by M. G. Herron
It was only as he gazed around, trying to orient himself in the surreal environment, that he felt a tightness in his chest and remembered the air hissing out of his oxygen tank before he’d been pulled into the translocation platform.
He tapped the computer on his forearm with a gloved finger so he could switch over to the reserve oxygen tank, but the electronics were dead. Either the bullet that had breached his oxygen tank somehow short-circuited the electronics in the suit as well, or the superconducting translocation yanked the juice out of the battery that powered the life-support system within the sealed spacesuit.
Either way, he was almost out of air.
The second wave of nausea slammed into him. His knees buckled, the sky and the ground switched places, and the world jolted as his helmet bounced off the floor. The plastic visor did its job, not so much as denting from the impact.
Amon lay on his side while red splotches decorated his vision. He rolled back, but the bulky life-support systems prevented any comfort he might have gained from that position. Panting heavily now, he struggled to his knees and gripped the helmet in his gloved hands. He tried to release the locking mechanism and turn the helmet, but it was stuck.
Noticing a tight-knit group of people creeping across the courtyard, Amon waved for help. They huddled together as if he were a predator to be approached with caution and extreme trepidation.
He staggered toward them. They retreated back. More people arrived at a run. They formed a loose ring around him. He realized that the layer of gold coating his helmet, which was designed to protect him from the sun’s radiation in space, also prevented them from seeing his face.
So they couldn’t know when he started gasping for air, unable to communicate, that inside the spacesuit he was suffocating.
#
By the time Eliana reached the courtyard of Uchben Na, a small group of people had already gathered. They had their backs to her. She slowed her steps as she approached them. Her chest heaved. She tucked the obsidian knife into the waist of her tunic so that it was out of sight but within easy reach.
The sun hid completely behind the great pyramid now, and stars had begun to speckle the deepening violet firmament. The two moons were nearly kissing again, looming large over the city and casting their silver and pale-scarlet light upon it.
She pushed her way into the crowd. Citlali was there, and Eliana saw the fear that hollowed her eyes.
“Are you okay?” Citlali asked when she saw Eliana. “What happened to your face?”
Eliana shook her head and squeezed past Citlali into the circle. In the middle she saw a figure lying on its side on the stone and grass floor. It was clothed from head to foot in synthetic cloth, with a helmet covering its head. Like Xucha. Except this one’s garments were bulkier, and white—the white of a spacesuit.
Eliana fell to her knees and lifted the helmet in her hands. Putting her face close to the gold-coated visor, she was able to see through it.
She saw Amon. His face was peaceful, as if he was sleeping. His eyelids fluttered. He smiled when he saw her then opened his mouth to speak. No words came out. Instead, his eyes bulged, and he choked.
“Amon!” she cried. Eliana gripped the helmet with both hands and twisted. It didn’t budge. She tried turning in the other direction. It didn’t give.
“Help,” she said, beckoning to Citlali. “Please help me.”
Citlali shook her head and took a step back, afraid of what she thought she knew. Eliana cried out in anger, “He can’t breathe! Help me!” No one moved. They just stared at her.
Eliana looked around the gathering of scared faces. Too much tragedy had befallen them. They were all afraid to be the one who caused the wrath of the gods to bear down upon their people again. They had been conditioned to inaction.
Giving up on any chance of aid, she searched frantically for a latch on the helmet, some kind of release mechanism. She found one, but even with the lock depressed, the helmet was sealed tightly. She pulled hard counter-clockwise, and her sweaty palms slipped against the plastic bubble.
“Come on!” she screamed. She slammed the palm of her hand on the ground in frustration.
That’s when she saw the reflection in the visor.
She looked up. The crowd had parted. Dambu shambled forward. Blood dripped down his neck and shoulders. He carried a melon-sized rock in one hand. Eliana struggled harder with the helmet. The muscles in her hands spasmed and seized. Her fingernail broke when it caught a crack in helmet, and a sharp pain shot into her finger.
