=====o=====================================================o===== "Xibalba" by Mary Ruth Keller E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net =====o=====================================================o===== Part II - Raised-up-Sky (Disclaimed in Part I) -----o--------------------------------------------o----- From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish all the world. Love's Labors Lost -----o--------------------------------------------o----- Palenque Ruins Chiapas, Mexico Wednesday, August 28, 1996 12.19.2.9.11 5:30 pm Fox Mulder was indeed, pursuing the case, his own case, as it turned out. He had escorted his mother and her new friends up and down the various temples and processional ways. They had wandered through Palaces and the Ball Court, until they reached the Temple of Inscriptions, housing the tomb of the Great King, Pacal. Descending the vaulted stair in pairs, the tourists viewed the spectacularly carved sarcophagus lid. He peered at the detailed work intently and shook his head. Perhaps his skeptical partner was beginning to rub off on him, but this didn't look like an astronaut in a spaceship, even to his eyes. Their guide, a tiny woman in her fifties with a Texas twang, was pointing out various religious aspects of the position of the king's body. "Since you asked," she replied, checking his nametag, "Mr. Mulder, I'll explain these symbols to you." First, she pointed to Pacal's hands and feet. "See how limp the limbs are? This shows the King at the moment of death falling into the underworld, which is opening up below him, as indicated by the stylized jaws of the Maw of Xibalba, here, and here." Her short arms swept out a cross over the lid. "The King is falling along the Wacah Chan, the World Tree. He was both its earthly representative, and the one who climbed up and down its trunk in visions, to reach the Underworld." "You said trees, like the rubber tree, were very important for their culture and trade?" Caroline looked to the woman, who smiled brightly in response. "Yes, Caroline." The guide checked her nametag as well. "Tree roots reach deep down into the earth, which the Maya saw as symbolizing the connection to the world below. Sitting at the top of the tree is the Celestial Bird, Itzam-Yeh, representing nature tamed by the Maya for their use. Itzam-Yeh was also their name for the constellation we know as the Big Dipper." She pointed to the figures carved on the raised sides of the tomb, barely visible in the narrow passage. "These are Pacal's immediate predecessors. Each sits in front of another tree, symbolizing their semi-divine status." She glanced over her shoulder at the pair, noting the resemblances. "Pacal inherited the throne, not from his male ancestors, but through his mother and great-grandmother, the Ladies Zac-Kuk and Kanal-Ikal, respectively. Each is honored by being carved twice on the sides of the tomb." She pointed to four figures. "It was unusual, to say the least, for a dynasty to pass through two women successively. They must have been extraordinarily gifted and forceful. We even have a stela showing Zac-Kuk bestowing the symbols of kingship on Pacal." The quiet woman and her intense son glanced at each other. The guide smiled to herself. Mulder thought, again, of his partner, who with her strong will and sharp intellect would have been a powerful queen in any culture. The guide pointed out the chamber where the sacrificial victims had lain, the stepped approach to the grave, and other aspects of the tomb before escorting them back up the stairs. --o-0-o-- Office Building Manhattan Island Thursday August 29, 1996 12.19.2.9.12 8:05 pm The mannered white-haired man rapped the table-top with his knuckles, the fine furnishings surrounding him as elegant as his apparel. From his seat in this Georgian armchair, he could reach a Wedgewood teacup perched in its saucer, next to a matching teapot, all resting on Battenberg lace. His assistant bustled in, pouring Devon cream from a sterling pitcher into the cup, then adding steaming Darjeeling. The younger man stopped and cast his eyes over the walnut table and chairs, eventually spotting the honey in a Waterford decanter on the sideboard. Lifting the crystal, he checked for a ring, knowing the man in the chair trimming his nails was inordinately proud of his Frank Lloyd Wright original. Finished, he offered the cup and saucer to the man in the chair, who accepted it. "Thank you. Please close the east drapes on your way out." The accent was British, refined, and the assistant obeyed in both particulars, departing in silence. The sun had been bothering his eyes of late, but for one of his advanced years, that was almost to be expected. He sipped the tea, evaluating various options. Both of the X-files agents were in Mexico now, pursuing a meaningless case best left to internal security. This Mulder was only interested in his Truth, narrowly defined and focused on a side-line of the Committee's activities. But the man would move heaven and earth if he thought they stood in his way, or die in the attempt. His partner would move the same cosmic obstacles to rescue him, if she could. His associate in Washington kept assuring him that Walter Skinner's presence in the field with the partners would be a disruptive influence on their recently repaired relationship. Once his strategy was pursued to its logical conclusion, they would be vulnerable to attack, and more amenable to surrendering the D'Amato notebooks. He waved his hand, attempting to dismiss them as he had his assistant. They were of interest only to historians now, but the mere fact they had been taken, then published on the Web, diminished the Consortium's standing in the eyes of the other shadow powers. The destruction that would be unleashed if the delicate balance between the secret forces in the world was significantly shifted was incalculable. No, his opinion remained firm, that, despite his chain-smoking associate's objections, the X-files agents should be terminated with all possible speed. That action, only, would restore his group's prestige, and with the situation in hand, the shadow powers could leave off this petty bickering and return to thwarting the enemy they all shared. While in the States, they were shielded from attack by certain powerful people in the government, including, it seemed, his old colleague who loved the dark. He had considered him the most loyal of operatives, extending to him his broadest discretion, but of late, he was subtly protecting the pair. It was as if the promise he had so rashly made to an old friend years ago was weighing heavily on what little he had left of his conscience. In any case, this was a time to act, to grasp the opportunity fate had provided, before the shadow powers to the South became aware of the uses of Mulder and Scully. He would bypass his Washington agent and act himself, knowing the full Group would concur with his actions. --o-0-o-- Maya Lands Resort Ciudad del Carmen Friday August 30, 1996 12.19.2.9.11 8:30 am Mulder was bored, but not just mildly, pleasantly, lethargically bored. He was *monumentally* bored, itching to get back to his basement office and a good case of alien