Wrath of the Gods (A James Acton Thriller, #18) (James Acton Thrillers), Page 2

  Something moved to their left and he gasped, a man and woman, perhaps his age, were standing at the tree line, staring at them, almost naked. He pointed. “Sir!”

  4

  Route 295

  Approaching Tepich, Mexico

  Present Day

  Professor James Acton held onto the doorframe—tight. Eduardo Morales not only had a lead foot, he also appeared to have an aversion for keeping his eyes on the road, every word spoken needing to be addressed with eye contact. Thankfully, he used the mirror for Laura in the back seat, Reading merely staring ahead, saying nothing, probably regretting his decision to join them.

  “As you know, when the Spanish first arrived, they burned all of the Mayan books they could find, considering them blasphemous as they too often described the Mayan gods. Ybanez de Landa was particularly guilty of this, despite the fact he is responsible for most of what we know about the ancient Mayans.”

  Acton nodded. Ybanez de Landa had been a Spanish Franciscan monk, and had been responsible for burning almost all of the Mayan’s written works—priceless, irreplaceable artifacts. Ancient texts, literature, manuals—the records of an advanced civilization—all destroyed by ignorance and arrogance. Until today, only four Mayan books were known to exist.

  Until today.

  “I’ve read his book of course, and copies of the four Mayan texts—the translations at least. My Mayan is rusty, but hers is excellent.”

  Morales spun in his seat, staring at Laura. “May I confess something?”

  “You just might have to. We’re about to die!” Morales glanced at Reading then spun around, swerving back onto the road. “How about I drive?” suggested Reading.

  Morales laughed. “Not to worry, God, I think, is on our side today.”

  Reading frowned. “It’s not God I’m worried about.”

  Laura playfully slapped him and leaned between the two front seats. “What is it that you have to confess?” Morales turned to face her, but she gently pushed his face back toward the road. “I must insist, otherwise my friend back here will either have a heart attack, or shoot you.”

  “I don’t have my gun.”

  “Heart attack, then.”

  Morales laughed. “You’d never survive the streets of Mexico City if my driving bothers you!” He adjusted his mirror so he could see everyone in the rear seat. “My confession”—he glanced at Acton and gave him a rueful smile—“is that I actually came looking for you, Laura.”

  Acton’s eyebrows rose. “I thought you said Greg told you where we were?”

  “He did. I didn’t know how to reach your wife, so called your university to ask. Dean Milton told me you were both here. I, umm, didn’t want to hurt your feelings when you thought I came to find you.”

  Acton chuckled. “My feelings would have only been hurt if you were looking for him.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Reading.

  Reading grunted. “Nobody’s ever looking for me.”

  Laura patted his knee. “Now, now, don’t get grumpy.”

  “I’m hungry. We missed lunch. I’m going to be grumpy.” Laura reached into her purse and handed him a protein bar. He brightened until he took his first bite. “What is this, chocolate flavored chalk?”

  She gave him a look. “There’s just no pleasing you today, is there?”

  “No.”

  She handed him a bottle of water. “Here, this makes it go down easier.”

  Reading chewed as he unscrewed the cap then took a swig, saying nothing, apparently content enough. Laura turned her attention back to Morales. “So, you were saying?”

  “I need an expert in Ancient Mayan, and that’s you.”

  “Forgive me for saying, but that’s you, too, isn’t it? In fact, aren’t you considered the Ancient Mayan expert?”

  Morales bowed slightly, his head dipping below the dash, Reading’s eyes bulging. “Some would say so, yes.”

  “Most would say so,” said Acton, pointing at the road. “But, yes, my wife is definitely up there as well.” He beamed a smile back at her with a wink.

  “Thank you, dear.”

  He grinned. “You’re welcome, dear.”

  “Ahh, new love. I remember when I felt the same way about my wife.”

  “Eduardo! You don’t love your wife anymore?”

  “Oh! No no no no no! I love her very much, it’s just different after twenty years of marriage. You don’t show it as much.”

  “And you aren’t so quick to show it in front of others.”

  Laura slapped Reading again as Acton unbuckled his seatbelt and turned around. “I’m coming back there to make love to my wife. Object?”

  “Bloody hell!”

  Acton roared with laughter, returning to his seat and strapping back in. He glanced at Morales, still laughing. “So you needed a second opinion on what you found?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I thought you found a lost Mayan library? Surely you don’t need Laura to confirm that?”

  Morales shook his head. “It’s not the library that concerns me, it’s what else we found in the library.”

  Acton’s eyes narrowed, the excitement in Morales’ tone palpable. “What did you find?”

  “Something that changes everything.”

  5

  Pacific Coastal Region

  Maya Highlands, Maya Empire

  1092 AD

  Balam Canek rushed through the dense forest, one hand extended in front of him as he pushed the thick brush aside, the other tightly gripping Nelli. His heart slammed hard as he tried to make sense of what he had seen. A giant floating island, regurgitating strange men onto the sea as if some portal to another world had opened, unleashing demonic minions into their peaceful existence as punishment for something, something they must have done, something that the human sacrifices were no longer enough to satisfy.

