The Girl in the Mayan Tomb

by Kevin Tumlinson

  It was something of a loaded question, he knew, because even if he was out of range of Graham's .45, he was still trapped in this ancient tomb, surrounded by deadly traps that he could accidentally trigger at any moment.

  As he looked around at his present location, however, he sighed in relief. Up ahead, the path and the ceiling appeared to meet, as the passage curved downward. This meant he was close to the altar chamber, which put him well away from Graham. No closer, however, to finding a way out of the tomb.

  He knew from their previous exploration of this section that the triggers thinned out, disappearing entirely as the space opened into the altar chamber. He could move more freely, which was a relief, and with the benefit of light. He kept the flashlight trained on the floor as he walked, just in case, but he now moved with greater speed, and in moments he was standing in the altar chamber.

  Here he took out Graham's electric lantern, which could light a greater area than the flashlight. He tucked the tactical flashlight back into his pocket, and ventured into the altar chamber with the lantern raised above him, finally coming to the altar itself.

  The stone top was still slid to one side, and Kotler could again peer down into the opening, and the steps descending into further darkness below.

  He looked again at the surrounding chamber, and was confused more by what he did not see than what he did see.

  There were no torches or stanchions in the room. No sign, in fact, of any means of lighting either the altar chamber or the exit passage. There was also no sign of soot on the ceiling, which would have indicated torches. How had the Mayans lit these spaces, when they needed to be in here?

  For the moment, it would have to remain a mystery. Kotler wasn't sure how long the batteries of the lantern would last, and he didn't want to waste even a moment of his light. He was about to do something patently foolish—though it was perhaps the least foolish option before him, at the moment.

  He leaned over the altar, placed his free hand on the edge of its top, and gave it a nudge. It moved, making a slight grinding sound that echoed with alarming volume within the chamber.

  When the gap had opened wide enough that he could climb into it, Kotler bent to peer inside, sweeping the light of the lantern over the top few steps and ensuring there were no traps waiting for him.

  The steps were clear.

  He stood upright then, took a few calming breaths, and then hoisted himself over the side of the altar and onto the steps. He descended slowly, using the lantern to light each step before he dared put weight on it.

  As he descended far enough that his head cleared the rim of the altar, he considered the stone handle on the inside of the altar's lid. It was clearly designed so one could grip it and close the door behind them, but Kotler thought better of this. He had no idea how to trigger the locking mechanism from this side of that door, and the last thing he wanted was to find himself trapped in yet another Mayan-crafted chamber.

  He left the door open, and continued downward.

  The steps had been carved into the native limestone, Kotler surmised, and they more or less spiraled along what he assumed was a natural flume of stone. Along the walls of the stairwell, Kotler occasionally made out the embossed edges of carvings in the limestone walls. These were oddly comforting to Kotler, as he descended into the unknown. At the very least, they were signs of human life, ancient though it may be. The fact that this human life had purposefully designed an abundance of death traps to deter access to this very stairwell was something he chose to ignore.

  It was several minutes of carefully navigating the stairs before Kotler finally saw the floor level out ahead. He consciously kept his pace slow and deliberate, out of caution, but he was anxious to reach some sort of open space, after his long trek through darkness followed by the tight confines of the stairwell.

  This must be a hint of what Roland feels, he thought. Though he knew that phobias could be crippling in their intensity, and his minor bout of claustrophobia in this stairwell was more about the tension of the moment than the confines of stone surrounding him. He focused on his breathing, and his mind cleared, the anxiety and impatience subsided.

  Finally, blissfully, he reached the final step, and next placed a foot upon the rough and uneven texture of a cavern floor … and gasped.

  The room he'd entered was absolutely sheathed in gold.

  The walls, the ceiling, even a few natural stalactites and stalagmites were covered in the stuff. Carved gold medallions were mounted to the walls, and embedded in the floors. Everywhere Kotler looked, the pass of light from the lantern glittered back at him in a gold-hued mosaic. It was astounding and breathtaking.

  He shuffled forward, with caution as much as awe, and stood in the center of the chamber, his feet on one large and ornate gold medallion that had been perfectly inset into the limestone. He turned slowly to look at the trove that surrounded him. He felt the thrumming of excitement and discovery settling on him. He wanted to explore every inch of this chamber, to mine the real treasure it represented—an insight into a lost culture and civilization.

  There were the old and ever-present questions: How had the Mayans acquired so much gold? And why had they instinctively hidden it, in chambers such as these? Was it merely a coincidence that the Mayans somehow shared the same reverence for gold as nearly every other culture on Earth, despite having no contact with any of those cultures?

  Again, in Kotler's estimate, there was a strong hint of the “third party,” and it intrigued him. Everywhere he looked, through the history of human culture, there were fingerprints of a long-gone culture that unified humanity in a way that has never been replicated. In many ways, the study of the Mayans, the Aztecs, the Inca, and all the Mesoamerican cultures was the search for a deeper answer to the questions of humanity: Who are we? Where did we come from? Where are we going?

