Ninth Lord of the Night

by Diana L. Driver

  He got up and left.

  ###

  That night the rains started. For days the water poured in torrents upon the thatch roof, beating against the tin underneath. Most of the time, he laid in bed either sleeping or reading one of the books he’d taken from the main house. Sometimes he’d watch as either Josh or Kyle would back-flush the pool and dump the dirty, muddy water. He left his room only to eat supper, and then only after everyone else had finished. From his window he watched the other kids dodging raindrops as they ran to and from their bungalows. Maria he didn’t glimpse at all. He wanted to talk to her, but he didn’t have the courage.

  Clifton would pass by Zack’s room and glance in, but he never came in to talk. And, when Zack did leave his room and go into the main house one of two things would happen; either the conversation would suddenly halt, or he would simply be ignored. Josh and Linda appeared to be nervous and uncomfortable when he was around, and even though Samantha would give him these sad pathetic looks, she wasn’t the type to play martyr for anyone but herself. So, to save everyone embarrassment, he kept to himself.

  He read the Frommer’s Travel Guide from cover to cover, learning more about Guatemala, Costa Rica, and Belize than any sane person could care to know.

  When the rains lessened they left a residue of mist, and as that cleared the rains would begin again. Finally, in spite of his uncle’s orders, he couldn’t stand being cooped up in his room any longer and defiantly began to re-explore the ruins. After a week he’d been to all the sites and had seen whatever there was to see. But, he didn’t climb any more temples, he didn’t go back into the room containing the hidden codex, and he didn’t have any more visions.

  He’d given up any thoughts about retrieving the codex. He didn’t have the courage to re-enter that room, and what did it matter anyway? Even if he found the book and turned it over to the authorities, they’d just assume he’d stolen it to begin with.

  ###

  Raymond Morales ripped the drawing his partner had given him into shreds, then tossed the pieces at one of the piles of skulls that littered the cave’s floor. One of the scraps landed in an eye socket. He chuckled and his sudden utterance startled one of the workmen, causing the man to momentarily lose his grip on the wooden packing crate.

  Seeing the fear in the workman’s eyes, Raymond controlled his urge to curse. Carefully, the man carried the small crate to the truck parked outside the entrance. The airplane was scheduled to arrive in forty-eight hours and they’d spent the day moving the crates of Spanish treasure and stolen artifacts from this cave to an old abandoned building at the end of the runway. He’d be glad when this part of the job was finished. He hated this damn place. The piles of human skulls and bones lying about gave him the creeps. But, he had to admit the location was good. The cave was hidden in the side of a temple - in an area where the public wasn’t allowed.

  Raymond turned his thoughts back to the codex. He had two days left in which to find the damned thing. Whistling cave. What a load of shit. Damn that Miguel. He’d explored the limestone ruins from Group P in the north to the Southern Acropolis and, from Temple IV in the west to the East Plaza and he’d found nothing. All he’d gotten for his trouble was soaked by rain and perspiration and covered in bug bites. With his luck he’d get malaria.

  He’d seen that kid sneaking around, too. That was okay. The kid could look for the book. When he found it, Raymond would just take it away from him. With two people searching the codex was bound to show up. But, from all accounts, the kid hadn’t found the book either.

  He heard the diesel truck start up. Good. After this, there was only one load left. He covered the remaining four crates with a tarp, went out into the rain, and followed behind the truck in his jeep.

  They’d driven a little over a mile when the truck got stuck in the mud. Cursing, Raymond watched as the truck’s driver gunned the engine. The rear tire spun, slinging mud in every direction and succeeding only in getting the tire embedded deeper in the hole. He turned off the engine, got out, retrieved a coil of rope from the back and approached the truck, avoiding the flying dirt. It was raining harder now. The drops were big, pelting his face and back; running off the brim of his hat in rivulets. The damn truck was always getting stuck and he’d pulled it out of the mud more times than he cared to think about. It wasn’t something he wanted to do – not again.

