Voices of Home 1/3
The journey had started off well enough; Miguel had apparently stored his machete from their original trek to the golden city somewhere, and having retrieved the (miraculously rust-free) blade had gone gleefully to the work of hacking a path through the jungle. The three had taken turns riding Altivo, which in reality consisted of Chel and Tulio taking turns riding and leading the horse until Miguel was too exhausted to continue razing a path for them, and all had somehow avoided being bitten, stung, poisoned, eaten or otherwise killed by the various jungle creatures.
It was the third day when things started to go downhill. Tulio had begun to complain about his many insect bites and lack of gold, Chel was refusing to get off of the horse as she had already walked enough for today, thank you very much, and Miguel’s machete arm was beginning to flag in its enthusiasm. “One more swing,” he was muttering under his breath. “One more… there!”
“Look at this!” he whooped, waving over his companions.
Tulio came forward, leading Altivo and the girl perched on his back, grumbling “Miguel, if it’s another rock I swear to god I will -” His jaw dropped.
They were standing at the edge of an immense canyon at least a hundred feet across. From the immeasurable depths came the distant roar of falling water, which sent up a spray of mist that made the pit appear bottomless. Birds wheeled and called to each other down there, specks against the dark rocks and white spray. A single, thin rope bridge stretched across, barely fifty feet from where they now stood, a thread stretched over a gaping mouth.
Miguel spread his arms as through trying to encompass the enormity of the thing, and grinned. “Isn’t it magnificent?”
“It’s amazing,” Chel breathed, sounding awestruck. Even Altivo seemed impressed, looking all around in an almost stupefied manner and even moving to the canyon edge in order to looking down before Tulio yanked him back.
“It’s a deathtrap,” he declared, folding his arms. “And besides, even I remember that this was never on the map. We’re going the wrong way, Miguel; let’s just turn around and find a safer way -”
“It’s an adventure, Tulio,” Miguel said, clapping a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Besides, you don’t know that this is the wrong way. We’re taking the scenic route, that’s all.”
“Scenic? More like deadly. I will not risk my neck unless I’ve got a cheat in place to save it, and that clearly id not the case here, so - no. Not the face, I will not… stop it, stop it now, or I’ll… fine!” Tulio threw his arms into the air, dropping Altivo’s reins. “If you’re that set on killing us all, go ahead! No gold, no living like a king back in Spain to look forward to, I might as well meet my end here.” Tulio continued to rant, but picked up Altivo’s reins and led him towards the bridge. Miguel followed, a boyish grin on his face.
The footsteps of the two men and the horse on the wooden bridge echoed loudly, but aside from swaying disconcertingly with every step, the bridge seemed solid enough.
“This is the Pit of Echoes,” Chel said in a hushed, almost reverential voice, when they were nearly halfway across. Her words bounced off the rock walls strangely, returning to them as though spoken by a host of spirits.
“The what?” Miguel asked, and his voice boomed back like the rage of a god. Tulio stumbled and a grabbed a rope for dear life, nearly dropping the reins.
Chel glared back at him, hands clapped over her ears. “Shh! It’s a sacred place. According to the stories, when you cross this bridge, the spirits return to you the voice of your home, whatever that means.”
Tulio turned back to look at Chel. “I thought you didn’t believe in the gods,” he said in a low, amused voice.
“I never said that,” she replied, “I just didn’t think they’d smite me for taking a little of their gold when they have so much in Shibalba. If they didn’t smite you, I think I’m safe.” She grinned at Tulio, who smiled back. Chel’s smile faded quickly, though. “Anyway, it’s spirits I’m worried about right now, not gods. So shush!”
Tulio walked obediently along in silence, trying not to let the sheer enormity of the abyss below him freeze his will and his legs, and focused his eyes on the inviting green ahead. The green that contained god knew what kind of poisonous plants and insects to sting them and hungry man-eating beasts with yellow eyes that watched you from the shadows as you tried to sleep on the hard ground riddled with roots that jabbed into your back and even more insects that crawled all over your exposed skin and into your clothing carrying disease on their little legs and pincers - maybe Miguel was right. Maybe he worried too much. Or, as was much more likely, he worried exactly the right amount. Besides, he was worrying for the entire group; Miguel never stopped to think anything through and Chel, while smarter than Miguel, had the distinct tendency to take whatever opportunity she could without considering the consequences. This though comforted him, and he forgot for a moment about the inestimable depth that lay a mere wood plank’s width beneath his feet. For a moment.
