The condor prophecy, p.24
The Condor Prophecy, page 24
part #3 of Hiram Kane Series
“One day I’ll make up for it,” he whispered. “One day.” Kane rolled over, and clutching his Sun Disc drifted off to sleep once more.
The darkest of the night had melted away over the mountains, and a pale dawn infiltrated the magnificent Inca walls of Vilcabamba.
Unable to sleep any longer Alexandria Ridley rolled over in her sleeping bag. Roused from her semi-conscious state by a gentle shaking, she put it down to a realistic dream. Alex unzipped her tent and breathed in the cool, crisp air. From her position she made out the distant silhouettes of jungled mountain slopes, the tops of which glowed orange from the early sun.
“Wow,” she whispered out into the valley, “What a view.”
And what an adventure. Now things had settled, and the good guys were clearly distinguished from the bad–only Edgewood lie in limbo between the two–Ridley stretched out and yawned, relaxing for the first time in many days. Perhaps relaxed was too comfortable a word. She felt safer, and for now that was enough.
All they had to do now was negotiate a safe passage back into civilisation, no mean feat under the circumstances, and escort the terrorists to a police station at the first chance.
They had all agreed with Hiram’s philosophy and proposal. From now on, their official stance was that, despite their thorough search, there was no sign of any gold. The press would have a field day with the revelation, but Kane had insisted it was the right and only thing to do. Ridley was only human, and thoughts of all that gold left her smiling ruefully in those silent few minutes. But she was not sad for herself, far from it. She was happy for Hiram that he was the man to at last locate Vilcabamba, and knew how much it meant to him and the Kane family. But she was also sad for him, sad that it had all gone so wrong.
At least they were alive. None of Hiram’s group had sustained serious injuries. Muddy Waters had a close call, and Evan and Sonco were shot. But she and John Haines remained somehow unscathed, other than the emotional turmoil and a few cuts and bruises. They had all been lucky in different ways, and who knew, once it was all over they might even look back upon the expedition with something like fond memories.
Content and excited to leave the mountains, and in awe of the majestic vista spreading out before her, Ridley listened to the birds welcome in the new day. But after a few more minutes in quiet contemplation she stood to rouse Kane from his nearby tent.
Suddenly, though, the chirping birds fell silent. Strange, she thought, then an equally sudden flash of fear clenched her guts. Ridley knew the animal kingdom was a good portent of unease in the landscape, highly tuned to its faults and nuances. She waited a moment, eyes and ears strained for any sign of danger, but heard nothing. Alex half expected some rumbling in the mountains as she ran to shake Kane awake. He woke with a start, and smiled through weary eyes.
But when he saw the look of deep concern on Ridley’s face, the smile faded. “What is it?”
“Listen,” she replied, her apprehension clear.
A few yards away Sonco emerged from his tent, and as if it was the most natural thing in the world, said, “I have a terrible feeling.”
Three seconds later, the world turned upside down.
The ground shook in waves so powerful that anyone standing got thrown to the dirt with violent contempt. The thundering, primitive roar emanating from within the ground intensified, while thick and ancient trees swayed in wild arcs as though they were dainty flower stems. Massive boulders fell, and Inca stones unmoved for centuries spilled as if pebbles thrown by the hands of giants.
For a brief moment the ground stilled long enough for Kane to scrape himself from the floor. Unhurt, he looked about, amazed to see the whole landscape had changed. Where once the horizon was lost beyond the stone walls and trees of Vilcabamba, now a vast clearing had appeared, stretching as far as the eye could see. The mountains that enclosed the city had grown and now loomed above them with menace.
Kane scanned the area and made a swift head count of those still with them. Beside him stood a shocked Ridley, somehow unharmed, and likewise Sonco, shaking his bloody, bruised head in despair. Kane was again relieved to learn Haines and Craft were fine. How many near misses? he wondered. Other than a nasty gash on the old professor’s forehead and some severe grazing on Evan’s legs, they both reassured Kane with a nod.