  He told the driver in Spanish to turn off the damned engine and to get out and hook up the rope. Then he got back in the jeep and watched as one end of the rope was attached to the jeep and the other to the rear bumper of the truck. He shifted into reverse and stomped on the gas. The engine strained, but never quit and finally freed the truck from the mud. He followed the truck until they reached the main road, then Raymond turned into the parking lot opposite the Visitor’s Center. He didn’t want anyone connecting him with the truck driving down the old runway.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Catch me!” Samantha’s scream reverberated throughout the compound, followed by a tremendous splash, Kyle’s grunt, and a bevy of giggles.

  “Samantha!” Linda screeched. “You could have been hurt!”

  “Her!” Kyle protested. “What do you mean her? I could have drowned!”

  “Yeah,” Samantha chuckled. “But you weren’t. You are a true hero.”

  Zack listened to their chatter from the darkness of his room. His curtains were open, but he hadn’t bothered to turn on the little lamp.

  The kids were taking advantage of the break in the weather for a late night swim, everyone except for Maria and himself. He hadn’t heard her voice among the others.

  ‘Bastard.’ The word played over and over in his mind. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to delete Kyle’s words from his memory. He and Kyle still weren’t speaking and Zack knew his brother’s hatred hadn’t dissipated. Zack told himself that he didn’t care, that Kyle was an asshole, but the lie didn’t take.

  In a few days he’d be going home and he’d have to face his parents. Well, his dad, anyway. Since Zack had broken up his marriage he didn’t think his father would want to be his friend anytime within this millennium.

  He could also forget his mom. There definitely wasn’t any love lost there. After what his uncle would have to tell her . . . Zack didn’t bother to finish that thought. The rift between his family and himself was so wide he’d never be able to cross it. He’d been thinking about his place in the family and dismally concluded that he didn’t have one.

  He realized that the opposite of love was indifference – not hate. It was not caring. And, he should know. Not a single person in the whole damn world cared about him. He could be dead in here and no one would know until they smelled his rotting corpse. He’d never claimed to be a saint, but he still didn’t get why everyone was so willing to assume the worst. Why were people so eager to re-invent his character? They didn’t do that with Kyle or Samantha.

  He didn’t want to go home, where thanks to Kyle’s big mouth all his friends would soon know he not only ruined his parent’s marriage, but was also an A plus bastard in the truest definition of the word. And, he sure didn’t want to stay here. So, what was the alternative?

  The answer came to him in a flash. Belize. The citizens spoke English there and the border wasn’t too far away. According to what he’d read Belize was a place for losers and outlaws, so he’d fit right in. It was also a tourist spot with lots of deep-sea fishing and scuba diving. He knew how to do both. He had his passport plus enough money to get him by until he could get a job on one of the boats. Life might not be too bad; at least he would be his own person. Things weren’t going to get any better here - that was for certain.

  The thought of going to Belize began to excite him. He got up and in the dark replaced the contents of his backpack with a couple of shirts and a pair of jeans. Right before he left he’d need to remember to take a bottle of water from the kitchen. He stacked his passport and billfold on the table, on top of the Frommer’s travel gui
de. The Tikal guidebook he would leave here. He set his backpack by the door and sat back down on the bed. He’d leave in the morning and never look back.

  “Where’s Zack?” Zack froze at the sound of his uncle’s voice. Oh crap. Now what?

  “He’s in his room,” Bruce answered. “Hiding in the dark.”

  In a few seconds there was a knock on Zack’s door.

  “Yeah?” Zack called.

  Clifton opened the door, walked over to the table, and turned on the lamp.

  “You didn’t show up for supper, so I thought I’d make sure you’re all right.” Clifton glanced at the passport and billfold on the table then spied the bulging backpack by the door. He unzipped it, looked inside, and set it down. “Going somewhere?”

  “I was considering it. Why? Would you care?”

  Without answering, his uncle slipped Zack’s passport into his shirt pocket. Then he removed the American dollars from the billfold.

  Zack jumped to his feet. “Hey, Man! You can’t do that! You’ve no frigging’ right!”

