6
Escape from Darkness
Indiana Jones didn't know how long he had slept. It had been stress, fatigue, and hopeless depression that had rendered him unable to resist the urge to lie down and surrender to unconsciousness. But it was sharp, acute pain which awakened him.
He sat up, cursed out loud, and winced at the pain in his thumb. Something was biting him. He instinctively jerked his hand back, surprising a rodent who thought he was finally getting his dinner. The pitch black darkness had returned and Jones felt his hands around in all directions, still disoriented from his unconsciousness. Everywhere he touched his hands felt nothing but soft furry bodies. He was awash in the filthy creatures.
Panic and disgust jolted him like an electric shock. Without even thinking he reached into his satchel for his last flare. A moment later he struck it on the Webley and once more bathed his wretched surroundings in dazzling light.
The sight of so many rats sickened him. Dozens of vermin carpeted the floor of the pit. As before the rats instantly fled the light. Like little, evil demons they scurried over one another in their rush to get away from the light of the flare, which Indiana Jones wielded like some kind of staff of righteousness. Almost as one being, the horde of vermin poured out of the chamber through the small rat holes in the Inca stonework. Jones could only envy them.
In a few moments they were gone, again. But Indy knew that it was the last time he could pull that off.
Shuffling over to the stone wall again, he stared mutely at the cracked lintel stone, which stared back with invisible eyes. The trick hadn't worked. The fire hadn't widened the crack enough. And now, as Jones sat there with his last flare burning down, his heart sank to its lowest. And then anger erupted in him.
With sudden violence he kicked out at the stone. He sat down on the floor of the pit, braced himself with his hands, and kicked at the stone with every bit of strength he could muster. His boot delivered blow after blow. Fueled by 'fight or flight' adrenaline, and flight wasn't an option, he kicked at the stone nearly hard enough to break his own limb.
Eventually though, even the adrenaline fuel ran dry. Jones stopped kicking and lay back on the floor of the chamber, his chest heaving in and out. He was spent. He was done.
The rats would feed on his dead carcass, or worse, devour him alive.
And then he heard it.
'CLINK'
It wasn't loud but it was distinct, crisp, and clear. And it was soon followed by another. 'CLINK'
Indiana Jones cocked his ear and listened intently.
'CLUNK!'
With an abrupt suddenness, half of the lintel stone broke free from the wall and clunked down onto the floor of the pit. Jones just stood there for a moment and gaped at the sight. Maybe it had just needed time to cool and contract, he thought, through his euphoria at the sight of the broken stone. Then he rushed at it.
He grabbed hold of the heavy stone and pulled it out of the now enlarged archway. Setting his flare down atop the broken piece he grasped hold of one of the stones above the empty socket just vacated. Jones pulled hard and was rewarded by not only the removal of that stone, but two others which fell out, one of them landing with a thud on his foot. But he didn't even notice if it hurt. Nor did he care. He'd just opened a two foot by three foot passage through the wall.
Holding his dwindling flare out ahead of him Jones wiggled easily through the opening he'd created. Once through he stood up straight and viewed his new surroundings. The exhilaration he felt at having finally escaped from the death pit was tempered by the realization that it was still possible that he may not be able to find his way out of the tomb.
He was in another subterranean room but one much larger than the death pit. The trickling sound of running water was louder here, and Jones moved toward it. It wasn't very far and he quickly came upon it after rounding a small turn in the cavern. It was an underground stream. He had a momentary urge to scoop up a handful of its clear, cold water and quench his thirst, but resisted it, the image of a thousand rats crawling through the stream giving him pause.
He followed the water upstream, reasoning that the source must be higher ground, and higher ground meant up. Up, he hoped, meant out. The stream wound upwards for several yards until coming to a small falls, the water tumbling down from an opening in the ceiling of the cavern. Indy held his flare up towards this opening. It was man made; more Inca stonework. The ceiling was low here, and the opening was large enough for him to easily hoist himself through. The ice cold water splashed on to his legs and soaked his pants as he pulled himself up and through.
He now found himself within the walls of a man made chamber. It was a long rectangular room of square, block fitted Inca stonework, with water flowing through a length of aqueduct in the center. What appeared to be a recessed altar in the far wall caught his attention. The altar looked as if it were illuminated by a light source of its own, which was good because Jones' magnesium flare had burned down to where he could no longer hold it. He tossed the remains of the flare on the stone floor of the chamber where it sputtered, and then went out. He then moved towards the far wall, where the bluish light of the altar drew him. He had no desire to repeat his earlier experience with the clever Inca booby traps, and took each step slowly and deliberately keeping a careful eye out for any anomalies in the floor or the walls.
But no booby traps or trap doors assailed him. As he approached the small altar he realized that the light source was coming from above. There was an opening above the altar where a hazy, bluish light filtered down. On the altar itself was a tightly bundled Inca mummy.
In the style of the Incas, the mummy consisted of a carefully sewn bundle wrapped tightly in colorful cloth. The only bodily feature that could be seen was the head, which sat atop the bundle. The dried out, leathery, dark flesh of the face was pulled tight across the bones by the passage of centuries, forcing the black lips into a leering grin that seemed to Jones incongruous with its dead black eyes which stared indifferently at him from the world of the dead. On closer inspection he could see that the eyes had been replaced by black obsidian, or some other dark stone.
