Inside this pyramid, according to what I’d read, at the end of a tunnel another stairway led up to the top of an even older temple, buried by the newer one, where at the apex lurked a stone jaguar throne, painted red with green jade eyes. And below that temple was an even older one, according to some of the newer archeological information. And below that was a series of cenote caves. As I’d stared at the picture of the jaguar throne I’d found on my smartphone, once again I felt as though I’d seen it before. But I’d never been to Yucatán.
And I also felt there was something important about jaguars that I should remember.
We walked around the temple, gazing at the structure. Though it was hidden deep within the temple, the jaguar throne floated in front of me. I knew it was only in my mind, from an image I’d found on the Internet, but it looked real. My expression must have concerned Carolyn, because she suddenly asked, “What do you see?”
“Have you ever seen the jaguar throne?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “My father brought me down here on vacation in 2002, when everything was more accessible. I climbed to the top of the pyramid, and I also was allowed inside to see the jaguar throne. It was beautiful.”
“You’ve seen it too,” said a voice behind me. Eve. My ability to sense intruders and danger had saved my life many times, but somehow Eve was immune to my talents. She could approach me without a sign, without a clue that she was near, and suddenly she was there.
“How is that possible? I’ve never been in Yucatán before.”
She didn’t answer, so I didn’t press the issue.
“I imagine you’ve been up to the jaguar throne too?” I finally asked.
“Yes, a long time ago. A very long time ago.”
My recent dreams flooded back into my mind.
And pictures of other stone jaguars below this great temple plunged into my memories.
In dark caves, unseen for a thousand years.
CHAPTER TWELVE
From the pyramid we walked along a wide dirt and gravel pathway about five or six hundred yards to the edge of the central plaza. To our right, east of the Castillo, lurked a large platform supporting a huge number of columns. The columns themselves supported nothing but air now, but once upon a long time ago they had held up a mortar-and-timber-beam roof.
Theories abounded about the building’s use by the Mayans. Many now thought that it was used for governmental functions, meetings, etc., since Chichén Itzá in its most dominant period, from about 800 to 1050 AD, ruled a large portion of northern Yucatán and had replaced the divine-kingship government with a governing council. The open plaza ended, but the dirt trail continued for about a thousand feet to the Sacred Cenote. Yucatán has no rivers, so the only sources of fresh water were the many cenotes, sinkholes resulting from collapses in the limestone plain that was the foundation of this Mexican peninsula.
There are a number of cenotes around Chichén Itzá, but only two major ones. The most prominent was the Chen Ku, the well of God, also called the Sacred Cenote. It is a cylindrical hole in the earth sixty yards across, the surface of the water lurking about twenty yards below ground.
For reasons I couldn’t understand, Eve and her daughter accompanied Carolyn and me, with the omnipresent thugs a few feet behind them and the Wicked Witch of the West behind the thugs.
There was no railing at the edge of the cenote, though off to the right were ruins of a Mayan stone structure of some sort. A crowd of about a hundred people were present, more arriving behind us.
“It was often used for sacrifices to appease the Rain God, Chaac, who was thought to live at the bottom of the cenote.” Eve’s voice was faint, but Eme’s eyes widened and her head jerked down to stare at the water.
“There were three ways to Xibalbá, the Mayan underground,” Eve continued. “One way was through the cenote. A warrior sacrificed here was guaranteed a good spot in Xibalbá, so it was usually an honor to be sacrificed.”
I walked over through the crowd to the edge of the cenote; it was a straight drop to the water below. Eve’s thugs followed, with their aura of malevolence. But as long as I kept Carolyn, Eve, and Eme between the thugs and me, I thought I would be fine.
I noticed Eme moving closer to the edge, with a couple of the thugs close to her. I moved in her direction, but not fast enough.
Someone back in the crowd jostled forward, and Eme went over the edge, screaming.
I shoved my way through the crowd as fast as I could move, knocking people to the ground. One of the thugs tried to stop me, but I sent him stumbling as well, finishing with a leap over the side of the cenote after Eme.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The water was warm.
And murky, darkening as my momentum carried me downward.
By the time my descent stopped, complete darkness surrounded me. I had tumbled on the way down, landing on my back, which hurt as if I had been hit with a hammer. I was completely disoriented as to up and down.
I swung my head in all directions, trying to discern a glint of light from the surface. No success.
In spite of running short of air, I bent over and yanked off my shoes, then stopped thrashing, though I kept my arms out, searching for Eme and hoping to float to the top of the water. I couldn’t tell if I was going in the right direction, or if I was even moving.
Though it was completely dark here in the depths of the cenote, I could see the misty souls of hundreds of Mayan spirits floating through the water. They drifted by me, around me, pointing at me, then flashed away.
I was back on the top of the temple in Tulum, then I was staring at the jaguar throne buried high in the nearby Castillo, a throne I had never been to. And she was here, near me, trying to attack me somehow. Or maybe she already had. Had she pushed Eme?
Now I really needed air, and I had to fight to prevent my body from inhaling.
