The Labyrinth Key Read online

  Tom laughed but didn’t sound convinced. “That’s a relief.”

  Sam leaned back against the leather seat as he processed this. “So, you think the Mayans only believed that certain cenotes led to the underworld? And you’ve found a few of them? Or at least the most promising ones?” He trailed off as Armando continued to watch him put the pieces together. “Maybe I’m off on something. I assume Xibalba was one of those sacred, sacrificial ones?”

  Armando just smiled as the Jeep veered left and they headed south, out of the glare of the sun, and Sam felt the temperature cool immediately. Tom, on the right side, wiped his face again and shifted away from the window. Armando’s smile grew, slightly.

  “What do you know about the Chicxulub crater, gentlemen?”

  Sam folded his arms. “That it was one of the most important geological discoveries of the twentieth century. It changed the course of history.”

  Armando glanced at Tom, a practiced lecturer giving everyone in the class a chance to prove their mettle. Tom shrugged. “What he said.”

  Sam glanced at him in surprise. “You don't know about the Chicxulub crater?”

  Tom rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t even know how to spell it.”

  Armando laughed. “Don’t worry, Mr. Bower. Most people don’t, despite the fact that it has found a fairly prominent place in science.”

  “By all means. Enlighten me.”

  “Geologists discovered that a distinct difference in fossil assemblage noticed first in the nineteenth century actually occurred instantaneously- a record of the extinction of most of the species on Earth. Most notably the-”

  But Tom was already nodding, seeing where this was going. “The dinosaurs. Right. I got it.”

  Sam shook his head, frowning. “That’s great and established. But what does it have to do with Xibalba?”

  Armando glanced out the window. “That’s a little more complicated. Most scientists think this mass extinction was caused by the impact of a seven-mile-wide bolide.”

  “A seven mile what?” Sam asked.

  “A bolide is an extremely bright meteor, and which, when it comes to earth, creates an exceptionally large impact. The word comes from Greek, meaning “missile”.”

  “Ah.” Tom nodded. “So, we’re talking about a comet the size of a small city.”

  Armando smiled. “You do know your history. So you also know the story: the bolide hit Earth in the northern Yucatan; its impact blasted massive amounts of debris into the atmosphere. This debris cloud blocked the sun, and without the sun, plants couldn’t photosynthesize, other living things could not survive, et cetera, et cetera.” Armando spread his hands, an academic enjoying a predictable lecture’s surprise twist. “They also believe it created a two-mile-high tsunami and generated enough heat to set forests on fire.”

  Sam and Tom gaped, and Armando chuckled. “But, as impressive as those facts are, they do not concern us. What concerns us is that the Chicxulub crater is the result of this bolide – this comet’s impact.”

  Sam shook his head, unable to stop from thinking about the current state of the planet. Humans constantly underestimate the raw power of nature and how much they do not understand. “God bless global warming.”

  Tom glanced at Sam, as if concurring. “So it’s this impact that made the caves? The network of cenotes?”

  Armando shook his head. “No, but there is a link. When the comet collided with Earth, it created a fault, a fracture line, around the impact crater. It is this fracture which interrupted- and continues to interrupt- the flow of the groundwater, diverting it up and around the fault line so that the water must find its way back down. It does so by dissolving the porous limestone strata and that is what has created the system of cenotes that is of interest to us.”

  That made sense to Sam. He imagined the water trickling back through and added it to his growing repository of subterranean geographical knowledge. “That makes sense.”

  “What is of even more interest to us is that there is a second boundary fault intercepting the groundwater. Most of the geologists I have spoken to dismiss the theory, but I have spent the past ten years testing it and it is irrefutable. Whereas the first created caves and cenotes reach the surface, the activity of this fault, instead, PREVENTS the water from rising, and pushes it deeper, widening the openings and drilling them much farther underground – into hell.”

  Sam looked at Armando. “You think the ancient Mayans built Xibalba along the fault line at the end of this tunnel system?”

  “No.” Armando leveled his gaze at Sam. His voice, in the hot, dusty Jeep was low and reverent as they rumbled over the dry ground. “I think this tunnel system is Xibalba.”

