Find the Feathered Serpent

Chapter 15 Blood of a Fruit

Boots clatter against the stones of an empty city. The wail of a sacrifice chant is heard in the distance. Overhead, the sky turns black, and white stars etch brilliant pockmarks against the richness of the night.

You run. You run and your heart leaps against your rib case, and the lining of your throat is like sandpaper. Your eyes are blurred, and the sound of your thumping heart drowns out the sound of the incessant wailing.

A girl is about to be killed, and you run. You run swiftly, with the sound of your labored breathing and the clacking of your boots echoing through the deserted streets.

Run, RUN! Faster, faster, faster.

Neil leaped up the steps to his building two at a time, his feet barely touching the ground.

He tore into the room he shared with Erik, his eyes flicking from wall to wall.

“Erik!”

His own voice echoed around the empty stone chamber.

“Erik!” he called again.

Swiftly he turned and ran out of the room, out of the building, into the street again, pausing before the building, turning his head frantically to look up and down.

Where? Which way? Where, where is he?

In desperation, he shouted, “Erik!” And again there was no answer.

He turned to his left and began running again, his long blond hair whipping over his forehead, his breath struggling into his lungs. “Erik,” he called. “Erik.”

He ran down a long alley-like street, his shadow thrust before him like an inquisitive, sniffing hound.

Deserted.

He stopped short, whirled around, reversed his direction, and began running again. He stopped in front of a temple, looked to his right and left, and then behind him.

Where was he? Where was he?

“Erik-k-k-k,” he screamed, arid his scream came back to him, bouncing from a hundred stones.

Where would I go if I were Erik, he wondered? Where!

The ship! Erik would be down by the beach near the ship.

Stopping only long enough to locate his position in the city, Neil began sprinting for the beach. He was almost at the edge of the forest when a new thought struck him.

The maize. The crops. Erik might be at the fields.

He stopped, forced to make a decision that might cost Tela her life. The beach or the fields. Which?

His mind made the decision rapidly, and he fled toward the city again, over the stones, past the temples, past the palaces, past the basketball court and the Temple of the Jaguars, past the storehouse, running all the way, running, past one well, and then another, past the thatched huts on the fringe of the city.

The clatter of his boots stopped abruptly as his feet dug into earth, his knees pumping, his lungs ready to burst. He ran with the swiftness of the wind, for the life of a girl was hanging in the balance, like a leaf poised to drop from a tree.

The fields stretched ahead, black in the glow of the moonlight

He stopped at the edge of the nearest field and scanned the entire area. His breath came in short, agonized spurts as his eyes swiftly moved from field to field.

A tall figure was standing far across the field, looking over the land. The moonlight touched a reddish-gold beard and a strong nose.

It was Erik!

Neil tore across the field, leaping over the young plants. Erik’s name tore from his lips, and the Norseman looked up curiously.

Neil covered the distance rapidly and stood panting before the blond giant.

“Erik,” he gasped. “Hurry. Tela. Sacrifice. Hurry, please.”

Erik grinned and playfully mussed Neil’s hair.

“A little at a time, my friend. And slowly.”

Neil tugged on Erik’s arm. “Please, please! We’ve got to stop them.”

“Stop who? What’s happening?”

“A sacrifice. A blood sacrifice. We’ve got to hurry.”

Erik grinned, and a horrible dread ran through Neil’s body as the Norseman spoke. “What’s wrong with a blood sacrifice?” he asked.

Neil’s mouth fell open. “Wh… wh… what’s wrong? What’s wrong?” He gripped Erik’s arms, ready to carry the Norseman if he had to. “Don’t joke, Erik,” , he said in a dull voice. “Don’t joke.”

“You’re getting excited about nothing. In my land we often sacrifice animals. There is nothing wrong with…”

“This isn’t an animal,” Neil shouted, almost frantic now. “It’s a girl, Tela. They’re going to throw her into the well.”

Erik’s brows shot up. “What?”

“The girl, the girl,” Neil said. “Tela. Hurry, Erik, please.”

Erik tore off in the direction of the city, Neil following behind him. The big Norseman had long legs, but Neil kept up with him all the way. They didn’t say a word as they tore through the quiet, moon-splashed streets.

Erik stopped suddenly. “Where?”

“That way.” Neil’s voice was tense as he pointed.

They ran noisily down the street leading to The Sacred Cenote.

The Mayas were bowed in prayer, their backs rounded into little humps as Talu stood on the temple steps and spoke.

Neil and Erik drew up breathless, paralyzed for a moment by the solemn scene before them.

The platform had been replaced on the wooden logs, and Tela rested there, her eyes still closed, her hands folded on her chest. The cenote yawned darkly before the platform, and Tela’s head faced the watery chasm.

“… that you may know our thankfulness,” Talu was saying, “and that you may cause not our enemies to attack again, O gods…”

“We’re just in time,” Neil said in a whisper.

“… we offer a sacrifice. It is nothing, O gods, and worthless in your eyes, but we offer it in humbleness and sincerity, and…”

Erik’s voice sliced through the solemn air. “Stop!” he bellowed. He ran through the sea of bowed figures, followed by Neil, and leaped to the temple steps.

Talu turned inquisitive eyes toward his guests.

“You disturb the ceremony,” he said, faintly puzzled. “Why?”

“This is wrong,” Erik said.

Talu’s white brows lowered over his eyes. “What is wrong, my friend?”

“This girl. You must not offer her to your gods.”

“Why not?” There was a slight edge to Talu’s voice, and the Mayas around the cenote began to lift their heads and stare at the figures on the steps.

“The gods do not approve of murder.”

“This is not murder. The gods demand a blood sacrifice. We are giving them blood.”

