by Jon Saboe
It would also be wonderful to reacquaint his subjects with another of his previous titles: Lord of Hunters. His great hunting skill had created grand legends in the time before the Great Awakening.
When he returned, he would give himself the greater title of Sargon. Ruler over all. None would oppose him as he finished unifying humanity under his banner.
Chapter 23
Power
“When the hopes and dreams of a religion are realized, the need for that religion vanishes.”
Less than two months ago, this chamber had held thirteen men and a corpse. The quandary which had drawn them together at that time paled in significance to the issue which threatened them now.
Four priests were mysteriously absent at this secret convening of the Inner Nine. These nine were the family heads of the original Survivors—and blood brothers, sons of the Founder. The gravity of this situation demanded that those who had not made the crossing be excluded.
“We always feared that this day would come.” High Priest Manco Cachi looked at each of his brothers in turn. “The stability of our nation requires that our subjects have full and total trust in their priests. We are their caretakers, and their voice of truth. Chaos will ensue if they cannot rest in our infallibility—the voice of Apu Inti.”
Manco Khavo spoke. He was the oldest—next to Manco Cachi—and presided over the most distant district. It was fortunate that he had been visiting nearby when his falcon had found him, or he would not have arrived in time for the meeting.
“We established this belief system to give our people pride. They must know they are sons and daughters of the sun, Apu Inti—his special creation. We are rebuilding the world in his image. This existence of other peoples, who apparently were not destroyed, completely undermines this.”
“I have always warned of this,” said Manco Chivo. He was the youngest brother of the nine. “That is why I instituted the Sentries which were to watch for outsiders. If there were any chance at all that others survived the Curse, I knew that someday they might come exploring. We invented the Waca, and warned our Sentries that these demons might arrive wearing the garb of the old land…”
“And,” the High Priest interrupted, “the sentries have performed their function.”
Their father, Founder d’Jaqtan, had warned of the coming curse. A curse that would bring unimaginable warfare, bloodshed, and confusion, destroying all mankind. When this happened, Viracocha would surely destroy the world with water again. This time, however, they would be prepared.
A large barge was constructed, and, although Founder d’Jaqtan did not accompany them, the families, households, and servants of these nine men launched across the eastern sea with basic supplies and livestock. During the crossing, the predicted catastrophes never came, but it was finally proclaimed to all that the Curse had occurred—and that all human life had been destroyed. Viracocha had selected them as his only Survivors.
Manco Cachi continued.
“Our sentry has successfully intercepted these Waca, and dutifully reported them to Manco Chavin. They will be here momentarily.”
“However, they are not demons,” said Manco Khavo. “How long will we be able to pretend that these visitors are not men?”
“When it comes to the stability of our society, it is imperative that they be demons. We will question them, and then they will be eliminated—with utmost secrecy.” Manco Cachi decreed. “No one has seen them arrive, and Manco Chavin has certainly insisted they come robed and inconspicuous.”
“And what of Manco Chavin?” asked Manco Chando. He spoke quietly and rarely, but when he did, the other priests paid rapt attention.
“Manco Chavin is our thirteenth priest,” continued Manco Chando. “He and our other three priests know nothing of this. They believe as the rest of the people do. Do we now inform him?”
“There is no need,” said the High Priest. “We shall find that these men are indeed Waca, and honor him for his diligence.” He looked around for dissent, and found none.
“The Waca will be destroyed, our land will be saved, and the faith of our people will be strengthened.” The brothers nodded. “If all goes well, Manco Chavin can return to his outpost as a hero.”
A loud metallic booming sound echoed from the giant stone door.
“They have arrived.”
“This is unbelievable!”
Mentor Thaxad stared at the pyramid which was under construction. Although they were careful to keep their hoods over their heads, nothing could stop them from looking around at the amazing architecture which existed so far inland—and so high in the mountains.
“You’re not usually this excitable,” said Peleg. “What is so amazing to you?”
“If I hadn’t been climbing mountains for the last month, I would swear I was back in Kemet. The architecture, the casting, and the settlement arrangement are just like where I apprenticed for Paleochemistry.”
“I’m sure it was much warmer there,” Peleg responded, intrigued by the tall Mentor’s exuberance. They had walked straight through the first night, and climbed steadily throughout the preceding day. Manco Chavin had camped that night, saying they were close enough, and could rest.
During their trek they had crossed two more rope bridges—one at night! Peleg wasn’t sure which was worse: the terrifying view during the day, or crossing an invisible rope (in the pitch dark with no moon) which could only be discerned with one’s feet.
And as their altitude increased, so did the ache in their chests as it became more and more difficult to fill one’s lungs with the thin, cool air.
They continued walking, and Manco Chavin led them into the city. He stopped and gestured towards the pyramid.
“The Acapana of Tiwanaku,” he announced proudly. “As you can see, it is still under construction.”
“Your Citadel is much darker than the one at home,” Peleg observed.
