The game resumed. Dzibanche had acquired a good position when one of the players lost his balance, stumbled, and fell face-first to the hard plaster floor. The ball rolled to a stop beside him, as his teammates rushed to his side.
A hush fell over the ballcourt. Yax stood with a worried look, as Honac-Fey moved in with several servants to carry the hurt player away on a litter. Honac-Fey looked up to Yax. “My Lord, the player has taken ill and cannot continue,” he said in a commanding voice for all to hear, emphasizing his words with animated arm movements.
The man in the yellow cape-who William learned was the Governor of Kinichna-entered as well. “Lord Stone Frog,” the Kinichna Governor said, addressing Yax with his formal Mayan name, “the game cannot be continued short of seven players. A replacement must be chosen… someone deserving of the honor.”
“I see no other choice than Balam…” Honac-Fey said with a surreptitious glance to the Kinichna Governor.
William flinched upon hearing his name. He shot his attention over to Yax, hoping he would not agree.
The King studied William for a moment and then spoke to the entire assembly. “You are correct, Honac-Fey, there is no other who has earned the right to play in the games… but only if Balam agrees.”
William was about to decline, but then Honac-Fey raised his hands to the crowd and began chanting,
“Balam, Balam, Balam.” The spectators joined in, chanting his name in chorus.
“Oh, crap,” William muttered, realizing that he didn’t have much choice in the matter. If he chickened out, it would be embarrassing to Yax. However, his decision to play was mostly due to Teshna’s admiring stare; he couldn’t let
“Be alert, Balam,” Priest Quisac said with a concerned look, as William was escorted away.
William felt ridiculous in the uniform they made him wear: heavy-duty sandals with decoratively studded support bands buckled on his calves, protective pads attached to his knees, elbows, hips, and shoulders, and a goofy helmet strapped to his head.
As he reached the center of the ballcourt, he felt a wave of butterflies. The seashell trumpets sounded and the game resumed. At first, William felt a little bunglesome running around in his clumsy gear, trying to get the feel for the game. When the ball finally came his way, William positioned himself to hit it, but two Kinichna players rushed in at the same moment and rammed their shoulders into his chest, knocking him to the ground, as they intercepted the ball. Kinichna bumped it to their side, and they scored again. The fifth torch lit up at the southern end of the ballcourt.
Play resumed. Dzibanche maneuvered the ball to their scoring side, and William bumped it with his shoulder, barely missing the goal. Luckily, a teammate was there for the rebound, hitting the ball with his knee against the edge of their scoring ring. The spectators rejoiced with their team’s third score; another torch burned at the Dzibanche end of the court.
As play continued, William got the feel for the game. With his size and strength, he helped his team maintain possession of the ball near their goal, and they scored again. The crowd went crazy for the comeback.
Trumpets and three drum beats signaled the next resting period. William’s team marched to the northern end of the ballcourt. A standing ovation from the royal assembly cheered them on their way out.
Honac-Fey handed drinks to the players as they exited the court. William let his teammates get their cups first, for they had been playing longer and he figured they needed it more. Based on how fast they guzzled down their drinks, he was right.
When Honac-Fey handed William a cup, a strange look crossed his face; he seemed angry with him. William wondered if the man was still upset for not being awarded the bloodstone earlier that day. Even the little white owl gave him an irritated ‘hoot’ from his shoulder.
William moved a few steps away and put the cup to his lips. He was about to drink it, when Betty’s screeching voice distracted him.
“William, no!” she hollered.
William lowered the cup and saw Betty coming at him like a flash of lightning. She slapped the cup from his hands, spilling its contents onto the ground. Honac-Fey glared at her.
“What the hell are you doing?” William asked. “Where have you been?”
“Something’s going on here.” She pointed at Honac-Fey, as he filled another cup. “That guy there… he’s involved.”
“Well, yeah. He’s coordinating the game,” William said with annoyance, strapping his helmet back on.
“William, listen!” Betty said, pulling him to the side. “I went swimming at that cenote down the road, and I found them there… the Kinichna ball players… all dead… off the side of the road!”
William glanced over to the ballcourt with a confused look. “You mean
Honac-Fey brought another cup to William, urging him to take it. He reached for it, but Betty whacked it from his hands again.
“What is your problem, Betty?” William asked, getting annoyed. The seashell trumpets sounded the end of the resting period. “We’re playing a game here, if you haven’t noticed.”
As William rushed back to the court, he could still hear Betty hollering nonsense behind him. “It’s not them!” she said. “They took their uniforms. He put something in the drinks!”
When William glanced back, he saw Betty run off behind the eastern wall of the ballcourt. He ignored her, figuring he’d find out what she was freaking out about later, and he returned his focus to the ball game.
Priest Quisac jumped up, noticing the commotion. After Bati ran off, he watched Honac-Fey motioning to the Kinichna Governor, who then spoke to a warrior at his side. The warrior pulled a dagger from his belt just before he went out of view behind the eastern wall.
The Serpent Priest slipped away from his place near the others, unnoticed. While moving along the stone walkway behind the spectators, he retrieved a short atlatl-his weapon of choice-that he always carried with him; attached to his belt. As he hurried forward, he grabbed an obsidian dart from a satchel at his side, and slipped it into the groove of his atlatl.
When he reached the steps leading out of the stadium, he spotted the warrior at the base of the stairway, holding Bati by her neck; her strangled cries went unheard from the noise of the crowd. The warrior slammed her head against the stone wall, and he lifted his dagger.
Priest Quisac forced a mental image into the warrior’s mind, of Bati’s arms transforming into serpents. Startled, the warrior took a step back. Priest Quisac snapped his atlatl-like he was cracking a whip-and a dart whizzed through the air, impaling the man through his ribs, just under his raised arm. The warrior dropped the dagger. He fell onto his side with a heavy thump.
Bati had a surprised and dazed expression locked on her face. She lost her balance and fell to her knees. Priest Quisac helped her up, supporting her as they returned to the stadium together.
As the ball game continued, William noticed that his teammates reacted much slower, without the intensity that previously enabled them to score. William’s lazy teammates didn’t even have the strength to return the ball with enough force to keep it away from their opponent’s side. Eventually, one of the Kinichna players headed the ball and scored again.
Only one unlit torch remained at the southern end of the ballcourt. One more score for Kinichna would finish the game. When William had first started playing he didn’t care about winning. He just wanted it to be over so he could go back to his room and rest. Now with his competitive spirit in full gear, he really wanted to win. Unfortunately, his teammates weren’t helping his cause, moving the ball with the carelessness of a team of drunks. One of his teammates headed the ball high in the air and then suddenly collapsed. William chased after the ball; it bounced off the plaster floor and went high over his head.
As the ball ascended, William noticed all his teammates staggering and falling over, one after the other. He took a quick glance at the scoring ring, ten yards away, and readied himself. As the ball dropped, he smacked it as hard as he could with his knee. A hush overcame the arena as the spectators followed the ball’s path, watching it arc through the sky-seemingly in slow motion-before miraculously gliding through the very center of the scoring ring.
The crowd erupted with cheers. Trumpets blasted, and drums beat with the passion of a drum solo at a rock concert. The remaining torches were lit on the northern side, signifying Dzibanche’s victory.
Amidst the hoopla, a bizarre scene unfolded on the ballcourt, and the cheers faded with the suddenness of
