Evil Jester Digest, Vol.1 (7 page)

Kevin smiled and shook his head.

Quiet solitude reigned over the evening. Somehow, after Jimmy’s statement, conversation seemed blasphemous in the midst of ancient relics from a by-gone civilization.

Kevin banked the fire and all retired to tents for the night.

*****

Morning came sooner
than expected, sun rising red and raw over the site.

Surveying the area, Dara wondered just who had sent back the findings to the university. The dig site was still pristine, and the ruins appeared to be untouched. Mosses and lichens covered the stones and spread over the nearby land, surrounding the structures in a living moat of green. No sign of human activity, much less active digs in the area, existed, and yet the reports came.

Directly addressed to me, not Kevin. Strange since he has a doctorate and I’m not even a full professor yet.

She pulled out the crumpled letter and re-read it. The brief missive contained the standard greeting, a line of information about the site and GPS coordinates. An illegible signature scrawled across the bottom.

The return address had no sender’s name; only Bradford College in Haverhill, Massachusetts. The school’s seal made up most of the letterhead.

Dara stuffed the letter back in her pack with the report folder, making a mental note to figure out why the account had been sent to her.

Kevin had done some research after she’d shown him the file. The coordinates were valid, and he’d found references to others planning an expedition to the same area, including a group led by his mentor, Doctor Halsey. Dara had doubts when they started, but now, being here, seeing the ruins, those feeling fled. She looked around the site.

A swath of about two meters separated the forest from the ruins on three sides. On the fourth, to the west, rose steep, rocky cliffs, jagged and towering; angles so severe in places, they gave the impression of being paused mid-topple. Native grasses and scrubby bushes stuck out from gray crags, both holding the rock together and tearing it apart. Below, the moraine stretched across the valley, full of glacial till. Dara suspected she would find stone from the till had been used as building materials.

Treeless valleys in the middle of the cloud forest were not a common site. Someone had to have spent much time continually pushing back the growth, and yet there was no remaining evidence.

No tree stumps, no tire tracks, not even a little used road anywhere,
thought Dara.
Just a trail we followed that’s more a glorified cow path.

Dara ignored her husband and the students plotting excavation grids. She walked through the remains, noting what she thought was a temple with four outer buildings. The layout would form a rough cross if drawn on paper, she noted. And they seemed to date from different time periods in the Inca civilizations, with the sacred building being far older than the others.

As she explored further, Dara concluded the ruins did not belong to the Inca.

“Did you find something, Professor Kincaide?”

Dara started at the voice and turned. She hadn’t heard Susan’s approach. “Just call me, Dara. I’ve told you this, Susan.” She smiled at the younger woman. “I’m not a professor yet.”

“No, but you will be. Anyway, did you find something?” Susan studied the wall behind Dara. “I noticed you weren’t laying out grids, so I thought you might have found something and might need my help.”

“Maybe.” Dara turned back. “Let me show you, and you tell me what you think.” She held out a page with quick sketches covering it. “First, if you mark each building on paper, they form a cross shape, like a Tau.”

“It looks like a T, not a cross.”

“This would be a Greek cross, not the Latin one you’re more familiar with.”

“Ah. But why would these buildings be laid out in a cross of any shape?”

Dara smiled. “That’s the first question I have. Look at this architecture, too.”

Some of the designs matched Inca style, such as the elongated trapezoidal windows and doorways, but the large frescoes were reminiscent of those found at Jericho.

“Why would the Inca paint their walls like this?”

Flapping came from overhead, and both women looked for the source. A red kite hovered in the currents, the attached camera snapping photos for the aerial documentation of the site. Dara studied the movements of the kite then waved when the lens turned toward her.

“That’s my second question,” said Dara, attention returning to Susan. “The Inca painted murals, but why would
these
be so similar to the ones at Jericho when none of the others at different sites are?” She took Susan by the arm, leading her through a low doorway. “Come with me.”

