After staring at the picture for a minute, I placed it with the doll, and said, “I think you both would have liked this.”
I looked around the low cave. The rhythmic dripping of water was soothing. I added, “To be here.”
I exhaled and wiped the blood and sweat from my face. My upper lip throbbed from where DeNiza had smacked me.
In a weak voice, I said, “Where there is lightness, there is darkness.”
Looking up, I stared at the bloody handprint again—and then into the tunnel.
I boiled inside with rage when I thought of DeNiza and shouted, “Treasures that drive weak men insane? Isn’t that what you said, Carlos?”
I looked around the cave, and then outside.
I shouted again, “Got nothing to say? Is that really what Cristóbal died for—for a treasure?”
I squinted my eyes, peering into the tunnel, and listened.
And then I remembered the leather-bound bundle I’d discovered earlier. I dug into the mound and lifted it up. Opening the thong and leather cover revealed a white stone with a gold band.
The sight of it took my breath away. I reached out my trembling hand to touch it. When the polished stone came into contact with my bloody fingers it began to glow, and I sensed a soothing warmth rush through my body—a lightness.
I stared in awe for a solid minute, the low radiance lighting up the chamber. Could this be real? I asked myself. Or is it the drug? The whispers around me intensified and I sensed if I listened long enough, they might tell me the secrets I was longing to learn.
I remembered old Saan speaking of recreating the past, claiming it was “a well-worn trail that is always in use.” And oh, how I’d clung to her words when she added, “Even if all you have are scattered footprints, you can still reconstruct the truth from that if you are patient.”
“But how?” I had queried.
And she had replied, “By not losing yourself.”
I surveyed the cave where the water drips again. The tunnel that DeNiza had disappeared into remained silent but was never far from my thoughts. I was scared—and more than a little curious—about what might lay on the other end, and I found myself being inexorably drawn to it.
I stood and faced the tunnel. I didn’t know if I was meant to explore it, or not, but I decided if I proceeded, it would not be in a panic. I would do so as old Saan had suggested: with smoothness, resilience and steadiness.
I reluctantly re-wrapped the white stone in the bundle of leather and buried it in the sand. Its secrets would have to wait.
Then I stood and brushed the dirt off my clothes.
I felt disconnected from my body as I forced myself to take deliberate, almost measured, steps toward the ominous tunnel.
* * *
DeNiza regained consciousness to find a log holding him against the wall. His face was still covered with the glowing powder, and there was a radiance around his field of vision. He tried to move, and a piercing pain in his left thigh alerted him to an injury.
The tunnel was filled by a light green glow, and in that murky illumination he discovered he had fallen victim to an ancient trap.
A stake at the end of the log had embedded itself in his outer thigh. A dark puddle was pooling under him.
“Madre de Dios!” he whispered.
His words echoed strangely in the chamber. And then he heard voices coming from the shadows around him. Your treasure waits for you… tesoro… it is yours for the taking.
They lulled him. Enticing him. If only he could get free.
He wanted to shout for help but found himself mesmerized by the sight of his own blood dripping into the puddle on the floor. Even the echo of the drops was enchanting. The fluid seemed to move of its own volition as it drained into a carved channel, eventually disappearing into a hole in the middle of a large capstone.
Instantly, the glowing lichen in the tunnel began to pulse.
This yanked him out of his awed stupor.
He twisted and screamed, and the decrepit wooden structure collapsed, ripping the stake out of his leg with a wrenching pain as the log fell to the ground.
The hazmat suit prevented him from seeing how badly he was injured, and he painfully crawled out of it. When he glanced at his leg he almost passed out. His khakis had been torn away to reveal a nasty gash with a strip of dangling flesh.
He tore the sleeve off the flimsy hazmat suit and wrapped it around the wound as tightly as he could to stop the bleeding.
His leg ached when he put pressure on it, but he knew this would not deter him. Not when he was this close.
He examined the opening in the tunnel where the trap lay.
He spied his gun lying in the dirt and picked it up.
The glow poured out strongly from the hole before him, and with it the stale stench of death, rushing at him like the fetid exhalation of a carnivore. DeNiza could sense the effluvium had a source far greater than the bones he had passed at the entrance to the tunnel. It made him shiver and suddenly retch.
He bent forward to control his breathing and stayed that way for a few minutes, fighting the urge to flee, but failing to muster the courage to continue.
Suddenly, like one of the undead, he stumbled and limped toward the exit of the tunnel. There, he glimpsed a vast domed chamber. Dark water flooded the floor of the cavern.
He took a step closer, blood dripping in his wake, and in the pulsing green light he could now make out a causeway to an island with a large, pyramid-shaped structure.
Even from a distance he could see gold sparkling on the top of the pyramid. The room glowed and pulsed, and his fear dissipated. “Three hundred years!” he shouted effusively, grinning madly.
He listened to his echo and then added, “For three hundred years we DeNizas have waited!”
Slowly he limped to the causeway. He was light-headed, and disorientated, and would suddenly stop and not move for minutes at a time.
He finally crossed the causeway and started to ascend the pyramid, slipping and staggering a few times. Every scuff of his boots echoed loudly.
