Dark Tales Of Lost Civilizations (17 page)

Ysabel, it gives me such pleasure to think of you, healthy and warm in our cheerful cottage, attending to your needlework by the fire. You are always in my thoughts.

4 March

No sign of the village yet. Little wonder with the vines (Azco calls them bush-ropes) and creepers blocking our view in all directions. Periodically, one of the Indians shinnies up a tree and confirms our direction, hacking a path for the horses.

I amuse myself with learning more about the flora and fauna of the region. For example, my love, the oulou trees have the sweetest smelling resin, although the wild fig-trees are an endless source of ripe fruit. I am sure this minutia will only add depth to my official report.

In practical matters, there appears to be a hole in my mosquito netting. My arms and legs are covered in welts I am sorely tempted to scratch. Azco has taught me to move my bedding closer to the smoke of the fires to decrease the insect menace, and to rub a concoction of mud and oulou sap on the worst of the bites to deaden the sting.

7 March

It has been several days since I last wrote. I have been battling some kind of sickness and near delirium as we traveled down river. But now that we’ve reached land again I am sure to be on the mend.

Here is what I remember of the past few days: The village where we boarded the canoes was a sad affair. Every man survived the trip; the horses did not. Since they were already close to death and little use, Azco gave them to the villagers to eat. I fear it was a kindness for both the horses and the villagers.

We landed shortly before nightfall and Azco suggested we camp on the shore of the Essequibo River. I admit relief that we will not set out immediately, for my body is still weak and my senses dulled from fever. Another night’s rest should flush out the toxins and set me to rights so that I may properly enjoy this adventure once more.

8 March, Dawn

I suspect the men are talking about me in their odd, choppy tongue. Whenever I meet their eyes, they look away. If I didn’t know better I’d say they were frightened, but of what I couldn’t say. Azco whipped a man last night for some infraction.

I feigned sleep. I do not like to get involved.

8 March, Late Afternoon

At last, we’ve arrived! It seems the men from the market gave us an accurate account of the wall’s location after all. Ysa, I wish you were here to experience these wonders. It nearly defies description, but I will attempt a record, however flawed. The walls are carved in detailed relief, the human figures rendered so exquisitely, with a skill much advanced for this region. I suspect we will find evidence of European influence once I am able to properly examine the markings.

Imagine the acclaim awaiting an explorer who uncovers such a connection. I may even have the honor of naming the new civilization!

9 March

We are certainly in the right place, Ysa. I caught a glimpse of one of the strange beasts that drew us here, and it was magnificent. I recognized it at once from Mr. Sutton’s description.

If I hadn’t been looking I am sure to have missed him. His coloring blends in perfectly with the wet greenery prevalent here. He appears to be an oversized lizard, about five feet long. His long tail curls like a snake, but has some maneuverability. I watched him wrap the end around a vine and use it to hoist himself upward, hugging a tree trunk with his thick, yellow talons, and disappear into the canopy. The creature moves very fast on four legs in a kind of graceful waddle. At the center of his forehead appeared to be a large, white spot which, in an illusory way, acted as its own beacon.

Perhaps nature dabbles in trompe l’oeil.

Forgive my crude attempt at humor, Ysa. I know you consider painting a noble and serious art. Although the jungle evokes a levity you may not find appealing I assure you, my dearest, I remain your faithful servant beneath the mirth.

I must catch one of these creatures. Alive, preferably.

10 March, Morning

Two of the Indians disappeared in the night, spooked no doubt by the sniffling sounds around the edges of the camp. Good riddance. Their kind of outdated superstitious prattle was terrible for morale.

I am convinced it was nothing. Perhaps the rustling of wind as it parted the leaves. Or a small rodent scrabbling for worms in the undergrowth. As you well know, Ysabel, I find cowardice disagreeable and yet I must be charitable. The Indians have the form of men, but are children at heart.

