“No. But she will live. When the waters are calmed again, we will fire the sacrificial platform. There will be another prayer, then. A prayer for the gods, and a prayer for Tela.”
“And you insist she will live?”
“Yes,” Talu said. He turned again to his people. “We will pray,” he said, “to the gods, in thankfulness.”
His voice began intoning the ritual, and the Mayas bowed low again. The well looked black and hungry. and a Maya with a torch stood behind the platform.
Erik hurriedly took Neil aside and whispered something into his ear. Neil nodded, his eyes brightening.
“Hurry!” Erik shouted, and Neil ran off as Talu’s voice went on and on. He darted down the steps and across the silent city again.
When he returned, it was to an angry mob that bellowed and stormed below the temple steps. Erik held Talu tightly in his arms, and his ax was drawn.
“Touch the girl,” he was bellowing, “and your priest follows her.”
Neil rushed up the temple steps, almost stumbling under his burden.
“Erik,” he shouted. “I’ve got them.”
He climbed the steps rapidly and dropped his load at Erik’s feet. Erik held Talu with a stout arm and reached down for the basket at his feet. It was full of ripe, red tomatoes, fat, red plums, flowers brilliant in various shades of red and pink. There were red beans, and red roots, and a variety of red leaves. The basket seemed to overflow with a sea of redness.
“You wanted blood,” Erik shrieked, his voice ringing out over the open well. “Here is your blood. Look at it! Blood red, and grown with your hands and the approval of your gods. This is the blood they want. Offer it to them.”
Talu struggled in Erik’s grip.
“The gods will refuse,” he said. “The gods will refuse this sham sacrifice.”
Below, the mumble of the crowd rose menacingly.
“Offer it and see,” Erik roared. “Your gods do not desire the fruit of your womanhood. They desire the fruit of your land. This is their sacrifice. This is all they demand of their faithful grandchildren.”
“No,” the crowd shouted. “No!”
And suddenly, Neil stepped before Erik and raised his voice over the shouts below him.
“Yes! Yes! Your gods only demand this. Throw it into The Sacred Cenote. Allow Talu to offer this basket to the gods. If they approve, the sacrificial platform will burst into flame. The gods will have given you a sign.”
“No!” the crowd shouted in return.
“Try it,” Neil roared over their voices. Quickly, he lifted Tela from the platform and stood before her. He gestured for Erik to release Talu.
Erik’s arm left the priest’s neck, and Talu stepped forward to lift the basket of bright red fruit and flowers, beans, roots, leaves.
A silence hung over the crowd, like the silence before a summer storm.
“You should not have promised that,” Erik whispered. “The platform cannot possibly…”
Slowly, Talu lifted the basket and stared down at its contents, shaking his head sadly.
At the same moment, Neil reached into his back pocket for the cigarette lighter Dave had put in his trust.
Talu walked down the steps, the basket held before him. The crowd below was silent, as silent as death.
Neil stepped closer to the pile of tinder on the platform, standing behind it so that the spark of the lighter would not be seen. There would be a sudden burst of flame after Talu threw the basket into the well. And Tela would be saved.
Impatiently, he waited.
His long white robe trailing behind him, his head held high, his back straight and proud, Talu walked down the steps in front of the temple.
He paused before the gaping jaws of The Sacred Cenote, the basket held before him. The crowd’s eyes shifted from their priest to the platform piled with straw and twigs.
Neil’s fingers began to sweat around the lighter. He kept his thumb pressed on the trigger, ready to snap it.
Talu put the basket down at his feet. He touched his hand to his forehead, as if in apology for the abomination he was about to offer the gods. The crowd followed his example, still silent, expectant.
Then, he reached down, lifted the basket, and threw the contents into the well. The fruit and flowers spilled from the basket like a stream of blood, into the black maw of the pool.
Rapidly, his thumb snapped down over the trigger.
Wet with sweat, it slipped off the trigger, and the wick remained covered.
Neil wet his lips as he immediately put his thumb back on the trigger and snapped down with all his might. The covering on the wick moved back, and there was a faint spark.
But there was no flame.
Frantically, Neil released his thumb and the lid clamped over the wick again. He pressed down, heard the faint click as the wheel rubbed against the flint. There was a spark again.
He looked down at the wick.
No flame.
All eyes were fastened to the platform now. Talu, the empty basket in his hands, had turned to face the temple, a faint smile of triumph on his lips.