Gold Disks
June 17, 1952
Near Cuernavaca, Mexico
Fernando tilted his head back, his eyes squinting hard against the hot, late afternoon sun. The water from the canteen slopped out as he greedily gulped, moistened his cracked lips, then trickled over his chin and down his neck.
"Hey...watch it," said Jorge. He grabbed the canteen, accidentally spilling some water on the ground. He cursed under his breath. "We’re starting to run low," he told Fernando.
Fernando cupped his hand over his mouth and wiped the water away from his chin, smearing it around to the back of his sweaty neck. "Relax. Another two hours, it’ll be dark. We’ll camp for the night by a stream and have plenty of fresh water for the trip back tomorrow."
Jorge drank from the canteen before passing it on to another member of the group, whose name escaped him. The man took the canteen with a nod of thanks.
Jorge shielded his eyes as he looked up towards the crest of the hill before him. He saw David Beecham, standing in silhouette, the sun just behind him, studying a map in his hands. He’d occasionally glance up, looking over the arid landscape sprawled out before him, then back down at the map. The land was overgrown with mesquite and yucca. Patches of prickly pear cluttered the dry, cracked soil.
An archaeologist by profession, thirty-seven-year-old David Beecham also taught at the University of Canterbury in Christchurch, New Zealand. He’d taken time off from teaching to spend two months in Mexico, searching for artifacts of archaeological significance. He’d hired nine men, including brothers Fernando and Jorge Vázquez, to accompany him, help with any digging that may be required, and tend to the burros packing Beecham’s equipment.
David mopped his brow with the palm of his hand. He took a last look into the distance before folding the map. He turned as he tucked the map into his back pocket and rejoined the group.
"Let’s head out," he said in Spanish, with his thick, New Zealand accent. "We’ve got another five miles or so to go."
The group stirred as they gathered up the reins and ropes tethered to the burros’ bridles. One of the men took a handful of water from the canteen and splashed his sweat-soaked face with refreshing relief. The burros would have to wait for the nearest stream to quench their sand-dried throats. All the canteens were then packed away. The men had to swat or pull hard on the reins to get their tired and weary burros moving again. David Beecham took the lead with his burro as the group continued on.
An hour passed. The trail had long since disappeared and they were carving a path of their own. Sunset was still an hour or more away. David Beecham had a substantial lead on the rest of the group. The burros were now refreshed and re-energized. They had come upon a stream twenty minutes earlier and the burros took to it heartily. The setting sun was also dropping the temperature to a tolerable level. The men were surprised, however, when David informed them they were continuing on, not stopping to set up camp just yet. It was getting late, and none of them were sure if there was another stream ahead. David and his burro had started out again from the stream before the men could question him. However, their doubts and concerns soon dwindled. Since David Beecham was going to pay them well for their services and loyalty, the group followed.
They saw David stop on top of a short hill, the golden glow of dusk a vast curtain before him. He had turned and was calling back to them. "It’s just over there," David shouted. The men picked up their pace to catch up with him. They high-stepped over the cacti on the ground and brushed past green bursts of rabbitbush. Fernando was the first to join David at the top of the hill. His jaw dropped.
"Las Rocas de Sangre?" Fernando gasped, his brow furrowed in disbelief.
Jorge, still a few steps away from the top of the hill, shot a glance at his brother upon hearing his words. He scrambled up the rest of the way as the other men stopped dead in their tracks. Jorge stood beside Fernando and David.
A half-mile away in the distance stood the rounded, weather-worn cluster of monolithic boulders known locally as the Blood Rocks.
"You’re taking us to Las Rocas de Sangre?" Fernando stared at David.
"Yes," said David simply. He shrugged his shoulders. "Why?"
Down the slope, the other men turned and ran back the way they came, towing their burros and David Beecham’s equipment with them. "Hey!" David shouted. "Where are you going?!" The men continued their escape. "Goddammit," David muttered in English. Then, to Jorge, in Spanish, "Where they hell are they going?"
"Anywhere but here, Professor," Jorge angrily replied. "I can’t believe you dragged us all out here. If my brain hadn’t been boiling in this ungodly heat today, and I’d realized the direction we’d been going, I’d have stopped you long ago." Jorge turned and headed back down the slope. Fernando gave David a cold stare before he joined his brother.
David chuckled. "Please, god, tell me you’re not letting a little superstition make you tuck tail and run."
Jorge turned and indicated the ground around him. "Professor, did you happen to notice that there is no trail here? There’s a reason!"
David was growing angry. "I am not letting a rumor keep me away from the treasure there." He pointed to Las Rocas de Sangre.
