He missed the rain. He missed the droplets cascading against his face. He missed the pattering noises as they struck the ground. But most of all, he missed the comforting presence of Chaac.
Roman Catholicism and Maya traditions had been blended into a peculiar mix over the years. After invading Central America, the Spaniards had tried to replace the Maya gods with saints. But while the people had embraced the new faith, they'd secretly held onto their old gods as well.
The result was that when the rain didn't fall, Mayas prayed to Saint Thomas for help. If he didn't answer, they turned to Chaac, asking him to strike the clouds with his lightning axe. They saw nothing wrong with this. In their view, Saint Thomas and Chaac were one and the same.
But Tum felt differently. Unlike his fellow Mayas, he didn't believe in Saint Thomas. And he doubted Chaac liked being compared to a false idol.
Tum sniffed. His nose, which had an uncanny ability to detect moisture in the air, came up dry. Frustrated, he turned back to the dig site. A small camera, which dangled from a string wrapped around his neck, swung with him.
He'd nearly forgotten about the camera. Pacho had asked him to hold it several hours earlier.
He lifted it to his face and pushed a few buttons. An image of the shaft appeared on the screen. It was one of many Pacho had taken while being lowered on a rope to check out the flood damage.
Slowly, Tum flipped through the images, going backward in time. His Maya ancestors had understood time. They'd known it wasn't linear or exact. It was cyclical and messy. Knowing the processes of atoms was far less important than being able to identify one's place in nature's vast array of cycles.
Those cycles had played an important role in the Long Count Calendar developed by his distant ancestors. The Mayas had used five separate numbers to describe each day. The largest number was a b'ak'tun, which was equivalent to one hundred and forty-four thousand days, or roughly four hundred years. A natural cycle of time consisted of thirteen b'ak'tuns.
Compared to the Gregorian calendar, the Long Count calendar started on August 11, 3114 BC. Three full cycles had passed since that point. Each cycle represented a world of creation. In the first world, humanity had been made of mud. Wood was next and then maize. Presently, mankind was living in the fourth world of creation.
And that was the problem.
The thirteenth b'ak'tun had been completed on December 21, 2012. The fourth world of creation should've ended at that point. The fifth world should've begun. However, the date had come and gone and the fourth world had continued without change.
But why?
Tum scanned more images, going further back in time. He saw deeper into the shaft. Saw the floodwaters recede. Saw hieroglyphics and other markings became visible on the walls.
He stopped on an image. It was taken from the bottom of the shaft and showed a view of the tunnel leading to the chamber. His heart sped up as he stared at the tiny symbols carved above the tunnel.
He wasn't fluent in Maya hieroglyphics. But he could read numbers. The symbols showed a Long Count date of 10.0.0.0.0. It corresponded to March 13, 830 AD and more importantly, represented the completion of ten full b'ak'tuns.
But it was the next line of symbols that really caught his attention. It displayed a Long Count date of 13.0.0.0.0. His brain went into frenzied overdrive as he realized the date corresponded to December 21, 2012.
Maybe it was just a coincidence. Or maybe the tomb builders had added it for symbolic reasons. Still, a small part of him wondered if it had a different meaning. A meaning meant for him. Perhaps he wasn't meant to stay idle while time continued to slip out of its natural cycle.
Perhaps he was supposed to do something about it.
Chapter 6
A prickly feeling shot down my spine. "This is a bad idea."
"I don't care," Miranda replied. "This is my dig and I want to see it."
I finished securing another buttress inside the tunnel. The vibrations had ceased and for the first time, success seemed within our grasp. "We still need to find a permanent solution for the water trap. The buttresses require additional support. And we haven't even started on—"
"I don't care. I want to see it now."
Exhaling loudly, I put down my tools and led her into the chamber. The space was fairly large, measuring about forty feet long and thirty feet at its widest point. I estimated the ceiling was about ten feet off the floor.
The shaft and tunnel had featured right angles and smooth arcs. But the chamber was designed in a more haphazard fashion. Its walls sloped outward unevenly, giving it the shape of a roughly hewn bowl.
Besides the sarcophagus, the only other object of interest was a large stone statue. It sported a grotesque face and stood quietly in the northeast corner. I did everything in my power to avoid looking at it.
Overall, the chamber was beautiful in its own way. Yet it lacked the glory and majestic stonework of even the most common Maya ruins.
"It's not exactly the Temple of the Inscriptions." Miranda's sour words couldn't cover up her excitement. "But it's definitely unique."
"There's something you need to know." I nodded at the sarcophagus. "About that."
Miranda removed a digital camera from her shoulder bag. She quickly snapped a couple dozen pictures of the chamber. "What about it?"
"I think it's been breached."
She swiveled toward me.
"It wasn't us," I said. "But it was definitely deliberate. The visible end is covered with chisel marks. I can't tell if they cut clear through the stone. But it's certainly possible."
She moistened her lips.
"That's not all. I found a broken knife while I was cleaning the tunnel. It's pretty old, but not old enough to be left here by the builders." I paused to let the words sink in. "Based on the rust, I'd say it's been here for a few decades rather than centuries."
"I see."
Her matter-of-fact tone caught me off guard. I felt a twinge of resentment as I realized she'd been withholding information from me.
As lead archaeologist, Miranda knew everything about the dig. She knew about its occupant, the treasure hunter, and a whole bunch of other things. In contrast, I only had access to a small piece of the excavation. In all likelihood, I'd leave the tomb with unanswered questions.
And I hated unanswered questions.
"The initials W.H. are engraved on the blade," I said. "Unless I miss my guess, he — or she — must've found this tomb years ago. That's why there are no artifacts in here, save for the statue and sarcophagus. Those things were too heavy to carry. Also, I checked the water trap. The shaft leading to the river looks to be of fairly recent construction. W.H. probably built it."
She nodded slowly. "That makes sense."
"Doesn't it strike you as odd?"
"How so?"
"If he'd already cleared out the tomb, why would he go through the trouble of setting up a trap?"
"I don't know." Miranda lowered her camera. A frown appeared on her face. "What is that … that thing?"
I followed her gaze. The sarcophagus was wedged into the wall. Graham knelt underneath it, next to a strange-looking vehicle. A single set of articulated metal arms stuck out of the contraption. They buzzed and trembled with electricity.
"It's not a thing. It's a she. I mean she's a she." Graham gave Miranda a faint grin. "Her name is Eve."
"Eve?"
"Dutch likes to name his gear after old flames," I explained. "Eve's basically a small forklift with plenty of modifications. But there's no need to worry. Most likely, we won't need her."
"Why would you need her?"
"To save the sarcophagus," Graham explained. "If this place starts to collapse, Eve will carry it out of here."