The Mayan Priest

by Guillou, Sue

  The raft was self-inflatable and upon the release of the tag, it blew up like a balloon. Clearly understanding her intention and noting that there was no other option, Georgio jumped first. He landed spread-eagled and face down. Adam was more ungainly, landing on his side, but nevertheless they both made it safely.

  ‘You two scared me,’ Gillian retorted in a pretense of anger but hugged both of them in relief.

  Adam looked as white as a ghost, but Georgio smiled as if he had taken it all in his stride. ‘Your father would be proud of you, young lady,’ he said, rubbing Gillian’s mottled hair fondly.

  Adam grinned and pecked Gillian on the cheek. ‘Geez, Mate. That beats my last theme park ride by a mile. Thanks for saving our arses,’ he added.

  ‘All right, that’s enough niceties. Just before we crashed, my bearing showed us as being half a mile south of Tikal,’ and with that he withdrew a tiny compass from his pocket.

  ‘Always prepared,’ Georgio continued as Gillian and Adam grinned at each other in amusement and fell in line.

  Georgio made a cracking pace and despite her love of fitness, Gillian struggled to keep up with the man twenty-five years her senior. She wondered how he did it.

  ‘If we are less than a mile from Tikal, why didn’t your men come to our rescue?’ asked Gillian as the revered pyramids of Tikal became visible over the treetops.

  Georgio cleared his voice before he spoke. ‘I don’t know and quite frankly, it’s got me worried,’ the tension in his voice evidence that he was concerned.

  They made good time, but with the setting sun, it became increasingly hard to see where they were going and there was also a noted quietness about Georgio. The nervousness he radiated made both her and Adam uneasy almost to the point that they had totally stopped talking to one another.

  Various outer ruins of Tikal became obvious as they crept through the long forgotten buildings, stopping suddenly when Georgio put his hand up. He held finger to his mouth in a gesture of silence and motioned for them to drop to the ground.

  They complied immediately and not a moment too soon as a man wearing army fatigues and carrying a large combat rifle approached their position. Gillian first thought that it was one of her Dad’s men but the frown and angered look on Georgio’s face confirmed that was not the case.

  Georgio shook his head in fury and motioned to them to form a huddle. ‘It appears my suspicions have been confirmed and that the group who shot down our helicopter have taken control of Tikal,’ and with that he pointed through a small opening towards a troop of ten people no more than one hundred feet away.

  ‘Shit. Now what?’ asked Adam.

  ‘Don’t know, my friend, but without the use of a vehicle and time for Gillian to read the next part of the manuscript, we are screwed.’

  ‘I know,’ said Gillian excitedly. ‘When Richard set up his last dig here, he used an old cave only minutes from the site to store emergency supplies and provide shelter to sleep. The area is reasonably well-protected and quite probably undiscovered.’

  ‘Lead the way,’ Georgio insisted as Gillian moved to the front and picked her way through the jungle to the approaching hillside.

  The cave was located with the mouth facing away from the ruins. It had been discovered by Julia who had been looking for a private spot to wee when she accidentally slipped backwards into the opening. The cave had been empty, but the paintings on the walls depicted a number of ‘coming of age’ ceremonies which was most likely its original primary purpose. In normal circumstances, Gillian would have been fascinated, but today she barely noticed the elaborately coloured works as she pushed aside the low-lying bushes and located a small lantern on a crate inside the opening.

  Gillian was about to flick the battery operated unit when Georgio stopped her. ‘Not yet. Wait until we’re safely inside.’

  In the dull light they could determine that the cavern was approximately a hundred feet long and thirty feet at its breadth. It narrowed where the roof met the walls, but along the centre, anyone could walk around unimpeded and without having to duck.

  A large amount of supplies lay near the entrance, blocking any shadow their small light would make, so it was without fear that they flicked the switch and the room came alive.

  ‘Wow!’ exclaimed Adam as they viewed the spacious surroundings and quickly located a number of camping mats and a crate of packaged food.

