Mayan December (22 page)

CHAPTER 35

Alice approached a huge white canvas tent, with the flags of at least thirty countries flapping on poles outside. Layers of gauzy mosquito netting completed the circus-like effect. To reach the door, she had to walk between four black-clad men with rifles held close to their chests, and two big dark dogs that didn’t so much as wag a tail at her. She could have pretended they were statues if their ears had stood still or they had no scent.

The gossamer nets parted for her and a hand took her invitation and ushered her into another world. Costumed waiters dressed like the Xcaret resort version of Mayans wandered about in body paint, feathers, and perfect tanned physiques. They looked thoroughly ridiculous carrying dainty trays with slender drinks or finger-food appetizers. Their female counterparts pulled the mix off a little better. While they were also perfectly built and ridiculously thin, they wore simple white dresses with flowers in their hair.

At least seventy people of various nationalities wandered about the crowd.

Alice had changed into a lacy sky-blue shirt and donned her best silver and turquoise jewelry, which meant she was only a little underdressed.

The tables were laid with white linen and each had a crystal vase with a different orchid in it. Bromeliads in full flower had been fastened to the tent poles. Alice found her hand-lettered name card on a table in the far corner.

As she was about to begin her second attempt at a casual slow circle through the crowd, she felt a light hand on her shoulder and turned to find Madam Roy, regal in a gold sari lined with a rainbow of colors. Her dark eyes sparkled warmly in her round, brown face. “Alice,” she said. “I enjoyed your tour.”

“Thank you, ma’am. It was my honor.”

“Would you be willing to sit with me for a few moments?” the prime minister asked, walking over to a row of white chairs lining the side of the tent. “And, please, call me Aditi.”

After they took their seats, Aditi turned serious eyes on her. “You know more than you told us today. I can feel it.” She held up a slender hand decorated with silver rings. “Oh, not about politics. But about this place. You know something is happening. I’ve felt it, too. In India, many people are turning to the old ways. Rich old people have started wondering the streets as beggars. Many speak of the return of Buddha. The legislature is busy being modern, and doing a good job of it, and we are building and expanding our schools and industries. But there is a counter-movement. Is this also happening in the United States?”

Surely someone in Aditi’s place would know. So was she testing Alice? “Some of our conservatives are becoming more rigid, but that isn’t new. Mostly, people are scared by so much change. The weather seems to be turning on us and global economics is tougher than climate change. But America also has a strong core.” She looked over and spotted the president next to Marie, pointing to him. “We have a good leader.”

Aditi’s voice was soft. “I am not questioning your loyalty. But the small stories often fall through the news like water through a sieve. Interesting things are hidden by the kinds of news that interest many people, like your daughter swimming with turtles.”

Alice glanced at Marie, deep in conversation. Her protocol cram-session had said, don’t offer unless asked. Aditi was asking. She took a deep breath and looked again at Aditi’s brown, crinkly face with the warm eyes. Was she more likely to create a diplomatic incident by answering or not answering?

Aditi patted Alice’s shoulder. “I’m asking as a woman, a mother. And as me.”

All right. “I don’t know why the turtles came to Nix,” Alice said. “I’m a scientist, and not religious. I’m confused myself about some of the things that I see happening. That are happening to my family.”

“Is your daughter confused?”

“I wish. Or at least scared.”

Aditi blew out a short breath and put her hand over Alice’s. “Healthy children are magical beings, and not easily frightened. The world is a strange place now. Do you think tomorrow will be stranger than today?”

Alice laughed, unable to ignore the surreal feeling of sitting beside the Indian Prime Minister and holding hands. “The question is what will the day after tomorrow be like? For a long time, I did not think it would be any different. But now I’m not so sure.”

“I dreamed,” Aditi said. “The night before last. You were in the dream, and you were here, but it was different than it looks today. When I woke up, I thought Chichén Itzá would look like my dream, but the place in my dream was much brighter. I am sure you are the woman who was in my dream.”

“Was my daughter there, too?”

Aditi shook her head. “There was a man with a computer.”

Peter? Alice held her tongue.

“And a young woman, but she had dark hair. I saw your daughter in the turtle picture and it wasn’t her.” She hesitated. “I just wanted to tell you about it. I don’t know why. But I’ve learned to follow my instincts.”

A bell rang, and the man in white who had been chief herd-dog on the tour stood at a podium. “Please take your seats,” he called. Aditi squeezed Alice’s hand before letting it go.