abduction or unexplained death. His mother and Max Lowenberg had chatted for most of Thursday while the cruise boat navigated downriver, faster with the current than against it. Dodging Miriam Jenkins with her thousands of unmarried cousins had consumed his morning, but she finally caught him to begin hounding him with their various virtues. Now everyone had gathered for breakfast on the last day of the "vacation". Several frantic calls to his partner had reached only answering machines. He had acquired new respect for the Assistant Director since working with him one on one in the field. Without stepping on toes, as he so often did, his superior could cut to the heart of an investigation quickly. He glanced to his left, where his mother was wrapped up talking with Max. To his right was Benjamin Jenkins, who had remained silent since their brief discussion on Tuesday and now he knew why. Miriam filled any silence with words, leading Mulder to speculate whether the man had completed a sentence in her presence in the last twenty years. She, however, had found a new victim, one of the other passengers, a slight, stooped woman from Ohio. Benjamin turned to the younger man. "Fox, don't be too hard on your mother. From what she's told me, she could use a male friend. She and your father were divorced?" Mulder shook his head. "Just separated. My father and my mother couldn't bear the thought of making their differences public, so they agreed to live apart." Benjamin nodded. He felt for Fox Mulder. "And with the problem of your sister's disappearance, your family would never be whole." Mulder studied his plate. Benjamin glanced at the doorway separating the dining room from the lobby, noting a face familiar to him from scanned images on the Net, and the mischief returned to his eyes. "Now, who would that be?" Mulder followed his gaze to the red-haired woman who had just passed the maitre d'. His eyes glowing, he stood and walked over to her, while Benjamin Jenkins tugged at his wife's sleeve. "Scully!" He grinned broadly. "Why are you here?" She took his elbow, guiding him out into the lobby. Behind him, Caroline followed Max's gaze when Max touched her hand. Max leaned over her. "I see, that's the partner you told me about. They do seem very close." Caroline turned to Miriam, who had observed the pair leaving as well, and was now calculating as she spoke. "Caroline, why, she *is* as attractive as you said, if a little thin. If they were to get married, do you think they would have any children?" Caroline Mulder shook her head. "Dana can't have children. She had been kidnaped about two years ago, and from the injuries she sustained, she fell into a coma. She didn't find out until this past winter, but there was significant damage to her..." She looked at the men at the table, uncomfortable to speak of such things in mixed company. But Miriam understood. "So the poor girl has thrown herself into her work?" Caroline smiled. Dana Scully had always been more interested in her career than in marriage and a family, according to her son. Miriam nodded. "Well, we can't let him go to waste. I'll make some calls when I get home..." --o-0-o-- Scully touched her partner's wrist. "We have a case." They were standing on the deck, gazing out over the river. He turned to look down at her. "I've been dying to hear you say that. This vacation business is all well and good..." She smiled up at him. "But you were ready to get back to work yesterday, right?" He looked puzzled. "I called the office machine. All the messages that were just silence, then disconnects I figured were you. After all, once you've been married off and had kids..." Her green-blue eyes twinkled at his discomfort. "Scully, I spent yesterday running away from that meddling matchmaker while my Mom talked to *Max*." He frowned, thinking. She rested her hand on his arm. "Are you saying your mother found someone on this trip?" He nodded, not wanting to consider the possibilities. "He told her something about my uncle, Isaac. He said they were at Dachau together. I don't trust him." "Why would he show up here, of all places?" The tall agent shook his head and turned back to face the dining area. "So, tell me about this case." The longing in his voice was palpable. They would talk more about his mother later, she knew, but her partner needed to get back to work. They walked over to one of the benches to sit while she filled him in. --o-0-o-- American Embassy Villa Hermosa, Mexico Friday, 3:30 pm Dana Scully adjusted the microphone so she could speak into it without stretching her neck. The body of Peter Torres lay before her, and she was preparing to begin her autopsy. The remains had been ferried downriver on a helicopter Tuesday and kept in cold storage since, but decay had already set in. Mulder and the CIA agent had been happy to leave this noisome work to her. Everything in this 'morgue' was hastily arranged for her use, even the room itself, which was actually a walk-in refrigerator, unused except to store slabs of beef for the Easter and Christmas feasts. A small folding table supported the body, and two spotlights had been removed from the conference room for her. Completing her usual equipment was Maria's tape recorder, and a floor microphone from the cafeteria. "This is Dr. Dana Scully, the physician of record. I am beginning this autopsy at 3:30 pm, local time, on Friday August 30, 1996. The deceased is an Hispanic male, approximately age 38, in good physical condition, with no visible wounds..." --o-0-o-- The students had remained at the Embassy, over their parents' vociferous objections, until the FBI agents could conduct their interviews. Mulder sat with them at Rubin's cleared conference table, listening to each of their stories, mentally comparing their words with his partner's summary of the case. When the last student, a tiny blonde girl whose nose had blistered and peeled from time in the sun, stopped, he looked each of them over. Mulder straightened from his slouch. "Well, you certainly tell quite a story. You left immediately after discovering Doctors Waters and Harris were missing?" The leader of the group shook his head. "No, Agent Mulder." Jerry Collins remembered Mulder and Scully from the Drug Scandal, and was unwilling to fully trust the FBI agent. "We didn't just leave. We photographed everything, and took Ux Balam's bones and the mosaic and jade artifacts with us. We knew if we left those, by the time someone returned to the dig, they would be available only on the black market. We have the precious stones in the embassy safe. At least the University can sell them to recover some of the financial loss this trip will entail." He passed the photos to Mulder, who asked a few questions about the grave layout. Mulder thought back to Palenque. The door to Agent Rubins' office opened, admitting his partner. Chilled from working in the 'morgue', she was rubbing her arms. Mulder frowned. She caught his attention, then jerked her head to signal she wanted to talk, outside. He nodded once. "Thank you, all, for staying. If you would excuse me for a moment." Rubbing the back of her neck, Scully was leaning against the painted concrete blocks of the