by M. G. Harris
Once we’re in the cover of the trees, we speed up, moving steadily alongside the path that winds between the village and the citadel. Martineau grips my arm the whole time, hard enough to leave a bruise. It crosses my mind to try to escape, but where would I go? They’d catch me within an hour. Anyway, Martineau is my only link to the Bracelet of Itzamna. Without that, Ixchel and I really are doomed.
When huge dark shadows rise against a paling grey sky, I realize we’ve arrived at the citadel. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing those massive stone structures at night. The way they seem to rise out of the ground, loom over you, blotting out starlight; monstrous, inescapable shadows.
The edge of the sky is turning pink. Soon the sun will rise. The sacrifices will begin.
I’m struggling to take in the enormousness of what’s going to happen, but Martineau doesn’t let up. His head is down as he leads me behind the royal palace. There’s a narrow, low opening in the second tier. Martineau pushes down on my shoulders until my knees buckle.
“Get down, we’re going inside.”
“Wait . . . the antidote? I want to see it.”
Martineau chuckles. “Ah yes. I almost forgot.” He kneels down and fumbles inside a leather pouch that hangs from his belt. Out come a tiny torch, no longer than a thumb, and two syringes. He switches on the light, shining it into the tunnel. My eyes, though, go straight to the two syringes. One is tiny, with a needle no longer than the end of a pen. The other is much bigger with a long, wide needle. Martineau pops the cover off the needle of the tiny syringe and taps it smartly into the back of his neck.
He’s dosing up on that hypnosis drug. This must be his plan to get past the guard.
Martineau holds the second syringe in the palm of his hands. “Here, see? Antivenom. I’ll inject you afterwards.
“We’ll be back in the twenty-first century by then, Josh. You and I.”
“And Ixchel,” I say firmly.
“What? Don’t be foolish; if she’s on the list of sacrifices she’s already lost.”
“You can talk to the king. Save her.”
Martineau looks massively exasperated. “Oh, all right. I’ll do what I can. But first, the codex.”
I nod. “Fine. Good.”
“I suppose she’ll be of some comfort to you in the twenty-first century. Where we’re going, she may not even exist.”
My jaw drops. “What. . .?”
In the dispersed light from his torch, I can see that Martineau is smirking. “It’ll be a brave new world, young Garcia. I told you; this isn’t my first outing with the Bracelet. It’s evident that what I attempted last time didn’t change the future enough. This time, I’m removing the codex from history. Taking it from the seventh century direct to the twenty-first. The Ix Codex won’t exist for your grandfather to find. Your grandfather might not even meet your grandmother.” He smiles slowly. “You might not be born. Won’t that be interesting for you, Mr Garcia? To arrive in a parallel reality in which you don’t exist, where you have no family.”
I stare at him, speechless.
“Now, pay attention. The duct leads to a small chamber that is guarded. In the centre of the chamber is an ornamental clay brazier. Move it carefully. Underneath you’ll find the opening. The drop shouldn’t be more than a couple of metres. Take the guard’s fire torch – it might keep the snakes at bay. “
“Where’s the codex?”
“I’ve never been inside the tomb,” he says. He’s struggling to sound patient. “I’ll deal with the guard, then wait for you in the jungle.”
I push my back against the pyramid. “No. You have to stay and help me get out of the tomb. What if it’s too high for me to climb out?”
“If I actually go into the chamber with you, the guard will see me,” he says sardonically. “I’ll have to kill him and blame it on you. Are you happy with that?”
The guard doesn’t deserve to die. If anyone does, it’s Martineau, for what he’s making me do.
“You’ve got to help me out of there,” I insist. “Or I’ll get bitten to death and the codex stays with me.”
We stare at each other, breathing hard.
“All right,” he concedes. “I have some sedative. I can inject the guard, knock him out.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
He sighs, leans back and gives me a long, appraising look. “Don’t get clever, Mr Garcia. I’ll still blame the incident on you. More evidence of your demonic alliance.”
I turn away. Every word he says makes me feel sick with guilt and rage. I wish I dared stand up to Martineau. But I won’t risk being stuck here. Without Ixchel, I wouldn’t survive, I know it. My thoughts go back to what he said about Ixchel being sacrificed. I can barely stand to think about it.
I can’t let it happen. I have to get the Bracelet back. Before sunrise, I have to find Ixchel.
The duct is narrow – just wide enough for one person, not tall enough to stand in. We both have to bend our knees and dip our heads. Ahead there’s the glow of firelight. It’s coming from a doorway.
We don’t reach the doorway before the tomb guard emerges, his knife drawn. When he sees me, he charges, weapon high in his left hand, the torch in his right.
“STOP!” calls out Martineau, in Mayan. It’s just as well because in my panic, I was still trying to remember the word for “halt” or “stop”.