Alice said, “Thank you,” and went to find her seat. Was Aditi’s dark-haired woman Oriana or Hun Kan?

It turned out that no one at her table spoke English as a first language, and she and a French Canadian woman next to her managed to get through an awkward conversation in a mix of poor Spanish (Alice’s was better), medium English, and poor French (Alice’s was far worse).

The food was better than the sound system. The speeches and translations were hard to hear so far from the podium, and by the time dinner was over and the waiters picked up the empty banana sherbet bowls, she had smiled and nodded so many times that her cheeks hurt.

People began filing out. Alice hadn’t managed more than a few long-distance smiles in Marie’s direction, so she waited at her table until Marie came over and sat down in the same chair the French Canadian had been in. She had a glass of red wine in her hand. “Sorry for the lousy seating,” she said. “Nice tour. Thanks.”

Alice smiled and reached for her water glass.

“No wine?”

“Earlier. I have to drive home.”

Marie raised her glass. “This is the first I’ve had. It’s not bright to drink and save the world.”

“Did you? Save the world?”

Marie shook her head and drank some more wine. “It’s more like a never-ending process of small talk and big deal making. China is still refusing to talk about anything that matters. Mexico is too poor and there is too little governmental control. But the current administrations gets kudos for taking big bribes from us instead of a million small ones from their own dirty industries. I think. If I can trust my sources.”

“And India?”

Marie glanced over at her. “I saw you talking to Aditi.”

“She’s had dreams. Dreams like ours. She said she saw me in one.”

Marie nodded. “She is very earthy. Spiritual even. And she’s convinced a lot of her country to use solar power. They’re a nuclear power, and becoming a space power. They know it and use the strength that gives them—Aditi included. But in some ways they are still a beggar country. The double monsoon season almost killed them.”

Alice knew. Hundreds of thousands dead. But that was out of her control, and her league. Marie’s territory. “What do you think of her dreams?”

“I think she’s honest. I’m glad more world leaders are women than at any other time. I have no idea what Emilio or Huo Jiang dream.” She lowered her voice. “I hope they dream of something besides themselves and power.”

The colorfully dressed waitstaff had been replaced by smaller, rounder busboys who moved quietly, only occasionally clanking dishes or forks as they filled blue plastic tubs.

“Will everyone who was here today be here tomorrow?”

Marie put down her empty glass and sighed. “Mostly. We have work sessions all day, so we won’t get to the Ball Court until just before the game starts.”

“I hope I see you again,” Alice said, meaning it.

“Join me,” Marie said. “I’ll make sure there’s room. I’d like to meet your daughter. That is, unless you have other plans?”

Ian. Damn him. “We’d love to. We have tickets for seats, and we’ll be there early.”

“Watch for me on my way in, and then I’ll seat you with us. We have a great view.”

She looked so earnest that Alice couldn’t imagine turning her down. Maybe Ian would show up before the game. “Thanks.” Her face flushed even though she’d been going easy on the wine. Hard to decide whether to be Marie’s college friend or her citizen. Hard to be both. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”

“Me, too,” Marie said, “Me too.” She stood up and offered Alice a hand. “Now go on. Get home to your daughter. If I don’t sleep, I won’t be awake to see your stars align.”

Alice laughed. “Me either. May you have good dreams.”

Marie stopped and looked at her, suddenly serious. “I hope so. I hope the whole damned world has good dreams.”

On impulse, Alice leaned in and hugged Marie. Marie returned the hug, tight and quick, and plucked a vase with a bright purple orchid from the table. “Take this.”

Alice smiled. “Thank you.”

Marie was as mercurial as ever, and as strong as ever. Good thing.

CHAPTER 36

Drums sounded in the dark, coming toward Chichén from the jungle. Ah Bahlam tensed and sat up straighter, listening carefully. Not what he had feared. Not war drums. The drums of warriors coming in from the jungle, telling the people of Chichén that they returned with captives.

He stood, and his father and mother, who had been sitting with him, stood also. There would be news. They walked quickly, joining a steady stream of other aristocratic families heading across the great plaza they had all just left after a night of dancing, drinking balché, and praying.

The festivities had been fine: bright events to face down trouble and call the gods to their side. So what if an edginess hid just under the twirling women and the chattering men? Except it did matter. He hated the way people kept their children close and stayed in groups

The news could be good.

Ah Bahlam himself had danced to the memory of two young men who had been his classmates, had felt the double edge of despair and strength, had held his place, his Way, his role as a young Lord of Itzá. It had been hard. Perhaps this would be their reward.

