Seemingly waiting for the moment the doors opened before her.
*
The interior was exactly as Valeria had dreamed it would be, down to the smallest detail. Her grandmother had always said that the Temple of the Feathered Serpent had once contained the throne room of the prince-god Topiltzin, who sat on a large serpent-like throne that guarded the physical entrance to the seven caves. Almost immediately her attention became drawn to a large head-like seat that flanked the mountain wall, located opposite a large fountain whose waters trickled to a melodious peal.
Based on the condition of the room, the temple could still have been lived in.
Valeria headed slowly for the throne, studying the wall markings that surrounded it. The pictures were rough, yet defined.
They seemed to describe a wide-scale exodus.
“What does it say?” She focused on the patterns.
Juan replied, “It says you are a fraud.”
“Do not insult my sister again!” Maria snapped. Her usually perfect hair had become frizzy from exposure to the recent rain and humidity, her skin red and raw. She grabbed Juan around his jawbone, holding it tightly. “Your position is weak, Juan Cortés. Do not challenge my patience.”
“You intend to kill me yourself?” He glanced over his shoulder at Velázquez. “Shame you didn’t muster the balls before our divorce. That way you could have kept everything.”
Valeria was too enthralled by the stonework to pay attention to the developing argument; instead, she had become transfixed by the telling of the long-forgotten story.
“What language is this?”
Juliet replied, “The symbols seem to match those used by the Toltecs, only slightly different.”
Valeria was interested. Moving away from the wall, she approached Juliet, her eyes looking deeply into hers.
For Juliet, the feeling was daunting.
“I saw you in Salamanca, sitting behind Ben.” She rubbed her fingers gently across Juliet’s face. “You know him very well?”
Doing her best to ignore her, Juliet concentrated on the walls, hoping the symbols could prove a good distraction.
“The meaning of the symbols is clear. It suggests the island was abandoned by the last of seven tribes, apparently named the Aztecah. When their descendants returned, they rebuilt the original city in the shadow of the mountain and erected this temple to the serpent god.” She turned her attention to the next set of symbols, struggling to make sense of everything. “Apparently the city then suffered a great fire, and many were forced to leave.”
Valeria headed on to the fountain, satisfied she had heard the truth. Secretly she was thrilled by the possibility.
Like the famous wanderings of the Israelites to the Promised Land, the tribes of Chicomoztoc had been forced to make their way out of Aztlán.
She circled the fountain slowly, concentrating on its exterior. The foundation was also of stone construction with further imagery decorating the base.
“What about this? You understand?”
“It says you are very stupid.”
Maria slapped Juan hard across his cheek. “Another word from you and I shall kill you myself.”
Valeria smiled widely as she returned her gaze to Juan. She removed her headdress and refreshed herself with the fountain’s water; in the sweltering heat, she adored the feeling of coolness against her skin.
“Always you have claimed to be the great expert.” Her smile widened. “This time, why don’t you tell us? The pictures. What do they mean?”
Juan glanced fleetingly at the images, confident he already knew the answer to any question she could throw at him. As a descendant of the greatest of the conquistadors, he knew his journey through life had been blessed by many things no ordinary person could ever be privy to. At long last, the years had culminated in this one grand moment.
He looked again at the images. Just like on the wall, pictures of the feathered serpent were prevalent.
“In the original language, the word Quetzalcoatl alone does not only mean feathered serpent. To the people of this city, it also meant precious twin. After ruling the Toltec city of Tollan for many years, the prince Topiltzin evacuated the island, but not before razing the precious buildings to the ground and hiding the great treasures and artwork somewhere in the mountain valley. It was said that before he left the land on a raft of serpents, heading back to the east from where he once came, the gods demanded he reveal the secrets of his magic. Instead, he chose to throw his spells in a well.”
“Cozcaapa,” Juliet agreed.
Valeria smiled at Juan, then at Juliet. Confident again what she heard was correct, she headed for the north side of the room where the mysterious throne seemed to be at one with the wall. The design seemed different to the others, appearing as though it were a door to an adjoining chamber. The surface of the throne was less appealing, widely covered by dirt and cobwebs. She blew on the seat and cleaned it with her hands, revealing further evidence of symbols and engravings. Like the door she had recently encountered guarding the underground mine in Cornwall, there was a subtle archway around it that suggested it would open inwards.
She concentrated on the seat, attempting to read the latest symbols. There were less there than there had been on the other walls, yet what she saw seemed more pronounced, as though depicting the solitary line of an epitaph.
“What does this say?”
The question was for Juliet. Ignoring the passing stares of Maria and the guards, she approached tentatively and read it.
“Into the womb of the seven, the serpent was expelled.”
Valeria’s face was practically beaming; she knew the reference to the womb and the seven could only mean one thing.
Vigorously she worked at brushing away the cobwebs, not stopping till they were completely gone. Examining the area with her torch, she saw several hollows had been cut into the stone, dull but recognisable. The first was flower shaped, a rose. Another was more horizontal, clearly a fish. Studying them one by one, she counted three other distinct shapes.
