by Gary Tenuta
Ravenwood was walking around the car looking for something. “Hand to hand combat training at the academy.” She leaned down, looked under the car and then moved over to the bushes. She trekked slowly, methodically, through the tall grass by the side of the road. “You didn’t happen to see where the gun went, did you?”
Tocho shook his head.
“Well, we don’t have time to go searching for it. We gotta get your arm bandaged and get out of here.”
“Get out of here? How’re we gonna get out of here?”
Ravenwood pointed toward the stranger’s car.
Tocho nodded. “Oh.”
The car was a clean, late model, 4-door Mercury sedan with Ohio plates. Ravenwood ran her hand along the top of the car and looked in. “Just a guess,” she said, “but I don’t think our friend over there was from Ohio.” She got in and checked for the registration but found none.
Tocho opened the passenger door and leaned in. “Hmm… look here.” He handed her a wrinkled receipt from a McDonalds restaurant. “Not a lot of McDonalds around these parts.”
She read the items. “Two Big Macs, two fries, three drinks and three Happy Meals. Somebody with kids. Christ. I wonder what happened to them. Let’s see if there’re any suitcases, travel bags, something.” She twisted the key in the ignition and popped the trunk and moved around to the back of the car.
“Nothing,” Tocho said.
“Well, here’s something. At least someone was prepared.” She pulled out a small First-Aid kit. “Let’s get your arm fixed up and hit the road.”
Tocho glanced toward the body. “What’re we going to do with him?”
“Well, we’re sure as hell not going to take him with us.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Look, if we don’t hurry up and get our butt’s to San Cristobal and see that shaman then we’re all going to end up like our friend over there.” Flies were already buzzing around the bloody head. “Except it won’t be nearly as pleasant.”
CHAPTER 52
The sun was straight up when Ravenwood and Tocho reached San Cristobal, a small, ancient city situated some 7,000 feet above sea level. The streets were narrow, dusty and loosely paved with cobbled stones. As far as Ravenwood could tell, there appeared to be no logic to the layout of the streets but Tocho navigated his way through the confusing maze from memory.
They arrived at the city square, the main marketplace for the surrounding area. Tocho pulled the car over to the side of the road.
The place was a colorful hive of activity. Indians from several of the surrounding villages were mulling around, trading goods amidst a cacophony of different languages and dialects.
Tocho could tell the tribal identity of several of the natives by their traditional dress. He pointed out two men engaged in an animated conversation near an open fruit stand. “The one on the left, wearing the tan calf-length pants and black tunic. He’s Chamula. That other guy, the one that looks like he’s wearing a long white sheet? Lacandon. But they call themselves Hach Winik.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning ‘Real People’. They’re the last of the Maya, still holding onto the old ways and worshipping the ancient gods of their ancestors deep in the jungle.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Chamula, Lacandon, Huistecos, Zincantecan, you name it. They’re all here every day to trade wares, food, whatever.”
Watching this strange and exotic scene out the front window of their borrowed Mercury, Ravenwood gave a quiet chuckle. “Reminds me of the bar scene in Star Wars where the alien creatures from the surrounding galaxies are all gathered in one place.”
Tocho laughed. “Yeah, kinda. Except right now we’re the aliens.”
“Yeah, I guess we are.” She sat up straight. “Well, I’d love to play tourist and do some shopping but we’re running out of time. How do we get to where ever it is we’re going?”
Tocho backed the car into an open space between two small white stucco buildings and parked it. “We’ll have to go on foot from here.”
“Is it far?”
“About an hour if we keep up a decent pace.”
Ravenwood noticed their presence had drawn the attention of several of the natives. She could see they were talking amongst each other and nodding toward them with curiosity.
“What about the car?” she asked. “Will it be safe here?”
“Yeah… I think so… I’m pretty sure.”
“Your confidence is overwhelming.”
They changed into their hiking shoes and grabbed their backpacks and the one machete Tocho had remembered to purchase when they went into town to rent the Nissan.
