Holding back his own whoop of pride, Sam ran a finger along the lettering, carefully reading the writing on the first band. “Nos Christi defenete. Malum ne fugat.” Sam concentrated intently as he translated the scrawled Latin. “ ‘Christ protect us. May the evil never escape.’ ” A chill passed down Sam’s spine.
“Not the words you want to hear trapped in a collapsed tomb,” Ralph said.
“Especially when we’re sitting right outside the cursed chamber,” Norman added, eyeing Sam. “What was that you said about the pictograph in the next room? The gateway to Heaven, the gateway to Hell?”
Sam waved the photographer’s fears away. “That’s just a rough interpretation from a Judeo-Christian viewpoint. The ancient Peruvians didn’t believe in a biblical heaven or hell, but in three distinct levels of existence: janan pacha, the upper world; cay pacha, our world; and uca pacha, the lower or interior world. They believed these three worlds were closely linked, and that certain sacred areas, named pacariscas, were where the three worlds came together.” Sam glanced over his shoulder. “From the pictographs next door, I suspect that chamber was revered and protected as a pacariscas.”
Norman stared toward the open doorway to the booby-trapped chamber. “A gateway to both the lower and upper worlds.”
“Exactly.”
Maggie elbowed Sam. “Enough already! Get on with the second band.”
Sam cleared his throat and bent over the etched hematite, this time translating as he ran a finger along the Latin scribblings. “ ‘Lord above, keep us safe. We beseech you. We leave this tomb to Heaven. May it never be disturbed. Beware… ‘ ” Sam read the last two lines and his breath caught in his throat. He leaned away. “Oh, God!”
Maggie leaned nearer. “What?”
Sam glanced at the others. “ ‘Beyond lies the workings of Satan, the will of the Devil. I seal this passage against the Serpent of Eden, lest mankind be damned forever.’ ”
Five pairs of eyes turned to the open doorway.
“The Serpent of Eden?” Norman asked nervously.
Maggie explained, voice hushed. “Genesis. The corrupter of mankind, a tempter of forbidden knowledge.”
“It’s signed,” Sam said, returning their attentions to the hematite bands. “Friar Francisco de Almagro, servant of our Lord, 1535.”
Ralph glanced over Sam’s shoulder. “Didn’t your uncle say he thought the mummy was probably a Dominican friar?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah. This may be the fellow’s last written testament. After sealing the tomb here, he must’ve been killed for some reason. But why?” Sam knelt back upon his heels. “What happened here? What was it about the next room that scared the man so much? It couldn’t have just been the booby traps. Not with that reference to the Serpent of Eden.”
Maggie nodded toward the open doorway. “Whatever the answer, it lies in there somewhere, maybe something the Moche discovered and the conquering Incas usurped. Something that spooked the bejesus out of our dead friar.”
“I wish my uncle were here,” Sam muttered. “We could use his expertise.”
More boulders shifted overhead, grinding like old bones. “I don’t think your uncle would share that wish,” Norman said, eyeing the roof.
Maggie suddenly stood up and collected the flashlight. “I want to see that chamber again.”
Sam noticed how her legs trembled for a second before she was able to take a step away. He suspected most of her stated curiosity was just a desire to move, to keep busy and distracted. He pushed to his feet. “I’ll go with you.”
Ralph stood up, too. “Norman and I’ll go check the next level up.”
Norman’s eyes widened. “I will?”
Ralph glowered at the photographer. “Quit being such a pantywaist.”
Norman scowled and rolled to his feet. “Oh, all right.” He fished out the second flashlight. Denal had found the extra handlamp among the bag of tools abandoned by Gil’s gang.
“Be quick,” Sam warned. “It’s not safe up there, and we need to conserve the batteries.”
“Trust me,” Norman said. “Between Ralph’s company and falling slabs of granite, I’ll be damned quick.”
Denal also stood. He moved alongside Sam and Maggie, making his own decision on where to go.
With a wave, Norman and Ralph set off.
“C’mon,” Maggie said behind him.
Sam and Denal followed her as she ducked through the doorway. Sam noticed Denal quickly touch his forehead and make the sign of the cross, a whispered prayer on his lips, before passing through the threshold.
