“What are we going to do?”
“We must learn what happened to the priests in Bacalar. However, our priority is to retrieve the sacred items.”
William pulled on his headdress and sandals, and wrapped a short leathery cape over his shoulders. “There are only two of us, Priest Quisac. Are the sacred items that important?”
“Yes, they are items of power from another world. If we succeed in our mission, I shall show them to you.”
They marched north for a long while, following the trail that wound its way close to the shores of Bacalar lagoon.
“You said your people are the Itzae?” William asked, making conversation as they walked. “They moved to Chichén Itzá?”
“That is correct.”
“Where did your people first come from?” he asked, still wondering why Priest Quisac’s features were somewhat different than the other Mayans.
The Serpent Priest gazed into the sky. “It is said that the Itzaes came from the stars more than ten thousand tuns before.”
“Wow!” William said, with a bit of a laugh in his response, not sure if he could believe that. “I thought you’d say that your people came from somewhere like Guatemala or Peru… but from the stars? Seriously?”
“Our ancestors copulated with the inhabitants of this land and became who we are today. Yet in our essence, the Itzaes carry the seed of our ancient ancestors—our brothers from the stars.”
“Okay, whatever,” William muttered. It wasn’t an important topic at the moment, so he brushed it off.
Priest Quisac moved off the trail, heading toward a cluster of thatched huts. “Thousands once lived in these lands. Their homes can be found throughout the region—long abandoned and crumbling.” They entered one of the dilapidated huts. “Let us wait here until dark, so that our arrival goes unnoticed.”
William sat on the floor and leaned against a support beam. While munching on a dried tortilla from his pack, he rested his eyes for a moment. It felt so nice to relax that he decided to take a short nap, and fell asleep with the food still in his lap.
“That smells delicious, Mom,” William said, waiting in a dining room in his dream. “What is it?”
“It’s something very special. Are you hungry?” his mother asked in her caring way.
“I’m starving! Is it chicken… or steak?”
“No.” She carried a covered platter from the kitchen and set it on the table. “How delicious… how delectable… how tasty… hee-hee-hee,” she said, laughing in the voice of the demon, Yum Cimil. She jerked the lid off the platter to reveal the cooked head of a man staring back at him. It was his dad!
William screamed, leaping out from his chair.
“William,” his dad’s head spoke from the platter, “you must let me go.”
William backed away from the table in terror.
His mom ripped an ear off his dad’s cooked head with a cracking sound, like pulling a wing off a roasted chicken. She popped it in her mouth, chewed up the crunchy ear, and licked her lips with her long black tongue.
William couldn’t move—he felt paralyzed.
His mom wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Please forgive me, Jupiter. Where are my manners? Dreadful… horrible… ghastly,” she said in the voice of the demon. She stuck a fork into his dad’s eyeball and plucked it out with a pop. The eyeball’s juices dripped off the end of her fork as she crept toward William, holding it out to him. “You must try some, Jupiter. Or should I say… Balam!” Black goop oozed out her nostrils and the corners of her mouth.
“No! I don’t want to!”
“Balam,” he heard Priest Quisac’s voice in his head, and he fought to break his paralysis. His mom approached closer, waving the eyeball before him, laughing with the demon’s laugh, and staring at him with black sunken eyes. “Wake up, Balam,” he heard the Serpent Priest again.
William opened his eyes and struggled away from Priest Quisac, thinking he was the demon at first. After gathering his senses and catching his breath, he sat up and told the Serpent Priest about his frightening dream. He paused, sniffing the air. “That’s the same smell from my dream.”
“They are roasting the wild boar in Bacalar,” Priest Quisac said. “Although Yum Cimil cannot harm you here, he may find his way into your dreams. This is his manner of communication. He pleads for you to break the curse of the soil plague that has him bound—to remove the head of King Aztuk.”
They gathered their things and continued down the trail, with the moon lighting their way. A short time later, Priest Quisac stopped and pointed at the glow from a campfire in the distance. “Their camp is in the clearing by the lagoon.”