Finally, he shook himself, and when his eyes fell on what lay spilled all over the upper stairs and platform he burst into tears. Golden coins, masks, and precious gems littered the floor, and an ornate throne sat amidst it all.
“This is the greatest discovery in the history of the Anthropocene!” he said, gawking at the unfathomable wealth.
Breathing heavily, with tears in his eyes, he said, “I claim this treasure in the name of the DeNiza family!”
He swayed and took a knee next to a pile of blue-tinted bones and chains. He said, “I claim it for Cristóbal and Alonso.”
Then he started digging into the collapsing wooden chests and containers, and with each treasure he touched, his face seemed to glow brighter. He examined a golden goblet with precious stones inlaid.
His eyes were glossy as he said, “Mine.”
He began to stuff some of the finer items in his backpack: a golden mask with a mosaic of garnets; a carved figurine with what looked like diamonds for eyes; and a thick chain of solid gold all made it into his collection.
He mumbled over and over, “Must have proof!”
And that’s when DeNiza saw him.
On the golden throne, about twenty feet away, a man sat watching him. The figure was leaning back, languidly, but his eyes burned like hot coals, emitting a relentless fire.
The man was Aztec. His garb marked him as a warrior of the highest rank.
When the man saw that he had DeNiza’s attention he grinned slightly; and DeNiza sucked in his breath when he saw the filed, pointed teeth.
DeNiza sank to his knees and whimpered.
Chapter Sixty-eight
I crept along the tunnel, unsteadily, my nerves trembling. The lichen in the cracks of the black basalt pulsated with a sinister green light, as if they were arteries, and their glow outshone the eons-old powder that covered the floor. I gawked at it, bewildered, my faculties temporarily in
abeyance.
Soon I came upon an opening where emerald light poured hypnotically out of a hole in the floor.
I inched closer and noticed a puddle of blood trickling into it.
The hole was bored into the center of a heavy stone that had been set into the basalt. When I could peer into it, I discovered it had sealed a room below.
As the light pulsed again, I glimpsed a scene of horror.
Below me, a bound man, a jaguar, a snake, and an eagle, all stared up at me. The green light burned for only a few seconds, and in that heartbeat, the man pleaded desperately for help in words I could not understand.
Before the light faded, the jaguar snarled, and the tunnel was suddenly filled with the shrill piercing scream of the eagle.
And then all was silent again.
I gasped for air, and all the hair on my arms stood on end.
When the light pulsed next, I fearfully glanced into the hole again. But it was empty, except for a pile of bones.
I continued down the tunnel, its terminus only a few paces away, and I wondered what new aberration—what fresh hell—I would find when I finally reached the heart of this darkness.
Soon I was standing in an opening to a large cavern.
It was as silent as a crypt. Even sounds I made—my short breaths and the shuffling of my feet—seemed to be snuffed out and absorbed instantly. The air felt as if it hadn’t been disturbed in centuries, but this stillness did not bear any semblance of peace.
The cavern rose into a dome where the lichen also thrived, and the entire ceiling was lined with glowing green veins of light.
Immediately before me, cold black water covered the floor, showing not a ripple.
A shout drew my attention to an island in the water, and I made out a large pyramid on it, rising into the green haze. I recognized DeNiza’s voice. It carried a note of hysterical terror.
But then the whispering around me tuned it out as it grew more persistent. I could not understand the message, until suddenly it screamed at me like a hundred voices: Do not go into the dark cavern!
A recognition swept over me: It was what the women had chanted during my vision from the mushrooms.
As if controlled by another, I spun around, and then everything faded to black.
* * *
Yaotl rose from the throne like a vapor exhaled by the earth. His eyes burned with a smoldering intensity that contained the eons throughout which he had waited for this moment.
He appeared to be savoring this as he slowly drifted toward DeNiza.
The professor could not believe his eyes and blinked them repeatedly. He spat out a high-pitched laugh and shook his head.
“How can this be?” he whispered.
The Aztec lord passed the pile of blue tinted bones and smirked. He kicked one of the skulls—his own skull—out of the way.
Then he narrowed his gaze and focused his soul’s tempestuous anguish on DeNiza again.
“You seek Xibalba,” he stated gravely in a voice that was resonant and commanded respect.
DeNiza was thunderstruck that he could understand him. The man spoke Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs, in which the professor was fluent. He had studied the ancient language for a decade.
DeNiza stood up and studied Yaotl’s attire. He was seduced into something akin to admiration.
Yaotl said, “Nine hell cycles of fifty-two years each.”
“Yes,” stammered DeNiza. “That is correct.”
Yaotl let his tongue slide over his pointed teeth while he surveyed the room. Then he solemnly added, “Four hundred and sixty-eight years.”
DeNiza had regained some self-control, and enthusiastically agreed, “Yes, yes… it is Nineteen eighty-seven.”
The Aztec brought his gaze back on DeNiza, who trembled anew under Yaotl’s gaze. “And how are my people?”
DeNiza shifted uneasily. “Most of the great cities were swallowed by the jungle, left to the monkeys and birds.”
