“I was feeling pretty pleased with myself because you’d got away,” Richard said. “I reckoned they wouldn’t be interested in me and they’d just let me go. But then they explained to me that they were on our side. They’d tried to intercept us before we walked into a trap. The police were at the hotel.”
Matt shivered at the memory.
“Atoc and the others always knew we’d come to Peru. They were waiting for us from the very start. The trouble was, so were Salamanda and his people. The Incas had to try the kidnap thing because that was the only way they could get hold of us. Of course, they weren’t too pleased that you’d got away. In fact, they’ve been looking for you ever since. They’ve had people out all over the country. As for me, they took me by car to a private airport, then by plane to Cuzco and finally by helicopter to the middle of nowhere. Just like you. I got bitten to death in the cloud forest and I nearly threw up coming down into the canyon. Did I ever tell you that I don’t have a head for heights?”
“No.”
“Well, I’ve been here ever since. They’ve looked after me and the food’s good. But like I said, I’ve been worrying about you. I couldn’t believe it when they told me they’d found you in Cuzco. I’d love to have seen that secret passage. One day maybe you can show me. Perhaps on the way out…”
“Who are they, Richard?” It was the one thing Matt still didn’t understand. “They say this is the lost city of the Incas. But there aren’t any Incas any more, are there?”
“There aren’t meant to be. Most of them died out.” Richard lifted the jug of beer, realized it was empty and put it down again. “These people are the only survivors: the descendants of the tens of thousands killed all those years ago. And this city is like their secret headquarters. Did you notice the path along the edge of the canyon? They have a way of making it disappear after you’ve walked down it. No planes can fly over here because there are weird air currents. Nobody knows about this place apart from the people who live here – and you, me and Pedro, now that we’re their guests.”
“And they want to help us.”
“That’s right. You’ve got the Incas on the one hand, and then there’s Diego Salamanda on the other. At least this time we know who the bad guy is.”
“Why can’t they stop him?” This was something Matt didn’t understand. “They know who he is. They know where to find him…”
“What do you want them to do, Matt? Murder him?”
Matt shrugged. “It doesn’t seem like a bad idea.”
“They’d have to get to him first and he’s well protected.”
“They could go to the police.”
“He owns the police. Diego Salamanda is one of the most powerful men in Peru. What does he call his company? Salamanda News International. He should call it Salamanda International News because that would spell SIN, which sounds right to me. Salamanda’s worth millions and if he went out of business, half the country would go down with him. News, telecommunications, software … only last week he sent a fifty-million-dollar satellite into space, paid for out of his own pocket. He plays chess with the president. They do it over the telephone and Salamanda is the one who put in the phone lines.”
“If Salamanda is so rich and so successful, why does he want to open the gate? What’s in it for him?”
“I don’t know, Matt. Maybe the Old Ones can shrink his head back for him. Maybe they can give him eternal life. Why did the last lot want to open Raven’s Gate? If you ask me, they’re all mad.”
Richard fell silent. Someone had begun to play the panpipes outside the house. The notes hovered eerily in the air. Matt looked out of the window, across the canyon. He had forgotten how high up they were. The ground fell away for ever.
“You said the Incas were waiting for us,” he said. “How did they know we were coming?”
“I asked Atoc about that. I wish I could tell you that they read about it in the newspapers, but it’s a bit more complicated. The Incas know more or less everything that’s happening in Peru. They’ve got people everywhere. But there’s something else. They use magic.”
“Magic…?”
“They have these people. They call them amautas. They’re like, sort of, sorcerers … a bit like dear old Miss Ashwood. They know about the Old Ones. And they know about you. You may meet one of them later. He’s an elderly chap. I’ve spent a bit of time with him. I think he’s about a hundred and twelve.”
It took Matt a moment to absorb all this. “They knew I was coming,” he said. “But so did Salamanda. Who do you think told him?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. I’m afraid it looks as if it was someone in the Nexus.”
“That would make sense. I rang Mr Fabian but the police arrived before he did.”
“Well, I don’t have any real idea, but if it was anyone, Tarrant’s the one I’d most suspect. Do you remember him? He was the policeman who gave us the false passports. That’s what caused half the trouble. Having fake passports turned us into criminals … and they were his idea.”
“So what happens now?”
Richard thought for a moment. “We have to put our trust in these people. We can’t get in touch with the Nexus again, that’s for sure,” he said.
Matt nodded and then yawned, suddenly tired.
“You’d better get some sleep,” Richard said. “You must be exhausted. Then you can wash and change those clothes. I have to say, I hardly recognized you when I saw you just now. You look ridiculous.”
“Thanks.”
“Then you can introduce me to your friend Pedro. And we’ve all got to be in the main square at sunset.” Richard smiled. “The Incas are having a party and we’re invited!”
Matt slept until the middle of the afternoon. When he woke up, Richard took him to the bath house – a series of wooden cubicles in a stone building with a jet of water pouring through a hole in the wall in a non-stop stream. The water was ice cold but sparkling clean. It couldn’t wash off the dye and Matt felt he came out looking much as he had done when he went in. But he was certainly refreshed.
