The Lost City

by J

  “I’m not sure of anything,” said Max.

  Hermanjilio nodded understandingly. “This must all be so confusing for you. I’m sure they do things very differently in Boston.”

  “It’s not that,” said Max. “It’s my parents. They find trouble like heat-seeking missiles. If they’re not leaping into the Maya underworld, they’re getting arrested and locked up. I can’t trust them to behave like normal parents. I mean, it’s their fault that the Death Lords are after me. They started all this.”

  Hermanjilio and Lord 6-Dog looked shocked at the outburst.

  “What?” said Max.

  “It was you who brought this on your parents,” said Hermanjilio gently. “The Death Lords needed you and Lola to find the Jaguar Stones. They used your parents to get to you.”

  “If my parents weren’t archaeologists, none of this would have happened.” Max held up his palms. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.

  Lord 6-Dog stared at him in disbelief. “Hast thou learned nothing from our adventures? Dost thou not understand that what must happen will happen? Thy fate is written in the stars; thou canst never escape it.”

  “I don’t buy that,” said Max.

  Hermanjilio smiled, in spite of himself. “You’ve just dissed the whole of Maya civilization.”

  “I don’t care,” said Max. “I refuse to believe I can’t control my own future.”

  Lord 6-Dog looked a bit like his head would explode. “What heresy is this?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Max. “But it’s like when someone calls you a loser and it makes you a million times more determined to beat them. If you tell me I have no free will, I’ll automatically do the opposite of everything you say just to prove you wrong.”

  “In my day it was simple” said Lord 6-Dog. “Thou didst not have a choice. Thy future was determined by the day of thy birth and that was that. In many ways, that was the cause of the rift between myself and my adopted brother, Tzelek. I was born to be a great king. He was born to be an evil want-to-be.”

  “Wannabe,” Max corrected him. “That’s harsh.”

  Lord 6-Dog bounded off the couch and landed in between the two giant stone heads that dominated Uncle Ted’s artifact-stuffed sitting room. “Dost thou know the story of these sculptures?”

  “Of course. Mister Angry on the left is Tzelek; the other one is you.”

  “Indeed. And my destiny is to battle Tzelek until the end of time. It is the age-old story of good versus evil.”

  For a moment, Max felt a pang of pity for Tzelek and the role he’d been cast in. Destined always to be the bad guy, he’d died twelve hundred years ago in a battle with Lord 6-Dog. But, since there had been no winner—they’d killed each other—the brothers had vowed to fight again. As Lord 6-Dog was currently living in the human world and Tzelek was technically confined to the Maya underworld, the evil brother was always finding ways of escaping and taking up residence in unsuspecting mortals. (The only giveaways to his presence were an increasingly bad mood and a slight limp—easy enough signs to miss.)

  As Max stared at Tzelek’s stone head, he could swear that the statue was staring back at him with an intensity that made him shiver. He’d seen those eyes, that hatred, in real life—once when Tzelek had squatted in Hermanjilio’s brain, and again in Spain, when he’d taken control of a creep called Count Antonio de Landa.

  “Where is Tzelek now?” asked Hermanjilio uneasily.

  “Last time I saw him was in Spain,” said Max. “We were in a boat. He fell overboard.”

  “Let us hope he drowned,” muttered Hermanjilio.

  Lord 6-Dog shook his head. “There is only one way to put an end to Tzelek. It is written in the stars. He and I will duel to the death.”

  “But you’ve already done that once,” said Max. “How can you duel to the death again?”

  “Tzelek killed my father, Punak Ha, the man who raised him. With one plunge of a dagger Tzelek threw the cosmos out of balance. It is my duty to avenge my father’s death. I will die, and die, and die again, until that one great wrong has been righted.”

  A chill ran around the room.

  “It’s cold tonight,” said Hermanjilio. “Let’s build a fire and get cozy.”

  Max looked around at the soaring ceiling, the expanse of cold floor, the antique furniture, and Uncle Ted’s museum-like collection of Maya pottery. It would take more than a fire in the grate to make this room cozy.