“Yes,” agreed Thaxad. “You appear to use much of the mountain ores and some metals in your composites.”
They followed Manco Chavin as he led them around the front of the pyramid. They approached a set of large stone steps, and began to ascend. They reached a narrow limestone bridge which spanned the large moat of murky water that surrounded the structure.
“The meeting chamber is through here,” he said, pointing to a large trapezoid entrance. He led them around a ledge next to some scaffolding where workwomen were hauling buckets of castor-compounds suspended from yokes across their shoulders.
“We must hurry. The message was very insistent that we arrive before noon.”
As they began to enter the hallway, Peleg turned to look over his shoulder to the North. His eyes widened and his mouth opened at what he saw.
They were now several meters above the surrounding landscape, and across from the Acapana he could see a palatial courtyard with several large statues and a wall constructed in a manner similar to that which Thaxad claimed had been used for the base of Kupé’s statues.
But that is not what had captured Peleg’s attention. Just beyond this courtyard was an enormous deep-blue sea which stretched further than the eye could sea. It rolled with cold, dark swells, and he could smell the crisp coolness in the air.
He knew it ought to be fresh water, but he swore he could smell salt, as if from a large body of seawater. He suddenly missed the Urbat. He saw many boats of various sizes which seemed to be constructed from reeds.
Tiwanaku was a seaport! He also thought he saw, in the distance, small islands or rafts made of reeds, some of which appeared to have buildings erected on them. But he couldn’t be sure.
“These are just like the vessels of Kemet.” Thaxad had turned to stand behind him. “The only difference is they seem to use sails with only three sides.”
“You must follow me,” urged Manco Chavin. He gave them a warning look. “And you also must remember what I told you about speaking in your alien tongue.”
They hurried down the hall after him. He was stand
ing before a large stone door and Klempé was pressing fearfully into his side. The sentry had not spoken once on their entire trip, and Peleg was sure he still thought they were dreaded Waca.
They clustered around Manco Chavin as he reached for a large metal pole which was suspended vertically overhead. A bronze mallet was attached to the end, and he grasped this in both hands and swung it against the door.
There was a low resonating clang, after which they waited while the cool air blew in behind them.
Slowly, the large door swung silently open.
Manco Chavin first sensed something was wrong when he saw the four empty seats. He looked around for the missing three, but they were nowhere to be seen.
“High Priest Manco Cachi,” he began, deferentially. “Will the others be joining us?” It was a deliberate attempt at false naiveté, in hopes of getting information. It was no accident that the missing three were also those who were not original Survivors.
Manco Cachi responded.
“These proceedings involve judgments and discernment requiring knowledge from before the Crossing. Non-Survivors have no such wisdom and cannot assist in this matter.” He lowered his voice and focused a stern eye on Manco Chavin.
“And they shall continue to know nothing of what transpires here.”
Manco Chavin nodded dutifully.
“In addition, you are expected to remember nothing when you leave, repeating it to no one.” He turned away abruptly without waiting for agreement. Manco Chavin was disturbed, for he had always felt the equal of his fellow priests.
The High Priest’s attention turned toward Klempé. The scared sentry was cringing against the wall, trying to remain invisible.
“Approach, Sentry Klempé,” instructed Manco Cachi.
The man walked slowly to the center of the room.
“You have performed a great service to your people,” the High Priest began.
“With great courage and faithfulness, you found and reported these Waca as they attempted to enter our land. You prepared for this from your birth, and perhaps had days when you doubted your task—or the truth of these demons. Yet, you have seen with your own eyes their existence, and Apu Inti has judged from above and found you worthy.”
He stood and approached Klempé.
Reaching into the folds of his robe, he produced a large gold medallion attached to a thin gold-link chain, and placed it around the Sentry’s neck.
Klempé looked down in astonishment. It was a large, hand-sized representation of Viracocha with the bright rays of Apu Inti radiating from his head. In each hand he grasped a falcon and a condor, and he stood upon the back of a subjugated cougar. The entire piece was comprised of solid gold, and flashes of light reflected from the fire lamps which lined the room.
“You must inform everyone of your great deed, and of the truth and danger of the Waca. All will revere you when they see your reward.”
Klempé’s eyes looked up, shining with religious fervor. Never again would he doubt the truth and benevolence of his priests.
“You may leave now, and may the blessings of Apu Inti be upon you.”
The stone door slowly opened, and the re-born Sentry Klempé bowed his thanks, then retreated backward through the doorway. He could never have imagined that such an honor would come his way. A prouder and more devoted man never existed than the one which exited the chamber that day. Klempé would now receive the respect which he had always known was due him.
The High Priest’s attention turned to Manco Chavin.
“You, also, deserve much credit for delivering these Waca.” Manco Cachi’s face was relaxed and friendly.
“Although you are not a Survivor, you have performed well, and your fellow priests honor you.” His fellow priests—minus the other three non-Survivors—nodded in agreement.
