by Rick Hautala
WIDDERSHINS
Hollie Snider
Humidity rose from the ground in rainbow opaque wisps. Gentle rain ticked against verdant leaves and cascaded along smooth tree trunks. The surrounding jungle smelled of green, growing things in rich earth with an underlying tang of decay.
The scent reminded Dara Kincaide of greenhouses, hot garbage, death…and life. Unseen flowers bloomed within the Peruvian cloud forest, sporadically filling the air with phantom sweetness. The effect was akin to catching an occasional breath of fresh air while standing waist deep in a rotting refuse pile.
“Our first day,” Dara said. She smiled at the student expedition group. Susan, Edgar, Jimmy, and Francine grinned back at her, excitement shining in their eyes.
Kevin, Dara’s husband, checked the packs on the four guanacos one last time. “Let’s get going. Those ruins aren’t going to inspect themselves.” He snugged his rafting hat on and picked up the lead rope belonging to the nearest guanaco. Kevin led a train of three llama-like animals down the well-used path. Dara picked up the fourth animal’s lead.
Dara swatted at the back of her head, shooing the guanaco away from her hair. The curious beast stepped faster, moving to walk beside her, sniffing. She looked into its large, brown eyes, noting the extraordinary length of its lashes and feeling a little jealous. Why is it animals and boys always get the longest eyelashes?
Scents of hot, wet hay and damp fur tickled Dara’s nose as the guanaco nibbled her shoulder. She shrugged the lips away. “Just don’t spit on me.” Long lashes closed in a slow blink, then the animal’s ears pricked. Dara listened, too, wondering what the animal heard.
Droning sounds of insects thrummed in the air. Then something else, something…slithering crossed her path. The noise came from deep in the soil. Dara stared at the dark earth, trying to see into its depths. Nothing met the intense gaze. Wary, Dara stepped wide and continued, throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder. The guanaco hopped across the implied snake trail, refusing to set foot on the it.
Rain stopped and itchy moisture settled on Dara’s skin. She felt like ants crawled along her spine and wove through her scalp. Knowing scratching would only add to the discomfort, Dara sought to ignore the sensation. The prickling strengthened, and she tried not to scratch, instead rubbing calloused palms along both arms. Even the smallest abrasion would open her skin to infections in the jungle.
Why did I plan an expedition into a South American cloud forest in December? Sooner or later, I will remember seasons are reversed down here.
Their expedition moved along the snake and spider infested trail, winding ever-deeper into the hellish environment. Kevin led the way, hacking at the overgrowth in places. After two hours of walking, he called back, “Do we need to stop and rest? You all looked a little winded.”
Dara glared at him as he stood, auburn hair plastered to his head. Sweat ran along the sides of his face and dripped from his rounded chin.
“Yes,” called Susan, one of the students. She dropped her backpack with a heavy thump. “Please.”
“All right. But just a quick break,” said Kevin. He flashed a boyish grin. “I want to see these ruins before the world ends in three days.”
Susan and Francine swayed on their feet. Edgar sipped from his canteen, looking for all the world like he wanted to gulp the entire contents.
Dara took a drink from her own and almost choked. Water, ice cold this morning, now tasted metallic and stale. Tepid fluid did little to quench her thirst.
The last student, Jimmy, stood next to Kevin, showing no apparent signs of suffering. Sweat stains spotted his shirt, but he breathed easy and didn’t touch his canteen.
Jimmy’s from the Louisiana bayous, Dara reminded herself. This is probably like home to him.
“Okay, let’s move on,” said Dara.
Designated P42CF, the newly discovered ruins appeared to show traits not belonging to South America, according to the preliminary reports. Unusual findings of Egyptian styled hieroglyphics and Sumerian cuneiform writing made up the majority of the missives filtering back to the USA. Those determinations brought Dara and Kevin, along with his top four archeology students, to the Andes; the most beautiful hell Dara had ever seen.
With a collective groan from three students, the group moved on, heat and humidity combining to keep a ponderous pace.
