**UPDATED NOVEMBER 2022**
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######### THE UNDISCOVERED JOURNEY #########
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What's up readers!
Thanks for checking out The Undiscovered Journey!
[[ 2022 ]]
This story is not finished. I've been quiet a very, very long time, it's true.
I'm a completely different person to the guy who started writing this story all those years ago. For the longest time I'd thought I was finished with it. Completely done. I just couldn't ever get down to writing a single word. Life is a strange thing - and I've often drifted back to how this story might go. It's now 2022 and I'm 45 Years old. It's pretty weird reading through all my previous work here. Some of it is pretty good - even if I do say so myself. Some - well... it needs work. Those who do read this will quickly see I am absolutely an amateur at best.
The original notes I had on this story are long gone. Is Lara currently injured? Not sure. Who's in hospital again? Did I use that funny line yet? That quote yet? That sequence I'd been planning? Who even knows anymore.
Will this story ever get finished? Even that's a question in itself. I truly have no idea. I'm only now getting the story back into my head and planning out how to get the story finished without it being another 200,000 words. I see the light at the end of the tunnel - but it *is* a way off yet.
I truly have no idea how many people are reading this story, but I hope there's at least a few people out there enjoying it, or who enjoyed it in the past.
## STORY OUTLINE ##
In 1535 the Spanish conquest of the Inca lands in South America is coming to its final and brutal conclusion. Unknown to the world at large, a brotherhood of gifted scholars existed within the ancient city of Cuzco. Fantastical technological achievements were made by this group of learned men and women, achievements that are considered impossible to this very day. As the Spanish close in to complete their dominion, a small group of the scholars escape in a daring midnight dash to the depths of the Amazon Rainforest and are never seen again. Lara Croft finds tantalizing, but scant clues to their existence, leading her on a trail of impossible discovery. However, she isn't the only one on the trail of the escaped Inca Scholars and their Machines of the Gods, and quickly finds herself drawn into a dangerously hard fought battle as she attempts to find the evidence required to unlock the mystery of their disappearance. Old friends are gone, others become caught in a vortex of intrigue, as dark and evil adversaries seek to sift the ancient trail before Lara does and use the ancient technologies for their own dire ends. Lara, and her friends, are tested to their limits as they attempt to stay alive and avert a dire prophecy set in stone years past in the ancient Inca world.
## STORY NOTES ##
This will not be a short story. As of Novembert 2022 I estimate it in the region of 60% done.
There's some new characters who've come out of my own twisted mind. So far, the only characters you will recognize from the Tomb Raider world are Lara herself and Winston. I have ideas how to bring in a few others, but they're just a 'maybe' at this stage.
##UPDATES##
17th_NOV_2009 - Chapter 1 - Beginnings - first uploaded.
29th_NOV_2009 - Extended chapter 1 which is now complete. I will still make the odd change to it though to make it read better.
13th_DEC_2009 - Chapter 2 Mk 1 uploaded. Still a bit rough around the edges, but ok as it stands.
17th_JAN_2010 - Chapter III uploaded. At long last...
31st_JAN_2010 - Began a re-write / reword / overview / merciless culling of CHIII. Now 1/2 complete.
23rd_FEB_2010 - CH IV uploaded.
26th_MAR_2010 - CH IV Edited
12th_APR_2010 - Ch V - Veteran's Riposte - uploaded. Part 1.
23rd_MAY_2010 - Chapter V - Veteran's Riposte - uploaded. Part II.
26th_JUNE_2010 - Prologue 1 Uploaded - Exodus.
28th_JUNE_2010 - Edited Prologue 1, more to come with that.
08th_AUGUST_2010 - Chapter 6 - Prey Hunter - Part I uploaded. It took ages? Don't blame me! My dog ate the computer and you don't want to know the rest!
05th_SEPT_2010 - Chapter 6 - Prey Hunter - Part II uploaded. It took ages? Don't blame me! This trenchcoated guy came up behind me in the dead of night, slugged me across the head and stole my computer!
09th_OCTOBER_2010 - Chapter 6 - Prey Hunter - Part III Uploaded. Yup! it took ages, but, see, this black hole made my PC disappear for two whole days!
18th_JANUARY_2011 - Chapter 7 - Affliction of Darkness - Part I uploaded. I know. Trust me, I know. It took ages. No you really don't want to know.
10th_FEBRUARY_2011 - Chapter 8 - Office 43 - uploaded. Heck... You tell me if it's up to scratch!
02nd_APRIL_2011 - Chapter 9 - The Path of Chains - Part I uploaded. So kill me! I took my sweet time loading it up. Come on! This Alsatian came and ate my homework! What was I supposed to do!
05th_APRIL_2011 - Chapter 9 - The Path of Chains - Part II uploaded. Face it! You were expecting another month! Weren't You! IN YOUR FACE!
20th_APRIL_2011 - Chapter 9 - The Path of Chains - Part III uploaded. Not quite arriving as predicted, but better late than never! You see... oh nevermind.
14th_JUNE_2011 - Chapter 10 - Affliction of Darkness - Part II uploaded. Don't say it! Not a single word! Better late than never right... Damn straight!
10th_JULY_2011 - Chapter 11 - South Pacific Dawn uploaded. Under a month this time! Who says I'm Done and dusted! Huh? Who?
15th_OCTOBER_2011 - Chapter 12 - The Fallen - uploaded. WAIT! I went on a holiday to the Bahamas and was attacked by pirates! Had to fight my way free I tell you!
22nd_JANUARY_2012 - Chapter 13 - The Long White Beach uploaded. God even knows how this ever got anywhere near finished.
17th_JUNE_2012 - Chapter 14 - Nightdevil Pt 1 uploaded - Please try not to notice how long this chapter took to appear!
08th_OCTOBER_2012 - Chapter 14 Pt II uploaded - Trust me I'm sheepish. I feel truly guilty at leaving you all hanging for so long!
06th_JULY_2013 - Chapter 15 - A Shot in the Dark - uploaded. Back from the dead.
25th_July_2016 - Chapters 16 & 17 uploaded. Into the Fire & Flight of the Dragon. I never thought I'd get this far. Just no way in seven blue hells did I dare to even dream it. Right now things seem doable as to getting this done - and me sleeping easy at night.
28th_DECEMBER_2016 - Chapter 18 uploaded. Not bad. Took a few weeks to write. Not as hard for me as the previous chapter. More to come.
04th_SEPTEMBER_2022 - Someone favorited the story out of the blue. Even after all this time. Thought I'd better check in. You all might have thought I was dead or something.
23rd_OCTOBER_2022 - Release Blue Skyline's Torment chapter to the world. The first truly new content for the story in years. Hope it lives up to this story so far.
05th_November_2022 - Finished The Demon's Rage chapter. Onward I go. Boy do I hate that Cortez guy!
