"Yours has lumps of gold stuck on the front," Remo said, holding up the small robe encrusted with glittering metal.
"Gold? Real gold?"
"See for yourself."
"Ah," he said, snatching it away from Remo. "Mine is much finer than yours. I told you these were civilized people." He compared the two robes. "But then, yours has emeralds in it." A frown crossed his face.
"Use it for a turban," Remo said. "I'm going the way I am."
"You cannot. This is high ceremony."
"I don't care if it's Halloween. I plan to get out of here, and I'm not going back dressed as the Grand Poobah."
Remo stood in chinos and a black T-shirt atop the smoldering rim of the sacred volcano Bocatan while the nobles assembled. Clad in a lovely robe, Lizzie was curiously silent, taking in the scene around her. Chiun, beaming, glittered like a gem beside Remo. "Very wise choice, wearing your own clothes," he whispered. "Where is the king? Do you think he will be perturbed that I have formed your robe into a cape?"
"He was in such bad shape, I don't think he'll have much on his mind except living for the next twenty minutes. I think I see the litter down there."
Slowly, with awesome precision, the slaves made their careful way up the mountain with the covered sedan chair. Behind the king's litter was another, of purest white, for the girl, Nata-Ah. Behind them both, at the end of the procession, walked the priest.
He first helped the king from his chair, then returned for Nata-Ah. The girl was pale and apprehensive, her eyes glassy. She stepped to the rim of the volcano with faltering steps and took her place between her grandfather and the priest, opposite Remo and the others. Her head was high, the long unbound black hair shining with youth.
The priest began to speak. His voice was low, his words clear and carrying. As he spoke, the girl's chin quivered. The king bowed his head.
"What's going on?" Remo whispered to the boy, who frowned uncomprehendingly.
"It is— it cannot be," Po said, listening to the priest. Then his eyes widened. "He is going to sacrifice the girl!" he shouted. "The evil one is going to give Nata-Ah to the volcano."
He ran, limping, to the other side of the rim. "You will not do this thing!" he screamed, thrusting both of his small fists into the priest's chest.
The priest staggered backward. The king and the other nobles murmured in shocked dismay. Nata-Ah herself stood rigid, her eyes ablaze and fixed on the small lame boy who had dared to object to her death.
In one motion, the priest grabbed the boy's arms and whirled him around. "This opportunity will not be wasted, little one," he muttered in the Old Tongue. Only Po heard him. Only Po knew that the tall man was pushing him backward, toward the rim of the sacred fire mountain Bocatan to create an accident that would cost the boy his life.
"You will not stop me," the Priest said, edging the boy closer to the smoldering edge. "My work is too important. Your powers are as nothing compared with mine. Go to your death, small voice of the false gods. Your destiny shall not be fulfilled." With that, he placed his foot behind the boy's bad leg and toppled him, screaming, over the side.
In the fraction of a second, a blur beginning on the far side of the volcano's rim shot downward in a diagonal. It was so fast that to the onlookers the motion seemed to be a flash of lightning or a streak of smoke. Gasps went up. Eyes turned skyward. Only Chiun remained calm, observing, evaluating the movement inside the volcano. Remo was gone.
He had leaped in a spinning series of somersaults from the volcano's rim to project himself diagonally across the thirty-foot opening to meet the exact spot the boy had reached during his descent toward the bubbling red lava below.
Still in his spinning motion, Remo jammed his shoulder into the pliable inner wall of the volcano and set his feet behind him so that he appeared to be floating alongside the wall. At this height the molten rock was warm but not hot— the temperature of sand on a hot day. The holds of his shoulder and his feet left both his arms free. Then reaching out, careful not to dislodge his shoulder grip, he grabbed the fabric of the boy's robe and pulled him toward his own body.
Po's eyes were dark and still, the pupils shrunken in shock. "Take it easy, kid," Remo said, wrapping the boy's limp arms around his neck. "You've got to hang on now. That's all. Just hang on, okay?"
The boy's head turned slowly. When his eyes met Remo's, a flicker of recognition came into them. He nodded once, and Remo felt the thin arms grip tightly.