  Gillian sank to the ground in relief, savouring the respite from standing on her aching legs and eagerly tucking into the can of cold ravioli and long-life chocolate milk. At the moment the food was as well received as a Sunday night roast.

  ‘That was great!’ exclaimed Adam and he rubbed his stomach in delight. ‘All I need now is a nap.’

  ‘Ha, ha, ha,’ chuckled Georgio. ‘No rest for the wicked. As much as I would love to sleep, we have only twenty-eight hours at best to save the archaeologists, and the cover of night will allow us to find an escape vehicle. In the meantime, Gillian can read the next diary.’

  ‘Yes, although, I’ve yet to open the box and determine if our assumption about the book was correct. What if there is no next edition?’

  ‘Well, don’t keep us in suspense. Let’s have a look,’ said Adam eagerly.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The second box was identical to the first, right down to the line that circumnavigated the outer casing. Gillian opened it swiftly and with great enthusiasm. Once again there were two inner boxes and an inscription on the inside lid of the second box. It read: ‘If the gods allow it, it is my hope to hold the one who looks so much like me’.

  Gillian sighed. ‘I’d love to know who he was referring to,’ she muttered as she lifted out the third box and quickly realised that it could not be opened with the same circlet they had used previously. This one had a small keypad that required the pressing of the digits in the pre-allocated order for the lock to be released.

  Gillian threw up her hands in dismay. ‘I have no bloody idea.’

  ‘You didn’t expect this to be easy, Gillian, not after all we’ve been through,’ said Adam as he peered closely at the box.

  ‘Come on … think about it. Up to now, Kinix has left us a trail to follow. There is no reason why this would be any different, so it’s most likely he has left the clue to this puzzle in the last box.’

  Gillian nodded sheepishly, noting Adam’s common sense approach.

  ‘Didn’t the first box have the hieroglyphs spelling “Way B’alam” surrounding the hollow in the centre?’ noted Georgio.

  ‘You’re right! I’d forgotten about that. This one has nothing except for six dotted lines, so perhaps what is missing here is related,’ muttered Gillian as she thoughtfully munched on her fingernails.

  Adam slapped her hands in jest. ‘That’s a bad habit.’

  Gillian scowled at him “Way B’alam” means “Spirit of the Jaguar”, so you would presume this has something to do with a jaguar.’

  ‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was an ancient version of hangman,’ said Georgio in jest as Gillian looked at him in amazement.

  ‘Bloody hell, Georgio. I reckon you’re onto something. If Kinix has translated this to Latin like the rest of his script, then we are looking for a word that relates to a jaguar with no more than six letters. In Mayan, Jaguar is pronounced “Ba-h-lam”, so it’s my guess they are the six letters we need.’

  ‘Isn’t that a little too easy?’ suggested Adam in confusion.

  ‘It is for us because English stems from Latin, and Bahlum is written as it sounds. We forget that Kinix was the only Mayan who could read and write in Medieval Latin. Other than Kinix, no one else would have been able to translate the word Bahlum to jaguar.’

  ‘Except for the person he learnt it from,’ added Adam.

  Gillian contemplated Adam’s words for a moment. ‘That’s true. I wonder who the teacher was.’

  ‘Wonder later, Gillian. Punch the letters into the keypad,’ ordered Georgio dispassionately as
she nodded and pressed in the letters ‘b-a-h-l-a-m’ one at a time.

  They were rewarded with a click and the separation of both halves of the lid. Inside was another perfectly preserved manuscript and a small gold scarab beetle. Gillian lifted the scarab beetle out and studied it with curiosity ‘This is not something I expected to see.’

  ‘Why not? All civilisations have beetles,’ queried Adam as he gazed at the fine craftsmanship.

