by A. T. Grant
“O.K,” he pronounced, eventually.
They were approaching Tulum. Luis eased down as the car reached the first of several speed bumps. He checked the gas as he noticed a station ahead. There was plenty left in the tank and only an hour to go to the border. Entering the main street, he slowed to a crawl and flashed his lights to allow a tourist van to exit a forecourt. The thought of the carefree lives of those within sparked a brief pang of jealousy. There were no police or roadblocks and soon they were clear of the town again, edging ever closer to their goal.
“Luis.” Alfredo had swivelled around and was kneeling on his seat to peer through the rear windscreen.
“What?”
“I think it’s them. There’s a taxi, not far behind us. Each time it gets to a car, it slows down. They’re looking for us. They’ve figured out what we’ve done.”
“O.K. Turn around and don’t look back again. I’ll try to put some distance between us, without them noticing.” Luis waited until they had passed a large articulated lorry, ducked in front of it, and hit the gas. Keeping a close eye on the rear view mirror, he counted the vehicles passing the same lorry: one, two, three, four; still no taxi. They were almost out of sight then, there it was, a non-descript white saloon, but with an unmistakeable rooftop sign. It was going much too fast to be on legitimate business.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, there’s another roadblock. What are we going to do, Luis?” Alfredo had abandoned any pretence of self-control. In answer, he was thrown suddenly sideways, his temple hitting the glass.
Luis had turned hard left across the opposing carriageway into a narrow, tree-lined lane. It ran down towards a barrier and a thatch-roofed hut. The hut was unmanned and the barrier open. Passing cautiously through, Alfredo still rubbing his head, they pulled up by a noticeboard displaying a map of the site.
“Ruins,” Luis observed. “That probably means there’s no way through.”
The road ahead became indeterminate, ending in a short expanse of overlapping dirt tracks and patches of grass, which served as a parking area. A small building covered in graffiti had obviously once been a toilet block. Beside it sat a large open truck, attached to a boat rack. There was still nobody about. Beyond the clearing, the jungle muscled in behind another sign, a gate, and a pathway disappearing into the dappled light.
“What now, Luis?”
“See if that gate will open. If we can hide up somewhere, we can find out if we’re being followed. Hurry!”
In response to Alfredo’s beckoning, Luis plunged the vehicle into the dark green passageway. He kept going, leaving Alfredo to close up and jog on behind. Alfredo caught up, wiping sweat from his brow. Luis stepped from the car into a barrage of animal noise.
“Here, look after the keys. Grab the rucksack and make sure we don’t leave anything behind. Double-check you’ve got our lunch, and the flask - we may need that for fresh water.”
Luis stood contemplating his brother, as Alfredo rummaged around. A little red saloon was an incongruous sight in a rainforest, but no more, thought Luis, than they themselves. Alfredo held up the now heavy sack, his brogues already soiled with dirt. They pushed the car backwards into a screen of vegetation, which hung across an overgrown side track.
Luis was suddenly mired in indecision. He smiled a melancholy smile as Alfredo stood enquiringly before him. It was easy to be led by duty or, more latterly, revenge, but love was proving to be a more difficult mistress. He pulled his brother to him and hugged him tightly.
A bright orange butterfly settled on Luis’ shoulder. Alfredo drew away first, disturbing the insect, which spiralled busily back up into the canopy. He held his older brother at arm’s length, meeting his blank, moist-eyed gaze with a determined display of his new-found resolve. “When we get out of this, we shall make our mother proud.”
