The Joshua Files - a complete box set: Books 1-5 of the young adult sci-fi adventure series plus techno-thriller prequel

by M. G. Harris

  From behind me, Ixchel pipes up again. “He IS a demon, he will bring the curse of Ek Naab upon you all. He brought me here from Xibalba! Beware, don’t cross him. . .”

  Rain Son seems mortified at Ixchel’s outburst. He’s just starting to tell her to shut up when Crunching Jaguar raises his hand.

  “Is this a girl?” He looks Ixchel up and down. She’s dressed more or less the same as me; jeans, T-shirt and trainers. Our clothes must look pretty weird to the Mayans.

  “I’m the demon Josh’s servant,” Ixchel replies venomously. “He rescued me from the underworld. He can take you back there whenever he pleases.”

  Her words certainly have an impact. I can’t tell if the guards believe her or not, but the fact that she’s saying it at all and in such a confident, angry way is forcing them to stop and think.

  “Try to persuade them not to split us up,” I tell Ixchel in English. “As soon as someone unties my hands I’m gonna grab you and use the Bracelet to get us home.”

  Rain Son struggles to restrain himself from telling me to shut up, but I can see he’s livid. Crunching Jaguar, on the other hand, seems delighted to finally hear my voice. He smiles for the first time, a taut, toothsome grin.

  “The demon speaks!”

  Ixchel insists, “He asks that you untie him and present him to Lord Yuknoom Ch’een.”

  Crunching Jaguar’s head swivels, fixing a penetrating gaze on Ixchel. “You speak for the demon, do you, little sister?”

  “He brought me from Xibalba, from the underworld, to speak for him,” Ixchel says. I have to hand it to Ixchel, she’s a good actress. She manages to sound haughty and angry when I know that she must be as frightened as I am.

  Rain Son coughs, bowing his head. I wonder who this Crunching Jaguar is to him. Someone he respects hugely, that’s for sure. His father, perhaps?

  “Crunching Jaguar, look at his arm.”

  Crunching Jaguar grabs my left forearm from behind me and pulls it close, examining the Bracelet of Itzamna. I’m twisted around as he looks, so I can’t see his expression, but I hear the reaction in his voice. He gives a low whistle, drops my arm. Violently he grabs my chin, forcing me to return his gaze. His grip intensifies; his hand applies crushing pressure to my jaw.

  “You’re no demon, boy,” he whispers in a voice that oozes menace. “You’re a foreigner; anyone can see that. But even worse – you’re a thief.”

  When he finally releases me, I notice that one of my back teeth feels loose.

  Crunching Jaguar grins, his eyes beady with sadistic anticipation. He’s so close that I can smell his rotten-cabbage breath. He turns briefly to Rain Son with a quick nod, takes a step back into the shadows.

  Rain Son steps into the torchlight, holds his knife at eye level. Unlike Crunching Jaguar, his expression seems pompous and grave. Trying to show us that there’s important work to be done and he’s just the serious guy for the job. He lowers the blade until its black, chiselled edge touches the sleeve of my T-shirt. Carefully, he lifts the sleeve, slices upwards, cuts straight through the cotton weave. His eyes bore into mine. He lowers the knife to my skin. A fresh sweat breaks out all over my skin as he slides the blade down to the Bracelet of Itzamna on my forearm.

  He’s going to try to cut it off. Our only way of escape. . .

  Rain Son slides the weapon between the Bracelet and my arm. As he turns it against the metal, the edge bites into my skin. It’s like broken glass; it cuts easily into my flesh, releases a thread of blood. Instinctively I twist and slide my arms upwards until his blade slices through the twine around my wrists. We’re locked together for a few seconds as Rain Son tries to figure out what’s happening, and how his knife hand managed to get all tangled up with my arms.

  When I spring free of him my hands are untied. I stagger forward, break the fall with my hands. That’s when I notice there’s blood streaming from deep scratches in both my arms. His blade is insanely sharp. I hardly felt a thing.