After carefully scrutinizing the surface of the altar for any hidden dangers, Jones stepped up on to it and looked up towards the source of the bluish light above. Through the fairly large opening he could clearly see another chamber above, as well as a small patch of crystal blue Andean sky, the source of the filtered light. He hoisted himself up through this opening and into the new chamber.
As he stood up in this new room he judged that he was now back on the same level of the tomb as he had been before falling into the death pit. But it was in a different part of the tomb that he hadn't suspected existed. It actually wasn't a room at all but rather a wide hallway. Behind him it terminated in a blank stone wall, but in front of him it curved around out of sight. The ceiling was high, several meters, and a small patch of sky could be seen where a gap in the stone work functioned as a sky light. To Jones it represented a way out.
He'd done it. He'd found his way out. But he wasn't quite ready to leave yet. He had some unfinished business to take care of first. He'd come seeking the burial chamber of Payahuatac, and its golden Death Mask, and he had no intention of leaving without it.
He got to his feet and moved cautiously forward towards the bend in the passage. As he rounded the turn the corridor narrowed, then ended in a set of stone steps leading up. Jones ascended. At the top of the steps was a large platform, with another Inca skylight above, another opening that allowed the bright sunlight into this part of the tomb. The ceiling here was relatively low, and it would be an easy chore to get up through it and out to freedom. But there was another set of steps on the other side of the platform that led down as well.
A large object near the top of the steps caught the archaeologist's attention and he moved over to examine it. It was a rounded disc of highly polished mineral material, maybe mica, he thought, or obsidian. It was set into the stone where it caught the rays of the sun from the skylight, and focused them on to another, smaller disk positioned at the entrance to a small square opening in the stone wall next to the descending steps. Jones moved over to take a closer look at this small opening. But as he peered in he quickly recoiled, his eyes shut.
"Light conduit," he exclaimed aloud, as if to tell himself what it was.
He approached it cautiously again and this time when he peered in he squinted to protect his eyes. He looked down a long angular tunnel where the beam of light, gathered by the larger disk and focused on to the smaller, traveled down into the depths of the tomb.
"To illuminate the burial chamber," Jones spoke again and nodded his head. "And forever shall the light of the sun shine on the face of Payahuatac," he quoted from the legend.
All troubles, travails, and fatigue of the past several hours were forgotten in an instant, and a gleam shone in Indiana Jones' eye; a glint of brilliant Andean sun.
Escape from Darkness
Indiana Jones didn't know how long he had slept. It had been stress, fatigue, and hopeless depression that had rendered him unable to resist the urge to lie down and surrender to unconsciousness. But it was sharp, acute pain which awakened him.
He sat up, cursed out loud, and winced at the pain in his thumb. Something was biting him. He instinctively jerked his hand back, surprising a rodent who thought he was finally getting his dinner. The pitch black darkness had returned and Jones felt his hands around in all directions, still disoriented from his unconsciousness. Everywhere he touched his hands felt nothing but soft furry bodies. He was awash in the filthy creatures.
Panic and disgust jolted him like an electric shock. Without even thinking he reached into his satchel for his last flare. A moment later he struck it on the Webley and once more bathed his wretched surroundings in dazzling light.
The sight of so many rats sickened him. Dozens of vermin carpeted the floor of the pit. As before the rats instantly fled the light. Like little, evil demons they scurried over one another in their rush to get away from the light of the flare, which Indiana Jones wielded like some kind of staff of righteousness. Almost as one being, the horde of vermin poured out of the chamber through the small rat holes in the Inca stonework. Jones could only envy them.
In a few moments they were gone, again. But Indy knew that it was the last time he could pull that off.
Shuffling over to the stone wall again, he stared mutely at the cracked lintel stone, which stared back with invisible eyes. The trick hadn't worked. The fire hadn't widened the crack enough. And now, as Jones sat there with his last flare burning down, his heart sank to its lowest. And then anger erupted in him.
With sudden violence he kicked out at the stone. He sat down on the floor of the pit, braced himself with his hands, and kicked at the stone with every bit of strength he could muster. His boot delivered blow after blow. Fueled by 'fight or flight' adrenaline, and flight wasn't an option, he kicked at the stone nearly hard enough to break his own limb.
Eventually though, even the adrenaline fuel ran dry. Jones stopped kicking and lay back on the floor of the chamber, his chest heaving in and out. He was spent. He was done.
The rats would feed on his dead carcass, or worse, devour him alive.
And then he heard it.
'CLINK'
It wasn't loud but it was distinct, crisp, and clear. And it was soon followed by another. 'CLINK'
Indiana Jones cocked his ear and listened intently.
'CLUNK!'
With an abrupt suddenness, half of the lintel stone broke free from the wall and clunked down onto the floor of the pit. Jones just stood there for a moment and gaped at the sight. Maybe it had just needed time to cool and contract, he thought, through his euphoria at the sight of the broken stone. Then he rushed at it.
