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 beer 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.”
He raised a hand. On the far side of the plaza, two lines of soldiers moved forward, holding flaming beacons. Then eight more Incas appeared, bowing under the weight of a great litter. On it, something flat and circular stood on its side, covered by a cloth. All around the city, heads turned silently to follow it. The bearers set it down on the grass, just in front of the table where Matt and Pedro were sitting.
“Why do we celebrate today?” the Inca called out. “Look on the face of Manco Capac and you will understand.”
The cloth was removed.
For a moment the golden disc dazzled Matt and he was unable to see. It seemed to shine with a light of its own. The disc was almost as tall as he was. It had been fashioned like a sun, with golden flames twisting round its rim. Matt blinked. Gradually he was able to make out a face engraved on the surface. It was a face that he recognized but of course that was impossible. The image had been made more than a thousand years ago. He heard Richard gasp and, next to him, Pedro stood up, backing away, his face filled with terror and disbelief.
Two faces, identical.
There could be no mistake.
The disc showed a picture of Manco Capac, founder of the Inca Empire. But Pedro was looking at a portrait of himself.
PROFESSOR CHAMBERS
They met the Inca prince the next morning – the four of them sitting cross-legged once again in front of his throne. Richard, Matt and Pedro were to leave before midday.
“I have spoken to Professor Chambers,” Huascar said. “And she has agreed to see you. I’m afraid it means another long journey for you, all the way back to the western coast. The professor lives in Nazca. Atoc has asked me if he can go with you.”
“I translate for Pedro,” Atoc said. “But also my destiny now is with you. I must finish what my brother began.”
The Inca prince gazed at them for a moment and Matt wondered if there wasn’t a tinge of sadness in his eyes. “We will meet again one day at Vilcabamba,” he went on. “What is important now is that you are safe. Salamanda may have the police and much of the government on his side, but my people are everywhere and now that we have found you, we will watch over you. Is there anything you wish to ask?”
Richard and Matt exchanged a glance. They had so many questions in their heads. How could a thousand- year-old image so resemble Pedro? One of them was going to be hurt, perhaps killed, at the gate. But which one? And – for Matt, the most burning question of all – if the Old Ones were going to break through the gate as the Inca had prophesied, was there any point even trying to stop them?
But neither of them spoke. Somehow Matt knew that there were no easy answers. He felt as if he had fallen into a fast-flowing river. If he struggled or tried to get out, he would waste his strength and drown. All he could do was swim with the current and see where it took him.
Huascar stood up and raised his hands, palms forward. “I wish you a safe journey and success,” he said. “May the spirit of Viracocha go with you.”
The audience was over. Richard, Atoc, Matt and Pedro stood up, bowed and began to leave.
But it wasn’t quite over yet.
“Senor Cole,” the prince called. “I would like, if I may, to have one last word with you? But in private…”
Richard stopped. “Don’t worry,” he whispered to Matt. “If he wants me to stay behind in Vilcabamba, the answer’s no.”
He waited while Matt, Pedro and Atoc left. The Inca stepped down from his throne. The amauta was also there. Richard hadn’t seen him enter the throne room.
“What are you thinking?” Huascar asked.
“One day I’ll write about all this,” Richard said. “Maybe you’ll try to stop me, but I will anyway. What difference will it make? Nobody will believe me. When I look back, I may not believe it myself.”
“Let me ask you this question. Why do you believe the boy was chosen?”
“Matt?” Richard shrugged. “He’s one of the Five…”