  Rain Son leaps forward with a yell. He lunges at me with his blade, but I sweep a gancho kick right into his blows. It’s not the most effective execution of the move, because I’m still attached to Ixchel by the collar. Yet Rain Son seems flabbergasted that I’m putting up any kind of resistance. My kick connects with his knife arm, right on the funny bone – a very useful move. In the second during which his arm is paralysed, probably jangling with electrical weirdness, I grab it with my left hand. I slam his blade down on to the cord between our wooden collars. It cuts through; the cord snaps in two.

  Ixchel and I spring apart. Euphoria surges through me; I can move freely for the first time since they captured us. I feel ready to bounce off the temple walls.

  Rain Son, eyes blazing with fury, leaps at me with his knife held high . . . but I’m already diving under his legs in a defensive roll. When he lands, he has to twist to find me with his eyes; I’m already behind him. I dive, land on my hands, arc my upper body into a meia lua reversao: the spinning heel kick. The first kick catches him across the jaw with a satisfying crack. I keep pivoting, follow through with another kick half a second later.

  Rain Son doesn’t know what’s hit him. He slumps to the floor, stunned.

  I don’t think I’ve ever struck anyone that hard. Frankly I’m amazed at the power of the kick when it’s done for real, not as part of a capoeira play. I bounce lightly, flexing my still-stiff arms, watching Rain Son as he tries to get back up. My chest heaves with the effort of breathing, heart pounding away inside.

  For one golden second every one of us simply stares in total disbelief at Rain Son lying crumpled on the floor, almost merging into his own torchlit shadow.

  Then Crunching Jaguar comes to his senses. A deep roar erupts from his throat; he throws himself at me. He’s fast – but with an acrobatic mortal de frente, I flip right across his back. There’s an audible gasp from the temple guards. After a tiny hesitation, Mountain Jaguar and Tree Frog attack next, together. I dodge Mountain Jaguar with a handflip, but Tree Frog seems to have realized that I always end up behind my attacker. He’s there waiting. Before I can prepare a kick, he slams his body against mine and knocks me to the ground.

  I’m still seeing stars when Fish Face appears in the air behind Tree Frog, squealing like a pig. He lands on top of Tree Frog and squashes us both beneath his stocky bulk.

  It knocks the wind right out of me. I’m about ready to suffocate when both guys are unceremoniously dragged off me by Crunching Jaguar and his men. I’m next, hauled to my feet by both arms, each in the firm grip of a temple guard. Everyone is rigid, waiting for Crunching Jaguar to react. But he just stands there, hands on his hips, staring at me, impassive.

  Without taking his eyes from mine, he approaches slowly and in a quiet voice asks, “What was that?”

  Everybody, Ixchel included, waits in silence. I don’t know how but I can tell that Crunching Jaguar knows that I understand him. Confused, I glance at Ixchel, but she looks as indecisive as I feel.

  “How can you move like that?” he asks. “Tell me or die.”

  With those simple words, Crunching Jaguar puts his knife to my throat.

  I gasp a few times and cough, trying to get enough wind to speak. “A dance that is a fight,” I mumble, trying out the words in Yucatec. “From a land far away.”

  My answer seems to surprise Crunching Jaguar. “A dance that is a fight?” He lowers the blade but continues to stare at me expectantly.

  I clear my throat. “For play. For fighting also.”

  Crunching Jaguar’s stern features break into a wide smile. “You were playing with Rain Son?” In a low voice, he chuckles. The temple warriors holding my arms follow him, beginning to laugh.

  I don’t know what else to say, so I nod. Crunching Jaguar gestures at the temple guards to let go of my arms. He grabs my left wrist and raises it so that the Bracelet is between us, almost at eye level. Still fixing me with a glare, he says, “You took something that does not belong to you.”

  “
It’s mine,” I tell him softly.

