On the way back to the trap, they lit torches around the courtyard, along the steps to the temple, and at points near the jungle’s edge. They climbed into the pit, tiptoed around the spikes, and shimmied up the poles to the platform above.
“Take this,” Priest Quisac said, handing him the sacred weapon.
“Don’t you want it?”
“I have not used it to kill… you have,” he said with a huff, referring to when William blew Honac-Fey into oblivion with it. “Once the creatures fall into the trap, we must attack. Do not hesitate.”
“Do you really think they’ll just come charging at us like that?”
“They are stupid beasts. They will be drawn to us with the same compulsion that a vulture is to a carcass.”
Nearly an hour passed while they waited on the platform, staring into the darkness beyond the torches. A clicking sound resonated from the edge of the jungle. William spun around, gripping the handles of the sacred weapon.
“They’re here!” the Serpent Priest exclaimed. He readied a spear in a throwing posture over his right shoulder and grasped another spear in his left hand.
“Where?” William asked, his eyes darting everywhere. He powered up the sacred weapon, causing it to hum. He felt for the dagger at his side, ensuring its position.
The clicking noises seemed to come from different directions. Shadows streaked by as the creatures moved through the light of the torches. Abruptly, the clicking stopped.
“Over there,” Priest Quisac whispered pointing at the silhouette of a chupacabra near the steps of the temple. It let out a screech that sounded like nails on a chalkboard, and the beasts charged at them from three different angles.
The entire surface of the trap crashed down. Shrill howls bellowed from the pit. William aimed the sacred weapon below, but he couldn’t see beneath the mess of the brush. “Where are they?”
Priest Quisac launched his spears into the pit. “There!”
William fired the sacred weapon at the same spot where Priest Quisac threw his spears, casting an energy blast into the pit, vaporizing all the brush in a flash of fire that sizzled the hairs off his outstretched arms. Yellow goop and chunks of green fuzz splattered across his face when the beast exploded.
“Over there!” Priest Quisac pointed at another chupacabra crawling out from the brush near the base of the tower.
The beast hissed at them as it pulled a wooden stake out of its side. It crouched, about to leap, and William fired another blast at the creature, blowing it into pieces. The tower caught on fire and rocked back and forth before collapsing. It slammed against the side of the pit, and William dropped the sacred weapon. He held onto the poles as the flaming tower fell apart. Ash and broken timber separated them as they tumbled into the pit.
The last chupacabra climbed out of the rubble, howling from its injuries; it was charred, with yellow blood oozing out its wounds. Its ugly face jerked left and right, as though it was searching for its next target. When it spotted Priest Quisac crawling up from the brush, its black tongue whipped out, latching onto his neck.
William snatched his dagger and hacked loose a branch that had pinned him against the side of the pit. He charged the beast with his dagger; the chupacabra’s black eyes rolled his way, growling when it caught sight of him. He grabbed its thick tongue and sliced it in half. Priest Quisac fell over; blood sprayed out the severed end of the tongue still attached to his neck. The chupacabra screeched and retracted its tongue. William held on with a firm grip as its tongue pulled him in.
As they reached one another, William lifted his obsidian dagger and rammed it deep into the creature’s forehead; it sounded like a walnut cracking. The chupacabra howled as it clawed at the dagger stuck in its skull, unable to pull it free. Yellow blood dripped down its face, while its cut tongue sprayed out gallons of red blood, flopping around like a garden hose with the faucet turned on full blast—seeming to release all the blood it had consumed in recent days.
The chupacabra fell onto its back and convulsed on the ground. Priest Quisac staggered forward and rammed a spear through the beast’s chest. He jabbed at it again and again, until it stopped moving. The Serpent Priest stumbled to his knees, looking dizzy as he held pressure against the bite mark on his neck.
William plopped down beside him, and they both sat there, in the smoky pit, covered with all kinds of blood and muck from the creatures they had just killed, watching the collapsed tower burning around them. They were exhausted; it took some time before they had energy to stand.
