Find the Feathered Serpent (Winston Science Fiction)

by Evan Hunter

  Neil covered the distance rapidly and stood panting before the blond giant.

  “Erik,” he gasped. “Hurry. Tela . Sacrifice. Hurry, please.”

  Erik grinned and playfully mussed Neil’s hair.

  “A little at a time, my friend. And slowly.”

  Neil tugged on Erik’s arm. “Please, please! We’ve got to stop them.”

  “Stop who? What’s happening?”

  “A sacrifice. A blood sacrifice. We’ve got to hurry.”

  Erik grinned, and a horrible dread ran through Neil’s body as the Norseman spoke. “What’s wrong with a blood sacrifice?” he asked.

  Neil’s mouth fell open. “Wh... wh... what’s wrong? What’s wrong?” He gripped Erik’s arms, ready to carry the Norseman if he had to. “Don’t joke, Erik,” he said in a dull voice. “Don’t joke.”

  “You’re getting excited about nothing. In my land we often sacrifice animals. There is nothing wrong with . . .”

  “This isn’t an animal,” Neil shouted, almost frantic now. “It’s a girl, Tela. They’re going to throw her into the well.”

  Erik’s brows shot up. “What?”

  “The girl, the girl,” Neil said. “Tela. Hurry, Erik, please.”

  Erik tore off in the direction of the city, Neil following behind him. The big Norseman had long legs, but Neil kept up with him all the way. They didn’t say a word as they tore through the quiet, moon-splashed streets.

  Erik stopped suddenly. “Where?”

  “That way.” Neil’s voice was tense as he pointed.

  They ran noisily down the street leading to The Sacred Cenote.

  The Mayas were bowed in prayer, their backs rounded into little humps as Talu stood on the temple steps and spoke.

  Neil and Erik drew up breathless, paralyzed for a moment by the solemn scene before them.

  The platform had been replaced on the wooden logs, and Tela rested there, her eyes still closed, her hands folded on her chest. The cenote yawned darkly before the platform, and Tela’s head faced the watery chasm.

  “ . . . that you may know our thankfulness,” Talu was saying, “and that you may cause not our enemies to attack again, O gods . . .”

  “We’re just in time,” Neil said in a whisper.

  “. . . we offer a sacrifice. It is nothing, O gods, and worthless in your eyes, but we offer it in humbleness and sincerity, and . . .”

  Erik’s voice sliced throug the solemn air. “Stop!” he bellowed. He ran through the sea of bowed figures, followed by Neil, and leaped to the temple steps.

  Talu turned inquisitive eyes toward his guests.

  “You disturb the ceremony,” he said, fainty puzzled. “Why?”

  “This is wrong,” Erik said.

  Talu’s white brows lowered over his eyes. “What is wrong, my friend?”

  “This girl. You must not offer her to your gods.”

  “Why not?” There was a slight edge to Talu’s voice, and the Mayas around the cenote began to lift their heads and stare at the figures on the steps.

  “The gods do not approve of murder.”

  “This is not murder. The gods demand a blood sacrifice. We are giving them blood.”

  “But you are killing the girl.”

  “She will not die. We do not kill her.”

  “But to give blood?” Erik said, his face puzzled.

  Talu was becoming angry now. “The blood is warm. The girl goes into The Sacred Cenote alive. She does not die.”

  “But it’s sixty feet down to the water,” Neil protested. “And the water is that deep too. You can t expect her to survive that.”

  Talu set his lips stubbornly. “She will not die,” he said. “The gods are waiting.”

  “Let the gods wait,” Erik said, and an angry murmur went up from the Mayas.

  Talu turned on Erik. “My friend, this is not your affair.”

  “I want to know more,” Erik said.

  “There is no time,” Talu answered.

  “Your memory is short,” Neil said quickly. “I recall a snake poised to strike and . . .”

  Talu sighed in resignation. “There is no need for an explanation,” he said. “What must be . . .” he paused and shrugged his shoulders, apparently remembering his debt to Erik. “Tela will be sacrificed to The Sacred Cenote,” he began.