  “This is a holy object,” he bellows, “and it belongs to the Chilam Balam!” His outburst is so unexpected that I actually jump in alarm. As I’m reacting, he gives my wrist a quick snap. Before I know what’s happened I’ve fallen to my knees in agony. One arm is twisted behind my back in a searing lock. Crunching Jaguar slides the Bracelet down my forearm and over the wrist. When he looks at me again he raises the Bracelet of Itzamna, touches it reverently to his lips. Then he frowns, contorting his scarred, painted face into a grotesque mask. It’s almost theatrical – as if he’s doing it to impress the other warriors. “The Chilam Balam – our Jaguar Priest – will deal with you in the morning.”

  He backs away then, signalling with his hands to the temple guards.

  “Take him inside the palace. Tie him up again – this time his feet too.” Then slowly, Crunching Jaguar turns to Ixchel. He strolls over to her, drawing himself up, pushing out his chest and chin. He circles her, looking her up and down with a critical eye, like a farmer inspecting a horse. The temple guards pull my arms roughly behind me as I helplessly watch Ixchel being weighed up in this creep’s mind. I watch in silence; meanwhile they bind my hands again.

  Ixchel has the sense not to stare back at Crunching Jaguar. He’s got that look about him now, nostrils flared, eyes wild, teeth bared – as though he’s won a battle. I notice that he’s slipped the Bracelet on to his wrist. He rolls it casually around his arm as he makes up his mind about Ixchel. She keeps her gaze low, somewhere in the middle ground between herself and me.

  In empty space, our eyes meet. We gaze at each other then – it only lasts a few seconds, maybe three. But in that one look, I know; I feel it, just as keenly as if she’d said the words, and it’s like a miracle, I think, that you can say so much with one look; I didn’t know it was possible.

  Time is suspended. In that moment, everything we mean to each other becomes crystal clear. Ixchel is terrified of being separated from me.

  I can hardly breathe.

  Ixchel nods once, and then Crunching Jaguar sticks his face right against hers and yells, “You, foreigner, better say farewell to your ‘demon’ lord, girl. You’re a slave here, nothing but a slave!”

  Ixchel is shivering, eyes wide with fear. Tree Frog and Mountain Jaguar are practically smacking their lips together as they start to haul Ixchel away, dragging her by the wooden collar. Ixchel breaks into a sob. At the sound of her terror, I can’t stop myself – I struggle against the guards, elbowing them both in the side, yelling with frustration. It’s no use. The instant I begin to resist they grip mercilessly, dig sharp into my arms. At the scratch of a dagger against the back of my neck, I freeze.

  “Don’t you dare hurt her!” I blurt in English. Then I rattle off a few choice curse words in English and Spanish too. I’m almost spitting with rage. For a second, I can see they’re impressed. Crunching Jaguar turns on his heel, slowly. I can tell that he means to intimidate me. It works. He crosses the circle of glowing orange light that surrounds the one temple guard who hasn’t budged since we arrived in the Snake Kingdom. Centimetres away from my face, he stops and puts his head on to one side.

  “What is she to you?”

  I don’t know how to answer him; I don’t have the words. “Don’t hurt her,” I manage to say, pleading with my eyes. Crunching Jaguar nods, not without sympathy, although he doesn’t seem to have changed his mind about anything.

  “The girl is a slave,” he says gravely. “Found in the king’s lands – she belongs to Lord Yuknoom. He will decide her fate. These warriors will not harm her. She belongs to their king. Clear-Eyed Demon, do you understand me?”

  I nod, trembling. They pull Ixchel away then, less roughly, but pretty insistently. She’s still sobbing. In another second she’s vanished into the shadows of the pyramid.

  Only minutes later, I think back to that moment, and I wish I’d said something, anything. Later, I think of any number of bold and memorable things. Any one of them would have been fine last words for a girl you’re crazy about and might never see again. That’s when I decide.

  I’ll see Ixchel again, somehow. I’m going to make that happen; that’s promise number one. Number two is this: I don’t care where it is or what is going on around us, next time I see Ixchel I’m going to say it.

