The 2012 Codex

by Gary Jennings

  Scared out of their wits, however, they’d failed to spread out and were still bunched together.

  “Get that Browning back to the pit!” Hargrave shouted to Coop. “We’ll need it more there.”

  He and Jamesy were already fixing fragmentation-grenades on the muzzles of their assault rifles.

  28

  Back at the firing pit, Cooper Jones waited for Reets to hook up the new cartridge belt. Staring over the gun’s breech, she watched the bandit army jogging up the low open slope toward their makeshift redoubt, occasionally dropping to one knee to fire but for the most part not shooting all that much. Trapped in the open in plain view, there was no percentage in stopping to aim. Hargrave and Jamesy targeted those who did so and killed them for their efforts. The surviving bandits had to reach the dug-in shooters and overwhelm them with sheer numbers.

  The bandit army was twice as big as Coop had surmised when they were still scrambling up the slope toward them. She now estimated well over two hundred bandit-soldiers charging them, and they did not show any signs of slowing down.

  Behind the boulder cluster—a hundred or so yards to the front and off to their left—Hargrave and Jamesy were dropping Apachureros as fast as they could aim and shoot, mostly with head shots. Scared to death, some of them were starting to break. One man—after seeing comrades on both sides of him shot in the head almost simultaneously—turned to flee . . . only to be machine-gunned out of hand by one of the officers.

  “Christ, they’re shooting their own men,” Reets said.

  “I’ve seen them shoot wounded stragglers,” Coop said.

  “Anyone who falls back.”

  But now Coop’d slammed the breech shut. Pulling back the bolt and chambering the belt’s first round, Coop leaned over the sights. Trying to conserve ammunition, she focused primarily on those clumped together, taking them out in entire groups with controlled bursts.

  Still they kept coming.

  Now the bandit horde was barely fifty yards from Jamesy’s and Hargrave’s position. While their two men fell back to the firing pit, Coop covered their retreat with the Browning, Reets with her 5.56mm H&K assault rifle.

  But there were too many.

  They could never hold out.

  PART V

  29

  While the sacred place of the priestesses was commonly called the Temple of Love, it was actually the Temple of Akna, the Goddess, of Love and Fertility. The mating of Akna and her priestesses with men who wore rich quetzal feathers was the central theme of the temple inscriptions. And the paintings described the purpose of the temple precisely—wealthy men went there to be entertained with music, fine food, nectar of the gods, and lovemaking.

  The treatment conferred on privileged men at the temple paralleled that which warriors who had fallen in battle received after they joined the Sun God’s honor guard. At night, when the Sun God had retreated into his cave on the other side of the western waters, the men in the honor guard were entertained by Akna’s priestesses, with their every desire fulfilled.

  Feasting, drinking, lovemaking—that was the life of a fallen warrior in the Celestial Heavens. And that was the life of the nobles and royalty who had the power of life and death over commoners like myself.

  Eyo! To enjoy the tender ministrations of beautiful women and not even having to die for the privilege! I would have had to die in battle to gain the rights claimed by those few whom the gods had chosen to bless with the wealth and rank that made them dominant over others.

  The priestesses were chosen young and spent a couple of years being trained by older women before they were permitted to entertain men.

  I didn’t know how old the High Priestess was. If she had been the lover of Jeweled Skull while in her teens, however, she would still be a woman of some maturity—at least into her late thirties or early forties.

  I had checked inscriptions on the Temple of Love before and found them all to be not only accurate, but also the most exquisitely drawn and dazzlingly detailed sacred writings in the city. That Jeweled Skull had been the lover of the High Priestess would account for the exceptional beauty and detail of the legends about the goddess and her nymphs.

  The next morning I went directly to the temple and around to the side, where an opening in a doorway allowed women wishing to conceive to leave gifts of food or jewelry for the goddess. The type of gift depended on their station in life.

  I slipped a note inside stating simply that Pakal Jaguar wished to speak to the goddess. I was certain the High Priestess, reincarnation of the goddess Akna, would recognize the name. While my name was not shouted in the streets, the story of saving Lord Janaab from a jungle beast would have found its way to the temple, if not my reputation as a seer.

  One source would have been the great lord himself—he went to the temple twice a week, apparently finding more passion and tender care in the arms of the priestesses than from his two wives and five concubines.

  I hung around the door for a few minutes; then, feeling foolish that I had expected the door to swing open and a beautiful nymph to usher me in, I went about my task of checking inscriptions on walls and buildings.

  Each morning, I walked past the door on my way to the part of the city I would check that day, returning to stroll by in the late afternoon before I returned to the palace and had my evening meal.

  When I went in the afternoon on the third day, the door opened. A feminine figure, covered from head to toe by a robe, with only an opening for a pair of pretty eyes, opened the door and gestured me inside.

  I entered a dark stairwell, which the wall torches barely illuminated.

  The woman said nothing, but waited until I had entered and then went up the stone steps with me following. My guide obviously didn’t intend to answer any of the many questions I had about where she was taking me. However, her exotic perfume—made from the flowers of the sacred Sac Nicté tree—compensated for her reticence.

