Once again, Chujal spoke in Mayan. When he finished, Maria said, “Knowledge of your lineage has been scattered to the four directions by earthly spirits who would steal pieces of your soul to deny you your heritage. They would keep you hidden from the spirits of your ancestors. But, you are blessed and protected by Itzamna who has released your ch’ulel and allowed you to visit your ancestors in your waking dreams. Seek yourself by the path of silence, and pay tribute by the gift of night.”
Zack’s spirit plummeted. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but this wasn’t it. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I don’t feel very blessed or protected.”
Maria translated Zack’s words. Chujal’s eyes softened. He reached out, covered one of Zack’s hands with his own and continued softly. With his other hand he gestured to the sky.
Maria interpreted, “Your vision has been obscured. Only now are you beginning to see. Each night the world dies, to be reborn the next day. Watch the night sky, it is the story of creation, and the story of your rebirth. You must journey down the Path of Awe and reclaim the gift of Itzamna for the Men of Maize. Then you will be a warrior. Then you will control your own destiny and view your enemies through the eyes of your nahual.”
He gently squeezed Zack’s hand and stood up. Zack and Maria stood as well. Chujal turned, disappeared into the mist, and left them standing under the branches of the ceibal tree.
“That was as clear as mud,” Zack said. “What did he mean by ch’ulel?”
“He meant your spirit, your soul. The Maya believe that the ch’ulel can travel to other times and dimensions and visit with ancestral spirits. That’s what was happening to you in your visions, your ch’ulel was traveling.”
“And the man I saw is an ancestor? What was that about a horse?”
“The first time Cortez came to Lake Peten Itza his men left a sick horse in the jungle. The Maya had never seen a horse before and they nursed it and cared for it. After it died, they created a statue of the animal. Chujal said that it was your ancestor who came with the horse. Maybe Cortez left him behind, too.”
“When he said I had to reclaim the gift of Itzamna, he meant I have to retrieve the codex didn’t he?” Zack asked.
“I think so,” Maria said.
“What then is the Path of Awe?”
“The Path of Awe is the road that leads down into Xibalba.”
“The underworld? The land of the demons?”
“Yes, and when he spoke about seeing your rebirth in the night sky, he was referring to the Maya creation myth which is told in the constellations. He meant something’s going to happen to you during the night that will change you. Because of it you will be reborn.”
The shaman hadn’t been much help. The message was only weird mumbo jumbo. He was supposed to honor his ancestors by retrieving the codex. To do that he’d have to go back into that room again, or have someone do it for him. He would rather forget all about the holy book, than to ask someone to do something he couldn’t do himself. He told himself that it was just a dirty, smelly room. Nothing more. He’d just have to restrain his ch’ulel, and keep it from wandering.
Chapter Twenty
The storm came at dawn. Lightning bolts split the thick gunmetal clouds and thunderclaps shook the bungalow. Wind whipped the thin curtains and rain hammered the corrugated roof, pouring over the edges with a deafening roar. Zack waited all day for the storm to pass, but it never let up.
At dusk Clifton came out of the house, carrying a bowl covered with plastic wrap, passing Kyle and Bruce as they dashed into the house for supper.
Zack had the door open before his uncle could knock.
“It’s really nasty out there,” Clifton commented. “I brought you something to eat.”
Zack took the bowl of steaming beef stew. “Thanks,” he said. “I’d planned on running over there a little later.”
“Dr. Collins and I have come to a decision,” Clifton stated, and Zack braced himself. “These third world countries have a cruel side you can’t even imagine. Power is everything in Guatemala. The military can do whatever they want, whenever they want, to anybody they want. Not long ago an American innkeeper was tortured and murdered because he discovered a major smuggling ring run by military officers. Smuggling drugs and Maya artifacts is a major business, not just something people do for kicks. The military hate the Maya, why is a long story, but they’ve committed torture and genocide to rid Guatemala of them. To them Maya artifacts have no value except monetary.”
