“What?”
“Ah, come on you know. They make a guy feel special. You know, strong and protective.”
“You mean ‘macho’?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Macho.”
“Sam is the biggest game player I’ve ever seen. I hate that I’m the only one who can see through her,” Maria snapped. “And, I hate macho!”
From now on, Zack decided, the only topic of conversation he was going to discuss with Maria-with-an-attitude was her precious Maya. Come, to think of it. Not even that.
Through the window of his bungalow he watched Samantha and Kyle. Sam had untied the straps of her swimsuit top and was holding it against her breasts with one hand. Her other hand held her radiant red hair off her lovely swan’s neck. Kyle was liberally rubbing suntan oil on her back. He looked up, saw Zack staring and kissed the nape of Samantha’s neck. Samantha glanced his way as well, giggled, and raised her bottle of beer in a toast.
Zack laid down on the bed his thoughts full Samantha. Samantha kissing Kyle, Samantha drinking beer with Kyle, Samantha having Kyle rub lotion all over her back and finally Kyle kissing Samantha’s neck.
He thought about his parent’s divorce, Clifton’s put-downs, and Kyle making out with Samantha. He slipped the map out of his back pocket, wadded it up and threw it across the room. It hit the wall, bounced off and landed on his crumpled up jeans. Didn’t matter. Now that he knew what it said he didn’t need it anymore.
Maria didn’t know everything. There was Spanish treasure in Santa Elena - the mustached smuggler had already found it. So wasn’t it possible that there was a whistling cave in Tikal? Maria had said that the person who found the codex would be famous and he could sure use a little fame right now. Maybe then Maria wouldn’t feel so superior. Maybe then his parents and even his uncle would be glad to have him as a member of their family. And, a little fame might be all he’d need to take Samantha away from Kyle.
Chapter Twelve
Maria exited the shower and shoved the prongs at the end of the blow-dryer into the socket. Zack’s drawing intrigued her. A whistling cave? Not likely. But, the odd thing was she’d recognized Michael’s handwriting. Since Michael had left before Zack had arrived how did Zack get hold of the drawing? She didn’t believe that he had just found it on the streets of Guatemala City. Not for a minute.
Zack was involved in something and she intended to find out what it was. While he and his brother weren’t from Florida they did have a connection through Clifton. She couldn’t believe their uncle was involved, but his nephews didn’t seem too noble.
Zack was definitely in another world as he stood at the top of the Temple of the Masks with his arms outstretched. There was a chimán who lived in here in Tikal. Maybe she should ask him the meaning of Zack’s vision. Then she reconsidered. Maybe Zack was right. Maybe it was the heat or stress. Or something worse.
Her feelings for Zack confused her, to put it mildly. One minute she was angry with him and the next embarrassed. There seemed to be nothing else. She’d felt protected that night in the jungle. She wished that he had been her protector because he liked her and not because he was just being macho. Zack had witnessed the most embarrassing moment of her whole life. Her face burned just thinking about it.
She surveyed her hair in the mirror and liked what she saw. Good. Now. What to wear? A dress? No, a dress would be too much. She pulled out a pair of white jeans, slipped them on, zipped them up and then pulled a crocheted white cotton blouse over her head. She’d picked up a tube of lipstick when she stopped cold. What was she doing? Trying to imitate Sam? She dropped the tube on the dresser and left for supper.
Once again, Mrs. Sanchez had outdone herself. On the table was a platter of tamales along with dishes of black beans, fried bananas, Spanish rice, tossed salad, chilled tropical fruit, and a plate of fresh, flour tortillas slathered in butter.
Looks good, Senora Sanchez,” Maria smiled as she slipped into a chair between Dusty and Josh. Dr. Collins and Clifton sat at the ends of the table. Linda sat next to Josh and beside her father. On the opposite side of the table was Sam, flanked by Bruce, Kyle and an empty chair that spoke of Zack’s absence.
Dr. Collins took a few minutes to say grace and then began passing the plates of food. Zack came in and without a word to anyone, settled into the empty chair next to his uncle and his brother.
