Find the Feathered Serpent (Winston Science Fiction)

by Evan Hunter

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  The Great White God

  Chapter 1 — Through Time to Yucatan!

  Chapter 2 — Ocean Crack-Up

  Chapter 3 — A Strange Ship

  Chapter 4 — The Blond Giant

  Chapter 5 — The Search for Land

  Chapter 6 — Lost Again

  Chapter 7 — Captured!

  Chapter 8 — The Enemy Strikes

  Chapter 9 — Battle of Blood

  Chapter 10 — Treachery Afoot

  Chapter 11 — Erik Lends a Hand

  Chapter 12 — Mutiny!

  Chapter 13 — A Crippled War Machine

  Chapter 14 — Human Sacrifice

  Chapter 15 — Blood of a Fruit

  Chapter 16 — Still No Kukulcan

  Chapter 17 — Homeward Bound

  Chapter 18 — A God Is Found

  Glossary

  Find the Feathered Serpent

  Evan Hunter

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  FIND THE FEATHERED SERPENT

  Copyright © 1952 by Evan Hunter (renewed 1980)

  Published by agreement with Hui Corp. All rights reserved.

  Edited by Dan Thompson

  A Thunderchild eBook

  Published by Thunderchild Publishing

  1898 Shellbrook Drive

  Huntsville, AL 35806

  First Edition: April 1952

  First Thunderchild eBook Edition: January 2014

  Cover illustration by Henry Sharp.

  Endpaper design by Alex Schomburg.

  Dedication

  To My Wife,

  Anita

  The Great White God

  WHEN Cortez and his Spanish soldiers conquered Mexico, Montezuma, Emperor of the Aztecs, believed Cortez to be the Great White God, Quetzalcoatl, who had returned to his people as promised centuries before. It was only after the Emperor realized that Cortez was merely flesh and blood, like other humans, that he attempted to destroy him.

  The Quetzalcoatl whom Montezuma had worshiped was a real man who lived in the thirteenth century. It is claimed that he was a Toltec ruler who was taken to the religious city of Chichen-Itza as a prisoner of war. Although human sacrifices were never as frequent among the Mayas as among the Aztecs, it was common practice to sacrifice prisoners of war to various important gods. The most important of these gods were the “rain gods” and thus Quetzalcoatl, the Toltec, was thrown into the sacred pool at Chichen-Itza. Being very strong, he was able to stay afloat for a long time, and then the Mayas pulled him out and accorded him the honor of making him a god — a living, breathing god who walked the earth. They called him Kukulcan, after an early legendary god whose name is said to mean “feathered serpent.” In time, Kukulcan became the most powerful ruler in Yucatan.

  But what of the legendary god this man was named after? What evidence is there of a Kukulcan before this thirteenth- century leader?

  Adorning the temples of Copan, far back in the dim beginnings of Maya civilization, was a strange symbol, half-bird, half-snake. This was Kukulcan, the feathered serpent. Generally in the form of a large S, the serpent motif was elaborately decorated with scrolls, plumes, and human ornaments such as headdresses, earplugs, and noseplugs.

  In Chichen-Itza, a mysterious cult flourished. The cult worshiped a god named Kukulcan. The god was portrayed as a rattlesnake. In the place of scales, its body was covered with the feathers of the sacred quetzal bird.

  In Guatemala, given the name of Gucametz — which also means “feathered serpent” — he was worshiped as one of four creator gods.

  Throughout all the history of the Maya, there is evidence of a feathered serpent god — long before the human who lived in the thirteenth century.

  Where did it begin? How did it come about?

  Who was the first Kukulcan?

  If only there were some way of turning back the pages of time, leafing through them swiftly, back, back to the very beginning, back to unrecorded history, back to the creation of a legend.

  Chapter 1 — Through Time to Yucatan!

  THE rifle barrel jerked up, its blue-black metal catching the feeble rays of the moon and reflecting them dimly.

  “Who goes there?” the voice snapped at the darkness.

