Mayan December

by Brenda Cooper

  Cauac took the paper from Ah Bahlam, running it through his fingers and staring out to sea, as if Great Old remained to give him answers. “Is the girl still at the cenote?” he asked.

  Ah Bahlam shook his head. “She took the path, but when I followed, her footsteps simply stopped.”

  A spirit who left tracks. “Start at the beginning, and tell me everything.”

  While Ah Bahlam told his story, Cauac stared out to sea, listening to Ah Bahlam with one ear and to the gentle waves with the other, struggling to understand. The story made no more sense than his dreams had. He had feared the dreams concerned Ah Bahlam as well, and now he knew they must. Ah Bahlam had spent a year studying with Cauac. Other young men and women had also been sent to work with various priests, healers, and shamans like Cauac. But Ah Bahlam was special. Not because he was the eldest son of a powerful man who controlled the salt trade and sat on the high councils of Chichén Itzá. Because of—trust—a trust that Cauac had never seen in a student sent to him. A strong innocence.

  Ah Bahlam would return to Chichén Itzá, where he might, or might not, be chosen to play in the winter solstice ball game that would define the new year. Afterward, unless he died on the Ball Court, he would take a place by his father’s side as an advisor, and perhaps, some day, help run the city.

  The whole peninsula felt the tension between Chichén Itzá and Coba, and even more, between the thirsty farms and the great city. Protection agreements fell apart as bandits roamed the Mayan roads. This was a difficult time for leadership. All his life Chichén had stood as beacon and target, and now it was more of each than ever.

  Maybe he had received a sign that Ah Bahlam would truly be a warrior-priest and not just a warrior. That he would help Chichén heal its relationship to the gods. Cauac cleared his throat, signaling for Ah Bahlam to listen to him. “I have dreamed of this beach covered with white-skinned people. Of men and women wearing the fins of fish swimming in the water and speaking to each other across far distances. I dreamed of stars set back the way they started, with the black dream place overhead and the snake of time eating its tail.”

  Ah Bahlam shifted beside him, but held his silence. A good student.

  Cauac swallowed. “I will continue to try to understand these dreams, and how they might link to your spirit girl with footprints from today.” He crumpled the strange paper in his hand, then opened it again, amazed at its strength. “I fear they mean you will have a great role to play.”

  Ah Bahlam swallowed. “In the ball game?”

  “You are a strong player.” He held the paper-leaf out to Ah Bahlam. “Maybe more than that.”

  Ah Bahlam waved his hand at Cauac. “Keep that leaf. It is a gift. I will do my best to use all that you have taught me.”

  He still looked shaken and excited. Perhaps at his vision, perhaps at their impending departure. Best to focus him. “Take a few hours this afternoon and return to the jungle.”

  Ah Bahlam looked about to protest.

  “Not so far. Just past town. Call your jaguar again, and ask it to help you understand the vision it sent you today.”

  Ah Bahlam nodded. “I will go prepare.”

  Cauac watched him walk away, wishing he had more time. Ah Bahlam had heart, and he had honed his body/self connection well enough to become a good warrior.

  The gods appeared to be calling on him for much more than that, and yet Cauac couldn’t read what they wanted.

  How could he know if he had done enough?

  CHAPTER 7

  The sun had fallen halfway down the afternoon sky when Ah Bahlam finished getting ready. His slight frustration at being sent back into the jungle had been replaced with anticipation. Another chance. This time, he would find the right place to call the jaguar.

  Carrying only his bow and arrows and a small water skin, he walked quickly across the grounds. As he passed the walls of Zama, he broke into a ground-eating jog, breathing easily.

  He passed the village, a large cleared area where bleating goats and silent tapirs stood crowded in wooden pens outside of simple stick homes with thatched roofs. A few people waved at him, and he waved back.

  Howler monkeys leapt from tree to tree above, calling to each other about him. He slowed to a walk, silencing his steps and breath. He looked for signs of water, for a good, powerful place where he could begin his call. The howler monkeys shifted their attention, going back the way they had come.

  A low throaty growl stopped him in his tracks.