  Hermanjilio saw his dubious expression and misread it. “It’s okay, Max, you’re safe. Tzelek can’t get you here.”

  “None of us are safe,” said Lord 6-Dog.

  And then the power went out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  RUNNING SCARED

  Max groaned. “Not again. How can you live in a place that has so many blackouts?”

  “You get used to it,” Hermanjilio replied, “especially in hurricane season.”

  “It’s always hurricane season,” Max pointed out.

  Hermanjilio laughed. “I know it seems that way. Blame climate change.”

  “Blame Tzelek,” muttered Lord 6-Dog darkly.

  “So sorry for the inconvenience,” said Raul as he and Lady Coco bustled in with armfuls of candles.

  “Candlelight is more flattering to the complexion,” Lady Coco reassured him, apparently forgetting that her own face was temporarily covered in monkey hair.

  “I thought you had an emergency generator,” said Max.

  “We do,” replied Raul, “but it’s not working. I sent someone out to fix it this morning, but I haven’t heard anything. I just wish Jaime was still here.”

  “Jaime? Jaime Ben? You mean Lucky Jim?” Max’s ears pricked up at this mention of the young Maya man who’d once saved him from Tzelek.

  Raul nodded. “He took care of those things when he worked here. But now that he’s training to be a teacher, we haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “I have some experience with generators, Raul,” volunteered Hermanjilio. “Want me to take a look?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind. It’s in a clearing behind the warehouse. Can you find it?”

  “Max can show me the way.”

  Max shook his head. After those roars he’d heard earlier, he had no desire to go outside.

  “Not scared, are you?” asked Hermanjilio.

  “No,” lied Max.

  “Good. I need you to hold the flashlight while I work on the generator.”

  Max thought quickly. “I have to stay here in case the lawyer calls again.”

  “No worries, young lord,” Lady Coco informed him brightly, “the phone is down as well.”

  “Grab a machete and let’s go,” said Hermanjilio.

  Uncle Ted’s house was built on the jutting point of a ridge that encircled a sandy bay. The banana warehouse and loading dock sat on a pier at the water’s edge. It was usually a sheltered little harbor, but today the boats bucked wildly and the tide roared as it pounded the shore.

  At the top of the steps, Max hesitated. “The quickest way is straight along the beach, but …”

  Hermanjilio surveyed the crashing waves. “Is there another route?”

  “There’s a trail through the jungle,” said Max, already soaked in spray. “It’s kind of overgrown, but I think I can find it.”

  “Lead on.”

  The watery setting sun barely tinted the gray clouds. As they walked along the trail, Hermanjilio pointed out a dark silhouette flitting through the sky.

  “Look, a vampire bat!”

  “Yech, I hate them,” said Max. “One of them pooped on my pizza at the Grand Hotel Xibalba.”

  “That’s odd.”

  “They were roosting in the roof of the restaurant,” Max explained.

  “No, I mean it’s odd to see vampires around here. We usually get fruit bats. And you don’t usually see bats awake so early.”

  More and more vampires filled the sky.

  “I wonder what’s woken them?” mused Hermanjili
o.

  A bloodcurdling shriek pierced the air.

  “What was that?” Max looked around warily.

  “Probably a hawk. They come out to hunt the bats.”

  Hermanjilio stood for a moment scanning the trees. “Over there!” He pointed to a gap between the treetops where a large black bird, as ungainly as a turkey doing the backstroke, was thrashing and weaving through the sky.

  Max stared at it. “It’s flying upside down. Is that a thing? What bird does that?”

  “I’ve only heard of one … my grandfather told me about it … but it was just a story. That bird was mythical.”

  “What was it called?”

  “Mesa-hol, the bird that flies upside down. Grandfather said that if it was ever to land on your roof, your house would cave in. And if it ever learned to fly right side up, it would foretell the end of the world.”

  As they watched, the great black bird suddenly righted itself and flew gracefully over their heads.

  Max’s eyes opened wide. “Did you see that?”

  “It’s just a big hawk,” insisted Hermanjilio, “with an unusual bat-catching technique.”

  “But it was flying upside down and then it flew right side up. Just like the bird in your grandfather’s story.”