"There is no treasure there, Professor," said Fernando. "The only thing you will find there is your death. I suggest you come back with us, because if you continue on, you will go alone. As you can see, none of us are interested in joining you."
"I’ll take the salaries of the other seven men and give them to you two," said David, trying his best not to sound desperate. "I can easily get back to Cuernavaca on my own, but I need at least some help if there’s any excavation that needs to be done."
Jorge said, "I, for one, am a little more interested in living than in money, Professor. We’re not going with you."
David let out an angry sigh. He marched towards Fernando. Fernando and Jorge tensed, wondering whether David was going to strike Fernando. Instead, David reached for a shovel strapped down onto the bags on Fernando’s burro. He pulled the shovel free and headed back up the slope. He busied himself with tying the shovel to the sacks draped across his own burro’s back.
"We’ll see to it that the rest of your equipment will be put away and waiting for you at the hotel in Cuernavaca, should you decide to turn back before reaching Las Rocas de Sangre." Jorge paused as he watched David tighten the knot around the shovel and shake his canteens to make sure they were full. Jorge continued as David feigned disinterest. "If you’re not back in town within the week...we’ll know you made it."
David took his burro’s reins and headed down the opposite side of the hill, not bothering to look back.
"It’s not worth it, Professor Beecham!" Fernando called, in one last effort to dissuade the man.
Jorge sighed. He looked at his brother and shook his head. "Let’s go, Fernando." The brothers led their burros down the slope, quickening their pace to catch up with the rest of the retreating men.
After fifteen more minutes of hiking, Las Rocas de Sangre drew nearer. David had stopped cursing his men some time ago. But, he was still appalled by their fear. He had figured they knew about the superstition surrounding the area, but had hoped the men would be more interested in the money he’d promised them. He’d already shown them how capable he was as an archaeologist. Over the course of a month and a half, they had found valuable clay pottery, a writing tablet full of pictographs, and a gold ring that David was sure had once graced the finger of a Spanish conquistador. All these wonderful artifacts had been carefully packed away in the sacks slung over his burro. As much as David enjoyed hunting for these treasures in the field, he loved the research in the laboratory afterwards even more. He was excited that he had saved the best for last...Las Rocas de Sangre.
The treasure allegedly buried somewhere within Las Rocas de Sangre would be the end all, be all of archaeological finds for David...indeed, for anyone. The superstition surrounding the place was laughable, in his opinion. He had heard the stories of grave robbers found dead there years and years ago. Rumor had it that evil spirits lived in the dark hollows of the rocks. These spirits, called Los Niños, had supposedly attacked these robbers and had slowly sucked their lifeblood away, leaving dry and shriveled corpses behind. David chuckled softly.
He was suddenly stopped short as the reins in his hands pulled taut. He turned to see his burro frozen in place. He tugged on the reins. The burro protested by jerking its head back and braying.
"What are you doing, you stupid animal?" David said. "Christ." He sighed as he walked back towards the burro, grabbed hold of its halter, and pulled it forward. Hesitantly, the burro trudged on.
David approached the huge boulders that gave the area its name. To his left, the sun was about to kiss the horizon, and, in the fading light, the landscape looked alien. Las Rocas de Sangre were eerily red, standing out in an area predominately sandy and earthy in color. As David inched closer to the rocks, they seemed to tower over him, piercing the sky from his perspective. He looked straight ahead and saw that a sandy trail led to the rocks and disappeared behind a bend.
His pulse racing with anticipation, David took hold of the burro’s reins once again and continued on, past the two gigantic red rocks that flanked the trail. The two guardian rocks, one leaning and bearing its weight on the other, formed a massive entrance, seemingly into hell. The setting sun set the rocks on fire with color. Shadows fell across the length of the rocks, revealing a smooth surface, eroded by centuries of wind and rain.
David’s eyes shifted from side to side, up and down, as he made his way through the rocks. They were scattered in such a way that it seemed one was always looming over his shoulder, as if put there intentionally by some trickster god. The god’s ploy was very nearly working, as David’s pulse momentarily quickened with mild concern, rather than excitement. But, David quickly caught himself. They’re just rocks, Beech, he told himself, using the nickname his friends had given him when he was a teenager. They’re not going to bite you.
As he rounded a corner, David suddenly heard a noise. He stopped and listened. He tilted his head slightly. Was the sound behind him? He turned his head, but saw only the burro at the end of her leathery reins. David cleared his throat. "Come on, girl," he said loudly, just to hear the sound of his own voice. "We’ll find the—"
As he spoke, he heard the sound again. He looked around, trying to determine its origin. What does it sound like? What does it sound like? David paused. It was a whispering kind of sound, like a long sigh, like wind through a gap in the rocks. Wind through a gap in the rocks. Of course, you idiot, that’s what it is. David let out a deep breath. He was angry for letting himself get spooked over nothing.
