by Betina Krahn
The high-powered flood swept everything in the cavern before it—rocks, men, tools—nothing was left by the time the water subsided. No trace remained of the human effort to penetrate the jaguar’s throne and open his treasure house. Once outside, no longer constrained to a narrow channel, the water spread and slowed quickly, taking with it some vegetation and flattening a few trees with the boulders propelled by the water. The stones at the entrance had been scoured almost white by the combination of sand and water that blew past them. Above the rest, the jaguar’s head looked just as fierce and enigmatic as ever.
It was some time before Castille staggered back to the entrance and saw that Yago, who had been near the entrance when the water broke through, had managed to scramble to the side before the wall of water and rock hit. The bodyguard had survived and it appeared that four other men were moving among the rubble and bodies that littered the canyon floor. Castille rallied them, setting them to look for tools and most important, guns. When Yago asked his employer in a desolate tone what they would do now, Castille looked at the bruised and weary survivors and knew he had to give them a reason to go on serving him.
“We’re here for treasure,” he declared, “and by God, treasure is what we’ll get.” He laughed at the men’s stunned expressions. “Don’t you see? There’s fewer of you now… so each of you gets a bigger share of the riches!”
As fate would have it, one of the things that survived the torrent was the box of guns and ammunition they had taken from the O’Keefes’ camp. After they rested and had some water, they armed themselves, found a still-functional lantern, and prepared to go up the tunnel to see where it led.
Inside, they found one more surprise: Hedda O’Keefe was slumped against the wall in the dripping cavern, soaked and shivering, numb with shock. Castille had Yago pull her to her feet.
“Bring her along,” he said with a smirk at the others. “Never throw away a serviceable woman. Who knows— she may prove to be worth something.”
The rumble from what sounded like a blast sent a shock through the water that caused a series of waves at the shore where Cordelia was cooling Hart in the lake. She just managed to keep his head above the crashing waves and keep them both from being dragged out into the lake. Then as abruptly as the chaos began, it ended, and all was still once more except for the lapping of the water.
She took deep breaths and realized her teeth were chattering. She had to get Hart back up onto shore and get out of this cold water. She called to the old woman, but Yazkuz was still absorbed in placating the Jaguar Spirit.
She floated Hart as far up on the beach as she could, then hurried around him to take his arms and pull him out of the water. To her surprise, the water around her feet began to disappear and his body sank slightly and was deposited on the sandy bottom. She looked up in dismay. She hadn’t even started pulling him from the water yet. How could he be out of the—
The water was receding from the entire beach at a shocking rate. She released Hart’s shoulders and rose, watching the water shrinking. Far out in the lake, closer to one of the stone walls than to the beach, the water was beginning to swirl. Before her eyes, a large whirlpool developed and there was a low rumbling sound that made her grab him again and pull him as far up on the beach as she could. Something was happening to the lake.
Yazkuz rushed onto the stone dock and stared at the water in horror. The lake began to separate from the walls of the caldera, then to disappear—but only around the edges. The rest of the lake stayed in place!
Cordelia ran along the beach looking at the place where the water divided. Part had run down the sloping dry lake bed and the other part remained contained. It was a wall, she realized. There was a huge stone wall—a dam of sorts—holding the lake in place! The lake was manmade!
She reversed directions and ran back down the beach to get Yazkuz. The old bruja struggled not to look at first, but when she saw the blocks of stone that formed the side of the lake, she quickly adjusted to the idea. She raised her skirts, shed her shoes, and ventured out through the muck and sand to investigate.
The stones were huge and crusted with centuries of algae and sediment. But they were ingeniously constructed and, from all appearances, were holding steady. Yazkuz ventured farther and noticed that some of the sand had been washed from the sloping floor and stone was revealed. The old bruja turned back, muttering to herself in wonder, when there was pounding like footsteps and something grabbed her from behind.
On the beach, Cordelia felt herself losing control; things were not making any sense. She knelt by Hart and tried to focus just on helping him. If only there were some sign of improvement. She laid her head on his chest to listen for his heartbeat. The strong, steady rhythm she heard caused tears to well in her eyes. She squeezed his hands, blinked, and looked around. She needed to get him back to some shade, before the sun drove his fever up again.
She was trying to lift his shoulders and thinking they should also get some water into him when the old woman let out a cry that caused the blood to stand still in her veins. Torn between tending Hart and seeing what had happened to Yazkuz, she laid him back on the sand and went to help the old woman.
But as she scanned the beach for the old woman’s footprints, she saw something moving around the stone wall of the dam. She froze at the sight of Yazkuz struggling, thrashing in the grip of a man! The powerful physique, the gun strapped to his shoulder—she was stunned to recognize him. Yago.
Behind him strode Alejandro Castille, rifle in hand, and behind him came four other men bearing guns and— Hedda!
She had stumbled to a halt at the sight of Castille, but now began to run toward them again, calling to her aunt. Hedda seemed bewildered by the sound of someone calling her name and had difficulty locating her.
“Hedda! It’s me!” She waved, anxiety mounting. “Look at me!”