  ‘Yes, but the Mayan’s were not known to idolise these types of beetles. I would have thought this was Egyptian.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, the Egyptians thought that the scarab brought good luck, so much so that real mummified beetles were buried with the dead. It is a variation of the dung beetle whose industrious efforts to place an egg in a ball of dung and heat it by the sun created an association with the sun god Ra. This in turn gave it life-giving powers and protected the dead from being devoured by Ammit the Devourer, a fearsome part lion, hippo and crocodile creature who guarded the scales of justice in the Egyptian afterworld.

  ‘Well, aren’t you a ball of knowledge,’ jested Adam as Gillian grinned with smug satisfaction.

  ‘So, perhaps you can explain why it is in a Mayan box,’ continued Adam as Gillian picked up the manuscript as if it was the most precious thing in the world.

  ‘I have no bloody idea, but I’m sure this will provide an explanation,’ said Gillian as she waved Adam and Georgio away.

  ‘Get lost, you two. Don’t you have an escape vehicle to find?’

  Georgio and Adam didn’t even bother arguing.

  With the faint light of the lantern, Gillian began reading.

  Manuscript part 2

  On the eve of my eighteenth haab cycle and with the assistance of Bolon Yookie K’uh (god of war), the army had a decisive victory over Calakmul. The war had continued for many moons over a large parcel of land, but the gods had favoured Bahlum Paw Skull and he was delighted. They had captured ten of Calakmul’s finest soldiers, leaving the decision of their fate to the gods. My divine ruler in his wisdom offered them a game of Pitz. If they won, they would be returned to their home, but if the gods found them unworthy, they would be sacrificed as an appeasement.

  I was given the honour of selecting three of our best men which I did with care. I chose two of our elite army and a man by the name of Kaloomte B’alam who was instrumental in the victory over Calakmul. They accepted my offer with enthusiasm.

  The chosen month was the ‘Kankin’ which was the fourteenth cycle of the year (27th of April–16th May) and named after the tree of life. It symbolised advice and grounding and would bring luck to our men. The day was the Kan which was the fourth day of this month.

  On the morning of the Pitz, we were awoken by the sounds of the trumpet and I jumped out of bed with great enthusiasm, dressing in my best embroidered cotton breechcloth. Yok Chac followed my direction but clothed himself in a less decorated outfit, showing respect to my standing as the King’s physician. We made our way to the Halaw (rectangular ball court) and sat in the middle row next to the seating reserved for Bahlum Paw Skull and his family. This was the first time I had been given a position of such importance and I admit to enjoying the reverence it afforded both Yok Chac and myself.

  Within a few moments, the six contestants appeared to great fanfare. They were suitably garbed in the padded outfits and took their positions along with the two referees who would determine if the OI (eight inch rubber ball) had been correctly hit. A moment of prayer to Hukte’Ajaw was undertaken before the King signalled the beginning with a clap of his hands.

  Kaloomte B’alam took the first strike, hitting the ball with his elbow and pummelling it towards one his team. They managed to bounce it from the head and directly into the marker, scoring a quick goal to our side. A great cheer went up until the opposition handled three quick passes in succession and gained a subsequent goal by knocking the ball to each other from knee to hip. The Halaw was deathly silent.

  The play continued until our team gave a goal to the opposition by touching the ball with one of the minor players’ feet. The King raised his hands in disgust and the fading time meant two quick goals would be needed from our team before they could win. Failure would bring shame to Kaloomte B’alam and possible death as retribution to the gods. I feared this potential disappointment as the king’s anger would be unbearable for almost two women’s moon cycles.

  With much relief, our men stood tall and proud, deftly knocking the OI from the opposition in midair and racing with renewed speed and drive to the marker at the end of the Halaw. The three men foiled many attempts to obtain the OI, but they bounced from pad to pad, eventually succeeding amongst a standing ovation. Tension was high as the winner of this next goal would be the victor.

  I admit to asking for Hukte’Ajaw’s blessing a little too loudly and receiving irritated glances from the people surrounding me, but I did not care. I was too excited. The youngest member of our team hit the ball from the grasp of the opposing side. It was shepherded along by hand and head until it was only one strike from the goal, but the rival captain knocked it away. In desperation Kaloomte B’alam put his body on the line interrupting the Ti Pitziil and receiving the ball as merit for his hard work. Unfortunately he also took a direct elbow to his face from the other captain and fell heavily to the ground.

  By this time the crowd was on their feet in an uproar when they witnessed a miracle. In a final frantic effort, Kaloomte B’alam flung out his elbow as he fell to the grass. He was rewarded with a freak shot that saw the OI fly directly at the face of the target. The court was alight with the excitement of hundreds of fans as Kaloomte B’alam became an instant hero.

  At the urging of Bahlum Paw Skull, I raced to the court to check on the wellbeing of Kaloomte. He had not moved, but on further investigation, I had determined that he was merely disillusioned which was a common side effect of an impact to the head. I checked his blood flow and the reaction of his eyes and knew that all was well.

  I offered my hand in congratulations, but as I attempted to help him to his feet, he pushed my hand away and glanced unkindly at me. Other than Yok Chac, there was no one in the immediate vicinity to notice this strange reaction, but it left me feeling extremely uncomfortable and wary. Even Yok Chac glanced at me in concern.

  Trying to put aside my alarm and with the insistence of Yok Chac, I was did my best to enjoy the following feast, but I could not shake the unease I felt.

  That afternoon, the King summoned me to his palace to advise me that he intended to sacrifice the losing team. He wanted me to perform the ceremony and I agreed but informed him that the life of the captain would be enough to show reverence and that the other two men could serve as slaves to a couple of deserving families. The King agreed with my logic and suggested that the men should go to the home of Kaloomte B’alam. I dared not argue with his judgement and promised to arrange the transfer the following day. Once again I was left with a bad taste in my mouth at the King’s sudden favouritism to Kaloomte. To give one slave was a mighty honour but two was almost unheard of. I voiced my concerns to Yok Chac shortly afterwards.

  The remainder of that day was preparing for the sacrifice and I had to ensure my knife was suitably sharp. Tradition usually states that the gods preferred the heart of the sacrifice to be taken directly and raised as an offering, but as a healer, I understood the pain the person would experience. My interpretation of the ancient writings was not to inflict pain but to show our respects in the blood of life…to give back some of what the gods gave to us.

  I approached our king with my concerns and in his infinite wisdom, he agreed with my findings. All sacrifices were changed to the removal of the head.

  The preparations of today’s sacrifice was more elaborate than the usual, considering that our team had won their game of Pitz and spirits were still high. The sacrifice was a continuation of the morning celebrations and it was highly anticipated.

  Bahlum Paw
Skull stood next to me at the top of the temple, impressive in his regal sparkling white gown, jaguar wrap and feathered headpiece and the people cheered as he waved to them. The learned musicians played their trumpets and drums and the populace roared in delight as the man in his early twenties lowered his head to the block. His offering was a necessary part of our society that would give us prosperity and allow him to ascend to the gods.

  I raised my obsidian blade high above my head and swung downwards in a single solid blow. It was important to strike directly below the skull where the neck was the weakest and as usual my aim was direct and strong. The head separated from the spine with ease and rolled down the temple stairs to a standing applause. It was a successful sacrifice although I did admit to having concerns.

  Just prior to the celebration Kaloomte B’alam had somehow managed to gain access to the King and suggested to him that a child sacrifice as well as the captain of the losing Pitz team would be a much greater show of our reverence. Whilst I did not disagree, my opposition to using children is well known and I feel that Kaloomte was trying override me and take favour with Bahlum Paw Skull. This left a bitter taste in my mouth and upon discussions with Yok Chac, who agreed with me, we determined that Kaloomte was one to look out for.

  Three days later I was summoned to the King’s presence. It had been almost twenty winal (a full year, or twenty months in the haab calendar) since the king had agreed to marry a ‘City of Gods’ princess, but up until now, he had not requested that I commence my journey. Today he suggested that it was time to go and expressed his increasing concern at his age and the need to have a child. I nodded my head in respect and agreed to comply immediately.