Find the Feathered Serpent

Chapter 11 Erik Lends a Hand

Neil waited until Baz and his soldiers had passed the boulder and vanished into the forest. He waited while Olaf talked quietly to the Norse sailors. After a while they dispersed noiselessly, in small groups of two and three.

Then Neil leaped to his feet and ran through the forest as swiftly as he could. His boots sounded against the stone blocks of the court before his house as he ran to tell his news to Erik. He bounded up the steps leading to the building and into the room he shared with Erik and Dave.

Erik was sitting in the center of the room, a large torch burning over his head. He was stroking his beard thoughtfully as he studied a crude map.

“Erik!” Neil shouted as he burst into the room.

Instinctively, Erik reached for his ax. “What is it? Who…”

“Olaf,” Neil stammered. “Olaf and Baz. I just heard them plotting, Erik. They plan to raid the storehouse and sail off with the food.”

Erik’s eyes widened. “Olaf?”

“Yes, yes, Olaf. And the captain with the scar.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, yes. I just heard them. Erik, we’ve got to do something.”

Erik considered this. “Was Olaf alone?” he asked.

“No. There were several of your crew with him.”

“Hm-m-m,” Erik murmured.

Neil couldn’t contain himself. “What are you going to do? You’re not just going to sit there and say ‘hm-m-m,’ are you?”

“There’s nothing I can do,” Erik replied. “Olaf will deny it, and the crew he had with him will back him up.”

“But you’re the captain!” Neil protested.

“A captain must have a crew,” Erik explained. “If Olaf convinces the rest of the men that I have unjustly accused him, the trouble will really begin.”

“But you can’t just sit back.”

“Nor can I accuse Olaf until I have definite proof of what he is planning.”

“But I heard them…”

“That’s not enough. If I had heard them, Olaf would now be dead.”

“You mean you don’t believe me?”

“Neil, Neil, of course I believe you. But can I confront Olaf with your evidence and have him deny it before the rest of the crew? Whom will they believe: you or Olaf?”

Neil grimaced disgustedly. “Olaf, I guess.”

“There’s nothing we can do but wait. We’ll watch Olaf carefully, and as soon as he slips…”

Erik drew a finger across his throat and made a noise that sounded like “Kitssssk.”

“We just wait?” Neil asked.

“We just wait,” Erik answered.

They waited.

The week ended and another week went by, and still Olaf made no move, nor did Neil ever run across him in the forest again.

A third week, and a fourth, and still there was no evidence that anything was out of the ordinary.

Neil began to wonder if he’d actually seen the men that night in the forest. He also wondered if Erik still believed him.

And then Talu came to them with good news.

“We are ready to plant,” he said. “Would you like to come to the fields?”

Erik readily agreed, and Neil went along with them, out past the city to the fields lying in wait for the seed.

“Today we shall plant in the fields that are ready,” Talu said.

“How do you know when a field is ready?” Neil asked, unacquainted with agriculture.

Talu grinned. “I have given you the wrong impression. Much work has gone into the preparation, and now the work is finished. When the work is finished, the fields are ready for planting.”

“What kind of work?” Neil asked.

“Well,” said the priest, “first we find an area of virgin bush, not too far from the city, of course. We cut all the bushes and allow them to lie in the sun until they have dried sufficiently.”

“Dried sufficiently for what?” Neil asked.

Talu smiled and shook his head at Erik. “Youth,” he said. “Always impatient, always in a hurry. Dried sufficiently for burning. When all the vegetation is burned, the area is ready for planting.”

“Will you plant all this land?” Neil asked, sweeping his arm in a wide arc.

“No, no,” Talu replied, “of course not. A field is planted one year and then it must rest for from two to six years.”

“And then?”

“And then the same process is repeated.”

“But that’s no good,” Erik said suddenly.

Talu turned a surprised face toward the Norseman. “No good? Why not?”

“You are exhausting your soil,” Erik said.

“I do not understand.”

“Why, with every planting your soil becomes poorer. Is your crop not smaller each time you plant in the same field?”

Talu considered this. “Why, yes, but what has that to do with the system we use?”

Erik looked out over the fields, and for a moment Neil thought a faraway look stole into the big Norseman’s eyes-almost as though he were looking out over the fields of Sweden.

“I am a sailor,” Erik said, “and I know little about the ways of the soil. I can only tell you what my people do. Perhaps that can help you.”

“I still do not understand why the soil becomes poorer if…”

“Let us say you will plant this field with tomatoes this year,” Erik said pointing out to the field nearest them.

“Yes?” Talu asked.

“Well…” Erik paused. “In my land, there are three large fields. We plant two fields each year. The third rests. It rests to regain its fertility.”

“But you are cutting your available farming acreage by one-third,” Talu protested.

“True,” Erik said. “But you plant all your fields and then allow all of them to rest for a long time. You must seek new fields for each planting every year.”

Talu thought this over. “And how does your system work?”

“There are, as I said, three fields. Let us assume you are to plant tomatoes, squash, beans, and potatoes.”

“Yes, go on.”

