At first, they saw only the foundation stones where houses had once stood, but further along, they found standing walls of stacked stone. Alvarez ventured into one of these, and found a large tree — an oak, he thought — rising up from the floor. From its size, he guess some thirty years or more had passed since the acorn first took root, but he sensed the house had been empty far longer than that. Nothing else remained of the people who had once inhabited it.
“This is a fool’s errand,” Diaz said when Alvarez came out. “The people who once lived here took everything with them when they abandoned this place. There is no treasure. There is nothing here.”
“You are wrong, my friend,” Alvarez insisted. “The Indians worship their gods by throwing golden baubles into the cenotes. They may have left, but they would not take back their offerings. Perhaps that is why Balthasar did not want us to come here, and even took his own life. He knew that we would plunder the riches given to his false gods. He must have feared their wrath.”
This seemed to pique Diaz’s interest. “And how would we recover this plunder?”
“One thing at a time. First we must find it. And we are close. I can—”
He was interrupted by a cry of alarm from further along the trail. He and Diaz hastened forward to discover one of the men on the ground in the throes of a seizure. The stricken man’s face was scarlet under his beard, and his jaws were clenched, his teeth bared in a rictus. Spittle frothed from between them.
“What happened?” Alvarez demanded. “Was he bitten? A viper?”
Before anyone could answer, the man hissed out a final breath and then was still. The rest of the men began warily searching the vegetation, looking for the venomous serpent that had taken yet another of their number.
Suddenly, Diaz let out a howl of dismay and swatted at his own cheek. “Stung,” he rasped.
Alvarez saw something fall from the other man’s beard, not a wasp or spider, but simply a sliver of wood, a thorn, perhaps.
Diaz stared at the object for a moment, then went rigid and started to topple over. Alvarez reached out to catch him, and as he did, he heard a soft huffing sound. Something flashed past his face, missing him by less than a hand’s width. Alvarez now realized what was happening.
“It’s an attack!” he cried, wheeling in the direction from which the projectile had come. As Diaz collapsed, twitching on the forest floor, Alvarez unlimbered his crossbow and aimed it into the nearby thicket. Muskets were all but useless deep in the jungle; the pervasive moisture rendered powder and match wick too damp to ignite. Before he could loose the bolt however, there was a rustling in the leaves and Alvarez caught a glimpse of green scales, like the skin of a viper.
Snake-men! Balthasar’s warning came back to Alvarez.
He heard more of the soft huffing noises, and the shouts of alarm became shrieks of pain. From the corner of his eye, Alvarez saw more of his men going down.
They were being wiped out, without even seeing the face of the enemy.
“Follow me,” Alvarez called out, raising his sword and charging toward the thicket where he had glimpsed the scaly figure. He swung the Toledo steel blade before him, and as the vegetation fell away, he saw the creature again, all glistening scales, with a crest of bright plumage. The snake-man was facing him, pointed teeth — like the teeth of a shark — bared in a fierce grin. The creature then hurled something at him.
Alvarez slashed at the object, deflecting it away from his head. His blade rang with the impact. The snake-man turned away, disappearing into the jungle again. Alvarez maintained his charge, hacking at the dense foliage to lay bare the white stone path.
All of a sudden, he found himself in a clearing — a plaza, paved with white stone that stretched a hundred paces to the base of the crumbling pyramid. The cenote formed the edge of the courtyard to his left. There was no sign of the snake-man.
Alvarez turned to rally his men, but to his dismay discovered that he was alone. He waited in silence, straining to hear the sound of footsteps or battle, or even the screams of the dying, but there was nothing. Not even a whisper.
But something was moving in the jungle behind him. Sinuous shapes, slithering through the vegetation, silently closing in on him.
He turned and ran, sprinting down the length of the plaza. If he could reach the mezquita, climb its flanks and perhaps even reach the summit, he would have the high ground, and his foes would lose the advantage of concealment. If there were not too many of them, there was a chance — a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless — of survival.
His armor grew heavier with every step until he was no longer running but shuffling across the pavement. Halfway to his goal, he paused and turned to see five of the snake-men advancing, hunched over like stalking beasts preparing to pounce. He steadied himself, taking careful aim with his crossbow. The snake-men continued forward, seemingly oblivious to the danger the weapon presented. He let the bolt fly, and one of the creatures let out a yelp as the quarrel struck home. Alvarez threw down the weapon, then turned away and resumed running, the brief respite giving him just enough energy to reach the base of the pyramid.
He clambered up onto its flanks, hauling himself up the crumbling exterior. He tore his helmet off and would have removed his breastplate as well if doing so would not have required precious seconds he did not have. Something cracked against the stone beside him, a hurled stone that bounced away. Alvarez kept going, his heart hammering, arms and thighs burning with the exertion.
A blocky stone structure had been erected at the apex of the pyramid, but time and neglect had taken a toll. The roof was gone and the upright columns that had once defined the entrance were broken or missing altogether, revealing an altar. The back wall still bore faint traces of the painted bas-relief that had once adorned it, a bestial face that might have been a lion or perhaps a wild dog, stylized in the grotesque fashion the Indians favored. In front of it stood a similarly weathered stone altar, and upon it, a small figurine, presumably the likeness of the same creature, resting on its haunches like a sphinx, a shallow cauldron between its front paws. The relic was about the size of a man’s head, blacker than charcoal or shadow, but adorned with rings of gleaming gold.
Here at last the treasure he had sought. Despite the urgency of the moment, Alvarez advanced into the ruined temple and reached out to the relic.
It seemed to crumble at his touch, and for a moment, he feared that it was as illusory as the dreams of wealth that had drawn him into the emerald hell, but no… the blackness was just a fine layer of dust or perhaps ash. Beneath the black film, there was creamy green jade.
This prize was real.
He left it on the altar and turned to make his stand.
But the snake-men weren’t there. He ventured out of the temple structure, looked down and located them. To his complete astonishment, they were kneeling, heads bowed as if in prayer.
Their passive, almost reverent posture, told him that he was in no immediate danger. Maybe the pyramid was sacred to them, forbidden ground, or maybe they were just going to wait him out. Either way, he could not remain atop the pyramid forever.
Yet, as he lingered there at the summit, his apprehension ebbed. They were not going to attack him, not here atop the pyramid, and not in the plaza below. He was certain of this, though he could not say why.