Jungle Crossing (17 page)

"The thing is," Nando said, "no one ever wanted to hear my stories before. Sure, the Americans want to joke about sacrifice, but then they want to go back to their hotels and sip fancy drinks by the pool. They like to climb the pyramid, take their photos, but they never think about the people who built such amazing temples. They never want to learn about the culture behind the climb."

I nodded. "I think I did start out feeling that way, but your story changed me." My cheeks burned as hot as the salsa. "I really like your story."

"I know. I've seen the thought you've put into the illustrations."

Now I felt like I'd turned the color of a thousand chilies—like Muluc that time.

"I've been thinking about things in a new way—like how my friends sacrifice people," I said.

Nando tilted his head. "You and your friends practice sacrifice?"

"No!" I suddenly felt so stupid, but Nando waited patiently for me to continue. "I'm talking about the way girls treat each other, like—"

Nando grinned. "American television?"

"Yeah, sort of, except for the private limos and stuff." I nudged his shoulder with mine. "That's totally not real."

"So tell me what is real, Little Jaguar."

And I did. I told him things I'd never told anyone.

We sat in the dark, watching the moon cross the sky, talking about friends and school, Mexico and America, until Barb came bursting outside, insisting that we come back and dance.

***

The next morning, I woke up swinging in my hammock, thinking about Muluc's story. I looked out through the walls of the hut and saw the first sparkle of sunlight skipping across the water of the lagoon-like cenote. Birds squawked in their tropical voices as a breeze rippled the leaves of the jungle canopy. I looked up at the tight artistic weave of palm fronds that formed the thatched roof. The fringed edges rustled in the wind. I had never experienced that kind of quiet: no cars rumbling, honking for carpool; no refrigerator humming; no air conditioner whirring. I'd never really thought about all the mechanical noises in a city, or even in my own house. I leaned deeper into the soft hammock, closed my eyes, and worked hard to make a memory.

But then Barb barged into the hut. "Kat! Come on." She tugged my hand. "Now!"

I followed Barb outside, where Nando held a tiny spider monkey in his arms.

"This one
is
a pet!" Barb rubbed the monkey's gray fur. "Wouldn't that be amazing to have a monkey for a pet?"

Before I could answer, the monkey reached out to me and climbed into my arms, wrapping its tail around my waist as if we'd always been friends.

"He likes you," Nando said, making Barb kind of pout—but only for a second.

"Nando's going to tell us the rest of Muluc's story. She escapes!"

We sat down, me still stroking the monkey's gray fur. As Nando started talking, I reached up and held the monkey's soft, leathery hand. My head burst with all the things I wanted to remember about the
quinceañera.
Looked like I might be using that travel journal—in the way Mom wanted me to—after all.

"After the rain ceremony," Nando began. "On the day 6 Men..."

***

T
HE
D
AY
6 M
EN

Elderly Moon Goddess

Heavy gray clouds gathered in the sky two days after the ceremony. Breathing deeply, Muluc smelled rain coming. Balam had gone to the market to trade, and Macaw and Mol were in the jungle setting out vessels to collect rainwater.

To honor the gods, they had not spiced their food since before making the figures, so Muluc went to the garden to gather chilies. As she piled the peppers into her skirt, she kept looking behind her, feeling that someone was watching. A fly buzzed around the sleeping dog, a dry leaf skittered across the garden, and a pepper fell to the ground, but nothing else moved. Nothing hung in the branches above her. Maybe she was still upset by the sacrifice. Owls and snakes had haunted her dreams every night since then, and Quetzal's voice called to her in her sleep. She woke each morning as tired as when she'd gone to bed.

As Muluc stood to take the chilies into the house, she heard a hiss. Spinning around, she watched a snake slither from the plants she had been picking. She held her breath. The snake stopped in front of her and met her gaze. Muluc knew this snake.

Chilies spilling from her skirt, she ran down the road, away from the garden. Balam met her several paces down the road.

"Muluc? What is wrong?" he said. "Tell me."

Fear stole her voice.

"Did they see you? Did they find you?" he asked.

She shook her head, no, then yes.

Balam led her back into the hut. To Muluc, the tiny structure suddenly seemed so much more fragile, the walls practically transparent. Where could she hide? Under the thin sleeping mat? She searched for something to make her feel safe in the tiny space.

