Michael Cordy - The Source

Four other nymphs walked to the pod and lifted the mother. Its colour was also changing, darkening, like that of a dead fish losing its freshness. The musky, mustard-seed smell he had detected yesterday was stronger now. The creature seemed barely alive but the other nymphs made no attempt to revive it in the pool, as they had with the newborn. Instead, they lifted it on to their shoulders and carried it towards the entrance to the tunnel of blood, where they stopped.

Six other nymphs rushed from the cave and returned with fruit and plants. There was a lull as they formed a procession behind the quartet bearing the dying mother. As if on some invisible cue, they began to sing, a fractured, haunting melody, as they entered the tunnel and climbed the path beside the rushing stream.

Ross looked around the cave. The other nymphs were occupied with the newborn. He hesitated, heart pounding, feeling the crystal in his bag, knowing he should be grateful for what he had and walk away. He couldn't, though. Not yet. He followed the procession into the tunnel of blood.

Ross hung back, keeping a discreet distance from the nymphs. The meandering path was wet and uneven but his Timberlands held their grip on the crystal-encrusted steps. As he climbed he became aware of two things: the tunnel was long, and it appeared to get brighter the further he went.

He estimated he had been walking for about fifteen minutes when the nymphs stopped singing. The light was now so bright it seemed to bleach everything. Unable to see without squinting, he pressed himself into a recess in the wall and put on his sunglasses. Now he could marvel at the gilded crystal rock that surrounded him. It was more dramatic even than the amazing formations in the vast Lechugia caves of New Mexico.

Peering out of the recess he saw that the tunnel ahead curved and widened to form a chamber with a small waterfall. The ground there was flat but beyond it the path rose to another level, leading to the light above. On this higher level, by the top of the waterfall, the tunnel widened again to form another small chamber to the right of the main path, its walls pockmarked with a warren of small holes and tunnels. Each was pitch black, beyond the reach of the light, but as he stared at the holes he thought he saw dark shapes writhing within them. Two spots of red flickered, then disappeared into the shadows, reminding him of the crocodile-infested river. A shudder rippled through him.

The nymphs had congregated at the base of the waterfall. Three, laden with the fruit and plants, approached the path to the higher level. As they climbed, the others again burst into song. This time it was more a chant, an incantation: two notes repeated again and again.

As the sound reverberated round the walls, the three nymphs reached the upper level and walked to the right, into the centre of the chamber. They placed the fruit and plants on the ground in front of the holes. Then, as soon as they'd returned to the others, the chanting stopped. Within seconds the upper chamber exploded into a writhing orgy of violence. Long dark shapes shot out of the holes and tunnels and attacked the food. They didn't linger, just tore at the fruit and plants and retreated to their lairs. Then they launched another attack, repeating the frenzied process until there was nothing left. It was over so fast that it was hard to make out what had happened.

When the food was gone and the creatures had retired to their holes, Ross could still see them shuffling restlessly, red eyes staring. The nymphs started their chant again and the creatures froze. This time four nymphs carried the dying one to the same spot where the fruit had been left. It whimpered but didn't struggle when the others laid it down and retreated to the lower level. Again, when the chanting stopped, the creatures twisted out of the walls like missiles, their long worm-like bodies never leaving the holes entirely. This time the feeding frenzy took longer and Ross watched in horror as the dark, armour-plated beasts drilled through their prey, extracting circular chunks of flesh from the nymph, then retreating to their holes and propelling themselves forward again. In seconds the screaming nymph had been shredded. In a little more than a minute it had been consumed.

When it was over the nymphs made their way back down the tunnel, reverting to the same fractured melody they had sung on the way up. Ross pressed himself deeper into the recess to watch them pass. It seemed that even in this miraculous paradise nature had to maintain a balance, however cruel. For every birth there had to be a death. One in, one out.

As soon as the singing receded, he ventured out to where they had been standing and looked up to the next level. Ahead, he could see the tunnel leading to the source of light. To its right was the dark chamber, its walls pocked with tunnels and holes. A jutting shape, which didn't fit with the crystalline rocks, caught his eye. It took him some seconds to see that it was a sword. Its blade was encrusted with crystals but the handle and hilt were clearly recognizable. He looked round and saw, encased within the rocks, a breastplate punched with holes and half of a helmet. All lay only a few yards from the dark holes and in that instant he knew they had belonged to the ill-fated conquistadors who had climbed this passage to what they thought was treasure. He thought again of the passage in the Voynich. The scholar priest watched each of them disappear into the tunnel and for many minutes nothing happened. Then the screaming started. And the stream turned red with their blood.

If they had kept to the path on the upper level the conquistadors would still have fallen prey to the rock worms. Their armour and weapons, invincible against the Inca, were useless against such predators. He shuddered at the image of twenty-one men being butchered like the nymph. No wonder it had been a bloodbath.

He looked up the passageway towards the beckoning light. Unlike the conquistadors, Ross knew it wasn't the glow of treasure but something far more valuable. A famous quotation from Louis Pasteur came to mind: 'I am on the verge of mysteries and the veils are getting thinner.' Excitement and frustration pulsed through him. Just out of reach was what promised to be the holy grail of geology, of all science, the point of origin for life on this planet – and a certain cure for Lauren. He watched the shapes moving in the dark, guarding the passage to whatever was up there. He was tantalizingly close to the most incredible discovery in Earth's history – something that had given birth eventually to humanity, although only one man had ever seen it – yet he couldn't reach it. If only he had more time to find a way to get past the creatures, as Father Orlando had.

Ross licked his dry lips, opened his mouth and replicated the nymphs' two-note chant. Immediately, the movement in the holes stopped.

He fell silent and the movement started again. Some of the creatures shot out of the holes, jaws snapping. It seemed that the chanting not only stilled them, but also primed them to expect food. He sang the notes again. The creatures instantly retreated to their holes and froze. He stopped and they sprang into life once more.

Was this how Father Orlando had eventually reached what he had called el origen?

Ross wondered how much further away the source was. He also wondered how long the creatures would stay immobile if he maintained the chant, and whether, once he got past this section, he would be safe. He thought of the crystal in his backpack. Sister Chantal was convinced it was enough to cure Lauren, and she had almost as much at stake as he did. He should he grateful for what he had, hurry home and not look back. And yet-

Bang.

The sharp report was muffled but unmistakable.