Panic was setting in—not for me, but for Eme. If I had no breath left, then neither did she.
What was that?
A slight brightness?
I swam in that direction, my lungs bursting. Stroke after stroke, still fighting the urge to breathe.
Now a certain splash of light, wavering in the distance. I continued to swim, the darkness of the water suffusing my brain from the lack of oxygen.
Time was slipping away.
Water invaded my mouth, then went into my lungs. Pain seized my chest. I coughed violently, but failed to expel the water. Then my hand ran into another body.
Eme. I grabbed her with one hand and continued my thrash of panic.
Swimming violently now, losing all control, I broke through the surface, coughing into the air, water flying out of my mouth and lungs, one arm pulling vigorously at the water, the other vigorously pulling Eme. Finally, I gasped in a lungful of air. I treaded water, continuing to breathe rapidly. The pain in my chest intensified.
After a few minutes, my orientation returned and the pain eased. But Eme was limp, so my physical pain was replaced by terror.
I was about twenty feet from the wall of the cenote, where a small tree clung to the limestone, trying to grow horizontally in an unfavorable environment. I swam over to it and hung there, knowing I didn’t have time to recover my energy.
Above me I heard shouts.
“There they are!”
“Throw him a rope!”
But no rope appeared. There probably wasn’t one. Who fell into the cenote in modern times?
I had no idea what to do, so I continued to hold on to the tree and tread water, pushing Eme’s body against the limestone wall of the cenote.
Though my arms were tiring, I le
t go of the branch, held her against the cenote wall with one hand, and pushed five times in the middle of her chest as I had been taught sometime. Except that the victim was supposed to be flat on her back, not hanging in the air.
Nothing happened, so I pushed five more times. This time a spurt of water exploded from her mouth, splashing all over my face. It was the happiest I’d ever been to be spit on.
I found the pulse in her neck; it was faint.
She was breathing shallowly now as well.
“Eme,” I said to her, but she didn’t answer or even open her eyes.
Still, she continued to breathe faintly.
I was tiring greatly, but to survive I would have to continue treading water. It was clear that I wasn’t going to be saved from above anytime soon.
Fifty feet to the right of me was much denser vegetation. Maybe enough to climb to the top of the cenote?
Hanging onto Eme, I swam with some difficulty over to where the sturdier plants hung. I tossed her over my shoulder, found a thick branch, and began to climb, still feeling her shallow breathing. It brought back memories of the many times I had trained in gyms, pulling myself up a long rope with just my hands. But at least here the limestone walls of the cenote had layers that provided some support for my feet. The limestone crumbled a little when I stood on it, but if I was careful, it provided some support, so not all my weight was on my arms. But with no shoes, an occasional sharp point of limestone poked through my socks and cut my feet. I was sure blood was pouring out.
Reaching the top of the branch, I found another one hanging from further up and pulled myself up that one. By now it felt as if my shoulders were trying to erupt from their sockets, but I continued upward. With every grab, I had to ensure that Eme remained balanced on my shoulder. Strangely, I heard nothing from the crowd at the top.
Branch after branch, hand over hand, I climbed.
Small knives began to jab me in my back, shoulders, and arms. Once, my left hand slipped off the vegetation and I almost fell, but somehow I managed to grab another branch before plunging back into the water.
As I neared the top, I finally saw and heard the people standing there. A tall man I’d never seen before lay on the edge and reached for me. He was still too far away.
Ten feet. Eight. Six. Four. Now just out of reach.
With one last gasp I lunged for his hand, trying to seize it in desperation. He was strong and though he missed grabbing me, he did seize Eme and took her off my shoulder. I almost fell, but with her weight gone, I managed to hang onto a sturdy branch and then scrambled to the top, flopped over the edge of the cenote, and lay in the dirt, gasping violently. The knives jabbing my arms were larger now, slashing deep into my muscles.
Eme?
I searched around. The tall man was holding her.
And her eyes were open, staring at me.
Agony captured me, but it was a welcome pain. I had survived another near-death experience, though this time it didn’t seem to be an assault on my life. I chose to dive in the cenote.
But I had saved Eme.
I passed out.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I hear you saved Eme’s life in the cenote at Chichén Itzá,” Bobbie said, sitting beside me at dinner. Her husband, Jack, looked as though it was a surprise to him.
Across the table, Eme gazed at me. What was in her eyes? She had run over and hugged me after she recovered, whispering something that I couldn’t understand, and she seemed to be okay, though Eve had taken her to Dr. Winkles when we’d returned to the ship.
Eve and Carolyn continued to ignore me, as they had since sitting down to dinner, as if they had an agreement, though I never saw them talking to each other. The old witch and her thugs, seated on the far side of Eve, were also staring at me. I wished I could take the three thugs back to the cenote and throw them all in. When Eme had hugged me, though, none of them had tried to prevent it. My guess is that in spite of the Wicked Witch’s evil personality, she loved her granddaughter and was thankful I’d saved her life.