William’s stomach growled from the delicious smell of the roasting boar. But he detected another foul odor drifting in the wind, as well. “What’s that… other smell?”
Priest Quisac cringed. “It is the smell of death.”
Chapter Ten
William and Priest Quisac crept along the sandy shores of Bacalar lagoon, following the strong scent of decay. They stopped behind a hut on the outskirts of the enemy camp. The Serpent Priest peeked around the corner and gazed at the huge bonfire blazing into the sky, where a boar was roasting in the flames. He leaned toward William and said, “There are perhaps thirty warriors feasting near the fire.”
“How can they eat with this stench?” William asked.
“They are up wind of it,” Priest Quisac said. “In fact, I believe the odor is coming from this very hut. Come.” He crept along the side of the hut and went through the doorway.
William followed him in, covering his mouth to shield the pungent smell. He couldn’t see well at first and tripped over something, landing in a pile of rotting corpses. The clammy flesh stuck against his skin, and he recoiled from the smell of the decaying carcasses. A nasty fart blasted out from one of the bodies beneath him, and a putrid stink enveloped him—like an overused outhouse ripe for a good cleaning. When he scrambled to break free, he jostled the pile of bodies and a stiff carcass rolled down, landing on top of him—seeming to stare at him with a ghoulish face. The skin felt squishy, like it was melting off the bone. Priest Quisac snatched William’s wrist and hauled him out of the pile.
William stood there with a disgusted expression for a moment, gawking at the grisly scene of butchered men piled like stacks of meat. He stumbled back outside, went behind the hut, and threw up.
The Serpent Priest came to William’s side. “By the condition of the dead, this occurred several days ago,” he said. Priest Quisac returned his attention to the Calakmul warriors at the camp, studying their behavior as they passed a jug between them.
“But what can we do?” William asked. “There are too many of them.”
“Luck is with us, for they drink of the wild agave, clouding their minds.”
“You mean they’re drunk?”
Priest Quisac thought for a moment. “I believe you understand correctly. Soon they will sleep, and then we will free the remaining priests.”
Crouching low, they hustled over to another hut closer to the camp, and they waited for the warriors to become more intoxicated. They kept watch for a long time as the warriors danced around the fire—chanting, drinking, and gorging on chunks of the cooked boar. A stocky warrior stood and threw his bone into the fire, causing a puff of sparks to ascend, grabbing everyone’s attention. He swayed back and forth as he spoke.
“What is he saying?” William asked.
“He plans to bring out a captive for questioning.”
Two warriors left the group and staggered over to a hut near the lagoon, dragging out an elderly man wearing only a loincloth; his hands were tied behind his back.
“It’s Priest Hexel,” the Serpent Priest whispered in a worried voice.
The warriors shoved the captive to the ground, yanked him up by his hair, and then tied him to a tree near the bonfire. The drunken leader staggered up to the prisoner. He grabbed Priest Hexel’s face and shouted at him.
�
�He demands to know the location of the sacred items,” Priest Quisac whispered. “The priest will not reveal this… they will kill him.” He pulled an obsidian dagger from his belt and handed it to William. “While their attention is on Priest Hexel, take this dagger and go to the hut where the other captives are being held. Cut them free. Tell them who you are—that you are here with me.”
Priest Quisac’s eyes darted as he surveyed the area. “Their weapons are by the rocks—near the water. Lead the priests there and await my command.”
William nodded and tiptoed over to the hut of the captives, hiding behind it. He peeked back at the campfire and noticed the warriors gathering around the tree that Priest Hexel was tied to. The leader picked up a spear and threw it at the priest. Losing his balance in the process, the leader fell to the ground, and the spear sailed through the air, not even hitting the tree. All the warriors laughed at him.