Luis betrayed the flicker of an affirming smile then turned to walk back towards the car park. They would make the most of the cover, and wait to see who came.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Muyil
It was drawn towards darkness in a forest festering with evil intent: a lonely shadow that had lost its boy, its human form. Slowly drained of shape and definition, it could feel itself dissolving into nothing. It sensed the eyes upon it. They were drawing closer, the eyes of the jaguar spirit which sucked all light from the land, and summoned lost souls to their destiny. But it heard a voice, the tiny and terrified voice of a child, stumbling and groping its way through the trees. The shadow lengthened towards the call. At the same time it was being clawed and dragged towards the spirit world. It reached out an arm, stretched its fingers until they were no more than a shadow of a shadow. It touched the boy. Suddenly, the night-time features of the forest fell back into sharp relief. Everywhere, shadows sprang to their owners. Stars were painted, in a giant brush stroke across the sky. The shadow had its shape and its companion again. It sensed that the great cat had gone to hunt elsewhere. The boy sat amongst the trees, and cried with relief at the return of his immortal soul.
The boy’s sobs echoed from his dream, but Mulac could also hear real voices. They seemed to surround him. He opened his eyes, but couldn’t see where he was. Rough hands were tugging at his body. He could feel a hard surface beneath him, but also the tickle of tears falling upon his cheeks. He knew it was his son and wanted to reach out to embrace him, but his arms would not respond. As he strained, he was suddenly aware of a crushing headache. Giving up, he let his limbs go limp. Now he could hear the gentle lapping of waves and the drawing of wood through water. The sound was repetitive and soothing and he let it take him where it may. Somehow he knew he would be safe.
When he awoke he was again being manhandled. This time there was light, indeed the sun was directly overhead and he could feel its warmth and power. He was on a stretcher. When the light disappeared, he knew he must have been taken inside. There were even more voices now, and one of them was the fussing of his mother. Someone was trying to offer him a drink - he felt a hand lifting the back of his neck. As he opened his mouth, the first drops trickled down his throat. It was the best sensation he had ever felt, but then the trickle became a stream, and he was coughing in an effort to breathe. As the flow stopped he realised he could see a face. It was strong, old and weather-beaten, definitely male, but not familiar. The face was beaming and calling his name. Strangely, other voices were joining in too. Briefly the face disappeared, but when it returned something large and mobile was being held over him. It was his baby daughter. Mulac smiled - he was sure that he smiled - and as he smiled he felt the relief coursing through his body. Then, once again, he lost consciousness.
It should have been dark, but torchlight flickered from every corner of the room, licking over the rounded forms of broad and muscular torsos. The chamber was long and narrow. At the far end a war council sat huddled in rows, close around a noble who was wearing ornate and spreading white robes. Over his head he held a short spear. Mulac watched him as he brought it down onto his arm, drawing blood as his cohort issued wild incantations. The blood was collected in a simple wooden cup, as the warrior lord threw back his head and began a slow, stamping dance. Once full, the goblet was passed around for the group to drink, each warrior’s swallow followed by a trill war cry, and another vessel would took its place. Eventually the noble began to sway, his legs gave way and he slipped from view, into the inner circle. There was silence and then, from somewhere unseen, a priest began to call in prayer, summoning the gods of war. Soon his voice was drowned by the chanting of the warriors, which grew into a rolling bass roar that might be heard across the worlds of spirits and men.
As Mulac rolled onto his side he heard his mother call his name in joy and relief, but his focus was on the young girl walking towards him, holding a cup. She smiled and held out her offering, and he stretched out a trembling arm to take it. The blood had been mixed with wine, and it wasn’t hard to
swallow. His mother was speaking. He was being made a noble and a warrior. The devils had tried to kill him, yet he survived, showing that they were only men. They smote him with their fire spear, but he was already beginning to recover. Mulac could feel his mother’s fingers in his hair, carefully exploring around the fringes of his head-wound, checking the poultice that had been secured there. The city had been closed to the invaders. Many of those who would have fled had chosen to stay and fight, once they learned of Mulac’s deed. Tomorrow, Mayan soldiers would counter-attack and Mulac would give the order to advance, but now he must return to sleep. He was safe amongst friends and his mother would watch over him.
The cup dropped to the floor. Mulac fought to remain conscious. He forced his head to turn towards his mother’s blurred form and found he could not speak. But she knew.
