Jake Ransom and the Skull King's Shadow (13 page)

Heron?
Since when were Kady and Heronidus so chummy?

Kady continued. “Apparently there’s some sort of big contest in another couple days. A championship between the Romans and some…” She crinkled her nose. “I think Sumo wrestlers, or something like that.”

Sumo wrestlers?
Jake ran other possibilities through his head, going over the other cultures he’d seen here. “Do you mean
Sumerians
?”

“I guess. Whatever. Heron tried to tell me about the game. Sounds sort of like polo. Anyway, he’s going to take me to one of his practices.” She waved to her guard, who waved back, wearing a goofy smile.

Jake finally backed away, giving up. “Then if you’re okay, I’ll just head out with Marika and Pindor myself.”

She shrugged, but an edge entered her voice. She stared hard at him. “Just make sure you know what you’re doing.
Don’t get too distracted.”

He understood what she was implying. In other words,
Don’t fool around…find a way home
. And while he worked at doing that, Kady could continue to play Valkyrie-warrior Barbie.

As his sister returned to the others, Jake frowned at her back. Kady was leaving everything up to him, to figure out what was going on and how to get home.

But could he do that?

Dark words echoed in his head, reminding him he was running out of time.

He comes, he comes….

Back out on the street, Jake stood under the prow of the Viking warship. He faced Marika and Pindor. “What next?”

Jake had thought he would need the entire day just to pry Kady from underneath her bed. But that wasn’t the case. As usual, she was the center of attention. This both irritated and relieved him. He stood at the edge of the street, unsure what to do, where to begin his own investigations.

“We could show you more of Calypsos,” Marika answered.

“I say we go to the market,” Pindor said. He stared up at the sun and held a palm over his stomach. “I’m starving.”

“You just ate,” Marika said.

“That was forever ago.”

Marika rolled her eyes. “First, we’ll see as much of the city as we can.”

With Marika leading, they headed back out to the streets. Everywhere there seemed an excitement in the air, an electricity generated by all the bustle of the people and crackle of their shouts and laughter. Outside a Chinese pagoda, very young children were practicing with cymbals and horns.

“The Spring Equinox approaches swiftly,” Marika explained. “It comes in two days. The entire town celebrates with a great feast and party.”

“And it’s the day of the Olympiad!” Pindor added with a rare note of enthusiasm. “The final battle to decide which tribe will win the Eternal Torch for this year. See over here!”

Pindor hurried forward. A few families were picnicking in a small park outside the castle walls. Pindor ran past them toward a ledge that stuck out and offered a wide view. He pointed toward the north end of town.

A large stone stadium, like a miniature Roman coliseum, extended to the volcanic rim of the valley, one side carved into the steep ridge.

“We hold plays and shows over there, too,” Marika added. “It’s not all brawl and tussle.”

Movement to the right of the coliseum drew Jake’s attention. Cliff-dwelling homes had been dug into the ridgeline neighboring the stadium. From the highest level of the dwellings, a team of giant birds took flight and coursed out over the city in a strict V-shaped pattern.

“People of the Wind,” Marika said, watching alongside Jake. Her voice was full of wonder. “They’re the only ones who know how to tame the great winged raz. They raise them from hatchlings, bonding them to their youngest children. It is said they grow up closer than brothers and sisters.”

As the team flew past, Jake pictured the scout who had landed atop the tower, dressed all in leather with a crown of feathers. Of course, his tribe wouldn’t call themselves Indians or even Native Americans. Those were names placed upon them by outsiders.

Jake stared upward as the birds swept past, rising high on heated air from one of the volcanic vents. People of the Wind. The name was certainly fitting.

The three of them tracked the birds across the sky and over the castle. As they finally disappeared, Marika sagged. “It’s getting late. We should be getting home.”

Jake glanced back over to the cliffs, but a slide of shadows along the edge of the bushes caught his eye. A slow dark shape dashed across the rocky lookout, grabbed a bone left behind by one of the picnickers, and dove back toward the bushes. Then it suddenly froze at the edge and stared straight back at Jake.

Large feline eyes flashed golden in the slanting sunlight.

A
Rhabdofelix
! The same one Jake had set free. So she had escaped and found a place to hunt for scraps.

“Hey, look at—” Jake turned to show Marika, but the cat had vanished.

“What?” Pindor asked.

Jake shook his head and waved them onward. “Never mind.”

They circled the castle wall to the main gates. Pindor said his good-byes, leaving Marika and Jake to cross the courtyard and enter the castle keep.