"That's good. Just hang on. I'll do the rest." He inched up the wall slowly, first moving one foot upward behind him, then the other, then sliding his shoulder up, pressing it into the wall of the volcano, creating a deep groove as he went. With each movement, smooth and continous with the last, he made compensations for the minute shift in weight caused by the boy's breathing.
It was the reverse of climbing up a sheer surface, a skill Remo had mastered years ago. The balance shifted with the weight and moved the body upward and in, toward the surface. To outsiders, wall climbing seemed a feat of magic, but in the training of Sinanju, it was elementary.
This was the same procedure, only his back was against the wall instead of his chest, his weight pressing into the surface, pushing it upward. When Remo neared the rim of the opening, he slid his two arms up behind him and clasped the edge. Then, propelling himself out of position, he spun in the air and landed feet first in his former position beside Chiun. The boy was on his feet, too, although the movements that had loosened his grip on Remo and thrown him through the air had happened too fast for him to follow.
He could only stare at the thin man with the thick wrists along with the others who stared, the king and the priest and the nobles. Then he turned to face Nata-Ah. The girl was watching him, her body tense. Her eyes melted, and she smiled. For a moment, the boy wished it would all happen again.
The king looked to the priest, his old eyes hard as flint. He rasped out a harsh command. There was no other sound. The priest stood still, looking for an instant as if he would speak. Instead, he turned on his heel and descended down the mountain. No one spoke until the figure of the priest grew small on the bare footpath on the far side of the volcano. He walked away from the city, into the depths of the jungle.
The old king bowed to Remo and then to Chiun.
"No," the Oriental said, pulling the king to his feet. "Tell him that my son and I are not his gods."
"But you are," the boy protested. "Your magic powers—"
"That is strength and discipline and training. But not magic," Chiun said. "Tell the king that Chiun, the Master of Sinanju, and his apprentice stand before him. Not gods, but men like himself. Tell him."
Po did as he was told. The king stared at the strangers, obviously confused.
"Now tell him that we want to know what the hell's going on here," Remo said.
* * *
"The priest's name is Quintanodan," the king said in the safety of his throne room. He spoke haltingly, struggling for breath, as Po translated.
"But the story begins long before the appearance of the priest. Ten years ago, the great white god Kukulcan descended into this valley in his flaming chariot to bring to my kingdom enlightenment and prosperity. I ruled then, as I rule now. Behind me in succession was my only son, Pachenque, who was prepared to take my place as king of the most advanced empire on earth. Pachenque's wife had borne only one child, the girl Nata-Ah, but she was young, and expected to bear many sons.
"Although Kukulcan spoke little, he was a wise and just god. He and his divine servants who had come to earth with him gave us drawings to help us plow our fields and plant our crops. He showed us how to make roads and construct buildings that will last for a thousand years. He taught my people to read the stars. He gave us the gift of numbers. He cured the sick with his magic, then gave the healing magic to others to cure. All we now have, we owe to Kukulcan."
"This— god," Remo said, "was actually here? I mean, alive?"
The king nodded. "That is his likeness." He gestured toward the statue of the man with the blank sphere for a head.
"Where did he come from?" Lizzie asked.
"I do not know. I cannot speak the language of the gods. But he showered my people with his blessings. He even drove the evil Olmec away from our land, past the fire mountain Bocatan, deep into the caves of death, into Xibalba, where lives the god of the dead. Kukulcan vanquished them with his magic spears of fire."
"Uh— didn't you think it was strange for a god to touch down in the middle of your city?" Remo said.
The king blinked. "But it was the prophecy. We expected the god, and Kukulcan came."
"What prophecy?"
"The most ancient of the sacred writings. Long ago, it was spoken that a great god would come to guide the ruler of the kingdom of Yaxbenhaltun to greatness over all other peoples. I was that ruler. This is the kingdom of the prophecies."
"So the prophecies came true," Lizzie said.
"Not all. There is more. The sacred writings said that the god would visit, but that the voice of the gods would lead us to even greater heights, to a glory unimaginable in the eyes of mortal men."
Remo looked to Chiun, who nodded to the king in mute understanding.