Time Raiders: The Whisper (2 page)

Marisol turned back to Gunnar, but the Norseman wasn’t there. With no better ideas for getting into Pachacuti’s palace, Marisol considered Gunnar’s suggestion. She must be insane to trust the stranger.

Straightening her dress, she pushed her shoulders back and marched down the hillside, her feet slipping on the grassy slopes until she reached the road below. As she worked her way toward the warriors, she concocted a story she hoped they’d buy. If they didn’t, what was the worst that could happen?

They could kill her.

Marisol kept her head lowered, forcing her feet to shuffle slowly, hoping she appeared exhausted, lost and dejected. As the sun set, she stumbled into their camp from the west, the light behind her silhouetting her against the sky. She told them she had lost her parents to the mountains and had been wandering around, lost and alone until the sun god led her to them.

The warriors’ eyes lit up as they examined their “gift” from Inti. They promised her a home filled with riches and food if she agreed to go along with them to Pachacuti’s palace. Marisol agreed, schooling her face into a serene and grateful smile. All the while, she smirked inside. The men wouldn’t harm her as long as they hoped to present her to their ruler.

The night passed uneventfully. She even managed a few hours’ sleep. In the morning, she changed into the ceremonial dress the warriors had saved for their arrival. She hoped this stunt would gain her access to the ruler’s inner sanctum. Somewhere in the palace lay the next piece to the Pleiadian puzzle she was to find and return to the twenty-first century. When the pieces were found the bronze disk would be complete and give them the means to communicate with other civilizations across the universe.

When they reached the palace, the warriors were led into a great hall lined with nobles dressed in robes, adorned in beads and gold. Everywhere she looked, Marisol saw gold—statues, jewelry, urns, in hand-carved furniture, or pounded into the intricate designs on the surrounding walls.

At the end of the great hall was a gilded chair. A barrel-chested man with dark, swarthy skin and high cheekbones sat with his hands resting on the ornate jaguars’ heads made of gold. He wore a white tunic, with a colorful collar made of feathers around his neck. Gold disks the diameter of Marisol’s fists hung from the man’s ears and the grapefruit-size golden disk on his headdress marked him as someone of great power and influence. His brown-black eyes bored into her and the warriors who escorted her.

Marisol’s heart fluttered in her chest as she realized she was in the presence of one of the great rulers of history, a man who’d built a great empire during his time.

One of the warriors knocked into her, forcing Marisol to her knees. At first she resisted, her battle instincts kicking in. Then she remembered her mission. As she waited for the warriors’ turn to speak to the ruler, Marisol kept her head bent, letting her hair fall down over the sides of her face, casting a guarded glance around the room.

Other men dressed in similar garb stood around the emperor. Their gold headdresses were not quite as large or elaborate as their leader’s. A woman sat on a bright red cushion at Pachacuti’s right, her head lower in deference to the ruler’s status, her hand draped across his knee.

A presence nudged at Marisol’s consciousness and she shot another glance around the room, searching for the animal pushing into her thoughts. She closed her eyes and looked through the animal’s eyes in order to get a perspective of the room and thus pinpoint the creature.

When she tried to push into the animal’s mind, it shoved back, throwing up a wall of darkness Marisol couldn’t penetrate.

Strange. She’d never had an animal throw up a barrier to her. They hardly knew she was there unless she planted a suggestion. No, this animal sensed her and wasn’t allowing her in.

Marisol opened her eyes and panned the room again, her gaze returning to the ruler and his entourage. This time when she squeezed her eyes shut and pushed into the animal’s mind, she caught a brief glimpse of a woman on her knees in a brightly colored woolen dress, dark hair hanging down over face, her eyes tightly shut.

Marisol gasped, her eyes opening. The animal staring at her stood in front of her, among the ruler’s party. But where? Marisol lifted her head to study the group. No animal stood among them. Then she spotted the woman sitting beside the ruler.

Unlike the other women she’d passed in the city streets, this woman sat up straight, her head held high and proud. Her long black hair fell down her back in a straight black sheet. A gold band circled her forehead, the face of a jaguar imprinted on the gold emblem at the front. She wore a tawny tunic that almost matched the extraordinary gold of her eyes.

