Ben focused on the sounds, wondering what had caught Juan’s attention. The nearby water flowed loudly, the sound becoming greater as he edged his way to his right. Ten feet on, he came to a stop, seeing the layout of the floor change.
“Get over here.”
Juan joined him, looking at the ground suspiciously. Something existed in the water, stone and sturdy.
Not a bridge.
But a causeway.
“Come. This way.”
46
Of every possibility Chris had imagined, what he saw topped the list of the impossible. The causeway, overall, measured about ten metres in length and crossed the water, approximately three metres in width.
A small-scale replica of one of the three causeways that led to Tenochtitlán.
He moved quickly to the other side and shone his torch on the new surroundings. Like the previous side, the walls consisted solely of granite, the colour absorbing more light than it reflected. It was too dark to clearly pick out features with one notable exception.
A second archway that led deeper into the mountain.
He held his breath as he walked through it and breathed in again to take in the smells. The aroma had changed, now sweet and sickly as if he had entered an opium den. Unlike before, light reflected brightly off the walls, while unlit wooden torches were arranged on the floor, flasks of ancient unused oil lying by their sides. Like the passageway, there was artwork, only more defined. The floor was tiled and patterned like a mosaic. Chris assumed, at first, because of the castle’s history that it would be Muslim, but on closer examination, he soon realised that it was far more modern.
A blaze of light came up from nowhere. He turned around quickly and saw Valeria standing with a cigarette lighter in her hand and next to a burning torch, whose fire lit up the walls like a scene from Dante’s Inferno. With the extra light, the features of the chamber revealed themselves for the first time, rendering their flashlights superfluous. The layout was rectangular, the floor a neat assembly of stone paving. A further three unlit torches were mounted at the corners of the room; Valeria lit them one at a time.
Chris knew what he saw should not have been possible. With the torches burning, he could see that the wall patterns formed part of a continuous fresco, like Michelangelo’s depiction of the Bible stories in the Sistine Chapel. The ceiling was naturally vaulted, the floor covered in debris. He noticed things sparkling among the rubbish. As he looked more carefully he could see, scattered throughout the room, gold coins marked with symbols he had seen before. Only in a museum.
Over a thousand miles south of his homeland.
Valeria felt her heart sink slightly. Though the sight of gold had made her heart race, it seemed clear from the overall sparseness of the chamber that the results were likely to be disappointing. Picking up the nearest coin, she saw from its appearance it was identical to the ones she had seen in Cornwall, their pure minted condition affected only by grime and dirt.
The only thing missing was the rest.
Clutching the coin tightly in her hand, she began to focus on other things. The sound of water had faded, though the sickly smells had become nauseating. Beyond the last of the burning torches, the floor became elevated; a large stairway, split into two, ascended over twenty metres up as though scaling an Aztec pyramid. She made her way up the left of the two and counted fifty steps, all painted gold and easy to climb. She took her time to consolidate her footing, aware any mistakes could be fatal.
She made it to the top and gazed in awe at what lay before her.
*
There was light where there shouldn’t have been light. Smoke where there shouldn’t have been smoke.
Ben saw the light while he was still crossing the water, a distant glow shining through a second archway. Its ornate decorations revealed the beginning of an upcoming passageway, with more walls profusely covered in wall art.
He walked on quickly, his heart beating faster with every step. What awaited shocked him more than the sights he had seen in Cornwall. The passage ended in some form of inner sanctum, a holy of holies, decorated with art and illuminated by fiery torches.
A site once Moorish.
Now something else.
Ben heard heavy footsteps behind him; he looked and saw Cortés appear first. There was new light in the Spaniard’s eyes, his brown irises reflecting the fires of the nearby torches like an obscure mirror. The wall patterns seemed excessively ominous as they stood above the dancing flames, as if they formed part of the fire themselves. Somehow it made the images appear older, more surreal, as if mythology and history had become intertwined.
More footsteps followed as the final four entered the chamber. Eduardo was lost for words, Danny glum and fearful; Maria was dazzled and dazed at the same time. The only person not shocked was Elena.
And Cortés noticed.
“What is this place?” The question came from Eduardo.
“We must be directly below the original castle,” Ben replied. “Once upon a time, the Moors probably worshiped here, most likely some early form of Sufism. Later it was used as a Christian shrine.” He continued to inspect the wall art. “Or at least a unique version of Christianity.”
Ben caught Cortés’s gaze. Though he didn’t speak, Ben could tell what he was thinking. They shared unspoken words, Cortés at last nodding in agreement. They were standing in a church unlike any other.
A replica of one seen only once before.
Across the sea.
“You maybe care to explain?” Eduardo continued.
“It was said that when Montezuma invited the Spaniards inside Tenochtitlán for the first time, he allocated them their own lodgings as well as giving them permission to set up a chapel to Mary. As time passed, and Cortés’s hold on Montezuma became greater, he granted them permission to construct a new one. Only this time inside the Templo Mayor.”