They crawled up to the surface, coughing from the smoke. While lying on the plaster floor and gazing into the stars, William thought about Priest Quisac’s notion that his being there was part of some cosmic blueprint. But considering how things turned out—leading up to being chased around by bloodsucking monsters—he couldn’t help but laugh at the insanity of it all. “Priest Quisac, when we first met, you made me promise to help your people. But Dzibanché has collapsed.”
“Kingdoms will come and go. Your destiny is to help the people who still remain in these lands.” The Serpent Priest looked in the direction of the North Star. “Priest Hexel gave his life to deliver an important message.”
“What message?” William asked.
“The momentum of the cosmic plan has shifted north. To help the people here—and the people in your time—we must follow this path to the north.”
William remembered what Priest Hexel had said just before he died—that they needed to make a new Tree of Life in the north to protect Chichén Itzá. He also said that King Kukulcan had started a building project that would somehow benefit the people in the future, too. Even the grey men—their supposed brothers from the stars—had said that the bloodstone had to be healed to protect the region.
It all came down to one final challenge, William realized. To help the people for generations to come, the bloodstone had to be cleansed of the curse on the night of the eclipse. He glanced at the moon. It felt like the full weight of the bright object was sitting on his shoulders, as he contemplated the magnitude of the approaching celestial event.
Chapter Eighteen
After the exhausting encounter with the chupacabras, combined with the sleepless night hiding in the bunker below Yax’s room the night before, William slept for almost twelve hours. His eyes snapped open around noon, and he recalled—as if someone had hung a flashing neon sign on the ceiling of his room—that the lunar eclipse was that very night. He sprang from his bed and hurried to get ready. Mixed emotions crashed like waves through his psyche. Although nervous about the coming sacrifice, he also couldn’t wait to get it over with. With the Resurrection Ritual complete, and the soil plague reversed, William believed he would also be free from the burden of the curse. He could move on with his life… in whatever direction he wanted.
Something had been disturbing William over recent days as well. He felt a longing to kill King Aztuk. The bloodstone craved to draw the life out of the King of Calakmul, to end its curse. That thirst had intensified with the approaching lunar eclipse, and William carried the same sensation with him.
Later that afternoon, they went down to the clearing to wait for the vessel to arrive. William paced around the grassy field, becoming anxious as the sun began to set. “What if they don’t come?” he asked Priest Quisac with a troubled look.
“They will come,” the Serpent Priest said. “They desire the bloodstone to be healed, and this is the only way.”
“Why do they care about the bloodstone? They’ll be leaving our planet soon. What’s in it for them?”
Priest Quisac returned a confused stare. He seemed caught off guard by the question. “I cannot sense the deeper thoughts behind their words, and so I can only assume that, as our ancestors, they wish for our race to thrive here as well. They seem to understand how the bloodstone helps our land to flourish.”
William approached the Serpent Priest with a troubled gaze, feeling apprehensive about the grey men. “Are you sure the
y are your ancestors?”
Priest Quisac thought about it, but before he could respond, the familiar buzzing sound distracted their conversation. The dark cloud rolled in over the southern horizon, and an orange flash illuminated the field, leaving three people standing there. William zoned in on Teshna, becoming lost in the curves of her body. He was so happy to see her that the concerns he had voiced to Priest Quisac moments before dissolved with the swiftness of a breath strip melting in his mouth. William rushed across the clearing. He was so captivated by Teshna that it didn’t occur to him that Betty and Yax were there beside her.
William held Teshna for a long moment, as though they had been apart for months rather than days. “I missed you so much,” he said, lifting her off the ground.
“I was going crazy without you,” Teshna whispered in his ear. He gave her a long kiss.
“Hey, there are children around,” Betty said, interrupting them.
Like waking up from a dream, William turned his attention to Betty and Yax, as if they had just materialized.
