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  One morning Waman Poma awoken from a terrible dream, but like most dreams he forgot about it, and he commenced his day like any other. The feeling of the dream was pervasive, and Waman Poma felt it in all things. He stared at the birds and their nests among the tall trees before the stream and heard them sing strange songs he never heard before. He studied the wind and felt an approaching storm, but he couldn't translate the feeling into words, but the queer feeling was overwhelming.

  As night approached, Waman Poma followed the moving moon and the still stars. Snow fell off in flakes as the clouds rose higher. He prayed for a long while and stared at the peaks of the mountains. Then once again he fell into slumber.

  And as Waman Poma slept, he repeated the same dream he forgot about. The same dream of evil spirits crawling into the land and taking over it, and claiming it for themselves. He dreamt of ghosts riding strange beasts. He dreamt that the sun disappeared. Then he dreamt that the air was permeated by a devastating hum, a hum not of the natural world. And as the dream continued all was lost in the aging fog, and their Inca gods were nowhere to be found, for the more his people prayed, the more they felt completely abandoned. The world was gray and cold and Waman Poma and his people lost the will to live.

  Then the dream ended, and Waman Poma awoke.

  VIII

  After the dream, Waman Poma spoke to both Atahualpa and Manco, and from the second he reached them he explained the dream, and afterward both were convinced that it required proper attention.

  The next day, Waman Poma joined Manco and Atahualpa on the mountain's summit, and there they met the shaman. In the afternoon, they prayed to Wiraqucha their God of Ice and everything. Then the evening came, and the shaman healed those who needed to be healed. Later, a ceremony commenced and the Ayahuasca was brewed, and all came to pass beneath the silver starlight.

  The shaman began to rattle his stick and then he sang the icaros over and over again. And all fell into rhythm. Then all fell into the vision and were transported into the void.

  They dreamed in unison. They breathed heavy and saw their ancestors travel amongst the high amber flames of the fire. And inside the flame, they saw the warnings, and their language went on without words, but all who were there understood in full.

  Then the visions began, and indeed, it was the same vision Manco had dreamed, and it was also the same vision Waman Poma dreamed the night prior, and during the night, the vision was clear and ever present. A Pachukuti. The world turned upside down.

  The land they loved was gone. And their spirits vanquished. And all they knew for sure suddenly didn't make the least sense.

  Then all went black. Then gray.

  But then the light returned and the trees were swallowed by black dragons that fought with the brown bears, and each man went his own way. Then Incas vomited out the sacred brew and felt their skulls crush along and become soil. The vision returned, but this time, it came in much slower.

  Then all went black again.

  The next day the shaman disappeared, as good shamans always do. Manco and Waman Poma fretted and watched their steps very carefully. They sent out scouts to patrol the limits of Cajamarca. Then they set up another meeting with Atahualpa to discuss further matters. But to their surprise, Atahualpa was nowhere to be found.

  An hour later, they found Atahualpa by the stream, joining his children as they caught fish with their bare hands, and he greeted Manco and Waman Poma with a smile.

  "What are we do, Atahualpa?" Manco asked.

  "Did you send the scouts?"

  "All of them."

  "Good."

  "They haven't returned."

  "They'll return."

  "Manco, you're trembling. What is it?”

  "These spirits. They're..."

  "They'll come on their own time.” Said Atahualpa. “Now's not the time to worry. Now's the time to eat."

  So they ate and dined together like they always did on late summer nights, and the whole Royal Family was together once again.

  Few knew it would be the last time. And even fewer knew the hell that was in store for them, for the next day, Waman Poma found the Spanish fires. He smelled their scents and heard their voices, and as he hasted back to Cajamarca to inform Atahualpa, he lost his breath, trembled and collapsed to the ground. When he got up and spoke to Atahualpa his eyes were wide and hands were still trembling. He tried to explain. His words failed him.

  The fears were embedded in the facts. The nightmare morphed into reality. The fear was present and the fear was now.

  They had arrived.

  IX

  The Spanish were five miles from Cajamarca. The guides pointed where the jungle ended and the city limits began. And as night fell they could see the bright firelights of the city flicker beneath the stars.

  Waman Poma returned to the spot where he found them, walked along the canopy, and saw the Spanish fires emerge again. As the night passed the smoke from either side blended into each other and flooded the clear dark sky.

  No one slept, and those who did only pretended. Atahualpa and Manco, Sardina and Soto, the Pizarros and Almagros and all the rest, they were all drunk with fear.

  So what in heaven's name could they do besides tremble and quake and fret and deny? All would have to wait until morning, and they did just that.

  X

  “They called the city Cajamarca, and in the morning we found it, but to our utter shock, it was completely empty and void of life.

  The city was smaller than what we expected, but it was certainly a city, and it was something to hold. There was a grand square with stones gathered about and a high temple with steep steps on either side. We found fresh fires still smoldering in the heat of the day. Later, we searched for gold through-and-through and came up empty. But we all knew they were hiding it.

  When the morning came, we were ordered the patrol the city’s limits with two men lined in staggered formation, and the bowman and the dozen arbalest did the same.

  The Incas didn't show for quite a while, and as time went by, I knew why they were doing this. They were testing our fear and expecting us to retreat, but we were too obstinate, and clearly too stupid to fall into their trap. Together their madness and our madness proved to be most insufferable. Playing chess with Soto taught me many things, but what it taught me most were that the most dangerous times for men were the times in between the moves. Most games ended right then and there.

  And this was no exception.

  Just about sundown, we finally saw the Incas pour into the square. Then he made his entrance. Atahualpa, the king himself. He was dressed in beautiful plumage, and he resembled a giant proud bird, flocking over his dominion. He wore an enormous black and golden cloak made from bat-skins and took his seat on his golden throne, and let his officers do the rest.

  We all stared at Atahualpa, but not directly. We were staring at his golden throne, for it still seemed all too unreal, and it was a testament that we finally reached deep enough into the dream. What I remembered most was Atahualpa’s gold necklace that went down all the way to his knees. There was no doubt in any man’s mind that he wore it on purpose.

  And when Atahualpa took and sat on his throne, the formalities proceeded, and, as accustomed, Francisco was the first man to approach him.

  The two giants stared at one another for the longest time before saying a word. Pizarro with his tall figure and gray, dirty beard, and Atahualpa with his royal round face and each word that wasn’t said was a prayer to save their souls.

  More Incas gathered. Then Atahualpa rose up from his throne and made speech. All I remember was that it was very brief. I tried my best to wipe away the sweat from my palms, but sweat kept dripping down my fingertips. The speech went on and only certain phrases stood out. A sacred land. His people and his ancestors of a thousand years before.

  The translators got to work and the crowd was filled with hostile faces. Then a hundred Incas crowded the stone square and returned to their positions with st
ern footing and defiant smiles, and in a matter of seconds we were outnumbered as more Incas poured into the square, and soon thousands of Incas surrounded not only the center but also the perimeter. We squirmed and we shook in absolute fright, but we were ordered to stand our ground, and that’s exactly what we did.

  Then Francisco took the stage, but he used his body language more than his mouth, and he made damn sure his face remained extremely amiable. Francisco made a magical speech, but I forgot every word. He stared at Atahualpa and extended his hand.

  Then the priest Valverde approached with a Bible in his right hand and a cross in his left. He made a speech about Christ and the Pope and something gibberish about wine and water. He sweated profusely and his heavy brown robes were drenched, but he continued his speech, knowing full well no one on either side listened to a single word.

  Then Atahualpa drew a deep breath and yawned as loud as he could, and the friar stopped in mid sentence. A hush was soon followed. Gasps and wide eyes and opened mouths. Then Atahualpa broke the silence and growled and clutched his stomach, and asked his servants for a fruit of some kind. The servants returned with a ripe papaya, which Atahualpa inhaled in less than half a minute. He slurped and smacked with great delight and as the juices ran down his mouth, He looked at the Spanish and thought about his next meal.

  Then he said we were welcome to stay the evening, and to our amazement Francisco accepted the offer. And then Atahualpa departed, and so too did the other Incas.

  So we waited the night in the square.

  It would have to come tomorrow.”

  XI

  “Then as the next morning came, the events were repeated.

  Many more Incas drew into the square and again we were severely outnumbered. Then, with soft eyes and a cordial smile, Francisco told his demands, and the translators tried in careful haste to make every word sound lighter.

  Francisco wanted gold and nothing else, but Atahualpa gave no reply. Then Francisco asked again and raised his voice louder, so all could hear, but Atahualpa remained silent.

  Then Valverde made another speech. It was the same speech he gave the day before, and when it was over, Atahualpa grabbed the Bible from Valverde's grubby hands and shoved him to the ground.

  A hush drifted through the crowd as more spectators poured into Cajamarca. Then Atahualpa made a speech of his own. His face was bold and threatening.

  Then Atahualpa put the Bible to his face and sniffed it, and repeated a phrase, which he later screamed.

  "Why does this say nothing to me?"

  He looked at his people, then turned back to us, and repeated.

  "WHY DOES THIS SAY NOTHING TO ME?!"

  Then he gave us all a vile stare and he threw the Bible to the ground.

  And from there I can only remember the grin Francisco had given him, for he was waiting for that moment all of his life.

  And all I remembered next was the blood.”

  XII

  Then the Spanish opened fire and all of Cajamarca exploded in chaos. From the start, the Incas crowded the Spanish and completely overwhelmed them from all angles. They fought fiercely and swiftly as they moved as a collective hoard and attempted to suffocate the Spanish simply by outnumbering them in close hand to hand combat, striking them with their spears and clubs and their sticks and fans. And after several minutes of this, Atahualpa and his Incas sensed a quick victory.

  Then it all changed.

  And as the Spanish regrouped, they found the space they needed and fired back with their crossbows and short ranged arbalests, and they let the cavalry do the rest. The Incas were trampled and battered by the Spanish infantry as they cut their way forward. Then the cavalry encircled and then the cannons and arquebuses fired and broke everything in their way. Shards of shrapnel pierced the Inca's flesh, and the plumes of smoke that followed fogged the entire area, and from there it was certain the swing of momentum would never return.

  Then it started to rain, and the Spanish unleashed their dogs, and continued to plunge their Toledo swords into the Incas and repeated to do so over and over again, and the slaughter continued throughout the morning.

  Soon the crowds of Incas cleared and disbursed into lesser and lesser sections, and the Spanish continued to open fire and picked them off one by one.

  Atahualpa, himself, fought with great courage. He looked over to Manco and found him standing and attacking with a spear in his hand and a Spanish shield in the other.

  But the Spanish came in too fast.

  The Spanish kept coming, and the freshly decapitated heads of the Incas kept rolling. The blood poured out and formed into pools as the Spanish cut and slashed and pierced and sliced. And the blood continued to run all throughout the city.

  Atahualpa’s sight became blurred as he watched all of his guards fall to their deaths one at a time. Soon he watched many of his worshipers and countrymen do the same. Blood spilled onto the marble and onto the steps of the temple. Then the blood spilled on to other corners of the square. Then the rain fell and blended with the suffocating smoke, and the shots continued and fired from all directions.

  Atahualpa led another charge and was backed by a hundred of his men, but the charge was short lived. They ran straight into the crossbows sight line with the Spanish infantry flanked on either side of the temple walls, and soon Atahualpa’s hundred warriors dwindled to a dozen. Then a half dozen. And as Atahualpa turned away, he was instantly struck by a blow to the head. He fell to the ground and was quickly quarantined by two Spanish soldiers.

  "Alive! Alive! I want him alive!" A voice cried out.

  As the voice came in clearer, its owner approached with seething teeth and a demented grin. Then Francisco inched closer, bent over to Atahualpa’s body, and with his palm Francisco raised Atahualpa by the chin and wiped away the sand from his lips. He was delighted to see the Inca King still alive. The soldiers did what they were told and latched Atahualpa into iron chains then escorted him away from the fog of smoke.

  A half hour passed and much remained the same. The bodies of dead Inca warriors piled up in stacks. Hundreds became thousands, and the bodies kept piling as the blood ran in streams all along the square and splattered along the temple walls.

  Manco and the others defended the temple as best they could, but after another twenty minutes, it was clear that the battle was over. Manco searched for his men, but through the fog, he could only see them trampled by the horses. He was dazed by it all. He knew it was all over, and his brave Incas kept falling and piling on to the temple steps, and the rain just poured.

  The women and children escaped through the rain then Manco saw the rest of his people flee into the jungles of Vilcabamba, and with great reluctance, he joined them and disappeared through the canopy.

  Then the rain stopped, and as the last Inca warrior surrendered, the dogs drove him to the ground and ripped and tore away at his flesh. One last cannon blast fired and the skies swirled in gray ash and soot and joined the plumes of endless smoke, and the dying light of the sun disappeared.

  As Atahualpa opened his eyes he saw the iron chains strapped to his hands. He bled from his forehead, and he watched his Cajamarca burn throughout the night.

  And in the morning, the Pizarro Brothers looked at the captured Atahualpa, and they smiled through their grimaces.

  CHAPTER 2

  “The sunlight in Coronado’s adobe began to disappear.

  I took another sip of wine. It was a little too sweet for my taste. Coronado leaned in, stretched his arms, and retrieved the bottle.

  “So what happen after the battle?” He asked as he poured another glass.

  I heard footsteps and laughter coming from downstairs. Coronado’s young daughters, Isabella, and Carlota raced to the end of the stair head, giggled, and stopped and tried to catch their breath. They curtsied and bowed gaily and stood on their tiptoes. They couldn’t have been more than five or six years old and their eyes were bright and filled with excitement. Coronado gingerly cleared
his throat, and then both of the girls handed us each a violet rose.

  Coronado’s eyes softened.

  “What is it, my darlings?” He said.

  “Mother said supper is ready.” One of them said.

  “Tell her we’ll be down in an hour.”

  “Yes, sir.”