The guard stops immediately. He’s young, stockier than most of the Mayans I’ve seen. Flabby, even; slow-moving, looks out of condition. His eyes narrow, creases that are almost lost in his chubby, paint-lined cheeks. He peers past me, trying to get a look at Martineau. The guard doesn’t lower his weapon or the torch, just stands in the passageway, blocking our path. He looks puzzled yet still pretty fierce.
“Give the torch to the boy,” intones Martineau, still behind me. The guard frowns, even more confused. He can’t take his eyes off his own arm, stretching out, offering me the torch.
“Drop the dagger,” orders Martineau, soft as a whisper. The guard stares at his left hand as it opens and the dagger falls to the ground.
“Don’t move,” he says, finally, this time almost casually. He pushes me in the small of my back. “Go ahead, boy. Your chance to prove yourself.”
I walk up to the guard and try to pass him. He won’t budge. I give him a little shove, try to shift him to one side. He growls at me, but still won’t move an inch. This hypnoticin stuff is incredible. A few words from Martineau, that’s all it took. My head reels with the possibilities of mind-controlling drugs. If the Sect has developed a something that lets them hypnotize people, who can stop them?
Martineau speaks again, very slow and clear. “Turn around.” The guard obeys. Martineau pushes me aside, takes the torch out of my hand and swings it violently against the guard’s shoulders. The guard cries out in surprise as much as anything and staggers. Martineau whacks him again, on the head. The poor bloke crumples.
It doesn’t seem fair. I daren’t say anything. The hypnotic drug doesn’t seem to have any effect on me but . . . I can’t be sure. The last thing I want is some kind of suicide instruction from Martineau.
Martineau does this stupid little bow. “After you.”
I stare from Martineau to the Mayan guard on the ground.
“Did you have to whack him? What about the sedative?”
Martineau scowls. “Waste not, want not.”
The way is clear for me to get to the tomb. Inside the chamber it’s just as Martineau said: the small room; the brazier, glowing hot with burning charcoal and incense. I push it aside, watched by Martineau. There’s a woven mat of coarse sisal fibres. I toss that aside. Then I’m gazing into an opening a little wider than me, a dark hole.
“Drop the torch,” orders Martineau.
I do it. Immediately there’s a reaction from the hole. A collective slither and hiss. Where the torch falls, the ground clears. I can just make out the snakes at the edges of the clearing. In the shadows I can see a roiling m
ass of serpentine bodies. A shiver goes through me; my skin seems to crawl with a million ants. I position myself over the hole. Then I jump.
The instant I drop, the snakes hiss louder. I guess they’ve caught the scent of an intruder. I reach for the torch. The sudden movement provokes a dull ache in my calf muscle, where Rain Son wounded me. In the corner of my eye there’s a sudden movement. I swing the torch, hit the attacking snake and a few others. Another chorus of hisses. They sound furious. But the fire keeps them at bay. I wave the torch low, sweeping in an arc in front of me. They move away, seething the whole time. I take a step. Then another. And another.
At one end of the pit I can see a dais, on which there’s the unmistakable shadow of a dead body. It lies on a mat that is laid across five ceramic vessels. The body seems to be coated with a red pigment. I take a few steps closer, waving the snakes away. A real Mayan tomb – with an actual body. I can hear my own heart thumping. When I get closer I can see that there’s a mosaic jade mask over the leathery skin of the face. Three pairs of jade earplugs, a jade ring, jade beads, three jade plaques, thousands of shell beads and a stingray spine. And lying on the chest, the boxy shape of the Ix Codex.
Incredible.
I’ve stopped moving for a second. The snakes begin to close in again. I jab at them, stabbing the torch right into the heart of the writhing mass. They slither away, almost moving as one. The tension in the room rises. Even I can feel it; they’re angry.
I take more steps, batting the snakes away until I reach the body. The skull is covered with wisps of rotten hair. I catch a whiff of the putrescence. Faint as it is, the stench worms its way into my brain. My stomach heaves; I retch. The snakes react, hissing. They sound bitter. I spin around, brandishing the torch.
“Shut up, you FREAKS!” I yell.
A hundred eyes glitter at me, tiny glints of reflected flame. Some of the snakes back up, raising themselves a metre off the ground.
“Back off!” I yell, louder this time, angry.
When I turn towards the body, I can sense them behind me, staring at my back. I reach out, grab the codex and spin around. One touch is enough to activate the toxic gas in the codex’s deadly cover . . . but I’m immune.
The snakes have drawn closer. They’re almost touching me. Yet none of them strikes out. Carrying the codex makes it harder to dodge or to attack them with the torch. For almost a minute I’m like a statue. Waiting, watching the snakes. They hardly move.
I watch their heads twitching. They smell something. They’re interested. I’m rigid with terror, waiting for the attack.
Then something weird happens.
The closest ones are the first to go. They start to writhe frantically, striking out at their neighbours, biting and hissing. Within a second there is utter mayhem. The snakes turn on each other. They’ve gone completely wild, totally insane.