Betty studied William and Priest Quisac. “You guys look tired. What have you been up to while we were gone?”
William rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell you about it later.” He realized that their struggle with the chupacabras still showed on their worn faces. Suddenly, the strange craving for King Aztuk’s life filtered through the bloodstone again, making William feel irritable. “Where is he?”
Yax looked up at the cloud. “They said they would follow after us.”
For a moment, William worried that the grey aliens might renege on their promise to bring the King of Calakmul. But then another burst of light left two grey men in the clearing; they were wearing their tight-fitting suits and bird-faced helmets. Beside them, a large crystalline cylinder—about the size of a carnival dunk tank—sat on a pad. It appeared to be hovering just above the ground. Lights blinked on a panel along its side. William approached and peeked inside.
“Is it really him?” Teshna asked from a safe distance.
William checked closer, pressing his forehead against the glass. He jumped when the stocky body of a Mayan floated near, startling him with an angry expression frozen on his scar-covered face. A dark red glow from the bloodstone lit up the inside of the chamber, casting an amber tint on the man’s face. Tubes were connected to his limbs, like a creature in some freak show. William pressed his hands on the cylinder, craving to kill him. Yet he recognized that the desire was caused by the bloodstone’s deep thirst for the man’s life—to end its curse. William tried to ignore the distracting desires, and he pulled away.
“It is King Aztuk,” Seblinov said, speaking in their minds.
“He floats in a state of suspension,” Jensik said while poking buttons on the side of the cylinder. It began to move forward, and he steered it with the instruments on the control panel.
As darkness settled in, they lit torches to illuminate the trail on the way to the ballcourt. William held Teshna’s hand as they went along. He wanted to ask her if she planned to go with her people to the other world, but he was afraid she would ask him to go with her. He wasn’t sure how he would respond. He turned to Betty, walking beside them. “So how was it up there?” he asked her in English.
Betty shot a quick glance back at Seblinov and Jensik; they were maneuvering the shiny cylinder up the path behind them. She looked paranoid that they might hear her thoughts. “Oh, it’s… comfortable enough, I guess,” she said in a pleasant voice, while sticking her finger into her mouth and pretending to gag. “It’s a little sterile for my taste. Did you know that there’s no dirt anywhere? The trees and plants grow right up from the floor. Weird, huh? There are a few birds flying around and some smaller animals, but I think it’s all for show… to make it more comfortable for them.”
“Does it seem safe?” William whispered.
Betty looked away. “I guess so. But the warriors still haven’t returned. Others are missing now, too. Plus they’ve been mixing in people from other kingdoms. It’s all a little confusing.” Betty suddenly had a hopeful look, as if she remembered something really important. “I told Jensik about the Serpent Passage… how we can’t go back because it’s underwater. He seemed really interested about that, and said they would set up two of their suits for us to use… so we can go back!”
“Oh, I see,” William said. He glanced over to Teshna with an anxious feeling coming over him. He had put the idea of going back to his own time out of his head, and he preferred believing that it was not a valid option. Having one less possibility to consider had been a relief. Now it was back on the table again.
Betty noticed his strained face. “If you’d rather stay, I totally understand,” she said, acknowledging Teshna beside him. “I could tell your mom for you… let her know that you’re okay. You could write her a note.” She smiled at the idea.
William’s face lit up. “Really?” He realized what a relief that would be for his mom to know what really happened to him.
As they entered the ceremonial center, Yax pointed at the moon above them. “Look,” he said, indicating the beginning stages of the lunar eclipse.
The group picked up their pace to the ballcourt. When they arrived, the eclipsing moon had begun to darken the land. Seblinov and Jensik tapped at the controls on the side of the cylinder, dropping the platform to the ground with a heavy thud. Jensik pressed a few buttons, causing the liquid inside to evaporate.
“We shall draw the blood that you require from the specimen,” Seblinov said. “However, he must first be awakened, for his blood is not active at the moment.”
