Find the Feathered Serpent (Winston Science Fiction)

by Evan Hunter

  “We are not sailing until we can sail with a full ship. That will be after the Maya harvest.”

  Olaf opened his mouth to speak again, but Erik cut him short. “I would hate to have to bury my second officer on alien soil.”

  The sailors laughed at this, their voices ringing throughout the little glade.

  Olaf, somehow, didn’t seem to think it was funny. He stalked off into the woods, his dark eyes smoldering.

  That afternoon, Neil saw his first Maya basketball game. Or at least, he was always to remember it as a basketball game.

  Rixal and Tela were bursting with enthusiasm when they came to usher him to the event.

  “But what is it?” Neil asked, being rushed along by Rixal and Tela .

  Tela , her pretty face shining with happiness, said, “The game. The nobles will play Tlaxtli! Hurry, hurry, they will have started.”

  She took one of Neil’s hands, and with Rixal grasping the other, they rushed across the city.

  Rixal said, “They will begin playing soon.”

  Hastily, they led him to a large court with small temples at either end of it Lining the sides of the long court were two massive stone walls. Rixal and Tela brought Neil to the top of one of the walls, and there they sat and looked down at the court The top of the wall was at least three feet thick, and they sat there comfortably, Neil wondering what would happen next “I will explain briefly,” Rixal said.

  “Let me explain,” Tela interrupted, her face split in a grin

  “Men do the explaining,” Rixal said solemnly. Tela clasped her hands impatiently in her lap and waited for Rixal to begin.

  “The court is 180 yards long,” Rixal started

  . “One hundred and ninety” Tela corrected.

  “One hundred and ninety yards long,” Rixal went on, “and forty yards wide.”

  “And these walls, this one and the one opposite, are very high,” Tela said excitedly.

  “Twenty-seven feet high,” Rixal added.

  Tela pointed to the wall opposite, “That is the eastern wall,” she said.

  “And that is a temple surmounting it,” Rixal added.

  “The Temple of the Jaguars,” said Tela.

  Neil looked across to the temple at the southern end of the opposite wall. It was neat and small, with a frieze work of stalking jaguars and shields on its front.

  “But what’s the game all about?” Neil asked.

  “We’re coming to that,” Rixal said impatiently.

  “Do you see those rings in the walls?” Tela asked.,

  Neil looked to the place she was pointing. High on the side of each wall, midway between the ends, was a large stone ring fastened vertically to the face of the wall.

  “Yes,” Neil said, “I see them.”

  “Well, the object of the game is to . . .”

  “Here come the players!” Tela burst out excitedly.

  Twelve men stepped onto the court, touching their foreheads to each of the temples as they stood at attention. Then six men walked to one end of the court, while the other six went to the opposite end.

  “There is the ball,” Rixal said, pointing to a regally dressed Maya who stood on the wall and dropped a rubber ball into the court.

  Immediately both teams burst into action. They raced for the ball, hitting it with their hands, slapping it high up on the wall.

  “What are they trying to do?” Neil asked.

  “They’re trying to get the ball into the . . . oh! He almost did it,” Tela cried. “He almost did it, Neil.” She was pounding on his shoulders with her small hands.

  “Into the what? What did he almost do?”

  “They’re trying to hit the ball through the ring. It is very difficult,” Rixal solemnly said.

  The players wore pads on their hips, and they hit the ball with their hands or their hips, sending it flying against the wall and bouncing madly around the court.

  “They are not very skilful,” Rixal said. “The better players are not allowed to use their hands at all. They must hit the ball only with their hips.”

  The game went on, and Neil felt himself rising from his seat in excitement every time the ball came anywhere near the ring.

  At the end of the match, he had yelled himself hoarse, arid he was disappointed that neither side had succeeded in driving the ball through one of the rings.

  “They are not very skilful,” Rixal repeated.

  “Besides,” Tela said, “it is better that no one scored. It is very difficult, and a player who drives the ball through the ring is allowed to take the clothes of any of the onlookers.”

  “Really?” Neil asked.

  “Yes,” Tela said, nodding her head. “It is very difficult, you know.”

  Neil thought of basketball games back home, and wondered how it would be if the players demanded the spectators’ clothes every time they scored a basket. He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling merrily.

  “Why do you smile?” Rixal asked.

  “I was thinking of a game we have in my land,” Neil said. “A game similar to this one.”

  “Is it exactly like Tlaxtli?” Tela asked.

  Neil smiled again, thinking of the clothes of the spectators. “No,” he admitted, “it’s a little different, I think.”

  That night, after supper, Neil started through the forest on his way to the beach. He was anxious to see Dave again, and to find out how work on the time machine was progressing.

  Like Dave, he had come to know the forest well. There was no longer any need to mark a trail, and he padded through the woods at ease, listening to the monkeys, watching for tapirs, or peccaries, or an occasional fleeting deer.

  He was startled to hear the sound of voices coming from a clearing in the woods.

  Cautiously, he tiptoed closer, careful to avoid dead twigs or branches underfoot.

  The voices were Swedish and Maya. First a man spoke in Swedish. Then another man translated into Maya. A third man answered in Maya which was rapidly translated into Swedish. This puzzled Neil. Apparently, some of the Norsemen were talking to a group of Mayas.

