Ross went over to her. The pillar was sunk deep into the ground, and the splayed stone petals formed multiple spouts. 'Looks like there was once a natural spring they directed into a communal fountain.'
But Zeb wasn't listening. Instead her eyes were fixed on the side of the ziggurat. 'Ross,' she whispered, pointing a shaking finger. 'Over there. You see it?'
He blinked. The vines obscured most of the stone but he could see something carved into it. An image he recognized. 'Yes,' he said, mouth dry. 'I see it.'
He rushed over to the ziggurat and, with his good hand, began to hack away the vines, exposing a carving at least six feet high. Zeb reached into her pack, pulled out her notes and flipped through the photocopied pages of the Voynich. She stopped at one and held it up.
'Look, Ross! This is page ninety-three of the Voynich.'
Ross stood back from the ziggurat and took it from her. The carving had been done with more skill than the drawing but otherwise it was identical. He rushed to the next block of stone and cut back the vine, revealing another carving of a strange plant, then another. He reached for Zeb's photocopies. Each of the strange plants carved into the stone was the same as one of those illustrated in the Voynich.
'I thought Father Orlando and the conquistadors never found this place,' she said.
'Perhaps they didn't,' said Ross. He felt dizzy with the heat and the possibilities of what he was seeing. He looked about for Sister Chantal and the others, but they were nowhere to be seen.
Then he heard his name. 'Ross!' He stepped away from the ziggurat as Hackett poked his head out of the portal at the top and waved. 'Ross! Zeb! Come up here. You've got to see this.'
Chapter 43.
The steps up the pyramid were easier to climb than they looked from the ground, even though thick vines obstructed many of them. As Ross led Zeb upwards, he tried to process the images he had seen and what they might mean. He caught himself searching the vegetation for any sign of the flowers and plants depicted in the Voynich and on the ziggurat, but there were none.
At the top of the stairs he entered a portal crowned with a trapezoidal lintel, similar to the one in the ransom chamber at Cajamarca. It led into a cool, gloomy room that smelt like a zoo but was remarkably clean and well preserved. Sister Chantal caught his eye. 'Did you know about the carvings down there?' he hissed.
She said nothing.
'What carvings?' said Hackett. 'Are they anything like these?' He stepped aside and shone his Maglite torch on the walls. Zeb gasped. The walls were decorated with intricately carved, three-foot-square frames, each of which contained a scene, like a storyboard or comic strip. 'Neither the Incas nor their predecessors had a written language,' he said. 'It wasn't until the Spaniards chronicled their conquests and discoveries that anything was written down. This was how the ancients who once lived here recorded events.'
'And what events they were,' whispered Zeb.
'I told you something bad happened here,' said Juarez.
Even Ross, with no training in language or symbols, could follow the narrative. The first carved image depicted the flower-shaped fountain in full flow, surrounded by a circle of human figures kneeling before it, as if in worship, while a benign sun shone down from above. The second image was of the same fountain, this time surrounded by a circle of human figures dancing and eating strange plants, like those in the Voynich. In the next image the fountain was dry and the flowers were dying. The fourth showed figures digging the diamond-shaped pit and throwing piles of human bodies into it. In the next a figure was laid on top of the ziggurat and another was pulling out its heart. The sixth showed the fountain again with two drops falling into it: from the sacrificial heart and the sun. The last image was of a line of humans of varying sizes, men, women and children, leaving the city and going into the jungle.
'I don't understand,' said Hackett.
'Isn't it obvious, Nigel?' said Zeb. 'When the fountain dried up people became sick and died. They performed sacrifices to bring the water back but they didn't work so the city died and the survivors left.'
'I understand the story,' said Hackett. 'I just don't understand why they were so dependent on a fountain. This isn't the desert. It's a rainforest - and it's been one for thousands of years. They wouldn't need a small fountain to stay alive and healthy.'
'Unless it wasn't ordinary water,' said Zeb.
Ross thought again of the unusual plants depicted in the carvings and the Voynich. Had they grown here because of something in the spring water, something unique to Father Orlando's garden? Excitement coursed through him. Had the water contained some unusual chemicals or minerals on which the people had relied? 'The water probably came from a subterranean stream with a source not far from here,' he said. 'Then something happened - a geological shift, a subterranean landslide - which dammed the stream and dried up the spring.'