Then Hedda seemed to understand and broke free of her captor and ran across the former lake bed to Cordelia’s open arms. The minute her niece’s arms closed around her, she began to sob.
“What have you done?” she demanded, looking past her aunt to Castille.
“Amazing what you can do with a little dynamite.” Castille stopped a few feet away with his gun pointed at them.
She thought of the booming sound that preceded the draining of the lake.
“You caused this?” She nodded to the lake. “You blew it up?”
“How were we to know there was a whole damned lake behind that cave-in below in the cavern?” He gave a vile chuckle. “Did us a favor, however. Now the boys here only have to split their half of the treasure four ways instead of ten.” He stepped closer. “Where is it?”
“Where is what?” She glared at him.
“The treasure, Senorita O’Keefe. What else?”
She shook her head, suddenly grateful for old Yazkuz’s furious disposal of the gold they had found. “The only treasure here is this remarkable place. Not your kind of riches at all. There’s nothing spendable to be had.”
“You don’t mind if I don’t take your word for it,” he said, motioning his men forward and indicating with his gun that Cordelia and Hedda should go ahead of them. When they reached the pyramid, she helped Hedda to a seat on one of the steps. Castille ordered Yago to watch them while he took the rest of his men up the steps to the temple.
“I must go down the beach to bring him back to the shade,” she said pointing to Hart. “He is ill… por favor, senor… please… help me.”
He looked like he was about to refuse when Yazkuz crept toward him with one eye narrowed, making threatening magic signs in the air. Cordelia could have sworn the thug blanched. He clearly knew and feared Yazkuz’s profession. He draped his rifle over his shoulder and went with her to carry Hart back up the beach and into the shade.
“What happened to him?” Hedda knelt by Cordelia after Hart was settled.
“Remember the plants? He found one that… This time, there may not be…” She couldn’t finish it
. After a minute she looked up. “Are you all right?”
“It was horrible. I’m still shaking. All that water just broke through and—” Tears slipped down Hedda’s sunburned cheeks. “Arturo. It took him. He’s gone, Cordie. Gone.”
“Oh, Hedda, I’m so sorry.” She held her aunt and rocked her.
Yazkuz offered Hedda a handkerchief she had stolen from one of the men.
“Men.” The bruja wagged her head. “Much, much trouble.”
The old woman’s words were borne out a short time later when they heard a thumping on the pyramid steps and looked up to see the temple statue of the jaguar tumbling down the steps, end over end. Pieces of the stone flew off with each bang against the temple steps until the statue took a large bounce and crashed near the bottom in several large pieces.
Yazkuz was dumbstruck for a minute. Then she went roaring up the steps, moving faster than Cordelia believed was possible for a woman of her age. Hedda looked alarmed and started to rise, but Cordelia pulled her back down and held her in place by the arm. A minute later, Castille and his men came thundering down the steps with guns trained on them.
“Where is the gold?” Castille demanded. “Valiente said it was here.”
“He did not,” Hedda spoke up. “He said there were riches. But that could mean anything.” Castille looked at her dispassionately, then smacked her across the face with the back of his hand. Cordelia lunged at him but was pushed back at gunpoint by one of the others. After a moment, Castille came to stand over Hart.
“What’s wrong with him?” he said, giving Hart’s inert shoulder a nudge.
“He’s ill. He has a terrible fever and is probably contagious,” Cordelia said. “You’d better stand back.”
“And you’d better tell me the truth.” Castille drew back his foot and kicked Hart in the ribs. Cordelia would have sprung for his throat—gun or no gun—but one of the men grabbed her tangled hair and held her by it. Castille gave Hart another savage kick that rolled him halfway over. But before he could deliver a third blow, he spotted something sticking out of Hart’s rear pocket and bent to investigate.
He pulled out the golden cuff Cordelia had pulled up from the bottom of the lake and held it up, watching it glint in the brilliant sun. He leveled a fierce, icy stare on Cordelia as he held it up with one hand and put his gun to Hart’s head with the other.
“Tell me where he got this…or I’ll spread his brains all over the sand.”
She glanced up the temple steps.
“What did you do to Yazkuz?” she demanded.
“Tell me!” he roared.
Cordelia looked at Hart and up at the temple and made her choice.
“I’ll show you.”
Minutes later, they were standing on the stone quay, staring down in the water, which had grown disturbed and muddy looking since the blast and subsequent rumblings. Cordelia removed all but her underclothes and slipped into the water. With a last apologetic glance at the jaguar statue, she dove to the bottom to retrieve some of the objects.
The water level had lowered markedly, and she only had to dive ten feet to feel the objects lying on the bottom. She grabbed several smooth shapes and headed for the surface. She piled them on the dock at Castille’s feet and caught her breath as he and his henchmen examined them and celebrated boisterously. It came as no surprise to her when he pointed his gun at her and uttered an order.
“More.”
She quietly asked Hedda to check on Yazkuz, then made half a dozen more trips, collecting quite a pile of golden objects before climbing out onto the dock. When Hedda came back it was with grim news. She hadn’t been able to find the old woman anywhere. She had even checked the lower chambers.
“I did not say you could quit,” Castille snarled. She was heartily sick of seeing that end of a gun.