hallway when her partner joined her. Mulder touched Scully's wrist, reminding her he was there. "What did you find?" She glanced up at him, considering her answer before responding. "He drowned." "Hm?" That was the last thing he expected to hear. "Drowned in his own blood. He had punctured his tongue in some strange attempt to recreate Maya ritual, fell unconscious on his back, his lungs filled up, and he drowned." She shrugged. "Why? Did those students give you any clues?" One corner of his mouth turned up. "You'll like this. On the day they got the tomb roof cleared off, the students claim the Shaman heard the ancestor telling him to, and I quote, 'Wait' and 'Leave this place'." She frowned up at him. "Mulder! That sounds like a bad science fiction movie!" Mulder smirked. "Didn't think you were a fan of Kathy Ireland's work." Seeing the dark circles under her eyes, he sobered. He rested his hand on her shoulder briefly. "Go with me for a minute, Scully. Suppose this Peter Torres thought he heard Ux Balam speak to him. Isn't it likely he would have tried to contact him again?" She nodded, having reached a similar conclusion in Skinner's office, without knowing these specifics. "I'd like to interview the students, just to see if Torres had heard of these rituals from them. If so, then I think we can make a reasonable determination of the cause of death." She pushed herself away from the wall. "That still leaves the professors. With no evidence, I can't really deduce anything about their disappearance." He opened the door for her, then, with a comfortable hand on the small of her back, guided her into the office. --o-0-o-- Seibal Ruins Border of Mexico and Guatemala Friday 6:30 pm Ux Balam had returned to his pyramid and the way to Xibalba. It was strange, standing here, looking down on the ruins of his city. Others might have preferred the stateliness of Palenque, or the grandeur of Chichen Itza. But the temple-mountains of Seibal, all strung in a chain as were the peaks of the Middleworld, were, to their king's eyes, glorious. Looking down over the ceremonial quarter as he had so many times in life, he saw the oldest and most sacred of their holy places was no more than a slight bump under rampant greenery. His city was a part of the Otherworld now. He remembered the market, just outside the temple area. Seibal had been a crossroads between the lowlands cities to the northwest, the eastern Maya cities, and other cultures far to the south. Goods had been exchanged from as far away as the distant desert lands to the north, where people lived in the side of a mountain, to the Amazon basin in the south and beyond. If he thought back, he could see the colorful macaws, hear the hawkers of copal and cacao, glimpse the flashing jade as it changed from hand to hand. But the jungle had reclaimed his city. The macaws that flew over its streets were wild, and a group of peccaries trotted down the processional way. He could feel the great cycle winding down to renewal. He had been released from the Game to warn his people of impending doom, but his people were not here. Well, perhaps if they were not here, he could still summon them to him. He remembered standing here, year after year, pronouncing the good will he had wrestled from the Lords of the Underworld, to the assembled throngs below. There were warriors in the forest, still, those he could feel. Some conflict with the pale-skinned men that had driven them back to the jungle, to ways as old as they could know. But it had been the pale-skinned scribes that had taught K'awil some of the old ways. As with all rivals, then, some were honorable, and some were not. He reached out, touching the forest warriors. There were two he wanted to bring here. The blood in the veins of one was his own, if many generations removed. That one, perhaps, could lead his people into the Mother-forest for protection when the earth began to shake. The other was an untrained Adept of great ability. If his skills could be developed, then those in the Otherworld and those in the Middleworld could communicate as he had done, so long ago. --o-0-o-- American Embassy Friday 9:30 pm Dana Scully yawned. She was leaning on the railing of the upper deck of the embassy, waiting for her partner. Her body was still on Eastern Daylight Time, so it felt like the middle of the night to her. Her partner, however, was fully adjusted after a week here, and needed to talk to her. She felt, rather than heard, him come up behind her, taking a seat in one of the white deck chairs lined up along the edge of the roof. "Scully?" She faced him. "Hum?" "You still with me?" She paced and stretched, trying to get her blood moving. He was looking up at her, waiting patiently for an acknowledgment. Sometimes she felt like she worked with the Energizer Bunny. She turned to him, this subject as difficult for him as it would be for her. "It's okay if your Mom wants to see someone new, you know. She's been through hell." His face darkened. "I know. It's just hard. What do I know about this Max Lowenberg? Is he what he says he is, a concentration camp survivor?" He stood to walk over, standing close to her. "Or is he a spy for the shadows, sent to keep me in line?" There it was again, their constant fear for the past few months, ever since publishing the D'Amato papers on the Internet. Nearly every move they made, every case they considered, always had this factor added into it. She had worked with Mulder long enough to know she had to steel herself against the pervasive paranoia at times. Fortunately, it was then that Walter Skinner had proven a sounding board, keeping them both from diving over the edge into total suspicion. He knew things about the Shadows, of whom the Smoking Man was their most familiar representative, things they could not press him on. On many nights, when Mulder would descend into one of his fits of depression, she would haul him off his sofa to any one of several twenty-four hour eateries. There the three would hash out his concerns, determining if they had any basis in reality, and more times than she had originally suspected, they did. She pulled down on his shoulder, and he bent under her touch. Standing on tiptoe, she put her mouth as close to his ear as she could when she spoke, in case the embassy deck was wiretapped. "Let's get him checked out. We'll send Skinner a message in the morning. Something innocuous, that he will understand." Straightening up, he grasped her shoulder to squeeze it gratefully. As she gazed out at the forest below, as pensive as he, Mulder just stood beside Scully, studying her, remembering. When Blevins had sent her to work with him, he hadn't sent a spy, just an observer. A calm, rational observer, who worked carefully through facts and fantasy before reaching conclusions she could justify six different ways. He couldn't imagine a day without her cool reason, weighing the insanity they saw. Sometimes she came to the same conclusions he did, sometimes not. His passion, counterbalanced by her logic. Under all the aliens, flukemen, psychopaths, and the Conspiracy, their interactions at times resembled something out of Austen. Or Roddenberry? "Hey." He bumped her gently