Nohul Voh’s Warning
I HAD begun to think that the Bridge of Light had vanished forever.
That as soon as I had appeared as the bearer of the Book of Kukulcan,
the amazing span had ceased to exist, or that old Kinchi Haman--if as
I suspected he controlled it--had some ulterior motive in preventing
me or anyone else from leaving the valley. Although I had seen so many
inexplicable and incredible happenings, although I had had indisputable
proofs of the fulfillment of the ancient prophecies, I had not yet
become so convinced of their inspired origin or so weaned from my faith
in hard and fast scientific facts, that I could accept matters as did
the Mayas.
Although I did not pretend--even to my own mind--to explain many
things, especially the Bridge of Light, yet not for a moment did I
believe it supernatural. Either it was some natural, if inexplicable
and entirely new, phenomenon, or else it was some equally inexplicable
device of man.
In the first case it must be subject to natural laws; in the second it
must be operated, produced by some one possessing its secret. Everyone
agreed that the phenomenon had appeared and disappeared repeatedly
in the past, hence if it were a natural thing there was every reason
to believe that it would continue to appear and vanish. If natural
and controlled by nature’s forces, then the fact that it had ceased
to exist just after I arrived was merely a coincidence. Moreover, if
natural, and if it followed the ordinary and accepted laws of natural
phenomena, there was every reason to expect that the periods of its
existence and non-existence would be definite, well-established cycles.
On the other hand, if it were a man-made and man-operated thing, it
had unquestionably been cut off purposely as soon as I had passed over
it, and its periods of existence in the past would have been, in all
probability, irregular and erratic.
I was surprised that I had not thought of making a systematic study of
its past, but I would lose no time in doing so now. Neither the prince,
nor Itza, nor the princesses could give me any definite information on
the matter, but old Nohul Voh, I felt sure, would be able to help me.
We had become very friendly, really chummy in fact, and he had long
before cast aside his assumed shell of mystery, and had been remarkably
frank with me in regard to his knowledge and his powers. Only on the
matter of his Book of the Past and Book of the Future, as he called
them, was he reticent. He would divulge nothing of this matter, but I
had become convinced that this was because of his inability to explain
it rather than because of disinclination.
In fact, I firmly believed that--as I had thought in the beginning--it
was some form of hypnotism, mental-telepathy or mind-reading, which was
as much a mystery to him as to anyone else, but that rather than admit
that he did not understand it, he pretended it was a secret he could
not reveal. However, in all other matters he was frank with me. His
mysterious sphere he had explained to the best of his ability, though
even this was a mystery to him. Naturally he knew nothing of the atomic
theory, of electrons, of ether waves, and hence he could not readily
grasp the theory I had formulated to account for it. He had stumbled
upon the force, had adapted it to his uses, and there he had stopped.
It was the same with all his other knowledge and discoveries.
He possessed a vast knowledge of medicinal herbs, but he had no
conception of chemistry. He extracted curative salts and drugs from
earths and minerals, but he could not explain their nature, was
entirely ignorant of the difference between acids and alkalis, and he
knew nothing of the laws and theories of chemical reactions. He had
discovered that the radioactive mineral, in combination with certain
ores, emitted a brilliant, apparently perpetual light, but he was
unaware that the light was the result of the decomposition of the
metallic element, radium.
And his most uncanny and seemingly supernatural power, that of
appearing to fade and float through the air, was utterly inexplicable,
he admitted. It was a trick or a power which, he claimed, had been
inherited for countless generations by his clan; it was, so he
declared, purely mental and not mechanical nor chemical, and though
possibly--for I am broad-minded enough to admit there are more
things in heaven and on earth than any scientist has dreamed of in
his philosophy--it may have been the Indian Yogi’s alleged power to
transport themselves bodily for any distance, yet I believed and still
believe it to be some form of hypnotism. He admitted that he could not
perform the seeming miracle, except under certain conditions and in
certain environments, and I mentally classed it with the rope-climbing,
dismembering and mango-growing tricks of the Hindoo fakirs.