Some distance ahead, Dara heard running water. The sound reminded her of wind through aspen leaves. A longing for the cool weather and dry air of the Wyoming Rockies rose in her. Imagining snow, she put one foot in front of the other, occasionally pushing the nosy guanaco away from her hair.
Broad-leafed trees towered above, stretching to the heavens and blocking most of the sunlight. Dara looked up, knowing the sun was there in that azure sky, yet not having visible proof other than muted greenish light. The cloud forest felt darker, more menacing. A quetzal called, its sudden voice startling Dara. She looked around, desperate to acknowledge the bird’s existence. She needed to know those in her little group weren’t the only living things, outside of snakes and spiders, in this jungle of giants. The bird eluded her, well-hidden in the dense, intertwined treetops like some colorful haunt.
Dara stepped off the trail, hoping to sight its bronze, green, and red plumage from a different angle. The guanaco balked at first then followed with hesitant steps.
Thick undergrowth closed around her. Faint voices spoke, words unintelligible, hideously luring, reminding her of the infernal susurrus of orchid bees and other winged insects. Leaves rustled, the innocent sound somehow ominous now. Heavy panting and coughs came from behind Dara, and she turned to find the guanaco, sides heaving and eyes rolling in fear. She struggled to calm the beast even as her own panic rose. The animal screamed, a high, bleating call. Maguay rope scraped skin and burned palms as the guanaco pulled free and bolted.
The deep, slithering sound returned. Dry skin against dry earth. Noise sizzled in Dara’s ears. Blood pounded through her veins as if searching for escape. Pressure rose and throbbed in her skull. Neck muscles tightened and shoulders hunched. Dara’s body drew in upon itself, curling toward defense.
Sibilant voices grew louder, chanting monotones. Dara strained to listen, to understand the almost recognizable words. Her brain screamed to get out, get away from the menacing chorus. Dara couldn’t move, as rooted to the soil as the trees caging her.
Vines shifted and fell, coiling at her feet like fat green serpents. Loops of the ropy tendrils dropped all around, entangling her in their serpentine grasp. Leaves quivered in anticipation. Tree branches bowed and bent, groaning as if under a tremendous weight. Psitherisms rose from faint, buzzing murmurs to incomprehensible gibberish. No human mouth could ever form such words.
Dara raised her hands to cover her ears, when a new demand broke through, banishing the chanting to the background.
Kevin! Calling my name!
He sounded muffled, faraway somehow.
Why does he sound so distant?
“Kevin?” called Dara, voice weak with fear. She turned and found the trail beneath her feet once more.
Kevin stalked toward her, leading the escaped guanaco.
“Dara, you’ve got to keep up,” he said. “If you fall behind and get lost, we’ll never find you.” Kevin thrust the animal’s lead at her. “If Peggy here hadn’t tried to bolt past me, we’d never even know you disappeared until we made camp.”
She hugged him, wrapping her arms around his strong torso.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Kevin stroked her hair.
“Nothing,” she said. Dara looked over her shoulder, expecting to see something creep from the undergrowth. Only the trail and dripping leaves met her fearful gaze. “Let’s keep going. And who’s Peggy?”
Kevin pointed at the guanaco. “Don’t you remember her name?”
“Oh, Right, yeah.” Dara studied the path behind. Nothing. “Peggy. Sure, I remember.”
“You sure you’re all right?”
Dara winced as Kevin
squeezed one hand. He looked at her palm. Angry rope burns met his gaze. “Why didn’t you just drop the rope?”
She snatched her hand away. “There wasn’t time. Peggy was fine one minute then freaking out the next.”
“Why aren’t you wearing your gloves?”
Dara pushed past him. “Gloves? In the cloud forest? As if it isn’t hot enough.” She turned and walked backward a few steps, still moving away from him. “And I thought you were in a hurry to get there. Doctor Halsey and the other teams are supposed to meet us there the day after tomorrow so we can start this dig officially.”
Kevin followed, shaking his head.