with his elbow, needing to wipe that serious look off her face. "I had to up one of my cherished alien ideas on Wednesday." She smiled up at him. "Oh, and which one was that, Mulder?" He leaned both forearms on the railing, staring out over the dark greenery as she had been. "The ancient astronauts of Erik von Daniken. When I saw the cover on Pacal's tomb as the tour guide explained it, I have to admit, this new research really provides the simplest reasoning to cover all the facts." She focused on his face. "You had a tour guide?" From his initial discussion of it, she had thought the entire trip somewhat loosely organized. "Not intentionally. But she was there, and offered to show us around. She was some kind of expert, who loves the ruins of Palenque, and revisits them nearly every year." His partner took a quick breath. "Was she short, with a twang in her speech?" He nodded, turning to face her. "Why, do you know her?" She shook her head, staring out at the jungle again. "Not know her, but know of her. It sounds like you got a tour from Linda Schele, an internationally recognized expert in this new archaeology of the Maya." He lifted an eyebrow. "I read several books on the subject while I was home recovering." She looked into his eyes. "Medical journals are only so exciting. And it is a fabulous, real, detective story." Crossing his arms, he leaned his hip against the railing, preparing for one of her explanations. "Just imagine, thirty years ago, we thought the Maya were astronomer-priests, all looking coolly at the stars, counting the years. We know they still did, but they are a vibrant culture, whose remnants still exist in these mountains today. If you think you were a fair-haired boy, partner, just listen to this. One of the outstanding readers of the Maya glyphs is a young man named David Stuart, who translated his first text at the age of eight, and gave his first conference presentation at thirteen." Mulder chuckled. "Well, I guess that makes me an old, old man, Scully." "But at least you finished your degree, Mulder. He's having trouble finishing his PhD at Princeton. He keeps taking time off for digs in the jungle. By the time he graduates, he'll have students born after he started college!" They smiled together. When she yawned again, he took the hint, so the pair left the deck to go to their respective rooms at the Embassy. --o-0-o-- Briefing Room American Embassy Saturday August 31, 1996 12.19.2.9.14 8:00 am Mulder had sent a short wire to Skinner, using the wording Scully had suggested: 'New kid on the block. Max Lowenberg.' Now he sat in the back, watching as his partner stood next to him and adjusted the slide projector focus. The windowless briefing room was barely large enough for the table that supported the lectern, the dozen folding chairs, and a small platform for the projector. She was preparing to deliver an overview of her autopsy results to the assembled team of CIA agents that had flown in late the previous night. She returned to the lectern to test the remote control. Satisfied, she cleared her throat. Tom Rubins rose from his seat at the front. "Okay, people, in four hours, we go into the jungle. We need to get started here, so pipe down, Andrews." Andrews, paunchy and balding, stopped laughing at the joke he was telling. "This is Dr. Dana Scully from the X-files section of the FBI. Back there, is Agent Mulder." When he pointed, Mulder half rose from his seat. All the agents were paying attention now. Mulder looked up at Scully, who rolled her eyes. The fur-lined handcuffs had mysteriously reappeared in an unmarked envelope outside his door late one night, but his tapes were long gone. His partner sought to regain control of the situation. "Gentlemen, if we could." The CIA agents faced forward. "The events we were called in to investigate began early last month during an archaeological excavation at the ruins of Seibal..." She reviewed the case to date, and moved on to the images. "The deceased, Peter Torres, drowned in his own blood attempting to recreate an ancient Maya blood-letting ritual. He was trying to induce a trance to achieve an altered state of consciousness." She stopped and looked over the assembled men. Mulder could see a glimmer of mischief in his partner's eyes, as she prepared a return dig for the rudeness they had dished out to the FBI agents. She took off her glasses. He grinned. "It was common among the Maya ruling classes to let blood from several parts of the anatomy. Noble women, including the queen, would puncture their tongues, as Torres did, and draw pieces of paper, or ropes with spikes imbedded in them through the wounds." The assembled group gasped. Mulder had heard some of this from Linda Schele, so he knew what was coming next. "However, the King, as chief priest and head Shaman, in his role as representative of the life-giving force, would fast for several days before his blood-letting ritual. He could, on lesser occasions, draw blood from his tongue as the others did, but not for time-ending rituals, or in times of great stress." She leaned on the lectern, flashing a quick glance at her partner, and dropped her voice. "At those times, he would draw blood from the source of his own regeneration, his male organs, with a stingray spine." As the group moaned, she waited, covering her amusement by shuffling her papers. "Now, as to the missing professors, we have little information, other than what you already knew from the reports the students gave us." After reviewing the students' testimony, she gestured to Rubins. "I'll let Agent Rubins fill you in on the details of the flight down to Seibal." She collected her notes and stepped down, walking to the back to sit by her partner. He leaned over to her. "Agent Scully, you are one wicked, wicked woman." His eyes glittered, since he, too, had exhibited a similar reaction when Dr. Schele had first told him. "They deserved it, Mulder. They were looking at you like you were some kind of freak." They turned their attention to Rubins, who had finished outlining flight procedures. They had set up the flight plans with Rubins last night, before they talked on the roof. "The ruins are on a remote mountain on the border of Mexico and Guatemala. This is Zapatista country, people, so we will have to be on our guard. While we are on the ground, we are outside of US jurisdiction, and no one is safe. The mission will be under the control of Agent Malcom Evers. Malcom?" Evers, prematurely grey in his early forties, had many years of experience with rebels in Central America. He was also a no- nonsense man of action, as trim and fit as the others were soft from desk work. Evers stepped up to the lectern. "Gentlemen, and Lady." Here he looked back at Scully. "Once we are in the jungle, my word goes. We won't get through this otherwise." The partners exchanged puzzled looks. He was making this sound like a guerilla raid, not the examination of a crime scene. Mulder spoke up. "Excuse me." He stopped. Evers was giving him what could only be described as an angry stare. "Yes, Mr. Mulder?" "I thought we were going in to collect evidence, not fight a war." Evers rolled his eyes. "Mr. Mulder. We are dealing with small