  These questions were profound, and they had occupied Kotler's mind, even his soul, for most of his life. But they were beyond his means, at the moment. More immediate and relevant to Kotler's present predicament were other, more mundane questions: What was the purpose of this chamber, specifically? And more importantly, did it provide a way out of the tomb?

  As exciting as the glimmer of gold was, this last thought snapped Kotler out of the sense of awe, and got him back to thinking about the room in a more clinical fashion. He needed to vet the space to determine how safe it was, and to find some means of escape. Later, when the dust settled on Maggie Hamilton's murder and the threat of Ah-Puch had been resolved, perhaps Kotler could return and investigate every historic and anthropological secret this place held. That was, if Graham recovered enough and was contrite enough to allow it.

  Thinking of Graham gave Kotler's present circumstances even more urgency. He would do what he could to bring help for his friend. He worried for him. For now, the best he could do was keep focused on discovering the secrets of this room, to find a way to get them both out of here.

  He tried to ignore the irony that it had been Graham who wanted to come here, to explore this place as a means to their rescue or escape. Perhaps Kotler would simply give Graham a sheepish “You were right, I was wrong,” once they were safely on the outside. Maybe that would be enough to smooth things over.

  For now, he had to solve the puzzle of this place, if there was any hope of seeing sunlight again.

  He placed the lantern on the center of the medallion. With all of the gold reflecting light back at him from every angle. The light of the lantern effectively illuminated the entire space. That was a bonus, and Kotler accepted it.

  With this much treasure in one spot, it was a surety that there would be traps here. Kotler determined the best and most efficient way to proceed was to focus his attention on one narrow area of the room. To do that, he would need to determine the most likely location of a door or passage, and clear any traps he could find along a narrow corridor.

  Standing in the room's center, golden-hued light all around him, Kotler turned in a slow
circle, peering at the far walls of the space, looking for any clues. There was nothing directly opposite of the stairwell, and as he panned and scanned the walls he began to wonder if he was either missing something, or if this room simply had no other exits.

  He had nearly completed the circle back to the stairwell itself when he spotted the owl motif.

  It was in no way subtle. Carved into the wall was an immense owl that was approximately six meters tall, with wings extended to a good six meters per wing, on either side. The owl's head was tilted downward, in perspective, like a librarian peering over the rim of her glasses. Its sharp beak pointed to the floor.

  Kotler looked at the path between where he now stood and the wall where the carved owl was frozen in mid-flight. He edged slowly forward, sliding his feet along rather than stepping, keeping his attention focused on the floor in front of him.

  His toe caught lightly on the lip of a stone.

  Found one, he thought. He rummaged in his pocket, and produced a Swiss Army knife. He had no markers or paint, so he'd have to resort to a bit of vandalism. He folded open the hook-shaped can opener, and used that to scratch an arrow into the stone floor, pointing to the trigger. The white scratches stood out sharply against the ancient dark stone.

  He repeated this exercise several times, locating three more trigger stones between where he'd started and the wall bearing the owl carving. It took a great deal of time, and he was again sweating from stress and tension. His neck and his head both ached. But as he stood upright in front of the owl, some of that tension eased.

  As the titular symbol of death among the Mayans, and therefore the defacto natural symbol of Ah-Puch, Kotler had to admit the owl could be a formidable looking creature, when the angle was right. It was particularly threatening looking in this depiction—wings spread, sharp talons clutching toward the viewer, the large and hooded eyes glaring. The carving, which was stone sheathed in gold leaf, was more of a symbolic representation of the animal, made with basic shapes and the telltale embellishments of Mayan artwork. And yet, even without an attempt at naturalist realism, it still felt menacing. It was easy to see why the Mayans chose it as a symbol of death. The motif left Kotler with the impression of being the owl's prey, as it swooped to clutch him and carry him off to meet a grisly fate.

  It couldn't be a coincidence that this was the dominating feature of the room, in a tomb dedicated to the Mayan god of death. Thinking back to everything Kotler had navigated, between the tomb entrance and this very spot, it became obvious that the owl was the guardian of Ah-Puch's true tomb. Solve this riddle, and he was sure to gain access.

  Kotler inspected the carving from top to bottom, having to stand on his toes to get a better vantage point of the top of the owl's head. He gingerly reached out to touch the eyes of the owl, giving them a push to see if they might be the trigger, as had been the case with the altar. There was no movement, no effect.

  Kotler stood back, taking in the entire scene.

  The owl was clearly swooping in to claim its prey, and just as clearly placed the viewer in the position of being that prey. Perhaps it was a message, that death comes to anyone who stands here. A chilling thought. Or it could be more allegorical than that. “Death comes for us all.”

  Whatever the message of its creators, the scene was meant to evoke the feeling of the owl dropping onto Kotler from above. Death, descending upon him.

  Perhaps that was a clue?

  Kotler looked to the ceiling, but saw nothing that would indicate an exit there. In fact, visualizing the altar room above, overlaid with this chamber and with the stairwell as a point of reference, Kotler realized that if there were some doorway or opening above this wall, it would lead him right back into the altar chamber, a few feet from the altar itself.

  So going up was out.

  What about going down?

