CITY OF THE GODS: FORGOTTEN (62 page)

Aavi’s mouth fell open and she stared at him, surprise etched across her face. “You’re leaving?
 
But what if someone comes, or you get lost?”

“I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” he tried to reassure her almost flippantly. He knew there was risk involved, but something told him he needed to see what those Mayans were up to.
 
“The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll return.
 
You’ll be safe here.
 
No one’s been in this stable for years.”

“Please, don’t go! I won’t know what to do without you,” she said fearfully.
 
The terror of what had happened the last time he had left her swirled in her thoughts. She felt a tremor run through her entire body and for a second or two her teeth chattered, something she had never experienced before.

D’Molay picked up the quiver and arrows. He already had his knife on his belt.
 
“I’m leaving you all the rest of our supplies and my gold.
 
I can travel faster this way and it’ll be better if you have all that for now,” he said, without explaining why.

“What if -” Aavi left her question unfinished as D’Molay turned to leave.

“Keep feeding the doe so she doesn’t wander off,” he instructed as he remounted the stag. “If I don’t come back by tomorrow morning, I want you to go to the last villa we passed on the road, knock on the door, and tell them you need to be taken to the Fortress of Ares on Council business. Offer to pay them from the gold in our bag. When you get there, ask for a soldier called Kastor and tell him about Mayans being here. He’s a good man. He’ll help you.”

“I will, but what about you?” Aavi fought down a feeling of desperation. She knew from his glow he was going to go and there was nothing she could say to make him change his mind.

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Try to get some rest. You’ll be fine, Aavi.”

As D’Molay rode off, the doe seemed perplexed to be left behind. Aavi felt sorry for the deer and managed to coax it into the stable with her, where it lay down cautiously in the hay. Aavi sat down beside the doe, petting its long neck and head as tears rained down her cheeks and quickly disappeared.
 
Once again she was alone and afraid.

When Mazu awoke, the end of the flying snake’s tail was still wrapped loosely around her neck. It too had been sleeping after their long journey. One of its wings fluttered in its rest, tickling her body. Mazu heard something coming toward her, a noise that alternated between shuffling footsteps and tapping.

“Welcome.”

Mazu twisted toward the sound of the aged, scratchy voice. As she did, a wooden shaft was thrust toward her face to touch the serpent’s coil that encircled her throat. The room was suddenly illuminated with bright currents of lightning and she felt a mild shock course through her body. The serpent made a purring sound as it woke up, released her, and lazily crawled into a corner. Mazu rolled to her knees, resisting the urge to gulp deep breaths. She sat calmly composing herself as a being with a face like a fanged frog gazed down at her. The face was attached to a body of a wizened old man which sported a battle costume complete with an elaborate helmet. Heavy bracelets rattled around thin wrists. Lightning flickered over the surface of the large axe the frog-headed guard leaned against as a cane. From its light, Mazu could see that there was nothing much in the room besides herself, her captor, and the resting sky snake. The being stood over her, placid as a statue.

“I don’t suppose I might have a drink of water,” Mazu asked, hoping that her guard might not realize just what kind of goddess she was. His wide mouth split into a smile, displaying more of his fanged teeth.

“It’s dry time. Water comes later when Chaac fights.” Chaac’s pronunciation of his name sounded much like the croaking of a real frog. Mazu knew of amphibians that could live underground, even in baking sands, to rise again when the rains came. She wondered if Chaac had to remain here, like them, until he was freed by water. If so, they might have something very important in common.

“I see, Chaac,” Mazu said, saying his name as accurately as she could. “Do you know that I am a water god too?”

The lids over Chaac’s bulbous eyes blinked and he took a step closer to her. “You can make rain?” he asked. Mazu thought she detected a thread of respect in his voice.

“No, I don’t make rain,” she was forced to admit. “But I can do many other things when I am around water. Would you like to see?”

Mazu’s initial hopes were crushed when Chaac simply replied with an unimpressed, negative grunt and retreated to the corner where the serpent had slithered. He lowered himself to sit splay-legged against it. His glowing axe found a place of rest across his knees as he leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Several minutes later, chirping snores began to emanate from Chaac’s throat. Mazu sighed at the prospect of more waiting, but decided to use her time as wisely as possible.

She made a thorough examination of the pit while Chaac slept. Her first impression seemed to hold. There were no doors, no furniture, not even a secret symbol scratched on the wall to give her any hint of escape. There was only Chaac and Quetzalcoatl’s flying snake, both of whom were obviously so confident in the security of the pit that they could sleep soundly. Chaac had tipped over as his slumber deepened. Now he and the snake were cuddled together in a friendly heap. Mazu would have found it endearing under better circumstances.

After an hour or two, her legs begged to be stretched, so Mazu approached the sleeping god, her fingers twitching at the thought of stealing his weapon. That would be a great crime in the City of the Gods. To steal another god’s property was a major offense, but to actually seize an item from which a god’s power came would entail even greater penalties, if the item itself didn’t provide them on its own. Even in the eastern realms everyone knew the story of the giant killed by Thor’s stolen hammer. Mazu turned back to her own corner to resist such a rash temptation. She would just have to think of another way to escape.

*
       
*
       
*

The rain was not falling heavily enough to obscure the tell tale horse prints of the five Mayan riders. D’Molay followed their tracks for a mile or two.
 

“Looks like they went off the road. You’ll like that,” he said to the stag as they hopped over a small gully and through some brush. They climbed up the side of a small hill.