  Neil Falsen recognized the voice, and smiled, his lips parting over even, white teeth.

  “It’s only me, Rusty,” he said.

  “Advance and be recognized, Neil,” Rusty kidded.

  Neil walked over to the man in khaki and patted him on the shoulder. “Any trouble, Rusty?”

  Rusty lowered his rifle to the ground and leaned against the fence surrounding the enclosure. He spit into the dust and grinned broadly in the darkness.

  “Not a bit, kid,” he said, “not a bit.” He shifted the rifle into a more comfortable position. “And there won’t be any trouble, either.”

  “You never can tell,” Neil said.

  Rusty nodded his head sagely and said, “Ah, but I can tell, my friend. I’ve been in the Army for a long time now, Neil. I been through the African campaign, and the Italian campaign, and I was ready to go into Germany when I happened to stop a bullet. I’ll tell you one thing, and you should never forget it. Whenever the Army has you guarding something, there’ll be no trouble.”

  “I don’t get you,” Neil said.

  Rusty leaned closer and said, “It’s simple, kid. Wherever there’s no guard, that’s where the trouble pops. I’ll let you in on a secret. This guard business is all a hoax, Neil. It’s just a plan to make sure that no self-respectin’ dogface gets a good night’s sleep, that’s all.”

  Rusty began chuckling, and Neil joined him.

  “Come down to have another look at her?” Rusty asked.

  Neil nodded. “I feel kind of funny,” he admitted. “I mean about . . . well . . .”

  Rusty spit into the sand again. “You mean about going along on the trip?”

  “Yes,” Neil admitted. “I still don’t think it’s exactly right.”

  “Forget it,” Rusty said. “You’ll have the time of your life, believe me. There’s nothing like overseas duty.”

  Neil’s eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark now, and he saw that Rusty was smiling again. Rusty was a short, squat private first-class with a shock of red hair that always hung in an unruly manner over his forehead. He had a broad nose that seemed to have been squashed into his face and then peppered with freckles. His grin was a quick, infectious one, and Neil could never be with him without feeling in good spirits.

  That was one of the reasons he’d come down to the enclosure tonight. He’d begun thinking about the time trip again, and feeling a little blue. He knew he’d find Rusty here, with his disheveled uniform and his highly polished rifle. Neil could never figure out why the same man would keep his clothes so dirty and his rifle so clean. But each was an integral part of Rusty’s makeup, and Neil had come to like the soldier a lot. In a way, he almost wished that Rusty were going on the trip tomorrow.

  Tomorrow!

  Again, the same half-thrilling, half-frightening tingle shot up Neil’s spine. He, Neil Falsen, was leaving in the time machine tomorrow; leaving for Yucatan and the land of the ancient Maya, in search of a god.

  “May I go inside and look at her?” he asked Rusty.

  “Sure, kid,” Rusty said. “But you’re gonna wear the old lady out with your staring.”

  He chuckled again and unlocked the gate leading to the inside of the enclosu
re. He wheeled the gate back and, when Neil stepped through, he closed it again, leaving the padlock hanging open.

  The time machine rested on a platform high above the ground. It looked clean, and shining, and unused. The moon perched above it, a thin crescent in an ebony-black sky.

  It looks like an hourglass, Neil thought.

  The machine was at least twenty-five feet high, a beautifully tooled work of aluminum and plastic. The control room was in the exact center of the ship, an aluminum band that seemed to squeeze the plastic bubbles above and below into a constricting wasp waist. Exactly like an hourglass, the bubbles above and below arced away from the tight band of aluminum. The lower compartment contained the fuel tanks, aluminum containers set against the circular, plastic walls of the machine. A hatchway stood in the center of the lower bubble and, to the right of this and on the inside, was a thin aluminum ladder leading to the control room.

  Above the control room, and housed in the upper plastic bubble, was a shaft that led to the twin rotors at the top of the machine. The rotors were exactly like those on a helicopter, and Neil knew they would handle the space-travel angle of the machine’s operation.

