

The Devil's Box

## Lee Patrick

Copyright 2019 by Lee Patrick

Smashwords Edition

Nathan took a sip of coffee as he browsed through his email. Most of the new mail was junk and spam the University servers couldn't seem to block. He found what was important, though. The University required he certify all the papers, journals, and manuscripts that were published on shared drives. It seemed absurd for him to perform such bureaucratic work, but it was considered paying dues as a graduate student and there was no way around it. In addition to a rite of passage, the work was partially meant to keep him separated from the rest of the team. He was a gifted researcher, but he was abrasive in nature and often, unwittingly, angered his counterparts with his arrogance and occasional misplaced word. So, he was relegated to a basement office nestled in a back corner past twenty rows of shelving reaching fifteen feet high and crammed full of artifacts. Nathan reviewed and electronically signed and authenticated the server was 'correct' before he moved to the important tasks of the day.

The department had waited two years for permission to conduct an archeological dig outside of Rincon del Buey on the Copan River. The University of Texas was a leader in Mayan studies but due to regional turmoil, all digs had been placed on hold. Obtaining permission to start a new expedition on virgin soil was important and everything needed to be carefully cultivated and planned to ensure no time was lost at the site. Coordinating the dig was Nathan's responsibility and today was the last day to make any adjustments. He had organized and planned everything the team would need for the archeological survey. From travel arrangements to paying the local labor force, everything had to be checked and confirmed. His desk was covered with neatly organized files outlining each step and arrangement made for the dig. His colleagues would often stop by his cramped basement office and tease him about making paper copies instead of using project management software, but he didn't care. The one person who approved of his old-school approach was the head of the Archeology Department, Dr. David Windsor. Dr. Windsor, or Dave as he insisted everyone call him, was a legend. He had led multiple breakthroughs in the decipherment of Mayan religious practices and beliefs. He was regarded as a genius in the field and was heading this trip to Honduras. Getting to work with David was worth any of the mundane tasks Nathan had to endure. Nathan was checking the temporary visas of the team members when David stopped by his desk.

"Everything ready to go?" David asked as he sat down next to Nathan's chair.

"Pretty much. Just making sure everyone's visas, passports and vaccinations are ready." Nathan replied.

Dave looked around. "I love what you've done with the place. You know this used to be my office. I still can't get that musty basement smell out of some of my clothes." David said nostalgically. Nathan snickered a bit at the comment but most of his attention was applied to the flight itineraries and equipment lists.

"Are those the flight itineraries for the team?" Dave asked as he stood up from his chair.

"Yep, everyone is leaving from DFW the day after tomorrow and landing in San Pedro Sula a bit after one o'clock local time." Nathan replied without looking up from the papers.

Dave reached out and took the documents from Nathan's hand and said, "Well, put that down and listen to me for a minute. I need you to cancel your flight." Nathan froze for a second in response to the statement. He had done the lion's share of the planning for this trip and he was now being told he wasn't going?

"You are removing me from the team? How could you do this Dave? I have been working on this for the better part of a year." Nathan said as he made no attempt to hide his frustration.

Dave was quick to cut him off. "No, no. Hear me out for a second Nathan. You are still going. I just need you to make a detour first."

Nathan calmed down a bit and asked, "OK. How much of a detour?"

Dave responded, "I need you to meet with someone in Atlanta. You will only miss the first three days." Frustration returned as Nathan responded. "Three days?! Really? The dig only has approval for eighteen and you want me to go to Atlanta for three of them? Who will run the logistics while I am in Atlanta, and what's so important there?" Dave was a bit unnerved by Nathan's reaction, but he understood how much this meant to him.

He started to explain. "Claire will handle the coordination. I know she is junior but you have been extremely thorough, so she will be able to handle it. Besides, you are the only one on the team qualified to meet with this guy."

Nathan stood there with a grimace, knowing the qualification to which he was referring. "Dave stop." he said, now looking down at the desk. "This is another one of those Codex hunts, isn't it? You are sending me on a wild goose chase during the dig. Of all the times to do this to me. It must be now? Can't this wait?" Prior to coming to the University of Texas, Nathan had studied ancient paper and writing at the University of Chicago. Most of the special assignments he received were to perform preliminary document dating. Most documents could be dated within a few years just by the type of paper, parchment or papyri used. The skill was very rare and proved valuable when assessing ancient documents. The past year showed an outbreak of people trying to fake Mayan books. This was no easy task since the Maya used a unique form of paper made from fig tree bark, not to mention the writing is foreign and not widely understood, even among leading Mayanists. But, since there are only four known Mayan books in existence, even the smallest verified scraps of writing are priceless.

"Believe me, Nathan." he said, trying his best to convince him. "I didn't want to do this, but this guy sent me some pics and we need someone to look at these in person ASAP. He has people from the state library in Dresden coming to make an offer on them next week. If these are real, we need to convince him to let us examine them first."

Nathan stood there shaking his head and asked, "And if they are fakes?"

Dave interrupted again. "If they are fakes you get on the first plane out of Atlanta and meet us in Honduras. The email and pics should be in your inbox by now. Take a look and book your flight. Oh, Claire should be here any minute to be briefed on the trip."

Dave smiled as he left the office wishing Nathan luck. Just as Dave was walking out, Claire poked her head around the corner and asked if this was a good time. He shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Sure, no time like the present." as he let out a sigh. He really liked Claire and tried not to hold any grudge against her. It wasn't her fault things were working out like this and she was more than capable. Claire held an undergrad in Civil Engineering, a Masters in Art, and was working on her doctorate. She was one of a handful of people who could read Mayan and accurately freehand the writing from memory. As the youngest member of the team, her fun and carefree attitude made her very popular among the staff, and it didn't hurt she had the looks and figure of a lingerie model. Every guy in the department between the ages of twenty-five and fifty-five had tried, and failed, to get into her pants. Her grandparents had migrated from India and she grew up in Northern California where they ran a type of commune that farmed mushrooms and cannabis. Growing up in this environment seemed to explain her easy-going personality. She was tall and thin, and her dark black hair was a perfect complement to her chestnut skin. It took a conscious effort for Nathan to not hit on her as he brought her up to speed on the travel plans.

It took about two hours to give Claire all the details for the expedition. The only portion that worried Nathan was the artifact categorization and shipping. Most countries had allowed the agency performing the digs to hold and study artifacts at their respective University labs. This was not the case for this study. All items found were to remain in Honduras, unless there were preservation issues. Many unscrupulous Universities claimed all items needed 'additional care', only to place the artifacts in a student center display or have them sold to a wealthy donor. This caused a general tightening of the flow of ancient artifacts out of Central America. Nathan sat at his computer and forwarded Claire the documents and labels that would be used to document all items found during the expedition. As he hit send, his inbox lit up with the email from Dave. It was a forwarded message and, in the dialog box from Dave, it simply read. "Per our conversation this afternoon. Burlton is expecting you on Wednesday morning. His address is at the bottom of the email." Nathan drug his mouse over and opened it. There were several lines from a sender with the name Burlton James. The email read: "Dear Dr. David Windsor, I understand you are the leading expert in the field of reading and decipherment of texts of the Meso-American culture known as the Maya. I have in my possession multiple books that may garner your attention in that they seem to be of Mayan origin and context. Any effort on my part to describe these documents to you would be futile so I have taken the liberty of sending you a picture of one of the books. After you have a chance to review the aforementioned photograph, I would like to invite you and your colleagues to personally review said books and discuss the possibility of a tender offer. However, I must disclose, I have made the same invitation to the gentlemen from the Library of Dresden, who, I might add, think my collection would make a handsome companion to their existing Codex. Please feel free to contact me to make arrangements for our meeting. Cordially, Burlton James III 3256 Druid Hills Atlanta, GA 30307 PN: (404)555-2647. Nathan reread the email a few times; the wording and sentence structure sounded like Foghorn Leghorn could have crafted it. He said aloud in a sarcastic voice, "Yep, missing three days to meet with the southern gentleman, Foghorn Leghorn." Nathan clicked the 'open' icon in the email and the picture showed up on his screen. The picture was grainy and a bit out of focus, but laid out was an image of what appeared to be an intact multifold codex opened to the middle page. It was too blurry to make out any of the scripts, but he recognized the drawings of the Twin Paddler Gods and possibly the emblem glyph of the city of Calakmul. Nathan sat back for a moment and thought, "If this is real, it would be a huge find, not only for the book, but any new information about Calakmul would be pure gold." The city-state Calakmul was the Mayan equivalent of Athens during the Hellenistic period. Unfortunately, all the monuments in Calakmul were constructed of soft limestone and their inscriptions have weathered away. All that is known about the city is second-hand references from their enemy's temples and stelae. Nathan tried to zoom in on the photo but his mouse hit the corner of the photo, inadvertently zooming in on the background, where he noticed something. In the background, there seemed to be a stack of twenty or more codex books. This made him forget the trip to Honduras for a moment. He immediately called Claire, telling her he needed to use a camera and photo kit slated for the trip.

Nathan pulled the rental car down the street of an old neighborhood in Atlanta. From what he could tell, this area was first developed sometime in the twenties and housed the old money elite. The homes were a mix of Tudor and classical style brick homes, each unique but similar. He was slowly counting house numbers as he drove. He was happy there wasn't any traffic on this street since his slow pace would surely anger anyone following him. Then he arrived at the brick mailbox with bronze numbers of 3526 on the side. He looked over the small lawn to the house. It was an older home with a large front porch that was barely visible behind the overgrown hedges. The house was in a miserable state of disrepair. The first thing he noticed was the multiple roofing tiles missing and the corner of the porch roof was sagging about a foot. The lawn was nothing more than weeds about a foot and a half high, which added a nice touch to the abandoned house look. He was about to get out of the car when he was startled by a metallic tap on his window. Nathan looked to his left and saw his window filled with an old weathered face behind a set of antique spectacles.

Nathan opened the door and asked, "Can I help you?"

The man replied in a rushed manner, "Why yes, I am Burlton James the Third. Can I ask you to move your vehicle three houses back? We prefer not to have anyone park in front of the home. I hope you understand."

Nathan's first impression was confirmed. The old gentleman had an old southern accent and his words were drawn out in slow calligraphy. Nathan closed the door, put the car into reverse, and backed up several houses before coming to a stop. He put the car in park and reached back to retrieve the small backpack with his camera equipment. He stepped out of the car, making sure it was locked, and started walking to the mailbox where Burlton was waiting. From a distance, Nathan could see that Burlton was old and frail. He leaned on his cane, which he held tightly to his hip as he did his best to stand up straight. His light brown suit looked to be from the forties; straight out of a black and white movie. As he got closer, Nathan could tell the suit was threadbare at the elbow and the cuffs of the sleeves. The brown and white wingtip shoes were desperately worn, as well, completing his dressed up but shabby look.

Nathan introduced himself, "I am Nathan from the University of Texas. Dr. David Windsor sent me." Burlton smiled with teeth stained yellow from coffee and cigarettes.

He shook Nathan's hand and introduced himself, "Yes, much obliged to make your acquaintance. I am Burlton James the Third. I was hoping Dr. Windsor would be here himself, but I would be happy to work with his counterpart, such as yourself."

As he spoke, Nathan could only think of Foghorn Leghorn and tried not to smirk. Burlton was nervous and seemed in a hurry as he glanced back toward the house. "Let's continue our conversation in my studio, shall we?" Burlton suggested as he started walking up the drive. Nathan noticed Burlton was spry for a man who appeared to be one-hundred and twenty years old. He followed Burlton up the driveway and past the house, casually glancing through one of the opaque leaded windows. Inside, he could see a large formal living room with elaborate parquet floors but the whole room was devoid of furniture. Behind the house was a garage with stairs leading up to what he guessed was an apartment. Burlton stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turned to Nathan and said, "Yes, I apologize for not meeting you in the parlor but we're performing renovations and it is not fit for guests. I hope you understand." Nathan nodded and told him he didn't mind at all, but in the back of his mind, he figured Burlton was lying and the house was empty for some other reason. He followed him up the stairs and into the apartment above the garage. He was amazed at how large and open the room felt and was immediately taken aback with its contents. The apartment was filled with antique tribal paraphernalia from around the globe. The single bed was covered in what appeared to be a zebra skin and was flanked on both sides by Zulu shields, masks, and spears. The sitting area was equally equipped with odd items. The small couch was covered in alligator or crocodile skin and was draped by Jaguar and leopard pelts. The coffee table presented a gladius and a Spartan style bronze helmet that was slightly misshapen and covered in green patina. One end table was home to a red and blue Japanese Edu era helmet and mask. Propped up behind the table, he could see the handle of a katana style sword. The other end table held a few pieces of Asian ceramics and several small bells that looked Tibetan. In the corner was a tripod holding a brass surveyor's instrument and what appeared to be a blow gun and quiver of darts. Nathan kept looking around at the artifacts from around the world. Everywhere he looked, there was something interesting. He thought to himself that Burlton was quite a collector.

Burlton walked over, reclined on the couch, crossed his legs, and said, "Please take a seat and we shall discuss our business." Nathan took a seat on a small bar stool next to the dinette counter.

He got right to the point and stated, "I saw the email. You have some items you think are Mayan writing."

Burlton smiled, his yellow teeth showing, and said, "Yes, yes, the codices, we will get to that. But first, you must know the history of things." He went on to explain that his grandfather was a bit of an eccentric. "Life began normally for Burlton Senior. He grew up in Atlanta, obtained a Civil Engineering degree, got married, and started a family. Then, during his late twenties, he took a job overseas building Teddy Roosevelt's canal. It was in Panama where he contracted malaria and suffered through weeks of fever and pains. After he recovered from his ailment, he continued working at the canal, but he was never quite the same. Some said he was a tad touched. He would wander off into the jungle each chance he got and would return with odd sorts of aboriginal items. After the canal was complete, he continued his travels around the world, sending back boxes full of various antiques." Burlton explained, "His son, my father, grew up a virtually fatherless. His father would show up once or twice a year with money and more trinkets before leaving again. Burlton Jr. followed in his father's footsteps. He became an engineer and made a fortune building bases and airstrips for the government during the great World War Two. This is where our real wealth originated, and we are what you could call Southern Aristocracy." Nathan chuckled at the arrogance and almost comical nature of Burlton. He was afraid a lonely old man had duped them, just wishing to talk to someone about his inflated importance. Burlton could sense Nathan's impatience and stood up, with the help of his cane, and looked at Nathan's camera bag and spoke, "Let's show you the Devil's box so you can put that camera to use, young man." He walked over to the bed, flung the zebra skin back, and labored to pull a wooden box out from under the bed. It was the size of a small suitcase and was fastened shut with leather straps and adorned with Mayan style carvings. Nathan walked over to give him a hand with retrieving the box and to take a closer look. He picked it up, shocked at its heft. "Thank you and yes, place it in the middle of the floor where we can open it. Be careful, its contents are delicate," he said, as he was quickly winded. Nathan carefully set the box on the floor and started to unbuckle the straps. He noticed the glyphs written on the box weren't purely ornamental. The writing must have been copied from somewhere. Nathan could read that it described a type of blood ritual and the hand grasping a fish glyph indicated spirit conjuring. Burlton moved the Spartan helmet and took a seat on the coffee table overlooking the box and explained, "This was one of the first items my grandfather sent back from Central America. My grandmother hated it and hid it in the attic. She only referred to it once or twice, but when she did, she called it the Devil's box. When I was a teenager, I found its hiding place and examined its contents for the first time." Nathan carefully opened the box and was immediately hit by the musty smell of old cedar as the hinges creaked and moaned as they were forced open. Sitting neatly in a bed of long curly wood shavings was a ceramic figurine and several obsidian blades. Nathan reached down and picked up the figurine. It was about the size of a football. It had a large head and small body sitting with its arms and legs crossed presenting a tortured and contorted expression. Its oversized tongue was protruding grotesquely from its toothy mouth and was impaled by a rope pulled by its tiny hands. The head and tongue also contained glyphs, but Nate couldn't read them. He couldn't hide his expression of revulsion as Burlton snickered and said, "Handsome fellow, isn't he?" Nathan agreed and handed it over to him who then carefully set it on the floor. Nathan removed the shavings and blades to reveal two stacks of neatly folded papers. In front of him were the bundles of Codices he noticed in the email. He felt a shutter in his stomach and could hardly believe what was before him. He carefully removed the top manuscript and noticed the bark style paper was consistent for the late classical Mayan period. The writing was brightly colored in red, green, and black. His hands shook slightly when he looked at the glyphs. He wasn't familiar with the style and grammar of the writings, but it certainly looked authentic. He quickly set the codex down, produced his phone, and started taking pictures. He meticulously took pics of the first codex, making sure to capture the edges and thickness of the paper, as well as the artwork and writing.

He felt Burlton's gaze and looked up apologetically. "I'm sorry. I didn't ask if I could take pictures."

He responded with, "That's quite fine my boy. Why don't you use the camera you brought instead of that phone thingy?"

