The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation

by John Paul Davis

  Illuminated by bright lights.

  Ben took a breath, waiting for the dust to settle. As it did so, a large opening revealed itself as the throne disappeared. The previous exterior had opened on both sides, the chair split in two. Beyond it was a passageway.

  Lit, seemingly, by gold.

  *

  Close to the ruined temple of the rain god, Colts bit down hard on his lower lip. The entrance to the Temple of the Feathered Serpent was there before him.

  Apparently unguarded.

  The Spaniards had been found and were all on side, lined up alongside Kabil’s gunmen, prepared to descend on the plaza. Chris was standing at the front, clearly losing patience.

  “What the hell are we waiting for now?”

  Colts had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if a great disaster awaited. “I remember the last time I was here.”

  Chris took a breath, avoiding a rebuke. He had heard the stories himself, respected them even.

  “Well, right now I’d bet on us against a load of dart-spitting plant eaters.”

  Colts grimaced and looked away; his eyes returned to the temple’s entrance. The light had faded in recent minutes, the sun replaced by dense cloud. The wind echoed through the nearby ruins like a portent; in the mixed conditions the shadows cast by the spired roof seemed to have taken on a more evil resonance.

  “Colts!”

  “Not yet. Something about this just doesn’t feel right.”

  54

  The passageway had a strange mystical quality, as though it promised access to an alternative realm or dimension. The strange glow was strong enough to reveal the exteriors of the walls in their entirety, but not bright enough to completely give away the light’s source.

  Ben knew it was likely to be only one thing.

  Valeria proceeded swiftly, taking neither the time to fully arm herself nor give orders for the armed guard to follow. As Ben considered the possibility of escape, Velázquez appeared suddenly behind him, gesturing with his gun to follow Valeria’s lead.

  The guards waited till last.

  The walls were dark, granite like the mountain. Though the situation reminded him of his experiences in both Spain and Cornwall, the exteriors were more jagged, and minus primitive wall art. The passage wound gently from right to left, ending suddenly at a large opening. The light had now become extraordinarily powerful, practically blinding. It was as if a thousand desk lamps were shining in unison.

  Only without requiring electricity.

  Ben felt a sharp prod in his back from Velázquez, the curator’s face again confirming his impatience. As he looked back, he caught a glimpse of Juliet, noticing for the first time redness around her eyes. He smiled at her tentatively, immediately provoking further reaction from Velázquez. He felt the curator’s gun coming down hard across the back of his head, breaking the skin.

  He had made a great mistake. An unforgivable one. To his bitterness, he realised Cortés had been right all along. Ever since the discovery of the Dunster, his soul had been burning with a fire he had never before experienced, his heart leaping with feelings of adventure he never knew were possible. In his dreams, he had been there alongside TF, joining his legendary ancestor as he hunted down the secrets of the past, exposing them. He had thrown caution to the wind and survived. In life, the same had been true. What had happened in the last two weeks? Archaeology would never be the same again. Nor would history. What was once lost had already been found. What was once forgotten, remembered. The legends of old had been proved to be true. The treasure existed. Now he was about to see it.

  The realisation of the final dream.

  Only to be followed by death.

  Along with his friends.

  They had entered a perfectly circular chamber, with light entering from six equally sized niches. For the first time, the source of the light was revealed in its entirety. Like the lake of gold Ben had seen in the mine in Cornwall, each niche glowed naturally with the aura of seemingly infinite riches, aided by sunlight entering from above. Every niche had been created in the same shape, cut at gently curved angles deep into the surrounding walls and reflecting the light like mirrors.

  Ben surveyed them, dumbstruck. Besides the clear evidence of gold and the usual figures of serpent gods, princes on thrones or jaguar faces, he noticed other things, more obscure. Decorating the walls between the six niches was a profusion of wall art, the symbols familiar but crudely drawn: as if he were looking at a primitive expression of a familiar language. In keeping with the exodus story from the previous room, the artwork seemed to depict a strange epic tale of creation, the mountain seemingly giving birth to its people, either physically or figuratively. Higher up on the walls, the images depicted the birth of the gods themselves, existing in two groups. Those who dwelled amongst humanity and an altogether higher power.

  Yet among the chamber’s curious decorations, at the very centre of the floor lay the room’s most perplexing feature. Rising to over two metres above the ground, a large altar had been constructed as if to acknowledge the exact centre of the chamber, if not the entire island. Unlike the stone heads he had seen outside, whose features had been partially lost to the weather, its surface was smooth and majestically gilded as if the work of a god’s personal master craftsmen. The face it depicted was no mystery; as opposed to the human-like helmeted chieftains that looked out over the tropical forest, what he saw was the face of the plumed serpent, whose eyes gazed south at the entrance, as though conducting a never-ending vigil. Within the face, five colours sparkled, each worthy of equal veneration. Two rectangular blocks shone from the eyes, green and blue, the colours of emeralds and sapphires. Lower down, two similar stones had been placed horizontally within the mouth, one made of pure gold, accompanied by a strange purple substance that reminded him of the stone discovered in Cornwall – he guessed a rare form of ruby. Below the eyes, one of blood red shone from the figure’s nose, its shape identical to what he had once seen around Juan’s neck. He knew collectively they could represent only one thing. He heard Juan’s voice speak from behind him.

