The Serpent Passage

by Todd Allen Pitts

  He didn’t have time to reflect on Betty’s sudden departure—after being chased out of the cavern by giant lizard creatures—and it dawned on William that he was going to really miss Betty’s company. It had been comforting to have someone around who shared his general background—a fellow American from 2011. Betty also had an amusing perspective, and she kept him from taking things too seriously. Even though she was closer to his mom’s age, Betty had become a close friend.

  William wondered what his old high school friends would think to see him living like a native Mayan, and even opting for that life. Of course, most his friends didn’t know that William was actually part Mayan—on his mom’s side—because he looked more like his American father. He had learned to speak a little Yucatec-Maya while growing up, and he later mastered the language while living with the ancient Maya for six months—like being in some whacky student exchange program.

  While trudging through the mucky terrain, events leading to their present predicament flashed through William’s mind. The bloodstone grew warmer on his chest as it amplified William’s thoughts, intensifying his memories. He vividly recalled the night when he pushed the executioner off the steps of the pyramid, saving Yax and many others who would have been sacrificed. That defining action resulted in Yax becoming the next King of Dzibanché, and William being rewarded with the bloodstone.

  He held the red gem in his fist; its radiance lit up the cracks between his fingers. Through training with the Serpent Priest, William had learned to focus his thoughts to activate the bloodstone’s powerful abilities. He had expected to use those skills in the battle against Calakmul. But before the war could begin, the Grey Ones took everyone away—including Yax—in their vessel inside the cloud.

  When they finally reached solid ground, the Serpent Priest came to an abrupt stop and scanned the area; his braided pony tail—the only hair on his otherwise bald head—whipped over his shoulders on each head turn. He glanced back, with his hand out in a halting gesture. “Stay here,” he said, as he disappeared into the jungle.

  Feeling exhausted, William didn’t need any persuasion to rest. He lied down on a grassy area and stretched with a heavy groan. Teshna sat beside him and lifted his bloody leg onto her lap. She began to unravel the bandages, being extra careful when she got to the first layer.

  He saw tears in her eyes. “What is it?” he asked.

  Teshna wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “After we reversed the soil plague, I thought our troubles were over… at least for a while.” She sighed. “You probably wish you had gone home when you had the chance.”

  William propped himself up on his elbows. “Of course not, Teshna… I won’t leave you. I love you. That’s all that matters.”

  Teshna smiled. “You should have gone. It’s dangerous for you here. I would not have blamed you.”

  William shrugged. “Well, you could have left me too… with Yax and your people. Why did you stay?” Of course he knew the answer, but he still liked to hear her say it. Instead, Teshna gave him a feisty smirk and poured water from her jug onto his injured leg. He grimaced from the pain, gripping the grass at his sides.

  Teshna huffed. “I stayed for you,” she said, as she wiped up the blood around his wound. “Besides, Yax may be in danger too… with the Grey Ones.”

  “No, he’s fine,” William said with assurance, as though he just got off the phone with him.

  As Teshna pressed the cloth firmly against his leg, she gave him a peculiar stare. “How can you be so sure?”

  William’s eyes darted as he probed his mind for the reason why he had said that. Of course, it wasn’t possible for him to know what was happening with Yax and the others in the strange vessel with the Grey Ones. His gaze returned to Teshna. “I don’t know,” he said, feeling confused. “It’s like I remembered seeing him there… with your people.” He let out a nervous laugh. “It was probably just a dream… and, well… Priest Quisac said he would be okay… right? I just thought…”

  “Don’t worry,” Teshna said, cutting him off; it seemed like a sore topic with her. She returned her attention to his leg. “It’s starting to clot, but if you keep moving it will open again.”

  “Let me try something.” He removed the bloodstone and held it on his wound, trying to focus his thoughts to activate the healing skill. However, being in severe pain made it hard to concentrate on the loving and nurturing images that the ability required. The bloodstone began to brighten a little, and he started to feel the healing energy flow through him. But then another twinge of pain distracted him, and he lost his focus. William fell back, clutching the bloodstone to his chest. “I can’t do it.”

