by J; P Voelkel
“Five lives,” observed Lord Kuy. He looked Max up and down. “And what will you give my masters, the Death Lords, in return?”
Max cast wildly around the room. “Have they got a flat-screen TV?”
Lord Kuy hooted with laughter. “They don’t need one. They get their entertainment from watching human babies dying slowly in their mother’s arms. That last cholera outbreak was a scream!”
Max swallowed nervously. “So what do they want from me?”
The owl-man appeared to have lost his train of thought.
His yellow eyes were fixed on something under the sofa.
Suddenly his feathered head darted forward and reappeared with a fat gopher in his beak. He ate the body in one gulp, but the hairless, little pink tail hung out for several seconds before he sucked it in like a noodle.
Max tried to hide his revulsion.
In a few more minutes, he might be a goner like the gopher.
“Do excuse me,” said Lord Kuy. “I worked through lunch. Now where were we?”
“You were telling me what the Death Lords want.”
“Ah, yes. They want the Stone of Truth.”
“The what now?” said Max.
The messenger rotated his owl head in surprise. “Was I misinformed? I was told you were familiar with our sacred Jaguar Stones.”
“They want a Jaguar Stone? But Lord Muan took them all … on the Black Pyramid.… He came back and he took them all with him to Xibalba!”
“Wrong.”
“But I saw him.…”
“No. You saw him take the Black Jaguar of Ah Pukuh, the Red Jaguar of Chahk, the Green Jaguar of Itzamna and the White Jaguar of Ixchel. But there is one stone still lacking in the Death Lords’ collection.…”
“The Yellow Jaguar!”
“Exactly. Just bring them the Stone of Truth, the Yellow Jaguar of K’awiil, and you’ll be home and dry.”
“But Hermanjilio said it’s been lost for centuries.…”
“Ah, Lord Hermanjilio. Was he a friend of yours?”
“Why do you say was?” asked Max, alarmed.
The owl’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Let us just say that life in Xibalba has not suited him.”
“What does that mean?”
“Deliver the Stone to Xibalba and you’ll find out. Any questions?”
“How will I find it? The Yellow Jaguar could be anywhere.”
“My masters will help you. They’ll give you a clue.”
“The Death Lords know where it is?”
“They do.”
“Then why don’t you get it for them?”
“The Stone of Truth cannot be taken. It must be given freely. Do you accept the task?”
“But who will give it to me?”
“Do you accept? Yes or no?”
“At least tell me where it is?”
“Yes or no?”
Max took a deep breath. “Yes.”
“Good.” Lord Kuy pulled a piece of bark paper from inside his cape. “Now, if you’ll sign in blood here and here …”
“In blood? But … ouch! What was that?”
“Just a pinprick. Now press your thumb down and we’ll be done with the paperwork. That’s right … and again—super! And now I can give you your clue.” Lord Kuy produced a small, accordion-folded book. “To show you that we have our fun side in Xibalba, their Lordships got together and composed a riddle for you.”
Max groaned. “Not a riddle. Riddles suck.”
“We like riddles in Xibalba.” Lord Kuy sounded hurt. “But if you don’t want it …”
“No, no, I do want it,” said Max. “I need all the help I can get.”
Lord Kuy held out the book.
Trying to keep as much distance as possible between himself and the owl-man, Max snatched it and quickly unfolded it. He scanned its bark-paper pages.
“What does it say? I can’t read it. It’s all in glyphs!”
“What did you expect? The Maya are famous for their hieroglyphic writing. We had the most advanced writing system in the ancient world.”
“Never mind, I’m sure my parents can translate it for me.…”
“Ah,” said Lord Kuy, “I forgot to tell you the rules.”
“Rules?”
“You’re forbidden to ask your parents for help.”
“But why?”
“They’re meddlers. They lay bare what should stay covered.”
“That’s their job. They’re archaeologists.”
Lord Kuy shrugged. “I didn’t make the rules. But I would advise you not to break them. Watch …”
Lord Kuy slunk into the shadows as the living-room door opened and Max’s father entered in his pajamas.
