The Labyrinth Key

by Christopher Cartwright

Because blocking their path across the ballcourt’s alley were two men in beastly masks. One wore a mask of a Mayan vampire and the other, a black cougar.

  One of them looked like he had materialized straight out of one of the ancient Mesoamerican petroglyphs. He was six foot four with a muscular frame that challenged even Tom’s massive physique.

  Sam said, “Who the hell are you guys?”

  One of the men was carrying a solid rubber ball. “My name is Xbalanque and this is Hunahpu. If you want to leave Xibalba alive, you’ll need to beat us at a game of Pok-ta-pok.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sam’s lips parted. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  The first man passed the ball to his teammate. To Sam, he said, “Are you ready to play?”

  Now Sam grinned. He exchanged a glance with Tom and turned his gaze toward the one carrying the ball. “You want us to play a stupid, ancient ball game?”

  “No. I’d like you to die and become a permanent member of the underworld. But I’m willing to give you a chance to survive. That is, if you can beat us at the greatest game on Earth.”

  Tom splayed the palms of his hands upward. “Hey, I don’t know where you guys are from and all, but these days, Pok-ta-pok is out and soccer is in.”

  “Soccer?” The man behind the vampire mask queried.

  Tom said, “It’s a game those on the surface in South America prefer to play these days. You kick the ball with your feet and have to score a goal. You probably wouldn’t understand it. The game’s more for the living than the dead!”

  Vampire mask said, “You think this is funny? Play ball or prepare to enter Xibalba forever!”

  Sam’s head swiveled on his neck toward Tom with an expression of confusion. It couldn’t be, could it?

  Both masked men were wearing a simple loincloth, only, and without a hiding place available to either man, each appeared weaponless.

  “Sorry guys, we’ve got places to be,” Sam said, pushing past the man wearing the black cougar mask.

  He almost made it to the obsidian door before vampire mask heaved the Pok-ta-pok ball at him. The ball hit him low, below the hips, wiping his legs out from under him as successfully as a bowling ball.

  For a second Sam wasn’t sure he was going to be able to get back up, but one look at his opponents reassured him that quitting wasn’t an option. He slowly pushed off the floor and forced himself to stand up. His joints protested in pain with each movement.

  When Sam looked like he might not make it, Tom stepped in and lifted him up.

  Sam felt a jolt of lightning running along the nerves in his right leg where the game ball struck, but he locked his knees in tight and refused to give his attackers the satisfaction of knowing that they’d inflicted injury.

  Cougar mask picked up the ball and said, “That was just a warning. If you try and run again, we’ll aim for your head – and I promise you no one gets to return to the surface after being hit in the head by a Pok-ta-pok ball.”

  Sam expelled his breath, slowly releasing the pain in his leg. “I bet.”

  As if to quell any further hope of escape, Cougar said, “Also, if you’re thinking about taking the game ball and trying to escape while we’re unarmed, you’ll find the gamekeeper won’t be as forgiving.”

  Sam and Tom glanced at the unguarded entrance to the ball court. Sam said, “Who?”

  “The gamekeeper,” Cougar said, gesturing toward the entrance, now guarded by a man carrying a double-sided battle axe.

  Sam swallowed.

  His eyes darted toward Tom, who nodded, crossed his arms and resignedly said, “It looks like we’re staying to have a friendly match of Pok-ta-pok.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tom wasn’t anywhere near as frightened as he should have been.

  He’d played basketball, soccer, and gridiron and all had come natural to him. No reason Pok-ta-pok should be any different. Sam Reilly–was a different matter. Despite his athletic attributes and sharp mind, the guy had always been terrible at any game with a ball. Maybe he just hadn’t found the right game yet. Tom sure hoped to hell that Pok-ta-pok was it.

  Tom pictured the ballcourt as a sort of medieval soccer field, more akin to a gladiator’s arena than a place to play ball. Then again, if you listened to what the history books said about Xibalba and the human sacrifice at the end of a game of Pok-ta-pok, he was starting to wish he was in a Roman arena instead.