The warrior who’d led her little party into the city stepped forward. “Pachacuti, great warrior and leader of the Tawantinsuyu empire, our
suyu
leader sends word of his progress in the north and with it gifts befitting his great ruler.”

The warrior yanked Marisol up by the arm and thrust her forward.

Marisol stood with her head down, taking everything in through her peripheral vision.

Pachacuti chuckled. “Your leader sends me a scrawny waif? What use do I have for such a creature?” He pushed to his feet, crossing his arms over his chest, the power and confidence of his position emanating from every part of his body. He stepped down from the dais and crossed to Marisol. A man dressed in a white tunic and red robe stepped down with him.

The woman who’d been sitting quietly beside him, rose to her feet with the grace of a cat. Her long legs picked their way down the steps as if she chose each step with care.

Pachacuti’s large brown hand rose to cup her chin, turning Marisol’s face right then left. “Her skin is pale. Are you sickly?”

“No.” Marisol’s answer was short and sweet, the less she said the better.

“Open your mouth, girl.”

Anger rose quickly, and just as quickly Marisol squelched it and opened her mouth.

“She has all her teeth.” He dropped his hand to the swell of her breasts and lifted them.

“What do you think, Kentar?”

“Too old for virgin sacrifice, but not too old for other pleasures.” Kentar’s eyes narrowed.

“Her eyes are different. Not like the people of Tawantinsuyu. Where did you say you got her?” he asked the warrior who’d led her in.

On the spot, the man shifted his sandaled feet. “We brought her from the north.”

Marisol hid a smile. The warrior spoke the truth even if the north he spoke of was just north of the city.

“Eyes the color of jewels.” Pachacuti squeezed her breasts hard enough to hurt. “Hmm. And well-endowed. I might have use of such a woman in my bedchambers.”

The woman with the golden eyes laid a hand on Pachacuti’s arm. “You might consider sacrificing her to the sun god, Inti. Your Inti shaman seems unhappy lately.”

Kentar shook his head. “The shaman holds enough power already. Why credit him with more by offering a sacrifice?”

Pachacuti’s fingers squeezed again as he considered his advisor’s words. “I allow him only as much power as I deem necessary. After all, I am as close to Inti as anyone can come.”

Marisol inhaled deeply and let out the breath, closing her eyes to remain calm. Again a flash of her own image entered her thoughts. Much closer. Close enough to touch her face.

She opened her eyes and stared into the tawny gold, unblinking eyes of the woman on Pachacuti’s arm. Why? She’d never been able to see through another human’s eyes, until now. Why this woman?

“The Inti shaman’s displeasure has dire consequences. If he is happy he will continue to help you in your plans to expand your great empire.” The woman whispered into Pachacuti’s ear, her finger circling the large gold earring suggestively.

Kentar’s nostrils flared. “You listen to the ranting of a jealous woman?”

Red stained Pachacuti’s cheeks. “Imac is more than just a woman. She’s a trusted leader of my elite jaguar warriors. Dare you insult her?”

Imac’s hand dropped to her side and she shot a steady, challenging stare at Kentar, remaining silent. In her silence she won the first round between Pachacuti’s advisors.

Marisol sensed in Imac a deep anger and distrust of Kentar.

“No. I speak no ill will against the warrior. However, she is still a woman, prone to the womanly weakness of jealousy.” Kentar cast a condescending smile at Imac, the equivalent of patting a dog on the head before returning his attention to his leader. “Are you not the emperor of all of Tawantinsuyu?”

A flood of annoyance swept over Marisol, surging through her from another consciousness. Was Imac jealous? No doubt, the woman didn’t want Marisol as a prize for Pachacuti’s bedroom pleasure.

Pachacuti’s eyes narrowed, his back stiffening to ramrod straight. “I am the emperor of all you see and much you do not, and I do not need you, Kentar, to remind me. If I were not already satisfied with the woman who warms my bed, I would keep this one for myself. I am in need of a little entertainment.”

“I will show you entertainment,” Imac purred, her hand skimming over the bare skin of Pachacuti’s forearm.