Nathan looked up at his camera bag and said. "Umm....yeah. I got a bit carried away."

He then put his phone back in his pocket and started setting up the camera on a tripod specifically made to photo documents. Once he had it set up, Nathan proceeded to photograph the next codex. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. This could be the biggest find in Mayan history for the past one-hundred and fifty years. Nathan recognized much of the writing on the next codex as a dynastic succession of Calakmul. Nathan could hardly contain his excitement.

"Amazing isn't it? Do you think this was worth the trip from Texas?" Burlton asked.

Trying to maintain a poker face, Nathan cleared his throat and said, "Of course, we will need to examine them more closely in a lab, but yes. They are quite unusual and remarkable."

Burlton responded, "Once we come to an arrangement, I think I can allow one of the books to undertake a more thorough examination."

Suddenly, from the entrance to the apartment, a curt and high-pitched voice rang out. "I think nothing of the sort!" Nathan turned and saw a small old woman standing in the doorway. She was wearing an old skirt and blouse, and her gray hair was pulled back tightly into a bun. In the same manner as Burlton, she appeared to have just stepped off a 1940's movie set. Her shoes made a clomping sound as she quickly made her way toward Nathan. She hastily grabbed the codices and figurine and threw them in the box, slamming it shut. The haphazard way she handled the artifacts made Nathan's heart stop and his stomach sink.

"Damn you, woman." He blurted as if he had been caught doing something salacious.

"Oh, shut up, you fool. I knew you were hiding this from me! The will was very specific. All the items in the house belong to me while all the contents in this apartment were yours." The woman shrieked almost incoherently.

He stood up and leaned on his cane while pointing a finger at the box and yelled, "Well, you can hardly argue that it is not in this apartment, now can you?" Burlton tried to bring some composure to the conversation and said, "Now Bernice, you are being rude. I haven't introduced Nathan Burns from the University of Texas. He has agreed to examine this for me."

Bernice looked at Nathan with pursed lips and squinty eyes. Nathan thought she was the picture-perfect definition of a spinster. She forced a word of "Charmed" from her lips and then turned back to face Burlton.

"We both know you took this from the house and it belongs to me. You lied to me on multiple occasions about knowing where it was." Bernice uttered with anger and frustration. It was obvious there was a long-standing feud between these two and the tension made Nathan uncomfortable.

Burlton slammed the foot of his cane into the floor and shouted, "You have sold all of your inheritance and now you can't stand that you can't get your grubby little hands on mine."

Bernice crossed her arms and retorted, "Don't you call me grubby you illegitimate bastard." The comment seemed to strike a nerve on Burlton as Nathan could see the anguish on his face.

"I'm a bastard?! That's rich, you old maid. Explain to me how you were born in 1931 when father was in New York and didn't see mother the entire year of 1930." Bernice dropped her arms to her side and clenched her fists in anger. For a moment, it appeared as if she might punch him, or resort to some other form of violence.

She forced herself to relax and turned her attention to the digital camera. "Is this yours or does it belong to someone else?" She asked angrily. Still feeling uncomfortable,

Nathan responded, "That belongs to me. Or, I should say, it's the property of the University." With her face scrunched up and lips pursed tightly, she grabbed the camera and started to examine it. She fumbled with it for a second and then popped out the memory card and tossed the camera to Nathan. As he bobbled and caught the camera, she placed the card on the counter and smashed it twice with a coffee mug rendering them both useless. She delicately picked up the fractured memory card from the pieces of broken ceramic and placed it in the camera bag.

"Now, Mr. whatever your name is. Please take your things and leave the premises. I bid you a good day." As she spoke, her eyes never left Burlton. Burlton's face was beet red as he stammered to speak some sort of insult.

Nathan asked, "Would it be possible to set another appointment?"

Bernice responded. "I said good day, sir."

Nathan tried to ask again. "Those artifacts could be very import..."

But he was interrupted. "Sir, please take your things and leave the premises or I shall be forced to call the authorities."

Nathan reluctantly gathered up the camera bag and its contents and headed for the door. He closed it behind himself and, as he walked down the steps, he could hear the eruption of an argument. Nathan stood outside of the garage and looked in the window. He noticed several 1920s era Jaguars in various states of disrepair and covered with cardboard boxes and other miscellaneous household items. He eavesdropped on their argument for a few minutes until he had his fill. He walked down the drive to his car, horribly disappointed at the morning's events. He wondered what would happen to those documents if they weren't properly preserved and what history could be lost. This could be the biggest loss to Mayan history since Diego de Landa burned the last remnants of Mayan books. He got into his car and sat quietly for a moment. Not more than one-hundred feet away sat Aladdin's cave of riches and he couldn't get to it because of two elderly siblings fighting over the last bits of their inheritance. He looked at his watch and did some math in his head. The expedition wouldn't be landing in Honduras for another hour. He hadn't wasted three days as he feared. He barely wasted three hours in Atlanta, but he wished he had never laid eyes on the documents, now that he couldn't get them.

Nathan exited the plane and walked down the corridor to the terminal. He always liked third world airports. They were always small, simple, and easily navigable, and seemed to feel more than a tad dangerous. He walked outside and was preparing to find transportation when he saw one of his colleagues and all their gear sitting on the sidewalk. Instantly, he assumed someone, most likely Claire, had screwed up something with the transportation. He found Jimmy, one of the undergrads, reclining on a backpack with a hat pulled down shielding his eyes from the sun. He was holding a drink in one hand and a banana in the other.

Nathan was beside himself when he asked. "Jimmy, what is going on here? Everyone should be at the dig site by now, setting up."

Jimmy pulled the hat from his face and looked up at Nathan. "Nathan! I am glad you are here, but it seems we are going nowhere fast." Nathan was biting his lip trying not to say anything inappropriate, but he couldn't seem to contain himself as he blurted.

"Did our token pretty girl screw this up? I knew Dave shouldn't have replaced me at such a late date."

Jimmy stood up and threw the banana peel out into the dusty street and stepped up close to Nathan saying, "Actually no, none of this is her fault. There seems to be some sort of local trouble with a rebel group or gang from across the border in Guatemala. The Hondurans won't allow anyone in or out of the area until they get things sorted out."

Jimmy gritted his teeth and looked Nathan up and down and asked him. "Can you just cool your jets for once? You don't have to be an ass all the time." Nathan knew he had overreacted and looked at his feet as he apologized.

He looked up, and then around, and asked, "Where's Dave and everyone else? Is there a bar anywhere around here or somewhere to get a drink?"

He pointed to a small dilapidated tin-roofed building about fifty yards away and said, "Yeah, the whole crew is over there drinking." Nathan started walking towards the cantina as he heard Jimmy ask about the Atlanta trip.

Nathan just mumbled to himself as he walked away. He got about twenty yards away when he heard Jimmy yell in a sarcastic tone, "Hey! Nice to hear how your trip went! Nice catching up with you! Dickhead!"

He just ignored Jimmy and walked into the bar. He found a seat at the table with the rest of the crew members. Dave ordered another round of Tonas and the waitress nodded politely as she headed to the bar. Claire looked at Nathan and asked, "So Nathan, any luck in Atlanta? I am guessing not since you got down here so quickly."

Nathan laughed a bit, shook his head, and said, "You won't believe what I am going to tell you but I am gonna tell you anyway." Nathan proceeded to explain the whole ordeal. He didn't leave out any detail. From Burlton's yellow teeth to the shrieks of his sister he wove the story. He went into depth about how he thought the paper and ink was unlike anything he had seen and looked to be authentic just from his cursory examination.

Nathan reached into his pocket and pulled out the smashed memory card from the camera and said, "Someone in the computer lab will win a big prize if they can recover anything from this."

Dave took it from Nathan's hand and examined it for a second before handing it to Claire as he said jokingly, "You know, I am going to have to deduct the value of this from your pay, doncha."

Everyone laughed except Nathan. He just grimaced a bit and took another drink of beer. During the next few rounds, the team discussed what they thought was happening with the rebels. Everyone had their pet theories. Ideas ranged from new communists, or some type of drug runners, to even a family feud that spilled across villages. After a bit, the conversation turned into a game to see who could come up with the most seemingly plausible, but comical, reason for the brewing conflict in the area. It was about eight PM when an officer with the local law enforcement came to Dave and asked to speak with him in private. They both went outside and talked for about ten minutes. When the conversation finished, Dave walked back into the Cantina and asked everyone to gather around for an announcement. "Team, I have bad news. The Honduran government has canceled our dig." The team let out a collective groan. Dave tried to cheer everyone up and continued announcing. "The good news is that there is a flight heading back to the States tonight. And in light of the cancelation, everyone can have the next week off." The jovial mood returned to the team, but everyone was disappointed the dig was nixed. Nathan wasn't a novice when it came to the Maya, but this was to be his first real dig. Not liking the prospect of going home and spending the next week lounging around his apartment, he approached Dave and asked if he could trade his tickets to go to Caracol. Dave agreed, as long as it didn't cost the department any additional money, and he even offered Nathan the use of some camping equipment. Nathan immediately went to the airline counter to see what flights were available to Belize. While he was speaking with the sales agent, Claire walked up to the counter and listened in on Nathan making the arrangements. The next flight to Caracol was on a regional carrier leaving the next morning at 10:30. Nathan agreed to the price and booked the flight. He looked over and saw Claire.

She asked, "Do you need an interpreter for your trip?" Nathan looked at her oddly for a moment. He knew he had a reputation as being abrasive, so he wasn't sure why Claire would want to accompany him.

Nathan replied, "Umm...my Spanish is OK, but I could use the company." Claire smiled, then proceeded to book arrangements on the same flight.

Nathan helped the rest of the team board their flight and ensured all the gear and equipment was squared away before heading back to the cantina. When he left them at the terminal he overheard several of the undergrads talking. He couldn't be sure, but they seemed to be talking about him and Claire. He sighed a bit at the prospect. He wasn't fond of gossip, especially when it was about him, and Claire going to Caracol with him was sure to generate plenty. Nathan was sitting at the bar having another beer. He wasn't fond of the local brew, but it was all they had available. It didn't taste bad, but it was bland and didn't seem to have any character. He drank the last swallow from the bottle and ordered another when Claire sat down beside him. She looked at the bartender and asked if she could get one as well. Two semi cold beers were placed before them.

Claire took a drink and said to Nathan. "Well, I guess the rest of the team will be gossiping about us now."

He laughed a little and said. "Yep. Some of the undergrads were talking about us in the terminal." Claire grimaced a bit. The talk did not surprise her. In small groups, hookups, real and imaginary, always seemed inevitable. She wasn't all that concerned, but she knew she was the prize everyone wanted to conquer.

"Well, if you were to close the deal, that would make you quite the man wouldn't it? All of you scamps have tried in one way or another." She said.

"Yep, I guess it would make me the talk for a while. But I am not holding my breath." he replied with a smirk.

"Good. My motives are purely mercenary. I want to hear more about the Codices you examined." Nathan had a confused look on his face. Why would she stay here and visit Caracol with him just to hear about the Codices? He already told them everything he knew.

He didn't understand, so he asked, "I already told you and the rest of the team all I know about the books. What else could I tell you about them?" Claire didn't particularly like Nathan and his style of being so direct, but it didn't bother her as much as it did everyone else.

She asked, "Well, you said the first codex you looked at had a bunch of green. Is this right?"

"Yea, the first Codex was written mostly in green, but I couldn't make out the writing. I don't have the experience in reading the glyphs like most of you. I could tell it had something to do with conjuring ancestors since it had a glyph with a hand grasping a fish and some burning of paper and blood or something."

Claire pressed for more details. "How were the glyphs written? Were they green over black? Was there any artwork?" Nathan, getting a little annoyed since he felt he gave all the details he could remember, responded sharply, "I guess, I wasn't really looking at the writing. I was trying to study the paper itself." Just as he was speaking, his phone started vibrating. He took it out of his pocket to check. It was a notification about his flight itinerary. He looked at it for a minute and then it dawned on him. He had taken several pics with his phone.

"Oh shit." he said under his breath, just loud enough for Claire to hear.

"What? What is it?" she asked.

"Look, I forgot I had taken a few pics with my phone before that crazy lady got there."

Claire grabbed the phone from his hand and started flipping through the pics and said, "Holy shit...let's see if the motel has a Bluetooth printer so we can get a better look." Within minutes, they were in the small campy lobby of the motel printing out pages of Mayan script. Claire greedily grabbed the pages as they fell out of the printer. Her face was stern and serious as she studied each page, flipping back and forth between the pages. She looked at Nathan and asked, "How would you feel about going to Peru?"

The small plane lifted off the runway and shuttered a bit as the landing gear folded up into the fuselage. Nathan leaned over to Claire and said, "Tell me again what you are thinking about this script." Claire was busy jotting notes on the printed pages with a pen.

She leaned over and pointed out a few glyphs on the page. "See this? It's basically a recipe of sorts. Some of the terminologies are straightforward like to plant, honey, and mix but it's this glyph. It says, 'Lady Caiman feather climbed with the vine of souls to meet whoever this glyph name is."

Nathan shrugged his shoulders and pointed at the paper as he asked, "And what makes you think someone in Peru will know anything about this?"

Claire answered dryly, "The vine of souls is another name for ayahuasca. An old colleague and friend of mine teaches at Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú. His skills at deciphering Mayan glyphs rival, and could be better than, Dr. Dave's. That, and he runs an ayahuasca camp. He may be able to shed some light on this recipe."

Nathan continued to press the question. "OK. Sounds like you have an old expat boyfriend who is an acid head burnout. Any other reasons we shouldn't be sending these pics to Austin?"

Claire sharply retorted, "That, and he is an expert at interpreting Mayan text, but he got sick of all the politics within the university system and ended up in Peru."

Nathan shook his head. "You are lucky you are smart and attractive, or you would be making this trip by yourself."

Claire angrily clicked the end of the pen, retracting it while glaring at Nathan and said, "Are you always this charming, or do you have to work at it?"

Unfazed, Nathan responded, "Oh, it comes naturally." After a few hours, the plane set down on the tarmac of the Lima Airport. After a short trip through customs and baggage claim, Nathan and Claire were in a cab heading to the University.

The streets were crowded and noisy with shouts and honks from displeased motorist all jockeying for position as they navigated the city. The campus was clean and quiet and seemed like an oasis from the third world city all around them. As they paid the cab driver, they were happily greeted by a tall, painfully skinny man wearing jeans and a white button-down shirt.

"Hello, Claire! It's great to see you." Adler shouted, as he gave her a hug. They laughed for a few minutes, exchanging greetings when they looked at Nathan standing awkwardly to the side.

Claire introduced him to Adler. "Nathan this is Professor Adler Claure."

As he shook his hand he said, "My real name is Alvaro Agapito Claure but everyone just calls me Adler." With a smile, he continued, "Let's head to my office, you must be thirsty. I have just the thing for you." They gathered their few bags and followed Adler through the campus. It was picturesque and could have been the campus of any university in the U.S. with its tree-lined courtyards and mixed architecture.

Nate sat down in the office on the opposite side of Claire. He looked around and wondered why all professors had piles of papers and books stacked everywhere, waiting to be read. If they had been read, then why hadn't they been cataloged and put into the library somewhere rather than taking up space in the already small office. If they hadn't been read, then they presented a monumental task of time and brain power just to trudge through them. Either way, Nathan thought it was a waste of resources, not to mention paper and trees. Alder sat in his chair and, while looking over the tons of papers, made small talk about the usual things, talking mostly to Claire and almost ignoring Nathan. The flight. The failed dig. Things about old colleagues and undergraduates. Nathan wasn't very impressed with Alder. To him, he looked overly skinny, to the point that you could call him sickly. Claire had mentioned on the flight that he was Castilian, but his accent was an odd blend of West Texan and Okie. Nathan had been skeptical of him from the beginning. The conversation turned to the few pictures they had of the codices. Claire handed the few printouts they made at the hotel and noted they could now make more detailed prints since they had soft copies on Nathan's phone.

Alder put his reading glasses on and immediately began studying the writing. Without saying a word, he stood up and peered over the documents, one by one, changing their sequence several times, until he was satisfied with the order. Then, as if he was an old-fashioned animator, he flipped the pages back and forth between several fingers as if trying to make the glyphs come to life and run across the page. He did this for several minutes not saying a word, his emotionless face was almost computer-like, just taking in information. Suddenly, he stopped flipping the pages, dropped them, and then sat down.

He looked at them both and asked, "Are these all the pictures you have?" Nathan spoke up quickly. "Yes. There were all I was able to take before getting run out."

Alder ran his fingers through his dark hair. He then looked at Claire and said, "Well, as far as I can tell these are authentic. The style dates to the early pre-classical period and documents the alliance between Calakmul and some small city near the coast, which is interesting, but the real intriguing part of this is the conjuring portion. Not only does it document the experience and advice from the vision, but it basically outlines a recipe for a drink to elicit beings or ancestors or something. But the wording is odd and not like anything I have seen before."