In the temporary lull, they the heard a shallow groan. Following the dire sound, they found one of the porter’s legs trapped beneath a massive stone slab. He was alive, but his legs were crushed and the kid was clearly in agony. Ridley rushed to her tent and grabbed the professional first-aid kit, and with Sonco’s help she set to work.
“Help! Someone help.” Evan recognised that voice. Kate.
He sprang to his feet and followed a voice laced with desperation.
“Help!”
Craft and Haines soon located a frantic Edgewood, who pulled at a pile of stones and rocks with her bare hands.
“It’s Umaq. He’s under here. I think he’s… I think he’s dead. Help me”
They scrambled into action, ignoring their own pain to shift the remains of a collapsed Inca wall that trapped Umaq beneath. The Englishmen reacted to Edgewood’s obvious concern for the kid. They knew he’d saved her life, and knew she had a lot to make up for.
Evan was glad. He had a soft spot for Kate, and despite what they had all seen as selfish and dishonourable intentions, he believed he had seen through all that. Instead he saw a vulnerable, confused young woman. There was hope for her yet, which meant there was hope for him.
As sudden and violent as it was, the worst of the earthquake seemed to have passed. But something troubled Kane, gnawed at the edge of his conscience. What’s wrong?
Then he understood what it was, and the panic set in.
Yupanqui was gone.
On the Brink
Fuck! Where the hell is he?
And then, although it didn’t seem possible, things got even worse.
De La Cruz was gone, too.
Kane shouted to Sonco, fear hardening his voice.
“Sonco! Big problem, and I don’t mean the earthquake. Yupanqui and De La Cruz have gone!”
Leaving Ridley with the boy Sonco rushed to Kane, knowing if the leaders escaped, a kid’s broken leg was the least of their worries, and the pair hustled off in search of the escaped terrorists. But they hadn’t gone far when the ground shook again in a second bout of violent waves. Kane laid down to prevent being thrown. With his worm’s eye view, he could see the ground rippling, like waves on an ocean. Sonco grabbed his arm.
“It is Pachamama. She is angered by what has happened on her mountains. She is angry, Hiram, and she seeks vengeance.”
Kane did not share Sonco’s belief in the pagan Gods, but despite his own atheist philosophy, he could not deny the timing of the earthquake was profound. But despite the very real dangers of the earthquake, they could not ignore the escape of Yupanqui and De La Cruz.
“We have to find them,” he said, “We must find them.”
They split up to give themselves a wider search area. Sonco headed to the east of the ruined city, Kane to the west, and both men struggled to keep their balance across the undulating ground. Despite the fierce tremors, Kane made good progress over the fallen stones and rocks and tree trunks, driven by a furious, almost maniacal desire to prevent the criminals escape or find a gun. Kane cursed as he forged on, hoping it wasn’t too late.
He stopped, and climbed up onto a fallen tree trunk, the highest vantage point around. He looked in all directions but saw no one, no hint that a person had even passed that way, and was about to leave when, as improbable as it was, he thought he heard the sound of laughter coming from a little way ahead. It can’t be, he thought. There was so much noise all around… the creaking of broken trees, the grinding of stone on stone… and he couldn’t be sure. He shook his head and strained his ears, but the strange sound was gone. Perturbed and annoyed, he pushed on.
Sonco had also made good ground, but he was afraid. Nothing scared the tough Quechuan, but Pachamama seethed, and he knew it was because of Yupanqui. Sonco was disgusted by and ashamed of his fellow countryman, and if he got his hands on the self-proclaimed leader of the Inca Uprising, he would…
A gunshot rang out somewhere to the west, the sound clear even above the rumble of the mountains. Hiram! With concern about his friend etched across his face, Sonco changed course and headed as fast as the terrain would allow directly to where the gun was fired.
Kane also heard the shot, and he sped forward, dismissing his own safety to protect the others. He hurdled massive stone lintels and ducked below fallen trees, desperate to locate the shooter, who he assumed was either Yupanqui or De La Cruz. Kane’s money was on the Spaniard.
The route to the gunshot became a twisted obstacle course of fallen masonry and broken trees. He saw no obvious way around and was about to turn back when he heard the now distinctive sound of laughter. And it was Yupanqui. It took all Kane’s strength to haul a few large rocks to one side, and then shoved against the remaining thicket of branches and vines, forcing his way through the almost impenetrable tangle of branches and foliage blind. And it was almost the last thing he ever did, as he stumbled through onto what was once a stone paved courtyard, but was now a mile high cliff.
His arms swung about wild as he fought to regain his balance, and just a second before plunging to his death, he grabbed one of the vines, and literally clutched onto it for his life. His heart pounded blood through his temples as he tried hard to secure his feet, and after a desperate battle Kane pulled himself to safety.
It was more than a lucky escape, but the earthquake still rattled the ground, and although its ferocity had diminished Kane feared it was just the calm before a storm of aftershocks.
The massive force of the initial earthquake had dislodged a huge section of the mountainside, sending millions of tons of earth and the beautifully crafted stones of Vilcabamba plummeting into the valley. Those few seconds of destruction left both Kane and parts of the city devastated.
But thoughts of the destroyed city were short lived.
Just twenty yards away stood a laughing Yupanqui. He had a gun, and at that exact moment was herding Angelo De La Cruz towards the edge of the cliff.
It took Kane a nanosecond to work out what would happen. Maybe the terrorist Spaniard deserved to die, maybe not? But that was not for Hiram Kane to decide, nor Yupanqui. He was about to shout at the Inca leader to plead with him to stop when something jabbed hard into his spine.
Kane had seen enough movies to know it was a gun in his back. But what bothered him most was the horrific realisation of who was responsible; one of the young Quechuans, swayed back on the side of the Condor Uprising.
“Allichu, sayachiy,” said Kane in his best but broken Quechuan. “You need not do this. Put the gun down, and we can all go home.”
The boy said nothing and shoved the gun harder into Kane’s spine.
“Bring him here,” shouted Yupanqui, his eyes hard. “We will make it a double sacrifice.”
The boy obeyed, and forced Kane along the precarious edge until he was just a few feet from both terrorists.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked Yupanqui, though he knew the flawed reasons. The big man told him anyway.
“Mr Kane. I know you understand our culture, the culture of the Incans, but let me further your education. This… this pig Catholic will die, a sacrifice to honour our gods.” Yupanqui held out his arms, indicating the destruction and the broken ground that still vibrated in heavy tremors. “Is it not clear Pachamama is unhappy? By sacrificing this peasant I can only hope I can satisfy her. Just in case, I will also offer you to the Earth Goddess. The death of two heathen men should sate my gods. Isn’t it so?”
“Yupanqui,” responded Kane, “Listen to me. You—”
The boy slammed the gun into Kane’s back with such force he almost went over the cliff edge. Yupanqui smiled. It was just a matter of time anyway.
Knowing he was about to die left Kane with nothing to lose. He tried again. Nodding at De La Cruz, he said, “This man is the enemy, I understand that. But I am not. I am a friend of the Quechuans, and my family have always supported the native Andean people. Killing this man will not help your cause. Let me go, and I will help you take him back to Cuzco where he will face proper justice. I plead with you, Yupanqui, make an example of this man, not a martyr. Use the moral victory to inspire more Quechuans to rise with you. I will vouch for your decency. I will inform the authorities how you saved the lives of my friends.”
Yupanqui had listened with intent, and for a moment seemed to consider Kane’s words. But it did not last, and his thoughtful eyes turned hard.
“A valiant attempt, Mr Kane. But you cannot expect me to spare a man who would kill me in a heartbeat, and then kill hundreds and thousands of our brave Incan descendants. It will be done. The sacrifice will happen.”
Yupanqui looked out across the immense valley before them, his eyes focused on an unseen spot in the distance. If Kane was not mistaken, there seemed to be real emotion in the eyes of the self-titled leader.
“Besides, it is not my decision, anyway,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “The deaths of the Catholics was foretold, and the return of the Incas was prophesied five hundred years ago. I am merely fulfilling that prophecy. It is my duty.”
Martyr
During the entire exchange, the Catholic leader De La Cruz remained silent. His eyes never left those of the Incan, and in his eyes burned the fire of hateful decades. Time was running out for him, but he knew God was watching.
