After fifteen minutes of back-breaking marching, they broke into a little clearing.
At the far end of the clearing, between two low bushes, was a broad, flat, yellow rock. Neil looked at the rock, and his eyes clouded. Erik had noticed it, too, and Olaf’s eyes widened now in recognition.
“That rock,” he said. “It is the very one we rested on. We have been walking in a circle. The Devil has led us in a circle.”
“Quiet,” Erik said tensely. He was serious as he spoke to Neil. “We should have marked a trail.”
“Yes. But we didn’t.”
“What now?” Olaf demanded. “What do we do now?”
Neil thought of the jaguar they’d seen, and wondered how many other dangerous animals were in the forest.
“We shall have to find our way back to the beach,” Erik said. His voice softened. “Would you like to lead, Neil?”
“I’ll try,” Neil replied. He thought again of the jaguar.
They started off between the trees again, Erik following Neil, and Olaf bringing up a quiet, scowling rear.
Overhead, the monkeys chattered foolishly.
Chapter 7
Captured!
Heat, intolerable, blazing down through the treetops, scorching the forest. Sound. A medley of sounds that rose in cacophony to greet the eardrums. The ceaseless shrieking of the monkeys, the droning of the insects, the chirrup, chirrup, chirrup of an industrious cricket in the tall grass.
And over all this, a wearisome fatigue that pulled at the leg muscles and worked its way across your back and your shoulders. Sweat oozed from every pore in your body, and your shirt clung to your back, hugging your skin. You felt hot and thirsty and you wanted to lie down and rest-but you had to find your way back to the beach and back to the machine that would take you home one day.
And so you pushed the tall grass aside, pulling your hand back occasionally when you ripped the skin on a jagged, saw-toothed blade. And you tripped every now and then, scraping your elbows, your head buried in the tall grass, with the smell of the earth deep in your nostrils, and the animal smell, and the smell of green things growing in a vast wilderness, a wilderness a little too awesome to comprehend.
You struggled onward, because it seemed the only thing to do, and because two Norsemen were following you: one who believed in you and another who hated your guts.
You struggled onward.
Neil’s breath came in hurried gasps. He pushed the grass aside and stepped forward again. A branch slashed across his face, and he stepped to one side in a vain effort to dodge it. Ahead, a monkey sat on a low limb, raising his eyes foolishly, his mouth babbling incoherent nonsense. Neil swatted at an insect that buzzed unmercifully about his head. He glanced at his watch.
Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes since they’d left the flat rock, and they hadn’t come across it again. At least, he reassured himself, they weren’t now going in a circle. But were they headed back for the beach or were they only penetrating deeper into the forest?
Back in America, back in the University ball park, the kids were playing baseball now. It was the twentieth century there, and somewhere there was probably a kid dreaming of a Norseman or a forest adventure. Neil’s mother would be preparing supper, or was it still a little too early; yes, probably it was. And his father would be reading a book perhaps, propped up in his bed, his leg stretched out ahead of him, his head resting on the pillows.
Neil suddenly felt terribly alone, terribly far from the people he loved and the places he knew. Irritably, he swatted at a fly and doggedly pushed against the growth again.
He stopped, raising his head like a bird dog sniffing the wind. His eyes squinted through the trees, and every muscle in his body went stiff.
“What is it?” Erik asked behind him.
Neil didn’t answer. His eyes kept staring straight ahead. Perhaps it was only a trick his vision was playing. Perhaps the sunlight and the trees and the insects and the noise of the forest…
“Do you see something?” Erik asked.
“Yes. Yes. That is, I think so. I think I see something.”
He was vaguely aware that his speech was hesitant and a little incoherent. With a trembling finger, he pointed through the trees, through the leaves that formed a natural arch of green.
“It is a house,” Erik said, a little surprised. “A stone house.”
Neil let out his breath. “You see it too?”
“Yes. Not all of it. Just the top. But it is a house of some sort.”
Olaf pushed forward, his eyes flashing behind their puffed lids like the worried eyes of an English bulldog. “Where?” he demanded, his voice rising expectantly.
Erik pointed. “See there? Beyond the trees. The stone dwelling? Do you see it?”
“No.”
“Use the eyes the gods gave you,” Erik said in anger, relieved at finding signs of life and annoyed because Olaf could not, or would not, see it. “There, ahead there.” He looked at Olaf’s face and found blankness there. He seized Olaf by the shoulder and pointed again. “Follow this branch, do you see? Follow my finger along the branch.”
Olafs eyes followed Erik’s finger as it moved along the line of the branch. “Now. Do you see where the branch forks at the tip? Near that cluster of leaves? There. Do you see, or are you truly blind?”
“I see,” Olaf answered. “It is the top of a stone dwelling.”
“Ah-h-h-h,” Erik said, “ah-h-h-h. He sees. He sees, Neil. We may now proceed.”
Together they made their way forward, never losing sight of the stone building ahead. The forest began to thin, with large clearings now, and fewer trees and bushes.
On the edge of the forest, they stopped and climbed to the top of a huge rock. Here they sprawled flat on their bellies and looked toward the place where they had seen the stone building.
Neil blinked at the sight that confronted his eyes. He shook his head, blinked again, and then stared in open wonder.
Below them lay not only one building, but a profusion of buildings, clean and majestic-looking, well-ordered, gleaming in the afternoon sun.
Temples and palaces greeted their awe-struck eyes, well-paved courts and plazas, immense pyramids, tall, carved blocks of stone.
Neil’s mind flicked back to the photographs he had seen on Dr. Falsen’s desk, photographs of the ruins of a once great city. These were the pictures of Chichen-Itza, the fabulous Maya city in Yucatan.
Neil knew he was looking at that very city now, seeing it as no archaeologist had ever seen it, seeing it in its splendid perfection-the complete glory of ages past.
He sucked in a great gulp of air and murmured, “Chichen-Itza. Yucatan. We’re in Yucatan.”
“What?” Erik asked.
“Yucatan,” Neil said, “this is Yucatan, Erik.” He spoke in Swedish now.
Erik struggled with the word. “Yook-tan? Is that the name of this city?”
Neil remembered that the land was completely unfamiliar to the Norseman. “It is a city far from your home,” he said. “It is called Chichen-Itza.”
“It is a beautiful city,” Erik said.
“Yes.”
Olaf suddenly spoke. “There is water in the city. I see water there.”
He pointed to a small stone building that faced a large, open wall.
“Yes,” Erik said. “But where are the people?”
Neil said, almost to himself, “I wish my father were here.”
“Your father? Why?”
“He knows the people of this land well. If he were here, he could help us.”
“What people?” Olaf wanted to know. “I see no people. Let us go down for the water.”
“Perhaps we had better ask for it,” Erik said wisely.