“Max?” he said. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I’m trying to read some Maya glyphs. Can you help me?”
“With pleasure!” Even as his father rubbed his hands together in anticipation, an angry rash broke out on his face.
“Are you okay, Dad?”
“I’m … um … fine,” said his father, running his fingers over the welts. “It must be an allergy. So what did you want to show me?”
Max passed him the bark book, but as he did so, his father’s rash exploded into huge, red lumps with pulsating yellow centers.
“Dad?”
Enthralled by the book, his father was oblivious to the war on his face. “Where did you get it, Max? It’s exquisite. I’ve never seen anything like it.…”
A drop of blood splattered on the bark-paper pages.
“Sorry,” said his father. “Nosebleed. Must be all the excitement.” He covered his nose with his hands as he looked around for a Kleenex, but thick red blood oozed through his fingers.
“Dad?” said Max again.
His father put his head back to stanch the flow. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he staggered out of the room. “Back soon.”
It seemed fairly obvious that he would not be back soon.
“I’ll come and help you.” Max got up to follow his father, but Lord Kuy stepped out of the shadows and barred his way.
“Leave him be.”
“What did you do to him?” asked Max angrily.
“It was a warning. Do not involve your parents.”
“So how am I supposed to read the riddle?”
“One moment.” Lord Kuy held one clawed hand up for silence and cupped the other over his tufted ear, like a news anchor listening to instructions from the control room through an earpiece. He was evidently communing with his masters in Xibalba, for when he lowered his hands again, he said, “The Death Lords say you can work with that old windbag in the monkey suit.”
“Lord 6-Dog?”
“Yes. And to make it more entertaining for their Lordships to watch, you can also take his nagging mother …”
“Lady Coco?”
“And that girl you like who’s out of your league.”
“Lola? How do you know she’s—?” began Max, then stopped himself. Secretly, he thought she was out of his league, too. He wasn’t going to justify his love life (or lack of one) to the Death Lords.
The good news was that he’d get to see her and the monkeys very soon.
The bad news was that they were all doomed.
“So, if you have no further questions, let’s just agree timings and wrap things up,” said Lord Kuy. “Today is 13-Lord. You have until 6-Death to bring the Yellow Jaguar to Xibalba.”
“6-Death? When’s that?”
“Don’t they teach you anything in school?”
“No … I mean yes, but not the Maya calendar.”
Lord Kuy did an owlish approximation of rolling his eyes. “13-Lord, 1-Crocodile, 2-Wind, 3-Darkness, 4-Maize, 5-Snakebite, 6-Death,” he chanted, as if he was talking to a small child.
“What?” protested Max. “I’ve got seven days? That’s all? But what if I can’t find the Yellow Jaguar?”
“As per the terms of our arrangement, Hermanjilio and Lucky Jim will molder in their chai
ns, your parents will be dragged back to Xibalba, and you yourself will die on the road, vomiting blood.”
“But it’s not fair. You haven’t explained anything. Seven days isn’t enough. I don’t stand a chance.”
“I heard you were a whiner,” said Lord Kuy. “So to keep you focused on the task, Lord Ah Pukuh, god of violent and unnatural death, is sending some old friends to touch base with you.”
The messenger gave a low whistle, and a hellhound slunk out from behind the new TV. It was as tall as a Great Dane, with black leathery skin stretched tight over its lean and muscular body. A row of cartilage spikes followed the curve of its spine from its tail, along its back, to its head. As it growled menacingly at Max, its saliva dripped onto the floor like acid and burned holes into the blue hearth rug.
Max’s father chose that moment to stick his head around the door. He had blood-soaked cotton balls stuffed up his nose and blobs of white cream all over his face.
“Now, about those glyphs …,” he began.
Before he knew what was happening, the hellhound had lunged at him and sunk its teeth into his arm. He howled in agony and fell back onto the sofa.
“Stop!” screamed Max. “Call it off!”
Lord Kuy did so, and the dog backed away, never taking its eyes off Max’s father.
