by M. G. Harris
I just stare. I haven’t understood what they mean by precession of the equinoxes. But I can guess when the next event is due.
December 22, 2012.
How could the guys in Ek Naab have worked this out, and no one else on Earth?
“Others do know,” Lorena says. “It’s just that at levels that count, no one listens. Think about global warming. Scientists have been warning that the earth is heating up for decades. But only now are governments actually taking it seriously.”
Montoyo continues. “One physicist has predicted that a cosmic burst in the galactic core might result in a volley of wave energy gathering as it radiates across the galaxy. He’s predicted that such events have occurred before. And that they have caused extinction-level events. Ice ages, for example. Another researcher has correctly interpreted the configuration of the sky on December twenty-two, 2012, as a time when our sun will lie at the center of the Dark Rift.”
As he speaks, the holographic image appears to melt, shifting and changing to represent each of the positions Montoyo mentions.
Chief Sky Mountain takes over. “What the ancient Maya knew, Josh, and what we know from the three codices we have, is that this was the configuration of the sky when a massive wave of radiation from the galactic core is thought to have wreaked havoc on our planet.”
“The Ix Codex tells you about the actual 2012 thing, right?”
Montoyo replies. “That’s right.”
“But it’s lost.”
“It was lost to Ek Naab in 653 AD by the actions of a traitor.”
“That’s what the Calakmul letter is about,” I say. “We worked out that much.”
“Well, ever since, a Bakab from your family has sought it. Your grandfather—”
I interrupt Montoyo to ask, “But if the book was lost, at least the knowledge of what was in it should have been retained. Right?”
“Wrong,” Lizard Paw says sharply. “The text of the codices was indecipherable until the nineteenth century. The Books of Itzamna are written in code. By the time this code was solved, no one alive had seen the Ix Codex.”
“The knowledge in the Book of Ix,” Lorena says, “can truly be said to be lost in the mists of time.”
The chief continues. “Until Aureliano tracked it down. He came across a rumor that, like other ancient Mayan books, it had made a journey across the Atlantic Ocean, and resided in the jealously guarded collection of the reknowned British Mayan archaeologist Sir Eric Thompson.”
“In Saffron Walden,” I say, remembering what Montoyo told me.
I’m still concentrating on the stars above, watching as a tiny star in the galactic core begins to swell, until, glowing with dazzling intensity, it explodes. A wave of energy radiates outward, still miniscule and far from our planet. But then it seems to collect momentum, eventually passing through our own solar system as a gigantic pulse. The image of Earth is magnified as the wave hits it.
“So what happens when the wave hits?” I ask, transfixed.
The chief replies, “That’s unknown.”
“But probably … what?”
“Well, the good news is that our simulations suggest the energy levels won’t be enough to deliver a lethal dose of radiation.”
I can’t prevent myself from letting out a sigh of relief. The others are still tense, however.
Then the chief drops his bombshell.
“The bad news is that the energy may be enough and of the correct nature to deliver a massive electromagnetic pulse.”
From his tone, I guess that this is a Very Bad Thing.
“A pulse of energy that will erase and eradicate all known computer systems. Every computer on the planet will cease to function, simultaneously.”
Lorena says, “Think just for a minute about the implications, Josh.”
“If this electromagnetic pulse hits Earth,” she continues, “it will be as though the ‘world memory’ were erased.”
“People on life-support machines will die,” says Montoyo, looking me straight in the eye. “Airplanes will fall out of the sky, or crash. Hospital records, social security and employee records, bank account details—all erased. Overnight, everyone will become nonpersons, as far as the state goes. Nonper-sons, owning nothing, earning nothing, with no rights to anything provided by the state. And the state? What state? Food companies won’t be able to make deliveries. Money supplies will go to hell. People will kill each other for food and fuel. Cities will become bloodbaths.”
I feel like leaving right there and then. What can I do about a massive event like that? What can anyone do? If this galactic superwave is real, it seems to me that we’re all goners.
