THE SERPENT ROAD
A Science Fiction Novel
The Serpent Road © 2017 Anthony James
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to
persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Then the Heart of Heaven blew mist into their eyes, which clouded their sight as when a mirror is breathed upon. Their eyes were covered and they could see only what was close, only what was clear to them.
— Popol Vuh, Part III Chapter 2
There, then, they built many houses and at the same time constructed the temple of God; in the centre of the high part of the town they located it when they arrived and settled there.
— Popol Vuh, Part IV, Chapter 8
ONE
The darkness lay like a memory, barely touched, ill hewn in his mind, with rough stone chisel marks just as the temple stones. Every stone bore a glyph on each face, a symbol, marking the spirits of blood and ashes, the forgotten who lay beneath its walls. Even those sides concealed, dark stone face to dark stone face, side by side with its brethren, bore them. None saw. None needed to see these concealed symbols, for deep within the gut, you knew they were there. That was enough. Inside, the chamber echoed hollowly with shadows. Inside, the silence of vast stone figures glared down with sightless eyes at any who may dare to venture within. Inside the mountain, if you dared. Inside.
Tohil looked up from his labours, sparing a glance at the temple’s forbidding shape squat and square on the hillside above. He could almost feel the lack of noise within, touching his heart, filling his chest with a grey chill. He shivered and looked away. The earthen walls of the village needed repacking, fortifying and he couldn’t spare the distraction that the temple offered, though it sat there dragging at his thoughts even when he wasn’t looking at it, dragging at all his people’s thoughts. Despite living in its shadow, none of them ventured inside. None of them had even seen a Seelee, though Acab claimed that he had, once, from a distance. But then, Acab was full of stories and bravado.
Tohil spat on his work-hardened palms and repositioned his grip on his spade, slicing into the dwindling mound of earth, lifted the load to the angled wall, and tamped it into place with the back of the blade. It was arduous work, and his shoulders were already beginning to ache, the sweat slipping in runnels down his sun-darkened chest.
He paused, shielding his eyes to watch a flurry of rainbow-hued birds rise from the tree line beyond, then settle. He waited, looking for any further signs of activity, but the air was still. Perhaps it had merely been a beast in the forest, nothing more. He rubbed the sweat from his brow with the back of one hand, leaving a muddy streak in its wake, and then looked along the length of the wall, seeing if anyone else had noticed. Oquis was still hard at it and Quapar was too far along for him to judge.
It would be unusual for the Bird People to appear in the daytime anyway. It had been months since they had seen them last, charging out of the darkness with their feathered screaming shapes, firelight glistening on the greens and reds, and across the sharpened black edges of their weapons. Tonight, as every night, the villagers would light fires around the perimeter, just in case. Until then, there was work to do. Again, Tohil bent his back to his task. Tomorrow they would hunt. At least he could look forward to that.
Far behind and above him, the temple slumbered, stirring in dark dreams barely imagined.
As he dug and tamped, Tohil wondered whether the Seelee really had those black shiny spurs that grew out of their wrists, rumoured touched with poison. He flexed his wrist experimentally, testing what it would feel like, and then shook his head. Dream stories, that’s what they were. What did he know of such things? He risked a glance back up the slope toward the temple, then looked away, a vague uneasiness working deep inside. He glanced around and briefly noticed, far back near one of the mud-packed houses, a solitary, still figure wrapped in a finely woven blanket watching him, but he dismissed it as unimportant; Tohil’s thoughts were with the temple. Once, he knew, they had spilled blood there—blood in honour of the gods and in honour of the Seelee. Blood that was burned and carried on the air to the very home of those gods. Or so they said. Tohil grimaced at the thought and planted his spade for another load.
oOo
When he was younger, Tohil, along with others of the village had thought to venture inside the forbidding temple structure. Hours they had spent tracing the patterns on the stones outside with their fingers, inventing meanings for the symbols, and as a group, bolstering their joint courage. Acab was the one, of course, to take the dare, though he and his family were relatively new to their community. It had been as if he had something to prove, to make his position strong amongst them, or so Tohil thought, though he hadn’t voiced his suspicions. On that one afternoon, as a group, they had approached the twin stone doors, hesitating three or four paces away, barely daring to speak in case they awoke whatever might lie within. One of the group shoved Acab gently on the shoulder, urging him forward, but Acab was not to be pushed into it. He whirled and snarled at the pusher. That too was bravado, but it served its purpose, and they had turned their attention back to the temple doors. Not one of them knew if the doors even opened. There was no visible mechanism, no handle or grip with which to shift them on the heavily carved grey-green surface. Tohil had supposed that together, if they worked as one, they could probably find a grip on one of the carved grimacing faces that protruded from the surface, but the doors gave no clue which way they opened, whether they would slide apart, swung inward, or even outward. They remained simply large, immovable blocks of stone. It was unclear whether even together, their combined strength would be enough to shift them. They might as well try moving the mountain itself.
