by Hazel Hunter
Outside the tent she heard someone moving around in the cavern. That had to be Brett. She suddenly sat up and clutched the blanket to her chest as her face flushed hot.
“Oh my god,” she whispered again.
How could she face him?
In her life, she’d never done anything like that before.
Even now, it was all a blur–the storm, the lightning, him.
Her heart was pounding and a sudden wave of dizziness swept over her. She closed her eyes and steadied herself with a hand on the bed.
But as quickly as it started, it stopped. She slowly opened her eyes and they landed on her suitcase. She couldn’t stay in here forever. She’d have to get dressed and go out.
• • • • •
Brett removed the black beans from the camp stove and substituted the rice. The small stack of corn tortillas was already on the table with a bottle of salsa. Beans, rice, and tortillas would be their steady diet until they left–about a week if things went as planned.
Right, he thought. Things had already not gone to plan. He stirred the boiling water and rice without really seeing it.
What had he been thinking last night?
He shook his head. That wasn’t the right question.
Why wasn’t he thinking?
And to that question, he already knew the answer. He’d been terrified. For himself, he admitted, but mostly for Jessica. He blinked as he remembered the lightning strike. Even now, his palms got sweaty. She’d come very close to dying. They both had.
And when he’d reached the safety of the cavern, he’d felt almost giddy. But she had reacted differently and it was her reaction that had finally brought home what had happened. It had all been too much, and then one thing led to another, and–
The rice was starting to boil over.
He quickly lifted the pot from the flame.
As he looked at it, he remembered the scorched shirt and the pinkness of her back. He took in a deep breath. It hadn’t helped that she was beautiful and that he hadn’t suspected that in the least. In fact, it’d been a shock.
He lowered the flame and put the pot back down.
He sighed.
You’re making excuses, so just stop. You knew what you were doing.
And with a student.
In the field.
It was the one thing he’d been accused of almost his entire career and the one thing he’d never done. People just assumed it because of his looks. They probably also assumed that’s why he was divorced, but it wasn’t–not even close.
He looked toward the interior of the cavern, though the light of the propane lanterns didn’t penetrate far.
This was the reason his wife–his ex-wife–had divorced him. His obsession had stopped being her and it had become this site. Rather than divulge the real reason for his divorce, he’d let the wild rumors about himself and students circulate–rumors until now that is.
“Good morning,” he heard from behind him.
“Good morning,” he said automatically, as he turned.
Jessica was back in uniform–the baggy clothes and baseball cap and the overly large glasses. Even so, now that he’d seen her, it was hard to put that sight from his mind.
She self-consciously adjusted her glasses and he realized he was staring.
He looked back down at the rice and turned off the flame. It was an awkward situation and he had no idea what to do. For once, he wished that the rumors were true because maybe then he’d have a clue.
“I hope you like rice and beans,” he said, and turned to her with a smile. But when he turned around, she was quickly walking to the front of the cave. “Jessica?” he said, calling after her.
She started to run.
He put the rice down and ran after her.
“Jessica!” he yelled.
No matter how awkward he’d felt, he hadn’t expected this. But as he got closer to the cave entrance, he realized what was happening. She was retching. He stopped to give her some space. She was hanging her head over the edge of the ledge, in the rain.
When she was finally done, she cupped some rainwater in her hand and started to wash out her mouth with it.
“No don’t,” he yelled. She froze. “You’ve got to use filtered water,” he said. “I’ll get some.”
He trotted back to the stove and brought back a clear plastic jug of water and a metal cup. He poured some out and handed it to her.
“Thanks,” she said, taking it as she turned back toward the rain.
He waited again and she finally came out of the rain and back into the cave. Her normally light skin was looking decidedly pale. And she was soaked again. She took off her glasses so she could see and handed the cup back to him.
“Thanks,” she said again, quietly.
“You need to get changed,” he said, studiously avoiding looking at her.
“Yeah,” she said and headed toward the tent as she hung her head a little.
Back at the stove, he waited for her and covered the rice and beans. As worry knotted his stomach, he found he’d lost his appetite. He kept glancing at the tent and finally she appeared. Now she was in a tight tank top and shorts, as though she were dressed for the gym. She was cleaning her glasses with a bandana and looked up to see him staring. He cleared his throat and looked away but she had obviously seen.
“I’m already running out of clothes,” she said. There was an awkward silence. “You must think I’m an idiot,” she said quietly.
He turned to her.
“Not at all,” he said, surprised. She was looking at the ground between them, stooped a little. “Although,” he said gently, “it’s obvious you’ve never been in the field before.”
She only nodded.
Although he nodded, she didn’t see.
“Are you taking your pills?” he asked.
She jerked her head up and stared at him.
“I’m on the pill,” she blurted out. “So there’s no problem.”
Her pallid complexion was suddenly beat red.
“What?” he said, and then he realized what she’d heard. “Uh, no. I mean pills,” he said, emphasizing the plural. “Your antimalarial drugs.”