  “Maybe Priest Quisac can talk you through it.”

  He shook his head. “Remember the night of the eclipse… when we did the ritual wrong… and how I got so angry at King Aztuk that I nearly destroyed the bloodstone?”

  Teshna nodded. “Yes, I remember.”

  “Well, ever since then, it has felt… weaker.”

  She returned her attention to William’s leg, applying pressure with a cloth. “Maybe it feels weaker because you’re injured.”

  It was hard for him to explain—like trying to describe a car problem to a mechanic. He shrugged. “It just feels tired… it feels like…” He didn’t want to say it.

  “The bloodstone is dying,” Priest Quisac said, finishing his thought for him.

  William’s face dropped; it was as if he had just received a doctor’s confirmation of a grim diagnosis. But his concern for the bloodstone’s health washed away with the swiftness of a big wave destroying a sand castle when he saw what the Serpent Priest had in his hand—long needles that looked like barbs from a cactus plant

  “I found what we needed. Let’s close his wound,” the Serpent Priest said to Teshna. “We’ll use your hair for the thread.”

  Teshna nodded and plucked out several long strands of her silky black hair, setting them on her lap. William ogled her exposed upper thigh, wishing he was one of the strands draped over her light-brown skin. His attention shifted to Priest Quisac, who tied the hairs to the ends of the needles.

  “Three should do,” Teshna said.

  William made the mistake of inspecting his leg to see what they were dealing with; it made him sick to his stomach. The bottom of his calf wasn’t too bad—just surface scratches. However, the area around his shin looked horrible; the feathered serpent’s upper jaw had dug into his flesh and ripped open three flaps of loose skin. Teshna pulled up on one of the flaps and poured water inside the wound. “Oh, hell!” William blurted, slapping his hand to his forehead, as he fell back. He heard Priest Quisac mixing something. When William looked over, he saw him sprinkle some powder into a mixture and hand it to Teshna, while whispering instructions to her.

  The Serpent Priest kneeled beside William and held out the jade box that they sometimes kept the bloodstone in. “You must remove the bloodstone so it is not further stressed by your pain.”

  William had been clutching the bloodstone with such a vice grip that it required a concerted effort to relax his fingers enough to drop the stone into the box.

  Priest Quisac pressed the lid in place and set the box aside. “The compound will burn while it cleanses the wound.” He seemed troubled. “I’m sorry that I cannot sedate you, for we must leave soon. Dusk is fast approaching, and the feathered serpents will be coming for us.”

  William took a deep breath. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Priest Quisac knelt beside William’s leg, placing one hand on his ankle and the other just below his knee. “You must keep still,” he said, while holding his leg down with such strength that William couldn’t move it, even if he wanted to.

  William held his breath and focused his attention on the tangle of branches above him; they twisted and overlapped into such a puzzle that it was impossible to tell which branch belonged to which tree.

  As they rubbed ointment under his torn flesh, the burning began. William wri
thed in agony. It felt like they were pouring scalding hot water inside his cuts. He felt the needle prick through his skin and sensed the thread—Teshna’s hair—sliding through.

  “You’re doing well, Balam,” Teshna said in a soothing tone. “Hold on… I’ll be fast.”

  Hearing Teshna’s reassuring voice gave William the courage to fight through the pain a little longer. He took a quick glance and saw Teshna tying off the first stitch. Advancing to the next gaping rip in his skin, she pierced another needle through his rubbery flesh. With an agonizing groan, William fell back, passing out before his head hit the dirt.

  William had that vivid dream again… the one where he was with Yax and the others on the vessel in the dark cloud. In some dreams, he was watching people from the top of the mock pyramid. Other times, he would be near Yax in the courtyard. In this dream, William found himself alone in the corner of a hut. There was no lighting in the room, yet he could see perfectly. A bitter taste sat in his mouth. When he probed with his tongue, he wondered why he couldn’t feel his teeth in the dream.

