They resumed the walk, Cortés reinvigorated by the discovery. For the first time since they’d set out, he led from the front, his hand moving furiously as he fought his way through the obstructions.
Additional evidence of civilisation appeared frequently as they made further progress. The path ended suddenly with the forest opening up into a glade strewn with man-made objects. More heads appeared amongst the trees, laid out like pieces on an epic chessboard. With them were statues of humans and some of other gods. One stood out prevalently.
“Jaguar statues.” Ben joined Juan at the front, focusing on the latest finds. Still, the noises of the jungle reverberated loudly, the calling sounds of animals nearby a stern reminder that it wasn’t just lost tribes they needed to watch out for. So far, they had seen little to worry them.
Ben knew much could change.
Slowly they proceeded, splitting up to explore the glade. Ben took the right side, heading deeper into the vegetation. He slashed away with his knife, again finding himself ankle deep in water. The squawks of birds now echoed like an evil portent; cicadas clicked out their noisy chorus incessantly. The heat was becoming unbearable. Ben’s mouth was dry, his skin itching from soreness, bleeding and sweat. Water was penetrating his right boot, pooling around his sock, weighing him down. Silently he prayed for the rain to return, at least the cloud, anything to shelter him from the escalating fireball that now blazed down from above. He remembered hearing once that the Aztecs believed gold to be the sweat of the sun, their most revered god’s personal gift to the world, like the manna that fell into the wilderness. He pondered the possibility as he moved slowly forward.
If gold was the sun’s sweat, he was currently bathing in it.
Up ahead he could see more stone objects, possibly more heads. Stopping, he glanced over his shoulder, holding his breath. Mysteriously, the sounds of the woodland had abated, his ears no longer assailed by the shrieks of wild birds. A strange feeling had overcome him.
It was as if someone were watching him.
*
Close to the entrance of the mighty temple, the leader of the onlookers watched through powerful binoculars as the party of adventurers slowly made their way through the ruined city. She was pleased at the way the leaders of the group stopped periodically, apparently marvelling at the incredible artefacts, much like the natives of the past paying homage to their gods.
Cortés was clearly visible to her, as were his relatives. Although she had never met the father of Fernando Pizarro, she had heard enough about him to know she would not like him. Like the present leader of the Cortés household, and the one who came before him, he had a reputation for just one thing.
It would be a pleasure watching him suffer.
Putting the binoculars away, she called to those closest to her and led the way down the steps, careful to remain hidden from view. She calculated only minutes remained before the party would discover the pyramid for themselves.
She sensed movement alongside her: a man, white skinned, dressed in camouflage uniform and well armed.
“Would you like me to shoot him now?” he asked.
In truth, she would have loved nothing more. “No. We will need him to open the door for us.”
49
Ben felt a sudden surge of unease throughout his body. The remainder of his party, most of whom had been following him like well-disciplined foot soldiers since he had found the path, had vanished in the blink of an eye, replaced instead by moving shadows within the surrounding trees.
The wind had picked up slightly, the cloud darker. The atmosphere felt different than before, as though it were now earlier, much earlier, like being back in a different time. He recalled reading in his youth about time slips, how people visiting famous places had found themselves transported back in time, seeing images of the past. At university he had been fascinated by the famous case of two Oxford academics witnessing the bygone days of Versailles, vividly describing the location as it had been in the days before the revolution.
He had always dismissed it as fabrication.
The tree life was wilder up ahead, the colours greener. Slashing away with his knife, he found himself struggling to control his motions, as if he were suddenly possessed or in a trance. He felt disorientated and unbalanced, his body racked with numbness. Panicking, he kicked out; a piercing pain jarred his foot.
At least he knew he was still awake.
Gathering himself, holding the nearest tree for support, he concentrated on the feeling of the rough bark on his palms, strangely reassured by the presence of new scratches on his skin. He hacked away again at the undergrowth, aware once more of the sounds around him. The noises of the woodland had returned; birds flew overhead, circling him like vultures, their threatening squawks seemingly trapped beneath the tops of the trees.
A new noise followed, this time from behind him. He saw movement among the trees. It sounded large, possibly made by a large animal. Though he was still to see any sign of a jaguar or other predatory creature, his instincts told him that there could be some around.
A figure emerged: tall, athletic.
Chris.
“There you are. I thought I’d lost you.”
Ben lowered his knife, breathless but relieved. Rubbing his face, he gathered himself. “I thought you were still behind me.”
“I was, I guess. Don’t go too far ahead. It’s easy enough to get lost around here.”
“Tell me about it. Where are the others?”
“Around. Exploring the ruins.” Chris examined his cousin head to toe. “You need a drink.”
Ben nodded. He used the stoppage to refresh himself, sipping some water and cleaning his face with a damp cloth. He offered some to Chris.
“I’m good. Best be leaving some of that for the journey home.”
They moved on, Chris taking over the job of clearing the path. The ruins were more prevalent than before, their appearances similar.
“What is all this?” Chris asked.