“Oh,” she said, as her face went a deeper red. “Oh, right. Yes, I’m on the pills. I mean, taking the pills.” She put her hands on her hips and took a deep breath, looking back at the ground. “Well, if you didn’t think I was an idiot before…”
She shook her head and sighed, the muscles in her bare shoulders and arms tense.
He realized that what he thought meant a lot. That wasn’t unusual for students but–an image of their frenzied love-making flashed into his mind–Jessica had suddenly turned into more than just a student. And he wasn’t quite sure what to say.
“Look,” he said. “We’ve been through a lot and…” He saw the metal cup next to the camp stove. “And you haven’t even had your coffee. Do you think you could keep it down?”
Somehow the moment hadn’t seemed right to bring up last night.
“Coffee?” she said. And then her face relaxed a little. “I’d love a cup of coffee.”
He fetched the kettle from the stove and poured a cup.
“Sugar?” he asked, handing the mug to her handle first.
“Yes, please,” she said, quickly.
He smiled at the schoolgirl politeness. Though she was probably only five or six years younger than him, there was something very sweet about her. He brought her a spoon and a couple packets of sugar as she sat down in one of the canvas camping chairs. He sat down in the other and picked up his travel mug from the holder built into the arm.
“What did you eat in Santa Elena,” he asked. “Before I got there?”
She paused and frowned a little.
“Chicken,” she said, as she tried to remember. “Rice and beans and…eggs. I think that’s it.”
“No fruit or vegetables?”
“No,” she said shaking her head. “And no water. I at least read that mu
ch.”
He nodded.
Even if you were careful–no food that hadn’t been boiled, no water that hadn’t been filtered or boiled–you might still be able to catch an intestinal bug. That’s probably all it was. As long as she was taking the antimalarial, malaria shouldn’t be a worry.
As she sipped her coffee, he felt the knot begin to unwind.
“I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything so good,” she said, smiling. “His heart is pierced with sorrow but sweet is his food. Sweet is his drink.”
He blinked even as he realized she must have been quoting the Popol Vuh again. And yet it had seemed oddly appropriate, though she couldn’t know it.
“Chilam Balam,” she said, and took another sip.
Ah. The Book of Chilam Balam of Chumayel. Along with the Popol Vuh, it was about all that was left of Maya philosophy and history. The Spanish had destroyed the rest.
“Mmm,” she said, savoring the flavor of the coffee.
He couldn’t help but grin at her. She was so completely in the moment. Suddenly, he remembered what he’d meant to do last night.
“Wait here,” he said as he jumped up, startling her.
He quickly fetched the medical box and set it on the stone floor between them. After rummaging for a minute, he found the antibiotic/pain relief cream.
“This will help with the burn,” he said, uncapping it.
She stood, still holding her cup of coffee between both hands, and then she turned. The back of the tank top was scooped in toward the middle of her back and her shoulder blades were clearly visible. The pink skin peaked out from under the right shoulder strap.
He squeezed some of the white cream onto his fingers and then gingerly pulled the tank top back. Carefully, he began to smear it onto her back, under the bra strap.
She flinched and quickly inhaled.
“Sorry!” he said and waited.
“It’s okay,” she said quickly.
Like hell it is.
But if he didn’t treat it, it might blister and then there’d be a real chance of infection. With the cream, she’d likely get away with some peeling skin. Slowly, he worked the cream into her skin. Images of last night popped into his head again. It had all gone by in a frenzy but he remembered the look of her skin–and the feel. He gently massaged, using one hand to raise the tank top and the other sliding underneath it. Her skin felt so good.
“That feels good,” she whispered, echoing his thought.
Again, he blinked.
How does she do that?
He slowly withdrew his hand and let go of the shirt. It was everything he could do to keep from running his hand over the smooth skin of her shoulder.
“Thank you,” she said, turning to him.
Was he imagining it or was her face a little flushed?
He busied himself with capping the ointment tube and put it away. When he turned back to her, he realized she hadn’t sat down.
“When do we go to the site?” she asked.
He smiled at her.
“We’re already there.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“I’ll turn on the generator,” Brett said, his blue eyes sparkling.
Suddenly, Jesse flashed on an image from last night of his face hovering over hers. As he jumped over the medical box and headed for the cave entrance, she stared at his broad back and shoulders and remembered his naked body–his perfect body. She watched as he stopped and took a cloth from a bulky shape next to the wall. She put on her glasses to see at a distance. He was backlit at the mouth of the cave with the dim light that shone through the rain but she could see that he had turned around. He stood with his feet apart, the triangle of his upper body matching the one formed by his legs. Even from here she could see the outline of his thighs. He raised his hand, pointing.
“Look the other way,” he yelled.
She turned around and peered into the impenetrable gloom.
The generator begrudgingly sputtered and then chugged, and suddenly flood lamps on high metal stands in front of her blazed to life.