groups of Zapatista rebels in the area. They tend to not like to have their ancestors' remains flown out of the country by US scholars for their museums. In addition, they believe the end of the world, as we know it, is coming, so there is a religious overtone to their cause. When dealing with such people, we need to take all necessary precautions to insure the success of the mission." Mulder shrugged. "So?" Evers sighed. "Do I have to spell it out for you, FBI? Since we are dealing with small semi-independent groups, we have to become one ourselves to survive. That's why I'm taking complete charge from now until we return to this embassy. We will meet on the helicopter pad at 1200. That will be all." He stepped down and left the room. The other CIA agents looked surprised. They had been expecting a simple fact-finding mission to a deserted mountain as well. Now it looked like covert operations had taken over. --o-0-o-- Scully crossed her arms. "Mulder, I don't like the looks of this." The partners remained in the briefing room after the others left. "We are outside of FBI jurisdiction as it is, acting in a purely advisory capacity." The tall agent nodded. "I'm beginning to think we sent Skinner a message about the wrong man, Scully. If something or someone were to go against us out there, we could disappear without a trace ourselves." A second wire was sent to Washington: 'NEW new kid on the block: Malcom Evers. ASAP.' --o-0-o-- American Embassy Saturday 12:00 pm Maria Santina tore the papers out of the machine. The male FBI agent had requested that he get this information as soon as it arrived. She could hear the helicopter rotors whining as she ran to the stairwell to begin climbing. She had to reach the other side of the building as well as the door to the landing pad on the sixth floor, before they all left. The pad wasn't large enough for the three large 'copters to land at once, so they would be loaded one at a time. --o-0-o-- Malcom Evers took the papers from Maria's hand. Crouching, the woman backed away from the pad. He gave the signal, and the last of the helicopters was in the air. He read the words on the first sheet: Max Lowenberg, CC survivor. Nothing of importance there. He would pass this one along once they reached Seibal. The second sheet, however, they would not see. He opened the window. A crumpled piece of paper flew out and was chopped up by the rotors. On it, had been two words: Evers. Shadow. --o-0-o-- Seibal Ruins Saturday 6:30 pm Ux Balam's shade had never heard anything like the sound coming from the sky. Nor had he ever seen black birds with no wings, like what were hovering over the great square in front of his temple. Wondering what power from the Otherworld kept such creatures aloft, he slipped down the processional stair. There were people in those birds, dropping to the ground, one by one, until there were eight of the pale-skins, carrying bags. The fantastic beasts rose straight up, then flew back away from his city. The evening filled with the sounds of the pale-skins setting up their camp on his processional way. It was too late for them to go into the pit, exploring for clues to the archaeologists' disappearance, so they would begin in the morning. Ux Balam waited until they had finished eating and had settled in for the night. He could visit their minds while they were asleep. --o-0-o-- But two of them were not asleep. The FBI agents were talking quietly outside the tents they had pitched side by side. Scully was sitting crosslegged on the grass, her partner standing at her hip. She looked up at him. "He only gave you one, Mulder?" He passed the wire from Skinner to her, then he sat as well. After she read the words, she glanced over at Mulder. Mulder was rubbing his face. "Mom said she was changing her flights. She's probably in Miami right now. At least I don't have to worry about her. But I said ASAP on the other." They locked eyes. Either the wire had not reached Skinner, or it had not been returned to them. In any case, they had their answer: the shadows were after them. --o-0-o-- Seibal Ruins Sunday September 1, 1996 12.19.2.9.15 12:01 am Scully woke immediately upon hearing the nightmare begin in the next tent. Her partner was whispering his sister's name, and she knew he had to be awakened before he began shouting and crying in his sleep. She slid out of her bag, unzipped the front of her tent, reached over, and opened his. In the three quarters moon, she could see his head moving back and forth. She paused. If this had been a normal case, they would be in adjacent hotel rooms, where she could soothe him in total privacy. Here, there were six other men no more than ten feet away, all of whom believed the worst about Special Agent Fox Mulder. An arm worked its way free of the confines of his bag. Scully forced her head through the front. "Mulder! Wake up!" She tried to reach his shoulder to shake him, but he was too tall, and the one-man tent formed a cocoon around him. She found a narrow space between her partner's head and the tent wall by hers. Wedging herself in, she took his shoulders in both hands. "Mulder, it's me. Mulder, wake up now!" she was whispering in his ear, hoping to keep the others from getting involved. He was beginning to shake, but he was also coming out of the dream. Once he opened his eyes, her worried expression told him what he had almost done. "Scully. I was dreaming about her again, wasn't I?" She nodded. He brushed her elbow with the hand that was already out of the sleeping bag. "I'm sorry, Scully. Thanks." He pushed himself off the ground, attempting to turn to face her in the small space. All he succeeded in doing was pulling out tent pegs before hitting his head on one of the tensioning rods that shaped the interior. He froze, afraid the tent was about to collapse on them both. Scully tried not to laugh at his sheepish look, resting her hand on his side before she spoke. "You okay, Mulder?" He rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I guess." A face appeared in the tent opening. It was Evers. "Agent Scully, can I speak to you, alone?" She nodded and began to crawl out of the narrow space, Mulder pulling his legs up to let her pass. As she left, she looked back at her partner wearing his familiar mask of sadness, guilt, and bewilderment at his loss. --o-0-o-- Ux Balam hovered outside the tent, shocked at what was in the two agents' minds. He had felt that this one and the woman were different from the others. The man, Mulder, had crossed over to the Otherworld and returned, guided by a great Shaman in the North. That Shaman knew nothing of the Game, of course, as the Game was for the Maya kings and the Lords of the Dead. He thought the Maya of his time were in a state of moral decay, since they fought then in the Tlaloc way of their northern neighbors, where all warriors would be executed if captured. He preferred the ancient Maya rite, where only the kings would meet in single combat, and only holy blood would fall on the ground to go down to the Lords of the Underworld. But this, this he could not fathom. Mulder's father had given up his sister to others, and had let the boy suffer for it all these years. Giving