Blood of the Sun (working title)

 

As I sit down at my computer to begin writing this tonight, my random wallpaper selector has chosen a photo of the Earth seen from space as my current background, tilted gently to reveal Antarctica peering up from the bottom. There are different ways of looking at the world. Most people never truly do so at all. For those that do, there seems to be two approaches. Some step forward to take in the tiniest details, delving down into the makeup of the world trying to break it down into its smallest constituent parts, only to find successively smaller parts as they continue to zoom in. Others step back in an effort to view the larger picture, see the whole image, and try to understand the universe in its entirety. Most believe that it would be a combination of these approaches that would finally reveal ultimate truth. But I believe that, rather than stepping in or out, to truly gain the necessary perspective and true understanding, someone will have to step sideways. However, everyone that has ever taken a closer, or longer look at the world we live in realizes that what meets the eye is merely the surface, concealing worlds of levels to be discovered on your way to understanding.

 

Max left the lecture hall once the applause had died down. He skipped the meet and greet in the front lobby. He’d always found them a distasteful medley of hangers on and delusional would-be philosophers wanting to espouse their own thoughts while borrowing the audience that the evening’s speaker had earned through the efforts of writing and reputation that had granted him the popularity to have crowds interested in his thoughts. Besides, he wasn’t interested in meeting the speaker. The speech had been interesting, but he wasn’t sure why he was here or what exactly what knowledge he was meant to glean from the night. Max was lost. He’d been a sign reader in his youth. He was able to follow a path prescribed by some unseen hand based on signs given to him throughout his daily life. He’d been lost for a number of years now. At some point he read a sign wrong, made a wrong choice, took a wrong direction, and now it was as if time itself had ground to a halt. He knew it was pointless to retrace his steps in hopes of relocating his lost path, which was made up from a combination of time and space. The space wouldn’t be right unless the time was.

 

“You may want to think that the time’s not right,

You may want to wait for a sign.
Trust me when I say that the world don’t give a damn,

You’re on your own, do what you can”

 

Max was always amused when his subconscious seemed to choose the most appropriate songs to spring upon his consciousness. And the 3-five-7 classic that was in his head now echoed the sentiment that most of his friends and family kept telling him, to remind him how foolish it was to place your fate in the hands of something other than yourself.

But here he was, compelled to attend this lecture on the nature of perception and how it affected our universe, and he wasn’t sure why.

 

“You’re on your own, do what you can” , the song echoed in his mind.

That was part of the problem, he believed. He’d once been surrounded by brilliant, unique minds, capable of  perceiving in unique ways, like he could. Nearly ten years ago, they’d gone their separate ways, spreading out almost evenly throughout the world. Literally scattering to the four winds. He wondered if they’d lost their paths, too. What made it worse was that he hadn’t had a telling dream in years. They’d always been there when he wasn’t sure what to do next, dreams that would stay with him when he awoke, looking at him expectantly as though waiting for him to understand what they were telling him. Eventually their message would become clear.

 

Like the time he was dreaming about lying on a beach, applying sun block. He awoke with the aloe heavy sent of the sun block still fresh in his nostrils. He had then heard a noise outside and looked out the window of his apartment to see his friend Chad exiting the apartment across the way, carrying a chair. “Looks like Chad’s brother is moving” he thought. Chad had moved out of Boone a couple of years prior to move to Wilmington, on the coast. He went down to say hello to his friend, and had immediately been invited to come visit them at their new house, “not far from the beach”. The dreams weren’t always that obvious, of course.

 

Here he was, compelled in that way for the first time in a while. Now was the time to be watching for a sign. The world was about to speak to him, after a long silence. He need only to wait a little while longer.

 

Max spent his days as a graduate researcher at San Diego State University. He kept collecting government grant money to advance a thesis that looked as though it may never arrive. It gave him access to all the state university system’s libraries and data banks. Eventually he believed his strange blend of history, psychology, anthropology and philosophy would congeal itself into a new way of explaining the human condition. But the very nature of his studies encouraged a fluidity of thought and belief. How do you commit fluid beliefs to writing, after all?  

 

He preferred to eschew the bustle of downtown living, opting instead for a moderate commute to the more remote suburb of Ramona, which allowed a quieter existence with fewer distractions. He distracted himself enough, he didn’t need any help. For now, he’d call it a night, and crawled into a bed with a book. Time enough to ponder what message the world may have for him in the morning.

 

His eyes opened.
”I'm a mongoose. I'm not surprised to be a mongoose. I guess I've always been a mongoose. I am surprised, however, to find myself in a cage. I am not alone in this cage. With me is a chipmunk. Not the brightest fellow, but nice enough. Also with me is a little green man with a tall forehead, pointed ears, and short spiky black hair whom we'll call Mescalito. (NOTE: a later interpreter suggested that this figure could represent Mescalito, a figure from Native American folklore who is mentioned as a "plant ally" in the works of Carlos Castaneda. I don't know if this is accurate, but "Mescalito" is much easier to say than "Little green man", so I'll use it). To start out, our motley crew is pondering the plight of our captivity. Our cage is in a modest dwelling of wooden walls with a thatched roof. It must be summer because the windows are swung open, and the door is standing open to let in fresh air. Our captor is a Cyclops. None of us is sure what his plans for us are, but we're not eager to find out. He was currently stoking a small fire in the fireplace, and the smell of burning cedar filled the room. Mescalito was the de facto leader of our strange crew of mammals and gods, and he had formulated a plan for our escape. Every day at a certain time, the Cyclops would open the front of our little cage to feed us. It was decided that the next time he came to feed us, we would force the cage door back open against his strength so we could escape. I pointed out to Mescalito that this plan could never work because even our combined physical strength would do little against that of the Cyclops. "We must use our minds' strength instead, it is there that we have the clear advantage", he replied. Later that day when he opened the front of our cage to bring in our food and water, we were ready. The chipmunk and I stood on either side of Mescalito, with our hands on his shoulders. He assumed the classical "mind powers" position of intense concentration with fingers pressed to temples. We all concentrated and focused our mental energy, and forced the cage door back against the physical strength of the cyclops. The cyclops lost his footing and fell back against some shelving and stumbled backward still, before rolling to the floor, knocking a table over, which caused a burning log, spraying showers of sparks, to tumble out onto the floor. The Cyclops was at least momentarily incapacitated, and hesitated while trying to decide whether to bar our escape or to put out the fire that had started in his house. This was just the window we needed, allowing us to make a break from the cage and out the open door to the fields beyond. Outside the cyclops' cottage, now engulfed in flames,  were a vast expanse of low rolling hills covered in swaying green grass.We ran, the slowed to a walk, and must have covered several miles before coming to a human sized house. Here we went in through a doggie door to seek respite from our flight. We found ourselves in a finished garage, converted into a game room. There was a pool table in the center of the room, with a pool table light hanging down over it from the ceiling. Our hopes for a rest soon disappeared, however, as the room was also occupied by a Cobra, who thought any of us might make a nice lunch. Being a mongoose, I told the others to go on ahead while I held off the snake. I proceeded to do battle with the cobra, and fared quite well. I wrestled it to the ground, plucked out it's fangs one by one, then threw it up into the pool table light where it was electricuted to death. Having completed my task of dealing with the snake I went to catch up with the others, going through another doggie door into the main part of the house. At this time I was transformed into my human self, and the house was my house (although it was only my house in the dream, it didn't resemble my actual house).”

 

At this point max was awakened by a pounding. He regained his bearings and determined the pounding was coming from the front door. Groggily, he stumbled his way through the darkened living room and peered through the peep hole to see who/what was pounding on his door in the middle of the night. He could help but notice that the smell of burning cedar remained in his nostrils. Through the peep hole he was momentarily terrified to see A humanoid creature with one giant, black eye in the center of its face peering back at him through the hole. He quickly realized it was a firefighter, with a black visor mask over his eyes. He opened the door.

“Sir, you’ve got ten minutes to get out of your condo!”

why?

Wildfire. Started just over the ridge but is heading this way, fast.

Shit!

If you’re not out in 15 minutes, tops, we’ll have to remove you by force.

Got it.

 

Max struggled to remember all the times he’d pondered what he’d take with him if he were awakened in the middle of the night to find his house on fire. Now, at least, his house wasn’t on fire, yet, and he had a few minutes to fill up his car. He rummaged for important paperwork, passport, birth certificate, his stack of journals, and photo-album, what else is important paperwork? He wondered. Next was important technology, cell phone, iPod, hard drive (can’t let those thousand half finished thesis’s get lost!). He was starting to gather important/rare books when the fireman returned.

Has it been 15 minutes already?

Sir, this is serious.

I know, but this isn’t easy.

I’m sorry, you must go now!

 

Such was life in California’s major cities. In Los Angeles and San Francisco, you had to fear earthquakes, in San Diego, it was the threat of wildfires.

 

The vague smell of burning cedar was now an even vaguer but stronger smell of many burning things.

Dazed, disoriented, and with no idea where to go. Max drove off in the only direction the firefighters would let him go. It seemed like a microcosm for the last seven years of his life, except his life didn’t have firefighters pointing him which way to go.

