Deity

by Theresa Danley

  Peet hadn’t noticed until then, but Lori was right. The water was warmer. Much warmer.

  There was a groan from the wheel as the water rose into the woodwork. A ghostly cyclone of water shot into the air. The wheel groaned some more as it fought against the constraint of the water.

  Something snapped.

  The monolithic wheel suddenly broke free and took flight. It spun within its cyclone before the water pulled it back down. Then, to Peet’s disbelief, the wheel skimmed right off the surface of the water. For an instant it looked like it was headed straight for them but spun off course by its own energy. Like an alien saucer it flew straight for the far wall of the chamber.

  Straight toward the growling stomach of the volcano.

  House Of Fire

  The howl of the calendar’s engine filled the long, dark corridor. Chac picked up his pace, leaving Father Ruiz to decide whether or not to close the Calendar Room door behind them. He flipped on the corridor lights. They were dim, offering just enough light to see by. He knew they had only a twenty minute charge from the solar panels disguised within the rock outcropping outside. They had to move fast.

  With Father Ruiz trotting behind him, Chac led the way deep into the corridor. As he listened to the engine far ahead he hoped he wasn’t too late, but feared the worst. The engine running at full throttle was a sign that the combination pillar had been breached. The end was about to begin, if it hadn’t happened already. Timing would be everything. Timing and placement. Chac’s efforts might be useless if Peet wasn’t near enough to rescue.

  With each step Chac launched himself ever faster, pulling away from the panting priest. The corridor seemed endless but he knew he was coming to the end for the engine noise was growing louder and louder. It had reached a deafening pitch by the time Chac came to the junction in the corridor. A ninety-degree turn to the left would lead him straight into the engine room. To the right a steel ladder rose to a rock platform overhead.

  Chac started to climb.

  He’d just reached the top when a terrible noise violently shook the platform. Chac clung desperately to the rock as the ladder danced out from beneath his feet and crashed to the floor of the corridor, leaving him suspended. Chac summoned all his strength and pulled himself onto the platform. If that tremor was what he thought it was, then time had just run out.

  Desperately, Chac pulled himself up and charged to the wall supporting the platform. He headed straight for the steel door seated within the stone wall. Beside the door awaited two options—a loaded AK47 and a life preserver. Chac chose the life preserver. In almost the same movement, Chac strongarmed the door open and received a face full of steam.

  One look into the adjoining chamber confirmed his fears. From his viewpoint just meters above the dark pool of water he immediately spotted the calendar wheel imbedded into the wall of rock, itself busted into monolithic splinters while the stone wall it had slammed into crumbled around it. There was the glorious red glow of a magma pool on the other side, belching clouds of steam as the chamber pool lapped at the rock and trickled into the lava.Then he saw Peet. The professor was caught in the flow of water rushing toward the magma. And he wasn’t alone!

  The worst case scenario was playing out just as the Zapatistas feared. Chac squeezed the life preserver. At least they had prepared for it.

  The rock around the calendar wheel continued to fall away, releasing more water into the lava. The combination proved explosive as another belch of steam threatened to blow out the rest of the wall.

  There was little time before the draining water would sweep the two victims to their doom. Chac yelled at them but neither heard his voice. He knew he had only one shot. He reared back and threw the life preserver for all it was worth. It landed in the water squarely between Peet and his partner, surprising them both. Instinctively, they both grabbed on, Peet catching the rope and finally looking up to see where it had come from.

  Even from the distance, Chac could read the relief written all over his face as he strained against the rope. Pulling two bodies against the current put every muscle in Chac’s body to the test. The Zapatistas may have prepared for this rescue. What they hadn’t planned for were two victims. There was no place to tie the rescue rope off at. No extra support to handle the weight. Chac was anchor and wench all on his own. If his strength gave out now, he risked being pulled into the water with them, dooming them all.

  Peet must have sensed the peril for he began kicking and prompted his partner to do the same. Together they all fought the surging water as more of the chamber wall caved in around the shattered wheel, creating a wider opening for even more water to pour into the magma. The volcanic chamber belched with steam. The air grew thin and hot. They were fighting on borrowed time.