He had been given new clothes to wear. The Indians who lived in Vilcabamba wore clothes that were a strange mix of the ancient and the modern, with the brightly coloured hats and ponchos above and jeans and trainers below. When he came out of the bath house, he was given a new poncho – a deep red colour with a green diamond pattern around the border. The strange thing was, he didn’t feel self-conscious wearing it. Perhaps he had changed so much in the last few weeks that he no longer had any idea who he really was.
Then he and Richard were taken to a grand building, twice the size of any of the others, at the very heart of the city. All around them there were Indians preparing the feast to come – setting up wooden tables, building fires, carrying out trays of food and drink. The sun had turned red and was sinking fast behind the mountains below them. It was a new experience for Matt to see the sun this way. Normally he would look up at it. Now he seemed to be above it and could actually see it slipping over the edge of the world.
The building they were entering was a palace. Matt knew it without being told. There was a guard, barelegged, ceremonially dressed in a tunic and carrying a golden spear, on each side of the door. More guards lined the passageway inside. And there, in front of them, was a throne mounted on a platform, and on it a man wearing a long robe, with a headdress and golden discs attached to his ears. He probably wasn’t much older than Richard but there was a sense of confidence and seriousness about him that made him look somehow ageless. Matt stopped and bowed. The Incas, it seemed, had a prince.
“You are welcome, Matteo,” the man said, speaking in perfect English. He had the same accent as Atoc: foreign, but not Spanish. In fact his first language was Quechua, the language his people had spoken before the Spanish arrived. “My name is Huascar and I am very glad to meet you at last. I have been waiting for you a long time. My people have been waiting even longer. Please, sit down.”
There were four
low stools set out in front of the throne. Richard and Matt sat down. A moment later, Pedro and Atoc entered through a side door. Pedro had also been given fresh clothes. His poncho was a soft blue. He bowed to the Inca prince and took his place beside Matt. Atoc sat on the fourth stool.
“You are also welcome, Pedro,” Huascar continued. He was still speaking in English for the benefit of Richard and Matt, but Atoc whispered quietly in Pedro’s ear, translating. “We have very little time remaining to us and there is a great deal to discuss.”
He raised a hand and servants stepped forward carrying four golden goblets of red wine, which they set down on the floor in front of the guests. The Inca drank nothing himself.
“Five hundred years ago,” he began, “one of the mightiest empires ever built fell and died. With the coming of Francisco Pizarro and the conquistadors from Spain, everything my people had created was destroyed. Our cities were burned down, our gold looted, our temples desecrated, my ancestors ruthlessly killed. So began for us the time of the great darkness.
“Today, the glory of the Inca world is almost forgotten. Our cities are ruins, the broken pieces laid bare for tourists. Our art is locked away in museums. Only this place, Vilcabamba, remains undiscovered. Only here can we live as we once did. We are the last of the Incas.”
He fell silent. Atoc whispered for a few seconds more, then stopped. Pedro nodded.
“But we haven’t lost our strength.” The Inca prince looked Matt in the eyes. “You have seen only a small part of our secret world, a fraction of the gold we hid from the Spaniards. We do not live here all the time. We cannot hide from modern life. But we have come here from all over Peru and South America to show ourselves to you. Because, when the final struggle comes, you must know that you can call on us.
“We have entered more than a new millennium. We are on the threshold of a new world and we believe that one day we will be able to regain our rightful place. The Incas will live again with our own laws, our own justice, our own peace. But we will have to fight for it – and our enemies are more deadly than the conquistadors ever were. The Old Ones. We know about them. We’ve always known about them. They mean to destroy the new world before it is even born. And they are here in Peru.”
Again, the Inca raised his hand. At once another man entered the throne room, walking with the help of a stick. He was wearing a poncho that was as grey as himself. His entire body was hunched over. His arms and legs were all bone. Richard nudged Matt. This was the amauta he’d been talking about.
“Tell them,” Huascar commanded.
“Before the sun has risen and set three times, the Old Ones will break through the gate that was created in Peru before the world began,” the amauta said. He spoke in English. His voice was surprisingly strong. “I have read the signs in the sky and on the land. The birds fly where they should not fly. There are too many stars in the heavens at night. A terrible disaster is a heartbeat away and perhaps all our hopes will come to nothing. One boy will stand against the Old Ones and alone he will fall. Maybe he will die. This I do not know.
“But not all will be lost. Five defeated them at the dawn of time and five will defeat them again. That is the prophecy. This boy is one of the Five. This boy also.” He pointed first at Matt, then at Pedro. “The others will follow and when the Five come together they will have the strength to defeat the Old Ones. Then the last great war will take place and the new world will begin.”
He fell silent.
“You say the gate will open three days from now,” Richard muttered. “Do you know where it is?”
The Inca prince shook his head. “We have searched for it. We have never found it.”
“Then where do you suggest we go next?” Richard hadn’t meant to sound rude, but he was aware that he had been even as he spoke the words and he flinched, wondering if he was about to find out what it felt like to have two metres of golden spear in his back.