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Please let me know if you like/don't like the story, or the chapter you read. Drop me a message or leave a review. I'd like to hear from you!
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Prologue One
EXODUS
The year 1535
Somewhere within the vast Amazon Basin
The worst of the squall had passed. The mad thrashing forest canopy had quieted, but the massive age-old boughs still wavered and groaned from the strains of the energetic tempest, sending sporadic dripping curtains tumbling below. The thick water-laden clouds broke apart and a vast field of shimmering stars appeared like jewels against the dark void of space. On the forest floor, every leaf dripped with wet, and tangled masses of vines seemed to weep as they channelled their own excess moisture to the waiting earth below. Life in every form imaginable called out from the darkness, filling the cool night air with an organic symphony of existence.
Braving the night elements, scholar Lloque Capac stood atop an exposed outcrop of huge weathered boulders and counted the number of flaming torches that slowly lumbered by beneath him. They appeared to float through thin air in the near pitch-blackness, momentarily winking out as each became lost amid dense thickets and massive buttressed forest giants. Even on a night such as this, the added light was not ideal, but a necessity to light the way, the little-known path almost completely hidden in shadow as it wound through the massive and ancient rainforest.
Those below, some sixty men, women, and children were all that remained of the free Inca world. The 'children of the sun' had arrived just a few seasons past, marching across the land knowing no boundary, nor giving any quarter. Capac's people had suffered heavy defeat and subjugation as the invaders imposed their rapacious wills upon them, treating the men as slaves and the women as mere playthings. Worse, they had been press-ganged into unwilling armies to fight their own, threatened and murdered if they did not obey. The Inca kings lay dead, also brutally killed by the scheming Sunchildren, whose only desires appeared to be greed and dominion over the Inca lands. They cared little for the Inca people themselves.
And so, a small number had chosen to depart, and flee for their lives.
Capac stared silently through the thinned foliage at the brave souls toiling forward without complaint beneath him. Born in Cusco, he was a tall, distinguished man who never acted without precise thought. His glacier-blue eye's constantly calculated, and his lips beneath the long and flowing white beard often appeared skewed in thought. Eighty star-cycles had come and gone since his birth, the last sixty-five spent as a brilliant student of science. With a warm and encouraging temperament, he was respected by his peers, and admired by a great portion of the general population.
He tugged at the sleeve of his tan coloured full-length robe and cursed silently to himself. The tropical squalls had unexpectedly become more numerous, and intense, putting them nearly three days behind schedule on the journey from their mountain hideout, in which they had been living for the past six moon-phases, to the banks of a mighty un-named river, and the boats that waited for them there. Capac and his followers had not slept in two days and they were exhausted. Just as he was about to call a halt and rest for the night, one of the scouts, trailing some distance behind them, had sent word that the Sunchildren were in sight and bearing down on them with unbending speed.
Now he found himself faced with a difficult quandary and the onerous task of keeping alive as many of the sixty Inca souls as possible. He was also burdened with the responsibility of keeping their cargo out of the hands of the invaders, at any cost. His people were tiring quickly. Most were simple folk, and not able to fight against a malevolent force of Sunchildren. Their number included a mere twenty fighting men, each one resolute, and would fight to the death if it was asked of them, but Capac knew that any resistance on their part would be quashed in minutes, and without a shred of mercy.
"Revered Scholar, the Sunchildren have found us despite our efforts. How much further?"
Capac looked across into the wiry and hardened face of Force Leader Atoc Vicaquiro. The eye's that stared back were hardened malachite-green. The force leader stood lean-muscled and straight like a spear, skin tanned and shoulder-length black hair slightly tangled from days of hard travel.
Capac didn't immediately answer but tuned westward to gaze at the towering formations of heavy grey cloud in the distance, softly illuminated by a full moon. The storms appeared to be moving quickly over the expansive rainforest. "At our current speed of travel Atoc, and without any further rest, I estimate it will be early morning before we reach the falls."
"We don't have that much time." Vicaquiro announced flatly.
"No, my friend. We do not. How long before the Sunchildren are upon us?"
"Hours at most. Five, maybe six if we're lucky. Before dawn we will almost certainly be faced with their steel weapons."
Capac's eyes narrowed, and he rested his chin in the grip an aging hand. "There's a slim chance," he said, deep in thought. "We have one topo between us and a place where the road enters a narrow ravine. Only two men can stand abreast at that point, so it might be possible for us to make a stand there. But –" He let the thought linger.
"Those men chosen to fight will surely die," Vicaquiro finished for him.
Capac sighed with inevitable frustration. "They will. There is no other way. While our best men make a stand, we'll send the cargo onward to the boats with all speed. Gods willing, we can get the boats away before the Sunchildren break through the blockade and make up the distance."
"My men and I will fight to the death, you will reach the river. That I promise you."
Capac gave Vicaquiro a haunted look. "Your daughter, she – "
"If I die, will you become her father Revered Scholar?"
Capac considered for a few moments, a wracking guilt sweeping over him with a deep sense of foreboding. He knew it would be a miracle if Vicaquiro survived; yet without him to lead the blockade, the men would fall quickly to the Sunchildren. "I am already an old man Atoc, but if it comes to that, you have my word. I will protect the girl until my dying days."
Vicaquiro gave a businesslike nod, yet his eyes betrayed emotion at the thought of never seeing his young daughter again. "She – she is a firebrand, headstrong, and will need a firm hand. Don't let her get the better of you Revered Scholar."
Capac regarded him with a thoughtful smile. "It may not come to that Atoc."
"Gods willing," Vicaquiro agreed with false confidence. "I will gather an advance party and move ahead to the ravine. We'll see what defences can be erected before the Sunchildren arrive."
Lloque Capac sighed. He was heartsick to the core of the violence and obliteration the Sunchildren had visited upon the Inca people. Civil war between two would-be-kings, Atahualpa and Huascar, had also drained their civilisation of life, goodwill, and resources. Now both kings were no more, and the people of the land stood harried by an insatiable army, who fed off their wealth and prosperity like leeches and parasites. He was embittered to be sending any more Inca souls to their deaths, but he knew every last man, woman, and child in their party would surely die if he did not.
Finally he placed a hand on Vicaquiro's shoulder. "So be it then Atoc. I'll encourage as much speed from the party as I can in the meantime. When the last of us is through, see what you can do about blocking the path behind us. Gods protect you."
They shook with hands gripped forearm to forearm in a soldiers embrace, and a sense of inevitability hung in the air.
"The Gods protect you too Revered Scholar," Vicaquiro returned in farewell. Then he was gone.
Capac remained atop the high rock outcrop awhile until the last torch had passed by. Carefully, he then descended the rounded boulders until he reached the narrow paved road, taking care to find solid footholds in the darkness. At no more than three paces wide, the road had been designed for foot traffic and Llama only. The fact it existed at all was due to the mistrust the Guild of Scholars had held for the Sunchildren. From the moment their ships appeared over the horizon of the northern coastline, the guild had been wary, viewing their armour, weapons, and aggression with extreme suspicion.
The Guild of Scholars held secrets. Technology, developed over the ages that would be disastrous in the hands of such evil men. Gifted scholars, some with pure blind luck, had made discoveries of truly mystical proportions. Others had taken years of experimentation and constant refinement, to eventually build objects that held powers only the Gods had known until now. The question had been raised, more than once in guild discussions, of weather mankind should even wield such technology.
At the first sign of trouble, the Guildmasters had concocted plans for spiriting the more powerful pieces away from Cuzco, and into the vast rainforest basin to the northeast. Caught short of time by the malevolent speed at which the Sunchildren had taken control however, the guild had needed to alter their plans, their repository in the rainforest being only partially completed. And so they had designed and built ships, at a point where a vast and distant river led away from their troubled land. Those aboard would need to find a safe place to keep the Inca artefacts, and then make sure they remained well hidden from those who might seek to profit or abuse.
Time was of the essence, and Capac hurriedly moved to the last person on the road, a heavyset man leading a llama, packed to the hilt with wrapped objects and other indescribable items that glinted under the filtered moonlight. Quick words were exchanged and the tired farmer encouraged his animal to move more quickly. The llama appeared too tired to argue. Capac's hand went to the man's shoulder in a show of solidarity, and then he moved on.
Within twenty minutes Capac had arrived at the head of the procession and the faster moving travellers, some riding atop saddled llama, and others simply marching with backpacks bursting at the seams. Their eyes widened as he warned of the threat at their backs, and although each walked with leaden steps, they quickened their pace, knowing full well the results if the Sunchildren caught them.
Capac gave an involuntary shudder at the thought of being impaled by one of the metal swords the Sunchildren carried. His eyes flicked with worry to where Vicaquiro's daughter sat saddled in stoic silence atop an overtired llama. The girl had only seen nine turns of the heavens, yet she controlled the animal with expert ease, and encouraged it forward without a single harsh word. Her long and jet-black hair, as well as her intelligent eyes, left no doubt as to her parentage.
"He's getting tired Illpay!" Capac called out to her, nodding toward the grumpy llama. "Can you keep him going a while longer?"
The young girl turned to regard him as he stood beside the road. "He's very tired Revered Scholar," she called back, reaching forward to stroke the animal's long woolly neck. "But he's a good llama, the best one! So he'll keep going, I know he will!"
Capac took up a position beside her and easily matched the llamas quickened pace, seeming to defy the laws of an aging human body.
"The best one!" he said looking up at her with a smile. "I think you might have the right of it there child." He paused a moment and his face became solemn. "Illpay," he addressed her then.
"Yes," the child replied, still patting and stroking the llama.
"I want you to have something."
"What is it?" she asked, turning to face him curiously.
Capac reached into the folds of his robe and produced a small golden dagger that gleamed in the soft moonlight, it's golden blade no longer than the length of a hand. A dark mystical metal also entwined though the dagger like dendritic drainage, and seemed to connect gemstones of the purest blue at odd intervals over the weapon. "Something to keep you safe precious child. But be warned," he looked at her with pointed expression, "I'm only giving it to you because I know you are a smart girl, and won't do the wrong thing. You have to promise me you will look after it, and only use it if you have to."
"You mean if the bad men catch me for a slave?"
Unbidden emotion swept across Capac's weathered features as he looked into the face of the young girl, but he necessarily quashed it to keep up a confident façade. "Yes Illpay," he replied after a moment. "If they catch you, hold it into the sun a few moments, and then –" he couldn't bring himself to finish.
"Stab them," Illpay finished for him, without a hint of fear.
"Yes child," Capac almost whispered. "Exactly that. But only if there is nothing else you can do." He handed her the ornate dagger grip first.
Illpay reached to take it reverently. Her almost-glowing green eyes did not see the wealth in the gift, but rather saw it as a sign of their grave situation, and Capac's heartfelt worry for her wellbeing. She studied it a moment, turning it over so that she could see both sides. "It's beautiful," she said then, still studying every feature.
"And dangerous," Capac added. "The black metal around the edge of the golden blade, do you see it?"
"Yes."
"It's extremely sharp girl, and will cut you badly if you touch it."
"I won't touch it," Illpay assured him with a quick glance into his lecturing gaze.
Capac then produced a small leather sheath. "Here," he said, offering it to her. "Something to keep it in safely. Put it away now with your things, and keep it as our secret, tell no one you have it. Can you do that?"
"I will Scholar Capac," Illpay promised him. She then slid the dagger home inside its protective sheath, and stowed it deeply within a woven-canvas bag hanging beside her.
"That's good little one," Capac said with a nod and conspirative smile. "Now I must go and check on the others. Just as soon as we reach the boats and are away, we'll be able to rest. Keep your llama going as best you can until then." He turned to leave and move further down the line, but as he turned, the child asked one further question.
"Scholar Capac?"
"Yes child, what is it?"
"The bad men are going to catch us aren't they?" Her face held an almost-sure answer to her own question.
"Listen to me child," Capac then replied with age-old conviction. "Nothing is certain. Your destiny is your own. Those bad men will need to work hard to get us, and if they do, old Lloque has a few surprises for them. Now be on your way, and remember what I told you about the dagger."
Illpay nodded, assuring him she would, then encouraged her llama to again quicken it's tired steps.
Capac watched her until she became swallowed in the thick jungle darkness, and the following group arrived with a spluttering torch and bone-tired steps. They laboured under heavy loaded backpacks, and Capac encouraged them as best he could. Once again he turned to view the darkness the girl had disappeared into, and worry speared through him. He did have some tricks up his sleeve if they became pressed, but all required sunlight to operate. There was nothing he could do in the dead of night, and dawn was still many long, tired hours away.
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The treetops spoke with quiet warning as an all-seeing wind blew amongst the quivering leaves in the thriving canopy above. The rainforest lay silently whispering, the shadows shimmering like ghosts as a werewolf moon cast the barest patches of dancing light amid the foliage. Insects dared not speak, and stranger-still forest dwellers chose the sanctity of their burrows over venturing out on such a night of dire threat.
Vicaquiro peered intently over a hastily constructed breastwork of large rocks and fallen branches. He and his men had worked quickly to build the fortification, having scouted the area in small teams for any building materials they could find, and then lug back to the road to add to the semi-ordered structure. Each man had aching limbs and grazed hands from their labour, but the hard work had paid off. They now stood behind a reasonably solid, shoulder-high defensive wall from which they could stage their blockade, and hopefully halt the advance of the Sunchildren.