They walked through three more rooms before exiting and heading to a wooden structure. Sunlight streamed in, unhindered by the thatched roof, painting bright swipes on the dirt floor. A long trough lined one wall, and pegs stuck out at regular intervals from the walls.

“This is a stable,” said Susan.

“And look over there.” Dara pointed to the far corner, beneath one end of the trough.

Still buried up to the nose, a human skull stared back at the two women. Clay covered the bone that could be seen, and the eye sockets had been inlaid with small clam shells. Again, reminiscent of those found at Jericho and not native to this side of the world.

Could there have been other civilizations here? Could the Sumerians or the Babylonians have reached South America?

Susan bent to study the skull, reaching out then stopping herself before making contact. “The skull seems to have Caucasian markers, not the Mongoloid associated with these people.”

“Remember though,” Dara said, “that mummies with Caucasoid features were found in the Paracas burial caverns in the ninteen-twenties. And those skulls showed evidence of trepanning, too.” Her words felt at odds with her thoughts, and she wanted to share them with Susan but couldn’t. Dara had to remain the teacher and not fall victim to excited speculation.

Susan looked up at Dara. “So, you’re saying these oddities can be explained through diffusion theory?”

“No. I’m pointing out that a few inconsistencies have been found at other sites, but none seem to have the number found here.”

“You haven’t shown me much that couldn’t be explained by either diffusion or previous, unreported discovery or even a hoax,” said Susan. She studied the skull further. “You just said other Caucasian mummies were found in Peru, and these shells are bean clams, common on sandy beaches all over the world.”

Dara smiled. “The central building here seems to be a temple. Let me show you something else.”

The women walked to the temple and entered.

“Did the Inca have a written language?” Dara asked.

“You’re testing me,” replied Susan. When Dara remained silent, Susan continued. “The Inca had no written language. They relied on quipus to keep track of time and events. Several will probably be found once the grids are laid and digging starts.”

“If the Inca had no written language, who did that?” Dara pointed to a wall in front of them.

The symbols bore a resemblance to Egyptian hieroglyphics, yet the characters were alien. Men with tentacles for arms or legs, animals the likes of which never born on this Earth. Serpentine horse-like beasts, arachnids with long, jointed legs, a worm, barely recognizable as such behind the gaping maw.

“What the hell are these?” Susan asked. “Is this some kind of joke?” She studied the carvings. “I want to remember these. I feel like I should, but there’s a blank spot where the knowledge would be.”

Dara traced them with reverent fingertips, knowing she violated preservation rules yet not able to stop herself.
Could these be gods lost to the ravages of time. Maybe from a sub-race of Inca? One that
did
have a written language?

“I know.” Dara led Susan to the surrounding buildings.

These didn’t share the same careful construction. Blocks didn’t fit together as well, doorways and windows were more irregularly shaped. Everywhere, on the inside and outside of these four buildings, faces leered with mocking grins. Some of the visages were human, some might have been. All were only simple stone carving chiseled into the walls, yet ominous and knowing. Chills raced along Dara’s spine as she studied them, glad for Susan’s presence.

“We need to excavate this,” said Susan. “Make sure this isn’t a hoax.”

*****

Under about two
feet of soil, at each of the four temple corners, they found bowls. The clay vessels had been buried upside down. Carefully, Dara removed one then another, until all four bowls rested in front of the two women.

Each vessel had words inscribed inside, beginning at the rim and spiraling down to the center of the bowl.

“What are they?” asked Susan.

“I have no idea.” Dara picked up one and stood. “I’ll be right back. See what else you can find.” She carried one of the bowls to Edgar, their language expert.

He studied he bowl then looked at Dara. “Is this for real?”

“Yes. Susan and I found it and three more like it, each buried at a corner. Why?”

“The language is Akkadian. It hasn’t been used since about the Eighth century, when Aramaic became the primary language of Mesopotamia. And judging by the words, this is a Devil’s Trap from Babylonia.” He pointed to the words. “See how the words run widdershins into the bottom?”