“Your son, my grandson, is safe and well. Now he sleeps alongside your daughter, and you must re-join them. Mulac, I always knew you were special. I always knew your life’s road would lead to a great destination. You are pure of heart and the spirit world works through you, Mulac. That is what Ah Kin Lo used to say. That is why he loved you so much, and why he gave you his ring. Sleep now, my special child, for tomorrow your destiny will be fulfilled.”
The old woman placed an arm tenderly around his shoulder, another behind his head, and cuddled her son as he relaxed back into her embrace. Carefully, she adjusted the pillows: the finest she had ever seen. Her son, the noble - her son, who would not die, she repeated to herself, over and over. As Mulac’s breathing became deep and regular, she carefully disentangled herself and stole away into the shadows, checking the children in the cot once more, before curling up on a mattress in the corner of the earthen floor. She knew that death would summon her and not her son. That was what she had prayed to the jaguar for. This was the bargain she had struck with K’inich. Already she sensed the fever trying to overwhelm her, but she would be there still in the morning. She would see the sunrise and her son rise, for one more time. She would steal away into the jungle and walk until she could walk no more, in this world. Then she would walk some more in the next with Emetaly, Ah Kin Lo and her husband, who would take her hand and lead her out of suffering. It did not matter that she could not sleep, for soon she would never have to wake again.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Muyil
Laura watched David sauntering back to the van. Every day he seemed more relaxed and now she could see him smiling broadly at nothing in particular. By contrast, she was finding it harder and harder to maintain her poise. Although she knew her resentment was unfounded, sleeping badly in staff quarters had left her grumpy and unsettled. Whilst pretending she was just another guest, she had not needed to face the consequences of her leap of faith in so suddenly changing career. Was this really her? Did she actually want to spend four days in a canoe or a tent, with zero prospect of a decent shower? Adventure, she reflected, is sometimes more glamorous at a distance. Bob Marley’s Redemption Song was playing on the radio. She wondered how she would redeem herself with her father. Her earning prospects had probably halved. She wouldn’t be getting a mortgage as her father had advised, anytime soon. Would she even hold on to her friends, if out of the country on a regular basis?
She looked across the van at Marcus - at least ten years older and still rootless. She wondered at his relationship with Dana. Free spirits, undoubtedly, but was there anything in the lifestyle of either which could anchor them to anything lasting? It was a pity Dana was not with them now. Laura needed to talk. She would seek Dana out when they returned, and be open about her concerns.
David was sitting between the children, who cheered when the minibus pulled away. Laura listened from the next row, as he recounted the story from the shopkeeper. For once, Hannah and Lloyd seemed interested, and Lloyd asked a couple of questions. He wanted to know what weapons the Mayans and Spanish had, and why the Mayans abandoned their cities. The conversation spread around the bus, with nobody sure what metals the Mayans had access to, or whether their weapons were forged, or cut from stone. Laura wondered if they had abandoned the cities to escape disease. Carlos interjecting authoritatively, explaining that the Catholic Church would have associated cities with paganism. Moving people away to new settlements, would have made them easier to convert. His seriousness threatened to kill the conversation, but the bus swerved suddenly as a tractor swung out onto the highway. The children cheered and appealed to Cesar to do the same again. He swore loudly, before remembering himself and apologising. The children cheered again at his invective, and chanted Go Cesar. He responded by grinning broadly into the rear view mirror, until catching his father’s disapproving eye.
“We’re here,” he called, grateful for the distraction.
The entrance was scruffy and non-descript: it could have been just another rural estancia. They pulled up ahead of a barrier. A motorbike was parked beside a small wooden shack. Its owner was leant upon a counter, wearing traditional Mayan costume and smoking. Casting her cigarette aside, she hailed a greeting as Cesar, Carlos and Marcus descended to meet her. Shaking hands, they began to discuss the canoes, delivered a couple of hours earlier. All appeared to be in order. The woman pushed down on the counter-weight to raise the beam and Cesar returned to drive them through. Marcus waved them on - he would walk the short distance to the car park with Carlos, who was busy taking a call.
