The Legend of the Agua de Vida

Now, in the Newest of Cities in the Spanish ruled Empire of Mexica, there were two brothers, Luis Ponce de León, the elder, and Juan Ponce de León, who was the younger by many years. Luis was sent to the new capital of Mexica, to be juez de residencia, the enforcer and Spanish official there. There he stayed, till, in 1526 when Cortés returned, he fell gravely ill. Luis was required to enforce the laws of the colony over Cortés who had thus far been unbound by the laws of the Empire.

Luis however died, soon afterwards, giving the last of his powers over to Marcos de Aguilar, as his brother hadn't been heard from since 1521. The man, however was weak, he kept himself alive by sucking milk from a woman's breast. He was too frail to contain Cortés, so he did the one other thing that Luis had requested of him as he lay dying.

'My friend, you are not so able in body, but be able in mind, at least for a little while, for I have a tale, passed to me through a militia man who served under by dear brother's convoy. He came under cover of the darkest night, bruised and bloodied, to tell me of my brother, Juan Ponce de León, and his demise. This tale I must convey from my dying mind, to yours so that it may not be forgotten. And when you are at your end, dear friend, do not forget to pass on the tale of the magnificent fountain, and those who perished by it. For greed is a terrible thing. It has brought even the worst conquerors to their knees.'

Along with his powers, Luis gave Marcos the tale of the Fountain of Life. It was said to have run with the replenishing holy water, as that of which was said to have flowed from the side of the good lord Jesus Crísto at Calvary, the place of the Skull, on the day of his crucifixion.

And so when Marcos de Aguilar lay on his death bed as well, he told the matron to bring the young chico from the stables, and his successor to whom he would relate the tale.

And so it is as follows:

'In the year 1513 the man, Juan Ponce de León, set off under the command of Hernán Cortés himself, to search for a wonderful thing. It was told of in the writings of the great Aztec scholar, Monctezuma. It would be a powerful thing to have and would be greatly sought after if one were to ever get a hold of it. The Aztec writings spoke of an ancient Fountain where their gods would drink after great and lengthy battles. Their strength would replenish, their wounds healed, their powers doubled. Agua de Vida – Water of Life.

'But not only did it heal their aliments, it kept their bodies and minds young forever. Cortés wanted this for himself, so he did not tell Juan what the water did, only to find the fountain. Juan then set off, seventy men under him, armed and ready to fight any amount of hostile natives. They fought off jungle beasts and wild pygmies, ancients and natives. But nothing would prepare them for what lay ahead. For fifty - two moon cycles and five sun cycles they wandered through heathen jungles and treacherous storms and beasts came upon them.

'On the night of the last sun cycle, they came to a clearing where upon the saw nothing but water off of a pristine white beach. But when the sun went down, in its place they saw a great mountain which smoked and smoldered.

'So a great raft was built and that night they reached the Isle's shores, and they claimed it for Spain, naming it the Isle de Beimini, which in the native tongue of Taino-Arawak means Mother of Many Waters.

'The great mountain that resided upon the Isle was not a mountain, but a great Volcano that natives said erupted every sacred fifty two year cycle. But, as they trudged up the great smoldering mount it did not erupt. Eight long days they climbed, till, reaching the top the twenty men left of the original seventy stopped in dead silence and awe at their surroundings.

'The ledge at which they had stopped to rest was a heavenly paradise. Palm and fern grew unhindered and the ancient stone walls that guarded the natural spring were intricately carved, and covered with vines. Jewels were encrusted into the stone walls, and though sturdy, they were crumbling.

'On either side of the shrine were two carved pedestals upon which a red diamond was housed. Juan sent two men to each pedestal and retrieved the red diamonds, as they were the most brilliant of the Jewels.

'The convoy advanced to the ancient doors but they were disappointed profoundly when the immense gateway would not open. The handles were two halves of a great serpentine skull and where the eye sockets were, there appeared clasps just the shape and size of the red jewels.

'Juan placed the jewels into the serpentine skull and the doors were unlocked. Pleased, the motorcade proceeded through, but warily, as Juan and his men did not know what to expect.

'It was as a sacred temple; a shrine dedicated to the ancient god Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent. A natural spring fountain was flowing from the obsidian rock in rivulets. It gleamed in the unnatural light of the cave.

'The men followed Juan towards the natural irrigate and paused at the steps that led up to the devinate shine. Only Juan continued forward. From his tunic Juan produced a small green glass vial, plugged with a cork stopper and proceeded up the sacrosanct steps.

'Juan uncorked the bottle and, as he stooped to fill the vial with the pure water, enormous cracks appeared in the floor. Juan had believed the ground to be obsidian to but was mistaken. Damp, the rock formation that served as his platform looked black like the Obsidian. But now it was cracking under his shifted weight.

'He continued to fill the vial, till the brim overflowed and stood delicately, making his way to return as he came. But one of the men, a native guide, had begun reading the inscriptions carved ages before on the sanctified walls. He shouted out in warning and in curse of Cortés.

'Leaping the man tackled Juan, and sent the two, along with the precious vial crashing through the delicate rock. It was at this time that the great mount decided to erupt. The remaining tried to go back but the doors had sealed shut. The ground shook with such force that the seventeen men that had come with the party were sent down through the thin rock to their deaths.

'Only one man was left alive. The guard that Juan had left at the door to protect the entrance. But when it had shut he had been so frightened that he ran off; hearing the eruptions he only ran faster.

'He dashed to the beach and pushed off on the enormous raft, but the wind was against him and he drifted out to sea. For another five sun cycles the man drifted, till in the blazing heat of the afternoon one lone Spanish ship spotted the man on the raft.

'They had been exploring what we now call Hispaniola, and were just off the Gulf of Honduras when the watchman spotted the object afloat at sea. They made towards it, but a huge monster, the twice the size of their frigate came crashing down upon them, sinking the ship to the depths for eternity.

'But, one good thing came of this. The Serpent made such waves that the raft, insignificant in size to the monster, was pushed to the shores of Bahama, off the Gulf of Honduras, where he was saved.

'The villagers took him in and cared for him till his heath was at peak, but great winds came and tore the Isle apart and he fled for the mainland. He lost himself in the Jungle, which was inhabited with the Pygmies and the wild beasts, but he made it back to Puerto Rico, where Luis was just making departure for the Mexica.

He fell to Luis' feet and told his grand tale, and Juan's death, and then departed earth. His name was Nicolás de Ovano. Eight long years he had journeyed to find the Fountain. Five years later he died with the strains of the tale on his lips.

It was he who told the account and now, friend, I tell it to you, as Luis told it to Marcos and Marcos related the fantastic tale to the stable boy, his successor, and the matron, before he died.

Do not forget the lesson learned. Cortés destroyed all, but Cortés was destroyed by greed. And so he would fall, eventually in 1547, wealthy and embittered, of pleurisy. We all meet our ends. And so Juan met his, and Cortés, and Luis, Marcos, and Nicolás. All would have lived with the water of the fountain. Yet none survived.

And so is the cursed tale of the Fountain which holds the water of life.