William went up the steps of the platform and snuck inside the hut, hearing gasps from the old men. “I am Balam of Dzibanché… sent by Priest Quisac. We’re here to rescue you,” he said, articulating his words as clearly as he could in Yucatec-Maya, figuring that their old ears would have a hard time grasping his accent. The bloodstone glowed as he spoke, illuminating the room in a slight shade of red. He hoped the Calakmul warriors wouldn’t notice the light emanating from the hut, and he attempted to shield its glow by cupping his hand over it.
“You are the Balam… sent by the gods?” a frail-looking priest asked, gawking at William with big eyes.
“Sure, whatever… Just do as I say if you want to live,” William urged. He explained the plan as he cut them loose. William was concerned that the four priests looked much older than Priest Quisac, and he wondered if they would be able to fight.
After retrieving spears and maquahuitl swords, William and the priests crouched down, waiting for Priest Quisac’s command. The anticipation of the coming battle was nerve-racking. William took a deep breath, knowing that in just a few moments he would be fighting to the death.
The rowdy group of Calakmul warriors grew impatient, and they moved in several steps nearer to their target. The leader stepped forward with another spear in his hands. William heard him say that he couldn’t miss from such a close range. The drunken leader steadied his aim and leaned back to throw, when a fluttering sound, followed by a thud, drew his attention to an obsidian dart wedged between his ribs. The leader staggered with a look of anguish before falling to the ground.
“Attack!” Priest Quisac hollered. He launched a second dart, impaling another Calakmul warrior in the neck. The warrior pulled the dart out, and his blood sprayed everywhere, splattering on his comrades as he fell over.
The warriors rushed around in a panic, grabbing any weapons they could find, and they stampeded toward Priest Quisac. The Serpent Priest readied himself for close battle, gripping a sharp dart in one hand and his atlatl in the other.
As the Calakmul warriors charged Priest Quisac, William and the four priests raced in. To buy them time to catch up, William rushed up an embankment, held the bloodstone with a tight grip, and yelled as loud as he could, blasting his voice even further with the power of the bloodstone, “Over here!”
The Calakmul warriors spun around with startled looks when they saw William standing above them; his face was lit up like the devil from the red glow of the bloodstone. Their hesitation provided the priests with just enough time to reach them, killing half of the confused men in a quick blur of activity—stabbing them with spears, and smashing their heads with maquahuitl swords. Priest Quisac also moved in, slashing his atlatl from one warrior to the next.
One of the Calakmul warriors rushed at Priest Hexel—still tied to the tree—with his club held high, ready to bash the priest’s head in. William saw this and dashed to the priest’s aid, gripping his spear with both hands, holding it ahead of him to block the warrior’s advance. Their paths intersected at the same instant in front of the tree, and their combined momentum caused William’s spear to pierce clean through the man’s thigh.
The warrior lunged forward, wildly swinging his club, but William kept his distance by holding him off with the spear in his leg. The warrior’s blood splattered against William’s chest, and it dripped over bloodstone; the gem began to burn. A burst of crimson light blazed from the bloodstone, illuminating the area around the tree like he had just switched on a flood lamp. William felt an intense thirst come over him. He trembled as the warrior’s blood raced up the spear, along his arms, and went right into the burning stone on his chest. He wanted to drop the spear, but he couldn’t let go. It was both a horrible and exhilarating experience at the same time. The warrior turned pale, let loose an agonizing squeal, and fell over like a dried out tree.
The bloodstone issued another intense flash before fading back to its usual dim glow. William released his grip from the spear and backed away with a feeling of revulsion.
Priest Hexel shuttered as William approached; he was clearly freaked out by what he had just witnessed.
“It’s okay, I’m a friend,” William said, as he cut the priest loose.
Priest Hexel thanked William and then joined Priest Quisac by the campfire. A look of satisfied revenge had settled in the Serpent Priest’s silver eyes; they flickered from the light of the fire blazing before him. He nodded to William, seeming to understand the bizarre event that occurred with the bloodstone.