“It’s not going to be easy,” he said, adjusting his backpack. “We’ll pass through some light jungle terrain and through a couple of small villages. Then the jungle will get thicker and at the same time we’ll be climbing to a higher elevation. Not steep, but long.”
“Paths?”
“Some. Sort of. If they’re not overgrown.”
Ravenwood nodded. “Great.”
Tocho led the way to a hole that had been cut in a wire fence behind a grove of rugged trees in a small clearing about fifty yards from the car.
“What the hell is this?” Ravenwood asked, squeezing through the hole after Tocho. “An escape route?”
Tocho laughed as he continued through the brush. “No. It’s a shortcut to one of the villages.” He turned around to see she had come to a dead stop, several paces behind him.
“Oh, good,” she said. “Another one of your shortcuts.”
“Trust me. I’ll get you there.”
Ravenwood took a deep breath, knowing she had no choice, and continued to trudge along behind her friend.
CHAPTER 53
The long trek unfolded exactly according to Tocho’s description. They passed through two small villages where the primitive huts were made of mud bricks and sticks of wood. Some had roofs of tin and others were covered with a matting of huge broad leaves.
It was obvious the natives were not used to seeing outsiders traipsing through their villages. But murmurs and stares were about the only reactions they got with the exception of a few brave children who came running up to them, wide-eyed, dressed in rags and giggling until an adult called them back.
The paths were increasingly less well defined the further they wandered from the second village. The grade was noticeably steeper, the air was getting cooler and the jungle was quickly growing darker and claustrophobically dense.
The sun, now much lower in the sky, could only be seen in short blinding bursts of light through the occasional gaps in the towering foliage.
Ravenwood looked at her watch. They’d been walking for well over an hour. “Hey,” she said, breathing heavily. “This is the shortcut, right?”
Tocho, a few yards ahead of her, chopped a huge branch from some prehistoric overhanging god-knows-what and wielded it off to the side. He turned to her. Although the air was much cooler now, his face was glistening with sweat. He wiped his forehead and grinned. “Take a look.”
She moved up and stood beside him. They’d come to the edge of a bluff. About fifty feet below was another village, much larger than the ones they’d passed through along the way.
“What’s this?” she asked. “Where are we?”
“A Lacandon village. The Real People. Descendants of the ancient Maya.”
“Is this where––”
“Sh-h-h. Listen.”
A rhythmic drumming and the sounds of ritual chanting were rising up from somewhere in the village below.
Ravenwood listened with curiosity. “What is it?”
“There’s a sacrificial ceremony going on.”
“How do you know?”
“I recognize it. I was allowed to witness it once.”
“Sacrifice? C’mon. You don’t mean…”
“Not people. No. It’s part of a shamanic ritual. Believe it or not, they’re sacrificing chickens by squeezing them to death.”
/> “What?”
“Yeah. As an offering to the gods. Disgusting, I know, but––”
“Jee-sus Christ. And we’re going down there?”
“Yup.”
“Do you even speak the language?”
“Nope.”
“Then what––?”
Tocho was already inching his way down the bluff. He turned to see Ravenwood still standing above him. “You’re not gonna chicken out on me, are you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Funny.”
At the bottom of the bluff they found themselves at the periphery of the village where they were immediately confronted by a man dressed in the same sort of long white sheet––as Tocho described it––that she’d seen back at the marketplace in San Cristobal. The man stood only about five feet tall but the loose fitting fabric couldn’t hide his powerful build. The skin of his copper colored face was taught and smooth although he looked to be much older than she first thought. His dark eyes were set deep into a prominent brow and his long black hair reached well below his shoulders. He was a striking figure and Ravenwood wasn’t quite sure what to expect.
The man barely glanced at Tocho but focused his attention solely on Ravenwood. His head remained slightly tilted upward, firm jawed, his mouth turned down at the corners as his black, deep-set eyes slowly scanned her from head to toe and back up again. He stared directly into her eyes.
