After a night and a day of swimming, the great sea mammal drew close to another shore. Where the eastern boundary had been backed by countless miles of dry desert, however, this beach appeared as a tiny strip of sand bordered by a verdant growth of jungle foliage.
Here again Gultec took to wing, shifting in midleap from the dolphin’s body back to that of the bright parrot- Like a green missile, he shot into the sky, quickly gaining height. He soared over the tops of the highest trees, still climbing. He knew that Tulom-Itzi lay near.
Then an irregularity in the tropical growth caught the parrot’s keen eye. Concerned, Gultec veered to the north, diving slightly to gain speed and a closer view. An inexplicable sense of urgency-an urgency that approached terror-compelled him forward.
The stench of rot reached him first-not a sweet, lingering odor such as always characterizes the jungle, but a thick, cloying wave of nausea that signified a horrifying extent of destruction and decay.
Soon he soared along a wide swath of death, a wasteland as devastated as the barren reaches of the House of Tezca. This waste shocked him, however, for very recently it had been lush. Like the body of a repugnant serpent, the pathway twisted through the jungles of Far Payit. Brown, naked tree trunks lay on the ground in a twisted jumble. Pools of muddy water lay spattered across the dead earth, breeding grounds only for the flies that feasted upon death.
Shock, anger, and finally rage propelled the bird’s flight as Gultec tried to absorb the spectacle below him. He couldn’t guess as to its nature, but he knew that he saw below him the reason for Zochilmaloc’s summons.
The swath twisted inland, away from Tulom-Itzi, and so Gultec dove to the south. For the first time, he wondered if he might be too late. His heart lightened only slightly as he saw that the forests leading to that hidden city seemed unscathed. Finally he saw the great stone dome rising before him and
the bright, squared pyramids of the city’s heart. His relief choked him as he tucked his wings and entered a long dive, J feeling at last as though he had come back to his true home.
The great stone figure of Zaltec stood motionless in the center of the massive temple. The dust had settled in a film across the floor. Nothing moved within the cavernous chamber.
If emotions could have played across the vast, stony surface of the war god’s face, cruel triumph would have glare there, an ultimate explosion of hatefulness. But, instead, the; granite visage remained impassive, as cold as ever.
Now Zaltec turned to face each of the four directions. Toward each, he knew, lay his domains. He had vanquished the only one who could challenge him. Now let the ultimate reign of Zaltec begin!
But where should the center of his power be? This the] bloody god pondered long and hard while the sun passed] beneath the world and rose again into the morning sky.
Tewahca sprawled around him, and his immortal memory recalled the place in all its splendor, with water and food and humans who worshiped him. But now, in its barren vistas, it was an old place, fit to be abandoned by men. How, then, should a god expect to make a home here?
Instead, Zaltec gradually turned back to the north, where lay the moist valley of Nexal, surmounted by its looming volcanoes. Nexal, where the beasts of the Viperhand dwelled; the ruined city, still guardian of buried riches, the seat of an empire that may yet rise again.
When full day blazed around him, Zaltec stepped from the temple and the pyramid, dropping easily to the dusty ground. When his footsteps again shook the earth, they re-1 sounded in the north, along the path to Nexal.
Halloran and Jhatli emerged from the mouth of the cave first, while the others waited for their report. The youth
veered to the right, readying an arrow and watching his companion while Halloran moved carefully forward.
After taking a few steps, Jhatli turned to look back at Halloran, a scowl on the youth’s face. “Why is it we always run away?” he asked, his voice challenging. “Why do we never stop to fight?”
“You’ll get your chance to fight, I’m sure,” Hal retorted, looking around them at steeply sloping rock walls that rose on either side. The floor of a ravine created a narrow, twisting pathway immediately below them. “Believe it or not, there’ll be a time when you won’t look forward so eagerly to your next fight”
“Never!” boasted Jhatli, but Halloran ignored him.
“It’s a dry ravine,” the man called into the eave after completing his inspection. “It must be in the base of one of the ridges that surround Tewahca.”
Slowly the others came forth, while Jhatli climbed the slope to see if he could get their bearings. The underground passage had led them to a stone archway in the side of a steep slope. Directly across from their exit, another slope climbed upward, lb the left and right, the narrow bottom of a ravine snaked away, slowly climbing to the right and descending to the left.
Coton and Lotil sat upon a rock and breathed the sweet air of the desert dawn, while Daggrande led the black mare to some nearby fiat ground at the base of the ravine. The blind featherworker breathed the fresh air with obvious relish. From somewhere beneath his cloak, he pulled out a sheet of fine cotton mesh and a small bag. Removing a bright blue tuft of plumage from the sack, he began to work it into the mesh.
Erixitl emerged last, with a lingering look into the darkened passage. She went to her husband, and he took her in his arms. For long minutes, they all remained still, resting quietly and remembering the sights of the long and terrifying night.
“Your quiver!” exclaimed Halloran suddenly, looking at Daggrande. “By Helm! Where did these come from?” The dwarf
looked in amazement at several dozen straight quarrels sturdy missiles lipped with heads of dark black stone. All of them remembered their despair when, the previous day he had expended his last boll at the pursuing trolls.
“During our walk through the paths of the dead,” said Erixitl, softly, “the spirits have bestowed gifts upon us.” “In exchange for your token,” said Halloran quietly “And the trolls didn’t come after us.” Daggrande added this important point.
They heard a clatter of stones, and Halloran instinctively reached for his sword, but soon Jhatli slid into view, rapidly descending the steep slope of the gully
“I saw Tewahca!” he cried. “That way, to the south! And look! I’ve got a fresh supply of arrows!” Jhatli pulled forth a slender shaft, narrower than Daggrande’s, with a thin sliver of a head. His own quiver held several dozen of the weapons. The keen tips, like the dwarf’s, were formed from shiny black stone, thinner and sharper than obsidian.
For several moments, they absorbed the news, none of them venturing a suggestion to move. Finally Halloran felt the need to lake some action, at least to plan.
“Where do we go from here?” he asked. “Back to the Nexalans?”
Erixitl gently pulled away from him and walked a few feet along the floor of the ravine. She turned to face the group and sighed slowly before speaking.
“Zaltec has barred Qotal’s entry here. My cloak, which opened the path, is lost. There is no hope of Qotal returning to the True World through this portal.”
“Indeed,” agreed Lotil as Coton nodded silently.
“We cannot give up!” Jhatli barked. He brandished his bow, one of the new arrows nocked. “If not here, then somewhere else!”
“Precisely!” Erix agreed. “When the god spoke to us, he said that this was one of but two places in the world where he could seek to return.”
“Great. He didn’t tell us where the other one is, as I recall,” interjected Daggrande.
“He didn’t have to. I know where it is,” Erixitl replied Only
Colon’s face brightened at her words, though none of the others noticed the cleric’s delight. “Where would he come, if not to the city of the gods?” asked Jhatli.
“To the place that was built in anticipation of his return, the place from which he left Maztica so many lifetimes ago!” “Twin Visages!” exclaimed Halloran, suddenly understanding. He well remembered the two huge faces carved in the coastal cliffs of Payit. It had been the first landfall of the Golden Legion along the shores of Maztica, and even at the time, it had seemed a place of great sacred tradition.