CHAPTER X

The Gods Who Carved the Stones

I HAD already noticed the gigantic size of vegetable products, and I had assumed that their size was partly, if not wholly, due to the fact that there was no darkness in the valley. In this surmise I found I was correct, but the light itself, which was the basic source of this light that so puzzled me, was most astounding. In fact, its source was also the source of everything amazing that I observed. It was radium, or at least some intensely radioactive material, which apparently existed in vast quantities in a certain section of the valley. How the people had learned to make use of this marvelous force of nature of which we know so little, I cannot say; but as will be seen, certain things that I discovered led me to believe that it had been used, for certain purposes, from the most ancient times by the Mayas--and possibly by other prehistoric American races. This was my first epochal discovery, and it explained many hitherto inexplicable matters. We had passed through the city and had wandered across the fields beyond, when, in gazing across the valley to the east, I noticed a barren, desolate area. Calling the prince’s attention to it, I asked about it. To my astonishment he replied that it was “the sacred place of the gods who cut the stones.” I felt I was on the verge of a most interesting and epochal discovery, so I started towards the spot despite the protests of Azcopil, who seemed to have a superstitious terror of the place. Itza, too, held back, evidently in fear, but neither could give a lucid or intelligent reason for his dread. The gods, or spirits (the two are synonymous in the Zutugil), were powerful, they brought illness and death upon all who invaded their domain, and though they were those “who carved the stones” they must be paid for their work by lives and, added the prince, for many Katuns the people had not employed them to cut the stones as the toll of lives was too great, but had used painted stones instead. Indeed, he declared, at one time in the distant past, so many lives had been taken by those “who carved the stones” that the city had been nearly depopulated. At that time, he said, the people did not know why they sickened and died, but a wise priest, one Tutul Hunac, had made a great sacrifice to the god Hunabku, who had revealed the cause of the deaths to the priest. Here was a mystery. I had noticed that there were many monuments and buildings covered with painted or frescoed designs, that all the sculptures appeared very ancient, and I had wondered about it. Now Azcopil was telling me a strange, involved story--a myth or legend or allegory--to account for it. More intent than ever on learning what it all meant, who or what were the “gods who carved the stones,” I laughed at his fears, reminded him that I, the son of Kukulcan, was more powerful than his evil gods, and bidding him remain behind with Itza, for I had no mind to expose her to any dangers either real or imaginary, I hurried towards the dismal looking spot.

I had never seen anything just like it. It seemed to be an expanse of black, clay-like material, the decomposed débris that had fallen from a vein in the hillside above it and, all about it, were immense blocks and columns of squared stone. Examining these, I discovered that the surfaces of some were covered with a peculiar gum-like material laid on in complicated patterns. One of these rested at the very edge of the black deposit, and as I stooped over it, I uttered an involuntary exclamation of amazement.

Wherever it had touched the blackish material, the surface of the stone had been deeply cut or eaten away, leaving the portions covered with the gummy coating in high relief! Sudden realization flashed upon me. The “gods who carved the stone!” The forbidding black clay! The stuff itself was the prince’s “gods!” It possessed some power, some quality to eat into the solid rock as acid eats into steel. The whole mystery of how the Mayas accomplished their marvelous sculptures was solved! The stone monuments, the façades of their buildings, had not been carved by hand. They had been etched, etched on a gigantic scale by means of this strange, black mineral substance. What was it? What terrible corrosive power did it possess? I shuddered and shrank back. A substance that could eat into the hard rock was to be given a wide berth. No wonder the prince had feared the place. Then I remembered his story, the toll of lives exacted by the “gods who carved the rock.” It was clear enough now.

All who had come into contact with the terrible substance had been destroyed. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, must have been employed in hauling the countless masses of stones to the spot, in painting the lacquered designs upon their surfaces, in placing the stones in the corrosive clay, in withdrawing the stones after they had been etched, in handling and cleaning them. And all of these men who had touched the incredibly powerful material, had succumbed to its effects.