He pulled on his burro’s reins and trudged on through the sandy soil nestled between the gigantic red rocks. It was slowly darkening around David. He looked up through the narrow seams of the rocks overhead. Their very tips, hundreds of feet over his head, were still emblazoned bright red by the setting sun. David watched as the light on the rocks slowly recessed to a dull, rust color as the sun cast its last light. A veil of dark, blue-grey sky crept from east to west, swallowing the warm lavender and soft pink of dusk. David saw stars slowly start to show themselves on the young night sky. Though there had been no wind all afternoon long, dust suddenly picked up and swirled around David’s feet. He then felt a cool breeze caress his neck, or perhaps the hair on his neck was simply standing on end.
Strange shadows danced over the rocks, turning them a deep, bloody red. David did a double-take. The shadows and rich color of the rocks made them appear warm and wet, like blood oozing slowly from an open wound, leaving a viscous trail of death and ruin.
David paused for a moment. He reached out his hand and ran his fingers along the rocks. He found them smooth and dry. Still, he looked at his fingers and ran his thumb across them, relieved, he supposed, that they weren’t dripping with blood. He slowly looked around, seriously debating whether or not he should turn back around, return to the nearby stream and camp for the night. He could come back here in the morning, when the light of day could mask his encroaching...yes, he had to admit it...fears.
David angrily tsked and shook his head. "Stop it, Beech," he said aloud. For fuck’s sake, you’re letting a silly superstition toy with your mind. He laughed softly. Evil spirits. Please. David rolled his eyes.
He had heard of the rumors long ago, read them in books, had been reminded of them only a month ago as he mindlessly nodded while listening to people back in town warn him to avoid the area completely. According to the superstition, the evil spirits, Los Niños, hid in the elements of the earth and attacked you before you even had a chance to defend yourself, protecting their precious treasure. The death itself is said to be long and drawn out as they slowly and painfully sucked the lifeblood from your body.
Lifeblood...blood...Blood Rocks...
Once again, David shook his head, angry for letting fear cloud his thoughts.
It’s dark, he told himself. Get your torch. Yeah. There you go, you half-wit. Your torch. David went to his sacks and fished out his silver, metal flashlight. He clicked it on and the beam threw a warm, comforting spotlight on the rocks and the sandy trail. "All right, now keep moving." He pulled on the reins. The burro resisted. David tugged harder and the burro gave in, following David deeper into Las Rocas de Sangre.
Up ahead, roughly ten feet in front of him, David’s eye caught the glint of a contrasting color, different from the red of the rocks and the tan of the sandy trail. He had seen it even before his flashlight beam had fallen on it. Near the base of one of the rocks, David saw a small, flat, gold disk.
He stopped. He was amazed to have even seen it, what with so little light here between the towering rocks. Had his flashlight played across it, or if the sun were shining overhead, the disk would have blinded him. It was that plain to see, even at this late hour.
They do exist, David thought with a smile. And, on top of the ground, no less. So much for the shovel.
David stepped forward to get a better look at the disk when suddenly his burro reared back and brayed loudly. The echo was deafening and jump-started David’s heart. He tugged on the reins, but the burro was able to stumble backwards, her eyes wide with fear.
David yanked harder. "C’mon! Let’s go!" he yelled, but the animal’s hooves were buried in the sand. David pulled again. The burro wouldn’t budge. She pulled back her lips and worked her tongue over the bridle’s bit, trying to push it loose. Finally, David cursed and gave up. Still keeping the reins taut, he tucked his flashlight under his armpit and worked one hand over the other as he drew himself closer to the burro. Even in the dim light of the flashlight, David could see the defiance in the animal’s eyes. But there was more than just a simple unwillingness to cooperate in her round, black eyes...there was genuine fear.
David had once heard that animals could sense the supernatural.
An uncomfortable feeling of apprehension tugged at his mind. He quickly shook it off as he remembered the gold disk. The animal’s just being stubborn. He paused as he tried to reassure himself of that explanation.
David took the reins and anchored them around a nearby rock on the ground. He stood and moved towards the burro. She jerked on the reins as he got closer, trying to free herself. David reached out and patted her forehead, trying to calm the burro. The animal did calm down some at David’s touch and stopped stomping her hooves.
"You stay put," said David. "I’ll be right back."
