1976
=======
She looked down on the men entering.
=======
The archaeologist turned on his flashlight and pointed inside the ruins. Everything was still the same.
"They should still be here," he said.
He walked inside one of the small clay rooms, knelt, and lifted an old rug. Dust and dirt spread across the room. The curator and the three guards covered their faces as they started coughing violently, not being able to stand that much dust. The archaeologist simply scratched his nose, and looked down into the burrowed ground. Inside there were three clay pots, each of their openings covered delicately by woven cloth.
He took each one of them, and removed them delicately, as if the smallest wisp of wind could shatter them. The curator entered slowly and softly, knowing too well the value of what lay inside those pots.
"Can you uncover them?" The curator asked.
"Yeah," He answered.
He took the first pot, and delicately uncovered it. He pointed his flashlight inside to see if there were any vermin hiding in there. Seeing none, he put his hand inside and felt softly around. Cloth caressed his hand and he grabbed it. As he picked it up, he also felt, beneath the cloth, a solid object. He also picked it up and slowly removed it from the pot.
The curator got closer, and pointed his flashlight not to the covered object, as to not ruin it, but close to it, as to give it enough light to see.
The archaeologist laid down the cloth on the ground, with the object inside, and opened it. It was a silver snake with traces of gold along its side. Its back covered with emeralds, and its eyes red rubies. Its body perfectly shaped into an "S", almost giving it life.
"It's beautiful," said the curator. His eyes truly admiring such artwork.
"Hold on," interrupted the archaeologist. "There are the other two pieces that go along with this one."
They focused their attention on the second pot, and performed the same painstaking ritual of removing the covered object. But this time it revealed a silver buffalo. Its eyes were emeralds, and its hooves gold. Its horns were beautifully carved rubies.
The curator held his breath as the archaeologist placed the buffalo a few inches to the right of the snake.
"One more," said the archaeologist.
The curator simply nodded as the other turned to the third and final pot. He uncovered it, and softly removed the object. By size, it was much smaller than the other two pieces, but it seemed to be covered in more cloth than the others, and it was held fast by strings. The archaeologist took a small Swiss-knife and cut the strings. He spread the cloth on the floor and revealed its content. It was a small emerald, no bigger than a dollar coin, with a ruby, strangely implanted inside.
"So strange," said the curator as the archaeologist placed the gem perfectly between the snake and the buffalo.
"It's supposed to tell a story," he replied. "From what my wife is told me, a long time ago, even before the coming of the white man, and before the introduction of man's best friend, the horse, came from the south, a band of 3 brothers who came in peace.
They said they came from a land where trees were endless, and the waters had no limits. They had come to ask for our grace, our favor. They came with this gem, saying that inside laid the spirit of war, a spirit so evil that it destroyed the strongest and left the weak to be governed by it. And the spirit had ruled for many seasons, without contest, with absolute power and authority. Until the brothers rose in rebellion, and fought valiantly. There were 10 brothers, but in the end of it all, only the three were left. And with help of the priests, they entrapped the spirit within the jewel.
The brothers asked the tribe to keep the jewel hidden amongst them. If they could, to please ask for help from the spirits, that this evil do not raise again, because if it rose once more, than it would not be good that would conquer it. And it would not be evil that would defeat it. But the fruit from the fornication of the spirit of good and the spirit of evil. And it was the offspring's decision whether to rule in goodness, or in evil.
That's why they created the snake and buffalo. The snake representing evil, and the buffalo goodness."
"Beautiful story your wife's people have," said the curator.
The archaeologist took the pieces, one by one, and covered them back with their respective pieces of clothing. He took from his bag large pieces of cotton and white gauze and surrounded the pieces with them, then delicately putting them on his bag, making sure that there was plenty of covering separating them.
Both men stood up, the curator walking behind, while the other in front was already walking out the crumbling doorway.
"Don't move," heard the archaeologist.
He stopped and turned to the right. The cold touches of a gun caressing his forehead, making him hold firmly to the bag
"What is this?" He asked to the guard holding the gun. The other two guards were now behind him, also holding firearms.
"I'm sorry Mr. Chang," he heard the curator say. "But I can't let you simply take those antiquities to just any museum."
"According to Mishima's contract, those pieces would be put where they belong. And that's The Native American Museum."
"That's where you're wrong. Mr. Mishima said that they would be put where they belong, but never specified where. Those will be going to his personal collection. And I promise, Mr. Chang, as Mr. Mishima has to me, that they will be appropriately taken care of. Now, kindly, please hand them over to the guard."
Chang stared coldly at the guard pointing the gun at him, and simply said "No."
========
She knew she had to take this opportunity, or she would loose it forever.
========
"Kill him," said the curator.
Chang closed his eyes, waiting. His wife and daughter filling his thoughts.
"I'm sorry I wasn't a better husband and father," he thought. "But I just wish I could hear one more 'I love you' from both of you."
But he heard nothing.
Not the words he waited.
Not the sound of a gun.
Just a moan.
He opened his eyes.