  In the shadow just ahead, a black jaguar watched him with sun-colored eyes. The barest traces of spots, black on black, covered its slick fur.

  He hadn’t even called! He slowed his breathing, forcing the racing surprise in his blood to calm.

  The cat took a step toward him.

  Ah Bahlam kept his eyes on the animal. He had only seen a black jaguar one other time, an old one that lay on a rock in the sun looking like it waited for death. This was a young adult: strong haunches, unblemished skin, bright eyes, and a short tail that flicked back and forth as it watched him.

  The cat took two more steps. It was close enough to kill him.

  He didn’t move.

  The cat crossed one paw in front of the other, turning a bit, keeping its gaze on him. It circled him slowly.

  He was being tested. He dropped slowly to a crouch, using all his inner strength to keep his muscles soft and unthreatening.

  It finished its second circle and then stopped again, standing directly in the middle of the trail, regarding him. Wise. It looked wise, and very strong.

  Ah Bahlam struggled for openness and silence, to become linked with the cat and the jungle. He poured gratitude from his heart into the air, and licked at a bit of sweat running down his cheek from his temple.

  He fixed the image of the great head, the lithe body, and the intelligent gaze in his mind, committing details to memory so he could call the jaguar again in the future.

  The cat turned and bounded away from him, sticking to the middle of the trail.

  He followed, the jaguar easily pulling away from him, disappearing around a corner.

  When Ah Bahlam reached the corner, the cat was gone. No leaves rustled to show its path and a ridge of stone held no tracks.

  He sank down on a bare patch of ground between two knee-high roots, leaning his head against the rough bark of the tree. “Come back,” he whispered, almost a moan. “Come back.”

  What did it mean that he had not called the cat, but it had found him? That it had run off after taking his measure? He had expected to feel full and powerful after encountering his Way, not confused and empty.

  He remained between the roots, listening to the jungle shift between day and night. Snakes and hunting birds moved freely, while small game scurried under cover.

  The jaguar did not return.

  He waited for it until the light faded and he had to guide himself back with stars and a faint moon.

  As soon as Ah Bahlam returned to Zama, he went looking for Cauac, only to be told the old man had gone to bed for the evening. He fought back disappointment, remembering that he would see his teacher with first light. He had too much energy to sleep, so he walked out toward the sea, near where he had met Cauac earlier.

  The moon threw enough faint light for him to find the path. He stood a few feet from the surf, looking up at the stars.

  “Ah Bahlam?” a voice whispered near him.

  “Hun Kan?” he queried, although it must be her.

  She stepped from the shadows into the moonlight, a slight young woman just a few years younger than Ah Bahlam. Her hair blew unbound around her face, and her eyes and lips were dark in the pale moonlight.

  His breath caught in his throat at her nearness. “Little one. How are you? Are you ready to go back?”

  She stepped near him, her footsteps silent in the sand. “I like it here by the ocean. The silence. It is a lesson to just be still with the ocean for a whole transit of the sun.”

  He kept hi
s voice low. “We weren’t born for this. It has been a gift before we start our true lives.” He swallowed, feeling the dangerous journey ahead. He closed his eyes and took the last step of space between them, curling her into his arms. He should not do even this, but he could no more resist than he could stop breathing. His blood and his heart demanded more, but he made her nearness be enough.

  She leaned into him, her head on his chest. “How do I know I’ll be brave enough? Good enough?”

  He brushed his lips across the part in her hair. “You will be.” Their breathing mingled with the soft susurration of the sea. He whispered, “I saw my jaguar today. A black one.”

  She turned her face up toward him. “The black jaguar has the most power. Then you will have strength.”

  He closed his eyes, searching inside himself for the right answer. “Perhaps. It ran away from me.”

  “Which way did it go?” she asked.

  “Toward home.”

  “Then perhaps we’ll find it on our way.”

  He smiled at her optimism. If only it could be so easy. “I will pray for that.”

  She smelled of sea and salt and fresh air and woman, and his body yearned for her so hard he clenched his fists to keep them from trembling.

  He was not free to choose his own wife.