"Are you running from someone? Did someone come here? Have you seen any warriors? Are you the girl? Is he trying to steal you back?" Balam took a deep breath. "Kan is looking for a girl. A girl from Cobá." He paused. "Of course, a girl from Cobá." He put his head in his hands. "He is offering a big reward. Jade. People will remember you from the market."

"I saw a snake in the garden," Muluc whispered.

"Kan." Balam said. "He has a powerful
way.
His warriors say he can even change his form in battle."

Balam picked up a woven sack and threw in some corn kernels, dried peccary, and old tortillas. "We must leave, now," Balam said. "His men will be here soon."

"I want to say goodbye to your mother. And Mol," Muluc said.

Balam shook his head. "We have to go
now.
"

Muluc looked at Macaw's mat, near the grinding stone. Tears filled her eyes. She bent her head and removed the jade pendant that hung from her neck, placing it under the mat.

"So she will remember me," Muluc said. "My name is engraved on it."

"We must go," Balam said.

Hand in hand, Balam and Muluc ran along the jungle trail, past the cenote where they gathered water, until the trail grew narrow, choked by vines and saplings. When Balam stopped to catch his breath, Muluc grabbed on to the trunk of a tree to steady herself.

"Balam," she said. "I must go alone."

"Never," he said.

"Your mother needs you," Muluc said. "And you don't need trouble if we get caught."

Balam didn't speak for a long time, but a tear dripped down his cheek.

"I can't let you go," he finally said.

"I don't want to leave you," Muluc whispered. "But I'm not safe in Chichén. Snake—Kan—thinks he owns me." She touched Balam's cheek. "And you would not be safe in Cobá."

"I know," he said.

Rain began to fall, making music on the leaves high above. Balam and Muluc embraced until the water soaked their clothes; then Muluc continued on the narrow jungle path.

Alone.

Rivers of rain poured from the leaves, and Muluc's wet dress clung to her body. Her legs bled with scratches as she picked her way through the dense growth. She had left the path in case the warriors tried to follow her, but it was getting harder and harder to push through the tangle of vines surrounding her. Leaning against a tree, she stopped to rest, but water streamed down its trunk and over her shoulders, so she stepped away. Because Balam had not packed any tools in the sack, Muluc searched the ground for a sharp stone to help cut a path through the vines. She found two rocks and used one to chip a sharp edge onto the other, as she had seen Balam do.

The sky darkened, and rain continued to fall as Muluc chopped her way through the jungle, blisters burning her hands from working with the rough stone. Thunder thudded overhead, and lightning brightened the ground for just a moment.

"Thank you, Chac, for the rain," Muluc whispered to the sky. "Please help me find Cobá."

Long after night fell, Muluc stumbled through the darkness. Though she feared the spirits that haunted the jungle, she feared the warriors even more. A stream of rainwater washed over her feet as her trail opened into a clearing. Wind whistled through the high trees, almost like singing or crying, and a chill hung in the air. Muluc stopped. Was she hearing the Wailing Woman? She had heard stories about the ancient Wailing Woman who had been spurned by her lover and now wandered the woods, often disguising herself as a beautiful maiden to trick young men. Her cold touch left people unconscious, unable to speak. Or dead.

Muluc crouched against the trunk of a tree, waiting for her heartbeat to slow. Exhaustion caught up with her, and she fell asleep to the wailing of the wind above her.

***

T
HE
D
AY
7 C
IB

Owl or Vulture, Death Birds of Night or Day

In the morning, the chill of Muluc's damp dress woke her. Her stomach rumbled, but what could she eat? She looked around the clearing and realized she'd fallen asleep in a cornfield. She was in someone's
milpa!
Muluc found a patch of melons growing among the corn. With her stone tool, she broke open a melon and slurped up the sweet fruit, letting the juice roll down her chin. Next she nibbled on an ear of corn like a mouse. Only when her hunger subsided did she wonder if she had been walking in circles.

A rough-cut path wound away from the
milpa,
but Muluc looked at the sky to see the position of the sun, and she headed away from the path, toward the rising sun. The trees did not grow so densely here, leaving her exposed in her tattered white dress. Had she wandered back into the outskirts of Chichén? Shaking away the thought, she continued walking, warmed—just a little—by the sunshine on her face.