David reached for the flashlight under his armpit. He fumbled with the handle and it slipped from his grip. It landed straight up and down, the glass lens buried slightly in the sand, completely cutting off the light. The sudden darkness took David by surprise as he reached for the flashlight. He could barely see his hand before his face, it was so dark. He quickly glanced up at the sky overhead. The blackness of night had come quickly, the sky littered with stars. He took hold of the handle and pulled it free, the ground around him immediately bathed in the flashlight’s beam. David brushed the sand off the lens, turned, and continued on towards the gold disk.
As he got closer, he noticed that there was a large hollow in the red rock, large enough to allow a man through, but not too terribly deep, like a large spoon had scooped out a ragged section of the rock. The gold disk, about three inches in diameter, lay in front of the hollow, flat on the ground. The disk was perfectly round and smooth. It had a tiny loop on the edge.
A medallion with a missing chain, David assumed. He put the flashlight down on the ground and shifted the sand around the gold disk with his fingers, looking for any sign of a chain. There was none, but he wasn’t really expecting to find one. David steeled himself to grab hold of the disk. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. Test the superstition? David smiled. He let out a deep breath and reached down, grabbing hold of the disk.
Nothing happened.
David opened his eyes and his smile grew wider. He took hold of his flashlight once more and gazed at the disk. He felt the smooth surface of the heavy disk, then turned it over. David let out a gasp. The other side of the gold disk was embedded with a large, round, flat emerald. Although his research into the disks informed him they held emeralds, he wasn’t expecting the gemstone to be so large. The emerald took up much of the disk’s surface area. The rest of the gold on the emerald side of the disk was engraved in some intricate patterns. The emerald itself had an engraving etched into its surface, as well. The worn engraving looked very much like a fat bee.
David had never seen anything more beautiful. He held the disk up to eye level, holding it by the loop on the top edge. Yes, definitely a medallion. He felt a rush of satisfaction in his find build up inside, then suddenly caught sight of at least a dozen more medallions resting on the ground in the hollowed out section of rock.
"And there are the others," he mumbled, his lips barely moving. His eyes lit up as he inched his way towards them on his hands and knees and examined them. Some were face up, their emeralds displayed. David started turning over the ones that were face down, noting that each and every one of the emeralds was a different shape: square, oval, rectangle, and others. Each engraving on the emeralds was different, as well. A pictograph used as an identification tag for each emerald. This confirmed the fact that David had indeed found the treasure of Las Rocas de Sangre.
"I wonder if Cortés forgot to take these back with him to Spain," David chuckled aloud, as he continued to turn over and examine each one. I can’t believe they’re just lying here, out in the open like this. This is like picking grapes off the vine. Then, another thought crept into his brain. Or, are they bait?
Suddenly, he had the sense he was being watched and he spun around quickly. He swung the beam of his flashlight all around. No one there. He peered around the hollow and looked at the burro. "Just you and me," he said, to reassure himself. But, David looked twice at the burro. Her ears were pinned back against her head and her nostrils were flaring.
Time to go, David concluded. I’ve got the medallions, any museum in the world will pay a fortune and then some for them. Load them up and get going. The darker it gets, the more noises you think you hear, and the more you dwell on those ridiculous rumors...you’re just going to scare yourself into a stupor. He tucked the flashlight back under his armpit, carefully grabbed four of the medallions, stood, and headed back towards the burro. I’ll get back to the stream, pitch the tent and get some rest, take off tomorrow, and be back in Cuernavaca in two days time. He uncinched a strap on one of the sacks thrown over the burro’s back, as the burro started pulling on her reins once more, braying protest to her surroundings. To make room in the sack, David moved aside a beautifully decorated clay plate, which he’d found three weeks earlier and estimated to be over five hundred years old. He placed the four medallions into the sack. David found he could only properly place three of the medallions inside. He’d have to fill another sack to hold the remaining medallions. David closed and tied off the sack, then uncinched an empty leather pouch from his bundle of supplies. He opened the pouch and placed the fourth medallion inside. He patted the burro on her withers to calm her down, then returned to the hollow. With the flashlight still under his armpit, he carefully placed the medallions into the pouch one at a time, admiring each as he did so.
He picked up the last medallion, one that had been face down. He turned it over to look at its emerald. There wasn’t one. Only an indentation in the shape of a fat O.
Where’s the emerald? David put down the medallion and used his free hand to comb the surrounding sand with his fingers. After a short time, his finger brushed up against something. He cleared away the sand and found the O-shaped emerald. Whew, he sighed, relieved. A complete set will bring in more money and prestige. Twelve medallions, twelve emeralds...just as the rumors said.