Nathan, a bit irritated they had come all this way for such a cursory explanation, blurted out, "That's it? That's all you can tell me about these pics?" He looked at Claire and said, "You made it sound like this guy was an expert, but he didn't tell me anything else that I couldn't figure out myself. What a gyp." He could see the look of horror on Clair's face at his last comments and he tried to restate, "Look, no offense but I was hoping for a bit more of a line by line translation and interpretation."

Alder laughed as he looked at Claire. "Quite a charmer you brought. Are you sure the people trying to hawk these documents didn't just throw him out? I can see his negotiation prowess leaves a bit to be desired."

Nathan started to speak, but Claire interrupted, " Can you just take us through each of the pages? We had quite a bit of excitement built up on the plane ride over. I made some notes in the margin."

Alder agreed, overlooked Nathan's lack of tact for the time being, and turned the pages around on the desk so they could see them. He took them through the pages line by line, or better described as, square by square. Since Mayan was written in blocks of four and was read down two glyphs and then up to the right and down two glyphs before beginning on the next block down and to the left. He read Mayan aloud in its native tongue, and then translated what he thought it meant. Most of the script talked about an alliance between Calakmul and some unidentified city near the ocean against some other city they assumed to be Copan. Copan and Calakmul were the two superpowers of their time and bitter rivals. Most kingdoms had to choose to side with one or the other. The second part of the script outlined the decision to side with Calakmul was based upon a female aristocrat's conjuring of ancestors using a specific type of ritual. Presumably, hallucinating after consuming a drink roughly translated to mean serpent smoke. Alder speculated that it must have been significant to note the type and recipe of the conjuring. He went on to explain that many of the residual cultures have a type of ritual that is a mix of séance, worship service, and party.

It can all seem very strange to outsiders, but he pointed at the second cluster of glyphs on the page and said, "This one right here, we have seen it before, and a straight translation means 'She entered the road'".

Nathan interrupted, "Yeah, that's their euphemism for saying someone died. Like we use the phrase passed away."

Alder gave him a dirty look and continued his explanation. "But further down it states that "She exited the water." This is curious since, why you would say someone died and then came back unless it was not referring to death except in some sort of symbolic or ritual sense."

Claire, who had been quietly taking everything in, asked quietly, "What can you tell us about the 'recipe' and why you think it was a hallucinogen?"

He cleared his throat and began to explain how the vine of life is known to refer to ayahuasca, which is a known hallucinogen used in rituals. "The list of ingredients is simple. Just types of barks, leaves and caterpillars or worms or something.

The only tricky part is at the end where it seems to outline the instructions." Alder stared at the pictures for a bit more before stating, "Too bad you don't have access to the rest. There's some fascinating stuff. This will keep us busy for quite some time, but it just makes us want more." He let out a big sigh and sat back in his chair. "At least I will be able to run this recipe list with my friends at the camp. We have an elder shaman who I think will be interested in this. He speaks of the Maya and Inca all the time, as if he sees them every day. I wonder what he would make of this concoction. I am heading to the mountain camp first thing in the morning. Why don't you to come along?" he asked. Claire immediately responded with a yes, while Nathan sat silent for a minute, then said, "sure, sounds like a hoot." in a sarcastic tone.

Walking to the hotel, Nathan and Claire were having a sharp conversation about going to the mountain camp. "Look, I know he is a friend of yours, but it was obvious he only wants you to go with him. I know I rub people the wrong way and I am ok with that. I will head back to San Antonio. It's not a big deal, just go without me."

She kept working on trying to convince him to come along. "Just come with me. It wouldn't hurt you to expand your horizons a bit. Besides, I need you for balance. If you don't go, he will hit on me the whole time and make things uncomfortable."

He laughed a bit. "Oh so with me there, it will be more comfortable for him to hit on you?" he said in a condescending tone and continued his argument. "It's not like we are dating. Heck, we usually don't even have lunch together at the University, so why is it important for me to go with you?" he asked.

She just shook her head a bit and said, "No one eats lunch with you at the University. Look, I don't know why I want you to go. I just do, for some reason. It's a two-day detour. You will be back in your basement office by Monday, so why not? I hear the mountains are beautiful. It will be good for both of us to see the mountains." Nate reluctantly agreed to the trip.

The camp was more beautiful than he could have imagined. It was set on the plateau of a small outcrop of rock about five hundred feet over the floor of a lush green valley. All around them could be seen the craggy grey mountains dusted in snow. The structures were simple adobe painted in various pastels and trimmed in white. The entire area seemed to have a surreal and calming effect. As soon as they got out of the truck, a small, withered old man greeted Claire and Alder. His hair was pitch black and vibrant and stood in contrast to the rest of his physique. As he greeted Alder, in a strange Spanish dialect, Nate could tell the man was nearly toothless. He couldn't understand the language, but it was obvious enough that Alder was introducing him and Claire to the old man, who was, presumably, the shaman in charge of the resort. The old man nodded and gave Claire a toothless smile before saying something in pigeon, and then turned to Nathan and vigorously shook his hand. As Nathan went to pull away the man twirled around as if performing a dance move and immediately pressed himself against Nate's side with his arm around him. The confusion of not knowing how to react to finding himself in an embrace with a little old man caused Alder and Claire to burst into laughter. Nate just stood there, dumbfounded, with the old man jabbering in some strange language.

Once he stopped laughing, Alder said, "I think he is happy to see you. It seems he has been waiting on your arrival for some time." Nate didn't pay attention to the words as he was busy trying to escape the hug.

That evening found the four of them all reclined on the floor surrounding a small panel of wood holding a tea set and half a dozen small ceramic cups. The bamboo woven rug dug into the skin of Nate's elbow and he gripes a bit as he was unable to find a pillow or cushion. Nate and Claire sipped on bitter green tea while Alder and the old man exchanged dialogue as they examined the printouts of the glyphs. Their banter about the glyphs was deep and solemn. Each took turns asking and answering with both conviction and tepidness. Their conversation went on for about half an hour or so when they seemed to reach a consensus. They both sat up from their reclined positions, looked at each other, shrugged, and then simultaneously looked at Nate. Finding himself as the focal point of the two men made him feel uneasy and he let out a halfhearted "What?"

Alder spoke quite plainly and softly. "The Shaman and I have been discussing the pics you have brought us." While Alder spoke, Pietro's soft eyes and smile never left Nate. "He has been explaining the true meaning of the ritual. We have long known the Maya would petition the advice of their dead elders and gods and these pics document this ceremony, but it has something more. Much more. It talks about a journey to and from another world. This seems the be the difference between 'entering the road' and 'entering the water'."

Nate was skeptical, as usual, and interrupted rudely. "OK, so what are you telling me?"

Unphased, Alder continued speaking, "Pietro is familiar with the recipe used in the ceremony. It hasn't been used since before his great-grandfathers' time, but it is known, and very sacred; Only to be used during the right opportunity."

Again, Nate questioned, "So, what are you telling me?" as he looked back and forth between Alder and Pietro. He gave Claire a cursory look and she just responded with a shrug of her shoulders.

Alder's voice never wavered or showed his irritation with Nate. It maintained its even tambour and tone. "Pietro believes that since you brought these pics and the reference to this drink you are destined to take the journey into the road."

He laughed in astonishment at this last statement. "What? You want me to participate in some sort of ayahuasca ceremony? I can tell you now. I ain't doing it. I am not sitting up all night puking my guts out and shitting my pants. I have seen what happens when you drink that nonsense. I think this is all made up bullshit. Just another way to lure tourists to spend their money. You feed them some hopped up ipecac and tell them they are having a religious experience."

Suddenly, Nate realized he was standing up and his voice was nearly shouting. Feeling embarrassed and uneasy at his outburst, he sheepishly sat back down on the floor. Pietro cocked his head to one side and said in barely intelligible English. "You should sleep tonight and into the day while I prepare." Nate had no intentions of going through any ceremony of any type, but he was tired after the long ride to the resort and was in no mood to debate. Claire just glared at him in disbelief. As he headed back to his chamber, he could feel the calming and almost narcotic effect of the tea.

Claire caught up with him and started to speak as they walked. "I know you don't care, and you will make a mockery of this like you do with everything, but consider just the honor of being considered for such an event. To Pietro and Alder, this would be like being awarded the MacArthur award and throwing it in the trash. Just try and consider it. It can't hurt. Think of it as a fraternity initiation, what's the worst that can happen? You might lose some of that pride? It can't be worse than an acid trip."

They arrived at his room just as Claire made her last comment. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open as he responded. "OK, I will sleep on it." He shut the door and crawled into the makeshift mattress and sheets on the floor, only taking off his shoes. He awoke the next day to find it late morning. The morning sun cascaded across the mountains and valley. Its beauty was unbelievable. So much so, it almost looked phony. He rolled his neck around and stretched his arms and legs in an effort to wake up completely. He wasn't sure what was in the tea from the night before, but he was sure he wouldn't be able to get any of it through customs. He had a deep but dreamless sleep and felt fully refreshed. He was drawn to the smell of coffee and made his way to the center of the compound where he found a modest breakfast laid out for the guests. Many were participating in exercises that looked like a mix of Tai Chi and yoga. Just watching them filled him with thoughts of contempt. He felt that all Western civilization had been brainwashed into feeling guilty for the supposed wrongdoings of its colonial past. He often wondered if the Romans felt the same way remembering the Gauls, Greeks, and Carthaginians or if the Chin Dynasty felt any remorse over conquering and consolidating the feudal states around the Yellow River. Surely the Normans couldn't care less about what the Saxons thought or felt. There seemed to be a culture of guilt and shame that was nothing more than a façade to gain control and resources. However, modern Western society did seem to be missing some spirit or soul as if it traded the heroes and ancient archetypes for an idol of the cold scientific method. He was sure there was something missing from his period, but all the 'new age' healing and exercises were just a futile attempt to assign meaning to their crummy lives, or worse, just a ploy by charlatans to bilk weak minded people out of their money. He grabbed a cinnamon and raisin bagel and a cup a coffee and sat on a terrace overlooking the valley. The bagel was surprisingly delicious, and the coffee was full and strong. He wondered why Israelites and Ethiopians never cried about 'cultural appropriation' with half the world eating bagels and drinking coffee. The valley seemed to shimmer with various hues of greens and greys as the morning turned into early afternoon. He was feeling increasingly relaxed as he finished his coffee. He wondered if it was spiked in the same way as the tea the previous night, but now he didn't care. He kept thinking about what Claire had told him about this being an honor and how he needed to swallow his pride. It just seemed like nonsense to him. He was not a stranger to mind-altering drugs. He had tried LSD a few times and was not impressed with the results. He was told the doses he took weren't sufficient to result in a real 'trip' but it didn't seem to matter to him. It was built up to him and it just seemed to be another letdown. In a way, it was like being initiated as third-degree Mason. Each ceremony promised to fill him with enlightenment, but it was nothing more than simple role-playing. He thought about this for an hour or so and gradually he came to change his mind. Claire was right. He didn't have anything to lose. If he had a great experience, he could talk about it to his colleagues. If he didn't, then he could still tell his colleagues how much nonsense it is. Besides, all the people he saw at the resort had paid untold thousands of dollars to be here and he was getting all this for free, even though he couldn't stand how they were acting sanctified and holy. He decided he got a free pass to an amusement park and a spot at the front of the line. Might as well see the dolls sing "It's a small world." Clouds started to move into the valley and the sun shining through them created a play of contrasting colors of darks and lights against the rocky outcrops of the mountains. He was falling into a state of relaxation when Claire and Alder startled him. "Looks like you are starting to enjoy the place," Alder said. Claire chimed in and added, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you were having fun not being a butthole." "C'mon now. Can't I enjoy the scenery without being hassled to be nice all the time?" he asked. "Sure, no problem," said Claire as she grabbed the last portion of his bagel and started eating. Alder sat down and looked out across the expanse and started talking to Nate, without looking at him directly. "Ya know, I know you think all this is a joke and, in a way, you might be right. It just might be all smoke and mirrors. But to Pietro, it's a big deal and if you are going to keep acting like a horses' ass maybe we should go ahead and leave. He is making the preparations for the ceremony using the recipe provided in the text. Just as fair warning, he is expecting you to partake this evening. If you refuse it will be the equivalent to dropping your trousers in front of the Nobel Prize committee and I won't let that happen. I need to know right now if you plan to honor Pietro's invitation." The words hit home. Nate was used to being dressed down, and it happened so often he was quite good at deflecting the criticism like a teenager zoning out during a lecture from his parents. But this time, it was different. He felt a small tinge of angst and he interrupted to say he understood and planned to go through with the ceremony if Pietro still wanted to perform it. That small statement changed Alder's tone from confrontational to that of complete relief and ease, and the words leaped from his mouth. "That's great news! The area should be ready by late this evening, according to Pietro. He says they haven't performed this ceremony in several generations and they don't know how you will react so it's a good idea to keep hydrated."

As the sun began to set and approach the tops of the mountains, Pietro found Nate, Alder, and Clair lounging on the terrace. He spoke to Alder, and then looked at Nate as the words were translated. "He says it's time for you to follow him and you are to go alone." Nate just nodded and asked him to lead the way. Pietro offered a big gummy smile and led the way out of the compound. Nate followed him out of the walled area and around a stone walkway to a stairway cut into the side of the mountain. As they started up the stairs, Nathan realized this must have been a citadel at one time. The whole area would be easily defended and the small spring in the center of the compound could provide all the water required during a siege. After ascending the stairs for what seemed to be about a quarter of a mile, they arrived at a room carved into the rock of the mountain. They crouched through a small doorway and continued up a cramped corridor that opened to a large room. High up on the walls there were windows cut into the rock, and in the middle of the room was a table with an assortment of terracotta bowls and cups surrounded by burning candles. Pietro pointed at a long type of reclining seat and Nate figured he wanted him to sit, so he lounged back and got comfortable. Pietro went to the table and brought two small bowls and set them on the floor by Nate's head. The first bowl was filled with black liquid. He held it in the palm of his hand and dipped his fingers into it. He then used the residue to make a design on Nate's forehead while saying a few words. He then held up the bowl and slowly poured the liquid onto the floor. Then, using one hand he held the other bowl up to Nate's face, motioning for him to drink. Sheepishly, Nate took a small sip. Obviously, this wasn't enough, and Pietro vigorously encouraged him to take a big swallow. Nate did as he was told. The fluid tasted like a mixture of dirt, quinine, and kombucha, and made his stomach churn like a washing machine. He reclined back and watched Pietro light a few more candles. He could see the sky through the windows turn a deep blue as a few stars started to shine. To Nate, the ceremony seemed very subdued, which was to his liking. He had prepared himself for an untold amount of mumbo jumbo and hocus pocus. He was relieved there was very little of that. Slowly, a numbing and narcotic feeling started to envelop him. The feeling was a mix of warmth and cold, accentuated by small tingles, starting at his calves and slowing moving up his back. The walls of the room started to stretch and pull downward like melting wax, and when he went to speak he found he was paralyzed and unable to move. The sensation was like being pulled into long strands of spaghetti, and his essence drained from him like water from a spigot. His vision quickly distorted into clouds of mist and smoke, and everything surrounding him was eerily quiet when he noticed the sensation of large scutes wrapping around his torso, holding him in an embrace. He felt his tongue thicken as he witnessed a giant serpent climb up his body as if he was a tree. Its forked tongue was bisected into two distinct shades of yellow and orange and made a sharp whipping noise as it burst from its mouth and flicked across his nose and cheek. The black spotted scales formed chevrons and made a rasp-like sound as the snake's coils fell over his shoulder. He gazed into its unblinking, lifeless eye and felt fear as he had never experienced before in his life. It was not the fear one experienced at the prospect of death or injury, but the true anxiety of learning the truth. The magnificent reptile opened its mouth and displayed its contents. In the place of multiple rows of backward facing teeth were naked people. Their torsos, heads, and arms protruded up from the animal's white gums as if they were planted there, feet first, up to their waist, unable to escape. The mouth grew increasingly larger and closer until it had him completely enveloped, and he could feel the grasps and hear the terrified voices of the people inside as he was forced past the glottis. At first, the voices of the trapped people seemed like incoherent gibberish, but fast formed into multitudes of various languages. A collage of smoke and colors emitting from their mouths transformed into sounds of warnings, pleas for help, and curses. He felt drawn to them, and wanted to listen, but he fell further and further into the snake, and into the Abyss. He came to a stop with a sudden thump that was felt more than heard. Everything was a bright and unfocused blinding light, and a deep rumbling like that of an earthquake was in his ears.