But regardless of all this, in spite of the fact that the old sorcerer
was, scientifically speaking, as ignorant as any of his people, still
he was a veritable storehouse of the history, the traditions, the
legends and the records of his race. That he was extremely old was
certain. That he had discovered the elixir of perpetual youth, as
he claimed, seemed quite possible and even probable, when I looked
upon his youthful face, his active muscular body and his snow-white
hair. That he had always looked exactly the same, from the time of
the earliest recollections of the oldest inhabitants of Mictolan, all
agreed, and all declared also, that he had been the same in the days
of their fathers and their fathers’ fathers _ad infinitum_. But I
knew, from long experience, how difficult, almost impossible, it is to
disentangle fact and fiction in Indian traditions and memories, and
whether he was a century or ten centuries of age, I could not hazard a
guess.
* * * * *
HOWEVER that might be, there was no question that he had been the
official keeper of the Mayan records, the astronomer, the soothsayer,
the sage, the historian of the people of Mictolan for innumerable
years. He had explained his method of making astronomical observations
through the carefully calculated and accurately placed slits in his
tower, and I had been astounded at his deep knowledge of the planets,
the constellations and the celestial universe. Though, as I have said,
he had adapted his green sphere apparatus to serve as a working model
of the earth and its rotation, orbit and relation to the planets, and
from this was able to work out problems by which he checked up on the
Mayan calendar, yet he verified his calculations by observations of the
heavenly bodies, and by the crudest and simplest of instruments.
And he proved conclusively to me, that the results were amazingly
accurate. The Mayan calendrical system, as I already knew, was perhaps
one of the greatest achievements of any race, and was considered
superior to anything of the sort previous to that in use by ourselves
at the present time. But I had never before fully realized how truly
astonishing it was, the more especially in view of the manner in which
it was worked out and checked for errors. To read of a thing, to see
characters, dates and figures cut in cold stone, is one thing; but to
stand beside a living man of a supposedly-vanished race, and have him
explain and demonstrate the same facts, is quite another.
As old Nohul Voh patiently explained the meaning and the calculations
of the twenty Mayan days and their names, the solar year of 360 days,
with the addition of the five “unlucky days” or _Uayeb_, and the
relationship of the divine year or Tonalmatl with the civic year,
matters that had been confused and hazy before became clear and simple.
It was the same with the Calendar-Round and the Initial Days of the
years, the Tuns, Katuns and Baktuns, the Long Count and the system of
numerical glyphs. And his method of using the planet Venus for checking
up on his observations was astounding and intensely interesting. By
observing the periods elapsing between the appearances of this planet
as the morning star, Star-periods of almost precisely 584 days--he
knew that when the planet had appeared five times its appearance
should tally with the eight years of 365 days each of his calendar.
His arithmetical method of working out the Venus and calendrical
coincidences was truly remarkable, both for its accuracy and its
simplicity, and as I watched him, I began to appreciate the superiority
of the Mayan vigesimal system over our decimal system, and realized how
non-essential were the complicated higher mathematics employed by our
scientists and astronomers.
Taking the Venus period or cycle of 584 days as a basis, he divided it
by the twenty day signs of the Mayan month which gave him twenty-nine
with a remainder of four. Hence every Venus cycle ended with a day-sign
four days later than that preceding it. Then, dividing twenty by the
four, he found five day signs were enough to serve as symbols for
the terminations of Venus-cycles, and as the day signs were always
combined with numerals from one to thirteen, and as thirteen divides
584 with a remainder of twelve, the terminal day of each Venus cycle
was recognizable by its number being one less than the preceding one.
Hence, as he pointed out, five times thirteen, or 65 Venus-cycles,
must elapse before the same day name and number symbol could recur as
an ending date to a Venus-period. Thus 65 Venus-cycles would equal two
calendar Rounds of 52 years each or 104 years, and once in 104 years
the Venus Count, the Calendar Count, and the Year Count would coincide
to a day and hour.
