1. Avalyn
The faint scent of old chalk dust and even older books filled the air as Professor Jordan paced back and forth in front of the classroom, his voice a measured drone as he expounded on the intricacies of pre-Columbian South American civilizations.
I slouched in my seat, trying to feign interest, but my mind wandered. It was like he was reading straight from a textbook—one that I had memorized before I was twelve, thanks to the countless hours spent poring over the volumes in Uncle Hamish’s study.
“…and of course, the Moche civilization in Peru is renowned for their sophisticated pottery and architectural designs,” the professor continued, his excitement barely registering on his wrinkled face.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. The Moche were also skilled metalworkers, creating intricate gold and silver jewelry adorned with precious stones—a fact Uncle Hamish had found far more interesting when we were down in Peru…umm…acquiring…some of those pieces.
Sitting here, listening to a lecture that barely scratched the surface of what I knew, didn’t come close to matching the thrill of holding those ancient treasures in my hands, feeling the cool metal against my fingers and imagining the long-forgotten craftsmen who created them.
“Ms. Greer,” Jordan’s voice cut through my reverie, startling me back to reality. “Would you care to elaborate on the significance of the Moche pyramids?”
I blinked, then smirked. “Certainly, Professor. The Moche pyramids, or huacas, were not only religious centers but also served as administrative buildings. They were constructed using an adobe brick technique, allowing for intricate relief carvings depicting scenes from Moche mythology and daily life. In fact, the Huaca del Sol was the largest adobe structure in the Americas and contained a complex network of rooms and courtyards.”
“Very well,” he said, nodding slowly as he processed my response. “Moving on to the Chimu culture…”
As the lecture resumed, my thoughts drifted once again to Uncle Hamish. I longed for the feel of dirt beneath my nails, the sun beating down on my head as I uncovered secrets buried for millennia.
But, as I glanced around at my classmates, most of them furiously taking notes, it seemed I was alone in my yearning.
God. How could they be content to stay inside the safe walls of academia, never venturing beyond the safe and familiar? Hadn’t they gone into archaeology for fieldwork?
The professor droned on, his voice a distant hum as I lost myself in my memories. I could almost feel the grit beneath my boots, the cool dampness of ancient stone against my fingertips as Uncle Hamish and I delved into forgotten tombs and uncharted caverns together.
Or my favorite memory—that sweltering day deep in the Amazon rainforest when Uncle Hamish and I trekked through the dense foliage, the air thick with humidity, the plants and dirt teeming with life. Our machetes sliced through the tangled underbrush, leaving a meandering trail behind us.
“Are you sure about this?” I’d asked him.
“Oh, I have a feeling our efforts will be rewarded soon enough. Call it a hunch,” he said.
And his hunches had a habit of being right.
“Besides,” he continued, casting a mischievous glance in my direction, “I’d wager you’re itching to get your hands dirty, aren’t you?”
“More than anything.” I gazed longingly into the jungle.
“Then you’re in luck.” With a flourish, Uncle Hamish had pulled aside a curtain of vines, revealing the moss-covered stones of a tomb, half-collapsed.
It had been a hell of a fifteenth-birthday present.
Back in the classroom, I snapped out of my daydream, a pang of longing for the wild beauty of the Amazon twinging through me.
Resting my chin on my hand, I stared blankly at the PowerPoint presentation, lost in the memories of adventure and exploration. The professor’s voice droned on in the background, but it couldn’t compete with the vivid images of the Amazon rainforest that danced in my mind.
“Ms. Greer?” the professor called out, snapping me back to the present. My cheeks flushed as I realized I had been caught daydreaming again. “Perhaps you could answer this question for us: What is the significance of the Quipu in pre-Columbian South American civilizations?”
“Of course,” I said, trying to brush off my embarrassment with a confident tone. “The Quipu, or ‘talking knots,’ were used by the Inca civilization as a form of record keeping. They were made from strings of various colors, which represented different subjects, and the knots themselves denoted numerical values. It’s believed that they may have also been used for more complex communication, but much of their meaning is still lost to history.”
The professor raised an eyebrow. “Correct.” He turned back to the board, resuming his lecture as if nothing had happened.
I was pretty sure he hated me.
It was quickly becoming mutual.
As class ended, I hastily packed up my belongings and headed for the door.
I couldn’t help but feel out of place as I moved among the austere buildings, their history and prestige looming over me. I walked across the campus, thoughts of my classmates swirling in my mind. They were so different from me—they spent their free time discussing academic theories and debating the merits of various research methodologies. I wanted the thrill of exploration, the adrenaline rush that came with uncovering ancient artifacts.
I’d majored in archaeology for the thrill of discovery, the exhilaration of unearthing secrets long forgotten by time.
But I wanted to do it right.
Not sneaking through the jungle. Not stealing treasure and selling it to the highest bidder.
I wanted to be a respected scholar.
And find treasure.
I was beginning to think I might not be able to do both.
It was only my second semester, and already I knew that I didn’t belong here.
As I sat down on a bench beneath a sprawling oak tree, I thought of my first semester here. I had been so excited to start my graduate studies in archaeology, eager to dive into the fascinating world of lost civilizations and hidden treasures.
And yet, it hadn’t taken long for me to realize that the pursuit of knowledge in a university setting was vastly different from the adventures I’d shared with Uncle Hamish.
Maybe I should have expected it. After all, I knew what it was like out there, in the real world. How could any of this compare?
I sighed. My peers thrived on intellectual pursuits, while I wanted adventure.
Fine. So I didn’t fit in here.
I’d known that was likely when I’d started. I was an outsider. A scholarship student at an Ivy League school. A girl with bright pink hair and a penchant for adventure. One who had no place in their world.
“Hey, Avalyn!” My one friendly classmate, Ben, greeted me brightly, his glasses slipping down his nose as he peered over the stack of books he carried in his arms. “Enjoying another thrilling day of academia?”
“Thrilling is one word for it,” I replied sarcastically, shifting my backpack to a more comfortable position. He chuckled, either not catching my sarcasm or choosing to ignore it.
“Come on, you’ve got to admit this stuff is fascinating.” He dropped onto the bench next to me and dropped the books beside him, then gestured at them. “The rise and fall of ancient civilizations, their secrets waiting to be uncovered. It’s all just so... amazing.”
I raised an eyebrow, surprised by his enthusiasm. “Amazing, huh? Maybe if we were actually out there in the thick of it, discovering those secrets for ourselves. But here?” I glanced around at the old buildings. “It just feels... stale.”
“Sure,” Ben said, pushing his glasses up. “But we’ve got to start somewhere, right? And who knows, maybe someday, we’ll be the ones making those discoveries.”
“Maybe,” I echoed. The idea of spending my life digging through layers of bureaucracy suddenly left me cold.
But deep down, I knew the path I was on wouldn’t lead to the life I wanted.
It led instead to a future trapped in academia—a life that, for all its promise, would never make me happy.
I wanted Uncle Hamish’s life, I realized—the thrill of the unknown, the excitement of chasing shadows and whispers through the darkest corners of the world.
But what good was that desire if the only legal path available to me led elsewhere?
Still, there had to be more to this than just profit. I mean, Hamish was a tomb-raider and he loved the adventure, but at the end of the day, it was all about the money for him.
Was there way to satisfy both my hunger for adventure and my need to make a difference?