realized that a human hand held her ankle, and pulled away in horror, close to vomiting from the fear. Biting back tears, she edged her way closer to the door, away from her companion.
“Who are you?” What are you? “Where are we?”
“We’re underground, in a building they call Chicanna.”
Chicanna. The Serpent House. Surely this was a nightmare, brought on by too much of Catherwood’s journal, too much stress, fear for Jack. She must have fainted and hit her head. Any moment, Tyre would wake her up and hold her.
“Who are you? ” the man demanded. “How did they get you? Are there others?”
A sudden fear of giving Tyre and SinJin away stopped Troya from speaking. Had they really been captured? Why?
“Look, we may not have much time. Right now I’m all you have, and that’s not much, trust me. Tell me who you are and how you got here.”
“You’re American.” A tourist?
“So are you, Boston from the sound of it.”
“Where are you from?” Troya was trying to buy time, wondering what was safe to tell the stranger she couldn’t see, the man who could be friend or foe.
“As much as I’d like to chat over a Corona with you about our backgrounds, it’s more important right now for you to get a grip and tell me who you are. We’re prisoners, and any time now may be sacrificed at the altar of Xibalba. I know that doesn’t mean shit to you, but trust me, it won’t be pretty.”
“Oh my God. Are you Jack Peders?” A wave of relief was quickly replaced by renewed fear. If it was Jack, he would certainly speak the truth. Were they both about to be murdered?
With labored breath, obviously in pain, he inched his way along the stone floor, closer to her. She squinted, pain still pounding through her brain from the blow to her head, trying to make out his image in the darkness. All she saw was the outline of a man, propped on his side, with something around his waist.
“Yes,” he blew out finally. “I’m Jack Peders.”
“I’m Troya Twamley.”
“Oh God. Tyre brought you here. For the journal. The fucking journal.”
“Tell me what’s going on. Surely this Chicanna House isn’t real? Have you been here all this time? What happened to you? We’ve looked everywhere for you. SinJin and…”
“Quiet. Whisper softly. The longer they think you’re out, the more time we have. Now, tell me, who else were you with?”
“Tyre and SinJin.”
Jack groaned. Troya held still, then heard Jack’s low sobbing. “I prayed for them to come. Then I prayed for them to never come. If they get hurt because they came for me… Tam and the baby. Oh God.”
Troya edged closer to Jack, heart breaking for him. Of course, he’d been trapped, alone for all these days, mind tortured with fear, even possibly literally tortured. She reached out and found his shoulder, edged closer and pulled him into her arms. He wept as she brushed away his tears.
“I’m sorry. Behavior unbecoming an explorer. Sorry.”
“My God, don’t apologize. I’m so sorry we couldn’t find you sooner. Who are these people?”
“Lunatics. Dangerous lunatics. Black marketers, engaged in every other illegal activity as well, at least as far as I can tell. Sometimes they speak in Mayan, and I get a little lost.”
“Why would they capture us?”
“Because we stumbled into the underworld.”
“Stop with the riddles. You sound like Catherwood.”
“I should. I’ve encountered everything he did. We’re in an underground sanctuary, dedicated to the Lords of the Underworld, of Xibalba. It’s a rabbit warren of rooms and hallways. From what I can get out of their conversations, these tunnels go out to the Sac Be, the path that connects all Mayan Post-Classic sites. Several of the sites have tunnels that haven’t even been discovered above ground. They’ve worked for years to keep them clear of debris, and keep the antiquities flowing. It’s a fucking gold mine.”
“They must be ancient tunnels, of course. Perhaps
“Who are you?” What are you? “Where are we?”
“We’re underground, in a building they call Chicanna.”
Chicanna. The Serpent House. Surely this was a nightmare, brought on by too much of Catherwood’s journal, too much stress, fear for Jack. She must have fainted and hit her head. Any moment, Tyre would wake her up and hold her.
“Who are you? ” the man demanded. “How did they get you? Are there others?”
A sudden fear of giving Tyre and SinJin away stopped Troya from speaking. Had they really been captured? Why?
“Look, we may not have much time. Right now I’m all you have, and that’s not much, trust me. Tell me who you are and how you got here.”
“You’re American.” A tourist?
“So are you, Boston from the sound of it.”
“Where are you from?” Troya was trying to buy time, wondering what was safe to tell the stranger she couldn’t see, the man who could be friend or foe.
“As much as I’d like to chat over a Corona with you about our backgrounds, it’s more important right now for you to get a grip and tell me who you are. We’re prisoners, and any time now may be sacrificed at the altar of Xibalba. I know that doesn’t mean shit to you, but trust me, it won’t be pretty.”
“Oh my God. Are you Jack Peders?” A wave of relief was quickly replaced by renewed fear. If it was Jack, he would certainly speak the truth. Were they both about to be murdered?
With labored breath, obviously in pain, he inched his way along the stone floor, closer to her. She squinted, pain still pounding through her brain from the blow to her head, trying to make out his image in the darkness. All she saw was the outline of a man, propped on his side, with something around his waist.
“Yes,” he blew out finally. “I’m Jack Peders.”
“I’m Troya Twamley.”
“Oh God. Tyre brought you here. For the journal. The fucking journal.”
“Tell me what’s going on. Surely this Chicanna House isn’t real? Have you been here all this time? What happened to you? We’ve looked everywhere for you. SinJin and…”
“Quiet. Whisper softly. The longer they think you’re out, the more time we have. Now, tell me, who else were you with?”
“Tyre and SinJin.”
Jack groaned. Troya held still, then heard Jack’s low sobbing. “I prayed for them to come. Then I prayed for them to never come. If they get hurt because they came for me… Tam and the baby. Oh God.”
Troya edged closer to Jack, heart breaking for him. Of course, he’d been trapped, alone for all these days, mind tortured with fear, even possibly literally tortured. She reached out and found his shoulder, edged closer and pulled him into her arms. He wept as she brushed away his tears.
“I’m sorry. Behavior unbecoming an explorer. Sorry.”
“My God, don’t apologize. I’m so sorry we couldn’t find you sooner. Who are these people?”
“Lunatics. Dangerous lunatics. Black marketers, engaged in every other illegal activity as well, at least as far as I can tell. Sometimes they speak in Mayan, and I get a little lost.”
“Why would they capture us?”
“Because we stumbled into the underworld.”
“Stop with the riddles. You sound like Catherwood.”
“I should. I’ve encountered everything he did. We’re in an underground sanctuary, dedicated to the Lords of the Underworld, of Xibalba. It’s a rabbit warren of rooms and hallways. From what I can get out of their conversations, these tunnels go out to the Sac Be, the path that connects all Mayan Post-Classic sites. Several of the sites have tunnels that haven’t even been discovered above ground. They’ve worked for years to keep them clear of debris, and keep the antiquities flowing. It’s a fucking gold mine.”
“They must be ancient tunnels, of course. Perhaps
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