10 March, Mid-Day

I led the remaining four Indians and Azco around the wall and discovered it was built in the shape of a semi-circle, butting against a hill. Mid-way round I discovered an opening, concealed by a matted curtain of thorny plants. I instructed the men, through Azco, to clear a space and their efforts allowed me to pass unmolested into a spacious courtyard, measuring roughly three hundred feet across and one hundred fifty feet deep. In the center of the hill, absolutely covered in vines and overhanging tree branches, was a dense patch of vegetation in the shape of a door, about six feet high. My intuition told me we would find something special there.

The men set to work clearing the vines and soon revealed a grotesque relief carved into the door, a caricature of a man’s swollen face, eyes bulging and tongue lolling from the mouth. Much of the detail was obscured by grime, but I believe it to be extremely valuable. I will take a rubbing and capture the image before continuing.

It is a marvel, darling, this place. Even the mosquitoes think so, for I have not been plagued since we moved our camp inside the walls.

11 March

The door, I was surprised to find, was unlocked. Although once the vines were moved away from the edges, I quickly saw it was not a door in the traditional sense as it lacked the requisite hinges. It would be more accurate to call it a plug, something to stopper the crude opening at the hill’s base.

Time and the elements had taken their toll, and once the vegetation was cleared, bits of stone fairly crumbled away in our fingers. It was a simple matter to pry apart a gap and squeeze through.

Confronted by incessant darkness within, we were momentarily stymied by our need to obtain fresh torches—the wood we’d selected being too damp to catch—however, after finding suitable replacements, we descended.

The torches cast the most delightful shadows on the narrow walls, causing my imagination to run rampant like a child. We descended slowly, the carved steps slick with moss and what appeared to be small piles of excrement. Convenient bush-ropes grew, even here, for us to grip and steady ourselves. As we moved away from the entrance, the rectangle of light behind us grew dim and we became entirely reliant on our torches. As we crept along, the temperature climbed. With each step, the air became denser, more humid. I unbuttoned my shirt three buttons and rolled up my sleeves to the elbow.

With no end to the stairs apparent, the men hesitated and I buoyed their spirits with promises of extra pay. (You see, Ysa? I have learned to speak their language.)

The stairs ended at a square room about one hundred twenty-five feet down—the vines having disappeared about sixty feet down. The men demanded a break before continuing and I granted their request. They crouched on the red dirt floor, fanning themselves and swallowing deeply from their water skins. I myself was perspiring quite profusely and nearly blind from the salty water flooding my vision. Yet what I saw in that room made me forget my discomfort. Every wall was carved into the most amazing panels. The panels appeared to depict progressing events, as if there was a story being told on the walls. I regret to say none of the images were familiar. As I inspected the squiggly lines and contorted limbs by torchlight, the Indians averted their eyes. Perhaps the images hold some mystical significance. I must remember to ask Azco.

Along the far wall, I found an opening about three feet high leading away into darkness. Secured above the opening was an exquisite statue of a young, fertile woman, naked from the waist up, wearing a long black skirt. Her features were blunted by age but she appeared to be decorated in gold inlay, with a third eye carved into her forehead. I imagine the piece will be considered a major discovery by the museum.

I relay this calmly, but Ysa, I can barely stay still. Recalling this experience restarts the pounding of my heart and excites the passion of my brain.

I dropped to my hands and knees and listened at the opening, wondering what other treasures awaited beyond, but only had the impression of vast, unfriendly space.

Then I had the idea to thrust my torch forward. It was still very dark, but I could clearly see the tunnel led into another cavernous room. I could just make out the carved toes of a large ivory-colored statue, proving incontrovertibly that humans once occupied this space, perhaps for ritual purposes. I decided not to advance until we gathered more torches and had obtained sufficient supplies, water being my chief concern due to the sweltering heat.

I noticed Azco’s attention was locked onto something in the opposite corner and I approached him quietly. He was fondling several small skulls I had overlooked, skulls that appeared to belong to the mysterious creatures. All showed signs of violent death. Chunks of bone were missing along the back plate, as if a sharp and serrated tool had been used for the death blow. But most interesting were the foreheads. Where a skull typically bulges at the front, I discovered a strange object embedded firmly in the bone. The object glowed dully in the darkness under its own power. The object is the size of my palm, with the general appearance and hardness of a diamond.

