Excavation

The shaman answered, glancing almost guiltily down. “The night the Sapa Inca was slain I heard the Spanish speak of burning his body. Such a cruelty is worse than death to our people. So I sneaked out and stole my king’s head from where he lay dead. With the Spanish in pursuit, I took my king to the temple and prayed to Inti. Again the god heard and proved his love.” The shaman threw another pinch of dust on the fire, a clear obeisance to his god.

Pachacutec continued the last of the tale. “The temple carried me back from death. I opened my eyes as my head lay on the altar. From my bloody mouth, I warned the strangers of Inti’s anger. This show of Inti’s strength made warriors into women. They screamed, wailed, tore at their hair, and ran away. The dogs sealed the lower entrance, but word of my death be already flying. The killers were captured, and their shaman sacrificed.”

Sam frowned. He knew one way to test the veracity of these stories. “What was the name of this Spanish shaman?”

Kamapak answered, voice tight with old hatred, hands balled into fists: “Francisco de Almagro.”

Pachacutec scowled at the name and spat into the fire. “We had this shaman dog captured for his blasphemies. But he fled like a coward and fouled a sacred site with his own blood. After his death, we made holes in his skull and drove out his god with ours.”

Sam sat shocked. He remembered his uncle’s story of the golden substance that exploded from the mummy’s skull. The ancient and modern stories seemed to match. But what these two were describing-immortality-how could it be true?

As Sam’s mind roiled, the shaman finished the story as Norman continued to translate the ancient Inca language. “After the foreigners fled, the temple slowly grew Pachacutec another body. Inti warned our king that these strange men from across the sea were too strong and too many, and Inti must be protected. So the path here was left sealed. We allowed ourselves to be forgotten. But Inti had promised Pachacutec that there would come a day when the path would reopen, a time when the Incan dynasty would begin again. When that day came, for our loyalty, our people had been promised not only their own lands back, but also the rest of the world.”

Pachacutec’s eyes blazed with fire and glory. “We will rule all!”

Sam nodded. “Inkarri reborn from his secret cave.”

Pachacutec turned his back on the fire and them. “So my people have named me after my rebirth. Inkarri, child of the sun.”

“When does this path to the world below reopen?”

“When the gods of janan pacha are ready to leave,” Pachacutec answered, waving an arm toward the south. “Until then, we must live as the temple tells us. All who threaten Inti must be sacrificed.”

The shaman turned his back, too. Norman quietly translated, color draining from his face. “You have shown your deceit this night, hiding your shame in the cloak of night.” His last words came out pained. “At dawn, when the sun rises and Inti can see our loyalty, you will be sacrificed to our god. Your blood will stain the plaza.”

The shaman signaled with his right hand.

Sam shot to his feet, but he was too late. Incan warriors swarmed from adjacent rooms and swept over them. Sam fought, but with no success. His rifle was knocked to the stones. Disturbed parrots screamed in the trees.

“No!” Sam yelled, but neither the shaman nor the king would face them as they were dragged away.

Dressed in her own khakis and shirt, Maggie huddled in the shadow of the courtyard wall. Holding her breath, afraid to move, she watched Sam and Norman being dragged away. Sweet Jesus, what was she going to do? She silently cursed the mule-headed Texan. He had to go charging blindly into danger. She turned and leaned her back on the stone wall. Hiding as still as a mouse, she had heard most of Pachacutec’s and Inkarri’s stories and knew there was no way to talk them out of this jam.

At least, she had hid Denal before coming here.

Earlier, she had heard the music in the plaza stop abruptly. She had peeked out and watched as Sam and Norman were seized. While instinct had told her to run with Denal as far and fast as possible, she had fought against it. The other two were her friends, and she could not abandon them without trying to help. So she had whisked Denal into the jungle’s edge and told him to stay out of sight. Then she had sneaked back here to discover the fate of her friends.

Now she knew. Maggie peeked through a crescent-shaped hole in the courtyard wall. It was empty. Even the king and the shaman were gone. Maggie stared at the sole reason she still tarried here. Sam’s Winchester rifle lay on the granite cobblestones of the courtyard. If a rescue was going to succeed, she would need that weapon.