'So, although the spring's dried up its source might still exist?' asked Zeb.
'Yes.' He returned her smile. Orlando Falcon's garden was seeming less and less like a myth. 'And it might be pretty close.'
'Whatever they thought was in the water,' said Hackett, pointing at the penultimate image, 'they offered two sacrifices to bring it back.' He tapped the drops. 'Human blood and the tears of the sun.' He smiled a wide, boyish smile. 'And do you know what that is? Gold.'
Ross thought of the ore-riddled caves they had walked through to reach the valley. Perhaps they contained seams of gold, once mined by the inhabitants of this place.
'Where would the gold be?' said Mendoza.
'In a sacred place.' Hackett pointed again at the carvings and tapped the image of the ziggurat. 'Somewhere in here.'
Just then, Juarez's voice cried, 'Sister Chantal's found something!'
Ross and the others followed Hackett's Maglite beam to the far recesses of the chamber where Juarez stood with the nun, pointing his torch down a flight of dark steps that disappeared into the depths of the pyramid. The stairs descended one flight, levelled out, then turned back on themselves, descending further into the darkness. The zoo smell wafted up from the bowels of the stone ziggurat. Animal droppings lay on the rough-hewn steps. Large ones.
Mendoza cocked his weapon, Hackett pulled a pistol from his backpack, and Juarez took the rifle from his shoulder.
'If there's gold it'll be down here,' said Hackett, moving to the stairs.
'I go with you,' said Juarez, eyes bright with uncustomary bravado. 'You said we share everything. I want to see this gold.'
Hackett prodded a vine, which slithered away. A snake. 'Whatever you say.' He checked his pistol, then glanced nervously at Ross and Mendoza. 'You're coming, too, aren't you?'
Mendoza nodded. Ross hesitated, holding his broken wrist. He hadn't come for gold or to explore any ancient lost city, and he wasn't armed, but he felt compelled to see what was down there. 'I'm coming,' he said.
'I'm not,' said Zeb. 'I'll stay with Sister Chantal.'
'Let's go.' Hackett adjusted his hat, then headed down the stairs.
Chapter 44.
Juarez and Hackett went first down the wide steps, followed by Ross and Mendoza. Before he descended into the pungent darkness, Ross glanced back at the nun, trying in vain to read her inscrutable expression. Had she been there before? Did she know whatwas down there?
At the end of the first flight, the air was cooler but the smell stronger. Ross took out his own torch and shone it into the darkness. They followed the steps down three more returns until they came to a small antechamber and an open portal. Stone brackets that had once held flaming torches lined the walls. In the Maglite beam, Ross saw that the portal led into a large chamber with a passage down the centre, lined on each side with rows of stone shelves, stacked six high. Each contained what appeared to be a stone coffin. He shuddered.
'They were probably for the bodies of the more prestigious sacrificial victims,' said Hackett. 'Minus the hearts, of course.'
Ross saw Juarez's shoulders tremble. The Peruvian hated
ruins, so to him this place must be terrifying. And at that moment, in the claustrophobic tomb surrounded by the remains of those who had died in agony more than a thousand years ago, he had some respect for the curse.
Suddenly Juarez yelped and Ross almost dropped his torch. 'Mirada! Mirada! Oro! Oro!' Look! Look! Gold! Gold!
'Fuck!' said Hackett.
Ross turned his beam to meet Juarez's - and saw it. Not piles of treasure strewn around in decadent abandon, as the movies showed, but blocks, each one laid out with architectural precision. The ingots formed a six-foot-high version of the ziggurat they were standing in. A few were missing. Who took them? he wondered. The survivors fleeing to found new cities and new civilizations? Sister Chantal?
Mendoza whistled. 'How much is this worth?'
Hackett was wheezing with excitement. He patted his jacket for his inhaler, took a puff and collected himself. 'The last time I checked, gold was about six hundred and fifty dollars an ounce.' He picked up an ingot. 'Each of these must weigh at least four or five hundred ounces and there are hundreds, if not thousands.'
'So we're all rich, yes?' said Juarez.
'Very,' said Mendoza. 'Hundreds of millions of dollars rich. But how do we move it?'
