The only way to find the Sacred Wheel is to make your way to the caves at night. You'll have to wait until after the first stars appear, when the villagefolk have turned in from their late night fires on the beach. By that time, the chants of the tree frogs will mask the sounds of your shaky footsteps as you sneak away. You'll travel west, by the way of the river, against the current, until you're dropped off directly within the mouth of the caves.
You're guided by the words of the Kasike, "Inner space is where the treasure lies."
Han Han Katu.
Torch in hand, you creep deeper into the caves. Between the flickering breaths of light, a massive chamber is revealed ahead. Its body is etched with symbols written from the hands of those who came before. Every inch of stone was marked: spirals, serpents, coquis, trigonolitos, turtles, iguanas, human figures whose eyes watch you, scripts bearing messages from the past. Some of the symbols glimmer faintly under the torchlight, freshly painted. Their shadows dance across the stones like your ancestors in ceremony, flickering between light and dark. Life and death.
You press forward with jagged steps, the tunnels distorting before you. The stone walls undulate, the breath of the cave mouth gently swallowing you as the paintings fold in on themselves. Your skin tightens and your body quivers. Then, an image of a red spiral appears in your vision, emerging slowly like the morning sun over the horizon.
The Sacred Wheel.
You feel it pulling you closer.
The further you descend, the warmer it becomes. You feel the stones burning your soles as you venture through the rocky bends. Beads of sweat form at your forehead, the thick humid air clinging to your tanned skin. A part of you wants to turn around, but the air is a thin weight gently ushering you deeper into the everchanging cavern.
You wave your torch and time dilates. Now, the walls begin to bleed color, slowly rendering the ancient drawings unidentifiable. The stalagmites run like the melting wax of a candle, oozing greens, yellows and reds. The petroglyphs refract, springing toward you in a mosaic of jumbled symbols. Beneath you, the ground bends upward and you begin to run as the floor ripples, slides and splits. A powerful energy writhes up from the depths with a piercing cry as you're launched into the air.
You're no longer in a cave. You're in a kaleidoscope of vivid stone and alloy – a living being that you know deeper than language could describe. You're floating. Thoughts whiz past your eardrums in a disparate symphony of imagery and emotion. They are the depictions of your many lives slowly unfolding, and paradoxically, flashing by in a single moment. A warm sense of clarity envelopes you.
Then,
The familiar shriek of an owl calls out, their voice plunging through the depths.
You fall with it.
Inward.
Toward everything and nothing.
The Sacred Wheel is with you.
It is here.
It is there.
The Sacred Wheel is now.
Forever turning…
Ahe Kasabi.