by Ruth Eastham
The move bought Ben a few precious seconds. He clasped the mask in two hands and hoisted it towards the empty face, stretching up, desperate to find the crucial extra height he needed.
Thoughts came to him in snatches as he strained upwards: When the mask is replaced … his power will be restored … he will welcome all lost spirits into the sanctuary of his city…
This is it! Ben told himself. Just a little higher! With a cry of effort, he lifted the mask level with the head, and he felt a strong pull between the two surfaces, as if they were being drawn together by some strange magnetic force.
“Dad,” Ben whispered. He fixed the mask into place, and it fitted exactly against the curving face, clamping smoothly round it.
He heard Erskine give a shout – and watched him slither down the statue.
Ben drew back and held his breath, hardly believing what he’d done, hardly daring to hope. He waited, watching.
The seconds ticked by… His eyes flicked at his friends, and he saw Yara crawl towards Rafael and help him to sit up, and the two of them gazed up at Ben with questioning looks.
Panic squeezed Ben’s chest. What was wrong? Had the mask not attached properly? He reached up again to check. It was locked rigidly in place, but still Ben had no feeling of any kind of change.
Where are the spirits? I should feel something, surely, Ben thought – something has to happen.
But the gold was cold under his touch. Dead.
The mask’s lustre faded in the diminishing light, its intricate patterns disappearing into shadow.
“It hasn’t worked?” Erskine stared up at the statue, his lips curling into a small smile. “It hasn’t worked.”
“It has to,” gasped Ben. His mind buzzed with confusion. Had he been too late? But there was still light outside – it wasn’t nightfall yet.
Still the mask stared back at him, lifeless. Had the reflection he’d seen been a trick?
Erskine scooped the other mask from the floor. “You failed, Jaguar Boy.”
He strode towards the window.
Ben kept his position on the plinth, watching the professor.
“You chose the wrong mask, Ben?” Yara chewed her lip.
“How did you decide which one to take?” fretted Rafael.
“I’m sure I did choose the right one,” Ben told them. He watched Erskine angle the mask in his hands, using the light from the window opening to examine it; then the professor lifted it to his face.
The jaguar pelt bristled round the man’s shoulders. Ben saw Luis’s dried blood on Erskine’s hands as he held the gold mask.
Gold and blood.
Ben’s mind snapped back to his visions and what they had shown him; the sufferings of the past, all because of gold: the destruction of sacred objects; the disease; the murders. The unquiet spirits needed a sanctuary, he believed that more than ever now.
And he needed his dad back.
“I did choose the true mask, Yara,” Ben said again, hearing the sureness in his voice. “You’ve got the wrong one, Erskine.”
“You would say that, Jaguar Boy!” the professor scoffed. “Anything to deceive me!”
And without another word, with a sweeping gesture, Erskine put the mask on.
Ben cried out. He heard Yara and Rafael gasp. All three of them stared at Erskine standing by the chamber opening. The thick, dark fur was spread wide over his shoulders and hung down in a great wave. The jaguar’s fangs over Erskine’s head touched the top surface of the gold.
The man seemed taller, broader, thought Ben with a shudder. Through the mask, the man’s cold eyes were looking straight at Ben.
Yara spoke up. “There is something happening!”
Ben craned forward, trying to make out what was going on. He saw a movement at the border of the mask. It was as if something alive was scuttling over the surface, making the metal flex and ripple.
Tendrils of gold were growing out of the edges, flicking backwards and forwards, searching for skin to latch on to. When they found flesh, their ends attached, then swelled, sealing the mask on to Erskine’s face.
The professor’s mouth broke into a small smile, and his chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath.
“No!” Yara’s face was tight with panic.
“It’s working, Ben,” Rafael wailed up at him.
Ben gaped at the Professor, fascinated and horrified at the same time as the gold tendrils continued to spread. They slithered down Erskine’s neck, finding the gap along the collar of his shirt. The man’s eyes widened. His smile vanished. A choking sound bubbled from his throat.
And now Erskine’s hands were on the mask, wrenching at it, trying to prise it off.
Erskine tore at the mask, but it was fixed solidly to his face, the gold flooding over and into his skin, merging with his body.
Ben saw him wrestle the jaguar pelt from his back and it fell to the floor, but that did nothing to stop what was happening.
Erskine’s shoulders went rigid. His flailing arms became restricted to jerky, desperate swipes. Now he seemed able to move his arms only from the elbow, no longer able to reach the mask. Then his arms locked in a contorted, pleading gesture. His hands grasped at the air.
“What’s happening?” cried Rafael.
Ben saw a yellow colour appear from the sleeves of Erskine’s jacket, staining the skin as it moved over the backs of his hands, then his palms, then crawled along his fingers. The professor’s fingertips twitched and then went still, fixed into stiff claws.
Yara gave a horrified cry. “He is turning to gold!”
Screams of agony echoed round the chamber and Ben had a sickening image of the gold seeking out living tissue; seeping through skin, muscle, bone; burrowing deeper; reaching towards the lungs, the heart…
Then Erskine’s shrieks were cut short. Through the mask Ben saw his mouth frozen open, a garish glow to his lips and teeth. Gold spread towards his scalp, turning even the shafts of hair to brittle strands of metal.