'The river's only a day and a half away,' said Hackett, replacing the ingot. 'We take some now and get suitable transport, then come back for the rest.'
Ross felt strangely detached from the find. It was thrilling, and he wasn't immune to the giddy prospect of limitless wealth, but this wasn't the treasure he was seeking. He thought of how the ancient inhabitants of this place had spilt blood and presented their gold to save what they regarded as far more precious: the fountain, their city and their lives. He, too, would gladly give up his share of gold to save what he loved.
'Ross, where are you going?'
'To get some fresh air and tell Zeb and Sister Chantal what we found.'
'But don't you want to stay and talk about what to do with it?'
'It's not going anywhere.'
Hackett frowned. 'This is an amazing discovery, Ross, yet you don't seem excited.'
'Of course I'm excited. I just think we can decide what to do with it outside.'
'I come with you,' said Juarez. 'I like gold but I don't like this place.'
'Me too,' said Mendoza.
'We may as well all go, then.' Hackett sounded sulky.
Ross walked back to the stairs. As he passed the coffins, he felt Juarez tense. At the same time, he sensed something to his right: a sudden shift in the air, and a feral smell that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He swivelled round.
Juarez was frozen to the spot, staring into the dark recesses behind the coffins. 'El abuelo,' he rasped, as if his vocal cords no longer obeyed him.
In the beam of Ross's torch a black shape moved behind the coffins and two hungry, malevolent eyes stared at him.
Then it roared and sprang.
Ross dropped to his knees as the creature leapt at Mendoza. Then Juarez, the man who was seemingly scared of his own shadow, jumped in front of Mendoza and fired off a shot. It missed and the beast hit the Peruvian, knocking him to the ground and ripping at his throat. Juarez screamed and Ross felt something warm splash his face. As Hackett levelled his pistol and Mendoza raised his rifle, both trying to get a clear shot without hitting Juarez, Ross kicked at the beast with his Timberlands. His steel toecaps connected with hard muscle and the black creature growled in the torchlight, then shot past him.
Hackett rushed to Juarez, who was clutching his throat, eyes staring into the dark. The pyramid of gold was spattered with blood.
'I need a gun,' said Ross, grabbing Juarez's and racing after the animal.
'Where's it gone?' said Mendoza.
'Up the steps,' said Ross. 'To Zeb and Sister Chantal.'
Chapter 45.
Zeb had been grateful for the time alone with Sister Chantal. She had no desire to go down those dark stairs into the fetid bowels of the ziggurat and she wanted to quiz the nun on the forsaken city. 'What will they find down there?' she asked.
'Gold.'
'How do you know?'
'Because I do.'
'How? Have you been here before?' Zeb's frustration was growing. 'Why can't you ever just give a straight answer?'
'Because whatever I say won't change what you believe. What does it matter how I know anything? You now know that water from Father Orlando's garden once flowed here. You and Ross have seen the fountain, the carvings of the story and the plants from the Voynich. You have seen proof of the garden's existence, and once the others have found the gold we can leave them and go in search of it. That's all that matters.'
'How close is it from here?'
'A few days' walk.'
'You're sure it's still there?'
A look of fear crossed the nun's features. 'It must be.'
Zeb was studying the carved image of the dried-up fountain. 'But what if--'
She was silenced by a muffled scream and a gunshot that issued from the darkened stairs. She stood up and pulled Sister Chantal to her feet. Another scream. Sister Chantal walked to the stairs and Zeb followed her. As she looked down into the gloom, a black shape leapt, snarling, at the nun, slashing with its claws, throwing her to the floor. Then Ross appeared and fired a shot into the air. The huge cat darted for the doorway and disappeared outside.
As Zeb rushed to Sister Chantal, Ross ran to the exit, raised the rifle and fired into the fading light.
'You get it?' Zeb called.
'It was too fast.' He ran back to help Zeb prop Sister Chantal against the wall. Blood flowed from a cut on her cheek and she had a large contusion on her forehead. Her right shoulder bore two shallow slashes where claws had torn her cotton shirt but, luckily, her shredded backpack had taken the brunt of the attack.
'What the hell was that?' said Zeb.
'A melanistic jaguar.'
'A what?'
