by Jon Saboe
The nine Survivors circled closely over him as Manco Cachi produced a long slender knife which gleamed in the overhead firelight.
“Your heart betrayed you first, and you became its first victim. It then betrayed Apu Inti, and he now demands its return.”
He raised his arms above his head.
“We are sad to see you depart.”
The men from the Urbat approached silently, holding their staffs as Untash had instructed. They were within five paces, and it appeared that the surprise was going to be complete.
Suddenly Peleg’s foot slipped on a loose stone, and his feet went out from under him. He managed to hang onto his staff, but the other end fell to the ground with a loud Clack!, and more loose stones went flying as his arms and hands flailed across the floor in a failed attempt to catch himself.
The priests turned at the sudden commotion. They tried to peer into the darkness, but their night vision was gone and their large hoods hindered their peripheral view.
Loud screams came from the night and the priests stood in shock as wild apparitions, the color of pasty mud, emerged from the darkness and bore down upon them.
Too late, they recognized their attackers.
Waca!
The men from the Urbat rushed in with their large carrying staffs. Thaxad successfully struck down his two men, while Untash fulfilled his earlier promise of three. Serug dropped his first target, but somehow, his second man (who happened to be High Priest Manco Cachi) turned just in time to deflect Serug’s blow with his forearm. The High Priest fell to the ground, but his knife was knocked from his hand and flew through the air until it landed (almost striking the bound Manco Chavin) on the stone table, skittering to a stop near the edge.
By this time, Peleg was back on his feet and had already struck down his first man. However, his second man (who was now the last priest standing) arched backwards to avoid Peleg’s staff. In so doing, he almost lost his balance, but he managed to grab the edge of the stone table and, as he straightened, he spotted Manco Cachi’s aberrant knife. He grabbed it and lunged towards Peleg, who was now completely disoriented—his initial determination now fully replaced by confusion and fear. Just as the knife was about to enter Peleg, the man was suddenly knocked sideways as Untash rushed in with his staff and stuck a violent blow to his right kidney, crumpling him immediately.
Manco Cachi was the only priest who was still able to move, but after seeing his fellow priests fall, he had spun around, and was now running towards the eastern steps.
The men from the Urbat gathered around the stone table, breathing heavily.
Manco Chavin was visibly terrified, as his source of fear had been transferred from the murderous priests to what appeared to be genuine Waca.
As Serug and Untash untied him, the fallen priest whispered with a terrified, questioning tone.
“Waca? Waca?”
Serug spoke to him.
“We are not Waca,” he assured him. “We’re just dirty.”
Recognition came suddenly.
“How did you get out?” he asked, incredulous.
“Well,” Peleg answered him, intoxicated with giddy relief. “It’s quite a story. We first used our robes to…”
“No time,” hissed Untash. “That priest will be bringing guards soon. We must leave NOW!”
Manco Chavin was up and rubbing his wrists.
“Which way?” Untash asked him.
After a brief moment’s thought, he replied, “We must head towards the sea. There is no way we can travel the mountains without being caught.”
“No,” said Thaxad. “Our ship is on the coast to the Southeast. We must go in that direction.”
“That is not possible,” Manco Chavin said emphatically. “Soon there will be guards and patrols everywhere.”
As if in response, loud, resonant bells began ringing from the west.
“They will be here soon,” Manco Chavin urged. “We must run to the sea and swim to escape. I know where we can hide.”
Upon hearing this, Untash ordered, “Remove your robes. We can’t swim with them around our legs. From now on they are useless.”
They tossed their robes aside and sprinted up the northern steps toward the sea, running as fast as they could.
As they approached the beach they could hear men yelling after them. The sun was just beginning to appear over the mountains, and in the first pale light of daybreak they could see the thick cloud of fog covering the surface of the sea that stretched out in front of them. They ran, crouching low in the fog, and then dove into the water as small darts struck the sands behind them. They swam in silence under cover of the vapor listening to men on the shore shout for boats and lights. They brushed aside small clumps of reeds which collected on the surface as they resignedly followed Manco Chavin who seemed to have the semblance of a plan.
Peleg was surprised at the buoyancy of the water and remembered the salt he had smelled earlier. This was indeed a salt-water sea, high in the mountains! He could taste the salinity as small wavelets pushed water and spray into his mouth.
They continued swimming for about thirty minutes as their lungs ached with the additional pain of gasping in the thin air. Eventually, Manco Chavin led them to a large natural raft of matted reeds and leaves. He climbed on top of it and motioned for the others to follow.
Slowly the men pulled themselves onto the matte. For the second time in less than eight hours they were glad to be out of the water—even though this time they were not on dry land. They gasped, trying to restore their breathing to normal, and looked back through the fog in a useless attempt to see any pursuers.
After several minutes of calm, Peleg began to look around the place where they were resting.
“I’m surprised this clump of reeds can support us,” commented Peleg.