  He heard people talking outside. There were so many voices that he couldn’t pick out what was being discussed, but it sounded like a heated debate. Suddenly, Yax entered the room, the orange and red feathers of his headdress swaying as he moved. He looked the same as William remembered—a handsome teenager with the confident demeanor of a Mayan King. He wore a tan loincloth with green stones dangling from the ends of the fabric. A necklace of beads and shells hung along his bare chest. His long black hair was wrapped in a narrow band, and it looped out like a question mark to the back of his head.

  Yax moved to the table at the side of the room, grabbed an apple, and took a bite of it. William noticed that he had a tense expression on his face. Yax looked over and gave him a half smile. “I see you’re awake,” he said.

  William wanted to say something in return, but when he tried to speak, he couldn’t form any words. It was as if he had forgotten how… like when his grandmother had a stroke, and she couldn’t talk for some days. William tried harder, and he made a strange squawking sound.

  “Are you hungry?” Yax asked. He cut off a chunk of apple with his dagger and handed it to William.

  William wanted to reach for it, but he had an overwhelming urge to grab it with his foot. He recalled that something had happened to his foot—or his leg—but he couldn’t quite place it; it was like trying to remember a dream within a dream.

  “Go ahead… take it,” Yax said, holding the apple to him.

  While feeling his stomach ache, William followed his bizarre instinct and reached out with his foot to snatch the apple. He gasped when he saw that his foot had been stripped of its flesh—like some boney claw in a horror film. He snapped his leg back.

  “Take it,” Yax said again with a pleasant smile.

  “Take it, Balam,” Teshna said, jostling William awake by shaking his shoulder. “It’s over.” She held a cup to his mouth, tipping it against his parched lips.

  William drank it down; it had a strong menthol flavor that made his head spin. He felt as if he had just slammed down a whole pot of coffee. Turning his attention to his injured leg, he was relieved to see a fresh bandage over it, rather than the bloody mess that had caused him to faint. William wiggled his toes, half-expecting to see the horrible clawed foot from his dream. He tried to remember the details of the dream, for it seemed important at the time, but it had already begun to slip away.

  Teshna ran her fingers through William’s hair. “We closed the wound, but you’ll need to be careful. No more playing with feathered serpents, okay?” she said, with a wink.

  William rolled his eyes. “Oh darn,” he said. He bent his leg to see how it felt to move it. The throbbing ache reminded him that it would still take some time for his leg to heal. “When did you learn to stitch wounds like that?”

  Teshna shrugged as if it was no big deal. “You find ways to be useful,” she said, as she held out the jade box and removed the lid.

  William retrieved the bloodstone and put the chain around his neck. While glancing up, he noticed dark hues in the sky. Dusk was near, and he recalled that the feathered serpents would soon be on the prowl.

  “Can you walk?” Priest Quisac asked, as he helped William to his feet.

  He felt a twinge of pain where his skin stretched around the stitches, but it loosened up after a few steps.

  “I’m good,” William said.

  Teshna assisted him with his pack, looping the strap over his shoulder. She handed him his maquahuitl sword and then gave him a hug, melting into his arms for a moment.

  “Come, we must move,” Priest Quisac said in an anxious voice.

  “Where are we going?” William asked.

  “To the Bay of Chetumal,” the Serpent Priest said.

  William’s brow furrowed. “But that’s further east. Why are we going that way?”

  “I hope to find Cerros sea traders there,” Priest Quisac said. He turned and marched into the jungle; William and Teshna followed a few steps behind him. The Serpent Priest weaved a course through a thick section of vegetation, whacking at the wild sage ahead of them to forge a new trail.

  “Why do we need to find… traders?” William asked.

  “Cerros sea traders,” Priest Quisac said, while chopping a stubborn branch. “They come each winter solstice… today… to trade with the brothers of the Solar

  Cult. They trade their catch of deep sea fish for medicine.”

  “Why do we need fish?”

  “We do not need fish,” Priest Quisac said with a huff. “We require their escort… to get off this land. Dusk has come. The feathered serpents will soon find our path through the jungle. However, they will not be able to track us as easily in the water.”

