The Days of Peleg (35 page)

“And provide us with some sort of rowboat?” added Serug.

“Even a rowboat won’t get us to the
Urbat
before it leaves,” said Thaxad. His voice was thick with despondency. “The best we can hope for is to catch up to it after it departs.”

“If we keep moving, we will arrive on the plains very late this evening.” Manco Chavin tried to sound reassuring.

“As soon as we get there, we will ask for their help. I’m confident they will arrange whatever you need. After all, they are very creative.”

It was now almost two hours before midnight, and the stars shone brightly, except where they were washed out by the moon which was one day shy of being new. The new moon which would launch the
Urbat
.

According to Manco Chavin they had reached the plains less than an hour ago and that soon they should find the young
Wari
.

In the distance they spotted a small fire which grew as they walked slowly toward it. A relentless drumming ostinato could be heard along with some counter-tenor harmonies.

“We should be able to talk with these youth,” said Manco Chavin as they approached the fire. In the firelight, the young
Wari
could be seen wearing outlandish clothing, and many had rings and jewelry piercing their eyebrows and lips. A few had geometric patterns or images of small animals tattooed on their faces and extremities.

He called out to them.

“
Pehe korua!
”

The singing stopped immediately while those in the audience stooped down to the ground to get a better view beyond the firelight.

“Who is it?” shouted one of the young men.

“Travelers from Port Tiwanaku,” explained Manco Chavin. “We mean no harm.”

There was some murmuring from around the fire, then the same voice responded.

“Come and join us around the fire.”

The five men entered the ring of young people and were suddenly conscious of the fact that no one was over the age of thirty. Serug was startled to see hairstyles and colors which none of his classmates at the Citadel would have ever dared—and some of
them
considered themselves quite radical.

“I am Kreivan,” said a young man. They instantly recognized him as the owner of the voice who had answered earlier. A large tattoo of a spider covered his right temple and spread down over one eye, its legs sprawled in jagged lines across his face and over his bald (shaved?) head. One elongated leg stretched along his jawbone. A jeweled spider also hung from a small amulet piercing his lower lip.

“You are a long way from home,” he grinned. “What brings you to our plains?”

He paused, but before they could answer he held up a hand.

“That was rude,” he said, apologetically. “We don’t ask questions here. Everyone has their own story, and you may tell yours, but only if you wish.”

Manco Chavin bowed slightly.

“Thank you,” he said. “Actually, I am here because my four friends have an urgent need, and I told them you would be able to help.”

Kreivan nodded for him to continue.

“I have never been to the plains before, but I visited the
Plateau of Remembrance
back when some of you were young children learning to walk.”

He looked around as if he might recognize some of them.

“My four friends need to get to the coast as soon as possible. They have a sea vessel waiting for them many leagues to the south, and they must arrive there before it departs.

“You see, the Priests of
Apu Inti
did not like how they choose to dress, and we fled over the sea to…”

Kreivan raised a hand.

“No need to explain,” he admonished. “How quickly do you need to reach the coast?”

“By tomorrow.”

Kreivan seemed momentarily stunned, then looked at the faces around the fire and returned with a sorrowful gaze.

“That is not possible,” he stated. “The coast
is
very close if one flies like a bird, but it would take several days to climb down the mountains and cliffs to reach it. We never have reason to go there.”

Manco Chavin was bewildered for a moment. “I didn’t realize you were still so high above the sea,” he said.

Kreivan continued.

“Also, we would have no ships or vessels to offer you once we
did
arrive at the sea. We would need to construct a craft for you, and then guide you down the mountains. We are happy to help, but it will take at least two weeks.”

Peleg’s heart struck bottom. He had tried to maintain a forced optimism, but he now realized that they had been pretending all along. There never
had
been a way to return to the
Urbat
.

“We can provide some food and blankets for the night. Tomorrow we can discuss your future plans.”

Manco Chavin turned to the men from the
Urbat
with a look of helplessness and shame.

“You saved my life, and I had hoped to return the favor.” He sighed, dejectedly. “I
am
sorry,” he said, shaking his head.

“You tried,” said Peleg, managing, somehow, to suppress his despondency.

Untash nodded in agreement while Thaxad stood expressionless.

The five men stood quietly for a moment until Serug said, “Well, we might as well accept their offer of food.”

The night’s entertainment had obviously concluded. The young
Wari
gave them each a bowl of llama stew and some kind of wine made from a small yellow flower which they translated as
lion’s tooth
. There were also several wool blankets brought for them to sleep in.

Peleg drifted off to sleep listening to the fire and the youngsters’ quiet conversations. He had difficultly following much of it, because it seemed (to him) that there were many slang words which he could not recognize. He was sure that Manco Chavin would not have recognized many of them either.

He awoke with a start, and stretched with the satisfaction of a good night’s sleep—until he suddenly remembered their situation. Sentenced to live out his life on this distant, unknown continent. His mind raced with frantic scenarios of how he could somehow construct a ship and return home, but he realized such a plan would require more years and manpower than he was able to expend.

The young
Wari
offered them some fried eggs on small plates which they ate gratefully. Afterwards, they saw Kreivan approach, his facial jewelry glistening in the early morning sunlight.

“I hope you slept well,” he began. “We would like to show you what we do here. We use our artwork to honor the
Atua
and their handiwork in hopes they will someday return to give us their wisdom and power.”

They put their gear together and washed in the basins provided. Kreivan waved for them to follow, which they did.

Peleg was astonished at the expanse of the plain. He had never seen such a level surface before—with the possible exception of an extremely calm sea. It stretched northward beyond the horizon, and he could look back over the direction they had traveled and only see in the distance the ranges leading back to the
Plateau of Remembrance
. To the east and southwest he could see small hills which surely marked the descent into the sea.