  He looked to his feet. The stones in the floor were uniform and tightly wedged together, like bricks in a sidewalk. The rest of the chamber floor was primarily natural limestone, but along the edges of the wall, and in threading patterns that occasionally crisscrossed the chamber, there were more of these carved stones. They seemed primarily to be a method of leveling the floor, making it even from edge to edge within this chamber. The secondary purpose, of course, was to provide a means to place and disguise traps.

  They could also lead to some opening below Kotler's feet.

  He stooped, and using the Swiss Army knife he began to tap the pavers at the base of the wall, below the owl. After several taps on each stone, he found a set that seemed to have more resonance, as if there were a hollow space deep beneath them. He felt around the edges of these, trying to find a way to pry them up.

  No luck.

  He stood again, and went back to contemplating the owl. Was there any other clue there? Any hint of how to open that passage? The Mayans were fond of clever mechanisms. Perhaps there was a trigger he was overlooking in the owl motif.

  He looked closer, trying to hone in on any details he might have missed before. There was precious little that jumped out at him. The expanse of wings was a series of feather-shaped carvings. The talons looked sharp and intimidating, but were just as two-dimensional as the rest of the carving. The eyes of the owl were perfectly round, as was the owl's head. The beak was a V-shaped point at the owl's chin, which perfectly mirrored the two V shapes of its ears, which jutted at ninety-degree angles on either side of his head.

  Kotler paused, looking at these details again.

  Owls were an unusual and intriguing species of bird. Technically a bird of prey, owls were part of the order Strigiformes. They were solitary and nocturnal, and known for their incredible binocular night vision, as well as their advanced binaural hearing. They were efficient hunters, taking small rodents and lizards in a swoop, clutching them in their sharp talons, which they'd later use to tear into their prey's flesh. Even larger prey, such as rabbits and squirrels, were little challenge for these efficient hunters.

  Some of the quirkier facts about owls had become part of pop culture. Their enormous eyes were always a key feature, distinguishing them immediately as they did in this carving. Their hooting noise was easy to imitate, and easily recognizable, even to those who had never heard one in the wild. Owls were also known for their ability to rotate their heads 180 degrees, giving them the ability to look to their rear, while appearing strange and almost otherworldly.

  Kotler leaned in closer to the carving, looking at the shape of the owl's head, as well as the shape of the beak and the ears. The head was perfectly circular, with its outer edge bisecting the lines of both the beak and the ears.

  Could that be the key?

  He reached out with both hands, placing them firmly on the surface of the owl's face and, with an experimental effort he attempted to rotate the head.

  To his astonishment and joy, it worked.

  The circle of the owl's head turned in place, and the lines indicating the top of the beak eventually aligned with the tilted V shape of one of the horned ears, creating the effect of the owl having turned its head to the side in a quizzical expression. This put its right ear pointing to the left, as if cocked from the top of its head, and its left ear pointing down, with the beak now pointing to its right.

  There was a rumbling in the floor and walls then, and Kotler stepped back to see the stones he had been prying at earlier start to sink into the floor. After a long moment, the rumbling stopped, and before him was yet another set of stairs, this time leading only a few feet down into an opening. The base of the wall, where the owl motif was carved, became the capstone of an arch that led into a larger chamber below.

  Kotler stood, wide-eyed and grinning, and then stooped to pick up the lantern. For all he knew, he was no closer to exiting the temple, and might find himself further entrenched in the ancient structure.

  But c'mon, he thought. How cool was that?

  He stepped cautiously onto the top step, and then made his way into the chamber, the lantern held ou
t in front of him as he walked.

  Chapter 23

  Liz Ludlum was struggling to keep her annoyance in check. She was here at the behest of Emily—Dr. Dawson—and it really wouldn't do to get snippy with her friend. Who, after all, was merely doing the job she was brought here to do.

  It was also worth keeping in mind that Liz was here to provide not only her forensic expertise, but to assist in tracking down any hints of pathogens or other biological dangers that might be associated with Ah-Puch. She and Emily were here at the request of the FBI, on behalf of the CDC. This was the big leagues, and Liz needed to behave herself.

  Still, it bugged her that she wasn't a part of the search for Kotler, particularly when she could be such a valuable resource.

  She wasn't an anthropologist on Kotler or Graham's level, but she did have a background in forensic anthropology. It was a sure bet that Denzel and the others would encounter things that would require a bit of expertise to puzzle out. She could have helped with that.

  And she was physically fit. She'd had to be, to get through the Police Academy, but she'd also maintained that fitness since, keeping herself in good condition with running, rock climbing, and some martial arts training. So she could handle the rugged environment, no problem.

  More to the point, she felt strongly that someone with some actual scientific knowledge should have gone with Agent Denzel. What if they encountered the biological agent, inside those caverns? What if they needed someone to interpret something they discovered? Or what if they just needed a different perspective—one that might mean the difference between success and failure?

  She knew it was a bit petty, almost as if she were saying that Denzel and the others couldn't possibly be smart enough to do their jobs without her. She just couldn't help feeling that she'd gotten the Lois Lane treatment. Superman was off to save the day. Try to stay out of trouble, little lady.