Chapter 28
I guess my expression gives me away, because Chief Sky Mountain tells me, “It’s not hopeless. Itzamna made provision for this in his four codices. Each one teaches of advanced technologies. We’ve used this knowledge to build and conceal the city around you. The fourth—the Ix Codex, as you’ve already guessed—deals exclusively with the technology to protect the ‘world memory’ from the event of 2012.”
“And that’s where I come in?”
Montoyo and the chief seem relieved that I’m starting to buy into this.
“We know exactly where your grandfather, Aureliano, went,” the chief admits. “He was in England, meeting with Thompson, a British archaeologist whom he believed possessed the codex. Then he flew back. It’s our understanding that Aureliano had the Ix Codex at that time. We lost contact with him when his Muwan was somewhere over the state of Veracruz in Mexico, near the mountain range of Orizaba. We think that his craft experienced difficulties. He must have landed it, or tried to.”
“Then what?” I ask.
Montoyo shrugs. “One theory is that he was shot down, crashed maybe, somewhere in the mountains.”
“For forty years we sent people to the surrounding villages in Orizaba,” the chief says, “trying to piece together the truth from witnesses. The Muwan was seen, in the air and in chunks on the ground. Where the wreckage was moved to—and by whom—that’s where we lost the trail.”
As I’m trying to picture my grandfather’s final journey, it strikes me that both he and my father were last seen flying a Muwan. The crash, wherever it happened, was not the end of Aureliano.
“And my grandfather?”
“He simply vanished,” says Montoyo.
Like mist.
At the back of my mind, something’s not quite right. In my dream, my grandfather died near water. Choking, surrounded by a swirl of fragrant smoke. The dream told me about the Bakab Ix long before I heard about it in Ek Naab.
The dream must mean something.
“My grandfather died near water,” I tell them. “I dreamed it.”
They’re silent for a moment. “Montoyo told us,” Lorena says in a kind voice. “And it’s interesting that your father had the same dream.”
“The dream is real,” says Vigores, not looking up from his food.
I turn to the old man. “How do you know?”
“Sometimes we receive information through dreams. I’ve lived long enough to learn the truth of this.”
“Is there water in Veracruz?” I ask.
“Lots of it,” says Lorena. “There are rivers, lakes, and the ocean.”
“Then that’s where he died,” I say. “In Veracruz.”
There’s a long pause. “Veracruz,” says Lorena, “is rather large. And we’ve always suspected that Aureliano died there. As for the wreckage of his Muwan, we may have a precise location. Recently, one of our scientists developed a machine to detect the remaining pieces of the downed Muwan. The core of the engine contains a device that emits a type of radiation. We sent our pilots to look for it.”
“Your grandfather had the Ix Codex with him when he crashed. We think there’s a good chance that it’s with the wreckage,” says the chief.
“The wreckage is in a museum in the state of Veracruz. Not on display,” says Lorena. “Of course—it’s
covered with Mayan symbols but clearly, it’s modern. The story was even leaked into the papers recently—maybe you saw? But the Mexican government intervened and made the witnesses say that it was a hoax.”
“Here’s what we need you to do, Josh,” the chief tells me. “You have to get into the room where the wreckage is stored, see what else they’ve recovered from the site. If the Ix Codex is there, only you can touch it. To anyone else, it is certain death.”
“Death … how?” I ask.
“We don’t know. Each codex has its own unique protection. As your father’s son, you will be immune.”
I nod, slowly. “And … I just have to believe this?”
“There’s no way to prove it to you,” admits Montoyo.
“What is required is an act of faith,” says Blanco Vigores. He looks in my direction. “And I warn you, hesitation will cost you everything.”
The chief explains how I’m to get into the museum. He places a small aluminum briefcase on the table. Inside, a collection of devices are encased in granite-colored foam to keep them in position. I can’t help thinking it’s just like Mission: Impossible.