  The sun was slowly sinking in the west, and the trees cast long shadows through the forest. All was silent except for the small noises of the insects and the voices from the clearing.

  He crept closer and hid behind a huge boulder.

  He was surprised to hear Olaf’s voice, and he peeked over the boulder to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

  Olaf stood before ten or twelve of the Norse sailors, talking to a Maya soldier. Behind the Maya were several other soldiers, dressed in their customary quilted covering.

  “Why do you keep us here?” Olaf asked. “What is there to gain?”

  A Norseman translated, and the Maya answered.

  “You are right. We gain nothing by your presence. But I do not follow your plan.”

  “There is no plan,” Olaf said. “There is only a group of men lonely for the sight of their own land. Our captain would wait for the harvest. And do you know why?”

  “Why?” the Maya asked.

  “So that the fruits of your labor will go into our ship. So that new fruit, new vegetables, and fresh meat can be taken with us when we sail. Your labor will feed our men.”

  “I don’t understand,” the Maya said.

  “It is simple,” Olaf went on. “We would leave now, taking with us whatever stores you can spare. We do not ask for much, only enough to take us on our journey, safely home.”

  “We have very little food,” the Maya answered.

  “Yes, but if we take a large part of your harvest with us when we leave, how much food will you have next year at this time?”

  The Maya shrugged. “Next year is next year,” he said. “We will worry then.”

  “You will worry,” Olaf said, “and you will starve too. Talu, your priest, refuses us food now because he knows the wrath of your people will descend on him if he squanders when the supply is low.”

  “So?” the Maya asked.

 
; “So he waits until the harvest. But remember that our captain saved Talu’s life when he slew the serpent. Talu is grateful. When there is food in abundance, he will shower our captain with it, not thinking ahead to the hungry days in the future.”

  “I did not think of this,” the Maya said slowly.

  “Here is what we want,” Olaf said. “Enough food to see us home, not the food in surplus we would get after the harvest. Just enough, mind you. Not so much that you will be left starving. Just enough.”

  “But there is not very much,” the Maya replied.

  “There is enough for our small wants,” Olaf insisted. “We would eat as much if we stayed right here in the city.”

  “Talu would forbid it,” the Maya said.

  Neil peered out over the rock, trying to see the face of the Maya. The man had his back to Neil, and it was already growing dark in the forest so he could not tell who it was.

  “I know he would forbid it. He prefers to squander your food after the harvest. That is why I come to you.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “You are a powerful warrior. We would like to enter your storehouse, take the food we need, and sail. We would like your help.”

  “How can I help?”

  “By overpowering your own men. You are a captain. You can explain later that this was for the best. The people respect you.”

  “But Talu is a priest.”

  “He is a man, not unlike you. Except that you are stronger. And better liked.”

  Neil’s eyes opened wide. This was incredible. Olaf was hatching a plot that could destroy the entire amiable balance they had achieved with the Mayas. He strained his ears as he waited for the Maya’s reply.

  “I am not that powerful,” the captain said.

  “You are,” Olaf insisted. “The people love you. You have saved their homes many times. If you now save them from the starvation Talu would bring, you may be made a general.”

  “A general,” the captain repeated.

  “We only need your help. Will we have it?”

  The captain hesitated, and Neil waited.

  Then, at last, he said, “I will think it over. I will let you know.”

  “Soon,” Olaf said. “We are anxious to sail”

  “I will let you know,” the Maya repeated

  He turned to leave then, and the last rays of the sun lighted his face in a subdued orange tone.

  Neil gasped.

  The Maya had a long scar down the length of his face; it crossed the ends of his lips and twisted his mouth sideways, in what appeared to be a comical grin

  Baz! Baz, the ferocious, murderous warrior who had led the rallying attack against the barbarians!

  Baz! And Olaf.

  Chapter 11 — Erik Lends a Hand

  NEIL waited until Baz and his soldiers had passed the boulder and vanished into the forest. He waited while Olaf talked quietly to the Norse sailors. After a while they dispersed noiselessly, in small groups of two and three.

  Then Neil leaped to his feet and ran through the forest as swiftly as he could. His boots sounded against the stone blocks of the court before his house as he ran to tell his news to Erik. He bounded up the steps leading to the building and into the room he shared with Erik and Dave.

  Erik was sitting in the center of the room, a large torch burning over his head. He was stroking his beard thoughtfully as he studied a crude map.

  “Erik!” Neil shouted as he burst into the room.

  Instinctively, Erik reached for his ax. “What is it? Who ...”

  “Olaf,” Neil stammered. “Olaf and Baz. I just heard them plotting, Erik. They plan to raid the storehouse and sail off with the food.”

  Erik’s eyes widened. “Olaf?”

  “Yes, yes, Olaf. And the captain with the scar.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure, yes. I just heard them. Erik, we’ve got to do something.”

  Erik considered this. “Was Olaf alone?” he asked.

  “No. There were several of your crew with him.”

  “Hm-m-m,” Erik murmured.