William gazed across the battle scene. The fortunate Calakmul warriors were already dead, for those still squirming with their bloody injuries were finished off by the priests with a final stab, slit to the neck, or heavy bash over the head. It seemed barbaric to William as he watched how the priests wrapped things up.
A tremendous fire reached high above the tree line as huts near the shore of the lagoon were set ablaze. It had been a gruesome task that morning to separate the dead into smaller groups to be burned—dragging the decayed stinking bodies from one place to another, with swarms of flies following them.
The Serpent Priest noticed William’s disturbed look. “This is not a pleasant task for any of us,” he said, “but the dead must be sent properly on their way.” He jerked an obsidian dart out of a dead warrior before leaving the hut. “They don’t need my darts where they’re going.”
They packed the hut with palm leaves, said some prayers, and ignited it. To avoid the stench of the burning bodies, they moved further up the shores of the lagoon, watching the black smoke ascend high into the air, merging with the clouds above.
That afternoon, William spent a long time in the lagoon, scrubbing his body with sand to get the smell of death off his skin. He kept thinking about how the bloodstone killed the Calakmul warrior by removing his blood—like a wet vac cleaning up a heavy water spill. The Serpent Priest had explained that the bloodstone reacted defensively to protect him from the danger it sensed.
He held up his necklace and gazed into the red gem. During the general assembly, the Serpent Priest had said that it was his job to drain the blood from the King of Calakmul, because he carried the bloodstone. At the time, he swore he would never do something that awful. Yet thinking back to the night before, he realized that he did exactly that; he had drained the blood from that warrior with the bloodstone. William sighed, understanding what Priest Quisac had meant, and why the task was his burden. William wondered what other powers the bloodstone had, and what its original purpose was. He released the gem and let it drop beneath the water, deciding to not worry about it for the moment; he would ask Priest Quisac about the bloodstone when they had more time.
William swam back to the shore when he saw the Serpent Priest approaching. “Are the other priests coming with us?” William asked, staring at the five old men.
“No, they must go to Chichén Itzá, to warn the Itzaes.”
William recalled a fond memory of a trip he had taken with his mom and dad when he was only seven. “Chichén Itzá must be amazing to see now… in this time,” he said. “The Castle of Kukulcá
n is sure incredible, isn’t it?”
Priest Quisac responded with a blank stare.
“You know, the temple built over the top of the older temple… in the middle of the city?”
“The temple in the center courtyard of Chichén Itzá has not been… built over.”
It occurred to William that the famous Castle of Kukulcán had not been built yet. While contemplating that notion, he sat on a boulder near the water and gazed at his shadow; seeing it reminded him of another special feature of that pyramid. “When they get around to building it, they position the temple in such a way that on the day of the equinox the sun makes a shadow that looks like a snake slithering down the steps.”
“Such a design would be for an important reason, but I do not know what that reason is… or will be. Perhaps the Castle of Kukulcán holds a purpose beyond our people today, and it will be built for the people in your time.” He sat beside William and swung the pack off his shoulder, setting it on the ground in front of him. “Concerning things made in other times… as promised, I will show you the sacred items.” Priest Quisac reached into the pack and retrieved a golden tube. He twisted one end of the tube, causing a bright light to shine.
“It’s… a flashlight,” William said, unimpressed, expecting something much more magical.
“The light has never dimmed.”
“Well, that’s a good thing… hard to find batteries around here, I’d imagine.”
The Serpent Priest put the flashlight back, and he stood as he pulled out an object that looked like a metal Frisbee with a handle and buttons on top. He pointed at the large rock William was sitting on. “Try to lift that stone.”
William laughed. “You know I can’t.”
“Try.”
William bent over and strained his muscles, but he couldn’t budge the heavy boulder. The Serpent Priest placed the disk on the rock and pressed a few buttons; tiny metal spikes poked out from the bottom of the disk, making contact with the rock. He pressed another button, and a high-pitched humming noise became audible. Sparks traveled up and down the metal spikes against the rock. “Now try to lift it.”
The Serpent Passage Page 13