Slowly, he noticed the gritty feeling of sand and water between his fingers and upon his face. The salty flavor of sea water overwhelmed him as it hit his nose, making him cough and sneeze uncontrollably. He could feel the warmth of the sun upon the sand and the intermittent rush of waves lapping over him. Nate struggled to get off his stomach and to all fours as he saw the first wave lazily wash up over the sand and back between his hands. His head was pounding with a sharp pointed pain, and as he looked to his left, he saw the partially burned out remnants of a type of sailing ship. Sand covered his face and hair as water dripped down in front of his eyes. He felt the grasp of two large hands pick him up by thee shoulders and stand him on his feet. His vision was quickly returning, and he could see the coconut tree-lined beach with its blueish yellow sand and various crags of dark-colored rocks. Immediately, the hands that picked him up were now firmly on both sides of his head and a large face with distinct dark Asian eyes peered onto his eyes, looking for some signs of a reaction. He could see a mouthful of misaligned teeth and smell the foul breath as the lips and tongue moved and slapped out words, but his ears only registered a deep humming roar. The face seemed to be asking questions, and then its expression turned in frustration and dropped him to the sand. Nate fell back to all fours and saw the man who had just been speaking to him, walking away. He was a thick stocky man dressed in brown trousers and a shirt with a leather vest. He caught another look of his face as he turned his bald head to look back at Nate. There was no doubt he was Asian, but who was he? With his bearings slowly returning, Nate started to panic. Where was he? Who was that guy? How did he get here? Where were Claire, Alder, and Pietro? What is going on? Why couldn't he talk or hear? He was on a beach. How did he get to the beach from the mountains? Did that drink knock him unconscious? If so, he must have been out for days. Maybe weeks. He started to get to his feet when he noticed two other men standing in front of him. He looked upon the men with their leather shoes, trousers, and vests. They were dressed in the same manner as the other man, but they were much smaller. They bent down and looked him in the face asking questions, but Nate still couldn't hear over the roar in his ears. It was as if he was underwater and they were above the surface yelling at him. He tried to speak but his tongue was swollen and barely able to move. The men grabbed him under the arms, got him to his feet, and started to walk him toward the ship. The charred wreck lay on its side with its ribs sticking out. It was obvious it had broken apart, caught fire, and washed up on the beach. As they got closer he could see most of the stern was still intact, but the bow was nearly completely burned, and its absence provided an opening directly into the two decks and the aft compartments. He could see the stocky man wade into the surf, climb into, and disappear into the remnants of the ship. As they get closer to the ship, he found he needed less help and can nearly walk unhindered. He looks around and sees another man, other than the two helping him, walk lazily behind them. He is dressed a bit differently than the others. His shoes, trousers, and shirt all seem to be of higher quality. On the breast of his shirt is a Chinese crest of some sort and it seems this man is of some importance. When they reach the ship, the two men leave him to stand by himself and begin walking into the ship. As they were entering the hulk, the stocky man emerges with armfuls of various tools and supplies. Nate still couldn't hear but he sees the men yell and exchange gestures as the man with the supplies heads out of the surf and to the forest. Nate feels a push between his shoulders and looks back to find the fourth man pointing for him to get into the ship, presumably to help salvage supplies. Nate, still being disoriented and not liking being pushed, stared at the strange Chinese person and threw up his arms as if to say "What?" He was quickly met with a forearm to the face and found himself laying in the surf again. The man was standing over him yelling and pointing but Nate still couldn't hear. Getting the point, he got up to his feet and tepidly maneuvered through the burned-out timbers. As he found a way into the ship, the damage didn't seem too bad in this section. He could see barrels, crates and many tools and ingots of metal. He moved out of the way as the two other men were hefting a large chest type container. Nate didn't know what to carry so he just grabbed the wooden box in front of him. He followed the others up across the beach and into the coconut grove. He saw they had already been busy unloading supplies. There was various flotsam stacked about haphazardly. He set the box down and turned to find both the big man and the man with the crest blocking his way. They were yelling, and Nate could hear a bit better with each passing moment. The language sounded like Cantonese. He didn't speak any language other than English, but it seemed to have an easy familiarity to it and, somehow, he could understand an intermittent word or two when the roar in his ears subsided a bit. The emblem man looked at the other and said to keep unloading. "This fool lost his brain in the ocean." They laughed for a second and headed back to the ship. Hearing this pissed off Nathan, but his voice and tongue failed to respond, as he was unable to speak. He followed them angrily, trying to respond to their insults, but his mouth and lips were numb and wouldn't cooperate. He could hear them mocking him at his attempt to speak as they made their way to the surf. This further infuriated him, and he could feel his ears flush with blood. Then suddenly, he listened more carefully. He noticed they were speaking a dialect of Cantonese, but somehow, he could understand it. It was as if reading and seeing characters for the first time but having full clarity if their meaning. The sinking feeling he had just a few moments before, returned. He could feel the belly of that giant snake course over the back of his neck and it gave him a cold chill. He stopped at the surf and surveyed the abandoned shoreline wondering how he could get back to the resort. He felt a push on his back as one of the other men told him to wake up and get the ship. Nate didn't like these people at all. He followed them to the ship while his thoughts were filled with getting back to the resort and exacting some sort of reprimand on these guys for their mistreatment of him. For the rest of the afternoon, he struggled to speak, but his tongue felt like a fat, dry piece of leather stuck to his teeth. Back and forth, he carried supplies consisting mostly of tools, thick ceramic pestles, and dried food. The entire time, the other men mocked him due to his inability to speak and the small loads he carried. He felt unusually weak. It was not the type of weakness from being sick or tired, but he felt smaller and less stout. He noticed all the other men were larger than him in stature. Nate was not considered a small man. He was just under six feet tall and prided himself on keeping fit, but something was different. His body was different. He noticed it but wasn't sure what had happened. He just kept unloading as he was instructed and fought to regain his speech.

Late in the afternoon, they quit unloading and sat among the crates and gear as one of the two smaller men tended to two small cast iron cooking pots. One seemed to hold boiling rice and the other was filled with a rue looking sauce which was constantly being stirred with a wooden utensil. Nate sat a short distance away from the others as he noticed his heavily-callused feet were bare and looked as if they had never been covered in shoes. Then, he examined the rest of his physique. It was now setting in that he was not himself. He was skinny and almost frail. From his legs to his stomach and arms. Where once he was heft of muscle and sinew, now was the skinny physique of an adolescent. This revelation made him feel sick, and he tried to speak out as he felt increasingly panicked, which elicited laughter from the other men who were busy lounging around the small fire. The roar in his ears had fallen away and was now just a loud ringing. He could almost fully understand the conversations among the men. Each time he noticed he understood them in Cantonese, his brain would switch back to only understanding English for a few moments. At which point, memories would rush back into his head like a wave on the beach, and then slowly retreat, leaving only a residue of the resort, the Devil's box, and Claire. He had tried several times throughout the day to walk down the beach to find help, but he was summarily assaulted and forced back to work. He resigned to the fact he would have to wait for the right moment to find his way back to the resort. He sat quietly, watching the men cook over the fire. The stew wafted a rich and savory aroma of fish and herbs, causing his stomach to kick and growl. The man wearing the emblem chewed on a piece of dried meat and asked how much longer until the meal was ready as he started to take the lid off the rice pot. The small man slapped a wooden spoon down on the lid with a reprimand saying, "You will ruin it if you look so don't touch it again." Emblem man backed off a bit and reminded him who was in charge but that didn't matter to the small man who, in turn, reminded him who was the cook. Nate tried to relax and understand the men and their language. He found the words hit their mark if he didn't concentrate but let them flow. The names were easiest to catch, at first, and they seemed to have some sort of meaning but he wasn't sure. The emblem man was called Yuè, and it was obvious he was in charge, followed by the bald and stocky man, which they called Je-Jip. The two cooks were called Péng and Nóng. He wasn't sure, but the word Péng sounded like mess or dumpy and had a connotation of an insult. Now the ringing was disappearing, and his hearing was almost normal. He still struggled to speak due to his swollen tongue that seemed glued to his teeth. He quit trying to speak since each effort brought forth laughter and insults from the others, and this only angered Nate. They seemed to refer to him as Mi, but he wasn't quite sure as he did his best to relax and listen. This wasn't easy as his mind kept trying to figure out where he was and how he got there. As he listened, the men all spoke about the storm and the possible fate of the fleet. They all seemed to agree they should stay put until they were found. Je-Jip was of some importance and a metalsmith of some sort, and as Nate relaxed, emotions and memories covered him like a shroud. He could see Je-Jip smelting copper and tin as he provided instruction to Nate while he carefully held the ceramic pestle with metal tongs and poured the molten solution into a mold of sand. Outside the doorway of the workshop, visions of a small, primitive village nestled along a bay and rocky coastline. Small junks boats were moored and swayed gently back and forth from the breeze. People quietly went along with their business of mending nets and rope. He surrendered to the dream of the small fishing village when a bump to the shoulder and a command of wake up startled him awake. He found Nóng presenting him with a bowl of rice covered in the stew. He said he would have to eat with his fingers since they had no spoons or chopsticks. Nate looked around, found it was night and saw the firelight dance around everyone's faces. Nate took the bowl and ate greedily. When his bowl was half empty, he noticed he could fully understand their language without any effort. The men loudly smacked their lips as they ate and spoke. Yuè seemed to be in a better mood and asked Nate if he was feeling better after his nap and food. He still couldn't speak so he just nodded his head in agreement which caused Yuè and the others to laugh. He said. "I hope the water and knock on the head didn't permanently rob you of your speech. It would make Je-Jip's job of turning you into a metalsmith even more difficult." Nate picked up that Yuè's comment was some sort of insult or inside joke against Je-Jip, since the men exchanged a glance and smirk. Nóng and Péng tended to the food and said they would have enough for tomorrow's meal. They agreed the food should be rationed as much as possible since there was no telling when a rescue would occur. Nóng and Péng lamented the fact that most of the food stores had been lost. Yuè mocked them and laughed as he said, "Don't worry, Je-Jip and Kàn will make you some copper and bronze. You can eat that." Nate thought for a few moments about the last comment. He knew Je-Jip was the bald man but who was Kàn? He must have been referring to him. Was that his name? How did he have a name? He didn't know these people. Immediately, his brain was unable to understand the language of the men and he felt the struggle of his Nate memories trying to fight their way back into his mind. The sounds of the men's language sounded foreign again and reminded him of wind chimes. He sat back and tried to empty his mind so he could again understand. Just as the ability to understand began to return, he heard a loud bark type of noise followed by a few loud bird-like shrieks. All of them immediately sat up and nervously looked toward the forest, and then at each other. Je-Jip asked, "What do you think is making that noise?" "I don't know." Péng responded nervously. "But it's been getting closer and whatever it is it sounds like more than one." Yuè told them to shut up and quit acting like little girls. "Look at Kàn." he said. "You don't hear him crying because he hears a strange noise from the woods." The men laughed, and Je-Jip slapped Nate on the shoulder. Nate now knew for sure his name was Kàn, despite the revelation he still didn't like being laughed at and didn't find it funny he couldn't talk. Yuè got up from the fire and from one of the crates produced two spears and three swords. The spears were about five feet long and were tipped with bronze blades. The blades were fluted and looked like they could be used for both stabbing and slashing. The swords were sheathed in leather cases and only the leather braided handles were visible. Yuè tossed them down by the fire and stated calmly. "I guess we can loosen the regulations a bit and let everyone have weapons since Nóng and Péng want to act like little girls." They greedily picked up the two spears, admiring them as the light from the fire highlighted the edges of the blades. Nate picked up one of the swords and it rang slightly as he unsheathed it. It was about three feet long and honed to a sharp edge on each side. It was wide at the end and tapered in gently in the middle before widening out again at the grip. Its bronze color was beautiful, and Nate marveled at it for a few moments. Je-Jip watched Nate admire the sword and said aloud. "You act as if you have never seen that before. You only spent a week crafting it." Nate thought to himself, 'Did I create this? How could that be? Where was he?' His confusion made him feel sick to his stomach, so he sat down. He had so many questions but was bound by his inability to speak, and his fleeting ability to understand. As he laid down in the sand, he heard Yuè tell Nóng and Péng they had the first two watches for the night, and tomorrow they would finish looking for anything else of use in the wreck, and build a signal fire. Nate drifted off to sleep and fell into a lucid dream. He remembered being taught how to read the color of the coals and how long to let the metal cook once the flames were orange and lined with green and blue. Visions of sand molds set with bee's wax, and fine shaping handles with a spokeshave settled over him like a light mist. The dream made him feel at home and comfortable. It was something he had always known but forgotten. A lost piece of his structure that had suddenly been replaced and now changed the entire complexity of his being. For the first time, he felt at peace. His dream turned to the small fishing village and out beyond its bay was a large Armada of ships. These weren't small fishing junks, but large ships meant for the open seas. He could see himself eagerly running down to the docks with a small sack over his shoulder and being welcomed on a small boat. He remembered the frightened and exciting feeling of life and adventure all in front of him. As they paddled out to the sailing ships, they seemed to increase in size with each stroke of the oar. He marveled at their beauty. Suddenly, he felt a series of kicks to his legs and he woke up to Yuè whisper yelling. "Kàn! Wake up. Get that sword. Slowly now, and don't make any sudden movements." He was disoriented but did as he was told. Luckily, he had fallen asleep with the sword in his grasp. Holding the sword in his left hand he brushed away the sand that was stuck to his face, and had nearly glued one of his eyelids shut and tried to make out what was happening. He could see Nóng and Péng nervously pointing their spears toward something on the beach while Je-Jip stood at the edge of the surf about twenty yards away. He had an arm full of firewood and stood motionless as his gaze focused on something on the beach.

He slowly took a few steps forward with his sword in hand to see what had everyone's attention. Péng was blocking his view so he stepped to the left and away from Yuè. Then, he was able to see what it was. Nate almost dropped his sword at the sight. Standing on the beach was a terror bird. It was covered in green and blue plumage and was enormous. It stood well over six feet tall and took slow deliberate steps as its head bobbed forward and back like a pigeon. Its feet reminded him of a chicken's once it picked up its scaly toes closed together, and only opened right before the foot was planted on the ground. Behind the enormous club like beak was a dark eye that slowly blinked with a vertical eyelid. Nate carefully looked around at the other men. He knew this had to be some sort of dream. Phorusrhacidae had gone extinct thousands of years ago. It was impossible to be confronted with one of these creatures. It stretched out its tiny wings that were armed with a single claw. It took a few more careful steps up the beach before raising up its head and opening its beak, creating a deafening bark type noise. It was the same noise they heard the night before. As the bird whistled and barked, Nate could see its tongue. It looked exactly like the yellow and orange forked tongue of the serpent he saw in the vision. Suddenly, he could feel the coils of the snake on his back again and he fell to the sand vomiting. Just as his hands hit the sand, he heard a crash behind him. Two terror birds came rushing in and ambushed them from the trees. The first one bit Yuè from his collarbone down his chest and to his sternum. Its beak was like a terrible pair of scissors that snipped him nearly in two so quickly he didn't even have time to scream. Nate frantically picked up the sword and clumsily swung it deflecting the beak of the second bird as it lunged at him. The blow hardly knocked the bird away, and it tried to bite him a second time, narrowly missing the back of his arm. Nate rolled away and tried to get to his feet. As he did, he was met with the sound of a flurry of arrows whistling around him. The sound made him duck and cover his head. The arrows landed with the sounds of sickening thuds. He looked up to see two of the terror birds laying on the ground gulping for air as multiple arrows protruded from their eyes. A third bird haphazardly ran back and forth banging into coconut trees and knocking over their crates as it fought against the throws of death before falling to the ground. The plumage on its head was bright yellow and stood up like a cockatoo's, and thru a reflex, the feathers fanned up and down several times before stopping. Nate slowly started to get up when a blow to the back of his head knocked him cold.

