The Mayan Conspiracy (47 page)

“Zipacna are the Stealers of Life,” the Old One explained. “They are the Takers of Men; the Plague, the Zipacna are the Many Deaths Who Walk the Night. All these names are for the Zipacna.”

No further explanation was needed.

The Old One raised his hands outward to indicate the entire tribe. “The People come to watch for the Zipacna, to see if they rise from the pit—from the depths of the stone mount. It has been more than the time of many great fathers since they were seen. Yes, always they have slept until now. Until the West Men set them free. Because of this, the Great Sky Heart is angry, the rains will not fall.”

Sky Heart
. McCarter thought the Mayan term was
“Heart of the Sky,” a term that described the gods, the chief god in particular, Hurricane.

McCarter addressed the Old One directly. “The rains would kill the Zipacna,” he said. “If the Black Rain fell it would save the People.”

Now the Old One stared at McCarter, perhaps reeling in the same way McCarter had only moments before. His eyes were open wide, their luminescent brilliance no longer hidden by the curtains of skin. McCarter had used the words “Black Rain” because they were an integral part of the ancient legend—what he didn’t know was that the Chollokwan used the same words to describe the first heavy rain of the season.

Here they would wait, until the falling of the Black Rain
. The heavy rains would tell them it was safe to leave the clearing and the stone temple behind. In most years there was so much rain, even in the dry season, that they had to arbitrarily choose which particular storm would be counted as the Black Rain, but in certain years, especially El Niño years like this one, the choice would be clear.

McCarter could see the essence of this on the Old One’s face and he felt an opening. He watched as the frail body turned and conferred with his council before speaking again.

“He wants to know what kind of help we request,” Devers said. “And what kind of help we believe they could give us.”

“Tell him we want to leave the jungle. We were asked to leave before and now we will, but we need their help to make the journey. We offer the crystals, the Eyes of Zipacna in exchange for this help.” McCarter held up
the box again. “Tell him we wish to return to our homes, to a place beneath our own sky.”

The other elders whispered among themselves but the Old One did not consult them. He looked at McCarter and spoke, his words flowing through Devers.

“Many who journey do not return to their homes.” He pointed to the river. “The water flows strongly.” He made a fist. “The current takes men away. To return home one must fight against the power of the stream. For some this is too much. For you,” he said, waving a hand over the NRI group, “it will be too much, it seems.”

“But the current flows to our home; the river will take us.” McCarter replied this way, though he guessed that the statement had not been meant literally. “It was the journey to this place that was most difficult for us.”

“Then you must go,” the Old One said. “With or without help, you must leave.”

As the Old One spoke, McCarter’s heart sank. He had assumed that the crystals held a high place in the Chollokwan beliefs, and from the way the elders stared at them, he believed he was right. But it seemed practicality forbade them from rendering assistance. As McCarter guessed, the able-bodied would not be wasted on escort duty for strangers and foreigners, and that, McCarter feared, meant doom for their small and dwindling party.

As McCarter fell into silence, Hawker whispered to Danielle, “This isn’t exactly going well.”

She leaned over to McCarter. “Don’t give up,” she said, quietly. “We’ll never get another chance at this.”

“I don’t know what else to say,” McCarter replied.

“Make something up.”

“Like what?”

“Offer them guns,” she said. “We’ll give them rifles and bullets if they’ll help us.”

McCarter shook his head. “What good would that do? It would just be a trick.”

“We’ll teach them how to use them.”

“No,” he said. “It’s beads for Manhattan all over again.”

Before Danielle could say anything more, the Old One spoke. “The time for talking is over,” Devers explained.

“Professor,” Danielle urged.

McCarter’s mind was spinning.

“We cannot help you,” the Old One added.

Danielle nudged him. “Say something,” she pleaded.

He couldn’t think of anything. And the Old One stood and turned to go.

“Wait,” she shouted. She stood. A wave of shock ran through the Chollokwan gathering.

“Oh no,” McCarter said. He’d warned Danielle not to speak, explained to her that the Chollokwan would take it as an insult if she addressed them directly, that her presence would seem odd to begin with and counterproductive if she projected herself as their leader. She’d pretty much scoffed at that when he’d explained it the first time, but so far at least she’d kept to the plan. Now, he guessed, that plan was going off the rails.

For Danielle it was an innate reaction. And even as accusing glances flew her way, she found herself speaking boldly. “We will come here,” she said, launching into a new offer, one she hadn’t discussed with anyone.
“We will come here and help the People fight.” She turned to Devers. “Tell him we’ve been fighting the Zipacna as well, we’ve killed several of them already. We can join forces with the tribe, if they’ll let us.

“Quickly,” she said.

Looking surprised, but no doubt realizing that the village with a hundred warriors would be far safer than the desolate clearing at this point, Devers stood and voiced her new offer. “We will join our small tribe to yours. We have weapons of great power.” He pointed to the rifles. “And warriors, if only a few.” He pointed to Danielle, McCarter and Hawker, all of whom were now standing. “Our help would be of great value to the People. It would be of great help against the Zipacna.”

Across the fire from them, the wizened old man chewed on the edge of his lip, his eyes going from Devers to McCarter to Danielle. He remained silent, apparently considering the offer, gazing at Danielle for a long moment before speaking. “The tribe of the West Men have fought the Zipacna, but it also fights with itself,” he said, finally. He pointed to Hawker. “White Faces bring death to their own in the night.”

Apparently they’d been watching the clearing, with mixed results. Try as she might, Danielle could think of no way to explain the strife and combat between her people and Kaufman’s, fighting that must have appeared to the Chollokwan as a civil war.

