Valley of the Anaconda
697 A.D.

Along the coast it wasn’t even that warm, about twenty degrees Celsius. A strong breeze was blowing, even though the sky was a flawless blue. Still, Juan’s shirt was soaked with sweat. For four days now he had been standing in a rectangular pit of mud, mixing clay by stomping it with his feet. Mixing masters measured out strict quantities of coarse sand, fine sand, and lime, then added water. Later, straw was mixed in as well. Juan was sent from pit to pit. His legs felt like lead. His neck and shoulders were stiff with strain.

Further on, other laborers scooped the mixture into molds, turned them over, and lifted them away. Blocks remained, left to dry in the sun and marked by the overseer. After a few days, the blocks were dragged to the new temple by another group—James’s group—which lay so far away that Juan couldn’t see it from here.

Juan could barely remember the journey here, so tense had he been. It had been a blur of hands pushing at his back and one foot placed in front of the other. The word slavery had echoed through his mind. Whips, executioners, blood spraying everywhere—nightmarish images that had haunted him. The panic attacks that seized him from time to time had punched holes in his memory.

But it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. It wasn’t so unbearably hot that he was wading through a boiling sludge, and he wasn’t being beaten. In fact, people kept their distance, as though they didn’t quite know what to do with him. Which wasn’t surprising, really. Some might still believe he was a god and feared reprisals if they mistreated him. People avoided his gaze; only the warriors stationed around the site sometimes dared to meet it.

Of course, they didn’t speak the same language either. Conversation wasn’t necessary for this work, but the lack of a shared tongue only widened the gap between him and the others. How long would it take before they dared to conclude that James and he weren’t gods at all? Gods wouldn’t allow themselves to be ordered around like this. If Emilio had been here, he probably would’ve pulled some reckless stunt. Juan didn’t dare.

His stomach clenched at the thought of his best friend. Emilio was out there somewhere, alone, with an impossible task… Emilio usually kept his head cool, but even he had his limits. Juan felt guilty for thinking it, but he couldn’t help doubting that Emilio would get them out of this. The odds seemed far greater that he’d cause trouble and end up in the dungeons—or worse. That meant James and Juan were on their own, and even James he no longer spoke to, since they’d been assigned to different crews. No doubt to prevent them from planning an escape. They worked until sunset, then received a bowl of soup and had to sleep in a clay hut with eight other men. Sometimes he was so exhausted he fell asleep immediately; other times his worrying kept him awake.

The overseer knelt beside him, scooped up a handful of mud, and examined it critically.
“Ch’akichiy,” he grunted, before moving on to the next pit.

By now Juan knew what it meant: the clay was of acceptable quality and could be poured into the molds. Juan stepped out of the muddy pit, fetched a mold, and set it beside the hole. With a shovel, he began scooping the mud into it. He could fill six before the pit was empty and he had to move on to the next one.

Every muscle burned when he finally lay down on the ground at the end of the day. He pulled the woolen blanket tightly around himself. The thin layer of straw beneath him offered no softness and did nothing to keep out the cold. He closed his eyes.

First, there was a resigned darkness. Then shapes appeared: naked figures, gleaming crescent-shaped knives. Blood spraying everywhere. A cup pressed to his lips, a rusty taste in his mouth.

His stomach cramped as if the blood he had drunk days ago was still poisoning him from the inside.

He breathed deeply, tracing the path the oxygen took from his nose down into his lungs.
Audi. BMW. Cadillac. Daihatsu.
Audi. BMW. Cadillac. Daihatsu.
The ice that had seemed to spear into his belly slowly began to melt.

With effort, he turned onto his other side. The man beside him was breathing heavily. Somewhere further off, someone was snoring. If only he could fall asleep that easily—he desperately needed the rest. But knowing that he had to sleep if he wanted to survive the next day only pushed sleep further away.

Had Emilio already begun his journey? Or would there be no journey at all? The animal he was supposed to catch didn’t even exist. What else could he do? Look for allies? The only one who spoke their language was Sawa. But his friend blamed the girl for their presence here, so cooperation seemed unlikely.

Juan rolled onto his back.

How long would it take before Mateo realized he’d disappeared without a trace? Probably a week or two—when they were expected home. Would a search uncover the portal? He imagined police officers suddenly swarming the temple, shouting orders no one understood. It would be a massacre.

But then I’d be able to go home.
And these people… in my time, they’re already dead anyway.

The bitter taste of blood returned to his mouth. Then he remembered what Sawa had said about the portal—that it wasn’t always there. For whatever reason. Hopelessness settled over him like a heavy blanket, and he curled onto his side.

There was a knock against the clay wall.

Juan lifted himself slightly and strained his ears. Silence followed. Were the guards playing a game? Or was it James? Would it draw too much attention if he left the hut now? Juan didn’t dare risk it. Others must have heard the knock too. Maybe they were testing him.

And so Juan stayed where he was, thinking and worrying.

Only near dawn did he drift off—only to be rudely awakened by a commanding male voice.

He didn’t notice it until evening fell again: something white wedged between the clay bricks. Two steps from the entrance, he crouched to tie his shoelace, letting the others enter the barracks ahead of him. While they silently found their sleeping places, Juan pried the note free. Paper didn’t exist here. The sender could only be one person.

He glanced over his shoulder, saw no guards at first glance, and unfolded the paper.

Meet me outside, two hours after sunset.