A bell.
A cup.
Finally, a trumpet.
Like the stones she had seen on the Isles of Scilly, the door had been put in to serve one purpose.
*
Cortés watched Valeria from the other side of the fountain, resisting the temptation to struggle against the ties securing his hands and wrists. Though he derived some satisfaction from seeing Valeria cover herself in cobwebs, he hated the way she strutted about like a peacock, intent on ruling the world.
The engravings on the throne were clearly visible. Though he took Juliet’s word on the correct translation of the pictures, the significance of the five hollows was less of a mystery.
Valeria was walking towards him again, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips. She stopped merely inches away, their noses almost touching.
And began to open the rucksack.
“Would you care to do the honours? Or shall I?”
Juan sensed the question was more a tease than a genuine request. “Either way, I fear your chances of success will be limited.”
Still smiling, Valeria turned her back on Juan and sat down on the throne. She unzipped the main compartment and removed the fish stone before unwrapping it from its protective shroud. The first thing she noticed was how well defined its features were compared to what she had seen on St Mary’s, its luxurious green exterior lighting up the near vicinity like a large lava lamp. Lining it up with the relevant hollow, she pressed down firmly until she heard a sharp clicking noise, confirming it had entered fully.
Finished, she did the same for the trumpet, the well-chiselled valve buttons still in as pristine condition now as they had been the day they had been created. Her anticipation rising, she reached into the rucksack, prepared to find a third.
But found nothing.
“There are three stones missing.” She looked at Cortés. “This bag contains only two.”
“So it does,” Jua
n returned. “I did say your chances of success were likely to be limited.”
Valeria tossed the bag to the floor and rushed towards him. She was now so close her very presence caused a tingling sensation against his skin, her scent heavy in his nose.
Remaining tight-lipped, Juan refused to look away, to blink, or even contemplate the possibility of defeat. He had learned as a young boy that the last to look away always emerged victorious, even when at the point of apparent defeat. Despite the restraints, and Velázquez’s gun trained on his back, he felt resilience deep inside himself, a natural strength, belief that God was with him. Valeria had met her match. It was only a matter of time before the tables were turned.
As long as the emeralds remained unfound, she would need him alive.
“Where are the other stones?”
“I have been asking myself the same question for years.”
A strong fist caught him square across his face, knocking him slightly off balance. Though he remained on his feet, the surprise attack left him momentarily dazed.
“Do not attempt to play with me, Juan Cortés. Your father once made the same mistake of misunderstanding the difference between arrogance and victory.”
“You dare to mention him in front of me. Should my hands not be bound, you would not be so bold.”
She walked away, her expression now a murderous glare. “Where are the remaining stones?”
“I have told you already, I am presently unsure.”
“You came all the way to Aztlán without the five?”
“I never said that.”
A strange silence descended on the room, lightening the mood. Valeria’s murderous stare was suddenly replaced by a wry, smugly self-satisfied grin. The position had flipped again, her ascendency resumed.
“Another now has them?” She walked to Claude. “Am I warm?” She continued to Pizarro. “Of course. Where there is Juan, there is often a second.” She giggled.
Pizarro was less moved. “Are you blind? Do I carry a rucksack beneath my shirt?”
Momentarily soured, Valeria moved on again, stopping by Juliet. “That day I saw you in Salamanca. Together we saw the church in all its glory.” She touched her face again. “You saw the library too?”
Juliet shook her head. “No. We left.”
Valeria was sceptical. “You came all the way to Salamanca, only to leave? What is in your bag?”
“Just supplies. You can search them; there is nothing there.”
Valeria pulled hard at the straps, more so than was necessary. She opened it and checked it top to bottom.
There was no sign of the stones.
She threw the bag on the floor and returned her attention to Juan. “Where are they? What have you done with them?” she asked, hearing no answer. “Nobody is leaving here until those doors are open.”
“Then I hope you enjoy waiting because we shall be here till doomsday.”
She headed for Claude, grabbed him and thrust a gun hard into his temple. “Tell me where the stones are or I shall kill every person in here.”
Juan was furious. “Kill him, and I shall never reveal a thing, even if you kill me too.”
Valeria increased her pressure on the gun, the circle of the barrel pressing deeply into Claude’s skin. Nearly off balance, Claude’s eyes appeared unnaturally wide, panicked, as if he were about to suffer a heart attack.
“Answer me truthfully. Where are they?”
“The stones are not here.”
“Enough of your lies; all this time you never learn. Tell me now. One more lie and I will shoot.”
“He’s telling you the truth.”
The voice came from the doorway. Unlike those she had heard recently, this one was hard, resolute, the accent clearly American.
Ben was standing in one of the spaces between two stone warriors, holding a rucksack aloft.
“Juan wasn’t lying. You don’t need to kill anybody. I have the stones right here.”
53
Silence ensued. Awkward. Stunned.
No one seemed willing to break it.