Ah Bahlam’s father carried a torch, and at least one torch drove the blackness away from each group. A convergence of lights in the dark, like heartbeats, all seeking good news.

They got near enough to the front of the crowd to see the drums and warriors and captives pour through the gate. Seven of the enemy had been caught, and all lived. A few of the warriors who returned with them had been counted among the missing, and cries of joy greeted them.

Torches passed, hand over hand, until each returning warrior held one. Beneath the flickering flames, seven stoic and sweaty captives were ringed by about twenty ecstatic and sweaty fighters of K’uk’ulkan.

A mother and her young daughter brought water to be passed through the returning warriors, and then another one gave water to the captives, honoring them, too, as was the Way of Chichén.

They would be honored until they died.

People pushed and crowded in to get a better look, and Ah Bahlam let some step between him and his parents.

He faded back, and then further back. In just a few moments, he had reached the crowd’s edge. All attention would be here for some time while the warriors’ stories traveled mouth to mouth through the crowd.

He had planned to wait until everyone slept to find Hun Kan, but this was even better, for the high priest himself would come here.

As soon as he stepped away from the plaza and neared the gate that would lead him to the quarters of the high priest, he slid into a slow, quiet jog, careful to avoid being seen by the few people that he passed, all still going the other way, toward the news.

The high priest lived inside a stone building. Along the outside, temporary wooden structures with thatched roofs stood a line. She would be kept here. The small huts served acolytes and students, but were never fully occupied.

He passed a painted white bone snake on the outside of the first building and peered inside the small window to find it empty of everything but a wooden table, a closed chest, and a sleeping mat. The peccary, the tapir, the ocelot, the puma, the jaguar, the macaw, the monkey, the quetzal—all empty except for various bits of simple furniture. The lower-level acolytes of the high priest did not share his opulent lifestyle.

He found Hun Kan inside a small room with Cauac’s totem, a turtle, painted on the outside. He should have known to start there.

Her back was to both the door and the window. She lay on her side, her dark hair spilling across her face. Her feet were bound even though her arms were free. How dare he bind her feet! It made her test herself every moment since with her hands free, she could free herself. She had more honor than the high priest! But maybe that was what he tested—the extent to which her will bowed to his.

Ah Bahlam pushed hard on the door. It slammed open so easily he nearly stumbled. He rushed to her side. She flinched, not seeing him. “Go away!” Then she lifted her head and breathed out, “Ah Bahlam!” She sat up. “You should not be here. You have broken sacred law. You’ll die if you get caught.”

“I had to know you’re all right. And you’re not.” Great streaks of blood stained her arm. Ni-ixie’s bright blue gift remained on her wrist, but it had been scratched. The scratches that were shallow on the gift continued deep down her arm, still bleeding slowly. They were at least a few hours old.

She swallowed and looked up at him. Her eyes were rimmed in red from crying, but at the moment they were dry and clear. “There is nothing to be done. My family has asked after me, and been refused admittance. Only the high priest himself has talked to me.”

He stroked her cheek. “I’m here.”

“Please go,” she said. “This is between me and the high priest, me and my fate. I won’t be able to bear it if you’re killed.”

“But you may be,” he hissed.

“You’re not thinking,” she insisted. “You’re feeling. This is not the time to challenge the high priest.”

An echo of exactly what he had told his jaguar in the Dance of the Way. He didn’t tell her that.

Hun Kan continued. “Don’t be weak. You must accept whatever happens to me.” She looked away from him, but her voice didn’t falter. “After all, I am here. I know the turtle is painted on the outside of my place of keeping. Gods and goddesses rise from the turtle’s shell, but they must die first.”

If she were a stranger, he would admire her words.

She had gone beyond him into some place of acceptance he refused to follow.

They couldn’t just run away. If his father weren’t so powerful, just the act of him being here could kill his family. “My father said the high priest is looking for sacrifices. He believes you could be chosen.” He touched her face. “But there is good news, there are captives.”

She lifted her bloody arm and put a finger across his lips. “Nothing certain has been said to me. I will live until tomorrow, at least. He says I will watch the game.”

Ah Bahlam wanted Hun Kan free now! And yet there was no honorable path to that freedom. He would have to think, and plan, and pray, and hope.

Her great dark eyes, dry for herself, began to fill with bright water. “After the Dance of the Way, he came back and spoke to me. He wanted to know if you had ever spoken ill of him or of our traditions. I said of course not. But why did he ask?”

