Sawada added. He scratched his head, not even believing what he was saying. “But what we see out there is not overgrown and downtrodden, and … does not look like Central America, which I know from travelogues and photographs.”
“Why Central America?” Inugami asked, still clearly struggling to see any sense in all of this. He made no progress with it, and all the others who had now straightened up, followed the discussion of the three men with utter incomprehension.
“I don’t know and can’t explain how we got here,” Sawada. “We are on land. I guess the boat is right on one of those big temples we see everywhere. On a pyramid, it seems.”
“Absurd! That’s all absurd! A joke. The periscope is damaged,” muttered Inugami. “That’s impossible. It is inexplicable. There must be another cause for all this.”
Aritomo looked at Inugami. “There is only one way to be sure, Captain.”
Inugami nodded. “Hara, our pistols. Mr. Sawada, if you could ask the Prince’s bodyguards? We don’t have too many weapons on board, and my men are no infantrymen.”
Sawada nodded, turned away. He spoke to the bodyguards, who immediately took stance and removed their rifles from their backs.
Inugami watched Aritomo take the pistols from their shared cabin. They were Nambu Type 4 guns, a 22 mm weapon with a magazine with eight bullets. They had a small box of spare magazines on board, but the normal crew didn’t normally carry their own weapons. They still had two more pistols for emergencies in a gun cabinet.
The Prince’s two bodyguards, however, not only wore their own Nambus, but also each carried an Arisaka Type 55 rifle that shot out of 50 mm cartridges. And they carried swords. Such were also at the disposal of the two officers, well stowed under the bunks they claimed for themselves.
That was their complete weaponry.
Aritomo hoped to impress the “Maya” sufficiently with what they had. When he checked his weapon and clicked the magazine in, he felt more secure. Whoever or whatever was out there, he wouldn’t face it defenseless. The two guards also made a determined impression. They were probably a lot more qualified to fight than Aritomo. It was good that they were there.
He looked at the Captain, who hesitated a moment and then nodded.
“We’re going to open the tower, Mr. Hara. We’ll check it out.”
8
Chitam saw his father arrive and how the Palace Guard began to clear the place. Many of the people were only too willing to gain as much distance between themselves and this apparition as possible, so that their efforts were quickly crowned with success.
Siyaj stood next to his eldest son and followed his gaze, which lay constantly on the massive object. The King turned his broad face to the ruined temple with piercing black eyes. Chitam couldn’t discern if he was particularly worried that his own tomb was now a podium for … something that had completely crushed the half-finished point with its weight. Although his death might be imminent, it was typical of Siyaj that he was more concerned about the city as a whole than his long-term salvation.
“What’s that thing made of?” the master of Mutal muttered. “Is that black obsidian?”
“Possible,” Chitam replied. “But who knows? Nobody has ever seen such a construction. Look at it. It is wet.”
“It came from heaven?”
“Right above the pyramid.”
“Then the gods sent it.”
Chitam nodded. This conclusion was indeed very obvious; in fact, it was the only possible explanation. The big picture with the bright sun painted on the black walls of the object suggested that it was a vehicle of Hunapù who, as sun god Kinich Kakmó, was watching over the Maya. His father had evidently come to this conclusion, for he had two priests armed with parchments at his side, ready to consult ancient scripture. If Chitam recognized it correctly, it was rituals for the worship of the sun god. He nodded in satisfaction. With luck, they could do everything right and prevent further destruction.
“What does Hunapù intend to do with this apparition?” the King asked one of the priests. Chitam just had to take a quick look into the man’s eyes to see that he had no idea. He was an old man, familiar with all the rituals since his earliest youth, and therefore no one who was afraid of the King – except that Siyaj was considered a very mild man anyway, who in no way tended to punish others for their ignorance too harshly.
“I don’t know, sir,” was therefore the expected answer, which the King accepted with an approving gesture. There was nothing comparable in known history for such an event. The tales of the city didn’t teach such a thing. “It is without doubt a very special blessing.”
Siyaj showed confidence, relaxed.
The fear receded from Chitam’s heart.
A blessing, then. Perhaps this vehicle of Hunapù was a gift designed to promote the size and power of Yax Mutal. A favor of the sun god, a strengthening, a proof of extraordinary grace. Was Yax Mutal blessed indeed? Was this a sign to signify what Chitam had dreamed of, namely, the expansion of the city, the conquest of other cities, and the establishment of a great empire with many vassals, a prayer that had been heard by Hunapù, and he now consented to these plans?
Chitam felt a positive expectancy being raised in him, almost a surge, as if he would now realize the truth, the meaning of the incident. A divine intervention, an affirmation.
He glanced sideways at his father, as he quietly conferred with the priest about the correct course of action. Would he see it that way, too? Would Hunapù accept that his father was more prudent in these matters of conquest and war? Did that even mean that the Sun God would depose Siyaj and crown him, Chitam, as the new ruler?
The Prince somehow hoped that this would happen in a way that didn’t include the violent death of his father. However much he hoped that Hunapù had come to express his benevolence for the expansion of Yax Mutal’s power, Chitam didn’t enjoy paying for it with the untimely death of his father.
His father had always treated him well. He was not a bad king.
And his son was not in such a hurry.
That should also be understood by the sun god.
Chitam hoped for the best. As far as he could remember, the sacrificial rituals for the sun god had always been carefully observed. As master of drought and heat, there was always the need to make him merciful. Regularly, the expected ceremonies had been performed to please Hunapù. The sun god could not be overly angry. A punishment was not to be expected.
The Maya of Yax Mutal, of which Chitam was sure, had done everything right.
He raised his head, looked back at the black thing.
Something had caught his attention.
Then he heard the sound.
He narrowed his eyes, and now it was easy to see that people were recognizable on the small tower that rose out of the black body of the godsend. Chitam couldn’t make out too many details, but they were men, and they didn’t look any different than he did. The sun god had sent emissaries to them. If these