“Quite an experience,” I replied. “Some of the cenotes are good for snorkeling, but this definitely wasn’t one of them.”
“And you had to climb out carrying Eme?” Bobbie went on. “Apparently there was no rope available to throw down. You must be in pretty good shape.” She reached over and squeezed my biceps. “You’re definitely not a couch potato.”
Eme giggled, eliciting a glare from her grandmother. Eve studied her food, still trying to ignore the conversation.
Had someone pushed Eme on purpose? I had been too far away to tell, but if her grandmother loved her, who else would’ve wanted to? Eve? Her own mother? I couldn’t imagine that. One of the goons?
I felt I was missing something. Obviously, something important.
My moments in the murky water came back to me as I stared at Eme’s innocent face.
Had I really seen her in the depths of the cenote? The woman who had haunted me throughout time? The one who sought my death in every age?
Was it Eve? Was she the she in my dreams? That was ridiculous. How could the same woman haunt me through the ages? It was merely a series of strange dreams, that was all. Eve was a woman of the twenty-first century, not the distant past. A beautiful woman, one who appeared dominated by her mother and her guards, but not a woman destined to pursue me throughout history. The entire concept made no sense. The fact that my mind was considering it at all made me wonder if I was going a little crazy.
Still, I couldn’t move past what Eve had told me in Tulum—that we could never talk again. She had broken that promise very willingly. She certainly wasn’t friendly toward me yet, but she had begun to take almost friendly steps.
But someone had deliberately pushed Eme into the cenote; the more I thought about it, the more I became convinced of that. Eme was smart and careful, and I was certain that she hadn’t fallen in accidentally, though I had no evidence for my theory.
The thug in my room had made an attempt on my life, as had the three thugs on top of the cliff at Tulum. Who had made an attempt on Eme’s life? And why? I could almost understand someone wanting me dead, but Eme? That made no sense at all.
But maybe I was wrong about the thugs at the cenote? Maybe it was just a stranger in the crowd who had tried to move too close to the edge, only to bump other strangers into Eme. Maybe it was just an accident.
Was I becoming paranoid? Maybe no one was after her. Maybe I wasn’t being hunted through the ages. Maybe it was all in my mind.
“It seems strange staying in the same port overnight,” Bobbie went on. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Not sure yet,” I replied. But I agreed that it did feel a little strange. Because so many passengers wanted to go to Chichén Itzá, it wasn’t possible to arrange enough transportation for all of them in one day. Therefore, the cruise line made the tour available for more customers by spending two days in Progresso. In addition, there were many other nearby Mayan ruins that tourists could visit if the ship stayed overnight. “What are you doing?”
“We’re going to the Dzibilchaltun ruins,” Bobbie said. “There’s actually a cenote there that you can swim in.” She reached over and patted my forearm. “But I don’t imagine that would hold much attraction for you.”
“No, I’ll pass on swimming in another cenote,” I said. “Maybe I’ll just stay on the ship and relax. We only have tomorrow, then a day at sea, then the cruise is over. I’ll probably just relax.” I saw Carolyn glance at her mother, shake her head a little as if declining whatever her mother had offered. Maybe she’d decided to stay on board as well. Part of me hoped so, though another part of me hoped it would be Eve.
“The ruins at Dzibilchaltun are some of the oldest in Yucatán,” Eme offered. She paused and Carolyn continued.
“The area is now known to have been continuously inhabited for over three thousand years. The Temple of the Seven Dolls, the main temple, was built about seventeen hundred years ago, but of course there are hundreds of unreconstructed ruins. Twenty thousand people lived there by a thousand ad. It was probably the most important city in Yucatán for the Mayans of that era, but then Chichén Itzá gradually surpassed it. And then, after Chichén Itzá fell, Mayapán became the capital of Yucatán. That’s where we’re going. Why don’t you come too?” She smiled.
“I know who to ask if I need any information about the Mayans,” I said. But now I was uneasy. The mention of Mayapán had done that to me. Something about that city made me nervous.
“Yep, I’m the one,” Eme replied smugly, assuming I meant her.
As I looked away from Eme, I noticed that Bobbie had a pink rose pinned to her blouse.
She noticed me examining it. “Flowers have meanings,” she said. “My husband gave me this. The rose has variable meanings, but pink means caring. He thinks I’m a caring person.”
“I’m sure you are,” I said. “Does a red rhododendron mean anything?”
Bobbie glanced away, but before she did a cloud dropped over her eyes. She finally turned back. “It means beware and danger. Why do you ask?”
“I found it in a chair on my balcony.”
“Clearly someone is leaving you a message, trying to warn you of something.”
I surveyed my companions, trying to read their expressions. There was a darkness in Eve’s eyes, a quizzical look in Eme’s, and a blank stare from Carolyn, who for some reason was now sitting on the other side of the table. The face of Eve’s mother was hard to discern, but the corners of her mouth were almost twisting up in a faint smile. Carolyn’s mother, still on my side of the table, had a similar look. The thugs were pretending to ignore me.
The Hauntings of Scott Remington Page 7