  “The Tollan Stones.”

  *

  Valeria was the first to approach the altar. She began tentatively before showing greater haste, stopping within touching distance of the exterior. She looked deep into the eyes, the mouth and nose.

  Everything about them was perfect.

  Standing alongside Juan, Maria moved forward.

  Immediately Juan cut her off, “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you!”

  She stared at him, irritated. “Why not?”

  “Because we don’t know what might happen if someone touches them.”

  “Juan’s right,” Ben agreed, making sure Valeria also heard him. “Don’t move a thing before we know what it is we’re dealing with here.”

  Valeria looked back at him, her playful smile returned. “Do not worry. I would not dream of it.” She plucked the emerald quickly from one of the eyes, holding it securely. The stone felt light in her hands, its presence smooth.

  The temple was still standing.

  “See. Nothing.”

  *

  Ben exhaled deeply, relieved to see a scene from the movies had not come true in real life. While Valeria collected the stones one by one, depositing them in her secure rucksack, Ben made his way over to his left and entered the first of the niches. Once inside, he realised it was a full cave, its walls continuing for several metres.

  He left and moved on to the next, then the third. Despite the identical sizes and each carrying similar quantities of gold, the designs of the coins appeared to differ, as though each had been the product of a different culture.

  In his mind, he was already coming to a startling conclusion.

  “What is it?” Valeria asked.

  “No two are alike.” Ben retraced his steps from the sixth to the fifth. There was art in every cave, some on the walls, some using other media. “Each cave was assigned to a different tribe, j
ust like in the legend. It’s as if we’re standing in a lost museum.”

  Valeria felt as though her heart was about to explode, that her legs would turn to jelly. “That is why they returned. The people who built the city returned the gold of the original tribes in their honour.” She felt her eyes on the point of welling up, her soul rejoicing. “The people of the caves truly were the greatest people who ever lived.”

  Ignoring her, Ben focused on the fourth cave, located due north of the entrance. Unlike the other six, it was the only one that didn’t contain gold.

  He entered cautiously, surprised to find himself suddenly wanting for light. Switching on his torch, he examined the walls from top to bottom, discovering further wall art, similar to the others.

  He studied it quickly, trying to make a common connection. The simple Olmec symbols that had been common throughout continued.

  Though now they offered a clear warning.

  He felt a presence to his left. He looked and saw it was Juliet.

  “How on earth did you break free?” He kept his voice quiet.

  “I’m not sure the guards are even looking. What are we going to do?”

  “Well, for starters I wouldn’t disobey this if I were her.”

  “What is it?”

  Ben showed her the symbols. The only thing he recognised was the Tecpatl, a flint knife with a double-edged blade. Though unlike depictions he had seen in academia, the knife appeared curiously large and was falling to earth as though a meteor.

  “I’m not sure exactly. But it appears to be a warning. Looks like there’s something hidden around here.”

  “Will you stop thinking about archaeology for one second. How are we going to get out?”

  “Colts is outside, along with Chris and Kabil. His men are still armed. If they’ve managed to track down Juan’s posse, we have them outnumbered. The only person I’m worried about here is Velázquez.”

  “The only person?”

  “What have you found?” The question came from Valeria.

  Ben saw her enter the cave, passing Juliet. “There is writing here.”

  Valeria stopped alongside him. “You can read it?”

  “It says Xolotl guards the way.”

  Valeria was confused. “Xolotl?”

  Ben pointed to the far wall. “Him!”

  It took Valeria a few seconds to catch on. She followed the direction of Ben’s finger and nearly jumped out of her skin on seeing a large relief-style monument of a dog coming out of the wall. Like the serpent altar, its face appeared strangely demonic, its jagged teeth guarding a hungry mouth.

  “What is this?”

  “Xolotl was Quetzalcoatl’s dog,” Juliet confirmed. “His job was to guard the sun on its journey through the underworld.”

  “In certain tellings of the story, he was the feathered serpent’s brother – possibly even his twin,” Ben added. “He was associated with both fire and the underworld. Apparently there’s another pathway hidden here somewhere.”

  Valeria grimaced, overcome with sudden fear. Considering retreating, she saw Ben move towards the dog’s nose, touching it for the first time.

  “What is it?”

  Ben was concentrating on the face, paying particular attention to its mouth. There was a gap in the mouth, rhombus shaped. Precise. Familiar.

  Between the teeth was an inscription. One word when translated into English.

  Sanctuary.

  “What is it?” she demanded.

  Ben turned to her. “Hand over the nose stone.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t argue, just hand it over.”

  Albeit reluctantly, she handed over the red stone she had recently taken from the serpent’s nose. Unlike the others, it was smaller, the material finer.

  Ben accepted it and examined it in the torchlight. Each side was perfectly symmetrical, the interior blazing as though set on fire.

  “The Stone of Fire,” he mumbled to himself. He approached the wall and inserted it between the dog’s teeth. Something moved. A mechanism made a squealing noise. The entire animal disappeared.

  A new passage emerged.