William stayed by Priest Quisac’s side, waiting for his directions for the ritual. The Serpent Priest approached Seblinov, looking worried. “I must profess, Master Seblinov, that your method will not satisfy the requirement of the gods for breaking the curse of the soil plague. King Aztuk must be sacrificed. His soul needs to be freed from his blood.”
“Although we respect your beliefs, Priest Quisac, we disagree,” Seblinov said. “It is only the blood of this individual that is required—a chemical reaction to release the negative ions, amplified by the bloodstone. This will counter the effects of the soil plague by bonding with the electrical force of the eclipse.”
Priest Quisac shook his head. “It is only the act of the sacrifice that will restore order. You have been far too removed from the natural laws within a living world to understand this. A balance must be maintained!”
“This individual holds… properties… that are desirable to us,” Seblinov said in a disturbing manner. “We prefer to keep him intact for further use after this ritual.”
As the gaseous liquid finished evaporating from the cylinder, King Aztuk slumped against the side. His body jerked and twitched.
“He is restored,” Jensik said. He reached into a pouch at his side and retrieved a large vile, positioning it near the control panel. After turning a knob, the blood of King Aztuk filled the vile, like he was pouring himself a glass of grape juice from a soda fountain.
“It will not work like this, Seblinov!” the Serpent Priest said.
King Aztuk seemed to hear Priest Quisac’s words, for he suddenly awoke and snapped his stare in every direction.
“The eclipse is nearly complete!” Teshna said.
“What is this?” King Aztuk asked in a muffled voice from inside the crystal chamber. He staggered to his feet.
“Re-suspend the specimen,” Seblinov said with urgency in his voice.
Jensik handed the vile to William and returned to the control panel. King Aztuk slammed his body into the crystal wall, rocking the cylinder forward. Jensik took a step back when King Aztuk pressed his hands and face against the glass, peering out. He rammed his body into the side of the cylinder again.
From the ballcourt, Betty called out, “The eclipse!”
The Serpent Priest snapped a look at the moon, seeing the total eclipse. “Quickly, Balam… we must try.”
While rushing to the north
ern end of the ballcourt, William held the bloodstone over the vile. It glowed in his fist as it rapidly absorbed the blood. Yet the bloodstone craved for more. William shared the feeling of desperation that the bloodstone suffered through; he could sense it thirsting for the King’s life essence. He felt infuriated that he couldn’t have more, and he wanted to go back for the rest of his blood.
Priest Quisac called out to him, pulling his attention back to his task. “Finish it, Balam!”
William dropped the bloodstone into a ceramic jar and held it above his head. While facing the eclipsed moon, he spoke the prayer of resurrection, “Hok’sah numya!” He felt the jar shaking in his hand when he threw it. The jar smashed on the surface of the ballcourt near the same spot where Honac-Fey had first set the curse in motion. William backed away, studying the area around the broken fragments of the jar, along with everyone else, waiting to see what would happen.
King Aztuk drew their attention back by ramming his body from one end of the crystal cylinder to the other, making it rock back and forth. Jensik stepped further away from it, unable to work the controls with it moving. With a final push, the cylinder tipped over. It came down with a crash, opening a fissure along the side of the chamber. King Aztuk kicked at the crack in the crystal wall, widening it further.
Priest Quisac studied King Aztuk inside the chamber and then shifted his attention back to Seblinov. “There is still time, he must be sacrificed. We must remove his head!”
“I should have known you were behind this, Serpent Priest!” King Aztuk said, pressing his face up to the crack in the cylinder. “Yes, let me out of here. I would like to see how you intend to sacrifice me.”
“What should we do?” William asked.
“Ah, this must be Balam… the precious warrior of the gods,” King Aztuk said in a mocking tone. “In truth, you are the Serpent Priest’s slave! Get me out of here, and you can be my slave instead.” He spit at the glass.
The Serpent Passage Page 24