Juan had no idea how long it had been dark. Fifteen minutes? Half an hour? It probably didn’t matter much. After a thorough inspection, he’d been allowed to keep his bag—including his phone. Pulling the blanket over himself so the others wouldn’t see the glow, Juan turned it on. After being separated from Emilio—who had the solar power bank—he’d turned it off to conserve the battery. To his surprise, it was only quarter to seven. Without electricity, his entire sense of time was scrambled.

He hesitated. He didn’t know if his phone might be needed later, and it felt wasteful to spend two hours of battery now. He turned it off and decided to do it the old-fashioned way. About seven thousand counts.

And for once, hope he wouldn’t fall asleep.

Juan lost count three times. Maybe he dozed off in between. Eventually, he turned the phone on again. It was nine o’clock. That would have to do. He threw back the blanket, slipped past the sleeping men, and went outside. About ten meters away stood a small cluster of trees where he’d relieved himself at night before. It was the only cover in sight—and therefore the best meeting place.

Excitement crept through him. Had James come up with an escape plan? Just the thought of being able to talk to someone gave him more strength than he’d felt in days.

A shadow emerged among the trees. James was already there.

Juan looked around. No guards in sight. Was no one keeping watch? Maybe they assumed no one would be stupid enough to try escaping. After all, you could easily get lost in the desert.

“James…”
Even though Juan didn’t know the young man all that well, he embraced him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment—it was an enormous relief to see a familiar face, to have physical contact.

“Hey.” James’s voice sounded hoarse. He stepped back and let his gaze roam over Juan. “You holding up?”

Would he have asked that if Juan hadn’t been such a coward from the start? Juan shrugged. “Yeah. The work is monotonous, but on the way here, I imagined much worse horror scenarios.”

James let out a sigh. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“Why wouldn’t it, as long as we do our work properly?”

“Prolonged droughts are very common here. They soak the ground with blood then, as an offering to the gods, hoping it will bring rain or make the soil fertile again.”

A shiver ran down Juan’s spine. “Do you think they’d dare make gods bleed? Or demigods—whatever they think we are?”

“Not yet.” James stared thoughtfully into the night. “But the Moche period is nearing its end. Some scholars believe a long drought caused that. There were a lot of sacrifices then. I can imagine that eventually they’ll become desperate enough to see whether the blood of gods might persuade the other gods to send rain.”

“So we have to get out of here.”

Of course they did. It might have been an obvious conclusion, but at the same time, Juan had no idea where they were supposed to go. Build a hut somewhere and survive on fish?

Their only way home was the portal in the temple. They couldn’t just stroll in and wait for it to open again.

“While hauling the clay blocks, I’ve seen part of the surrounding area. It’s exactly as I expected. Barren, dry hills, with some vegetation only near the river. One advantage is that they don’t have riding animals. If we get a decent head start and head for the mountains—where it’s easier to lose pursuers than in the desert—I think we could shake them off.”

Juan chewed on his cheek. “And then? We can’t just wander the wilderness hoping to run into Emilio.”

James looked at him sympathetically. “I know how much he means to you, Juan, but I think the chances of seeing him again are very small. At least in this world. He was sent on an impossible mission. If he’s smart, he’ll lie low somewhere and stay in contact with Sawa, so she can make sure he gets back to his own world. And we’ll do the same.”

“I doubt Sawa will let us go so easily. She brought us here for a reason. She’ll probably only send us back once we’ve completed our tasks. In my case, I think that is finding Si’s sisters.”

“Who?”

“A young woman she spoke to during the Blood Night. Her parents were sacrificed… and I promised to look for her sisters. I strongly got the impression that that was what Sawa wanted from me.”

James let out a deep sigh.

“Do you regret it? Bringing us here?”

“Of course. I never really thought it would work. It was just…” He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. “She gave me such accurate information. It seemed like a small favor to put you in touch with Alva. And she was always so kind—it never occurred to me that she might have bad intentions. Though I don’t think she did. Still, this is all incredibly fucked up.”

Juan could only agree. “And you have no idea who this Alva is?”

James shook his head. “No. A woman, I’d guess in her forties. She speaks with an accent I can’t quite place.”

“Do you think she’s from here?” Juan wondered. Not that it helped the puzzle fall into place. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would want Emilio and him here—let alone why someone from the past would. He sighed deeply. Speculating was pointless; he didn’t have the mental space for it. He looked around at their surroundings. “When do you want to leave? Now?”

James shook his head. “I think they’re watching us too closely. We are here on the ruler’s orders.”

“But that won’t change.”

“True. Still, I can imagine their attention fading after a few days or weeks. They’ll get used to us being around, especially if we behave properly. In the meantime, we might be able to figure out where they store food and whether we can steal some—and who knows, maybe we’ll find allies. Others who want to leave. You can achieve more with gestures than you’d think. I’ve actually managed to communicate reasonably well.”

“Really?” Juan hadn’t even tried to make himself understandable to the others in his work crew. He wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. He wasn’t as curious as James.

“Most of them are captured men or criminals. We’re certainly not the only ones who can imagine a better life. Some of them probably have wives and children they want to return to.”

“But security here isn’t that tight, is it?”

“No. Though it’s possible their loved ones’ lives are at stake if they try to escape. Or maybe they don’t know where to go. Here they get food and water, and it’s possible they’ll be offered a place to live once the temple is finished.”

Did it even make sense to stir them up? Juan couldn’t imagine how he’d go about it.

“Let’s go back to our huts and meet here again in three nights. That way we can keep each other informed.”

Juan agreed and returned to his shelter.