Cave Dogs (Pachacuta Book 1)

by Brian Falkner

  ‘I’m hungry,’ Phil whined, as he had been doing incessantly, well OK, once or twice, since the mirror cave. I started to tell him to stop moaning but just as I was about to, I realised that I too was absolutely famished.

  We stopped, and shared out a little of the food that we all carried. Just a little. Jason declared a strict ration as we had no idea when we would next eat, and he was clearly right, so we all had little more than a sparrow’s breakfast and then carried on.

  We were down to two lights too; the person in front and the person at the rear. We had tried just one, at the front, but found that those behind kept tripping and stumbling on the not quite even ground. So we (actually Jenny) hit on the idea of the last person turning on his lamp, thus lighting the passage underfoot for the rest of us. We walked in single file although the passageway was wide enough to walk two, or even three, abreast in some places.

  Up ahead the passageway disappeared around a sweeping curve to the left. Jason was in front. We were taking it in turns so as not to use up any one person’s battery. Fizzer was behind Jason, then Tupai helping Phil, Jenny, and me last of all.

  It was Fizzer who said, as we rounded the curve, ‘There’s something strange about the rock walls ahead of us.’

  I looked and I couldn’t see anything. Jason stopped and said ‘Stranger than what, exactly?’

  The ragged but rounded walls looked exactly the same here as they had everywhere else, to me at least. I still hadn’t learned to rely on Fizzer’s sixth sense.

  We carried on, slowly, a little nervously, although there was nothing to be nervous about. But about twenty metres past the bend in the passageway there was a chorus of wild screams and the walls of the cave simply erupted.

  There was a blur of flying cloaks and a swishing of blades and somehow we were surrounded by crazed demons. If I had had time to blink into the ‘thing’ I might have seen what happened, but without it I was in the same boat as the rest of the group. One moment we were alone in a cave, the next, what we had taken for boulders had sprung into life and there were wild men in front of us and wild men behind us and I thought we were dead for sure.

  We bunched together, for whatever weak protection that offered us.

  ‘Phil,’ Jason said steadily, ‘Give the stick to Flea.’

  God, I thought, he expects me to take on the whole demon army with a broken spear. But it was better than no weapon at all so I gratefully took it.

  ‘Everybody stay calm,’ Jason said, not sounding all that calm, but making a reasonable fist of it. ‘Don’t panic or make any movements that could be seen as threatening.

  The wild men wore black face-masks made of some hard-looking substance. The masks were identically patterned with short wings of some kind jutting out from the sides above the level of their eyes. They were small in stature, as we had thought from the low doorways, but their musculature was well defined. In the light of our lamps their skin seemed pure ivory white.

  The capes that had concealed them against the sides of the cave had fluttered to the ground and they all wore very little, just a series of strategically placed pads of the same hard substance. Their shoulders, lower arms, groin, chest and stomach each had a protective covering, I could not see how they were attached. By no stretch of the imagination could you construe these as anything but warriors of some kind.

  The weapon they all carried seemed to be a combination of a club and a knife, held with the club end forward, but it was easy to see how the sharp, knife end of the weapon could be brought to bear.

  There was an ugly silence. A pause that got more nerve-wracking by the second. I noticed that the brightness of our two lamps seemed to unsettle the warriors and wondered if that could be a weapon we could use to our advantage. It didn’t seem quite big enough an advantage against their deadly looking blades.

  Jason swept his lamp over the group in front and they cowered a little, or at least flinched, protecting their eyes from the glare. Just then the tallest of them, still no bigger than Flea, the smallest of our party, pushed through the others and took up a position directly in front of us.

  He aimed the club end of his weapon directly at Jason, who happened to be the closest, and began to dance.

  I say dance, because unless you’ve seen a Maori ceremonial greeting you’ll have no idea of what I’m talking about. Not that this was a Maori ceremonial greeting, but it was definitely of the same ilk. The chanting, the prancing, the stamping of feet and the brandishing of a weapon.

  Jenny was on the same wavelength as I was as and she murmured, just loud enough for us to hear, ‘It’s a welcome of some sort.’

  Tupai agreed, using the Maori word, ‘A wero, part of a powhiri. But it’s not Maori in origin. At least it’s not like any I’ve ever seen.’

  At the mention of the word ‘welcome’ our group gave a collective exhaling of breath. I found I was crouching and straightened up to watch the ceremony. So did the others. The tension fled as rapidly as it had come and we watched with interest as the warrior went through his moves. There were even a few smiles and a little light chatter.

  I confess to an initial opinion that we had encountered a group of primitive savages, but that thought was quickly dispelled when Fizzer pointed out to me that at least two of them had guns of some kind strapped to their backs.

  One thing I knew about a powhiri was that someone in the visiting party needs to accept the ceremonial challenge. Jason knew it too and as the warrior finished, his deadly looking weapon pointing, sharp-end first now, towards us, Jason stepped forwards.

  For the record. It wasn’t a powhiri. It wasn’t a ceremonial greeting and it definitely wasn’t a welcome. It was a challenge and a deadly one, and what Jason did next brought him closer to losing his life than anything up to that time.