up one's own children? He and his principal wife never succeeded in having children, and the kingship passed to his younger brother at his death. The woman had been taken, living, to another place of torment. She did not remember what had happened to her there, but it was all in her dreaming mind. He saw what she would not recall, and hoped she never knew her buried pain. And for such a one as this to suffer so! This Scully would have been a great lady among his people, blessed by the gods with hair the color of copal. She was intelligent and compassionate, a healer and a scribe. Although she had not seen the Otherworld, she no longer discounted what had come from there. He thought, again, of his principal wife, the Lady Yax-Zok, daughter of the king of Chichen Itza, whose city was in decline. She too, had been educated in the writing of the scribes and was strong in heart and soul. After his victorious Ballgame, she had walked halfway to Dos Pilas, barefoot, and met him on his way home. She hoped her royal blood, left on the road, would appease the Lords of Death who had been cheated of their prize. The dreams of the others had been those typical of young men, except for the one named Evers, who was deeply divided about something secret he had to do in Seibal. He needed to consider these people, so that perhaps when the One who was of his Blood arrived with the Adept, they could use what he had learned. --o-0-o-- Away from the tents, Evers dropped his hand on Scully's arm. "How often does this happen?" Scully looked up at Evers. He read the sadness in her eyes. "You know why I ask?" Scully thought she could work that out, so she nodded. If they had been tracking the guerrillas, an outburst in the middle of the night would have given them all away. "But, Sir, I have to know. Aren't we just here to find out what happened to the archaeologists?" He sighed. "Suppose they had been kidnaped by the Zapatistas, Agent Scully. I have orders to bring the archaeologists back, by whatever means necessary. We can't count on normal due process here. Then, by definition, our work entails covert operations and your partner would be putting us all at risk. Let me guess, after one of these nightmares he doesn't go back to sleep, either." She nodded again. "Sir, Agent Mulder has a unique way of gaining insights into the cases we work on. Sometimes this insomnia works for him. Many times he has worked out who is responsible for a crime under just these circumstances." She wouldn't tell him that they often spent the rest of the day arguing over whether Mulder's theories could possibly be correct. "Thank you, Agent Scully. Perhaps you are right, his ideas may prove useful in the end. That will be all." He turned away from her, knowing these were both good people, having read their files. Mulder's continuing torment was over the loss of his sister. It had driven him to the FBI where he had helped put away dangerous serial killers. Scully's loyalty to her partner and duty to her mission were admirable. He was beginning to feel regret over the other set of orders he had to carry out on this exercise. --o-0-o-- As Scully returned to her tent, she heard a familiar voice whisper her name. She poked her head in her partner's tent. He was awake now, sitting on his sleeping bag, his eyes focused and glowing. "Yes, Mulder?" He motioned her inside. She glanced back over her shoulder, checking for Evers, who was about fifteen feet away with his back to them. She could hear snores from some of the other tents. "This isn't good for my reputation, you know, partner." She smiled, trying to make light of the situation, pleased that he half smirked as she crawled in. "So you want me to apologize for my rugged masculine charm, Scully?" When she reached him, she sat by his shoulder with her legs crossed in the narrow space before her. He shrugged. "Who do you think it is?" She chewed her lower lip, considering the other agents. "Well, the logical choice is Evers. He had the messages from DC, and could have destroyed the second response himself. But, he seems to think the archaeologists were kidnaped by the Zapatistas. He was concerned that your nightmares would give us all away to them, Mulder. He wants to believe this is a rescue mission we'll all walk out of, if we're careful enough." "And if he had termination orders for us, he would do it before we jeopardized the rest of the group." He nodded. "So who else? Rubins? He works down here all year long. The shadows wouldn't leave him here if they could use him elsewhere." Scully chin dropped momentarily on her chest. The touch of her partner's hand on her shoulder brought her head back up, close to his concerned face. "Go and get some rest, Scully. I need to think." --o-0-o-- Tomb of Ux Balam Seibal Ruins Sunday 10:30 am The great stone slab was still propped against the wall of the pit. Mulder and Scully had been turned loose to explore the excavated parts of the grave for clues. After examining the side chambers and finding only scraps of bones, they stood, side by side, looking into the open grave at the final resting place of Ux Balam. Mulder pointed into the sarcophagus. "The students reported Dr. Harris mentioning he smelled blood down here just before the grave was opened. You smell anything?" They exchanged a smirk at the reference to the Kevin Kryder case, which several months ago, would have precipitated an argument. Scully shook her head. "There could be a simple explanation for the odor. Blood gets its distinctive color and aroma from iron in the hemoglobin. Look at the soil in the sarcophagus." They stepped down into the stone casket. Mulder frowned. "What?" She picked up some red colored earth, scattered over the depressions where the bones had lain. "Normally, the interior of a royal sarcophagus was coated with cinnabar, a mercury compound. But here they used red ocher. It's full of iron so it's often used as a ceremonial substitute. On a humid day, or just after a rain, it will smell faintly like blood. That could be what Dr. Harris was referring to." He leaned in close to her ear, his hazel eyes glittering in anticipation of her reaction. "Or, it could be Ux Balam climbing back up the World Tree to see who was paying him a visit." She gave him the Look as they climbed out to stand on the edge. Neither wanted to remain where the scholars had been seen last, both seeing the great slab descending in their minds' eye. "While this is all fascinating, it still doesn't help us find Doctors Waters and Harris. There are no scraps of clothing or Caucasian hairs on the stone lid, just these beautiful carvings." He nodded. "The loose soil down here has footprints everywhere, so it looks like there's been no attempt to cover evidence. I didn't see impressions of bodies in the soil, which there would have been, had they hidden, or been stashed, waiting for the others to leave. We can't lift any fingerprints off all this rough earth, and even if we found some on the stone slab, we would need to fingerprint all the graduate students, as well as the people in the surrounding villages, before we could get a match." She walked around the pit, finally stopping in front of him, rubbing the back of