Only the man’s legs were still able to move. He stumbled round the room, his steps rigid with the growing weight of his body.
Ben saw him dangerously close to the plummeting drop from the chamber, and instinctively he started forward to try to pull him back…
But it was too late. The man teetered on the edge, his legs locked, his eyes glazed over, the colour of sulphur…
And he fell.
There were the clangs of metal smashing against stone as the gold man hit the steep steps of the temple, and Ben winced with each thud, shuddering as the sounds faded into nothing.
And then the first earthquake hit.
The temple chamber shook. A crack appeared in one wall, branching like a broken artery across the stonework.
“We’ve got to get out!” Ben shouted to his friends.
“But you have to complete your trials, Ben!” Yara cried, as she and Rafael crouched on the floor, eyes wide.
“But I don’t know…” Ben’s words were cut short as another quake struck. A zigzagging gap appeared in the floor. He felt the plinth lurch, and he shunted down on to the bottom step. A floor slab jutted up like a gravestone. All of them winced as a great chunk of masonry slammed down from the ceiling and shattered. Jagged rubble blocked the stone door.
“There’s still some daylight left!” Rafael blinked at Ben through his glasses, only one shattered lens still in its frame.
“But I don’t know what else to do!” Ben told them desperately.
The temple chamber rattled. There was the grating squeal of stone against stone. And over the noise of the earthquake came another even more menacing sound from the far end of the valley.
From his vantage point, Ben stared out through the chamber opening.
His eye skimmed over the buildings of El Dorado, along the valley; to the great stone barricade at the far end.
The dam.
Cracks had appeared in its surface and water was pouring through, quickly becoming torrents as the barrier fragmente
d.
Another tremor hit, and with an explosive thud, the dam gave way. Water burst out, gushing in a great, dark wave towards the city; a gigantic wall of water swallowing everything in its path. The earthquakes died away, but the water was unstoppable. It cascaded from the broken dam and raced along the streets, submerging whole houses within seconds.
For a few moments Ben stayed there frozen, watching the wave approach. By the time he uttered a warning shout, it was already way too late.
Water smashed against the great temple and slammed across the floor, swirling up to flood the chamber.
Ben gasped as a shock of cold spilled into his boots, and up his legs to his hips.
“Can’t swim!” Rafael’s arms flailed, one eye huge through the broken lens as the current lifted him off the floor.
“Raffie!”
Seeing Yara kick towards Raffie and clamp an arm under his chin, Ben braced himself to dive from the statue and go to them, but she shook her head hard at him.
“The mask!” Ben could hardly hear her shout over the hiss of currents. Yara was mouthing something else now, as she trod water, pointing wildly at the statue as she fought to keep herself and Rafael afloat, but Ben couldn’t make out what she was saying.
Water rose up Ben’s chest, the cold of it making him short of breath, and he hoisted himself up on to the top step of the plinth. He scanned the flooding statue of the golden king, then the swamped chamber.
The light was almost gone. Shadows reached towards him. The black jaguar skin was being carried on the water. Ben remembered the reflection of the jaguar’s face he’d seen in the mask.
The floating skin rotated fast so that the lifeless head looked away, then faced Ben, then looked away again, the empty sockets seeming so unnatural without…
Ben straightened, gasping. It was suddenly so clear. Of course. Of course!
Yara must have read the look on Ben’s face, because there was new grim excitement in her own strained features. He saw her nod hard.
More water poured in with renewed ferocity, and Ben got unsteadily to his feet as this new burst washed over the top of the plinth, rising rapidly. He felt the dead weight of his saturated clothes as the level reached his throat.
You can do this, he told himself. You were chosen for this.
As the last light disappeared from the chamber, Ben ran his fingers up the statue’s neck, clutching at the gold, feeling for the face.
Battling the tug of water, he pulled the sodden bark pouch from his pocket, and lifted it clear of the surface. He extracted the jade and amber spheres from inside.
They felt warm under his touch as Ben gripped them hard and raised them towards the face of the golden king. He held his breath as water streamed over his mouth and nose.
Free the spirits, he pleaded silently. Give them sanctuary here.
Please allow my dad to leave their world.
He slotted the stones into the eye sockets of the mask, seeing them fuse seamlessly into place.
The spheres glistened with a soft luminescence as they were covered with water.
Ben let go, heart thudding, and began to drift away. From under the water he saw a glow ripple over the mask, warmth radiating as its gold merged with the gold of the statue. The glow spread downwards through the water, until the whole of the golden king – the whole chamber – shone with a pulsing light.
Yara and Rafael’s faces glowed gold. Ben swam to them and they clung together as they were swept from the chamber into deep, open water.
Ben stared round them as he trod water beside Yara, with Rafael in between.
Where the valley had once been there was now a vast lake, from which only the very top stones of the temple could be seen. Round it the water had an otherworldly glow. The sky was now strangely cloudless; a rust-coloured moon was rising over the lip of its sheer sides, casting ghostly beams.