“But you are killing the girl.”

“She will not die. We do not kill her.”

“But to give blood?” Erik said, his face puzzled.

Talu was becoming angry now. “The blood is warm. The girl goes into The Sacred Cenote alive. She does not die.”

“But it’s sixty feet down to the water,” Neil protested. “And the water is that deep too. You can’t expect her to survive that.”

Talu set his lips stubbornly. “She will not die,” he said. “The gods are waiting.”

“Let the gods wait,” Erik said, and an angry murmur went up from the Mayas.

Talu turned on Erik. “My friend, this is not your affair.”

“I want to know more,” Erik said.

“There is no time,” Talu answered.

“Your memory is short,” Neil said quickly. “I recall a snake poised to strike and…”

Talu sighed in resignation. “There is no need for an explanation,” he said. “What must be…” he paused and shrugged his shoulders, apparently remembering his debt to Erik. “Tela will be sacrificed to The Sacred Cenote,” he began.

“You mean she’ll be dropped into the well to die,” Neil interrupted.

“She will go into the well, but not to die.”

“Will she come back?” Erik asked.

“No. But she will live. When the waters are calmed again, we will fire the sacrificial platform. There will be another prayer, then. A prayer for the gods, and a prayer for Tela.”

“And you insist she will live?”

“Yes,” Talu said. He turned again to his people. “We will pray,” he said, “to the gods, in thankfulness.”

His voice began intoning the ritual, and the Mayas bowed low again. The well looked black and hungry. and a Maya with a torch stood behind the platform.

Erik hurriedly took Neil aside and whispered something into his ear. Neil nodded, his eyes brightening.

“Hurry!” Erik shouted, and Neil ran off as Talu’s voice went on and on. He darted down the steps and across the silent city again.

When he returned, it was to an angry mob that bellowed and stormed below the temple steps. Erik held Talu tightly in his arms, and his ax was drawn.

“Touch the girl,” he was bellowing, “and your priest follows her.”

Neil rushed up the temple steps, almost stumbling under his burden.

“Erik,” he shouted. “I’ve got them.”

He climbed the steps rapidly and dropped his load at Erik’s feet. Erik held Talu with a stout arm and reached down for the basket at his feet. It was full of ripe, red tomatoes, fat, red plums, flowers brilliant in various shades of red and pink. There were red beans, and red roots, and a variety of red leaves. The basket seemed to overflow with a sea of redness.

“You wanted blood,” Erik shrieked, his voice ringing out over the open well. “Here is your blood. Look at it! Blood red, and grown with your hands and the approval of your gods. This is the blood they want. Offer it to them.”

Talu struggled in Erik’s grip.

“The gods will refuse,” he said. “The gods will refuse this sham sacrifice.”

Below, the mumble of the crowd rose menacingly.

“Offer it and see,” Erik roared. “Your gods do not desire the fruit of your womanhood. They desire the fruit of your land. This is their sacrifice. This is all they demand of their faithful grandchildren.”

“No,” the crowd shouted. “No!”

And suddenly, Neil stepped before Erik and raised his voice over the shouts below him.

“Yes! Yes! Your gods only demand this. Throw it into The Sacred Cenote. Allow Talu to offer this basket to the gods. If they approve, the sacrificial platform will burst into flame. The gods will have given you a sign.”

“No!” the crowd shouted in return.

“Try it,” Neil roared over their voices. Quickly, he lifted Tela from the platform and stood before her. He gestured for Erik to release Talu.

Erik’s arm left the priest’s neck, and Talu stepped forward to lift the basket of bright red fruit and flowers, beans, roots, leaves.

A silence hung over the crowd, like the silence before a summer storm.

“You should not have promised that,” Erik whispered. “The platform cannot possibly…”

Slowly, Talu lifted the basket and stared down at its contents, shaking his head sadly.

At the same moment, Neil reached into his back pocket for the cigarette lighter Dave had put in his trust.

Talu walked down the steps, the basket held before him. The crowd below was silent, as silent as death.

Neil stepped closer to the pile of tinder on the platform, standing behind it so that the spark of the lighter would not be seen. There would be a sudden burst of flame after Talu threw the basket into the well. And Tela would be saved.

Impatiently, he waited.

His long white robe trailing behind him, his head held high, his back straight and proud, Talu walked down the steps in front of the temple.

He paused before the gaping jaws of The Sacred Cenote, the basket held before him. The crowd’s eyes shifted from their priest to the platform piled with straw and twigs.

Neil’s fingers began to sweat around the lighter. He kept his thumb pressed on the trigger, ready to snap it.

Talu put the basket down at his feet. He touched his hand to his forehead, as if in apology for the abomination he was about to offer the gods. The crowd followed his example, still silent, expectant.

Then, he reached down, lifted the basket, and threw the contents into the well. The fruit and flowers spilled from the basket like a stream of blood, into the black maw of the pool.

This is it, Neil thought.

Rapidly, his thumb snapped down over the trigger.

Wet with sweat, it slipped off the trigger, and the wick remained covered.

Neil wet his lips as he immediately put his thumb back on the trigger and snapped down with all his might. The covering on the wick moved back, and there was a faint spark.

But there was no flame.

Frantically, Neil released his thumb and the lid clamped over the wick again. He pressed down, heard the faint click as the wheel rubbed against the flint. There was a spark again.

He looked down at the wick.

No flame.

All eyes were fastened to the platform now. Talu, the empty basket in his hands, had turned to face the temple, a faint smile of triumph on his lips.

With sweat covering his body, his shirt clinging to him wetly, his hair sticking to his brow, Neil took a deep breath and snapped his thumb down on the trigger again.