He put the leather pouch down on the ground. He retrieved the emerald and the medallion, blew on the medallion to get the sand and dust off of it, and was about to fit the emerald into the gold disk when he heard the burro literally scream. The sudden noise startled David, and he shook slightly, the movement making the flashlight fall from under his arm. The beam of light fell upon the burro, illuminating her. With the objects still in his hands, David looked around the edge of the hollow at the burro. The animal was stepping forward and quickly reeling back on her hind legs, over and over again, rattling the sacks and equipment draped over her back. The motion was slowly but surely loosening the reins and inching them over the rock they were wrapped around.
"No!" screamed David. If that burro took off, David would loose a month-and-a-half’s worth of work. The pottery, the ring, three of the priceless medallions. He put the medallion and its emerald down separately on the sand, and scrambled up, snatching the flashlight. David rushed over to the burro.
As he did so, he carelessly tripped over a protruding rock and fell flat on his stomach. He felt something sharp strike his chest as he landed and the blow took his breath away. He wondered for a moment if he’d been shot. He sat up quickly and ran his hand over his chest. No blood. He’d have quite a bruise later on, however.
The rattle of his sacks brought his attention back to the burro. David saw that the reins were closer to slipping off the rock. He sprang into action, clambering to a standing position, the hand holding the flashlight pushing off his knee for leverage, when his flashlight lit up the ground before him...and the object that had struck his chest. Something dull white in color was protruding out of the sand, something that had been covered by the sand until David had landed on it. Still on one knee, David reached for the object, grabbed hold, and pulled it free.
His eyes suddenly wide with horror, David yelped and dropped the object. He clumsily stumbled backwards, tripping over his leather pouch, spilling some of the medallions out. He landed on his backside, his arms flailing behind him. He lost his grip on his flashlight. It tumbled behind him and landed so that the beam of light shined back towards David, illuminating everything before him. David propped himself up on his elbows and looked back at the object. He had fallen onto the protruding upper jaw of a human skull. The dark, empty sockets stared back at David wickedly.
Oh, my god. It’s one of the grave robbers...
It was then that he heard the whispering sound again. However, the sound had a different tone to it, and David was certain that this time, it was not the wind. He suddenly felt the sickening swoon of imminent danger. A shiver raced down his spine, chilling him to the core, and his heart began to slam against his ribcage. The sound was slowly becoming louder, higher-pitched, unnatural.
He tore his eyes away from the skull in time to see his burro’s reins slide off the rock. In the pale glow of the flashlight’s beam, David saw the animal rear and turn to make her escape. But, in the narrow confines between Las Rocas de Sangre, she slammed her head like a sledgehammer against the side of the jutting rock wall. David could hear her skull crack as bone met stone. The burro crumbled in a heap. David could hear the centuries-old pottery break under the animal’s weight.
"No," he weakly muttered. He moved to stand, salvage what he could, but caught another glance of the skull and froze. He couldn’t get his body to move, fear having rooted him to the ground. He looked down at the leather pouch and the scattered gold disks at his feet. Then, he looked at the O-shaped emerald and its matching medallion, still resting in the hollow.
My god...it’s true.
Las Rocas de Sangre were now alive with sound. A high-pitched wail tore through the rocks, reverberating off the blood-red walls, growing ever louder. It stabbed David’s ears and he covered them with his hands.
I don’t want to die...
It was then that David noticed the sand all around him suddenly shifting slowly every which way. The sand undulated languidly under him. Invisible fingers seemingly grabbed the sand and pulled thin wisps of it into the air. In the circle of light provided by the flashlight behind him, David saw the sand wrap around the burro’s limp, lifeless body like so many arms, seemingly swallowing her whole.
The screaming sound shook David’s body. The sand grew wilder, each individual grain with a mind of its own. The sand jostled his leather pouch, the few medallions still inside spilling out. The sand churned the medallions, burying them back into the earth. David saw his hunched shadow on the rock wall cast by his flashlight’s beam. The light flickered in and out as the sand bobbed the flashlight to and fro, covering the light, uncovering the light. David’s mouth opened, wanting to let loose a scream of his own. Grains of sand coated his lips, his tongue. David was then immersed in darkness as the sand buried the flashlight for good.
The rumors are true...
David sat in the total blackness of night, all the color gone from his world forever. He was immobilized, as if some dark power, some evil power had taken hold of him in the shifting, dancing, screaming sand.
Los Niños.
*please note - the copyright for the above material is held by Philip Colander. It may not be reproduced without the author's permission.