“Super!” said Lord Kuy. “So I think we’ve covered everything. Good night, Massimo Francis Sylvanus Murphy. It was a pleasure doing business with you. See you on 6-Death!”
Max felt a rush of wind, like an owl flying silently across the room, and then the lights were on and the TV was blaring. It was the end of the talk show and the house band were waving their good-byes. The music got faster and the camera work got crazier, until sound and vision melded into one cacophonous blur. An acrid smoke began to rise from the TV, then it burst into flames and dissolved into a pool of melted plastic.
There was a low moan from the sofa.
“Dad!”
“I’m okay, Max, just a bit of a cramp in my arm. I must have fallen asleep watching TV.”
“It’s not a cramp, Dad. You were bitten by a hellhound! Look at your sleeve.”
He pulled at the dog-shredded sleeve of his father’s pajama jacket.
His father winced. “I didn’t realize my pj’s had gotten so tattered,” he said. “They’re probably older than you are, Max!”
“But didn’t you see what just happened? A messenger from Xibalba and a hellhound were right here in this room.”
Frank Murphy smiled through his pain.
“I can’t believe we waited so long to buy this TV,” he said. “It makes everything look so real, doesn’t it?”
Chapter Three
THE RIDDLE
Has Lord 6-Dog deciphered the riddle yet?” asked Max. “I e-mailed you the glyphs hours ago.”
“Yes, and you’ve called every ten minutes since,” answered Lola, laughing.
“Time is precious when you’ve only got six days to live. What’s taking him so long?”
“I don’t know. He’s locked himself in the office. He said not to disturb him. But didn’t Lord Kuy give you any clues?”
“Only that the Yellow Jaguar can’t be taken, only given.”
“Really? This is so exciting!”
“I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use.”
“Oh, come on! It’s another job for the Hero Twins! Just think, you and me on the trail of the long-lost Yellow Jaguar! It must be somewhere in San Xavier, don’t you think, Hoop?”
Hoop was Lola’s nickname for him. It was short for chan hiri’ich hoop, or “little matchstick” in her native Mayan language. With his red hair and thin white body, that’s what he’d looked like to her the first time she saw him.
“Yeah. It’s probably hidden in some creepy temple, guarded by zombie jaguars.”
“Zombie jaguars? Count me out,” Lola teased him.
“You owe me, Monkey Girl”—Max’s nickname for Lola, because she’d been hanging out with howler monkeys the first time he saw her. “I saved your life on the Black Pyramid.”
“I could have freed myself,” sniffed Lola. “I didn’t need your help.”
“Excuse me? You were painted blue and tied down to an altar, ready to be sacrificed.”
“Well, you’d be dead already, if I hadn’t saved your life on the underground river.”
“What? You have some nerve to—”
Max’s protestations were interrupted by an earsplitting howl.
He held the receiver away from his ear. “What was that?”
Lola giggled. “That’s Mr. Murphy. Your Uncle Ted.”
“Is he hurt?”
“He’s singing.”
“Singing?” Max pictured the melancholy, wrinkled face of his father’s older brother. “I can’t imagine Uncle Ted singing. He always seems so sad.”
“Not anymore. He sings all the time, and he’s teaching me to paint. You know, I thought I’d hate living in this house, Hoop, but we’re like a little family.”
Family. He knew that word meant a lot to Lola.
She’d never known her parents. She’d been found in the jungle as a baby by Hermanjilio, who’d taken her straight to Chan Kan, the Maya wise man. She’d lived with Chan Kan’s family, as his adopted granddaughter, until she’d been old enough to go to Itzamna and study with Hermanjilio.
Since Max had returned from San Xavier, she’d been staying with his Uncle Ted in the big old house on the coast, which was run with clockwork precision by Raul the butler. With her were Lord 6-Dog and Lady Coco, the ancient Maya king and his mother, whose spirits had occupied the bodies of Chulo and Seri, Lola’s two tame howler monkeys.
Max felt a twinge of jealousy at being excluded from this cozy picture.