  “Pure coincidence.” Hermanjilio looked around, narrowing his eyes. “But let’s hurry. I think I see the warehouse through the trees.”

  Max pointed to a fork in the trail. “This way to the generator.”

  Hermanjilio shone the flashlight on a pattern in the dirt. “Fresh tire tracks. Must be the repair truck. I’m guessing the guy is still working on it.”

  “So he doesn’t need us,” said Max. “Let’s go back.”

  “We should check he’s okay. And then he can give us a lift. Come on.…”

  Hermanjilio started running down the trail, and Max followed behind.

  Suddenly, Hermanjilio stopped dead. Max barreled straight into him, almost knocking them both to the ground.

  “Stay down,” whispered Hermanjilio. “I don’t like the look of this.”

  An overturned jeep lay abandoned in the clearing. The door of the shed was hanging off its hinges, and the roof had caved in, taking one of the walls with it. Smoke drifted up to the sky. There was no sign of the workman.

  “Hello?” called Hermanjilio. “Is anybody there?”

  As if answering his call, the big black bird landed on the rusty upturned underside of the jeep. As the bird turned its head to survey the clearing, it looked directly at Max. Its eyes were empty sockets.

  “That hawk …,” he began, but Hermanjilio shushed him.

  “I think I hear something.…”

  Max listened. He could hear nothing but the buzzing of insects and the distant crashing of the ocean.

  But then, from somewhere inside the broken shed, he heard a sob.

  “Stay here,” Hermanjilio instructed. “I’ll go and look.”

  “Be careful,” Max whispered. His insides felt swampy with fear.

  With his machete at the ready, Hermanjilio ran across the clearing and picked his way through the doorway of the shed. Then he disappeared from view behind a pile of rubble.

  There was silence for a worryingly long time. Then: “Max, come and help me.”

  As Max got closer, the smell of burning oil and melted rubber stung his nostrils and he pulled his shirt up over his nose. He could hear Hermanjilio talking Mayan in a soothing tone. He followed the voice into the shed.

  “Over here, Max!”

  In a corner, trapped by debris, huddled a young Maya man. He wore dust-covered overalls and a yellow hard hat that had probably saved his life. He whimpered quietly as, one by one, Hermanjilio cleared away the sheets of tin, pieces of wood, and chunks of cement.

  Max quickly moved to help.

  “I’ve tried English, Spanish, and every Maya language I know,” Hermanjilio explained, slightly out of breath from all the lifting. “He hasn’t responded to any of them. I think he’s in shock. We need to get him out of here before those fuel tanks blow.”

  They helped the workman to his feet. “Are you hurt? Can you walk?” Hermanjilio asked. In answer, the workman limped forward, holding on to his rescuer like a drowning man clutching a life preserver.

  Once outside, they led the workman to the far edge of the clearing and tried to sit him down against a tree trunk. All the while, the man was trying to get away.

  “It’s okay,” Hermanjilio assured him. “You’re safe now.”

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  “There go the fuel tanks! Get down!” Hermanjilio pushed Max and the workman to the ground, covering them with his own body, as an explosion blew through the clearing. There was a flash of light, a wave of intense heat, a terrible screech of metal as pipes and machine parts were ripped apart. Max was unsure if the ground beneath them was shaking or if it was just his own body shaking in fear.

  Leaves and branches rained down on them.

  When all was quiet again, Hermanjilio sat up. “Everyone all right? That was a close call.”

  Max looked back at the shed.

  It was gone. In its place was a smoldering heap of ashes.

  On the jeep, the big black bird squawked triumphantly.

  “Mesa-hol!” whispered the workman, staggering to his feet. He took Hermanjilio’s hands, babbled a rapid stream of Mayan, then ran into the jungle as fast as his injured legs could carry him.

  “What did he say?” asked Max.

  “He said he crashed into the tree when he saw the bird. He hid in the shed, but the roof caved in. He said he has to find his family before it’s too late.”

  “Too late for what?” asked Max.

  “I don’t know.”

  They watched as the bird flapped its great black wings and took off in the direction of the Villa Isabella.

