Ash Return of the Beast

CHAPTER 53



The long trek unfolded exactly according to Tocho’s description. They passed through two small villages where the primitive huts were made of mud bricks and sticks of wood. Some had roofs of tin and others were covered with a matting of huge broad leaves.

It was obvious the natives were not used to seeing outsiders traipsing through their villages. But murmurs and stares were about the only reactions they got with the exception of a few brave children who came running up to them, wide-eyed, dressed in rags and giggling until an adult called them back.

The paths were increasingly less well defined the further they wandered from the second village. The grade was noticeably steeper, the air was getting cooler and the jungle was quickly growing darker and claustrophobically dense.

The sun, now much lower in the sky, could only be seen in short blinding bursts of light through the occasional gaps in the towering foliage.

Ravenwood looked at her watch. They’d been walking for well over an hour. “Hey,” she said, breathing heavily. “This is the shortcut, right?”

Tocho, a few yards ahead of her, chopped a huge branch from some prehistoric overhanging god-knows-what and wielded it off to the side. He turned to her. Although the air was much cooler now, his face was glistening with sweat. He wiped his forehead and grinned. “Take a look.”

She moved up and stood beside him. They’d come to the edge of a bluff. About fifty feet below was another village, much larger than the ones they’d passed through along the way.

“What’s this?” she asked. “Where are we?”

“A Lacandon village. The Real People. Descendants of the ancient Maya.”

“Is this where––”

“Sh-h-h. Listen.”

A rhythmic drumming and the sounds of ritual chanting were rising up from somewhere in the village below.

Ravenwood listened with curiosity. “What is it?”

“There’s a sacrificial ceremony going on.”

“How do you know?”

“I recognize it. I was allowed to witness it once.”

“Sacrifice? C’mon. You don’t mean…”

“Not people. No. It’s part of a shamanic ritual. Believe it or not, they’re sacrificing chickens by squeezing them to death.”

“What?”

“Yeah. As an offering to the gods. Disgusting, I know, but––”

“Jee-sus Christ. And we’re going down there?”

“Yup.”

“Do you even speak the language?”

“Nope.”

“Then what––?”

Tocho was already inching his way down the bluff. He turned to see Ravenwood still standing above him. “You’re not gonna chicken out on me, are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Funny.”

At the bottom of the bluff they found themselves at the periphery of the village where they were immediately confronted by a man dressed in the same sort of long white sheet––as Tocho described it––that she’d seen back at the marketplace in San Cristobal. The man stood only about five feet tall but the loose fitting fabric couldn’t hide his powerful build. The skin of his copper colored face was taught and smooth although he looked to be much older than she first thought. His dark eyes were set deep into a prominent brow and his long black hair reached well below his shoulders. He was a striking figure and Ravenwood wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

The man barely glanced at Tocho but focused his attention solely on Ravenwood. His head remained slightly tilted upward, firm jawed, his mouth turned down at the corners as his black, deep-set eyes slowly scanned her from head to toe and back up again. He stared directly into her eyes.

Ravenwood stiffened. She wondered if he was sizing her up like a chicken to be squeezed to death. Then she remembered where she was. These people were not so far removed from her own blood on her mother’s side. She lowered her eyes slightly and spoke. “In lak’ech.”

The man’s face slowly morphed into an approving grin. Without taking his eyes away from hers, he returned the greeting and then he turned to Tocho and spoke in near perfect English, “Tocho, my old friend. I’ve been expecting you. I see you brought the raven.”

Tocho grinned. “Ro, meet Tlacatecolotl.

Ravenwood’s surprise was transparent. “You’re… the Owl Man?”

Tlacatecolotl looked at her. “Who.”

“The Owl Man.”

“Who.”

Tocho chuckled at the confusion on Ravenwood’s face. “The owl sound,” he explained. “Hoo? It’s a bad joke. He thinks it’s funny.”

Tlacatecolotl chuckled and gave a reluctant nod. “I confess. My sense of humor is often met with a blank stare.” Then his expression shifted abruptly. He reached out and laid a gentle hand on Ravenwood’s shoulder. “Come,” he said. “You have traveled a long way for a reason and the spirits have told me time is of the essence.”