“Oh, this is nothing,” said the priest, slightly amused. “Some families build their entire house on mattes such as this. They can be strengthened and tied together to last for many years.”
“Where do we go now?” asked Thaxad eventually.
“Soon the mist will clear and we can see whether or not any searchers are near us. After that we can head for the western shore and find something to eat.”
“That sounds good to me,” announced Serug.
Surprisingly, five priests—in addition to Manco Cachi—were still alive. They regained consciousness as the sun began to rise above them, and began cautiously touching the welts and bruises on the backs of their necks. Manco Chivo’s lower back ached as his damaged kidney pulsated, shooting darts of excruciating pain throughout his entire body.
Strangely, the three who had not survived had been standing together, and seemed to have been attacked by the same assailant. Upon examination it was found that all three had had their skulls separated from the cervical vertebrae, expertly severing all spinal connection.
Manco Cachi was returning down the western steps and came running towards them.
“You are alive!” he exclaimed.
“Not all of us,” said Manco Chivo. “The demons killed Manco Chando, Manco Khavo, and Manco Pampu.”
The High Priest knelt down beside the dead priests, anger and bewilderment in his face.
Manco Krievo held his bruised neck in his hand. He had been struck on the side and his jaw was swollen, but miraculously not broken. His slurred speech betrayed his pain.
“What do we do?” he asked, his eyes filled with fear. “What do we tell the non-Survivor priests?”
“What do we tell the people?” demanded Manco Chivo.
Their High Priest looked down on them with fiery eyes which communicated both his towering rage and agonizing loss. He looked down at the muddy robes which appeared as if their occupants had simply vanished, letting them drop in piles around the stone table.
“We shall tell them this:”
He waited until all eyes were fastened on his.
“The Waca are real! They have killed three priests. We must be forever vi
gilant should more of their kind appear.”
The mid-morning sun burned the last of the fog away, and the fugitives could now look across the sea. They had entered the beach to the left of the main piers, and small crafts similar to the ones Thaxad had commented on earlier could be seen circling that area and moving along the shoreline.
Thankfully, none were coming in their direction.
“We should be safe here for a while,” stated Manco Chavin. “They will be looking for you to return to the paths we used when we arrived.”
He looked at Thaxad.
“They will thoroughly search the regions you need to travel to return to your ship.”
“What should we do now?” asked Peleg.
“We will rest for a few hours, then swim from one reed raft to the next. We need to get as far north as possible before going ashore. If we see a patrol vessel approaching, we can hide under one of these reed mats where there are air pockets.”
Peleg did not enjoy the thought of treading more water.
“That is completely in the wrong direction,” protested Thaxad. “We must return immediately to our ship which is somewhere off the coast, far to the southwest! Our Captain will leave in less than four weeks!”
“You can never make it,” Manco Chavin declared with a sad urgency in his eyes. “The priests can not let you live. Besides, even if you were not hindered by hunters and could travel freely, you still could not make the trip in that time.”
He looked at each of them.
“It took you three weeks just to find me.”
Manco Chavin let the heavy reality sink in before he continued.
“My thought is this: There are artisans and sculptors who live on the plateaus north of the sea. I believe these plains extend to the west and perhaps we could make it to the coast where one of their small vessels could reach your ship in time.”
Peleg looked at Thaxad.
“I don’t see any alternative,” he said gently.
They rested quietly, adjusting to their new reality.
As the sun rose in the sky, they began to absorb the warmth and light which they had been denied the previous day. The surface of the matte adjusted to the contours of the waves beneath, gently rocking them as they all fell asleep except Serug, whose stomach would not stop growling.
For the past six months, Reiimu had been diligently adjusting the weights and calibrating the pressure valves and water levels in his water clock within the ever-growing Acapana. He was constantly tweaking his minute counters and shifting the balances on the hour chambers, but his ultimate test occurred each day at noon when he could check the chamber’s release against the overhead sun.
It simply made no sense. For the past two weeks, the water clock’s “noon” had precisely matched the meridian, and he knew his settings were finally accurate. Yet today—without him changing anything—the water had came pouring out almost two hours early!
It was the ultimate frustration. He had only two more days before the final blocks would be put into place, preventing him from any future calibrations. He hated to change anything, and all he could do was double check all of his settings, look for leaks, wait until noon tomorrow, and hope all would be well.
But even if everything went perfectly, he would always be haunted by the knowledge that it had failed once—and his life would be forfeit if it failed again.
They awoke with the noon sun beating down on them. For the most part, their clothing was dry, and hunger was now the predominant thought on everyone’s mind.
They could see two small vessels along the beach in the southwest, and decided it was time to move on.
They went to the far side of the reed matte and dove in, swimming underwater as much as possible. The water was much warmer now, and the thick saltiness permeated their sense of smell as they swam.
As they reached the next matte, Peleg asked, “How big is this sea?”
Thaxad said, “Actually, I believe this is just a very large lake. It just extends beyond the horizon.”