"I've caught you." A man's voice echoed through the trees.

Muluc spun around.

"You're mine now," the man said.

Muluc crouched behind a low-growing palm.

"All mine," the man said.

A bird squawked. A quetzal—minus his shimmering green tail feathers—landed on a branch a few feet away. Muluc let out her breath, relieved, but then she saw the quetzal hunter walking toward her. She was sitting next to an empty trap! Hunched down, she crawled around the other side of the palm. A spiky frond snagged her hair, and the whole tree shook as she tugged herself free.

"What have we here?" the hunter said, raising one eyebrow. "A bird of another feather."

Muluc stood, heart pounding, and faced the man.

"A runaway." He smiled with brown-stained teeth and ran his hand over the top of his long, braided hair. A quetzal feather stuck out from behind his ear. "Let's see." He tilted his head and looked at Muluc. "You look elite."

"No," Muluc said. "Not in these rags." She opened her palms. "And my hands."

The man tapped his forehead, then pointed to hers.

"Just born that way," she said. "Mama says I should find a good husband with my long forehead." She tried to sound like a child.

"What brings you so far into the jungle, then?"

"I was searching for berries for dye," Muluc said. "Mama is weaving. I lost my way in the storm." Muluc paused as she tried to think of a way to ask about Cobá. "Are we close to..."

The man eyed the embroidery on her dress. "Chichén?"

Muluc's stomach sank.

"Not at all," the hunter said. "You've got quite a walk. If that is truly where you are going."

A flutter of birds rustled in the nearby brush, and the hunter rushed toward the sound.

"Wait here," he called back to her.

Muluc turned and ran, leaping over small bushes, forcing her body through tangles of vines, tripping over rocks. Ignoring the pain, she ran and ran and ran.

Doubled over with a side ache, Muluc clutched her stomach and tried to catch her breath, thudding down on the muddy ground next to a tall tree. Thick jungle completely surrounded her, so that she couldn't even tell where she had just been. No trace. At least the greedy quetzal hunter probably wouldn't bother searching for her. Muluc leaned her head back against the tree.

Above, in the elbow of a branch, she saw a circle of yellow and brown spotted fur. Jaguar! No, this creature was too small to be a jaguar. The cat lifted its head, and Muluc looked into its big round eyes: a little ocelot. Merchants in Cobá kept them as pets to keep mice out of the stored corn. After watching her for a few moments, the ocelot curled up again to sleep.

"Good idea," Muluc said. "I will wander at night like you do."

Muluc put her head on her sack and fell asleep, sunlight warming her like a blanket.

When the ocelot scratched its claws on the tree branch, Muluc woke. Afternoon had faded to early evening; a light breeze fluttered through the darkening jungle like a whisper.

"Thank you, little Balam," she said, watching the ocelot stretch just as Balam did after a long day of work. "You also have a powerful
way.
"

In the darkness, Muluc picked her way through the dense vines, using the rock to cut through some of them. The jungle had come alive with sound—not the friendly, bird-chirping sounds of daytime, but the sounds of the forgotten gods. A low growl hummed in the trees. Leaves crunched. Muluc's skin prickled with fear.

Do not panic,
she told herself.

She stumbled through the trees onto a well-worn path. In the distance, a white glow stood out in the darkness. Was it a clearing awash in moonlight? An abandoned temple? She stepped closer, and the white glow seemed to stretch into the darkness. Straight, smooth, hard white cement. A white road, leading to Cobá!

A rush of air blew over her head in silence. In the moonlight Muluc saw the outline of an owl racing away from her. She screamed and ran back into the jungle to avoid the bird of death. Rough stones on the path cut through her damaged sandals. One shoe fell off. Still Muluc ran, ignoring the pain of sharp rocks cutting into her skin. Then...

Her feet left the ground, and she found herself falling deep into Xibalba, falling into the darkness. Reaching with her arms, she tried to grasp something. Anything. But there was nothing. Resigned, she stiffened her body, waiting for the guardians of the Otherworld to suck her below. But then she splashed into a cenote, sinking deep into the chilly water before fighting her way up to the surface. In the darkness she could hear bats beating their wings with a soft whap-whap.

She treaded water and waited for the Lords of the Otherworld.