But the Inca did not seem offended. His face hadn’t changed. He gestured at Atoc, who took out a sheet of paper and laid it in front of them. Matt recognized it at once. It was the page that Pedro had taken from the photocopier. It had been in the back pocket of his jeans. He wondered when Atoc had taken it.
“This the only clue,” Atoc said.
“What does it say?” Matt asked. He had been wondering about the strange verse ever since Pedro had found it.
On the night when the white bird flies
Before the place of Qolqa
There will the light be seen
The light that is the end of all light.
And below that, the two words – INTI RAYMI – and the blazing sun.
As Atoc translated, Matt felt his heart sink. The paper had obviously been important enough for Salamanda to want to copy it. But why did its message have to be so complicated? He had thought the lines would tell him what he needed to know about the gate. They told him nothing at all.
The old amauta shook his head. “Inti Raymi…” he said.
“Inti Raymi is the most important day in the Inca calendar,” the prince explained. “It is the time of the summer solstice when the sun is at its furthest point south of the equator. June the twenty-fourth. Today is the twenty-first.”
There were three days left. Just as the amauta had said.
“What about the place of Qolqa?” Richard asked. “Do you know where that is?”
The amauta glanced at the Inca ruler but he knew the answer already. “Qolqa is a Nazcan word,” he said.
“They were talking about Nazca –” Matt said excitedly – “Salamanda and the others. They said they were looking for a platform in the Nazca Desert.”
“The pictures on this paper would very much indicate the desert,” the Inca agreed. “But that is on the other side of Peru, back where you’ve come from. We must give serious thought to what we do next. If this page told Salamanda what he needed to know, it can tell us too. There is a professor who lives in Nazca who has made many studies of the area. If there is anyone in the country who can make sense of this, she can.
I will speak with her tonight.”
“Are you on the phone here?” Richard asked.
Huascar smiled for the first time. “This is an ancient city,” he said. “We are very remote. But this is still the twenty-first century. We have mobile phones and we even have a satellite connection to the Internet. Please, try not to think of us as primitive.”
He stood up.
“My people wish to see you,” he said. “The fact that two of the Five are with us is a cause for celebration, no matter what the future may bring.” He raised his hands. “Let the feast begin.”
Night had fallen and the stars had come out in their millions. The entire city of Vilcabamba was filled with lights and music, the thin wail of the panpipes echoing above the deeper beating of the drums. Several bonfires had been lit and there were pigs turning on spits, chicken and lamb baking in clay pots, great chunks of pork on skewers and bubbling cauldrons of stew. The air carried the smell of roasting fat and the sparks leapt up and crackled.
There were at least five hundred people – men, women and children – in the sacred plaza. This was the rectangle of grass around which everything else had been built. More people looked down from the platforms and terraces above. Many of the Incas had put on their ceremonial clothes. There were headdresses made of feathers and gold, brilliantly coloured robes, gold collars and bracelets, golden shields and swords and gold jewellery, fabulously wrought in the shape of pumas, crouching warriors and gods. People were dancing. Many were eating and drinking. All of them wanted to see Matt, to greet him and to shake his hand.
Matt was sitting with Richard and Pedro. He had introduced the two of them before the feast began.
“I’m really glad to meet you, Pedro,” Richard said. “Thank you for looking after Matt.”
Pedro nodded, although Matt wondered if he had really understood.
The night drew on. The music became louder and the wine and bee
r flowed faster. Matt noticed Richard emptying yet another goblet – but he himself had probably drunk more beer than was good for him too. And why not? he thought. For just one night he was safe, among friends. He remembered what the amauta has said. The gate would open in three days. One boy would stand against the Old Ones and one boy would fall. Would it be he or Pedro? Or had the amauta been talking about someone else? Whatever the answer, Matt knew that this might be his only chance to relax and enjoy himself before he was plunged back into the dangers that lay outside. Richard had already told him: they were going to leave the next day.
And then the music stopped, the crowd grew silent and the prince of the Incas stepped out onto a terrace in front of his palace. Once again he spoke in English, and although he didn’t raise his voice, the words rang out for all to hear.
“This is how the Inca world began,” he exclaimed. “This is the story that has been passed down through the generations…”
He paused. Somewhere a baby cried until its mother shushed it.
“According to our ancestors, a long time ago there was only darkness. The land was bare and the people lived like animals. Then the father of all things – we call him Viracocha, the Sun – decided to send his son down to teach the people how to live properly, how to cultivate the fields and build houses for themselves.
“And that is how Manco Capac came into the world. He rose out of the waters of Lake Titicaca, son of the Sun, the first of the Incas. Manco travelled across South America until at last he came to a valley near Cuzco. Here he plunged a gold rod into the earth, for this was the place where he had decided to found the Inca Empire.
“For many years he ruled wisely and strongly, before returning to the heavens. In that time, one image – and only one – was made of him. It was engraved on a great circle of gold. This treasure, more precious to us than any other, was called the Sun of Viracocha. When the conquistadors came, it was hidden away and nobody has seen it since, though many have tried to find it.”