CHAPTER XVIII

The End of Kinchi Haman

BEFORE us was a dark passageway. Flashing the strange red glow from my bamboo tube upon the stone walls and floor, with nerves tense, noiselessly, we moved forward, while at our heels crowded our men, filled with nameless dread, their sharp, indrawn, almost sobbing breaths, audible in the black silence of the tunnel. A dozen paces and the passage turned abruptly to the right and before us we saw a glimmer of light. Cautiously we stole forward. A heavy cloth drapery hung across the passage, and from beyond came the sounds of voices. With trembling fingers I carefully moved one edge of the curtain aside and looked into a large, brightly-lit room. Stalwart temple guards stood about; a dozen black-robed priests filled the chamber, and, seated in a throne-like stone chair, addressing them in earnest tones, was--Kinchi Haman!

At sight of the hideous priest responsible for all my sufferings and troubles, insane fury swept over me. All caution, all sense fled from my mind. With a savage jerk I tore the hanging aside and sprang into the room with the prince beside me. Instantly all was confusion. Had we materialized from thin air, the occupants of the room could not have been more amazed. Deathly fear distorted the face of the Kinchi Haman; the terrified priests screamed, crowded back, struggled and fought to retreat. Springing from his seat, Kinchi Haman sheltered himself behind the milling, close-packed men.

Furious, all my senses focussed on reaching him, I rushed on them. Two guards sprang forward with upraised weapons. One fell to a savage thrust from Azcopil, the other hurled himself at me. I swung my heavy-bladed sword, but before I could strike, an amazing thing happened. The golden cuirass of the guard seemed to burst into flame. With a shriek of agony, he staggered back. His weapon dropped from his hand, and with a crash, he sank lifeless to the floor! A nauseating odor of burning flesh filled the room. Where the golden breastplate had been, a horrible, scorched, blackened cavity showed on the dead man’s breast. Shapeless blobs of molten gold smoked upon the flagging. Screams, shrieks, cries of horror and deadly fear came from the struggling, retreating priests. The guards dropped their weapons and fled. Here was magic--death instantaneous, terrible, invisible.

Solid metal burst into flame and ran like water at my approach! No wonder old Nohul Voh had said the bamboo tube with its contents would serve me well as a weapon! It was deadly, hellish. Its mysterious, invisible rays falling upon metal--at least upon gold--fused the metal instantly, burned the flesh beneath it to a crisp. I shuddered as I glanced at the terrible thing in my hand, at the seared, ghastly, contorted body of the dead guard at my feet. But my mind was centered upon Kinchi Haman. Nothing else seemed to matter.

Springing over the smoking body, hurling the struggling priests aside, striking to right and left, I forced myself through the huddled, fear-maddened throng. I was conscious that the prince was with me, from sounds in the rear I knew our men were close behind. A narrow door was packed, jammed with the priests in their stampede, and when at last--literally treading them underfoot--we gained the farther side of the room, Kinchi Haman had disappeared. There was only the one exit visible. Seizing the priests by hair, by garments, we dragged them aside, cleared a passage, and raced down the corridor beyond.

Ahead we heard the sounds of running feet. Into dark doorways and openings the fleeing priests and guards darted at our approach. But though we searched hastily in each, we found no trace of Kinchi Haman. On we rushed; somewhere beyond was the man we sought; misshapen, dwarfed, he could not run fast; we must soon overtake him. A startled yell came from the prince who now was leading. He checked himself and sprang back, collided with me, and together we rolled upon the floor and over us tripped our frightened but still faithful men. A metallic clang echoed through the passage and a massive metal gate dropped like a portcullis, barring the corridor before us.

For a moment we stared, dazed, balked. Then with a wild hope I seized the bamboo tube that had fallen from my hand, sprang forward, and pointed it at the metal bars. Instantly they glowed, and like bars of wax, they melted and vanished. Our way was clear; once again we dashed on. Before us rose a low flight of steps, and scrambling up these like a gigantic spider, we saw the high-priest. A moment more and he would gain the doorway at the summit of the steps and we would be too late. Drawing my pistol, I fired as I ran. Like a clap of thunder the report roared in deafening echoes in the narrow passage; sulphurous smoke filled the air. The next second we reached the stairs, but Kinchi Haman had again eluded us. The door through which he had passed had been left ajar and it swung open at our touch. We found ourselves in a circular room like the bottom of a well, for it extended upwards to vast heights--perhaps to the very summit of the temple. The floor was flagged with huge stones so laid that their joints radiated from the centre of the room.

