have much to do. There were so many souls to pray for and thousands of family members to help get through their grief. She did not know how she could answer their questions, chief among them, how their gods could have even allowed this nightmare to occur. Although she did not have the answers, she still held enough faith to know that there must have been a reason.
Even the great Pizarro had more than his fair share of worries. However, he was certain that one way or the other, he was soon going to have all the gold that he would ever need. And he was prepared to make it certain that no one would get in his way.
*****
They could not cross the ravine by the bridge, and the tree had long since fallen away, so nearly another full day was added onto their journey. Minco sent some freshly recruited runners ahead to spread the news of their victory. He wanted to get things to get back to normal as quickly as possible. The Incan people needed to get back to the normalcy of work too. There would be little time available for grieving, there was far too much to be done.
The nights the survivors spent in the jungle did not bring much sleep and for those who did, the nightmares of recent events soon had them screaming themselves awake again, staring with wide, dark-rimmed eyes at the campfires.
“We both need to speak to the King as soon as we get back,” Inguill said as she and Minco lay huddled around a little fire of their own making. “Things must change. I will not spend my life the way we were.”
Minco looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“I will no longer live my life like a lie,” she said, looking resolutely into his eyes. “Our love must be open for all to see. I no longer care what the law says. I want to hold you and kiss you whenever I can.”
Minco could not help but smile. “That sounds good,” he whispered. “You won’t get any argument from me.” They held each other tightly, taking so much comfort in one another.
*****
As the procession crested the last hill and the city came into view, none of them felt much joy or relief in their hearts. The sight that would once have brought great happiness, however now was just another scene of mindless slaughter and death. Outside its mighty walls, a sea of white lay where the grass should have been. No one guessed what it could be until they got close. When the people eventually recognised it, there was a chorus of barely choked sobs and wild wails of despair amongst them.
A massive sea of bone was all that was left of the soldiers and citizens of Cuzco. Their limbs had been picked clean and laid out on display.
Once again, with no way to get around the carnage the survivors had to endure walking gingerly through it. Their eyes were invariably drawn to the carnage as they moved and a few of them retched violently as the horrors of what they were doing came rushing to their heads. Skulls, bones and ribcages gleamed brightly in the warming morning sun and they all noticed that not one single bit of flesh or sinew remained. The hunger of the beasts had been nothing if not complete.
Once they ventured inside the gates, the survivors found things were only a little bit better. There were a few people milling aimlessly around, most likely looking for what was left of their loved ones. Some even called out their family members’ names in some sort of futile attempt to find someone still alive.
Minco’s heart lurched at what he saw. He knew that even though he had saved his King, he had failed to protect the city and its people. He kept his eyes straight ahead, not willing to see the eyes and faces of his citizens, the people he had abandoned.
As they walked the long road that led through the centre of the city to the palace, Inguill gave Minco’s hand a quick squeeze then let go. “I must go back to the temple now. There wi
ll already be plenty of people there who need me.”
Minco wanted to cling to her, telling her that he needed her too, but he understood her devotion. “Oh, I see,” he teased. “You want to avoid the King rambling on for the next hour.” He winked and gave a playful grin, doing his best to hide his pain. “You just leave it all to me then, I’ll hear his speech all alone.”
She smiled before departing, and then she was gone.
Minco hurried to join the others as they proceeded up the blood stained steps to the palace.
21- A New Incan Empire
Atahualpa was sitting on his throne when he saw the saviours of Cuzco enter and he quickly rose with a genuine smile of warmth to meet them. He thanked Minco, even with the Spaniard Pizarro still at his side.
“You have saved us, my Protector,” he shouted for all the court to hear. “You’ve saved us all. Come here my son, let me thank you.” As they approached, the King held his arms wide. Minco stepped towards him but in that instant, Pizarro flicked his wrist, bringing the sharp little knife into view once more and dove in front of Minco.
In an instant, the blade was forced deep into the frail monarch’s chest. The startled King looked down at the weapon, shocked by the sight of his own blood as it spread over his pristine robes. Without muttering another word, the king fell dead to the floor in an unceremoniously heap.
Even before the king’s body hit the ground, his few remaining guards had already drawn their weapons and were rushing towards his killer.
Yupanqui moved in between them quickly and stood with his own arms outstretched. He was keeping to his end of the bargain; he was doing exactly what Francisco Pizarro had told him to do. Yupanqui shouted at the court guards to keep back. He informed them that he- heir to the throne- was now their King and that they must now obey him in his brother’s stead.