Mystic Crystal, Ancient Gold
Jerrel Swingle
Issue #3 (May 2008)
“Mama, I wish to walk on the beach.”
“I wish you wouldn’t. We will be having supper soon.”
“I will be back before that, I promise. I need to feel the ocean.”
Ana’s mother stopped her meal preparation and studied her young daughter’s face. ‘You need time to dream,’ she thought. “Very well. Go on, then,” her mother said. “Just don’t bring any drift trash back with you. And make sure you’re back in time for supper.”
“Yes, Mama.”
The girl left their house and set out on the path leading to the beach. Her small bare feet followed a dusty trail through sparse underbrush and tall palm trees. The soft dirt dropped on a gentle slope until it became a wide expanse of brownish sand where small breakers like rowdy children chased each other until they lost their strength and fell back.
Ana enjoyed her walks, the sensual yielding of the wet sand. She strolled into the edge of the water, letting it wash over her feet. It was warm, somewhat unusual, but not unpleasantly so. The men of the village said it was because of something called El Niño.
They said it caused uncommon things to happen. She didn’t let it concern her. That was man talk.
She loved the smell of the ocean, loved to close her eyes and inhale the scent of faraway. She enjoyed the cries of the seagulls. Her heart thrilled to the sound of the breakers crashing on the reefs guarding the lagoon, and the feel of the ocean’s breath on her face.
Today she stopped, shaded her eyes, and enjoyed the visual poetry of white foam and blue-green water, of a sky turning from blue to pink until she noticed something dark bobbing on the waves, still too far away to tell what it was. Ana stood and watched as each surge of the tide brought the object closer.
A little nearer and Ana could finally make out an open boat, but unlike any she had ever seen before. Instead of wood, it appeared to be made of bundles of reeds tied together. It was long, and the two ends of the craft curled up like beckoning fingers. The surf caught the boat, turned it sideways, and Ana’s eyes widened in alarm when she saw a bare arm hanging over the side, the hand trailing in the water.
She started to flee but instead stood frozen, gripped by feelings of both fear and curiosity. She had to know — had to see. She waded into the water far enough to look inside the strange craft and saw the unclothed figure of a man lying face down. He didn’t stir even as her resolve broke and she screamed. Panicked, Ana churned through the shallow surf to the beach, fell, got up, and raced back toward her home.
Her mother heard her shrill cry and was already rushing down the path toward her when Ana flew into her arms. “Mama! Mama! Help!”
“Anita! Anita! What’s the matter?”
“There’s a dead man on the beach! In a boat!” Ana sobbed as her mother held her close, stroking her head. “Ana! Calm down. I’m here. It will be all right. We’ll get help.”
They turned and started back toward their village where they met a neighbor and two other men coming to investigate. They, too, had heard Ana’s cry. Her mother spoke first.
“Emilio! Get help and come with us to the beach. Please. Ana says it’s an emergency — a dead man. Someone get Father Mateo. Hurry!”
The word spread quickly. Several more men and the village priest hurried to the shore where they saw the reed boat partially grounded in the edge of the water. The men waded out and tugged it onto the beach, despite their misgivings when they saw the immobile figure lying inside. Father Mateo said, “Let’s get him out.”
They lifted the man and laid him on the sand. He was almost naked except for an elaborate loincloth wrapped around his hips. His skin was dark, the color of terra cotta clay and his hair was thick, black, and very long. The lobes of his ears were pierced and decorated with green stone plugs. No one could remember seeing his kind before.
He wore an unusual beaded necklace from which hung a golden pendant, its intricately worked surface gleaming — and tempting. Some of the men began to snatch at it, but the priest stopped them with a loud command. He grabbed a wrist.
“No!” he said. “We know nothing about it. It could be cursed. Leave it for now.” Someone asked, “Is he dead?”
The priest held his hand over the stranger’s nose and mouth. “No, he’s not dead,” he pronounced. “I can feel his breath.”
Ana’s mother intervened. “Father, have the men carry him up to my house. It is the closest and we have a bed where we can take care of him.”
Father Mateo objected. “Are you not afraid, Felicia? This is a complete stranger. He may be near death, but we know nothing about him. He could be very dangerous if he comes to his senses.”
“He is a human being, Father. We will take our chances.”
The priest shrugged, crossed himself, and ordered the men to do as she requested.
“Some of us will keep watch outside your house while you attend him, if you wish us to do so,” her neighbor offered.
“You are a good man, Emilio. Thank you.”
Ana watched as the group gathered their human burden and carried him to the trail. She stayed behind. She had noticed something the others had overlooked in their excitement. When she was certain no one was watching, she reached into the rear of the boat and retrieved a soft leather bag. It was surprisingly heavy.