Kyle turned a little sideways in his chair, his back to his brother. Come to think of it, she’d never seen Zack and Kyle joke around. In fact, they hardly even talked to each other. Was that normal for brothers? She didn’t have any siblings so she didn’t know what was normal or not. There were undercurrents here that she could feel, but not explain. She remembered the incident in the Plaza of the Seven Temples. At the time, she was so upset by Bruce’s little joke, and Zack’s violent outburst that she hadn’t realized how Kyle hadn’t stood up for his own brother. Instead, he’d yelled at Zack and had sided with Bruce.
Josh handed her the platter of tamales. She put two on her plate and passed the platter on to Dusty.
Maybe Zack was in a sulk because of what she’d said about girls like Samantha. Maybe she’d been too quick to anger. Maybe she should apologize. Her Grandmother Alexander had always told her, “Never apologize and never explain. Those are signs of weakness.”
She took the bowl of Spanish rice and spooned some on her plate. Whatever was bothering Zack didn’t seem to affect his appetite. He caught her studying him and she quickly glanced away.
What was it about this guy that got to her? She stole another quick glance at him then brought her eyes back to her food. There was something about the way his auburn hair fell in waves to the nap of his neck. Still, he’d lied to her about the drawing and she had no respect for liars.
She looked at Kyle and did a comparison. Both brothers were hunks in their own right, and that’s where the similarity stopped. Kyle had thick, dark brown hair with not a wave in it. And, although both brothers were tall, Zack’s shoulders were a slight touch broader and his waist and hips a little narrower. Zack’s face was totally different. He had a square, strong chin and a patrician nose like a Roman soldier. When he smiled dimples appeared, not that she’d seen him smile all that much. His eyes contained a sadness that never quite went away. What was up with that? Both brothers had blue eyes, but where Kyle’s were ice-blue and rather unnerving, Zack’s eyes were a deep, dark shade. She tried to think of the right color. Royal Blue? No, that wasn’t it. Azure? No, that didn’t seem right either. They were the deep rich blue of her mother’s Blue Willow plates. She smiled to herself. Comparing him to dishes!
“Maria?” Clifton interrupted.
She pulled herself out of her thoughts. Everyone at the table was staring at her. Even Zack. She wiped the stupid smile off her face.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“I heard from your father today,” Clifton said. “He’s fine, but there’s a fire not too far from where he’s working. He’s evacuated his assistants, but he’s going to stay as long as they’ll let him. If they make him leave, he’s going to Guatemala City to see you mom and then he’ll come here.”
“Oh,” she said, “I hadn’t heard about the fire. Thanks for telling me.” Shame washed over her. While her own wonderful father faced dangerous flames in the underbrush, she’d been filling her head with thoughts of Zack.
Chapter Thirteen
Zack woke up obsessed. He threw on his last clean shirt and pair of jeans, once again ignoring the crumpled pair on the floor. Later, he’d have to find out about doing laundry, but for right now he was on his way to search for the whistling cave.
He laid the map of the ruins on the bed and studied it. All roads, called causeways, circled The Great Plaza. The Mendez Causeway came into the Great Plaza from the southeast. The Tozzer Causeway began at the west side of the Great Plaza, ran in a straight line, and ended at Temple IV. Like the side of a triangle, the Maudsley Causeway ran north from Temple IV until it joined the Maler C
auseway at its apex. The Maler Causeway then ran south, ending behind Temple I in the Great Plaza. Trails, leading to different groups of structures, branched off from each of the causeways.
There were several locations he hadn’t been to. Today he’d stick to the area southwest of the Great Plaza. He’d go to Temple III, one of the tallest temples in Tikal, and from there go east to Bat Palace, south to the Plaza of the Lost World, and end up back in the Plaza of the Seven Temples. He would work his way around the ruins in an orderly fashion.
He shoved on his hat, grabbed his backpack, and left on the longer, but easier path that went through the Plaza of the Seven Temples and would lead to Temple III.