  “That bird is Mesa-hol, isn’t it?” Max insisted.

  “I don’t know, Max. Let’s just get back as fast as we can.”

  “What if Mesa-hol lands on Uncle Ted’s roof?”

  “Just keep running.”

  Max could see the Villa Isabella outlined on the ridge.

  Not far now.

  A voice floated out of the jungle. “Help me! Please help me!”

  Max stopped and looked around. “That sounds like Lola.”

  “It’s not Lola. Keep running.”

  “She needs help.”

  “Ignore her! Keep running!”

  “Hoop! Hoop!” called the voice.

  “It is Lola. Only Lola calls me Hoop. I have to go to her.”

  “No, Max!”

  Too late. Max had disappeared into the undergrowth.

  By the time Hermanjilio caught up, Max was staring as if hypnotized into a thornbush. The branches waved as if beckoning him closer.

  “She’s in there,” said Max. “Can’t you see her face? She’s trapped in this bush. We have to help her.”

  “No.” Hermanjilio locked his arms around Max to stop him going any nearer. His muscles bulged with the effort of holding the boy back. And, all the while, the branches reached out and tried to entangle them both in their thorny grasp.

  Hermanjilio put his mouth next to Max’s ear. “Look away, Max. Don’t meet her eyes.”

  “But it’s Lola—”

  “It’s not Lola. Her name is Ixt’abay.”

  “Eesh-ta-bye? You know her?”

  “I know of her. She was another creature in Grandfather’s stories. She calls to her victims like the sirens in Greek myth. If you go to her, she’ll choke you to death in her thorns.”

  Even as Max struggled to go to her, he nodded to show he understood.

  “Fight it,” said Hermanjilio.

  “Can’t,” gasped Max.

  “Lean back on me, I’ll drag you to the house.”

  “Can’t do it.”

  “I’m losing you, Max. She’s winning. Don’t let her win.”

  “She calls to her victims like the sirens in Greek myth.�
��

  “S’okay. Lola won’t hurt me.”

  “She will kill you. It’s not Lola.”

  “Let me go.”

  Just as Hermanjilio was losing his grip and the branches of the thornbush were twining around Max’s arms and pulling him in, heavy footsteps shook the ground behind them.

  “Good evening, travelers,” boomed a man’s voice. “Is there a problem?”

  Max felt Ixt’abay’s power over him ebb away. Now, when he looked into the thornbush, he saw not Lola’s face, but a haggard old witch fading into the darkness. He backed away as far as he could.

  “Who are you?” Hermanjilio asked the voice. “Where are you?”

  “My name is Che’ Winik.” (He pronounced it Chay Weeneek.) “And I am here.”

  “Where is here?”

  While Hermanjilio was trying to locate the owner of the voice, Max was inspecting the cuts on his arms. Those thorns were as sharp as needles. He felt rather foolish for falling for the Lola trick. He made a mental note to ask Hermanjilio to leave that bit out of the story when they told it at the villa.

  “Hey, Hermanjilio, could we—?”

  He was whisked up into the air, high up into the air, as high as the forest canopy. He fought against whatever squeezed his waist and saw that it was giant hairy fingers. Hardly believing his eyes, he followed the fingers to a gnarly hand on a muscular arm attached to a chest the size of a house, above which was the biggest, ugliest head he’d ever seen. And the head was opening its giant mouth to eat him.

  “Max! Max! Where are you?” called Hermanjilio.

  “Up here! He’s got me!”

  Down on the forest floor, Hermanjilio looked tiny. “Don’t let him eat you!”

  Max could smell the giant’s bad breath and see the stumps of his rotting teeth. Saliva dripped on Max’s head. “How do I stop him?”

  “Hey, Che’ Winik!” called up Hermanjilio. “Watch me! I’m going to dance!”

  Max watched in confusion as Hermanjilio started dancing, a sort of lurching, hip-hop slide. He thought the professor had lost his mind. But the giant looked down with interest, and his mouth twisted into a horrible smile.

  Hermanjilio did a march like a drum majorette, using a small leafy branch as his baton, and the giant gurgled with pleasure.