The Smoke Hunter

by Jacquelyn Benson

  “They all go our way. Quit worrying about it and sit down.”

  She obeyed, but the uneasy feeling remained. Something tugged at the edge of her awareness, a detail calling disproportionately for her attention. She frowned, confused.

  “That’s funny.”

  “What is?” Adam called to her from the stern.

  “The waterfall,” she said. “We’re moving away from it, but I swear it sounds like it’s getting louder.”

  “Sound travels funny sometimes in the mountains,” Adam said dismissively.

  Ellie looked ahead of them down the river. She stood.

  “Bates?”

  “I said quit—”

  “There’s something wrong with the river,” she cut in.

  Adam frowned and came forward. He stood beside her and looked out over the water. Then his eyes went wide.

  “Waterfall,” he mumbled. He grabbed her shoulders, turning her toward him, and pointed at the low wall of mist covering the water a hundred yards ahead of them. “Waterfall!”

  Ellie stared forward at it and felt panic rise in her chest. Adam sprang into action. Grabbing his pack from under the canopy, he quickly tossed a few items into it, then cinched the tie and lifted it. Swinging it over his head, he let it fly into the trees lining the banks. He tossed Ellie’s smaller pack into her arms.

  “The maps!” he ordered, then raced to the stern, whipping out his machete. With a quick, practiced motion, he pried up one of the boards of the deck, revealing a hollow space beneath. As Ellie grabbed the tin cylinder from the crate, Adam reached in and pulled out a clear glass bottle full of a dark, amber-colored liquid. He hurried to her, shoving the bottle into her pack and throwing it around his shoulders.

  “What is that?” she demanded.

  He ignored the question. “Can you swim?”

  “I suppose. We used to summer at the lake and—”

  Her words were cut off as Adam shoved her over the rail and she plunged into the cold, rushing water.

  The river swallowed her, the current sweeping her along with terrifying speed and robbing her of her sense of which way was up.

  Fear paralyzed her. Ellie knew she had only moments before she was swept over the falls. She had to get to the surface, but if she swam in the wrong direction, she would expend her energy effectively to drown herself—or get washed over a cliff.

  Her lungs screamed for air, her mind howling for action. Then a hand grabbed her shirt, hauling her up.

  She exploded through the surface, gasping. Adam shoved her toward the bank, not directly, but diagonally.

  “That way! Use the current; don’t fight it,” he ordered.

  She began to swim furiously, stifling the powerful instinct to turn toward the bank, which seemed so close, instead letting the current propel her as she pulled for safety. At last she reached out and felt her hand close around a slick, protruding root. She gripped it, and the force of the water crushed her into it, nearly knocking the breath out of her chest. Then Adam was beside her, hitting the tree with a thud. He hauled himself up, then reached back and pulled her up after him.

  They tumbled onto the bank and lay there, breathless, exhausted, the pack on the ground beside them. Slowly Ellie rolled over and looked back to the river.

  The brink was frighteningly close to where they lay, and from their vantage, Ellie could see that the waterfall was dizzyingly high. The sight of it made her stomach drop. As she watched, the Mary Lee reached the edge, spun, and toppled over. A few moments later she heard a distant crack from the ground far below.

  She glanced over at where Adam lay beside her, his eyes still closed.

  “That was my boat, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Ellie replied quietly.

  She waited for the burst of rage she felt sure must come. After all, they were now lost in an unexplored wilderness on the brink of the rainy season with no way back to civilization.

  Instead, he started to laugh.

  It was contagious. Ellie felt it bubbling up inside of her, spilling out so ferociously it made her eyes water.

  “How are we going to get back?” she asked between moments of hysteria.

  Adam wiped his eyes, slowly sobering.

  “I don’t know. We might be able to hitch a ride after we get to the Belize. There will be traffic on that river, even this time of year.”

  Ellie felt the mirth start to rise once more.

  “I still can’t believe…”

  Her words trailed off as she realized that Adam was no longer listening. He was looking down at his belt.

  The sheath of his machete was acting strangely. Instead of lying flat against his leg, as it was supposed to, it had lifted away from his trousers, and was pointing, quite insistently, at a stand of brush a few yards away.

  They exchanged a look, and Adam leaped to his feet. Moving forward, he pushed the tangle of vines aside and revealed a massive, grotesquely carved pillar of night-black stone.

  10

  WATCHING ADAM BATES SET up camp was a humbling experience.

  Ellie had always thought of herself as a competent woman, but compiling the means of survival out of the pitiful arrangement of gear they’d had in the two bags they’d rescued from the Mary Lee was, she had to admit, as far beyond her capability as flying.

  Watching him start their fire, rig a fishing line, and easily identify the edible portions of the myriad plants that surrounded them brought home to her how utterly dependent she was on this man. His skills and knowledge were what would get them back to civilization again. Had she been foolish enough to venture out here on her own, she would probably have poisoned herself with her first breakfast.

  Once his aromatic stew of fish and wild yams was bubbling in a pot over the fire, Adam at last turned his eye to the object that had, Ellie was sure, been calling to both of them since they’d reached the shore.