The metal cup slipped from her hand and she heard it hit the floor but she couldn’t take her eyes away from the incredible sight in front of her–a Mayan city. The floodlights didn’t light it all but what she could see was breathtaking. The cavern arched impossibly high above. In fact, she couldn’t even see the roof. It had to be enormous because the buildings themselves were huge.
Though she’d never been on a site in her life, she knew what she was seeing. Their camp was located just outside the main plaza, where four buildings faced one another. She stood at one corner of it looking up at the sides of two of the stone buildings.
Suddenly, Brett was at her side.
“It’s…it’s…” she tried.
“I know,” said Brett, his voice brimming with excitement. “Sometimes I forget what it was like the first time I saw it.”
“But… but…”
She shook her head.
A Mayan city built inside a cave–inside a mountain.
“Unbelievable,” she said, and yet she was seeing it, a central complex of massive stone architecture.
Other finds in caves were not unknown but they were rare. The Maya had a profound connection to the underground and places of deep water. But she was fairly sure there had never been anything of this magnitude.
No wonder he had been so secretive.
She realized his hand was around her waist just as he was removing it. She’d been about to try and stop him but he was already handing her a lantern.
“Here, I’ve got to show you,” he said.
She took it but her eyes never left his face. He was elated. She stared at his smiling lips.
“This way,” he said, taking her hand.
He led her into the plaza, surrounded on all sides by different buildings. Although the three nearest them were massive and ornate, in the Classic Maya style, it was the round temple at the far end that dominated. It was barely visible in the dimness but clearly it was the focus of the cluster of ruins. Though ruins was hardly the right word to describe what she was seeing. The stonework, the stairs on the buildings closest to them, the carvings–it looked pristine. And there were glyphs everywhere. She tried to take it in all at once, her eyes darting all over, her head swiveling from side to side. But she could see where they were headed. At the base of the building to the right, centered at the bottom of its wide staircase, was a group of three stelae.
“Oh my god,” she muttered, as she dropped his hand and ran to them.
They were still painted.
Three vertical slabs of stone, each about six feet high and three feet wide, were set into the ground in a line. The lord of this city would have used these to proclaim his authority and dominion. She took off her glasses and began reading before she had even reached it.
“In the seventh katun,” she said, reading the bars and dots of the number system. “The Lord of,” she stared at the glyph, not quite believing what she was reading. “The Lord of Xibalba rules this city.”
Xibalba?
Xibalba was the dark underworld.
“The lord of the people of the south is the first of men. Ix-Kan-tacay is the name of the first of the men of the Puch family,” she continued.
Her hands danced over the colored glyphs–so much like the Spanish manuscripts and yet not quite. Their deep burnt umber colors and bright yellows were amazing. She quickly circled to the other side and had to step back.
Ix-Kan-tacay, depicted life-size, seemed almost alive. His head was turned in profile and his plumed feather headdress flowed over his shoulders and back. She lightly touched them as though they might be real. He wore jade bracelets, anklets, and ear flares. Her mind registered the details, cataloguing and comparing them to other images she’d seen. He was unique, she was sure of it. But there were no more glyphs on this side and she raced to the next stela.
Although the K’iche language sounded in her head, what came out of her mouth was En
glish.
“Here on earth I am beloved and have all that belongs to me. The maiden of Xibalba rules this city.”
She quickly circled around to the back of this one as well.
It was a woman. And as Jesse neared, she knew who it had to be.
“Ixquic,” she whispered. “Blood Moon.”
The daughter of the Lord of Xibalba.
But that would mean–
She raced to the final stela.
Jesse quickly circled to the front of the first stela in the line.
“I am Cuchumaquic,” she read. “I am the Blood Gatherer on my throne. I am…”
She held the lantern next to the last row of glyphs and froze.
“I am the Lord of Tulan Zuyua,” she breathed.
The birthplace of the Maya.
She quickly circled to the back and nearly had to turn away. There he stood in all his grisly glory.
Like his grandson on the third stela and his daughter on the second, the founder of the city stood in profile. His intricate headdress rose impossibly high, decorated with skulls, feathers, and symbols meant to be smoke. In his hand, was the severed head of an enemy, held by the hair, someone who’d been used as a sacrificial offering.
Was it the vivid painting or was there something particularly macabre about this portrait?
Though Jesse wanted to avert her eyes, she found she couldn’t and slowly sank to her knees.
Blood dripped from the severed head and the Great Lord stood on the man’s prostrate body.
Slowly, she reached out her hand and touched the poor victim’s delicately carved fingers. Then she looked up at his slayer.
“Cuchumaquic,” she whispered. “Blood Gatherer.”
• • • • •
Brett couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was as though Jessica had entered a different reality. To say that she was in her own world when she quoted Mayan texts was one thing but this was something else entirely. It was almost like a trance.
She ran her fingers over the glyphs and the words just poured out of her. It had taken him weeks to puzzle this out. He’d nearly built a library back at the camp to help decipher it. He was pretty sure some of these glyphs were completely unknown. He’d had to mix and match parts of other glyphs to create something that seemed reasonable.