The echoes of their steps seemed to fill the space around them, intensifying until it sounded as though an army was coming across the bridge after them. Tulio sped up slightly, Altivo following, and the following army did likewise. Suddenly Tulio was running, flying across the shaky slats of the bridge, and he imagined that he could almost feel the hot breath of the warhorses on his neck, and then -
They were across. Tulio resisted the urge to fall to his knees and kiss the sweet solidity underfoot, and instead mentally berated himself for letting such outlandish thoughts startle him. Miguel’s insanity was obviously becoming contagious. At the thought of his partner, Tulio turned to see if the man-child had managed to make his way across the bridge yet, half-expecting him to still be on the other side staring at some ‘fascinating’ rock or plant. Thankfully this was not the case, although from the shaken look on his companion’s face, Tulio reasoned that his earlier though about contagious insanity hadn’t been too far off the mark. Resisting the sudden urge to hug that stupid look off of Miguel’s face, Tulio settled for moving next to him and clapping his partner on the shoulder. “Having second thoughts about the ‘scenic route’ already? Come on, Miguel, we’d better get moving if we want to make it back to Spain before next year.” He knew that something was wrong when Chel twisted abruptly around to face him, surprise and confusion warring in her expression.
“Tulio?” Miguel asked, and the identical confusion in his eyes set the alarm bells in Tulio’s head ringing. What Miguel said next, Tulio had no idea, because it sounded like complete gibberish to him.
Tulio crossed his arms and frowned, as though the physical actions could hold back the panic trying to claw its way out of his chest. “Miguel, this isn’t time for one of your pranks. We’ve been wandering this godforsaken jungle for three days, and we’re no closer to getting back to Spain that I can see. So cut it out, and go… do something useful. chop some vegetation or something.”
That should have made Miguel laugh. Any other day, it would have made Miguel laugh, and this stupid grin of his would light up his face like the sun, and they would continue to blunder their way onwards and everything would be all right. Instead, a spark of panic joined the confusion in Miguel’s eyes, and Tulio felt something twist in his gut. He babbled something questioning, and Tulio thought that he heard his own name, and the word Español in there somewhere, but the rest was still nonsense. Miguel seemed to sense this, and the spark of panic in his eyes became a bright spot of terror. He turned to Chel and said something, and Tulio could only watch helplessly as the two of them gabbled at each other. Suddenly, the two were shouting, Miguel pointing an accusing finger at Che, who had dismounted now and was waving her arms angrily, looking offended. Tulio felt his hands ball into fists, threw back his head and poured all of his frustration, fear and confusion into a single word: “Stop!”
Thankfully, blessedly, Miguel and Chel seemed to understand his meaning (if not the actual words), and fell silent. For a time, the only sound that could be heard was Tulio’s heavy breathing, and the nervous shifting of the horse. When Tulio had finally composed himself, he grabbed Miguel’s shirt and pulled him close, trying not to let himself drown in those twin green pools of terror. “This is not Chel’s fault,” he said, gesturing emphatically. “Got that? It’s not her fault, and it’s not my fault, and it’s not your fault. And even if it is, it doesn’t matter, because it’s done.” There was something that might have been understanding in Miguel’s face, and Tulio hoped that some of this was getting through to his partner. “I’m going to fix this,” he promised in a low growl, releasing Miguel’s shirt. He turned to face Chel, who had an expression of mingled panic and hope that terrified him. “I’m the one with the plans,” he said to both of them, “and I’m going to fix this. All right? So we’re going to keep going, and we’re going to get out of this jungle and back to Spain, and everything is going to be fine. I promise.” He stared into both sets of eyes in turn - the dark, deep pools of Chel’s and the fragile green trust of Miguel’s - and willed them to understand. “I promise.”