Cult of the Black Jaguar (4 page)

With the coming of night, Ah Puch took on an entirely different atmosphere, no longer an abandoned city but a supernatural metropolis filled with the ghosts of dead priests and their rabid cult of followers. Pots of flaming oil lined the wide main avenue, creating shadows that danced and threatened the procession of outsiders. In the jungle, jaguars howled and wailed as the men marched towards their appointment with death.

Towering above everything, the Temple de Sangre stood sentinel over its evil domain. Torches blazed around the base of the temple and up the stairs. More flickered at the top of the pyramid, where a square stone chamber with wide windows held the sacrificial altar. Incenses of various types filled the air with pungent odors that masked the smells of rotting plant life and wet soil emanating from the jungle.

The dark, starry skies and sputtering torchlight brought the ruins to life. Ethan had no trouble picturing how it must have looked hundreds of years in the past, when thousands of men and women would have stood around their foul temple, praying to the Priests and Priestesses as innocent lives were cut short just to appease their abominable gods.

As they walked, Heathcliff Pascal stumbled and Elton Harrison put an arm around him to help keep him upright. Seeing the movement, Popi rush forward and separated them.

“The man is bloody sick, you ignorant savage!” Harrison spat.

Veracruz spoke something in the Mayan tongue and Popi backed away. “He is ill?” Veracruz asked Ethan.

“His heart. He needs his medicine. In his pack. Just one pill—”

“No.” Veracruz cut him off. “You are all going to die tonight. What is the point in taking medicine first?”

“You're a real bastard, Hector. I'm going to enjoy killing you.” Ethan wished he could be as sure as he sounded. It would be difficult—no, impossible—to do what needed doing without revealing the secret he and Heathcliff had kept for so long.

“Shut up and keep walking!” Veracruz shoved Ethan forward.

Ethan had expected Veracruz to lead them to the top of the pyramid. Instead, the procession halted at the base of the temple. A chorus of yowling jaguar cries rose up from thick tropical forest surrounding Ah Puch.

“Behold, the High Priestess comes.”

Hector pointed to the top of the temple and his men raised their gazes to the pyramid's peak. Ethan followed suit, stunned by the revelation that the natives weren't crazy, that someone still occupied the temple and was leading them in the ancient ways.

A figure emerged from the altar chamber and began to descend the stairs. As it drew closer, details became visible to Ethan. A woman, cloaked in a long, flowing cape made from black jaguar hide. The beast's head was intact and sat atop the Priestess's own like a crown.

She took each step with regal precision, her lithe legs never slowing or faltering, her bare feet never slipping or missing a step. Ethan had climbed other temples, knew how the steep, narrow stairs could cramp even the strongest of calf muscles. Clearly the Priestess kept herself strong.

But for who?

The Priestess stopped at the bottom of the pyramid, twenty feet from the prisoners. Long, slender arms emerged from under the cape and lifted the animal-head hood back and away.

Revealing one of the most beautiful women Ethan had ever seen in his life.

The Priestess, who looked no more than eighteen, curled one finger in a slow, languid gesture. Immediately, Popi sprang forward to slide the ebony fur from her shoulders. He bowed and stepped to the side.

Ethan's breath caught in his lungs as he realized she wore almost nothing under the robe.

Long, raven-black hair fell in a straight line down to her waist. It flowed in a midnight waterfall over her naked shoulders, chest, and waist. The effect was at once exciting and chaste, as it covered her while at the same time offering tantalizing glimpses of forbidden flesh.

An ornate skirt-like garment, fashioned from spun gold and decorated with precious stones, went from her waist to just above her knees. The honey-yellow color of the jewels matched the woman's eyes exactly.

The haughty expression on her full lips bespoke of generations of aristocratic lineage, as did her perfect posture and icy demeanor. Seeing her, Ethan knew it wouldn't matter if she stood in front of an ancient temple or a modern skyscraper. In any time, in any place, there could be no mistaking her for anything but royalty.

The dark angel's slender, scantily clad body would normally have been the focus of Ethan's thoughts, but it was her eyes that drew his attention.