  Chapter Four

  The Pyramid of the Magician

  The caravan of Jeeps sped down the road while inside, Sam tried to process everything he had just heard. It was a lot to take in. When Armando had contacted him last month, he’d known the man was smart. What he hadn’t realized was that he might be crazy. Sam scratched his ear. Yes, there were undoubtedly caves running through the water table in Mexico, and yes, there were undoubtedly interesting artifacts to be found in those caves. But the gateway to hell… the mythical land of Xibalba?

  He always thought better when staring into space, so his gaze migrated toward the window quite naturally. The slightly tinted windows of the Jeep shaded the bright sky beyond.

  There, a magnificent and unexpected sight caught his eye and for a moment he didn’t quite know what he was seeing, in the way that truly awesome edifices tend to do when one comes upon them without warning.

  “Whoa!”

  It was not the most eloquent of reactions, but it was honest. Armando glanced at him in surprise. “What is it?”

  “Exactly.” Sam pointed out the window. “What is that?”

  Beyond, set like a jewel in a ring of jungle, rose a magnificent four-layer, stepped pyramid, visible high above the treetops. The ancient, worn steps betrayed its age, moss-covered and pocked with time. From this distance it looked like it had magically appeared out of the jungle, as if it’d been here since the beginning of time.

  Armando followed his pointing finger, saw where he was looking and smiled. “Ah,” he said. “That, Mr. Reilly, is the Temple of the Magician.”

  Tom leaned far across the back of the seat to see where Sam was looking. “My god,” he said, sounding awestruck. He leaned closer and Armando gestured to the driver, who slowed. “It’s huge.”

  Sam grinned as the view of the huge structure slowed and stalled in the middle of the tinted window. As the tint on the window lessened under the shade of the sun, the structure came clear. “Not exactly subtle, is it?”

  “It’s actually even bigger than that.”

  “Bigger?!” Both Sam and Tom swung to stare at Armando, who smirked a bit. “You must be joking.”

  Armando shook his head, amused by their reactions. “The Pyramid of the Magician is actually just a piece of the ruin complex of Uxmal. You can’t see the rest of it from the road because of the trees, but there is more. Uxmal was one of the largest ancient cities in the Yucatan.”

  “Largest meaning, how many?”

  “Well, not large compared to today’s standards. But a city population of twenty-five thousand, especially in AD 600-1000, was a lot of people.”

  “What does it mean? Uxmal.”

  Tom was unclear whether or not Sam was merely trying to make a good impression on their guide or really didn’t know the meaning. Armando replied, “Uxmal means 'thrice-built' in the Mayan language. It probably refers to the number of layers in El Adivino.”

  “I thought that meant fortune teller,” Tom said.

  Sam looked at Tom in surprise. “How do you know that?”

  Tom looked sheepish, shooting a glance at their companion, not wanting to set himself in a bad light. “No reason.”

  Sam grinned. “Come on, Tom. How do you know the Spanish word for fortune teller?”

  Tom glar
ed at him and folded his arms. “I had a bad encounter in Tijuana one summer, all right? Best not to get into it. Let’s just say that that word is about all I remember.”

  If Armando found Tom’s explanation infantile, he kept it to himself. “The name comes from a Mayan legend. According to one version, a magician god named Itzamna constructed the whole pyramid in one night, using only the strength of his magic. Another tale holds that it was not a god, but a boy ‘not born of a woman’.” Armando shifted his glance between them. “Perhaps you’ve heard the tale?”

  Both Sam and Tom shook their heads. Armando gestured to the driver to pull over, allowing them to idle on the side of the road to soak in the majestic view of the temple as the tale unfolded. They were both spellbound by Armando’s delivery; the man was a born storyteller.

  “Long ago, an old crone lived here, in a hut. It was just jungle then, with a small village. She was a witch, mourning because she had no children. She wanted one, so badly. Finally, not knowing what else to do, she took one of her hen’s eggs, wrapped it in a blanket, and nestled it in the corner of her hut. She tended it daily until finally, a small creature hatched out of the precious shell. It was like nothing she’d ever seen, but it was a baby nonetheless, and she was overjoyed.