Nate awoke to find his hands tied behind his back and a large branch wedged between the inside of his elbows. He was sitting up against a tree and he could see Péng, Nóng and Je-Jip about twenty yards into the coconut grove tied up in the same fashion. He was still unable to talk. His tongue didn't feel swollen, but it tingled with numbness and all he could manage were a few stutters. When Péng heard the noise, he looked over and shook his head to tell him to be quiet. Nate looked over his shoulder and saw two tall, lean and dark-skinned men busily butchering Yuè's corpse. They skillfully removed the legs from the hip joints and separated the femur from the tibia and fibula. Discarding the lower part of the leg and foot, they hung the femurs from a tree. His quadriceps and hamstring muscles cramped and jumped as one of the men rubbed generous amounts of salt and spices into the muscle. Three other men arrived carrying the skinned plumage of the birds. They turned their attention to the fire. Piling limb after limb on the coals until it was a pyre of smoking branches. Once the flames started to lick up to the top of the wood, they placed Yuè's legs on top to cook them. Nate looked over at Péng, Nóng, and Je-Jip and wondered if his face had the same look of horror as theirs. He closed his eyes and rocked back and forth and prayed to go back to the resort and back home. This place couldn't be real. Whatever it was he drank at the resort must be wearing off soon. This obscene trip had to fall away eventually and return him back to normal reality. He could hear the sizzling and popping sounds of Yuè cooking on the fire which made him whimper uncontrollably. This caused two of the men to walk over and grab the stick tied behind Nathan's back to pick him up and walk him close to the fire. They held him over the smoke and flames with his nose inches from Yuè's legs while they mockingly laughed at him before throwing him to the ground. This enabled him to get a good look at his captors. They were dark skinned but not black. They wore leather loincloths and nothing else save belts and bandoleers holding their obsidian knives and their unstrung composite bows. Each man had large elaborate spools of jade in their earlobes and their mohawk style hair was died red and adorned with feathers. Their torsos and shoulders were covered in black and green tattoos. They were well muscled and fit. All bore large grotesque scars, presumably from battle. A sixth man showed up holding one of Je-Jip's bronze swords. He examined it carefully, placing it in the scabbard, and then removing it, repeatedly. He pointed at Nate and then at the others and seemed to ask a few questions. Of course, they didn't answer but his words fell across Nate's ears like rushing water then slowed to a babbling type of sound. He could feel the snake's coils on him again causing him to rock back and forth wishing to be gone from this place. The man pointed at him with the sword and motioned for two of the men to put Nate next to the other captives. They grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. Nate could feel the muscles in his back stretch and pop in agony as they picked him up and walked him over to the others. While they walked him over he got a good look at the tattoos on the man to his left. It was Mayan writing. There were glyph blocks arranged in groups of four just like the codices and stelae he had seen in his studies. Elaborate pictures of animals and other grotesque unidentifiable creatures accompanied the writing. In the few steps it took to take him to the others, he found he could read the writing scrolled across their torsos. He struggled to speak but his lips still couldn't cooperate. They unceremoniously threw him to the sand, and he immediately forced himself to sit up on his knees. Their captors gathered around the fire. They seemed to be enjoying themselves cooking Yuè's butchered hams and quadriceps. They talked about their new captives as if they were livestock. Commenting on their odd physiques and looks, as well as speculation on where they were from. A few of them laughed at their senselessness for allowing the birds to get so close to them. They continued their discussion for the next hour while Yuè roasted on the fire.

They reached a consensus that their captives must be from the end of the earth due to their unusual clothes and looks, and due to the enormous 'canoe' that was half burned and resting on the beach. They decided to leave for Yax Kuk as soon as they were done eating, and if their captives were delicious they would be presented as offerings. Nate strained to hear their speech against the gusts of wind blowing from the surf. The syllables and occasional click of their language started to fit together like a puzzle and he could almost see the sounds forming in front of his eyes. He struggled against his restraints, trying to get them loose when they started eating. They pulled the meat from the fire and laid it upon some banana leaves, where they carved it with their obsidian knives. They all remarked at the quality of the meat and how easily it separated from the bone. They chewed with their mouths wide open and smacked their lips as they complemented each other on their culinary skill. Occasionally, they would stop their conversation to recite some sort of prayer or poem. Once all the food was devoured, they decided the others would be a nice treat for the nobility and they were sure to be rewarded for bringing such a special offering to the temple. Hearing about his spot on the menu made Nate panic, and he chaffed at his restraints, garnering the attention of his captors. The leader secured the sword and scabbard under his belt, ordering the men to restrain Nate. As they approached, he could read the men's tattoos. One of them wielded a club and intended to use it on him when, after great strain, Nate regained his ability to speak. His slobbery mouth struggled to blurt out in Mayan what he read from the tattoos. "Feathered Jaguar Paw, Smoke Shell. Servant soldiers and conquerors over the Lady of the Six Teeth." The words fell like a flood, vomiting from his mouth. He had no idea where the language came from or how it got inside his head, but he understood Mayan, Cantonese, and English. All three tongues seemed to be engaged in combat inside his brain. They were like serpents, intertwined with one another, all fighting to gain supremacy. One would seem to gain control, and the other two would team up and force it back down before turning on each other. The battle was maddening and caused a sharp pain to ricochet within his skull like someone firmly striking him on the head with the consistency of a metronome. He was babbling incoherently between three languages but didn't realize it. His mouth ran on without any guidance from his brain. All six captors, as well as Péng, Nóng, and Je-Jip, looked at him slack-jawed and bewildered.

The captor holding the sword walked over to Kàn. He produced a bola and nervously began to swing it as his eyes silently inspected him. After a few moments, the other captors gathered around and talked among themselves about the odd people and how one of them seemed to speak their language. Flint-Feet quit spinning his bola and looked at the others. "He said your names. Do you think he can understand us as we speak?" Smoke-Shell thought carefully for a moment. "I think he is some sort of witch. How could he know our names?" Feathered-Jaguar-Paw argued. "He could have read our conquest tattoos. That's how he would know our names." "Now how could he know how to read? He must be an enchanter or witch." Smoke-Shell retorted. Flint-Feet listened to his men argue for a few minutes. Each had valid points and concerns and, as the leader, he needed to make sure he considered all points before concluding on the action. He was a good leader, and despite his youth, he was well respected by the city elders. He was part of many successful war expeditions and small raids against their two larger and more powerful rivals. His city of Yax Kuk sat on the bank of a river several miles inland from the coast. They lacked the large tracts of arable land of their neighbors, but the rugged terrain of the surrounding mountains made their valley easily defendable. He was leading his men on a scouting party to Chautu Taxum, their chief rival, to see if they were preparing for war, when they encountered these strange men. To him, they were obviously foreigners but what worried him were the weapons. They were unlike anything he had ever seen. They looked like gold but were lighter and much stronger.

He gathered up the bronze sword and admired the intricate artisanship as he ordered everyone to be quiet and stop arguing. "These people are strange to us. We have no idea about what they know and don't know. Look at this. Any of you know what this is? What it's made of or how it's made? It's stronger and lighter than a machete, he said pointing the implement at everyone. "Let's ask him. He can tell us where they came from and how they know our language. Maybe they traded with other cities. If they have, we need to know. Especially if our rivals have these types of weapons."

Everyone nodded in agreement. Smoke-Shell turned to Kàn, who was perched on his knees with his butt resting on his feet and ankles, and asked him, "Tux a Kaajal?" Kàn just sat there for a moment trying to process the situation and formulating his reply.

He replied in Mayan. "I...I don't know where I am from. I am not sure how I got here." The Mayans retreated a step and looked at one another in shock.

Smoke-Shell not satisfied with Nate's response asked again. "Ma tin naatik. Tux a kaajal? Bix a k'a'aba'?"

To which Nate responded. "It's hard to explain. I think I know who I am...my name is either Nathan or it could be Kàn. I am not sure. I am not sure what is happening." His tepid response tapered off weakly.

His captors all looked at him intently for a few minutes. Nate looked over at the other Chinese sailors. He saw the confused and panicked looks on their faces, then he looked back to the Mayan.

One of the other men who didn't have any tattoos or earrings interjected. "Can we just kill them all. This guy is lying and playing with us. He won't even tell us his name." He produced a large obsidian knife and stepped toward Nate with intentions of slitting his throat, and Nate began to beg for his life.

Trying to say anything that might save his life. Stammering and pleading for his life, "I can't tell you where I am from....but I can help you with medicine....I can make those weapons." Nothing seemed to matter to them. As his head was pulled back by the hair, and a blackish blade placed at his throat, he started to sob uncontrollably. He cursed meeting Burlton. The trip to Honduras, Claire, Alder, Pietro, the vines of life and entering the road, he cursed them all. He sat there waiting for the thrust of the blade, but it never came. It sat there firmly pressed on his neck. Kàn or Nate, he wasn't sure who he was, slowly opened his eyes and looked at the Mayan men who were blankly staring at him.

Smoke-Shell spoke first, looking at Feathered-Jaguar-Paw and said. "He said he entered the road. Do you think that means what I think it means?"

He didn't respond at first but after a few seconds, he said. "Let's take him to our Lord. He can do with him as he pleases." Flint-Feet nodded in agreement and said it was a good idea and looked at Kàn and said, "We will take you and your companions to our Lord and he will decide your fate. Do you understand?" Nate nodded and replied that he understood.

Kàn, Péng, Nóng and Je-Jip were forced to their feet and twine was tied around their necks in a daisy chain arrangement. The only Mayan without tattoos held the end of the rope, standing behind the men, and ordered them to start walking. After the Mayans gathered up the bronze weapons and feathered pelts from the terror birds, they proceeded down the beach with the sailors in tow. As they passed the remnants of the burned-out ship, Péng glanced over his shoulder at Kàn and asked. "How can you speak their language? Who are they and where are they taking us?" His voice was panicked and pleading. Before Kàn could answer, he felt Nóng kick him on the back of the legs and speak through gritted teeth. "Don't listen to this fiend. I don't know who he is, but he isn't Kàn." Je-Jip tried to comment on their situation, but as soon as he started to speak, the Mayan without tattoos jerked the rope holding them and said to be quiet. They walked silently for miles. Occasionally, they would yank on their restraint violently and laugh as they gagged and strained at the yoke. Kàn tried to hash out their location. Obviously, they were near the tropics due to the heat, as well as coconut and banana trees lining the beach. He watched Smoke-Shell and Feathered-Jaguar-Paw lead the procession with Flint-Feet not far behind. The three others did not have tattoos and Kàn listened carefully to figure out their names. Late in the afternoon, they arrived at a small river that meandered its way out of the jungle, cut through the beach, and into the ocean. The captives were instructed to sit in the sand while the Mayans gathered together, out of earshot to discussed something for about five minutes.

One of the men without tattoos walked over and asked Nate if he understood him. Nate nodded in agreement. "Good." said the Mayan. "Listen to me. We are heading into the territory of our enemy. If you make any noise or try to escape, we will cut your throats. Now you tell the others." Kàn looked to them and translated the message.

Nóng yelled out. "You witch, ask them where we are going and what they are planning to do to us! I don't want to be eaten like Yuè. You speak their language, tell them to let us go."

Kàn reluctantly asked the Mayan since he knew it was bad form to question or ask for mercy. "Where are we going? What is to happen with us?"

The man just smiled and said. "We were taking you to our Lord. The ruler of Yax Kuk. But we decided to take you to the Oracles first. After that, our Lord will decide what to do with you."

The words were relayed and immediately the rope was yanked, forcing them to their feet and they proceeded into the jungle. Within yards of stepping from the beach, the jungle enveloped them. The light fell away and only small beams could be seen straining its way through the canopy of the trees. It seemed to rain constantly, as small beads of water fell from the leaves and branches above them. Once his eyes adjusted, Kàn could see a dense forest of large trees all around him. The tree trunks and limbs were all covered in vines and brightly colored lichens. The floor of the jungle was wet and thick with rotting leaves that produced a horrible stench. There was very little underbrush as the large trees choked out most of the sunlight. They walked for hours in a sea of trees and rotten leaves squishing under their feet. He wondered how the Mayans could know where there were going. There were no landmarks of any kind and no obvious trail or road. He dared not speak a word as the Mayans were walking deliberately, keeping a cautious eye on their surroundings. Their steps were guarded, and their heads sat permanently tilted as their ears strained to pick up the most minute sounds. The quietness of the jungle was a surprise to Nate. He had always expected jungles to be teaming with life and all the sounds one would associate with animals. Howling of monkeys, calls from birds and croaks of frogs were all absent. It seemed to be a dead lifeless world. They continued walking through the night and into the morning when he noticed a change in elevation. The once flat ground started to change to small ridges, pockmarked with the occasional boulder and rock. The change in terrain caused the rope around their necks to chafe and burn their skin. When the ground was flat they were able to walk in a mindless rhythm as they synchronized their steps with unconscious effort. Now, each step caused a pull, and the rope would slide and rub their skin. The vegetation started to thin out and the soft decomposing leaf litter changed to rough, long pine needles. The air was fresh and the breaks in vegetation allowed a breeze and rays of light to ground level. Fatigue was relentlessly pulling on him. It may have been his imagination, but it seemed the increased amount of light usurped his strength. All through the night, he found it more difficult to remember himself as an archeologist and researcher. Those memories seemed to be replaced with those of a metal smith's apprentice. His mind would wander, and he would happen upon a thought and be immediately summoned to the University of Texas, Claire, and Alder, but it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to recall details of that life. They continued walking up a draw and he could hear the unmistakable sound of a fast-moving river. The Mayans stopped and gathered together for a conference. Kàn strained to hear their voices over the rush of the river. He could hear Flint give orders for two of them to scout the bridge and Smoke and Jaguar-Paw to scout up the ridge. The prepared their bows and cautiously made their way over the ridge and out of sight. There they sat, waiting for some sort of alert or until the scouts returned. Kàn noticed how cold the air felt. The air, thick with moisture, combined with the shade and high elevation felt cold as any winter day. Both parties returned and gave their assessment of the situation. The first group reported no one was around the bridge on either side. They even crossed to see if anyone would fire on them. Then Smoke and Jaguar said that no raiding parties were in sight. Satisfied with their answers, Flint-Foot directed them to untie the hands of the prisoners but to keep a rope around their necks. They needed to cross the river quickly. Everyone knew this was a favorite place for competing factions and city-states to ambush travelers. This was the only crossing into the territory of the oracles for miles in either direction. They would be safe once they crossed and would be under the protection of the oracles and gods, but on this side of the river, they were vulnerable and fair game for attack. They proceeded up the ridge and as the forest opened, he was presented with a view of a river cascading through a deep ravine. It was an unusual sight. There didn't seem to be much water volume, but the gorge was about one hundred feet across and just as deep, and the water seemed to leap out of the rocks and turn into a deep and heavy mist that fell into an impenetrable cloud. Just above the mist, he could see a long rope bridge transiting the river. It was constructed of three main ropes and braced together in a V type configuration with smaller twine spans. As they reached the near end of the bridge the Mayans came together to talk.

This time, they didn't talk for long and Flint-Foot spoke to Nate directly in a firm, but quiet voice. Again, Nate struggled to hear him over the noise of the water. "We are going to untie your arms, so you can cross. If any of you try and escape, we will kill each of you. Now tell your friends."

Nate relayed the message as one of the undecorated Mayans untied their arms. It was a monumental release to be able to move arms that had grown stiff and were in a perpetual state of detachment. With his arms free, Nate started to pull the rope from his neck and was met with a sharp blow to the face. "Not the neck rope. Those stay on. If one of you falls, then all of you will fall." Nate relayed this last bit of information to the others and, judging from their faces, they were as just as distraught as he. They started to cross the river. Smoke-Shell and Feathered-Jaguar-Paw went first, followed by two of the untattooed soldiers, then Je-Jip, Péng, Nate, and lastly Nóng. Once they were about a third of the way across, Flint-Foot and the last untattooed Mayan followed. The rope had a thick patina of algae and easily slipped out of the grasp of their hands. Each step caused the bridge to saunter, and their steps were slow and calculated. Nate could see Feathered-Jaguar-Paw look back angrily. It seemed he didn't like everyone causing the bridge to sway and bounce. Then his eyes opened wide and flashed a bit of panic as arrows whistled among them. Nate looked back, but couldn't see anything on the side of the nearly vertical mountain, shrouded in the green haze of trees and giant ferns. The first volley missed everyone, but it infused a rush of adrenaline and panic through each of the men. They rushed their steps, and the bridge began to shake. Nate looked back and saw arrows emerge from the trees, almost magically, as the shooters were cloaked and camouflaged, nowhere to be seen. The next volley hit two of the Mayans. One in the shoulder, and another in the abdomen, but they kept working their way across the bridge. Smoke-Shell and Feathered-Jaguar-Paw made it to the river bank and were hastily returning fire. The arrows from their composite bows left small contrails behind them as they cut through the mist. They hurried across the bridge, and Je-Jip was only yards from the end when an arrow whizzed past Nate's ear and planted itself into Péng's neck. His entire body stiffened, his arms and legs thrust straight out, paralyzed, as they were separated from the signals of the brain. He seemed to fall in slow motion as his erect body tilted over and fell from the bridge. Immediately Kàn and Je-Jip braced themselves to keep from being pulled off the bridge by Peng's falling corpse. The rope made a strange high pitch tensioning sound as it strained at the weight of the man. They dug in with their heels and palms against the ropes of the bridge as the rope around their necks tried to pull them to their death. Kàn could see the noose around the head and neck of Péng slowly slip and grind its way off his head and face until it reached the arrow still lodged in his neck. Péng's weight caused the snare to snap the arrow with a loud crack, freeing him from the rest of the men, and he fell into the mist and out of sight. The release of Péng caused the bridge the sway even more violently as they hurried to get the other side. All around, them arrows flashed and whistled. The unpredictability of the bridge made them difficult targets, and they clumsily scrambled into the waiting forest. They stopped and caught their breath behind the safety of the trees. Kàn freed himself from the noose that was tightly cinched on his neck. He felt the stinging pain of rope burn from the tops of his shoulders to the back of his ears. Je-Jip and Nóng pulled their heads from their restraints and fell to the ground gasping for air. If they hadn't been half strangled they might have tried to escape as the Mayans were busy attending to the injured. Two of the undecorated men were stuck with arrows and were bleeding badly. The first man had several arrows protruding from his back and abdomen and was panting uncontrollably as he fought against the pain. He understood the severity of the wounds. He had seen plenty of men slowly die from infections after being shot through the guts. The second man had one arrow in his back just by his right shoulder blade and another through his quadriceps. The second arrow was sticking out each side of his leg and he lay on the ground wincing at the pain and almost seemed to ignore the wound to his back. Smoke and Jaguar-Paw tended to the man with the arrows in his stomach and looked back at Flint and shook their heads in a way to say the man wouldn't last long. They then turned their attention to getting the arrow out of the other man's back and leg. As they were occupied with him, Kan angrily yelled at Flint. "I want to know what is going on and what you are planning to do with us?! Who was shooting those arrows? Where are we going?"