  “Tell me when you run out of money and I’ll change some of your dollars into quetzals,” Clifton said. “By the way, Mrs. Sanchez left a plate for you in the kitchen.”

  Zack waited for his uncle to leave before opening his billfold and counting the bills. Twenty damn quetzals. So much for going to Belize. He grabbed the Tikal guidebook and with all the force he could muster, threw it against the wall. The loose pages scattered all over the floor. He glanced out the window and saw Josh, Linda, Kyle and Samantha staring at him from the pool. He gave them the high sign, turned off the light, and laid back down on the bed.

  He listened to the sounds of the night long after the giggles and laughter had faded and everyone had retired to their rooms. He was restless, he was hot, and not from just the heat. No reason not to go swimming now. He put on his suit and grabbed a towel.

  The cool water helped to dissipate his anger. He cut it cleanly with his hands and feet, making few ripples and no noise. He swam from one end of the pool to the other, lap after lap. Breaststroke. Backstroke. Butterfly. Breaststroke. Backstroke. Butterfly. Repeating the pattern over and over he pushed himself and punished himself as he searched for some kind of atonement. He swam until every muscle, tendon, and sinew burned; until his arms and legs grew heavy and he was out of breath. Still, he forced himself to complete one more lap and then another. Slowly, as his physical strength waned he felt his inner strength surge and grow. Living by other people’s rules wasn’t getting him anywhere. He was tired of being misunderstood, tired of being the victim, but most of all he was tired of feeling sorry for himself.

  He grabbed the towel he’d left lying by the pool’s edge, wrapped it around his shoulders and sat down on the top step. He was exhausted, but at least now he’d be able to sleep.

  “Exorcising your demons?” Maria’s voice stopped him cold. It drifted out from one of the lean-tos. All he could see was a man’s white v-necked t-shirt. The rest of her was obscured by the shadows. “For awhile I thought you might swim all night.”

  “I didn’t know you were there. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “Don’t worry,” she answered. “You didn’t. I came out here because it’s so hot inside.”

  She made him feel awkward. He knew it wouldn’t be long before she humiliated him. He stood up. “I guess I better get back to my cell.”

  “No, don’t go. Stay awhile. You look like you could use a friend, and I know how it feels to be an outcast.” Her voice sounded both sincere and concerned. She came out from the shadows, the large t-shirt barely covering her panties. She sat down beside him and dangled her smooth brown legs in the water.

  “You?” he asked bitterly before sitting back down. “How could you know? You have everything. You know everything about who you are. Where you came from. No one is out to make you into someone you’re not. You know they care about you.”

  She wriggled her toes in the water. “Maybe I know too much.”

  “Give me a break.”

  “No, really. I used to bug my mother to take me to visit her family, the ones who are still Maya. She wouldn’t do it so I went to visit them myself. I shouldn’t have. They made it clear that I wasn’t part of their family, and neither was my mother. There is no way I could ever get past their suspicion and be accepted, no matter how much I might want to. Some things can never be.

  “Then there’s my Ladino family in Guatemala City. They’ve gone so far as to adopt the same hatred and loathing that the rest of the Ladinos have for the Maya. It’s like they’re ashamed and hate where they came from.”

  “Yeah, but what about your American family? Don’t they accept you?”

  “I suppose. They include me in everything they do. I know their complete genealogy and history. When I’m there for Christmas or Thanksgiving and I look around at all these blond haired, blue-eyed, fair skinned people . . . well, it’s obvious my mother and I don’t fit in.”

  “So how are you dealing with it?”

  “I’m not. For a while I took the best from all three cultures, and tried to combine them, but the pieces don’t fit. They don’t make a whole. There are still dark empty places, places I can’t fill in.”

  “Maybe you’re trying too hard. All that’s just surface stuff. At least you have the pieces. Besides, it’s not the same thing. It’s not personal. Not like my family and me. I’ve fucked everything up so that everyone hates me. My mom, my dad, my brother.”