  They haul me inside the stone palace. I don’t have the energy to resist. There’s a single tunnel inside, leading to rooms lit by torchlight. I can’t see inside the doorways we pass; they’re blocked by curtains of woven palm fronds. Probably bedrooms, judging by the snores, most likely quarters for the priest class. The temple guards pause in front of one of the doors, then push me to the ground. One guy busies himself with tying up my legs, nice and slow. He hums tunelessly as he works. Then they sit with their backs against the opposite walls. With a single word, one orders me to sleep. They glare at me until I close my eyes and try to relax.

  It’s hard to imagine how I’ll get any sleep, lying on hard stone, hands and knees bound so tightly that it hurts. After a while I notice that I’m still trembling all over. My mind races with images of all the horrific things that might be happening to Ixchel. A slave, in this place, in this time. What could that mean? It keeps hitting me, harder every time, just what a nightmare situation we’ve been forced into. Hard to believe things could get worse than this – trapped in the Mayan past, prisoners of a violent warrior who probably answers to an even more violent king.

  I take a few deep breaths. I wish I could cry, just sob away like a heartbroken little kid. But I can’t. My eyes are dry; my chest feels blocked up. Something’s shifting inside my brain – something is taking control. I might even believe that I’m numb with fear, if it weren’t that there’s something I’m even more afraid of than being trapped here, waiting for my fate. Something that, if I let it get hold of me, will finish me for ever.

  Fear itself. That’s the killer. That idea seems very concrete now. I can sense part of my mind just ready to shut down and give in, to collapse and start blaming people for what’s happened, to panic, to surrender.

  But I’ve been here before. The night I was lost in the woods after Camila died was the first time. I thought the fear was going to eat me alive then, until I remembered that in a survival situation you have to stay calm, make a plan.

  Sometimes, it takes a miracle or the help of good mates to save you. My mum would say that it’s God, but I’m not sure I can agree. There must be plenty of people who prayed to God and still died. Still, I figure a prayer can’t hurt me. It might even help focus my mind. So I say a few Hail Marys. I whisper them over and over until I start to sound like my mum and her religious friends saying the rosary. For some reason, that makes me laugh. One of the guards pokes me with his foot. Weirdly, though, I do feel better, calmer.

  Use this time. Make a plan.

  I try to remember some of the Mayan history I’ve been studying. Yuknoom Ch’een II was the greatest king of Calakmul, which was known as the Snake Kingdom by the Maya. He ruled for fifty years, led a victory over the other great Mayan kingdom, Tikal. I wonder what kind of person he was. There’s almost no Mayan history recorded – only what you find in temple inscriptions. Since the kings order what is inscribed on temples, I guess it might not be completely truthful.

  Tomorrow, I’ll meet the Chilam Balam – the Jaguar Priest. They reckon that I stole my Bracelet of Itzamna off him. Their own Bracelet can only have been brought here by the agent of the Sect of Huracan.

  Maybe their agent is still here? Even if he isn’t, somewhere along the line, that other Bracelet has been taken by the Jaguar Priest. People know about it here; they’ve seen it. Crunching Jaguar called the Bracelet a “holy relic”.

  I stretch my legs and try to get comfortable. Now that I’ve started to think this through, I’m struggling with a tiredness that hits me like a wave.

  Two Bracelets? I guess it makes sense that there would be more than one – the Bracelet doesn’t seem to be designe
d for transporting more than one person. Ixchel felt really sick after hitch-hiking along with me, said it was a horrible experience. It felt fine for me, though, as the Bracelet-wearer.

  Maybe Itzamna the time traveller made two Bracelets. Or maybe he found two? It makes more sense that he found them, when I think about it. Itzamna is from the future – he wrote the four Books of Itzamna, including the Ix Codex, in English, a modern language. The Bracelet seems to be Erinsi technology – just like everything else in Ek Naab. Itzamna didn’t create any of that knowledge – he found it on a temple wall near a place called Izapa and copied it down.

  So who were the Erinsi? I think through all the facts I know about them. The original time-travelling race, who built the Revival Chambers, who created mysterious technology that will protect the earth from the galactic superwave in 2012.

  It dawns on me that I can’t be sure if Itzamna is from the future after all. He might know English – but if the Erinsi used time travel then they might know English too. Itzamna could be one of the last surviving Erinsi.