Excavation

Sam’s emotions were mixed. Uncle Hank was coming! But still a frown marred his lips. He had hoped for rescue today, but such a hope was not realistic. They were hundreds of miles away from anyplace with even a crude form of airport. He clicked the transmit button. “Great news, Philip! But get that helicopter up here as soon as possible. Light a fire under Uncle Hank if you can. We’ll keep a fire burning here all night long, just in case he’s able to arrive any earlier.” The red light on his battery indicator began blinking ominously. “I gotta go, Philip! I’ll call you at sunset for an update.”

Static ate most of Philip’s response. The scratchy white noise began tweaking Sam’s residual headache. He cursed and clicked the walkie-talkie off. He hoped his last message reached Philip.

“Dawn tomorrow,” Maggie said, relief clear in her voice. She turned to stare at the village. “It’ll be great to have Professor Conklin here.”

Sam stepped next to her. “I’m still worried about Norman. I really think we should talk to Kamapak, the shaman. See if the Incas here at least have the equivalent of aspirin or a pain reliever.”

Off to the side, Denal bowed through the reed mat. He crossed toward them. “Norman sleeps,” the boy said as he joined them, but his lips were tight with concern.

“Maybe we’d better find that shaman,” Maggie said. “Can you help us, Denal?”

The youth nodded, and turned toward the village. “I ask.” He hesitated before going, squinting at the homes. “But something no right here.”

“What do you mean?”

“There no children,” Denal said, glancing up at them.

Maggie and Sam frowned at each other, then stared out at the spread of stone homes. “Sure there are…” Sam started to say, but his voice died away. They had not noticed any youngsters when they had arrived yesterday, but the sun had been close to setting. The celebration had run late into the evening, so the lack of children had not struck Sam as odd enough to notice.

“He’s right,” Maggie said. “I’ve been up for at least an hour, and I’ve seen no wee ones either.”

Sam pointed toward where the two women still worked at the ovens. “But she’s pregnant. The children must be somewhere. Maybe they’re hiding them from us as a precaution.”

Maggie scrunched up her nose, unconvinced. “They seemed to accept us so readily. No guards or anything.”

“Let’s go ask,” Sam said, nodding toward the pregnant Incan woman.

He led the others back to the oven. Sam nudged Denal. “Ask her where the children are kept.”

Denal stepped closer and spoke to the woman. She seemed uncomfortable so near the boy. She guarded her belly with a hand. Her answer was clearly agitated, involving much arm movement and pointing.

Sam glanced to where she indicated. She was pointing toward the neighboring volcanic cone that overlooked this caldera.

Denal finally gave up and turned back to Sam. “There no children. She say they go to janan pacha. Heaven.” Denal nodded to the towering volcano.

“Sacrifices, do you think?” Maggie said, stunned. Infanticide and blood rites with children were not unknown in Incan culture.

“But all their children?”

Maggie crossed to the woman. She cradled her arms and rocked them in the universal sign of baby. “Wawas… wawas…?” she asked, using the Quechan word for baby. Maggie then pointed to the woman’s large gravid belly.

The woman’s eyes widened with shock, then narrowed with anger. She held a hand pressed to her belly. “Huaca,” she said firmly, and spoke rapidly in Quecha.

“Huaca. Holy place,” Denal translated. “She say her belly be home now only to gods, no longer children. No children here for many, many years. They all go to temple.”

The woman turned her back on them, dismissing them. Clearly offended by their line of questioning.

“What do you suppose she’s talking about, Sam?” Maggie asked.

“I don’t know. But I think we have another reason now to seek out that shaman.” Sam waved Denal and Maggie to follow him. “Let’s go find Kamapak.”

Their search ended up being harder than Sam had thought. Most of the men had gone to work the fields or hunt, including the shaman. Denal managed to glean some directions from a few of the villagers who had duties within the town’s limits. Sam’s group soon found themselves trekking down a jungle path. They passed groves of fruit and avocado trees being harvested and pruned. And a wide plowed meadow where fields of grainlike quinoa alternated with rows of corn, chili pepper plants, beans, and squash. Both men and women worked the fields. In an unplanted area, men were using tacllas, or foot plows, to turn the soil, while women helped, using a simple hoe called a lampa. Maggie and Sam paused to watch them labor, amazed to see these ancient Incan tools at work.

“I can’t believe this,” Sam said for the hundredth time that day.

Denal nudged Sam. “This way,” he said, urging them on.