  “You mean she’ll be dropped into the well to die,” Neil interrupted.

  “She will go into the well, but not to die.”

  “Will she come back?” Erik asked.

  “No. But she will live. When the waters are calmed again, we will fire the sacrificial platform. There will be another prayer, then. A prayer for the gods, and a prayer for Tela.”

  “And you insist she will live?”

  “Yes,” Talu said. He turned again to his people. “We will pray,” he said, “to the gods, in thankfulness.”

  His voice began intoning the ritual, and the Mayas bowed low again. The well looked black and hungry, and a Maya with a torch stood behind the platform.

  Erik hurriedly took Neil aside and whispered something into his ear. Neil nodded, his eyes brightening.

  “Hurry!” Erik shouted, and Neil ran off as Talu’s voice went on and on. He darted down the steps and across the silent city again.

  When he returned, it was to an angry mob that bellowed and stormed below the temple steps. Erik held Talu tightly in his arms, and his ax was drawn.

  “Touch the girl,” he was bellowing, “and your priest follows her.”

  Neil rushed up the temple steps, almost stumbling under his burden.

  “Erik,” he shouted. “I’ve got them.”

  He climbed the steps rapidly and dropped his load at Erik’s feet. Erik held Talu with a stout arm and reached down for the basket at his feet. It was full of ripe, red tomatoes, fat, red plums, flowers brilliant in various shades of red and pink. There were red beans, and red roots, and a variety of red leaves. The basket seemed to overflow with a sea of redness.

  “You wanted blood,” Erik shrieked, his voice ringing out over the open well. “Here is your blood. Look at itl Blood red, and grown with your hands and the approval of your gods. This is the blood they want. Offer it to them.”

  Talu struggled in Erik’s grip.

  “The gods will refuse,” he said. “The gods will refuse this sham sacrifice.”

  Below, the mumble of the crowd rose menacingly.

  “Offer it and see,” Erik roared. “Your gods do not desire the fruit of your womanhood. They desire the fruit of your land. This is their sacrifice. This is all they demand of their faithful grandchildren.”

  “No,” the crowd shouted. “No!”

  And suddenly, Neil stepped before Erik and raised his voice over the shouts below him.

  “Yes! Yes! Your gods only demand this. Throw it into The Sacred Cenote. Allow Talu to offer this basket to the gods. If they approve, the sacrificial platform will burst into flame. The gods will have given you a sign.”

  “No!” the crowd shouted in return.

  “Try it,” Neil roared over their voices. Quickly, he lifted Tela from the platform and stood before her. He gestured for Erik to release Talu .

  Erik’s arm left the priest’s neck, and Talu stepped forward to lift the basket of bright red fruit and flowers, beans, roots, leaves.

  A silence hung over the crowd, like the silence before a summer storm.

  “You should not have promised that,” Erik whispered. “The platform cannot possibly . . .”

  Slowly, Talu lifted the basket and stared down at its contents, shaking his head sadly.

  At the same moment, Neil reached into his back pocket for the cigarette lighter Dave had put in his trust.

  Talu walked down the steps, the basket held before him. The crowd below was silent, as silent as death.

  Neil stepped closer to the pile of tinder on the platform, standing behind it so that the spark of the lighter would not be seen. There would be a sudden burst of flame after Talu threw the
basket into the well. And Tela would be saved.

  Impatiently, he waited.

  His long white robe trailing behind him, his head held high, his back straight and proud, Talu walked down the steps in front of the temple.

  He paused before the gaping jaws of The Sacred Cenote, the basket held before him. The crowd’s eyes shifted from their priest to the platform piled with straw and twigs.

  Neil’s fingers began to sweat around the lighter. He kept his thumb pressed on the trigger, ready to snap it.

  Talu put the basket down at his feet. He touched his hand to his forehead, as if in apology for the abomination he was about to offer the gods. The crowd followed his example, still silent, expectant.

  Then, he reached down, lifted the basket, and threw the contents into the well. The fruit and flowers spilled from the basket like a stream of blood, into the black maw of the pool.