  But what could it be?

  He had heard about the great drought, though its effects hadn’t been felt by his people, at least not yet. They had taken in refugees over the years, those who had fled the devastation rather than hold out and trust that the priests and shamans would save them. They were the cowards, the unfaithful. To abandon one’s home and family in the face of adversity was shameful, which was why those welcomed into the village lived a lonely life on the outskirts.

  Tolerated, and not much more.

  Balam and Nelli reached them first.

  One of the refugees rushed up to him, concern on his face. “Balam, what’s wrong?”

  He came to a halt, gasping to catch his breath, Nelli doing the same beside him, and though he felt safer now that his home was in sight, he feared there would be no safe place from the creatures now arriving. “Something’s happened. Something terrible.”

  The man’s formidable muscles tensed. “What?”

  “A great darkness has arrived. Strange men. Strange creatures. Coming forth from the belly of a beast so large, it can only have been sent by the gods.”

  Others had gathered, the fear in their eyes mounting, Balam growing more terrified with each word that came out of his mouth, for it couldn’t have been an island. Islands didn’t float. It had to be a creature of the sea, a creature so massive it was unfathomable to even consider the power wielded to create such a thing.

  They were doomed.

  “I need to see the Chief.” He grabbed Nelli’s hand. “We must raise a war party! We must prepare to fight!”

  The newcomers sprang into action, the men rushing to their homes as Balam led Nelli deeper into the village, the refugees emerging with weapons, prepared to defend their new home. Balam looked at his friend, Kawil, a newcomer who had been here for as long as he could remember, still not fully accepted into the village, the diaspora from the drought-ravaged areas, no matter how long ago their arrival, forever relegated to the fringe of society.

  Yet not Kawil.

  For some reason, they had become friends, though it was a friendship of the forest lest the others find out and ost
racize him as well. A nod was exchanged, and little else. And his chest ached with the knowledge they could never truly be friends. Though after today, it might not matter, should the wrath of the gods be unleashed upon them.

  He spotted the Chief in the center of the village, congregating with several of the elders. “Chief! I must speak with you!”

  A hand was held up, and nothing more, one of the elders talking.

  “The well is as low as I’ve ever seen it.”

  The Chief waved his hand. “But look about. I see no signs of drought.”

  “It’s the river. Its banks are showing like never before. Its source is to the east, where we know the drought has taken hold. It’s only a matter of time before we too are affected.”

  Balam bit his tongue as he waited impatiently for his chance to speak, interrupting the Chief and the elders, something that just wasn’t done.

  “What would you have me do?”

  No answers appeared forthcoming until the priest finally spoke. “The gods must be displeased.” He motioned toward where they had just come, toward the settlement of newcomers. “Perhaps it is because we tolerate those who would show their lack of faith by abandoning their homes and their gods so easily.”

  Heads bobbed, and Balam’s chest tightened as he realized what was about to be proposed.

  “We should banish them immediately. Perhaps then the gods will be satisfied, and spare us this curse.”

  More bobbing heads.

  “Forgive me for interrupting, but—”

  The hand rose again, and this time was accompanied by a glare, a glare that caused Balam to shrink away like it had since he was a boy.

  “Things have become worse with the latest arrivals, and more seem to be coming every day as word spreads of our generosity. I have always felt that the gods wished us to show mercy to our fellow man, however I am just a man, and perhaps have been mistaken.” The Chief sighed. “Perhaps my generosity has been misplaced. It was one thing to willingly share what little we have with a few, but the few have turned into many, into a flood, and that flood threatens to overwhelm us. Even if the gods are not punishing us for our misplaced generosity, we nonetheless suffer because of it. There are only so many crops, so many fish in the river, so many animals to feed and clothe us, and now this.” He motioned at the communal well. “I think we have made a mistake by letting these people stay.” He squared his shoulders, and Balam’s stomach flipped as the words he had dreaded for years were uttered. “Let it be known, that from this day forth, no one not born to this village will be welcome here unless it is through marriage.” He turned toward the newcomers’ encampment. “They leave, today.” Murmurs of assent grew from the others gathered. “And choose one for a sacrifice. We must appease the gods for our arrogance.”

  Applause and cheers erupted, and soon the gathered men left, reappearing with their spears and axes, marching toward the edge of the village to deliver the news and choose their victim.

  Balam felt sick, his purpose forgotten.

  “What is it, Balam? What is it that has you so flustered?”

  Balam stared at the Chief for a moment, his mind blank. Nelli elbowed him.

  “Balam!”

  He glanced at her, the urgency in her eyes finally reminding him. “Demons! On the beach!”

  The Chief’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  “We saw them, dozens if not more, landing on the shore, coming from some huge, floating island or creature.”

  The Chief stared at him, a slight smile finally breaking out. “You were always the joker, boy. Like your mother.”

  Nelli stepped forward. “He’s not joking, sir, it’s true. I saw it with my own eyes. Strange creatures, standing on two feet like us, but covered in thick scales with narrow, slanted…evil eyes.”