 

A wise man had once told Max, “Beware of asking for signs, because you won’t always like them”. He couldn’t argue with that now, but he couldn’t help but feel at least a small amount of hope that his condo would burn to the ground, thus lighting a fire under him and forcing him to find the next path that was destined for him. Another wise man once said, “Be careful what you wish for”.

 

CHAPTER TWO,

 

“Well, I’ve detached him from his living arrangement, finally making him ambulatory. Now, how do I get him to where I need him to be?”

This is what Max imagined God was mumbling to himself. Others were simply confused at how nonchalantly Max had taken the news of the complete destruction of his condo. “I am unfettered, free to go where I need to go. I just don’t know where I need to go.”

 

“Looks to me like you’ve been freed up for your next great adventure. I must admit I’m envious, but I’m afraid I can’t accompany you this time. I can’t leave Tori to tackle fifth grade on her own, with Chris out on tour and all”.

 

Kelley was the one person that  knew Max well enough to appreciate his unique delimmas, and to recognize appropriate responses.

“You can always do what we used to do, you know, go to the library, pick a section that interests you, and choose a book at random. It will tell you where to go.”

 

“Well, I’m going to have a nice insurance check coming, at least. That will be enough to last me for quite some time. But that’s not a bad idea. I’ll head down there tomorrow.”

 

“Where are you staying, any way?”

 

“I’m just over at the evacuation center, Qualcomm Stadium, actually.”

 

“You can’t crash with one of those friends of yours?”

 

“They’re all married, and I hate to be a third wheel. Besides, it’s like a carnival down here, bands have come out to entertain the evacuees, free food, they’re even showing movies on the Jumbo-Tron.”

 

“Jeez. With an evacuation center like that, I’d be worried about a rash of arson in San Diego, just so people have an excuse to evacuate again”.

 

You know SoCal, it’s even laid back about it’s natural disasters”.

 

Max wondered what he’d do about the university. It seemed a shame to abandon his Master’s at the drop of a hat, but it’s not like they grant sabbaticals to grad students.

Max couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony that he was seeking mystical divination inside a library shaped like an upside-down pyramid. He probably seemed like just another of the kooks that seemed to gravitate towards the strange building. He headed towards the archaeology section, which was the best marriage of his primary interests of history and psychology. It also happened to be one of his undergraduate degrees. He had been accused of being a collector of degrees.

 

He hadn’t done this in years.

“Lets see if I remember how this works…”

 

Max realized that literally anything can be used for divination. It didn’t even require belief in any sort of magical ability or ESP. Take Tarot cards for instance. They aren’t magical, and don’t require a psychic for successful use. They are simply a tool for sorting out unconscious thoughts. Some people believe that they will point the way for them, but if you fashion an arrow out of paper and spin it, it will point a way for you as well. The tarot helps you decide on a direction by providing firmament for your own unformed thoughts to alight upon.

He made sure no one was watching. He walked to the middle of the anthropology section, not wanting to exclude living cultures from his range of choices. He closed his eyes, then slowly turned in a circle, until he was certain that he had no idea which direction he was facing. He then walked slowly forward with arems outstretched, like a newly blinded man, until his hand came to rest on a shelf. From that point it was a matter of guessing up or down, unil he chose a specific shelf, then hovered his hand back and forth across the shelf until it seemed appropriate to put his hand down. He did so, coming to rest on a small paperback. He picked it up and opened his eyes. “The Inca” by Garcilasco de la Vega. “Hmm, I’ve actually read this”. So he knew already that althouth the Incan empire covered much of south America at its height, conversations about the Inca started and ended with Cuzco.

The Inca empire was much like the Roman empire of south America at its height. And Cuzco was its very heart, much like the city of rome. And, as in Rome, all roads lead to Cuzco.

 

“This will be easy”, Max thought. “The anthropology department has a student exchange program with the university of Lima. I should be able to get in on that with little trouble.”

For the first time in years, Max could see his path open up before his eyes, as clear as it had once been to him, contrasted with the smoky, hazy, fire polluted air that met him upon exiting the library. Too bad it’s only Friday. Max’s latest destiny would have to wait for Monday morning.

 

Tomas Alvarez was a walking, talking, catharsis of inappropriate humor. His purpose in life seemed to be to offend as many people as he possibly could. The problem was, once you got to know him, you realized he was completely full of shit, all the time. And you began to find even his most tasteless, off color humor funny, despite your conscience’s protestations. It could be said that Tom was Max’s antithesis. Or perhaps his perfect foil. Max shunned social contact, and avoided talking to unfamiliar people, while Tom seemingly couldn’t avoid it. Tom was the loud to Max’s quiet. Tom was also known to be headed for Cuzco at the beginning of the semester for the exchange program. Tom was the kind of guy who could be in the process of beign eaten by an alligator, and would probably look forward tofinding out what it would be like to be feces. It was time to give Tom a call.

 

“Dude, I can DEFINITELY get you a spot on the program. We’re always short anyway. That rules that you’re coming with us. I’m gonna get you so drunk, you’ll be on stage with the Flamenco band before you know it.”

 

Actually Flamenco is Spanish, and the Peruvians quietly shun Spanish traditions. You’re more likely to hear…

 

Yeah, ok, whatever. We’ll have you playing Mariachi shit in no time.

 

Well, Mariachis are Mexican. Peruvian music has similar instrumentation, but...

 

I’ll be drunk. I won’t know the difference. What are you, an ethnomusicologist?

 

Actually, I had considered it…

 

You should. You’d be the rockstar of the anthropology community. You’d get all the geeky anthro girls to drop trowel.

 

Laughs

 

Ok, so no more of this evac center nonsense, you’re staying with me until we leave.

 

You sound like it’s a sure thing.

 

Dude, it’s practically a done deal. I am kind of the one who decides such things, you know.

 

I guess you do have a point.

 

Max spent the remainder of the weekend making sure he had everyting that he would need to take with him to peru. He would only be making a list at this point, but he could afford to be a little frivolous, once he got that big insurance check, which was due  by the end of the weeke.

Laptop

Digital Camera

Gps unit

Binoculars

Surely much more that he was forgetting.

 

Tom: ok, so you need to explain this to me again. You actually rule your life by some sort of arbitrary events that you believe point you in the direction you need to go.

 

Yes.

 

So you believe that everyihing is fated to hapend and there’s hnothing we can do about it, that we don’t control our own lives.

 

That’s not exactly true. To me, my life is like a water particle.

 

Huh?

 

I know its hard, but just shut up and listen for a moment.

 

Tom made a little zipper motion across his lips.

 

After spending thousands, if not millions of years trapped in polar ice cap, a water particle is finally born into the world after it makes it’s way to the foot of a glacier and melts. It then will begin a long journey downhill to the sea. A water particle doesn’t choose it’s route to the sea. It moves with the flow of the other particles and finds the path that will take it around obstacles, eventually finding its way to the sea.

 

So you go with the flow, so to speak.

 

In a sense, but not in the way that most people usually mean that statement. The main difference between a water particle and us is that we actually can choose. The only direction we cannot change or reverse is time. So we are born from the glacier and reach our death at the sea, but we get to wander all over the place along the way. Now, there are forces that pull us to what some call a “final cause”. Some theorize that instead of a single starting point which branches out forward in front of us with infinite possibilities, that instead we are all headed towards an inevitable conclusion, and each choice we makes eliminates possible paths instead of creating them. I don’t know if I buy it, but this philosophy suggests that the universe has something to achieve, and everything is pulled towards its own individual contribution to this universal achievement. That’s not generally an attractive philosophy, but I do know that, with practice, you can start to see the path in front of you that takes you towards the purpose that you were created to serve.

 

You know you think way too much, right?

 

I like thinking. I don’t know why everyone doesn’t. I’ve been known to just sit and think. Once I had a roommate that came home to find me staring at a wall. She asked what I was doing and I said, “Thinking”. Then I kept staring at the wall like she wasn’t even there. She was convinced that I was an axe murderer waiting to happen at that point, I think.

 

As expected, max was accepted into the exchange program through the anthropology department. So he purchased all the things he needed and prepared to depart. Along with he and Tom, they would be accompanied by Nicholas Reich, a socially challenged egg head from the math department.

 

What a motley crew we are, Max thought as they boarded the plane. We run the gamut of the whole scale of social skills from non-existant to over the top.

 

Max: So nick, what brings you along on this journey?

 

Nick: I’m adding archaeo-astronomy as a focus in my anthropology minor.

 

Max: you aren’t supposed to need a focus if it’s only a minor.

 

Nick: I know, but I have some theories I want to check out.

 

Tom: I have some flight attendants I want to check out.

 

Max: heh. What theories, Nick?

 

Nick: are you familiar with the layout of the Giza plateau?

 

Max: Sure, nothing precise, but you can’t be an archaeology buff and not be familiar with it.

Nick: Well, what most people don’t realize is that the structures on the ground correspond to significant features in the night sky. You can super-impose an image of the night sky over the giza plateau, and after a slight rotation, the three main pyramids match up perfectly with the belt of Orion. Haven’t you ever wondered how a series of buildings so painstakingly and perfectly aligned to the cardinal points like the pyramids are could be offline in relation to one-another?