her neck. "And, despite Evers' belief, they probably haven't been kidnaped by the Zapatistas." He raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that?" "No ransom demands. The Zapatistas are very talkative. Most of their international support comes from groups they have contacted through the Net. Believe it or not, these groups carry computers in the field and post updates to garner support." She shook her head. "I think I should have taken Skinner's advice." They both looked to the opening of the pit above them. She sighed. "We shouldn't be here." Mulder rested his hand on her shoulder. He stepped back to begin pacing along the long axis of the sarcophagus. "I think our scope is too narrow. Suppose, just suppose, in this place, the Maya myths are true." He held up both hands as she frowned and began to object. "We've run out of Twentieth Century explanations." He walked back to her, took her arm, and guided her to one end of the sarcophagus lid. He tapped the Maw of Xibalba, under the image of Ux Balam. "What is this, Dr. Scully?" She studied the carving, her eyes widening as she realized what he was driving at, then she glared up at him. "Mulder, you're not seriously proposing that Drs. Harris and Waters somehow fell into Xibalba and are playing the Ballgame with the Lords of the Dead, are you?" She stepped back, placing her hands on her hips. "Those are just legends, stories from an ancient time!" He shook his head. "What happens in the year 2012, tell me." She frowned again. "The Long Count calendar of Maya time returns to its beginning, to 13.0.0.0.0, and the cycle of time begins again, as at the Creation. Did Dr. Schele tell you about that?" He nodded. "In every religion, even in the Hindu, the start of new time cycles is associated with strange and supernatural events. Well, doesn't this qualify as a strange or supernatural event?" She cocked an eyebrow at him. The cosmic alignment they had experienced at Comity certainly had had effects. "Mulder, you may be on to something here." He stared, momentarily nonplussed. "Let's say you *are* right, that they have gone down to Xibalba. Hellofaplace to try to stage a rescue, if you ask me, pilgrim." She wrinkled her nose at him. "I know. You want to be there when I tell Evers all this?" She rolled her eyes and groaned. "What are partners for?" They walked to the ladder to begin climbing out of the pit, she above him. On the way up, Scully began joking again. "So, Mulder, what will you do?" "What do you mean, Scully?" His mind had obviously been elsewhere. "Well, let's say all these paranormal phenomena we've been investigating over the past few years are coming to a head at the end of the Long Count cycle. That means, come 2013, we'll be out of X-files to investigate. I can always be a pathologist in a city morgue. What will you do?" They had reached the top, where Scully pulled herself up onto the ground and crawled aside so he could do the same. Mulder stepped up off the ladder and bent down to help her stand. "I don't know. Maybe one of those women Miriam has picked out for me will want to marry an ex-FBI agent." She looked up at him as they were dusting themselves off. "No, no, no. For those women, you're supposed to be the great big breadwinner, don't cha know." He shrugged. "Well, it wouldn't be much, but do you suppose Dirk Gently needs an associate?" All he got for that one was a gentle dig in the ribs. "Yeah, well, maybe I can rent out my manly services to certain City Pathologists for the right price. You know, food, a roof over my head, and a warm place to sleep at night." Having reached a working consensus of sorts, their eyes were dancing, happily lost in the jests. "Mulder!" "A hit, a very palpable hit, milady!" She waggled her fist in his face. "One of these days!" He pouted. "But it works for the Red Menace." She pushed him hard enough so he lost his balance and stumbled as they walked back towards the tents. --o-0-o-- Malcom Evers had heard enough. "They're *where*?" The two agents looked absolutely serious. "The Maya place of the dead?" Mulder sighed. "That's what we think, Sir. There is no physical evidence they were killed or injured in the tomb. No hair, blood, or torn cloth. Not in the sarcophagus itself, nor the side passages. There were no indentations of bodies lying in the dirt, so we don't think they hid or were hidden and left or were removed later. If they didn't go up, or sideways, then they must have gone down." Evers looked from Mulder to Scully. "The bottom of the sarcophagus is a stone slab, thicker than the lid. They could have somehow been trapped under it. I'll send several agents down with you again to move it and see." Scully shook her head. "The rest of the stones show no signs of having been moved, Sir. It would be a waste of time and manpower." Evers stepped toward her. "You agree with him? You don't think this is some sleep deprivation induced hallucination?" He was practically on top of her, shouting. Mulder wanted to intervene, but his diminutive partner stood her ground. Scully had crossed her arms. "No, Sir. It's the only solution that comes anywhere close to explaining the evidence in hand. In the absence of one better, it's all we have to go on." Evers began waving his hands. "Well, fine, people. You call CIA headquarters and tell them." He spun on one heel to walk away, then turned back. "I'm a soldier, not a politician. I need someone to arrest, a body to retrieve. How am I supposed to do that now?" Mulder brightened. "Call a Shaman?" Evers stormed off. --o-0-o-- Seibal Ruins Monday September 2, 1996 12.19.2.9.16 1:30 am "Scully, it's me. Scully, wake up. I need to talk to you." Dana Scully groaned. It was the Energizer Bunny again. He was in her tent, crouched as she had been the previous night, by her head, shaking one of her shoulders gently. "Mulder, are you okay? Where are you? I can't see." She could feel him crawling along her side and sliding the zipper down on her sleeping bag. She reached for where she thought his hands would be, but he had already grasped her left foot, holding it still while he slid it into her boot. "It's dark; the moon has set. We can see the stars now." He stopped, as if that were reason enough. "Mulder, back up. Why do we want to go out and look at the stars?" The slight jerking she felt on her left leg stopped, since he was done lacing up the boot. "Scully! Is there no romance in that Vulcan soul of yours?" His long fingers wrapped around her right ankle, holding it up while he adjusted her other boot, then the gentle twisting started again. "Mulderrr." She growled at him. She could smell him leaning in close to her ear. "Klingon are you now? I'll remember that." Tugging urgently on her arm, Mulder crawled backwards out of the tent, then was suddenly all business as they stood in the dark. "I had a dream. I don't understand it. There was a canoe, with a pair of twins rowing. It would tip over. Rains would fall. The canoe turned into a monster, pursuing a turtle. It must have something to do with this place. Linda Schele talked about how the Maya constellations were canoes and turtles. I had stopped listening to her, since I was wondering how von Daniken could have