Finally, Acab had said that there had to be another way in, perhaps a shaft above in the rocks, hidden or a smaller doorway somewhere else. He was probably relieved, but did nothing to show it. They had looked at each other then and shrugged. The rest of that afternoon, they had searched, individually and together amongst the crumbling pathways that webbed the rocky slopes, but there was no such entry to be found. The only discovery was a serpent that brought a squeal from Quapar, far above in the rocks.
That night, they sat around the fire, telling tales about what they might have done or what they might have seen inside those forbidding, echoing halls. And Acab, of course, was the one with the biggest tales. The village Elders had watched them across the fire, the gleam of knowledge and amusement in their eyes. Tohil had watched them back, wondering if they too had played the same games in their youth, dared each other inside the mountain, and if their Elders had watched them knowingly across the fire in turn, back through generations. For it was true, the temple had stood forever, or so the tales, and the Elders had told them. Tohil’s observation did not go unnoticed, and one of the Elders fixed him with a long, appraising look. Tohil was the first one to break the gaze, and he could feel the old man watching him, even after he had turned back to conversation with his companions. When he had finally plucked up the courage to glance in the Elder’s direction, the old man was simply gone.
It was not the first time that particular Elder had watched him and nor would it be the last Tohil thought, though he did not understand the reason. Haracan was the old man’s name, though amongst the group they did not speak it. A person’s name was power. The Elders deserved the respect of keeping their names for themselves. None of their group, Tohil, Acab, Oquis, Quapar used the Elder’s names, though they knew them. The adults might whisper them quietly around the night fires, but never aloud. That Haracan watched him disturbed Tohil, made him uneasy. Most of the time he tried to ignore it, but then, once more, he
would catch that gaze and his stomach would churn. His greatest fear was that Haracan could see into his thoughts, as the Elders were whispered to be able to do, because Tohil was a thinker too. He thought about things often, trying to puzzle them out, wondering about the temple, the Bird People, the Seelee and about other things too. What would his life be away from the village? What would happen to them if one night the Bird People were victorious and overcame them? What then? The Bird People were known to sacrifice, to make burnt offerings to the gods in the old ways—ways that had long passed into disuse in the life of Tohil’s own people. Kukulcan was first among the gods, the feathered serpent that rode in the night sky. Then came Chac in his several forms, Yumil Kaxob who tended the grain, Yum Cimil, wearing his clothes made of bones, and then the twins, Xbalanque and Hanahpu and others still. All could be found on the carvings worked into the temple stones.
It was a puzzle to Tohil why the Bird People made their sporadic attacks. Their simple intention seemed to be to kill and wound. They took nothing from the village, and all they left behind them were their own dead, decked out in feathered and jewelled suits, decorated with shards of bone and tiny animal skulls, their faces daubed in red and black. The village was prepared for these assaults, always vigilant. The Elders kept them so.
After every attack, the Elders insisted that the villagers wash and bury the bodies along with their own, the war clothes stripped and taken to a special house, their weapons with them. Tohil had seen them after they’d been prepared and washed, and unadorned, the Bird People looked little different from his own people and that often gave him pause for further thought, for further questions—questions that he knew he should not be having, and he did not dare discuss with his companions. He knew what Acab’s reaction would be, because Acab had changed little since his first arrival in the village. That alone was enough for Tohil to keep his thoughts to himself.
oOo
One still afternoon, when the forest barely breathed, Haracan found Tohil standing at the edge of the earthen wall, staring out into the trees, deep in thought.
“Again, Tohil,” said the old man, “I find you dreaming.” There was a hint of amusement in the old man’s voice.
“Not dreams,” answered Tohil carefully not turning. He did not want to meet the Elder’s gaze, particularly if the old man was mocking him. “Just thoughts.”
“And what thoughts should occupy a young man such as yourself?” asked Haracan. “Why are you not off with the others, with Acab and Oquis hunting birds in the forest or down by the river with your net catching fish?”
Tohil ducked his head. “Yes, of course,” he said and made to go and collect his gear.
“No, Tohil, wait,” said the old man. “Stay. Always so serious.”
Slowly, Tohil turned to face him then, a slight frown on his face, not understanding what the old man wanted.
“The time has come for us to talk,” said Haracan.
Respectfully, Tohil kept his silence.
“Have you never thought about what might be inside the mountain, behind the temple doors?”
Tohil swallowed, a chill forming deep in his belly. He had been right—the Elders could see into his thoughts. Haracan was peering at him and Tohil had trouble meeting his eyes.
He nodded once, quickly.
The old man lifted one hand, the blanket draped around him falling like a multi-coloured wing from his arm, its colours echoing the pigments daubed across his face. This was some of his more casual clothing, not the robes he might wear on ceremonial occasions.
“It is not forbidden to have such thoughts,” he said. “Don’t be afraid. I have watched you. I have watched the thoughts working in your head. You should not be afraid of your thoughts. It is good to question the shape of the world and why we are in it.”