The beautifully frescoed stone walls were covered with intricate symbolic paintings of gods, priests, sacrifices and Mayan writing. In the centre of the place was a circular row of polished, tapering columns of vivid blue stone inlaid with gold, and rising for fully fifty feet to support an ornate roof or canopy of intricately-wrought silver. In the centre of the row of columns was a raised dais of blood-red stone, and seated upon this was the image of a hideous, misshapen, bestial god; a thing with human limbs and body, leering savage eyes; with huge gleaming fangs projecting from half-opened jaws from which a slavering tongue protruded. In place of ears were the conventionalized heads of rattlesnakes; the nose was an eagle’s beak; in one claw-like hand he held a human heart, in the other a ghastly distorted human head. He was carved from a single immense block of black stone, and covering his chest was a great, gleaming, gem-studded disk of gold bearing a human face surrounded by rays--the symbol of the sun.

* * * * *

WE were gazing at the sacred image of Kinich Ahau! We were within that most holy, mysterious, forbidden shrine in the centre of the temple! The prince, awed, filled with superstitious fears, had prostrated himself. Our men were prone upon the floor, babbling prayers of repentance, half-crazed with terror of swift vengeance for having entered the most sacred spot. But I gave little heed to them. The high-priest had entered here. He was nowhere in sight. Yet there was no other opening, no place in which he could be concealed. I hunted everywhere. I tore aside tapestries, searched among the columns, about the dais. Cursing, fuming, seething with rage, I moved about the walls, turning the glow of the bamboo tube upon the stones. But nowhere was there a sign of a hidden door.

I turned to Azcopil, spoke to him sharply, roughly, scathingly. Trembling with fear; casting frightened glances at the monstrous god as if expecting it to come to life, he joined me. But in vain we shouted to the men. In the presence of the bloodthirsty black god they were nerveless, useless. Inch by inch I went over the stone floor, examining every block, every joint with the red rays. But in vain. Checkmated, utterly at a loss, beginning to feel, as did Azcopil and the men, that Kinchi Haman had vanished in this air by supernatural means, I stared about. I had searched everywhere, everywhere--but at the thought I sprang to the idol.

I had _not_ searched the god! Over the dais I played the rays from Nohul Voh’s gift. I turned it upon the god’s feet, his legs, his back. With blanched awe-struck faces the men watched me. Never had such sacrilege been committed. Why did the vindictive god permit it? What mysterious power did I hold over him? There could be but one explanation to their minds. I, the son of Kukulcan, the Itzimin Chac, Controller of Thunder and Lightning; Bearer of the Symbol, Wielder of the Consuming Fire, was greater, more powerful than Kinich Ahau. He bowed to my will, dared make no protest. In my service they were safe, and slowly, half-fearfully, they rose, grasped their weapons and watched my every move. Now I was committing even greater sacrilege than before. I had gone over every portion of the idol within my reach. I grasped the flexed right arm of the idol to swing myself to his knees. The arm moved! Remembering the gigantic image at the entrance to the Cave of the Bats, I tugged at it, cautiously, watchfully, for there was no knowing how the mechanism operated. I could not know whether the thing would tip up, swing aside or drop down. Deep indrawn breaths of wonder and fear came from the men. The prince stared wide-eyed. Slowly the arm swung, and as it moved, the great golden disc revolved; the entire statue and dais slid to one side. I leaped down. Where the statue had stood was an opening in the floor with steps leading downwards. Kinchi Haman had escaped that way. We had lost valuable, precious time.

* * * * *

[Illustration: Where the statue had stood was an opening in the floor, with steps leading downwards]

* * * * *

Shouting to the others to follow, I sprang down the steps. Close at my heels came the prince, but the men remained behind. They had reached the utter limit of their courage. To attempt to urge them, to command them to follow would, I knew, be useless; it would be merely a waste of time, and with no fear of results, contemptuous of the cowardly high-priest who kidnaped women and ran away at our approach, I hurried on. Fifty feet more and we came into a sudden blaze of light in the open air. On every side rose high, massive walls. Far above our heads rose the mighty temple with the swaying, gaseous flames at its summit. To right and left were low, rambling buildings with inward sloping walls and doorways. Beyond, and facing us, was a low mound before an image of the Sun God.

I dashed towards the nearest doorway, that of the building to the left. The carved wooden door swung open, and from within came shrieks, screams, shrill cries. I halted in my tracks at the sight that greeted me. The place was filled with women! Half-naked, clad in single garments of white, they crowded back, wild-eyed, shrieking hysterically. Instantly I realized who they were, what they were doing here. They were Virgins of the Sun, girls doomed to sacrifice, to that awful symbolic wedding to Kinich Ahau; maidens, who before the dawning of another day, would be cast into the sacred well, if Kinchi Haman lived that long. A single rapid glance was enough to assure us he was not here. A single glance told me that my Itza was not among the terrified girls.

Where was she? Where was the high priest? We shouted to the poor things, tried to calm them, to reassure them. But though they ceased their screams, they were still panic-stricken, panting, as wild-eyed and breathless as frightened deer. Had they seen Kinchi Haman? Had they seen Itza? There was no reply. They might have been deaf and dumb. But Azcopil’s quietly put questions met with better results. A tall, queenly girl recognized him. With an effort she controlled her voice. “She--Itza--she is there!” she gasped, pointing with trembling hand to the right. “Kinchi Haman--he--is there. He--he prepares the--the others; the first to be Kinich Ahau’s brides.”