 

Max: That’s always been an oddity about them, the fact that the two largest line up almost perfectly in a diagonal from Khufu’s Northwest corner to Khafre’s southwest corner, but the smaller one is offline from that line, seemingly for no reason.

 

Nick: exactly, but if you look at the Orion constellation in the sky, the belt stars are aligned in exactly the same way, with the dimmer of the three, the southwestern one, being slightly offline.

 

Mark: I never realized that.

 

Nick: No reason you should, it was pretty much an accidental discovery. But upon closer study, after super-imposing the star map over the plateau map, The nile falls almost perfectly in line with the milky way, and guess where the sphinx is.

 

Tom: In Leo?

 

Nick: Exactly.

 

Tom: you gotta be kiddin me.

 

Nick: That’s way too much to be considered coincidental.

 

Max: I don’t believe in coincidences. Especially here. The Egyptians were obsessed with astronomy, and were uncannily precise in everything they did, in regards to monumental construction especially. There’s no way these things would just happen to line up perfectly like that.

 

Nick: well, it’s not perfect, unfortunately.

 

Tom: I knew it! Here’s the catch…

 

Nick: The Egyptians could’ve designed the layout of the plateau so that no rotation of the star map would be necessary to line up the monuments to their respective stars. So why didn’t they?

 

Max: For the same reason that the Sphinx doesn’t perfectly face the sunrise on the summer solstice as it appears to have been designed to do. It really doesn’t make much sense. The Egyptians will wow you with their precision and engineering in one moment, then seemingly blunder on something as significant as the alignment of a significant monument the next.

 

Nick: well, as it turns out, they may not have blundered. There’s an explanation for all of the misalignment.

 

Max: oh?

Tom: (rolling eyes) this oughta be good.

 

Nick: Are you familiar with precession of the equinox’s?

 

Max: I think I heard something about that in my astronomy class.

 

Nick: figures. Precession of the equinox’s is the effect that the tilt of the earth on it’s axis has on the appearance of the night sky on a given day, evolving through the years.

 

Tom: It’s always the same.

 

Nick: not quite. The earth doesn’t spin smoothly on it’s axis. It wobbles. This wobble causes a slight rotation of the orientation of all the stars in the sky. It happens so slowly, however, that it takes 26000 years to complete a cycle. This is why you hear people speak of the “age of Aquarius” or whatnot. An astrological age lasts as long as on the equinox, the sun rises in a particular constellation. So, even though the age of aquarius really hasn’t begun technically yet, it will last around 2167 years when it does begin.

 

Tom: Will you “let the sunshine in”? Because “I can’t see clearly now”.

 

Max: Funny.

 

Tom: I try.

 

Nick: what I’m saying is, if you turn back the procession of the equinox’s back in time, the sky will seemingly slowly rotate. And the giza plateau precisely aligns with its corresponding stars above if you turn the clock back to 10500 BC.

 

Max: Whoa.

 

Tom: are you suggesting that the pyramids were actually built 6000 years earlier than we believe they were?

Nick: Not necessarily. It could be that the planners of the plateau merely wanted to record that date in stone, so to speak, because it has some significance.

 

Max: Well, it does correspond with the approximate end of the last ice age.

 

Nick: yes. And it almost seems as though the Egyptians built a key to deciphering this little puzzle right into the plateau.

 

Tom: and what is that?

Nick: The sphinx. Think about it, it’s a lion, right?

Max: mostly.

 

Nick: well some believe it was all lion originally, until an enterprising pharaoh decided to put his face on it instead, but I digress. So, in 10500 BC, guess what constellation The sun would rise in on the equinox?

 

Max: Surely not Leo.

 

Nick: Leo exactly. Leo the Lion. When the sun last was aligned perfectly with this giant lion statue, it would’ve appeared out of the giant lion constellation, while the milky way was directly over the nile’s path at that time, and the belt of orion would’ve lined up perfectly with the tips of the three great pyramids.

 

Max: That’s an awful lot to dismiss as coincidence.

 

Nick: It is. So I don’t. But there’s one more interesting tidbit of information to add.

 

Tom: You’re crazy nick. Max, you’re crazy for listening to this.

 

Max: You have an amazing capacity for accepting coincidence, Tom.

 

Tom: I know. It’s a gift.

 

Max: Continue, nick.

 

Nick: So some years back, a clever archaeologist wanted to silence some of the more fringe theorists about the age and origin of the monuments on the giza plateau. Since they weren’t buying the archaeologists explanations, he brought in another science altogether. He brought in a group of geologists who specialized in weathering to see if they could estimate when the statue was carved based on the wear it had suffered since it’s creation. Their results did nothing to silence the fringe, and in fact threw a wrench in the neat little package archaeology has been feeding folks for years. They found that the clear age and wear on the monument were caused by heavy rains and wind, and not blown sand as everyone had assumed.

 

Tom: You see? That’s not even possible.

 

Nick: not any time recently, your right. But keep in mind that for the majority of the sphinx’s existence in recorded history, it has been buried up to it’s neck in sand, which actually preserved it, rather than causing more wear. As you may be aware, the sahara wasn’t always desert.

 

Max: Of course not.

 

Nick: Right. But the last time there were sufficient rains to cause the wear the geologists say it caused was shortly after the end of the last ice age, when the sahara was a temperate wetland.

 

Max: 10500 BC, same as the astronomical alignment. Weird.

 

Nick: Yep.

 

Tom: So, if you’re so interested in all this stuff about ancient Egypt, why are you coming to South America?

 

Nick: It has been suggested that the mysterious ancient city of  Tijuanaco may also have astronomical alignments. I hope to find out.

 

Max: I’d love to see Tijuanaco.

 

Tom: Me too.

 

Nick: well, we’ve got an expedition arranged, I’m sure you guys can get in on it. Even if it means getting hired on as a porter.

 

Tom: funny, Nick.

 

The conversation was interrupted by the captain informing the passengers of final descent into Lima airport. From there the team caught a cab from the airport to the Colonial Inn in the upscale Miraflores district, which is where the Lima government prefers to direct foreign visitors, to give a better impression of their sometimes troubled capital city, and also to protect the unprepared from potential con men and just plain thieves. The drive through Lima from the airport gave an interesting cross section of the different levels of life in this third world metropolis. The architecture ranges from mud brick and adobe buildings constructed by hand, often barely fit to live in, to thouroughly modern buildings you would expect to find in any city. The Colonial in was somewhere in between. It was much closer to the latter than the former, the group was happy to find out. Max and Tom were sharing a room with 2 twin beds. All in all it was actually a very nice room, especially for third world standards. The bathroom was unusually arranged, being almost two rooms. There was an alcove for the toilet down a short narrow hallway from the larger alcove shared by the sink and the shower. The two alcoves straddled the buildings central enclosure, which was an open shaft down the center of the building that the vents from both the toilet and shower enclosure opened up to. This served as an archaic ventilation system in the absence of a vent fan.

 

Tom: I’m going to take a dump.

 

Max: Thanks for letting me know.

 

Tom: well, you’re about to hear it all, so I figured I’d warn you.

 

Max slid open one of the many panes that served as a window. He noticed that there was no caulking or batting of any kind to keep out drafts. Just sliding panes. There also didn’t appear to be any way to lock the window. Max was reminded how different even little things can be in other countries. The sound of the traffic outside the second floor window adequately masked the sounds of Tom’s bowel movement eminating from the bathroom. Max felt a since of exhilaration now that his life was in flux once again. There’s a strange excitement being forcibly detached from your life, and heading out into the world with only the future to worry about.

 

By the time Tom was done in the bathroom, Max was already in bed, writing in his journal.

 

Tom: What are you doing? We just arrived in a foreign city, the night is young. We should hit the town.

 

Max: We have a three AM wake-up call.

 

Tom: Three AM? That’s a bed time, not a wake-up time. We can sleep on the plane.

 

Max: It’s only a one hour flight to Cuzco from here. Not much time to sleep. Basically you have to choose between sleeping now, or sleeping in Cuzco once we get there. Personally, I’d rather have the entire day to visit some of the sights in Cuzco  tomorrow and sleep now.

 

Tom: It’s crazy how they taxied us all the way across the city from the airport just for us to sleep, then taxi right back to the airport first thing in the morning. Well, first thing in the middle of the night.

 

Max: You know how it is. They want us foreigners to see the good side of Lima, which the airport district certainly isn’t.

 

Tom: I’m not sure I can get to sleep this early. What time is it, any way?

Max: Peru is in Eastern Standard Time.

 

Tom: Does that mean you know what time it is, or do I need to ask Nick?

 

Max: Its just after Ten.

 

Tom: Ok, I’m going to have to plug in and tune out, then.