“So how are Their Royal Highnesses?” he asked.
“Lady Coco’s really enjoying herself, helping Raul in the kitchen and playing at keeping house. Sometimes she comes to Jaime’s house with me and watches soap operas with his mother, while I play with his little brothers and sisters. They miss him so much.…”
Max bristled. “Who’s this Jaime?”
“You know him as Lucky Jim. Remember, the guy who saved your life? His real name is Jaime Ben. It’s like James Reed in English. It was your uncle who nicknamed him Lucky Jim.” Lola sighed. “He’s not so lucky now, is he?”
Lucky Jim had been Uncle Ted’s foreman at the banana warehouse and his bodyguard during his smuggling days. Lucky was Maya, but he’d always rejected his heritage until the day he body-slammed Tzelek the evil priest (who was hiding inside Hermanjilio) all the way to Xibalba. Now Lucky and Hermanjilio were both stuck in the underworld, until someone figured out how to rescue them.
“How about Lord 6-Dog?” asked Max.
“He’s as moody as ever. He hates being trapped in the body of a howler monkey. He sits around all day staring out to sea or having deep conversations with your uncle about history and philosophy and literature. Wait … I hear the office door opening. Lord 6-Dog’s coming out. Let me change to speakerphone.”
“Good morning, young lord.”
Max smiled to hear Lord 6-Dog’s deep and lugubrious tones.
“Good morning, Your Majesty. Did you solve the riddle?”
“The Death Lords have set thee a complex puzzle. The text is as dense as my mother’s cassava brownies.”
“I heard that,” came the voice of Lady Coco. Then she added sweetly, “Good morning, young lord.”
“Good morning, Lady Coco,” replied Max glumly. “I’m sure your brownies are delicious, but what kind of riddle is ten pages long?”
“Fear not, young lord; at least nine and a half pages can be ignored. They deal with the history of creation, the glorious exploits of the Death Lords, the astronomical portents, et cetera, et cetera. It is typical in Maya documents to set the scene in this lengthy way. Cast thine eyes halfway down the last page, and thou wilt find the glyphs that hold the clue.”
Max unfolded the book.
“Aaargh!” he exclaimed. “It’s fading away! It’s gone all stained and moldy. It’s a good thing I took pictures of it for you.”
“Your pictures are fading, too,” said Lola. “I only printed them this morning, and they look like they’ve been buried in the jungle for a hundred years. And they’ve vanished completely off your uncle’s computer.”
“The Death Lords love tricks and practical jokes,” observed Lord 6-Dog. “They would find it most amusing to make thy clue disappear under thy nose.”
“We better work fast then,” said Max. “What have you got, Lord 6-Dog?”
“Bearing in mind that each glyph has several interpretations and the sense of the whole lies in the context, I believe I have arrived at a basic translation. It does not, however, convey the poetry of the piece nor give thee a sense of the complexity of the wordplay.”
“I have six days left to live. Just give me what you’ve got.”
“Art thou ready?”
“Ready!” replied Max, grabbing a pen and a pad of paper.
Lord 6-Dog cleared his throat.
It is hidden
The Yellow Stone, the stone of K’awiil
At his yellow dawn place
His many yellow flowered place,
The place of yellow rotting bones,
His yellow ancestor-bone place.
“That’s it?” asked Max, sounding disappointed.
“I told thee it was a basic translation.”
“So what does it mean?”
“It could mean many things, young lord. But”—Lord 6-Dog hesitated—“I would have to say that yellow is an important factor.”
“I got that.”
“And dost thou understand its significance?”
“It’s the Yellow Jaguar, right?”
“Not a riddle. Riddles suck.”
There was a silence as deep as a bottomless well.
“The thing is, Hoop,” said Lola eventually, “for the Maya, yellow is the color of death.”
“Whose death?” asked Max.
Another silence. The silence of an invisible penny dropping.
“Oh,” said Max dully. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
Lord 6-Dog hastily changed the subject. “I had not realized the Death Lords had such literary talents. This riddle has many layers.”