Most of them were now untouchable.
The relics.
Critical items. Without them his astonishing new world would die very quickly. The money they accrued was vital, but it poured out of his account like water being emptied from a sink. Dantanion was not a man without means, but even his small fortune drained within a year as his community quickly grew. Like a spark to a flame and then a bonfire he could not stop the conflagration, the spread of amazement and love he felt for this newfound society. But as it grew, like any content population, the dangers to it increased. Somebody out there always wanted to take your happiness away.
Whilst surveying and preparing the caves beneath the house for more and more people, Dantanion and his helpers had come across a hidden treasure so vast they could barely believe their eyes. It had lain there for centuries, hidden, untouched. Squirreled away down some narrow passage leading off another narrow passage and another.
It had claimed two lives, but those bodies had ended up fulfilling their destinies. Dantanion blessed them, prepared them and then helped eat them. Below, in the extensive cave network, he housed most of the people, fashioned a medical center to help newcomers switch to a new form of meat, and taught the bravest of his followers how best to occupy their time if they wanted to stay unseen, remain aloof and yet be utterly worshipped at the same time.
He taught them to be monsters.
His vision. His world. When he saw them work together for the first time, scuttling and crabbing and making grown men scream, he felt wonderful. The sacrifice they claimed tasted so much better for it.
The relics!
Ah yes, his mind shied away from the real truth. And the real truth was in that vast treasure hoard. Some careful research and many months passed. Playing devil’s advocate with himself he would not at first believe the truth. He questioned it, wrestled it to the ground and stomped on its head.
But the truth won through. The more he read of the old legend the more he believed it. Atahualpa was an Inca king who was captured in his palace, in modern-day Peru, by the Spanish invaders — Pizarro in particular. The Spanish were greedy and brimming over with an insatiable envy for the astounding Inca wealth. The Incas themselves, if they hadn’t partaken of dozens of years of internal warfare, might have been better placed to force the Spaniards to retreat. Atahualpa, as great a king and warrior as he was, was taken — locked away by the merciless interlopers. Dantanion recalled reading that a ransom was asked for and willingly raised.
A roomful of gold. Collected piecemeal and properly arranged for Pizarro and then transported over the mountains. But, for reasons unknown, as the world’s greatest treasure rumbled ever closer, Pizarro reneged on the deal and put Atahualpa to death. The Incas lost their king and the Spaniards lost their gold. Legends tell that the gold was buried deep in some secret mountain cave, and there it stayed.
To this very day.
Dantanion knew it was the roomful of gold as soon as he read about it. Though not left in situ, the sheer amount of gold, the way it was hidden as if thrown away in anger, and later certain identifiable pieces, told him all he needed to know.
Eternal wealth. Eternal happiness. Solace, solitariness and a new society with common ground, forever.
Dantanion delved further, understanding that such a vast wealth would be commandeered by someone far less scrupulous than himself as well as those that possessed a right to own it. Either way, he would be out of pocket. So, for the good of the community, he found a way.
History surrounding Atahualpa’s gold was rich. The Inca king had been well renowned. A Spaniard named Valverde claimed to know the location after Atahualpa’s death, became rich and drew a map to the infamous Derrotero de Valverde. And although lost until the 1850s, such a legendary fortune could never vanish entirely from the world — resurrected again and searched for by a man named Blake, the last person ever to set eyes on it.
Never a man led by fancy, Dantanion was pleased to see that Atahualpa’s gold was no mere story. It had existed for real, was recorded in the Spanish chronicle, and it was also reported that a large convoy of gold was en route to Pizarro. Beyond that, mystery shrouded the whole effort, and Dantanion doubted that it would ever have been found if not through sheer luck and a desperate desire to make the caves below his house habitable.
And the pieces it contained? Oh, how…
Quickly, he derailed his train of thought. Here he sat, facing a new and drastic dilemma, and all he could do was track his gold back to the Inca kings. They had lost; they had died. Internal strife and warfare had weakened them. But not him. Not Dantanion. The kingdom he built would prosper and grow.
A series of small chimes rang out from an old clock he kept on the table.
It was time to eat.
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.