Path of the Jaguar (8 page)

Joseph continued digging while Lennea polished the jar carefully. Reluctantly she wrapped the tiny precious item in cloth and went back to the other side of the wall near the uncleared tangles of undergrowth. Excitement gave her new energy.

Lennea stuck the blade gently into the earth again, when suddenly something shiny caught her eye. She gave a little cry of surprise. Lying half-concealed by vines were tiny circles of red and yellow, gleaming like wet strands of perfectly polished beads!

Not beads, not a necklace, a snake! Lennea gave another cry. Instantly Joseph grasped the head, shook the body straight, and hurled it to the ground. The heel of his boot crushed down on the head, once, then twice. Lennea stared in hypnotic terror at the thin, writhing body.

Joseph drew her away. She buried her face against his chest, feeling thick, matted hair against her check. His arms tightened. "You're all right," he said.

She clung to him dizzily, shaken. "Was it poisonous?"

"'Red against yellow, dangerous fellow,' so the saying goes." Arms held her protectively. With tone artificially light, he went on. "The venom from the coral snake kills within fifteen minutes."

Lennea drew weakly away from him, started to lift the tool she had dropped.

"No," Joseph laughed. "Let's call it quits for today. I want to take you through Chichen Itza before the rains start."

•

A half-hour later, they stepped into the squared-off plaza of the ancient Mayan city . Lennea gazed at the huge temples and gigantic pyramids, still feeling frightened. They joined an English-speaking guide, listening to him explain to the tourists, "Chichen Itza, loosely translated, means 'Mouth of the Well of the People,' This city was once a great religious center because of the Sacred Well nearby, which the Mayas believed to be the home of the rain god, Chac."

"Who were the Itza?" asked a woman in a wide-brimmed hat.

"It is believed they were a branch of the Toltecs who came from Central Mexico. The Itza conquered the Mayan city around 978 AD, and for over two hundred years they ruled. Here in Chichen Itza you see the merging of the two cultures—the Maya and the Itza."

"When was Chichen Itza first excavated?" Lennea whispered to Joseph.

"Not until 1924, though of course it was known about since the time of the Spanish Conquest."

They stopped to get a view of the big pyramid, El Castillo, or "the Castle." The people at the top seemed little more than insects clinging to the gray sides. Lennea, remembering what Frank had told her as they had passed by here this morning, smiled at the thought of his struggling his way up to the top, laboriously counting every step as Goldie urged him on.

"You know, Lennea, that the corner stones of El Castillo are positioned so that the sunlight causes the shadow of a winding serpent to appear at the time of the equinox."

"This must be my day for snakes," Lennea replied rather grimly, and was rewarded by Joseph's warm smile. "I guess I didn't thank you for saving my life."

"My pleasure. You must see the shadow of the serpent. It's awe-inspiring. The same effect is produced by artificial lighting. Every so often, there is a Sound and Light Show for the tourists. And then you can see the serpent winding its way down the steps of the pyramid."

Lennea shivered slightly as she thought about the coral snake they had left behind, its head crushed against the rocks. "Right now, I can think of more pleasant sights."

They split off from the tour group to explore on their own the Temple of the Jaguars, the Temple of the Warriors. Joseph was doing a thorough job of showing her around. In Lennea's many daydreams, it had always been Wesley showing her these things for the first time, Wesley alerting her to small details she herself would surely miss.

The ruins were impressive. But frightening, too, even a little repelling with those open-mouthed snakes and snarling jaguars. A stone likeness of Chac, with his peculiar ringed eyes and protruding fangs stared down at them from a nearby wall.

At the top of the Temple of the Warriors, was a huge, reclining figure of a man. The statue assumed a rather grotesque position, with raised head and knees. Upon his stomach, a shallow basin rested.

"You know what the Chac-mool was for," Joseph said.

"Offerings to the rain god, Chac."

Joseph's black gaze was steady as it met hers. "Imagine what this stone idol has held. Treasures of gold and jade, even human hearts." Lennea shivered and turned away.

Tired from the climb and the sultry heat, they rested a while upon the steps of the temple. "There's so much you haven't seen, the ball court, the Observatory."

"I guess it would be impossible to see it all in one day," Lennea replied. "And now it looks like the rain is coming."

Lennea gazed out at the ancient city, at temple walls as gray as the thick rain clouds gathering overhead. Her thoughts wandered, as usual, back to Wesley. "You know, Dr. Hern believes that the Mayas were wiped out by some catastrophe—an earthquake, crop failure, an epidemic of some kind. He believes we'll uncover new evidence at Tikom to support the theory in his new book."

"I know all about Wrought in Stone. What I don't understand is how he can renounce all the ideas the Herns have tried for decades to make accepted. And to refute the life work of his own father."

"It takes great courage, doesn't it? It must be very hard for him to do. His father's still living, you know."

"I correspond with him from time to time." Joseph's profile was roughly hewn, craggy against the rainy sky. "In my opinion Wesley Hern could learn a good deal from his father."

Automatically, Lennea reacted to this criticism. "What do you think happened to the Mayas?"

"I believe the prophecy from the Chilam Balam, one of the few Maya texts that survived the Spanish Conquest. Softly, he began to chant:

"Why, it's beautiful. But surely you don't go along with Wesley's father's theory, that the Mayas were totally driven from their cities by foreign invaders!"

"What happened to the Mayas was as inevitable as the fall of Rome. An elite society of priests, a mass of ignorant peasants. Internal rebellion followed by a period of decadence left them weakened, easy prey."