I shuddered as I thought of what agonies they must have suffered, of how their flesh and bones must have been eaten away as if by fire. Perhaps even the emanations of the material were deadly, and I hurriedly retreated at the thought. Azcopil had said that in the past the valley had been almost depopulated by the “gods who carved the stones.” As I recalled his words, I remembered the prophecy as related by old Katchilcan--“The people shall wither and die. Those who carved the stones and placed the images shall vanish.” Here was the explanation, the solution of the mystery of the disappearance of the Mayas! They had been destroyed, wiped out by the very means they had employed to produce their greatest monuments! I felt sure of it, convinced of it. If the horrible stuff existed here, if the people had used it for etching the stones, it must have existed elsewhere, must have been used in other places. That no one had hitherto discovered it, meant nothing. Perhaps, during the centuries, it had disintegrated, disappeared. Perhaps it still existed in some remote, hidden localities. But that it had been the prime factor in the destruction of the civilization, I felt assured.

Here in Mictolan the segregated survivors of the people had come close to utter annihilation by it. They had only escaped extermination by the wise old priest, Tutul Hunac, who put an end to etching the stones. No doubt, elsewhere, the people had gone blindly on, believing superstitiously that the gods demanded human lives in return for carving the stones, until the race had been decimated, reduced to a handful of survivors. But what could the material be? What mineral could possess such powers? A wild idea occurred to me. Was it, could it contain radium? Was the black mineral exuding from the mountain side pitchblende? It had all the earmarks of that wonderful ore. And there was that strange fluorescent light. Had these people harnessed the mysterious powers of radium? Had they a knowledge of forces of which we had not dreamed? Was I on the verge of discoveries even more remarkable, more incredible than any I had yet made? For a space, my brain whirled, my thoughts ran wild, I gave my imagination full rein. But I was soon to learn that the actuality was far beyond my wildest dreams.

* * * * *

RETURNING to Itza and the prince--who were vastly relieved at seeing me alive and unharmed--I plied Azcopil with questions. But he could give me little intelligible information. The light that came at night was a gift of the gods, he declared; it had always been so; but the light from the temples, the bridge of light--only the high priest knew their secrets. And, he added, hesitantly and with furtive glances, the priest knew other secrets; he possessed powers unknown to all others.

“Aye, even power over the Monster of Sacrifices,” put in Itza, in affrighted tones.

“Monster of Sacrifices?” I reiterated. “Who or what, my beloved, is this monster of whom you speak?”

“I cannot say, my lord,” she replied. “Only Kinchi Haman may see the monster; for others it is death to look upon him. And each month a maiden or a youth must be sacrificed unto him.”

“Hmm,” I muttered, “I must look into this. There is no monster that the son of Kukulcan may not look upon.” It sounded to me like the old Minotaur myth. I wondered what the old faker had up his sleeve.

“And where does this monster dwell?” I asked.

“Within the sacred innermost temple,” replied Azcopil, “where no one but the priest may enter.”

“The son of Kukulcan may enter all places,” I declared. “I shall look upon him and shall destroy him. The law of Kukulcan forbids the sacrifice of human lives.”

The faces of Itza and the prince paled. “But, my lord!” exclaimed Azcopil, “though it is a monster, yet it is a god and cannot be destroyed.”

I laughed. “God or no god, yet I shall destroy it,” I assured him.

For a space the prince was lost in thought. Then: “My lord,” he said earnestly, “until now I have not spoken of it. But the words of my lord force me to speak. We, of the House of Nima Kiche, in the long ago, had given unto us a prophecy. From the lips of my father, Tutil Nima, I heard it, even as he heard it from the lips of his father, Xima Tutil, and as each eldest son has heard it from his father since the days when it was given unto our house.

“To none should this prophecy be revealed until the house of Nima Kiche no longer ruled, and unto Mictolan came one who would again raise our house to power. He, so goes the prophecy, should be a stranger and should cast down our enemies, and he should mate with a maiden of the Itzaes, and should destroy the Monster of the Sacrifices. So, my lord, when I looked upon my lord as he passed with the maiden Itza by his side, I knew that the stranger of the prophecy had come, and now that my lord says he will destroy the Monster of the Sacrifices, I know that the hour has come to reveal the prophecy of the house of Nima Kiche. Blame me not, my lord, for the words of the prophecy. They are not mine, but have come down through many Baktuns, aye even from the days of Tohil the Rumbler. It is even more ancient than the Book of Kukulcan, and, in this prophecy, it is foretold that the land of the Kitche Maya should be overrun by strangers of white skins and bearded faces, and that the people of the Kingdom of Xibalba should be destroyed and scattered, and that new gods should be set up and only in the City of Mictolan should the house of Nima Kiche survive. And Kukulcan should never come unto his people, but that the bearer of his token should be a stranger and a mortal, and one who possessed the power of the stranger’s gods. And that the people of Mictolan should forever remain within the city and that there should be war and battle and the stranger’s gods should prevail and the priests of the cult of the black Enchuah should be cast down, and that the bearer of the token should wed with a maid of the House of Itza and should depart from Mictolan and the House of Nima Kiche should again rule in the land. And as much of the prophecy has come to pass, my lord, I know that it is true, and that all shall be fulfilled, even as it is foretold.”