All of this dissertation on Nohul Voh’s astronomical knowledge and
ability may appear to have no connection with my anxiety to find the
Bridge of Light once more streaming across the chasm that barred escape
from Mictolan. But, as a matter of fact, it had a most important
bearing upon the matter. A man who nightly studied the heavens, who
kept all the calendrical records, must, I believed, have observed when
and how often and for how long a period the tell-tale flames from the
great temple of the sun had flared against the sky.
He could scarcely have avoided doing so, and his memory was so
remarkable, that I felt sure that even if he had not recorded the dates
of the occurrences, he could recall them. So, filled with my new scheme
of establishing some definite facts regarding the incredible bridge, I
hurried to the old fellow and explaining my ideas and theories, asked
if he could give me information or data bearing on the subject.
“My son,” he said, after a moment’s thought, “from the very beginning
of time the Bridge of Light must have spanned the chasm. Does not the
Book of Kukulcan speak of it? When I, a youth, came to Mictolan with
those others who founded the city, we crossed the Bridge of Light, as I
have said, and found the fires coming from the ancient temple wherein
was that last priest of a vanished people. Ever since that distant time
the Bridge of Light has come and gone, as no doubt it came and went
for ages before the survivors of the Empire of the Great Serpent came
unto Mictolan. In my mind the times of its coming and its going are
not fixed. To me it meant nothing. But much that has fled my memory
during the Katuns that have passed have been set down by me, for who
knows when the word let fall in jest may prove the greatest truth? Who
can say that the stone tossed carelessly in air may not bring down the
winging bird? Who can foretell that the seed, dropped by mischance,
may not bring forth the greatest yield of grain? Perchance, among my
records and my writings, I may find that which, noted and forgotten as
of no worth, may be the answer that you so much desire.”
Rising, he bent over a pile, made up of papyrus covered with the
picture symbols and characters, of clay tablets and slabs of thin stone
bearing the familiar cartouches of Mayan inscriptions and dates, and
of strips of bark-cloth on which were mystic figures, diagrams and
drawings.
“And will not your Book of the Past tell you more readily what you
seek?” I asked, half-jestingly.
He shook his head. “Nay, Itzimin Chac,” he replied. “The Book of the
Past, even as the Book of the Future, deals not with matters here in
Mictolan. Never do they reveal events within this valley. Why, I do
not know. When you gazed upon the magic smoke and saw the road of the
symbol you saw nothing of the valley, nothing of the Bridge of Light.
When I watched you coming hither I saw nothing of your arrival after
you entered the Cave of the Bats. All within the valley is black. Could
I but see into the future or the past here in Mictolan, then, my son,
would I know at what time the Bridge of Light would again give footing
for my lord’s passage with his bride; then would I know the secret of
the Bridge of Light; then could I see the Monster of Sacrifices, and
then, my son, could I see what the Kinchi Haman plots and plans for
your downfall and could warn you. But all within the valley is hidden
from my sight. Ah, here, my son, is what I seek.”
* * * * *
ALTHOUGH Nohul Voh had kept no consecutive records of the phenomenon he
had mentioned, the appearance of the flames from the temple at various
times--no doubt he had found they interfered with his observations and
had cursed them roundly at the time--and with a little calculation he
was able to fix their dates beyond any question. For a number of years,
as nearly as we could judge, the appearances and disappearances of
the Bridge of Light had been almost uniform. The temple flames would
appear, would flare steadily for forty days (two Mayan months) and
would subside for thirty-two days.
Then came a record where for six months or 120 days they had burned
steadily.
“I remember the time now,” declared Nohul Voh. “See, the date is 2 Ahau
13 Tzec 2 Ahau. We took it for a sign that the bearer of the Book of
Kukulcan was on his way; but I gazed into the Books of the Past and
Future and saw him not.”
“Two Ahau, 13 Tzec 2 Ahau!” I made a swift mental calculation. Good
Lord! That was somewhere between A. D. 220 and 240! Impossible! Over
sixteen hundred years ago! The old fellow was romancing; he could
not--no living man could have been alive then.