  This is it, Neil thought.

  Rapidly, his thumb snapped down over the trigger.

  Wet with sweat, it slipped off the trigger, and the wick remained covered.

  Neil wet his lips as he immediately put his thumb back on the trigger and snapped down with all his might. The covering on the wick moved back, and there was a faint spark.

  But there was no flame.

  Frantically, Neil released his thumb and the lid clamped over the wick again. He pressed down, heard the faint click as the wheel rubbed against the flint. There was a spark again.

  He looked down at the wick. No flame.

  All eyes were fastened to the platform now. Talu, the empty basket in his hands, had turned to face the temple, a faint smile of triumph on his lips.

  With sweat covering his body, his shirt clinging to him wetly, his hair sticking to his brow, Neil took a deep breath and snapped his thumb down on the trigger again.

  Chapter 16 — Still No Kukulcan

  HE held his breath as he heard the dull click of wheel against flint, the grinding of the spring mechanism as the trigger snapped to expose the wick again. There was the same faint spark, and a sickening wave rushed over Neil.

  No flame! There was no flame.

  Talu stood at the base of the steps, his eyes blazing, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Where is your sign?” he shouted, and a wave of protest rose behind him as the Mayas began grumbling aloud.

  Beside Neil, the girl Tela began to tremble violently, her frail body like a thin rush in its white garments.

  “Talk to them,” Neil snapped at Erik. “Hold them a while longer.”

  “But what are you trying to . . .”

  “Talk to them!” The Norseman saw an intensity flare into his young friend’s eyes.

  “Where is your sign?” Talu repeated from the foot of the steps.

  “There will be a sign,” Erik said half-heartedly.

  Neil covered the lighter with the palm of his hand and tried the trigger again. With his thumb flat against it, he examined the wick. It was short, so short that hardly any part projected beyond the metal circle around it.

  Talu turned to his people.

  “The gods are dissatisfied with this mock sacrifice,” he said.

  A roar of approval went up from the Mayas.

  “The gods demand the girl,” one man shouted.

  “Give them the girl,” the cry was taken up.

  Erik turned a hasty glance toward Neil. Neil was deep in concentration, trying to pluck the wick between his fingernails and yank it up higher.

  “The gods are confused,” Erik said. “They will give their sign soon.”

  “There will be no sign,” the crowd bellowed. “The gods are displeased.”

  “The gods are considering your gift,” Erik said, his fingers nervously touching his ax. “Be patient.”

  Neil plucked at the wick with ragged fingernails. He gripped the fiber between his nails and pulled. It moved a fraction of an inch, and then slipped from between his fingers.

  “Hurry, Neil,” Erik said. “Hurry.”

  Below, the Mayas were moving slowly toward the temple steps.

  “There is no sign,” Talu said. “I am asking you to leave the temple. The sacrifice will go on as planned.”

  Erik drew his ax. “No one moves onto the steps,” he commanded. “We will wait for a sign.”

  Neil plucked at the wick again, pulling out at least a quarter of an inch. He breathed a deep sigh, and dropped the metal lid in place again.

  “You are extending the bounds of hospitality,” Talu said menacingly. “There is such a thing as . . .”

  Now, if only there were enough fuel. And if only the flint were working.

  Neil snapped the trigger.

  There was a click, and a spark.

  And a flame!

  It licked out at the straw, caught, hung like a red curl of silk, and then flared up as it spread to the surrounding straw.

  Neil put his hand quickly into his pocket, the lighter clutched in his trembling fingers.

  The flame spread, licking at the straw, dancing a brilliant orange, yellow, and red adagio.

  A fearsome gasp went up from the Mayas when they saw the platform burst into flame. Talu backed away several steps, his eyes wide in awe.

  “There is your sign,” Erik shouted. “The gods have spoken.”

  The Mayas dropped to their knees as the straw ignited the twigs and the entire platform became a great torch that blazed into the night.

  Talu dropped to his knees, too, and touched his hand to his forehead.

  “The gods have spoken,” he intoned in a solemn voice.