'A black-pigmented jaguar. A panther.'
He sounded distracted and Zeb stared up at him. 'There's blood all over your face. You okay?'
'It's not mine,' Ross said, in a monotone. He was holding Sister Chantal's wrist. 'She's out cold and her pulse is weak.'
Zeb helped him lay her on her back, then loosened her collar. 'We'd better get Nigel.'
When she turned, a dazed Mendoza and an ashen-faced Hackett were walking up the stairs, carrying Juarez between them.
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. As Hackett tried to staunch Juarez's bleeding, he knew his friend was close to death, and that he was powerless to prevent it. As he opened Juarez's shirt to examine the wounds in his throat and chest, he thought of all the times over the last three years they had sat together on the Discovery, drinking Cusquena beer and talking about their dreams.
Juarez had been born in a remote Amazonian village close to the Ecuadorian border but had always longed to see Europe and North America. Hackett had promised that when he returned to London, having found fame and fortune in the Amazon, he would take Juarez with him. Only last night, asleep in his hammock, Hackett had dreamt of lecturing to the Royal Geographical Society. As the great and good applauded, the beautiful Zeb Quinn - who no longer mocked his idiosyncrasies but understood, admired and desired him - stood at his side.
But now his friend would never leave the jungle to live his dreams and, although Hackett had discovered his lost city and its gold, his own dreams of glory seemed hollow too.
Juarez gripped his arm and tried to speak. 'I'm not scared,' he rasped. 'I'm not a coward.'
'I know, my friend,' said Hackett.
'No, you're not,' Mendoza concurred. 'You're the bravest man I ever met. You saved my life.'
Juarez gripped Hackett's arm tighter, a smile playing on his lips. Finally his face relaxed. Hackett closed his eyelids and laid him on the floor. 'He's gone.'
'I'm sorry,' said Ross.
'So am I,' said Hackett. Zeb was kneeling over Sister Chantal, tears in her eyes. As he watched, she
put a hand to her mouth.
'What do we do now?' asked Mendoza.
Hackett sighed. 'I don't know.'
Ross laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Nigel, there's nothing more you can do for Juarez. Why don't you attend to Sister Chantal while Osvaldo and I bury our friend? Then we'll build a fire.'
Hackett nodded numbly. 'I want him buried deep,' he said fiercely. 'I don't want any animals getting to him.'
'We'll make sure of it, senor,' said Mendoza. 'I'll say a prayer, and we'll put a stone on top of the grave.'
Hackett hesitated a little longer, then relinquished his friend to them and moved to examine Sister Chantal.
'How is she?' said Zeb.
Hackett checked Sister Chantal's cuts, contusion and breathing. 'She's concussed, but she appears to be breathing regularly. Her cuts are superficial and the bump on her head looks nastier than it is.' He reached for his medical bag. 'I'll check her blood pressure, then we'll make her comfortable and let her rest.'
'It'll be dark soon,' said Ross. 'I vote we spend the night on the flat top of this pyramid. We can build a fire there and it should be easier to keep away any more unwelcome visitors. If you guys can get Sister Chantal and our baggage to the top, Osvaldo and I'll look after Juarez.'
Chapter 46.
'You want some strong painkillers for your wrist?' asked Mendoza, popping a tablet into his mouth.
'No, thanks,' said Ross, welcoming the pain as he helped Mendoza lower Juarez's body into the hole they had dug in the soft earth behind the pyramid. It distracted him from the gathering dusk and from what they were doing. In burying Juarez he felt as if he was burying a part of himself. He had come here to save Lauren but already his quest had cost four lives: those of the three bandits who had tried to hijack them and now Juarez. As he shovelled earth into the grave, he thought of the strange carvings at the base of the ziggurat and felt a little consoled.
He was close now to either realizing his dream of saving Lauren, or confirming his worst fear that this trek into the jungle had been a waste of precious time and lives. Sister Chantal claimed that from here they could reach the garden and be back in a week, and had seemed confident of doing so without a guide - without Juarez. Depending on how quickly they returned to civilization he could be back in the States in two or three weeks with whatever he found in the garden. His main concern now was the enigmatic Sister Chantal, the key to interpreting the final directions.
the Source (2008) Page 17
