Temple

Renco mounted the path, stepping slowly upward, holding the wet idol in his hands. The cats followed him. The Incan warriors and myself walked slowly up the path behind them.

Up and up we went. Round and round, following the steady curve of the path.

At length we came to a rope bridge that stretched out over the canyon, connecting the outer path to the finger of stone in the middle of the great canyon.

I looked out across the ravine at the stone tower opposite me.

On top of the tower, surrounded by some low-cut foliage, I saw a magnificent stepped pyramid not unlike those found in the lands of the Aztecas. A box-shaped tabernacle was mounted atop the imposing triangular pyramid.

Renco crossed the bridge first. The cats followed him, one by one, bouncing with supreme surefootedness across the long swooping bridge. The warriors went next. I crossed last of all.

Once I had navigated my way across the bridge, I mounted a series of wide stone steps which opened onto a clearing of some sort. At the head of this clearing lay the portal to the temple, the entrance.

Wide and dark, square and menacing, it yawned open as if daring all the world to enter.

With the wet idol in his hands, Renco approached the portal. 'Warriors,' said he and firmly, 'man the boulder.'

The seven warriors and my humble self hurried over to the boulder that stood to the side of the temple's yawning entryway.

Renco stood in the mouth of the portal, dousing the idol with rainwater, causing it to continue its melodious song.

The cats stood before him, staring at the singing idol, hypnotised.

Renco took a step inside the temple.

The cats followed him.

Renco took another step down and the first cat went inside after him.

Another step.

A second cat, then a third, then a fourth.

At which stage Renco tipped as much water as was left inside the llama's bladder over the idol, and then—after taking a final solemn glance at his people's most prized possession—he hurled it down into the dark depths of the temple.

The cats leapt inside the temple after it. All twelve of them.

'Quickly, the boulder!“ Renco cried, hurrying out of the temple's entrance. 'Push it back into the portal!'

We pushed as one.

The boulder rumbled against the threshold.

I leaned on it with all my might, straining against the weight of the great stone. Renco appeared beside me, also heaving against it.

The boulder moved slowly back into the portal. A few more paces to go.

Almost there…

Just a couple.., more…

'Renco,' a voice said suddenly from somewhere nearby.

It was a woman's voice.

Renco and I turned together.

And we saw Lena standing at the edge of the clearing.

'Lena?' Renco said. 'What are you doing up here? I thought I asked you to—'

At that moment, Lena was shoved roughly aside, thrown to the ground, and suddenly I saw a man standing on the stone steps behind her, and in that single, solitary instant, every ounce of blood in my veins turned to ice.

I was looking at Hernando Pizarro.

A stream of about twenty conquistadors poured out from the foliage behind Lena and spread out around the clearing, their muskets raised and pointed at our faces. The firelight of their torches illuminated the entire clearing.

They were accompanied by three olive-skinned natives who each had long, sharp spikes of bone protruding from their cheeks. Chancas. The Chanca trackers Hernando had employed to follow our trail to Vilcafor.

Last of all—nay, most ominously of all—came another olive-skinned man. He was taller than the others, bigger, with a long shock of matted black hair that came down to his shoulders. He also had a spike of bone thrust through his left cheek.

It was Castino. The brutish Chanca who had been in the same prison hulk as Renco at the beginning of our adven ture, the one who had overheard Renco say that the idol was in the Coricancha in Cuzco.

The conquistadors and the Chancas formed a wide circle around Renco, myself and the seven Incan warriors.

It was then that I noticed how filthy they all looked. To a man, the conquistadors were covered in mud and grime. And they looked worn and exhausted, weary beyond measure.

Whence I realized—this was all that remained of Hernando's hundred-strong legion. On their march through the mountains and the forests, Hernando's men had died all around him. From disease, from starvation, or just from sheer exhaustion.

This was all that remained of his legion. Twenty men.

Hernando stepped forward, yanking Lena to her feet as he did so. Dragging her behind him, he approached the temple and stood before Renco, staring imperiously down at him. Hernando was a full head taller than Renco and twice as broad. He shoved Lena roughly into Renco's arms.

For my part, I cast a fearful glance at the temple's portal.

It was still partially open, the gap between the boulder and the great stone doorway easily wide enough for a rapa to fit through.

This was not good.

If the water drained off the idol and it stopped its song, the rapas would break out of their spells and-