  The gamemaster stepped into the middle of the ballcourt.

  Tom and Sam stood at the northern end of the I-shaped arena, with Vampire and Cougar at the southern.

  An hourglass was turned over. Sand began to shift and sift and with the movement of each grain, Tom and Sam’s time to prove their worth grew shorter.

  The gamemaster shouted something in a language Tom didn’t understand and then rolled the ball up the sloping wall of stone. The ball rolled all the way to the ceiling before falling down with the speed and force of a cannonball.

  Tom tracked its movement, stepping in close to knock it, but stepped back at the last instant for fear a collision with the ball and his body at speed could prove lethal. Their two masked opponents made no attempt to touch the ball, confirming to him that doing so would have been dangerous, if not deadly.

  The ball rolled all the way to the bottom of the court, across the narrow section and halfway up the opposite side of the sloping stone until losing its momentum and falling back to the ground.

  This time Cougar moved in quick and caught the ball on his torso and sent it north, down the vertical lane of the field.

  Sam dived to block it, but the ball was moving faster than he was.

  Tom ran for it, blocked it with his legs, preventing them from scoring a goal. He knocked the ball to Sam, who kicked it hard at Cougar.

  The man jumped to avoid the ball taking him out, and instead the ball struck Vampire at his hip – knocking him to the ground before ricocheting back to him.

  Sam knocked the ball to Tom, who gave it a hard kick, sending the ball all the way down to the southern goal.

  The gamemaster yelled something, presumably awarding them a goal.

  Tom glanced at Sam and grinned. “See, nothing to it!”

  Sam laughed. “I never doubted it.”

  Their opponents regrouped and started sending the ball north along the playing court, adeptly passing it back and forward, keeping momentum.

  Cougar passed it to Vampire before Vampire headbutted it, propelling the ball up a sloping section of stone.

  The ball rolled back down, its velocity similar to when the gamemaster had commenced the game. Tom shifted easily out of its way and slammed into Sam in the process. They both fell and got back up in an instant, but in doing so, had no preparation for the ball’s second downward bounce.

  The ball struck Tom in the back, knocking him over.

  The gamemaster shouted again, apparently awarding double points to Cougar and Vampire.

  Tom grinned. He wasn’t injured but he’d forgotten he was playing an ancient ball game, designed to circumvent actual war, and as a consequence the game was meant to be played violently. Points were scored for sending the ball into goals, but more points were awarded for injuring one’s opponents, with the near impossible and ultimate goal of making a winning score through the stone ring.

  Tom rolled the ball toward Sam and said, “We’re playing the wrong way.”

  Sam bit his lower lip and arched an eyebrow. “There’s a right way to play?”

  “Yeah. We need to be inflicting pain on our opponents!”

  Sam winced, remembering the shooting pain down his leg from the hit he took earlier. “All right, I can do that.”

  With that, Tom turned the game around, successfully sending the heavy rubber ball hurtling in a constant barrage at their two opponents.

  Vampire and Cougar, despite arguing that they were the best Pok-ta-pok players in history, appeared to have the reflexes of amateurs.

  The gamemaste
r awarded point after point to Sam and Tom, until Tom was certain they were about to be pronounced the winners of this stupid game.

  By his count, they were nearly ten points up.

  The gamemaster held up the hourglass so that everyone could see that the end of the game was approaching fast.

  Maybe it meant last five minutes?

  Or even the last minute…

  There was no way to know for sure.

  The ball rolled forward, followed closely by Vampire and Cougar racing to send it through the vertical axis of the ballcourt.

  Tom stepped out of the way.

  So did Sam, following Tom’s intuition for the game.

  Time was on their side. The best thing they could do was let it run out, while their opponents made an easy goal score.

  Instead, Vampire threw the ball toward Cougar who in turn kicked it hard against the vertical wall.

  Tom watched in disbelief as the ball hit the side, ricocheted, and bounced back toward the opposite end of the narrow court – landing on the sloping side. It rolled downward and through the stone ring.

  The last of the sand ran through the hourglass.

  The game of Pok-ta-pok was over.