Marika had gone silent, deep in her own thoughts, so Jake kept quiet while they climbed the tower. As they reached the landing, Marika keyed open the door to her home and finally spoke. “I wonder how Huntress Livia is—”

Jake gasped out loud, silencing her. As he stepped inside, he saw the room was not empty. A small boy, maybe a year younger than Jake, was setting a bowl of fruit on the table. Jake stared at the stranger. The other stared back—then quickly retreated to the narrow side door. He vanished through it, closing the door behind him. Jake caught a glimpse of tiny stairs beyond the door before it shut, like a secret servant’s stair.

Marika frowned at Jake’s stunned reaction. “That was Bach’uuk. He helps keep our home.”

Jake still pictured the stranger’s face. The boy had wide cheekbones and a prominent brow that stuck out from a sloped forehead, half hidden under lanky black hair. His blue eyes had locked upon Jake, almost as if in
recognition, before he darted away.

But Jake had definitely recognized him…or at least he knew what
tribe
that boy belonged to. Jake was certain of it.

Bach’uuk was a
Neanderthal
.

“They call themselves the Ur,” Marika explained after guiding Jake to the table.

She urged him to sit down and showed him how to peel one of the fruits on the table. It looked like a banana, only it was shaped like a corkscrew. It took some care to peel it. She called it a kwarmabean, but it didn’t taste like a banana or a bean, more like an overripe peach.

Marika still wore a frown at Jake’s startled reaction and misunderstood it. “Fear not, the Ur may look strange, but they’re harmless and peaceful.”

Jake nodded, his mind awhirl. So it wasn’t just human tribes—
Homo sapiens
—that had been drawn to this world. Earlier tribes of mankind had been snatched from their homelands and become trapped here, too.

“They are a simple people,” Marika continued. “Even aided by the alchemy that grants a common tongue to all, the Ur seldom speak, and when they do, it is slow and very basic. Papa believes there is a dullness to their thoughts, but they are strong and obey simple directions.”

Trying to hide his reaction, Jake peeled another of the kwarmabeans. He didn’t contradict Marika, but he
remembered that archaeologists like his parents now considered Neanderthals to be as intelligent as modern humans.

Marika continued, pondering her own words. “Still, a group of Sumerian scribes went out to their caves in the ridge walls last summer and came back to describe elaborate wall paintings.”

“Done by the Ur?”

Marika nodded. “Someday I’d like to see those caves. The scribes tell of beasts painted on the walls that no one has ever seen before. But then again, the Ur were the first ones to come to this valley and must have witnessed many amazing sights.”

Jake focused his attention back. “They were the first?”

She rubbed at her lower lip in thought. “It is said that they were here long before any of the Lost Tribes. The earliest stories of Calypsos say that the Ur were found living in the shadow of the great Temple of Kukulkan and were the first to welcome strangers to these harsh lands, laying the foundation for the Calypsos to come. And still they help us, serving at Kalakryss and mining the cliffs for the raw crystals used in our alchemy.”

Jake stared at the narrow door, recalling how the table had been set last night and how his clothes had been cleaned and returned. Had the Neanderthals become mere servants here—or worse yet, were they slave labor? This last thought took more of the shine off Jake’s image
of the peaceful and harmonious Calypsos residents.

Marika sighed. “But mostly the Ur keep to their caves. They are very private and shy. Their homes are on the other side of the ridge walls, facing the dark jungle beyond. You have nothing to fear from Bach’uuk. He and his father have served our family for many years. When my mother became ill…when she…”

Marika’s voice suddenly trailed off. She shook her head and became intensely focused on her own kwarmabean. She was saved from continuing by a rasp at the front door.

A key turned, and the door swung open. Voices carried inside, while the speakers remained outside on the doorstep.

“There’s nothing more we can do, Oswin.” It was Marika’s father, sounding bone tired and deeply worried.

“But we know there must be bloodstone splinters in her shoulder wound or she would’ve woken by now. If we could collect a few splinters and study them, we might better understand the threat against us.”

“The risk is too great. Both to Livia and Calypsos. Bloodstones taint everything…and everyone around them.”

“But we can’t live in the dark forever, not when a shadow threatens to fall over our valley. Zahur moves too cautiously. Maybe deliberately so.”

There was a long pause, then Balam spoke firmly. “Now
you don’t truly believe that, do you, Oswin?”

A great rumbling sigh followed. Marika and Jake shared a glance. They shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but neither of them moved.

“I suppose not. But I can’t forget that Zahur was once Kalverum’s apprentice.”

“Yes, but we all studied under him at one time or another.”