The blood starts to circulate in my veins again. I toss the torch along the ground, watching the long slithering bodies wriggle out of the way. I leap into that cleared path, landing under the opening in the ceiling.
Martineau was right – it is low enough for me to jump out, but only if I use both hands. Freeing my hands would mean I’d have to throw the codex up to him.
Yeah, right. And watch him leave me with the crazy snakes?
“Give me your hand,” I yell. “Come on, help me up! The snakes have gone mad! They’re killing each other!”
“It’s the toxin,” says Martineau’s disembodied voice. “It does something strange to their physiology.”
There’s a jolt to the back of my leg. I almost jump out of my skin. “Just get me out of here!” I scream. Two snakes are flung against my jeans, their mouths closing over each other’s bodies.
After the initial shock, I realize I’m OK. I haven’t been bitten. But any second now, I will be. They’re everywhere now, sinking their crazed fangs into one another. It’s only a matter of time before I’m caught in the crossfire.
“Get me out!” I scream, panicked.
Martineau’s legs come into view; then an arm pops through the hole. I grab hold and pull myself up until I can put both arms on the top of the hole.
I’m out. In the crypt below, the snakes look as though they’re being boiled alive. Martineau is inscrutable behind the bright light of his torch. He reaches out for the codex. I back away. There’s a startled gasp, then a chuckle.
“You surely don’t think you can keep me from the codex now, Mr Garcia?”
“We had a deal,” I tell him, breathing hard.
“Yes – I helped you out of the crypt. I’ll inject you with antidote.”
I shake my head, backing further down the narrow tunnel. “No. I’m not bitten. You’re not coming near me with another needle.”
His silky, persuasive voice. “You really should trust me.”
I’m backing away again, the codex held firmly behind my back. I’m almost outside the pyramid now. “Give me the Bracelet. Help me find Ixchel.”
He laughs again. “Ridiculous!” He follows me out of the tunnel, his torch beaming directly into my eyes.
Then we’re standing on the ledge of the royal palace, against the ominous gloom of the jungle. In the grey light of dawn, I can see his face, half-shadowed.
“Be reasonable,” he says. “You’ve nowhere to go. Once you’re caught in the jungle with the codex, you’ll be finished.”
“I won’t get caught,” I breathe.
His voice drops. “Give it to me, boy. You’re becoming annoying.”
There’s movement in the shadows underneath the base of the royal palace. Flame torches appear; dancing lights approach from the front. Voices call out the second they notice Martineau and me a couple of metres above them on the ledge. There’s confusion, then a terrified cry.
“He has the cursed book!”
Instantly, the guards scatter, some into the jungle, some back towards the front of the palace. Within a minute their leader manages to bring them back into some sort of order, at a safe distance. They aren’t happy, though, not a bit. I can hear the whispers.
I move away from Martineau. He’s hesitating, won’t come any closer. I’m ready to attack him. In my mind I’m already running through all the capoeira moves that I could do on the small space of the ledge. I’d get some good kicks in, maybe enough to knock him off the ledge. Martineau’s in his fifties at least – a two-metre fall could break a bone. He’s in no shape to tackle me up here. From his wary stance, I can tell that he knows it.
In fact, the moment he sees the guards, he stops moving towards me. As if he’s also afraid of the toxin. But he’s immune . . . what’s going on?
The leader is getting vexed. “The boy! He’s holding it – the cursed book!” I recognize the voice – it’s Crunching Jaguar.
“Yes,” Martineau booms. “The demon – he has it.”
He smiles as he betrays me, hands me over to them as a demon.
There’s another voice then, the high, reedy tones of the king. I spot his elaborate headdress bobbing amongst the crowd of guards. The king works his way to the front of the crowd, but no further.
They’ve dealt with this poisonous gas before. I remember Blanco Vigores once told me the story of when the Ix Codex came to Calakmul – the Snake Kingdom. Dozens of warriors died, screaming, their insides turning to bloody liquid when the toxic gas hit them.
“If the boy can defy the book’s curse then he is no demon but a messenger of the gods.”
Stunned silence.
“Are you, boy?” the king continues. “Do you bring a message from the gods?”
I glance at Martineau. He’s rigid, looking from me to the shadowy huddle of guards.
“He commanded me with a god’s voice,” calls someone else. It’s Rain Son. “I could do nothing but obey.”
“You dare speak in the presence of Lord Yuknoom!” shouts Crunching Jaguar. There’s a scuffle in the crowd, the sound of a fist hitting flesh, then a groan as Rain Son goes down.
> Martineau yells, “Detain the demon!”
There’s silence, again. But nobody moves. Furiously, Martineau repeats the order. Still no movement.
For a second, I’m as confused as they look. Why isn’t the hypnosis drug working for Martineau?
Concentrating, I struggle to string words together. “I bring a message,” I begin. The crowd gasps, almost with one voice. It’s the first time they’ve heard me talk in Mayan. “A message,” I repeat, louder. “From the gods!”