“We prepare field one in the autumn and plant it with tomatoes and squash. In the spring, we prepare field two and sow it with beans and potatoes. The third field, the one that is resting, is prepared twice, once in the autumn and again in the spring. In the fall it would be sown with tomatoes and squash.”

“I understand,” Talu said, nodding. “Go on.”

“The rest is simple,” Erik said. “Both fields one and two would be reaped in the autumn or late summer. Then, while fields two and three were being planted, one would be allowed to rest before again being prepared for sowing, but not sown.”

“And this is better?” Talu asked.

“You will be preparing twice as many fields as you reap,” Erik said. “But you will not have to search for new fields as often, and your soil will last longer. You see, the field that carried tomatoes and squash last year will be carrying potatoes and beans this year. You exhaust your soil quicker by planting the same crop in the same field, year after year.”

“We will try it,” Talu said. “And again, I am grateful to you.”

They planted that day. There were six fields, and all were ready. Four, following Erik’s advice, were planted, while two were left to rest.

There were four gods, Neil learned, to whom the Mayas prayed before sowing the fields. He listened as Talu explained, anxious for word of Kukulcan, the Feathered Serpent. But the lost god was not one of the four.

“They are earth gods,” Talu explained. “One is the chief and ruler of all the rest. For each god there is a direction: east, north, west, and south. And for each god there is a color: yellow, red, white and black. In Yucatan there are many forests, and Yumil Kaxob, lords of the forest, are lords of all the country.

“The earth is good,” Talu continued, “and the earth is ancient. It was here before we came, ever since the beginning. The lords of the forest are old, too, and they are very wise. We are their grandchildren, and they look after us the way grandfathers do. They send the crops. They fill the woods with things to hunt, and they give us their permission to hunt them.

“They are gentle, and kind, and good. And they ask that we, their grandchildren, pray to them.”

Talu paused. “They are also the gods of the rain, and the thunder, and the lightning. They send water from the skies to nourish our plants. When they are angry, they send thunderbolts among us to punish us.

“Each of the gods,” Talu went on, “keeps water in a small calabash. He also carries a bag filled with the winds, and a large drum. When he would make it rain, he sprinkles water from the calabash, and the earth is blessed with rain. When he would send a wind, he opens the bag a little. When he would cause the wind to stop blowing, he forces it into the bag again.”

“And what of Kukulcan?” Neil asked.

A puzzled frown crossed Talu’s face.

“Kukulcan?” he asked.

“Is there no god named Kukulcan?”

“No,” Talu said, shaking his head.

Neil felt a great disappointment wash through his body. No Kukulcan. A time trip wasted.

“We are about to pray,” Talu said.

Neil looked out over the field where the laborers stood at attention, their eyes glued to the sky. Talu touched his hand to his forehead, then lifted his hand to the sky.

His voice rolled from his throat like a rich peal of thunder.

“Oh, god,” he intoned, “my mother, my father, Yumil Kaxob, lord forest, be patient with me, for I am about to do as my fathers have ever done.”

A Maya standing near Talu began to burn copal incense in a large cup. Talu took the cup and held it to the sky.

“Now I make my offering to you that you may know that I am about to trouble your very soul, but suffer it, I pray you.

“I am about to dirty you-to destroy your beauty- I am going to work you that I may obtain my daily food. I pray you suffer no animal to attack me nor snake to bite me. Permit not the scorpion or wasp to sting me. Bid the trees that they fall not upon me.

“And suffer not the spear or knife to cut me, for with all my heart I am about to work you.”

He touched his forehead again, and the men in the fields did the same. They stood erect for a moment, the silence covering the land like a warm, heavy blanket. And then they began to work, one man walking with a stick and poking holes into the prepared field, the other following behind with seeds which he dropped into the holes.

“The gods will be good,” Talu said, looking out over the fields, and watching the teams of Mayas walking rapidly along, sowing the land. “And soon you will be able to go home.”

“Amen,” Neil muttered under his breath.

They burst into his room that night, Olaf leading three Norsemen and a handful of Mayas.

Olaf seized Neil by his shirt front and yanked him to his feet. Neil shook his head, trying to ward off the sleep that still lurked behind his eyes.

There was no light in the room. The moon cast its dim rays through the window, and long shadows danced on the wall.

“Where is he?” Olaf demanded, his fist tightening in Neil’s shirt.

“Who?” Neil asked, glancing from face to face, hard, drawn, desperate. Weapons were out, ready to do murder. The cards were on the table, and Olaf was making his play.

“Erik!” Olaf said. He spit at Neil’s feet. “Our proud captain. Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Neil said, looking around the stone chamber.

“We are sailing,” Olaf boasted, “as soon as we get the food we need.”

“You can’t…” Neil started.

Olaf’s open hand slashed across his face, and Neil tasted blood in his mouth.

“But before we leave,” Olaf went on, “there are three people to dispose of: Erik, your friend, and you.”

Neil lashed out with his fist, reaching for the point of Olaf’s jaw.

The sword shaft came down with blinding speed, crushing against the base of his skull. He felt the strength drain out of his body, struggled to keep his feet for an instant, and then toppled to the stone, waves of blackness smothering his senses.