Flint just looked at him as if he was pitying a dead man. "We are in the land of the oracles. We are safe here since no bloodshed is allowed in their domain." Many generations ago all the city-states agreed a truce should be applied to the area surrounding the oracles. All royalty and men of importance were required come to seek advice from the soothsayers. Over many ages, rival factions and cities warred over control of the area. This constant fighting over such a religious place destroyed all but two of the temples and killed most of the priests. The head of their order had enough of the destruction and threatened to curse the nobles until a solution was found. Within a month, the fighting ceased, and rules were established. The rules were that no fighting was to occur within the boundaries set by the priests and all weapons were to be left outside of the courtyard of the temples. People seeking advice could stay one full day but must bring enough food for three days, leaving the uneaten provisions for the priests and temple workers.

Flint looked at Kan and continued, "You will meet the high priest, he is a very wise man. He has provided counsel to four generations and will show us if you are real." Kan didn't understand and thought and mumbled to himself. Know if I am real? This whole thing is part of my elaborate hallucination brought on by that shit I drank at the resort. The more he tried to think of the resort the more his head hurt and turned his stomach. He turned to Je-Jip and Nóng and they looked at him with disdain and fear.

Je-Jip said gritting through his teeth. "How are you some sort of Diāo? Are you part of them? How can you speak and understand them?"

Kan stammered and did his best to speak in Chinese. "I don't know how. I am as confused as you are. None of this makes any sense to me. I am not supposed to be here, this is not my place. I need to get back to the resort."

Nóng snorted. "Get back to the resort? What are you talking about? You are nothing but a smelter's apprentice. You are the lowest of all of us. You will do as your told and tell these men to let us go." Just as the words fell from his mouth one of the Mayans gasped his last as he bled out and died. The other Mayans immediately went to work butchering him into quarters. The Chinese looked on in horror and disgust as the body was expertly broken out into manageable pieces and strung together for transport.

Flint yelled at the Chinese. "Get up. It's time to go. We won't have much time. This man was small and will barely provide enough meat the priests require." They got to their feet and disappeared into the jungle. They walked for a mile and the elevation and terrain changed from jungle to craggy uneven ground littered with outcrops of stone. There were trees surrounding them, bearing all manner of fruits and nuts but the one that caught Kàn's attention the most was the enormous Cocoa trees. They were like ones he had seen before, but they were huge and resembled large white oaks. They could be mistaken as such if not for the hundreds of yellow pods hanging from their branches. Men wearing only loincloths, tended to gather fruit and cocoa pods and didn't acknowledge them as they passed. As they proceeded up the mountain, the smell of sulfur was nearly unbearable, and the air was thick with clouds and hazy smoke. Then, soaring from the trees, he could see the first pyramid temple. It was covered in a type of stucco and brilliantly colored in greens, blues, and reds. As he got closer, he saw portrayals of mythical creatures engaged in rituals and battles against the backdrop of corn leaves and flowers. He struggled to read the inscriptions but the tug on the rope around his neck gave him no pause. They arrived at the entrance of the temple that was guarded by a feeble old man and a large stone altar. The Mayans presented the butchered corpse to him and he greedily inspected the meat. His nose crinkled and looked to be hastily fastened to his face by the wooden skewers that were placed thru his cheeks, chin, and lips. His hair was in a knot on top of his head, and he wore the same earrings as the decorated Mayans. Kan figured he was some sort of low-level priest. Turning from the meat he said only Flint-Foot, SmokeShell, and one other could proceed into the courtyard since they only have enough to feed three people. They nodded their heads in acceptance as they proceeded to place their weapons on the altar, being careful to hide the bronze items under the sheaths of their arrows and knives. Flint- Foot told Jagua-Paw to watch the captives, and see if one of the priests could tend to the wounds of the young Mayan.

Smoke-Shell gave Kan a slight push and said, "Go on. It's time. Quit looking around." He followed Flint through the small alcove of large stone blocks that opened to a grand courtyard flanked by what resembled stadium seating. The floor was paved in large smooth stones where a brightly colored moss grew in expertly crafted joints. The far end of the courtyard penetrated the mountainside and a temple painted in nearly all white and green seemed to grow from the rocks. For a fleeting moment, Kan thought that it resembled something Frank Lloyd Wright could have designed. But as he tried to formulate his thought, a sharp piercing pain grew in his head, and the notion fleeted away. As they advanced across the courtyard, he asked, "What is this place? Is it a ball court?"

Flint and Shell stopped for a moment and looked at each other, then paused before Shell responded. "Yes, this is where disputes relating to divinations are settled. When the Priests cannot come to a quorum they summon ballplayers from the cities to play a tournament to decide the correct interpretation." Kan, feeling increasingly bold and not satisfied with the answer, probed further.

How does that settle the dispute?" Shell gave an irritated reply.

"By reading the entrails of the winning team's captain of course." The response included a large amount of sarcasm in it. It was if Kan had asked him something fundamentally ignorant. Kan was unsettled at the idea of divining meaning from someone's intestine, but he shrugged it off as they entered the temple. He could see a hall flanked by two altars, and at the end were several old men lounging about, burning incense. The walls were covered in bright frescos and glyphs. Kan recognized the story of the Popol Vuh creation myth, but there were many additional scenes that seemed to identify the demons, gods, and their respective roles.

The oldest man looked up and asked. "What have you brought us today? You know this is an inauspicious moon." Kan looked at the other old men as they lay on the floor. They seemed to be drunk. Glassy-eyed and barely responsive, oblivious to their presence.

Smoke-Shell spoke loudly. "I am Smoke-Shell, Captain for the exalted Lord Three Jaguar-Wound. We are here to divine this man. He said without provocation that he entered the road."

The last comment made all the men snap their heads around and suddenly sit up straight. Kan felt nervous as he found himself suddenly the center of attention. All the men slowly stood up and began to inspect him as if he was livestock. His thoughts went back to Yuè and the recently butchered Mayan. Was he to be next? Did they bring him here as some sort of offering? The thoughts made him nearly sick. The oldest and presumably the head Priest eyed him carefully for a few minutes. "Yes, He is not from here for sure. Where did you find him?" asked the Priest.

"We found him and others like him marooned on the beach of the Black Macaw." The Priest laughed. "Yes, you were on your way to check on your neighbor's forces, weren't you? Oh, don't bother lying. I already saw your journey." Looking at Kan he asked, "So, who are you? Where do you come from?" The speech escaped from Kan as he tried to respond. He could feel the serpents in his head fighting for control and their struggle made him stutter.

"I...I am not sure where I am from. I am an artisan apprentice and part of a grand sailing armada, but I am from somewhere else as well." The response caused consternation in all the Priests, and they started to awkwardly shrug and twitch their shoulders and arms as they quickly fled and mumbled incoherently as if they all had something terribly important to do at that moment. Save the head Priest. He stood there motionless as before, quietly stating, "It appears we will need to read this one." He turned and walked deeper into the temple and motioned for Kan to follow. He followed and after several steps he stopped and looked back to see Shell and Flint motioning for him to proceed. He followed, as the temple floor sloped down and the walls tapered as they fell into a cave. The air was thick and hot and he found it difficult to breathe as it contained so much moisture and sulfur. The priest led him to a small altar deep inside the cave and instructed him to sit. The rock altar was hot to the touch and the heat bled through his trousers quickly. He examined his surroundings and noticed the glyphs etched into the rock walls of the cave. They looked ancient as they were not the clean precisely carved reliefs he saw on the outside of the temples. Instead, these appeared as if amateur artisans had experimented with carving. He looked at the priest and asked. "What is to happen now? What do you want from me?"

The Priest stood motionless and replied, "Let your mind go where it will. You are in no danger. Set your head back and look at the ceiling." He did as he was told and noticed iridescent worms above him, flickering. At first, their flashes were out of time but slowly they started to synchronize. A narcotic relaxation fell over him and he felt as if he was floating. His eyes fell out of focus momentarily and after a few blinks, he was able to see clearly. He looked over his shoulder and a cold shudder raced up his back. Before him, he saw a terror bird. He sprang to his feet and ran as fast as he could. The footfalls of the creature were right behind him and seemed to lash at him as if it was a whip. Faster he ran to no avail. The predator gained on him with each step until he could feel him at his shoulder. He looked back and extended his arm as if to block the animal's advance, but this caused him to trip and tumble with the raptor as if falling down a steep grade. He came to rest with his face in the dirt, expecting to feel the bird's terrible beak tearing through his flesh, but there was no bird. Just silence and darkness. He put his hands under his torso and pushed himself to stand. He noticed he was covered in the blue and green feathers of the animal that was chasing him. The down and quills were woven together like a great tapestry fitting him like a robe. He reached up to feel his face and his hands fell onto a great beak that draped his head like a hoodie or a costume mask. While his fingers examined and slid down the ivory-like bill, he noticed a change in the air. It turned rank and was heavy with the smell of rotten flesh. He was afraid to look, but he forced himself to face the source of the odor. Before him was the head of a rattlesnake. Its forked tongue jumped from his mouth and tasted the surroundings. The snake was massive and large enough to swallow him with little effort. Kan stood barely as tall as its head, and it slithered by him as if it was blind to his existence. He could see the snake was agitated as it passed. It would stop, suddenly rear back as if to strike at some unforeseen foe and rattle its large tail, before proceeding then it nervously coiled up in a defensive posture. Its head was held erect and flinched back and forth as if it was expecting to be attacked. All the while its tail beat out a terrible rhythm. The sound was a deep and penetrating bass, it made his cheeks crash against his skull, until he realized it wasn't the sound but the palm of a hand slapping his face. His eyes came back into focus and he found the eyes of the shaman, Pietro, staring at him. The sight drained away his energy and filled him with relief, but it was only temporary once he realized it was not Pietro at all but the Mayan priest. The voice was quick and demanding. "What did you see? Where have you been?" Nate did his best to describe the terror bird, the feathers, and the snake. He was still trying to get his bearings when he noticed the priest's face. It was solemn and looked as if he had been delivered horrible news. The priest reached down and grabbed Nate by the wrist and pulled him from the cave and across the temple floor to the altar where Smoke-Shell and Flint-Foot were waiting.

There the priest threw him to the floor and addressed the men. "You are to take him to your Lord immediately. A new age is upon us, and it will litter the mountains and oceans with corpses. The land of the oracles will be off limits to all cities and lords once you leave our borders. You take this man and leave at once."

Smoke-Shell pleaded for clarification. "Is he what we think he is?"

The priest's response was flat. "He is what you will make him."

Smoke-Shell and Flint-Foot gathered him up quickly and passed through the courtyard and portico in a near sprint. They passed the old guard and hastily gathered up their weapons and got everyone on the move as quickly as possible. They offered no explanation other than its time to get back home. At the urging of the Mayans, they ran as quickly as the terrain and foliage permitted and didn't slow until they were on a rocky outcropped ridgeline, miles away from the temple. Here they stopped to catch their breath. The wounded man was growing weary, as were the Chinese, as they hadn't eaten since their capture. Jaguar-Paw and the wounded Mayan now asked for an explanation and Smoke-Shell started to detail their visit. "He is one of them, a voyager. The High Priest said we should get him to our Lord as soon as possible." The unmarked Mayan, who had been mostly quiet up to this point, was getting agitated and asked the others,

"Do you understand what you are saying? You know he has come under the worst sign possible. I don't have to explain what that means. We could kill him and the others now, and there would be nothing to worry about."

He was cut off by Jaguar-Paw. "We know how you feel about this and your motivations for it. We are taking them back to our city." Kan didn't understand the conflict within the Mayans and he was certainly not going to ask about it now. He did ask for food. He explained they hadn't eaten in days and they were growing weak. Jaguar-Paw nodded that he understood but they had to wait. Their city was half a day away, over their enemy's territory, and they couldn't stop now. Reluctantly, Kan told the other Chinese they would have to wait at least another day for food. They didn't respond but gave him contemptuous scowls. The unmarked Mayan gave them a tug on the rope, hastening them to their feet, and they proceeded. The road through their rival's land wound its way through the tops of a rocky mountain range. When the clouds subsided, he stood at the top of a ridge and could see lush valleys of green forests and farms to either side. To his left, the forests reached to the sea where the greens and blues shone like nothing he had ever seen. As they walked, he hoped the clouds would return and hide the terrifying drops they so casually traversed. They continued their assent for what seemed like hours. Most of the road being nothing more than a small trail of gravel and stone, not more than two feet across in some places, until they reached a wide, flat, and open area. Smoke-Shell yelled for Kan to come near. He felt his stature with them must have increased for some reason as he didn't have to make the ascent tied with a rope like Je-Jip and Nóng. Kan cautiously approached. Smoke pointed t to a large rocky ridge that fell steeply from the range. It was completely covered in greens and blues, except for the top, where a road carved a gray and reddish trail. "That is the way to our home, the glorious city of Yax Kuk where we will take you to our Lord Cam-Balam."

They descended the mountain path until the green mountain grasses turned to forest. The air was as thick as it had been in the jungle, but it circulated with a slight breeze. All around them were fruit trees of all varieties. Banana, guava, kumquat, and a few species he didn't recognize. Mixed in among the orchards was the occasional cocoa tree like he had seen before; covered with large yellow pods. At the base of each of these trees was a young warrior armed with a spear and a cloth sac fastened around neck and shoulder. The sole task of the guard was to ensure every cocoa pod that fell was to be collected and given to the King. The pods, or more specifically, the fruit inside, was used as currency and was the base for their royal and ceremonial drink. It was rare, and sometimes criminal, for a commoner to possess more than a few beans. They came to a primitive building with a thatched roof and bricks that looked to be made from a greenish red mud. Approaching closer, Nate could see the building was part of a larger compound. The front, and only, entrance was guarded by a score of soldiers on each side of the doorway. Inside the porticoes were two fat men reclining on mats with paper scrolls laid out before them. Smoke led the group and as they approached, the soldiers took interest and quickly stood forth with cautions readiness. Shell yelled out. "Put your arms down, you should know who I am. Now, where is the chief magistrate? I need to see him." Nate or Kan, more appropriately called Kan since he was having a hard time pulling together his Nate thoughts, walked into the courtyard with feigned caution as he tried to act confident, while Je-Jip and Nóng were pulled with a rope around their necks. Inside, along the walls of ten feet in height were sack upon sack of cocoa beans. On the far end were processing areas where the fruit was fermented and the beans dried. "Where is that old maize worm?" Shouted Shell.

"I am over here. Us old Maize Worms don't move very fast." The fat old man handed his quill to a servant boy and got up from his mat. He bore a single large tattoo on his front left pectoral. It was green and grotesque, of some sort of deity eating a snake. He wore a finely woven skirt over nothing more than a loincloth. His skin, other than the tattoo, was old and worn, but bore few wrinkles. He approached, adjusted his skirt, looked at Kan suspiciously, and then asked Smoke, "Well, what do we have here? A scouting party back so soon, and missing some of its members, but with some strange prisoners. Tell me. I hope you brought me something more than this." Smoke and Jaguar-Paw looked at each other for a moment, and Jagua-Paw asked him to clear the courtyard of all the guards and workers. Aghast, the magistrate, Banana-Flower, quickly turned his head and asked, "You can't be serious, you know the law. The king could have us all for dinner for mentioning such a thing." By the look on their faces, he could tell they weren't joking in the least.

Smoke walked up to Banana-Flower's ear and said. "We are here on behalf of the king and will need his audience this afternoon. Let us show you what we have." Banana-Flower looked over and saw the bundles of canvas, as well as the two terror bird pelts.