The silent forest had all sixteen men on edge. It had quieted some minutes past, and now seemed deafening compared to the chaotic, lively din they had all become accustomed to since entering the rainforest basin. Vicaquiro grimly read the signs, something was out there, and he felt the approaching presence with every living fibre in his body. He knew they were no match for the Sunchildren, their weapons and armour vastly inferior, but Gods be damned if he was going to let them past without a fight.
Scholar Capac had arrived following the last of their party no more than two hours ago. All were bone weary and tired from days of little sleep and constant travel; some limped with badly bruised feet, still others swayed in their llama saddles with fatigue, but each had come past with gritted teeth and a set determination to escape and live for better days. Even Vicaquiro's own daughter had seemed determinedly confident, which made him glow with pride as the young girl had ridden past on her grumpy and complaining llama. He could only hope that he and his men could hold off the Sunchildren long enough to give their fleeing countrymen and loved ones a chance.
Worrying, was the fact the Sunchildren had found them at all. Every plan made, every step produced, and every stolen glance, Vicaquiro knew, had been done with the utmost secrecy since hatching their plan to leave Cuzco in the dead of night almost a year ago to this very day. How was it possible, he cursed, that the Sunchildren were upon them after all they had done to conceal their movements?
Something did not sit right in Vicaquiro's mind, and it left a gnawing feeling of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. The Sunchildren seemed to know their every move, despite plans being made in secret, and preparations carried out amid the shadows in the dead of night. He gave a silent shudder. Perhaps the Sunchildren really were under the protection of the Sun God after all.
Vicaquiro felt guilty, and deathly afraid for those they had left behind in their mountain hideout. No way existed to know if the Sunchildren had rooted them out, and pressed them into slavery. He could only hope his countrymen had made good their escape further into the mountains as planned.
Suddenly, multiple flaming torches appeared in the darkness along the road ahead, appearing like fired devil-eyes dancing in the air. Muffled metallic clanking began to reverberate off the steep ravine walls, as well as the thunking of many metal-armour boots on the stone roadway pavers. Moments later, the alien tongue of the Sunchildren drifted past their ears on spirited eddies of moist jungle air, leaving the Inca men in no doubt their enemy had arrived.
Before long, their view over the defensive wall became a long line of flickering flames, the devil-eyes quickly growing into a crowd of underworld beasts, come to claim their spirits for an eternity of enslavement. Each Inca soldier listened wide-eyed as the lead group of Sunchildren halted at the base of the wall on the other side, their eyes held fear, but each man was steadfast.
Vicaquiro held his hand steady, in a signal for his men to wait. More Sunchildren filled the narrow ravine-confined roadway before them, two abreast only as Scholar Capac had known. The lead enemy began to climb the wall with contempt, their arrogant confidence plainly evident in their energetic stride and ebullient spoken alien words. Vicaquiro could wait no longer; it was now or never. He yelled his best warcry, sounding like a vengeance–bent spirit of the forest, and whipped his hand down in a signal to his men.
War erupted.
Two Incan soldiers let fly with copper-tipped arrows, plucking additional ammunition from piles of sand stuck like pincushions with extras. Others took up slings and hurled fist-sized rock missiles over the wall, hoping to crack skulls or seriously bruise the invaders with a rain of stone. Two men worked together, and simply hurled a collection of far larger rocks over the wall, aiming to barrage and batter the enemy away from the precipice. The remaining Inca men stood with clubs, spears, and one pilfered Sunchild blade of steel. Vicaquiro was the only man to hold any blade of note; a larger twin to the dagger Capac had given his daughter, though he did not yet know it. The golden blade with inlaid gemstones had been a gift from the master craftsmen at the Guild of Scholars, and was a full sized, somewhat heavy sword. The mysterious black metal swirled and snaked through the blade and seemed at times to take on a life of it's own. But Vicaquiro had no time to ponder its mysteries.
Alien yells split the night as the Sunchildren realised they were under attack. Anger and indignation spilled from their mouths as they became battered by the assault sent forth by the native Inca men, and attempted in vain to jostle away from the flying projectiles.
Anger pushed the Sunchildren into frenzy. Pride did not allow them to be bested by a simple band of natives. The first rows of invaders fell back with dented armour, dented pride, and streams of blood wetting the stone at their feet. Those behind rushed onward however, and sheer force of numbers, as well as speed of attack, soon overwhelmed the projectile attack the Inca men sent forth.
An armoured enemy appeared atop of the defensive wall, bellowing pure rage, but Vicaquiro silenced him with a powerful thrust of his golden blade. The Devil fell back into the night with a fountain of blood that shot forth to cover his comrades. Vicaquiro knew with certainty their time was limited. Such rage and passion for death could not be denied forever, and would soon push them back under an overwhelming tide of aggression.
Two more Sunchildren appeared, Vicaquiro swung and cut the sword arm of one man cleanly from his body. The other was barraged backward by a large rock hurled forth by the two Inca men working together. The Sunchildren were relentless however, and two more quickly replaced them, their yells of war cutting the night like howling underworld beasts. Vicaquiro again dealt a mighty blow to one, and the other was stuck by the spearman, both fell back with cries of rage and the gurgle of death.
Vicaquiro and his men fought with unyielding passion, successfully defending their position in this way for some time. Exactly how long however, no man could be sure. They repelled wave after wave of crazed and yelling Sunchildren, but soon the brave defenders began to tire, and their already-laboured efforts began to slow and come amid deeply inhaled breaths of fatigue. Vicaquiro urged them on, igniting vehemence for their enemy, and devotion for their loved ones. But just when it seemed they would prove a major obstacle for the advancing enemy, the state of play changed.
Flaming torches fizzed over the breastwork amid a sweeping tide of armoured men. Suddenly they were fighting and to hand and sword to sword with the steel shelled Sunchildren, fending off cutting blows and bringing woefully inadequate weapons to bear in retaliation. Vicaquiro cursed, another brutal battering for the good men at his side.
Flaming yellow light bathed the area from the fallen torches, truly making the scene appear straight from the underworld. The two brave rock-hurlers slumped to the ground, run through by slick steel blades. Vicaquiro lashed out at the growing enemy numbers in their midst with great flowing arcs and cuts of rabid force. The golden blade cleaved armour like butter and limbs parted from enemy bodies with gouts of flowing blood and screams of pain. But the tide had turned, and Vicaquiro knew they had done all that was humanly possible.
With a yell he ordered retreat, but only six men responded, the others too badly injured, or dead.
The Inca men turned and ran for the forest, Vicaquiro making sure he was the last to leave. Fending off the thrusts from two determined men, he bolted for the open road ahead, and the dark shadows there that would hide him.
