Mayan December (11 page)

CHAPTER 20

Hot sun beat down on Ah Bahlam’s eyelids. He opened one of them. K’inich Ahaw had been shining for almost a quarter of the day. Memory rushed back, and he lifted himself to look around, his arms and legs stiff. The jaguar wasn’t where it had been, but Julu fluffed his feathers in a branch just above him, staring as if to scold him for sleeping so long. Hun Kan sat on a rock by the cenote, rubbing mud in the cracks of a hand-woven basket.

“Have you seen the jaguar?” he asked.

“Good morning.” She laughed, her voice playfully mocking. “It is a beautiful day and my hands and eyes have been too busy to watch for your Way.”

Ah Bahlam suppressed a good-natured growl, sure his body would have slept a whole day if it had known itself somewhere safe. His limbs all worked, even if they were stiff, and the edges of his cut had started to knit. Hun Kan had been a good healer for him, and now she was almost done making a way for them to carry water. And no hurry; the new baskets would need time to dry.

He stretched his muscles out, first one leg then the other, then one arm, then the other, the various combinations, following a sequence that Cauac had taught him. It took a long time before he could move so freely that yesterday’s run was only a memory to his body.

The jaguar was nowhere to be seen.

He found a path upwind of Hun Kan and crouched on a high root, becoming his own jaguar, waiting. He didn’t return until he had scattered a herd of peccary and picked one off for breakfast with a heavy rock.

As he held the meat over the fire on two sticks, Hun Kan held her two small-mouthed baskets near the flames, upside down, letting smoke and heat permeate the mud. By the time they were done eating they had two oily, slightly smelly baskets that would hold water reasonably well. Twigs and leaves gave them shape. Hun Kan had coated the interiors with mud and pressed leaves into it, making a barrier between the mud and the water inside.

They were not works of art, but they would get them through a day. Or, he looked up at the sun nearly high overhead, more like half a day.

Hun Kan set the baskets aside, and stripped the leather from the blue wrist-bracelet that Ni-ixie had given her. “The symbols change.” She held her arm up for him to see. “They seem to mark time.” She pointed at the first symbol, a straight up and down stick. The one next to it was a circle, and beside it there were two others that changed as he looked at them. “The stick showed itself at about this time yesterday morning.”

“How did you see it while we traveled?”

She grinned. “I wrapped the leather so that I could peek at it.”

He shook his head again, bemused. “We can look again tomorrow and see if the stick is there at this time.” He drew his brows together, thinking about Hun Kan’s idea. If it was true, it meant that Ni-ixie had powers like the astronomers who kept the records of time at Chichén. More. He held his hand out. “May I see your gift?” he asked.

He expected her to hand it to him, but instead she held out her wrist. “I cannot take it off.” She smiled shyly, her cheeks suddenly red. “And I don’t really want to. What if I can’t put it back?”

The bracelet was loose enough to spin on Hun Kan’s wrist, although not easily. It could not be pulled off over her hand. It wasn’t tied on, or buckled, but seemed to be a whole, as if it had always been there. As he watched, the circle became a stick, so the symbols that didn’t change as often were two sticks. He felt as if it told him to hurry up, to keep going.

The jaguar had not returned, although Ah Bahlam thought perhaps it was close by. Its tracks went north and a little west, and Ah Bahlam started out following them. He lost the tracks in a rocky patch, and stuck to the animal trail, which was wide enough for them to follow, at least for the moment. Still, he stopped to look around regularly, and to call to the jaguar. In his heart, he knew it was close, and also that he must not depend on it; a warrior found and used his Way but depended on himself and his connection to his gods. He watched carefully for any sign of the people-of-unrest, as well as for vipers and other dangers.

CHAPTER 21

Morning light poured through the hotel window. Nixie lay in bed, watching the brightness, her eyes wide open and her body still. The whole real-dream tumbled in on her. It wasn’t a television show or a video game; she had seen living people die. Even at home, where people died of weather or riots, and where pictures of dead bodies from the famines and wars in Africa showed up daily on the news nets, she had never seen real death, except for animals. The dream had been exciting, fast and confusing, with Hun Kan and the bead and the jaguar to focus on. She didn’t like it, people dying. At least . . . Hun Kan! And the bird-man. Were they safe?