But he was speaking again. “And then,” he went on, studying his
tablets, “for twenty Tuns (years) no light burned above the temple,
and I, who know the secret writings of the prophecy, knew that the
messenger of Kukulcan would never come unto Mictolan, for the appointed
time had passed.”
“Great Scott!” I thought to myself, “the old fellow actually believes
he was alive then.” For, up to that time I had never really taken
his tale of extreme age seriously. Rather I regarded it as a sort of
allegorical statement, a way of implying that he did not know his own
age, that his clan or profession had always existed among the Mayas.
“And yet once more, the Bridge appeared,” he continued. “And for long
it spanned the chasm, and Maidens of Kinich Ahau were kept ever on
guard to welcome the bearer of the symbols. But it came and went,
always irregularly, though always the flames blazed from the temples
upon the coming of the moon of the spring Tonalmatl. Nay, my son, not
once has it failed to appear upon that date. Well I know, for that day
to me is most important in my observations, and always upon that night
the moon is dimmed and the night brightened by the flames from the
temple. Well do I have cause to remember that, my son. And so, though
you may feel that the Bridge of Light has gone forever, yet would I
prepare myself and hold myself in readiness for its coming, for upon
the eve of the Tonalmatl it will once more span the chasm to the Cave
of the Bats.”
I had learned nothing, I knew no more than before--unless I believed in
the certainty of the bridge appearing at the Tonalmatl moon. Whether
it was a natural phenomenon or a device whose secret was known only to
the priest was still a mystery. If Nohul Voh’s records were right, it
had appeared and disappeared in regular cycles at one time and so might
have been natural, but on the other hand it had afterwards become most
erratic.
Personally, I had no great faith in the Bridge of Light putting in its
appearance at the time of the Spring Festival, the beginning of the
Religious Year. But the sorcerer seemed confident of it, and at all
events I was ready and waiting. Then I recalled his other words--what
he had said about Kinchi Haman plotting my downfall and warning me.
Strange how the rascally priest was forever cropping up to trouble me.
I had almost forgotten he existed, and now Nohul Voh’s vague hints
brought him vividly to my mind.
What did the sorcerer know? What did he suspect? What did he mean? I
felt quite certain that he knew or suspected a great deal more than he
had told me.
But in that case, being a friend of mine and an acknowledged enemy of
Kinchi Haman, why didn’t he tell me all he knew or guessed? And what
could Kinchi Haman do, after all? He didn’t amount to a row of pins in
the estimation of the people, I felt certain. He dared not bring down
their wrath by injuring me personally, I felt convinced. And I gave him
credit for having enough acumen and enough knowledge of my intentions
to know that I was as anxious to get away from the valley, as he was to
be rid of me. If he had any control over the Bridge of Light all he had
to do was to start it going and he’d never set eyes on me again.
How could I be sure he was not up to something? I had no means of
knowing how many secret followers he had--even in his vast temple and
its associated palaces, monasteries, nunneries and other buildings
there were hundreds of fanatical followers of his cult. He possessed a
large force of soldiers pledged to the service of Kinich Ahau, the Sun
God, and, if he decided to carry matters with a high hand, he could no
doubt get control of the city, make away with me and my friends and
defy the people. But I knew he was superstitious, that in his own way
and at heart he was deeply, fanatically religious, that he now accepted
me as a lineal descendant of Kukulcan and therefore semi-divine and
probably immortal, and I could not see that he could possibly gain
anything by not minding his own business.
All these thoughts rushed through my mind in a far shorter time than
it takes to tell. I plied Nohul Voh with questions, begged him to
reveal anything he knew regarding the priest’s plots, asked him what he
suspected.
“I know nothing, my son,” he declared, “but I suspect much. Does
the farmer trust the fox among his fowls? Does the hawk nest with
the doves? Does the snake move in a straight line? Do melons grow on
corn stalks? No, Itzimin! As the gods made them, so will they be, and
they have made Kinchi Haman as deformed in brain as in body. Always
has he been plotting and planning ill to someone. Always he gloats on
suffering and on blood. He never forgives and never forgets. When I
see the river run uphill, when I see fish fly in the air, then and not
until then will I believe Kinchi Haman no longer plots and schemes harm
to someone. But what it is or when or how, I cannot say. But remember,
my son, the deer sleeps with his nose to the wind; the gopher rests at
the mouth of his hole.”
