by Alten-Steve
“The Hunahpu’s soul has been possessed, affecting past lives as well as the present. The spirit responsible is dark and powerful.”
Lilith hovers close, whispering in Chicahua’s native language. “Can you save him?”
“I can sever the connection that binds them, that is all.”
“Then do it.”
“There is a price.” The old woman eyes Beck.
“Not him. I brought another.”
Antonio Amorelli sits alone in the jet-copter cockpit, his eyes focused on the palm-size GPS in his left hand. The tiny tracking device he slipped into Immanuel Gabriel’s pants pocket continues to function perfectly, the red dot slowly ascending the Temple of Inscriptions.
With his right hand he speed-dials the cell phone.
“Speak.”
“Dev, it’s Antonio. I flew your mother and the Gabriel twin away from the compound late last night. Thought you’d want to know, although your mother would kill me if she knew we were speaking.”
“Perhaps I should tell her.”
Antonio’s heart beats rapidly, the sweat pouring from his face. “I called out of loyalty.”
“I’m not a fool, Mr. Amorelli. You’re in Palenque.”
The pilot swears to himself. “I knew you knew, I mean … I only called to let you know that I placed a tracking device on your uncle, you know, just in case.”
“Then there’s hope for you yet. Sever the copter’s fuel line, make it look like a malfunction. I’ll be there soon. Oh, and expect a large credit transferred into your offshore account.”
“That’s … very generous.”
The line goes dead.
They ascend the pyramid steps, divided into nine tiers representing the Nine Lords of the Night. The old woman is assisted by Lilith. Manny follows in a drug-induced stupor, the aging bodyguard bringing up the rear, his T-shirt drenched in sweat. Reaching the temple summit, the Aztec seer walks to the center entrance, one of three doors leading inside.
“The African will remain here.” Without waiting for a response, she pushes open the door, entering a long vaulted room featuring three hieroglyphic inscriptions, one on either side of the chamber, the last on the rear center wall. Behind the central pillar is a hole in the floor where a fourth inscription has been carved into a massive stone. The tablet has been removed, revealing a secret passageway. Guided by the beam of a finger-size halogen flashlight, Lilith helps the old woman down a narrow flight of sixty-six steps, the limestone surface slick with condensation. Manny follows closely behind.
At the bottom of the steps is a tunnel, its walls set at an angle, meeting at the ceiling to form a triangular passage. They follow it as it widens and turns east, their light revealing another stairwell, this one descending twenty-two steps to a small chamber.
Another turn and they are standing before Lord Pakal’s tomb.
The sarcophagus that once held the jade-masked remains of Palenque’s deceased ruler is immense—twelve feet long by seven feet wide. Inscribed upon the five-ton lid are glyphs representing the sun, the moon, Venus, and various constellations of the cosmos. The centerpiece of the relief is a carving of Pakal riding on the hilt of a dagger-shaped space vessel. A cross attached to the blade symbolizes the tree of life. Adorned in the mask of the sun god, the moving vehicle represents the transition from life to death. Pakal is fleeing the jaws of a serpent, descending into the underworld of Xibalba.
The old woman instructs the two Hunahpu, “Remove the lid.”
Together, Manny and Lilith brace their legs, pushing the lid with their hands, sliding the ten-thousand-pound stone just enough for someone to enter its empty claustrophobia-inducing interior.
Chicahua turns to Manny. “Climb inside.”
In one fluid motion, Manny slips inside the limestone structure.
Lilith grabs Chicahua’s arm. “Explain to me what you are doing before you do it!”
“Do you care for him, Lilith?”
“He is my intended soul mate. I know in my heart we were meant to be together.”
“Perhaps. But not in this lifetime.”
“Sorry, but I don’t believe that.”
“Listen to me carefully, child. This lifetime is over for you and Gabriel and every soul who dwells in the physical universe. I am a seer, and right now there is no future to see, only emptiness. If that is to change, then it can only be conceived in the past. If you were intended to be together, then you may find one another again, but Lilith Aurelia Mabus and Immanuel Gabriel are two entwined pieces of sand in a rapidly diminishing hourglass, and when you cease to exist your soul shall be remanded for Gehennom.”