The men from the Urbat felt a dread settle upon them as they began to realize that their fate had been decided long before they arrived in this chamber. Peleg had understood more clearly than the others what Klempé's reward meant.
Manco Chavin drew himself up. He had never imagined he would find himself confronting the priests who had so graciously taken him in and trained him to serve Apu Inti.
“Manco Cachi,” he began, “I came here with the understanding that we were to discuss the status of these strangers. I don’t see why it should be assumed they are demons, without discussion.” He looked at the priest’s dispassionate faces.
“Is this how Apu Inti would have us receive guests?” he implored, cautiously.
The young Manco Chivo looked directly at him.
“Remove their robes,” he demanded.
Taken aback, Manco Chavin reached toward the men, but Peleg had understood clearly, and began removing his robe, motioning the others to do the same.
With the robes placed on the floor, the men from the Urbat stood in their leather-pleated ship uniforms which exhibited the wear from their six-years of travel, although they had been cleaned expertly by Manco Chavin’s servants. Despite the fact that they were still fully clothed, Peleg felt as if he were naked by the way the priests stared at them.
“True men would never dress in this manner,” intoned Manco Chivo, speaking loudly as he addressed the other priests. “From before the Crossing, our Founder warned of such creatures, and we have guarded against them faithfully since our arrival.”
He turned back towards Manco Chavin.
“Regardless of how beguiling they may be, it would be wise for you to respect the combined knowledge of this priesthood. There are simply things which you do not know, and which can not be explained further.”
Manco Chavin turned his eyes from priest to priest and began to waver. Surely faith was more important than any other virtue that he, as a priest, could offer. And, he conceded, he was not a Survivor.
Peleg decided it was time to speak for himself. He stepped forward and addressed the High Priest.
“High Priest Manco Cachi. I must humbly request that you consider my words as I appeal to your mercy for me and my companions.
“We have most assuredly traveled many years from across your great Western Sea, and only seek to learn from your wisdom. apologize for our dress and slow speech. We have the utmost reverence for Apu Inti, and sincerely wish only to honor you and your people. If we have in any way disgraced ourselves or arrived against your desires, we sincerely apologize, and will be happy to remove ourselves from your people—never to return, if that is your wish.”
Manco Cachi looked at the other priests and spoke as if he had just received the proof that he needed.
“As you can see for yourselves, such a degraded tongue could never come from the lips of true men. They attempt to deceive; yet one can easily hear they are uncomfortable with human speech.”
He turned to Manco Chavin.
“We have arranged a place for these strangers. Put their robes back on them.”
The men from the Urbat understood and hurriedly replaced their robes in one last desperate attempt to demonstrate their comprehension and, in turn, their humanity.
The priests of Apu Inti rose and walked towards them. Four walked past and encircled them, while the High Priest beckoned to Manco Chavin.
“Come and lead your creatures to their new home.”
The new prisoners were surrounded by the nine priests who coerced them towards a narrow hallway at the other side of the chamber. Peleg noticed Untash making a fist and preparing to fight.
“Not now, Untash,” he whispered harshly. “We can’t take all of them.”
One of the priests overheard and smashed Peleg on the side of his face.
“No demon talk!” He looked to Manco Chavin. “What more proof do you need?”
They were herded down a corridor, and then turned to face a large round opening in the wall on the right. The leading priests made way, and the four men were forced up through the opening where they fell into a large square room on the other side. In the dim light, there seemed to be no cei
ling, but it was very damp with condensation on the walls and small puddles of water on the floor.
Once inside, they watched as a large stone plug slid down, and then into the opening, sealing the only exit and eliminating any light source from the outside hallway. Iron handles on the outside were used to pull the stone tight, leaving the plug on the inside flush with the surrounding surface. The thick cast walls prevented any noise of the retreating priests from entering the cell, and the only sound within was the heavy breathing of four men and the quiet dripping of water from someplace far overhead.
Mentor Thaxad was the first to speak.
“I do believe we have been selected for live burial.”
If the High Priest had not told him himself, Kriema would not have believed it. But Manco Cachi had taken him aside that morning before the workwomen arrived and warned him.
Kriema was in charge of preparing casting molds and installing limestone foundation girders for construction adjacent to the Acapana. He was also the taskmaster overseeing twelve supervisory workwomen.
“Strangers from a far district are arriving today,” the High Priest had told him, simply. “And we have reason to believe that one of them is a thief and plans to steal one of our most sacred icons.”
Kriema shook his head in disbelief. To risk the wrath of Apu Inti was unthinkable. To demonstrate such sickness of heart was unimaginable.
The High Priest continued.
“You are to observe them as they enter and watch. If there is a thief among them, he will certainly leave alone, before the others, and our suspicions will be confirmed. It will be your duty to deal with him.”
Kriema nodded.
“I shall confront him and retrieve whatever he has taken and return it.”
Manco Cachi had looked into his eyes as if this were a test.
“Do you believe that is sufficient for one whose heart is as damaged as this?”