So the old fellow was merely suspicious after all--suspicious only
because he mistrusted the priest. He had nothing to base his suspicions
on. Like all old people he was something of a scare-head, I began to
think. And of what use was it to be able to look into the past and the
future, to have the reputation of being a sorcerer, of being possessed
with the wisdom of the ages if, when one most wanted it, nothing
definite could be learned?
* * * * *
NOHUL VOH seemed to read my thoughts. He was gazing fixedly, steadily
at me. “My son,” he said, a serious note in his voice, “a crackling
twig frightens the hare but the tiger pays no heed to a falling
tree. My lord feels secure in his strength, but the tallest tree is
struck first by the lightning. You say to yourself: ‘Nohul Voh fears
without reason.’ You think in your mind: ‘Kinchi Haman dares do no
harm unto you.’ Perhaps it is so--often what we most fear is our least
danger--but there are many in Mictolan who still are true to the priest
of Kinich Ahau; there are many whom he can rely upon, and while the
scorpion still has his sting, one should beware of him. Greatly have
you injured Kinchi Haman. You have humbled his pride, you have robbed
him of the Virgin he had selected as a bride for Kinich Ahau. You have
honored the Prince Azcopil; you have made the Temple of the Plumed
Serpent greater than that of the Lord of Day.
“And there is another thing, O, Itzimin Chac, a matter of which I have
not spoken. In the annals of the House of Tutul Zius is an ancient
legend--perhaps a prophecy, which says that in the end, one of the
Tutul Zius clan shall battle with one of the clan of the Ipa Hanacs,
and there shall be bloodshed and death, and the Ipa Hanac shall
be slain by the hand of the son of the Tutul Zius. And the legend
tells, my lord, that the battle shall be because of a maiden and of a
sacrifice, and that it shall take place on the day of Tonalmatl. Though
you are not of the Tutul Zius clan, yet do you bear the symbol upon
your breast. Kinchi Haman is of the clan of Ipa Hanac, and--the day of
the Tonalmatl is but two days distant.”
Something in his tones, in his words, frightened me. Why had he never
told me this before? Was it an ancient legend or was it his way of
warning me of some impending calamity? Whichever it was, it had aroused
my lingering suspicions, my half-formed fears. I had seen too many
of the legends and prophecies fulfilled to treat the tale as of no
consequence. The instant he had mentioned a maiden, the sacrifice,
the day of Tonalmatl, I had thought of danger threatening Itza, of
the almost forgotten sacrifices held by the old priest. Was it not
possible--even probable--that he was planning to injure my beloved one
in revenge for having cheated his beastly god of her sacrifice? It
would be a revenge, a diabolical way of getting back at me, well worthy
of his warped, vindictive, inhuman brain.
What if the legend or prophecy or whatever it was said the priest would
die? It did not say that that would save the woman. Of what use to kill
the priest if Itza were injured or destroyed? The very thought of harm
coming to her drove me frantic. Unconsciously, unreasonably perhaps,
I had assumed that the tale referred to me. Nohul Voh had hinted it
broadly enough. Not for a moment did it occur to me that the legend,
if legend it were, might refer to some other member of the Tutul Zius
clan, to some other Ipa Hanac, to some woman other than Itza. But
forewarned is forearmed. I would rush to Itza, I would guard her,
watch her, remain by her side every moment until after the Tonalmatl
had passed. I sprang to my feet, rushed towards the door. Before I had
taken two strides, racing footsteps sounded in the outer passage, and
wild-eyed, panting, ghastly pale, Azcopil dashed into the room.
“Itza!” he gasped. “Itza! She has gone--vanished!”
I staggered back, faint, weak, too horrified, too overwhelmed to speak.
Nohul Voh’s warning had come too late. The blow had fallen!