Phoenix Gem

What happens when an archeologist marries a mythology professor?

Two things:

1. A dysfunctional relationship with non-stop arguing.

It was honestly no surprise to anyone when they got a divorce. The real shock was that they got married in the first place. The one thing they ever agreed on was that the only good thing that came from their union was…

2. Me. Me, a mythological archeologist and second thing you get from such an unusual union.

You’re probably wondering what a mythological archeologist is. Well, it’s basically a made up occupation fueled by the dual passion instilled by parents that couldn’t agree on anything. Much like my archeologist mother I travel to remote locations in search of ancient artifacts, but I search for antiquities of legend. Fabled pieces that were once believed to be part of ritualistic ceremonies, jewelry and weapons crafted by the gods, and cursed gem stones with supernatural power.

As I mused to myself my assistant, Jonah, stumbled across the deck.

He was a quiet man. Many would describe him as shy and meek. Behind his glasses and uncoordinated lack of self awareness he was surprisingly handsome, though I’m sure I’m one of few women to notice. Even if they did take notice and made advances he would, more likely than not, completely miss their overtures. What he lacked in social graces he made up for in his studious nature and quick but neat note taking so I kept him around. It also didn’t hurt that he was extraordinarily fun to tease.

“Sea sick?” I asked noting his queasy expression.

“We are not on the sea,” He responded matter of factly.

“Well, river sick then”. I couldn’t help but laugh. He had a tendency to use sarcasm and his intellect to appear the tough guy instead of Neanderthal like brawn. I admired him for that.

“Where are we exactly,” he turned this way and that, searching, as if a road sign would pop up from between the mangroves.

“Belize”

“I know that, you know very well what I mean”.

As I said, fun to tease.

“We are currently traveling westward, down the Belize river. Soon we will take a branch off to travel south down the Macol.” I explained. The dear man would follow me aimlessly. The least I could do was give him directions.

It seemed to put him a bit at ease and he relaxed against the railing.

Per his usual he didn’t stay quiet long.

“And… why exactly are we here”.

I heaved an exasperated sign.

A friend of mine, that was currently volunteering her veterinary experience at the Belize Wildlife and Referral Clinic, had phoned me with an interesting smidgen of information.

A scarlet macaw, an endangered bird in this once prosperous region had been brought in after being caught in a net. This particular bird was unique however. Where as common examples of the species have a beautiful triangular, fan like tail that folds in while at rest, this one had two extra feathers. A bright red and orange ombre feather that hung loosely like a roosters plume was fastened to either side of the tail. These extra feathers were a good six inches longer than the full length of the tail.

Another significant difference is that the blue and green shades the usually marked the wings and tail feathers were strictly limited. The description she gave me was the exact one I read in a manuscript describing the Phoenix that guarded a rare blood red diamond known as the Phoenix gem. After seeing photos of the bird and comparing them to sketches in the text I had to make long trek.

We drifted farther away from civilization, deep into the Chiquibul forest.

The next morning we reached the end of our river voyage. We would hike from here.

“Jonah, if you lag behind you will get lost,”

“I appreciate the concern but I am not lagging. I am taking a moment to photograph the native flora.”

“That native flora you are about to sniff contains hallucinogenic pollen.” I stated calmly pointing to the bright purple iris-like flower that was dangerously close to his face.

“Oh,” he relied stepping away and walking passed me, “better not dilly-dally then”.

I rolled my eyes at him and followed.

Our guide led us deeper into the jungle than any tourist had gone before. At one point I was sure that even poachers would not dare venture this far. Jaguar and red tiger tracks littered the rain softened earth.

“It is too close to sunset, we must make camp,” our guide proclaimed in a deep Creole accent.

After a hearty bowl of camp stew we settled into our tents.

By tomorrow evening we should be making the discovery a century. If it exists that is…

The excitement has me restless. Sleep will not come easily tonight.

Tree frogs and the night owls of the bird world sung from their perches. Insects chattered all around us.

The Rainforest’s midnight hum lulled me safely to sleep.

** * **

In the sapphire light of dawn the rustling of many foot steps, far too close for comfort awoke me from a dream-less sleep. Slipping on my trousers quickly I rushed out of my tent.

The forest went silent. I saw nothing that could have been the culprit.

I wondered briefly if my sleep had been as dreamers as I believed.

“What was that rustling,” Jonah asked peaking his head out of the flap of his tent.

So much for it being a dream, I sighed inwardly.

“I’m not sure,” I responded, glancing over my shoulder. I took note of the fact that dear Jonah appeared to be lacking a shirt and wondered what else he slept with out.

