The End of Kinchi Haman
BEFORE us was a dark passageway. Flashing the strange red glow from
my bamboo tube upon the stone walls and floor, with nerves tense,
noiselessly, we moved forward, while at our heels crowded our men,
filled with nameless dread, their sharp, indrawn, almost sobbing
breaths, audible in the black silence of the tunnel. A dozen paces and
the passage turned abruptly to the right and before us we saw a glimmer
of light. Cautiously we stole forward. A heavy cloth drapery hung
across the passage, and from beyond came the sounds of voices. With
trembling fingers I carefully moved one edge of the curtain aside and
looked into a large, brightly-lit room. Stalwart temple guards stood
about; a dozen black-robed priests filled the chamber, and, seated in a
throne-like stone chair, addressing them in earnest tones, was--Kinchi
Haman!
At sight of the hideous priest responsible for all my sufferings and
troubles, insane fury swept over me. All caution, all sense fled from
my mind. With a savage jerk I tore the hanging aside and sprang into
the room with the prince beside me. Instantly all was confusion. Had we
materialized from thin air, the occupants of the room could not have
been more amazed. Deathly fear distorted the face of the Kinchi Haman;
the terrified priests screamed, crowded back, struggled and fought to
retreat. Springing from his seat, Kinchi Haman sheltered himself behind
the milling, close-packed men.
Furious, all my senses focussed on reaching him, I rushed on them.
Two guards sprang forward with upraised weapons. One fell to a
savage thrust from Azcopil, the other hurled himself at me. I swung
my heavy-bladed sword, but before I could strike, an amazing thing
happened. The golden cuirass of the guard seemed to burst into flame.
With a shriek of agony, he staggered back. His weapon dropped from his
hand, and with a crash, he sank lifeless to the floor! A nauseating
odor of burning flesh filled the room. Where the golden breastplate
had been, a horrible, scorched, blackened cavity showed on the dead
man’s breast. Shapeless blobs of molten gold smoked upon the flagging.
Screams, shrieks, cries of horror and deadly fear came from the
struggling, retreating priests. The guards dropped their weapons and
fled. Here was magic--death instantaneous, terrible, invisible.
Solid metal burst into flame and ran like water at my approach! No
wonder old Nohul Voh had said the bamboo tube with its contents would
serve me well as a weapon! It was deadly, hellish. Its mysterious,
invisible rays falling upon metal--at least upon gold--fused the metal
instantly, burned the flesh beneath it to a crisp. I shuddered as I
glanced at the terrible thing in my hand, at the seared, ghastly,
contorted body of the dead guard at my feet. But my mind was centered
upon Kinchi Haman. Nothing else seemed to matter.
Springing over the smoking body, hurling the struggling priests aside,
striking to right and left, I forced myself through the huddled,
fear-maddened throng. I was conscious that the prince was with me,
from sounds in the rear I knew our men were close behind. A narrow
door was packed, jammed with the priests in their stampede, and when
at last--literally treading them underfoot--we gained the farther side
of the room, Kinchi Haman had disappeared. There was only the one exit
visible. Seizing the priests by hair, by garments, we dragged them
aside, cleared a passage, and raced down the corridor beyond.
Ahead we heard the sounds of running feet. Into dark doorways and
openings the fleeing priests and guards darted at our approach. But
though we searched hastily in each, we found no trace of Kinchi Haman.
On we rushed; somewhere beyond was the man we sought; misshapen,
dwarfed, he could not run fast; we must soon overtake him. A startled
yell came from the prince who now was leading. He checked himself and
sprang back, collided with me, and together we rolled upon the floor
and over us tripped our frightened but still faithful men. A metallic
clang echoed through the passage and a massive metal gate dropped like
a portcullis, barring the corridor before us.
For a moment we stared, dazed, balked. Then with a wild hope I seized
the bamboo tube that had fallen from my hand, sprang forward, and
pointed it at the metal bars. Instantly they glowed, and like bars of
wax, they melted and vanished. Our way was clear; once again we dashed
on. Before us rose a low flight of steps, and scrambling up these
like a gigantic spider, we saw the high-priest. A moment more and he
would gain the doorway at the summit of the steps and we would be too
late. Drawing my pistol, I fired as I ran. Like a clap of thunder the
report roared in deafening echoes in the narrow passage; sulphurous
smoke filled the air. The next second we reached the stairs, but Kinchi
Haman had again eluded us. The door through which he had passed had
been left ajar and it swung open at our touch. We found ourselves in
a circular room like the bottom of a well, for it extended upwards to
vast heights--perhaps to the very summit of the temple. The floor was
flagged with huge stones so laid that their joints radiated from the
centre of the room.
The beautifully frescoed stone walls were covered with intricate
symbolic paintings of gods, priests, sacrifices and Mayan writing.