“You’re wrong, old woman. My soul has been cleansed. Jacob cleansed it in Xibalba.”
“Your soul has not been cleansed. What Jacob did on Xibalba was merely to remove the veils of darkness that were filtering the Creator’s light. Yes, you may have transformed into a being capable of love, but you have also committed horrible acts of evil in this lifetime. Every soul must earn its fulfillment before returning to the higher dimensions, it cannot be bestowed upon you by either an angel or a deceased Hunahpu twin.”
“How do I earn fulfillment if my soul is destined for Hell?”
“You can’t. Not if humanity ceases to exist. Come here, look at the inscription on Pakal’s tomb, for it was carved to depict the end of times we now face. Pakal, traveling with the tree of life, is about to enter Xibalba in his vessel. He is being chased by the same demon serpent now haunting your Hunahpu soul mate. See the bone piercing Pakal’s nose? The bone is the seed of Pakal’s resurrection. It means that even death carries with it the seed of rebirth. Should Immanuel exorcize himself of the serpent that now occupies his mind, then he too must travel down the dark road in order to plant a new seed of humanity—and save your soul.”
The old woman shines her light inside Pakal’s burial tomb at Immanuel Gabriel, who is lying on his back. “Seal the lid. Remain inside until the Lords of Xibalba have vacated your mind.”
Using his powerful legs, Manny presses the lid upward, then back in place.
Lilith runs her hands over the inscription, her limbs trembling. “And if he fails?”
“Then he will suffocate, and your soul will remain trapped in Gehennom for all eternity.”
THE FINAL PAPERS OF JULIUS GABRIEL, PHD
Cambridge University archives
You cannot erase time.
—ANDRÉS XILOJ PERUCH
K’ICHE DAYKEEPER
Decoding the Mayan Popol Vuh
… the lords who once ruled a kingdom from a place called Quiche, in the highlands of Guatemala, once had in their possession a “seeing instrument” that enabled them to know or see distant or future events. The instrument was not a telescope, not a crystal for gazing, but a book. The lords of Quiche consulted their book when they sat in council, and their name for it was Popol Vuh or Council Book. Because this book contained an account of how the forefathers of their own lordly lineages had exiled themselves from a faraway city called Tulan, they sometimes described it as The Writings About Tulan. Because a later generation of lords had obtained the book by going on a pilgrimage that took them across water on a causeway, they titled it The Light that Came from Across the Sea. And because the book told of events that happened before the first sunrise and of a time when the forefathers hid themselves and the stones that contained the spirit familiars of their gods in forests, they also titled it Our Place in the Shadows. And finally, because it told of the first rising of the morning star and the sun and moon, and of the rise and radiant splendor of the Quiche lords, they titled it The Dawn of Life.
—Popol Vuh: The Mayan Book of the Dawn of Life (1550)
Much like the Bible stories written in the Old Testament, the Mayan Popol Vuh is encrypted with a knowledge intended to be ambiguous to the layperson. However, when translated by a “daykeeper,” an oracle of Quiche Mayan descent, the Mayan Book of Creation takes on a whole new meaning, detailing events that dat
e back to the earliest days of existence. And yet herein lies the paradox, for what is described in The Light that Came from Across the Sea is not the dawn of humanity, it is the journey of another branch of Maya, an “offshoot” that came to exist in a far different reality from the indigenous people conquered by Cortés and his invading Spanish armada.
Let us examine a verse translated from chapter 1 of the creation story, which describes life in this alternate reality:
They were pounded down to the bones and tendons, smashed and pulverized even to the bones. Their faces were smashed because they were incompetent before their mother and their father, the Heart of Sky, named Hurricane. The earth was blackened because of this; the black rainstorm began, rain all day and rain all night. Into their houses came the animals, small and great. Their faces were crushed by things of wood and stone. Everything spoke: their water jars, their tortilla griddles, their plates, their cooking pots, their dogs, their grinding stones, each and every thing crushed their faces. Their dogs and turkeys told them: you caused us pain, you ate us, but now it is you whom we shall eat … Such was the scattering of the human work, the human design. The people were ground down, overthrown. The mouths and faces of all of them were destroyed and crushed.