The old man held his gaze and then looked around as if checking that there was no one else in hearing distance, then turned his look to the temple above them. “I too have wondered what lies inside, though I have never had the chance to see. I have wondered about the face of the gods and the Seelee and what they might be. For all we know, they may be nothing more than stories,” said the old man. “Stories meant to frighten children.” He sighed long and deeply and looked back out at the forest, a faraway look in his eyes. “Perhaps Kukulkan watches over us from the sky, perhaps it is Chac who helps us grow our crops. Perhaps it is Yum Cimil himself who lives deep within the temple among his dead. All of it is little more than perhaps.”
Tohil gave a sharp intake of breath, despite himself. To hear one of the Elders talking like this….
The old man turned at the sound and laughed. “Does it surprise you, Tohil? Do my words shock you?” He looked back up at the temple and wrapped his blanket around his chest, crossing his arms beneath it. “We are here for a reason, no doubt. Our village has stood here for many years, in the time before I was born and before that. The temple has sat up there unopened for all that time, or not that I have known. For all we know, during the darkness of night, those vast doors swing open and whatever lies behind them walks among us, but I have not seen it. I have watched for it too. There have been nights where I have sat without sleep, simply watching, but always nothing. Over months and years, the Bird People have attacked, fought against our defences, and we have fought back. Why do you think that is, Tohil? In the meantime, we live, we grow our crops, and we hunt and fish. Some of us die. The Bird People kill more of us. From time to time, one family, more, come to join us, to swell our numbers, to mix our blood with theirs and make it richer. Where do they come from, Tohil? Why do they come and why to us, why here? Have you not asked?”
Tohil stared at the old man blankly. All this was too…could the Elders, any of them, possibly have thoughts like these…thoughts that were so similar to his own?
“Well,” said the old man. “For that I have answers. From time to time, the families that come here to join us have been sent to us. They have skills that are useful. They swell our numbers and make us stronger. We are here and we stay here for a purpose. Our duty us to protect the temple and what lies within.”
This time, Tohil was clear with his frown, and he answered. “How can we protect what we do not know?”
Haracan nodded slowly. “Yes, that is a puzzle.”
“And protect it from what?”
“From the Bird People, of course. From others. Should they manage entry, then we are sure that they would awaken what lies within.”
Tohil’s frown grew deeper, and he shook his head. “I do not understand.”
“Trust the wisdom of what has been revealed to us,” said Haracan, peering deep into Tohil’s face. “On those nights where we hold the ritual, where we drink deep from the cup, we are granted glimpses of what might be. We have seen the mountainsides run with blood. We have seen the rivers turned black with corpses. We have seen the demons unleashed from the earth. We have been told. The gods reveal many hidden things to us.”
Tohil looked back up at the mountain then. He scanned the rocks and the broad, squat shape of the temple, but he could see no sign.
“Who has told you?” he asked.
“The spirits of the earth and the spirits of the sky,” said the old man, as if this was explanation enough. For anyone but Tohil, it might have been.
“No,” he said. “There has to be more. Who set us here to guard? Who sends the other families to join us?”
Haracan took a long time before he responded, and he sighed before speaking. “You have heard tales, Tohil, and perhaps thought they were just that, but they are not. Beyond the mountains and through the forests, there lies a city where thousands of families live from many different peoples. It is a place of great wonders, where there is trade and commerce, and vast buildings. Within that city also live great magicians, servants of the Dwarf King, himself a powerful magician, more powerful than the rest. It is he who sends the families to join us through his functionaries. It is his wisdom that helps to keep us strong as a people
. He has an eye over all of our villages and cities throughout the land.”
The old man paused and stared out into the forest before taking a deep sighing breath and continuing.
“But now, things have changed, Tohil. We, the Elders of this, our village, have seen a vision. If something is not done, before the year is out, we will be overwhelmed. The Bird People will take this place and kill all within it. Then they will take the temple and throw wide its doors. Peace will be driven from the land, and the Dark Serpent will fly, seeking blood to open the doorways to the other lands where more of its kind lie hidden. Then, when that happens, there will not be enough blood. There will never be enough blood. Their thirst will go on forever. And the Seelee will ride the Dark Serpent and be among us.”
Tohil swallowed. “But….”
The old man lifted a hand to stop him. “I have chosen you, Tohil. You must travel to the great city and deliver our message to the Dwarf King.”
“But….”
“There is no other way,” said the old man. “I have watched you for the past few seasons. You, in turn, watch. You observe. I have seen this in you, Tohil. You will be alert to things around you. You are the right one to go. You are perhaps not the best fighter or hunter, but that is not what is important here. You should choose some of your companions, one, or two of those who sleep within the young men’s house to travel with you on your journey. You will need their support. I will trust in you to make the right choices. I will trust in you to prepare them. And when you have chosen, seek me out, and I will tell you of the way you must travel.”
Tohil stared at the old man blankly.
“The way will not be easy,” said Haracan. “Though the Dark Serpent is not free, his influence still works within the world, in the Bird People and more. You will need companions you can trust.”
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