  Chac managed to pull them to the chamber wall where Peet found the steel rungs directly beneath the door. Chac waited as Peet helped his partner to the first rung and for the first time, Chac realized he was looking at a young woman.

  He was looking at Lori!

  * * * *

  Peet had never been so happy to see Chac Bacab in all his life. As he climbed out of the volcanic chamber and stepped onto the platform he wrapped his arms gratefully around the stout Mayan.

  “I didn’t know if I was about to be boiled, steamed or incinerated!” he exclaimed, but Chac wasn’t celebrating.

  “We’re not out of the woods yet,” he said gravely. “We have to get the hell off of this mountain!”

  Together they spun around to the edge of the platform where Lori was already standing, looking down. “How do we get off of here?” she asked.

  Right on cue, the ladder popped up and banged against the lip of the platform. Below, Father Ruiz stabilized the base of the ladder. He called to them but his words were lost beneath the wailing of the wheel engine now, having lost its load, screamed out of control.

  One by one they quickly descended the ladder. Without missing a step, Chac led the race back up a dimly-lit corridor. Or was it a mine shaft? Peet couldn’t tell, nor did it really matter. The noise quickly faded behind, aided tremendously by the ringing in his shell-shocked ears.

  And then the explosion came.

  Peet was knocked off his feet and landed in a pile amongst the others. The corridor shook violently beneath a mountainous rumble. The air became searing, but not in waves. It simply and quite suddenly boiled. If God wasn’t trying to shake the evil from the earth He was certainly going to cook it out.

  The lights flickered out, but Chac was relentless. He clicked on an LED flashlight and yelled for them to keep moving. Peet felt nauseated by the heat. There was no escape as they continued along the endless corridor. Lori looked faint. The priest appeared even more so. But somehow they pressed on until they finally passed through a darkened doorway.

  Chac’s beam glowed outward through a small chamber filled with shadows that danced over a store of artifacts. Peet could hardly believe his eyes, but there was no time to investigate. As quickly as they’d swept into the cache they were right back out and climbing, climbing…climbing.

  The air lost its intensity. Peet sensed a sweet refuge ahead. There was a momentary pause as Chac threw open yet another door and as he did, refreshing sunlight poured in around him.

  “Hail Mary, full of grace,” Father Ruiz cried as he collapsed to his knees, his trembling fingers working over his rosary.

  “You might want to pray a little harder,” Chac said, lifting his eyes skyward.

  Peet followed his gaze and his heart sank. Directly above a plume of steam erupted from the peak of the volcano. The ground trembled beneath his feet, signaling more to come. But more what? More steam? More lava?

  “Where do we go from here?” Lori asked, panic-stricken.

  For the first time since Peet had known the man, Chac looked resigned. “Nowhere,” he said solemnly.

  Peet understood what he meant. It didn’t matter what direction they went, or how fast they ran, there was no escaping a volcanic er
uption, and they were directly below the business end of it. In a matter of seconds the volcano could spew lava and ash over them, but not before deadly gases knocked them dead where they stood. Even more frightening still, they could be incinerated by a pyroclastic blast that would lay waste to miles upon miles of jungle, rock and earth.

  In short, they were as good as dead.

  Pyroclast

  KC gently elevated John’s swollen ankle atop a bundle of baskets while he made himself comfortable on the thatched matt she’d just reclined against a tree. Ordinarily, she’d have found such nursing duties irritating and mundane, but her mind was distracted by thoughts of Peet. As it turned out he wasn’t an easy catch, not the way she’d wanted anyway. But such was the story of her life with men. Those easily available were not worth her time while the ones she wanted never seemed within her reach.

  Perhaps Father Ruiz had been right. Men were not the answer to that aching hollow inside. There had to be something more fulfilling, something that wouldn’t disappoint.

