Part 35 (2/2)

The two-week hike through the jungles of Guatemala had left Heathcliff tired and weak. But Jenny had a way of energizing him. She always had. His eyes took on a hint of their old energy as he sat down.

”The jaguar played a very important role in the city we're searching for.” Jenny's normally soft voice became stronger, more animated, whenever she spoke about the subject most dear to her heart. Her eyes, green as summer gra.s.s, reflected the red flames as if they were windows to the burning pa.s.sion inside her.

Unfortunately, Ethan reminded himself, that pa.s.sion was for history.

”The cult of the Black Jaguar began in this area around five hundred A.D., and Ah Puch, the City of the Dead, remained as its capital throughout its entire reign.”

”Quite right, my dear,” said the elder Pascal. He removed the battered straw hat he habitually wore in the field, a gift from Ethan many years and many expeditions ago, and fanned himself. Sweat stains created dark swaths under his arms and across his back, but he gave no indication of discomfort.

”And this Ah Puch is where we're supposed to find the Temple of Blood?” Harrison asked.

”Yes. For the Cult of the Black Jaguar, the Temple de Sangre was the focal point for their most sacred religious ceremonies. Including,” Heathcliff added, ”their blood sacrifices, which continued until the Spaniards wiped them out four hundred-odd years ago.”

”Ah, yes. Cutting out the hearts and whatnot. Good thing that's done with.”

Hector directed an angry glare at the doctor.

”Do not be so sure, Seor Harrison. The people of my village still fear the Temple de Sangre.”

”Surely you don't believe that superst.i.tious muck?” Harrison shook his head, a condescending smile spreading under his pencil-thin mustache.

”I do not disbelieve, Dr. Harrison. There are many tales of the Balamob, the Jaguar G.o.d. Tales of great cities hidden in the jungle, where the priests and priestesses are able to turn into jaguars. Places,” he said, his dark eyes matching his serious tone, ”where curious men and women disappear forever.”

”Hmph.” Harrison sipped at his cup, which Ethan suspected held more than just coffee. Not that it mattered. As long as the doctor could shoulder his pack in the morning and keep up, he could drink whatever he wanted. ”Well, I for one...”

Another ululating scream sounded from the depths of the jungle, cutting short the latest in Harrison's unending string of pompous remarks. In the humid, dense air and near-impenetrable tropical forest, it was impossible to tell which direction the wail originated from.

”Balamob!” Luz, a short, thin local with coal-black hair and eyes, crossed himself in Christian fas.h.i.+on. Popi, who looked so much like his brother they could have pa.s.sed for twins, swiftly repeated the gesture.

Ethan rose to his feet, gun in hand, as a third high-pitched cry, this one much closer, filled the air. Veracruz stood up also.

”What's wrong, Ethan? I didn't think jaguars would attack the camp.” Heathcliff Pascal closed the notebook he'd been writing in.

”That wasn't a jaguar,” Ethan said in a curt voice. He peered into darkness, wis.h.i.+ng the presence of the others didn't limit his options for ensuring their safety. If it was just him and Heathcliff...

”Then what...oh!” Jenny Pascal's hand flew to her mouth. ”Mr. Amos is still out there!”

Ethan nodded. ”Hector, come with me. The rest of you stay here.”

Veracruz was still reaching for his rifle when they heard a loud noise, as if something heavy moved within the ropey tangle of vines and trees surrounding the camp, just past the light thrown by the fires.

end.

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