In the centre of the place was a circular row of polished, tapering
columns of vivid blue stone inlaid with gold, and rising for fully
fifty feet to support an ornate roof or canopy of intricately-wrought
silver. In the centre of the row of columns was a raised dais of
blood-red stone, and seated upon this was the image of a hideous,
misshapen, bestial god; a thing with human limbs and body, leering
savage eyes; with huge gleaming fangs projecting from half-opened jaws
from which a slavering tongue protruded. In place of ears were the
conventionalized heads of rattlesnakes; the nose was an eagle’s beak;
in one claw-like hand he held a human heart, in the other a ghastly
distorted human head. He was carved from a single immense block of
black stone, and covering his chest was a great, gleaming, gem-studded
disk of gold bearing a human face surrounded by rays--the symbol of the
sun.
* * * * *
WE were gazing at the sacred image of Kinich Ahau! We were within that
most holy, mysterious, forbidden shrine in the centre of the temple!
The prince, awed, filled with superstitious fears, had prostrated
himself. Our men were prone upon the floor, babbling prayers of
repentance, half-crazed with terror of swift vengeance for having
entered the most sacred spot. But I gave little heed to them. The
high-priest had entered here. He was nowhere in sight. Yet there was
no other opening, no place in which he could be concealed. I hunted
everywhere. I tore aside tapestries, searched among the columns, about
the dais. Cursing, fuming, seething with rage, I moved about the walls,
turning the glow of the bamboo tube upon the stones. But nowhere was
there a sign of a hidden door.
I turned to Azcopil, spoke to him sharply, roughly, scathingly.
Trembling with fear; casting frightened glances at the monstrous god as
if expecting it to come to life, he joined me. But in vain we shouted
to the men. In the presence of the bloodthirsty black god they were
nerveless, useless. Inch by inch I went over the stone floor, examining
every block, every joint with the red rays. But in vain. Checkmated,
utterly at a loss, beginning to feel, as did Azcopil and the men, that
Kinchi Haman had vanished in this air by supernatural means, I stared
about. I had searched everywhere, everywhere--but at the thought I
sprang to the idol.
I had _not_ searched the god! Over the dais I played the rays from
Nohul Voh’s gift. I turned it upon the god’s feet, his legs, his
back. With blanched awe-struck faces the men watched me. Never had
such sacrilege been committed. Why did the vindictive god permit it?
What mysterious power did I hold over him? There could be but one
explanation to their minds. I, the son of Kukulcan, the Itzimin Chac,
Controller of Thunder and Lightning; Bearer of the Symbol, Wielder
of the Consuming Fire, was greater, more powerful than Kinich Ahau.
He bowed to my will, dared make no protest. In my service they were
safe, and slowly, half-fearfully, they rose, grasped their weapons and
watched my every move. Now I was committing even greater sacrilege than
before. I had gone over every portion of the idol within my reach. I
grasped the flexed right arm of the idol to swing myself to his knees.
The arm moved! Remembering the gigantic image at the entrance to the
Cave of the Bats, I tugged at it, cautiously, watchfully, for there
was no knowing how the mechanism operated. I could not know whether
the thing would tip up, swing aside or drop down. Deep indrawn breaths
of wonder and fear came from the men. The prince stared wide-eyed.
Slowly the arm swung, and as it moved, the great golden disc revolved;
the entire statue and dais slid to one side. I leaped down. Where
the statue had stood was an opening in the floor with steps leading
downwards. Kinchi Haman had escaped that way. We had lost valuable,
precious time.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Where the statue had stood was an opening in the floor,
with steps leading downwards]
* * * * *
Shouting to the others to follow, I sprang down the steps. Close at my
heels came the prince, but the men remained behind. They had reached
the utter limit of their courage. To attempt to urge them, to command
them to follow would, I knew, be useless; it would be merely a waste
of time, and with no fear of results, contemptuous of the cowardly
high-priest who kidnaped women and ran away at our approach, I hurried
on. Fifty feet more and we came into a sudden blaze of light in the
open air. On every side rose high, massive walls. Far above our heads
rose the mighty temple with the swaying, gaseous flames at its summit.
To right and left were low, rambling buildings with inward sloping
walls and doorways. Beyond, and facing us, was a low mound before an
image of the Sun God.
I dashed towards the nearest doorway, that of the building to the
left. The carved wooden door swung open, and from within came
shrieks, screams, shrill cries. I halted in my tracks at the sight
that greeted me. The place was filled with women! Half-naked, clad
in single garments of white, they crowded back, wild-eyed, shrieking
hysterically. Instantly I realized who they were, what they were doing
here. They were Virgins of the Sun, girls doomed to sacrifice, to that
awful symbolic wedding to Kinich Ahau; maidens, who before the dawning
of another day, would be cast into the sacred well, if Kinchi Haman
lived that long. A single rapid glance was enough to assure us he
was not here. A single glance told me that my Itza was not among the
terrified girls.
Where was she? Where was the high priest? We shouted to the poor
things, tried to calm them, to reassure them. But though they ceased
their screams, they were still panic-stricken, panting, as wild-eyed
and breathless as frightened deer. Had they seen Kinchi Haman? Had they
seen Itza? There was no reply. They might have been deaf and dumb.
But Azcopil’s quietly put questions met with better results. A tall,
queenly girl recognized him. With an effort she controlled her voice.