  The gamemaster stepped onto the ballcourt and announced, “Xbalanque and Hunahpu win!”

  Vampire and Cougar cheered.

  The gamemaster pronounced loudly, “It is time to grant Xibalba its human sacrifice.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sam and Tom could only stare in amazement at each other.

  The gamemaster didn’t designate who, exactly, was about to be sacrificed but either way, it wasn’t on his plans for the day.

  Tom made an imperceptible nod and both players ran back toward the votive hall. Behind them, the gamemaster gripped his double-sided battle axe and followed them like the grim reaper.

  Inside the votive hall, the small arsenal of ancient weapons still adorned its walls.

  Sam gripped a spear and headed up the stone steps while Tom grabbed a massive, spiked club and hid behind the door.

  The gamemaster entered slowly, then spotting Sam climbing the stairs, took off at a sprint. Tom didn’t hesitate and swung the spiked club into the back of the gamemaster’s head as he attempted to run by.

  Sam heard a sickening crunch and knew instantly that the gamemaster was no longer a threat as he slumped forward onto the ground, his body perfectly still.

  There was no noticeable rise or fall of the man’s chest.

  Tom waited behind the doorway again, holding the spiked club, ready to make a second assault if needed on the other masked men.

  Sam watched and waited, but no one came.

  After about ten minutes Sam slowly made his way down the stairs and checked on the gamemaster. The man was dead. There was nothing they or anyone else could do for him.

  They then headed back out to the ballcourt.

  The rubber ball slammed dangerously close to Sam’s head before bouncing down the court. Distracted by the ball, Sam searched for the two ball players, but found no one.

  Tom asked, “Where did they go?”

  Sam frowned, his eyes searching quickly. “I don’t know.”

  A split-second later, he heard a sort of war cry. Above him, both men jumped down, attempting to land on him.

  Sam moved quickly. One of the attackers missed him completely, while the second caught his shoulder with his hand, pulling Sam down onto the ground.

  Sam regained control fast.

  He rolled over and tried to punch his attacker in his Cougar face mask.

  Cougar blocked the first attempt.

  Behind him, Sam heard Tom fighting with Vampire. Despite Vampire’s muscular physique, Tom inflicted devastating damage using his spiked club.

  Sam rolled on top of Cougar and tried to lock the man’s throat with his elbow, squeezing until the man nearly passed out. Sam asked, “Who are you?”

  When Cougar looked like he was about to lose complete consciousness, he suddenly rolled to the side and began running south along the ballcourt.

  Tom ran in pursuit. He shouted, “Sam! Our dive gear! Don’t let him reach it or we’ll be trapped.”

  Sam picked up his spear and threw it.

  The spear flew across the ballcourt true and straight, like an Olympian’s javelin.

  It struck Cougar in the back, right between the shoulder blades – penetrating all the way through his chest.

  Cougar fell forward, impaled by the spear, dead.

  Sam turned to Tom, “What about Vampire face?”

  Tom lifted his bloodied, spiked club. “He’s dead.”

  They went and removed the two masks from the dead men.

  Vampire had a tattoo. It was a very different warrior mark. It was a series of small teardrops tattooed on the man’s face. This particular brand of tattoo was well-known amongst members of Mexican Cartels and identified the number of people that a person had murdered.

  Tom suppressed a grin. “They don’t look like ancient warriors.”

  Sam bit his lower lip and shook his head. “No. If I had to guess, they work for the Black Muerte Cartel.”

  “So why play the ballgame at all?”

  “That I don’t know...” Sam expelled a deep breath. “Maybe they weren’t sent here to kill us, after all. I mean, if they wanted us dead, why bother challenging us to a game of Pok-ta-pok?”

  “Exactly. Why not just bring a gun and shoot us dead?”

  “So, if they didn’t come here to kill us, what did they come for?”

  “And why make up such an elaborate ruse like a game of Pok-ta-pok to achieve their goal?”

  Sam’s eyes widened. “Unless they weren’t trying to kill us at all? Maybe they just wanted to scare us? Maybe keeping people out of Xibalba was their real purpose.”

