FLIGHT OF THE CONDOR

Apachu urged his injured condor mount to fly low; close and tight to the rain forest’s canopy.

The Condor Rider knew that his pursuers would find him hard to spot from their higher altitude. Apachu and his

mount were perfectly camouflaged to blend into the shifting green hues of the forest canopy below, but Apachu

also knew that his pursuers were efficient hunters and would never give up their chase. He grudgingly had to admit

that the Dead Wings were as adept at hunting as he and his fellow condor riders.

Apachu and his people strove to bring peace, order, and balance to the living creatures and all of the Children of

the world. Others, especially some of those who believed in The Way of the Everchanging, lived to bring slavery, pain, and death to the various peoples of the great southern continent.

Apachu’s reverie was cut short by a scream from his injured mount, Chi. His jet-black condor was badly wounded.

The giant bird was bleeding from dozens of cuts and gashes. Apachu figured that they might have no more than an

hour or so before the injured bird perished from his wounds. He also knew that his pursuers were not far behind.

He prayed to his Everliving ancestor gods to help them reach Machu Pichu in time to warn the Inca army of the

coming threat.

Apachu scanned the sky above for any sign of his pursuers. He had not been able to spot them for some time now,

so perhaps, he thought, he might have managed to lose them. His hopes were soon dashed as he saw the Dead

Wings fly in their multitudes from out of the glare of the sun. Apachu knew then that his short life would soon now

be at an end.

His message would not be delivered in person. The only way for him to complete his mission now was with a soul

scream. Soul screams were taught to every Condor Rider early in their training at the academy. Soul screams were

taught by Soul Walkers. A soul scream was a way to force a dying soul’s voice to travel over great distances. The

only way to send out a soul scream was to perish violently and heroically in battle. At the precise moment of death,

the dying man’s soul was then granted one last message, powered by the rage and pain of his death, and the soul’s

anguished separation from its physical body. Apachu’s last message would hopefully be heard by one of the Inca

Soul Walkers in Machu Pichu. It was their best hope of survival. His own life was now forfeit.

Having chosen his course of action, Apachu urged Chi to fly straight for the Dead Wings. Within seconds the

incoming enemy scouts and his ascending condor were on each other.

The dozen or so Dead Wings hacked and slashed at the Condor Rider’s mount. Together, the fighting enemies wove a dance of death in the sky. With every stroke of their black obsidian blades, Apachu and Chi were brought closer to the gates of the nether world. Apachu fought on; he fought until he could no longer find the energy to swing his weapon, he fought until he could fight no more, it was then that he dropped his feathered javelin, looked up to the heavens, invoked his gods and prepared to send out his last breath as the defiant soul scream that would warn his brethren of their impending doom. The final stroke from the Dead Wing captain decapitated Apachu and set his soul free. His enraged spirit screamed with all of the pain and misery that comes from knowing that life is over, and that the battle is no longer his to fight.

The Soul Walker, who up to that point had been intent on preparing the offering his Sapa Warlord master

demanded, suddenly caught a small shimmer in the winds that flow from the spirit world. Something was amiss

in the realm of the dead. A strong foreboding overtook his mind and soul that a dark time was now quickly

approaching.

Even the loud noise from the dozens of chanting courtiers, now busy at their various tasks throughout the temple

could not have drowned out the Soul Scream which burst into the Soul Walker’s mind, like thunder from above.

The sudden impact of the soul scream brought on an urge to weep. It was a powerful scream. The sender’s death

must have taken place very far from his current location.

Yet its clarity meant that the warrior who had cast out his soul with such power certainly felt as if he needed to

be heard. The Soul Walker closed his eyes, and sent out a salute to the young Condor Rider’s traveling spirit. The

young man’s spirit would now be free to fly with the ancestors upon the winds of the One’s breath.

The Soul Walker realized that he had been silent for what must have been a few minutes. The rest of those in the

temple had noticed his sudden change in demeanor. They were all now looking at him intently. He looked around

them. He noticed their new found fear. But he had no time to explain. He had to go find his lord.

There was great danger coming. His city and every Inca village for hundreds of miles might soon disappear under

an avalanche of hatred; trampled into extinction by the enemy’s army. The Condor Rider’s message had to be

delivered: “They are coming, cloaked in hate and fear. Millions strong. The Everchanging are upon us”.