The Mayan Priest (9 page)

‘It seems that disk of yours can save the lives of a group of archaeologists trapped in Tikal in Guatemala. Don’t ask me how, but the call came from my good friend Major General Dale Bright from the United States Air Force. Anything he says, I believe. So, when he asked for an unknown school teacher stupid enough to advertise his name and that disk on the Internet to be flown to the United States, I agreed.’

Adam was speechless. It was as he suspected. It was the disk they were after and a moment of complete insanity – or better described as desperation – to sell the disk that had caused him all this trouble. He should have known that the disk was special and on top of it all, he had used his real name without thinking. If only his parents could see him now. They would be revelling in his humiliation.

‘What if I say no? I’m not good at flying,’ his words belying his true feelings. In reality, Adam had never done anything more exciting than attending the few gatherings his parents had insisted he attend. He had never travelled any further than Melbourne, partied with friends (probably because he didn’t have any) or experienced an event greater than the odd movie at the cinema complex not far from his home. The thought of flying in that plane thrilled him but also made him weak at the knees in fear.

‘Sorry, Mate. You don’t have any choice,’ directed Harris Barnes. The utter conviction and determination in the already compelling tone of voice left Adam no option but to comply. In one sense though he was relieved; he could not think of a suitable argument anyway.

‘I presume you have the disk with you,’ questioned Harris Barnes.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Good. Just don’t want to go to the expense of flying you without the precious cargo,’ the comment leaving Adam slightly displeased. It was the disk that was precious, not him.

‘Well, we’re ready,’ said a man who was clearly the pilot. He carried with him a helmet and suit which Adam hastily put on before being helped into the navigator’s seat of the F-111. Adam’s mouth was agape. He was not an expert on planes, but he did know that this one was a supersonic, long-range strike aircraft. It was seventy-eight feet in length and just under twenty feet high with a seventy feet extended wingspan. It was not a new plane, having been first built in the 1960s, but it could travel at twice the speed of sound and with regular upgrades. It was still the fastest and longest ranging combat vehicle in the Asia Pacific. It sported a targeting system that could locate targets in bad weather or at night and sported a radar warning system and laser designation for laser-guided weapons.

Adam held his breath as the plane took off, the first lift almost causing him to spew in his own lap. He attempted to study the complicated dials as a distraction, but this soon gave way to further nausea and bile burning the back of his throat. He also knew that he must have turned a ghastly shade of green by the amused look of the pilot who gave him the thumbs up and a wide smile. This was going to be a long flight.

CHAPTER NINE

Dale showed Gillian to a spare room reserved for the occasional guest to the base. It was comfortable but meagre, sporting a single bed, robe, chest of drawers, television and unsuited pair of leather chairs. Decked out in tones of muted cream, it was either very boring or relaxing depending on the opinion of the occupant. Gillian found it relaxing. She dearly wanted to read the journal they had found in the obsidian box but had held off until she had some peace and quiet, and this room provided the perfect surrounding.

She had slept for an hour in the helicopter but was forced awake by a bad dream that consisted of a dark, bottomless tunnel and suffocation. Gillian recognised it as being an imitation of what Fred, Richard and the others would suffer if they failed to make it back in time to save them. She was frightened for them, Fred in particular. It had taken such a long time for her to find someone she could share her life with and she did not know how she would cope if she lost him now. A small tear trickled from the corner of her eye as she lay back on the fluffy pillows and opened the vegetable fibre book.

Gillian’s first impression was of a professionally bound but unadorned book that was reluctant to reveal its secrets. Her hands trembled in excitement as she flipped the first page and allowed her eyes to fall onto an ancient script that was not at all what she expected. It was written entirely in Medieval Latin with the number thirteen surrounded by a ring and highlighted in bold font at the top of the first page. She had no idea what the significance of the number was, but it was the font that had her excited. It was proof that this book was genuine and that Latin had permeated America before Christopher Columbus. It was an exciting find.

On initial observation, she noted that the script was refined and extremely elegant. It was also very small, almost as if the author was afraid that they would run out of paper before the story had been told. She eagerly began devouring the long forgotten narrative with an enthusiasm that took her by surprise.