She ran her hand over unfamiliar painted symbols and braids of dyed fibers that decorated the bag in intricate designs. Under an ornate flap was a simple drawstring closure. She wanted to open it, but did she have any right to touch the personal property of another? Certainly her mother would disapprove. Ana looked around cautiously just before she drew it open and slid her hand inside.
Her fingers encountered something cold and incredibly smooth. She couldn’t tell what it was and removed it. As the bag fell away she gasped, felt her throat tighten and thought her heart would stop. She held in her hand a skull — a perfect human skull — not of bone, but of unblemished crystal. It glistened.
The shock was almost too much and her hands shook. The sheer beauty of the skull made her unsteady. She cradled this symbol of death in her arms and carefully lowered herself into a sitting position on the wet sand. Ana defied her own fears and turned it, examined it, and gazed into its empty eye sockets. It was faultless, and in its perfection, unsettling. It was clean and pure, a magnificent work of art that reflected and absorbed the rays of the setting sun. Inside the skull, the sunset engaged in a spectral dance with the colors of the darkening sky. She became aware that it was very warm in her hands, and from somewhere she heard a voice.
“What do you tell me? Who do you ask?
I tell you of an ancient people born of the sun.
I tell you of a people vanished, of people long ago
Who were masters of the stars.
A people who inherited the heavens,
And whose empire was the world.”
From that moment on, Ana never regretted opening the leather pouch. She closed her eyes and the skull sang to her. As she held it in her small hands, it told her things. It changed her life.
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The young woman slipped her sandals off and walked barefooted down a familiar path to the ocean. Once again, Ana Gallardo strolled on the beach where she had played so often as a child. It was much as she remembered it, and the memory of that day two decades ago flooded her mind. It was in this very place at this very same time of the year when she saw an unusual boat floating on the evening tide. She recalled the unconscious man it carried, and the leather bag containing a marvelous crystal human skull.
She remembered how she and her mother attended the stranger, how Felicia Gallardo forced sips of broth between his lips, and how she, Ana, bathed his face with cool water. And when it was night and all was quiet she would go to his bedside where he still lay unmoving and remove the wondrous skull from the leather bag next to him. She would hold it, turning it in the lamplight, and listen.
She was thrilled to hear songs, songs of majesty and magnificence, of cities in the clouds, and cities beneath the waters. She learned of stones and silver and slaves, of kings and fire, of blood and gold, of temples rising to the sky, of stars and the mysteries of time and the heavens.
And then one night as she sat by the stranger’s bedside holding the skull she felt an unease. She looked at the unconscious man and was startled to see that he had moved. He was lying on his side, facing her, and for the first time she saw his dark eyes wide open, staring at her. Ana was frightened and started to cry out, but his eyes kept her from doing so. She was immobilized. The man finally spoke in a strange language she didn’t understand. He pointed at himself and said in a soft voice, “In-Ca. Noqa In-Ca.”
He frowned when he noticed what she was holding. Saying nothing, he held out his hand and she reluctantly handed him the skull. He smiled, clutched it to his side, and closed his eyes. She left the room.
That night, when all were asleep, and when the moon caressed the edge of the world, the In-Ca vanished, along with the reed boat, the decorated bag, and the crystal skull.
It was bewildering, confusing. Was it all just a young girl’s dream? Her mother always insisted it was all true, but Ana continued to wonder whether the In-Ca ever really existed. As an adult, she still wondered, even as the knowledge she had been given by the skull eventually guided her life’s path into the study of ancient civilizations.
She never lent much credence to metaphysical phenomenon. She was, after all, a trained scientist, a highly regarded archaeologist and her understanding of things was based upon empirical evidence. Still . . .
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Dr. Ana Gallardo stood shading her eyes against the setting sun just as she had done long ago. This time, instead of a reed boat on the horizon, she glanced down and noticed something gleaming in the shallow surf. She waded out and bent down. Her fingers probed through the sand and water and retrieved a glittering object, rinsed it off and held it up. It was a round shape of pure gold, with an intricate design she recognized as depicting a sun god from a time beyond memory. A feeling of frightening familiarity embraced her and she shuddered. It couldn’t be! But it was certainly the pendant from the In-Ca’s necklace.
The evidence of her senses made her mind reel. In stunned disbelief she stared at the shining object in her hand. How could this be? How could it possibly be? How could it be here? It made no sense. In an emotional gesture, she clutched it to her breast, and as she did so, she was startled to hear a familiar voice from the past. It was soft, but strong.
“You have returned.”
In spite of herself, she responded.
“Yes,” she whispered, “I have returned.”
“Do you still seek learning? Do you still seek understanding?”
She paused a moment, closed her eyes, and permitted herself to dream as she had as a little girl. “Yes. Oh, yes,” she said. “Thank you.”
And above the sound of the distant breakers she once again heard an ancient song.
