The boy’s small grubby fingers pulled at the trouser belt of the tall figure standing beside him. His thick black hair, streaked with rainswept mud, was plastered against his face. He pushed some of the hair away from his eyes and pointed towards the huge pyramid that dominated the early morning skyline. The eastern side was partly obscured by the strange blue cloud that had suddenly appeared after the last lightning strike.
Dr Malcolm Kinross glanced down at the boy and nodded. ‘I see it, Manuel … I see it.’
But what the blazes is it? he wondered.
A big man, broad-shouldered and deeply tanned from years of working on digs throughout Mexico, Kinross was fit for his fifty-two years. He gritted his teeth as a sharp pain shot through his right leg, making him shift his weight onto the aluminium walking stick. Leaning heavily on the handle to ease the ache in his knee, he surveyed the damage done to the campsite. The risks of working through the Yucatan’s hurricane season were well known, but nothing could have prepared him for the devastation that lay before his eyes. It was like a scene from a First World War battlefield.
At the height of the storm, lightning bolts had ripped apart the top of the pyramid’s fragile structure, sending several of the huge stone blocks onto the camp below. The sleeping mestizos never had a chance – with half a dozen of them now lying dead, their bodies crushed like thin eggshells. Cursing and screaming, the others who survived the avalanche of stone had fled into the jungle, vowing never to return.
Only Manuel, besides Lucy, had stayed behind to help Kinross try to cover the excavations with tarpaulin and plastic sheeting, but it had been a wasted effort. The trenches lay like sinking boats, half-filled with muddy rainwater. More rain was falling now, great pebble-sized drops threatening another deluge, and with a cool damp wind touching his cheek he could hear yet more thunder rumbling in the distance.
‘Malcolm … what are we going to do?’
The voice, weak and frightened, made Kinross look down at his wife. She was on her knees, her arms held tightly across her chest, a shield against what might come next. They were on a large slab of grey stone, a wheel-like carving set into the ground in direct line to the entrance of the pyramid. Discovered by Kinross on a previous exploratory trip to the Yucatan he had yet to realise it’s purpose, but from the images and central trough sculpted into its surface it took little imagination to see it as some sort of sacrificial site. Nearly half a metre in height and three metres across, it had kept them free of the river of mud that had coursed its way through the campsite during the night.
‘I don’t know, Lucy, but we are finished here, that’s for sure.’
He could see that she was suffering from one of her headaches again. Her natural, bright-blonde hair was lying mud-spattered against her skull; her deep-set blue eyes, dull with pain, betrayed her exhaustion. They were both spent, having tried over the past few hours to save some of the pottery shards and bones they had so patiently excavated. What they had saved now lay spread out on the stone, a pathetic reminder of how little they had managed to rescue before the torrential rains had forced the collapse of the trenches.
Lucy groaned; a low, whimpering, child-like sound that warned Kinross she was slipping into a trance, but there was nothing he could do. It was a worrying condition that happened sometimes in her sleep - but at other times, like now, she would unexpectedly stiffen and withdraw into another world. A world that might last minutes, or perhaps longer, and then she would recover, claiming she had ‘seen’ things – not dreams, but real events that very often included their two boys, Archie and Richard.
For a brief moment, he thought of the boys at Grimshaws, back in Ireland. Would he ever visit the school again? Would he see them again? Damn it! Damn this storm! He gripped his walking stick more tightly and watched Lucy as she slowly closed her eyes; there was nothing he could do and nothing to be gained by thinking the worst. He knew he would have to keep a clear head if they were to survive this disaster.
‘Senor Kinross! See there!’
Manuel’s words were almost drowned by an almighty roar of thunder directly above them. Lightning crackled as it lit up the eastern face of the pyramid, exposing large gaps where the huge stone blocks, already weakened by centuries of neglect, had broken away
‘Look, senor – Chac!’
The boy was pulling at Kinross’s belt again and pointing towards the blue cloud. It had drifted away from the pyramid, but now it contained, at its very core, a pulsing bright light, and it seemed to be coming their way.
Chac was one of the most ancient Mayan gods. As a bringer of rain and maize Chac was still worshipped by Mayan farmers, especially during times of drought, but also a god to be feared as a bearer of thunderbolts and destruction.
‘I don’t think so, it’s only –’
But Manuel wasn’t listening. At the sight of the blue cloud approaching, with its yellow inner light getting brighter by the second, he leapt into the sea of mud surrounding the stone. His little legs buckled and nearly gave way as he struggled to reach the edge of the jungle, but he made it, glancing only briefly over his shoulder to see the cloud he thought of as Chac.
Kinross watched him disappear into the trees before turning to see that the cloud was almost upon them. He was mystified by it, but he could do nothing about it. His leg had stiffened and he could hardly walk, let alone make his way through the mud. And Lucy was in no fit state to move; she had settled into a trance-like state and was as still as death. All he could do was watch and wait as the cloud slowly enveloped them like some great cloak.
*
Hidden by an old tree stump and a screen of dense undergrowth, Manuel lay flat on the ground, fearing to raise his head in case the great god, Chac, might see him. He had no idea how long he lay there, but eventually his curiosity got the better of him. Crawling to the side of the tree stump he carefully parted the long wet grass to get a better view of the campsite.
The stone was deserted. He didn’t know what it was, the villagers simply referred to it as the ‘ Big Stone’, but he had known all his young life that, like the pyramid, it was a special place. His eyes scanned all around the campsite searching for some sign of life. It had stopped raining now and the blue cloud was gone, but so were Dr Kinross and his wife.
It had come true - the warning given by old Mateo, the shaman in his village, the day Dr Kinross had arrived looking for workers to help him excavate the area around the ancient pyramid. Mateo, who rarely spoke to anyone, had been troubled and had warned Kinross and the villagers:
‘Beware the anger of the gods. Those who would take from them, they also will be taken.’
The young mestizos had ignored the old shaman. They said they were good Catholics and no longer listened to such nonsense. Besides, they would be well paid for their labour, and was this not more important to their families?
Now some of them lay dead, and the doctor and his wife had disappeared.
Manuel feared he would not see them again, and he knew he had little choice but to return to the village. As he prepared to leave the sacred grounds he prayed that the ancient gods would not be too unkind to the doctor and his wife.
Little did he know that Malcolm and Lucy Kinross had embarked on a very strange journey that few would believe possible.