  CHAPTER 8

  Noon light poured into the swimming pool, turning every metal and shiny thing into a small sun. As Alice watched Nixie and two girls from England play underwater tag, the fears that had kept her awake seemed like child’s nightmares. It was hard to be scared in a place where children splashed in the pool while the adults drank free colored drinks, more juice than alcohol, and read bestsellers on e-readers.

  “Alice?” Oriana’s voice came from behind her and made her jump.

  She turned and smiled. “Thanks again for helping me last night.”

  A man no taller than Alice herself stood next to Oriana. His hair cascaded down his shoulders in long sienna dreadlocks hung with homemade bone and ivory beads. The dreads didn’t surprise her, but she hadn’t expected anyone quite so, well, healthy. Deep tan skin spread across well-defined muscles. His teeth were as white and even as an actor’s. He grinned at Alice, his smile starting at his lips and radiating all the way out to the world around him.

  She stuck her hand out. “You must be Ian.”

  He glanced at Oriana, raising one eyebrow as he took Alice’s hand. “You didn’t tell me she was so pretty.”

  Oriana batted at him playfully. “Sure I did.” She glanced at Alice. “He’s impossible, and improbable, and sweet and brave.” She winked. “If you’re lucky he’ll be more sweet than impossible.”

  Alice pulled her hand free, wishing she hadn’t agreed to meet him.

  Ian glanced down at his empty hand with a bemused expression on his face, and then looked back at Alice. “I read your papers on the equinox, and your early one on the way the Mayan astronomers used their feet as telescopes.” He laughed, his voice rich and deep, but with a nearly childlike quality. “I even tried it one night, and you really can see the stars move through your crossed legs.”

  She glanced at Oriana. “All right, he is sweet.” And apparently well educated enough to read scientific papers.

  She pointed to a nearby table for four, piled high with towels and books and snorkeling gear. “We’re over there.”

  Ian wandered over to it and picked up a mask. “You practicing?” he asked.

  “It’s Nixie’s, and she’s practicing. She’s hoping Oriana will take her snorkeling. She even has a new snorkeling watch.”

  He sobered. “Did you ever dive here before the reef started dying?”

  Alice nodded. “Maybe it was already dying, but you couldn’t tell yet. The first time I came down here was 1990, and the next 1999, and then pretty close to once or twice a year after that.”

  “You don’t look that old,” Ian said.

  “I’m not,” Alice shot back. “I was sixteen in ’90.”

  He pursed his lips, looking her up and down, more compliment than intrusion. He smiled. “Maybe.”

  He could have been flirting, if she remembered what flirting felt like. It made her squirm. “Did Oriana tell you Nixie’s story?”

  He nodded, looking out toward the pool. “Is she here?”

  “She’s—”

  He cut Alice off with a gentle hand-chop in the air. “I want to see if I can pick her out after Oriana’s description.”

  Alice watched him so she wouldn’t inadvertently give away Nixie’s location.

  He grinned and pointed. “Must be that one.”

  Alice turned to find Nixie a few feet away, heading straight for her. She glanced at Ian, rolling her eyes. “Very impressive.”

  “I aim to please.” There was that grin again, the one that made it seem like everything was good and right and Ian was her best friend in all the world. Funny thing was, she could usually spot fakes. Ian didn’t seem fake, even if he did have an extra helping or two of weird and one of cockiness.

  She didn’t want to like him, but she did. Not that she trusted him. He did drugs and studied with shamans, and most of the people like that she’d met down here were flakes. So she shouldn’t like him at all.

  Nixie seemed to take an instant liking to him, too. Her eyes danced welcome as she stuck her dripping-wet hand out. “Hi, I’m Nixie.”

  He took her hand without seeming to mind the chlorine-drenched water dripping off her, and smiled. “I’m Ian Riley. I heard . . . you took a little journey last night.” Alice suppressed a gasp. He didn’t beat around the bush, did he? She hadn’t even brought up the subject today.

  Nixie smiled, seeming relieved. “I did. I met a Mayan man, and he gave me a feather. I gave him twenty dollars for it.”