Ben had entered the temple so quietly none of the guards had picked up on him standing between two warrior columns that supported the ceiling on the south side. Within seconds of his detection, arms moved against weaponry, guns cocked, sights set. Ben counted eight semi-automatic rifles directed at his chest, a ninth including Velázquez’s pistol. Valeria’s gun remained aimed at Claude.
Before lowering.
Ben looked around the room, taking in all of the key features. Its historical significance, for once, bypassed him as he concentrated instead on the people he had travelled with. The first person he saw was Juan, who was looking at him, an expression of rare concern etched deep into his features.
He seemed neither pleased nor displeased by his arrival.
Claude was still breathing heavily, his usual mild-mannered features now given way to panic. Alongside him, Pizarro was angry, contemptuous; to Ben, he seemed little different to before.
Juliet was standing by the north wall, close to Maria. Both women stared at him. He sensed Juliet was okay, her face quiet but inquisitive. Like Maria, her eyes posed the same question.
What’s going to happen next?
*
Valeria had been so focused on Cortés she had neglected to pay any attention to the entrance. The sole purpose of Velázquez’s men being present was to cover their bases, but collectively they had all failed.
Had a more dangerous visitor entered, she knew she would have been in trouble.
She studied Ben from the fountain. Like the rest of his party, his clothes were appropriate for the situation: a dirty pair of combat trousers clung to his legs above strong hiking boots that, like his snug polo shirt, smelled of wetness and salt. A black baseball cap had kept him free from sunstroke; after five hours outdoors, the material was beginning to give off a smell. Blood was slowly oozing from wounds to his arms, red like his face that was starting to show the effects of dehydration.
“Ben, I am so happy you are here. It is like we are back on St Mary’s when together we found the clues that led us to Cornwall.”
Ben rearranged his cap, ignoring the temptation to examine how Valeria’s tactics had gone down with Juliet. “Judging by your treatment of Juan, I’m guessing you were less pleased to see him. Seeing as he was kind enough to give me a lift, I guess that puts us on opposite sides.”
“How can you say such things? Together we are on the verge of the greatest discovery in history. All of us are here to share. There are no sides.” She smiled softly, her every breath now one of exuberance. “How is your cousin?”
“Better.” His attention turned to Claude. He feared from the old man’s laboured breathing that he was suffering heatstroke. “He needs nourishment. I’ve got some water in my backpack.”
Faced with no objection, Ben unzipped the main compartment and removed a half-full plastic bottle of water, no longer concerned by the uncharacteristically warm temperature of its contents. He passed it to Claude, who sipped it gratefully. Taking a breath, he sprawled out on the floor, his eyes close to tears.
Valeria’s focus remained on Ben. “I hope that isn’t the only thing you carry.”
Ben removed the first of the emeralds, unfolding its protective wrapping. Like the two already in the door, the colour glowed brightly, casting a unique reflection against his skin.
Its shape was reminiscent of a bell.
Valeria was amazed. “Just like in Cornwall.”
“Only these are the real things.” He looked her straight in the eye, his warm breath making a strained oozing sound as he exhaled simultaneously through his mouth and nose. “Even if I give you these, you can’t win. Your men are outnumbered two to one, to say nothing of whoever actually owns this place. I’m willing to cooperate, but I need you to understand something. Nobody in here is to be harmed. Tell your men to loosen their restraints; you can begin with Juliet.”
Valeria’s smile widened
; her face was light, carefree, as if she were oblivious to any threat or concern. She looked Juliet up and down. “She’s very cute. Have you had more luck with her than you did with me?”
Again Ben avoided the temptation to study Juliet’s reaction. “There’s still time here, but not much. Right now, over fifteen fully armed men are approaching this temple. They have you surrounded. Don’t be foolish. War tore this city to dust. These guys have guns.”
Valeria’s smile remained coy and playful. “You are quite right, as usual. And if what you say is true, we really have very little time. Come, help me open the door.”
Adjusting his cap, Ben passed the Spaniards, receiving a worried look from Claude and a stern stare from Pizarro and Juan. Juliet was quiet; he guessed nervously anticipating what the path would reveal. Still, he refused to show care for her, do anything that might reveal any hint of vulnerability to Valeria.
He no longer cared about the stones.
He stood alongside Valeria, holding the bell stone. Composing himself, he inserted it into its allotted groove, taking his time before starting on the next. As before, the last to emerge was the cup.
Finished, he took a breath, holding it for as long as his lungs would allow. As he did so, the silence in the room was broken, firstly by a gentle rustling noise, then followed by something more substantial. Tremors shook beneath his feet; sounds echoed off the stonework. Little by little, the decibel level increased, the noise now uncomfortable on his eardrums. Ben feared they had made a great mistake – that the door was booby-trapped, designed never again to be entered by man. The fear was growing. Their only chance was to flee, descend the steep stairway at a sharp and unsafe pace. Inexplicably, the sounds loudened further, stiff, straining. Then a heavy, cloudy dust permeated the previously clean air.
The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation Page 100