In the floor, sat the guard hiding his arm underneath the other, moaning senselessly. Chang felt something close to his feet, and stepped back in terror as he noticed it was the guard's forearm. He started walking away from it, until he heard the shooting begin.
The other two guards began shooting at air, screaming at each other. One of them began running towards the ruined doorway, but stopped suddenly and fell to the floor, blood spewing like a fountain from a gash running across his spinal cord.
Chang began running in the other side, the bag still with him, when he tripped, hitting the floor with his face. Blood began to drip from his nose, making him loose his balance as he tried to get up. He tried again, but in front of him was standing someone wearing a purple jumpsuit. He looked up, and saw the stranger wearing the mask of a demon. Chang gasped, and began crawling backwards.
He turned around when he heard the remaining guard shout and shoot at the masked person. He rolled out of the way, trying not to get hit by bullets. Suddenly, both the shouting and shooting stopped. He turned towards the guard, but only saw his body, a pool of blood already forming.
He got up quickly and started to run, but was immediately thrown back to the floor. He opened his eyes, and standing in front was the masked demon. It pointed to the bag. Chang instinctively put his hand across it as he got up.
"You can't take these," he said.
The masked demon advanced towards him, but it was stopped short as it met a kick in the face from Chang.
He got into a fighting stance. The masked demon acknowledged the challenge and also took its fighting stance, a dagger shining from its hand. Both stood for a couple of seconds taking breath, until Chang performed a low leg sweep, the masked demon jumping out of the way. Chang immediately got back up, but saw no one. The masked demon had disappeared.
He was about to turn around when he felt a hand lift his chin, and pressured applied to his throat.
He knew what it meant.
"Dawn. Michelle," he whispered.
He closed his eyes, and felt nothing. No more.
=====
She laid down the body slowly, put her palms together and bowed to the man.
Very few times had a man actually hit her, and she needed to acknowledge it. Perhaps she was getting soft.
She took the bag, looked inside and felt the items. They had not broken. For now, she would have to hide them, until she found an appropriate buyer for such rarities.
She put her dagger in her belt, held the bag close to her, and began running across the hot Arizona desert.
=====
The curator waited another half an hour before daring to go outside.
He couldn't believe what he had just seen. One person, and only one person, had just killed Chang, and three armed guards. And it also had the power to disappear.
But those were not the end of his worries. What would he report to Mishima? That some supernatural being had killed three armed guards, the archaeologist, and stolen the artifacts? Or simply that he had not acquired them as he had been ordered?
These thoughts filled his mind as he got in the jeep.
"Should I even report this?" He thought, as he quickly drove, too, across the hot Arizona desert.
=====
=======
She looked down on the men entering.
=======
The archaeologist turned on his flashlight and pointed inside the ruins. Everything was still the same.
"They should still be here," he said.
He walked inside one of the small clay rooms, knelt, and lifted an old rug. Dust and dirt spread across the room. The curator and the three guards covered their faces as they started coughing violently, not being able to stand that much dust. The archaeologist simply scratched his nose, and looked down into the burrowed ground. Inside there were three clay pots, each of their openings covered delicately by woven cloth.
He took each one of them, and removed them delicately, as if the smallest wisp of wind could shatter them. The curator entered slowly and softly, knowing too well the value of what lay inside those pots.
"Can you uncover them?" The curator asked.
"Yeah," He answered.
He took the first pot, and delicately uncovered it. He pointed his flashlight inside to see if there were any vermin hiding in there. Seeing none, he put his hand inside and felt softly around. Cloth caressed his hand and he grabbed it. As he picked it up, he also felt, beneath the cloth, a solid object. He also picked it up and slowly removed it from the pot.
The curator got closer, and pointed his flashlight not to the covered object, as to not ruin it, but close to it, as to give it enough light to see.
The archaeologist laid down the cloth on the ground, with the object inside, and opened it. It was a silver snake with traces of gold along its side. Its back covered with emeralds, and its eyes red rubies. Its body perfectly shaped into an "S", almost giving it life.
"It's beautiful," said the curator. His eyes truly admiring such artwork.
"Hold on," interrupted the archaeologist. "There are the other two pieces that go along with this one."
They focused their attention on the second pot, and performed the same painstaking ritual of removing the covered object. But this time it revealed a silver buffalo. Its eyes were emeralds, and its hooves gold. Its horns were beautifully carved rubies.
The curator held his breath as the archaeologist placed the buffalo a few inches to the right of the snake.
"One more," said the archaeologist.
The curator simply nodded as the other turned to the third and final pot. He uncovered it, and softly removed the object. By size, it was much smaller than the other two pieces, but it seemed to be covered in more cloth than the others, and it was held fast by strings. The archaeologist took a small Swiss-knife and cut the strings. He spread the cloth on the floor and revealed its content. It was a small emerald, no bigger than a dollar coin, with a ruby, strangely implanted inside.
"So strange," said the curator as the archaeologist placed the gem perfectly between the snake and the buffalo.
"It's supposed to tell a story," he replied. "From what my wife is told me, a long time ago, even before the coming of the white man, and before the introduction of man's best friend, the horse, came from the south, a band of 3 brothers who came in peace.