Itza had listened, wide-eyed, with bated breath, to the words of the prince. And now, as he ended, she threw herself into my arms. “Oh, my lord, my loved one!” she cried. “Is it true? Is my lord then a mortal like myself? Then, my lord, I may wed with thee without fear, and great, indeed, will be my happiness!”

I nodded confirmation as I held her close. “Even as the prophecy says, it is so,” I assured her. Turning to the prince, I said: “Then, from the first you, my brother, have known I was no son of Kukulcan? Think you, Kinchi Haman knows of this prophecy?”

Azcopil looked troubled. “Who can say?” he replied at length. “He has great wisdom and knows many things. It is said that he puts on the cloak of darkness, and unseen by men wanders about, listening to all. But what matters it, my lord. The prophecy says he will be overthrown; that you shall triumph, and as it is foretold so must it come to pass.”

His faith in the prophecy was sublime, but I could not blame him for placing absolute confidence in it. Had I not seen the prophecy of Kukulcan fulfilled to the letter? Had not this new prophecy thus far been borne out? I am not superstitious, I have no belief in prophecies or in the occult, and yet--well, I could not deny the truth of what I had actually seen and experienced, and I confess I was beginning to believe that the old Mayas possessed some power of divining the future of which we know nothing. Still I was not yet enough of a fatalist, nor sufficiently convinced of the truth of the prophecy, to trust entirely to it. But there was no use in worrying over what might or might not happen. The revelations of the prince had cleared the air. No longer need I attempt to pose as a divinity with him. No longer did Itza look upon me as a superior being. And as the prince assured me that the greater portion of the inhabitants were loyal to his house, and secretly hated Kinchi Haman, I felt that, no matter what difficulties might arise, I could count upon having a majority on my side.

* * * * *

HAD I followed out my own wishes, I would have left Mictolan and its people to solve their problems as best they might and have taken the first opportunity to clear out with Itza. But I realized that such a course was impossible. Even alone, there was not one chance in thousands that I could ever reach civilization. The mere thought of the horrors, the dangers I would have to face, appalled me, and to expose the girl whom I loved more than my life, to almost certain death, and to the most terrible hardships and sufferings, anyway, was not to be thought of for a moment. Far better to remain forever in the valley, to live with Itza forever, cut off from civilization and my fellows, than to attempt flight. And, I felt, life in Mictolan, with Itza as my wife, and with the hideous old priest gone and Azcopil reigning as king, would be as pleasant and enjoyable an existence as any mortal man had a right to expect. I even began to have dreams of my future there, of the things I might accomplish, of the modernities I might establish, of the busy interesting life I would lead teaching the Mictolans, helping them onwards, watching the development of their civilization, while I taught them about machinery, about electricity, about innumerable matters of which they knew nothing. Meanwhile, we had circled the valley and had come to the avenue leading from the city to the tunnel through which I had entered the valley. Filled with the most intense curiosity to see that marvelous bridge of light once more, I expressed my wishes to my companions.

But at Itza’s words I halted, astounded, incredulous. There was no bridge of light, she declared. It had ceased as soon as I had reached the valley. It had existed only to afford me passage!

It seemed incredible. How and by whom had it been created? How and by whom could it have been destroyed? I could not believe her. I felt sure the thing was a natural, a mysterious, an inexplicable phenomenon, and that she was merely repeating some ancient myth or prophecy. Determined to learn the truth, to discover the source, the cause of the luminous bridge, I hurried towards the opening in the mountain side. The way was still illuminated by the soft glow, and having discovered the bed of radioactive clay, as I believed it to be, I assumed the light came from some similar material in the rock. My examination of the walls confirmed this. Minute particles of black were visible in the reddish rock, and I noticed that where these were most numerous, the tunnel was most brightly illuminated.

