Matthew Reilly - Temple

They idolise these creatures, treat them as gods. In fact, warriors who show feline coordination in their movements are most revered in their armies—it is seen as a great skill to be able to land on one’s feet and pounce immediately back into the fray. Such a warrior is said to be possessed of the jinga.

Why, the very evening before I stumbled so embarrassingly upon the stone totem, Renco had been telling me that the most feared creature in their mythology is a great black cat known as the titi in Agmara, or the rapa in Quechua.

Apparently, this creature is as black as the night and almost as tall as a man even when standing on all four legs. And it kills with unparalleled ferocity. Indeed, Renco said, it is that most feared variety of wild animal—the kind that kills for no other reason than for the pleasure of killing.

‘Well done, Brother Alberto,’ said Renco as I lay in the mud, staring up at the totem. ‘You’ve found the first of the totems that will lead us to Vilcafor.’

‘How will they lead us there?’ I inquired as I rose to my feet.

Said Renco, ‘There is a code, known only to the most senior of Incan nobles—’

‘But if he tells you, he’ll have to kill you,’ Bassario interjected with a rude grin.

Renco smiled indulgently at Bassario. ‘True,’ said he. ‘But in the event that I should die, I shall need someone to continue my mission. And to do that, that someone will have to know the code to the totems.’

Renco turned to face me. ‘I was hoping that you would be willing to bear that responsibility, Alberto.’

The?’ said I, swallowing.

‘Yes, you,’ said Renco. ‘Alberto, I see the qualities of a hero in you, even if you do not. You possess honour and courage in far greater quantities than the average soul. I would have no hesitation in entrusting my people’s fate to you should the worst befall me, if you would allow it.’

I bowed my head and nodded, acceding to his wish.

‘Good,’ Renco smiled. ‘You, on the other hand,’ he said, grinning wryly at Bassario, “would give me considerable hesitation.

Now go stand over there.”

Once Bassario had moved to stand some paces away from us, Renco leaned close to me and indicated the stone carving of the rapa in front of us. ‘The code is simple: follow the rapa’s tail.’

‘Follow the rapa’s tail…’ said I, looking at the totem.

Sure enough, out of the back of the carving extended a thin snaking feline tail, pointing to the north.

‘But,’ Renco suddenly held up his finger, ‘not every totem is to be followed in this way. It is this rule that only the most senior nobles know. Indeed, I was only told of it by the high priestess of the Coricancha when we arrived there to get the idol.’

‘What is the rule, then?’ I inquired.

‘After the first totem every second totem is to be distrusted. In those cases, one is to follow the totem in the direction of the Mark of the Sun.’

‘The Mark of the Sun?’

‘A mark not unlike this one,’ Renco said, indicating the small triangular birthmark below his left eye, the dark brown blemish of skin that looked like an inverted mountain.

‘At every second totem after the first one,’ he said, ‘we are not to follow the rapa’s tail, but rather to go in the direction of the Mark of the Sun.’

‘What will happen if one continues to follow the rapa’s tail?’ I inquired.

‘Won’t our enemies ultimately realise that they are travelling in the wrong direction when they find no more totems?’

Renco smiled at me. ‘Oh, no, Alberto. There are more totems to be found, even if one goes in the wrong direction.

But they only lead the bamboozled adventurer farther and farther away from the citadel.’

And so we followed the totems through the rainforest.

They were spaced at varying intervals—some were but a few hundred paces from their predecessors, others were some miles overland—so we had to be careful that we travelled in direct lines. Often we were aided by the river system, since at times the totems had been carefully placed along the riverbanks.

Following the totems, we travelled in a northerly direction, crossing the wide rainforest basin until we came to a new tableland that led up to the mountains.

This tableland stretched from the north to the south for as far as the eye could see—a giant jungle-covered plateau—a single step that Our Lord had built to aid him in stepping up from the rainforest to the mountain foothills. It was dotted with waterfalls all along its length. It was a truly magnificent sight.

We climbed the tableland’s cliff-like eastern face, hauling with us our reed canoes and paddles. It was then that we came to a final totem which directed us upriver, toward the gigantic snowcapped mountains that loomed above the rainforest.

We rowed against the gentle current of the river in the pouring afternoon rain. After a while, however, the rain stopped and in the mist that followed it the jungle took on an eerie quality. The world fell oddly silent and, strangely, the sounds of the rainforest abruptly vanished.

No birds chirped. No rodents rustled in the underbrush.

I felt a rush of dread flood through my body.

Something was not right here.

Renco and Bassario must have felt it, too, for they paddled more slowly now, dipping their oars silently into the glassy surface of the water, as if not daring to break the unnatural silence.

And then we rounded a bend in the river and suddenly we saw a town on the riverbank, nestled up against the base of the enormous mountain range. An imposing stone structure stood proudly in the centre of a cluster of small huts, while a wide moat-like ditch surrounded the entire enclave.

The citadel of Vilcafor.

But none of us had much care for the great citadel. Nor did we take much notice of the village around it that lay in smouldering ruins.

No. We only had eyes for the bodies, the scores of bodies that lay crumpled on the main street on the town, covered in blood.

Race turned the page, looking for the next chapter, but it wasn’t there.

This, it seemed, was the last page of the manuscript.

Damn it, he thought.

He peered out the window of the Hercules and saw the engines mounted on the green-painted wing outside, saw the snowcapped peaks of the Andes gliding by beneath them.

He looked over at Nash sitting on the other side of the aisle, working on a laptop computer.

‘Is this all there is?’ he asked.

‘I’m sorry?’ Nash frowned.

‘The manuscript. Is this all we have?’

‘You mean you’ve finished translating it already?”

‘Did you find the location of the idol?’

‘Well, kind of,’ Race said, looking down at the notes he’d taken as he’d translated the manuscript. They read:

• LEAVE CUZCO-ENTER MTNS.

• VILLAGES: RUMAC, SIPO. HUANCO. OCUYU.

• COLCOPAUCARTAMBO RIVER—QUARRY THERE.

• 11 DAYS—COME TO RAINFOREST.

• RIVER VILLAGES: PAXU, TUPRA, ROYA.

• STONE TOTEMS—CARVED IN SHAPE OF CATLIKE CREATURE—LEAD TO CITADEL AT VILCAFOR.

• TOTEM CODE FOLLOW THE RAPA’S TAIL FOR FIRST TOTEM.

AT EVERY SECOND TOTEM AFTER THAT, FOLLOW THE ‘MARK OF THE SUN’.

FOLLOWED TOTEMS NORTH ACROSS RAINFOREST BASIN—CAME TO TABLELAND LEADING UP TO MOUNTAIN FOOTHILLS.

AT FINAL TOTEM WENT UPRIVER TOWARD MTNS-.-FOUND CITADEL IN RUINS.

‘What do you mean you’ve kind of found it?’ Nash asked.

‘Well, that’s the thing,’ Race said. ‘The manuscript virtually ends in mid-sentence when they reach the town of Vilcafor. There’s obviously more to be read, but it isn’t here.’ He didn’t add that he was beginning to find the story kind of interesting and actually wanted to read more of it. ‘You’re sure this is all we have?’