  Descending into darkness.

  55

  Ben had no choice but to follow her. Velázquez and Maria appeared within seconds of the wall opening, Maria hurrying in search of her sister. Velázquez, meanwhile, remained calm, focused.

  He looked at Ben and smiled. “I will invite you to lead the way, Dr Maloney.”

  Ben didn’t argue. He grabbed hold of Juliet’s hand, determined not to make the mistake of letting her out of his sight a second time. He pointed his torch at the ground and followed the passageway. It was longer than the previous one, tiring but less mystifying. It wound from left to right like a stairwell and ended suddenly at a ledge.

  As he looked down, he realised they were standing on some form of grand podium.

  Valeria and Maria reappeared close to the edge, looking down over the ledge. Valeria had retrieved the Stone of Fire from the dog’s mouth; she placed it carefully inside her rucksack. The light had improved greatly since leaving the tunnel; like the last room, one colour stood out above any other. Of all the surprises Ben had encountered since leaving the helicopter, he knew what he saw was unquestionably the greatest. Below the podium existed a large hollow within the mountain where gallon upon gallon of a gold-coloured liquid flowed rapidly through what could only be described as a gold miner’s wash plant. In addition to the gold, he also saw blue, green, red and purple. Unlike anything today, it was like looking at rivers of precious metals.

  Juan appeared to Ben’s left, alongside Claude and Pizarro. Juliet was standing to his right, clearly too stunned to speak. Valeria’s demeanour had changed beyond comparison. Her face was ashen, her eyes cold.

  It was as though she had received the fright of her life.

  Maria broke the silence. “What is this place?”

  “Miners,” Juan said. “No doubt illegal.”

  Ben shook his head. “No.” Despite the sophisticated operation, somehow he knew what he saw was not the work of criminals. “These are the rightful owners.”

  A strange expression crossed Juan’s face as he digested what Ben said, as though he were being let in on rare knowledge for the first time. He turned to Pizarro, looking for clarification.

  “You knew of this?”

  Slowly Pizarro laid his eyes upon his relative and spoke with dry lips. “According to one of the great creation myths, the gods themselves constructed a precious city in the highest part of heaven. One day, one of the gods bore a flint knife that frightened their children. To rid themselves of the knife, the children threw the knife from heaven, landing at the site of Chicomoztoc. In the ensuing chaos, over 1,600 gods were created. Destined to exist here on earth.”

  Ben recalled the Tecpatl imagery he had seen prior to the door. “The creation myth was never intended as a genuine account. The Aztecs wrote these things merely to justify their importance to the Spanish.”

  Pizarro’s expression soured. “Amongst the people on our visit years ago was a great scientist who studied the ground most thoroughly. He told us that thousands of years before the formation of the island, a great meteorite once crashed here, forming a huge crater. Over the years, the forest and river covered it; the bizarre mountain was all that remained of the meteorite’s tail. Even outside the mountain, test panning confirmed the water was rich in gold and other metals.” With a domineering look on his face, Pizarro continued, “The scientist estimated it to be the most gold-rich location on the entire planet.”

  Ben was shocked. The theory was outrageous, yet at the same time impossible to dismiss. He remembered a conversation he had had with a colleague from Dartmouth about the mysteries of gold, how even in the modern day the facts regarding its creation remained unclear. The most widely accepted theory in academia seemed to be that the metal was formed in past supernovas, later brought to earth by meteorite impacts.

  The sun’s tears,
he mused.

  “I guess in the eyes of the Aztecah, a flint knife tossed to earth by the gods could be a metaphor for a prehistoric meteor.” Ben gazed at the incredible sights below, trying to remain calm. “Your ancestors once spoke of rivers of gold. Perhaps they were talking literally.”

  Juan nodded. “Perhaps.”

  Ben moved away from the podium, exploring the surrounding area. The passageway aside, the podium was accessible via a small pyramid-style stairway on all sides that led down to a large ridge that circled the mountain’s interior. Closer investigation revealed that there were two further rings inside the outer ridge, both located at five-metre drops and connected by stairways. From directly above, it was like looking at a ring-shaped maze.

  It reminded Ben of the layout of Tenochtitlán.

  Several thoughts were racing through Ben’s mind, rational thinking giving way to near panic. The smells were more oppressive than they had been, the unenviable stench of recently smelted metal violating his nostrils like toxic waste. With his mouth dry, he felt his stomach turn, his throat flexing as if to vomit. Being so deep within the earth, he feared the lack of oxygen could become a serious problem, with the possibility that asphyxiation might come on quickly. Equally troubling were the other sights.

  He knew it was impossible for the rivers to exist without the presence of man.

  “We need to get out of here.”

  Alongside him Juan nodded, his face troubled by fear. Turning away from the podium, they approached the passageway and stopped suddenly.

  Valeria was standing before the doorway.

  Her gun was aimed directly at Juan.

  “Valeria, what are you doing?” Ben asked. “The natives could spot us at any second. We need to get out of here.”

  “Valeria?” Maria was equally shocked. “There can be no delays; we must flee.”

  “No. Not this time. The years pass, but lessons are never learned. How much longer must we wait?”