The Sirens of Oak Creek

by Robert Louis DeMayo

  The box canyon was almost perfectly aligned east-west. We had entered from the eastern wall, and aside from a level area to the left of the chute, the land tilted uphill to the west.

  At the far end, a grove of old alligator-bark junipers appeared to lean against the yellow cliff. I’d seen some big ones, usually up on the rim or in higher elevations, but none as big as these. Not far above their uppermost branches was the plateau’s rim.

  It had taken us the better part of the day to reach the box canyon, and the sun hovered over the western wall. Although it would not be nightfall for a few hours, we would be cast in shadow soon.

  My mother started a fire on the flat area to the left of the chute. Ts’aak sent me down to Bat to obtain some supplies. He would stay where he was.

  When I came back into the box canyon, I explored around a bit.

  Ts’aak seemed nervous and kept glancing at the junipers at the back of the canyon. She stood up when she saw me approaching them and was about to call out when I shouted.

  “There’s a cave here!”

  She quickly scrambled after me and yanked me away.

  “Stay by the fire!” she commanded.

  Then my mother was at my side, alarmed by the tone of Ts’aak’s voice, and the look of worry now on her face.

  She walked us back to the fire. “We will explore the cave in the morning,” was all the older woman said.

  I was a little sore at being yelled at, and that’s when it hit me that we were in the actual place where Itzel had confronted the bear.

  And why wouldn’t there be other bears here now? With Bat stationed outside, what if a bear somehow showed up undetected? Or could there be one living in the cave right now? I did stay close to the fire for the remainder of the day—and nobody had to tell me to do so again.

  That night we stared up at a perfectly framed window of sky that was dense with stars. The fire was banked, and I lay on a soft blanket next to it.

  When I noticed my mother and Ts’aak glancing at me, I knew they were waiting for me to fall asleep. I was painfully curious about what was so important and pretended to drift off, clutching Ila and keeping my ears perked up, as a hunter’s moon crept into the night sky.

  They began a casual conversation, discussing the route we had taken up the canyon, and which part might prove difficult on the descent. Ts’aak also had some questions about the weather, and about how much colder it could get.

  Eventually they must have figured I was asleep and moved on to the topic I was pining to hear about.

  Ts’aak said, “Tomorrow we will enter the cave—only you and I.” My sharp intake of breath almost gave me away.

  Kayah said, “You spoke of your father being attacked by a bear here—are you afraid there is a bear in the cave?”

  She shook her head. “No, that bear should be long dead—and I’ve searched carefully, and there are no tracks.”

  A silence followed, and in it I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. I opened my eye just a slit. Kayah patiently looked at the Mayan woman until she began to speak.

  “What my father found in the cave he did not record. The only hint was a symbol which he scribbled on the map.”

  Kayah nodded and waited.

  Eventually Ts’aak continued, “But as he grew older, he confided in me. I don’t believe he ever told another what I’m about to relate.”

  I listened, feeling young and like I wasn’t ready for such a story, but unable to close my ears.

  “When Itzel crawled into the tunnel his only fear was the bear, but soon the passage got so small that he knew the beast could not possibly follow. He crept along and could feel the walls change from sandstone to hard, cold volcanic rock.

  At first it was pitch black, but as his eyes adjusted he could make out something luminescent in the cracks of the rock. His fingers told him it was a fungus, or lichen. A glowing powder from the same plant covered the ground, dimly lighting the way.

  It was then that he began to again sense something strange; a darkness and timelessness, enhanced by the low hum he had felt back in the chamber where the water dripped.

  In the dim glow, he felt his way further into the tunnel.

  The gloom seemed to thicken around him, as did his fear.

  But then the tunnel got wider again, and he was able to turn around and move along on hands and knees.

  He saw another soft glow in the distance. As he crawled closer, he made out that the same luminescent growth from the tunnel was spread over the rock, comprising a high domed ceiling.

  He could just barely make out the chamber floor, which was covered with water. In the middle of a small pond lay a large pyramid-shaped mound that rose up to the ceiling, as if it had once been a platform where a pedestal supported the black dome far above.

  He wanted to inspect it, but a terrible sense of dark, unrestrained potential seemed to emanate from the cave. He cowered and cringed in fear.

  An unquenchable desire for power crept over him, surged through him. His mind suddenly raced. He was thinking about becoming king, about toppling his uncle. And even though he loved his uncle, and had never yearned for power, here he was, plotting and scheming with a sinister energy.”

  I shivered and pulled Ila close.

  Ts’aak threw a few twigs on the fire and sat up.

  “If anyone in Tikal ever heard me say those words my entire family would be killed.”

  She sighed. “Somehow, he realized he was bewitched, and pulled himself out of the trance by retreating. So powerful was this energy that he would rather face the bear. Well, as you know, he escaped.”

  Kayah watched as Ts’aak retrieved the Codex from her belongings and opened a page with a map.

  Kayah stared at the map as Ts’aak made sense of it by pointing out landmarks. “This is where you live, by the sinkhole, and here is the creek we followed to get to the special place for thanking the spirits that you showed me.”