 

Tom put on his headphones and got in bed. Max read for a while. He was halfway through “Foucalt’s Pendulum”, the legendary novel by Umberto Eco that dealt with themes of history, secret societies, hidden ancient knowledge, and the stumbling onto of the aforementioned by unsuspecting academics. Max couldn’t help but to daydream about stumbling onto some lost city or ancient knowledge. South America seemed to be littered with lost cities, over run by jungles. And even more lost knowledge, if there was any left to be found, after it was eradicated by overzealous catholic priests that had accompanied the Spanish conquistadors. No student of ancient history, religion, philosophy or anthropology could avoid feeling a twinge of pain at the thought of what was lost forever when the catholic missionaries gathered all fifty thousand Mayan codices, comprising an entire continent’s history and knowledge, and simply burned them in a big pile because it was “heretical”. Even the Spaniards Max had met in his visit to Spain were regretful of the actions of their ancestors.

 

People don’t realize the power of daydreams. Max had often noticed that the opinion held of him by others turned out to be exactly what he had imagined they would think of him. He wasn’t so conceited as to believe that he was actually having an effect on their minds through his imaginings, but he did believe that people’s beliefs and perception had more of a direct effect on their reality than most people realize. It was to these thoughts that Max drifted off to sleep, managing to overcome the mixture of excitement and trepidation that met his thoughts of the sudden uncertainty of his future.

 

Max awoke in 1985. He was 12 again, and he was in New York City for a school field trip.

I was in sixth grade, about 12 years old.  The private school I was attending, New Garden Friends School (NGFS), was on a week-long field trip to New York City. At this time there was a class bully named Kenny that had decided that he didn't like me. I don't know why he hated me so. Perhaps there was some reason, something I had done to him that I don't remember, but I don't remember knowing why he wanted to beat me up at the time. During this field trip, we were staying at a beautiful, large old mansion in Yonkers that belonged to a relative or friend of one of our teachers. One day, we had some down time, and all the kids were out in the very large yard playing soccer, among other things. I was never much of an athlete and always somewhat of an outcast, so I wandered off by myself. I found a nice little path through some woods that led to a clearing, in the middle of which was a tire swing hanging from a huge old oak tree. I hopped up on the swing and just swayed back and forth, enjoying the quiet and solitude. After a few minutes, Kenny came along, apparently quite pleased at the opportunity to find me alone, and isolated from the rest of the kids and teachers. Now, here's where my memory seems off. As I remember it, this tire swing was so high off the ground, that Kenny couldn't even reach me. If it was that high, how did I get up on it? There may have been a ladder or something, I don't remember. But anyway, Kenny says to me, "Come down from there so I can kick your ass." To which my response was, naturally, "ummm....no?" So Kenny says, "You'll have to come down from there some time, and when you do, I'll be waiting." And he went off back down the path to rejoin the other kids playing soccer. This made me angry. I didn't understand why he wouldn't leave me alone and I became filled with rage. Now, rage is something I've only felt a handful of times in my life, and I tend to turn it inwards rather than unleashing it upon the world. This time, however, something altogether different happened. Somehow I knew what to do. As I remained on the tire swing, I closed my eyes. I pressed a tightly clenched fist against my forehead, and felt all the muscles in my body tense up at once. I sat there for several seconds, shaking with rage and tensed muscles. Then, a picture came into my mind. I could clearly see the yard back at the house where the kids were playing soccer. I could see Kenny running and kicking with them. I focused the image in on Kenny's left leg, until my mind's entire field of vision was dominated by his leg, and then I released. I relaxed. My muscles relaxed and I opened my eyes. I don't remember if I felt any different, or if I had some idea that I had done something. At this time, I decided to hop down off the tire swing, and walk back to the yard where the other kids were. What I saw when I got there gave me chills. Kenny was lying on the ground, crying, clutching his left leg. I asked one of the other kids what happened. "I don't know, he just cried out, collapsed, and grabbed his leg", was the response. I was, as you can imagine, somewhat weirded out by this. I had to tell someone what had happened. I picked one of the other kids, John-Chris, almost at random, just to share what I had experienced. I related the whole story, as I just told it, to him. His only response was, "Man, you must be spooked". Thanks, John-Chris, for that insightful comment. I don't think he believed me, and he never spoke of it to me again. Later on that evening, as Kenny was sitting in a chair with his leg propped up on another chair, I asked him what had happened, curiosity overcoming intimidation. In a surprisingly friendly manner, he explained that he didn't know what had happened, and that his leg stopped hurting a few minutes later, and was only propped up now because the teacher's told him to stay off of it. There was, apparently, no injury, nothing wrong with the leg.

 

Max had dreamt of that day so often, that he was no longer sure that it had actually happened. For someone who refused to believe in coincidences, the events of that day posed some really troubling questions. There had only been a few other experiences in Max’s life on a level of inexplicability with that one. And those, too, only seemed to be recalled through Max’s detailed dream life. Also, significant dreams of this nature usually foretold an eventful period upcoming in Max’s life. The last dream, where he’d been a Mongoose, had certainly taken an immediate significance in his waking life. Max shuddered to think what the recurrence of this old dream, and memory, might mean for the immediate future. He decided to tell Tom and Nick about it. Nothing else to do on the flight, after all.

 

Tom: Max, I’m beginning to think you are crazy.

 

Max: That makes 2 of us.

 

Tom: But you know I love crazy people. Is that why you dropped your psychology minor? Because you’re bat-shit crazy?

 

Max: Something like that.

 

Nick: So you are telling us that this actually happened?

Max: As far as I remember it, yeah.

 

Nick: Do people believe this story?

Max: I don’t really tell that to anyone, because I don’t think they will believe it.

 

Tom: I’m not sure I do.

 

Max: That’s ok. I’ve begun to doubt my memory as well.

 

Nick: You mentioned in there somewhere that you’ve had other experiences like this. Have you?

Max: I guess I have.

 

Tom: Should I just stop listening now?

 

Max: Hehe, Like I said, that’s why I don’t talk about it.

 

Nick: I want to hear.

 

Max: Ok, but this one is even more far fetched. And I never dream about it, so the lines to reality are less blurred.

 

It was roughly a year after the previous incident I described. Being a kid, I was throroughly convinced that I had a power. Being a responsible kid, I decided that I shouldn’t abuse it. So I didn’t use it really at all after that, for fear that It’d be taken away if I misused it. So I decided to see if I could still do it, and looked for an opportunity. It was the 1986 world series, and for reasons I don’t remember, I was REALLY pulling for the Mets to win it over the Red Sox. If either of you are Boston fans, they’ve since won 2 championships so don’t hate me.

 

Tom: You’re saying you influenced the world series. Right.

 

Nick: Let him finish.

 

Max: So, everyone remembers Game 6, the Mets are losing, and Boston is one out away from clinching their first championship since 1908 or whatever it was. Now, anyone who’s a baseball fan remembers what happened in that 9^th inning, The Mets had one on and two outs, and two strikes on the batter. Here’s what happened from my point of view. At this point, I closed my eyes and plugged my ears, blotting out all of my ability to perceive what was happening on TV. I tried to recreate the conditions of the incident a year before. I tensed all my bodies muscles, clinched my eyes shut so tight I saw stars, and I called a picture into mind. The image I called was of the Mets, running out on the field, celebrating wildly, as they would if they won the game. After concentrating for a minute or two, I relaxed and released my pent up energy. I then opened my eyes and looked at the TV, and saw exactly what I had pictured in my mind. I didn’t know what had happened, or how they’d won. But they did. I stuck around to watch the post game show, just to know what happened. It was the legendary Bill Buckner error that is still talked about in Boston to this day. In his words, “It bounced, it bounced, and then it didn’t bounce” when asked how it got under his glove.

 

Nick: You’re right, that one is more far-fetched. But I bet it was enough to convince you. Two for two is hard to ignore.

 

Max: True

 

Tom: Have you used your “power” any more since then.

 

Max: No, for 2 reasons. One, because I felt like I shouldn’t use it irresponsibly. And Two, because I’m afraid it wouldn’t work, and I’d be that much closer to ordinary.

 

Nick: As they say, some mysteries are better off as mysteries.

 

Max: Yeah. Besides, it almost certainly wouldn’t work, since I have doubts that it would. The doubts would surely undermine it. It’s one of those things that only has a chance of working if you believe it will. If you doubt you fail.

 

Tom: Thanks, Yoda.

 

Nick: Belief is a powerful thing.

 

Max: True. I believe that belief is the building blocks of reality. Every day that we discover the universe, we are creating it. Most people believe that reality is what their senses are telling them. I think its more of the other way around than you might realize. Your senses will describe a reality to you that you believe is there. Perception and interpretation are not that far apart.

 

Nick: That is sort of what some scholars in the quantum field have begun getting into.

 

Max: I like theoretical/quantum physics/mechanics.

 

Nick: They’re doing their best to cross all sorts of boundaries, into philosophy and religion even.

 

Max: all with mathematics and experimentation, which is exciting.

 

Nick: Yeah, have you heard of the famous dual slit experiment?

 

Max: I’m not sure.

 

Tom: Sounds like Siamese twin prostitutes.

 

Nick: Ew.

 

Tom: Ew what? That would be the bomb!