"Very well. But I will post all of this on you, should this hit the canal. I don't care if you are royalty, we will dine on you with peppers and garlic." With a devil may care attitude, but horrible authority, he ordered the guards and workers to stop everything and leave. For a few moments, everyone paused and exchange glances before pensively laying down their spears and rakes and walked to the door. The workers walked with their heads down, and the soldiers stood tall, but bit their lips and clinched their fists as they intermingled through the small breezeway. Banana-Flower followed them out and instructed them to await orders before shutting the gate behind them. In the past, the only time a cocoa house was evacuated was due to theft. The beans are such a prize that every single pod, bean, and vessel of wine were carefully counted and monitored. Each tree was monitored for health, and the productivity of their pods. A form of statistics was invented to estimate reasonable bean loss due to disease, malformation, and spoilage. All details were written on scrolls and monitored by multiple levels of ministers for any irregularity. If a discrepancy was proven to be theft; all members of the compound, regardless of guilt or innocence, were executed. There was an unspoken cohesion among the workers and guards. Clear were the consequences should any of them steal, and it was a horrible dishonor to be the individual to cause everyone's death. The door creaked and groaned as he struggled to close it. As if it was objecting to an execution, the wooden latch fell with a deep and hollow thump. He turned and angrily walked up to them as he asked, "What do you have for me, now that I have committed a death sentence? You are a man short, I might add." He pointed at Flint-Foot and yelled. "This was supposed to be your first leadership role, wasn't it? Well, what do you have to say about this? Don't answer. You will be just as dead as me." He greedily walked over to two feathered pelts and picked them up, expecting to find some sort of riches underneath, and threw them to the ground, unsatisfied. He walked over to the canvas bundle and flung it open as hundreds of bronze arrow points fell across the stone floor. They seemed to sing and dance in the sun as they pinged across the stone and came to rest. Banana-Flower stood motionless for a moment before regaining his wits, picking up one of the arrowheads. "What is this exactly?" He asked as he clumsily inspected the piece. His thumb ran across the dual bladed head and was cut by its razor-sharp blade. The wound made him recoil with pain and drop it, where it fell, end over end, until it hit the floor, and simultaneously cutting a gash in his big toe. He put his finger in his mouth and danced around for a moment trying to stymie the pain. Je-Jip and Nóng let a small giggle at the spectacle of seeing him drop something on his foot. Especially since he didn't recognize how sharp they were. Much less the skill it took to fashion strong points to such sharpness. The smiles on their faces reminded Kan of all the times they shared together and all the care Je-Jip took in teaching him how to smelt metals. Banana-Flower's swearing and questioning interrupted the fond memories. "Where did you find them and what is this? Tell me what this is about."

Smoke just grinned and explained they found them marooned on a beach with all the bronze weapons, and pointing at Kan he said, "This one speaks our language."

Still angrily sucking on his wound he asked, "How can that be? Look at him. It obvious he isn't one of us."

Smoke interrupted, "We took him to the Oracle and they say he is a traveler." Banana-Flower dropped his hand from his mouth in an expression that was part horror and part exhilaration as he looked to Kan. "Can you understand me? Is it true?" Kan didn't know what to say as the snake scales in his head grated against each other.

"I can understand some of what you say." He struggled to say. At that moment Banana-Flower needed no further convincing.

"We must send a courier at once." He exclaimed.

"Agreed." Said Smoke and Jaguar-Paw simultaneously.

Quickly, a runner was summonsed, and Banana-Flower composed a letter to the king while lounging on his mat. The writing was long and formal, but only took seconds of his skilled quill to draft four vertical rows of glyphs, all the while his servant held a small conch filled with ink at the ready. Eyeing his calligraphy, and satisfied with his grammar, he rolled up the paper and sealed it with wax. "I should have been a scribe." He mumbled to himself as he handed it to the runner and commanded. "Take two other runners with you. I don't want this getting lost due to you getting eaten by a Jaguar. Take this past the normal channel and straight to the temple." The runner nodded and bolted from the courtyard as servants brought in gourds and pots of water. The Mayans disrobed and began to bathe themselves, carefully rubbing soapy cloths on their torsos and genitals before rinsing and finally dousing themselves with a fine powder. Flint-Foot instructed the Chinese to do the same, and they timidly did as they were told. Kan found the soap filled with pumice and smelled like burned leaves, and it gave the feeling of a slight irritation followed by a numbing sensation. The powder gave him a chill and instant relief from the heat. He felt ten degrees cooler and refreshed. Once they were clean and clothed they were instructed to recline and eat. They gathered around a small fire in the middle of the compound and laid down on mats. Servants brought in gourds filled with stew and cornbread wrapped in banana leaves. Each man was presented with a helping. Kan scooped out the thick stew with his hands. It was a yellow greasy concoction with ground maize with bits of white meat mixed in with some sort of custardy fruit. It tasted sweet but had a tint of spoiled cheese or some type of rottenness but his stomach ached for more as he filled his mouth. Half the gourd was empty before he noticed the awkward silence and gaze from the Mayans. They looked at him and the other Chinese as if they were mad. One of the unmarked Mayans made a joke about snakes and monkeys which provoked a roar of uncontrollable laughter. After Banana-Flower caught his breath said. "Don't mind your manners. Eat as you please." Kan didn't know which faux pas he committed, but they didn't seem to mind much, as they casually nibbled on the flat corn bread and began to gossip. The gourd was soon empty and Kan struggled to pick-up on what they were saying. The talk of weddings and civil promotions was boring, and he found himself struggling with his eyelids and fell fast asleep.

He awoke to the midday sun blaring down of him. He felt completely rested to the point he wasn't sure it was the same day. The others were still dozing on and off when several runners, accompanied by soldiers, burst into the courtyard with the hurried commands of wake up. The Mayans all stood and stretched to limber themselves from the nap. The lead runner handed a scroll to Banana-Flower and he unfolded and began to read. "Well, we will not be executed and all of you are to go to our Lord at once, and it seems, with half my garrison. Well, I guess they will be happy to know they won't be executed." Within minutes they were on the move with an escort of twenty-five warriors. They didn't bother tying up Je-Jip and Nóng as they were guarded by so many men, and for the fact that bonds would have slowed them down as they proceeded at a hefty jog. The Chinese weren't used to running at such a clip and distance and they were soon winded and struggled to keep pace. Kan noticed the air getting cooler and less dense as they headed up in elevation. The orchards turned to tightly bunched fields cultivated in maize, squash, and beans. They passed small homes made of brick, but had flat solid rooftops and occasionally, he would see curious faces peer from the rooftops and windows. As the land flattened, out it was difficult to tell where villages ended, and the fields started. Every square inch was cultivated, and the homes seemed buried in a sea of corn stalks that were at least twelve feet tall. They ran for what seemed to be hours, until they reached a building, but this one was unlike the others he had seen. It was finely crafted, with white stucco and stood three stories, and around its corbel-vaulted windows were intricate interwoven designs of yellows and blues. They were greeted at the door by what looked to be a noble or official, and several more warriors, armed with their flint lined clubs. After some negotiations, the Mayans from the outpost, the unmarked men as well as Flint-Feet were dismissed, and they dissolved away into the green corn leaves. Kan looked at Smoke-Shell and asked, "What are we doing? What is to happen now?"

With a smirk he replied, "We wait, but I don't think we will wait for long."

No sooner, a runner appeared and handed a scroll to the official, who directed Smoke-Shell to take Kan to the king. The others were to wait for orders. Smoke stood proudly, and instructed Kan to do the same, as they walked past the house and through a trail in the corn. Kan noticed they were in the middle of an enormous courtyard flanked by pyramid temples. These weren't the even sided type, like Egyptian, but like the grand pyramid he had seen in Tikal. They were colored in bright pastels like the one at the oracle but were much more ornate and the reliefs would be easily seen from a distance, if not for the maize stalks. Reaching out of the field, they came to the stairs of a large pyramid, guarded by soldiers. Shell turned to him and whispered, "Do exactly as I do, and don't speak unless spoken to. Don't make eye contact with anyone, even if they command it and stay three steps behind me always. Understand?" Kan nodded his head. They headed up the stairs. Kan carefully stayed back. Shell walked up five steps and paused, and softly said a few words. He then walked up another five steps, paused and said a few words. Kan couldn't make out the prayers, but staying back several steps, he followed suit. At first, he wondered about the significance of this climbing ritual, but as he grew bored he figured, at this rate they might reach the top tomorrow. Once the top came into view, Kan could see the wide flat landing with a small stone building atop. There was only one guard to be seen, and several servants attending to an elderly man reclining on a mat and draped in a blanket. Next to him, was a scribe that much resembled the magistrate in that he was old, fat and had a small servant boy holding a conch filled with ink at the ready. Smoke instructed him to wait here and at a distance from the rest of the people. Through an elaborate series of bows and kneeling gestures, he approached the old man who was the Lord Cam-Balam. Kan did his best not to look in their direction for fear of making eye contact. He was surprised at the view from the top of the pyramid. All around were lush green fields of corn and fruit trees. Homes consisting of white stucco and mud brick dotted the countryside. He wondered how many more buildings were there but concealed by the vegetation. To his right, he could see to the coast and he estimated it to be about twenty miles away. The small valley was long and flat; flanked by steep mountains. It must be easy to defend but couldn't be very productive since it couldn't be more than maybe fifteen-thousand square miles, including the mountains. The pyramid was on the back third of the valley, closest to the mountains. The range behind them was flat and nondescript, except for a slight outcrop of stone that resembled a molar from a dog. He indirectly looked back to the Lord and could see Smoke sitting in front of him with his back slightly turned away in a gesture not to look upon him as he spoke. Kan noticed inside the stone structure, a small chubby man being attended to by servants. Kan's first impression he was that of being a fat, boorish man, probably a spoiled prince or some other nobility. Kan couldn't see well but it appeared the servants were giving the man an enema. They poured a gourd full of liquid into a waiting receptacle that had a long spout which snaked its way down and to the ass of the man. As the gourd was drained, he giggled and drooled while perched on his knees and elbows. After a few moments, the man shooed the servants away and stood on his feet. He swayed back and forth, as if drunk, and tried to regain his composure. He said some sort of command and a servant presented him with a headdress made of feathers, flowers, and maize leaves. The man unceremoniously snatched the headdress from the servant and placed it upon his bald head. All the people here were bald or had shaved heads and wore elaborate headdresses. Kan noticed Smoke unsheathe a bronze sword and present it to the King. It shone brilliantly in the light and elicited a small gasp from the court as the Cam-Balam gripped it by the handle and inspected it. The fat prince loomed over the king cautiously, and greedily looked upon it as it reflected the sunlight across his face. His headdress was crooked and clumsily positioned, and long strings of drool fell from his open mouth to his protruding belly and loincloth. The prince seemed to instantly sober up after looking upon it. He stood up straight and repositioned his headdress and wiped the slobber from his mouth. Kan could see the fat prince and Smoke-Shell debating for a few minutes before calling him to approach the king. He walked over to the king pensively, ensuring to keep his gaze low. He noticed the expert masonry of the stone floor. He wondered how they were able to achieve this without metal tools. He stopped a few feet short and behind Smoke-Shell. Cam-Balam spoke first. "I am told you can speak with us." Kàn tried to respond but his tongue felt tangled and swollen. He could hear English and Cantonese in his head but the translation to Mayan failed to reach his mouth. It was like forgetting the name or word for something innately familiar, except it brought forth excruciating pain in his forehead. The king asked a second time with frustration in his voice. Kàn tried to force himself to speak but only a strange amalgamation of syllables sprang from his mouth. The King's frustration was quickening. "Smoke-Shell, are you sure about this man? He doesn't seem to be what you have described."

The prince interjected. "Let him relax for a moment. This is his first time in the presence of the gods. He must be disoriented and confused." The price looked at Smoke and asked. "You said you picked him up three or four days ago? There are others as well and this is the only one that can speak?" Smoke kept his gaze at the stairs and replied with a simple yes.

The king interjected, not liking his son asking questions ahead of him. "Smoke, can this man speak or not? I remind you of the penalty for deceiving my house."

He started to respond when the words fell from Kan's lips. "Yes, I can understand and speak...some of what you say." The fat prince let out a huge laugh follow by a deep guttural belch.

"Ha! I knew it! Look at him with his strange eyes and head. This will be the beginning of a new age. I should have all of our priests quartered and cooked for thinking this an inauspicious time." The pounding in Kan's head was horrible. He managed to speak Mayan but doing so seemed to force his Nate memories out of his head. It felt like droplets of water hitting his brain and painfully erasing a part of his consciousness. The King sat up and inspected Kàn closely and ordered him to look him in the face. Kàn refused with a simple no and the King angrily demanded it a second time. Again, Kàn refused. He sat back and looked at his scribe and back to Kàn and said. "Well, at least we know he has some manners. What is your name? What can you tell us about these weapons?" He felt the coils of the great serpent across his back for a second and then it tapered away. He tried to respond again. The question was simple. His name. The difficulty in speech arose again and the whole idea of who he was and what should he be called presented him with a puzzle trapped in his own head that he couldn't express.

After what seemed like hours but was only a few seconds he responded. "I am not sure about my name. Kàn or Nate was or are my names, but I don't know. I don't understand."

The Prince laughed again. "You see! He is a traveler if I have ever seen one. He matches up with the previous prophesies and descriptions."

Nate continued to answer the question about the weapons. "I can make swords, spearheads and arrow points. I will need the help of the other two men with me. As well as our tools."

Cam-Balam stared into the sky for a few moments and said. "Your name will be 'Three-Ahow-Kayar' since this is the date you were brought to us." He then looked at the prince and directed him to get Three-Ahow-Kayar whatever he needed to start making weapons. Three-Ahow-Kayar followed the Fat Prince and Smoke down the stairs of the pyramid. They were careful to touch every step to make their descent until they came to the fifth stair from the bottom that was painted red. Here they stopped and jumped past the last stairs and landed in the sand at the base. As they hit the sand, they let out some sort of swear or curse word. Three-Ahow-Kayar followed suit but had no understanding of the ritual. They proceeded back to the building where the others were waiting. The Prince immediately was in Three-Ahow-Kayar ear rambling. His breath was heavy and had the smell of someone who had been drinking for hours. "It is wonderful you are here, and it is fitting you have come to us. We have been downtrodden for generations and now this will change. Now the Lords of Yax Kuk will return to their rightful place within the tree." Kàn wanted to ask millions of questions but each time he tried to formulate a question about the Maya from his Nate memories they seemed to slip away like a fish through his fingers and he was finding it difficult not to look at the Prince in the face. Noticing this he let out a belch and said. "It's ok. You can look at me now. We are embodiments of the gods only when we are on top of the temple." Smoke-Shell interjected with confirmation that he could look at anyone in the face that was among the corn. They reached the building and he could see Je-Jip and Nóng leaning against the wall and drinking from hand-sized gourds held by nearly naked women. They wore skirts fashioned out of small beads and shells that provided little cover but Je-Jip and Nóng didn't seem to mind in the least. Smoke, Jaguar-Paw and the Prince entered the building and reclined around a small hearth in the middle of the room. Here they discussed their next course of action. Kàn reclined next to them and listened intently. It was obvious they needed to go to the beach and retrieve as many of the tools and supplies as possible, but how many people should be in the party, was the question. If they sent too many, they were sure to be discovered by their rivals. If they sent too few, they might not get enough of the required supplies. They couldn't risk sending Kàn, so one of the other two would have to go in his place since they would know what to gather to make the weapons. In the end, they decided that Smoke and Jaguar-Paw would lead twenty-five men, not including the Chinese, to recover what they could from the beach. They instructed Kàn to tell the Chinese that they were to point out the tools and materials necessary to make the weapons and bring them back to the city.

Within minutes, a team was assembled and ready to depart. They all carried large, thick loops of rope and twine for transporting goods. Kàn interrupted Je-Jip and Nóng who were still being fed a calming elixir and told them. "You are going back to the beach to bring all the tools and ore you can find."

Nóng defiantly pushed Kàn and bowed up his chest and came nose to nose with him. "We will do nothing of the sort for a witch or your savages." Immediately, he found multiple flint-tipped spears firmly pressed into his flesh.

Kàn calmly reassured him. "The only reason they haven't roasted all of us is that we can make them weapons. You will go and retrieve everything. Don't worry, they will not harm you, but we need you to show them what to bring back." Nóng put up his hands to show he wasn't a threat, and the warriors slowly pulled their spears away.

Je-Jip laughed a bit. "Well the sooner we leave the sooner we can get back to these women. So, let's go." Jaguar-Paw and Smoke-Shell gave the order and they set out quickly and vanished into the maze. The Prince slapped Kan on the shoulder and said, "Come with me. I will show you around your new home." He led the way on a path through the maize explaining as they walked. He would turn around, intermittently, just to make sure Kan wasn't lost, as he detailed the history of his city and lineage. They came to a small, four-sided structure that was about twenty feet by twenty feet. Like everything else in the city, maize surrounded it, and it was painted in whites and greens. Carved into each side were four figures, each holding and passing a type of scepter. The prince started to explain but Kàn interrupted him. "I don't know your name. You have been explaining your enemies and city-state, but I don't know who you are. Can you start with that?"