But when at last we came to the vast chasm, I stopped in utter amazement. It yawned before us, terrific, black, bottomless, with no sign of the gleaming, multicolored beam of effulgence spanning its depths like a bridge built of a rainbow. But my amazement, my wonder, was forgotten in my realization of what it meant. All retreat from the valley was cut off! No matter what happened, I was doomed to remain forever in Mictolan. I had no doubt that Kinchi Haman was responsible. Somehow, by some unknown, some almost magic power, he could control the bridge of light. He suspected me. He had no desire that I should escape, until such time as he saw fit to lead his people from the valley. And I was convinced that he would never do that, that he had no faith in the prophecy and that he knew far more of the outside world than I suspected or that anyone dreamed of.

To be sure, he had been as terrified of my pistol as any of his people, and I felt sure he was wholly unfamiliar with firearms; but that did not prove that he had not, by some means, learned that the white men had overrun the land, that it would be impossible for his people ever to regain their country and to restore the old order of things as provided in the Book of Kukulcan, and that, knowing this, he intended to keep me a prisoner and, by cutting off all possible means of escape, to put an effectual stop to his people attempting to leave the valley. Intuitively I had been suspicious of him from the very first, intuitively I had felt that he did not believe me other than a mortal, a stranger; but even my intuition fell far short of the truth.

I reflected, however, that both Itza and the prince had known beforehand that the bridge of light was no longer there. So perhaps, after all, the priest--if indeed he were responsible for its disappearance--had had no ulterior motive for removing it. I questioned them both, but the only reply I got was that it was tradition, common knowledge, that with the coming of the long-expected messenger, the bridge would vanish.

“But then,” I asked, “how will the people of Mictolan go forth when the time shall come, as foretold in the prophecy?”

Azcopil’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. “Does not my lord know?” he exclaimed. “Does not the Book of Kukulcan tell that the people shall go forth by another road? Does it not show the symbol by which they shall know that way? Always, from my father and from the priests, have I heard that the Book of Kukulcan holds the secret of the other road.”

“I know nothing of that,” I assured him, as I drew the copy of the codex from my pocket. “I see nothing of that other road. Look, you, Azcopil. Do _you_ see the symbol that you speak of?”

The prince examined the codex intently, and Itza, as interested as either of us, studied it, also.

“I see it! It is here!” she cried suddenly, excitedly. “See, my lord, it is here--the symbol of Kukulcan together with a foot and the reed of promise.”

“Aye, thou art right, little sister!” exclaimed the prince. “But,” with a note of disappointment in his voice, “a portion of the book is missing. It says not which way one turns to find that symbol. Whether to the north, the east, the west, or the south. But that matters not, my lord will go with me to the sorcerer, Nohul Voh, and by his powers he shall show the way.”

Itza drew back. “Oh, I like not Nohul Voh!” she cried. “He is most wicked and works spells and does strange things. It is said--” her voice fell to a whisper, “that he takes the form of a great bat. I fear him, my lord.”

I laughed. “Fear not, dearly beloved,” I reassured her. “Your Nohul Voh will not harm the betrothed of the son of Kukulcan, and to him as to all the others, I am that.”

Azcopil smiled. “And he is a true follower of the house of my fathers,” he declared. “His hatred of Kinchi Haman is great, indeed, and often have I gone to him for advice, though never will he show me his smoke of magic. But he told me of your coming, my lord; yes, told me days ahead, though I spoke not of it to anyone.”

“What?” I cried. “You mean he knew of my coming? Come, then, O, prince, I would see this sorcerer. But call me not ‘Lord,’ Azcopil; nor thee, my Itza.”

The prince grinned and Itza flushed and smiled. “Does my brother know that he has another name among my people?” he asked. “Everywhere they speak of you as Itzimin Chac (thunder and lightning). Would it please my brother if I called him Itzimin?”

“It will serve well,” I told him.

“And most fitting,” smiled Itza, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she glanced up at me. “For is not Itzimin Chac the master of the sky, Itza? And art thou not to me both lover and master?”

“Aye, a terrible master!” I laughed. “Fear you not my black anger and my roaring?”

“No more than the sky fears the thunder,” she cried gaily. “Does not the sky always triumph and rule the thunder in the end?”

“As you, little tease, shall ever rule me,” I declared.

The prince grinned. “That, Itzimin, is the most certain of all things,” he said. “Was there ever a man who could really rule a woman?”

“That,” I replied with a chuckle, “is a question you might better ask your Nohul Voh.”

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