CHAPTER TWO
TURMOIL IN TIAHAUNACO
Thousands of miles South, it was dawn in Tiahuanaco, Bolivia, an ancient ruins soaring high up in the Andes Mountains. Truly a place of mystery, so old that drawings of prehistoric animals are on fragments of pottery. The Incas thought the gods must have built it.
A thousand feet north of the Akapana, or "Hill of Sacrifices", a gruesome ceremony is taking place on the steps of "The Gateway of the Sun." Above the doorway, carved in the enormous ten ton block of stone, is an imposing figure known, to the Incas, as the Cat God, whose faithful worshipers are performing a human sacrifice in accordance with their old religion-the one the Spanish Conquistadors had swept away.
The victim is a teen-age girl who has been strapped down on the sacrificial stone. It is astonishingly quiet, with no people about except for the fifty followers of the religion. They have all journeyed far, from the jungles below the mountains to this sacred place.
The priest slowly raises his long, ceremonial sword as he awaits dawning sun's rays to penetrate the doorway. Soon the first light of day appears in the Gateway, silently sounding a death knell for the doomed Peruvian girl.
The blade plunges down as the light becomes blindingly white. As if in slow motion, it cleanly lops off the girl's head in a shower of warm blood.
As the light flash fades, two frightened, teen-age boys are heard as Buggsie and Frankie appear in the opening.
The severed head rolls from the sacrificial stone down the stairway beneath the Gateway. Buggsie and Frankie look in horror and shock, screaming in unison, "Shiitake mushrooms!"
The frightened pair turn and run out the other side of the stone doorway.
The priest shouts an order and several men rush up the steps after the boys. The two dash back and forth in opposite directions, like a bad Marx Brothers routine, until Buggsie shouts, "This way!" They stumble and slide down a ruined stairway and run down what was once a boulevard. The pursuers shout and throw spears and stones at them. The boys run past what was a pyramid and duck around its corner.
Their way appears obstructed as they peer over a stone ledge, which was once a wall. The rubble is loose and, without warning, the ground slides out from under them as they fall off the stone wall.
The frantic pair plops into a small hay cart, which breaks loose from the impact of their fall and rolls down the hill. Frankie stands as a spear from behind passes between his legs. He looks down and cries in disbelief, "Gulp! Kill me, don't castrate me, you idiots!"
"Get down, Frankie!" Buggsie yanks him down, the cart thundering down the bumpy path. The boys look behind, holding straw baskets to fend off their pursuers stones and spears. Suddenly, their attackers stop and smile.
"They're giving up?" Frankie asks in a high-pitched voice. They look at each other and, with the same thought, turn to see where they are headed.
"Aaahh..." they scream as the cart nears the edge of a cliff where the path suddenly turns right.
The cart hits a large rock at the cliff's edge and a wheel collapses, causing the cart to veer sharply. Frankie and Buggsie are thrown from the cart and land in rubble near the edge.
The cart continues on, tumbling and rolling down the sharp incline, eventually shattering. Frankie and Buggsie look themselves over. They're scratched, but alive. They stumble to their feet. "Down here, quick!" Buggsie calls to Frankie. The boys scurry down the loose stone and dirt to a lower path.
They find more ruins here, where people live or have once lived. They duck around a collapsed mud and straw hut and see little cover ahead, and a considerable distance to traverse.
"In here!" Buggsie suggests, pointing to a large clay urn. They climb into the vessel, hoping it will hide them from the again-pursuing savages. Buggsie climbs in first and Frankie tries to pull the wooden cover over them. "Suck your gut in," Frankie whispers, as they jiggle and squeeze into the urn.
Outside, they hear running feet as people shout in the native language. Then suddenly, it becomes quiet.
"I think they've passed us," Frankie whispers hopefully. "I sure hope so, it's wet in here," Buggsie complains.
"Sshh...." Frankie replies.
"Agh!” Buggsie yells.
"Quiet! They'll find us, stupid."
"It's moving!! Get me out of here!" Buggsie screams. Frankie lifts the lid slightly and Buggsie shoves him.
Frankie opens the lid and sees a savage running towards him, holding a spear aloft. He uses the wooden lid as a shield. The native jabs the cover several times. Now Frankie and Buggsie are both hysterical.
"It's a snake!" Buggsie screams, as he throws a reptile from the clay urn.
Frankie, terrified by both the snake and the spear-wielder, doesn't know which way to turn. He screams in revulsion and flings the snake into the air. The fangs of the bushmaster are exposed and the snake hisses as it descends on the juggler vein of the native. He screams in agony.
The lucky throw tips the heavy urn over and Frankie ducks back inside to avoid being crushed between the urn and the rocky ground. The urn begins to roll down the incline. Faster and faster they roll as the terrain becomes steeper. "Whoa," the guys moan in unison as they tumble around inside like clothes in a dryer.
The pursuing natives watch the rolling urn careen over the edge of the cliff. Down, down, towards Lake Titicaca, the urn plummets, crashing through the roof of a Peruvian lake dweller's hut. The pursuing natives look down into the lake, far below, but see neither the jar nor the boys.
Inside the hut, the boys moan. Frankie rises, dazed, wet and bleeding. He sees a frightened woman staring at him.
Moaning, Buggsie slowly awakens. "My arm, I think it's broken!" Wet, terrified and exhausted, the two boys start crying while choking for air in the thin atmosphere.
The woman mutters words of a mother's concern in Spanish. Seeing the boys are injured, she releases her raft-house from the reeds and uses a pole to push them towards the far side of the lake-and help. All the while, she mutters in her native tongue, with an occasional Saint's name mentioned.
As the raft travels, the boys continue to cry and sniffle as they wonder, "Where are we?" "Well Toto, we're sure not in Kansas anymore," Frankie laments.
TURMOIL IN TIAHAUNACO
Thousands of miles South, it was dawn in Tiahuanaco, Bolivia, an ancient ruins soaring high up in the Andes Mountains. Truly a place of mystery, so old that drawings of prehistoric animals are on fragments of pottery. The Incas thought the gods must have built it.
A thousand feet north of the Akapana, or "Hill of Sacrifices", a gruesome ceremony is taking place on the steps of "The Gateway of the Sun." Above the doorway, carved in the enormous ten ton block of stone, is an imposing figure known, to the Incas, as the Cat God, whose faithful worshipers are performing a human sacrifice in accordance with their old religion-the one the Spanish Conquistadors had swept away.
The victim is a teen-age girl who has been strapped down on the sacrificial stone. It is astonishingly quiet, with no people about except for the fifty followers of the religion. They have all journeyed far, from the jungles below the mountains to this sacred place.
The priest slowly raises his long, ceremonial sword as he awaits dawning sun's rays to penetrate the doorway. Soon the first light of day appears in the Gateway, silently sounding a death knell for the doomed Peruvian girl.
The blade plunges down as the light becomes blindingly white. As if in slow motion, it cleanly lops off the girl's head in a shower of warm blood.
As the light flash fades, two frightened, teen-age boys are heard as Buggsie and Frankie appear in the opening.
The severed head rolls from the sacrificial stone down the stairway beneath the Gateway. Buggsie and Frankie look in horror and shock, screaming in unison, "Shiitake mushrooms!"
The frightened pair turn and run out the other side of the stone doorway.
The priest shouts an order and several men rush up the steps after the boys. The two dash back and forth in opposite directions, like a bad Marx Brothers routine, until Buggsie shouts, "This way!" They stumble and slide down a ruined stairway and run down what was once a boulevard. The pursuers shout and throw spears and stones at them. The boys run past what was a pyramid and duck around its corner.
Their way appears obstructed as they peer over a stone ledge, which was once a wall. The rubble is loose and, without warning, the ground slides out from under them as they fall off the stone wall.
The frantic pair plops into a small hay cart, which breaks loose from the impact of their fall and rolls down the hill. Frankie stands as a spear from behind passes between his legs. He looks down and cries in disbelief, "Gulp! Kill me, don't castrate me, you idiots!"
"Get down, Frankie!" Buggsie yanks him down, the cart thundering down the bumpy path. The boys look behind, holding straw baskets to fend off their pursuers stones and spears. Suddenly, their attackers stop and smile.
"They're giving up?" Frankie asks in a high-pitched voice. They look at each other and, with the same thought, turn to see where they are headed.
"Aaahh..." they scream as the cart nears the edge of a cliff where the path suddenly turns right.
The cart hits a large rock at the cliff's edge and a wheel collapses, causing the cart to veer sharply. Frankie and Buggsie are thrown from the cart and land in rubble near the edge.
The cart continues on, tumbling and rolling down the sharp incline, eventually shattering. Frankie and Buggsie look themselves over. They're scratched, but alive. They stumble to their feet. "Down here, quick!" Buggsie calls to Frankie. The boys scurry down the loose stone and dirt to a lower path.
They find more ruins here, where people live or have once lived. They duck around a collapsed mud and straw hut and see little cover ahead, and a considerable distance to traverse.
"In here!" Buggsie suggests, pointing to a large clay urn. They climb into the vessel, hoping it will hide them from the again-pursuing savages. Buggsie climbs in first and Frankie tries to pull the wooden cover over them. "Suck your gut in," Frankie whispers, as they jiggle and squeeze into the urn.
Outside, they hear running feet as people shout in the native language. Then suddenly, it becomes quiet.
"I think they've passed us," Frankie whispers hopefully. "I sure hope so, it's wet in here," Buggsie complains.
"Sshh...." Frankie replies.
"Agh!” Buggsie yells.
"Quiet! They'll find us, stupid."
"It's moving!! Get me out of here!" Buggsie screams. Frankie lifts the lid slightly and Buggsie shoves him.
Frankie opens the lid and sees a savage running towards him, holding a spear aloft. He uses the wooden lid as a shield. The native jabs the cover several times. Now Frankie and Buggsie are both hysterical.
"It's a snake!" Buggsie screams, as he throws a reptile from the clay urn.
Frankie, terrified by both the snake and the spear-wielder, doesn't know which way to turn. He screams in revulsion and flings the snake into the air. The fangs of the bushmaster are exposed and the snake hisses as it descends on the juggler vein of the native. He screams in agony.
The lucky throw tips the heavy urn over and Frankie ducks back inside to avoid being crushed between the urn and the rocky ground. The urn begins to roll down the incline. Faster and faster they roll as the terrain becomes steeper. "Whoa," the guys moan in unison as they tumble around inside like clothes in a dryer.
The pursuing natives watch the rolling urn careen over the edge of the cliff. Down, down, towards Lake Titicaca, the urn plummets, crashing through the roof of a Peruvian lake dweller's hut. The pursuing natives look down into the lake, far below, but see neither the jar nor the boys.
Inside the hut, the boys moan. Frankie rises, dazed, wet and bleeding. He sees a frightened woman staring at him.
Moaning, Buggsie slowly awakens. "My arm, I think it's broken!" Wet, terrified and exhausted, the two boys start crying while choking for air in the thin atmosphere.
The woman mutters words of a mother's concern in Spanish. Seeing the boys are injured, she releases her raft-house from the reeds and uses a pole to push them towards the far side of the lake-and help. All the while, she mutters in her native tongue, with an occasional Saint's name mentioned.
As the raft travels, the boys continue to cry and sniffle as they wonder, "Where are we?" "Well Toto, we're sure not in Kansas anymore," Frankie laments.