*****
Finally, after almost a day’s travel, the group reached the perimeter of the dig site. Fire, in the form of sunset, raged across the small, treeless depression in the mountains, glistening off clouds blanketing the opposite forest, and licking around the plateaus. Just beyond the forest’s edge stood the discovery of the century.
Ruins glowed orange and shadowy, ominous and forbidding, yet irresistibly intriguing. They shimmered in the oppressive humidity, a spot of surrealism in a valley of green and bronze and copper reality.
Terraces traced horizontal lines across the cliffs, stepping down to a river gurgling below. Verdant grasses grew in the andinas, overtaking what had once been farmland for sweet potatoes, onions, and maize, along with other crops. Below, nearer the river, only circular depressions resembling meteor craters remained of ancient farming experiments for crops with different water and temperature requirements. Aqueducts, carved through whole rock in some places, hugged the sides of the fields, carrying water from mountain streams to irrigate the fields and provide drinking water.
Unlike other Peruvian ruins, these were not separated into an agricultural sector and a citadel. Buildings of various sizes dotted the area. Houses and stables intermingled with temples and storehouses. A small amphitheater squatted central to the surrounding buildings. Curved stone benches wrapped around a raised dais looking to be about twelve feet in diameter.
Ground fog curled about the buildings and crept over terraces, caressing stone with cold fingers.
Dara gazed at the sight before her. They look like some Andean Brigadoon. I wonder if the ruins will vanish in the morning.
The expedition of six crept forward, light and shadow playing tricks with vision. Shapes shifted and roiling gloom appeared to reach for the group as they passed.
“There are ghosts here,” Dara murmured. “P-forty-two-C-F belongs to the dead.”
“And the dead keep it,” said Jimmy. The group snickered at the Lord of the Rings reference, breaking the supernatural spell.
*****
Kevin, Jimmy, and Edgar set up camp with a mixture of eagerness and disappointment since no explorations could begin until sunrise. Dara, Susan, and Francine collected firewood and prepared the evening meal.
“So, what do you think this place is?” asked Susan.
“Given the andinas and aqueducts, this place had to have been a farming community along the lines of Machu Picchu,” said Jimmy. “Only I think this place may be older.”
“What makes you say that?” asked Kevin. “We haven’t seen much yet.”
Jimmy shrugged. He stirred the dried beef stew for a moment. “I don’t know, really. Just a feeling.” He raised one hand. “And before you say anything, no, I don’t know any more about the feeling, no, I don’t know where it’s coming from, and yes, I will pay attention to it as we are digging.”
Kevin smiled and shook his head.
Quiet solitude reigned over the evening. Somehow, after Jimmy’s statement, conversation seemed blasphemous in the midst of ancient relics from a by-gone civilization.
Kevin banked the fire and all retired to tents for the night.
*****
Morning came sooner than expected, sun rising red and raw over the site.
Surveying the area, Dara wondered just who had sent back the findings to the university. The dig site was still pristine, and the ruins appeared to be untouched. Mosses and lichens covered the stones and spread over the nearby land, surrounding the structures in a living moat of green. No sign of human activity, much less active digs in the area, existed, and yet the reports came.
Directly addressed to me, not Kevin. Strange since he has a doctorate and I’m not even a full professor yet.
She pulled out the crumpled letter and re-read it. The brief missive contained the standard greeting, a line of information about the site and GPS coordinates. An illegible signature scrawled across the bottom.
The return address had no sender’s name; only Bradford College in Haverhill, Massachusetts. The school’s seal made up most of the letterhead.
Dara stuffed the letter back in her pack with the report folder, making a mental note to figure out why the account had been sent to her.
Kevin had done some research after she’d shown him the file. The coordinates were valid, and he’d found references to others planning an expedition to the same area, including a group led by his mentor, Doctor Halsey. Dara had doubts when they started, but now, being here, seeing the ruins, those feeling fled. She looked around the site.