  Kayah nodded, the drawing slowly coming to life.

  “Oak Creek, yes.”

  “And here,” continued Ts’aak, “is where we turned off into the West Fork, and then again up Itzel’s canyon.”

  About two-thirds of the way up Itzel’s canyon was a symbol and Kayah pointed at it.’

  “This is where we are, true?” she asked.

  Ts’aak nodded and she pushed for further explanation. “And what does this mean?”

  “The word is Xibalba, and it means Place of Fear. Xibalba is where we go after death to be judged by twelve angry gods, or demons.”

  “And your father thought this was Xibalba?” my mother asked.

  Ts’aak’s eyes were fearful. “He said he thought he might have found a door to the place—a backdoor if you will—to our afterworld.”

  The two women then fell silent. I lay there thinking for a long time, somehow wishing I hadn’t listened to all this. But now I knew that such places might exist.

  How much simpler it would have been to just fear a bear.

  Chapter Five

  I woke to see Ts’aak standing before the junipers at the far end of the canyon. Her back was to the cave, and she appeared to be looking east, in the direction the sun would rise. From her vantage point at the far end of the canyon she could see over its eastern wall, but the soft pink horizon was only now lighting up, and sunrise would still be a ways off.

  When I walked up to her, she said, “Venus” and nodded at a white dot, low above the rim in the eastern sky.

  My mother joined us and smiled knowingly at the planet.

  “It is good that Venus is in its morning phase,” said Ts’aak. “Now we will just wait for the sun before entering the cave.”

  After listening to Ts’aak and my mother last night I was very nervous about what we might encounter, and I kept glancing behind us at the cave entrance.

  Ts’aak walked down to the chute and made sure Bat was still in position; he stood like a statue, with his back to the entrance, munching on a piece of his smoked antelope.


  Then she instructed me that I was not allowed to enter the cave, under any conditions. “I know you are adventurous,” she said, “like your mother was, but you must not follow us.”

  I nodded sheepishly.

  We stood next to the thick-trunked trees and peered into the darkness. The ground around us was littered with little light-blue berries.

  Eventually the sun crept over the edge of the cliffs and shone directly into the cave. The trees were ancient and crowed together closely against the wall. The roots of two of them had grown around the entrance, framing it.

  I gazed beyond the trunks, trying to get a glimpse of Kayah and Ts’aak as they entered the cave.

  “Remember,” warned Ts’aak, “do not enter. Stay there.”

  I nodded. Afraid, and not at all eager to follow.

  The two women disappeared into the cave. They stepped gingerly, frightened of what they might awaken. The cavern´s ceiling was low, and the further they went into it, the lower it got. Ahead, water dripped down through the ceiling and formed puddles on the ground, and beyond that was the shadowed entrance to a tunnel.

  To the left of the entrance was a dark chamber.

  Kayah peered into it and saw a skeleton.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  Ts’aak examined the bleached bones more closely, and then said, “It’s a bear.”

  Kayah looked around fearfully. She asked, “Do you think it could be the same one that attacked your father?”

  Ts’aak shook her head. “I don´t know.”

  Kayah moved a few of the bones, and then lifted an obsidian dagger with a jade hilt. Carved into the handle was a skeleton wearing a crown and brandishing two knives.

  “My father’s dagger,” Ts’aak said in disbelief.

  “Leave it,” she said quickly and Kayah dropped it. “It was given to him by our King, and it has great power—it should stay with the bear.”

  Next, they entered the chamber where the water dripped, delving deeper into the cave, away from the light.

  There was a mound in the middle, about ten paces from the tunnel, and they paused there.

  “I don’t feel anything strange here,” said Ts’aak.

  “No,” replied Kayah, but the words had scarcely left her mouth when a dark breeze blew through the shaft, making the hair on her arms stand on end.

  They both looked at the forbidding hole in the wall.

  “I don’t know what we will find,” said Ts’aak. “My father speculated that a direct door to the afterlife might allow one to bypass the trials of Xibalba—or, even, to return from the dead.”

  She looked up at Kayah and added, “Thanks to my father, we do have some protection.”

  She produced a cloth bundle and unwrapped it, and soon held the white stone. She added, “We will only use it if necessary.”

  From my place by the entrance I felt as if time was standing still, like I was an ancient tree, slowly taking it all in: I watched Ts’aak lift the white stone. I watched my mother, looking at it with hope, and listened to their mumbled conversation. And I watched them both turn and stare at the tunnel.

  After what felt like an eternity, the air left my lungs as they hunched over and began to crawl out of sight.

  And I tried to be like that ancient tree and see things in terms of years, or generations even, and be detached and unconcerned. But I was only ten, and the anguish that gripped my heart like the twisted-iron roots of the ancient juniper, was that my mother might never return.

  Ts’aak led the way, bent forward with the white stone clenched tightly in her hands before her. When the tunnel dropped lower she held it against her heart and crawled with one hand.

  My mother followed after she threw one last glance at me over her shoulder.

  A dim luminescence escorted them, reflected off the rock and the ground they crawled over.

  When they emerged into another chamber at the far end of the tunnel the dull hum enveloped them.