Nixie padded into the living room. Her mom slept sideways on her bed, snoring lightly. Ian sprawled across the couch, face up, with his mouth open and his long hair falling down his chest, not snoring.

Ian! She’d wanted to see him again. Except not right in the middle of her morning at home. He shouldn’t be here. This was her quiet time with her mom, whether they cuddled or talked or fought or what.

But it was Ian. She poked his foot with her finger.

His eyes didn’t open, but he smiled. “Good morning, Nixie.”

“G . . . good morning,” she stammered back, then retreated to her room to change out of her pajamas.

Her drawers were empty. “Mom!”

“We’re having an adventure,” Ian called. “Come wake up your mom.”

They loaded backpacks, walking shoes and a huge pile of snacks into their daypacks. Nix could barely eat the mango, papaya or cereal at the resort’s main buffet, but at least she could watch the waiters and keep her mind off the dream and the death, and her mom packing them up. That had been close! They couldn’t leave now; she had to find out if Hun Kan and the bird-man were safe. Besides, her mom would never forgive herself if she didn’t see the end of the calendar, whatever it turned out to be. Especially if it really was anything.

Ian had to boost Nix into his camouflage-colored jeep. It was extra-wide and had an open back with three brown seats in it, and big wheels. They picked up Oriana at her house. She wedged herself into the second backseat beside Nixie, who was in the middle. Nixie told Oriana about the dream while they drove out of town. She nearly had to scream the story to keep the wind from stealing her voice. When she finished, Oriana leaned down and gave her a big hug, the wind blowing wisps of her black hair like tiny sharp knives against Nixie’s cheeks.

She settled back against Oriana and drowsed until they stopped in front of an older hotel about halfway to Cancun. A thin dark-haired man wearing all tan clothes and tan sandals with purple socks, and carrying a briefcase, jogged over to them. Ian turned around to face her. “Nixie, this is Peter. He’s my friend, and he wants to go with us today.”

She already knew they were going to try to find the bead, but why were there new people going? Someone she didn’t even know? Nixie had to work to get out a smile and shake the man’s hand. She scooted as close to Oriana as her seatbelt would let her go.

As soon as they started off again, Peter started pointing at the cars they passed and making up stories. “See that little purple beetle? It has the last surviving singer of a famous band in it.”

Nix smiled in spite of herself when they passed the car and a young Mexican woman sat behind the wheel. She pointed to a battered green truck with a faded picture of a grocery store on its sides and spoke solemnly, “That’s the Ambassador of Peaches. He’s come to meet the aliens that are landing on the twenty-first.”

Oriana joined in, so it seemed like only a few minutes passed before Ian stopped the jeep by a thin dirt road that led into the jungle. After a long ride over washboard roads, they came upon a big sign on a flat board propped up against two trees with “cenote” painted on it in red and “Real Mayan Village” painted in black under it. She tapped her mom on the shoulder. “Can we eat soon?”

“Yes.” Her mom turned around and laughed, reaching down to pour water onto a little scrap of towel and hand it to Nixie. “Wash your face. You’re all dust.”

The water on her skin made her feel a little better. After about fifteen minutes of slow, bumpy riding, Ian pulled into a dirt parking lot and two men came over to him jabbering in a mix of Spanish and Mayan. He answered them the same way, the words coming easy to him. He spoke almost as fast as the men. After he climbed out of the jeep, he clapped the men on the back, all three of them smiling. Nixie picked out a few of their words: road, sacbe, water, food, cenote.

They climbed out and followed the men past a ground-level cenote, the place where the water faded back into its underground river a dark hole covered over with green bushes. About a dozen sun-faded wetsuits lay piled on a wooden picnic table next to three neat huts with dirt floors and thatched palm leaf roofs. Inside the biggest hut, which had wooden walls, they found four more people, all sitting where they could see the door. When they sat down, too, they made a whole circle. Oriana, Ian, Nixie and her mom made up one half of it, and the two men and two women made up the other half. The women were both older than her grandmother, with wrinkly sun-browned skin and friendly eyes. One of them only had half her teeth. The men were younger, with strong backs and dark hair that brushed their shoulders.