He smiled and said. "Of Course. I am Cam-Coluuk Xian Miun. It means 'Rays of the Sun and Water of the Mountain,' but you can call me Coluuk." Kàn noticed how the poor first impression of the fat Prince started to fade away. The seemingly spoiled, boorish character, drunk and stupid was anything but. He was learned and articulate and respectful of all the people they met within the fields, and surprisingly athletic, despite his rotund shape. He explained that this monument detailed sixteen kings from his lineage. He directed him through a few rows of corn to another unfinished monument that looked nearly identical, except only one figure was carved into its side. "This is my father." He said pointing to the relief. "When I take the throne, I will be carved sitting next to him, and then my son will be carved next to me, and his son after. I have you to thank for ensuring that our dynasty will be assured for generations to come." Kàn didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure why Coluuk was saying this. Maybe he meant something else and his interpretation was wrong.

"Why do you think I can guarantee your dynasty? I am not sure I can sort myself, much less a kingdom. I will probably wake up any minute and be gone."

Coluuk just laughed. "Yes, you are like the other travelers from all the ages. You don't understand. Every few generations we come across a traveler such as yourself. They feel like they are not real or in a dream, but it is their path even if they choose not to act like it. Each of you has been a gift from the gods, bringing some sort of item that helps their adopted city gain dominance over their neighbors. And you will help us dominate everyone with those weapons of strong gold."

Kàn looked at him suspiciously and asked. "You think those weapons will help you conquer your neighbors?"

"No...I think they will help us conquer the world. No one has even heard of weapons like yours. We will gain control of most of the world before they get over the shock. Yax Kuk was the envy of the world four generations ago, but a traveler such as yourself changed that."

This last comment captured Kàn's imagination. "How did he change that? What did he bring?" Coluuk motioned with his head and instructed him to follow. He led him past fields of maize, beans, and squash; all bountiful and engorged with produce. They came to a break in the fields that was barren of any vegetation. There was a large clay pit on one side and a large pit on the other that looked to be filled with compost. "This is the gift. The living earth that turns any soil rich." He said pointing at the compost looking soil. "This dirt grows like an animal. If you spread a bit of it on sandy or clay-filled soil, it takes over and changes it into itself. This soil will grow and produce near endless harvests limited only by the seasons. Most states were once like us and had just a bit of productive land, but this changed the dynamic. Now the states with the most territory are now the strongest, since they can grow more food and support more warriors, all with the help of this living soil. It took years for us to steal enough of it to support our people. But as you can tell we leave no land to ourselves. Every piece that can be cultivated is planted. We were forced to surrender our grand plazas, courtyards and even our ball courts to the Maize God. Now, do you understand your importance?" Kàn sheepishly shook his head, still wondering if he was going to wake up or if the Armada was going to show up and rescue him. In the distance, he could hear the echo from a conch horn. "Ah. It's the evening ritual. Let's get back. It's getting late and I am getting hungry." He bellowed as he rubbed his fat stomach. They made their way back to the city center, passing small enclaves of houses. He was astonished at how most of the men wore only loincloths and the women were dressed in much finer outfits, including cloth woven skirts with a type of blanket draped over a shoulder, tucked-in and around again covering both breasts. No one seemed to take much notice of them as they passed. The men and women barely looked up from the rows of corn they carefully cultivated with their wooden spades and hoes. It seemed to Kàn that a prince passing near would be a big occurrence. Maybe Coluuk was a true man of his people and it was common to see him every day. They emerged from the Maize to a small paved forum. Exploding from the floor were lean-tos selling all manner of wares and food. Each stall seemed to be bursting with Tamales, chilis, tomatoes, squash, and boundless amounts of fruits. A few stalls had strange live lizards and small birds suspended from strings. They would twist, turn, and flap in a futile effort to escape. As Kàn and Coluuk passed through the market, a stillness came over the crowds. Initially, he thought it was his or Coluuk's presence that initiated the silence, but this was not the case. A small procession of priests walked through the courtyard handing out cuts of meat. It appeared that only the most downtrodden were gifted meat, and as they received it, they would touch their forehead with an index finger and roll their head around from shoulder to shoulder. For some reason, the small ritual reminded him of a Catholic crossing himself. He wanted to ask about the significance and symbolism of the signs but decided it would not be a good idea to interrupt the silence. The procession ended, and everyone went about their business. Coluuk led the way to his palace. The structure was modest and only differed from the adobe-style buildings in that it was constructed in stone rather than brick. The floors were lined with grass mats and the walls were painted in bright frescos depicting scenes from the Popul Vuh and various conquests and battles. At the back of the main room was a platform slightly raised above the floor. Coluuk went straight to the platform and reclined on a mat and directed Kàn to recline on the floor before him. Hanging above him were nets containing large bundles of books. He greedily picked a few and laid them out before him and attempted to read their glyphs while Coluuk laughed at his accent and interpretation of the writing. "You speak like a dog! Don't make the sounds with the front of your tongue and lips. Try pronouncing the words in the back of your throat." After some basic linguistic instruction, servants presented platters of fruit in fine ceramic bowls filled with sauces and stews. They dined on roasted bananas and a porridge made from corn, like what he was served at the magistrate building except it was much sweeter and had more meat. He noticed the sound of water percolating under the floor and it was explained that a great spring originated under the main pyramid and its water was directed into three underground aqueducts that brought fresh water to the city. This provided irrigation, drinking water, and toilets that kept the city clean and cool. All through the afternoon, Coluuk entertained his questions. From religion, science, agriculture, and politics, no topic was taboo. Kàn had to concentrate to address the questions his Nate intellect wanted to ask, as it became increasingly difficult for him to remember his life as a researcher and it seemed easier to let go as his familiarity with the Maya grew. As the sun set, and the men discussed smelting of metal and the customs of the Maya, the idea of getting back to the resort became imperceptive.

The next morning, before the sun arose, he awoke to the nudges from a servant woman. She had brought several bowls and cloths and assisted in bathing him and dousing him with the fine crystalline powder. He was a bit bashful as the young woman bathed him with the acidic white liquid. She was dressed in nothing other than netting that included the occasional shell and bead. He figured she must have a specific place in society. He would make sure to ask about her later. After the refreshing early morning bath, he was fed a few custard type fruits while the sun peaked over the mountains. The buzz of crickets and tenors of jungle birds seemed to hasten the rays from the sun. He was greeted by Coluuk and a few warriors, and they left the complex and headed for the coast. They proceeded down a path hugging the jagged edge of the steep mountain range. These mountains did not gradually rise from the valley. Instead, they jutted up like great jagged walls covered in bright green lichens. Where the stone was exposed he could easily spot tenorite and cuprite veins and deposits. This land would be rich for copper and tin. Kàn couldn't wait for Je-Jip and Nóng get back with the tools so they could get to work extracting copper from the mountains. The Chinese worried him. They were sure to be distrustful. He was just an apprentice when they were with the armada, but now within a few days, he was gaining great trust with these strange foreigners. He wished he could explain to them how he seemed to be two different people at once and now morphing into a third, but he didn't quite understand it himself. These thoughts kept his mind occupied as he waded through endless rows of squash and forests of banana trees. They finally came to the end of fruit tree orchards and a rocky and pebble-covered beach was before them. By a small village, dozens of canoes were on the shore and out in the bay. He was amazed at the variety of materials used to create their vessels. Some were animal skin while others were a type of bark canvas, and the largest was completely wooden. He watched as the fishermen expertly balanced themselves while casting their nets. He asked endless questions of Coluuk who didn't seem to mind at all and graciously answered. They were about to leave when they noticed a group of ten large wooden canoes round the point of the bay. They were soon within earshot, and greetings from the village and the boats were exchanged. Kàn heard a familiar voice yelling to him. It was Je-Jip. As the boats hit the shore he greeted him and noticed they brought nearly all the tools and materials from the ship. "It's great to see how you made it back and with all of the gear. How were you able to get all of this from the shipwreck?" Je-Jip caught his breath for a moment after helping heft the heavy boat to the beach. "We got lucky. We got to our campsite on the beach and someone had unloaded every single piece from the ship and from the surf. If it could be found; they got it and put it neatly on the beach along with the bit, we unloaded." Pointing at the Mayans he proceeded. "These guys killed the men guarding it and we stole their boats and here we are. Coming by boat was much easier, I can assure you that. Unfortunately, we didn't see any signs of the Armada." The last comment gave Kàn a pause. He hadn't considered being rescued. He had been so immersed the thought barely even crossed his mind until that moment. Feigning disappointment he replied. "Looks like we will be here for a while. Let's make the best of it. Let's get a few furnaces set up. I want to show you some of the copper deposits I noticed. This place is rich with it." They helped unload the tools and ingots of tin and copper, as well as a few prisoners, and started planning the set-up of the furnaces. During the next week, Kàn and Je-Jip and Nóng taught the Mayans of Yax-Kuk how to build furnaces for smelting copper and bronze. By the second week, they had fired up and cast a few small items and were now ready for their first substantial burn. Kàn watched the coals glow brightly around the large crucible inside the furnace as two Mayans kept perfect time operating the bellows. He knew the flames had to burn with a specific green color for the copper and tin to form bronze. As he watched he felt more at home in this place. He was still uncomfortable with their ritual human sacrifice and the genital blood-letting ceremony, but everyone held him and Je-Jip and Nóng in the highest regard. After the flames burned at the consistency he liked, he pulled the large ceramic vessel from the furnace with a set of long tongs and scraped the impurities from the molten metal and began to pour it into a mold. As the red and orange molten mixture smoked and sparked in its mold he felt the embrace of the serpent and all his Nate memories were carried away with the smoke and only returned as faint echoes in his dreams.

Twenty-Five Years Later

Three-Ahow-Kayar reclined on a grass mat atop a large stone pyramid. To his side was a scribe adorned in yellow cotton clothes busily transcribing his orders while balancing a headdress of maize leaves and feathers on his head. It had been a long journey to be in this place. The weapons he taught his adopted city to forge made them the unrivaled force in all the land. Their ruler; Cam-Coluuk Xian Miun was now the greatest Lord of all and he lavishly bestowed riches and titles on Three-Ahow-Kayar and his friends, Je-Jip and Nóng. The had all assimilated nicely into Mayan society. They all had high titles, responsibilities, and large families. He surveyed the smoke billowing from the remnants of the city below. This was the last of the known cities of the north and its fall marked the conquest of all known lands by the King of Yax-Kuk, Cam-Coluuk Xian Miun. This temple pyramid rivaled anything he had encountered before. Its entire façade was enclosed in white and blue stucco and each step brilliantly painted with unfamiliar deities. He wondered if this stucco could endure a wetter climate like his home city. He looked to the horizon and could see the brilliance of the comet through the haze and smoke of the early morning. It had appeared several nights ago, and its bright luminescence dampened half the stars in the sky and now was visible during the day. It seemed to be nearly as large as the moon but instead of a consistent light like the moon, it shimmered as if were thousands of diamonds crowded together in a ball. The priests had mixed readings as to the meaning of its appearance. Many suggested it was a bad omen, but they were silenced after the enemy's army with their great war beasts were soundly defeated. He wondered how this city was able to domesticate such a fierce and unusual animal. They rode into battle on the backs of four-tusked pachyderms, firing their arrows and throwing their spears down on his infantry. They caused much panic among his soldiers. They were able to defeat them by arranging themselves in circle formations protected by long pikes; while archers fired volley after volley into the tusked pachyderms. Pachyderms, that word hung in his mind for a few minutes. It was familiar to him, but he wasn't sure why. It was like vaguely remembering something from one's childhood where the particulars and roots were elusive, but the emotions were clear. Interrupting his thoughts, a message from a runner arrived ensuring that all their aged and dying warriors were killed at the onset of the battle. The soldiers of Yax-Kuk adopted the notion that eternal life was only guaranteed by the feathered serpent, Quetzalcoatl, if they were killed in battle. So whenever possible old and the infirm were placed at the front lines to ensure their death and thus, a rightful spot in the afterworld. Three-Ahow-Kayar didn't believe in adopting foreign beliefs but his legions had fought bravely for him, so he was inclined to grant them their requests. Many of the old commanders were desperate to die since this would probably be the last battle for the near future. There are no more known cities to conquer. To the North was nothing more than a high plateau of a desert, and to the south was thick jungles that couldn't support more than the smallest of outposts. Scouts had been sent in both directions. Some never returned while others only found small villages. Lounging on his mat he nervously felt the large jade ringlets in his earlobes. They were a gift from Coluuk after conquering their hated rival, Chautu Taxum. It wasn't much of a fight as the bronze swords easily outlasted the obsidian axes of their foes. He remembered that after today, he would earn another tattoo for his torso or shoulders. It was customary for a warrior to wear the glyph of a subdued city. It was a high honor and at one time it was rare for anyone in the world to have more than two such tattoos. After years of fighting, many of his senior generals and soldiers, as well as himself, had very little blank skin available for the award. He asked his scribe if the chief priest had fashioned a glyph for the city they were in the process of destroying. The scribe ordered the glyph be brought forth immediately, and a few minutes later two apprentices eagerly arrived with the scrolls of bark paper and presented them to the scribe who, in turn, presented them to Three-Ahow-Kayar. He casually unrolled and examined the scroll. In the bottom corner, it had the official seal of Cam-Coluuk Xian Miun and the glyph was the profile of a pachyderm with one tusk pointing down and the other pointing skyward. The name of the city was to be 'Long-Angry-Tooth'. This seemed a fitting name. It was strange that the conquerors would dictate the memory of these cities. Any past significance and contributions to culture or science were to vanish into the flames, smoke, and shadow. This was the eighth city they conquered that didn't speak a similar language to themselves. They had to name these cities, so they could be identified on their victory stelae. He looked down the pyramid and across the plane to the city that was burning furiously. He had hoped it would fall without much destruction. The king had been generous in placing two of Three-Ahow-Kayar's sons as regents over conquered cities while his third and youngest son commanded a legion and patiently expected a stewardship. It would take some time to reestablish the city of Long-Angry-Tooth, after so much destruction. He thought to himself that this may not be a good first administrative assignment for his youngest. There was that word again. Pachyderm. He said it a few more times aloud. He had invented the word for the large animals that roamed this country. He didn't know why but it seemed to fit for some reason even though it didn't fit with the Mayan or Chinese language. He looked again at the comet. Its long and enormous tail was brighter than before. As he stared at it a strange but familiar feeling came over him. He thought aloud to himself. "I wonder what the people at NASA would think about this." As the words were spoken he quickly regained his Nathanial memories that had been lost so many years ago. He became terrifyingly aware of the comet and destruction it could bring as it passed so close to earth's orbit. He looked at his surroundings and everything looked foreign and outlandish to him. From the headdress of his lieutenants and scribes to the language comprised of clicks and vowels, everything seemed unusual and grotesque, as if he was seeing for the first time. As he was wondering why everything looked so abnormal, he heard sonic booms and looked to the sky. Entering the atmosphere far on the horizon where hundreds of meteors tearing holes in the atmosphere with their burning masses and marking their path with long tails of smoke. One after the other, booms were created in quick succession. Terror struck him to his core, and he jumped to his feet. He didn't know what he should do but he felt he needed to flee. He looked down to the city and he could see all the soldiers, friend and foe alike running away from the western horizon that was painted with dark contrails of falling debris. He looked at the sky again and the world seemed to collapse around him as his vision blurred and fell into a single point of light in front of him. Suddenly, everything was quiet, and he felt as if he was disconnected from his body and floating. The single point of light never disappeared and danced and flickered before him.

The darkness slowly subsided as his eyes adjusted to the light in the room. It was lit by a solitary candle, but it was enough for him to make out the details of the room. The window presented a portrait of a purple early morning sky, highlighted by stars, slowly subdued by the approaching dawn. The panic he felt on the pyramid was gone as he sat upon the reclined bench. His thoughts were confused, as his mind tried to calculate his surroundings. Pietro cautiously approached and looked into his eyes. He knew the transition back could be rough and confusing. To him, Nate had only been dreaming for a few hours, but he understood lifetimes could come and go in an instant. Journeying from one life to the next could be difficult, and Pietro needed to sort Nathan's state of mind quickly to ensure an easy changeover. "Think of the happy times. The loved ones and of the grandeur." Pietro softly whispered. "Remember the lessons and honor their memories. Their joys now belong to you and only you." Nate blinked hard a few times, and a sense of tranquility fell over him. He could feel the presence of his friends and family in his old life but didn't feel remorse or longing for their return. It was the same feeling he had when coming to the end of a fulfilling novel and appreciating the journey. He got up and walked to the window and surveyed the mountains. Pietro broke the silence. "You have been gone barely a night. Remember what you have seen and keep their story. Use it as a guide for your life. I will leave you. Return to the resort when you feel ready." He left the room and headed down the stairs. Nate contemplated his next move. He was not the person he was when he entered the night before. Where was he to go this time? He felt like an amalgamation, constructed by various elements of Kàn, Three-Ahow-Kayar, and Nate. There was only one thing he felt he could do at this point. He walked to the door and stood at the threshold for a moment and proceeded out and down the stairs.

