by Ann Charles
Angélica unsheathed her machete. “Dad, we have a huge clusterfuck happening here. You need to get Teodoro and Maverick to the hospital, and I need to go find Quint. Daisy and I will be careful.”
The older woman returned with Pedro’s pistol, handing it to Angélica.
Shaking his head, Juan muttered a string of curses.
Daisy touched his arm. “Don’t worry, Juan. I’ll keep her tucked deep under my wing.”
Juan stilled, his eyes widened. “What did you just say?”
“She said we’ll be safe.” Angélica went up on her toes and kissed her dad’s cheek. “Don’t let anything happen to the rest of the crew.” A movement behind him drew her gaze. “You better go, Dad. María’s here. Why in the hell did she bring Rover?” They didn’t need to add any more acts to this circus.
Juan tweaked her chin. “Please be careful, gatita. If I lose you, I’ll have nothing left.” He touched his lips to her forehead and then left without looking back.
Angélica tucked the handgun into her back pocket. She took up her machete. “You ready, Daisy?”
“Lead the way.”
First, she’d see if her dad was right about Gertrude having good intentions. If they weren’t in any of the tents, she’d double back to the fire and start over, expanding outward via a search radius.
“Angélica,” Daisy said after they’d left the ring of firelight and the commotion going on within it.
“What?” She searched the moon’s silver-lit world with her flashlight. The bushes and trees at the edge of the main plaza trembled here and there, making her heart pound.
“Gertrude and Quint aren’t in the tents.”
Angélica had the same feeling, but she figured she’d better double-check all of the tents and the latrines before she dragged Daisy out into greater danger.
“What makes you say that?” she asked Daisy.
“Because I saw where Gertrude took him.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Náay: The Mayan word for “to dream.”
For the Maya, dreams offered windows of communication between them and the supernatural world during which they could contact companion spirits (aka uays) and speak with ancestors and gods.
You shouldn’t have come here.
Come where? Quint thought. The dig site? Mexico? The Land of Shadows?
A growl rumbled again, this time from behind him. It was quieter, but just as hair-raising as before.
He tried his wobbly legs once more, rising slowly from the log. Thank God his legs were back online, because his fight-or-flight instincts were itching to race fast and far. There was no way he could fight whatever was hunting him in the pitch black with nothing but his charm and quick wit.
“It is leaving for now,” the voice said. “But it will find you again.” The soft lilt in her tone reminded him of someone. “We must go. Follow me.”
He tried to see who was there with him in the dark, but his eyes were useless. “Follow you where?”
“The time to change course has passed.” Her smooth voice was moving away to his left. “Come now, before it is too late.”
Too late for what? Change what course? Why were voices in the dark always so damned cryptic?
Then it hit Quint—this had to be the “think grand thoughts” part of the ritual Juan had warned him would occur. Quint had gotten drunk off the vile stuff in the gourd bowl, and then he’d tried to take off his clothes when he believed he was on fire. Now came the wild visions. Juan didn’t mention anything about a disembodied voice, but to each his own style of hallucinations, he guessed. What else had Juan predicted? Something about imagining he was an animal, wasn’t it? Did that come before or after Quint was supposed to dream up a solution to their problem?
“The solution will be unpleasant,” the voice said, closer now. Of course she was reading his mind. This was all part of the fantasy.
The sulfur smell had been replaced by a sweet mix of lemons and … he sniffed … was that rosemary?
“Unpleasant, huh?” he said to the voice, his sarcasm thick. So far, this experiment of Teodoro’s had been about as “pleasant” as snuggling into a sleeping bag full of snakes.
Whatever the hell he’d gagged down at the fire still tasted bitter on the back of his tongue. It was going to take gargling with whiskey for a week to burn the tang of that foul brew off his taste buds. On top of that, his finger now throbbed from that damned stingray spine. Teodoro better have sterilized the tip before poking him with it. Infections in the jungle often went south fast.
He sniffed again, lured by the citrusy sweetness along with her soft voice, allowing his nose and ears to lead him toward her. “Who are you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
How did he know that voice? Was it someone from his past? Someone who his mind had conjured to join him on this head trip?
After several more steps, the veil of darkness surrounding him lifted. Quint looked up at the light shining down from above. The moon had crested the tree line. It was extra-large and bright tonight, a harvest moon minus the orange filter. The world around him began to take shape. That was more like it. His thoughts couldn’t be very grand without a little light on the subject.
The ballcourt was to his right across the plaza. In front of him, the Chakmo’ol Temple loomed, reaching for the stars. From this viewpoint, he could see only the edge of the crumbling steps leading to the top. They were lined with thick shadows.
“They performed sacrifices at the top of the temple on moonlit nights like this,” his companion said from behind him. “Especially after Yum Cimil returned. Not just a poke in the finger.”
Quint stuffed his throbbing finger into his pocket.
“The blood ran down the steps as one victim after another was sacrificed to appease the god of death.”
He could picture the scene with ease tonight. It had to be due to Teodoro’s potent concoction spiking his imagination. “Who would they sacrifice?”