Ah Bahlam shook his head. “The jaguar is strong, and while it rode me in the dance it . . . hesitated when he challenged it.”

Her eyes widened. “What does that mean? Hesitated?”

He recounted as much of the experience as he could, watching her lips grow tighter and her eyes rounder as he spoke.

She clutched his arm. “The Dance of the Way is beyond the men who dance it. I have heard him say so. What will he do?”

“I don’t know.” He hadn’t told her about the red warrior who stopped him and suggested the priest’s own elite might support a challenge. He needed to think about that, about what it meant for Chichén to be assaulted from inside and outside. He wanted her opinion, but fear for her held his tongue.

“Surely we have a few moments.” He looked down at her wrist. Perhaps, if he could figure out how to remove the gift, the high priest would lose interest in Hun Kan. Her arm was so sliced and raw along one side that he paused before he touched it gently. “May I?”

She shook her head. “Don’t take it even if you can. If I die, I wish to wear Ni-ixie’s gift, to recall her smile. I want a friend among the gods.”

“Pah,” he spat, disappointed and a little angry. “If you don’t act to save yourself, your friend among the gods will be Ixtab, goddess of suicide.”

She flinched at his words, but reached her hand up and curled it around the back of his neck. “Perhaps Ni-ixie is one of her faces. We do not know.” She pulled him down so that his face came close to hers, and then she lifted her head and kissed him.

She had not kissed him in all the days they raced home through the jungle. Touching her lips with his sent fire through him, a heat that melted his bones. The jaguar inside his belly uncurled. He cupped her head with his free hand and let himself fall into her scent, even the scent of her blood; it brought back a brief vision of their blood mingling with Cauac’s in the altar bowl at Zama.

It would all be right. Whatever happened would be right. This moment, this kiss, was right. It was all so right that he wanted to scream, to hear his throaty growl bounce off of the boles of large trees in the depths of the sacred jungle.

She broke away first, whispering in his ear. “Footsteps. People come. You must go.”

He fled.

His path didn’t cross whoever made the footsteps, and he didn’t think they saw him. He crouched low, running on all fours until he was back where he was free to walk. He headed for the gates, passing people drifting home. There must have been some cloud on his features, for very few people greeted him.

The jaguar was supposed to retreat from him after the Dance of the Way, to wait until it was called. It hadn’t—it had stayed in his belly, a small thing, barely noticed, but watchful. He felt it inside him now, but at least it didn’t ride him.

He passed through the stone markers of the same gate the captives had come in, empty now, and then moved along the outside of the wall, staying unseen. He followed human and animal paths, guided by moonlight, twisting his steps upon each other until he was nearly lost. Finally, he knew to stop at the edge of a short cliff. A great dark hole opened below him: the sacred cenote.

He sat with his legs folded under him and placed his knife in front of his knees on the earth.

Trees and bushes enveloped him, hard to name in the near-dark. Frog-song rose from below, and he heard the soft splashes of fish in the sacred water.

He let the jungle take away his thoughts. Eventually his heart slowed, he breathed with the leaves and the night birds and the sleeping daytime animals. He slithered against rough bark with the snakes and felt the trees in the way of bats.

But who, in this moment, should he pray to? K’inich Ahaw slept at night. Chaac turned his face. The jaguar god sat with him.

K’ul’ulkan. Did he dare?

He opened the question out to the jungle, the cenote, the power of this place.

The jaguar inside him stirred and he spoke to it. “It will be all right. This is a choice with honor.”

The jaguar snarled at him, a low grumbling that resonated deep in his bones.

He chose the same arm he had cut in Zama. His knife drew a lightning stroke of pain across his skin and blood flowed wet down his arm.

K’uk’ulkan, accept my blood, my life, my center. Let Hun Kan live, a fit vessel for you. Let honor be found for all of us. Let the captives provide strong sacrifice for you, and let the ball stay in the air tomorrow as a sign of your pleasure. Let it pass through the hoop of the world.

He sat still as his blood flowed dark onto the dark earth. He breathed the jungle in and out, the palms and kapoks and ceibas and orchids and peccaries and wolves and birds, the stones and dirt and the scent of the sacred water below him. He became a jungle animal more than a man, the jaguar inside him and more than that, as if he were all the wild and sacred beings surrounding Chichén.

When he stood on weak legs and began to walk back, taking a more direct route, his head felt clear, although his heart still hurt. Maybe walking the right path always hurt the heart.