  The Chief stared at Nelli, his smile gone. “You two are being serious, aren’t you?”

  Balam nodded furiously. “Yes. And there isn’t much time. More were coming.”

  The Chief grasped at his temples, pushing against them as if battling a fierce headache. “If these are indeed demons, then they must be from the realm of the gods.” He glanced at the priest. “What do you think, holy one?”

  The priest gestured at the well. “We have already seen the anger of the gods, and this lack of water was just a warning. It has been going on for over a year, and we have done nothing to heed it. Just this week we took in three more who have turned their backs on the gods. Perhaps these demons are our punishment for not listening.”

  The Chief turned toward the edge of the village where screams and cries could be heard from the newcomers as the men of the village emptied their homes, some as well-built as any in the village, others makeshift shelters for those who had not yet committed to staying permanently. “Will ridding ourselves of them appease the gods?”

  The priest shook his head. “I fear it may not. We may yet need to pay a price in blood.”

  “Then a sacrifice?”

  “Yes, but one of our own. It is hardly punishment to kill an outsider.”

  The Chief sighed, closing his eyes. “I refuse to believe the gods would punish us for doing a good deed. These people may have turned their backs on their homes, but they pray as we all do, participate in all the rituals. I see no evidence beyond doing whatever it took to save their families, that these people have any less faith in the gods than you or I.” The priest recoiled as if physically wounded by the words. The Chief recognized the perceived insult and reached out, gripping the elderly man’s shoulder. “I, of course, should have excluded you. None have more faith than you.”

  This appeased the priest. “Then a sacrifice it is?”

  The Chief shook his head as he watched a young man race by with a bowl of blue paint. A scream erupted, a scream Balam recognized only too well—it was his friend, Kawil. Two villagers were dragging him toward the square, Kawil kicking and screaming as he realized what was happening, the blue paint used for only one thing.

  To mark those about to be sacrificed, the blue color chosen to honor the rain gods.

  Tears welled in Balam’s eyes as he stared at his friend. He spun to the Chief. “Sir, please, not him.”

  The Chief patted him on the shoulder. “There will be no sacrifice today.” He stepped forward, raising his hands. Everyone fell silent, only Kawil’s whimpers breaking the hush. “Raise a war party! We must go to the beaches and meet these messengers of the gods and convince them that we have repented!”

  The priest, his voice low, stepped closer. “And should they not listen?”

  “Then the price in blood will be paid by both sides.”

  6

  Universidad Veracruzana Archaeological Site

  South of Tepich, Mexico

  Present Day

  James Acton pushed through the trees and gasped as he stepped into a large clearing, half a dozen members of Professor Morales’ team hard at work on what was a stone entranceway embedded in the side of a hill.

  And he felt a little disappointed.

  “I thought you said it was huge? The hill doesn’t look that big.”

  Morales slapped him on the back, urging him forward. “My friend, this is nothing. The tip of the proverbial iceberg. They buried it underground.”

  As they approached the entrance, Laura surged ahead, taking out her phone and recording the hieroglyphs surrounding the archway.

  “What does it say?” asked Acton as Reading stepped up beside him, looking much the worse for wear. Acton picked several burrs off the poor man and flicked a millipede he clearly wasn’t aware of, off his shoulder.

  Laura traced her hand along the archway, pointing at each symbol as she went along. “Roughly, it says, ‘Here lies the wealth of knowledge shared by the gods, preserved lest the wrath of the new arrivals from the west prevail.’” She stepped back, running over it again, mumbling the words. She turned to Morales. “Am I right?”

  He shook his head, smiling. “It took me hours to
be sure, but yes.” He pointed at one of the hieroglyphs. “You said ‘new arrivals from the west’ here, and not just ‘new arrivals.’ Why?”

  Laura stepped closer, pointing at the stone in question. “See the slight indentation in the symbol on the left-hand side. There was something here, but it’s eroded over time. I’m assuming it was the sun, and based on its position, it was indicating the sun in the western sky.”

  Morales’ jaw dropped. “Of course!” He stepped back, rereading the symbols to himself, tapping his chin rapidly. “Very strange.”

  Reading picked a stray bug from his hair. “Why? We know the Spanish arrived here and destroyed the Mayans. So they built a library to protect their knowledge.”

  Acton shook his head. “You’re missing the key word.”

  “What’s that?”

  “West.”

  Reading shrugged. “Yeah, so? The west. The Western world. Heard of it?”

  Acton grinned. “Yes, we have, but how would they? ‘The West’ is a modern day term. And for them, Columbus and those who followed came from the east, not the west. It’s the wrong ocean. If the new arrivals they are referring to came from the west, then that’s the Pacific Ocean, not the Atlantic.”

  Reading paused, his eyebrows slowly rising. “Oh.” His eyes widened. “Oh!” They narrowed. “Then who the bloody hell are they talking about?”

  Morales smiled. “I have something to show you that just might answer your question.”