Marisol’s stomach tightened. On the one hand, entering Pachacuti’s bedchamber might be just what she needed to find the medallion. Then again, she’d rather sneak in as a spy, not be forced into sexual intercourse with the Incan ruler in the name of the mission. And did giving her to the sun god mean sacrificing her in a barbaric ritual?

Imac’s lips quirked as though she could hear Marisol’s rampaging thoughts.

Warmth curled around Marisol’s insides, calming her.

Leaning into Pachacuti, Imac spoke in a low, sensuous tone. “You want to keep the Inti shaman happy. He has done much to further your cause. You cannot afford the sun god’s anger.”

The emperor’s gaze went out across the great hall as though seeing another place, another time. “Yes, we must keep the shaman happy. His abilities are undeniable.” Pachacuti’s hand dropped from Marisol’s breasts. His gaze panned over her body one last time before he turned and ascended to his golden throne. “Give the woman to the shaman.”

Kentar nodded. “Very well.” He clapped his hands and two of the guards standing watch at the end of the raised platform moved forward. “Take her to the chamber of the Inti shaman.”

Marisol was led away. She couldn’t fight now, not when the great hall overflowed with Pachacuti’s followers, his soldiers and dozens of his subjects. If she hoped to escape, it had to be after they left her in the shaman’s chambers. Any way she looked at it, she was in trouble. Damn the Norseman for sending her into the lion’s den as a gift. She’d made a bad decision to follow the stranger’s advice. Marisol prayed her decision wouldn’t cost her life.

The emperor’s warriors marched her down a long, narrow hallway. The corridors were much like the great hallway, tall, arched and lit by well-placed sconces inlaid with gold.

Out of range of the roomful of people, Marisol waited for her opportunity to escape, counting the doorways along the hallway, checking for exits, not seeing any along the way. If
they were taking her to the chamber of the shaman, would it be in a ceremonial building outside of the palace? Would she have trouble reentering when she escaped the shaman?

Just when Marisol decided to make a break for it, the guards stopped in front of a heavy wooden door decorated in ornate carvings, most of which depicted an animated sun complete with a face engraved at the center of geometric rays.

Curiosity stayed Marisol’s flight instinct. Ever since she’d arrived in the ancient Incan capitol, she’d taken in the sights like a tourist. What kind of ceremonial chamber had she been led to, what rituals were performed here? Following her curiosity was a rush of fear that made her stumble. Would she be tied up, drugged, forced to strip?

The door opened and a young servant girl held it wide for the guards. Her head down, the servant slipped out as the guards escorted Marisol into another chamber, more like an apartment with colorful woven rugs strewn across the floor and ornate woolen tapestries hanging against the stucco walls.

“What brings you to my chambers?” a voice said from around the corner leading into another room.

Both warriors dropped to their knees, dragging Marisol with them. “The Great Pachacuti brings tidings and a gift for Inti, the greatest god of the sun.”

“Leave the gift and go back to your master.”

The warriors rose to their feet.

When Marisol attempted to rise as well, they pushed down hard on her shoulders keeping her on her knees.

“If you wish to live, you will do as the shaman instructs.” The warriors backed out of the room, closing the door behind them.

As soon as the door closed, Marisol sprang to her feet and ran after them. She reached for the door handle, but a large, strong hand clamped down on her shoulder, stopping her.

Her training kicked in. She dropped low, dodged to the side and slipped free of the hand. Then she ran in the opposite direction into the next room, fully expecting to see a ceremonial pit or altar.

Instead, she tripped over a llama skin pallet, strewn with fur and soft woolen blankets, obviously a bed for sleeping…or other nefarious activities of the Incan shaman.

Marisol refused to be the next offering. A shuttered window on the other side of the bedding offered her the only avenue of escape. She leaped across the skins and blankets and reached for the wooden shutters.

Arms grabbed her around her waist and lifted her off her feet.

Marisol kicked and twisted, unable to loosen the ironlike band around her waist. “Let me go.”

“Silence, woman.”

“I will not be silent, nor will I be some sacrifice to a god I don’t believe in for a religion so barbaric it escapes comprehension.” She kicked out, her feet connecting with the wall. She pushed off the solid surface, sending her and her captor flying backward.

He tripped and fell, taking her with him. They landed with a thump on the bedding.

For a moment, the man beneath her lay still.