Jake glanced at Marika.

“And what of Zahur’s experiments?” the English monk pressed, lowering his voice. “He uses Kalverum’s cellars. He works with caged beasts and treads a path similar to that monster.”

“That’s because he studies the art of healing. An important discipline requires such work. You know how much of the healing arts were lost after Kalverum was expelled.”

“Yes, yes, yes, I know you’re right,” Oswin admitted. “I guess too little sleep has me jumping at shadows. I just wish Zahur would move more quickly. I sense time weighing upon us. Those words that the boy overheard.
He comes
. We cannot sit wringing our hands forever.”

“I understand, Oswin. And I honor your methods of study. Your bold experiments have discovered many practical alchemies that have bettered our lives. But here I agree with Zahur. Even if it means the death of Huntress Livia, we must move with caution when it comes to the bloodstones, even mere splinters.”

“I hope you’re right, my good friend,” Oswin said. “I see dark times ahead.”

“And in the dark,” Balam said solemnly, “we must trust the light.”

A small tired laugh broke the tension. “That was not fair. Quoting my own father.”

“He was a wise man.”

Another sigh. “Wiser than his son, it seems.”

A few mumbled good-byes followed—then the door swung wider. Marika twisted in her chair and pretended exceptional interest in picking out a kwarmabean from the bowl.

Balam stepped into the room. His eyebrows rose in surprise at the sight of them. “Ah, you’re back already.” He glanced toward the door, then over to the table again. He combed his fingers through his hair but only succeeded in making it more rumpled. “So you heard all that.”

“I’m sorry, Papa,” Marika said, and stared up into his face. “But is it true? Is Huntress Livia truly going to die?”

Balam cupped his daughter’s cheek tenderly, then moved to the table. Jake saw his face fall as he passed behind her, unsure whether to tell the truth or not. Finally, he turned and stared into his daughter’s eyes.

“Yes,” he finally said. “It is only a matter of time. We can do no more.”

Marika’s face paled, but she nodded and stood up. She
hugged her father. He put his arms around her, too.

Jake felt a sharp pang in his own chest, suddenly missing his own mother and father so badly that he could hardly breathe.

Father and daughter broke their embrace. Marika kept a hold of her father’s sleeve. “Papa, you’ve not slept at all. You need a bath and some rest.”

He glanced at the door to his library. “But I’ve more work—”

“It will keep until after you’ve had a short nap.” She tugged him, like a mother with an unruly child. “Let me draw you a bath. I’ll wake you in time for dinner.”

Balam allowed his daughter to drag him toward the stairs.

As the two headed away, Jake remained seated at the table—but his attention shifted to the study door. He remembered the stacks of papers, scrolls, and books inside. What might he learn?

Before he knew it, he was on his feet. He didn’t have much time. Rushing to the door, he tried the latch. It was unlocked and opened with a small squeak that made him wince. Telling himself it wasn’t too loud, he slipped through the crack in the door and entered the library.

The room was pie shaped, stretching wider toward a pair of windows that overlooked the city. A desk stood under the windows. To either side, bookshelves rose to the rafters, crammed with dusty tomes and rolled parchments.
One section was stuffed with strange odds and ends: a bony skeleton of some creature held together by bronze wire, a neat row of polished rocks, a collection of small wooden blocks carved with Mayan glyphs. Walking into the library was like stepping inside one of the Cabinets of Curiosity back at his family home in North Hampshire.

But Jake didn’t have time for sightseeing.

He crossed to the desk and searched without touching anything. Books were stacked as high as Jake’s shoulders, and he was afraid of toppling them over. Instead his attention was drawn to an open book in the center of the desk. It had a cover made out of wood and pages that were coarse and thick.

The book was a rare Mayan codex, one of their great books of ancient knowledge. The invading Spanish conquistadors had burned most of them centuries ago. Only a few still existed in the world.

Jake leaned over the open codex. The page showed a map of the valley. A jagged circle marked the volcanic cone, and in its center had been drawn a crude representation of the pyramid. From the tip of the temple a stylized spiral wound outward and brushed the valley rim at four points.

North, south, east, and west.

Jake leaned closer.

The western point had an arch drawn over it. Despite the sketchiness of it, Jake recognized the Broken Gate, or
rather how it might look if it wasn’t
broken
. The picture at the point of the eastern gate looked familiar. It was a two-headed snake tied up into the shape of a figure eight.

Jake tensed, recognizing it though it was crudely drawn. He hurriedly reached into his pocket and removed his father’s field logbook. He flipped open the page he had read in the British Museum.