Coin

by Ronil Caine

  “This is a lucky coin. Priests made them for the emperors to use in war and power. In older days, Incas understood powers of nature. Priests could influence luck. Spirits of ancestors helped. The coin is a symbol. Understands human, understands spirit. Connects emperor and spirits and nature...” Hawka lifted up the coin and in the yellow light of the torch it looked even older, more valuable and entrancingly mystical. The old man carried on. “Coin was with emperor until death. Went to earth with him. Brought ill luck on people who wished ill for Sun King. But ill luck is different for you. Coin does not work for you.”

  Luis considered what this could mean. Maybe the ill luck fell on those who wished him harm. But it did not sound plausible. Marcos? The passengers of the plane? No, it was not right. The coin did not work for him? Probably, but why? The old Inca seemed to read his mind and answered his unspoken question.

  “World changed. Nature changed. Powers are different. Spirits are angry. New man is bad to nature. Does bad to nature. Luck coin brings bad luck. It collapsed, that collapsed,” Hawka said a word none of the Incas knew in Spanish, but Luis could deduce it was balance that collapsed. The powers of nature which the coin could once control, collapsed, and this made the coin function differently. The coin of the Sun King worked differently five hundred years down the road in the hands of an investment advisor, Luis thought, and that was hardly surprising. But to think it became so harmful... But who could say it worked well even in the past? Perhaps the Inca priests could never make a proper lucky charm, only a cursed one like his.

  Hawka added another sentence that made the entire picture clear.

  “Coin demands sacrifice for luck. Any sacrifice.”

  Luis understood it now. Perhaps in the ancient times, it harmed those who were against the emperor. The spirits of the ancestors helped it and they knew who the Inca’s enemies were; but he was not special, and when he had luck, anyone around him could have bad luck. The coin, the spirits were satisfied with anyone.

  “How could I get rid of it?” Luis asked.

  “Coin feels. Coin knows you. You are its master. Coin is yours alone. You cannot throw it away.”

  The bitter thought that he had to die to protect his family and all the other innocents around him crept back into Luis’s mind again. He had come all this way in vain; nobody could solve his problem. The coin was a curse and there was no absolution. He asked the question he knew he had to ask.

  “Can I kill myself?”

  “Yes,” the old man said and nodded, which dipped his entire face in shadow. His ancient eyes glinted faintly, but they reflected truth, not danger. Luis could feel he was not lying. “The coin does not protect you. It protects your luck.”

  Luis felt a little relieved but was happy he did not try to kill himself earlier. The thought that the Incas could be wrong crossed his mind, but they looked like they knew what they were talking about. And he did come to know the coin’s powers firsthand. The events he went through could not have been a string of pure coincidence.

  Perhaps there was another way out but he did not have the time to find it. The risk was too great and he feared Camila’s and Marcos’s health and lives were at stake.

  “I want to get rid of it,” Luis said.

  “You can only get rid of it through your death,” the old Inca answered and handed him the coin.

  12

  Luis never wished for anything. He did not want great things out of life, only small pleasures. He did not wish for riches, at least not any more than all the others for whom a great fortune and the carefree life money could bring were out of reach. He wished he had not picked up the coin. Had he let it be swept down into the sewers, perhaps it would not have had the power to hurt anyone. The passengers aboard the Airbus would be alive, safe with their families, friends, clients. Marcos would not have broken his leg, their house would not have burned down, they would not have millions of pesos and he would still be a struggling financial advisor. But would it really have turned out that way, had the coin not intervened? Luis could not bear to think of that.

  He made peace with not seeing his family again. They would never find out what happened to him. Poor little Marcos would grow up without a father, just as Luis did, even though he promised he would never leave his son the way his father had left him. But it did not matter; what mattered was that they would be safe. Maybe ill fortune would not haunt them and at least he would leave them a nice house and a stuffed bank account, thanks to the coin.

  It occurred to him that perhaps the Inca did not know what he was talking about.

  Hawka and a few strong men escorted Luis to a cliff by the village at dawn. In the morning light, Luis could see that the village was built on terraces cut into the hillside. Most of the houses were made out of mud with branches and dried leaves for roofs, but there were a few stone houses with wooden beams above them, paved roads, stables and plantations.

  The Incas seemed to be a tad too eager to assist in his suicide for Luis’s taste, but he could not blame them that none of them offered to try to kill him. Hawka told him they would see him to a place where he could step over into the realm of the dead and that there was nothing more they could do for him. The rain stopped overnight and left a pleasant fragrance in its wake.

  “The coin,” the old man said. “Hold it, but don’t grab it tightly, or it will follow you in death.” Hawka handed a small, wineskin-like pouch to Luis. “Drink this. It helps.”

  One of the men crouched down by the edge and peered into the ravine before turning his attention on Luis.

  You want a front row seat, right? Luis thought, but he did not mind it. He drank the liquid Hawka gave him and handed back the pouch. It had no taste and he found it scarier than if it had been as bitter as bile or if it had burned his throat as he swallowed. What could it have been? Snake venom? Drug? Alcohol? Would it kill him or just make him more relaxed? He did not feel anything yet except for a slight queasiness, but that was due to the altitude.

  The cliff gave a rare view of the bare hills and the valleys covered in lush forests. Luis nodded and stood at the edge of the cliff. A veil of mist shimmered between the peaks, looking for a way out to freely float away. The first rays of the sun blinded Luis and caressed his face with warm fingers. He looked down. The ravine was at least two hundred feet deep and it kept calling him with its rocks and the dry debris at the bottom.

  “Certain death,” Luis thought. “These Incas aren’t joking.”

  Luis turned back to the old man standing peacefully a few feet away from him one more time. There were three other Incas with him, the same three men who greeted and escorted Luis the night before.

  “What does the inscription say?” he asked. “The text on the coin. What is it?”

  “It means ‘Luis’s luck’. It was written in an ancient language only the priests knew.”

  “And you can read it?”

  “No, but every coin has the name of its master. Legends say so.”

  Luis did not doubt that. He nodded and said thank you in a small voice to all the Incas with him, and to his life, to the world and to the gods, hoping maybe they existed and could hear him.

  It was time. Luis stepped to the edge of the cliff and closed his eyes. He decided to jump off with his eyes closed: he thought it would be just a moment afloat in the air and the end would hopefully be too fast for him to feel any pain. He held the coin between two fingers. He focused on the sunlight one last time. He enjoyed its warmth. He thought about Camila and Marcos and took a step forward.

  13

  For a moment, Luis almost stood mid-air before gravity pulled him down. With his eyes closed, he felt like he was swimming towards the sun, he was floating, nothing and no one could hurt him anymore. He did not feel anything around him but the sunlight.

  He turned over in the air and slammed into the cliff. He opened his eyes cautiously. He was hanging on a rope. He did not plummet to the bottom. His eyes filled with tears of relief, confusion and fear.


  His right leg was held by a noose and three Incas held the other end of the rope. Did they put the noose on his leg as he stepped off the cliff? Or before that? They saved him. They stopped him. But why?

  The three men at the end of the rope and Old Hawka were standing above him and peering down over the cliff’s edge. They did not laugh; it was not a joke. They pulled him up carefully and Luis plopped down onto the stones. The old man gently put his hand on his shoulder. Luis was shaking like a leaf. He prepared for death and the fact that he was still alive seemed unreal to him. He shivered, even though it was not cold, and his feet were shaking so badly he knew he would not be able to stand up for quite a while.

  “Where is coin?” Hawka asked. His voice was quieter and friendlier than before.

  Luis looked at his hands and searched his pockets. It was gone.

  “I can’t find it. It’s gone,” he said and started to laugh despite himself. His tears spilled over and ran down his face. Hawka rested his hand on his shoulder like he meant to support him or give him strength. “I dropped it...”

  “You lost it,” Hawka said. “No more coin. But you could not just throw it away. Coin feels you. Coin knows it’s yours. It knows your death.”

  Luis considered this. From the moment he found it, the coin stuck to him like a parasite. It even had his name on it. It helped him, but it destroyed everything around him. He was not able to throw it away or lose it consciously, but when he gave up his life, he could drop it. The coin or the harmful spirits behind it knew he would die and the connection was broken. But was it even possible? Or was he just swept away by a strange stream of coincidences from the very first moment, and only his strange trial could end these accidents?

  He went through the events of the previous few moments. The Incas brought him to the cliff because they could control events here. That man did not crouch by the edge to get a better view of his death, but to put the noose on his leg as he stepped forward. The three men came to hold the rope. The old man, even though he could not have been sure his plan would work, tried to help him and succeeded.

  “Changing nature is bad,” the old Inca said and took his hand off Luis’s shoulder. Luis was already better and the sun rose in its full splendour over the valley. “Coin is curse. Plays with forces of nature. Plays with forces of Mama Pacha.”

  Luis nodded and let the others help him up. He wondered how much time would have to pass before he could reach into his pockets without fearing the coin was there.

  “Now go your way!” Hawka said. “Anqas leads you to other village.”

  Luis wanted to hug the old man but restrained himself. Instead, he asked one last question.

  “What was it I drank?”

  The old man started to laugh and the three men laughed along with him. Hawka’s face smoothed out as he laughed, except for the deep crow’s feet around his eyes. His laughter was raspy but it made Luis feel better.

  “Yaku,” he said. “Water.”

  Luis laughed with them and took another long look at the land around him. They would never see each other again and he would not have the chance to pay them for saving his life. His heart constricted at this thought, but he pushed down his bitterness and subdued himself up. He got a second chance; he had to make the most of it.

  “Thank you,” he said. He waited a few seconds, thinking the old Inca would clasp his hand, but he did not. Luis turned around and followed Anqas.

  It was a long way home, and Luis had time to reflect on his life and what had happened. He felt as though a heavy burden was lifted from him and could hardly wait to see his family again. He hoped he would have good luck on his side—but if not, he would settle for ill luck to avoid him.

  The End

  Ronil Caine's first novel is available at Amazon.

  LILIAN

  A Japanese company offers special services to the extremely wealthy in complete secrecy. They are able to copy any celebrity, so that their clients can enjoy a week or two with them at an exotic holiday resort, be it their crush, a hot actor or actress, a friend or a foe, the girl next door, anyone.

  Robert Turner, an American multimillionaire is contacted by an enigmatic businessman who offers him their services. Turner, convinced that life doesn’t have anything new in reserve for him takes up the offer, and so begin the happiest and most dangerous two weeks of his life. Yet, in the end nothing turns out as planned.

  Ronil Caine’s debut novel represents a new generation of hard science fiction with round characters amid a thriller full of tension, that stays with us long after we have put the book down.