  Erik put his arm around Neil’s shoulder. “And I’ll never know how,” he said softly.

  * * *

  Later, when the Mayas had heaped bushel upon bushel of fruit and flowers onto the temple steps and then sacrificed them to the well, Talu approached Erik.

  There was wisdom in his eyes and a gentleness to his hand as he took Erik’s hand in his own.

  “My friend,” he said, “you have taught us much this night.”

  “It is bad to destroy,” Erik said, “unless you are destroying your enemies.”

  “Forgive us our ignorance,” Talu went on. “We thought the gods . . .”

  “The gods are just,” Erik interrupted. “They would not have their grandchildren destroy themselves to appease their whims. They are satisfied with the fruit.”

  “I shall pray they never have another human sacrifice,” Talu promised.

  “It will be better that way,” Erik replied.

  The time of harvest was slowly growing nearer. The fields began to burst with green, and Erik proudly supervised the care of the maize plants. Neil, meanwhile, was engrossed in the work Dave was doing on the time machine. The engineer was a tireless worker, up long before Neil stirred. He would eat a hurried breakfast and then go to where the time machine now stood in the city, resting on the stones before one of the temples.

  After finishing his breakfast Neil would often join his friend and usually found him deep within the controls of the machine, fumbling with the wires, tightening here and there, his hands grimy and his face covered with sweat.

  Several weeks after the near-sacrifice of Tela, Neil joined Dave. “You’re really giving your all to the old girl, aren’t you?” he asked.

  Dave spoke very seriously. “Neil, I’m not sure she’ll take us back,” he said. “I like Yucatan all right, but I’m for our own time and place.”

  Neil agreed heartily. From that moment he took an active interest in the welfare of the machine. His stay here had been interesting and full of adventure, but he was of the present and this place could never truly be his home. At best this was a sort of extended vacation into the past, and one from which he expected to return. He would never cease to marvel at the accomplishments of the Mayas. They were an astonishing race, and he would have much to tell his father when and if they did return.

  One day Neil suddenly remembered Kukulcan, and again asked Talu about the Feathered-Serpent god.
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br />   “There is a god by this name?” Talu asked.

  “I . . . I don’t know,” Neil stammered, unable to explain the time angle of his travels. “I thought you would know.”

  “The Feathered Serpent?” Talu asked.

  “Yes,” Neil replied hastily. “Do you know of him?”

  “Kukulcan,” the priest said softly, and Neil waited expectantly.

  “No,” Talu answered. “I do not know of any such god. What makes you ask?”

  “I . . . I heard there was such a god in Yucatan.”

  ‘We have many gods and we serve them well. But there is none called Kukulcan. There is no Feathered Serpent, my friend.”

  It was then that the futility of the whole trip struck Neil like a sharp blow to the pit of his stomach. No Kukulcan. All his father’s work, all the years he had spent developing the temporium crystal, planning the time machine, all wasted.

  Apparently there was no Feathered Serpent. Somewhere along the line someone had make a mistake. The information was false. Not satisfied, he began checking for himself, studying the sculpted facades of the temples and the pillars, searching in vain for a figure that would resemble a feathered serpent, or even a serpent without feathers.

  There was none. Nothing. The time trip had been a fool’s errand. All the dangers, all the anxieties, were for nothing.

  Likewise Arthur Blake and Dr. Manning had given their lives at sea for a will-o’-the-wisp.

  Neil buried his despondency by helping Dave on the time machine. Hour after hour they worked silently, straightening the still damaged rotor and then plunging into the intricacies of the operating mechanism.

  “We should never have used it that night,” Dave said.

  “We had to,” Neil answered. This was a conversation they’d had many times before.

  “It’s not always best to consider the immediate need,” Dave said. “Because of that night we may never get home again.”

  “If we hadn’t used the machine that night,” Neil answered, “we might be dead now.”

  They continued to work on the machine, and in the meantime, Erik began preparing his ship for the long ocean voyage ahead. Many of his men had been killed in the barbarian raid, leaving less than half his crew to manage the heavy ship.