Sancha, a brave veteran, limped ahead of him, his right calf muscle slashed and dripping with blood. Vicaquiro knew with anguish the man was dead. He rushed up to Sancha and gripped his shoulder. They shared a brief and silent look of loss and farewell, no words could be shaped from the bitterness each man felt. Sancha then pushed him away and Vicaquiro rushed onward as quickly as his tired legs would carry him. A scream of tormented suffering soon echoed from behind, and he knew without a shred of doubt that Sancha was gone.
He looked up at the darkened forest canopy that now filled every space overhead, hoping he might find a hint of the approaching dawn. At a little over one topo (approximately 5 miles) away, the unnamed falls in the mighty river, and Capac's sailing craft waiting there, seemed a desperate bit for freedom at best. But he knew he had to try, for his daughter's sake if nothing else. He sheathed his golden blade and bent forward in a runner's stance. Face toward the barely perceptible Inca roadway opening out before him in the still-dripping gloom, he began a hard-pressed loping rhythm toward his salvation.
Vicaquiro was in no condition to run a marathon. After the first half hour, his lungs felt as if they would burst with each laboured breath he sucked in. After an hour, his muscles protested with aches he didn't believe possible. And then finally, the growing dark tendrils of fatigue began to dull the pain. He began a series of rest stops to resupply his indebted bloodstream with oxygen, and to take the strain off his tight and protesting legs. As time wore on, the stops became more frequent, his reserves of energy becoming sapped to dangerously low levels. Of his pitifully few remaining defenders, he saw nothing.
There was never any question of stopping and letting the Sunchildren catch him for the sure and easy release of death. The vision of Ilpay in the hands of the malignant invaders was more than enough to drive his pumping legs and fuel his flight onward.
The secret hollows of the endless rainforest were beginning to lose their obscurity, and the dark authority of the night was beginning to lift, when Vicaquiro crested a ridge and spied the quicksilver majesty of a mighty river curving with serenity toward the distant horizon. The distant rumble borne of vast volumes of spilling water as it tumbled from a great height and crashed into deep pools below could also be heard radiating across the landscape. Vicaquiro doggedly progressed toward the sound, hoping to the Gods above that Capac and the others were ready to leave.
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Four Inca-built vessels, the likes of which had never been seen before by any human eyes, rested in the shallows of a large pool at the base of the thundering waterfall. At 50 feet (15.24 meters) the boats were a bold display of ingenious design and intelligent use of available materials. Reed bundles, tied and turned up at both ends, underpinned each vessel. However, intermixed with the reed bundles, was a balsawood framework to give added strength. Atop the reed and balsa hulls, sat a superstructure of balsa decking, railings, and cabins. Each vessel also had large square-rigged cotton sails, which sagged lifelessly in the draftless dawn.
Lloque Capac rushed along the riverbank shouting directions to his countrymen, labouring with tired steps and straining limbs to stow away their belongings and the mysterious objects from the Guild of Scholars. A large pile still remained on the riverbank awaiting a space on the boats, and Capac's sense of urgency was rising by the minute. For all he knew, Vicaquiro and his men could have been overrun within minutes, leaving the Sunchildren perilously close by.
"Illpay!" he called across to Vicaquiro's daughter, labouring under the weight of a grain sack as she hefted it across the gangplank of one vessel.
"Yes Scholar Capac," she returned, her voice gritted with the weight of her labour. "What is it?"
"When you're finished with that," he pointed toward the sack on her shoulder, "I need you to take a special bundle to the top of that boat." Then he pointed with his other outstretched arm and pointed finger. "See it there," he directed, "leaning against that tree?"
Illpay nodded. "I see it," she replied. "I'll get it next."
"Good! Thankyou girl!" Capac encouraged. "I'd be lost without my best helper!" He smiled at her as carefree as he could muster, and then rushed further along the bank to oversee the loading of other mysterious cargo aboard the boat ahead.
Golden metal gleamed beneath the tight wrappings of cotton sheets and woven coverings. Other objects seemed alive, a strange black metal seeming to writhe and pulse with intuition all of its own, and fashioned into inexplicable shapes that also poked forth from between protective folds of linen. Capac worked feverishly, retying loosened ropes, re-wrapping undone coverings, resetting jumbled pieces of complex objects, and quieting still other bundles that hummed strangely when disturbed incorrectly.
Capac gave specific directions for the manhandling of certain bundles, yet seemed nonplussed by the stowing of others, caring only that they were not left on the riverbank. Certain items he directed should go in the lead vessel, his hope being they could get the vessel underway as soon as possible and away from the imminent danger.
The stars in the sky overhead were beginning to fade and blink out when a tired shout rang out from the shaded forest surrounding the river. Moments later, the desperately tired and battle-worn figure of Atoc Vicaquiro emerged from the lightening mire, half running, half stumbling, but alive. Upon seeing Capac, arms filled with tightly bound bundles, Vicaquiro rushed toward him.
"Scholar Capac!" he shouted urgently. "Please tell me you are ready to leave!"
"Atoc!" Capac returned with genuine surprise, and friendly warmth. "I had begun to fear the worst for you! Getting here took longer than I'd hoped; everybody is dead on their feet. Another hour though, I hope, should see us away."
Vicaquiro looked stricken. "I don't know if we have that long," he implored through recuperative breaths. "We delayed the Sunchildren for a while, but not as long as I'd hoped. We did all we could, but they simply barraged their way through us with their superior numbers and endless rage. I've never seen men as overcome with the spirit of domination as those we fought back there." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the path from which he had come, and then he fixed Capac with a pointed stare. "An hour will cut it extremely close Scholar Capac, the sooner we leave, the better."
Capac nodded, his head held back to clear the wrapped objects in his arms. "Then we must throw caution to the wind. It is now our only hope. Dump the remaining objects anywhere you can find a space aboard the boats. Speed is now all that matters. We cannot be left caught on the riverbank when the Sunchildren arrive." He then fixed Vicaquiro with an imploring stare. "Can you oversee the loading of the last boat in line near the falls? If the Sunchildren arrive, it will bear the brunt of their attacks."
Vicaquiro nodded in affirmation. "I will see it loaded, have no fear." Then he turned to rush toward the vessel.
"Atoc?" Capac called after him.
Vicaquiro simply halted and looked back toward him.
"The others?" Capac asked, referring to the other men who'd manned the barricade in the ravine.
"Most are dead," Vicaquiro informed solemnly. "Some escaped with me, maybe three men at best. I saw none along the road though. My best guess is they hid in the forest, or they are following me up on the road. We were hit hard. I truly have no idea if they will make it here."
Capac nodded again, as if affirming his own worst fears. "The Gods rest their spirits. But we cannot wait for those who may still be alive." The words were bitter, and harried him as he turned and resumed hauling his load onto the waiting wooden vessel.
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The ripples on the surface of the sedately moving, tannin stained river reflected a lightening sky that began to blaze with a brilliant blue in the strengthening morning light. The tempest storms of the previous night hovered on the horizon, and seemed to soak up the mists rising from the depths of the rainforest basin, adding to their already dark and overloaded mass.
