Matthew Reilly - Temple

Then he instructed the emperor’s most able huntsmen to capture a pack of rapas and place them inside the temple with his treasure.’

‘He put a pack of rapas inside the temple?’ said I incredulously.

‘That is so,’ said Renco. ‘But to understand why he did that, you must understand what Solon wanted to achieve. He wanted his temple to be the ultimate test of human conduct.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Solon knew that word of the immense treasure inside his temple would spread quickly. He knew that greed and avarice would drive adventurers to seek it out and plunder its riches.

‘And so he made his temple a test. A test of the choice between fabulous wealth and certain death. A test designed to see if man could control his own wanton greed.’

Renco looked at me. “The man who conquers his greed and chooses not to open the temple lives. The man who succumbs to temptation and opens the temple in search of fabulous wealth will be killed by the rapas.’

I took this in silently.

‘This temple that Vilcafor has spoken of,’ said I, ‘the one situated atop a giant finger of stone. Do you think it is Solon’s temple?’

Renco sighed. ‘If it is, then it saddens me.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it means that we have come a long way to die.’

I stayed with Renco a while on the roof of the citadel, staring out into the rain

An hour passed.

Nothing emerged from the forest.

Another hour. Still nothing.

At which time, Renco instructed me to repair to the citadel and sleep. I happily obeyed his command, so fatigued was I from our long journey.

And so I retired to the main body of the citadel, where I lay down on a mound of grass. A couple of small fires burned in the corners of the room.

“I rested my head in the hay, but no sooner had my eyelids touched than I felt an insistent tapping on my shoulder.

I opened my eyes and found myself looking at the ugliest face I have ever seen in my entire life.

An old man stood crouched in front of me, smiling at me with a toothless grin. He had horrid tufts of grey hair sticking out from his eyebrows, nose and ears.

‘Greetings, goldeater,’ said the ancient fellow. ‘I have heard of what you did for young Prince Renco—aiding his escape from his cage—and I wanted to express my profound gratitude to you.’

I looked around the citadel. The fires were now out, the people who had previously been huddled about the room were now silent, sleeping. I must have actually fallen asleep, at least for a short time.

‘Oh,’ said I. ‘Well, you.., you are welcome.’

The old man pointed a bony finger at my chest and nodded knowingly.

‘Take heed, goldeater. Renco is not the only one whose destiny lies with that idol, you know.’

“I do not understand.”

‘What I mean is Renco’s role as guardian of the Spirit of the People comes directly from the mouth of the Oracle at Pachacamac.’ The old man smiled that same toothless grin.

‘And so does yours.’

I had heard of the Oracle at Pachacimac. She was the venerable old woman who kept watch over the temple-shrine there. The traditional keeper of the Spirit of the People.

‘Why?’ said I. ‘What has the Oracle said of me?’

‘Soon after the goldeaters arrived on our shores, the Oracle announced that our empire would be crushed. But she also foretold that so long as the Spirit of the People stayed out of the hands of our conquerors, our soul would live on.

But she made it very clear that only one man—and one man only—-could keep the idol safe.“

‘Renco.’

‘Correct. But what she said in full was this:

“There will come a time when he will come, A man, a hero, beholden of the Mark of the Sun. He will have the courage to do battle with great lizards, He will have the jinga, He will enjoy the aid of brave-hearted men, Men who would give of their lives, in honour of his noble cause, And he will fall from the sky in order to save our spirit. He is the Chosen One.”

‘The Chosen One?’ said I.

“That is right.”

I began to wonder whether I fell into the category of a ‘bravehearted man’ who would give of his life to help Renco. I decided that I didn’t.

Then I mused on the Oracle’s use of the word jinga. I recalled that it was a quality most revered in Incan culture.

It was that rare combination of poise, balance and speed. The ability of a man to move like a cat.

I recalled our daring escape from Cuzco and the way Renco had leapt lightly from rooftop to rooftop, and how he had slid down the rope to land on the back of my horse. Did he move with the surefooted grace of a cat? Without a doubt.

‘What do you mean when you say he will have the courage to do battle with great lizards?’ I inquired.

The old man said, ‘When Renco was a boy of thirteen, his mother was taken by an alligator as she was retrieving water from the banks of her local stream. Young Renco was with her at the time, and when he saw the monster drag his mother into the river, he dived into the water after her and wrestled with the ugly beast until it released her from its grip.

Not many men would leap into a stream to do battle with such a fearsome creature. Not least a boy of thirteen.’

I swallowed.

I had not known of this tremendous act of courage that Renco had performed as a boy. I knew he was a brave man, but this? Well. I could never do something like that.

The old man must have read my thoughts. He tapped my chest again with his long bony finger.

‘Don’t dismiss your own brave heart, young goldeater,’ said he. ‘You yourself displayed enormous courage when you helped our young prince escape from his Spanish cage.

Indeed, some would say that you showed the greatest courage of all—the courage to do what was right.’

I bowed my head in modesty.

The old man leaned close to me. ‘I do not believe such acts of courage should go unrewarded either. No, as a reward for your bravery, I would like to present you with this.’

He held up a bladder which had evidently been taken from the body of a small animal. It appeared to be filled with some variety of liquid.

I took the bladder. It had an opening at one extremity, through which I surmised the bladder’s holder could pour out its contents.

‘What is it?’ I inquired.

‘It is monkey urine,’ said the old man keenly.

‘Monkey urine,’ said I and flatly.

‘It will protect you against the rapa,’ said the old man.

‘Remember, the rapa is a cat, and like all cats, it is a most vain creature. According to the tribes of this region, there are some liquids that the rapa despises with a fury. Liquids which, if smeared all over one’s body, will frighten off the rapa.’

I smiled weakly at the old man. It was, after all, the first time I had ever been given the excrement of a jungle animal as a token of appreciation.

“Thank you,” said I. ‘Such a… wonderful.., gift.’ The old man seemed terribly pleased by my response and so he said,

‘Then I should like to provide you with another.’

I endeavoured to beg off his generosity—lest he give me another variety of animal discharge. But his second gift was not of the physical kind.

‘I would like to share with you a secret,’ said he.

‘And what secret is that?’

‘If ever you need to escape from this village, enter the quenko and take the third tunnel on the righthand side.

From there, alternate left then right, taking the fist tunnel you see every time, but make sure you go to the left first.

The quenko will take you to the waterfall overlooking the vast wetland forests. The secret to the labyrinth is simple, one only has to know where to begin. Trust me, young goldeater, and mark these gifts.