Ravenwood stiffened. She wondered if he was sizing her up like a chicken to be squeezed to death. Then she remembered where she was. These people were not so far removed from her own blood on her mother’s side. She lowered her eyes slightly and spoke. “In lak’ech.”
The man’s face slowly morphed into an approving grin. Without taking his eyes away from hers, he returned the greeting and then he turned to Tocho and spoke in near perfect English, “Tocho, my old friend. I’ve been expecting you. I see you brought the raven.”
Tocho grinned. “Ro, meet Tlacatecolotl.
Ravenwood’s surprise was transparent. “You’re… the Owl Man?”
Tlacatecolotl looked at her. “Who.”
“The Owl Man.”
“Who.”
Tocho chuckled at the confusion on Ravenwood’s face. “The owl sound,” he explained. “Hoo? It’s a bad joke. He thinks it’s funny.”
Tlacatecolotl chuckled and gave a reluctant nod. “I confess. My sense of humor is often met with a blank stare.” Then his expression shifted abruptly. He reached out and laid a gentle hand on Ravenwood’s shoulder. “Come,” he said. “You have traveled a long way for a reason and the spirits have told me time is of the essence.”
CHAPTER 54
Ravenwood and Tocho followed behind Tlacatecolotl as he led them across the village to his ceremonial hut.
As they walked along, Ravenwood leaned into Tocho and whispered. “You want to tell me how it is that he just happens to speak fluent English?”
“Spanish, too,” Tocho whispered back. “He travels a lot. He’s kind of a big deal at shaman conventions every year. New Age expos, that sort of thing. Been doing it for a number of years.”
Tlacatecolotl turned slightly and spoke over his shoulder. “Twenty-two, to be exact.”
Tocho grinned at Ravenwood. “He hears everything.”
“I heard that,” the shaman said.
The ceremonial hut seemed much larger inside than it appeared from the outside. Everything in it seemed to have been fashioned out of leaves, stones and sticks of wood. The floor was carpeted with thick woven blankets spread over a cushion of matted leaves. The heavy scent of incense ––a fragrance that Ravenwood thought smelled vaguely like sandalwood––permeated the air.
The shaman lifted the lid of a large rectangular basket and pulled out three woven mats. He placed them around a shallow pit in the center of the floor in which the coals of a small fire were smoldering. “Please, sit,” he said.
When they were seated around the fire, the shaman poked at the coals with a stick. His countenance had changed. The humor was gone. He looked at Ravenwood. “I knew you were coming,” he said. “Long ago the spirits told me this. They were strangely reluctant to tell me why, but there was a sense of darkness in their message. Now I sense the same coming from you. Tell me why you are here.”
Ravenwood explained the situation down to the last detail and the shaman listened with great interest and a mounting degree of apprehension.
“So I need your help,” she said, finally. “Will you help me do this?”
A look of intense concern was carved into the Owl Man’s face. He sat in silence for several moments before giving her an answer. He looked briefly at Tocho and then back to Ravenwood. “You understand the risk you would be taking. Journeying to the Underworld is something few have done. Some have not returned. That is, they returned but as an empty shell, their consciousness trapped in a void from which it can never escape.”
Ravenwood’s eyes locked onto his. “But you must understand. I have to know if Cowl has in fact summoned the offspring of the Old Ones. I have to know if they are gathered at the Gate, waiting for him to awaken Kutulu. Because if that’s true…”
The shaman nodded. His eyes grew distant as if he were seeing the misery and despair of a world consumed by demons. He could see the Gate opening, the Offspring of the Old Ones rushing forth like starving, slobbering beasts in wild pursuit of food with an insatiable desire for the sweet taste of human flesh. An overwhelming darkness would roll across the face of the earth like a plague, seeping into every corner, every crack, seeking its hapless victims. The wretched atrocities of all the bloody wars ever waged by all the peoples of the world since the dawn of time would pale compared to the torture, the carnage the world would suffer at the whim of these hellish creatures. He breathed deeply and rose to his feet.