He grabbed hold of the heavy stone and pulled it out of the now enlarged archway. Setting his flare down atop the broken piece he grasped hold of one of the stones above the empty socket just vacated. Jones pulled hard and was rewarded by not only the removal of that stone, but two others which fell out, one of them landing with a thud on his foot. But he didn't even notice if it hurt. Nor did he care. He'd just opened a two foot by three foot passage through the wall.
Holding his dwindling flare out ahead of him Jones wiggled easily through the opening he'd created. Once through he stood up straight and viewed his new surroundings. The exhilaration he felt at having finally escaped from the death pit was tempered by the realization that it was still possible that he may not be able to find his way out of the tomb.
He was in another subterranean room but one much larger than the death pit. The trickling sound of running water was louder here, and Jones moved toward it. It wasn't very far and he quickly came upon it after rounding a small turn in the cavern. It was an underground stream. He had a momentary urge to scoop up a handful of its clear, cold water and quench his thirst, but resisted it, the image of a thousand rats crawling through the stream giving him pause.
He followed the water upstream, reasoning that the source must be higher ground, and higher ground meant up. Up, he hoped, meant out. The stream wound upwards for several yards until coming to a small falls, the water tumbling down from an opening in the ceiling of the cavern. Indy held his flare up towards this opening. It was man made; more Inca stonework. The ceiling was low here, and the opening was large enough for him to easily hoist himself through. The ice cold water splashed on to his legs and soaked his pants as he pulled himself up and through.
He now found himself within the walls of a man made chamber. It was a long rectangular room of square, block fitted Inca stonework, with water flowing through a length of aqueduct in the center. What appeared to be a recessed altar in the far wall caught his attention. The altar looked as if it were illuminated by a light source of its own, which was good because Jones' magnesium flare had burned down to where he could no longer hold it. He tossed the remains of the flare on the stone floor of the chamber where it sputtered, and then went out. He then moved towards the far wall, where the bluish light of the altar drew him. He had no desire to repeat his earlier experience with the clever Inca booby traps, and took each step slowly and deliberately keeping a careful eye out for any anomalies in the floor or the walls.
But no booby traps or trap doors assailed him. As he approached the small altar he realized that the light source was coming from above. There was an opening above the altar where a hazy, bluish light filtered down. On the altar itself was a tightly bundled Inca mummy.
In the style of the Incas, the mummy consisted of a carefully sewn bundle wrapped tightly in colorful cloth. The only bodily feature that could be seen was the head, which sat atop the bundle. The dried out, leathery, dark flesh of the face was pulled tight across the bones by the passage of centuries, forcing the black lips into a leering grin that seemed to Jones incongruous with its dead black eyes which stared indifferently at him from the world of the dead. On closer inspection he could see that the eyes had been replaced by black obsidian, or some other dark stone.
After carefully scrutinizing the surface of the altar for any hidden dangers, Jones stepped up on to it and looked up towards the source of the bluish light above. Through the fairly large opening he could clearly see another chamber above, as well as a small patch of crystal blue Andean sky, the source of the filtered light. He hoisted himself up through this opening and into the new chamber.
As he stood up in this new room he judged that he was now back on the same level of the tomb as he had been before falling into the death pit. But it was in a different part of the tomb that he hadn't suspected existed. It actually wasn't a room at all but rather a wide hallway. Behind him it terminated in a blank stone wall, but in front of him it curved around out of sight. The ceiling was high, several meters, and a small patch of sky could be seen where a gap in the stone work functioned as a sky light. To Jones it represented a way out.
He'd done it. He'd found his way out. But he wasn't quite ready to leave yet. He had some unfinished business to take care of first. He'd come seeking the burial chamber of Payahuatac, and its golden Death Mask, and he had no intention of leaving without it.
He got to his feet and moved cautiously forward towards the bend in the passage. As he rounded the turn the corridor narrowed, then ended in a set of stone steps leading up. Jones ascended. At the top of the steps was a large platform, with another Inca skylight above, another opening that allowed the bright sunlight into this part of the tomb. The ceiling here was relatively low, and it would be an easy chore to get up through it and out to freedom. But there was another set of steps on the other side of the platform that led down as well.
A large object near the top of the steps caught the archaeologist's attention and he moved over to examine it. It was a rounded disc of highly polished mineral material, maybe mica, he thought, or obsidian. It was set into the stone where it caught the rays of the sun from the skylight, and focused them on to another, smaller disk positioned at the entrance to a small square opening in the stone wall next to the descending steps. Jones moved over to take a closer look at this small opening. But as he peered in he quickly recoiled, his eyes shut.
"Light conduit," he exclaimed aloud, as if to tell himself what it was.
He approached it cautiously again and this time when he peered in he squinted to protect his eyes. He looked down a long angular tunnel where the beam of light, gathered by the larger disk and focused on to the smaller, traveled down into the depths of the tomb.
"To illuminate the burial chamber," Jones spoke again and nodded his head. "And forever shall the light of the sun shine on the face of Payahuatac," he quoted from the legend.
All troubles, travails, and fatigue of the past several hours were forgotten in an instant, and a gleam shone in Indiana Jones' eye; a glint of brilliant Andean sun.