  “I know you and Kyle are having problems, and maybe you and your mom have issues, but you’re not giving your dad much credit. Maybe if you talk to him he’ll be able to make everything right again.”

  “That’s a crock. Anyway, I doubt it and I’m not into unnecessary pain.”

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  “I want to be on my own. If my uncle hadn’t taken my passport and my money I’d be heading out to Belize tomorrow.”

  “And your education?”

  Zack shrugged. “I could make a good life for myself in Belize. You don’t need a high school diploma or college degree to trim a sail.”

  “That’s just dumb.”

  “It’s all fucking academic anyway.” He reached into the water and made ripples with his fingers. “You know what I feel like?”

  She shook her head. “No, what?”

  “Like the guy who swallowed the worm in the bottom of a bottle of tequila and is waiting to see if it kills him or if it’s only going to make him sick.”

  “You mean Mezcal, not tequila. Clifton won’t let anything happen to you. If that’s what you’re worried about. Dr. Collins wants to call in the police, but Clifton has talked him out of it. At least for now. He really is on your side. You should tell him what’s going on.”

  “I can’t,” Zack muttered. “If I do I’ll never get out of here. I might even get killed.” He decided to change the subject. “How’s your dad?”

  Maria pulled her legs out of the water, her heels resting on the brick’s edge, and hugged her knees to her chest. She seemed not to notice her wet t-shirt. Zack tried not to notice, either.

  “Okay, I guess. I don’t know. I didn’t get to see him. He went to see my mom, but decided to go back to the site and pack up. I miss him.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. He’s busy. I know that.” She tilted her head and looked up at him. “Had any more visions?”

  “Yeah,” Zack admitted. “One more.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” Suddenly, without thinking, he blurted, “Maria, I want to see Chujal.”

  “You do?”

  “Didn’t you tell me that he said he would come when I was ready for him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell him I’m ready for him now.”

  “I don’t have to tell him. I’m sure he knows.”

  “How?”

  “He’s a chimán, a sorcerer. They don’t have to be told when someone needs them. They just know. He’l
l come now that you’ve said you needed him”

  Zack peered into the darkness beyond his bungalow. Mist hung low on the ground. The air still smelled sweet, although the plants in the canopy had finished blooming and had dropped all their petals. “You think the jaguar’s still out there?”

  Maria shrugged, “All of the Petén is protected. He has a large area to hunt in.”

  Zack nodded and stood up. “Well, good night.”

  Maria rose, too. “Zack?”

  “Yes?”

  “When Chujal comes, wake me up. I want to be with you. Chujal doesn’t speak English. Only Mayan.”

  “Sure.” He started to walk away, and then turned back. “Maria?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  She smiled at him. “No problem.”

  Zack changed his clothes and for two hours sat on his bed and watched out the window, waiting for Chujal to appear out of the jungle fog. When he did, it was like magic. Like the jaguar, he just emerged from the jungle’s edge. Maria must have been watching as well because when Zack stepped out of his room she was waiting for him, now dressed in jeans and a shirt.

  Chujal motioned to them and they followed him into the jungle. Water droplets soaked their clothes as the wet vegetation rubbed against them. Even in the darkness they had no problem following after Chujal as he led them deeper into the jungle. He stopped by the trunk of a massive ceibal tree and sat cross-legged on the ground. Zack and Maria sat across from him and Chujal nodded.

  He reached into his pocket and removed a small leather bag. He opened it, dumping seven different colored pebbles on the ground. He arranged the pebbles in rows and studied them intently before gathering them up in his hand and tossing them back on the ground. He did this several times and they waited quietly until he finished and replaced the pebbles in the bag.

  Then, he spoke in a rough, terse language, never taking his eyes from Zack’s face. He paused and Maria translated, “You are a Man of Maize and it is time for you to acknowledge your ancestors. The destiny of the man you saw in your dreams is concealed in the marrow of your soul. He is the one who brought us Quej, the horse, and he was also destroyed by zopilote, the buzzard.”