Inca Kings

CHAPTER TWENTY

Dantanion made real conversation with nobody, so it was always with a great air of introspection that he made his entrances. The mind never stopped turning, the conveyor belt of ideas revolving without end. It was no slice of chance that had brought him to these mountains — the Incas had practiced cannibalism as a major part of their culture — but he didn’t believe in fate either.

Instead, he believed in solid hard work.

But he changed clothes now. Donned the suit and the long robe, entered the feasting chamber slowly and regally like the leader — like the king — that he was. The long, solid oak table sat empty, surrounded by his people who all bowed as he walked by. A ceiling-height, room-wide picture window to the left had been draped by blackout curtains. Candles flickered in sconces all around the room and now servants brought in more candles, placing them at strategic points on the table.

Dantanion stood at the head of the table. Silence greeted him. Servants bowed and waited, every muscle held rigid.

“It is a good day for a feast,” he said.

It started proceedings. The people bowed again and then turned to their neighbors, talking quietly. Many stared at Dantanion, hoping to see a smile of a slight nod. They knew he was reserved and even a brushing over with the eyes often brought out a woman’s blushes or a man’s smile. He blessed a few now. The servants brought out table mats, then cutlery that Dantanion inspected for its sharpness and brightness. As always, it was perfect. The man he had chosen for Kitchen Master was easily the equal of his impeccable head chef.

Next, they brought out empty skulls and set them before every man and woman. Some were filled with water, others with wine. Dantanion accepted a refreshing rosé. His palette changed from time to time, but his hunger for human flesh never dulled. Today, they had cooked an offering from Nuno. The individual had been properly tended, worshipped and prepared.

Dantanion followed his own ritualistic mix of cannibalism — a perfect link where endocannibalism and exocannibalism met. The first was a form that proved one’s power over one’s enemy, performed a final humiliation on them and took revenge. The latter was more reverential, enabling one to inherit the strength, proficiencies and achievements of the consumed individual. Dantanion saw the new ritual as a necessary act — an exploit to help make the community bond, to give it power, to furnish it with skill and knowledge, and to make it strong and able to fight for its lands.

There were other rituals that required more belief, but not tonight. For this was a night of feasting and merriment.

Dantanion sat back, worry temporarily eased, as a pungent bouquet of charcoal, oils, dressing and cooked flesh wafted into the room. The far door was open. The servants entered carrying the offering between them — a selection of thigh, chest, breast, neck and brain. The serving tray was a serving table, four servants to each side and walking slowly. Around the sides of the table were arranged the delicacies and after dinner pickings — fingers, toes, shavings of flesh they called “unmentionables”, ears, a tongue and other treats — all sautéed with a minimum of dressing to impart maximum flavor.

Carefully, the servants placed the serving table upon the main table, ensuring it was equally rectangle. Dantanion dismissed them and then held aloft the skull that contained the rosé.

“With this feast we gain the strength to overcome our enemies, replenish and renew our knowledge, expand our skills and accept new successes. We give thanks to the offering for giving their essence and all that they were, to nourish and sustain us.”

The community intoned, “We give thanks to the offering for giving their essence and all that they were, to nourish and sustain us.”

Glasses raised and were drained. Servants rushed to refill.

Razor sharp knives were raised, their blades glittering red and gold by the light of the flickering flames.

By ritual, Dantanion took the first cut.