He could see a ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds somewhere on the other side of the hill. There was something odd about the way the light was penetrating the heavy clouds, but D’Molay had another problem. The stag suddenly refused to go any further.
 
D’Molay tried to urge him on, but he wouldn’t budge.
 

“All right then, stay here.
 
I’ll see for myself,” he said, dismounting and patting the stag on the side of the neck. “Guess I can’t blame you. This storm is a strange one.”

Walking the rest of the way to the top, he saw what was beyond the ridge.
 
At first, he couldn’t quite make sense of it. The hill and trees descended into an open grassy clearing. In the middle of the clearing, illuminated by the light of the sunbeam, there appeared to be a giant, rectangular wooden raft on the ground. Made of dark wood and lashed together with vines, it was about forty feet wide and at least eighty feet long. Mayan warriors stood in neat rows on top of the raft.
 
There were at least eighty of them, all holding spears and standing at attention. They wore little more than golden belts, armbands and elaborate headdresses many festooned with bright colored feathers.
 
D’Molay hunkered down to stay safely out of sight. Behind him, he heard the stag treading the ground as it impatiently shifted from one hoof to the other, confused by his rider’s strange behavior.

Ignoring the stag, he watched the scene below. The horses he’d tracked were tied to trees near the raft, and their five riders stood speaking to another Mayan whose larger headdress meant he must be a leader of some sort. The men were too far away for D’Molay to possibly hear them, but it didn’t matter. He was sure they were speaking in their own tongue which he could not understand. Each of the riders took a turn speaking to the leader of the raft, suggesting to D’Molay that the five men were scouts. For each to have a separate report, they must have been split up to investigate different areas. As the last one finished, the leader raised his arms and called out something to the sky. D’Molay gaped as several dragons emerged from the clouds and slithered into harnesses attached to the raft. With steady wing beats, the creatures carefully lifted the heavy raft into the air. The raft headed straight for the nearest cloud and disappeared within it. D’Molay scrambled to his feet, alarmed. There was no telling how many other rafts might be hidden in the clouds.

He spun around, ready to rush back to Aavi with this news. But the stag, whose curiosity had finally won out over its fear, had crept up to the top of the ridge. D’Molay’s sudden movement startled the stag. It grunted and danced toward the crest of the ridge as D’Molay lost his footing and fell against several saplings.

One of the skilled Mayan scouts in the valley noticed the movement above. He started to race up the hill toward the stag, which immediately bolted as the stranger approached. D’Molay chased it fruitlessly, giving up hope of regaining his mount as the Mayan began to gain on him, for now the Mayan had seen D’Molay and was running towards him. D’Molay darted down the ridge, jumping over fallen logs and moss covered rocks. Still running, D’Molay unsheathed his knife, preparing to use it. Seeing a flatter piece of ground ahead, he decided that this would be a good place to make a stand. D’Molay quickly turned, took a defensive stance, and prepared to fight for his life.

The Mayan immediately reacted to D’Molay’s confrontational stand and the large knife he was holding. He carried a maquahuitl, the traditional fighting machete of his people. Made of wood, it was about two feet long and had sharpened obsidian edges. The warrior ran at D’Molay, making a vicious swing at his head. D’Molay quickly rolled to the ground and struck a glancing blow with his knife on the Mayan’s calf.
 

The bleeding Mayan dived on D’Molay, attempting to stab him in the back. D’Molay, already turning over as the man dived, plunged his knife into his enemy’s stomach. The stricken man’s eyes were only inches away from D’Molay’s face. An expression of pain and shock washed over the Mayan like wind blowing across a field of grass. His mouth opened to speak, but only a low wheezing sound emerged from his throat. D’Molay firmly thrust upwards with his knife, rolling the dying man off him. He yanked the bloody knife out and rested tensely, catching his breath. In mere seconds he was moving again, knowing the remaining scouts would soon arrive. As he took his first steps to continue his jog down the hill, he heard men on horseback approaching. D’Molay ran faster, trying to put distance between him and the riders. Before he got far, something whizzed past his head. His panicked mind could not register what sort of weapon had missed him; it only drove his feet onward. Then something struck him in the head, taking him down.
 
The last thing D’Molay heard was the impact of running feet on the dead leaves and the sound of a Mayan victory call.

The doe had finished all the fruit D’Molay had scattered on the ground and half of an apple Aavi found she had little appetite to finish. Hoping for the return of their male companions, the deer and the girl remained at the stable, Aavi peering out into the fields beyond, the dark of evening competing for menace with the fall of the rain. A boom of thunder shook the building as lightning provided the backdrop for terrifying shadows.

“What was that?” Aavi cried out, throwing her arms around the doe. The animal knew lighting and thunder. It was more alarmed by Aavi’s hug than the weather. A few quiet moments followed, giving Aavi time to regain her composure and make a decision.
 
She gave the doe a resolute look, squaring her shoulders in the hope it would make her feel braver. “I don’t want to stay here anymore. Let’s go find them.”
 

Aavi picked up their knapsack and pulled out the map. She recognized the picture of the fort, but there was nothing on the map that would help her find D’Molay so she refolded the parchment and stowed it away. Aavi straddled the doe, giving her the sign to rise. She complied and Aavi balanced herself as the doe stepped out of the stable into the lightly falling rain.

“Can you follow where they went?” Aavi asked. The doe paused, snuffling at the ground. Aavi couldn’t tell if it understood her or was just looking for more remnants of fruit. After a moment the doe began walking. Toward what, Aavi did not know.