My mission (should I choose to accept it) is to break into the museum at night (using a lock-dissolving device), avoid the laser security by spraying a dry mist that will light up the beams, then use a blueprint of the museum to get into the locked storeroom where they keep the Muwan wreckage.
Obviously they’ve mistaken me for Secret Agent Ethan Hunt.
“And if I’m caught? Then what?”
The chief’s eyes hold mine in a rock-steady glare. From a small case he picks out what looks like a small ballpoint pen. “Then you use this. It’s a spring-loaded hypodermic needle,” he says. “One dose will knock you out within seconds.”
“Suicide …?”
“Relax!” Lorena says, with a rare smile. “It’s a drug I’ve developed. From information we found in the Muluc Codex. It has an amnesiac effect. All your memories from the past six to ten days will be erased.”
I look around at the gathered group. What they’re suggesting—it’s unbelievable. “I’d forget all this?”
Lorena nods.
My thoughts race ahead, then backward, recalling the past few days. “And Camila, and even arriving in Mexico?”
“Yes,” says Lorena. “It’s a blanket effect. There can be damage to some older memories too, but we’re less certain how that works.”
I’m shocked into silence, weighing the risks. Losing the memory of Camila’s death—that’s something I could handle, even welcome, but to lose even the brief memory of knowing her? Of the incredible sights of Ek Naab, and the knowledge about my dad’s fate? It’s just unacceptable.
The chief pushes the briefcase toward me. “It contains everything you need to bring back the codex. And a cell phone we’ve adapted to call into our network. When you’ve completed the mission, you simply call us and we’ll send a Muwan.”
I reach for the case, hesitate. They notice. I remember what Vigores said about hesitation.
Is this it? Or is that still to come?
“The boy is anxious,” remarks Blanco Vigores. “He must have time to think.”
One by one, the members of the Executive say good-bye, leaving me staring, dazed, practically punch-drunk. They leave via the elevator, the two Bakabs holding their helmets in the crook of their arms.
Bad enough for me if I don’t find the codex—but where would it leave the Mayas of Ek Naab? Are they really the last hope of all the technologically advanced civilizations of the planet? Can it really be that without the knowledge in the Ix Codex, the world will be helpless, facing a global computer wipeout?
They say that any civilized society is no more than three days away from total breakdown. I’d never really worried about it before, never believed it was possible. Until now.
And me—can I really be part of this? I can’t decide what’s more mind-boggling—the idea that there’s a secret group of Mayas guarding ancient knowledge of advanced technology, or that I’m one of them.
This is light-years from what I’d set out to find. And I’m still not much closer to knowing what really happened to Dad. Montoyo told me that Dad took their “Bracelet of Itzamna.” Why? What does the Bracelet of Itzamna do? Why hadn’t anyone in the Executive mentioned it tonight?
The sheer amount I still don’t understand about Ek Naab and my father’s trip here threatens to swamp me. I feel as though they’re feeding me just enough to get me to find the Ix Codex. When I think about it, I actually start to tremble. It doesn’t help that my father and my grandfather both died trying to complete the same mission.
How can I succeed where they failed? I’m only thirteen! I’ve got nothing special going for me.
Blanco Vigores said, What is required is an act of faith.
But in what? God? Destiny? Myself?
Chapter 29
Only Vigores is still at the table. He doesn’t move. Montoyo hovers. He asks Vigores whether he “might have the honor of escorting you to your city apartments.” Vigores nods, humming slightly under his breath, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Then, “I’d like the boy to return me to the Garden,” he says. “Alone.”
I glance at Montoyo for guidance. With the tiniest nod, he indicates that I should stay by Vigores. I do. Montoyo leaves. Vigores doesn’t move. And then he stands, and so do I.
I have no idea where we are going. Almost literally, the blind leading the blind.