Ravenwood and Tocho started to stand but the shaman stayed them with an outstretched hand. “I will have to prepare a special blend for your journey. You’ll wait here until I return.”
Ravenwood looked up. “How long?”
“Not long. Rest.” He reached into a small leather pouch that hung from a beaded band around his waist and pulled out what appeared to be a dried but supple leaf that was nearly the size of his hand. From another pouch he withdrew a pinch of what looked vaguely like finely shredded tobacco. Ravenwood surmised it probably wasn’t tobacco. He rolled it into the leaf, twisting it at both ends, and lit one end with a wooden match that he seemed to have manifested out of nowhere. He inhaled one long toke before handing it over to her. “Take this,” he said. “It will help you rest.”
Ravenwood gave a crooked grin. “I’m sure it will.”
“What about me?” Tocho said. “I’d like to rest, too, you know.”
The coolness of the late hour quickly settled in after Tlacatecolotl left the hut. Ravenwood and Tocho shared the magic smoke and talked of old times as time, itself, drifted away.
After a while, Tocho crawled over to a large basket and found two blankets. Ravenwood watched him with a detached fascination as he moved gracefully in slow motion across the floor. They draped the blankets around themselves and huddled closer to the small fire.
Ravenwood rocked slowly, rhythmically, back and forth, staring silently into the flickering flames. Finally, she spoke. “I can’t believe how long those two small logs have been burning.”
“I just put them on the fire a little while ago. I think.”
Ravenwood’s eyebrows arched. “Really?”
“Mm-hmm.”
She shook her head. “What time is it, anyway?”
Tocho pulled his arm out from under his blanket and checked his watch. “Quarter to twelve.”
“Midnight?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Did we fall asleep?”
Toch pulled the blanket snug around himself and shrugged. “Don’t think so. Maybe. I dunno. Ro?”
“Yeah?”
“You scared?”
Ravenwood continued her slow rocking motion and didn�
��t answer.
Tocho nodded. “Me, too. For you, I mean.” A few minutes later he added, “And I’m starving.”
“Here,” said a voice. It was Tlacatecolotl ducking in through the opening of the hut.
Without moving her head, Ravenwood followed him with her eyes.
Tlacatecolotl tossed Tocho a papaya. Then he turned to Ravenwood. “You, on the other hand, better not eat anything. He held out a clay cup. “Believe me,” he said, “after you drink this, you’ll be glad you don’t have any food in your stomach.” He squatted down and joined them on the floor. Extending a hand toward Ravenwood, he touched her face and gently lifted one of her eyelids. Staring into her eyes, he nodded and muttered something to himself like an optometrist examining a patient. “How do you feel?”
She forced a smile. “Rested. Ready.”
The Owl Man was still holding onto the cup. “You sure? Because once you take this…” he looked down at the cup and then squarely into her well-dilated eyes, “…there will be no turning back.”
Ravenwood glanced over at Tocho, then straightened her back and gave a nod to show she understood what she was about to do.
The Owl Man reached across the floor, grabbed the rim of a metal bucket and placed it next to her. “Just in case there’s still something left in your stomach and you need to… you know.”
Tocho took a second look at the papaya that had seemed so inviting just moments ago and set it aside.
“All right, then,” The Owl Man said. He reached into one of his pouches and pulled out a handful of small pellets. He tossed them into the glowing embers of the fire. They made a series of soft sputtering sounds followed by wispy puffs of creamy white smoke. He lifted the cup in both hands and passed it through the smoke in a series of circular motions as he droned some ancient words in his native tongue, paying homage to the ayahuasca spirits and beseeching them to protect and guide this traveler on her journey into the dark realms of the Underworld. He raised the cup high above his head a final time and then handed it to Ravenwood.