Cortés walked the patterned floor as though lost in a trance. His instincts guided him to a series of shiny items, clearly coins. He picked up the first he saw, studied it and grasped it tightly before continuing on towards the far side of the room. Twin stairways rose to an elevated level, their appearance uncannily like those of the Templo Mayor.
Ben lingered, excited by the sight of the coins. Throughout the room he saw clear evidence of former human habitation, though different to what he had expected. There were garments and other items of clothing scattered throughout, more modern than he had anticipated.
It pointed to one possible conclusion.
“Looks like somebody has already taken the good stuff,” Eduardo said.
Ben followed Cortés to the top of the stairway and gazed at what lay beyond. In the poor light, he saw the illusion of shapes, causing his mind to play tricks on him. He squinted, convinced he saw movement in the distance.
Without warning, the chamber blazed into light.
47
Valeria saw little on reaching the top of the stairway. The floor beneath her ended after five metres, beyond it a black void that seemed to descend indefinitely. The pathway continued both to her left and right, circling the void at the chamber’s edge; in the void itself, rocky outcrops jutted up randomly like small mountains rising from the earth’s core.
Further wooden torches lined the pathway at regular intervals on the near side, each connected by some form of stone parapet.
The arrangement was strange, like she was walking a battlement.
She walked carefully along the pathway to her left. Approaching the nearest torch, she realised it was too tall for her to light it without assistance.
Chris followed her, keeping a safe distance. As the walk continued under torchlight, she realised the path remained even and became wider.
It ended at another wall, leaving her only option to turn right. After another twenty metres, she found herself standing before a large, sealed doorway in the middle of the wall. Directly opposite, she noticed a large unlit torch on a pedestal.
Again it w
as too high for her to reach.
She turned to Chris. “Help me up.”
Chris gave her a leg up on to the nearest parapet and held her hand for balance. Safely up, Valeria extended her right arm and flicked the wheel on her cigarette lighter. The sickly aroma was particularly strong compared to the other side of the chamber, its impact almost knocking her off balance. She realised it belonged to the lamp oil that drenched the torch in front of her. Shining her torch, she noticed a long piece of wicker, equally wet with oil. She lit the end and carefully placed it to the unlit torch.
She fell back instinctively, causing both herself and Chris to hit the floor. The torch was engulfed by a hostile fireball that spread quickly in both directions like fire to a gas trail. The flames extended horizontally left and right before spreading out, lighting up the large chamber.
Chris got quickly to his feet, awestruck. He offered Valeria his hand and she accepted, dusting herself down as she took in the bizarre spectacle. What she had initially assumed to be an endless drop off the nearby ledge was, in reality, little more than eight to ten feet, the blackness of the rock creating the illusion of great depth. The layout of the room consisted of a maze of pathways connecting what she had initially mistaken as natural structures. Under the fiery light, she realised the objects were mostly man-made, their unique designs offering further evidence of a long-dead civilisation.
Like the model room beneath Cortés’s castle, the sights of Tenochtitlán had inspired the chamber.
She was looking at a replica of the interior of the great temple.
Valeria took a deep breath, her nostrils struggling to adapt to the strange sensation of sickly liquid enveloped in smoke. Retreating, she saw the majority of the objects were multicoloured, decorated with imagery that would have seemed at home in a Spanish church. The iconography was clearly Catholic and confirmed an almost impossible belief.
The church incorporated images both from the New World and the Old.
Chris stood behind her, concentrating on the closed door. Studying it at the same time, they both noticed a large groove in the centre, the inscriptions within the void now visible. One word.
Santuario.
Unlike those they had seen minutes earlier, it was in the shape of a diamond.
Valeria touched the mysterious symbol with her fingers, allowing the material to rub gently against her skin. The groove was smooth, like a well-polished gemstone inside an expensive piece of jewellery, but smaller than the four she had previously filled.
Its location suggested it was of great importance.
The sight made her heart sink. She had seen a chamber lined with fragments of gold, but nothing in keeping with the great legends. Even compared to the hoard in Cornwall, the quantity, so far, had been small.
Whatever secrets existed surely did so behind the final door.
She looked at Chris, their eyes locked. She felt a surge of emotion building up inside her. She attempted to speak but felt herself freeze with terror.
From the depths of the darkness, she heard a voice.
*
The light was momentarily blinding. Ben raised his hands instinctively and closed his eyes as they struggled to adjust to the new sensations.
The sweet sickly aroma that had overwhelmed his senses since crossing the underground river was gone in an instant, the scent overpowered by something more pungent. Accompanying the light, he noticed a sudden, thick cloud of black smoke rising quickly towards the upper levels. Opening his eyes, he noticed the light was less intense than it had been, the initial brightness now partially obscured by the smoke. For the first time he was able to see across the latest chamber, whose features, he now realised, were more interesting than he had ever imagined.
Instead of a vast void beyond the ledge, he realised he was looking at a scene strangely reminiscent of the model room below Castillo Cortés. What he had initially mistaken as natural rock formations were replica monuments.
