Jake Dakota, Part 16:
Urning Our Keep

I winced as Bradford and I rolled to a stop, trying to prepare myself for anything pointy, saw-toothed, poisonous, or fond of biting. We had tumbled about fifty feet down a slope to land unceremoniously onto a sand floor. Of course, this didn't sit well with me, being so close to Bradford, I could smell what plants he gnawed on during the night on his breath. Both of us reared back, readying that one shot, that one punch that would show the other just who he was dealing with when it caught my eye, and judging from Bradford's expression, his as well.
The Nivadi Urn.
It sat on a pedastal cut from ornate rock. If I wasn't so busy with Bradford, I would've felt cheated by its appearance: bland, dull gold like unpolished copper. It was about ten inches high with a stopper shoved into the top that was covered in ancient writings. This trinket was what we were routinely facing messy deaths for?
"My word," whispered Bradford. "It's the Urn..."
"Yep," I replied. "Neat, huh?"
"Neat is hardly the..."
I found that to be the perfect moment to shut Bradford up with a sweeping left hook against his chin. He slumped to the sand floor, holding his jaw and muttering half-phrases and nonsense words, almost like me after a whiskey or two.
"Karen!" I called, keeping my eyes on the Urn like it would jump off its pedestal and bonk me in the head. "It's here!"
"Are you alright?" Karen asked, stepping carefully down the slope I had taken somewhat faster.
"Yeah, but it's here. The Urn."
Karen arrived and I heard the breath leave her lungs. Her jaw dropped and her eyes riveted their attention on the artifact.
"The Nivadi Urn." She broke from her trance, suddenly remebering a little something. "Where's Bradford?"
I pointed to the gibbering heap lying near the wall to our left. "But he's got the resilience of a bull. We've got to make our move and get out of here." Tossing common sense completely out the window, I stepped towards the Urn. My fingertips were inches away when Karen cried out.
"Jake! Don't!"
I stopped, just barely. The Urn was ours for the taking, all I had to do was...
"Remember the words? Unclouded of mind..."
"Yeah, and I'm not exactly pure of spirit, either."
"I didn't mean.." Karen took my wisecrack as if I really was offended. No dice.
"No, it's true. I've never been a saint. Just ask anyone. I cheat at cards. I overcharge tourists. I have a bar tab that would drain the economy of most small countries."
Karen gazed at me with those eyes. "But I see someone different."
"I might be now." I meant it. I actually felt like a real person for the first time in years. "But it came too late for me to grab the Urn. Whatever you changed in me, I'm not sure the ghosts of this lost temple are convinced I'll stay that way. But you, on the other hand..."
"Me?"
"Think about it. You changed me from hard-headed, money-grubbing dolt into someone who actually cares about someone else. What's more pure than that?"
"Jake..." My name sounded so good coming from her, and I hoped I would hear it again after this caper. Luck was starting to have pity on me.
I took back that thought when Bradford stirred, shaking his head. His eyes became more aware.
"Time enough for sorting things out later, Karen," I said urgently. "It's now or never for this baby..." I nodded at the Urn.
Karen steadied herself, then reached out, shaking fingers edging closer to the Urn...

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