The resounding of rustling underbrush and march of cautious steps drew me back to reality.

From the thick of the brush indigenous people stepped with deadly spears dipped in poison pointed our way.

“Amelia”

“Yes, Jonah”

"Please tell me you know who these people are,”

“Considering they are pointing spears at us I am going to assume not,” stated our guide ever so obviously.

Our cornered trio held what little ground we had as an unarmed member of the ambush party stepped forward.

She was dressed in the finery expected of a tribal leader. Blue and yellow feathers were braided into her long black hair like a halo. Gold bands molded into the shape of taloned feet wrapped around her arms. White clay paint adorned her chocolate colored skin. She spoke in an authoritative tone.

“What language was that,” Jonah asked, understandably worried.

“Technically that wasn’t a language. Its Kriol, a regional dialect that combines English, French and west African linguistic aspects.”

“Please tell me that in knowing that you are able to understand them”.

I laughed nervously, “not in the slightest”.

“My grandmother spoke in Kriol often,” our guide spoke up, “I am not fluent but I know enough. They think we are poachers”.

“Well explain to…” Jonah began to panic.

Poachers were seen as the worse of criminals. Many tribes banded together to protect the jungle they call home.

As our guide and the chieftess conversed the expression on the faces of the hunting party softened. She turned without another word and her men followed protectively.

“We may follow”.

** * **

“Is there a reason we aren’t clearing a path,” Jonah complained after being wacked by yet another branch.

That made three sapling branches, six ferns, the root he tripped on and a spider web. Jonah was truly a man not built for the wilderness. I chuckled as he chivalrously walked ahead of me.

“This forest is sacred to these people,” our guide explained, “they take only what they need and always replenish with the seeds from the plants they consume. To create a path would be to destroy unnecessarily.”

We walked so long my legs began to burn. Despite the pain my spirits soared when the screaming vocals of macaws sounded through the air. The bright mid days sun was temporarily blinding when we burst through the canopy darkened forest into a vast clearing.

A carefully carved limestone pyramid stood in the center of the field. Mayan symbols were chiseled into steps and alfarda leading up to a the enclosed chamber at the top. From its intricate archway stepped a tall and imposing figure.

A man. His dark skin was painted with similar symbols as the woman chief that had come to… “greet” us.

He raised an arm to the returning group and the screeching calls of scarlet macaws sounded around us as if cheering for this man. A cloak of red and gold clung to his back as he turned and re entered the chamber.

The woman spoke again but to me.

“He will see you, alone.”

“You speak English,” Jonah stammered.

“I speak however I need in my moment of need,” was her only response as she sat on the ground gesturing for all but me to follow her.

I ascended the steep steps, thankful, more than ever for my gym membership.

When I finally reached the top I thought I might faint. A stair stepper truly is nothing in comparison to Mayan architecture.

I glanced inside the chamber.

The man, sparsely dressed stood with his back to me. The clock ruffled and… stretched.

Wings.

I stood dumbstruck at the sight. He turned to face me.

“You are here because of my friend.”

“Are you referring to the macaw with the extra feathers?”

“Macaw," he chuckled, amused by the name I gave for his friend "Yes.”

“Can you te…”

“Your people are caring for him?”

“Uh, my friend is, yes. She’s a doctor for animals”.

“And what are you?”

“A researcher. I wish to learn more about your friend and…”

“This?” he asked holding out a stone. At first glance it appeared like an ordinary lump of coal. Surely that wasn’t the Phoenix gem, the blood red diamond that I heard tale of.

Seeing the disappointment on my face he turned again. He walked to the center of the chamber and placed the blackened lump on an alter under the only patch of penetrating light. As the sun touched the chalky mineral it began to glow a vibrant red. Only with the sun, channeled through a prism directly above could the gem be seen. Red light illuminated the room. Carved into its walls was the story of the Scarlet macaw.

A single bird emerged from a fossilized tree to a world covered in ash. It’s forest home burned. It’s screech like a beacon brought others of its kind, survivors of the fire. Together they cried. They cried for the loss of their forest and all those that inhabited it. They flew across the land that was once their home. As their tears fell into the ash so to did the sky begin to weep. As if the grief and pain inside them had willed their tears to heal lives lost rose again. Trees and brush sprang from the earth. Their home restored. This temple was built by the witnesses. The truth hidden from those that would wish to use these birds selfishly. The stone hidden so that only those worthy of the truth may find it.

** * **

Why he chose me as worthy is far beyond my understanding. What I do know is that, in knowing the truth I now have a piece, no matter how small, in a greater responsibility.

Preservation.