  The time-travel angle, and here Neil’s own heart skipped a beat at the thought, had its heart in the control room, in the temporium crystal that lay covered by sheets of aluminum in the control panel.

  Tomorrow, I’ll be whirling through time. Me, Neil Falsen.

  It was funny the way things happened suddenly. Everything would be going along just as it always had, with the University quiet and complacent on the desert sands, and the sun shining brightly, and the birds singing, and everything normal, everything just the way it always was, day after day. And then, bango! and the whole world could go topsy-turvy, just like that, just like snapping your fingers and pulling a rabbit out of a silk hat.

  Only, this was more than topsy-turvy. This was unimaginable, absurd, fantastic.

  Neil tried to remember the events that had led up to this very moment.

  Yesterday had started out to be another normal day, yes. He had eaten his breakfast, and was heading over to the ball lot to see if any of the guys were around.

  That’s when it had happened. Or at least, that’s when it had started. His mother had caught him just as he was leaving the house.

  “Neil,” she said, “Dad wants to see you a minute.”

  Neil’s face had expressed reluctance. “I’m pitching, Mom,” he said. “Does Dad know that?”

  “It’ll only take a minute,” Mrs. Falsen assured him.

  “Oh-h-h, all right,” Neil grunted.

  He took the steps up to his father’s room two at a time, the ball glove still on his left hand. He knocked on the door softly, and his father’s voice answered.

  “Come in, Neil.”

  Neil opened the door and stepped into the room. Doctor Falsen lay propped against the soft, white pillows on his bed. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he saw Neil, and he moved his head off the pillows and leaned forward slightly. He shook his head sadly, the black locks of his hair jumping with the movement. Doctor Peter Falsen had a long, angular face, with Neil’s fine nose and deep blue eyes. His chin was covered with an immaculate black beard that covered the jut of his jaw and no more.

  His leg stood out at an acute angle from his body. It was in a heavy plaster cast, and it hung suspended from the ceiling by a network of complicated strings and pulleys.

  “This darned leg,” Doctor Falsen said, his head still wagging. “You know, Neil, it’s beginning to itch. Itch, mind you.” He opened his eyes in disbelief.

  Neil grinned at his father and came straight to the point.

  “I hope this isn’t important, Dad. I’m pitching and I —”

  “Well, I don’t know if you’d call it important,” Doctor Falsen said.

  “Good,” Neil replied, socking his right hand into the glove. “What’s on your mind, Dad?”

  “Well, nothing much really. I just wanted you to go along on the time trip. In my place.”

  Neil’s hand was poised, ready to sock into the glove again. It stopped suddenly, and his eyes opened wide while his jaw fell open.

  “What!”

  Doctor Falsen assumed the air of a man who had just said, “A nice day today, isn’t it?” He looked at Neil in mock puzzlement and said, “The time trip, Neil. I’d like you to go in my place.”

  Neil’s astonishment wore off, and he looked at his father suspiciously. “Do you feel all right, Dad?” he asked. “Shall I get Mother?”

  Doctor Falsen continued as if he hadn’t even heard Neil.

  “It’s this way, son. The other men are anxious to get started. Heaven only knows when this leg of mine will be healed. It’s not fair of me to hold them up any longer.”

  “Not fair?” Neil repeated blankly.

  It seemed to be the only thing he could think of saying.

  “Of course not,” Doctor Falsen went on. “I finally convinced them to leave without me. Arthur Blake, that stubborn old fool, held out to the last. But I threatened to club him with my plaster cast if he didn’t listen to reason.”

  Doctor Falsen began chuckling while Neil swallowed the lump in his throat.

  “But . . . but . . .” he stammered, “that’s impossible. I mean, it’s your time machine.”

  Doctor Falsen shook his head. “No, Neil, it is not my time machine. It is the University’s. They supplied the money that made the machine a reality. Without their grants, it would still be on the drawing board.”

