paradise.”
“ I fear it is not a portal to Eden,” he said, “but the gates of hell.” The temple completely blocked the pass to the valley beyond. The only entrance into the pyramid was a tapered opening into a narrow, dark tunnel. The two geometric carvings above and to each side of the stone lintel that topped the entrance were stylized eyes, threatening all who would be bold or impudent enough to enter. The entrance was the icon’s mouth. From the look of the worn, wet rock, it had once poured forth the life-giving waters of a small river from the hidden canyon that lay beyond. Now, no more than a trickle dribbled through the mouth to moisten the clearing. The river bed, winding into the jungle to their right, had dwindled into a muddy waste. Somewhere, deep inside the temple, the river had been dammed. Above the front of the temple, the rocky outcroppings on either side of the pass were rounded smooth and bare of vegetation. “The temple is the face of a demon,” he said, “and those rocky outcroppings the shoulders of its wings.”
“ Demon’s wings,” Elias whispered. Truly, it looked like the shoulders of Satan lording over the jungle below.
Captain Diaz unsheathed his sword. “Stay alert, men.” With his left hand, he snatched his knife from its scabbard.
One of the tribesmen shouted with an anger as sharp as the bloodied Spanish sword he jabbed into the air. He wore the grand, red-feathered headdress of their chief. Salvatierra translated his words. “We followed the demon to defend his new empire. We waited to hear from the Almighty God of his golden Breastplate and the Tear of the Moon Emerald. The demon Contreras promised the elixir for our families to cure them when they became sickened with the madness. He, like all Spaniards, only speaks the lies of a snake. He has killed our hearts.”
Diaz grabbed the shaman who had guided them here. He pressed the point of his sword against the shaman’s throat. “Tell them I will kill their holy man if they attack us.”
The chief gestured toward the entrance, his expression grim. Salvatierra’s throat grew dry as he translated. “Enter the temple of the demon’s empire,” he said. “Find your tribe in the demon’s belly.”
The shaman spoke, his voice calm, unequivocal.
“ The tribesmen will not attack,” Salvatierra translated. “They want us to take the devil, Contreras, from their midst. If they kill the Spanish demon here, his spirit will lay ruin to their land.” The shaman’s gaze turned to Salvatierra. “But we must not take the golden Breastplate. They will never let its power destroy others as it has destroyed them.”
Diaz turned and advanced toward the entrance into the pyramid, pulling the shaman with him.
Salvatierra crouched as he entered the dark, dank tunnel behind Diaz’s men. His shoulders brushed against the rough, stone walls. The men were swallowed into the belly of a beast which emitted an unholy odor that reeked like the breath of Satan.
“ I smell blood,” Diaz called back, recognizing the coppery stink. “Act quickly to kill all but Contreras. They think they have us at a disadvantage, forcing us to enter single file. We will show them how men fight.”
The earth shook them with a sudden lurch. Salvatierra fell to one knee. He foolishly covered his head with his arm. The weight of the temple above him would surely crush him if it collapsed. The men rushed forward. They funneled into an inner chamber, their battle cries wrenching the space as they attacked. But, as Salvatierra emerged into the chamber, he saw that the battle had already been waged.
Salvatierra covered his mouth with his hand but the stench of stone dust and death lay thick in his throat. Contreras’s men, all, were beheaded. Their dismembered bodies bristled with dozens of poison blow darts. They lay strewn about like flotsam. Their decapitated heads, with eyes pried open wide with
“ I fear it is not a portal to Eden,” he said, “but the gates of hell.” The temple completely blocked the pass to the valley beyond. The only entrance into the pyramid was a tapered opening into a narrow, dark tunnel. The two geometric carvings above and to each side of the stone lintel that topped the entrance were stylized eyes, threatening all who would be bold or impudent enough to enter. The entrance was the icon’s mouth. From the look of the worn, wet rock, it had once poured forth the life-giving waters of a small river from the hidden canyon that lay beyond. Now, no more than a trickle dribbled through the mouth to moisten the clearing. The river bed, winding into the jungle to their right, had dwindled into a muddy waste. Somewhere, deep inside the temple, the river had been dammed. Above the front of the temple, the rocky outcroppings on either side of the pass were rounded smooth and bare of vegetation. “The temple is the face of a demon,” he said, “and those rocky outcroppings the shoulders of its wings.”
“ Demon’s wings,” Elias whispered. Truly, it looked like the shoulders of Satan lording over the jungle below.
Captain Diaz unsheathed his sword. “Stay alert, men.” With his left hand, he snatched his knife from its scabbard.
One of the tribesmen shouted with an anger as sharp as the bloodied Spanish sword he jabbed into the air. He wore the grand, red-feathered headdress of their chief. Salvatierra translated his words. “We followed the demon to defend his new empire. We waited to hear from the Almighty God of his golden Breastplate and the Tear of the Moon Emerald. The demon Contreras promised the elixir for our families to cure them when they became sickened with the madness. He, like all Spaniards, only speaks the lies of a snake. He has killed our hearts.”
Diaz grabbed the shaman who had guided them here. He pressed the point of his sword against the shaman’s throat. “Tell them I will kill their holy man if they attack us.”
The chief gestured toward the entrance, his expression grim. Salvatierra’s throat grew dry as he translated. “Enter the temple of the demon’s empire,” he said. “Find your tribe in the demon’s belly.”
The shaman spoke, his voice calm, unequivocal.
“ The tribesmen will not attack,” Salvatierra translated. “They want us to take the devil, Contreras, from their midst. If they kill the Spanish demon here, his spirit will lay ruin to their land.” The shaman’s gaze turned to Salvatierra. “But we must not take the golden Breastplate. They will never let its power destroy others as it has destroyed them.”
Diaz turned and advanced toward the entrance into the pyramid, pulling the shaman with him.
Salvatierra crouched as he entered the dark, dank tunnel behind Diaz’s men. His shoulders brushed against the rough, stone walls. The men were swallowed into the belly of a beast which emitted an unholy odor that reeked like the breath of Satan.
“ I smell blood,” Diaz called back, recognizing the coppery stink. “Act quickly to kill all but Contreras. They think they have us at a disadvantage, forcing us to enter single file. We will show them how men fight.”
The earth shook them with a sudden lurch. Salvatierra fell to one knee. He foolishly covered his head with his arm. The weight of the temple above him would surely crush him if it collapsed. The men rushed forward. They funneled into an inner chamber, their battle cries wrenching the space as they attacked. But, as Salvatierra emerged into the chamber, he saw that the battle had already been waged.
Salvatierra covered his mouth with his hand but the stench of stone dust and death lay thick in his throat. Contreras’s men, all, were beheaded. Their dismembered bodies bristled with dozens of poison blow darts. They lay strewn about like flotsam. Their decapitated heads, with eyes pried open wide with
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