He swallowed dryly and added, “Your time has passed.”
At this, Yaotl let out a booming laugh that reverberated off the walls of the cavern. Its echoes were still chattering when he shouted, “My time has just begun!”
DeNiza staggered backward, collapsing to his knees tremulously. He bowed, whimpering.
“Do you think I can return to the nothingness?” asked Yaotl incredulously. “That I can again submit to that impalpable greyness that obscures all? Where there is no victory? Or defeat?”
He faced DeNiza and gave him a cold, heavy stare. “I will not.”
He stomped his foot angrily. “You have no idea what Xibalba really is.”
Trembling, DeNiza asked, “And what do you want?”
Yaotl’s mien was fierce. “I want it all.”
The Aztec took two strides toward DeNiza, grabbing a bone-handled club by his feet and raising it as he approached. “And I don’t need you!” he shouted, swinging down.
Suddenly, a thunderous repercussion sounded.
DeNiza had his pistol pointed at Yaotl and had pulled the trigger.
Yaotl looked down at the hole in his chest, which quickly turned to vapor and blew away with the rest of him, leaving DeNiza standing alone.
The professor gave a hysterical little giggle and looked around.
He lowered his gun, and the trailing, acrid smoke made him sneeze. Again, he silently surveyed the room.
“Well then,” he sighed after a moment. He shook the appearance of the Aztec off like a bad dream, as if it had been a mere hallucination. “I guess I best get back to work.”
And he returned to filling his backpack with various gold items and priceless artifacts of jade and silver and gold.
In the end he could barely lift the backpack onto his shoulders. He staggered down the pyramid under its weight, his injured leg threatening to buckle on each step.
At the bottom, he stopped and shrieked.
Yaotl was silently blocking his way.
“I told you, your time is over!” screamed DeNiza, grabbed his gun and shot at the man again.
As before, Yaotl faded away.
But yet he appeared again. DeNiza had to fire his gun twice more before he reached the end of the tunnel.
Chapter Sixty-nine
DeNiza staggered through the tunnel, red-faced and covered with sweat, dirt and the glowing powder. His face wore a crazed expression that somehow combined elation and pain.
He was bent from the weight of the treasure-filled backpack, breathing heavily, and limping from his leg injury.
He was jittery and kept glancing behind him.
He straightened, painfully, when he finally reached the cave where the water dripped, but then a sound from the tunnel made him look back.
He shouted and fired directly into the tunnel. “Enough!” he screamed, “it is mine!”
The repercussion shook the cave as if he’d fired a cannon, and outside, thunder rumbled like an echo.
DeNiza turned away from the tunnel and then stiffened when he saw Amber sitting on the mound with the metate and the offerings.
“Stealing artifacts for you court case?” he asked.
She had her back to him and somehow didn’t seem aware of his arrival.
He approached the mound and said, “The world will not believe what I have rediscovered! But you will not be a part of it.”
He reached forward, grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. His jaw dropped, and he stepped back in shock, and he raised his gun.
Amber had covered her face with grey paint, but that was the smallest part of her transformation. Her eyes were different altogether; they now contained an unswerving steadiness that bore into him.
And despite the fact that he had a gun pointed at her, her gaze held not even the faintest trace of fear.
What was even more disconcerting was the sense that he wasn’t even looking at Amber, but someone—or something—else.
He staggered backward.
He glanced out the cave
but was unable to leave.
From the tunnel, he could hear whispering that warned him: She will steal your treasure… She will claim it for her people.
He pointed the pistol at her face.
Amber looked at him, unflinching, unafraid. Her strange composure made him falter, and he stood there with the gun shaking in his hand, unable to pull the trigger.
He tried to stoke his courage by taunting her.
“The truth is,” he rasped, nervously, “you’re alone here. There’s nobody to help you.”
Amber´s demeanor brightened suddenly. She covered her mouth to hide an almost girlish giggle. Her expressions now seemed more like that of a young girl.
Then the serious look returned to her face. She said confidently, “I am not alone.”
DeNiza stared at her in confusion. “What?”
She continued, “There is somebody. Somebody hears me, and somebody watches over me. I am not alone.”
DeNiza cried, “You have lost your mind.”
Amber ignored him and moved to the cave exit into the box canyon where it was now raining. As she got close the wind caught her hair and blew it everywhere.
DeNiza called after her, “I will not let you steal this treasure!”
He raised the gun again and sighted on the back of her head. But Amber ignored him and stepped out into the box canyon where it suddenly began to pour.
Without even turning, she said, “You should never have gone inside.”
Chapter Seventy
Suddenly I was standing in the rain, sheets of it cascading all around me. I didn’t remember when it started, or how I got to the box canyon. My last recollection was crouching before the dark cavern at the end of the tunnel.
Above me the sky rippled with lightning, and the walls of the box canyon shook with rolling thunderclaps. The monsoon had finally broken.
I was by the exit chute to the box canyon, where a small stream was now rushing by.
I felt something on my face and wiped it to discover I wore a layer of powdered paint.
I tilted my head up with my eyes closed and let the rain wash me clean.
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