Steve Alten - The Mayan Resurrection

‘Sorry I asked.’

Side by side, the two modern-day warriors jog toward the western wall, playing sticks in hand, tinted face shields obscuring their identities.

Two of the brown-skinned warriors step forward, swinging their bats as if warming up for a cricket match.

A bloodcurdling bellow shatters the silence, causing the hairs on the back of Manny’s neck to stand on end.

The two men in body armor step forward, accepting the challenge.

From atop the Temple of the Jaguars appears a Mayan king. His face is concealed behind the mask of a gaping serpent’s head, a trail of green feathers running down his back. In one hand he holds an obsidian knife, in the other-a round object, dripping with blood. The king raises both arms in ceremonial fashion and begins chanting in an ancient tongue.

‘Itz’-am-na, Kit Bol-on Tun, Ah-au Cham-ah-ez…’

‘The king is invoking the gods,’ Mohr whispers.

Manny focuses on the dripping object in the Mayan’s hand, shocked to see it is the severed head of a boy.

‘Game ball,’ Mohr says, his eyes dancing. ‘Are you familiar with the game of tlachtli?’

‘More or less. They have to get the skull, er… ball through the hoop.’

‘Correct. They can use their sticks, knees, and feet, but they cannot touch it with their hands. In combat style, two players per team compete at a time. As you’ll see, anything goes.’

The king stops chanting. Gripping the gushing head by the hair, he swings his arm in great circles, then heaves the skull toward the center of the playing field.

The four combatants charge forward, the soldier in white first to the ‘ball.’ As he feints a strike, one of the masked goons bullrushes him, attempting to club him with his stick. White pirouettes gracefully to his right-and lets loose a vicious backhand fist, which catches the larger assailant square in the throat, sending him to his knees – as a second warrior raises his club, intent on stabbing the soldier in the back with its sharpened end.

But the man in white is too skilled and far too quick. With out so much as a glance over his shoulder he launches a thrusting rear kick that shatters the warrior’s mask, snapping his neck in two.

The would-be killer collapses, dead before he hits the ground.

Immanuel feels nauseous as he watches the man in white step over his dead assailants, kicking the skull-ball back to his ebony-clad teammate.

Dr. Mohr points as two more warriors step out of line to greet their opponents, now quickly advancing the skull-ball toward the eastern goal. ‘This is not quite how the Mayans played, but it’s how the Under Lords of Xibalba challenged the Hero Twins.’

The blood rushes from Manny’s face.

White clubs the object to Black. The skull-ball takes a wild hop over the soldier’s foot. Turning to retrieve it, Black is barreled over by one of the replacement players, a 260-pound brute masked in a crimson demon’s mask. Leaping over the man in black, the brown-skinned warrior kicks the skull-ball to his teammate, who races barefoot across the field toward the western ring… and the goal mounted below the observation window.

White, by far the most skilled athlete on the field, overtakes the Mayan and trips him from behind-just as the warrior strikes the ball.

Manny and Dr. Mohr instinctively duck as the airborne head smashes against the glass with a dull thud, the battered face leaving a bloodied imprint on the partition.

White rebounds the wild bank shot and heads back the other way, controlling the wobbling skull with his feet and stick. Evading another assailant’s knife, he angles for the eastern wall and its stone hoop.

Two more linebacker-sized warriors abandon the line to cut him off, each man’s club brandishing a two-foot-long obsidian spike.

Manny squeezes his fists, measuring speed and distance. This is it

… there’s no way he can escape this double-team.

In an incredible move combining soccer, kung fu, and gymnastics, White casually flips the skull-ball over the advancing warriors’ heads, then leaps off the ground and executes a stunning airborne double side kick from a full split, the heel-to-face impact a double deathblow that shatters the shocked combatants’ temporal bones into brain-slicing fragments.

‘Jesus…’

White lands, takes three strides forward, and in one continuous motion kicks the skull-ball, sending it end over end toward the stone ring.

With a sickening thwack, the severed head banks high off the eastern wall and passes through the hoop – instantly transforming the arena into something entirely different.

Gone is the Mayan Ball Court. In its place-the valley of a hellish underworld, its mountainous horizon bathed in vermilion twilight cast from a subterranean roof of volcanic coal. Whiffs of brown smoke roll beneath the emberlike ceiling, creating shadows of movement throughout the terrain.

Manny’s limbs turn to Jell-O. He leans against the glass for support.

At the heart of the valley is an enormous crater lake, its molten silvery surface simmering. Rising along the far bank is a great alabaster tree, its entanglement of ivory-colored roots knotted and thick, its sequoia-sized trunk dripping a white ooze.

The bare limbs of the monstrous tree stretch outward in every direction, twisting in the hot wind as if animated with life.

Suspended from one centrally located knot along the trunk is an object – a human skull.

Dr. Mohr points. Coming into view-the two soldiers, still clad in their respective white and black body armor. They are double-timing it, approaching the crater lake from the east, the man in white now wielding a double-edged sword.

The center of the lake begins bubbling as they approach.

Immanuel grips the cool iron guardrail in his sweaty palms, unable to move… unable to breathe.

Something large is rising from the depths of the lake. Thick globs of silvery ooze drip away… revealing a tall alien biped.

Lead gray silicon-like skin. Two arms and legs, heavily segmented, as if adorned in body armor. The anvil-shaped skull is disproportionately large, like that of a monstrous fire ant. Instead of being positioned above its three-humped shoulder, the skull extends horizontally in front of the chest like a turtle’s neck, giving the creature an upright yet squat appearance. There are no facial features other than a slit of a mouth and two pupilless eyes, which blaze a burned yellow against the dark skin covering.

The eight-and-a-half-foot being continues to rise out of the silvery lake, its tall, grotesque, angular body devoid of hair or clothing. The thorax is V-shaped and powerful, the abdomen slender, connecting to a pair of squat legs-humanoid in design-except they are twice as thick below the knee as above.

The upper arms are dense and powerful, and hang stiffly from the wide shoulder girdle. The elbows are ball joint in design, allowing the heavy forearms to rotate 360 degrees.

Most frightening of all are the being’s hands. Huge and clawlike in appearance, they support four slender, scalpel-sharp fingers. The digits are three times as long as the palm and spaced wide, giving each hand an almost spiderlike appearance.

Fully exposed, the being walk-glides across the lake’s mirrorlike surface, sloshing toward the eastern shore.

The two soldiers race to reach the alabaster tree before the alien.

Ten seconds until Nexus. The computerized voice startles Manny.

Nine… eight… seven…

Dr. Mohr moves closer to the glass, his expression suddenly all business. ‘Come on, come on, you can do it this time.’

The alien approaches the thickly rooted tree, reaching for the skull.

Three… two… one Twin streaks of ice-blue lightning… a blinding flash of crimson… then nothingness.