The Old One continued. “These ways cannot help the People. For one part to attack the other brings more anger to the Sky Heart.”

“But we can help you,” she insisted.

The Old One turned his face to the fire, putting his
hands together in front of his lips, fingers touching like a yoga master.

For a prolonged moment, Danielle watched the reflection of the flames dance in his eyes. She guessed at the old man’s thoughts. A great internal struggle, weighing the benefits of such an alliance with what she assumed would be resounding spiritual ramifications. She didn’t know these people the way McCarter and Devers did, but she could read the conflict on the Old One’s face.

“The Sky Heart is angry,” he said, still gazing at the fire. “He is angry with those who have stood upon the poisoned ground and opened the mountain. He is angry, because the maw of the great pit gazes at him, day and night. And for this he withholds the rain. To please the Sky Heart, the tribe of the West Men must seal the pit. Close the Mountain and the Black Rain will fall once again.”

As Devers spoke the words in English, Danielle’s heart sank. “We can’t,” she mumbled. “The stone’s been destroyed.”

Devers translated her words—though she hadn’t specifically intended that he do so—and a wave of fear swept through the Chollokwan crowd.

This news was the most grievous yet.

The Old One turned to his fellow council members, and now they spoke rapidly, words of fear and blame and panic, if she guessed right. They shook their heads and wrinkled their brows, their statements too compressed and overlapping for Devers to follow.

Finally, the Old One cut off the discussion. His voice was abrupt. “If the pit cannot be sealed, the Zipacna
will return, they will nest until the rains depart. They will come forth again and the plague will have no end.”

Danielle tried to suggest an alternative but their host had grown too angry to listen, shouting her down with a voice unbelievably strong for such a frail man.

He turned to go, and Danielle felt sick. Without the rains to drive the Zipacna back underground, they would continue to clear the jungle of life. Many Chollokwan would surely die, perhaps all of them. And the strangers whose help he’d just refused would fare no better. She could not accept this end. She could not believe they would turn down help under such horrendous circumstances.

“You can’t fight them alone,” she shouted, grabbing Devers by the arm and chasing after the departing elders.

It was a dangerous move. One of the warriors blocked her and pushed her back, while another stepped closer with an axe in hand. Hawker jumped in between, shoving the guard backward and bringing his rifle up—and the powder keg needed only a spark for the bloodbath to begin.

With all the strength she had, Danielle turned her eyes away, lowering them meekly, bowing her head subserviently and focusing on the ground, her hands shaking uncontrollably as the seconds passed.

Slowly the tension faded, but by now the Old One was gone, having passed beyond reach. There would be no more talk, no more speech for the tribe of the West Men.

McCarter put a hand on her shoulder. As she looked into his eyes, she sensed the same frustration; like her,
his heart was sick with thoughts of failure, dizzy with the impact of what had just occurred. He tried to smile, but it was a sad look and she did not respond in kind.

Beside them Putock shouted a command and the Chollokwan crowd parted to let the group out. Devers went first, but both McCarter and Danielle hesitated and Hawker would not leave their side.

Finally, Hawker spoke. “Come on,” he said. “You did what you could. We’ll have to find another way.”

Danielle took a deep breath and stepped forward. She turned to see McCarter hesitating. He still held the case with the Martin’s crystals in it. He crouched and placed the box on a flat stone beside the fire: the Eyes of Zipacna had found their way home.

TWO HOURS LATER
, the group had made it back to the clearing. Verhoven greeted them as they arrived, but from his tone it was clear what he assumed.

“What the hell happened?”

“We found them,” Danielle said, dejectedly. “And they don’t really care what we do. As long as we die alone and let them do the same.”

Susan and Brazos looked stricken as Danielle explained what had happened.

Hawker stepped away; he didn’t want to hear the details again. He stared into the western sky at the rapidly falling sun. There was an hour before dusk, maybe a little less. Enough time to put some distance between them and the clearing, if they dared.

He interrupted Danielle’s report. “Come on,” he said. “We’re getting the hell out of here.”

Brazos stood up, leaning heavily on a walking stick, but the others didn’t move.

“Grab your things,” Hawker said. “We have a lot of ground to cover, and we have to move while we still have some light.” He threw his own pack over his shoulder and reached for an extra canteen.

Danielle put a hand out, stopping him. “Where are we going?”

“To find a stream like the one that protected the Chollokwan village. We’ll follow it or build a raft and float on it or wade in the damn thing if we have to. But once we reach the water, we’ll be safe. And from there—all roads lead to Rome.”

He could see their confusion, their tired minds trying to make sense of his plan.

“The water is poison to these things,” he said. “And the sun burns their skin. An open stream with blue sky above would be sanctuary for us, but the water itself should be enough.”

He turned to McCarter. “You said it without realizing it; the river will take us home. And it will, but we’ve got to move now, while we still have a chance.”

“What about the helicopter?” someone asked.

Hawker shook his head. “Without Kaufman here to signal it, who knows if it’ll land? And even if it does, we might not be here to see it. We used up more than half our ammunition last night, and at that rate, three days of waiting will be at least one day too long.”

The group looked around at one another, beginning to understand his argument, beginning to believe in it.

“I passed over a couple of streams on my way back from the crash,” he told them. “If we hustle, we can reach the closest in an hour or so, before it gets completely dark. But we have to leave now.”

One by one, the others began to move, shaking off the sluggishness that despair had brought on. Brazos grabbed his pack and pointed to the water he’d collected, Susan began gathering the belongings that lay around them.

“Okay, let’s go,” Danielle said.