Excavation

Sam noticed Norman had the shaman’s shard of flint gripped in one fist. The photographer lifted it. “If they mean to take my tongue, they’re gonna have to fight me for it.”

“Where’s Denal?” Sam whispered.

“I left him with the rifle,” Maggie answered. “He was supposed to lead the others away so I could try and free you. We were to rendezvous in the jungle.”

“I don’t think that plan’s gonna work,” Norman said. He pointed his flint knife. “Look.”

Across the square, one of the hunters held Sam’s Winchester in his grip. He handled the weapon as if it were a poisonous snake. The man sniffed slightly at the barrel’s end, crinkling his nose.

“Denal…” Maggie mumbled.

There was no sign of the boy.

Agruff voice sounded behind them. They turned.

Pachacutec pushed through the crowd. He was in full raiment, from feathered crown to fanciful robe. He lifted his staff. The golden sunburst caught the first rays of the rising sun and glinted brightly.

The king spoke slowly in Inca, while Norman translated. “We have captured the strangers in our midst. Inti rises for his sacrifice. Revive Kamapak so the gods can be honored.”

Off to the side, a trio of women worked on Kamapak. They bathed his face in cold water and rubbed his limbs while chanting. Slowly Kamapak’s arms began to move. Then his eyes flickered open. He seemed blind for a moment until the memory of his assault returned. Anger shone in his gaze. Weakly pushing away the women, he shoved to his feet. He wobbled a bit, but one of the hunters helped steady him.

Kamapak ambled shakily toward his king.

Pachacutec spoke again, this time in English, drawing the eyes of the students. “It be an honor to give blood to Inti. You disgrace our god with your fighting.”

By now, the sun had risen enough that the center of the square was bathed in sunlight. Sam brandished his dagger, bright in the morning light. Disgrace or not, he wasn’t going to give his blood without drawing the same from his attackers. He raised the knife higher, wishing he had a more intimidating weapon, something to strike terror.

With this thought, the handle of the dagger grew warm and the length of gold blade shimmered and twisted, spreading and curving, until the form of a striking snake sprouted from the hilt. Sam froze, afraid to move, unsure what had just happened.

He stared at the transformed dagger. Gold fangs were open to the sun, threatening the gathered throng.

Pachacutec had taken a step back when the transformation had started. He now took a step nearer, eyes wide with awe.

Sam did not know how the transformation had occurred, but the miracle of the dagger was clearly something the Incas had never seen. Sam raised the golden asp high.

Pachacutec lifted his staff, mimicking Sam’s pose. His eyelids lowered slightly, as if in prayer. Suddenly the golden sunburst symbol atop his staff flowed and transformed to match the serpent. Two snakes stared each other down.

Now it was Sam’s turn to back away. Pachacutec met the Texan’s gaze. Sam no longer saw anger in the man’s eyes, but tears.

To the king’s side, Kamapak fell to his knees, bowing his head toward Sam. The gathered throng followed suit. Foreheads pressed to the stones.

Pachacutec lowered his staff. He stepped toward them. Arms wide. “Inti has blessed you. The sun god of the Mochico listens to your dreams. You be one of the chosen of Inti!” The king crossed to stand before Sam. He offered his hand. “You be safe in our house. All of you!”

Sam was too confused to react. The sudden change in the Incas was unnerving. But he could not quite trust the transformation, any more than he could understand what had happened to the dagger.

Maggie pushed beside Sam. “What about Denal?”

Pachacutec heard her. “The boy. He be not fourteen years. Too young for huarachicoy.” He smiled as if this explained it all.

Sam frowned. Huarachicoy was the ceremonial feast where a boy was accepted as a man into a tribe, when he was given his first huara, the loincloth of an adult tribesman. “What do you mean ‘too young’?”

Kamapak raised his face and spoke. Norman translated. “It was decided that the boy, like all the tribe’s children, was to be taken to the temple. He was to be gifted directly to the gods.”

Maggie turned to Sam. “Sacrifice,” she said with fear.

“When?” Sam asked. “When was this to be done?”

Pachacutec glanced to the rising sun. The bright disk was fully above the volcanic edge. “It be done already. The boy be with the gods.”

Sam stumbled backward. “No…”

The Texan’s reaction confused the king. The Sapa Inca’s bright smile faltered. “Be this not Inti’s wish?”

“No!” Sam said more forcefully.

Maggie grabbed Sam’s elbow. “We need to go to that temple. Maybe he’s still alive. We don’t know for sure that he’s dead.”

Sam nodded at her words. There was a chance. He faced Kamapak and Pachacutec. “Take us to the temple.”

The king bowed his head, offering no argument to one of the chosen. Instead, he waved, and the shaman stood. “Kamapak will guide you.”

“I’m coming with you,” Maggie said.