  Her perfume and hidden charms fed my imagination and my lust.

  The love temples’ legends describe the priestesses as the most beautiful women in the land, chosen at an early age. Just as artists and craftsmen have different talents, each, it is said, was taught a specialized skill with which to please men.

  The priestesses used every part of the body in lovemaking—and every place on a man’s body was tantalized and satiated.

  The thought of what was hidden under the tentlike robe flowing up the steps in front of me stirred my juices. My rational mind knew that the priestesses were forbidden fruit to commoners, but the manly part of my body didn’t get the message.

  The cloaked priestess led me to a doorway guarded by two other priestesses—beautiful, delicate, sensuous young women—but the flint-tipped spears each held looked lethal.

  Double doors opened as if by magic as we approached, and we entered a chamber with golden walls.

  The living goddess was on the far side of the room, seated on a jade throne supported by stone jaguars facing opposite directions.

  She wore the mask of Akna, the Earth Goddess, Mother of All People. The image was frightening and grotesque, eerie and startling all at once, as all images of our gods were.

  Her breasts were bare, with a sash of the finest material dyed royal red. The sash was embedded with precious stones and fell between her breasts. Her skirt was white, with strands of silver woven through it. A heavy gold necklace held a life-sized jade phallic symbol, which hung between her breasts.

  The naked parts of her body were finely sculptured, her breasts full and firm. I couldn’t see her facial features, but nothing about her vibrant body suggested her age.

  I realized the chamber was not paint covered but gold plated, with finely drawn glyphs showing every imaginable position for a man and woman to mate.

  Plants with sweet smells and brilliant flowers—none of which would have grown in the golden room unless they were exposed to the sun at times—filled the room both with an earthly ambience and a heady scent that rem
inded me of the gods’ own nectar.

  I didn’t know how I was supposed to greet the living goddess and cursed myself for not asking Lord Janaab. She was also a powerful entity in Mayapán and no doubt had the power of life and death over a stoneworker turned oracle.

  I also realized I should have brought a gift, but most of my worldly possessions were on my back. They would be laughable compared to the treasures bestowed upon her by the richest and most powerful men in the land.

  The woman who’d escorted me to the chamber bowed before the High Priestess, and I did the same, hoping that was the proper way to meet a living goddess.

  “Leave us,” she told the cloaked priestess.

  “Come closer,” she said as soon as the priestess left.

  When I was within touching distance, she took my jaguar claw between her fingers.

  “A white jaguar,” she mused, “the rarest of all the One-World’s sacred beasts. B’alam was looking after you that day in the jungle.”

  Her tone carried authority and the promise of something more provocative. Exotic sensuality glowed from her like the perfume worn by the priestess who had led me up the stairs and into the chamber.

  “Yes, I was blessed by the Jaguar God’s strength and mercy.”

  She gave a little laugh. “Pakal Jaguar, you were blessed that day with the luck of the gods. That must have been one sick, old cat, not to have thrown you off and ripped out your throat.”

  Coming from Six Sky, that description of my battle with the jaguar was insulting. The way she said it, though, rang true, spoken by a woman who knew more about the world than we mere mortals.

  She took off her mask, and I gazed into mysterious pools of dark waters. She was not only ravishingly beautiful, but her dark eyes also registered depths below depths. A man could dive into those black, bottomless orbs and drown.

  Her features, however, gave no clue as to her age. More than thirty? Less than fifty? I couldn’t tell. She appeared ageless, as eternal as images carved from stone.

  She offered me her hand. “Join me for a cup of chocolate.”

  She led me through the doors behind her throne.

  30

  We entered a small, comfortable sitting room with soft seats that one could sit or stretch out on. A low table was set with plates of food—not the beans, maize, and peppers that made up most of my meals, but fruits and nuts, some of which I had never seen before, and meats I recognized as turtle, venison, and turkey, which I’d rarely seen except on the High Lord’s table.

  Best of all, once we were seated, one of her cloaked servants brought us chocolate. Once again, I was partaking of the favorite drink of nobles who treated my kind little better than dogs.

  Seeing my eyes trail the cloaked woman, who left after serving the drinks, she said, “Yes, the women under the cloaks are even more beautiful and sensuous than you can imagine.”

  “The gods could not have created a woman as beautiful as you.”

  A small smile told me my compliment amused her. “You want to know about Jeweled Skull,” she said.

  I shook my head. “Are there no secrets in Mayapán?”

  “My priestesses can wrest secrets from the dead.”

  Eyo! I would fight another jaguar in exchange for their “gentle ministrations.”

  Her amused look said that she had read my salacious thoughts.

  “Are men so easy to read?” I asked.

  “When it comes to women. Both sexes have their needs, but women don’t permit theirs to guide their actions. We would have fewer wars if men followed their hearts rather than their lust.” She thought for a moment. “Jeweled Skull was different. He came here not just for the fleshly pleasures, but because I invited him. He told not just wondrous stories, his voice was magical. It could have tamed the wildest of the jungle beasts. I listened to him for hours. The gods spoke through his lips.”

  “Did you love him?”

