The Days of Peleg (29 page)

Tiwanaku
was
a seaport! He also thought he saw, in the distance, small islands or rafts made of reeds, some of which appeared to have buildings erected on them. But he couldn’t be sure.

“These are just like the vessels of Kemet.” Thaxad had turned to stand behind him. “The only difference is they seem to use sails with only three sides.”

“You must follow me,” urged Manco Chavin. He gave them a warning look. “And you also must remember what I told you about speaking in your alien tongue.”

They hurried down the hall after him. He was standing before a large stone door and Klempé was pressing fearfully into his side. The sentry had not spoken once on their entire trip, and Peleg was sure he still thought they were dreaded
Waca
.

They clustered around Manco Chavin as he reached for a large metal pole which was suspended vertically overhead. A bronze mallet was attached to the end, and he grasped this in both hands and swung it against the door.

There was a low resonating c
lang
, after which they waited while the cool air blew in behind them.

Slowly, the large door swung silently open.

Manco Chavin first sensed something was wrong when he saw the four empty seats. He looked around for the missing three, but they were nowhere to be seen.

“High Priest Manco Cachi,” he began, deferentially. “Will the others be joining us?” It was a deliberate attempt at false naiveté, in hopes of getting information. It was no accident that the missing three were also those who were not original Survivors.

Manco Cachi responded.

“These proceedings involve judgments and discernment requiring knowledge from before the Crossing. Non-Survivors have no such wisdom and cannot assist in this matter.” He lowered his voice and focused a stern eye on Manco Chavin.

“And they shall
continue
to know nothing of what transpires here.”

Manco Chavin nodded dutifully.

“In addition, you are expected to remember nothing when you leave, repeating it to no one.” He turned away abruptly without waiting for agreement. Manco Chavin was disturbed, for he had always felt the equal of his fellow priests.

The High Priest’s attention turned toward Klempé. The scared sentry was cringing against the wall, trying to remain invisible.

“Approach, Sentry Klempé,” instructed Manco Cachi.

The man walked slowly to the center of the room.

“You have performed a great service to your people,” the High Priest began.

“With great courage and faithfulness, you found and reported these
Waca
as they attempted to enter our land. You prepared for this from your birth, and perhaps had days when you doubted your task—or the truth of these demons. Yet, you have seen with your own eyes their existence, and
Apu Inti
has judged from above and found you worthy.”

He stood and approached Klempé.

Reaching into the folds of his robe, he produced a large gold medallion attached to a thin gold-link chain, and placed it around the Sentry’s neck.

Klempé looked down in astonishment. It was a large, hand-sized representation of
Viracocha
with the bright rays of
Apu Inti
radiating from his head. In each hand he grasped a falcon and a condor, and he stood upon the back of a subjugated cougar. The entire piece was comprised of solid gold, and flashes of light reflected from the fire lamps which lined the room.

“You must inform everyone of your great deed, and of the truth and danger of the
Waca
. All will revere you when they see your reward.”

Klempé’s eyes looked up, shining with religious fervor. Never again would he doubt the truth and benevolence of his priests.

“You may leave now, and may the blessings of
Apu Inti
be upon you.”

The stone door slowly opened, and the re-born Sentry Klempé bowed his thanks, then retreated backward through the doorway. He could never have imagined that such an honor would come his way. A prouder and more devoted man never existed than the one which exited the chamber that day. Klempé would now receive the respect which he had always known was due him.

The High Priest’s attention turned to Manco Chavin.

“You, also, deserve much credit for delivering these
Waca
.” Manco Cachi’s face was relaxed and friendly.

“Although you are not a Survivor, you have performed well, and your fellow priests honor you.” His fellow priests—minus the other three non-Survivors—nodded in agreement.

The men from the
Urbat
felt a dread settle upon them as they began to realize that their fate had been decided long before they arrived in this chamber. Peleg had understood more clearly than the others what Klempé's reward meant.

Manco Chavin drew himself up. He had never imagined he would find himself confronting the priests who had so graciously taken him in and trained him to serve
Apu Inti
.

“Manco Cachi,” he began, “I came here with the understanding that we were to discuss the status of these strangers. I don’t see why it should be assumed they are demons, without discussion.” He looked at the priest’s dispassionate faces.

“Is this how
Apu Inti
would have us receive guests?” he implored, cautiously.

The young Manco Chivo looked directly at him.

“Remove their robes,” he demanded.

Taken aback, Manco Chavin reached toward the men, but Peleg had understood clearly, and began removing his robe, motioning the others to do the same.

With the robes placed on the floor, the men from the
Urbat
stood in their leather-pleated ship uniforms which exhibited the wear from their six-years of travel, although they had been cleaned expertly by Manco Chavin’s servants. Despite the fact that they were still fully clothed, Peleg felt as if he were naked by the way the priests stared at them.

“True men would never dress in this manner,” intoned Manco Chivo, speaking loudly as he addressed the other priests. “From before the Crossing, our Founder warned of such creatures, and we have guarded against them faithfully since our arrival.”

He turned back towards Manco Chavin.

“Regardless of how beguiling they may be, it would be wise for you to respect the combined knowledge of this priesthood. There are simply things which you do not know, and which can not be explained further.”

Manco Chavin turned his eyes from priest to priest and began to waver. Surely faith was more important than any other virtue that he, as a priest, could offer. And, he conceded, he was
not
a Survivor.