  The black pillar was more than just a stone. It was a stela, a painstakingly carved and deliberately placed memorial. Ellie had read about such monuments in her studies. They were often found near Mayan ruins, though no one knew whether they served as altars, icons, or three-dimensional histories. This one was different. It stood alone in the middle of the jungle, with no sign of ruin or habitation nearby.

  It was also an enormous magnet.

  Every piece of metal in the camp had scuttled across the ground to the stone, unless it was tied up or weighed down with fish and yams.

  The front of the monument was taken up with a larger, more elaborate version of the medallion’s idol. His face was crossed with horizontal lines like paint on a warrior, giving him a fierce, inhuman aspect. The icon of the black disk, with its weaving lines of smoke, rose over the idol’s head this time, like a dark moon. It was surrounded by rows of glyphs.

  “Can you read any of it?” Ellie asked.

  “I might be able to decipher some of the dates, if it were Mayan.”

  “But it’s not?”

  He shook his head.

  “The glyphs are similar to Mayan writing. I’ve seen enough of it to recognize the symbols. These are different.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Wish I knew, princess.”

  She studied it, absorbing the grotesque figure of the god and the monstrous shapes that surrounded him.

  “It’s the Smoking Mirror again.”

  “Tezcatlipoca. Or his close cousin,” Adam confirmed.

  “What else do you know about him?”

  “Tezcatlipoca was a god of sacrifice. There was a lot of that around here before the conquest. For both the Mayans and the Aztecs, blood was power. You offered it up, either your own or someone else’s, and received gifts from the gods in return. Fortune. Glory. Or, in the case of the Smoking Mirror, visions of prophecy.”

  “You mean the mirror might have been an actual ritual object.”

  “Ever heard of scrying?” Adam asked. “It’s an old European folk tradition, the notion that you could see the past
or the future by studying the surface of a pool of still water. Or a mirror.”

  “The Grimm brothers,” Ellie said abruptly.

  Adam gave her an odd look.

  “German folklorists,” she hurried to explain. “They collected old stories. My father gave me a book of them when I was a girl. I don’t think he realized that they weren’t really fairy tales for children. There was a story in there about a girl named Snow White whose wicked stepmother owned a magic mirror that would show her whatever she desired to see.” Ellie frowned, remembering. “That mirror wanted a sacrifice, too. The girl’s heart, brought home in a box.”

  “It’s funny how so many of these myths turn up on opposite sides of the world. But then again, I can’t really be sure exactly what we’re dealing with.”

  “Something very important to the people who put that here,” Ellie concluded.

  She gazed at the enigmatic figure on the dark stone. It was offering no answers.

  “Come on,” Adam said, interrupting her reverie. “Let’s get some dinner.”

  Ellie hadn’t realized how hungry she was until Adam set the steaming bowl in her hands. His simple stew smelled more delicious than the finest meal she’d ever eaten. It was funny what a near-death experience could do for the appetite.

  “You’ll have to use your fingers,” he apologized. “Damned if I know where the spoons went.”

  Ellie suspected they had probably joined the rest of their metal objects, gluing themselves to the pillar, but didn’t want to stop eating to suggest it.

  When they’d finished, Adam tightly covered the pot, weighing down the lid with a heavy stone.

  “We’ll still find some bugs in there in the morning,” he warned. “Just pick them out if they bother you.”

  Given how hungry life in the bush seemed to make her, Ellie felt certain she wouldn’t be bothered.

  With the camp safely set and her stomach full, she felt weariness begin to creep in. It had, after all, been a rather long day.

  But they’d found the pillar.

  The thought exhilarated her. It had proved beyond a doubt—and not just to Adam—that the map they followed was genuine. She realized that she had been harboring a quiet fear that her discovery would prove to be little more than a seventeenth-century joke. Finding the stela had done away with that, making it clear that everything she had risked to pursue this course was justified.

  She yawned involuntarily. Even the excitement of knowing for certain that they were on the right track wasn’t enough to completely counter her exhaustion.

  “Anything else we need to do before we sleep?”

  “Damp out the fire a bit,” Adam said. “And then there’s this.”

  He reached back and pulled a glass bottle from behind the log he sat on. He gazed at it appreciatively.

  “That’s what you saved from the boat,” Ellie said, remembering the extra seconds he had taken to retrieve it from its hiding place under the planks of the deck.

  “And thank God for small miracles; she made it here in one piece.” Adam used his machete to neatly pry out the cork, then returned the knife to his belt, careful to fasten it back into place lest it take flight for the nearby monument. He inhaled luxuriously at the nose of the bottle.

  “What is it?”

  “The finest rum in the world. Possibly the last existing bottle of it. It was made by the grandmother of a friend of mine. She had a still on her farm in Jamaica. I’ve tried for years to pry the technique out of her, but she swore she’d take it to her grave. She was old then, and that was ten years ago, so I’d be surprised if she’s still bootlegging.”

  “You’ve had that bottle for ten years?” Ellie asked, shocked.

  “Yup. Been saving it for a special occasion.”

  “But you’re drinking it now. What’s the occasion?”

  He lifted the bottle and smiled.

  “Not being dead.”

  He took a swig, then leaned back with an expression of bliss. He glanced over at Ellie and offered her the bottle.