A swath of about two meters separated the forest from the ruins on three sides. On the fourth, to the west, rose steep, rocky cliffs, jagged and towering; angles so severe in places, they gave the impression of being paused mid-topple. Native grasses and scrubby bushes stuck out from gray crags, both holding the rock together and tearing it apart. Below, the moraine stretched across the valley, full of glacial till. Dara suspected she would find stone from the till had been used as building materials.
Treeless valleys in the middle of the cloud forest were not a common site. Someone had to have spent much time continually pushing back the growth, and yet there was no remaining evidence.
No tree stumps, no tire tracks, not even a little used road anywhere, thought Dara. Just a trail we followed that’s more a glorified cow path.
Dara ignored her husband and the students plotting excavation grids. She walked through the remains, noting what she thought was a temple with four outer buildings. The layout would form a rough cross if drawn on paper, she noted. And they seemed to date from different time periods in the Inca civilizations, with the sacred building being far older than the others.
As she explored further, Dara concluded the ruins did not belong to the Inca.
“Did you find something, Professor Kincaide?”
Dara started at the voice and turned. She hadn’t heard Susan’s approach. “Just call me, Dara. I’ve told you this, Susan.” She smiled at the younger woman. “I’m not a professor yet.”
“No, but you will be. Anyway, did you find something?” Susan studied the wall behind Dara. “I noticed you weren’t laying out grids, so I thought you might have found something and might need my help.”
“Maybe.” Dara turned back. “Let me show you, and you tell me what you think.” She held out a page with quick sketches covering it. “First, if you mark each building on paper, they form a cross shape, like a Tau.”
“It looks like a T, not a cross.”
“This would be a Greek cross, not the Latin one you’re more familiar with.”
“Ah. But why would these buildings be laid out in a cross of any shape?”
Dara smiled. “That’s the first question I have. Look at this architecture, too.”
Some of the designs matched Inca style, such as the elongated trapezoidal windows and doorways, but the large frescoes were reminiscent of those found at Jericho.
“Why would the Inca paint their walls like this?”
Flapping came from overhead, and both women looked for the source. A red kite hovered in the currents, the attached camera snapping photos for the aerial documentation of the site. Dara studied the movements of the kite then waved when the lens turned toward her.
“That’s my second question,” said Dara, attention returning to Susan. “The Inca painted murals, but w
hy would these be so similar to the ones at Jericho when none of the others at different sites are?” She took Susan by the arm, leading her through a low doorway. “Come with me.”
They walked through three more rooms before exiting and heading to a wooden structure. Sunlight streamed in, unhindered by the thatched roof, painting bright swipes on the dirt floor. A long trough lined one wall, and pegs stuck out at regular intervals from the walls.
“This is a stable,” said Susan.
“And look over there.” Dara pointed to the far corner, beneath one end of the trough.
Still buried up to the nose, a human skull stared back at the two women. Clay covered the bone that could be seen, and the eye sockets had been inlaid with small clam shells. Again, reminiscent of those found at Jericho and not native to this side of the world.
Could there have been other civilizations here? Could the Sumerians or the Babylonians have reached South America?
Susan bent to study the skull, reaching out then stopping herself before making contact. “The skull seems to have Caucasian markers, not the Mongoloid associated with these people.”
“Remember though,” Dara said, “that mummies with Caucasoid features were found in the Paracas burial caverns in the ninteen-twenties. And those skulls showed evidence of trepanning, too.” Her words felt at odds with her thoughts, and she wanted to share them with Susan but couldn’t. Dara had to remain the teacher and not fall victim to excited speculation.
Susan looked up at Dara. “So, you’re saying these oddities can be explained through diffusion theory?”
“No. I’m pointing out that a few inconsistencies have been found at other sites, but none seem to have the number found here.”
“You haven’t shown me much that couldn’t be explained by either diffusion or previous, unreported discovery or even a hoax,” said Susan. She studied the skull further. “You just said other Caucasian mummies were found in Peru, and these shells are bean clams, common on sandy beaches all over the world.”
Dara smiled. “The central building here seems to be a temple. Let me show you something else.”