  Ian nodded gravely. “Had he ever seen money before?”

  Nixie shook her head. “I don’t think so. He tasted it.”

  Ian laughed. “Did he like it?”

  She laughed back, a bright girlish laugh. “He didn’t say anything.” She frowned. “I couldn’t talk to him. He spoke Mayan, and I don’t.”

  “How did you know it was Mayan?” Ian asked.

  “We heard it at the Xcaret show the other night.” She grabbed a blue hotel towel and wrapped it around her waist, grinning at Alice. “And sometimes you try to say some Mayan words.”

  Ian raised an eyebrow at Alice before asking Nixie, “Can I see the feather?”

  Nixie glanced at Alice, who nodded, then Nix raced off toward their hotel room, the towel flapping against her legs.

  Alice turned her attention back to Ian. She chose her words carefully. “Oriana tells me you believe you’ve gone back in time? Like maybe . . . maybe my daughter has?”

  He shook his head. “Not like her story, not if I heard it right. I’ve only seen the old world, but she touched it. I couldn’t have brought a feather back. I’m in awe.”

  “I’m worried sick.”

  “Worried about?” Oriana asked quietly. She hadn’t spoken in so long that Alice had nearly forgotten she was there.

  “If she’s lying, or been deceived, then what really happened? Was she stalked?” Alice hesitated, her stomach rebelling at the idea of even saying the next words. “If she’s telling the truth, then what if it happens again and she can’t get back?”

  Oriana chewed her lower lip, and Ian watched her quietly. Finally Oriana asked, “But don’t you worry that it’s happening at all? What if it’s happening all over?”

  “The old world washing over the new one?” Ian mused.

  “I’m trying to ignore that,” Alice snapped, the words out before she thought about them. She laughed softly. “I’m sorry. But I worry about my daughter first. The world is too big to worry about.” She’d lost Nixie’s dad trying to keep the world safe. She couldn’t keep the world safe. Maybe she could keep Nix safe.

  Oriana leaned back, giving Alice an appraising look. “I thought it was all dreams and visions for Ian,” she glanced ov
er at him, “but then when I heard Nixie’s story last night, well, I didn’t sleep too well. Could it happen to any of us?”

  Alice took a long sip of her drink, which had once been a piña colada, but now tasted like warm, sour pineapple. “I don’t know.” She glanced at Ian. “What do you think?”

  He spread his hands out wide and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Perhaps there’s something special about Nixie. Or maybe about her age. Through the eyes of a child, and all that.”

  He didn’t seem overly concerned. Like strange things happened to him every day. She shivered and wished he wasn’t there all over again. But he was, and something had happened and there were too many witnesses for her to deny it. “I hope it’s not something special about her,” Alice whispered, thinking of the shopkeeper back in Playa kneeling before Nixie for that long moment. She glanced toward their room. “Here she comes.”

  Nixie carried the feather across a towel, balancing it as if she were a ring bearer at a wedding, the look in her face solemn and intent, imbued with the same eerie grace Alice had noticed yesterday afternoon with the first feather.

  Alice listened for the silence that had fallen over the store, but the kids splashing in the pool and the babble of conversation about them remained the same.

  Nixie presented the folded towel and feather to Ian, who set it carefully on the table and looked at it without touching. He pointed at the crushed quill. “What happened?”

  Nixie glanced at Alice, who said, “I stepped on it. An accident.”

  His eyes flashed surprise and regret at Alice before he turned back to Nixie. “Well,” he said, “It’s still the prettiest one I’ve ever seen. What will you do with it?”

  Nixie’s cheeks reddened and she took a half step back. “Look at it.”

  “Okay,” Ian said. He fished in his pocket and brought out a carved stone bead on a leather string.

  Nixie gaped at it. “I don’t want to trade.”

  Ian smiled at her. “Of course you don’t. I’d like you to have this. If you find the cenote again, or you go anywhere else that’s like that,” he ran the bead through his thumb and forefinger, “I want you to have this to trade in case anyone else gives you anything. I made it, so I’ll know it if I ever see it again, but I don’t want you to put anything from today, like money, into that time.”