  “The woman called the creature her son and took good care of it. Within a year it was walking and talking like a man. She was very proud of him and told her son to challenge the King to a trial of strength. Her son didn't want to go, but he loved his mother and so he brought his challenge to the king. When the guards presented him to the king, the king ordered the half-sized man to lift a stone that weighed a hundred pounds.”

  Sam grinned. “Probably as much as the half-sized man weighed?”

  “That’s what he thought. He returned home to his mother, crying, whereupon the witch told him to tell the King that he would lift the stone, but only if the king would lift it first. He must have proof that it is not an enchanted stone. So the dwarf returned and told the King what his mother had said. The king was amused and, being quite a strong man, proceeded to lift the stone easily. The dwarf then did the same. The king was nervous… and tested him with other feats of strength. Each time the king performed first and the dwarf matched it.

  “The king, furious that he was being beaten, told the dwarf that he must build a house higher than any in the city or he would be put to death. The dwarf begged his mother for help – he was a little irked at her, as she was the one who had gotten him into this situation, but she told him to simply go to bed, to trust her, and to not lose hope. The dwarf did so and upon waking the next morning, found this pyramid,” he gestured to the window, “the Pyramid of the Dwarf, completely finished and taller than anything else in the city. AKA, the Pyramid of the Magician, and Casa el Adivino.”

  Sam asked, “What happened when the king saw it?”

  “Well. When the king saw the building, he summoned the dwarf, intent on putting an end to this upstart once and for all. The dwarf must now collect two whole bundles of Cogoil wood – very strong, very heavy – for the king to break over his head. If the dwarf survived this torment, he could have his turn to break the wood over the king’s head.”

  Tom said, “Good for him. King sounds like a real…”

  Sam nudged him and Tom shut up.

  “Certain he was not going to survive, so certain, in fact, that he was going to be flattened like a pancake- the dwarf ran to his mother, who again told him not to worry and gave him a magic tortilla to put on his head for protection.”

  He spread his hands and continued his tale with the practiced cadence of a man for whom storytelling had been bred into since birth. “The trial was held in front of the entire city, most of whom were enchanted by this plucky dwarf and eager to see the results of the confrontation.”

  Sam smiled. He had an interest in stories with heroes who beat the odds. “What happened?”

  “Of course, the King broke one whole bundle over the dwarf’s head, with great flair, but it failed to injure the smaller man.”

  “Of course it didn’t.”

  “The King knew he was in trouble. He longed to bow out, but he could not lose face in front of his subjects. So what else could he do? He told the dwarf he could have his turn.”

  Sam stared at the Temple of the Magician outside the window. Even though the story was just a legend, it was easy enough to believe these events had in fact taken place inside it. He could almost hear the roar of the crowd.

  Sam leaned forward, amused. “Well? Don’t keep us in suspense!”

  Armando laughed. “The dwarf beckoned the king to kneel so he could reach, which was humiliating enough. The first crack of the stick across his head made the king see stars; the second split his skull. The people cheered, and the dwarf was hailed as the new king.”

  Sam laughed, satisfied with the tale. He suppressed a smile, his eyes meeting Armando with genuine curiosity. “Was he a good one?”

  Armando shrugged. “Legend says he was the best.”

  For a moment they sat in silence, and Sam wondered exactly why Armando had told them the story, amusing as it was. There had to be more than a history lesson in there. Was it possible that they, Sam and Tom, were going to be going up against an equally, seemingly-impossible foe for which they would have to rely on wits- not cleverness? It certainly seemed possible. The Mayans were portrayed as being brutal warriors, but people always forgot just how advanced- and intelligent- their civilization actually was.

  Armando redirected their gaze to the imposing structure. “All of the reports I’ve found in my research indicate that Xibalba is meant to be beneath a great temple – with the temple sending people to heaven, while the cave system beneath, sent them to the underworld of hell.”

  Sam stared at the massive temple, imagining what might lurk in the depths beneath. The spell of the story still filled his thoughts, and the growl of the idling car created a thrumming background that made legends seem entirely possible. “The entrance to Xibalba is in there?” he asked. “Underneath the Temple of the Magician?”