Laura turned in her seat, drawn to the pale green eyes of the lady attendant. Her mother had had similar eyes. She watched the trail-dust kicked up behind the vehicle disappearing into the spiky grass border. Her mother’s ashes had scattered just that way, as she and her father had shaken the urn, early one morning on top of Glastonbury Tor. Through the dust she could see Marcus and Carlos deep in conversation. Felicity tapped her on the shoulder.
“Do you think that is a toilet?”
Laura peered dubiously at the semi-derelict concrete structure ahead of them.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up. I think it is back to nature for the next few days, although I believe we’ll be rigging something up at each campsite.”
Felicity shrugged in resignation. “I knew I should have gone when we stopped, but there didn’t seem to be anything there, either. It looks as though I’m going to get acquainted with the local wildlife rather sooner than anticipated. Laura, would you mind coming with me?”
“No, not at all. At least there doesn’t appear to be anyone else here.”
Laura slid the side door open, having explained Felicity’s predicament to Cesar. He suggested they open the forest gate to allow the van through, upon their return. As the two picked their way across the rough ground, Laura saw something moving in the trees. She held her tongue, not wanting to make Felicity more nervous.
Cesar turned around, to address those still in the van. “No need to get out. As soon as we’re all back together we’ll drive through to the main ruins. There’s plenty of time to explore. Then we shall walk a trail to our campsite on the lake. You’ll be able to practise your paddling later on, and I know some are keen to go fishing.”
Ethan and David made a high five salute. Marcus clambered back on-board. Carlos followed, but only to make his apologies. They would be meeting their porters and park guide soon, he explained, but he must return to his office, as something important had come up. Another guide would pick up their van later on.
“Now you can be alone with the wilderness,” he declared, somewhat pompously. He leaned across and explained something in a whisper to his son, who was looking surprised at his father’s decision. Then he shook Marcus’ hand and strode purposefully away.
“Right, let’s go,” said Marcus determinedly, although he too was a little bemused.
Laura was holding open the forest gate, whilst Felicity stood beside her, swatting at flies with her jungle hat. They picked the pair up and continued - the track darkening rapidly as the trees swept the gra
ss away. The bus began to pitch and roll violently through ruts and hollows. Muddy pools coated the sides in spatters of brown. The wheels span and squealed in a search for grip. Laura noticed a small red car blocking an overgrown side track. Cesar notice it too. Marcus and he got out to check the interior. “Most probably stolen,” Cesar declared, adding that he would alert his father and pass him the registration number later.
The rainforest pressed in to left and right. Sections of wall and piles of stone betrayed the presence of ruins. Soon they reached a clearing, bathed by the midday sun. It was surrounded by a cluster of single-storey stone structures, in various states of disrepair. Beyond them a tall pyramid, busy with towers and ramparts, rose steeply skyward. People descended carefully from the minibus, daysacks slung over shoulders, blinking in the intense sunlight and looking curiously about. Three porters emerged from one of the buildings to greet them, and were soon busy pulling bags from the back of the van and tying them together with rope. Laura occupied herself helping others adjust various items of kit, and apply repellent and sunscreen. Some held up their water bottles with mock seriousness as she approached. She did not need to ask.
Marcus gathered everyone in the shade of a giant Ceiba tree, its tall buttress roots curving around the group like an open embrace. They would spend an hour here exploring the remains of the city then walk through the jungle to the campsite. He counselled against going too far, or going alone. The structures were insecure and could be wet and slippery with moss. He would check the path up the pyramid. If necessary, he could set a rope to provide a handrail, but it should be O.K. to climb. Several people followed him in that direction.
Laura hung back with David, Ethan and Felicity. David was struggling with his new walking boots, whilst Ethan appeared content taking photos of the scene. Laura sat down on a large tree-stump, next to Felicity.