Matthew Reilly - Temple

Renco nodded curtly to the Sapa Inca and then turned to me and said in Spanish, ‘Come. We must hurry.’

We left the Sapa Inca and hastened around to the south side of the city, the side furthest from Sacsayhuaman. As we did so, I saw Hernando and his horsemen charge in through the city’s northern gate.

‘Where are we going?’ I inquired as we strode quickly through the angry crowd.

‘To the lower river,’ was all my companion said in reply.

At length, we came to the river which ran alongside the southern wall of the city. I looked up at the wall on the other side of the stream and saw Spanish soldiers armed with muskets and swords walking the ramparts, silhouetted by the orange light of the fires burning behind them.

Renco strode purposefully toward the river and, to my great surprise, stepped boots-and-all straight into the water.

‘Wait!’ I cried. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Down there,’ said he, indicating the body of water.

‘But I… I can’t. I can’t go in there with you.’

Renco gripped my arm firmly. ‘My friend Alberto, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you have done, what you have risked to allow me to complete my mission.

But now I must hurry if I am to succeed in my quest. Join me, Alberto.

Stay with me. Complete my mission with me. Look at these people.

While you are with me, you are a hero to them. But while you are not, you are just another goldeater who must be killed. And now I must go.

I cannot stay behind with you. If you stay here, I will not be able to help you.

Come with me, Alberto. Dare to live.’

I looked at the Incan warriors behind me. Even with their primitive sticks and clubs, they still looked fierce and dangerous. I saw a Spanish soldier’s head on a stake nearby, its mouth open in a grotesque yawn.

‘I think I will go with you,’ said I, turning and stepping waist-deep into the water next to him.

‘All right, then. Take a deep breath,’ said he, ‘and follow me.’

And with that Renco held his breath and disappeared under the water.

I shook my head and, despite myself, took a deep breath and followed him under the surface.

Silence.

The chants and shouts of the Incan hordes were gone now.

In the darkness of the murky river I followed Renco’s kicking feet into a circular stone pipe that was set into the underwater wall of the city.

It was difficult to pull myself through the submerged cylindrical tunnel, its confines were so narrow. And it seemed to go on for an eternity.

But then, just when it seemed as if my lungs would burst, I saw the end of the pipe and the rippling waves of the surface beyond it and I pulled myself harder through the water toward them.

I arose inside an underground sewer of some kind, lit by flaming torches mounted on the walls. I was standing waist-deep in water.

Damp stone walls surrounded me.

Squareshaped stone tunnels stretched away into the darkness. The foul stench of human feces filled the air.

Renco was already wading through the water away from me, toward a junction in the tunnel system. I hurried after him.

Through the tunnels we went. Left then right, left then right—thus we made our way hastily through the underground labyrinth. Never once did Renco seem lost or doubtful—he just turned into each tunnel with confidence and purpose.

And then all at once he stopped and stared up at the stone ceiling above us.

I just stood behind him, perplexed. I could see no difference between this tunnel and any of the other halfdozen that we had just come through.

And then for some reason unknown to myself, Renco ducked underneath the foulsmelling water. Moments later, he came up with a rock the size of a man’s fist. Then he climbed up out of the water and stood astride the narrow ledge that lined the tunnel and with his newfound rock began to hit the underside of one of the stone slabs that formed the ceiling of the tunnel.

Bang-bang. Bang.

Renco waited for a moment. Then he repeated the same sequence.

Bang-bang. Bang.

It was a code of some sort. Renco stepped back down into the water and we both stared up at the wet stone ceiling in silence, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing happened.

We kept waiting. As we did so, I noticed a small symbol carved into the corner of the stone slab that Renco had been assailing. It was a carving of a circle, with a double ‘V’ inscribed within it.

And then all of a sudden—boom-boom, boom—a series of muffled whumps could be heard from the other side of the ceiling. Someone repeating Renco’s code.

Renco sighed with relief. Then he stood up on the ledge again and pounded out a new sequence of thumps.

Moments later, the whole squareshaped section of the ceiling slid away, grinding loudly against its neighbours, revealing a dark, cavern-like space above us.

Renco immediately climbed up out of the water and disappeared into the hole in the ceiling. I followed.

I came up inside a most splendid room, an enormous vault-like chamber, lined on all four sides with magnificent golden images. All four walls of the chamber were made of solid stone blocks, each one ten feet wide and probably as thick.

There was no obvious door, except for a smaller stone this one only six feet in height—set within one of the sturdy walls.

I was in the vault of the Coricancha.

A single flaming torch illuminated the cavernous space.

It was held by a burly Incan warrior. Three other equally large warriors stood behind the torchbearer, glaring at me.

There was another person in the vault, however. An elderly woman, and she had eyes only for Renco.

She was a handsome woman, with grey hair and wrinkled skin, and I imagined that in her prime she must have been a strikingly beautiful woman. She was dressed simply, in a white cotton robe and a gold-and-emerald headdress.

And I must say that in her simple white attire, she looked angelic, almost heavenly, like a priestess of some.. Boom!

I spun at the sudden noise. Renco did, too.

Boom!

It seemed to come from the other side of the walls. Someone pounding on the outside of the stone door.

I froze in horror.

The Spaniards.

Hernando.

They were trying to get in.

The old priestess said something to Renco in Quechuano Renco replied quickly and then he gestured toward me.

Boom! Boom!

The old priestess then turned hurriedly to a stone pedestal behind her.

I saw on the pedestal an object covered with a purple silk-like cloth.

The priestess picked up the object-cloth and all—and despite the insistent pounding on the walls, handed it solemnly to Renco. I still could not see what lay beneath the cloth. Whatever it was, it was about the size and shape of a human head.

Renco took the object respectfully.

Boom! Boom!

Why was he moving so slowly, I wondered incredulously, as my eyes darted to the shuddering stone walls around us.

Once the object was safely in his hands, Renco slowly Once the object was safely in his hands, Renco slowly removed its cloth.

And I saw it.

And for a moment, I could do nothing but stare.

It was the most beautiful, and yet at the same time the most fearsome-looking idol I had ever seen.

It was completely black, carved out of a square block of a very unusual type of stone. It was rough and sharp at the edges, the workmanship crude, uneven. Out of the middle of the block had been carved the visage of a fierce mountain cat with its jaws bared wide. It looked as if the cat— deranged with rage and fury—had managed to push its head out of the very stone itself.

Imperfections within the rock—thin rivulets of the most shade of purple—-ran vertically down the cat’s face, making the image appear even more fearsome, if indeed such a thing were possible.