The Vilcabamba Prophecy: A Nick Randall Novel (19 page)

Chapter twenty-nine

Randall was engulfed by a sea of
green and was hopelessly
lost,
unable to tell what
direction they were traveling. His guides, however, seemed quite sure of their
surroundings. Despite his concern, Randall was thankful he had found Sam who
walked directly in front of him. The trail they were following, if that was an
appropriate description of their path, was faint at best, but as they walked,
Randall saw distinct markings on some of the plants and trees suggesting they
were cut at some time in the past. This suggested it had previously been used
as a route, further supporting the notion that these natives were the guardians
of the headpiece as implied in the book. Randall also noted that they bore a
striking resemblance to the
Capanhuaco
and were
clearly related to them.

The presence of
this new group added a new wrinkle to an already complicated situation. There
were now two different tribal groups descended from the original inhabitants of
Vilcabamba
, and Randall couldn’t help but wonder what
this group wanted from Sam and him. Were they a bigger part of the
reunification plan or would they be excluded from the party? If the latter
was
true, how would they respond to the notion that he was
trying to help the
Capanhuaco
? The questions hung
heavy on his mind, but he sensed he would soon have his answer. Randall hurried
to catch up with Sam.

“How are you
doing, kiddo?”

“I’m fine, but
I’m wondering who these people are and what they want from us.”

“I think I
know.”

“Why did I
think you were going to say that,” Sam said, with a sarcastic look, eliciting a
chuckle from her father.

“They’re the
guardians of the medallion or headpiece as they refer to it. As the descendants
of the woman in the tomb, it’s their job to protect the medallion from
intruders. When we pulled the book out of the sarcophagus, we set off a
booby-trap they designed to seal thieves inside the tomb.”

“So this tribe
is related to the
Capanhuaco
? Then they should want
to help us get the medallion back to their relatives.”

“Maybe, but I’m
not sure they’re part of the reunification plan. According to the book, this
woman, Luna
Quispe
, wasn’t very popular with the
Capanhuaco
. After she stole the medallion, the guardians of
the staff figured out that she was from the
Paititi
tribe, and they took out their anger on the
Capanhuaco
.
In the process, they killed many of the
tribespeople
,
until one of the elders was able to explain that Luna and her team were acting
on their own.”

“So the two
tribes might not be on speaking terms.”

“Exactly.”

“If you’re
right, then we’re in trouble.”

The heavy
vegetation finally parted as Sam and Randall found themselves in a small
clearing filled with natives going about their daily lives. Unlike the great
stone structures, they had observed in
Paititi
, this
village consisted of more traditional thatched huts and simple fire pits. They
walked among the
tribespeople
who were busy carrying
water and grinding down grain to prepare their meals. The contrast between the
living conditions of this tribe and the
Capanhuaco
was remarkable.
Paititi
was a thriving metropolis
with relatively modern luxuries compared to this village. Sam and Randall
shared a glance.

One of the
warriors
who had captured them, motioned for the two
Archeologists to move towards the largest hut in the village. Sam and Randall
obliged, slowly making their way to the simple structure. The warrior motioned
for them to sit near the entrance while he entered the shelter. After a short
time, he reappeared with another man who looked nothing like the other
villagers. The new stranger was far taller than the inhabitants, Randall judged
him to be nearly six feet tall. He had sandy brown hair and hazel eyes in stark
contrast to the dark manes and brown eyes sported by his companions. The new
stranger eyed Sam and Randall with suspicion and then re-entered his hut as the
warrior motioned for the two scientists to follow him in.

Upon entering,
Randall was shocked by another surprise. The interior of the structure held
artifacts entirely out of place for a jungle tribe. An ancient desk with faded
and weathered books sat in one corner of the hut. An old globe sat on the
ground next to the desk, along with several small steamer trunks, the likes of
which were popular with ocean-going travelers in the heyday of luxury liners.
Resting on one of the trunks was a picture of distinguished looking gentleman,
wearing trousers with suspenders, over a clean button shirt. He was carefully
studying a ceramic pot, his glasses perched on the edge of his long, slender
nose.

Randall walked
over to the trunk and knelt by the picture. Somewhere in the deep recesses of
his mind, a small spark of recognition flashed in Randall’s memory. It took a
few moments, but the name eventually came to him.

“Dr. James
Shields,” he said absentmindedly.

“So you know my
father,” the stranger said with a hint of surprise in his voice, his British
accent remarkably out of place.

Randall turned
to face him.

“Dr. Shields
was your father?”

“Who’s Dr.
Shields?”
Sam asked, feeling left out.

“Dr. James
Shields was the reason I went into archeology. He studied the tribes of the
Sacred Valley in depth
;
embedding himself with them for
years at a time. He was the first archeologist to directly confront the notion
that the local inhabitants were simple savages completely devoid of any social
structure and culture. He demonstrated that the tribes were highly organized
with a clear distribution of duties. He also proved that they possessed a rich
cultural heritage, based on both spoken and written stories passed down by
generations.”

“What happened
to him?” Sam asked.

“Some of his
contemporaries didn’t appreciate him challenging accepted theory, but he had
already established himself as one of the foremost experts in ancient Peruvian
cultures, so no one dared to confront him. The last time he was seen, he was
leaving his base camp with a small contingent of staff.”

“Where were
they going?”

“They were
attempting to map out a path that allegedly ran through the sacred valley.
Their goal was to confirm reports of a previously undiscovered tribe that lived
somewhere deep in the jungle, but they never returned. Several search parties
were sent to look for them, but each was unsuccessful. It was assumed Dr.
Shields had simply fallen victim to one of the many dangers of the area,”
Randall said, turning back to the picture, and then looking at the tall
stranger by his side. “I had no idea he had a son. What’s your name?”