They said they came from a land where trees were endless, and the waters had no limits. They had come to ask for our grace, our favor. They came with this gem, saying that inside laid the spirit of war, a spirit so evil that it destroyed the strongest and left the weak to be governed by it. And the spirit had ruled for many seasons, without contest, with absolute power and authority. Until the brothers rose in rebellion, and fought valiantly. There were 10 brothers, but in the end of it all, only the three were left. And with help of the priests, they entrapped the spirit within the jewel.
The brothers asked the tribe to keep the jewel hidden amongst them. If they could, to please ask for help from the spirits, that this evil do not raise again, because if it rose once more, than it would not be good that would conquer it. And it would not be evil that would defeat it. But the fruit from the fornication of the spirit of good and the spirit of evil. And it was the offspring's decision whether to rule in goodness, or in evil.
That's why they created the snake and buffalo. The snake representing evil, and the buffalo goodness."
"Beautiful story your wife's people have," said the curator.
The archaeologist took the pieces, one by one, and covered them back with their respective pieces of clothing. He took from his bag large pieces of cotton and white gauze and surrounded the pieces with them, then delicately putting them on his bag, making sure that there was plenty of covering separating them.
Both men stood up, the curator walking behind, while the other in front was already walking out the crumbling doorway.
"Don't move," heard the archaeologist.
He stopped and turned to the right. The cold touches of a gun caressing his forehead, making him hold firmly to the bag
"What is this?" He asked to the guard holding the gun. The other two guards were now behind him, also holding firearms.
"I'm sorry Mr. Chang," he heard the curator say. "But I can't let you simply take those antiquities to just any museum."
"According to Mishima's contract, those pieces would be put where they belong. And that's The Native American Museum."
"That's where you're wrong. Mr. Mishima said that they would be put where they belong, but never specified where. Those will be going to his personal collection. And I promise, Mr. Chang, as Mr. Mishima has to me, that they will be appropriately taken care of. Now, kindly, please hand them over to the guard."
Chang stared coldly at the guard pointing the gun at him, and simply said "No."
========
She knew she had to take this opportunity, or she would loose it forever.
========
"Kill him," said the curator.
Chang closed his eyes, waiting. His wife and daughter filling his thoughts.
"I'm sorry I wasn't a better husband and father," he thought. "But I just wish I could hear one more 'I love you' from both of you."
But he heard nothing.
Not the words he waited.
Not the sound of a gun.
Just a moan.
He opened his eyes.
In the floor, sat the guard hiding his arm underneath the other, moaning senselessly. Chang felt something close to his feet, and stepped back in terror as he noticed it was the guard's forearm. He started walking away from it, until he heard the shooting begin.
The other two guards began shooting at air, screaming at each other. One of them began running towards the ruined doorway, but stopped suddenly and fell to the floor, blood spewing like a fountain from a gash running across his spinal cord.
Chang began running in the other side, the bag still with him, when he tripped, hitting the floor with his face. Blood began to drip from his nose, making him loose his balance as he tried to get up. He tried again, but in front of him was standing someone wearing a purple jumpsuit. He looked up, and saw the stranger wearing the mask of a demon. Chang gasped, and began crawling backwards.
He turned around when he heard the remaining guard shout and shoot at the masked person. He rolled out of the way, trying not to get hit by bullets. Suddenly, both the shouting and shooting stopped. He turned towards the guard, but only saw his body, a pool of blood already forming.
He got up quickly and started to run, but was immediately thrown back to the floor. He opened his eyes, and standing in front was the masked demon. It pointed to the bag. Chang instinctively put his hand across it as he got up.
"You can't take these," he said.
The masked demon advanced towards him, but it was stopped short as it met a kick in the face from Chang.
He got into a fighting stance. The masked demon acknowledged the challenge and also took its fighting stance, a dagger shining from its hand. Both stood for a couple of seconds taking breath, until Chang performed a low leg sweep, the masked demon jumping out of the way. Chang immediately got back up, but saw no one. The masked demon had disappeared.
He was about to turn around when he felt a hand lift his chin, and pressured applied to his throat.
He knew what it meant.
"Dawn. Michelle," he whispered.
He closed his eyes, and felt nothing. No more.
=====
She laid down the body slowly, put her palms together and bowed to the man.
Very few times had a man actually hit her, and she needed to acknowledge it. Perhaps she was getting soft.
She took the bag, looked inside and felt the items. They had not broken. For now, she would have to hide them, until she found an appropriate buyer for such rarities.
She put her dagger in her belt, held the bag close to her, and began running across the hot Arizona desert.
=====
The curator waited another half an hour before daring to go outside.
He couldn't believe what he had just seen. One person, and only one person, had just killed Chang, and three armed guards. And it also had the power to disappear.
But those were not the end of his worries. What would he report to Mishima? That some supernatural being had killed three armed guards, the archaeologist, and stolen the artifacts? Or simply that he had not acquired them as he had been ordered?
These thoughts filled his mind as he got in the jeep.
"Should I even report this?" He thought, as he quickly drove, too, across the hot Arizona desert.
=====