In silence, the trio returned to the edge of the tiled floor. Gold and silver reflected their light brightly. The Incan king stood bright as a yellow star against the black granite stonework. The ticking of the machinery echoed in muffled time to Sam’s own heartbeat. Tilting his Stetson, he studied the pictograph, tracing the flashlight’s beam from the golden rectangle that represented the physical world, cay pacha, to the distant square that represented the upper world, janan pacha. A zigzag of gold tiles connected the two bases. “Well?” he asked. “What now?” Sam purposely kept the light away from the two bodies upon the floor.
Like a caged lioness, Maggie stalked back and forth before the puzzle. “There has to be a way across,” she muttered. “Solve that and whatever prize lies here will most likely be revealed.”
“The Serpent of Eden?” Sam asked.
Maggie turned to him, eyes bright in the reflected glow. “Don’t you want to know what he meant?”
“Honestly, right now I’d just prefer to get our butts out of here.”
“Well, until then…” Maggie swung back to the tiled pictograph. “I’m going to keep working.” Without another word, Maggie stepped upon one of the gold tiles that made up the rectangle of gold at this edge.
“No, Miss Maggie!” Denal shouted.
Sam reached for her at the same time, but Maggie stepped onto a neighboring gold tile, out of his reach. “What are you doing?” he yelled.
She turned back—not to Sam, but the boy. “What’s the safest path, Denal?”
Sam glanced to his side. The young Quechan stood trembling by the edge of the floor, eyes wild. “Maggie, what are you talking about?” Sam asked. “He doesn’t know.”
“He knows,” she said. “He warned me from stepping on the floor the first time here.” She stared intently at the boy. “I saw a look of recognition on your face, Denal.”
The boy backed a step away.
Maggie continued. “I’ve solved part of the riddle. I stand on the section of the pictograph that represents our world.” She pointed a hand toward the distant rectangle of gold on the far side of the room. “And I must reach janan pacha, the upper world. Isn’t that so? But how do you move across the floor safely? The gold path is too obvious.”
Denal just shook his head vehemently.
Sam lowered his flashlight. “Maggie, Denal can’t know—”
Maggie’s face hardened, and she swung away. She moved to step on one of the gold tiles that stair-stepped toward the distant rectangle.
“No!” Denal called out suddenly. Tears in his eyes. “I’ll tell you.”
Stunned, Sam stared at the teenager.
He seemed to sag under his gaze. “The old amautas of my people. They speak stories of a bad place like this. Very old stories. I no know for sure. But they say that life be balanced between janan and cay. To walk between them, you must balance the sun and the moon.”
“The sun and moon?” Maggie said. She turned to the floor. “Ah sure! Of course.” Maggie stepped onto a neighboring silver tile.
“Maggie! Don’t!”
She ignored Sam and moved back to a gold square. “To follow the gold staircase of tiles, you have to alternate each step with a silver one. Balance the silver an’ gold, the moon an’ the sun.”
Sam called out. “You can’t know that for certain.”
“I’m sure.” Maggie continued across the room, stepping from silver to gold and back to silver again. She spoke hurriedly as she worked across the pattern. “Gold was considered by the Incas to be the sweat of the sun, while silver was the tears of the moon. Sun an’ moon… gold an’ silver…”
Sam stood at the edge of the floor, unable to breathe.
Denal mumbled in his native tongue, fear strong in his voice. “She goes… she no come back.”
Sam barely heard him, his heart in his throat.
He tugged on Sam’s arm. “Miss Maggie must stop,” he beseeched. “The amautas say who travels to janan pacha can never return. She must stop!”
The boy’s warning finally sank into Sam. He jerked as if he had touched flame. “Maggie!”
The surging panic in his voice drew her gaze.
“Denal says that if you cross the room, you can’t come back!”
Maggie glanced toward the far wall, then back at Sam. She still stood on the same tile, but her voice shook. “Th… that makes no bloody sense. Why would the room be one-way?”
“I don’t know. But now is not the time to test it.”
Maggie sighed. “Maybe you’re right…” She stepped back onto the silver tile she had just vacated.
“No!” Denal yelled.
The boy’s scream saved Maggie’s life. Flinching, she yanked back her leg just as the silver tile hinged open under her boot.
“Watch out!” Sam yelled. “Above you!” He had spotted the corresponding gold tile on the roof drop open. A thick rain of spears shot out, whistling, and disappeared into the pit opened under the silver tile.
Maggie had backed from the cascade of blades, legs trembling fiercely. She fell to her knees as the silver tile swung closed again. “Sam…?”
Gesturing wildly, Denal explained, “She must no come back. If starts, Miss Maggie must finish.”