  It was when she’d finally come to accept the priest’s point that the earth trembled directly beneath her feet. The sensation startled her enough to give her pause, not necessarily due to the physical act of quaking earth so much as its timing. A message of confirmation had been transmitted directly to her, but it hadn’t been missed by the villagers.

  All activity stopped. John sat up. The women who’d been paying continuous homage to the great central praying pole even paused from their supplication. The only thing that dared breathe were the two tendrils of smoke wafting out of the fading bonfire coals like ghostly incense offerings.

  A young man set out the alarm, racing through the village screaming, “Tacana! Tacana!” As if on cue, the praying women began to rock anxiously upon their knees, their faces lifting to the jungle canopy. They began to moan with increasing intensity, their voices chasing the villagers to the ledge where the men had earlier witnessed One Hunahpu’s rebirth. However, instead of gathering over the ravine, the villagers turned their eyes north toward the peak now venting white clouds of steam toward One Hunahpu’s throne.

  The ground trembled beneath Tacana’s growl.

  KC panicked. “My God! It’s going to…”

  * * * *

  Lori’s heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She couldn’t breathe, which only accelerated her pulse to the rhythm of the quaking ground.

  This is the end. This is what the 2012 conspirators have been calling for.

  Nearby, Father Ruiz was deliriously rocking on his knees, his eyes squeezed shut, his fists clenched around his rosary, and he was mumbling. Lori weakened, falling to her own knees, feeling faint and soaked with sweat. She closed her eyes. If they couldn’t run then the only other thing they could do was pray.

  Please Dear God…

  A low rumble rose from deep within the earth and the ground quaked violently.

  “This is it!” Chac declared.

  Lori clenched her eyes tighter. A pair of arms suddenly swept around her and her nostrils filled with the sweat-musky scent of Dr. Peet’s damp shirt. She huddled against the wall of his chest and his arms drew tighter. His breath fell upon her neck.

  Please dear God…

  The sound of the contracting earth suddenly swallowed them. Not only was it rumbling below, but it was booming above. The earth shook. The air thrashed in thrumming waves. She held her breath against the surge of searing, toxic gases, but they never came. Instead, a steady thwap, thwap, thwap hovered overhead. She felt the wind tugging at her hair, the wind from an enormous angel’s wings beating directly above, dropping over her like a protective dove.

  Lori’s eyes popped skyward. Indeed a heavy shadow blotted out the sun but this dove had whipping rotor wings that lowered the angelic sheen of the Vol De Feu.

  “Laffy!” she gasped as Dr. Peet pulled her to her feet.

  The chopper hovered a few feet off the uneven ground, allowing Chac to hoist himself inside. With a boost from Dr. Peet and a hand from Chac, Lori suddenly found herself scrambling onto the confined floor inside. Father Ruiz was next, squeezing in next to her while Dr. Peet finally climbed in at last.

  “How did you manage to find us, Laffy?” Lori yelled emphatically but the pilot didn’t hear her as he lifted them up and spun them away from the steam-billowing terror. But they couldn’t get away without a volcanic farewell.

  Tacana exploded in their wake.

  The Vol de Feu shuddered and protested with a panel of alarms and warnings. The chopper wavered unsteadily, but that wasn’t what threw Lori’s stomach into her throat. As Laffy fought to maintain control, Lori choked at the sight behind them.

  The slope from which they’d just been plucked was suddenly consumed in a swell of steam. It rolled like a wispy avalanche, steamrolling the jungle flat down the side of the mountain. Acre after acre of trees were leveled right before her eyes.

  It was nothing like Lori had ever seen. The very hand of God was brushing across the mountain like…well, like Dr.Peet now taking a swipe over his unruly hair. His face was ashen and heavy. His eyes were transfixed upon the leveled jungle. And beneath the noise of the helicopter, one name came in whispers upon his lips.

  John.

  * * * *

  Father Ruiz was speechless as he watched the steam wash over the landscape below, leaving a distinctive footprint of crushed green forest behind. Somewhere directly in the path of the destruction was the Quiché village, John, and KC. In a matter of seconds they would all be destroyed and he could do nothing but sit and helplessly watch.