“At first, they offered children. Those with crossed eyes and flat foreheads were considered especially beautiful and pleasing to the gods. Young lambs, if you will, who were gentle and sweet.”
“Christ, that’s awful.” Quint doubted he could stand by and watch a child be sacrificed.
“But that didn’t satisfy the lord of death and the nightly terror continued. Next, the priests offered many of their mightiest warriors, but Yum Cimil’s hunger continued to grow instead of wane. The blood spilled faster as more and more attempts were made to appease his appetite.”
The temple loomed closer. He walked around to the western side, the steps now darkened in what looked like water. Or was it a stream of blood? He slowed, staring hard at the moonlit scene. In a blink, the steps returned to normal. Damn, the visual effects tonight were spellbinding.
“How did they satisfy him?” he asked, continuing along.
“They couldn’t.” Her voice was now in front of him. “The two scribes possessed the power only to lure Yum Cimil out of the Underworld, not stop him from killing. Once topside, his appetite was insatiable. As villagers fell victim night after night, the king began to worry. He didn’t want his people to question his power, so he ordered the priests to move the sacrifices out of sight underground. The chamber beneath the Chakmo’ol Temple was left from a previous civilization’s reign. The king had it excavated to use as a feeding tank.”
And Quint had lowered Angélica down the chute into that feeding tank? Shit, that explained the piles of bones she’d seen amongst the snakes. This was turning into one hell of a nightmare. If Maverick was flying high on a similar mind trip, he now had the components to write a kickass horror story.
“But Yum Cimil is gone now,” Quint said, thinking aloud. “So somebody figured out a way to get rid of him.”
“The great white priest had a vision that told him to sacrifice the two scribes. He led them underground and performed the ritual, collecting their blood, leaving their bones for Yum Cimil
. Once their summoning was no more, Yum Cimil returned to the Maya Underworld, not to be seen again. Finally, they were free of the lord of death’s terror. The king had the remaining villagers build walls in the mine and in the feeding tank under the temple. The white priest sealed both walls with the scribes’ blood in hopes of keeping the lord of death deep down in the earth for the rest of eternity.”
That explained the flakes of blood in the grout that Juan had mentioned.
“Eternity is a long time, especially for a bloodthirsty god,” Quint said. “He’ll probably grow bored after a few eons. I imagine all of that soul torturing gets old after a while.”
“A comedian,” she said, her soft laughter familiar. “So different from the last one.”
The last what?
“They posted warnings,” she returned to her story, her voice off to his right. “Upon the king’s orders, many stelae were placed around the site with glyphs and carvings. They told the grisly story of Yum Cimil’s return to feast on the bones of the villagers, cautioning travelers and visitors to stay away from this blood-soaked land.”
Many stelae with warnings? Angélica had been scouring the site for one stela in particular with a warning on it. The one her mom had written about in her notebook.
“The king then moved his people away to find a new home, leaving the warnings behind. But the stelae were ravaged by weather and time, their glyphs growing harder to read with each passing century. With the destruction of the Maya codices by the Spanish conquistadors and monks, the meaning of many of those glyphs was lost until the archaeologists came to this land and began piecing the puzzle back together.”
Ah-ha! There was the tie-in to the cache of Spanish armor Fernando had found down by the Baatz’ Temple.
They’d reached the base of the steps leading up the Chakmo’ol Temple. Quint stopped. What was next in this vision of his? If it included a slide down the chute into that feeding tank, he was going to have to take a rain check and return to the fireside ceremony sans a solution to their cat problem.
“Again and again, the train of history circles on the tracks of time,” she spoke from beside him.
He looked over, half-expecting to see someone standing there, but he was still alone. “What do you mean?”
“In spite of the advances the Maya had made in the mathematical and scientific world, and their priests’ wisdom about nature, the heavens, and the Underworld, the bloody events at this site were repeats of a previous incident. You see, if they’d only taken the time to learn about the civilization that had lived here centuries before, during the Formative Era, they might have been able to avoid so much loss of life. Instead of focusing their energy into building a lavish city surrounded by wide roads coated with the limestone they unearthed from deep within the mine, they could have put more brainpower into deciphering the clues their forefathers left behind. Clues that showed how the older Maya also had made large offerings and bloody sacrifices to the lord of death in an effort to appease him.”
“So this had happened once before?”
“More than once. There are indications in the Baatz’ Temple that the Olmecs also experienced a visit from their version of a death god. They were the first at this site to leave a physical record of his bloody deeds. Who knows how many groups came and bled to appease the god of death’s hunger before them?”
Quint stared up at the Chakmo’ol Temple that was partially veiled by moon shadows rippling down the steps and along the crevices.
When he woke up, he was going to lay this whole story out for Angélica and Juan. He wondered what they’d think of his imagination’s gruesome tale inspired by their teachings.
“This is not our destination,” the voice told him. “Come.”
“Where are we going?” he asked without moving.
“To the mine. That is where she has taken you.”
She who? Never mind. This was as far as he was going to allow his mind to lead him. “I’m not going in that hole in the earth tonight. It’s too much like a mausoleum for my peace and happiness.”