“She--Itza--she is there!” she gasped, pointing with trembling hand
to the right. “Kinchi Haman--he--is there. He--he prepares the--the
others; the first to be Kinich Ahau’s brides.”
Before her last words were uttered, I had dashed to the door. Behind me
Azcopil raced, panting, as I rushed for the building on the right. My
Itza there! That hideous, bestial, devilish priest with her! Hot blood
raced through my veins, my brain seemed on fire. I longed to tear the
priest limb from limb with my own hands, to kill him by inches. For the
time being I was a savage, a wild beast. The door was fastened! In vain
we hurled ourselves upon it, battered at it, hacked at it. Dimly from
within came screams, piercing shrieks. I seemed to recognize Itza’s
voice. Madly, impotently I threw myself at the door.
Azcopil seized me, shook me. “The magic tube, Itzimin!” he yelled in my
ears. “Quick! See, the hinges are of metal!”
* * * * *
WITH a jerk I came back to my senses. Unstopping the tube, I pointed it
at the massive metal fastenings, trembling, shaking, filled with dread
that the thing would prove useless. But I need not have feared. Like
ice under the rays of the sun the metal fused, the door sagged, with a
splintering crash it fell, and we sprang within. Figures materialized
from nowhere. I saw weapons flash. I heard Azcopil utter a savage cry.
I felt my sword bite into yielding flesh. A searing pain shot through
my left arm. And with the stabbing pain of the wound my brain cleared.
I remembered the bamboo tube, and dropping my sword, I drew the stopper
and swung the thing about. In the darkness dazzling spots and flashes
of blinding incandescence appeared as the rays played upon weapons,
breastplates, metal caps and shields. Agonized yells and groans rent
the air; the horrible smell of burning flesh filled our nostrils.
Falling, writhing, ghastly forms were dimly outlined by the reflected
light from molten metal. Then, only the last sobbing moans of dying
men, the faint sound of frying, sizzling human flesh--and silence.
I shouted to the prince, fearful that he had been cut down, dreading
that in the darkness and confusion I might have destroyed him by the
terrible ray. But his reply came from close at hand; he was alive,
unhurt. Leaping across the bodies, guided by a glimmer of light beyond,
we dashed aside a hanging, and blinking, half-blinded by the light,
stood in a small cell-like chamber. Objects of apparel were strewn
about, a jar of water had been upset, remains of food were scattered
over the floor, tapestries upon the walls were torn down. Everything
pointed to a struggle within the room, but there was no human being to
be seen. With a choking cry I leaped forward.
Gleaming amid the tumbled cushions and coverings of a couch was the
golden chain whose missing links had been caught in the secret doorway
of the tunnel leading to my palace. Itza had been here! She had fought.
The screams I had heard had been hers! Where--Oh God! Where was she
now? Had----
A faint, smothered cry came from the rear of the room, seemingly from
behind a tapestry on the wall. With a yell of rage, shouting Itza!
Itza! I dashed across the room, swept the cloth aside and sprang
through the narrow doorway that it concealed. A dozen strides along a
narrow passage and I was in the open air once more. And at the scene
that met my horrified eyes, I felt sick and faint; my blood seemed
to congeal in my veins, my heart seemed to stop beating. I seemed
powerless to move. I was rooted to the spot, paralyzed. Within thirty
paces of where I stood was the statue of the sun God above the low
mound. At its feet, bound, gagged, helpless, lay Itza, while above
her, gloating, hideous, clad in sacrificial robes, his arms upraised
as though exhorting the monstrous god before him, was Kinchi Haman, a
long-bladed, obsidian knife gripped in one hand!
“The sacrifice!” gasped Azcopil, who unnoticed had reached my side.
His words broke the awful spell. I was galvanized into life, into
swift understanding. An instant before I had been bereft of sense, of
conscious thought. Unutterable horror had possessed my every faculty.
But now my brain felt strangely, abnormally clear and calm. To move, to
cry out would mean Itza’s instant death.
At any second the priest might strike. There was but one chance,
one hope of saving Itza from the terrible fate that threatened her.
Noiselessly I drew my revolver from its holster. Slowly, with steady
hand, I raised the weapon until the ivory bead upon the barrel covered
the priest’s back. With a prayer to God that I might not miss, I pulled
the trigger.
A piercing shriek drowned the roar of the report. Through the haze of
smoke, I saw the priest double up. The knife fell flashing from his
hand; he swayed, half-turned, reeled backward, and with a second wild
despairing scream, vanished utterly!
But I was already half way across the intervening space. I sprang
towards the mound, towards Itza stretched upon the altar on the farther
side. There was a sharp warning cry from Azcopil, his hand gripped my
collar and I was jerked gasping, half-choked, to one side. And in the
nick of time! Almost at my feet, concealed by the encircling mound,
yawned a seemingly bottomless pit black, awesome, ominous. The prince
had saved my life, had saved me from a horrible fate. Another stride
and I would have plunged into the depths of the sacred well, into the
gruesome waters that had closed forever over Kinchi Haman.