Elliptical pupils sat within the almond-shaped, amber orbs. As alien as they were in her human face, they were somehow familiar to him. Then he remembered where he'd seen eyes like that before.

On the jaguar he'd killed the previous night.

The Priestess cast her disdainful gaze towards the prisoners. With a slight motion of one hand, she motioned them forward. Hector and Luz gave them no chance to object, prodding the captives with their rifles.

“I am Ix Chel, Moon Priestess and living body of the Balamob. You have intruded on our lands and angered the Gods.” Her surprisingly powerful voice echoed from the surrounding buildings. In contrast to her graceful beauty, her words came out harsh and low, almost a growl.

Ethan cleared his throat, momentarily at a loss for something to say. When no one else spoke, he said the first thing that came to him. “You speak our language well.”

“I speak many tongues, as befits a Priestess. For one hundred years I have ruled Ah Puch. I have learned much in that time.”

“You rule an empty city?” Ethan allowed himself a trace of mockery. If he could anger her enough to make her approach him…

The Priestess raised one regal eyebrow, as if she knew exactly what game he was trying to play.

“My duty is to the Gente de Jaguar. Since the night I became queen, I have gathered my strength so that one day I can return them to their glory, to rule this land as my people once did. Now that power is within my grasp. With one last sacrifice, I will bring forth my priests and priestesses, and Ah Puch will live again!”

Heathcliff called out in a thin voice. “What about my daughter?”

Ix Chel stared at Pascal for a long moment before speaking. “You are the historian. I can see you possess a great mind, housed in a weak body. Death already summons you.”

She smiled, a wide grin that exposed long, pointed teeth at the corners of her mouth.

“Your bodies will feed the
balamobs
, the jaguar spirits, who will smile on us and bring good fortune. As for your daughter…” Ix Chel turned her head upwards, towards the top of the great pyramid behind her. “See for yourselves. The virgin awaits my blade even now.”

The powerful voice grew even louder, the rumbling tones deepening to a feral snarl. She raised her hands upwards in supplication. “Tonight I shall dine on her living heart and her blood will give me strength to free my priests!”

Ethan looked up at the top of the pyramid. Distracted earlier by Ix Chel's lissome descent, he hadn't noticed the second figure in the chamber.

The figure that stood bound and gagged at the wide opening.

Even from a distance, there was no mistaking her identity. Jenny wore only a thin, white robe. The gossamer-sheer material spread out behind her in the evening breeze, held closed by a thin rope around her waist. Her copper hair shimmered like liquid metal pouring over her shoulders. Her eyes were wide and frantic as she looked down at the people below.

“Take them away!” the High Priestess said.

“No! Not my daughter!” Heathcliff pushed past the others and lunged forward.

Hector brought up his gun.

“Professor, no!” Ethan threw his body into the professor without thinking. The roar of the gun and the sledgehammer blow to his chest seemed to happen simultaneously.

Ethan collapsed on the ground. Fire filled his chest. Ix Chel spoke, but he couldn't understand her words. Dark brown arms entered his field of vision. Arms appeared to one side, dragging something into the night. The professor? Was he dead as well? Ethan looked up, saw the feline eyes of Ix Chel hovering over him.

In the erratic light of the torches, her face seemed to grow longer, her eyes more golden. As if she was becoming something else.

Something not quite human.

Then his strength failed him and his head fell to the side.

More words reached him, as if from a great distance. Heathcliff, his old friend, shouting. “You can stop this, Ethan. It's not too late.”

His head filled with a buzzing, as if a thousand bees filled his skull. Thoughts misfired, struggled for coherence.

Heathcliff? No, you're dead.

Stop it? Stop what?

They have Jenny.

There was nothing he could do. No more miracles. He'd looked inside himself for the courage to face his fear of revealing his true self, but it wasn't there. Where once had beaten the heart of a warrior now only indecision remained, pushing weak, timid blood through his veins.

“She loves you, Ethan. She told me. She always has.”

Heathcliff's voice again. Or was he dreaming?

Dimly, he was aware of his body moving across sharp stones.