  “Oh, no. I don’t drink rum.”

  “We can’t take it with us. As you’ll soon learn, every extra bit of weight counts in what we’re going to do. It’s drink it tonight or tomorrow we make this a very lucky piece of dirt. But you can rest assured that I will get myself mighty drunk before I sacrifice this stuff to the ground. So we’ll all be better off if you do your part.”

  Tentatively Ellie reached out and accepted the bottle. She sniffed at it. The aroma was admittedly enticing—all heat, spice, and caramel.

  “I’m not even sure that I’ll… I mean, I’ve had sherry, of course, and wine every once in a while.…”

  “Just drink it,” Adam ordered, and she lifted the bottle.

  The taste burned, rich and gorgeous. Her mouth erupted with heat and vanilla, sweetness and fire.

  “My God,” she exclaimed wonderingly.

  “Told you,” Adam retorted.

  She drank again, then somewhat reluctantly handed the bottle back. Adam swigged, and a comfortable silence settled over them. Then Ellie felt a quick pang of guilt.

  “I’m sorry about your boat,” she said. “Had you had it long?”

  “Pretty much since I got here.”

  “And that was?”

  “About ten years ago.”

  “Right after you graduated,” she surmised.

  He leaned back and took another swig from the bottle.

  “Never graduated.”

  “What do you mean? Why not?”

  “Spite, mostly,” he replied. He saw the confusion in her look and sighed. “In my last semester, my parents came to England and showed up at Cambridge. My father told me they’d pay a visit to my uncle, Lord Scarsdale, then return to collect me and bring me back to San Francisco to take up my position with the firm.”

  “And you said no,” Ellie finished for him.

  “Careful,” he warned. “Sounds like you might be getting to know me.” He took another swig and offered her the bottle. She accepted it.

  The stuff was good.

  “So what did he say?” she asked, after the warmth had made its way down her throat.

  “He made all kinds of threats—cutting me off, disowning me—most of which, to his credit, he did follow through on.”

  “He disowned you?” It seemed unthinkable to her that a father could take such a step.

  “Not officially. But I haven’t spoken to him since.”

  “I hope he comes around.”

  “I won’t be holding my breath.” He noticed her shock, and his look softened. “Look, princess—some types of people just aren’t meant to get along. I’m sure you can think of a few examples.”

  “But he’s your—”

  “I’m aware,” he said, stopping her with a raised hand. “But family doesn’t guarantee compatibility. George Bates and I are two very different men. The only surprise in the whole business is that it took as long as it did to come to a head. I’ve still got contact with my mother—for better or worse—and my brother, Robin, is an all-right sort. Much better suited to a life in the company. He’ll thrive doing what they had planned for me. It’s worked out for the best, but my father will never see that.” He shrugged. “He doesn’t have to.”

  Ellie quietly absorbed this.

  “It still seems sad to me. I would give quite a lot to have had more time with my parents.”

  “They died?” Adam guessed.

  She nodded.

  “My mother died in childbirth, along with the baby that would have been my sister. My father passed away shortly afterward. His heart gave out. My uncle David—my mother’s older brother—and his family took me in.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I was very young. I honestly don’t remember them all that well. Certainly not well enough to miss them. It’s more… I would have liked the chance to have known them, if I could.”

  “Understandable. And I know mine a little too well.”

  There w
as a comfortable silence, the fire crackling between them. The rum felt warm in Ellie’s stomach, loosening both her muscles and her mind.

  “So—graduating?”

  “I didn’t see the point in taking my last exams. Who did I need to prove myself to? I knew what I knew. My father wanted me to have that degree, and I wanted to tell my father to go to hell. The rest is history.”

  “You really don’t think he’ll ever change his mind?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he admitted. “I suppose my mother might keep working on him till I’m safely back in the fold. Not that I miss it. And I don’t need the money.”

  “Now, really—” Ellie said, half laughing.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “You may not have noticed, but I’m a man of rather simple needs.”

  “That,” she said pointedly, “is an understatement.”

  She took another sip of rum. Adam looked at her wryly as she drank.

  “You approve.”

  “It’s quite lovely,” she admitted.

  “Best in the world,” he asserted, gently taking the bottle back.

  “What if money could buy you more of this?” she challenged.

  “It can’t,” he replied, unmoved.

  She gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment, an unexpected question rising in her mind.

  “You’re not married, are you?”

  Adam spit rum.

  “Good God, no. Where did that question come from?”

  She shrugged.

  “I just realized I had never asked. You might feel differently about the money if you had a wife and children.”

  “I have no intention of acquiring either.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re honestly asking me that?”

  “Yes.”

  Adam took another slug from the bottle. “I’m not the marrying type.”

  “That’s a thin excuse.”

  “A woman might pretend she doesn’t mind my spending months at a time in the jungle. But give it a year or two, and it’s going to be, ‘Why can’t you find work that’ll let you stay home?’ and, ‘Why can’t we move somewhere with more shops?’ Then there’s babies,” he added. “However good I am at what I do, it’s a risky line of work. What woman is going to let me keep at it and chance that she’ll be left on her own if something happens to me?”