  They stood and looked over a flooded cavern with an island in the middle. The ceiling and walls were carved out of the black volcanic rock in such straight lines that it almost looked man-made.

  A great dome stretched above them.

  Kayah was awed by the vastness of the chamber.

  Ts’aak said, “We should stay near the tunnel,” but then her eyes became unfocused and she began walking forward.

  Kayah wanted to stop her but was suddenly short of breath. Her mind raced with images of wealth and suffering. Disturbing pictures of naked bodies flared up. Emotions washed over her: All the bad that had ever happened to her seemed to creep up her spine.

  She thought of Tokori, who appeared suddenly incompetent, and in need of replacement. She thought of Ts’aak, and the Mayans, and wondered what the knowledge of this place would be worth to them.

  She looked up and saw Ts’aak standing thigh-deep in the water.

  She was halfway to the island. Kayah called to her, but the words felt muffled before they even left her mouth.

  Ts’aak was battling with her own mind. She thought of her uncle, Nuun Ujol K’inich, the great Lord of Tikal, and how she might wield his power.

  Ts´aak made it to the island and reached out a hand, but the sharp volcanic rock cut into her finger. Her blood dripped steadily into the water.

  This pulled her out of her reverie for just a moment.

  She shook herself and looked around in panic.

  She saw Kayah on the shore calling over but couldn’t hear the words. But even as she stared at her, dark thoughts flooded her mind—thoughts of distrust and violence.

  And then she heard his voice.

  Her father’s voice.

  And in front of her she glimpsed an image moving toward her. It shimmered, and the more she tried to focus on it, the more it seemed to dissipate.

  Yet she could see him, drifting her way.

  The spirit reached out his hand and touched hers, and then pushed her bleeding hand lower, onto the white stone.

  When her blood touched the stone it flared up, bright and powerful, and for a moment the voices and images in her head abated.

  In its place came a memory of her father holding her, whispering softly to her as she fell asleep. She felt loved.

  And at peace. The ill sensations around her swung positive and she felt overcome with joy. He breath quickened as she thought, “I could teach this—I could share it.”

  And then, just as quickly, she found herself standing thigh-deep in the murky, dark water.

  The vision was gone.

  Ts’aak waded to shore and found Kayah slumped on the ground. She tried to help her up, but the woman was lost in the turmoil of her mind, cringing and cowering on the hard rock.

  Suddenly Ts’aak too felt the voices taking over again.

  She gripped the white stone tightly, but it wasn’t strong enough. She sank to her knees.

  She fought with all her might but couldn´t shake the oncoming darkness of the mind. She was about to give in when she heard the singing.

  It was faint, emanating softly from the tunnel, but she could hear it clearly.

  The song came from me, and I sang it out of love and fear for my mother. It was the same wordless melody we’d sung by Kayah’s special place along the creek, and I sang with all my heart.

  The melody flowed out of me like the water of the creek, meandering and peaceful, and it seemed even the ancient junipers swayed with my song.

  Slowly, Ts’aak managed to stand, and a moment later she had Kayah upright as well.

  Kayah’s ears, too, picked up the song, and the darkness around her faded away as images of her daughter´s birth flooded her mind. They were followed by the times they’d had—we’d had—and that we shared: the two of us laughing and dancing and playing and loving each other through the years.

  Ts’aak and Kayah gripped each other’s hands and stumbled toward the tunnel, and without looking back they crawled through the blackness, until the light of day sh
immered between the tree trunks, by the entrance of the cave, where I waited.

  Chapter Six

  Ts’aak remained silent when we were all back in the box canyon. She returned to our camping spot by the chute, rekindled the fire, and made tea using some herbs she traveled with.

  My mother followed, like a ghost.

  “Totsi, check on Bat,” Ts’aak ordered when the tea was ready.

  I found him staring down the canyon, observing two red-tailed hawks that were spiraling past. He was blissfully unaware of what had happened in the cave.

  I returned and found the women still locked in silence.

  “He’s fine.”

  Finally, my mother snapped out of it. “Shouldn’t we get out of here?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  Ts’aak shook her head. “No, we cannot leave this place for another to stumble upon.”

  Kayah was dumbfounded. “But what can we do? We barely made it out.”

  The older woman looked frail and tired, but her voice was still strong. She glanced at her hand, which the stone had somehow healed.

  She nodded. “Yes, but we did make it out. And I believe we would have eventually escaped. The danger I sensed in that cave is a lust for power.”

  “And I think that lust for power is what that place feeds on,” said Ts’aak. “I crave knowledge more than power. But it gripped even me so.

  Kayah stood and faced the cave and asked, “What do we do?”

  Ts’aak sipped her tea and pondered the question. This canyon was remote, but it wasn’t very difficult to get to. If a grown woman and a ten-year-old girl could make it—albeit with Bat’s help—others could.

  She stood and walked back to the cave and my mother followed, and I trailed her.

  She noticed me and tried to send me back to the fire, but Ts’aak intervened. “Totsi should come with us,” she said. “She has proven herself, and someday she will be the future.”

  Reluctantly, I stepped past the junipers and entered the first chamber.