The sky was beginning to darken, making the snake and jaguar heads take on a sinister cast as Joseph and Lennea climbed down the huge platform. Before they reached the bottom, the rain broke. Shielding herself against the sudden pelting of rain, Lennea began to follow the stream of tourists heading for shelter, when Joseph caught her hand.

"You haven't seen the Sacred Well yet."

"But it's raining—" she protested.

"Tropical storms never last long. Besides," he pointed out, "We're already wet." He urged her forward, ahead of him down a long path thick on either side with damp, wet foliage. "The same road the ancients traveled to visit the Sacred Cenote," he said as they walked together through the rain. Large trees sheltered the path in places, so only a scattering of raindrops reached them, warm and sprinkling, not cold and chilling like the rainstorms back home.

A few tourists ran past them toward the gate. "I still think we're going in the wrong direction," Lennea smiled.

They approached a great drop-off with steep walls of limestone. She stepped ahead of Joseph to see the water below, a deep, olive green, which the pelting raindrops turned to shining emerald. The great height of the walls made her a little dizzy, and she thought of the Indians being sacrificed to the gods.

"The Mayas always sacrificed their most beautiful women to the rain god."

She turned to gaze into his eyes. What she saw in them made her breath swift and uneven. His dark eyes strayed to the rain-soaked blouse that clung to her like a second skin. "You would make any rain god happy."

"I'm not going to jump in," she laughed.

"I didn't suggest that." She could sense his moving, his drawing steadily closer. "I'd much rather you sacrificed yourself to me!" Before she could move away, Joseph's strong arms encircled her. With the warmth of his mouth against hers, they swayed dangerously close to the edge of the Sacred Well.

* * * * *

Chapter Seven

Joseph's lips were gentle like the rain. Her spirit caught in some dream-world, Lennea returned his kiss. For a moment, she rested against the warm lines of his body, feeling a strange sense of peace. The mist-like jungle that surrounded them faded into a soft carpet of green. For a brief space in time she clung to him, drinking in the taste of his mouth, thrilling to the touch of his strong, gentle hands which rested upon the curve of her back.

"Lennea," she heard him whisper under his breath. With a moan, he pressed her damp body closer to him until she could barely breathe. The kiss, which had started out so soft, so undemanding, had become heated and possessive. The hard, searching lips upon hers were probing, demanding a deeper response. Warning signals shot up and down her spine as his hands moved upwards, with a caressing motion, toward her breast. Lennea's entire body stiffened as she came slowly to her senses. A vision of Wesley flashed through her mind. What on earth was she doing?

Sensations of pleasure now battled with sheer panic. Shocked at her own feelings of need and desire, she struggled to remove herself from the source of danger. Joseph, sensing her withdrawal, let her go. He watched her now, eyes dark and heavy-lidded as if he, too, were slowly emerging from some sweet dream, abruptly ended.

Lips still burning from his kisses, she stood watching him. Inside, she sensed a dark fire smoldered, but his voice was filled with compassion. "Lennea, what's wrong?"

Lennea straightened up and did not look away from him. She believed that Joseph was sincere in his attraction for her. She must be just as honest in her response. "I'm in love with someone else."

Lennea half-expected him to answer sharply, with anger, or at least with agitation. The strange, almost mirthful light in his eyes both surprised and annoyed her. "A woman in love is fascinating," he said. Lazily, almost mockingly, his gaze roved over her, coming to rest upon her lips, still moist and slightly swollen from his kisses. "That's probably why I'm so drawn to you."

Lennea looked away from him. He was an enigma to her, disturbing in every way. Had he actually felt what she had imagined him to feel or was this just some game he often played? "Thank you for the tour," She spoke coldly. "But I have to go."

"Why are you going into Merida?" Joseph demanded, following after her as she started down the path. His voice was slightly mocking, as if tinged with jealousy. "An errand for the professor?"

"It has nothing to do with him!" Lennea felt the blood rush to her head. So, she thought, she hadn't kept her love for Wesley concealed from him. Everyone, including Wesley himself, must know exactly how she felt.

Joseph's tight grip on her arm stopped her. She looked to where he gestured off the path toward an unrestored ruin. A stele, the stone image of a Maya priest, deep and ornately chiseled, lay crumbled and broken. A tangle of undergrowth kept it tightly imprisoned.

"Wait!" When she didn't, Joseph moved swiftly until he was once again by her side. "I'm sorry. I only wanted to warn you." He seemed so earnest, so compelling. Lennea slowed her pace, allowing him to catch up until they were once again walking together.

The worst of the rain was passing. The broad-leafed trees surrounding them now dripped moisture and dampness hung thick in the air. Her clothes and hair were soaked but the feeling was not unpleasant. They walked side by side in silence until the silence, too, became companionable.

"You are still missing something in your approach to the Mayas," he spoke at last.

"Another warning?" Joseph's remark, though not flattering, this time did not offend her. Curiosity made her ask, "Just what is it that you think I'm missing?"

Lennea watched his steps slow, keeping perfect pace with her own. He spoke only one word, "Appreciation."

"You're right," she admitted readily. "The ruins are unique, fascinating. But I find them sinister—almost repelling."

"That's because you have no feeling for the Maya culture."

"So how do I acquire an appreciation I don't really feel?"

"Maybe I can help you. He stood for a moment, deep in thought. "Can you visualize your favorite work of art?" She nodded.

"What did you see?"

"A painting, a beautiful painting," Lennea replied.

"An object of beauty. True art worships beauty—do you agree?" The idea crossed her mind that he would have made a wonderful teacher. It seemed so important to him that she understand. "In fact, one could almost say that art is a form of worship in itself."