Droplets of water coated the leaves, giving the vegetation a slimy feel and a thick gray mist hugged the damp ground. He forced himself to ignore the voice in his head that kept telling him how foolish he was to be going down a trail obscured by fog where there could be snakes slithering below the mist. For a second he thought about going back, but then a picture of Sam and Kyle flashed in his mind so he continued on.
Last night at dinner, Sam and Kyle had announced that they were going to spend the day hanging out at the Great Plaza. Well, he wasn’t going there and didn’t have to worry about running into them.
He replayed the facts over and over again. The smugglers knew of the treasure in Santa Elena. They knew about the existence of the codex. Ergo, Michael wasn’t lying. And, if Michael wasn’t lying, then the map was real. There was a whistling cave somewhere in the ruins, and he was determined to find it.
By the time he reached the Plaza of the Seven Temples, the mist had burned off and the temperature had begun to rise. His shirt clung to his body and droplets of perspiration ran down the sides of his face. He entered one of the vacant rooms of a palace and sank to the floor, relishing the shade. He took a long drink of water from his waterbottle, then pulled off his hat and doused his head.
As he sat there in the empty room, he imagined Maria as she’d been that night, frightened and vulnerable. He remembered the words she had said to him. “It could have been anybody. It just happened to be you.” Then, he thought of her as she’d looked at the dinner table. The way her white blouse set off the golden glow of her skin. The way her soft and silky hair fell over her shoulders. He sighed. She changed so dramatically from one minute to the next that he didn’t know what to really think of her. All he knew was that no one affected him the way she did. And, that her words could cut - just like the smuggler’s knife.
He set his hat on his head, got up and walked out into the hot sun. At least no tourists were in this area, not yet anyway. He heard birds, but didn’t see any. Likewise the monkeys’ chatter seemed muted and far away. He passed the sloping walls of the Mayan ball court and thought of the story Maria had told, remembering the words, “The only ones daring enough to play are dead.” He shuddered. He’d been raised on Disney fairytales. She’d been raised on myths about decapitations and ritual bloodlettings.
At the base of Temple III the lightheadedness he’d felt before at the Temple of the Masks enveloped him and a warning bell sounded in his head. He paused as he attempted to grasp what his body was trying to tell him.
Once again he found himself several centuries in the past.
He turned, lifted his foot, and began climbing the temple steps. The light dimmed. Heavy clouds of gunmetal gray covered the sun and obscured the blue sky. Within the clouds lightning flashed and he could smell ozone and the approaching rain. Trees bowed down from the force of the wind and groups of parrots screamed as they flew overhead, warning of the incoming squall.
Still he climbed, higher and higher. This time no crowd gathered below the temple waiting for him to speak. And, he wasn’t wearing the heavy headdress and backrack, but had his long red hair parted in the middle and wrapped in braids woven with red cotton strips. The wind picked up the braids and whipped them against his face. His thick leather skirt beat against his thighs and his sandals made a slapping sound on the limestone steps. He climbed with a measured gait. When a sudden gust pushed at him, he paused, steadying himself for a moment before beginning to climb once again. Just as he could feel the impending storm, he could also feel the threat of war and his determination to do what the gods demanded.
In his right hand he grasped a flint knife; its blade carved in his likeness. He kept his mind blank, deliberately not thinking about what was to come within the next few minutes. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Steady, one step at a time. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. He reached the temple’s summit and stepped upon the platform in front of the chamber of rooms.
His chimán waited, dressed once again in the jaguar skin. In front of the priest, down on bent knee was the sacrificial victim, painted blue and naked except for his loincloth. His arms were tied behind his back and the chimán’s right hand rested on his neck.
Zack approached the victim and the priest forced the captive to stand.
The prisoner trembled as Zack tightened his grip on the flint knife and raised his arm. Suddenly, without emotion of any kind, Zack thrust the knife deep in the captive’s chest. Warm, thick blood spurted, covering both Zack and the priest. It gushed out, running down his arms as he twisted the blade violently, cutting out the victim’s heart. Zack’s hands and arms were red with blood as he raised the still beating heart and offered it as a sacrifice to the gods.