“I’m not . . . ” Zack interrupted, but his uncle motioned for him to keep quiet.
“I know that if we call in the authorities you’ll be dead within a month, and you will have suffered in ways you can’t even imagine. Guatemalan prisoners tend to lose their body parts. There is no way I could allow anything like that to happen to you. On the other hand, these smuggling rings are vicious and if we don’t do something we’ll find you knifed in your bed. As it is, we’ve taken a big chance letting you stay here this long. If you would just tell us who these people are, who that guy was, you’d be safe then.”
Zack knew he’d be dead then. “I don’t know who that guy was. I saw him in Guatemala City, that’s all.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“Well, try harder.”
“Dr. Collins wanted to give you over to the park police, but I convinced him that we should just send you home. Believe me, you don’t want to end up in a Guatemalan prison. And, I don’t want you in there either. Get your stuff together. We’ll be flying to Guatemala City in the morning.”
Zack’s heart skipped a beat. This was what he’d been wanting – only now it was too late. There was something he needed to do.
Clifton left and Zack watched him jog across the patio and go into the house before removing the plastic wrap and wolfing down the best beef stew he’d ever tasted.
He stared out the window at the pelting rain. The storm showed no signs of weakening and tonight was his only chance to get the codex. He tried to think of something he could say in the morning that would convince his uncle to let him stay. But, even if he told about the murdered man in the alley it would only alert the murderer to him as a potential threat and Zack doubted if the smuggler would allow him to hang around and testify.
He was supposed to retrieve the codex. Somehow, having the book would make everything all right. That’s what the chimán had said, and Zack believed him although he didn’t know why. He’d get the codex, turn it over to the authorities, and get his fifteen minutes of fame. But, it had to be tonight. Tomorrow would be too late.
He waited until midnight. The house lights had been turned off and the only sounds were the wind and the driving rain. Zack dressed in a dark shirt and jeans, covered himself with insect repellent, grabbed his backpack, and slipped out the door.
The dank air muted the jungle noises. He took the longer route and although the canopy protected him somewhat from the rain, great drops of water spilled from the branches above. It collected in the brim of his hat and flowed over his face and down his back, soaking his clothes in seconds. He turned on the low beam of his flashlight, knowing it wouldn’t be noticeable through the thick jungle brush, but the downpour only reflected and refracted the light.
Several times he slipped on the narrow muddy path, banging his hands and kneecaps on tree roots or pieces of limestone and covering his clothes with slimy muck.
The rain had lessened to a light mist by the time he stepped into courtyard of the Plaza of the Seven Temples. It was good to be out in the open. He passed the temple steps where he’d sat while Maria told the story of the Ninth Lord of the Night. That seemed eons ago. Passing by the palaces, he tried not to think about the skulls and crossed bones that decorated the facades.
When he reached the Mayan ball courts he paused. Ahead in the darkness loomed the Temple of the Jaguar Priest. Cold shills ran down his spine as he remembered the sacrifice vision he’d had there. He sucked in air as he psyched hims
elf up to approach the monstrous structure. Stay cool, he told himself. Don’t panic.
Suddenly a beam of light jerked on the trail in front of him. Someone else was out here in the middle of the night. Quickly he extinguished his own beam. Following as closely as he dared, he crept along the jungle path, watching the light disappear around the bends and reappear as the path straightened out.
When he reached the Great Plaza, Zack remained in the shadow of the Temple of the Masks, watching the flashlight bob along the open area of the grassy courtyard. Lightning flashed and Zack recognized the tall lean form of the mustached smuggler. The murderer crossed the Great Plaza and disappeared around the side of the Temple of the Giant Jaguar.
Zack sprinted across the wet grass, lost his footing, and like a ball player sliding into home base, slid to a stop at the bottom of the staircase. He got to his feet and inched around the temple’s side, looking for a beam of light. There was none. He bent over, crept to the small ball court that flanked the temple, and waited.
Minutes later, the flashlight beam reappeared. It bounced up the steps as the smuggler mounted the broad stairway of the Central Acropolis. A sick feeling materialized in the pit of Zack’s stomach. The smuggler was going for the codex.
The flashlight beam vanished. Zack remembered that a building separated the interior of the Central Acropolis from the platform at the summit of the staircase. The smuggler could be standing in that structure and not be visible from below.
Zack was halfway to the base of the staircase when lightning once again lit up the sky. He prayed that the smuggler was too focused on his objective to stop and look behind him.
He reached the base of the staircase and scaled the steep limestone steps on his knees and elbows. At the top step, he let his labored breathing return to normal, before peering over the edge.
He saw only darkness. He scrambled to his feet and crept into velvety blackness of the palace. He knew there was a room that opened onto the plazas of the Central Acropolis, but it wasn’t visible in the dark. Abruptly light spilled through the doorway followed immediately by a crash of thunder. The light lasted only an instant, but that was enough. Zack got his bearings and raced to the small chamber at the rear of the building.
The wet limestone did a good job of reflecting the blinding strobes. Except for the puddles the courtyard was empty. He crossed the plaza, the thunderclaps and pouring rain masking the noises he made as he splashed through the puddles. He reached a small staircase built onto the side of palace. Then the lightening ceased and he was in total darkness. He leaned against the building, slowly feeling his way, listening to the sound of the torrential rain. He reached the corner and saw the flashlight’s beam in the adjacent plaza.
Once again a blinding strobe of lightning pieced the sky. Zack ducked back and held his breath. When he ventured out a second time, the circle of light had disappeared. He bolted to a palace across the courtyard, his backpack swinging against his side, his hand still gripping his flashlight tightly, as if it were a club.
He followed the wall of the building and came to the end. The murderer was nowhere to be seen. He’d stepped away from the protection of the building when the light reappeared. Quickly, he flattened himself against the wall and waited.
The smuggler remained motionless, his flashlight illuminating the rain that fell within its perimeter. Then, with a click, the light was gone.
Zack counted the seconds. He got to forty-seven, heard another click, and the light came back on. It moved around the courtyard, and up and down the buildings. Then, the murderer entered a palace and the beam died out.
At the edge of the palace doorway, he heard Raymond curse the rain before exiting the building and entering the next plaza. As he followed the murderer through more plazas and more buildings, Zack smiled inwardly and his hopes began to build. The murderer might be going in the right direction, but he was going the wrong way. The room that contained the codex could only be reached from the south side of the acropolis.
The lightning flashes were more intermittent now and Zack strained to see in the darkness. He felt his way along, taking one careful step and then another, not daring to turn on his own flashlight. When the stairway he was on ended, he expected to come to another building, instead the walkway angled to the left. He missed the sharp turn, lost his balance, and tumbled down a flight of narrow steps. His flashlight clattered as it rolled down the stone staircase, the sound echoing throughout the ruins.
He scrambled to his feet, blinded by the smuggler’s flashlight. Lightning flashed and for an instant Zack saw the tall form of the murderer silhouetted against blackness.
“You?” Raymond growled. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
Zack raised his arm up over his eyes and squinted against the light. “Following you,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“Smart ass kid!” Raymond muttered, smacking Zack across the mouth.
Zack ran his tongue over his lip and tasted blood.
“Accidents happen very easily to tough boys who wander around the ruins all alone in the dark,” Raymond said. “Don’t you know that? Tough boy?”
“I’m not alone,” Zack said. “My uncle is right behind me.”
Raymond chuckled. “That’s bullshit kid.”
Zack put all his weight behind a punch, even in the rain his right fist connected squarely and solidly on the older man’s jaw. Caught by surprise, the smuggler dropped the flashlight and staggered back. But, he didn’t fall. He threw out his right fist. Zack blocked it; not realizing until too late that it was a feint. A low uppercut forced the air out of Zack’s lungs and he doubled over.