Before her last words were uttered, I had dashed to the door. Behind me Azcopil raced, panting, as I rushed for the building on the right. My Itza there! That hideous, bestial, devilish priest with her! Hot blood raced through my veins, my brain seemed on fire. I longed to tear the priest limb from limb with my own hands, to kill him by inches. For the time being I was a savage, a wild beast. The door was fastened! In vain we hurled ourselves upon it, battered at it, hacked at it. Dimly from within came screams, piercing shrieks. I seemed to recognize Itza’s voice. Madly, impotently I threw myself at the door.

Azcopil seized me, shook me. “The magic tube, Itzimin!” he yelled in my ears. “Quick! See, the hinges are of metal!”

* * * * *

WITH a jerk I came back to my senses. Unstopping the tube, I pointed it at the massive metal fastenings, trembling, shaking, filled with dread that the thing would prove useless. But I need not have feared. Like ice under the rays of the sun the metal fused, the door sagged, with a splintering crash it fell, and we sprang within. Figures materialized from nowhere. I saw weapons flash. I heard Azcopil utter a savage cry. I felt my sword bite into yielding flesh. A searing pain shot through my left arm. And with the stabbing pain of the wound my brain cleared. I remembered the bamboo tube, and dropping my sword, I drew the stopper and swung the thing about. In the darkness dazzling spots and flashes of blinding incandescence appeared as the rays played upon weapons, breastplates, metal caps and shields. Agonized yells and groans rent the air; the horrible smell of burning flesh filled our nostrils. Falling, writhing, ghastly forms were dimly outlined by the reflected light from molten metal. Then, only the last sobbing moans of dying men, the faint sound of frying, sizzling human flesh--and silence.

I shouted to the prince, fearful that he had been cut down, dreading that in the darkness and confusion I might have destroyed him by the terrible ray. But his reply came from close at hand; he was alive, unhurt. Leaping across the bodies, guided by a glimmer of light beyond, we dashed aside a hanging, and blinking, half-blinded by the light, stood in a small cell-like chamber. Objects of apparel were strewn about, a jar of water had been upset, remains of food were scattered over the floor, tapestries upon the walls were torn down. Everything pointed to a struggle within the room, but there was no human being to be seen. With a choking cry I leaped forward.

Gleaming amid the tumbled cushions and coverings of a couch was the golden chain whose missing links had been caught in the secret doorway of the tunnel leading to my palace. Itza had been here! She had fought. The screams I had heard had been hers! Where--Oh God! Where was she now? Had----

A faint, smothered cry came from the rear of the room, seemingly from behind a tapestry on the wall. With a yell of rage, shouting Itza! Itza! I dashed across the room, swept the cloth aside and sprang through the narrow doorway that it concealed. A dozen strides along a narrow passage and I was in the open air once more. And at the scene that met my horrified eyes, I felt sick and faint; my blood seemed to congeal in my veins, my heart seemed to stop beating. I seemed powerless to move. I was rooted to the spot, paralyzed. Within thirty paces of where I stood was the statue of the sun God above the low mound. At its feet, bound, gagged, helpless, lay Itza, while above her, gloating, hideous, clad in sacrificial robes, his arms upraised as though exhorting the monstrous god before him, was Kinchi Haman, a long-bladed, obsidian knife gripped in one hand!

“The sacrifice!” gasped Azcopil, who unnoticed had reached my side.

His words broke the awful spell. I was galvanized into life, into swift understanding. An instant before I had been bereft of sense, of conscious thought. Unutterable horror had possessed my every faculty. But now my brain felt strangely, abnormally clear and calm. To move, to cry out would mean Itza’s instant death.

At any second the priest might strike. There was but one chance, one hope of saving Itza from the terrible fate that threatened her. Noiselessly I drew my revolver from its holster. Slowly, with steady hand, I raised the weapon until the ivory bead upon the barrel covered the priest’s back. With a prayer to God that I might not miss, I pulled the trigger.

A piercing shriek drowned the roar of the report. Through the haze of smoke, I saw the priest double up. The knife fell flashing from his hand; he swayed, half-turned, reeled backward, and with a second wild despairing scream, vanished utterly!

But I was already half way across the intervening space. I sprang towards the mound, towards Itza stretched upon the altar on the farther side. There was a sharp warning cry from Azcopil, his hand gripped my collar and I was jerked gasping, half-choked, to one side. And in the nick of time! Almost at my feet, concealed by the encircling mound, yawned a seemingly bottomless pit black, awesome, ominous. The prince had saved my life, had saved me from a horrible fate. Another stride and I would have plunged into the depths of the sacred well, into the gruesome waters that had closed forever over Kinchi Haman.

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