I chose one of the better preserved skulls and wrapped it in a handkerchief to investigate in the sun. Azco asked to take one of his own for inspection. I did not see the harm.

Partially obscured by the skull pile I made the most fantastic discovery of our journey thus far: a nest containing four viable eggs, which I assume to be the creature’s offspring. I have taken one of the grayish eggs and secured it in my breast pocket, nestling it to my bosom for warmth—warmth I had in spades. I feel the specter of that oppressive heat even now.

With luck I will soon observe the creature’s hatching and add to my knowledge of the beast.

I was stopped short by a low keening wail that reverberated through the tunnels and through the low opening in the far wall. The hair on my arms stood on end as I wondered what manner of beast made that sound. To calm the men, Azco suggested it was the wind blowing through cracks in the rock. I have doubts.

Aware of the late hour and uneasy about remaining below ground after nightfall, I instructed the men to return to the surface.

Now I sit in the relative comfort and safety of the courtyard, beside a roaring fire, listening to my symphony of discord, recording my thoughts.

Tomorrow perhaps we will uncover more secrets about this lost civilization. In my wildest dreams, Ysa, these revelations are more than I ever could have hoped.

12 March

Ysa,

I sent two of the men back to the river for water since we have yet to discover a closer source. I learned that although we just came from the river, supplies are already dangerously low. I assumed Azco would oversee the water collection and apparently he thought I was responsible. Hence, we are down to our final drops.

While I await their return, I continue to explore this marvelous courtyard. Abundant evidence suggests this was an outpost for some advanced civilization now lost to the ages, which I am in a unique situation to reveal. Although the jungle has encroached and destroyed several dwellings around the outskirts, I imagine they were sturdy wooden structures in their prime, adept at providing shelter from the frequent jungle rains. In these spaces I have uncovered crudely wrought stone tools and shards of pottery, with faded designs barely visible on the rounded edges. Frequently I have seen similar symbols painted and carved into surfaces that may represent a form of written language. Thus far, my efforts to decipher the complex and interlocking figures have been unsuccessful, however I expect to solve the mystery any day now.

I continue to press the egg securely against my heart. I have not felt so much as a wiggle, but I will not lose hope.

13 March

I have examined the skull in detail. The whitish object embedded in the creature’s skull is a new kind of crystal, harder than calcite, about the same toughness as quartz. When I scratched the surface with my fingernail it did not leave a mark.

The egg—

My egg has hatched! I have named the creature Gilberth. More to come.

The men returned with water a short time ago, so I must write quickly. Gilberth is the size of my palm. His skin is scaly, dry, and luminescent-green, with a hard, grey pebble embedded at the center of his forehead. The pebble is the diameter of a child’s fingernail. I suspect the pebble transforms into white crystal as the creature ages, in much the same way sand is altered within an oyster to become pearl.

I notice that Azco is of a similar mind. He has pried the gem from his creature’s skull and fashioned it into a garish pendant, reminiscent of the impressive Koh-i-Noor diamond we saw at the World’s Fair two years ago. Indeed, the two are indistinguishable to the untrained eye.

Ysa, my darling, I have set one of these strange gems aside for you to fashion into something beautiful.

Gilberth’s eyes are sealed shut with mucus and when he opens his mouth to mewl, no sound emerges. I do not know what my youngling eats. I will attempt a selection of figs and nuts.

Gilberth has not taken anything but water. Perhaps he relies upon mother’s milk. He seems to be in some distress.

I have discovered what Gilberth eats.

I should have suspected, judging by the teeth embedded in the adult creature’s skull, but sometimes we are blind to the obvious. As I was handling the skull earlier, I nicked my finger, spilling a few drops of blood in the dirt. The babe must have sensed this, for he jumped from my shoulder to the ground and hungrily lapped up the drops, eyes still sealed. I was able to squeeze a few more drops directly into his mouth, enough to satiate my tiny monster. Then I returned him to my pocket and he slept peacefully at last.