“My English
name is Liam, but this is the first time I have spoken it to someone from the
outside world. Your account of my father’s disappearance is accurate but
incomplete.”

“Please, I’d
like to know what happened to him.”

“My father’s
party encountered trouble from the moment they broke camp. Two members of his
team died when they lost their footing along an ancient crumbling path that ran
along the ridge of a small mountain peak. Unfortunately, they were carrying a
great deal of the supplies when they fell. The path was unusable so my father
had no choice but to press on. The main path they were following
lead
them directly into the heart of the jungle. Within a
few days, they were hopelessly lost. Out of supplies, and exposed to the
elements, they began to starve. Two members of the party contracted malaria and
needed medicine.”

“What did they
do?”

“My father set
out to search for food, as the remaining healthy member of the party stayed
behind to watch over their sick comrades. My father stumbled upon a stream with
a small net with fish trapped in it. He took the net and filled a canteen he
was carrying with water and went back to his friends. When he got there, the
three men were dead. Murdered.”

Randall sat
motionless, listening intently to Liam, mesmerized by the story of what had
happened to his archeological role model.

“My father was
overcome with grief and set out to find his friends’ killers. He wandered for
some time, unable to find anyone. Cold, tired and starving, he became
delirious. He passed out, sure he was about to die, but woke up inside of a
thatched hut. He was lying on animal skins, the wounds on his body cleaned and
dressed. Still very sick, he was unable to stand. He lay there for some time
until a native woman came and fed him. Eventually, one of the elders of the
tribe visited him. He spoke a native dialect my father understood and explained
they had found him unconscious. The elder invited my father to stay as long as
he needed.”

“So your father
went native?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” Liam
replied. “With time he recovered. Overwhelmed with the kindness shown by the
tribe he asked if he could stay and try to repay them. The tribe welcomed him
with open arms. Their way of life was simple and appealed to my father. He grew
accustomed to life in the bush, eventually becoming a full member of the tribe.
He used his experience to help the tribe, becoming a trusted member of the
group. As his reputation grew, so did his stature in the tribe. The chief asked
him to be a shaman for their people. My father proudly accepted. He married a
native woman, and she gave birth to me. The one thing my father didn’t abandon
was his love for his native tongue. As I grew older, he taught it to me. Until
now, I haven’t had much use for it.”

Randall sat,
mesmerized at the story being told by his idol’s son.

“What an
extraordinary story. My God, your father was a legend in the archeology
community. If they knew about this, he would be even more revered!”

“No one will
learn of my father’s tale,” Liam said, flatly.

“You mean my
daughter and I can’t tell anyone?”

“You and your
daughter will not be permitted to leave. We are entrusted with guarding the
headpiece and the sacred book. One without the other is useless. Someone has
taken the sacred headpiece, but possess the book, and we will not allow it to
fall into the wrong hands.”

“So what are
you going to do to us?” Sam asked.

Liam spoke
several words in his tribal language, and the warrior guarding the door of the
hut exited and returned with three additional warriors.

“You will be my
prisoners until we can find the headpiece,” the stranger motioned for his
warriors to surround Sam and Randall.

“Take them to
their cell.”

Chapter thirty

Sam and Randall sat on large
stones in the cave that served as their
make-shift
prison cell. The setting sun provided little light from the front entrance as
the afternoon faded into the early evening. Randall contemplated their next
steps, but couldn’t see an obvious escape. The wooden poles serving as the
“bars” of their cell door were thick, and the construction of the entrance was
sturdy. Even if they were able to jimmy the cell door, there was the matter of
two rather fierce-looking warriors posted outside the entrance to prevent their
escape.

Randall glanced
over at Sam, who was deep in thought. No doubt she was assessing the situation,
trying to find a way out of their predicament. Randall smiled. One thing was
certain with his daughter; no matter how bad things became, she was determined
to find a solution.

“Any ideas?”
Randall asked.

“None.”

“The gate looks
pretty sturdy,” Randall said, grabbing a pole and trying to move the door. It
didn’t budge.

“There’s no way
out the back, either. The cave extends for about 25 feet, but there are no
openings or even cracks in the earth,” Sam said, wrinkling her nose.

“So the only
way out is through the front door, and that doesn’t seem likely.”

“I was thinking
our best bet
may
be to distract the guards. I could
pretend to be sick, and when they come in to check on me, we could overpower
them.”

Randall shook
his head, “Too dangerous, if it doesn’t work, they might hurt you.”

“We have to try
something.”

The words had
scarcely left Sam’s lips, when one of the guards fell to the ground in a heap,
as a huge lump and broken skin formed on his temple above his left eye. The
second guard turned in surprise and rushed to his friend to help him. As he
did, a small figure appeared from the brush, making a beeline for the
distracted warrior.

The attack was
quick and over in a few seconds. The second guard fell to the ground next to
his comrade, both men unconscious, but alive. Randall stood in awed shock at
the ferocity of the assault and the sheer efficiency of the attacker who moved
with feline-like precision.

After checking
to make sure the guards were unconscious, the assailant moved for the entrance
of the cell. Randall instinctively stepped in front of Sam, his body tensing
for a fight. His eyes struggled with the poor lighting for a glimpse of
attacker’s face. He suddenly realized who it was, and his body went slack.

“
Amaro
, how in the world did you find us?”

The cell door
swung open.

“Come my
friends, we cannot remain here. I must get you back to my tribe where we can
protect you.”

“I take it you
know each other,” Sam said smiling.

“This is the
guide who led our expedition to the temple. I thought he had been killed when
we were attacked at the entrance,” Randall gripped
Amaro’s
hand and shook.

“Thank you for
saving us, but we can’t go back with you yet. This tribe has the sacred book
and we need it.”

“Then we will
wait for darkness and take it back.”