Manuscript part one

I am dedicating this journal to my dear friend Yok Chac, for without him I am nothing. He is my one true friend. The only one I can trust to carry out my final plan. To Yok Chac I pledge my dying gratitude and love.

My name is Kinix. I am the son of a priest and noblewoman from the neighbouring city of Uaxactún. They were both taken by Ah Pach (death god) before the memories of my first years came into being. There is little left for me to discover of my heritage as I am the last of my line. Unlike other families, I have no one left who can tell me of my parents’ thoughts, dreams or desires. Other than the small paintings that remain on the walls of the home that has long since been occupied by another family, no memories remain. In an exhibition of their kindness, I was allowed to be shown through what was once my hut and gaze upon what had been lost to me.

It was evident that my father was not a strong man, his slight features and weakness of soul reflected in his desperate eyes. I did not like the look of him. My mother on the other hand was a beautiful woman, refined and elegant, strong but slender. She had a glorious abundance of glossy black hair atop her head and a haunting set of hazel eyes. Her cheeks were full and high and her lips were small but well formed. She looked proud, confident and radiated with life. I too had the same oval eyes, lips and cheeks and I fancied that I looked more like her than like my father. At first I was fascinated, but as the portraits advanced the pictures changed and a marked sadness became evident in my mother’s face. She lost her sparkle, her zest for life, and eventually she no longer featured at all.

I know from the death records in the Amatl (book made from the processed tree bark of the fig) held by the priests that my father was taken by Ixtab (moon goddess of suicide) to the upper heavens when I was three, but my mother’s body was never located. It was presumed she accompanied him.

I suppose there was some ratification that my father took his own life. It is a brave and honourable act to end your earthly existence on the middle plains of being and ascend into the upper realm of the gods. It was also written that he was no longer in favour with the king, ‘Chak Tok Ich’aak11’, more fondly known as Bahlum Paw Skull, but he regained acceptance by slitting his own throat and offering his blood.

Apparently the priests found me sitting alone in my father’s blood. They took pity on me and accepted me into their fold instead of giving me to another family who would have treated me little better than a common slave. I was raised with a firm hand and schooled in the arts of medicine, writing and the Mayan history, but it was not until the eve of my eighth birthday that I received a summons that changed the direction of my life. A minor wife of Bahlum Paw Skull had begun to labour with her unborn child and was progressing poorly. She was in need of assistance and the head priest, Kin Kawil (named after the sun god and the ‘god of rulers’), had selected me to assist him. I was both shocked and frightened. I was considered advanced for my age, but I did not have the experience required to help in the delivery of a new life. It was an honoured event that should only be attended to by the head priests and I did not qualify. Kin Kawil thought otherwise and I was ordered to accompany him.

We quickly gathered the required tools and figurine of Ixchel (goddess of childbirth) before hurrying to the far right wing of the palace. Bahlum Paw Skull had been careful to keep his minor wives far enough away from his chief woman ‘Lady Hand’ but close enough for his convenience. We were ushered into a small private room where each wall was elaborately adorned with vibrant paintings depicting the amazing birth of many children and dominated by the deity ‘Ixchel’. The floor was covered by a large, thin grass mat, woven into an open design to resemble maize plants. It was simple and light, allowing for easy removal and cleaning. There were several pots and a pile of beautifully embroidered cotton sheets stacked in the corner along with a mass of chichicaxtle cloth. In the centre of the room was a carved wooden bed that was raised at one end and flattened on the other. It had been made specifically for a smooth delivery and trouble-free access for the attendants.

If not for the screaming woman in the middle of the room, I would have admired the decoration more closely. I suddenly found myself fearful and nervous. I had never seen a woman writhe and thrash about in a manner that was akin to a dying sacrificial victim. Lamatna had an incredible terror and pain etched across her face as waves of agony overtook her. An attendant attempted to hold her down but to no avail, necessitating the aid of two more women who had been waiting outside the door should disaster strike.