Peleg decided it was time to speak for himself. He stepped forward and addressed the High Priest.

“High Priest Manco Cachi. I must humbly request that you consider my words as I appeal to your mercy for me and my companions.

“We have most assuredly traveled many years from across your great Western Sea, and only seek to learn from your wisdom. apologize for our dress and slow speech. We have the utmost reverence for
Apu Inti
, and sincerely wish only to honor you and your people. If we have in any way disgraced ourselves or arrived against your desires, we sincerely apologize, and will be happy to remove ourselves from your people—never to return, if that is your wish.”

Manco Cachi looked at the other priests and spoke as if he had just received the proof that he needed.

“As you can see for yourselves, such a degraded tongue could never come from the lips of true men. They attempt to deceive; yet one can easily hear they are uncomfortable with human speech.”

He turned to Manco Chavin.

“We have arranged a place for these strangers. Put their robes back on them.”

The men from the
Urbat
understood and hurriedly replaced their robes in one last desperate attempt to demonstrate their comprehension and, in turn, their humanity.

The priests of
Apu Inti
rose and walked towards them. Four walked past and encircled them, while the High Priest beckoned to Manco Chavin.

“Come and lead your creatures to their new home.”

The new prisoners were surrounded by the nine priests who coerced them towards a narrow hallway at the other side of the chamber. Peleg noticed Untash making a fist and preparing to fight.

“Not now, Untash,” he whispered harshly. “We can’t take all of them.”

One of the priests overheard and smashed Peleg on the side of his face.

“No demon talk!” He looked to Manco Chavin. “What more proof do you need?”

They were herded down a corridor, and then turned to face a large round opening in the wall on the right. The leading priests made way, and the four men were forced up through the opening where they fell into a large square room on the other side. In the dim light, there seemed to be no ceiling, but it was very damp with condensation on the walls and small puddles of water on the floor.

Once inside, they watched as a large stone plug slid down, and then into the opening, sealing the only exit and eliminating any light source from the outside hallway. Iron handles on the outside were used to pull the stone tight, leaving the plug on the inside flush with the surrounding surface. The thick cast walls prevented any noise of the retreating priests from entering the cell, and the only sound within was the heavy breathing of four men and the quiet dripping of water from someplace far overhead.

Mentor Thaxad was the first to speak.

“I do believe we have been selected for live burial.”

If the High Priest had not told him himself, Kriema would not have believed it. But Manco Cachi had taken him aside that morning before the workwomen arrived and warned him.

Kriema was in charge of preparing casting molds and installing limestone foundation girders for construction adjacent to the
Acapana
. He was also the taskmaster overseeing twelve supervisory workwomen.

“Strangers from a far district are arriving today,” the High Priest had told him, simply. “And we have reason to believe that one of them is a thief and plans to steal one of our most sacred icons.”

Kriema shook his head in disbelief. To risk the wrath of
Apu Inti
was unthinkable. To demonstrate such sickness of heart was unimaginable.

The High Priest continued.

“You are to observe them as they enter and watch. If there is a thief among them, he will certainly leave alone, before the others, and our suspicions will be confirmed. It will be your duty to deal with him.”

Kriema nodded.

“I shall confront him and retrieve whatever he has taken and return it.”

Manco Cachi had looked into his eyes as if this were a test.

“Do you believe that is sufficient for one whose heart is as damaged as this?”

Kriema had obviously underestimated the severity of the deed.

“What would you have me do?” he had asked with lowered eyes. “I am unfamiliar with such crimes.”

“You must render him unconscious and place his body in one of your casting molds. He will become part of the
Acapana
of Tiwanaku. Do you understand?”

Kriema had nodded and agreed to do all that was asked.

Manco Cachi had turned to leave, but at the last moment, looked back to make one final request.

“As for his sick heart, you are to bring that to me along with the stolen icon.”

Kriema had nodded dutifully, already planning how he would fulfill the High Priest’s order.

Just before noon, Kriema spotted six men as they approached and entered the temple. One was a priest wearing his leather helmet, and four were wearing robes and obviously guests of the priest. The sixth man was dressed poorly, wearing a frayed light-green robe with no hood. Apparently someone from the western regions.

The man seemed quite nervous, and Kriema felt sure he had spotted his thief.

Sure enough, in less than half an hour, this same man came running across the temple bridge and directly toward Kriema—which was the direction the six had come from.

Even before he drew near, Kriema could see the bright gold medal hanging around his neck. The fool! His heart must
surely
be sick if he felt he could steal, blaspheme,
and
flaunt his wickedness.

“See what I have received,” he called. His eyes glazed with the excited fervor of a madman who is gloating over his crimes.

Kriema refused to hear any more. He took his staff and struck the man on the side of his head, and as he fell forward, he used the other end of his staff to uppercut the man under his chin, snapping his head backwards.

Death was instantaneous, and Kriema looked for the nearest vat to place the body.

A sense of peace and well being flooded Kriema, as he knew he had served his priest well and avenged his god. He removed the icon and placed it securely in the pouch along his inner sash.

Now all he had to do was select the tools he needed to fulfill Manco Cachi’s final wish.

The emptiness in Mentor Inanna’s heart awaited her as it always did when she awoke. She knew she would never get over her beloved Salah’s death. After one hundred and thirty years of marriage, it was inconceivable that it could end so abruptly. How could something as powerful and indefinable as
Lifeforce
simply cease to exist?