There was no chance he could escape his ties, but another option crept into his mind. Catholic dogma considers suicide sinful. It was something De La Cruz abhorred. But a suicide mission? That was different. He suddenly believed with all his heart God would favour him if dying whilst killing the Inca leader. And all in His name.
De La Cruz fantasised about martyrdom, becoming a hero to millions of Catholics the world over. But there was one man whom he hoped would revere him for his selfless act above all others; Ferdinand Benedix. It was Benedix who he had looked up to as a child, Benedix who had formed the Eagle Alliance and planned this mission from the start. De La Cruz doubted there was any man alive who had more zeal and devotion to the Catholic cause than he himself, but if there was such a man, it was the Dutchman Ferdinand Benedix.
In a way they were brothers, and for many years De La Cruz had worshipped the younger boy, almost as if he was a God. It was Benedix who had shown the older Spaniard the true Catholic way in those Godforsaken mountains of Peru, several decades before, so it seemed appropriate that if he had to die for the cause, then he would die there.
He closed his eyes and thought of his old friend and mentor, Ferdinand. Maybe, at last, the boy he had worshipped as a teenager would now revere him as a man.
De La Cruz now opened his eyes and raised his face to the sky. In a voice little more than a whisper and unheard by the others, he said his last prayer:
“Even in the midst of this, I know that you are the Lord.
I know the situation is in Your hand, and I trust You.
I beseech you for strength, and that I can endure this situation and bring glory to Your name.
I will find out in Heaven.”
And with all his strength De La Cruz threw himself at Yupanqui.
Yupanqui though was a big man, and despite his surprise, he easily deflected the weaker Spaniard. The Incan leader roared in rage, and grabbing De La Cruz by the shoulders he hurled him to the floor. De La Cruz was himself resilient and had been awaiting this moment for so many years it infused him with an almost inhuman strength and determination to please God.
He jumped to his feet and charged again, but again the giant Yupanqui brushed him aside. The Quechuan with the gun was about to shoot the Catholic, but his leader stopped him. “Mana. Manaraq!” No. Not yet!
Confused, the kid lowered the gun. Even so, it was still too dangerous for Kane to intervene. He stood, helpless, and wondered where the hell Sonco was.
It was inexplicable to Kane, but Yupanqui laughed. He fended off the repeated charges by De La Cruz with consummate ease, enjoying his physical superiority. Of course I’m stronger, he thought. I am an Inca warrior. A leader. This scum is mere Catholic, nothing more than a feeble dog.
Kane looked on in disbelief, and unable to do anything he watched the drama with morbid fascination.
But suddenly his own situation took a dangerous twist as the armed Quechuan took matters into his own hands. He wanted desperately to impress his leader, and snuck behind Kane and once more hammered the gun into his back, shoving him perilously close to the cliff edge and towards Yupanqui. Kane resisted the urge to turn on the boy, certain he'd be shot or shoved over the edge. Instead he complied, allowing the kid to lead him towards the drama.
Time and again De La Cruz charged in what appeared to be a human version of matador and bull, Yupanqui the graceful matador and De La Cruz the enraged bull. Poetic justice, thought Kane, who didn’t miss the irony.
Below their feet the ground still rumbled, the tremors once more increasing in power and frequency. But despite it all the ugly confrontation continued, the two mortal enemies oblivious to the monster aftershocks.
Just then Sonco appeared, shocked to witness the crazy scene before him, and horrified to see Kane just inches from death. Thinking quickly he knelt to avoid the eye-line of the kid with the gun and grabbed a fistful of the sacred earth. He held it in his hand, swaying with the ground as it buckled and contorted beneath him, the force of the quake growing by the second. “Pachamama,” he whispered, “Ruway ama phiñakuy.” Do not be angry. “Achillu, sayachiy kay pacha kuyuy.” Please, stop this earthquake.
But Sonco knew that nothing he could say would change it. Pachamama was angry with them, angry for the deaths of her children, angry with the will of men. She would have her vengeance.