Raymond grabbed a fistful of wet hair, yanked Zack’s head up, and pounded his fist into the side of Zack’s face. Zack staggered back, his knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground, breathing heavily and unable to focus.
Slowly, he raised himself up on his elbows, dragged one leg underneath him, and then the other. The smuggler lashed out at him with his boot. Zack cried out in pain, arching his back as spasms permeated his body. He lay against the base of a stairway, flat on his back, waiting for the pain to subside.
The smuggler picked up the flashlight in his left hand. Along with the falling rain, Zack saw the huge blade of Raymond’s Navy Seal SOG knife.
“You stupid punk,” Raymond spat. “Get up!”
Instead, Zack turned on his stomach and with deep painful breaths, began to climb up the staircase. He’d only managed a few steps when he raised his head and looked up. What he saw caused him to sink back down in terror.
An enormous jaguar crouched on the platform at the top of the staircase. Its round, golden eyes stared beyond Zack and locked on the smuggler behind him. Streaks of lightning pierced the sky and the wind increased, blowing Zack’s hair from his face.
A low growl began deep in the animal’s throat, and then grew in intensity. The cat turned its massive head and snarled. The angry heavens opened up. Huge fangs gleamed in the exploding lightning and thunder shook the air.
Suddenly the massive cat soared over Zack and into the arms of the smuggler. Locked in an embrace, the jaguar and Raymond fell to the ground and Zack saw the knife drop from the smuggler’s hand.
Zack reached for his backpack, grabbed it, and ran.
Behind him, screams and growls echoed throughout the Central Acropolis. Zack sprinted around buildings and up and down staircases. He flew through the courtyards, slipping, stumbling, and falling on the wet stone as he tried to retrace his steps.
Instead he found himself on top of the retaining wall at the rear of the Acropolis. A gunshot reverberated throughout the limestone ruins as he jumped blindly, falling into the undergrowth, landing in a clump of ferns, and half-rolling half-stumbling down the side of the slope.
Ignoring his body’s screams of pain, Zack crawled through the thick mud and scratchy scrub on hands and knees. He went down and across the ravine and then up the slope on the other side. As if on cue, the rain
s lessened to a mist and the jungle came to life. Noises filled the air and terror of the unknown was added to Zack’s fears. Wings flapped against his head, caressing his hair. Instinctively he ducked. He raised his arm to knock it away, but it had already gone. His sudden movement brought new and sharper pain.
His wet jeans chafed the insides of his thighs and dragged him down. Mud, loose leaves, and debris stuck to his arms and shirt. The slimy foliage, thick with moisture, stank with an earthy, putrid odor.
Still, he crawled on until he reached the top of the ravine where he slumped against the side of decaying temple. Slowly, carefully, muscle-by-muscle, he relaxed. He wondered if he was sitting on any poisonous insects or snakes. He wondered if he would feel it if they bit him. He remembered what he’d been told about getting lost in the jungle, especially at night. He still had his backpack, but his flashlight lay in the Central Acropolis. He was disoriented, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t dead. Not yet, although, he’d certainly done his best to prove his stupidity to himself and the rest of the world by getting beaten up and lost in the jungle - on the eve of his deportation.
He’d be asleep now if he’d stayed in his bungalow. He’d be comfortable. He’d be dry. What was he doing out here anyway? This business had nothing to do with him. Not really.
Except, of course, it did.
Then he saw it. High above him and across the ravine was a light that could only be from a flashlight held by someone standing on top of the retaining wall. The beam swung across the scrub in an arc and rested on a spot that, although Zack couldn’t be positive, seemed likely to be the location of the ferns he’d crushed when he jumped. Didn’t this guy ever give up?
The flashlight beam bobbed and danced along the retaining wall, moving away, and then dropping to a lower level. He watched it fade and disappear.
Ninth Lord of the Night Page 17
