by M. G. Harris
“We’re serious,” I tell him. “Totally. You might even say it’s my destiny.”
Bosch manages a smile. “Destiny, eh? Don’t let me hear you talking like that again! That’s their language. The Sect of Huracan, destined to rule for hundreds of years. Ancient overlords restored to their former splendour. That’s destiny, where I’m from.“
Bosch’s cave is about two hundred metres into the forest. By the time we get there I’m already scratching at new mosquito bites. He shows us the opening to a narrow cenote, then abruptly, he stops, standing very still. Ixchel and I are motionless, listening. Then we hear the sound that’s worried him. The crackle of some twigs. Then the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the undergrowth. They grow fainter, heading away.
“I think we’ve been followed,” he murmurs.
“Who might follow you?” Ixchel asks.
“It’s no secret that I work here. But I’ve created enough mystery and intrigue around the place to keep most people away. Sometimes, though, the children get curious.”
Bosch seems more worried than his words suggest. He points into the well, at a wooden stake that’s been hammered into a gap between the rocks. There are similar hand- and footholds halfway down the well, stopping about fifteen metres above the surface of stagnant water. Where the footholds finish, there’s a hole in the wall. The gap is just wide enough for an adult man, but we all have to crawl on hands and knees. Bosch goes first, promising that it isn’t far. We crawl for about five minutes, which is long enough that my leg wounds and rib bruises start to ache again. The tunnel widens and becomes high enough to stand in.
“This place is a honeycomb,” Bosch says. “But it’s all limestone. When the volcano blows, there’s no way to know what will happen. Might fill with water, might fill with lava.”
“Or both,” I suggest, remembering the photographs the diver took of the underwater temple wall. Montoyo had always told me that the Erinsi temple was buried by lava. Bosch seems to think the same. But what if the lava flow swept part of the wall away, to be lost in an underwater cave?
Bosch leads us into an office where there’s a wide wooden desk, which takes up about a third of the space in the room. The desk is covered with pieces of Mayan bark paper. He picks up a neat, concertina-folded heap of paper about five centimetres thick.
The Ix Codex.
Amazingly, I realize that it’s the first time I’ve ever seen the whole, actual codex, outside of its protective case.
Except that this one isn’t quite complete.
Bosch disappears into a small antechamber and returns with an extra wooden stool. Without a word he places it next to the other stool under the table. I can’t help wondering at his slightly furtive manner. Then he shows us the scraps of pages where he’s written the English translation of the Erinsi inscriptions. For a second I wonder if there’s a whole translation of the codex that we could see. It’s quickly obvious that he reuses the paper, coating each piece with gesso after he’s written what he needs and then using it as a palimpsest, a manuscript that’s been covered and written over and over. Ixchel and I concentrate as he shows us how to use the cipher key to encode the English words into Mayan hieroglyphs.
We work together then, speaking in low voices and only about our work. It’s like when I deciphered those first few pages of the Ix Codex at my house in Oxford, only in reverse. There’s hardly even time to reflect on how fully amazing it is that the final few pages of the codex are written by me and Ixchel. I’m badly tempted to scrawl “Josh woz here” in the margins. Without knowing whether that was actually written into the codex in our reality, though, I don’t dare.
That’s how scary it can be to fiddle around with history. You never know where things will end up.
All sorts of thoughts cross my mind over the next few hours as we work. Some of the stuff I manage to read while I’m transcribing is amazing. I keep looking out for instructions on how to use the “time-jump device” but they don’t turn up. I guess that they’re in part of the Ix Codex that Bosch has already completed.
“Where are the Bracelet instructions?” I ask him.
“Listen, buddy of mine, you just take care of this job and I’ll see you right. They’re not in this section. As I’m sure you’ve worked out.”
“Well, at least tell me how it works.”
Bosch sighs. “Do you have a degree in ten-dimensional physics?”
“Yeah,” I say flatly. “I have two.”
“Don’t knock it,tjommie; where I come from some kids your age can do that stuff. Look, it’s like this: the Bracelet is a remote control. It sends a signal to a power source, which opens a vortex in the space-time continuum. Only a tiny one, mind. And any mass up to about a hundred and fifty kilos gets transported through the vortex – to another time, another place. The Bracelet sends the instructions and it acts like a focal point for the vortex. That’s why it’s so small. The actual power source – now that’s huge.”
“And where is it?”
“Funny you should ask” is all Bosch will say.
I start looking through the glyphs even more closely, to see if I can find the answer. There’s loads of amazing concepts. For example, there’s a thing that Bosch/Itzamna has translated as “Large Hadron Collider”. I ask Bosch if that’s the power source and he sort of grunts, “Might be.”
“So the Erinsi built something like the thing that’s in Geneva?” I ask. “Where?”
“It’s close to their labs,” he replies, not without suspicion. I can’t help noticing that Bosch doesn’t like me asking questions about the exact location of the Erinsi remains.
Another thought I keep returning to is this: if Itzamna/Bosch didn’t inscribe the image of the symbols on the Bracelet into the temple wall, then who did? Was it me? If it was, then I need to find that temple wall soon . . . or else there’ll be some horrible time paradox. Without that added inscription we wouldn’t be here now.
So I ask him again, “Where exactly is the Temple of Inscriptions?”
Bosch is quiet for a minute, scratching an unshaven chin. “Kid, I appreciate the interest, but right now I need you to stay focused on the writing. I can’t finish this on my own.”
Ixchel looks up from her work. “It won’t take long to tell us.”
“To what end, though?” Bosch flushes angrily. “You want me to give you coordinates? How will you get there? You want me to take you? There isn’t time. All I want is for you to help me finish.”
“Where are the other three books?” I ask suddenly. There’s been no sign of the other three codices: Muluc, Cuauc and Kan. Nor of the protective cases, embedded with the deadly toxin that can kill at a touch.
Bosch throws an involuntary glance towards the antechamber. “They’re safe.”
The atmosphere in the room is suddenly tense. Bosch’s trying to hide something.
There’s another deep rumble, an almost throaty roar that travels through the rock and via the tunnel. Almost as if in response, the room shakes. Ixchel and I stare at each other in terror. I’m suddenly intensely aware of how much rock there is above us. The room carries on quivering for almost a full minute. When it stops we’re completely covered with a fine layer of dust.
Pushing the inscribed pages away, I stand up. Taking Ixchel by the hand I say, “We’re out of here.”
“Don’t be infantile,” Bosch snaps. “It gets much worse before an actual eruption. Sit down again, we’ll be finished in an hour.”
“No,” I tell him, firmly. “Finish on your own.”
Bosch looks baffled. “You can’t leave now. What about your man Martineau?”
“We just came here to warn you. You’ve got your own army back there. Let them take care of Martineau.”
He steps forward. Slowly, he reaches behind his back around his belt and draws a stubby blade. In a voice that’s suddenly lower and infinitely more menacing than any tone he’s used before, he says, “You’re going nowhere.”
My hand goes
for the Bracelet, but Bosch leaps forward, grabs Ixchel’s arm, jabs his dagger against her throat. For a couple of seconds, none of us moves a muscle; we don’t even breathe.
“The time-jump device has so many design flaws, don’t you agree?” Bosch is nervous, I can tell, breathing through his mouth. He licks his lips. “There’s the oh-so-fragile Crystal Key, which didn’t last me even two time-jumps. Then there’s that countdown. It’d leave just enough time for someone like me to slit this girl’s throat before you zap back to the future. Little wonder that the Erinsi never used it for time travel.”
“Why did you use it?” I say, trying to buy some time.
Bosch laughs. “Why did I use it? By mistake, of course, you stupid boy! Here’s a lesson for you – don’t use a machine without reading the damn manual.” His voice rises hysterically. “What an idiot! Why did I use it? You think I wanted to be trapped here in the past? You think I enjoy being Itzamna, bringer of writing, agriculture and science to the Mayans? You seriously think that anyone’s got that huge an ego? I’m here because I’m stuck with this useless, burnt-out, hunk-of-junk Bracelet-of-freakin’-Itzamna. Not by choice!”
“But . . . so why are you doing all this stuff to save civilization in 2012?”
He rolls his eyes. “That’s quite enough from you. Give me your Bracelet.”
“No.”
“The Bracelet, or I cut her throat.”
In one jerking movement, Bosch switches the blade from her throat to mine. As he takes the step, the cave lurches sideways. There’s another angry roar from the volcano, followed by a terrifying rumble. We’re all rigidly still with every seismic shift, wondering when the ceiling will crack.
Struggling to keep my voice even, I say, “Can we just get out of here first?”
“You can do what you like once you’ve given me the Bracelet.” Bosch’s hand goes to the Bracelet on my arm. His knife hand is still at my throat, pressed against the jugular. I gulp, trying to think.
“We won’t help you finish writing the codex.”
He gives a sardonic laugh. “These were the final pages. Congratulations, kids, your work will go down in history.”
But from the opening to the escape tunnel there’s a voice. Even though I can’t see who is behind Bosch, there’s no mistaking the strident, confident drawl of Marius Martineau.
“Regrettably, none of your work will go down in history. This time, I shall make quite sure of that.”
Bosch’s eyes narrow. Slowly, he looks over his shoulder, keeping the blade pressed to my neck.
“Marius Martineau,” says Martineau with a tired smile. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Itzamna, or whatever your real name is. Now be a good chap and move away from the boy.”
Dumbly, Bosch steps aside. That’s when I see Martineau. He’s dressed in the simple rags of a Mayan peasant, his skin tanned dark and leathery. He looks leaner and older than when I saw him last. His only adornment is the Bracelet of Itzamna, clamped around his right bicep. I wouldn’t have taken him for anything but Mayan, from a distance.
The transformation is complete. Only this time, he’s pointing a gun.
“Drop the knife,” Martineau says without expression. When Bosch doesn’t obey, he fires the gun, a deafening sound inside the cave. The bullet hits the wall next to Bosch’s head, scattering debris and dust over Bosch, Ixchel and me. “Next time it’s your head,” Martineau tells him.
Bosch drops the blade at arm’s length. Martineau retrieves it, his eyes and pistol levelled at Bosch the entire time. “I don’t blame you for wanting to kill Joshua Garcia,” Martineau admits wearily. He’s holding the gun with both hands, switching the aim from me to Bosch. “We’re alike in that respect, you and I. But I’ve been waiting a long time to get all of you together. Now, he’s going to fetch those four codices for me.”
Bosch lowers his blade but doesn’t turn around. “If you know anything about the Books of Itzamna, then you’ll know that he’ll die. No one can touch those codices but me.”
“You and Josh.” Martineau gestures with the pistol. “Move away from him, boy. Into that antechamber, where I suspect that you’ll find the codices in their cases. Don’t touch them, though. It might seem like a convenient way to dispatch me, but don’t forget – the girl dies with me. I want you to wait until we’re out of range; then count up to one thousand and only then bring them to the surface.”
I nod at Bosch. “What about him?”
“He’s no concern of yours.”
“He’ll kill you,” Ixchel tells Bosch. “I hope you realize that?”
Bosch turns reluctantly away from me and faces Martineau.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s the only way he can be sure that you don’t write the books again.”
“Then you’ll kill Josh,” Ixchel says to Martineau. “Won’t you? Once he’s done your dirty work for you.”
“I don’t understand how you think the kid will survive touching the codices,” Bosch says. “They give off a biotoxin.”
“He’ll be fine,” Martineau replies smoothly. “Like you, the boy has been genetically modified to resist all four types of biotoxin. I imagine it’s a rather simple procedure in your own time. When would that be, incidentally? I’ve been hiding here amongst your people for several weeks. No one knows anything about your other life as a time traveller.”
“How is this fella even here?” Bosch asks me, with increasing bewilderment. “You have my Bracelet, yes? You found it, repaired it? What about him? Is there another Bracelet?”
I shrug, saying nothing. I still don’t know where Martineau got his Bracelet. Even if I did, why should I do anything to help Bosch? All he wants now is to steal my Bracelet and escape. I move away, towards the antechamber. A plan is beginning to form in my mind.
“I’ll get you the books,” I tell Martineau. “But if you destroy them, you’ll end up causing a nuclear war in the twentieth century. The Sect will never take over.”
Martineau hesitates, slightly lowers his gun. “You’re bluffing.”
I attempt a sneering laugh. “I wish! But me and Ixchel, we’ve seen the future where he never writes the books, the future you’re about to create. It’s just what you promised me: a reality where I never existed, my family never existed; a future without Ek Naab, without the Sect of Huracan.”
Now Martineau seems really annoyed. The gun is raised again. “Foolish boy, remember who you’re dealing with!”
“He’s telling the truth!” Ixchel blurts indignantly.
“You’re both lying,” Martineau says, irritated. “But I’ll make you a deal: do as I say, and I promise you can go free. Both of you. I’ll set your Bracelet to wherever and whenever you like.”
Now who’s lying. . .?
“Hold it!” Bosch shouts at Martineau. “I need the kid’s Bracelet. It’s my only way out of here. If you want those books, you’re going to need my help. That’s my price.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“The boy can’t carry all four books and climb out of the well. Even with two he’ll have a problem, climbing with just one hand. It takes two people to carry four books.”
Martineau only smirks. “Then he’ll make two trips. You’ll build me a fire at the top. We’ll have a good old-fashioned book-burning.”
Bosch visibly pales. He starts to move towards the antechamber, but Martineau aims the gun and stops him with a barked yell.
“I’m only going to show the boy where I keep the boxes,” Bosch murmurs, hands raised. Then he pushes me ahead of him, into the antechamber. Inside, he points to a pile of dried palm branches. “The books are under there. Don’t touch the boxes until they’re well out of range.” He passes me the folded pages of the almost-completed Ix Codex. “Put this in the empty box.”
Then he grabs me and pulls me close until his mouth is right against my ear. In a voice that’s barely audible, he says rapidly, “OK, Josh. You probably don’t have a good impression of me right now. After how I t
hreatened you and everything. But listen. You need to trust me. This Martineau is very, very dangerous. Your girlfriend is right – he’s going to kill me. I don’t think you’re safe either. I think I can get us out of this. But I’m going to need your help.”