  Tom nodded. “But the question remains, why?”

  “That I don’t know.” Sam turned toward the southern entrance. “Come on, let’s get out of here while we still can.”

  “Agreed.”

  Sam and Tom raced back to the obsidian door.

  In the dry chamber next to the submerged passageway was their dive gear, still intact and undisturbed.

  Tom looked around and asked, “Where are our masked men’s dive gear?”

  Sam frowned. “It’s not here.”

  “Which means… what? They entered Xibalba from another direction?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  Tom said, “There were no other passageways. We explored them all. It’s like Armando said—there’s one way in and one way out.”

  “I don’t know definatively, but I’m not in the mood to find out.” Sam donned his closed-circuit rebreather, placed his facemask on and said, “Let’s leave Xibalba, Underworld of the Dead, to the dead.”

  Tom nodded. “Agreed.”

  They raced through the flooded, labyrinthian passageways all the way back to the cenote through which they had entered.

  Outside, Armando and his men still stood guard with AK-47s.

  Sam asked, “How did they get past your men?”

  Armando made a wry smile. “Who? We haven’t seen anyone since you entered the water.”

  Sam frowned. “No one’s been through here since us?”

  “No. Why? What did you see?” Armando asked, his voice containing a hint of concern.

  Sam lifted his hands. “I don’t know. There were two masked men who challenged us to a game of Pok-ta-pok on an ancient ballcourt of Xibalba.”

  “Really?” Armando met Sam’s eye through raised eyebrows.

  “Yeah, really.”

  “What happened to them?”

  Sam shrugged. “We sent them back to where they came from.”

  Armando shook his head. “And where was that?”

  Sam said, “To Xibalba… that place of fear and underworld of the dead.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Over the next forty-eight hours Sam and Tom returned the crystal key to the Mayan World Museum of Mérida and
brought Armando up to speed on all they’d discovered inside Xibalba—keeping the truth about the looking glass a secret.

  After exchanging digital data from their trip, it was agreed that they would examine the footage for additional clues before making a second expedition, unclear if there was even a purpose to doing so.

  They parted ways with Armando and caught a commercial flight to LAX.

  Tom asked, “Where will you go?”

  “I’m taking a week off and spending it with Catarina.”

  “Heading anywhere in particular?”

  “No. I think we’ll go to my home in Lake Oswego in Portland, Oregon, and have a quiet vacation. You?”

  “I’m going to Alaska with Genevieve.”

  Sam suppressed a grin. “What’s in Alaska?”

  Tom’s eyes beamed with joy. “Wild animals, vast open spaces, mountains… anything you want.”

  Sam said, “Enjoy. We all deserve a break.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Ethan never really wanted to go to Syria.

  He had done SEAL training for an entire year of his life, and he’d expected more; maybe a para jump deep into North Korea to gather intel or even a covert mission into Iran, but where was he now? The middle of nowhere training Syrian soldiers to use their decades-old Kalashnikovs against the M14-equipped Islamic State.

  Right now, his squad roamed the endless desert in their IFV – Infantry Fighting Vehicles – with walls of sandstone farther off to the left and nothing but sand dunes to their right. Was this what he’d suffered and sacrificed for? Was this it? He could neutralize five armed terrorists with a knife, hold his breath for three minutes at a depth of twenty feet, and even carry a full-grown man with both their packs of equipment for half a mile –through the desert. Ethan could survive anything, but he felt like he was in the regular, any-man’s Army; not one of the elite, best-of-the-best, warrior few.

  He stared out the bullet-resistant glass window and into a low sunset, dust billowing up as the unit’s tires bit into nothing but dry, arid landscape and thus obscuring his view like water off a speedboat. An age-old paradox bounced around in Ethan’s head – if his presence was enough to stop violence from happening in his area, he’d exceeded expectations. He often woke up to the sound of muffled shots, live-fire action just outside their base’s perimeter and, right or wrong, found himself longing to be out there in the thick of it. He hadn’t busted his ass for a commendation and a handshake; this soldier was born with fight in his veins.