  Neil couldn’t contain himself. “What are you going to do? You’re not just going to sit there and say ‘hm-m-m,’ are you?”

  “There’s nothing I can do,” Erik replied. “Olaf will deny it, and the crew he had with him will back him up.

  “But you’re the captain!” Neil protested.

  “A captain must have a crew,” Erik explained. “If Olaf convinces the rest of the men that I have unjustly accused him, the trouble will really begin.”

  “But you can’t just sit back.”

  “Nor can I accuse Olaf until I have definite proof of what he is planning.”

  “But I heard them . . .”

  “That’s not enough. If I had heard them, Olaf would now be dead.”

  “You mean you don’t believe me?”

  “Neil, Neil, of course I believe you. But can I confront Olaf with your evidence and have him deny it before the rest of the crew? Whom will they believe: you or Olaf?”

  Neil grimaced disgustedly. “Olaf, I guess.”

  “There’s nothing we can do but wait. We’ll watch Olaf carefully, and as soon as he slips . . .”

  Erik drew a finger across his throat and made a noise that sounded like “Kitssssk.”

  “We just wait?” Neil asked.

  “We just wait,” Erik answered.

  They waited.

  The week ended and another week went by, and still Olaf made no move, nor did Neil ever run across him in the forest again.

  A third week, and a fourth, and still there was no evidence that anything was out of the ordinary.

  Neil began to wonder if he’d actually seen the men that night in the forest. He also wondered if Erik still believed him.

  And then Talu came to them with good news.

  “We are ready to plant,” he said. “Would you like to come to the fields?”

  Erik readily agreed, and Neil went along with them, out past the city to the fields lying in wait for the seed.

  “Today we shall plant in the fields that are ready,” Talu said.

  “How do you know when a field is ready?” Neil asked, unacquainted with agriculture.

  Talu grinned. “I have given you the wrong impression. Much work has gone into the preparation, and now the work is finished. When the work is finished, the fields are ready for planting.”

  “What kind of work?” Neil asked.

  “Well,” said the priest, “first we find an area of virgin bush, not too far from the city, of course. We cut all the bushes and allow them to lie in the sun until they have dried sufficiently.”

  “Dried sufficiently for what?” Neil asked.

  Talu smiled and shook his head at Erik. “Youth,” he said. “Always impatient, always in a hurry. Dried sufficiently for burning. When all the vegetation is burned, the area is ready for planting.”

  “Will you plant all this land?” Neil asked, sweeping his arm in a wide arc.

  “No, no,” Talu replied, “of course not. A field is planted one year and then it must rest for from two to six years.”

  “And then?”

  “And then the same process is repeated.”

  “But that’s no good,” Erik said suddenly.

  Talu turned a surprised face toward the Norseman. “No good? Why not?”

  “You are exhausting your soil,” Erik said.

  “I do not understand.”

  “Why, with every planting your soil becomes poorer. Is your crop not smaller each time you plant in the same field?”

  Talu considered this. “Why, yes, but what has that to do with the system we use?”

  Erik looked out over the fields, and for a moment Neil thought a faraway look stole into the big Norseman’s eyes — almost as though he were looking out over the fields of Sweden.

  “I am a sailor,” Erik said, “and I know little about the ways of the soil. I can only tell you what my people do. Perhaps
that can help you.”

  “I still do not understand why the soil becomes poorer if ...”

  “Let us say you will plant this field with tomatoes this year,” Erik said pointing out to the field nearest them.

  “Yes?” Talu asked.

  “Well. . .” Erik paused. “In my land, there are three large fields. We plant two fields each year. The third rests. It rests to regain its fertility.”

  “But you are cutting your available farming acreage by one-third,” Talu protested

  “True,” Erik said. “But you plant all your fields and then allow all of them to rest for a long time. You must seek new fields for each planting every year”

  Talu thought this over. “And how does your system work?”

  “There are, as I said, three fields. Let us assume you are to .plant tomatoes, squash, beans, and potatoes.”

  “Yes, go on.”

  “We prepare field one in the autumn and plant it with tomatoes and squash. In the spring, we prepare field two and sow it with beans and potatoes. The third field, the one that is resting, is prepared twice, once in the autumn and again in the spring. In the fall it would be sown with tomatoes and squash.”

  “I understand,” Talu said, nodding. “Go on.”

  “The rest is simple,” Erik said. “Both fields one and two would be reaped in the autumn or late summer. Then, while fields two and three were being planted, one would be allowed to rest before again being prepared for sowing, but not sown.”

  “And this is better?” Talu asked.

  “You will be preparing twice as many fields as you reap,” Erik said. “But you will not have to search for new fields as often, and your soil will last longer. You see, the field that carried tomatoes and squash last year will be carrying potatoes and beans this year. You exhaust your soil quicker by planting the same crop in the same field, year after year.”

  “We will try it,” Talu said. “And again, I am grateful to you.”

  They planted that day. There were six fields, and all were ready. Four, following Erik’s advice, were planted, while two were left to rest.

  There were four gods, Neil learned, to whom the Mayas prayed before sowing the fields. He listened as Talu explained, anxious for word of Kukulcan, the Feathered Serpent. But the lost god was not one of the four.