Dara nodded.

“This is a spell, essentially a contract to divorce a spirit. If the words ran clockwise, it would be a spell to connect a spirit. Was is right side up or upside down when you found it?”

“Upside down. Why?”

“Burying a Devil’s Trap right side up divorces a spirit from the ground. Burying it upside down divorces the spirit from the air or the surface.”

Nothing is quite right about this site,
Dara thought
.
“How did it end up here?”

Edgar shrugged and handed the bowl back to her. “You’re the expert on ancient cultures.”

*****

Phantoms plagued Dara’s
dreams that night. Creatures not known to this world filled her subconscious. They spoke to her, the language familiar. Dara knew she’d heard it before but couldn’t remember.

She woke with panic twisting her stomach. Dara tried to remember the dreams, the words spoken, but vivid images faded too fast. A scream ripped the night, followed by another. They didn’t sound human. Dara considered waking Kevin to investigate, but unease stilled her hand.

Instead, she zipped the tent open, wincing at the harsh noise, hoping it didn’t attract whatever lurked in the dark.

Dara pulled the .357 revolver from its holster, pointing the muzzle toward the ground. The weight of the Ruger reassured her, and Dara peeked through the flap.

Nothing waited to pounce, nothing lay in wait. The guanacos hadn’t raised an alarm. If some predator prowled in the night, the pack animals wouldn’t remain quiet.

Dara eased onto her sleeping bag, lying on top of the slick nylon. Beside her, Kevin snored softly. She poked him in the ribs, and he turned over then settled in to sleep once more. Dara blinked in the night air, every slight noise sending her pulse racing. Sleep eluded her. Picking up the gun again, she made her way to the banked fire, intending to get an early start on the day.

Then, the entire world went to Hell.

Voices, hundreds of them, came from the forest. Low and guttural, ugly chanting.

Recognizable as human, each word spoken clearly but with no intonation. Heavy black clouds rolled in, blocking out the stars and moon. The chanting grew louder, and the wind picked up, threatening to tear the meager tent shelters away.

Kevin and the others stumbled into the night, awakened by the shrieking wind.

Words came faster, growing higher in pitch, seeming to be meaningless phrases of power so ancient they were almost unpronounceable. Speech increased in volume and velocity until Dara was sure the sounds could not emanate from a human tongue. Words became little more than a raucous cawing, melding to a single, grating note.

Tree branches smacked and clacked together, sounding like wooden chimes. Roots ripped free of the thin topsoil, flailing and smacking, reaching for the group. The forest advanced on the tiny camp in leaps and bounds.

One heavy limb crashed against a neighboring tree and broke. Its splintered end sprayed red. The smeared traces of gore running down the smooth trunk resembled macabre trails left by bloodied snails.

The banked campfire flared, soil erupting in a flaming fountain, allowing everything to be seen in gruesome bas-relief. Earth shifted, spitting out grisly remains of previous sacrificial victims, somehow not fully decomposed even after the passage of centuries. Smells of death and decay found Dara’s nostrils and she vomited. Air around the site thickened to a gelatinous feel, active with unseen creatures walking, crawling, slithering through.

A root grabbed Kevin by his ankle and wrenched him off his feet, dragging him away. Dara grabbed for his outstretched hand and missed. Branches of a cannonball tree grasped his arms and legs, hoisting him upside down against the balled trunk in a grim rendition of a living crucifix. Vines snaked down from the treetops and wound around his head, pulling Kevin tighter against the tree, halting futile struggles. He screamed then, horrible animalistic sounds. His chest heaved with the effort just to breath.

Dara tried to go to her husband. Skeletal hands held fast, tying her to the soil. They pulled on her legs, bony fingers digging into flesh. Blood ran red and warm down her calves, and it energized the decayed digits. They gripped harder, dragging her to her knees. She reached toward Kevin, trying to stretch herself, to pull free despite the burning sensation overtaking her lower body. Fear and frustration filled her.