When the Spanish Conquistadors had arrived in the land of the Incas, they had been greeted as gods, as Viracochas, a word literally meaning ‘Foam of the Sea.’ Portrayed as a tall, bearded white man, the god Viracocha was a creator deity, often described in the plural sense, suggesting more than one existed. According to legend, Viracocha came to the Andean region from across the sea sometime after a great flood. After bringing the fruits of civilisation to the Incas’ predecessors, he once again returned to the ocean.
Kukulkan of the Maya and Quetzalcoatl of the Aztecs, the great Feathered Serpent, was likewise a civilising god, a bearded white man who returned to the sea from where he had originated.
As he delved deeper, he had found this corresponding theme littering mythology, tying in legends from Peru and Mexico to Egypt and Sumer, India and China. Osiris and Thoth, Vishnu and Enki, Oannes and Odin, to name but a few of these God-Men.
He hadn’t been the first to suggest such a link in the theology of the ancient world. Pseudo-scientists and often described ‘pyrimidiots’ who believed the Giza pyramids had been built by extra-terrestrials or descendants from Atlantis had seen the connection years ago. But Reginald King was one of the few recognised scholars to partake in a serious study of a global civilisation, much to his own ridicule. He had never believed in E.T. but had come to the conclusion that hundreds of years before the rise of Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, long before the recognised beginning of history, another civilisation existed. A civilisation with the knowledge and technology to teach developing cultures across the globe the art of civilisation.
Yet, despite the links he had identified, the similarities, the near-identical myths in ancient cultures that had never met, the Progenitors had remained always a phantom. Never had there existed any tangible, indisputable evidence for their existence.
Until now.
“Okay, say you’re right,” Sid said carefully. “Say the Xibalbans are in fact the progenitor race of other South and Central American cultures, and that they were in fact influenced by an even greater civilisation. How did the Progenitors survive carrying the pieces of the Moon Mask on their global journeys? And why, if they were in fact this incredible, benevolent race of ancient humans, why would they transplant something they knew to be harmful, deadly, to a developing culture. Surely they knew it would mean death to the Xibalbans.”
“Maybe they didn’t know,” King suggested. “Nate and I have some sort of immunity to the tachyon radiation. Maybe so too did the Progenitors. And if they weren’t harmed by the mask, then they wouldn’t have known the harm they were doing to the Xibalbans, or any other culture they entrusted with a piece of it.”
Sid’s pretty face screwed up, unconvinced. “I don’t know, Ben. Something just doesn’t fit. I mean, I’m not disputing the Moon Mask theory, nor the idea of the survivors transplanting the myth or Xibalba, or even their technology and knowledge. But I think pursuing the Progenitor connection between the Bouda and Xibalba is barking up the wrong tree.”
King frowned at her, a jolting sense of betrayal rushing through him. “No,” he argued. “The mask’s presence in the New World proves it was transplanted from the old by a race of advanced seafarers in prehistory.”
“But that conflicts with the legends of the Moon Mask,” Sid protested. She knew she was treading on thin ice. Her boyfriend was sensitive about his theory, even more so since his father’s death. Nevertheless, Ambassador Langley had wanted her involved in the mission as a ‘level head’, to keep King on track. The priority wasn’t proving the existence of the Progenitors; it was finding the rest of the mask.
“Remember what Raphael del Vega told us about the Sanumá legend,” she said to him. “He said that the Evil Spirit on Sarisariñama manifested itself into the form of a face so that its mouth could devour the humans who lived on the mountain. And nowhere in the Bouda legends does it mention that they were actually given their shard of the mask by any particular person.”
King grew agitated. He turned from the picture board they had assembled and glowered at Sid. “They believed that the gods divided it up and entrusted one piece to them. Any significantly advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,” he quoted. “To the primitive tribe that they were before being given the Moon Mask, the Progenitor’s level of technology would have seemed advanced. Magical. Godly.”
“Ben,” she replied, her own frustration starting to boil over. “We’ve been tasked by the United Nations with finding the rest of the Moon Mask. Yes, it was broken and scattered across the earth. Yes, somehow one piece made it to the New World, but that doesn’t prove the existence of the Progenitors.” King tried to cut in but she continued to speak over him, determined to get her point across. “For all we know, Christopher Columbus himself might have taken it there! Or Hernan Cortes or Francisco Pizarro—”
“I thought you were supposed to be supportive?” King snarled angrily.
“No!” Sid snapped. Her lower jaw trembled as her emotions, pent-up for days, erupted. “I’m a scientist, Ben. I’m not just going to blindly go along with your theory if I don’t think it’s right.”
“How can you doubt—”
“Under ordinary circumstances,” she cut him off, “if we were just debating the existence of the Progenitors for a heated scholarly debate then fine, I’d be willing to open my mind a little. But we are not! I want to find the rest of this mask because it poses a danger to thousands, even millions of people’s lives. But you,” she heard the bitterness crack into her voice. A lump formed in her throat. “You don’t care about that, do you? All you care about is proving that your father wasn’t crazy! All you care about is showing off to the world, saying ‘hey, look at me! I’m Benjamin King and I was right all along!’”
“How dare you—”
“You’re obsessed, Ben!” Her eyes were angry now and hot tears began to swell. “You’re obsessed with the mask. Just like Kha’um was. Just like your father was. You don’t care about anything else,” her body trembled as the words spilled out of her mouth. “Not the tachyon radiation or this super-duper bomb. Not the millions of lives that are at risk, and most certainly not about me!”
The words smacked King in the face like a physical blow. “What do you mean? Of course I care about you.”
“Do you?” A single tear finally squeezed out of her left eye. “When we were on the mountain-top, where was your priority? With me or the mask?”
“We had to keep it safe.”
“I was dying, Ben!” She broke down. The awkwardness that had consumed them since being reunited finally manifested itself. “By the time you got back to me, I might have died, just like Professor McKinney!”
“You just said yourself, millions of lives—”
“It was my life Ben! Am I proud that what you and Nate did kept a potentially terrible weapon away from the Chinese? Yes! I am so proud of you.” She touched his check, feeling the firm set of his jaw as it clenched. “But you weren’t thinking about millions of lives. You weren’t even thinking about my life. All you were thinking about was the mask. About keeping it away from the Chinese, about keeping it away from Nate—”
“That’s not fair!”
“Isn’t it? Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you thought of me, of my safety and nothing else as you ran around those ancient ruins! Tell me you didn’t care if the mask was destroyed or lost so long as I was okay! Tell me I mattered more than some lump of space rock! Tell me—”