  Father Ruiz considered the pagan, tree-worshipping villagers. Had their ignorance angered God? After all, the explosive steam poured out of the volcano as though commissioned to exact punishment on a specific target. The thought caused him to wonder if any of the villagers had been saved during his visit last night. Had a soul not been converted? Had he been sent by God into the Chiapas jungle not to recover a crucifix, but to rescue lost souls? Suddenly, Father Ruiz felt remorseful for the villagers he had surely failed, a village only a breath away from Sodom and Gomorrah’s fate.

  Or was it?

  Even as Father Ruiz regrettably watched the tragedy unfold, he recognized a strange and unnatural phenomenon taking place. As the steam boiled down the slope of Tacana, it didn’t gain speed as gravity would command. Instead, it was slowing down. Its strength was literally evaporating into thin air. The destructive cloud was dissipating as though torn apart piece by piece by the very jungle it was mowing down until suddenly it had little more energy than to sway the trees near the bottom.

  It was as thought the steam had hit an invisible wall.

  The helicopter passed over the last reaches of the devastation. Father Ruiz sucked in an exasperated breath. There, at the very edge, where the ruined jungle met the spared, stood a large, towering tree, stripped of all its limbs save for two broad crossarms that appeared to embrace the slope of jungle now bowing down before it.

  A cross! A giant cross!

  As the helicopter swung around, Father Ruiz recognized the heap and scrap of offerings lying on the ground around it. The prayer pole! The Quiché villagers hadn’t been worshipping a tree but groveling at the foot of a monolithic crucifix. He hadn’t recognized it from the ground—the jungle canopy had overgrown the crossarms. But the arms were free now, and like a couple of billboards, they each boldly pronounced a single word to the world—

  Gloria! Jesús!

  Amazingly, the village itself remained in tact, nestled in the surviving forest behind the protective arms of their one true God.

  Mexico City

  Christmas Eve, 2012

  KC sat alone amongst an assembly of sleeping pews, content with the solitude and the soft waves of music floating through the spacious Metropolitan Cathedral. She’d been there for nearly fifteen minutes, drawn immediately by the lofty Altar of Forgiveness, gilded in golden abstracts against the cavernous shadows that filled intricate recesses untouched by the can
dle glow. The cathedral’s tremendous columns fortified the altar, securing its high architecture somewhere in the darkness overhead like the Quiché crucifix hoisting its sentinel crossarms into the refuge of the jungle canopy.

  Golden saints and cherubs surrounded a portrait of the Virgin, projecting from the altar’s gilded shadows and extending around the banisters that encompassed the nearest columns—wings opened wide to transfix and embrace.

  “There’s much more to see down the central nave.”

  Startled from the sublime vision consuming her anima, KC turned to find John leaning on crutches at the end of her row. She shot him a timid smile and turned immediately back to the breathtaking altar. “I’m too overwhelmed,” she admitted.

  What more could she say? What more could she see?

  John awkwardly clattered into the pew and collapsed beside her. “It’s quite a spectacle,” he agreed.

  KC yielded to a pious appreciation for the surrounding ambiance. “Christmas has never appealed to me quite like this,” she said. “It’s truly a season of miracles.”

  John simply nodded. An appropriate response to her newfound sensitivity. Perhaps he had been touched by the miracles too. After all, there was no explaining why they were still alive. Only a miracle could have intervened on Tacana’s wrath. In fact, they’d all been miraculously spared. Even Laffy could not explain how the others could escape an open magma chamber without being overcome by toxic gases, heat or steam.

  Miracles.

  John allowed the reflective moment to linger a while longer before he leaned in close and said in a hushed tone, “In the spirit of the holidays, I have a gift for you.”

  KC turned to him with a quizzical grin.

  “Actually,” John said, “it’s Anthony’s gift. There’s a possibility that two seats will open up on tomorrow’s flight and he’s letting you have first call for one if you want it. He says it’s the least he can do.”