  William glanced back, feeling worried that he might catch sight of the giant lizard creatures—plowing toward them through the thick brush, their red eyes glowing beneath the dark canopy of the tropical rainforest. After being chased by the feathered serpents through the caverns, he knew how fast they could move, and William felt an overwhelming urge to pick up the pace. With a burst of enthusiasm—perhaps aided by the bloodstone’s ability to heighten his mood—he moved ahead of the others and began slashing his sword against the brush, carving out huge chunks of vegetation with each swing.

  “But Bacalar has been abandoned,” Teshna said. “Why would Cerros traders come if there is no one to trade with there?”

  “It is unlikely that they were aware of the massacre at Bacalar,” the Serpent Priest said. William remembered his last trip to Bacalar with the visual clarity of a slide show running in his head. He and Priest Quisac had gone to retrieve the sacred items, when they stumbled across rotting bodies in a hut. The horrible smell from that room would forever be etched in William’s mind. The surviving priests went north to Chichén Itzá, leaving Bacalar vacant.

  “Cerros trade routes extend far from here,” Priest Quisac said. “They would have been somewhere between Majahual to Xcalak during that time. On the winter solstice, the traders remain at the shores of the bay until sunset.”

  William paused to catch his breath, turning to face Priest Quisac. “But the sun has already set. They will be gone by the time we get there.”

  “We are much further south than Bacalar. If my calculations are correct, we will meet the traders on their return journey. Stand aside, Balam,” Priest Quisac said, taking his place up front to lead the way.

  “Cerros traders are not known for being helpful to nobles,” Teshna said. “They are savages who seek to only increase their own wealth and status within their trading circles.”

  “That is true,” Priest Quisac said. “Yet we have to try. We must offer them something of great value for their assistance.”

  “Like what?” William asked, as he clutched the bloodstone protectively in his fist. Of course, he knew they would never trade the bloodstone; it was too important. They had to take it to Chichén Itzá to make a new Tree of Life that wou
ld help the northern Maya against Toltec invaders.

  Priest Quisac glanced back with a heavy scowl; the cut on his forehead gave his serpent tattoo a hostile stare as well. “I know what they want. They have been asking for our help in this matter for over a katun.”

  The forest thinned and the tropical shrubs changed to tall wild grass that came up to William’s waist. Scattered trees appeared wind whipped—stripped of their leaves—looking like gnarled grey hands reaching into the sky. A large osprey watched them approach. William recognized the bird that resembled a grey and white eagle; he had seen many of them in the coastal areas where his grandfather lived. As they neared the big bird, it squawked and flew off.

  The scent of saltwater drifted in the humid breeze. The smell reminded William of how his father died in the sea… from a scuba accident; he tried to push that sad thought aside.

  The vast expanse of Chetumal Bay came into view, its dark blue water shimmering against the rolling waves. “There it is!” Teshna said.

  They soon arrived at a narrow beach littered with driftwood and clumps of seaweed, William studied the bay in all directions. A degree of panic ensued, for he didn’t see anyone else around. “So where are they?”

  Priest Quisac squinted as he scanned the shores. He focused his attention at a point around the bend, just north of them. “They should be here soon.”

  “What if the Grey Ones took them?” William asked.

  “Cerros traders migrated from the far west nearly a baktun ago,” Priest Quisac said. “The Grey Ones only seek bloodlines from the Itzae Maya.”

  “You mean the people they took are all descendants of the Itzaes?” William asked.

  Priest Quisac regarded William with the look of a professor presenting a lecture. “Most in this region have a degree of Itzae lineage. As I told you before, our ancestors from the stars arrived on this world a very long time ago. They propagated with the people of this region to form who we are today. The Grey Ones appear to be… sorting us out.” The Serpent Priest shifted his focus to the first star in the night, and he marched to the edge of the bay, his sandals sinking into the squishy wet sand beside the gentle waves. He resumed his watch for the Cerros traders.