“You must come with me if you want to stop Yum Cimil before he kills again.”
“Again?”
“Tonight, I will not be able to distract him with a uay.”
He tried to remember what a uay was. Was it sort of like an alux? “By uay, you mean an evil sorcerer who transforms into an animal, right?”
“You have learned well.” Her voice sounded like she was standing in front of him. “However, evil was not my intention when sacrificing such a beautiful animal to Yum Cimil’s hunger.”
His gaze narrowed. “Are you talking about the jaguar that was torn in half?”
“She was such a spectacular mix of flowers and beast. So fast and strong. But he had to be diverted.”
But she was not fast enough to outrun the hunter. Quint crossed his arms. “Who are you?” he asked again.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she repeated. “We need to go now. Time moves differently on this plane.”
That wasn’t good enough. “If you want me to come with you to that mine, you have to show yourself to me.”
“My identity is not important.”
This was like playing chess with himself. “I order you to show yourself.”
Several seconds passed with nothing more than the whisper of the breeze in the trees.
“If we do not go now,” she spoke from behind him, “Yum Cimil will find her.”
“Who?” he asked, turning around.
A woman stood before him bathed in moonlight. For a moment, he thought he was looking at Angélica.
“Pik,” she answered. “He is on the hunt again, insatiable as always.”
Pik was Angélica’s childhood nickname. Quint stumbled backward, his mouth gaping. “Marianne?”
The pale light accentuated the lines of her face. Juan was right, Angélica’s cheekbones were more pronounced. Her neck was not as long as her mother’s, and her shoulders were broader—probably in part from all of that machete swinging. The pictures he’d seen of Marianne in the locket and at Angélica’s house hadn’t done her beauty justice, though. It was no wonder Juan had been so love-struck upon first sight.
“He found her scent in the feeding tank and then the mine,” she continued. “Now he has set his sights on her. I can shield only one at a time from him.”
Still dumbstruck, Quint didn’t move.
Marianne cursed under her breath, sounding like her daughter. “I obeyed your command, Summoner,” she said. “Now you must follow me. Once you are reconnected with your physical form you will be strong enough. Then I can leave you to protect my pik.” She led the way toward the mine opening, moving unnaturally fast.
Protect Angélica from what? Yum Cimil’s hunger? Damn, even in his visions he couldn’t stop worrying about Angélica.
Shaking out of his daze, Quint followed with long strides, still comparing features. Marianne’s body was more willowy than her daughter’s, more lean. Her long hair was secured in a braid that swung like a pendulum at her back as she walked, hypnotizing Quint as he trailed her.
Of course! It made total sense that he’d conjured Marianne for his so-called grand thought. She was the perfect narrator of the past, since she was linked to this site’s history. The recognition he kept feeling when it came to her voice had to be due to his closeness to Angélica.
“How do you know so much about the events from this site’s past?” he asked, jogging to catch up to her. And what did she mean about connecting with his physical form?
“I read about it in the glyphs,” she said. “Trust me, I’ve had plenty of time to be thorough and figure out the details.”
Angélica had told him that Marianne could read glyphs better than she could, even joking that her mom must have been a Maya in her past life.
“So where is that stela that you came down here to read before the crash?” The stela that had birthed her daughter’s mania.
They walked by t
he mound that Pedro had been excavating the day he’d found the mine. A trail led into the jungle, a route Quint didn’t remember being there in real time. He slowed as the trees closed around him. The howls and caws and other nightly spine-chilling screeches were missing, with the crunching of deadfall under his feet and the breeze swishing through the canopy the only sounds.
“He took it,” Marianne answered, continuing up the trail without him. Her light shirt grew dim in the thickening shadows.
Before she could disappear again, Quint closed the distance between them. “Who took it?”
“The other. The guard.”
The other guard? He weaved along behind her, trying to make sense of what his imagination was telling him via Angélica’s mom.
Marianne slowed as they approached the mine opening, her head cocked. “Do you hear that?” she whispered.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Listen.”
He stopped, focusing on the sounds around him.
The leaves rattled.
The breeze whistled slightly.
His heart thudded.
His ears rang.
Was that the beginning signs of tinnitus? His mom claimed to suffer from it so much some days that she said it was making her lose her marbles. His sister Violet was of the opinion that their mother’s marbles had rolled away long before any ringing started in her ears.
“Watch, Quint,” he thought he heard Angélica say. Her voice came from the deep shadows inside the mine.
“Angélica?” He took a step closer to the dark opening, resting his hand on the large strangler fig root they’d left for stability.
“She’s here,” Marianne was still whispering.
“Where?” He tried to see inside the mine, but it was too dark. He needed to conjure up a flashlight.
“In the mine.”
“I’m afraid he might go into shock … shock … shock.” Angélica’s voice echoed out of the mine’s mouth.
Who might go into shock? Quint looked around at Marianne. “Is she talking about me?”
“You need to enter the mine now, scribe. I must leave to protect her.” Marianne swooped toward him, her eyes glowing orbs.