Oriana introduced all four of them, but Nixie could only remember one of the names, Marco, which didn’t sound Mayan or Mexican. Food appeared on white paper plates: crackers and fruit they’d brought from the hotel room, and limes and corn chips provided by the Mayans. After everyone had eaten at least a little, Oriana asked, “Is Don Thomas Arulo here?”

Marco answered. “Is the wind here?” He shrugged and picked up a cracker. “He has not been with us for two days.”

Ian frowned. “He was not at his house yesterday, either.” He fell silent for a moment, then said, “We’re looking for a place that was very near the Coast to the Chichén sacbe, a place where the old Mayans quarried rocks, probably to use for building.”

Marco brightened. “We can walk there. I will show you the way to go.”

“Will you lead us?” Ian asked.

“I have work this evening. It will take an hour to show you where it is and get back.”

Nixie glanced at her mom, but she was watching Ian, who asked, “Can you show us a place where the Mayan’s quarried?”

Marco shrugged. “I can show you the sacbe, and the way to go toward Chichén. There are rocks beside it in many places.” He glanced down at Nixie. “You must bring water. The jungle has taken most of it back.” He stuffed another handful of crackers and cheese in his mouth, still sitting.

He was like the waiters who always took forever to bring the check. Mayans and Mexicans did things on their own time. Her mom was always cautioning her not to be a rude American, but at this rate it was going to take until tomorrow to find the bead. It was hot and dusty, and a load of real tourists could come by any time and distract everyone. She didn’t want to complain, so she stood up and brushed the chalky limestone dust from her pants.

Surprisingly, her mom got up, too, standing over the four Mayans and Ian. “Can we go now?”

A half an hour later, they stood by the metal bones of a now-rusted railroad line. It didn’t look anything like her dream. The stones under the rails were gray and tangled with roots. Marco pointed northwest. “You can mostly follow it for a few kilometers here, until you get to the end of the rail line. After that, it’s pretty overgrown.” He glanced at the women, focusing for a second on Nixie. “Be careful. Bandits and Federales and drug runners use the old road to avoid each other.”

“Is there a difference?” her mom asked.

Nixie had seen her face Federales down when they stopped them on the road and wanted to search their car. Now, her mom’s eyes had that hard look she got when she was working, the one that drove her to write late into the night sometimes or to stay out at a site until dark, drawing perfect pictures of weathered images carved in stone. Maybe packing and then not leaving after all had made her stronger.

Good. Nixie didn’t want to give up.

Ian turned to Marco, holding out two twenty-dollar bills. “Thank you. Please watch our car.”

Marco frowned down at the money, as if he was trying to decide whether to take it.

“Go on,” Ian said, “Give it to the women if you don’t want it. Take them out to dinner.”

Marco took the bills.

Ian smiled. “If you see Don Thomas, tell him we are here, and I am looking for him.”

Marco nodded and turned back, a small dark man with a bright blue plastic water bottle clipped to his belt, swinging gently against his right hip.

Ian turned back to them all. “Mark this place carefully. See how it looks so we’ll recognize it again.”

Nixie pulled a bright yellow hair-band out of her pants pocket and wrapped it around a tree branch.

Ian laughed. “Good idea.”

As they followed the metal railroad ties, Nixie wondered how they would ever find the bead. There were big stones everywhere, not so neat as the stones in her memory, but would it be a neat pile anymore? What if the Mayans used the stones they’d stood on last night to build temples or the Mexicans to build railroad houses? What if they used them hundreds of years ago?

For the first hour, Peter carried the car game forward. “See that tree? A famous painter once painted the fork in it and sold the painting for six dollars. It sold at Sotheby’s for two million last year.” And, “See that part of the railroad? A car got stuck there. It had so much chicle in it that the sun melted it to the tracks.” It wasn’t as enchanting out here where there was no little Mexican woman driving the beetle to give lies to his tall tales, and Nixie stopped before he did.