“My home, the Garden, exists as an eternal foundation,” Vigores tells me as we begin to walk. “The very basis of Ek Naab. Volcanic activity produced lava tubes, then came the perpetual drip-drip-drip of water.”
We take the elevator not up but down. The descent takes us deeper than the pyramid. I remember the dizzying journey I made through the tunnels with Carlos Montoyo. I’m returning to those tunnels, I’m sure of it.
“There is the Garden, with its forking paths and delicately aromatic blooms. And then there are the Depths. Did Carlos Montoyo tell you of the Depths?”
“He told me about the booby traps. To guard against invaders.”
Vigores nods. “No sane person would enter the Depths without an excellent guide. And of these, there are few. In fact”—he smiles—“I’m the only one you should trust. And as you see, I’m blind.”
The elevator opens in front of a long tunnel, lined with a flower bed in which only one plant grows: hibiscus. The passageway is illuminated at intervals by the same five-globed lamps I’ve seen in the main cavern of the city. Aside from this, no effort has been made to tame the tunnels. They look rough, natural, made of a black, porous rock.
“The flowers really do grow without natural light …,” I say in wonder.
“You didn’t believe in our miracle of the hibiscus?”
I blush. “Not really. I assumed there was some trick with artificial light.”
“No trick,” Vigores says. “Everything you see here is quite real. Although sometimes it may seem otherwise. Don’t assume that our ancestors would have been convinced by a lesser miracle. And it’s not the only miracle of Ek Naab.”
“There are others? Like what?”
“Miracles, mysteries. One transforms into the other. But who’s to see them? Travelers to these parts are rare. I myself traveled, once. Traveling, one becomes aware that differences are lost. One city comes to resemble all others. Places exchange their form, order, distances. One way or another, we’re all destined for the dust cloud—the Great Dark Rift.”
Sounds to me like he’s rambling, but his way of talking draws me in, like quicksand. I try to struggle but it’s useless; I’m sucked under.
Faced by a sudden crossroads, we take a left.
“When navigating a labyrinth, one should turn always left,” mutters Vigores to himself, nodding all the while.
We walk for several moments in silence. That’s when I realize that there are sounds down here, if you listen carefully enough. Not the crickle-crackle insect sou
nds of above, but a hollow yawning, like a whispered sigh. Air circulates down here. Where does it go?
“Back there,” I begin nervously, “you said that what you need from me is an act of faith.”
Vigores just nods.
“Well, see, I’m a bit worried about that.”
“You lack faith?”
“I kind of like proof.”
Vigores shakes his head. “Not always possible.”
“It usually is.”
“Do you love your mother?”
I’m taken aback. “Well, yeah.”
“Prove it.”
“I’m here … I’m here for her, so that she stops worrying about my dad and why he died.”
Vigores stops, and turns to look at me. I could swear, for a minute, that he sees me staring back at him in astonishment.
“That’s not proof of love,” he says. “Scientifically, there’s no such thing. You’re here for reasons you can’t possibly begin to comprehend. But you do love your mother, and your father too. You know that to be true. And I accept your love for them. On faith, because of what I know of you.”
“But you don’t know me,” I point out.
He smiles. “I have faith in you, Josh. We all do. Now you must have faith in yourself, too.”
“This codex curse, though … it’s not real, is it?”
Vigores detects the skepticism in my voice, answers it with a wry, flat statement. “Oh, it’s real enough. There are still stories of the day the Ix Codex was stolen from Ek Naab. In the middle of what you know as the seventh century, the Snake Kingdom—Calakmul—was on the rise. It seemed as though none could resist their power. In those days, the ‘Sect of Bakabs’ was a tiny group, the secret well protected. Or so we thought. But the Bakab Ix betrayed us. His name was K’inich K’ane Ajk, but we know him as the Traitor Bakab. He left Ek Naab and took the codex to the Ruler of Calakmul, Yuknoom Ch’een.”
“I’ve heard of those two,” I say. “They’re mentioned in the Calakmul letter.”
