Inca Kings

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Trappings of luxury filled the room, the wardrobes and the walls; they reassured his weary mind that all was as it should be, but he did not need them. Dantanion had built this small community from scratch, in his own image and to exacting standards. It appeared now that the small luxuries he had afforded his followers were the very things that had outdone them all.

Temporarily.

He knew of the fighters in the villages and believed they weren’t going away soon. Perhaps the people had clubbed together and bought some protection. Dantanion was starting to believe something would need to be done. His people, his children, deserved nothing less. And speaking of children, the first true child had been born into his care the previous night — one he sired — and one that would be brought up truly and purely within the community he’d built. Celebrations had been intense.

And so to today, when ritual returned. The clock told him he still had eighteen minutes until the next feasting, which presented an opportunity.

Dantanion dialed a number and waited, tapping his finely manicured nails against the highly polished desk.

A rough voice picked up. “Who is this?”

“It is Dantanion. I wish to speak to Toni.” Soft spoken as ever, he knew they would jump when they heard his voice. No need for threats when reputation spoke like the mouth of a volcano.

“Mr. D? How are you?” Toni was allowed a few luxuries partly because he was the leader of the Cusco Militia, but mostly because Dantanion didn’t care what they named him in their world.

“Yes. I find myself tripping over foreign warriors in the hills, Toni. What do you know?”

“Ah, the Americans. They were sniffing around Cusco too about the same time as Joshua was murdered. I cannot tell if they did it.” A pause. “Though there were many that wanted Joshua sleeping inside a horizontal box.”

“You should be wary of the company you keep.” Dantanion kept none but his own.

“True enough, Mr. D. They are a Special Forces team out of Washington DC.”

Dantanion hadn’t expected that. He sank into a chair and reached instinctively for one of the little delicacies his chef had prepared and placed in a round china bowl. The large toe had been stripped of its nail, cleaned, scraped and cooked to perfection. Dantanion bit into the soft flesh and chewed, careful to nibble around the bone.

“Special Forces you say? In Peru? Is there anything we can make our government aware of?”

“I understand what you’re saying. And yes, I could probably incite an incident, but not directly and not quickly. It would have to be routed through channels.”

“How long?”

“Days.”

He tore off another morsel, chewing reflectively. A full, deep flavor filled his mouth. “Go on, Toni.”

“Ah,” The man spoke for five minutes, mentioning names and tying them to events; villains the team had taken down; bosses and lines of communication. None of it was much use to Dantanion, except to confirm that the threat he faced was the real deal.

“Send me everything you have by email.” He reeled off one of the highly protected addresses.

“I will, Mr. D.”

“And my fresh recruits? How many today?”

“They just set off. Four, I am told. Yes, four.”

“Good. Keep them coming. I must cover my losses.” Picking delicately at what was left at the toe he shredded skin from slivers of bone, seeking out a juicy morsel. The meaty flavor only set his appetite blazing in anticipation of tonight’s feast.

Quickly, he rounded off the call and dabbed at his cheeks and lips, removing a little drool. That was a good sign, of course, never frowned upon. It showed satisfaction, eagerness, gratification. Time was fleeting and he made his way quickly to the feasting hall, entering unnoticed as was his way and slipping quietly into the seat at the head of the table.

Men and women stood all around, behind chairs and lining the corners of the wide room, chatting, smiling, studying modern artistic masterpieces. They were waiting for the gong to sound. They were his followers, his family, though none sought to catch his eye. Dantanion watched them in silence, testing the room’s ambiance, its mood, its underlying layer of feeling. Until now, his family had never lost in battle, never returned home in defeat, never faced anything as powerful as this.

He wanted to see how they coped.

The gong chimed out. The feasters all took their seats, no doubt happy this was their night on the rota. Not only was feasting night their greatest pleasure, it also made a nice change from the caves.

Studying the assembled mass carefully, he waved for the waiters to start serving the meal. Carried on five platters it was the severed arms, legs and body of one of their own; the identity respectfully kept secret by the removal of the head. Of course, the meat had been properly prepared — stripped, cooked and then replaced as best they could — he kept his chefs for their culinary not presentation skills. More waiters appeared with sharp, gleaming knives and started to carve the meat, directed by the feasters who then placed the flesh on gleaming plates and looked to the head of the table, to Dantanion.

“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.”

They recited it back and raised their glasses. Servers poured a rich, red liquid until they were half full. Merlot. They drank together.

“It is a fine day for a feast,” Dantanion said and tore flesh from bone. With a flick of his wrist he instructed a waiter to pick him a selection of the tastiest looking unmentionables from around the table and a bowl of dipping sauce, its barbecue-flavored contents enriched with a light spray of hot blood.

One more problem preyed on his mind, casting a little pall over proceedings. The buyer for the Inca relics had fallen off the grid. Dantanion couldn’t reach him, nor could he reach any of the middlemen. Clearly, something had gone wrong and again, was now a threat to the society.

Dantanion wiped his face with a napkin that came away soaked in red. A waiter appeared, took it away and presented a fresh one.

“Nice sauce,” said the man to his right.

Dantanion nodded. “Exquisite.”

Unhappiness clung to his aura like a black shroud, ever tighter so that he could barely shrug it off. He managed it though when the most anticipated event of the night began. Every time new followers arrived they spent their first night visiting the feasting hall after the family had eaten their fill. They were seated at the table, watched over by the family, and allowed to show just how grateful they were by severing, cooking and then eating a tiny part of themselves. Dantanion found it helped the initiation immensely and was eagerly awaited by the long-standing members because, until recently, it had been a rare event.

Today there had been three new recruits.

And, happiness, tomorrow there would be four.