Capac and Vicaquiro watched, each with stained urgency, as paddlers onboard the lead vessel dipped their blades into the water and propelled the craft into the middle of the river, and away from the riverbank. An hour had passed, time seemed to vanish, and the strain of the coming peril began to show across the features of each man.
Without bothering for needless words, both men ran to the next vessel in line, and Vicaquiro roughly manhandled the gangplank aboard. Capac, well past tired, and his vintage age beginning to slow him considerably, scooped up the last few remaining sacks on the riverbank beside the vessel, and hurled them aboard. Tired men, battling to stay awake, took their positions along each side of the vessel with carved wooden paddles in their hands.
A burly farmer, with skinned hands from some accident or other, took up a long pole for himself along with Capac and Vicaquiro. The three men, each with their own pole, strained to shove the Inca craft away from the riverbank and into the current running mid-stream. The paddlers began to help once they had clear water in which to dip their paddles.
With the second craft away, Capac began to sway on his feet.
"Easy old friend." Vicaquiro soothed, as he reached to grip the elder man's tired arm. "Your ride is coming up. We need you alive to steer it, and the fleet for that matter, to wherever it is you had in mind."
Capac cursed amid the haze of fatigue, he was not the young man he once had been. "No time to lose," he said with a set expression and determined gaze. "Get me aboard my vessel, and let's be rid of this plagued land."
Vicaquiro and the burly farmer threw down their poles and each aided Capac to the gangplank of the third balsawood and reed craft, and saw him safely onto the wooden decking. Two paddlers then took in the gangplank and threw it aside on the deck; it could be stowed properly later. Vicaquiro and the farmer then took up the large wooden poles waiting on the bank at their feet, and shoved at Capac's vessel with all their strength.
Suddenly a shout erupted, and all eyes turned to see a bloodied Inca soldier stumble from the forest and crumple down to his knees at the end of the paved road.
"The Sunchildren!" The man shouted with a broken voice, filled with his impassioned plea. "They are here! Away with you! Away with you now!"
In the immediate silence after the soldiers warning, every Inca man, woman, and child on the last two vessels could indeed hear the devastating march of an army emanate from within the gloomy and steaming confines of the jungle.
With a last mighty heave on the wooden pole, Vicaquiro set Capac's vessel free within the living river. He shared a last look of farewell with the old scholar.
"Fare you well old friend," he called out across the growing expanse of water. "I'll see you up the river. Look after my daughter until I catch you up, won't you."
"I will Atoc," Capac called back with emotion cracking his voice. "Trust in the Gods, I will see her safe. Now get to your craft," he pointed toward it with growing trepidation, "and get under way!"
Capac again lamented his tired and creaking frame. After watching Vicaquiro bolt for the last vessel, still stuck against the riverbank, he hustled as quickly as possible to the upper of three decks. Once there, he spied the item he'd asked Illpay to bring up and leave for him.
His horrors compounded when the shouts and yells of a triumphant enemy rose to a crescendo from the murmurs of the living forest. Beset with growing panic, and with tired shaking hands, Capac stole a glance over the wooden railing of the upper deck, and spied a scene he'd hoped with a passion not to see.
Vicaquiro swung his golden blade in life-and-death combat with the first of the relentless Sunchildren to arrive. The burly farmer's muscles bulged and threatened to pop as he strained with incredible might, attempting to push the last vessel free of the riverbank. It inched slowly, and Capac willed the Gods to smile on them one last time.
Capac turned his attention to the bundle, wilfully forcing the rising panic from his harried thoughts. Shivering fingers worked at the knotted cords and linen wrappings around the object, amid Capac's own frustrated curses. Soon however, a long and slim golden object appeared from its protective folds.
Capac worked quickly and methodically, driven by the perilous situation before him. Black metal parts attached to a long golden tube, itself having swirlings of the embedded black metal all along its length. A polished wooden stock was next to be clicked into place, as well as several other unexplainable mechanical metal pieces, all made of the mysterious black metal. Two large, rectangular, and thin metal plates were also snapped in place on the device. Deep-blue gemstones were arranged over the plates at regular intervals, and seemed to catch the early morning sunlight as it strengthened with the approaching day.
What formed in his aged and scholarly hands, was a weapon, something he once swore passionately his knowledge and learning would never be forced to produce. As the Sunchildren had overran his people with furious contempt, clapped them in chains, and set them working as slaves however, Capac had seen the terrible future that awaited his people, and turned his hands to weapon making. He would never forgive himself, the thought of killing snaked through him like a sickening nausea, and he knew he would be forever changed from this day forward.
Standing tall then on the upper deck, he ordered his paddlers to hold position against the gently flowing current, so as not to increase the distance any further between them and the vessel behind. He reached into a pocket and produced a massive blue gemstone, around the size of a 20th century tennis ball, and secured it within the weapon's gold and black-metal breech. He adjusted the black metal plates with inlaid gemstones toward the treeline where the sun was about to poke through, and immediately the gemstones appeared to catch fire and glow with power, setting off a resonating hum throughout the entire device. But still there was not enough sunlight to operate the weapon, the 'suncannon', as he'd come to think of it. He waited, and stilled himself for he knew he must do.
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What in the God's name was Scholar Capac doing? Vicaquiro thought to himself as he danced aside to avoid a flurry of slashes unleashed by a crazed Sunchild. Capac's boat was marking time in the middle of the river, instead of escaping, as the crazy old man ought to be doing. A swarm of Sunchildren now surrounded him, and he knew with clinical certainty he could not fend them off much longer. He stole a lightening glance toward his own vessel.
With a feat of great strength, the burly farmer, whose name turned out to be Evitrea, had successfully pushed the last remaining craft free of the riverbank, and was now standing on its lower deck, using the pole to fend off Sunchildren as they attempted to board the vessel from the water.
Vicaquiro swung wildly, the golden blade thrumming through the air with each mighty swing, but he was desperately tired, and knew he must get free of the anarchic knot of enemy around him before he faded completely. Slowly he stepped toward the riverbank, his corded arms and heaving chest approaching breaking point as he neared the water's edge. It would take a minor miracle, he thought, if he was ever going to win free of the war-crazed Sunchildren. He needed a plan, and a Gods blessed good one.
Suddenly, yells of panic and fear shrieked out from the river, and Vicaquiro stole yet another glance over his shoulder to establish what had gone amiss.
Flames danced over the upper deck of his wooden craft with speedy ruin and smoking destruction. Evitrea now battled man-to-man with two muscled enemy. Blood stained his gallant chest, but still the brave farmer threw the enemy from the decks like mere sacks of grain. Half of the quick-thinking paddlers abandoned their labour, leaving the other half to propel the craft, and rushed at the flames with heavy linen sacks filled with water. Vicaquiro vented silent frustrated rage.