“The early Olmec civilisations weren’t exactly sophisticated compared to the later ones. Their structures were largely stone and clay.” Ben walked across the site of a large number of primitive foundations and other structures that had long since been destroyed by the elements. “Sadly for archaeologists, they weren’t built to last.”
“Judging by the thick growth of the trees, I’m amazed they were built at all.”
“The original city probably dates back to before 2,000 BC. The trees have had a lot of years to grow.”
“When was it abandoned?”
“Well, that depends. Colts still thinks it was partially revived by the Toltecs, which puts it a lot later but still pre-Aztec. Personally, I haven’t seen anything like that yet.”
“Presumably the Aztecs were aware of it?”
“If the legends are true.” He continued to look around, seeing plenty of Olmec-esque features but nothing more modern. “Still, there’s something familiar about this place.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not sure.” Ben headed between another group of trees, rounding yet another stone structure. He stopped suddenly, knife raised.
A man appeared. A gun pointed at his face.
“Jeez, Juan, you scared me half to death.”
Cortés lowered his gun. “I could have done much worse had I not been more prepared.” He looked Ben up and down, observing the recent deterioration in his clothes, cuts to his skin. “Still. In life there are rarely any guarantees.”
“Where are the others?”
“Listen and you will hear them.” He stepped towards Ben, his eyes remaining focused. He unfastened one of the pockets of his combats and removed a semi-automatic pistol. “Here. On loan from my armoury back home. It is best we are all prepared.”
Ben accepted, more than a little surprised. “Thanks.”
Juan did the same to Chris, albeit more reluctantly. “If your friend is right, the watchers could be close at hand. My late cousin’s
father also speaks frankly about the dangers we face.”
“Where are we headed?”
“The Pyramid of the Feathered Serpent is located precisely at the most southern tip of the mountain. I believe the only way to access it is to head north across the ruins.”
Ben nodded. “Then what are we waiting for?”
*
Juliet was lost, despite promising herself she wouldn’t allow herself to be. Ben had made a similar promise; she hadn’t seen him for at least five minutes.
In the sweltering heat, it seemed more like hours.
She heard a faint rustling behind her. A figure emerged; his silver hair and previously perfect moustache dishevelled by sweat.
She recalled his name was Claude.
“You poor man. Let me get you a drink.”
She removed a water bottle from her rucksack and steadied him with her arms. After pausing briefly to catch his breath, he sipped the water gratefully.
“I was definitely wrong; Juan Pablo was right. I am much too old for such tomfoolery.”
Juliet smiled kindly, failing to hide the growing feeling of despondency that she felt was slowly crushing her soul. “Come on. Soon we’ll be out of here. And we can all return home.”
She grabbed his hand and led the way forward, stopping intermittently to inspect the latest ruins. Again, what she saw was incredible; had the circumstances been different, she knew the rich array of primitive objects would have fascinated her. Ben was right, Colts too. A Mesoamerican settlement predating San Lorenzo and La Venta had been found, Olmec influence prevalent. The mighty Aztlán and Tollan were indeed historical.
Surely it was only a matter of time before they discovered the temple.
Tentatively, they pushed onwards, Claude matching her step for step. After a while, she noticed the ruins were becoming more frequent, the recurring pattern of large stone heads and jaguar statues replaced by ruined walls on more open ground. A small stairway, composed of both stone and clay, led to what appeared to be a rectangular plaza flanked at the midpoint on both sides by stone circles.
“Oh my, it’s a tlachtli!” she exclaimed. “This is where they used to play ullamaliztli.”
Claude stuttered, attempting to pronounce the words. “Telati and ullmalitz. You’re worse than Juan Pablo with your made-up words. I also speak English.”
Juliet laughed. “It’s a common feature in all Mesoamerican societies, though I’m amazed they go back this far. It was a game they played; you put a ball through a hoop. Whoever gets it in wins.”
“And the loser gets killed.” Claude nodded.
She smiled at him sympathetically, awed by the discovery. Though they were still separated from the rest of the group, she sensed they had reached the heart of the old city.
Standing alongside her, Claude was a picture of fear. His face was uncharacteristically white, his lip trembled, his moustache twitched as though a live insect had attached itself to his face. As the seconds passed, a similar feeling of panic overcame her, rooting her to the spot. Shadows moved around her, behind, beside and beyond; sounds were becoming louder. She detected a presence. Masculine, but unfamiliar.
She saw movement in front of her.
She screamed.
*
Ben and Juan stared at one another, momentarily frozen. “You hear that?”
Juan nodded, his right hand firmly grasping his gun. He checked that it was fully loaded. “I thought things had become a little too quiet.”
They moved on quickly, Chris bringing up the rear. Ben kept pace with Juan, passing the strange assembly of stone heads and jaguar statues before reaching more open ground.
Three choices awaited: left, right or to continue straight ahead. The former options involved a continued trek through the undergrowth.
The latter, a series of steps that led up to a raised platform.