been so wrong at the time." "All those images are jumbled up bits of Maya lore. Let's go to the pyramid. I don't have a photographic memory like you. But, I'll try to tell you some of the legends I remember reading in March." They began walking toward the great dark shape blocking the twinkling lights. Scully caught her foot on one of the other support ropes. It jerked the tent, and Andrews, the occupant, woke up in a start. "Hey, watch it out there." He poked his head out the tent door. "It's the FBI. Going to get more clues from the Maya underworld, guys?" Evers had said nothing of their theory to the other CIA agents, but the argument had obviously been overheard. "Keep it down!" Rubins shouted out, and the two agents began arguing while Mulder and Scully left. --o-0-o-- Scully had been pointing at the various stars, attempting to explain the sky as the Maya saw it to him. But, with their difference in height, he could never tell exactly what she was indicating. "Scully! Stop! I don't understand." Her arm dropped to her side. "Let's try something, partner. Lie down." She complied, slowly. He lay down as well, so that their feet were pointing away in opposite directions, and their heads were side by side, nestled in curve of each other's neck and shoulders. "Okay, start again, please." "Ready? good." She swept out a broad arc in the sky. "The canoe and the monster are one and the same thing, the Milky Way, just at different times of the year." The white way in the sky was brighter here than either of them had seen in the States. Her arm dropped to her chest. "How do we know the seasons, Mulder?" Her voice had that same smug tone his had taken on in the pit. He shifted his head to see her profile against the stars. "Scully! The temperature goes up and down, the days get longer and shorter, everyone knows that. So what's your point?" "Down here, neither of those things happen, or happen noticeably for a people who don't measure temperature in fractions of degrees above absolute zero or time in nanoseconds. The day length varies by less than an hour over the entire year, and the only seasons are dry and hot, or wet and hot, alternating twice through the year. It should be the second rainy season now." He looked up again. "Oh." "The Maya didn't use the sun to tell the seasons, they used the Milky Way. It appears to change its position from east-west to north-south through the night and different parts of it are visible at different times of year." She pointed towards three stars in a line. "See the three stars in the belt of Orion? The Maya saw the belt as three stones on the back of a turtle. The last stone in the Orion turtle's back is one of three stars forming a triangle that the Maya called the three hearthstones. They saw Gemini as two peccaries. When the part of the Milky Way between the peccaries and the turtle appears in the second half of the night, the second rainy season starts, in mid-August." Her arm was beginning to ache so she dropped it to her chest. He interwove his fingers on his stomach. "Hunh. I never thought of them that way." "Um-hum. When the part of the Milky Way between the peccaries and the turtle disappears in the second half of the night, that's the start of the first rainy season in mid-February." He turned his head towards hers. "Well, that explains the turtles and the rain. But the canoe and the monster?" "That's just the Milky way again, in different positions. You mentioned the World Tree. When the Milky Way is due north-south, relative to the ecliptic, the Maya called it the Wacah Chan, the World Tree." She pointed to several bumps. "Right now, the Milky Way is the Sky Canoe, tipping down into the Underworld. The twins paddling it are on their way to Xibalba to rescue their father, whose body is hidden under the great Ballcourt." Mulder grunted. "Ballcourts again. You'd think all the Maya did between harvests was play." Scully twisted in frustration. "Mulder! Not at all! The Ballgame was more than just a sport, it was an important religious ceremony. The stones of the Ballcourt represented the ground itself or the shell of the turtle in the sky. The twins' Father is the corn plant. Maya myth taught that the Father was trapped in the turtle until the twins cracked the shell to release him, just as the corn seed has to split the hull to release the plant to grow. In real Maya life, now is when they plant the corn." She couldn't hold her arm up anymore. Mulder took her silence to mean she was tired, so he prompted. "Scully?" She continued, "At the winter solstice, the Milky Way lying east-west looked to the Maya like a Cosmic Monster. In February, when the corn is fully grown, part of the Milky Way looked to them like a maize plant, ready for harvest." "Oh, so the myths are all about planting and harvesting." "Food. Life. You know, the important things." He chuckled. "Yeah, life. The universe. Everything." --o-0-o-- Ux Balam was watching the pair and listening. They had part of the story right, anyway. But every child knew these tales. All the myths of his people, reduced to whispered stories in the night. How could it be that these pale-skins, who were so powerful, knew so little about what really mattered? What would he tell his warriors when they arrived? --o-0-o-- The agents stayed where they were, drowsing in and out of sleep, as the Sak Be, the Raised-up-Sky, rotated over their heads. Finally, Mulder spoke to his partner. "Scully?" "Hum?" "We should head back. You must be cold." "Hm-um. It's nice up here. Just cool. We don't have to worry about jaguars prowling around the tents. Besides, if we try to head down the stairs in the dark, the pitch is so steep we'll break something if we miss one of those uneven steps." He let himself fade slowly into sleep. He thought he heard something on the edge of the platform, so he turned his head to look. Someone was sitting, watching them. He sat up, but his wakening mind took over, and Ux Balam disappeared from his vision. "Mulder? What is it?" She was awake too, twisted on her side. "Sorry, Scully. Thought there was someone watching us." She pushed herself off the ground to look out over the velvety black jungle. "Hate to tell you, but we aren't the only ones up tonight." She pointed out into the forest. There was a faint line of lights, headed towards the ruins. They counted fifteen torches, moving through the night. Ux Balam's warriors had finally arrived. --o-0-o-- Awakened by the quarreling CIA agents, Malcom Evers had decided. It was tonight, or never, and he always obeyed orders. He screwed the silencer onto his pistol, then rolled out of his tent. Crouching outside of where he knew Mulder's head would be, he emptied several shells into the nylon sheet. He heard the thump, thump, thump, as the bullets impacted something soft. That man's theory was driving him nuts, anyway. He quietly replaced the clip, crawled over behind Scully's tent, and paused. He really didn't want to hurt this bright, loyal doctor. He sighed, then emptied his clip, hearing the same thump, thump, thump. They would be found dead by the others in the morning, and he could use the Zapatista cover story as an excuse. --o-0-o-- END - XIBALBA - RAISED-UP-SKY