  “But you invented it!” Neil protested.

  “Let us say, I had a part in inventing it. We mustn’t forget the brilliant work Dave Saunders did.”

  Neil fell silent for a moment. He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully.

  Then, suddenly, he said, “I won’t go.”

  “But why not?” his father asked.

  “Because it’s not fair. You do all the work on the machine and then, because of a lousy accident, I take your place. No, sir, not for me!”

  “Don’t you want to go?” Doctor Falsen asked slyly.

  “I’d love —” Neil started, stopping himself before it was too late. “No, no, I don’t want to go.”

  “Why not?”

  “First of all, I don’t know anything about Yucatan. I don’t even know why you’re going there.”

  “You don’t have to know anything about Yucatan,” Doctor Falsen said. “Doctor Manning is an archaeologist, and Arthur Blake is a historian. They’ll take care of that end.”

  “Nope,” Neil said. “I’m not interested.”

  “They’re going to look for a god, you know,” Doctor Falsen said.

  “I’m still not —” Neil paused. “Look for a what?”

  “A god.”

  “That’s silly.”

  “It may be, true. But they’re going to try to find the Feathered Serpent.”

  “What kind of a snake is that?” Neil asked.

  “It’s not a snake,” Doctor Falsen replied, laughing softly. “It’s the god they’re looking for. Kukulcan, he was called.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Neil said, beginning to get interested in spite of his resolve.

  “You’ve probably heard of Quetzalcoatl. He was a man who lived in the thirteenth century, a man who greatly influenced the history of the whole of Central America.”

  “Yes,” Neil said, “I’ve heard of him.”

  “Quetzalcoatl was the Mexican name for this man. The Mayas called him Kukulcan. The name means practically the same in both languages, you see. In Mexican, it’s ‘Quetzal-bird-serpent,’ in Maya, ‘feathered serpent.’“

  “Well, if you know all about this Kukulcan, why are you going to look for him?” Neil asked.

  “We do know a great deal about this thirteenth century man named Kukulcan,” Doctor Falsen admitted. “But we’re not going back through time to find him”

  “Who then?”

  “The thirteenth-century man was named after th
e Feathered-Serpent god. We are looking for the original Kukulcan, the god the man was named after.”

  “Then there are two Kukulcans,” Neil said.

  “Exactly. One was a man. The other — who knows?” Here Doctor Falsen spread his hands wide, palms upward.

  “What do you mean?” Neil asked.

  “We don’t know,” Doctor Falsen said. “Was the original Kukulcan a man too? Or was he nonexistent, a story that simply grew into a legend? Or was he a combination of men? We just don’t know.”

  “And that’s the reason for the time trip?”

  “Yes. The University granted me the money to finish my time experiments on condition that the first trip be made to Yucatan, to find the Feathered-Serpent god. There’s quite an archaeology department here, you know.”

  Neil considered this for a moment, and then asked, “How far back will you have to go? In time, I mean.”

  “Very far. Perhaps all the way back to A.D. 50.”

  Neil let a long, low whistle escape his lips.

  “Perhaps farther,” Doctor Falsen added. “You see, we have no way of knowing when the legend came into existence.”

  “It sounds exciting,” Neil admitted. “But I couldn’t go, Dad, really. I can think of a hundred reasons why.”

  “Name one,” Doctor Falsen interrupted.

  “Well —” Neil thought for a second and then said, “I’m too young. I’m only sixteen. That’s much too young to be —”

  “Nonsense. Besides, you’ll be seventeen in two months.”

  “And Mother would worry if I’m a . . .”

  “I’ll take care of Mother. I’ve been taking care of her for twenty years now.”

  “And the ball team. I have to pitch for . . .”

  “Bob Andrews can pitch. He’s been dying for the chance all summer.”

  “And —”

  “Yes?”

  Neil suddenly ran to the bed and gripped his father’s hand tightly. For a moment, their eyes met, and there was seriousness in both their faces.

  “Do you really want me to go, Dad?”