What this passage describes is a cataclysm, an event that blackened the earth and pulverized people down to their bones and tendons. An outsider might assume these conditions were caused by the aforementioned “Hurricane” assigned by the god-name “Heart of Sky.” While this simplified interpretation reflects our twenty-first-century perspective, we must dig deeper to discern the true meaning of the author.
Having spent a decade or more in the company of the Quiche Mayan daykeepers, I am now convinced the “black rainstorm” that “crushed … wood and stone” is indicative of volcanic ash rained from the heavens. A clue as to the extent of the damage is offered by the phrase “scattering of the human work, the human design.”
“Human design” refers to DNA. That the people were “ground down, overthrown” tells us the author was providing commentary on the annihilation of an already established civilization. The phrase “Everything spoke” relates to the problems suffered by the survivors of this volcanic event and how they perished. A water jar “speaks” only when empty, thus we are to assume the black rain tainted the fresh water supplies. The references regarding the tortilla griddle, plates, cooking pots, and grindstones suggests starvation. The dog in this line refers to the family pet who “spoke” when provided nothing to eat. The next line, “Their dogs and turkeys told them: you caused us pain, you ate us, but now it is you whom we shall eat,” is easier to interpret: the animals once consumed as food by humans were now consuming human remains as food.
The last section of this opening chapter describes the end of darkness that covered the Earth and the rise of a malevolent threat, referred to as Seven Macaw:
… when there was just a trace of early dawn on the face of the earth and still there was no sun, there was one who magnified himself; Seven Macaw was his name. The sky-earth was already there, but the face of the sun-moon was clouded over. Even so, it is said that his light provided a sign for the people who were flooded. He was like a person of genius in his being.
Said Seven Macaw: “I am great. My place is now higher than that of the human work, the human design. I am their sun and I am their light, and I am also their months. So be it: my light is great. I am the walkway and I am the foothold of the people, because my eyes are of metal. My teeth glitter with jewels, and turquoise as well; they stand out blue with stones like the face of the sky. And this nose of mine shines white into the distance like the moon. Since my nest is metal, it lights up the face of the earth. When I come forth before my nest, I am like the sun and moon for those who are born in the light, begotten in the light. It must be so, because my face reaches into the distance.”
It is not true that he is the sun, this Seven Macaw, yet he magnifies himself, his wings, his metal. But the scope of his face lies right around his own perch; his face does not reach everywhere beneath the sky. The faces of the sun, moon, and stars are not yet visible, it has not yet dawned. And so Seven Macaw puffs himself up as the days and the months, though the light of the sun and moon has not yet clarified.
Several clues in this passage tell us more about the previously mentioned cataclysm: “there was just a trace of early dawn on the face of the earth and still there was no sun.” And again later: “The faces of the sun, moon, and stars are not yet visible, it has not yet dawned.” There are only two known events that could unleash a global ash cloud expansive enough to envelop the entire planet and block out the sun’s rays. The first is an asteroid strike, similar to the one that struck the planet 65 million years ago; the second is the eruption of a supervolcano, more commonly known as a caldera. In either case, the results are the same—a temporary cessation of photosynthesis, followed by mass starvation and an ice age.
Whoever they were, the Mayans recording these events must have arrived in this devastated land at the tail end of the ice age: “there was just a trace of early dawn on the face of the earth,” and “his light [Seven Macaw’s] provided a sign for the people who were flooded.” The flood, of course, is the thawing of the glacial event.
The introduction of Seven Macaw reveals his malevolent power: “there was one who magnified himself; Seven Macaw was his name.” “Magnified” refers to the human ego, the ego’s desire to receive for the self alone being the darker side of human existence. The word “light” (“it is said that his light provided a sign for the people who were flooded”) means power, in this case an intellect (“He was like a person of genius in his being”) that enabled Seven Macaw to manipulate those members of his tribe who survived the deluge.