Seeking out the source of the flames, he searched the immediate area in the midst of his defending parries and the barraging attempts of those in close battle quarters attempting to knock him down. He soon saw that men with brightly coloured armour had stationed themselves aside from the battle, clearly leaders, or chieftains of some sort, judging by their superior battle garb and the hovering bodyguards close at hand. Burly men rushed forward from the group with a type of vigorously flaming bombs, and hurled them out across the water at the hapless vessel. Vicaquiro cursed once more with seething anger. Sorely beset, there was nothing he could do to quash the attack, and a growing sense of defeat began to build inside him as yet more men gathered to hurl the flames. He knew the reed and balsawood craft would quickly burn to the waterline if the flaming attacks were not halted within the next few moments.
Suddenly, as if answering Vicaquiro's prayers, the air fired with an intense shrieking, sounding as if a heavenly warhost had descended from the skies in a battle rage to take up the fight. Searing white light shot forth from the upper decks of Scholar Capac's vessel, still marking time further downstream in the middle of the river, and smashed into the ground with a crackling energy to leave a small crater and send dirt flying like a hailstorm of heavenly wrath.
Sunchildren flew airborne from the smouldering impact points engulfed in white flames and screaming through tortured lungs for mercy. Even away at middle distance, Vicaquiro could clearly see the elderly scholar standing atop his vessel, holding some sort of device that glinted gold and glowed blue under the first rays of the rising sun, it appeared to be a perplexing weapon of some sort. Without needing to be told the old man's intentions, he used the momentary chaos to make good his escape and take a running leap into the less-than-inviting brown waters of the river, sheathing his sword mid-air as he went.
Immediately the knot of invaders behind him disappeared within more crackling white light. They became thrown against trees, pounded into the ground, or were themselves picked up and pitched into the river, burning furiously within mystical flames of the purest white.
Vicaquiro hit the water and stroked madly away from the calamitous riverbank, and the unearthly energy that plagued his enemies there. He reached the now heavily burning boat, not yet having reached the middle of the river, and clambered aboard over the side railings, before turning back to survey the carnage he'd just escaped. Bolt after bolt continued to shriek from the old scholars hands, tearing at and burning the Sunchildren where they stood, or throwing their ragdoll bodies though the air with vehement force.
But almost as quickly as Scholar Capac had wrested the tide of the battle from the hands of the Sunchildren, a darkened mass of stormcloud drifted across the face of the sun's rising disc, and smothered the brilliant light like a shuttered lantern. Shadow draped like a heavy blanket across the stricken wooden vessel on which Vicaquiro stood, and the scene of battle surrounding it, now mired with death and thick acrid smoke. Capac's energy bolts fell ominously silent, and Vicaquiro knew the sun's departure heralded yet another turn in fortunes for the Sunchildren.
The heat of the rushing flames flashed the doomed vessel's tightly bound reed bundles into ignition, causing the flames to spread ruinously into the main balsawood structure of the unique craft, and set its wooden backbone alight. Vicaquiro knew with certainty it was lost, and once again tasted the bitterness of defeat as he watched his command begin to burn with hot fury. Images bled through his mind, of the plundering enemy hoisting the stowed treasures high, as trophies of war, and his mood darkened beyond charcoal black with the thought. He yelled for those aboard to abandon ship, and swim for all they were worth toward Capac's slowly retreating vessel. It was a plan of perilously thin odds, but it was the only option any of them had.
Through the flames and billowing smoke he found Evitrea helping a mother and child into the water, pointing them downriver with an outstretched arm, and handing them a section of balsa planking for floatation once they were both immersed. The barrel-chested farmer saw him arrive, and his face became set in a grim expression as he stood in greeting.
"We are lost Force Leader Vicaquiro," he lamented with resigned sadness. "There is no hope for these people," he nodded toward the mother and child in the water, "they will never make it."
"If there is even the slimmest hope my friend," Vicaquiro stated solemnly. "We must attempt to give them even that." He paused a moment, then gripped the solid man by the shoulder, his lamenting features speaking volumes. "We must tear this boat apart to keep it from the hands of the Sunchildren. Can you help me do this?"
Evitrea nodded in a last act of defiance, then bent down to take up a dropped enemy blade. "I'll cut the remaining fastenings with this," he said with conviction. "But I'll do it alone. You get yourself after the good scholar's vessel, and try helping some of our countrymen along the way."
"You'll never make it if I leave you here alone."
"The time has come for me to join with my family in the heavens," Evitrea replied with staunch emotion. "I wish to die here in the land where I left them, and so this will be my final act. Farewell brother, I wish you a long and prosperous life." With that, he gripped Vicaquiro's arms in a vicelike grip that allowed no argument, and pitched him into the river as if he were a mere featherweight.
Vicaquiro surfaced to the sounds of Evitrea's borrowed blade hacking and slashing from somewhere inside the gouts of smoke billowing from the dying Inca sailing craft. He took one last sorrowful look at the dignified vessel, then with several powerful strokes, he swam into the main current in the middle of the river, hoping to the Gods the resident fish disliked human flesh, and allowed the faster flowing water there to carry him along. He could do little else, his energy reserves dangerously spent from the rigours of battles fought, and his hours-long flight through the forest to reach the river earlier.
He looked up and scanned the flowing expanse of water ahead for the cunning and mysterious old scholar's craft. Spying it, Vicaquiro noted that Capac had allowed his command to drift a little further upstream, moving it still further away from the centre of danger, but had again begun to back water as soon as he'd seen the last craft abandoned. Crewmen readied ropes, and shouted to their countrymen in the water, clearly hoping to rescue them from the clutches of the almighty river.
Suddenly, several large objects splashed down into the water around Vicaquiro with deep, depth-charge sounding notes of disturbance, leaving angry foaming bubbles welling to the surface to mark their passage. Several people who'd escaped the burning craft along with him screamed and gurgled as the objects scored direct hits; others simply vanished beneath the surface with hardly a sound. Vicaquiro grimaced ruefully as his burning malachite eyes surveyed the carnage, yet more casualties to add to the thousands already killed.
Ducking beneath the surface in a dive to avoid the danger, he compelled himself through the water with muscles protesting, and drew upon energy reserves he never knew existed. Trees had now begun to overhang the banks of the river, and Vicaquiro swam beneath the surface until his breath gave out, surfacing only a small distance from the low-slung branches reaching out over the water. He paddled beneath them until he reached the muddy bank, then slowly clambered from the water and hid amongst a thicket of tall grass-like leaves.