  He stepped up to the warrior, calmly reached out and took the weapon out of the man’s steady hands, bowed deeply, and turned back to the group.

  Behind the black mask the man blinked in astonishment. The other warriors behind him huddled together, holding urgent discussions in a language none of us had ever heard before.

  ‘Give him the weapon back,’ said Fizzer intuitively and Jason, who trusted Fizzer’s feelings far more than I did, did exactly that. He walked back to the frozen warrior and placed the knife/club back in his hands, then rejoined us.

  The warrior rejoined his own group, scuttling backwards in the soft dust, never taking his eyes off us.

  There were curious discussions in which the word ‘Pachacuteq’ figured prominently, then the warriors, en masse, faced us and copied Jason’s bow. They bowed deeply, although their eyes never lost contact, then stood and waited.

  The larger one said, in a questioning tone, ‘Pachacuteq?’

  I didn’t know the answer. I didn’t even understand the question. Jason said, ‘Bow again, all of us.’ And we did, in unison.

  Jenny’s delightful laugh tinkled out from the middle of our group. ‘This gets more surreal by the second.’

  The warriors bowed again. So did we. I guess it could have gone on all day if not for an urgent whispered call from somewhere at the back of the party. I distinctly heard the word ‘maeroero’, used more than once.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Phil wondered out loud.

  The large warrior pointed at us and made a fist in front of his mouth.

  ‘I think they want us to be quiet,’ Jason whispered. It suddenly seemed like very good advice.

  The warriors, no longer considering us a threat now that we were on bowing terms, started to move off, and the big one beckoned to us to follow. He pointed to Jason’s head and mine, and placed his fist over his mouth again. The meaning was just as clear. Silence your lamp. We obeyed.

  I say that they didn’t consider us a threat, but the smaller group behind us had watchful eyes on us the whole time. I felt them burning into my back as we moved through the darkened passageway.

  It was dark. Dark, but not black. As my eyes gradually accustomed to the
low light I realised that in fact the caves were lit by a dullish green glow that came from small crystals the warriors produced from within their capes.

  The big warrior came up close to our little group. He pointed to our feet, then clamped his fist over his mouth once again.

  Jason whispered, ‘I think he’s saying we’re making too much noise.’

  Fizzer said, ‘Try and move your feet the way he does. It’s much quieter.’

  I tried, and he was right. So did the others, and even Phil, limping along on Tupai’s shoulder, tried his best.

  I realised I was still holding the spear, and passed it back to Phil.

  I had the uncomfortable feeling that we had become part of a war party, and that we were on the trail of an enemy.

  It was a very uncomfortable feeling.

  6. Maeroero

  By Daniel Scott

  Monumental events in the history of the Runa people (for that was what they called themselves) were stirring around us but none of us had the vision to see it. Not even Fizzer. Certainly none of us thought of ourselves as anything special in any way. Not at that time. We were just a bunch of lost kids desperately searching for a way back to our homes and our families, back to the surface. And yet events were stirring even so, events that would one day be enshrined in the history books of these people to be endlessly studied by bored Runa children who would rather be out in the caverns playing with their sumatacu toys.

  These were events that would shake the foundations of another civilization as well. That blinkered, pampered society of sky-dwellers. Those who lived on the surface of the planet Earth.

  We had no possible way of knowing, of even guessing, that we were laying the foundations for the next great pachacuti. Pachacuti. Translated literally it meant ‘the world turned upside down’. The cosmic transmutation between one era and the next.

  We crept forward down the dimly lit tunnels with only a growing sense, and expectation, of danger.

  I realised, rather belatedly, that roughly half of our new friends (captors?) were female. There were certain accommodations in the chest plates of the black battle armour they wore, and an adjustment at the groin. Other than that they were indistinguishable.

  The armour was sparse, covering just vital organs and other strategic areas of the body. Their buttocks were exposed (not being a vital organ) and as our party silently made its way through the undulating caves the utter absurdity of the situation was brought home to me once again by the crop of bums, glowing green in the light of the crystals (shili crystals they were called) clambering over the rocks in front of me.

  The absurdity was abrogated by the growing apprehension, tension that intensified as we ducked through a cutting in one wall of a tunnel, into another larger tunnel beyond.

  Several of the warriors were examining the dust on the floor of the passageway. It looked exactly the same as the dust elsewhere to me, but they obviously saw a difference in it.

  A thought struck me and I glanced behind us. The three warriors who made up the rearguard had a peculiar way of swishing their capes over the floor as we travelled, and I suddenly realised that they were smoothing the dust behind us, covering the marks of our passage. These warriors were obviously expert at reading slight imperfections in the smoothing of the dust, or perhaps not quite as expert as they would have liked to be, judging by the furious argument that was raging, very quietly, in front of us.

  After a few moments of this we continued our journey, our ‘hunt’, in my opinion. The six of us trudged slowly, trying our best to copy the sliding, floating, almost silent, movements of the warriors. Unsure of where we were, why we were, who we were.