“How did all of this sea-water get up here?” Serug asked Thaxad suddenly.
“What do you mean?” The question seemed very strange.
“I mean, how did this ‘lake’ get full? There’s no runoff from the surrounding mountains to make it fresh, and the surrounding rivers are fed from it. No amount of rainfall could make up for that.”
“No amount of rainfall could fill it in the first place,” added Untash.
“He’s right,” said Peleg. “Over the next few thousand years, this body of water will slowly empty—but there is no way it could have been filled.”
They looked to Manco Chavin for his input, but he shrugged.
“I have never considered it,” he said. “I was told that it was the ‘Sea on top of the World’ which awaited the Survivors after the Crossing.”
He paused.
“Of course, I was told a lot of things.”
“Still,” pressed Serug. “Somehow this enormous volume of water was brought to this elevation. It didn’t just flow up here.” He looked at Manco Chavin. “This would mean that someday your great Tiwanaku Seaport will be many leagues away from its receding shoreline.”
After some silence, Thaxad spoke.
“It is a result of the Great Calamity,” he announced.
“There were no great mountains before that time,” he continued. “The Great Calamity covered the entire globe with water from tremendous tidal waves and ruptured subterranean water caverns.” He spread his hands to encompass their surroundings. “All of this would have been submerged, and in the convulsions that followed, this continent was lifted out of the waters to its current heights. As the waters ran off the land, this large depression remained filled. We are swimming in the original waters of the Great Calamity.”
“That would explain why this is seawater,” said Peleg.
Manco Chavin spoke.
“We were told that a great comet preceded the destruction you speak of. When it broke apart, it rained down, causing great floods and damage.”
Peleg chimed in.
“Actually, many, where we are from, believe it was another world which broke apart. They believe that powerful non-human life existed before that time, and that they escaped the Great Calamity.”
He stopped suddenly, realizing he was sounding like Mentor Inanna, and he had never spoken of this to anyone besides Serug, and certainly not in front of Mentor Thaxad.
Manco Chavin studied him closely.
“And where did they escape to?” he asked with sudden interest.
Peleg looked around sheepishly and continued, dismissively.
“Well, some think they escaped into the heavens somehow. Of course, these are just different strange ideas that I’ve heard from time to time. Some believe they may be hiding on the moon or perhaps they traveled to a world that will someday return. Or they could be alive just about anywhere, if they survived at all.” He tried to disentangle himself from the whole issue. “Of course, such beings probably never existed at all. Just superstitions that intelligent people don’t take seriously.” He laughed nervously, glancing at Serug.
“The Wari do,” said Manco Chavin with great earnestness and some incredulity.
“Who are they?” asked Untash.
“They are the artisans we are going to visit. They create great sand paintings and sculptures to try and attract the attention of beings just like those you describe. They also are descendants of the Survivors, who choose to focus their attention on lesser Atua. They are typical youths—rebellious artists who are harmless; and since they live so far from Tiwanaku, they are tolerated.”
This was the first time since their visit that Peleg had heard the word Atua. This had been Kupé’s collective word for gods.
Manco Chavin looked up abruptly.
“I see sails along the far shore,” he said. “We should keep moving.”
They again dove off the far side of the matte and resumed their swimming. They swam
overhand, now that they were less likely to be spotted, and traveled at a much more relaxed pace. The ships were far behind them, and they were able to continue for over an hour.
Eventually they focused their attention on a reed matte which was quickly approaching. They pulled themselves to dry “land” and stretched out beneath the sun which had now passed the zenith.
They were unable to see the port they had left early that morning. And the few ships they had witnessed earlier had barely moved, and seemed to be returning to Tiwanaku.
“They will abandon any more searching in this direction,” Manco Chavin stated. “They know you must return in the direction you came from, and will focus all of their resources to patrol the regions which I administer.”
He paused.
“Or used to administer.”
Peleg looked out at the huge volume of water surrounding them, and had another question.
“Do you know how deep this sea—or lake—is?” he asked Manco Chavin. “I mean, have any of your people measured it or tried to explore it?”
Manco Chavin smiled, for the first time that morning.
“When we first arrived, small expeditions were sent out to explore these waters, but most of them were not concerned with the depth. Why do you ask?”
“I was just thinking about where it all came from, and if this lake were very deep, then that makes the question even more difficult. It means there is a lot more water that had to come from somewhere.”
“Well, there are areas in this body of water that are too deep to measure,” Manco Chavin said. “But if you want a real mystery, then I will have to tell you that there are some divers who have reported finding ruins of ancient cities in the depths of Tiwanaku.”
His eyes twinkled at Peleg.
“Of course, they were silenced, since this area was created anew by Viracocha just for us.” He shook his head as one who was now an unbeliever. “But it is impossible to see anything in these salty waters.”
Suddenly Peleg had to see into the depths and discover what might rest beneath them.