None of the three friends spoke. They let the fast-rising currents carry them, transporting them into the heart of the lake.
Where are the unquiet spirits? thought Ben. Where’s Dad?
Ben’s numb fingers gripped Rafael. He felt the water pressed round, draining away his body heat; slowing down his senses. How long can we float like this, in such cold water?
He thought of trying to swim towards the sheer rock edge of the basin, but his legs just wouldn’t respond, his aching muscles seizing up. He was exhausted, struggling to keep himself afloat now, let alone Rafael as well, and he could see Yara was having the same difficulties. In the night sky, Ben saw the first star appear, and then another. More stars emerged, until the night sky was teeming with them, their points reflected in the dark water.
The final, uppermost part of the temple submerged, and El Dorado was gone, hidden beneath the expanse of rippling lights.
Ben felt himself start to sink.
And then they came…
“and in the ruined hall are seen works of beauty”
MANUSCRIPT 512
There was a sighing, like a long, slow breath out. It was nothing more than a vague sensation to Ben at first, a faint shimmer in the water around him like a heat haze.
Then something was moving through the water towards them. Flitting shapes that seemed to be all at once both liquid and light.
Now Ben could make out ghostly figures, and they were heading directly at them, nearer by the second. He clung to Rafael and saw Yara’s eyes wide with fear.
Ben cried out as the first of the eerie forms reached him in a wave, passing by him, through him… The sensation was like a pulse of electricity; like rushing bubbles of oxygen across his skin. Warming.
Women, men, children… streaming past and through, part of the water, and yet separate from it. Their fluid fingertips brushed Ben. He heard their laughter, strung like coloured beads along the threads of current. He saw that their eyes were wide with anticipation.
Ben felt Rafael tense, and then relax, held up by the water, his face brimming with wonder. Yara’s eyes shone.
Around them became thick with the spirits, and now there were faces Ben recognized.
They were the people from his visions – the boy with the long, dark hair, the shoals of golden fish of his bracelet glimmering on his arm as he came close.
There was the little girl with the round face, her skin no longer marked with disease, her features lit by an unearthly glow.
There was the mother with her baby, her expression serene; her child sleeping contentedly in her arms.
Smiling, the spirits reached out to touch Ben as they passed, and all around him the water seemed alive with them.
They circled, stretched out their arms in greeting, and in farewell. Ben tried to clutch their hands, but it was impossible to get a hold. They slipped through his fingers like air, like smoke, and continued on.
Still they came, those released spirits: the people of the forests, the conquistadors, the lost explorers, until it seemed to Ben that there was no water at all, only their shifting, flowing forms. They moved across the water, and then, with barely a ripple, dived towards their sanctuary; spiralling into the secret depths of El Dorado.
Ben looked urgently into the spirits’ swirling faces, searching, hoping…
And finally he saw what he had been yearning to see.
There was a figure being carried fast towards him with the spirits.
Dad.
A longing shivered through Ben as he reached out towards his father.
But he was coming so quickly – would he be able to catch hold of him; to stop him from continuing on with the spirits, away and down? Ben stretched through the water, desperately straining against the current.
Give him back to me… “Please give my dad back!” He shouted out the words.
As the spirits skimmed past, Ben snatched at Dad’s arm, gasping as he felt real fabric, real flesh. Dad is alive! Ben held on as tight as he could, but already he could feel his grasp slipping.
“No!” Ben tried to increase his grip, but dad’s momen
tum was too strong. And just as dad was about to spin away from him, Rafael and Yara shot out their arms, so that all three children had a hold.
Live, voices whispered through the water. Live!
And the four of them drifted away from the river of spirits, clutching one another.
The water level rose still higher, and they were pushed up the side of the valley as it continued to fill, pulling them to the very top of the basin.
There was no time to feel afraid.
They clasped hands tight, fingers interlocking as the water overspilled the rim of rock. And they were swept over and down…
Down.
“Shadow,” said he,
“Where can it be—
This land of Eldorado?”
EDGAR ALLEN POE (1809–1849)
Ben felt the sun on his back. A gritty taste on his tongue. From somewhere nearby came the sound of moving water.
What had happened came back to him in snatches. Being carried over and down, riding the great smooth water in the darkness, like he had been on the back of some black living creature.
Dad? Yara? Raffie?
He dug his fingers into sand and levered himself up, getting shakily to his feet, and his eyes adjusting to the scene: a sluggish river; a rocky ridge on one side, covered with trees. Mountains in the distance.
Two pale faces turned towards his, wet hair clinging to their foreheads, and he rushed over to them. “Yara! Raffie! You OK?”
Raffie opened his eyes. His glasses were gone, but he smiled in Ben’s direction. Yara sat up, coughing. “You did it, Ben,” she said.
“Yes, you did it!” whispered Rafael.
“We did it,” said Ben. He scanned the riverbank and saw a man lying a short way off, looking golden in the sunlight. Then Ben was running, shouting, feet wildly pounding the shore. He sank to his knees and cradled his dad’s head in his hands.
Dad looked up at him, eyes glinting. “Told you I’d find you, Ben,” he joked.