 

Max: If I’m not mistaken, It was originally devised in the 19th century to try and determine if light were a wave or was made up of particles. It was reworked just recently involving a device, a filter, that counted photons as they passed through the slits. I won't bore you with the intended purpose of  the experiment, but instead will talk of the unexpected effect. They found that the nature of light, as perceived, actually changed when measured. They shone a light through two slits, the wave properties of light caused an interference pattern on the projection surface. This was expected. However, when they activated the device to count the photons as they passed through the filter, the interference pattern vanished. So, when they shone the light expecting an interference pattern, due to the wave nature of light, that is what they got. However, when they tried to measure light as particles, the wave pattern vanished, leaving light behaving as though it is particles rather than waves. But it gets even stranger. There were three ways to run the experiment, photon counter on, photon counter off, and running the experiment, and making the decision whether or not to turn on the photon counter later. I know it doesn't make much sense, but the results are astounding. They got the same results as always when they turned the counter off or on. But, they ran the experiment (Which was analyzed by a computer giving them the results after the fact) without deciding whether to turn the counter on or not, then deciding after running the experiment, to turn on the counter (or off), the result was always as it would've been had they made the decision before running the experiment. How do you explain this? Let me tell this experiment in an analogy. It's like placing a camera in a room with a timer to take a picture at a particular time. Then, either turning the lights on, or off. If the lights were off, you get a picture of a dark room, if they're on, you see the room. Simple? With this experiment it was like they put the camera in the room, let it snap the picture then, after the picture had been taken, deciding to have the lights be off in the room. The camera would have taken a picture of a dark room. If the decision had been made, again after the picture had been taken, to have the lights on in the room, then the picture would reveal a lighted room. It is as if light itself responds to the decisions we make, to reveal what we expect to see. This is evidence that decisions we make actually do affect the world around us. This begins to sound very much like lucid dreaming. In a lucid dream, you can change reality all around you because it is all taking place inside your mind. The only limit is that of your imagination. But now, we begin to see that we have the same effect on waking reality, although the scope may not be the same.

 

Tom: You guys are missing some awesome mountains, have you looked out the window lately?

 

Below them was an expanse of mountains the likes of which none of them had ever seen. The Andes, after all, are the second highest mountain range in the world. Even from forty thousand feet up, they boggle the mind in their scale and expanse. Even on a cloudy day, such as this one, their snow-capped peaks emerged through the cloud cover, refusing to be hidden from view. One in particular caught Max’s eye. It was roughly the shape of a three sided pyramid, and must’ve been the tallest mountain for miles. It dominated the landscape surrounding it, with its permanent white cap.

 

Tom: This makes your Appalachians look like ant hills, huh?

 

Max: Don’t sell the Appalachians short. They’re the oldest mountains in the world, and are still very impressive. At their pinnacle, they would’ve dwarfed the Andes and the Himalayas combined. There’s an energy there you won’t find anywhere else. Truly ancient.

 

Tom: Well, I don’t know anything about “energy”, but I do know that I’m going to get a lot of use out of these hiking boots. These hills should really tone my ass, don’t you think? Tom stood up and turned around so Max could see his rear end.

 

Max: I don’t know, I think it’s alright already. He said with a wily grin.

 

Tom: Busts out laughing. You’re not so bad, for an insane person.

 

Max: I thought you liked crazy people?

Tom: Lucky for you!

 

Nick: Should I leave you two alone?

For the second consecutive day, a conversation was interrupted by a plane’s captain announcing final descent. They’d soon be in Cuzco, land of the Inca, land of the llama…

 

Tom: Land of altitude sickness! Here we come!

 

Cuzco rests at an average altitude of  nearly eleven thousand feet. And the city is in a valley. The mountains above, where many ruins lie, are another thousand feet up.

 

Tom: Denver is up there, but this is the two mile high city!

 

From the airport, they caught a taxi to the main square, where the hostel that the university runs was located. The main square is the place to be for a foreigner in Cuzco. It is the safest part of town, surrounded by comforts that tourists require. Restaurants, internet cafes, shops and even Laundromats were in easy walking distance. IT was a lot like living on campus, Max thought.

 

Max would be sharing a room with Nick. The room was unlike any max had ever stayed in. It had two levels. The lower level featured a wardrobe, small living area and the bathroom, then a staircase led up to a loft which housed twin beds on either side of a small night table. There was a large, shuddered window that opened to the inner courtyard, which had been enclosed by a glass roof sort of like an atrium. The courtyard now featured a series of couches for lounging, and long straight dinner tables, which were constantly stocked with fresh bread and butter, and the inevitable coca tea.

 

“GUYS!”, Tom unworriedly shouted from the balcony outside his room, which also overlooked the atrium. “We have hot water!”. He did a little dance and went back into his room without waiting for a response.

 

Max and nick just laughed. “Is this his first time in a third world country?” asked nick.

 

Max: No, but his previous experiences were mostly Mexico, so he may not have the best cross section of what the countries south of the border have to offer.

 

Nick: Does he have family in Mexico?

Max: He says so, but I think he just goes to Tijuana to party.

 

Nick: Well, this is home for the duration of our stay in Cuzco.

 

Max: it’s not bad, especially when you consider its what we get instead of a dorm room.

 

Nick: and we don’t have to check in with the university until Thursday, we’ve got most of the week to explore on our own.

 

Tom: Tonight, a fine Peruvian meal and some local flavor!

 

Max: Then early to bed, because tomorrow the massive walls of Saqsaywaman await.

 

Tom: ah yes, Sexy Woman!

 

Nick: well, it does sound like that.

 

Chapter 3: Cuzco, Rome of South America

 

The remaining walls of the great fortress of saqsaywaman on the slopes overlooking Cuzco, only remain because they are too massive, too well constructed for the Spanish to have torn down. Not that they didn’t try. The three main walls of the massive fortress are a skeleton of the bastion of engineering and master stonework that once graced the site.

 

Max: The Spaniards believed these walls were the work of the devil.

 

Tom: Those catholic kooks gave the devil credit for a great many things.

 

Max: You can tell why some modern kooks believe these walls were built by aliens.

 

High Inca masonry resembles nothing else made by man on this earth. Unfathomably massive stones are shaped in extremely irregular shapes, and seemingly placed haphazardly together. However, this hodge podge of illogically shaped monoliths are fitted together with an astonishing precision. A sheet of paper cannot be slipped between the stones. According to their tour guide, plaster casts were made of a space needing to be filled. The cast went to the quarry, where stone shapers custom cut a stone to fit the space that needed filling. Further fine detailing of the stone was done on site, prior to placement, then the stone was put in place, with no mortar of any kind. One main reason for this unusual style of masonry is defense against the earthquakes that frequent the region. These oddly arrange, non-linear, non-geometric stones didn’t have the natural fracture lines found in other masonry, where a crack could follow the weak joints in a wall and compromise it’s stability. With this masonry, there were no natural joints, or weak lines that a fracture could follow. This is why, after every major earthquake, the remaining Inca structures still stand, unharmed, but the Spanish structures often collapsed or were severely damaged.

Directly in front of the massive ancient fortress was a central causeway of grand scale. It was wide enough and long enough to fit four football fields, arranged in pairs. On the other side of the causeway was a low hill made of solid rock. Carved out of the hill were several of the Inca's famous terraces. Unlike most Incan terraces, these were more ceremonial than practical. Being carved from a solid stone mountain meant they weren't needed for either of their dual roles, as there was no need for retaining walls to hold back solid stone, and you can't perform agriculture on solid stone, either. On the other side of the stone hill, away from the fortress, there was a round structure sunk into the earth to a  depth of three or four feet. The guide was saying something about it having something to do with burial rituals, but Max thought it strange that a funerary complex would be placed with such proximity to a military installation, especially with the abundance of space that had been available down in the valley of greater Cuzco. When pressed on the issue, the guide admitted that it was only the assumed function of the circular indention, and that it's exact purpose wasn't really known. It wasn't hard to believe it had ceremonial purposes, due to it's shape and the fact that it's design would accomodate a large amount of participants and/or spectators. It has also been explained that it may simply have been a water reservoir. It's shape would also have been very fitting for this purpose, as it would have also doubled as an attractive fountain like feature when filled with water. Neither Max nor Nick who were busy looking around and snapping photos, had noticed Tom slip away from the group. So he startled them a little when he returned.

Tom: Thank you for your valuable information, we'll continue on our own from here", he said to the guide, and offered him a sizeable tip in Peruvian Soles.
The guide graciously accepted the tip and bid us farewell.

Nick : What did you do that for?

Tom: Because, I found something more interesting than what he was showing us, that we're probably kinda not supposed to see.

Max: Uh oh.

Tom: Relax, it's not blocked off or against the rules to go in there...at least not right away.

Max: What are you talking about?

Tom: Follow me.

To the Northeast of the reservoir there is a karstic formation that resembles an ancient petrified lava flow, but is actually caused by the dissolution of calcium carbonate from limestone caused by water over thousands of years. It was a small area of alien landscape that looked like a giant boiling cauldron, only the boiling liquid had suddenly petrified into stone. What Tom had discovered was an extensive tunnel in the landscape known as a Chinkana, litteraly a "spot to get lost", and that appeared to be exactly Tom's intent.

Max: Hold on a minute. Are you trying to get us arrested? If the city of cuzco doesn’t want us down there, it probably means they’d arrest us if they catch us.

Tom: weren’t you saying something about being destined for an adventure or some shit?

Max: I thought you didn’t believe in all that?

Tom: Well, you’re acting like you don’t.

Max: OK…there’s only one way I agree to this.

Nick: What? Are you nuts?

Max: Probably.

Tom: Ok, what’s your conditions?

Max: We come back tomorrow. I’ve heard those tunnels go on for miles, and we should be properly outfitted.

Nick: I can’t believe you’re agreeing to this madness.

 

Max: I can’t either, but call it a hunch.

 

Tom: Where’s your sense of spontenaity? Why wait? It’s right here!

 

Max: For one thing, do you happen to have a flashlight on you?

 

Tom: well…um…no.

 

Max: My point exactly. If we do this, we come prepared to do it right. I’ve read about these tunnels. The locals call them Chinkanas, which means places to get lost in Q’echan. Legend has it that there’s lost Incan treasure down there, but many have died getting lost while searching for it. I’m not too interested in treasure that probably doesn’t exist, but this seems to be the right path to take.

Tom: Huh?

Max: Remember the dream I described? Where I was a mongoose?

 

Tom: Yeah

 

Max: well, it started out with me escaping a burning house, which became instantly prophetic, then followed by a journey, which has also happened, then followed by going through a small passageway, leading to a battle with a snake. Well, Incans believe these tunnels were once a temple and considered the entrance to the underworld, and the Incan underworld is the domain of the snake.

 

Nick: I can see where you’re going with this.

 

Max: Well, the part in my dream where I had to battle the snake may mean surviving the world of the snake, the entrance to which you’ve happened to find. After defeating the snake, if you’ll remember, I went through another small passage where I was transformed into myself and back to my home. Maybe that means at the other end of that tunnel, I’ll find myself where I need to be.

 

Tom: Ok, if we’re living your dream, that means one of us is Mescalito and one of us is a chipmunk. Who’s who?

 

Max: I think that’s obvious.

 

Tom: It is? What do you mean?
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Max was already walking back towards the road, to catch a taxi back to the hotel.

Tom: Max?

 

Chapter 4, Domain of the Snake

 

Max meant it when he said get prepared. The trio went on a shopping binge as soon as shops opened the next morning. Along with the flashlights they’d already brought with them, which included head mounted miner lights, they bought chalk, for marking their path at intersections, a magnetic compass, plenty of extra batteries, a first aid kit, emergency rations, rope, a machete…

 

Nick: ok, what’s the machete for again? I doubt there will be jungle to clear down there.

 

Max: Just in case the dream battle between me and the snake was more than metaphorical? Also, on the offhand chance that local gangsters see an opportunity to corner some “rich Americans” where no one will see what’s going on.

 

They also asked around for any information on the tunnels they could obtain, figuring the risk of someone alerting the authorities to their plan was worth it to find out what they could. Besides, if worse came to worst, it wouldn’t hurt if the authorities had a clue where to look for them.

 

Nick had managed to find an obscure book on the Chinkanas in a local used book store. One of the clerks noticed his interest in the book, and came over and spoke to him in Spanish. Nick’s Spanish wasn’t great, so he looked over at Tom, who was fluent. Tom spoke with the clerk.

(translated, because my Spanish isn’t good either)

 

Clerk: I see you are interested in the chinkanas.

 

Tom: Well, We’d heard about them and was wanting to know more.

 

Clerk: As a child and as a young man, I explored them extensively, hoping to find the lost treasure.

 

Tom: Well, did you find anything down there?

 

Clerk: No treasure, obviously. But there are things down there that the archaeologists don’t know about, like inscriptions.

 

Tom: Inscriptions? Can you tell us how to get there?

 

Clerk: I tell you what, for a small fee I can guide you as far as I’ve been.

 

Tom: let me consult with my companions. (to nick and max): He found inscriptions down there as a young man, and he’s offered to lead us to them for a small fee.

 

Max: Could be a scam, but I’ve got an idea. (to clerk): I hope you understand that we must be wary of being taken advantage of by locals who may hope to con us out of money. What would your price be for a day’s guide work?

Clerk: 150 soles.

 

Tom: That’s about 50 bucks. I dunno.

 

Max: I’ll give you 100.

Clerk: You have a deal.

 

Max: This will be our arrangement, to make sure you don’t rip us off. We will leave all our money at our hotel in their safe. If you get us through the tunnels, back out, and back to our hotel safely, you will be paid at that time.

 

Clerk: How do I know you won’t rip ME off?

 

Nick: we’ll give you half up front.

 

Tom: sounds fair.

 

Nick: I’ll buy this book, too.

 

Max: We have some final preparations to make, we’ll meet you back here in an hour.

 

Clerk: My name is Cesar, and you will not regret this arrangement.

 

Max: I’m max, this is Tom, and that is Nick. We’ll be right back.

 

Cesar: I’ll be here.

 

The group exited the bookstore, and went back to the hotel to pack their gear.

 

Tom: are you sure we can trust this guy?

 

Max: I can’t think of how he could lead us more astray than we could lead ourselves. Besides, we’ll stick to our original plan to mark our path with chalk, and use all our other navigational equipment, just as we would’ve if he weren’t there. That reminds me, let me show you one of my new gadgets.

 

Max pulled out a small electronic device, about the size of a cell phone, with three inch square lcd screen. It was obviously a GPS unit.

 

Tom: that’s handy, but will it work underground?

 

Max: Probably not, but this is the latest technology, only recently available to the public. This unit can actually function for up to 9 hours without having contact with the satellite.

 

Tom: how is that possible?

 

Max: It has sophisticated movement sensors, as well as an internal compass. When it loses contact with the satellite, it will measure your movement and calculate your present position based on where and how far you’ve traveled since your last satellite contact.

 

Nick: I imagine there’s a degree of error involved.

 

Max: Yes. The longer you go without satellite contact, the greater the percentage of error is going to be. Depending on how fast you’re going, after nine hours the error margin can be up to 30%.

 

Nick: That’s huge!

 

Max: I know, that’s why it stops functioning after 9 hours, because they figure it’s only going to give you incorrect information from that point on, anyway.

 

Tom: well, in a cave diving situation, such as this, especially with manmade tunnels, we may only need to know a general direction to go in.

 

Max: like I said, this is simply plan B, in case we find ourselves lost and our guide is no help.

 

Tom: Looks to me like we’re all set.

 

Max: First, brunch.

 

Tom: ah yes, a last supper.

 

Nick: Somehow, that’s not funny.

 

Max: You seem worried, nick. You don’t have to come with us. We’re not going to think you’re a wimp or anything if you’d rather stay behind.

 

Nick: Well, it just occurred to me that my biggest worry is what my mother would say if she found out I’d gone into a dangerous tunnel system and maybe if I were to get arrested as a result. Then it occurred to me that I’ve been worrying what my mother would say for my entire life, and perhaps it’s time to make a decision without taking my mother’s potential reaction into account.

 

Tom: Atta boy! What’s your decision then?

Nick: Well, It’s either, I can’t wait to find out what you guys found down there, or I can’t wait to tell about what we found down there. I can’t let you guys make some sort of discovery without me.

 

Tom: That’s what I’m talking about!

 

Nick: besides, I figure you guys might have use for a guy who has a knack for finding patterns in chaos, and solving complex mathematical calculations.

 

Max: always.  

 

The group rendesvou'd with Cesar and caught a cab back up to the top of the mountain. Cesar knew a back way into the Saqsaywaman complex that wouldn't draw any unwanted attention. Besides, security is anything but tight up there. Anyone could approach from the back way and not ever encounter a ticket counter, just walk right in. Tom had fun making exaggerated sneaking movements as they approached the cave opening.

Max, stifling a giggle: Tom, that's going to draw more attention than it diverts.

Nick: Tom's whole existence seems to revolve around drawing attention.

Fortunately for their plans, the tunnels' entrance was in a less visited area of the ruins, and was amid some unremarkable rock formations, that they would disappear behind long before they approached the actual entrance.

Cesar chuckled.

Max: What's so funny?

Cesar: I can't believe they haven't changed this gate since the last time I was here.

Cesar walked over to the gate and lifted up on the lower right corner. He was able to pull it far enough out away from the tunnel wall for them to squeeze through.

Nick: Not exactly secure.

Max: I"m glad we didnt' have to break in, it'd suck if we were depending on coming back out this way and our way was blocked by something as simple as a door being re-locked.

They quietly advanced their way into the tunnel far enough that the filtered in sunlight became too dim to see by. They figured they were deep enough to deploy their gear. They put on their headlights, holstered water bottles, Max activated the GPS device, which still had a signal for the moment. He marked their present position as "entrance" and also made a chalk marking on the rock wall in the form of an arrow.

Max: All arrows point back to the entrance. So, there's no confusion. If we want to turn around and leave, simply follow the arrows.

Cesar: Well, there's only one way to go for now, but we'll have choices to make soon enough.

Nick: Take us to those inscriptions you mentioned. I didn't see them mentioned in this book.

Cesar: Like I said, the archaeologists never went as far as me and my friends did. We spent days down here.

