personal bag of ritual objects, were arrayed, every one at a different level, up the entire length of the steps. Some of them wore elaborate spondylus shell necklaces and headdresses of quetzal, ibis, flamingo, and parrot feathers. Each person was dressed differently, for there was a hidden language of clothes amongst the Maya, and those able to speak that language could learn many things – about age, rank, status within the community, and even the level of psychic awareness of which that person was deemed capable – simply by what a man or a woman had chosen to wear that day.
The Halach Uinic recognized Acan’s mother, Ixtab, standing halfway up the steps leading to the top of the great pyramid. Of all the iyoma he had known in his lifetime, Ixtab was the most perceptive. He was pleased that she had put aside her usual duties and had hearkened to his call. He wanted her to see the gringos. Wanted her opinion.
He closed his eyes and concentrated for a few moments, hoping that amidst all the excitement and anticipation of the ceremony, his usual channels of communication with her might still be open. For the Halach Uinic and Ixtab met regularly inside their dreams. The connection between them might be an unspoken one, but the Halach Uinic knew beyond any doubt that his nawal had chosen Ixtab to be his shadow guide. That it was she who had been detailed to guard him from the mistakes vainglory – and the inevitable vanity of men – might otherwise cause him to make. She was his protector and his conscience. His spirit doctor and his companion in the web of life.
The Halach Uinic looked up. Ixtab was staring down at him, her face pale beneath her headdress. In a covert gesture, the Halach Uinic raised his hands and opened them upwards, as if forces greater than himself were at work around him. Ixtab, in an equally covert gesture, turned her palms towards the ground, and gestured downwards, as if she were kneading dough. Male upwards and airborne, female downwards and grounded.
The Halach Uinic understood what she was telling him. Few people knew that this little-known site at Ek Balam was the true spiritual centre of Maya belief. A place to which Maya priests had come for countless generations, sure in the knowledge that a resident guardian would always be on hand to welcome them into the site via the ritual stone archway that still guarded its entrance – known privately as the Temple of the Praying Hands. The resident guardian would then wash the visiting priest’s knees, feet, and hands, before allocating the priest a place in one of the few still unburied stone cubicles. The visiting priest would then use the stone cubicle to re-energize himself and reconnect himself to nature.
For most enlightened Maya, Chichen Itza, Tulum, Palenque, and many of the other great sites of the former Maya hierarchy were simply sad reminders of lost greatness. They had nothing further to offer. Whatever energy they had left was hidden so far underground that it could only be reached via extreme and thorough ritual. At Ek Balam, however, the energy still brimmed from the ground like a fountain.
In addition, Ek Balam, or the Black Jaguar, was the only site left in the whole of Mexico, Guatemala, and Belize that still incorporated all three of the essential elements and energy centres – the sky, the earth, and the underworld. The downward movement of Ixtab’s hands, echoing and counterpointing that of the Halach Uinic, had been a recognition of this fact, therefore – a reminder to the Halach Uinic that he must submit, and trust, and not attempt to dominate.
The Halach Uinic acknowledged Ixtab’s warning with a downward inclination of the head. Then he signalled to Acan, Naum, and Tepeu that they must bring forward the three gringos and the mestizo from Veracruz.
The Halach Uinic could sense the intense interest aroused by the appearance of the strangers. He allowed the collective emotion of the crowd to leach deep into his body until he could feel each individual’s response as if it were his own.
Only when he felt full to the brim – only when he felt as if he were carrying the entire wishes and the hopes of the crowd within himself – did he start up the stone steps.
69
Sabir felt at peace. He didn’t fully understand why this should be so, but neither did he feel any particular desire to investigate his newfound condition. He was content simply to bask in the unfamiliar harmony, and allow the long-awaited healing process to begin.
After half an hour or so of near total detachment, something snapped Sabir out of his reverie. He began to monitor the preparations being made by the Halach Uinic with more than the usual amount of interest. At first he couldn’t understand what had triggered this intense curiosity, but then he realized that the High Priest was communicating in some quasi-telepathic way with a middle-aged woman standing halfway up the stone steps of the pyramid. It was this that had caught his attention.
Sabir was at a loss to understand how he had achieved this insight, but he could definitely sense the energy passing between them. It resembled the sudden flapping of a curtain in the wind, or the unexpected tightening of a sail out at sea in the run-up to a squall. The impression was so overwhelming that Sabir was instantly overcome by the conviction that he could intervene between the two of them if he so desired, transforming their duologue into something approaching a round table discussion – but that it would probably be considered the height of rudeness were he to do so.
He glanced at Calque to his left, and then at Lamia to his right. Both were deeply involved in watching the preparations for the ceremony.
Had he gone stark staring mad? It was obvious that his companions hadn’t the remotest idea of what was going on his head – and neither were they picking up anything of a similar sort themselves. Instead, they were watching the preparations going on around them with the natural interest of the outsider.
Had his never-ending litany of sleepless nights caught up with him at last? Was he hallucinating? Sabir shook himself like a dog and concentrated all his attention on the scene around him. Best drag yourself back to reality, man. No more airy-fairy nonsense. You’ll be dreaming of pixies next.
The first thing Sabir noticed following his reality check was that the Maya en masse were even smaller than he had imagined them to be – much smaller than a similar random grouping of Westerners, or even Latins, would have been. Both men and women had round faces and wide cheekbones – they smiled a lot, and were quick to mirth. Most of the women standing in the group nearby were squat, square, and useful looking, with a low centre of gravity. Some had an almost Asiatic cast to their features. The older women were stocky, with solid bellies and protruding bottoms, although some of the younger women were very beautiful, with an almost sinister cast to their features – they had curved noses, almond eyes, dark, fine hair, and expressive, sensual mouths. Their colour varied from a light macadamia to a darker chocolate. Few of the women were heavy-breasted, with the young girls in particular seeming to retain their flat chests well into adolescence. Most of the women Sabir could see wore their hair long, while some of the men cut theirs en brosse.
Sabir also noticed that the Maya strolled rather than strode – in fact they almost bundled along, blowing their noses onto the ground whenever they felt like it. Ponytails were popular amongst the women, with the hair pulled tightly back from the forehead. The older women wore white shifts, with floral borders, visible petticoats, and occasional rebozos, worn across the shoulders like a shawl. The younger women wore wheel earrings – Sabir noticed that both the men and the women’s ears aimed backwards, just as in the sculptures.
‘Come on, Sabir. Snap out of it. We’re on the move.’
‘What?’
Calque was staring at Sabir as if the American had taken leave of his senses. ‘The ceremony. The one they’ve been preparing for two hours right in front of your face. All that clattering and banging. Don’t tell me you missed it?’ He turned to Lamia. ‘Do you think an alien life-form has taken over our friend here?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think so too.’ Calque turned back to Sabir. ‘Oh, Alien. Return our friend to us. You have taken all his secrets. You know that he is simply an empty vessel with nothing inside. Be satisfied with that. We earthlings are no threat to you.’
‘Yeah. Very funny. I love a good joke. Maybe you could become a stand-up comedian when you get back to France, Calque? You could call yourself “ Flic – Flaque ”. Otherwise known as the “Wet Policeman”.’
Calque stared incredulously at Lamia. ‘My God. He really is an alien. That was a halfway good French pun he managed there.’
