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.”