Tom: I hope you're not leading us on a wild goose chase?

Cesar, offended: I show you evidence, not blah blah.

The group walked for what seemed like hours and miles, passing several intersections. But Cesar seemed to know where he was going, never hesitating in choosing which turns to make. Meanwhile the guys meticulously chalked every intersection indicating the way back to the entrance.

Tom: Seems like we've been going really far down.

Cesar: It seems that way, but we actually haven't gotten back to the level of the city yet. Some of these tunnels go all the way down to the catacombs under Qorikancha.

Tom: that’s the temple near the square that the Spanish built a monastery on top of?

Cesar: Yes.

 

Nick: what’s that stench? Nick said after what seemed like an eternity.

 

Max: I dunno, but it’s getting stronger.

 

Tom: I farted.

 

Max: I don’t think that’s it, unless something crawled up your ass and died.

 

Nick: Something big.

 

Cesar looked genuinely worried, also, but chose not to speak on it. The group eventually came to what seemed to be a chamber, or at least a larger room in the cave.

 

Nick screamed.

 

Everyone’s attention turned to see what his problem was. A badly desiccated body lay in a corner, leaning halfway upright.

 

Tom: Holy Shit! Cesar, where have you brought us.

 

Cesar: No panicking! Tunnels were once used for many things, even to dispose of bodies by the Shining Path, when they were in power.

 

Nick: I don’t think that one is old enough to have been left here by the Shining Path.

 

Aside; The shining path was a left-wing communist group that seized control of large portions of Peru throughout the eighties and nineties. It only recently became safe for tourists to return there, with the movement having been contained, and control of the entire country has been returned to the elected government.

 

Cesar: also, you read in your book there about how people have died getting lost in these tunnels. Listen, if you haven’t carefully considered the risks involved in what you are doing, and aren’t prepared for these sorts of possibilities, then you are in over your head already.

 

Max: You’re right. We definitely were aware that we may encounter such things, I guess we just didn’t really prepare to encounter a body.

 

Nick: He was American.

 

Tom: What?
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Nick had covered his face with a handkerchief and used the dead man’s walking stick to fish out his wallet.

 

Nick: Robert Wilson. Looks like he was here on a student visa, from Texas.

 

The tension in the room grew more taught. Max wondered quietly and nervously if Cesar didn’t regularly bring gringos down here to rob and kill them.

 

Cesar: This guy has no belongings, he certainly was doomed to venture down here with no provisions or equipment.

 

Tom: Or his stuff was stolen.

 

Cesar: people disappear down here all the time. Bring his wallet back to town with us when we get out, we will report his discovery to the authorities.

 

Nick: Won’t they arrest us for being down here?

Cesar: we can report it anonymously, if you wish. He must have known about the inscriptions, he was very close to finding them.

 

Max: We’re close then.

 

Cesar: Very.

 

The group walked in silence for what seemed like another eternity. Max Stole a glance at his watch, it was 4 pm. They’d been hiking through these tunnels for nearly 6 hours. He shuddered to think of how lost they might get down here, and at once, the collective weight of the earth and stone above and around him began to sink in, and he was extremely thankful that he wasn’t claustrophobic. The fact that Cesar, also, looked ill at ease since they encountered the body made Max a little bit less nervous. For Cesar’s uneasiness didn’t seem to be a guilty one, more of a genuine sense that he, too, may be in danger.

 

Cesar: We have arrived!

 

The group momentarily forgot about their fear and anxiety, and entered a large chamber that was roughly triangular shaped. The passageway they entered through was in the middle of one of the triangle’s sides. Opposite the entry way was a large, unnaturally round boulder. In the center of the room was a round indention, intricately carved with minute symbols and stylized representations of who knows what. Tom got his larger lantern out of his pack. Nick did the same. In no time, the room was flooded with light, or at least as much as you could expect a room hundreds of feet underground to be flooded with light.

 

Max: These symbols are completely unfamiliar to me. Cesar, do you know what they mean?

Cesar: No. I tried to draw them long ago, but I lack a steady hand. I’m not sure anyone else has seen them. At least not any of the university types.

 

Tom: Lets just take a million pictures, we’ll study them closely when we get the hell out of here.

 

Nick: agreed.

 

Cesar: But first, you are missing the rest.

 

Cesar indicated the large round boulder. Upon close inspection, a series of pictographs became visible. They were seemingly hieroglyphic in nature, like a pictographic language utilizing distinctly meso-american icnography and stylization.

 

Max: Nick, Tom and I will get photos, see if you can make some sense of them.

 

Nick: Math is my specialty, not ancient, previously untranslated pictographs.

 

Max: I know, but you said you could find patterns, repetitions, commonalities.

 

Nick: Ok.

 

Nick: Of course I can’t be sure, but I have a hunch this might be some sort of calendar.

 

Tom: Calendar? Wouldn’t this be a dumb place to put a calendar?

 

Max: That would be strange. The underworld, realm of the snake god. Seems like a calendar would belong to the realm of the Condor, or the heavens, since calendars are born from astronomical observations.

 

Nick: I’m probably wrong. I have nothing to base that hunch on, other than the fact that there does seem to be a mathematical element at work here.

 

Tom: How can you be sure?

Nick: These symbols here, in the corner of the larger pictographs, appear to be some sort of sequential indicators, defining an order that the symbols should be read in. My hunch that it may be calendrical is because of the general shape of the whole thing. It is a generally round shape that seems to be broken up into 13 subsections.

Max: Like a lunar calendar, 13 lunar cycles makes 364 days, or one year.

Nick: Yeah, and this strange round fellow in the center could be some sort of moon diety. What do you think, Cesar?

Cesar: Yes, that is most definitely the moon god, TBD.

Tom: now it makes a little bit more sense. In a cult of the underworld, the moon would rule the skies, and a lunar calendar would be the way to go.

Max: However, there's a distinct absence of anything snake related.

Cesar: You're missing the big picture.

Cesar motioned to the walls around the room, which the group hadn't noticed in their enthusiasm to study the floor indention and inscripted boulder. All along the outer edge of the room was a stylized snake body, culminating in the corner of the boulder. Cesar pointed out how the outer border of the relief area on the front of the boulder was actually the outstretchd mouth of the snake.

Cesar: Here, the snake shares the wisdom of the underworld with us.

Tom: More like he's barfing up the wisdom of the underworld.

Max and Tom thoroughly photographed the room, while Nick sketched the room, which would aid in arranging the photos for context, later on.

 

Cesar: It’s been more than 8 hours since we began our trip. We should rest here before making our way out.

 

Tom: maybe we should press on.

 

Nick: Maybe you are crazy.

 

Max: Cesar is right. We’ll rest here for a while, then we’ll decide whether to explore further, or make our way out. Either way, I think we’ve found something significant, here.

 

The group dined on the provisions they had brought with them, rationing to a small degree to account for the possibility of further exploration before leaving. They also decided they should get some sleep, and made use of the gear they had brought for just such purposes. In the morning, they decided to play it safe, and head back out. They packed up their gear, took some additional photos, and headed back out. In time they past the chamber where the corpse was, and nobody looked in. The smell was enough. Shortly after that Cesar motioned them to stop and be quiet. Noise could be heard in the tunnel up ahead?

 

Tom whispered: Police?

Cesar: that would be one of the better options.

 

Tom: Why?

 

Cesar: if local gang members find us down here, they see it as a free opportunity to rob us with no witnesses.

 

They hurriedly began to backtrack in an effort to find a place to hide. It was best to avoid contact with whoever might be coming. IT was too late, however. Three guys that were devinitely not police stood before them. One had a gun, pointed at them.

 

Thug: Stop right there!

 

Tom: Oh, Hi, we just came down here to…uh…because we thought it was a shortcut back to town. But it isn’t so we’re just headed back out.

 

Thug: you’re very deep in these caves for a gringo.

 

Tom: well, we have a guide…

 

Tom turned to indicate Cesaar, but he was gone. Nick was gripped with panic, but Max shot him a look that said, “hold it in, Nick, panic later”.

 

Tom: Book. We have a guide book.

 

He gestured towards nick who held up the book on the Cuzco Chinkanas he’d bought from Cesar’s bookstore.

 

Max: The authorities know we’re here. They’ll be looking for us.

 

Thug, Laughing: Even if that were true, I could make sure they never find you.

 

Real fear begin to grip the group now. Here they were, defenseless, except for a machete, deep in uncharted tunnels, far from witnesses. Max thought for a moment he may never see daylight again.

 

Thug: Hand over your packs, your wallets, watches, everything.

 

The group slowly began to comply.