Dambu raised the rock in his hand. When his arm reached its apex, a soft vibrating noise caused him to pause. From out of the jungle, a metallic orb floated. The crowd parted on the other side and stepped back even farther. The orb halted between Dambu and Eliana, and Xucha appeared.
“I knew you would come,” Dambu said. “You’re so predictable.”
“You disobeyed me,” Xucha said. “I told you this woman must not be harmed.”
Citlali and the group of gathered natives scattered back, giving Xucha and his orb a wider berth. Some fell to their knees and mumbled prayers under their breath. Others wrung their hands and hastily retreated toward the village, glancing over their shoulders as they ran.
Eliana finally managed to rotate Amon’s helmet a few degrees. A sucking noise released the seal, and fresh air rushed into his suit. He gasped as oxygen flowed into his lungs, his chest heaving under Eliana’s hand.
Dambu feinted toward her.
As she instinctively reached up and felt for the ring around her neck, Eliana realized that it was missing. The twine necklace must have come loose in the struggle with Dambu.
When she looked back up, a glow pulsed from Dambu’s empty hand.
“Looking for this?” he said. Without hesitation, he lifted his arm and tossed Eliana’s ring across the courtyard. It soared through the air and landed among the cracked paving stones behind the gathered villagers with a soft jingle, and harmlessly discharged a bolt of violent energy with a flash.
The snake projection on the face of Xucha’s helmet hissed, its tongue lashing out. Xucha raised his fist and clenched it.
Dambu reacted faster. Instead of attacking Xucha, he cocked his arm and launched the melon-sized rock at the orb behind him. His aim was true. The rock clanged off metal, denting it, and the orb wobbled as it careened through the air in a downward spiral.
Dambu leaped out and seized the metal sphere, then lifted both hands over his head and hurled it to the ground. It ricocheted with a hollow metallic echo, bounced, and clattered across the paving stones. The image of Xucha flickered then vanished.
“A hologram,” she heard Amon whisper.
Dambu turned to Eliana. “Your stone is gone. Xucha’s demon is dead. No one will protect you now.”
Eliana gripped Amon under his arms and tried to drag him back with her. But he was too heavy. Amon reached a gloved hand out and gripped her leg weakly. She dared not leave his side. Even facing death, she dared not leave him ever again.
“No,” said Rakulo, stepping from the crowd to block his father’s way. “It’s not her fault.”
Dambu stared at his son. “Do you think that matters? Xucha is not dead. He will return for his demon and for retribution. Eliana’s death is the only way to fight back.”
“It’s not the only way.”
“Please, Dambu,” Ixchel said, stepping up next to her son. “We have already lost too many. If you do this, Xucha will bring a new plague down upon us. What hope will there be then?”
“What hope is there now? Step aside,” he growled.
Rakulo shoved his father back. Dambu drove his elbow into his son’s face then threw him to the ground. Ixchel bowed her head and stepped aside.
Before Rakulo could rise, Dambu rushed Eliana, a predatory snarl of rage twisting his face. Amon, who had thus far remained prone on his back at Eliana’s side, kicked out his booted feet and tangled them with Dambu’s legs. The chief toppled and fell onto
Eliana, his hands extending and reaching as if to tear out her throat. His meaty fingers surrounded her neck at the same time as she withdrew her hands from her tunic and raised the obsidian knife into Dambu’s exposed ribs. His eyes widened as he fell onto his own blade.
#
“Eliana,” Amon said weakly. His ankle throbbed where it had been twisted. The big man’s body pinned his wife to the ground a few yards away.
Amon tried to rise on unsteady feet, but dozens of people fell on the three tangled bodies and knocked him back down. The press of flesh reverberated with angry shouts. Amon roared and forced himself to his knees, then his feet, clawing and digging his way deeper into the pile where Eliana was still trapped.
More people piled on, blocking out the moonlight. Though the hard upper torso of the spacesuit prevented him from being crushed, it became difficult to breathe. His vision swam.
A commanding voice rang out. As quickly as the dozens had swarmed in, the pressure began to recede. Amon was eventually extricated from the pile and righted by a teenage boy.
The commanding voice belonged to him, the same youth who had tried to resist the big man before he attacked Eliana. The youth’s square jaw jutted forward in a hard line as he continued to pull people off of the pile. His nose was a bloody mess, but he seemed not to notice, and not noticing gave him an even fiercer aspect. The youth stared down any who questioned his commands without flinching. Those who might have disagreed with him first glanced to the middle-aged woman standing at the youth’s shoulder then seemed to change their minds. For some reason, the presence of the two together carried authority.
Calm and order returned to the gathering as Eliana and the big man were revealed on the ground. With the help of the teenage boy, Amon lifted the big man off his wife.
Kneeling by Eliana’s side, Amon pressed his hands against her blood-spattered torso, frantically searching for the source of the blood. A young woman tried to approach them but Amon glared at her. He might even have growled.
Despite the blood, Amon found no major wounds. Her face was beginning to swell, and she had many minor scrapes and bruises, but nothing life-threatening that he could find. A wave of relief washed over him, followed by a lance of guilt. He cupped her slack face in his gloved hands. She was staring at him but saying nothing.
“Eliana,” he said. “Eliana, it’s me.”
“Amon,” she said. “Am I dead?”
“Not a chance.”
“I thought I was dead for a minute.”
“You’re very much alive.”
“You came.”
“Of course I did,” Amon said. “I never stopped looking for you.”
“How long has it been? What month is it? What day is it today?”
“I think it’s a Thursday? Middle of September. Or maybe October. I don’t know. I haven’t really been keeping track.”
She laughed, a glorious musical sound, and marveled at the mundaneness of the date.
“A Thursday in September,” she said. Then, “You saved me.”
“Looks like you saved yourself,” Amon replied, looking to the side.
She glanced over at the big man. Her face went pale. Gripping Eliana’s hands, Amon could feel her begin to shake.
The teenage boy and the middle-aged woman now kneeled at the big man’s side. Moonlight glinted off an obsidian blade protruding from his chest.
18
The Well of Sacrifices
Eliana regained her feet with a grunt of effort and held a hand to her side where the handle of the knife had left a deep bruise.
She took a few uncertain steps toward the chief where he lay dying. Amon stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You’ll see.”
Amon looked around uncertainly. “At least get me out of this damned spacesuit first.”
Eliana unzipped the spacesuit, dropped the pieces on the ground, and helped him climb out of it. Urging her to wait another moment, Amon left her side long enough to hunt for something amid the grass beyond where the several hundred villagers now gathered in the courtyard.
He returned with an oblong metal object in his hand and held a button at the top of it until an indicator light turned a steady orange. “It’s a transponder,” he explained. “It will take a little while for Reuben to activate the Hopper from his side, but when he does this light will turn green.”
“How long?” she asked.
“Hopefully, not long. He’s supposed to power up the Hopper once an hour to check for incoming signals.”
Eliana heard a hint of doubt in his voice, but she had other concerns at the moment so she just nodded. Amon hovered protectively behind her as she approached Dambu. Rakulo and Ixchel kneeled at the chief’s side.
“Don’t waste this opportunity,” Dambu said, looking into his son’s face. “Trade my life for another lunar cycle.”
“I don’t want to be chief,” Rakulo said.
“We are not always given a choice, Son.”
“We should be.”
Dambu laid his head back against the ground and closed his eyes. Rakulo stifled a sob, covering his mouth with a hand. He made a gesture, and immediately a half dozen of Dambu’s warriors bent down and lifted the chief on their shoulders. They carried him out of the city, and the crowd of villagers trickled from the courtyard of Uchben Na after them.
Before following, Rakulo turned to Citlali. “My father’s sacrifice has given us more than another cycle of the moons,” he said, his voice regaining its tone of command as he spoke. “But he was right. Xucha lives, and he will return for his demon. Hide it deep among the ruins.”
Citlali acquiesced with a nod in her usual laconic manner, lifted the dented metal orb from where it rested among the weeds, and disappeared into the dark of the city of crumbling stones.
The first time Eliana saw them carry a body out of Uchben Na, she had stayed behind. This time, she went with them. Rakulo, Ixchel, Eliana, and Amon trailed the procession down a paved white path into the jungle. Amon walked beside her. He intertwined his fingers with hers, and she held on tight.
“What’s happening?” Amon asked. “What did they say to each other?”
“I don’t know if I fully understand it myself,” Eliana said. “I need to see this first. I’ll try to explain everything to you soon.”
The flat, paved road of white stones led to a deep well. The water it contained glowed a sickly green in the night. Eliana stared, transfixed by the strangeness of it. The open hole in the earth was a hundred feet across with the surface of the water thirty feet below ground level.
The cenote steamed slightly and gave off a pungent sulfur stench. Some bodies of water on Earth contained luminescent bacteria, but for some reason Eliana didn’t get the feeling that the glow in this one was entirely natural.
Rakulo kneeled at his father’s side again where the villagers had set him down on an outcropping of stone. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the obsidian knife in Dambu’s chest. Ixchel put her hands on Rakulo’s shoulders and turned her face to the night sky. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Ixchel and Rakulo said a prayer over Chief Dambu’s body. The assembled villagers raised their hands in the A-okay sign.
Rakulo yanked the knife from his father’s ribcage with a squelching sound. Dambu gurgled, and the life faded from his eyes. Rakulo looked back at his mother. Ixchel gestured for him to proceed.
“I will sacrifice him,” Rakulo said, “but not the old way.”
Instead of plunging the obsidian knife back into his father’s chest and removing his heart, Rakulo took the tip of the blade and made a tiny incision in Dambu’s neck near his jaw, from which he removed a small pill-shaped object slick with blood.
Ixchel eyes widened. “Rakulo, no.”
He held it up for the others to see. “This is how Xucha’s demon controls those who displease him,” he said. “This is what my father was fighti
ng against.” He met Eliana’s gaze. “I saw father speaking to Xucha in the jungle last night. With a single gesture, he caused the greatest warrior among us to fall to his knees, writhing in agony. But tonight, our chief proved that with cunning and intelligence, even Xucha can be defeated.”
So Rakulo had seen it too, Eliana thought.
“What is he saying?” Amon asked. “They look angry.”
“The holograms and the implants are mechanisms for the gods to enforce control over the people when the religion fails to do the dirty work for them. I think the implant is some kind of remote-activated shock collar.”
Rakulo approached Eliana. Lowering his voice, he said to her, “I never thought my father would hurt you. I am truly sorry. But you see, it was not you he was fighting against.”
Eliana nodded. “I think I understand. I forgive him.”
“Thank you,” Rakulo said.
“Your father was right about one thing though,” Eliana said. “You have to fight back.”
“At what cost?” Rakulo flicked the pill-shaped implant to the ground. Picking up a rock, he crushed it with a blow.
Rakulo turned away when a low humming sound could be heard at the edge of the trees surrounding the cenote. He hurried back to his father’s body. With the help of three others, Rakulo cast Dambu’s corpse into the phosphorescent depths. It made a splash as it entered the water, floated for a moment, and then the water pulsed and swarmed with particles that dissolved the flesh in a matter of moments.
“Were those piranha?” Amon asked.
Eliana didn’t think so. She shook her head. “The offering was accepted,” she told him.
The low humming sound receded.
The Kakuli people meandered back into their village, saddened by the night’s loss, confused by what they had learned, and unconcerned by what would happen to Eliana next.
She couldn’t blame them.
In the courtyard of Uchben Na, on their way back to the village, the transponder signal light turned green. Amon exhaled an obvious sigh of relief.