  Tupai remained impassive. Alert, aware, but emotionless. That was Tupai. He didn’t go looking for trouble, but if it was looking for him, then he was ready for it, and there was little that scared him. Little that he didn’t think he could handle, one way or another.

  Jenny looked terrified, but there was a determination to the set of her jaw that I could see even in the half light of the glowing crystals. She was not going to be the one to let us down, no matter what happened.

  Jason was hesitant. Doubtful. Thrust into the role of team leader with no preparation or training for the role, and ready to give it up at a moment’s notice should any of us step forward. If we should survive that long, I thought miserably.

  Phil was hardly with us, lost in the private agony of his badly insulted leg.

  Fizzer alone of all of us, glowed with what I can only describe as an ‘awareness’. A conviction that the Universe was at last revealing its great plan to him.

  A hand signal of some kind passed like lightning from one warrior to another and the three behind us scurried forwards and ushered us into a side passage. With some basic sign language we were instructed to lie on the floor, and again the fist over the mouth, this time two fists. Be very silent.

  The rearguard melted out into the main passage to join their comrades and we were alone. The silence was complete, just the sounds of our breathing and occasional small grunts from Phil. Even the breathing seemed to echo loudly in the confines of the small passage. From the main passage there was no sound at all and after a few minutes that seemed like a few hours I crept forwards slowly, Indian fashion, and peered out down the length of the main corridor.

  The warriors were gone. The passageway was empty, just all swallowing blackness. They had ushered us into a side passage and then deserted us. It made no sense at all.

  I almost rose to go and look for them when I remembered the first ambush and froze. We were strangers here and something was about to happen that was beyond our comprehension. The sensible thing to do was to wait.

  I waited. I watched, as well as I could, peering into the pitch black. I stayed still. I stayed silent. I waited.

  A dull glow suddenly illuminated the far end of the corridor as if a dim light had turned a corner up ahead. I could hear nothing, but the light intensified and eventually split into several lights, more bluish than green, weaving and bobbing in a regular fashion.

  Behind me Phil whispered, ‘What the hell is going on?’

  I made an urgent, low, shushing noise.

  The lights grew larger, illuminating now their holders. Whatever I was looking at, they weren’t of the same race as the warriors we were travelling with. I wasn’t even sure they were of the human race. Their crystals were larger and brighter, and dangled on the ends of short cords from their waists, giving them the weaving, bobbing movement I had noticed.

  The people/creatures holding the lights were taller than the warriors, taller than us, although not by much. But the thing that was most obvious, and most obviously strange, was the hair. They were covered in hair, much like an ape or an orang-utan, except white. They didn’t walk like animals though. They walked upright, as humans do. Their faces were almost simian, but almost human too. Perhaps in better lighting conditions it might be possible to make a judgement. They looked immensely strong, in the way that an orang-utan is strong, able to tear a man limb from limb. Each carried a spear and there seemed to be a knife of some sort strapped across a breast plate. A word came to mind; Maeroero.

  They looked fierce, and fearsome. I wondered how our warriors would fare against so large and dangerous looking a creature. I was wrong about that, but I was wrong about almost everything in those first few days so it was not really all that surprising.

  The corridor appeared empty and I had a rising fear as the party approached, worried that our warriors had left us alone at the mercy of these hellish creatures.

  Closer they came, and in the light of their crystals I could see a burden, something carried between two of the strong creatures. A few more steps and I could see that it was a man.

  Whoever it was, it was definitely a man, not one of the Maeroero. His arms and legs were void of the white hair that covered the others. That, however, was all I could see of him as he was strapped, by the hands, feet and mid-section, to a long pole, carried easily
by two Maeroero. He was clearly some sort of captive. For all I knew he was dinner.

  The greenish/blue lights of the party cast strange shadows off the walls of the tunnel and I worried again about the whereabouts of our new friends. I needn’t have worried. The fighters had the ability to meld with the rock walls of the tunnels with their carefully coloured camouflage capes and the Maeroero were almost upon us when they attacked.

  The first time you see a Runa attack in one of the great nans, or tunnels, of Ukhu Pacha you hope fervently it will be your last. The life we live above ground is so protected, so cosseted. Lift a telephone to have the police or the ambulance or the fire department to your door in mere minutes. The greatest danger we face on a daily basis is the risk of slipping over in the shower, or spraining our finger on the TV remote control.

  These warriors attacked with a bloodthirsty vengeance and the knives and clubs were real, not toys or playthings.

  They screamed as they swept away their cloaks and sprang from the walls, falling on the unsuspecting Maeroero. Most of the force attacked from the front, but two of them, one on each side, ran up the wall of the tunnel, across the roof upside down – I swear this is true – and down the other side of the tunnel to land behind the hirsute creatures and attack from the opposite side.

  The captive was unceremoniously dropped on the hard rocky floor of the tunnel, and one of the Maeroero who had been carrying him slashed down at him with a nasty, jagged-edged knife.

  His body jerked mid-thrust, however, and he fell forward, his throat torn open by a flashing sliver of silver. I could not see where it had come from, but saw one of the warriors lowering one of the strange guns we had seen strapped to their backs.