Kreivan led them to a group of five artists, who were working on the ground, carefully laying multi-colored stones in a mosaic; aligning them precisely with a large chalk outline. The pattern stretched for several meters with a slight arch, and additional details could be seen in the portions that were completed.

“What is it?” asked Serug.

“It’s a monkey,” answered Kreivan with a laugh. “It’s somewhat whimsical, but Traima, the designer, hopes to one day meet the
Atua
responsible for these animals.

“Our parents told us of many different creatures from before the crossing, but we have seldom seen any until recently. Animals of this type only arrived here within our lifetime.”

“Well I’m glad,” said Serug under his breath to Peleg. “They certainly are good eating.”

“There are other animal drawings nearby, and several more are planned. To the north is a dog, and there are also condors and lizards.

“I, myself, am working on a depiction of a spider,” he said. He pointed off to the northwest. “It is a few leagues that way.”

He brought his finger around to his face.

“As you can see, I like spiders.”

“Please forgive me,” said Peleg, studying the ground. “But I don’t see a monkey in this mosaic.”

Kreivan laughed, and his spider tattoo crinkled around his temple.

“Oh, you can’t see it from here,” he chided. “What you see in front of you is just a portion of the arch of its lower back.” He pointed to a section where the outline veered off to the east. “Over there is where the tail begins. It goes for quite a ways, then begins to curl in on itself in a spiral.” He grinned and shook his head. “Traima likes her spirals.”

“Why so big?” asked Serug.

“It is to attract the attention of the
Atua
.” He paused and lowered his voice. “I imagine there is an element of showing off, too.”

“But you can’t even enjoy it—or even show it to others,” protested Peleg.

“Besides,” added Untash, “how is anyone to know whether or not you were successful in an accurate representation of your subject?” He, too, was straining to see a complete product.

“Well, the artist oversees the pattern, and then we all help to fill in the coloring and textures.”

“What do you mean by
oversees
?” pressed Untash.

Kreivan paused for a moment, apparently confused, then said, “The artist ‘sees’ or watches over the complete outline as it is laid out. They are like a director.”

Thaxad had remained silent throughout this entire discourse, partially due to his internal bitterness at being stranded here. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, he was intensely interested.

“Exactly how
does
this director watch over the
entire
design?”

Kreivan was taken aback by the tall Mentor’s forcefulness and sudden curiosity. He stared into Thaxad’s face, and, for the first time, appeared to notice his small tattoo—insignificant by
Wari
standards. Kreivan seemed as though he was going to ask about the teardrop marking, then suddenly dismissed the idea and answered Thaxad’s question.

“They are seated in the Overseer Chairs,” he said, pointing to what appeared to be a small
totora
-reed bench several meters away. “They are made by craftsmen in Cahuachi where our families live. We have dwellings there where we make our homes. We only sleep on the plains when we are immersed in a large project or group planning.”

Peleg stared at the wide seat, and noticed a large, black, shapeless mass resting beside it. He saw a small fire burning and suddenly remembered exactly why Captain Phaxâd had sent them to explore this land.

The large black mass was slowly growing.

Thaxad’s intensity grew as he interrupted the young
Wari
.

“Please,” his eyes bored down. “We may be able to return to our ship with your chairs. I realize we have nothing with which to compensate you, but if you have another, the four of us can attempt to make the journey. It must be today, since our ship leaves the first thing tomorrow morning.”

It was disconcerting to Peleg to see the Mentor beg, but he was starting to realize what Thaxad was proposing. Serug and Untash still had no idea what the Overseer Chairs really were.

“But you would have to release the lines that hold it to the ground,” responded a clearly terrified Kreivan. “You would float up, never to return.”

“Not true,” replied the insistent Thaxad. “Our weight would soon overcome the buoyancy which lessens with altitude.”

It suddenly dawned on Serug and Untash what he was proposing. Their mouths opened silently.

“Besides,” continued Thaxad. “I see you use black cloth—probably cotton—which uses the sun to keep the air heated. At the end of the day, the air would cool and your chair would fall freely.”

Peleg’s heart began to pound at the thought of an un-tethered balloon lifting him over the mountains—or out to sea—in that small wicker seat. And also of falling freely.

Kreivan pondered before speaking.

“It would delay our projects many weeks, but if you are so desperate as to risk such a journey, it must be very important.”

He made up his mind.

“We have a second chair on the other side of our campsite,” he said. “You may have them freely. However, it will be almost noon before the bags are inflated.”

He paused.

“If I may ask, how do you intend to control the chairs? I mean, how can you imagine that you will succeed?”

“We shall be successful,” was Thaxad’s calm, definitive reply. He gazed at Kreivan with utmost assurance.

“I know this for a fact.”

Peleg was seated next to Untash as he watched the large black envelope gently begin to tug at their chair. It was nothing more than a bench made of braided reeds, with only the slightest of handholds.

Their protestations had fallen on deaf ears. Thaxad had simply maintained that since the small overhead clouds were moving south by southeast, their chairs would travel with them when they were high enough. And by evening he was certain they would have traveled far enough so that the coastal winds would blow them down towards the coast where they might be able to spot the
Urbat
—or at least close enough to track it as it moved along the coast.

“Besides,” he had said. “If only one chair makes it, we should be able to let the crew know where to search for the other one.”

He assured them that the deflating or cooling balloon would
not
descend too rapidly to cause injury. At least not
permanent
injury.

Manco Chavin had said his good-byes, and one could see the desperate hope in his eyes that they would make it. The young artisans had taken to him (apparently impressed by someone who had fled the ‘establishment’) and it seemed he would be staying there for quite a while.