He realised he was looking at the interior of an Aztec temple.
Beyond the void he noticed further patterns on the walls. What began as a continuation of the unique wall art he had witnessed in the previous chamber ended with a final wall somewhat reminiscent of the entrance to Petra. A further doorway lay between four mighty pillars, this one clearly blocked. There were statues on both sides and other figures moving close to it, the fiery light casting their features in deep shadow. He squinted, trying to make out specific details. There were two figures: male and female.
Ben knew he didn’t need to see their faces to confirm their identities.
*
Cortés was standing to Ben’s left, shocked by the unexpected sights. To Ben’s surprise, he remained completely unmoved, despite the thick plume of smoke heading his way. As it rose into the stonework above, he noticed it disperse, as though it was being filtered through specifically made gaps, probably heading into the mountainside.
My ancestors were geniuses, he thought.
Two people were moving beyond the far ledge, outside the doorway. His entire life he had been preparing for what awaited; he knew it was now only a matter of time before he got to see everything first hand.
The slimy eel had reached a dead end; entering the inner sanctum would be impossible.
Like the great doorway in the English mine, he knew it could only be opened with the correct key.
48
“I must thank you for your skills of navigation.” Cortés’s voice boomed across the chamber, echoing off the rocky surroundings. “Your persistence is most admirable. However, unfortunately for you, a complete waste of time.”
Valeria gazed in horror across the void and saw Cortés’s face looking back at her, his hauntingly familiar features seemingly appearing from within the fire. Due to the height of the surrounding flames, it was unclear whether he was alone.
“The inner sanctum is empty. It was ransacked long ago. Had you stayed in Valladolid a little longer, I could have told you everything, saved you the trouble of a journey. But still I must thank you. Long have I wanted to gaze upon the magnificence of my forefathers. This site is precious to me. To all my family.”
Valeria felt the hatred rising inside her. “Where is my sister?”
Maria appeared alongside Cortés, her normally tanned face ashen with fear. She stood awkwardly, her tall posture uncharacteristically rigid.
Valeria saw her hands were bound.
“I wish no further ill between us,” Cortés continued. “The treasure in Cornwall remains untouched. Fernando is dead, as are my comrades. Too much blood has already been spilt. I wish only for the safe return of the items that were taken from me. My grandfather once dreamed of having the old heirlooms reunited. I promised him I would not rest until that day came.”
*
Standing alongside Valeria, Chris felt a rush of adrenaline as he gazed across the strange chamber to see Cortés’s features for the first time.
The man cut an imposing figure; Chris estimated that he was around six feet. He had long, dark, greasy hair and a finely trimmed goatee, similar in his mind to those of the characters from The Three Musketeers. His upper body was draped in black, perhaps leather, and the heat was already causing his face to sweat. The effect of the light caused him to appear unnaturally sinister, as though nearby fires were creating a demonic halo above his forehead.
Alongside him, Chris noticed a brown-haired woman, facially almost a spitting image of Valeria.
He realised it was the same woman he had seen briefly in Mérida.
Cortés wasn’t the only person drenched in sweat. Though the nearby temperature was rising, he sensed the uncomfortable warmth he felt wasn’t solely due to the heat of the flames. His cousin was dead, probably murdered. It had happened in a mine somewhere in Cornwall.
He knew he was looking at the man responsible.
Chris walked into the light. “Why are you here?”
Juan saw Chris appear alongside Valeria. “You are a very foolish
man, putting your trust in those who deal only in lies. Come up here, and we can talk.”
Chris felt the hatred in him escalate immediately. “You bastard. Why the hell did you have to kill my cousin? What did he ever do to you?”
*
Ben felt his body become instantly numb. As the figures on the opposite side of the chamber moved into the light, he saw the bizarre blaze illuminate their faces, revealing features. Although the identity of neither person surprised him, the reality of seeing Chris again was uniquely powerful. Despite already knowing from the surveillance footage that Chris was still alive, film and reality were two different things. For the first time since their last meeting at the Gibbous Moon, the boy was there with him. In the same chamber.
Alive.
He heard Cortés shout across the chamber, similar words to before. Chris barked back a near instant reply; it was obvious to Ben that Chris had assumed he was dead. Looking to his right, Ben saw Cortés standing rigidly with folded arms, his face an illustration of pure contempt.
Cortés continued his conversation with Chris. “Whatever lies this siren has told you, you would be unwise to believe any of them. Your cousin is here. Alive.”
Chris didn’t buy it. “I know you’re lying. My cousin’s dead.”
Ben made his way along the pathway to his left, his eyes fixed on the area surrounding the strange doorway. He could see that Chris’s gaze remained focused rigidly on Cortés.
He stopped where the fires burned lowest, knowing he would be visible.
“I’m here, Chris. He’s telling you the truth.”
*
Chris suddenly felt cold. The voice was more familiar. It was an old voice, firm, yet somehow melodious, like a country and western singer speaking above a strumming guitar.
The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation Page 60