  I don’t know why I asked the question. She was the High Priestess of the temple devoted to giving men pleasure—not just any man, but all whose rank and wealth gave them access to her and her priestesses.

  “I respected and admired him above all others. Love is not an emotion I am entitled to possess.”

  “What did Jeweled Skull tell you about the Dark Rift?” I asked.

  “The same as he told you: a mysterious reference to it but with little detail.”

  “Ah.” I nodded. “That is exactly what he told me.” How she knew was another mystery.

  “Do you understand why he said so little?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. Perhaps because he believed we might tell others?”

  “More than that. Jeweled Skull loved me, and from what I have heard about your relationship with him and your abilities as a storyteller, I suspect he loved you as a son. He didn’t tell us all he knew, because it would have brought danger into our lives. Just as it has now done for you.”

  I took a sip of chocolate to get my thoughts in order. The woman had amazing insight. Finally, I asked, “What sort of danger is there for me?”

  She chuckled, not with humor. “Lord Janaab wants you to find the codex. Others want it, too. Because you had a close relationship with Jeweled Skull, they believe that he told you more than you are admitting. Lord Janaab apparently believes you when you deny knowing where it is. But there are others who would just as soon roast your feet over a fire to find out if you do know where it is.”

  “Do these, uh, feet roasters have names?”

  She laughed again. “Go to the top of the Pyramid of the Feathered Serpent and look in every direction, and you will see the ones you need to fear. All the rich and powerful in Mayapán lust for the secret. Each and all would torture you hard to get it.”

  “They will waste their firewood—and my life. I don’t know where it is. I thought it might have been at the library, but it wasn’t.”

  “If the library contained the codex, the king would have had it destroyed long ago. And his father before him.”

  “But how can destroying the book cancel the prophecy? How can one alter the will of the gods?”

  “Desperate men are not rational. Now tell me, young storyteller, how your villagers came to believe Jeweled Skull was dead.”

  I described the scene of bloodied clothes as I had for Lord Janaab.

  “You told this to Lord Janaab?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he told it to the king, which means the king’s advisers were also told to spread the story. Lucky for you.”

  “In what way would the story of Jeweled Skull’s death help me?”

  She gave me a smile and a small head shake that told me I truly was still an innocent village boy.

  “You must learn to be more deceptive and cunning, young storyteller. The seekers of the codex keep you alive in hopes that the one who can find the book will contact you.”

  Ajul will contact me? The idea stunned me.

  “You had no thought of that?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “But be assured it has occurred to others.”

  “Why would Jeweled Skull contact me? If he is, in fact, still alive.”

  “That is a question you must answer for yourself. The path—”

  The double doors through which we had entered suddenly opened, and a young nobleman came into the room.

  “What have we here? The High Priestess entertaining common dirt?”

  The High Priestess rose from her chair, as I did my own.

  The intruder was about my age and about my own size, with arms and legs almost as large as my own.

  “Flint Shield! How dare you enter my quarters uninvited?”

  The nobleman raised his eyebrows in mock astonishment. “I heard a commoner had sneaked into the temple, and I came here expecting to find him raping you.”

  “This is Pakal Jaguar. He is under the protection of both Lord Janaab and the king.”

  “Ah, yes, the one an eagle bore on its wings to slay a sacr
ed white jaguar. But he doesn’t look like a hero of lore. He appears to have the strong back and weak mind of his lowly class.”

  I kept my mouth shut and endured the insults, not daring to return the abuse to a nobleman, even in the face of arrogance and rudeness.

  “Perhaps you had better watch your tongue, Flint Shield. Pakal killed a jaguar with his bare hands.”

  “I have been told that it was an old and sick jaguar, a toothless one. Is that true?” he asked me.

  “You would have to ask Lord Janaab,” I said. “I saw the beast only from the back, but I’m sure His Lordship can answer your question as to whether it was toothless, since it had His Lordship’s arm in its mouth. And perhaps you should ask the king, also, whether his prized, rare white jaguar was too toothless to put up a fight.”

  The High Priestess let out a squeal of laughter. “You have just been backed into a corner, Flint Shield. What will the king say when he hears you called his white jaguar feeble?”

  Flint Shield stepped up to me and slapped me across the face with the back of his left hand. His right hand gripped the hilt of his dagger. He grinned at me, hoping I would make a move.

  The High Priestess stepped up to him. “You are a coward, not the man who will someday be the War Lord. Get out of here, now! Or I truly will inform the king you have insulted his prize jaguar and the hero who gave it to him.”

  Flint Shield first locked eyes with the High Priestess to show that he was not frightened of her threat. He turned back to me. “I did that because I could.” He gave her a small bow and started to walk away, but stopped and turned back to me. “Perhaps next time I will kick you to death. Because I can.”

  The magic doors opened and closed behind him.

  The High Priestess wiped blood off my lip with her finger. “I’m sorry that happened.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Flint Shield is a captain of the king’s guards. His father is the War Lord.”

  She didn’t have to tell me who the War Lord was. The man chosen to lead Mayapán’s armies in war, he was the most important High Lord in the land, second only to the king in power.