Seven Macaw’s ego is on full display in the next passage: “I am great. My place is now higher than that of the human work, the human design. I am their sun and I am their light, and I am also their months.” And yet, for all his power and dominance, the people knew this malevolent force was no god: “It is not true that he is the sun, this Seven Macaw, yet he magnifies himself, his wings, his metal.” The author also tells us that Seven Macaw had an Achilles’ heel (“But the scope of his face lies right around his own perch; his face does not reach everywhere beneath the sky”), a revelation that will come into play in these next chapters.
In summary, the Popol Vuh describes a world void of human life, devastated by a cataclysmic event. Somehow, a tribe of Quiche Maya arrived in this world at the end of the planet’s glacial cleansing, only to be met by a malevolent demigod. But as powerful as this Seven Macaw appears, he cannot see everything—most importantly, the rise of a great warrior who would challenge the demon underlord and lead his people to freedom.
11
The future doesn’t exist, or if it does exist, it is the obsolete in reverse. The future is always going backwards. Our future tends to be prehistoric.
—ROBERT SMITHSON,
INTERVIEW WITH PATSY NORVELL, 1969
The fear had pushed him beyond the brink of sanity. It whispered into his brain—his torturer perpetually lurking in the shadows of his mind. It crawled beneath his skin and suffocated all rational thought. Held within the bonds of a drug-induced narcosis, it twisted his childhood into scenes designed to inject more terror into his already damaged psyche: Mengele in his lab in Auschwitz, performing genetic experiments on twins; a Catholic priest offering a lingering Nosferatu-like gaze from the bowels of an empty church. Each dream ended with a bloodcurdling scream, each scream unraveling another stitch in the fabric of his existence until his identity became the terror.
Awake!
The burners extinguish in his brain, allowing his white-hot synapses to cool. Surrounded by the soothing quiet, his mind crawls out of its shell, exploring an existence void of his torturer’s demonic coos.
He opens his eyes to a dim grayness. He lacks all knowledge of where he is, who he is, or how he came to be here. He stands, his bare feet pre
ssing against the coarse earth, his hands palpating the rock overhead.
A cool wind whistles through his surroundings. He follows its source through a twisting, rising tunnel until a bright white light appears overhead. His eyes adjust as he continues his ascent.
The light becomes daylight and a cloudless blue sky.
He crawls out of the cave, gazing in wonderment at a horizon rippling with snowcapped mountains. The altitude is high, the air temperature a brisk forty degrees. He pulls the fur cloak hanging from his neck across his brown shoulders and discovers his Indian heritage. He winces at the pain pulsating along the right side of his throbbing skull and realizes his head is bleeding.
The memories play back in his mind’s eye, settling the rising fear.
I ascended the sacred mountain to seek wisdom from the great teacher about my enemy. The stone gave way and I tumbled, striking my head.
“I am Chilam Balam, Jaguar Prophet—seed root of the Hunahpu.”
The dark-haired warrior gazes below at his kingdom—a fertile valley fed by freshwater streams flowing steadily from the snowcapped mountains. Stepped terraces have been carved into every mountainside as far as the eye can see, yielding bountiful crops. The city below this agricultural potpourri ripples outward from a centrally located palace and marketplace before becoming an organized maze of aqueducts and canals, bridges and temples—all servicing the Itza commerce centers. Farther out are the populace dwellings, teeming with a new generation of followers—all originating from the loins of the 620 who awoke on the shores of the alien sea during the first hour of the creation event.
It has been thirteen tuns since the followers of Chilam Balam experienced their rebirth in the New World. While historians recount their arrival as a blessed moment, the Jaguar Prophet’s account in the Council Book tells a different story.
The air had been far colder than the wind now chilling Chilam Balam’s bones, churned by a raging sea specked with floating white mountains. The Jaguar Priest and his people had no concept of frozen water back then, or the vastness of the icebergs that flowed north from the glacier-impacted South Pole. Reasoning that the colder climate had birthed these white temples of the ocean gods, Balam led his people north in search of warmth and food and sanctuary.