Crouching down amid the shadows, Vicaquiro held his breath as a small band of Sunchildren hurried past carrying the long poles the Inca had used to shove their boats away from the riverbank. The poles had been fashioned into large slings by having lengths of material tied to the ends of each one, allowing heavy rocks to be hurled into the middle of the river with devastating effect. He was just about to surge from his hiding place in a desperate attempt to thwart this new threat when another invader ran past, yelling angrily at those again setting up to hurl rocks into the river and deliver death.
A scuffle broke out within the group, the newcomer seeming to level threats at the ones wanting to kill the people in the river. The newcomer shouted, pointing at the helpless Inca at the mercy of the river current, then shoved a thickly bearded man, causing him to stagger backward. Swords were drawn, and a deathly battle ensued between the foreigners. The newcomer cut down three men with ruthless efficiency, and then bent down to hack at the pole slings with disgust.
Vicaquiro remained rooted to the spot, comprehension dawning. The newcomer, for reasons he could not fathom, was not allowing the people in the river to be killed in such a fashion, if at all. It was a perplexing move. Why was this enemy helping them, he pondered, and why was he prepared to kill his own to uphold his convictions? It made little sense, considering all he'd seen of the Sunchildren so far.
The three brightly coloured leaders suddenly appeared, and rushed up to the strangely acting man with angry shouts, drawn swords, and clear frustration. A man in armour as black as the night seemed the angriest, and shoved the sling destroyer powerfully, sending him staggering back into the waiting arms of the two other chieftains. The man in black then shouted with ferocity, pointing at the now restrained man with pure and evil anger. Then, within the blink of an eyelid, the man in black's sword had run through the chest of the strange one. The two holding him down released their grip with looks of surprise, and stood glued to the spot as he stumbled backward with a glassed-over pale expression, and overbalanced into the dark waters of the river with a wet splash.
At that moment, a large swarm of enemy rushed by him, each man carrying a strangely hissing flaming bomb, used to disastrous effect on the now-lost fourth Inca craft. The black leader roared at the men as they approached with the flames, and pointed with seething anger at Scholar Capac's slowly retreating craft, partly visible through the plant-life beside the river. Without missing a step, the hardy invaders battled into dense foliage beside the river carrying their payloads of disaster, their intent plain to see for any man. They intended Scholar Capac to burn also.
The man in black was a demon, and evil spilled from his body in dark clouds that seemed to infect all those around him. Vicaquiro caught a genius-driven madness in the man's dark expression, and knew then that he was a ruthless killer.
Alarm rose, and, slipping silently back into the murky waters of the river, Vicaquiro took a deep breath and again swam beneath the surface for as long as he could manage. He knew the dense trees and undergrowth would hide the flame soldiers as they moved along the riverbank to gain position. At this distance from the waterfall, the terrain began to smooth and the tangled rainforest plants grew with increased vigour beside the great waterway as conditions changed to suit them better. Scholar Capac had to be warned of the imminent danger hidden within, or else he would also surely burn.
Breaking the surface with lungs burning, Vicaquiro immediately relegated all aches and injuries to the basement of his conscious thought. His malachite-green eyes fixed on the too-slowly-escaping craft ahead of him, and he began to stroke amid the caresses of the purposeful current in an attempt to reach it and give warning before disaster struck.
He'd made about half the distance when his heart sank. Vicaquiro saw with growing chills that a number of flame soldiers had made quick progress along the banks of the river, and were now popping out from the green folds of plant-life directly opposite Capac and his crew of refugees. All aboard had their attentions turned to picking up sodden survivors of his own craft, and he noted Evitrea's mother and child climb up to the decking with a nod of approval, but none seemed to have noted the new threat.
Vicaquiro yelled at the top of his lungs. "Capac!"
The old man, still perched on the upper deck, immediately looked up and searched the river for the source of the name caller.
Vicaquiro waved with urgency. "Capac!" he yelled again. "The riverbank! Move!"
The elderly scholar waved in reply, immediately seeing his upraised hand. But still wasn't looking toward the danger.
"Capac!" He yelled harder, and pointed with jagged stabs. "The riverbank!"
The robed scholar's head immediately whipped around, and Vicaquiro heard the man's curse as he realised all too late he'd been caught napping. He looked back in Vicaquiro's direction and motioned energetically for him get a move on, but almost at the same time, a spluttering yellow firebomb arched its way across the river.
The bomb landed short and plonked beneath the water with a hissing musical note, but three others immediately followed it. Vicaquiro thrashed and swam for all he was worth. Two bombs landed perilously close, the third scored a direct hit and spread flames ruinously over the lower decks. Capac yelled in response, and two men immediately up-ended a sack of grain over the spreading flames to smother them.
Capac yelled again and ordered the paddlers to life, unable to hold station a moment longer. He again looked up to search out Vicaquiro, then looked to the Sunchildren-riddled riverbank, and then back to Vicaquiro. He became crestfallen.
As if to add to Vicaquiro's dire straits, he again came under fire from the rock-slinging enemy, obviously having fashioned replacement slings. Sizable deep-thudding explosions rained around him, sending up angry geysers, but he kept stroking furiously, despite the very real danger. Firebombs continued to launch from the riverbank as the Sunchildren attempted to keep pace with the escaping vessel, and Capac ordered the paddlers increase their stroke rate in response.
Vicaquiro's arms burned, his body on fire with overstressed fatigue, and his breaths came in tortured gasps. In that moment, he knew his attempt was futile. Capac had gained too much speed, in a desperate effort to avoid their own deaths, and he knew he now had no chance of catching them.
With bitter resignation, he stopped, and raised a bone weary arm from the water in a wave of farewell. Even from this distance, he saw the scholar's drooping and resigned shoulders as he raised his own hand high in return. Vicaquiro's daughter stood beside the old man, but rushed to the railing amid wrenching screams and waving furiously impassioned pleas. He could do nothing but wave back to her, tears brimming forth to fog his vision.
Rock projectiles slammed the water around Force Leader Atoc Vicaquiro with renewed ferocity, hunting for his death, and although the will to live had drawn perilously thin, he dived beneath the tannin-infused waters one final time to escape the danger, and vanished. Although the Spanish Conquistadors searched for his body, the demon with the golden blade was never seen again.
Slowly, the fleeing Inca vessel became smaller with distance, its paddlers smoothing their rhythm through the water, propelling the stout craft away from the thwarted enemy. Eventually, the mists of the vast forest swallowed them in a timeless embrace, as if they had never been. It was the last time any Inca or Spanish eyes saw the strange ships, the people aboard, or the mysterious cargo they carried.
Natives of the rainforest would tell stories for generations, of Gods who came upon the river aboard vast canoes, with golden objects and strange clothing. For a time, the stories thrived amid tribal folklore, handed down from generation to generation, and told by smoking fires at night. But the tribes warred and changed as the years passed, eventually leaving the mysterious travellers known only to the rising mists of the endless rainforest, and by the age-old boughs overhanging the lost and forgotten river.
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