She stuck as close to the right edge of the tracks as she could, moving so slowly her mom or Oriana called her to hurry more than once. She kept looking for the egg-shaped rock, even where there weren’t very many big rocks. She surprised a small snake once. Later, three wild pigs rooted through the group, separating her from the others for a few moments, and making her and Peter and Ian laugh.

They were never going to find the bead this way. It was going to take more than just walking down a dead railroad. The sacbe—she was sure they were on the sacbe—had become so jumbled it had no edges anymore. Trees grew up from it, roots snaking over the metal, usually in ones and twos, but sometimes in clumps they had to work their way around or through. They were just going and going without a plan, walking till they ran out of time. “Can we rest?” she called forward to her mom.

“Of course.” They waited for her.

Peter looked around, finding a jumble of rain-worn rocks and sitting down on the edge of one. “I’m ready to bird-watch for a few minutes.”

Nixie sat on a rounded rock and took a long drink, water dribbling down and splashing on her neck, cooling her.

After they all drank and sat for a few minutes, Peter stretched his long skinny legs out in front of him, his socks the only purple in view. “Let me get this straight. We’re out here looking for a single bead that got buried in this jungle roughly a thousand years ago?”

Ian laughed. “Think of it as an act of faith.”

“Because it sure isn’t an act of archeology,” Nixie’s mom said.

Oriana laughed. “At least it’s pretty.”

The trees around them had clearly been cut when the railroad was made. They’d grown back of course, but the taller canopy started a good hundred feet or so from the road. Lianas, bromeliads and mosses decorated the trees. A burst of orange and yellow flowers hung almost twenty feet above them.

Nixie’s mom glanced at her watch. “We’ll have to start back in an hour. Maybe we should move faster.”

Not faster, better. This would be her only chance; they wouldn’t get back out here. Nixie closed her eyes and imagined her dreamscape, the white road glistening in the green jungle, the monkeys in the trees, and the flash of bright bird wings. The smooth slap of feet on the road.

Her mom’s voice, quiet, near her. “Are you okay, Nix?”

“Yes.” She opened her eyes, keeping them soft, trying to keep the glowing dream in front of them and still see the tumbled rough road of today. She shuffled forward slowly so she wouldn’t stumble, trying not to look at the tracks. Sweat salted her forehead and she tugged scraps of flyaway hair back into her clip.

She wanted a breeze.

Her mom said something to Ian, too soft for her to hear, but she heard his answer. “Leave her. Watch.”

So she ignored them, made them not there in her mind.

A breeze did come up, from behind her. She stood in it, smelling the jungle dust and flowers. She found a good flat place for her feet and closed her eyes again, listening. Leaves rattled softly against each other. Small birds chattered in the trees by the road, and somewhere further off, a pair of macaws scolded each other.

Oriana started to say something and Nixie held up a hand, her eyes still closed.

The breeze was almost wind higher up in the canopy, a warm breath. She imagined Hun Kan and the bird man. The black jaguar with the golden-yellow eyes. The jaguar’s coat clarified in her imagination. As the black on black of his coat began to shimmer, she knew how far they had to go. She licked her lips and turned back to the others. “We aren’t there yet. We’re not very close. But I know where it is, so we can hurry.”

Peter looked puzzled, but Oriana winked at her. As they neared her, Nixie spied a flash of fear coming through the determination in her mom’s eyes and reached out for her hand, holding it in hers. “It’s okay, Mom.”

“I know.”

Nixie kept going, moving faster. The others followed her, sticking close. When Peter started talking to Oriana, Nixie shushed him. She needed to hear the jungle and the wind, needed to smell her way, feel her way. She needed as little of today as possible inside her senses.

Her mom stayed really close to her, so Nixie could reach back and touch her if she wanted to. A guardian. Someone to keep her in this time while she was half in that time.

She didn’t want to see the dead warriors again.

The wind freshened more and the blue sky faded to soft gray that darkened to deeper gray, and then to charcoal. The air felt full of water and electricity.