The voice of Kin Kawil snapped me out of my morbid fascination and ordered me to grind up a mix of datura, candida and cacao bean into a paste to assist with the pain. I hurried to do his bidding and returned quickly to hand the thick brown paste to one of the attendants. Together they forced Lamatna to swallow the remedy, which proved to be very effective. In a few moments she had calmed considerably, allowing Kin Kawil to lift her wraparound skirt and examine the progress of the birth.

‘Kinix, come here,’ he ordered as I approached with trepidation. I had seen the birth of animals and studied the bodies of female sacrificial victims, but I had never experienced the beginning of a new human life. I was both anxious and excited.

I grabbed a plain piece of dampened chichicaxtle cloth and handed it Kin Kawil who peered between Lamatna’s legs. I could see by the frown on his face that all was not progressing well and he soon snapped the words, ‘Obsidian blade’. I quickly complied and watched with unmoving attention as Kin Kawil sliced Lamatna deeply between the birth tunnel and the anus. Lamatna screamed in agony, but the bindings that had just been placed over her arms and feet held her firmly to the bed. Blood ran thickly down the sloped base of the bed and onto the floor but Kin Kawil ignored the mess and plunged his hand deeply into the enlarged space and grabbed the child from within. On the next wave of pain Lamatna endured, Kin Kawil pulled the child from its mother. It was covered in blood, but it was alive.

Kin Kawil handed the child to me whom I held with trepidation. What an honour it was to be the first one to hold the King’s son. I was so overwhelmed with delight that I almost dropped him as I passed him to an attendant. I then gave the revered priest a large vessel in which he placed the organ and still pulsing cord that connected the child to its mother. It would be prepared and presented to the gods as thanks for the safe delivery of the King’s new son.

Upon the command of Kin Kawil, I passed a bone needle and thread of human hair to sew up the gaping wound which was smeared with the resin of the Balam shrub and dressed with the bark of the Bakalche tree. I knew from experience that these remedies would heal the wound within two to three weeks.

I had been initially overcome with apprehension, but I had handled the situation admirably for a child and to such an extent that I received praise from Kin Kawil and Bahlum Paw Skull himself.

The summons arrived the following day from the King’s personal scribe and delivered to me by a trusted warrior. It was a beautiful, well-written document inviting me to the ceremony to celebrate the birth of the child and the subsequent sacrifice to the gods. My heart filled with pride even though this ceremony would be smaller than if the child was born of the principal wife ‘Lady Hand’ or announced as the royal heir.

It was some months later that the great holy King, a god to all men, invited me to his residence to attend the small injuries suffered by his family. My accomplishments and respectful manner soon made me a favourite and I quickly became a trusted physician. Even the King was pleased, his increased confidence in my ability leading him to request that I place myself in his company again tomorrow.

As I entered the glorious inner sanctum, Bahlum Paw Skull motioned for me to sit to on the mat of black jaguar pelt. I obeyed quickly and waited in trepidation until the King found it suitable to reveal his troubles to me. Even I admit that I was shocked by his unveiling. He wished to discuss the infertility of Lady Hand and I suddenly longed for Kin Kawil to be by my side.

As I understood, Lady Hand was twenty and they had been married for six years with no children. He was becoming increasingly concerned and found the topic of such a sensitive nature that it seemed I was the only one he could trust to keep his privacy. It was an immense honour for me and I had been pleased that I was able to rise to the occasion and recall my intense teaching on the subject. I believed it to be a disturbed flow of the ch’ulel (the life force that binds everything together) and this required healing before the body’s physical ailments could be addressed.

With the guidance of my way (soul-animal companion) who took the form of an ocelot, I was able to suggest a combination of sweat baths to purify the body, abdominal massage and cacao to improve bodily functions. Initially my remedy worked and Lady Hand fell pregnant within six months only to lose the unborn child before it had taken on its human form. Despite the failure, I was treated like a friend and honoured guest as it was my doing that the pregnancy had actually occurred. I assured Bahlum Paw Skull that I would study the situation more thoroughly and come up with a suitable answer although I warned that there may be a malicious deity at work trying to separate Lady Hand’s physical and spiritual body. I would need to pray on the matter and chose the most suitable plants to assist.