The Last Inka Chief

By Efrain Rodriguez

The Incan empire was once the largest in South America, its greatness based on three principles: Ama Sua, Ama Llulla, and Ama Kella, which translate to “do not thieve, do not lie, and do not be lazy.” These principles were lost or overlooked in the modern age, especially as the Incan empire mostly died off and was forgotten. However, there is one … Pedro is by all appearances a common, everyday dad living in South America. He has a wife and four children and never intended to stand out from the crowd—but there is something special about him. He is the last descendant from royal Inca blood. He is nobility, diluted gradually by time and history, but he remembers his people and their traditions. He is sent by God to preach the ancient Incan principles to a world greatly in need.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: May 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684701131

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RODRIGUEZ

Copyright © 2019 Efrain Rodriguez.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-6847-0112-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6847-0113-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019904030

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date:     05/02/2019

From Pedro Gonzales Yupanqui, it is said that he has not died; currently he must be a man of mature age.

It is not known exactly where it is, but they have seen it in many places

His characteristics must be:

A man free of expression and action.

To walk upright and act humble.

Of firm look, because it is still honest.

Of strong build for the hard work.

With sincere smile, mirror of a transparent man.

Walk with happiness to the side and with your happy heart.

Your eyes should be swollen from studying so much.

His head with silver strands of so much thinking.

When you see it, do not reject it;

try to listen to him, and if you’re ready, walk by his side.

And please, let me know if you see it, in order to help him.

This book is

dedicated to my God,

to my wife Ondina,

And to the leaders of this World.

CHAPTER ONE

The Commission

P edro is by all appearances a common, everyday type of dad living in South America. His family, including Maria, his wife, and four children, Juan, Concepcion, Samuel, and Jesus, did nothing to stand out from the ordinary. But there was something special that only Pedro kept safeguarded deep inside his heart, concealed behind the last name of Gonzales Yupanqui that held a matchless historical legacy: He was the last descendant from royal Inca blood; from great nobility, diluted gradually by time and history.

Pedro had spent most of his twenty-three years rather drowsy from ancestral traditions and the relative comforts of life. His small village was situated in a deep expansive canyon, sheltered by the colossal size of its rock walls divided by a serpent-like river, crystal clear and shining silver, the tiny valley nestled amidst the foothills. Ancient terraces could still be seen, built by ancestors centuries ago, bringing to mind a laborious past that swelled his breast with pride. Men of skill claim that nowadays the old art of building terraces could never be equaled, even with the advantages of modern technology.

It was obvious among the villagers that the tide of tradition held them captive like a wave tamed by its oscillating rhythm. Nothing had really changed over the past 2500 years. Selfishness and greed for power, popularity, and wealth had decimated the village, their beloved and cherished village.

Their great enemy was not from outside but originated within the village. Then, once subjected, debilitated, and consumed, vultures came from afar and nearly devoured them; leaving them poor in spirit, self-esteem, and sound culture. Now, they crawl on their knees, fearful of rising up and being thrashed by the whip of adversity and the dread of failure.

But this is not my concern, thought Pedro. I am just one man among my people. And someone other than myself will initiate change and straighten out the situation. But, isn’t this what everyone else thinks as well? And that is what scared him most.

Who is it that represents everyone, does it begin with me?

That winter morning in June hinted about something special. The cold air felt wonderful, blood rushing close to the skin. He had risen from bed a bit earlier than usual. His wish, after finishing the daily chore of herding cattle from their small corral towards pasture, was to go to his favorite place: the high mountains.

It took twenty minutes to climb on top, but he loved doing it, sitting on his favorite rock, the one at the summit, like a sovereign throne, right there facing the ruins of an Inca cemetery.

Why does this place call to me? He thought.

Is it because I can see what others cannot?

Or can I hear what other do not?

Memories sent vibrations through the most delicate fibers of his feelings and were transposed into words that crowded together in his mind and heart, emanating from his mouth like pointed darts piercing deep within the soul of the mountains who looked back at him like an impassive auditorium, yet still shared in what he felt.

When I contemplate the resting place of my ancestors, I see them roam across the hillside:

With freedom carried on their shoulder,

With their countenance held high,

With a look of firmness in their eye,

With courage in their muscles,

With a clean and pure smile,

With happiness at their side,

With a heart full of gladness.

I can hear their music, the beautiful melodies that not only spring from the tune of their instruments, but that which blossoms from the heart, distilling upon the senses and penetrating the soul.

Oh, my people, where are you? He asked nostalgically.

He hurried his pace and gasping with happiness arrived at his destination. Sitting down upon his imaginary throne, it seemed to join him as one. Deeply he breathed the clean and pure air of nature, opening wide his senses, he saw himself as though filmed in reverse.

He envisioned his past and pondered.

What I wouldn’t do to see the future?

It was a question that seemed to emerge from deep within his soul.

Something powerfully beckoned for his attention on that morning. It was a nest lying nearly at his feet, close to the edge of a cliff. He could see inside that there were baby birds newly hatched.

What careless parents to leave their home this way, he thought.

They resemble the parents of my world, who think that obtaining and providing food is enough, with no thought about the condition in which they leave their offspring.

Leaning down, he extended his hand, trying to pick them up and move them to safety from their precarious position, but it would be simple to do since he was a skilled man of the mountains. His feet seemed attached