 

Tom overheard one thug whisper to another: Why don’t we just go ahead and kill them? He started to reach for the machete. He didn’t want to die without a fight. Just then, the thugs stopped in mid sentence, looking towards the group, with their eyes growing wider and wider. Suddenly one fo the thugs screamed and ran, dropping all the groups things that he’d picked up. Another soon followed suit. The lead thug looked for amoment like he might try and talke them out of it, but decided to join them instead. In their rush, they left all the group’s things, and even dropped some of their own walking sticks. The group stood there puzzled. Wondering what had been the cause of their salvation. That’s when they noticed the smell. An overwhelming stench of decay seemed to eminate from nowhere. Nick turned around, and let out a blood curdling scream of his own. The other two then turned, in time to see the dessicated corpse of Robert Wilson, whom they’d discovered the day before, standing there in a way that no dead body ever should. Before blind panic could descend upon the group, the corpse crumpled to the ground, revealing Cesar, who had been holding up the body while hiding behind it, to create the illusion of the walking dead in these dark, narrow passageways. Panic was transformed into ebullient laughter. Tom gave Cesar a bear hug that nearly cracked ribs.

 

Tom: Man, you….STINK!

 

Tom quickly released his hug and began to brush himself off. Further howls of laughter erupted from Max and Nick, and even Cesar.

 

Max: I have to admit, I was certain you had abandoned us to die.

 

Cesar shrugged, grinning impishly.

 

Nick: what on earth gave you such a ridiculous idea? How did you think that would ever work? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it did.

 

Cesar: If those guys were local, and Im guessing they were, then they’ve grown up, just as I did, with legends of these tunnels. We were told as children, as a way to frighten us out of thoughts of coming down here, that these tunnels were used by people to find the underworld once they die. We were told horror stories about how if you came down into the tunnels, you may very well encounter a lost soul, a walking dead, who got lost on their way to the underworld. And, legend has it, that if you encountered such a ghoul, it could trade places with you by touching you, dooming you to an eternity of wandering these passages. I didn’t have my flashlight on, and I could tell they didn’t notice me when they first saw you. They were blinded by greed, seeing foreigners, who were surely rich, down here unprotected. I slipped away and did the only thing I could think to do.

 

Tom: Cesar, you are a crafty, deceptive, stinky genius.

 

Max: You have more than earned your guide fee. Let’s get out of here, and I’ll throw in dinner.

 

Cesar: we shouldn’t go out the way we came.

 

Tom: why not?

Cesar: They will certainly be waiting by the entrance for you to come out. They will have figured out by now that they were tricked, and they will want to save face by catching you again. There’s even a chance they may come back down here, though I doubt it at this point.

 

Nick, looking very nervous: how are we going to get out of here?

 

Cesar: There is another way out. I’m not certain I know the way, but I’m reasonably sure I can find it.

 

Tom: I’m not liking this plan. But I don’t have abeteter one.

 

Cesar: Nick, did you bring a change of clothes?

 

Nick: Yeah, why? You wanna get out of those death smelling ones?

Cesar: No. Change into your clean clothes, and put the ones you’re currently wearing on the corpse. This will be a deterrent if they come back down here. It may appear to them that the legends are true, and that the walking dead touched you and traded places with you. This will also mean that if they follow us, they may be frightened of us, thinking we’ve been possessed by the dead.

 

Tom: You are a crafty one.

 

Cesar: I try.

 

Nick did as Cesar suggested. And the group was on their way.  

 

Tom: So you know this other way out, right?

 

Cesar: Once, when I was a kid, I was running from the cops through here. And I found a way out that opened up near the edge of town.

 

Tom: And you remember this way out?

 

Cesar: I think so.

 

Tom: You think so? Uh oh.

 

Max: It’ll have to do. Besides, this gives us the chance to do some more exploring.

 

Tom: How about your GPS?

 

Max: Like everything else, it really would only help us get back out the way we came in. We should get going.

 

So they headed off in the direction indicated by Cesar. Disturbingly, they were going further down.

 

Cesar: Don’t worry. You remember where we started out? We were very high above the city. WE have to go down a very long way to reach the level of the city.

 

The group made their way along Cesar’s suggested path. Along the way, they would explore the first few meters of each side passage and every chamber, in hopes of making another discovery like the one from the day before. To their delight, they did.

 

Cesar: I can’t believe I had been so close to this before, but never found it.

 

This was an irregularly shaped chamber, probably formed naturally then enhanced by ancient peoples, with passageways opening from each end. In the center of the room was a natural pillar that had been shaped by the hands of humans.

 

Nick: This has more of that strange writing. I know I’m no expert, but I’ve never seen anything like this in the Inca culture. They weren’t known for having a hieroglyphic language of any kind.

 

Cesar: and most of our sculpture was destroyed by the Spanish, so there’s really no point of reference.

 

This particular feature was carved to look somewhat like a stylized tree with a snake coiled around it. The top of the tree, where the pillar met the ceiling of the chamber, was a huge stylized moon, much like the capital of a roman column, seemingly growing out of the tree itself.

 

Cesar: This may be the lost Huaca del (snake) I’ve heard legends of. To the Inca, a Huaca was any great monument, usually an unusual natural stone formation that has been altered by people, half created by a god, half by man, as a representation of the spirit of a god, and the storage place for it’s worldly being.

 

Nick: This is another significant discovery. I wonder if we can take credit for it, since we’re on an unofficial expedition, and could be arrested for admitting we were here?

 

Tom: We’ll show this to the anthro department, and try to get some sort of retroactive official permission, so we can return and study these tunnels further. You think that will work, Max?

 

 

Tom: …Max? You there?

 

Max wasn’t there. He wasn’t sure where he was, but he was no longer in the tunnels, no longer looking at a rock carving. He was standing on a vast plane. More like a desert, actually. Except all of the sand was red, redder than sand should ever be.  Max was aghast at what he saw around him. For as far as he could see, there were bodies. “There must have been a great battle here” he thought to himself. He had other thoughts he could not explain. He saw a path before him. Then he saw a flash of light, originating from somewhere behind him. He turned to look, and in the distance there was a massive explosion. The sound hadn’t reached him yet, but Max could tell by the size of the explosion that the sound waves would be accompanied by a massive shock wave. It looked as though it could be a huge nuclear detonation, a massive volcanic explosion, or even a devastating meteor strike. He turned  and ran. He knew he’d have to find cover or risk being killed by the shockwave. He felt strongly compelled to stay on the path, despite the fact that it wound around, up and down hill, and didn’t lead directly away from the danger. He tried to exit the path once, but it caused an intense pain in his head, so he turned back to the path. “I must be dreaming, but how am I asleep?” Max wondered. He ran for what seemed like a long time, and the explosive shockwave behind him seemed to be moving in slow motion, always threatening to catch up, but never quite catching him. Eventually the path ended in a stone gateway. It looked familiar but max couldn’t quite place it. He stopped and stared at the gate. All of the sudden, the sky turned to black, except for the portion of the landscape and sky that was showing through the gateway. Then Max realized the terrain beyond the gate was Cuzco. He heard voices behind him.

 

Tom: Max! What the hell!?

 

Nick: Holy shit, he found the way out.

 

As Max began to regain his wits, he realized he was still in the chinkana tunnels, and that he was standing before the very exit they had been searching for.

 

Max: What happened, how did I get here?

 

Tom: Dude, you just took off running. You said something like, “It didn’t have to be this way” or something, and you just shot out of there. I was trying to talk to you at the time, but it was like you were already gone.

 

Cesar: I’m amazed you were able to run all the way here through those dark tunnels without your flashlight. Oh, looks like you weren’t completely successful after all.

Max realized he had a splitting headache, and Cesar pointed out a spot on his forehead where he had apparently slammed into a tunnel wall at some point.

 

Max: That must have been what happened when I tried to leave the path.

 

Tom: Huh? Of course, in a cave, if you leave the path, you hit a stone wall. Duh.

 

Max: wait, that’s not what I was seeing though. Listen…

 

Max recounted his experience.

 

Nick: whoa, you must be spooked.

 

Max: Yeah. The weird thing is how I felt before I fled. I had these thoughts: “It didn’t have to be this way” and “They brought this upon themselves”. And, stranger still, I felt responsible somehow, like I could’ve prevented it, but didn’t.

 

Tom: whoa. Remind me not to piss YOU off.

 

Cesar: You mean, in the vision, you had a path to follow, and only when you tried to step off of it, did you actually hit a cave wall?

 

Max: That seems to be the case. Ow. The gate was interesting, too. I’ll draw it, as best I can, when we get back to the hostel. But most importantly, I think we need to get out of Cuzco. I think we’re in danger here. I don’t mean right this second, but soon.

 

Nick: After the events following your last dream. I’m inclined to follow you.

 

Tom: Are you kidding me? You’re going to ditch our exchange placement because of a hallucination? IT wasn’t even a dream!

 

NicK: all the more reason. This vision could be a dream that was so important, it couldn’t wait for him to go to sleep to happen. Besides, it led us out of the tunnels, while Max didn’t even have a flashlight! How do you explain that? Max couldn’t have known the way out.

 

Tom: A lucky guess. Or lucky second guess, judging from his head.

 

Nick: ever the skeptic.

 

All the while Cesar was silent. He seemed to be struggling with some reluctant realization. But he chose not to voice it at this time.

 

Tom: You OK, Big C?

 

Cesar: Huh? Yes, yes. It’s just been a strange and difficult couple of days.

 

Nick: You can say that again.

 

Tom: Well, Cesar. I guess you got more than you bargained for. You’ve been a real bargain as a guide, by the way.

 

Cesar gave an uneasy smile.