From a faraway and distant time, Zack heard himself scream.
When he woke up he was lying in the small room at the temple’s summit. A woman with long, dark hair was kneeling over him. She was speaking to him, but he couldn’t understand her babbling. She poured water on a napkin and wiped his forehead. Still, she kept talking. He closed his eyes. A cool breeze brushed over his face. He opened his eyes again and realized that the woman was Maria.
She was fanning him with his hat, her dark eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay?” she asked. “What happened?”
Zack stared at her face, unable to talk.
“Zack?” she repeated, looking alarmed. “Zack!”
He licked his lips, but the words wouldn’t come.
She put the waterbottle to his mouth. He took a sip, choked, and pushed it away. She wrapped her arms around him and helped him to sit up. Finally he found his voice. “You’re here.”
“Yes,” she said. “I am. Are you all right?”
“I think so,” he said. Suddenly, he began shaking.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, holding him tightly. “You’re okay. It’s all over now.”
When she released him, he looked at the backs of his hands and then turned them over and studied the palms. They were normal. No blood. He looked up at the blue sky. The sun was shining. There were no clouds and hardly a breeze. “Where’d you come from?”
“I was looking for you. Josh told me you he’d seen you leave.” She paused and smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “I called out to you when you were climbing the temple steps but you didn’t hear me. Before I could get to you I heard you scream. What happened?”
“I had another one of those . . . ” Zack closed his eyes and shook his head. He still couldn’t control his trembling. “I can’t talk about it.”
She hugged him again. “It’s all right. You don’t have to.” Suddenly she lowered her voice and whispered, “Zack! Quick! Look over there!”
He turned his head and followed her gaze. At the edge of the undergrowth stood a jaguar, his black and gold coat gleaming in the sunlight. He remained there for a few seconds gazing up at them. Then he turned and disappeared into the shadows.
“The name of this temple is the Temple of the Jaguar Priest,” Maria told him.
“Let’s get out of here,” Zack said. She helped him to his feet. He looked down at the steep temple steps, wishing there was a railing to hold on to.
He gave up his plans of exploring Bat Palace and the Lost World and decided to go back to his bungalow and to normalcy.
As they came to the Temple of the Masks in the Gre
at Plaza, he saw the same Maya workman he’d seen before.
“That’s Chujal,” Maria said and a shiver ran through Zack’s body. He’d seen this man by the scaffolding behind the Temple of the Giant Jaguar and had imagined seeing him in the temple they’d explored. Now he also remembered him from the nightmare he’d had in Guatemala City. For a moment it looked like Chujal was going to approach them, but he didn’t. He only stared.
“Zack,” Maria began, but Zack cut her off.
“Let it drop. Okay?”
“No,” Maria said as they walked along. “There’s something I need to tell you about, but please keep an open mind.” Zack didn’t respond so she continued, “Chajul is a Maya chimán. Oh, c’mon! Don’t make a face! I talked with him about your vision and he told me something very interesting. Before Cortez conquered Flores in 1697, it was the Maya city of Tayasal, the last Maya holdout against the Spanish. Cortez and his soldiers destroyed it. But, get this Zack, when the bloody battle was over, among the captives was a white man with red hair. He, his wife and children left with the Spaniards. Supposedly to go to the New World.”
“So?”
“We don’t know what happened to him. But, Zack, white people don’t have Maya visions. Only people with Maya blood have Maya visions. Isn’t there someplace in your family’s history that might tell us whether this man could be part of your ancestry? Could you have been this man when you stood at the top of the Temple of the Masks?”
“No,” Zack said harshly. He didn’t know anything about his ancestors, but he wasn’t going to accept the idea that he was descended from a monster.
“He was probably a shipwrecked sailor,” Maria added. “Chujal also said that your vision means you are destined for great things and that you are under the protection of Itzmana. Chujal said that it is not an accident that you are here at this specific time. It was foreseen. He also said you’ll seek him out when the time comes. When you need him.”
Ninth Lord of the Night Page 11