It didn't matter. It was over. He was dying, and it was too late to change that. Soon he'd join the professor, together in death as in life.

Images came to life inside his brain. Jenny sitting by the fire, her voluptuous body outlined against the tents. Jenny atop the pyramid, flashes of pale flesh and forbidden treasure showing when the wind tossed back her white garment.

Jenny, lying underneath him, clothes and flesh torn to pieces, her beautiful face covered in her own blood.

No! That could never happen. He wouldn't allow it. That's why he'd never let himself…let the beast…

More rocks scraped against his back. He forced his eyes open. Popi and Luz stood in front of him, hands gripping is arms, preparing to lift his body. He turned his head, and through a haze of pain recognized the black hole behind him.

A
cenote
, an ancient Mayan well.

“Do it.” Hector Veracruz's voice.

The hands pulled and pushed. His body teetered at the edge of the
cenote
. Ethan closed his eyes again. A final push, then peaceful oblivion. All his pain and sorrow would be gone.

There's still time to make the right decision.
This time he knew the thought was his own, even if it sounded like the professor's voice. As always, the professor served as his conscience, his moral compass.

Damn you, Heathcliff!

With his last ounces of strength, he clutched at Popi's shirt just as the two guards let him go, and together they toppled into the blackness.

Free…

Rory Amos watched in horror as the two men disappeared into the
cenote
's opening. Popi's wordless scream echoed up from of the ancient tunnel and then stopped, cut off by death or distance. Not that it mattered.
Cenotes
could be hundreds of feet deep, and usually led to underground lakes or rivers that eventually fed into the ocean. There was no surviving a drop like that.

“Watch the others!” Veracruz shouted to Luz. He ran to the edge of the
cenote
and peered into the Stygian darkness.

“That's the way, Ethan,” Rory said, anger and sorrow filling his voice. “At least you took one of the bastards with you.”

Despair washed over him in a black wave. Ethan was gone. The professor was somewhere inside the temple, dragged there by Ix Chel herself, most likely for some sadistic ritual.

That left him and Elton Harrison, and it didn't look good for them, waiting their turn to be thrown into the bottomless well.

Veracruz let out a short exclamation of fear and stepped back from the opening. Dark spatters of liquid ran down the man's face, and a larger stain stood out on his green shirt. Something flew out of the hole and bounced off the stone wall surrounding the
cenote
. It took Rory a moment to recognize the object, and even then he couldn't believe it.

Popi's head?

A bellow of pure rage sounded within the
cenote
. The insensate anger in the long, drawn-out cry brought terrified howls from the jaguars in the jungle.

A figure emerged from the pit, flying upwards into the night sky. Wide, leathery wings blotted the stars as the creature banked and turned back towards the gathered humans.

“Good Lord!” Harrison fell down and threw his arms over his head.

Hector Veracruz's shotgun roared once, twice. The smaller, sharper reports of Luz's pistol followed, both men trying futilely to aim at the swooping, soaring figure overhead.

There was a pause while the two men reloaded. In that instant, the dark figure landed in front of Luz. Muscular arms, covered in lizard-like scales, shot out and long, curved talons stabbed into the man's neck and chest. The snarling beast pulled him forward to where a gaping mouth full of triangular teeth waited.

Luz had time to utter a single bleat of terror before monstrous jaws closed on his neck and tore it away. Blood spurted in all directions. It splashed across Hector Veracruz's face, and he dropped the shotgun to wipe frantically at his eyes with both hands.

The creature tossed Luz's corpse to the side, and Amos was finally able to get a good look at it.

It stood well over six feet tall, on powerfully built legs. Under the tattered remnants of a tan safari shirt and pants, its chest was broad and hairless. A fine patina of scales covered the entire body, reflecting the torchlight in a myriad of tiny starbursts.

On top of the thick neck sat a head with a massive, broad snout like a bear's. Tall, pointed ears rose up on either side of its head. Its eyes burned red as coals, aflame with a malevolent hate that turned Rory's legs to rubber.

Veracruz fell to his hands and knees. He scuttled backwards, shouting “Diablo! Diablo!”