They stopped at the bottom of the steps, checking for any sign of life. Any sounds of human movement were drowned out by the recurring squawking of the birds, accompanied by local breezes among the leaves.
“I suggest we split up. You two take the paths left and right. I will take the steps.”
Ben agreed. He nodded reassuringly at Chris before taking the passage right through the undergrowth, hoping their separation would be only a brief one.
The jungle was thicker than it had been. A ruined wall, comprising both stone and clay, lined the east side of a solid structure that was largely concealed by shrubbery. The wall rose consistently at an incline; he estimated the full height to be over twenty feet.
Behind the wild shrubbery, he saw serpent decorations carved into the stonework.
A second wall appeared directly in front of him, adjoining the one to his left at a ninety-degree angle and rising to a similar height. Heading to his right, he realised it continued, seemingly indefinitely, leaving his only choices to follow it to the right or head back.
Choosing the latter, he found Chris again close to the steps.
“What happened?”
“Reached a dead end,” Chris replied. “Didn’t like the idea of following it alone.”
“My thought exactly.”
They proceeded cautiously upwards. The stairway ended after twelve steps, the ground evening out, grassy underfoot. A second set of walls bordered the grass on both sides, rising at a forty-five-degree incline, its design like a small amphitheatre. Two stone rings jutted out from the walls at the midpoint on either side.
“It’s a ball court.” Ben was almost lost for words. Memories of the passage beneath the Star Castle flooded his mind. Though he had seen a near-perfect replica, now he was looking at the real thing.
Chris stood alongside him, his eyes alert, his ears straining for any sound of disturbance. He focused on the far end, apparently an exit.
Juan had disappeared.
“Come on. Juan must be on the other side.”
Crossing the ball court, they came to a second stairway heading down into further foliage. The pathway was deeper, more settled, the sounds of nature curiously loud.
Ben went first, descending the steps. His heart was beating wildly, his forehead wet with sweat. The feeling of being watched was now overwhelming; he felt certain that someone was close, perhaps within earshot. He reached for his pocket and removed his gun, tiptoeing his way towards the bottom step. He stopped and leaned against the left wall, concealing himself.
“Stay exactly where you are.”
Ben breathed out deeply, seeing movement alongside him. “Colts, you scared the life out of me.”
Colts’s face was deadly serious, his eyes open wide, his index finger held to his lips. He gestured Ben and Chris to follow him towards the harsh greenery. After studying it for less than a second, Colts diverted Ben’s attention to a muddy pathway that intercepted the undergrowth. Someone was moving close to the borders.
“Come on. Slowly.”
*
Cortés headed down the second stairway and took the passage through the trees. The path ran deeper than the previous one. The vegetation was wilder; any mistakes, he knew, had the potential to be fatal. The light was less bright than it had been; the midday sun had disappeared behind a combination of escalating cloud and the density of surrounding branches. With both came excess heat.
Sweat poured from his head.
It was quieter than it had been. With the animals silenced, individual sounds were more pronounced, though difficult to define. He sensed a presence nearby; probably Ben or his cousin, he mused, wary of proceeding alone.
He removed his gun and eased into the shrubbery, doing his best to ignore the feeling of waist-high growth digging into his legs. Keeping low, he scanned the locality along the barrel of his gun, prepared for signs of life. He heard noises again nearby: vegetation moving, a flapping of wings. He wetted his lips and breathed in slowly, waiting for the moment something came out of the ordinary. Quietly he was becoming concerned.
What the hell has happened to Claude and F
ernando?
He heard another noise close to his ear. Clicking.
Followed by a voice.
“Remain on your knees. A single sound from you and it shall be your last.”
Cortés exhaled slowly, a feeling of impending doom taking over his body. The voice was familiar, punctuated, exact. A man was standing behind him, armed, carefully dressed. Though his skin was white, he knew he had not been among the original party.
Yet still he recognised him.
“Velázquez,” he muttered furiously, “what drugs or hauntings have possessed you to act with such recklessness?”
Velázquez pistol-whipped him across the head, drawing blood. After four hours trekking through the undergrowth, the knock made Juan feel light-headed.
“No more games, Juan. You have discovered all the stones, I know. Deliver them to me now and we can avoid the need for unnecessary bloodshed.”
Juan spat at the floor. “You are a foolish old man, just as my father always suspected. You assume too much for a historian.”
The curator scoffed, a low growl. “You would come all this way to the jungle without them? And after all this time? I think not. Take my advice and hand them over. My friendliness will not last indefinitely.”
“I would have been better to have taken my cousin’s advice and post your torso to the bullfighters. He always said you were a treacherous worm.”
Another bang to the head. “As much as I would love to continue this all day, sadly we are a long way from Spain. In the jungle, exhaustion comes quickly and supplies are not unlimited. Get to your feet. Soon you will see with your own eyes the mysteries your ancestor failed to discover.”
50
Marched at gunpoint, Juan followed the pathway to the end. From the steps that led down from the north end of the ball court through the trees, the route was well defined, as though benefiting from regular maintenance.
The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation Page 98