“I have to catch my breath,” she said, as Hedda put a shirt and a protective arm around her shoulders. “Nothing’s stopping you from going in.” She glanced at his men. “Or them. They look like they could use a wash.”
Castille snatched the golden objects from the men’s callused hands and ordered them into the water to speed up the retrieval. Two protested they couldn’t swim, but the others were quickly stripped and pushed into the water.
“Hey—it’s warm as a bath in here,” the fellow declared.
Cordelia looked at Hedda, wishing she could say what she knew. Something was wrong with the lake. Earlier it had been cool and pristine. Since the blast, it had not only lowered and grown turbid, it had begun to heat at an alarming rate. She glanced at the crater walls. There was only one force in nature that could heat that much water that fast.
Thirty-four
Far below, at the mouth of the canyon, two shaggy, battered figures picked their way through the debris caused by the flash flood, checking the bodies strewn like matchsticks across the canyon floor. They found no survivors until they came to a short, stocky figure lying on his back with his arms flung out.
“The professor!” Itza said through his battered and swollen lips as he knelt to check for signs of life. He didn’t expect to feel those slow but steady breaths against his cheek. “He is alive! Ruz—here—he’s alive!”
The brothers Platano had been left under the watch of one of the less diligent cutthroats in Castille’s band. As soon as the dynamite went off, the man abandoned them to see the results of the blast. They seized the opportunity to grab canteens and machetes and run for the mouth of the canyon. They had just climbed out of the valley when they felt the rumble and heard the water’s roar.
They watched in horror as a wall of floodwater gushed from the opening and they heard rocks and boulders pounding the stone sides of the canyon. They waited for the flood to pass, then cautiously made their way back inside.
Now they had found one of their own. They checked him and found nothing broken. Carefully, they moved him outside the canyon to a spot on the far hill, where they could tend and hopefully revive him. Learning what had happened to Senorita Hedda would have to wait.
Cordelia and Hedda stood together on the dock, watching the surface of the turbid water, wondering if what appeared to be bubbles in the deepest part of the lake were indeed that. They could smell the change in the lake now; there was sulphur in the air. But Castille, obsessed with recovering as much gold from the lake bottom as possible, seemed oblivious to it. Even more alarming, the men who were bringing up the treasures seemed to ignore what was happening. Finally, one of the men came up and crawled out onto the dock.
“Hot,” he declared it. “The water’s just too damned hot.” His beet-red skin bore him out; he was practically parboiled.
But his comrade, intoxicated by the novelty of picking golden treasures off a lake bottom, refused to give up. In fact, he was moving farther out into the lake. He waved, his red face strangely drunken in appearance, and disappeared under the water again… just as a low rumble shook the caldera and a geyser of steam from the lake bed sent a spray of water shooting up. Seconds later, as they watched, the man broke the surface screaming. His flesh was cooked and gray in places, peeling from his bones in others. Cordelia and Hedda looked away in horror. Yago put his gun to his shoulder and coolly shot him between the eyes.
“I ain’t goin’ back down there.” The other diver faced Castille. “Gold ain’t no good to a dead man.”
The problem with gold, Castille soon realized, was that it was heavy. They had to find a way to carry large amounts of treasure out of the canyon and back down the mountains to the village. There, Castille laid out his plan to his men, they could get burros to carry the lot and a guide to take them to the coast. It seemed reasonable to men dazzled by gold’s luster and entrancing color.
While Yago watched the prisoners, Castille took his remaining men and scoured the canyon for something to carry the treasure. They brought back provision bags and a strangely familiar rucksack that they found washed against the edge of the canyon. They packed as much gold as the bags would hold and st
uffed their pockets and shirts with the rest. The bags were much too heavy.
Cordelia watched Castille pacing and cursing and she exchanged grim looks with Hedda. If only they could shrink back into the gardens and wait for the wretch to leave. Then his relentless eye fell on the two of them as they knelt by Hart, holding his hands.
“I said there was always a good reason to keep a woman around. You!” He stalked over and jabbed her with the muzzle of his gun. “Get up—you’re coming with us.” Then he prodded Hedda the same way. “You too.” He gave a harsh laugh. “You’re my new mules.”
The men redistributed the weight of the bags of gold, stuffing some pieces into the women’s clothing, and using the clothes from the dead man in the lake to make additional bags, tying up the ends of the legs and sleeves and stuffing them full. They would have to travel quickly and eat what they could gather.
When they were ready to move out, Castille came to stand over Hart with a dangerous look in his eye.
“Please let me move him,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “This place is unstable.”
“Perhaps I should just put him out of his suffering.” He pointed his rifle at Hart’s temple. “Might make a nice change, being a ‘humanitarian.’”
“No!” Cordelia threw herself over Hart, shielding his head and chest with her own body, gambling that Castille wouldn’t shoot her. Hart wasn’t in pain, wasn’t suffering. She couldn’t bear to have her last glimpse of him be as Castille was murdering him. If there was even the smallest chance he might still live…
Desperately, she drew back and pressed her lips to his.
“I love you, Hart. I always will,” she whispered just as Castille grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet.