Treasure of the Mayan King (2012)

by Alehandro

  Prologue

  The sun was shining, with few clouds casting their shadows upon the jungle. The wind was blowing softly, the birds were chirping, and thousands of laborers carried the spoils of war upon their backs.

  It was a good day to celebrate.

  King Chac stood proudly atop his grand pyramid amidst the jungles of Palenque, Mexico. The colorful plumage of his royal costume glittered slightly in the afternoon breeze. The gold and silver of his garment contrasted with his dark brown skin and the mass of clothing weighed heavily upon his thin, muscular frame. Thousands of slaves carried the booty from his recent conquest of the Lowland Maya. Today the festivities were honoring his brilliant strategy and military cunning.

  The smoke from many incense-burning urns wafted skyward, dancing in slow circles in tune to the wind. The staccato of drums, the whistling of flutes and the singing of songs seemed to propel the smoke’s dancing as much as it did the performers. Dignitaries and their wives sat on exquisitely designed benches in the royal court, smiles on their faces and drinks in their hands as they observed the festivities. The priests were also present, attending to their myriad duties, invoking the favor of the gods.

  The general populace stood at a distance, also observing the procession, content with the knowledge that their gods were looking down favorably on recent events. After all, was it not obvious they were a blessed people? They were the Highland Maya, and were enjoying such riches and glory as never before. King Chac had been nothing but successful in his conquests it seemed as if the entire Yucatan Peninsula had been subjugated under him.

  The king smiled as he quietly observed the treasure pile grow to a phenomenal size as the workers continued to file into the courtyard, each one depositing his load of the riches before disappearing. All these, the precious artifacts of gold, silver, jade, obsidian, and other exotic materials, had been taken from the deposed kings. The jewels glistened, their many colors morphing in the sunlight as clouds passed over. The sight of so much wealth in one place was mesmerizing, gripping and taunting the minds of all the observers with such vast fortunes.

  King Chac was now supreme ruler. He was aware of his new status and he had made it a priority to ensure that his fame, power, and riches were known to all the inhabitants of the Mayan world. He had commissioned the construction of great pyramids, making sure that his name was inscribed in the grand edifices by the hands of only the most masterful stonemasons.

  His fame had reached its zenith, and the treasure of this Mayan king was now the largest ever acquired. There, before his very eyes, the mountain of riches continued to rise and swell to outstanding proportions, a testimony to his military success.

  The next day the king’s wife, Cihuatl, entered her husband’s royal chamber, a grand room with rich and vibrant murals. Large benches rested against the walls while in the middle, upon a raised dais, sat the throne of the king. Near the throne was a small urn in which burned incense, giving the entire room a hazy atmosphere.

  As was the custom, Cihuatl slowly walked into the room with her head bowed. Once she approached him, she raised her head to gaze at her husband, and nearly recoiled as she saw the king’s face contorted with misery and grief.

  “What is the matter, my lord?” she asked, worry evident in her tone. “Why are you so distraught?”

  He did not answer. He just sat there, his eyes unfocused and his head downcast. When he continued to be silent, his wife made an effort to reach him.

  “This is not a time for sadness, my king, but a time for great rejoicing! Are you not the greatest king to ever walk our land? Do not the gods smile upon your endeavors? Surely they must, for look at the treasure that has been deposited at your very feet!”

  King Chac did not look at his wife when he spoke. “Yes…yes, I am well aware of this magnificent mountain of treasure and the extent of my fame. That is what worries me.”

  “But why?” she asked.

  He raised himself from his throne and walked slowly around the chamber, his eyes gazing at the many decorations. “I worry that sometime, somewhere, somehow, someone is going to find my treasure and plunder it! Then all will be lost, my treasure, my glory, my fame - yes, everything - will be gone. I must find a way to keep it for all eternity!”

  “Who would steal it, my dear husband? We have many loyal subjects who guard the treasure and who guard you with their very lives.”

  “Yes, I am aware of that,” he said with a heavy sigh as he walked around. “After I pass away, what guarantee is there that my treasure will not be plundered and stolen? No! That thought is too much for me to bear! There must be a way to secure my treasures and conceal them from my enemies.”

  “What do you propose to do, my lord?”

  The Mayan king stopped walking and turned to look at her for the first time since she entered. “I have been thinking of a way; I have a plan! I must consult with the priests first, however, for they can help me. I will find a way to guard my treasure forever.”

  Several days passed before Cihuatl entered the royal room again and found her husband sitting on his throne, two priests at his side, and a smile upon his face.

  He seemed to be in a jovial mood. “Ah! My dear wife, do come closer, for I have good news for you.”

  “This is a welcome change,” she commented, mimicking his smile. “Please, tell me what it is that has you in such good spirits.”

  King Chac was holding a scroll in his hand as he stood up. “I have thought of a way to solve the problem of securing my treasure! Beginning today, my workers will construct a grand pyramid, where my body will be entombed once I pass from this world. Most kings bury their treasure with them, but not I. No! My treasure will be taken somewhere else, somewhere secret. The workers involved in hiding the treasure will be sacrificed to the gods so they will never tell a soul of its location. But, upon the steps of my temple, there will be a great riddle, one to tantalize and perplex the people for ages.”

  “What is this riddle?” his wife asked.

  The king answered: “The meaning of this riddle will never be explained to any mortal! Only my successors, the kings and the priests, will have the knowledge of this great secret, and they will guard it jealously. Forever will my treasure be secured, and forever will my fame live on!”

  Book One: The Mayan Riddle

  Chapter One

  The jungle was noisy with animal sounds as he stood on the top of the steps of the small plane. Disdain clouded his face as he surveyed those gathered to meet him. He puffed the thick cigar clenched in his teeth, muttering in French as he disembarked. Dr. Rene Sova was no tourist visiting the Yucatan peninsula in Mexico for the climate. In fact, he considered any climate, hot or cold, dry or humid, simply a nuisance to be ignored.

  “Ah, Doctor Sova,” one of the men called out. “I am Doctor Joseph Lopez. Welcome to Palenque. Is there any way we may assist you?”

  Yes, by getting out of my way, he thought. He hoped he wouldn’t have to spend too much time with these fools. “You may direct me to the nearest vehicle and the pyramid,” he said. His Spanish was excellent under the thick French accent.

  “Certainly Dr. Sova, the blue SUV is yours, with a knowledgeable driver on hand. Shall I brief you?”

  “At the site, Lopez, at the site,” carefully not calling him “doctor.”

  Doctor Lopez stared the world-famous linguist: he was short, but not fat; his hair was thick but no longer showed any black at all. With that pointed goatee, it took only a bit of imagination to see a resemblance to a certain fast-food icon famous for his fried chicken. All present were well aware they had been completely ignored by their visitor.

  Meanwhile Dr. Sova sat in co
mfort in the front passenger seat of a luxury SUV, thinking about what was waiting for him ahead. There was evidence all around of the damage nature was capable of. The hurricane had also revealed Dr. Sova’s reason for being there. For decades, archaeologists suspected a certain large mound in the vicinity was, in fact, a pyramid. Busy with existing finds, they had neglected the area - but the winds of the hurricane had not. Uprooted trees and vegetation revealed the staircase of an ancient Mayan pyramid.

  Mayanists were astounded to find an ancient message on the staircase. These anthropologists and archaeologists specializing in Mayan culture, unable to decipher the lettering, had called in Dr. Sova.

  Idiots, all of them, he thought as the vehicle bumped and slid to the pattern of the road. Rough or smooth, it was immaterial as long as he got where he was going, and when he wanted to get there. Seeing the mound in the distance, he set about analyzing the passing jungle to keep his mind busy until they arrived.

  The blue SUV came to a halt fifty yards from the pyramid. Ignoring the dust the SUV had caused, Dr. Sova quickly stepped from the vehicle to look at the work site.

  Much of the debris had been cleared from the steps of the pyramid by the hurricane but there was still much to remove. Those workers look like insects, yes, they remind me of ants. Dr. Sova chuckled to himself as he perused the architectural design of the pyramid.

  It was fairly typical of Mayan style. He couldn’t be certain, for most of the structure was still buried, but it looked like it was actually larger than most, certainly quite a find. His eyes swept the surrounding vegetation and area, noticing several other mounds at a distance that he predicted might be pyramids as well. He would mark the spots for future study. His eyes continued on and looked at what the Plaza. This new pyramid was actually at the end of a long roadway that led to other pyramids, all of them previously unearthed and studied. He knew manpower was scarce, but it was beyond him as to why this pyramid had not been unearthed before; it was located so close to a well-known Mayan find.

  Doctor Lopez came up next to him, his right hand shading his eyes from the glare of the sun as he gazed at the pyramid. “Quite a beautiful thing isn’t it?” he asked.

  Dr. Sova actually agreed with him. “Yes indeed. What is the synopsis?”

  “Basically what the newspapers have been reporting; a tree topples over and reveals Mayan glyphs. As for the writing…well, we’re not sure what to make of it. It is obviously Mayan hieroglyphs, but there is much about the translation that makes us wonder if we have it all wrong.”

  Which you probably have, Dr. Sova thought with a slight smile on his face. Being at the pyramid had improved his mood, and he was willing to humor these dull-minded colleagues for the time being.

  “Well let’s see what I can do about correcting your translations, eh?” Without waiting for a reply, he walked briskly toward the pyramid, eager to begin his work.

  After a cursory study of the initial results from the professionals, Dr. Sova had concluded that the translation had been wrong on nearly every level. Dr. Sova quickly discarded the previous work and began translations anew, working feverishly from dawn till dusk, and sometimes far past it. During the next few weeks it was not unusual to find him out during the night with spotlights and yards of paper, scribbling away furiously and talking to himself in the strangely beautiful Mayan tongue, almost chanting as he walked up and down the steps. These strange “conversations” would occasionally be interspersed with cries of discovery or grunts of satisfaction as his guesses were proved correct and he added another piece to the puzzle.

  The other archaeologists avoided the linguist entirely, which was not difficult because the doctor avoided them too. He ignored the low murmurs in the camp - he knew they were talking about him. Let them have their little talks, he thought more than once. They will know who the true Mayanist is before long. They will be forced to recognize my genius.

  He rarely spoke to anyone, but he was always talking, always muttering some peculiar phrase; sometimes in Spanish, sometimes Italian or French, but mostly in Mayan. He was comparing the dialects, finding equivalents in other tongues. It was amazing how idiosyncrasies in one language would find a companion in another language, if one knew where to look.

  And the doctor knew where to look. The writings were making sense, as he linked words and phrases back and forth, erasing a meaning and then penciling it back in his notebook, changing his mind and erasing it again as he stared at the engravings in the steps, the beautiful word pictures linked mysteriously to meanings. The language had peculiar differences from most Mayan. The message seemed to be a poem and at the same time a description. This contrast more than once caused him to rip up entire days of work and start again.

  And then, one day, it was over. Everything finally made sense, and Dr. Sova nodded. Sneaky devil, he thought silently of the man who had had this engraving made so many centuries ago. Devious devil indeed!

  He stood up and triple-checked his translation, reading the words first from the staircase and then from his notebook. After at least half an hour of examination, he was satisfied. He knew exactly what the hieroglyphs said, and it was time the world knew as well.

  He descended the staircase shouting to Dr. Lopez, “Call the media. I have a special announcement to make concerning the Mayan glyphs!”

  Dr. Sova had orchestrated the event to its full potential. The press conference was being held in a hotel lobby in Merida, most of which was filled with a life-sized plaster replica of the Mayan staircase, complete with hieroglyphs. The media was eager to hear what the renowned Dr. Sova had to reveal to the world.

  Dr. Sova knew how to handle himself in front of the cameras, and he enjoyed the attention. He walked to the lectern situated in front of the staircase replica and waved his hands, indicating he was ready to speak.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced in impeccable English despite his accent. “May I have your attention please? The time has come to reveal the mystery of the Mayan hieroglyphs we have found on what we now call Temple #22.”

  The lobby was quiet except for the sound of the morning traffic outside.

  After having let the silence hang for a few dramatic seconds, he continued. “It is my pleasure to bring to you the explanation of the Mayan inscriptions. As you are all aware, the destructive nature of Hurricane Sheila was responsible for clearing away enough vegetation so as to expose an ancient staircase. This staircase has revealed the history of a formerly unknown ruler by the name of King Chac.

  “As you can see here behind me…” he said, and turned briefly to point at the plaster staircase replica, a gesture he repeated several times during his discourse. “King Chac lived in the post-classic period of the Mayan empire. What makes this discovery so fascinating is the fact that we had no record of this king: he was an unknown entity! For many years it was thought that all of the Mayan kings of the Quiche Maya had been accounted for.” Sova, of course, had thought no such thing, but he figured that the simple-minded Mayanists had assumed the book of knowledge on the Mayan culture had been read from cover to cover.

  “But now we can see, according to the glyphs that have been uncovered on the pyramid, we have a new ruler to add to our list. And much to our great delight, we also have reason to believe that this pyramid contains his remains. The work of clearing Temple #22 will commence shortly in an attempt to excavate inside the structure. It has been decided among my colleagues and I that this work will be accomplished by an international crew of archaeologists, all of whom will assist in uncovering the temple.”

  After the applause died down, he answered the many questions the media posed to him.

  Chapter Two

  The sun was shining brightly on the small turboprop airplane as it made its final approach to the dirt runway. Trying to remind himself that the pilot was an expert, American archaeologist Chauncy Rollock sat with both hands tightly gripping the arms of his seat. Despite the number of times he had landed on remote, barely maintained runways
, the deep blue eyes under his blond crew cut showed that it never failed to scare the daylights out of him.

  “Come now, Chauncy,” chided his associate Mack Estlund. “Surely you know they wouldn’t let anybody but the best pilots fly us here.”

  Chauncy tried his best to appear relaxed and carefree as he turned to look at the taller, lankier man. “What are you talking about, Mack?”

  Mack smiled knowingly. “I’m talking about the permanent indentations you are making in the armrests of your seat.”

  Chauncy felt his face warming as he consciously relinquished his grip on the armrests. “Let’s just say I’m not overly fond of landing, Mack.”

  Mack smiled. “I know.”

  Chauncy ignored the windows at both edges of his vision. He could tell by the whine of the engines and the plane’s angle that they were only seconds from landing and he found himself gripping his chair again. The plane touched down with a minimum of jerking. The cabin door opened and the pilot smiled at his passengers.

  “Welcome to the Yucatan Peninsula, my friends. Please gather your carry-on luggage. My co-pilot will bring the rest of your gear. Thank you again, and may the rest of your journey be fruitful.”

  The pilot disappeared into the cockpit and was replaced by the co-pilot, who opened the hatch and lowered the steps. Chauncy and Mack unbuckled their belts and assembled their bags. The rest of their luggage was waiting at the bottom of the steps.

  The co-pilot waved as he re-boarded the plane. Moments later it was just a speck among the puffy white clouds. Chauncy dusted himself off and looked around as he chuckled. “Well, Mack, how do you like being left in the middle of nowhere?”

  Mack looked around in dismay. He stared for a long time at the place where the plane had disappeared from view, and then sat down on a sturdy piece of luggage. “What if the pilot made a mistake? What if this isn’t the right location? What do we do?”

  Detecting the rising fear in Mack’s voice, Chauncy tried to calm him down. “Don’t worry; this isn’t the first time for me.”