  Armando glanced at the driver and the car sputtered as the driver hit the gas and began to move again. The historian settled back into his seat and straightened his pants as outside, the temple receded from view. “No, Mr. Reilly,” he chided gently. “What would make you think that? The entrance to Xibalba is on a nearby farm.”

  Chapter Five

  The farm was lush and green, full of bougainvillea and oleander rioting in colorful splotches among yucca and jacaranda trees. The caravan of Jeeps swung into a long drive, passing pools and fountains. Whoever lives here is loaded, Sam thought.

  Armando read his thoughts. “This was the house of a local magistrate,” he said. “Rather a brutish man, and not too smart. He’d had no idea he was sitting on something so valuable.”

  Sam laughed. “And I’m sure you don’t plan on telling him. He must have asked some questions, though. Why does he think you’re here?”

  Armando shrugged. “I never told him. What I did was get a friend of mine on the board of the Yucatan Department of Urban Development to unearth an inconsequential item of arcane historical importance attached to this site.” He grinned. “I don’t even know what it was, and I probably couldn’t remember it even if I did. It took some persuasion, but he eventually sold the land for a song.” Armando shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, “Everyone walked away happy. His large ego was sated by some vague promise of something or other. I promise you both, he slept like a baby that night; no doubt, visions of the family name dancing beneath bright, glitzy lights rotating in grand fashion, blasting the face of an inscribed memorial stone out front, forever memorializing his sacrifice in preserving our country’s historic past.”

  Sam’s brows rose as they traveled over the lush paradise and a massive house emerged from the greenery. In the distance, he saw mango groves march over hills, like soldiers in the sun. “You own all this?”

  Armando shrugged modestly. “Well
. Now I do. It will take years of excavation, you see. I didn’t want to deal with bureaucracy at every turn.” He glanced at their faces and raised his own brows. “You must agree it was the simplest solution for all involved, no?”

  Tom shot Sam an unreadable look. “Right.”

  As the locals unloaded the gear necessary for the dive and prepared to carry it through the jungle, Sam sat on the patio with Tom and Armando. Even from several yards away Sam could hear the workers shouting at each other in an unintelligible Spanish dialect while they unloaded the diving gear from the Jeeps. Piles of equipment had been plopped on the dusty ground and now rested hazily under their own unhurried, settling dust cloud. Sam couldn’t help but feel a pinch of gratitude at the shade offered by the patio’s broad portico overhead as he observed the laborers toil; muscles ripped and dripping with sweat, ferrying load after load of equipment from point A to point B, all beneath the Yucatan’s relentless blaze. And, Sam thought, in second-hand tank shirts, no less. He couldn’t help but shake his head in admiration.

  While Tom and Armando discussed the transportation of the heavy equipment and who would carry the heaviest equipment, Sam held his glass of horchata and stared into the foreboding tree line of the jungle, thinking about the trip ahead. The memories of the last jungle he had been in superimposed themselves over this scene and he swore he could feel the wind rushing through his hair as he parachuted from that ancient plane, the bullets whizzing by inches from his face...

  “Did you hear that? Sam?”

  Sam snapped out of his trance. He knew that voice. He turned to Tom. “What?”

  Tom sighed with the patience one would expect from a parent explaining the same thing over and over to a curious child. “Armando was explaining that we will have to make the dive one at a time.” His gaze revealed nothing and for a moment Sam wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Without partners.”

  Sam cringed at such a thought. Diving alone? That would be absolute suicide. In any normal SCUBA dive, it was critical to have a diving partner. Without one, you could go down and get stuck in seaweed or have an equipment malfunction, and with no help you’d stay down there forever, a skeleton amongst the foliage. Not only had Sam heard horror stories of cocky and careless divers drowning as their tanks detached or they got stuck in a tight squeeze, he also had stories from his own personal experience. He and Tom had gone on countless SCUBA dives, both together and with other partners. There had been more than enough instances in which neither of them would have come out alive if they had gone in alone, and even considering going in alone chilled Sam to the bone.