Dennis Wheatley - Unholy Crusade

When they came opposite the Pyramid of the Sun he left her to walk on and, as there was no direct path to the pyramid, turned off to cross the quarter of a mile of tumbled ruins that separated him from it.

Until the excavations of comparatively recent times the whole area had been covered with earth blown there during the centuries. Only the more important ruins had been stripped and, in places, repaired; so the ground he was crossing consisted of uneven mounds of coarse grass with, here and there, blocks of stone protruding from them. Some of the mounds rose to fifty feet with, between them, deep gullies round which he had to make detours.

To his annoyance, when he arrived quite close to the base of the pyramid he found himself separated from it by one of these lower levels that had, perhaps, once been a court. Its floor was some twenty feet below him and the side of the mound was too sheer for him to scramble down. He could see no way round unless he retraced his steps for a considerable distance, so he walked along the edge until he found a break by which he could get to within eight feet of the floor. Below that there was a large, smooth stone slab embedded in the mound at a sharp angle. Believing that if he jumped down on to it he could, with one foot, push himself off and land safely, he let himself go. His foot slipped on the stone, he hurtled through the air and, his arms outstretched, hit the ground with a terrific smack, flat on his face. The breath was driven from his body and his mind blacked out.

It was pitch dark and very cold. He knew himself to be in the cell down in the bowels of the Pyramid of the Moon. He knew, too, that he was the King and High Priest of the Toltecs, whose army had been defeated many weeks earlier while attempting to defend Teotihuacan and that he had been taken prisoner by his enemies. Apart from that, his memories of the past were dim and vague. But he was more certain about his immediate situation.

It was Itzechuatl, the King and High Priest of the Chichimec’s, who had taken him prisoner, and his captor had offered him a choice. Either he could remain where he was indefinitely until he died or, by a great ceremony, divest himself of his magical powers in favour of his captor. Death, if he refused the latter choice, would not come quickly, because he was to be well fed and cared for; so he might remain there for years in the cold and darkness, afflicted by cramps and rheumatism until he eventually expired. On the other hand, only by dying could he pass his magical powers on to another. So the choice really lay between a prolonged, lingering death and a swift one as a human sacrifice.

He was not afraid of death, but he was of pain, and for seemingly endless days he had been haunted by the thought of Chac Mool. This was a stone figure of a man, his knees and back raised so that his lap made a valley. The idol's head, on which there was a flat, brimless hat, was turned sideways; the fat face expressed indifference. But it was upon the lap that the sacrificial victim was thrown down on his back, then the priest slit his breast open with an obsidian knife, plunged a hand into his body, wrenched out the warm, bloody, still palpitating heart and offered it to the gods.

For the victim, the agony of those moments must be intolerable, and any man might long hesitate before deciding to face them. Yet Adam, in the person of the Toltec ruler, had at last decided to do so, rather than continue for weeks, months, years, in this pit of black despair.

When the guards next brought him a meal and a three inch long flickering torch of resin that would last only ten minutes, to eat it by, he told them of his decision.

There followed a timeless interval, during which he was brought six more meals; then they led him out and to an upper chamber. At first he was so unused to daylight that he could hardly see, but gradually he made out Itzechuatl and his entourage. All of them were dressed in gorgeous garments and their faces were so heavily painted as to be hardly recognizable. The Priest King said to him in Nahuatl, which was their common language:

`I am glad that you have at last become sensible and regret the two days' delay that have been necessary to make our preparations, but all is now in readiness.'

Four of his retainers then came forward, painted Adam's face and decked him out in ceremonial robes: a loincloth of the finest linen, a belt and sandals of gold, blazing with precious stones, a cloak of many colours, and a huge head dress from which waved the magnificent plumes of the Quetzal bird. His toilette completed, two nobles took him by the elbows and, as though supporting him, led him out of the pyramid to the Sacred Way.

Massed on either side of it on the mile long tiers of steps were many thousands of people. His appearance was hailed with a thunderous roar of greeting; automatically he raised his hand in acknowledgment of the multitude's salutation, squared his shoulders and began his slow, dignified walk to the place of sacrifice.

Itzechuatl walked just behind him, accompanied by scores of other priests and nobles. Behind them marched a band that played weird, but to him familiar, music on strange instruments. In front of him there danced a hundred or more beautiful maidens, each holding a basket of flowers which they scattered in his path as he walked.

His eyes focused on one of them, a very tall girl with magnificent shoulders, a wasp like waist and long, beautifully shaped legs. Their glances met; hers held admiration and compassion. Momentarily his fears of the terrible death ordained for him were submerged in sudden passionate desire for her.

At last they reached the base of the Pyramid of the Sun. There, bearers were waiting with elaborate carrying chairs. The chairs had short legs in front and longer legs at the back, so that at times they could be rested upright on the ascending steps of the pyramid. Adam was eased into the foremost and most decorative by his

attendant nobles, then the ascent began.

The slow and dignified progress brought him at length to the top of the pyramid. It was flat and about half an acre in extent.

From the centre rose a flat roofed, one storey temple, in front of which reposed the gruesome figure of Chac Mool. As Adam's chair was turned round and set down he was brought face to face with the brilliantly clad figures which had followed him in the procession. Itzechuatl and his principal dignitaries had been carried up the pyramid in chairs; the rest had climbed it and most of them were breathing heavily.

Among the latter he caught sight of three of his Captains who had been captured with him. They were naked to the waist and their hands were tied behind them. As they came opposite him, each of them made a low obeisance, but all of them avoided his eyes. He knew why. They were deeply ashamed not to have died fighting, instead of having allowed themselves to be taken prisoner. To lighten their distress he called to each of them by name and spoke kindly to him.

When the last in the procession had reached the broad platform in front of the temple, Adam could see right down it. He had hoped for another sight of the tall maiden; but the dancing girls had come only part of the way up the pyramid to the highest of three terraces that broke its slope, and were now assembled there. On the lower terraces and below it, in solid masses, stood the great multitude of people, presenting a sea of unidentifiable upturned faces. Beyond, in the far distance, a chain of mountains stood out against the azure sky.

Adam sat with his hands tightly clasped. His face did not betray the fears that racked him, but his heart was pounding furiously as he prayed for the business to be over swiftly.

Itzechuatl came forward to the edge of the terrace and raised his arm. The murmur that had been coming up from the vast crowd ceased and, in a ringing voice, he addressed them: