Forbidden. Ellen James
iguana dart across a rock. Insects buzzed around her. So far this morning her repellent wasn’t doing the job, and she had to resist the urge to slap her arms.
“What types of artifacts have you uncovered in the vicinity?” she asked, needing to fill the silence between herself and Nick. “Monuments, stelae, that sort of thing.”
When she ventured to glance at him again, she could swear she saw a restrained humor hovering in his expression now. His change of mood annoyed her. What did he find so funny, dammit? She slapped her arms after all, as a swarm of whining bugs strafed her. Why didn’t any of them seem to be attacking Nick?
“We’re excavating for remnants left by the Mayan farmers who lived near this temple,” Nick said. “But don’t get too worked up, Ms. Morgan. We’re not likely to make any stunning discoveries. I’m not the first archaeologist to descend on the island. Different groups were here during the 1920s and 1950s. They didn’t find anything particularly noteworthy. We’re here as follow-up.”
His impassive tone made her glance at him more sharply. “You’re not excited about this place?”
“The capacity for excitement is something I lost a long time ago.” He seemed to lapse into his own thoughts then. The silence felt more strained than ever to Dana, but she didn’t know how to fill it this time. She was almost startled when Nick spoke again a few moments later.
“This was once a shrine to the goddess Ixchel,” he said. He still seemed lost in his own contemplations as he gazed at the temple. “Superstitions about it have circulated the island for centuries now.”
The air was heavy, like a shroud of heat wrapping itself around Dana. “What superstitions?” she asked.
Nick seemed to stir from his reverie. “There’ve been stories about the temple ruins being haunted by a woman of the ancient Maya. You know the type of thing–people out to scare each other with talk of a ghost, and evil curses if anyone dares to climb the temple steps.”
Dana was not prone to superstition herself, but she supposed this jungle was the place for ghost stories, all right, with its gloomy shade and aura of deep isolation.
“Exactly what do the stories say?” she asked, trying to evince nothing more than scientific interest.
“Ixchel was the Mayan goddess of fertility, and women once came to the island on pilgrimage to worship her. The story goes that one of these pilgrims knelt to beg Ixchel for a baby and then died mysteriously while still at the temple. They say her ghost haunts the place, refusing to leave until she obtains her child. People also say that the ghost curses anyone who ventures near the temple to disturb her mourning.”
“Hmm…a ghost and the goddess Ixchel.” Now the temple rising up before her seemed more grand than ever to Dana. She could almost picture a young Mayan woman climbing the steps reverently and hopefully, going to petition her goddess, unaware of the fate that awaited her….
“Does the story frighten you?” Nick asked, making Dana start.
“No–of course not. It’s just sad, that’s all. I feel sorry for the woman who never got her baby. But you aren’t trying to scare me off, are you, Dr. Petrie?”
“And why would I try to do that?” he asked gravely.
“I don’t know. Maybe you like to scare people off.”
He surprised her again, this time with just a flicker of a smile. Then he glanced beyond Dana. She followed the direction of his gaze and saw a young boy sitting at the far end of the temple steps, quietly observant. It was disconcerting to see the boy; surely he hadn’t been there a few moments ago. He looked to be no more than eleven or twelve, with dark tousled hair, dark eyes and the sun-burnished skin of an islander. At Nick’s glance, the boy came over to stand beside him. The two exchanged no greeting, no acknowledgment of any kind, yet seemed accustomed to each other’s presence. They stood there together, apparently satisfied with the silence between them. Dana got the feeling that if anyone was going to speak, it would have to be her.
“Hello,” she said to the young boy. “I’m Dana Morgan.”
The boy stared at her, as if she’d breached some obscure code of etiquette by actually introducing herself. But at last he gave a brief nod in return.
“I’m Daniel,” he said, his pleasing Spanish accent at odds with his grudging tone.
The conversation threatened to die there, but Dana had always been good with kids. She tried again.
“My grandfather was a Daniel,” she said. “I was christened for him, in fact.”
This tidbit of information didn’t seem to inspire young Daniel in the least. He continued to look disapproving. As for Nick…well, he observed Dana with that subtle hint of amusement she already found annoying.
She refused to be daunted by two such closemouthed individuals. As she searched for a more fruitful line of discourse, at last Nick spoke.
“Daniel works with me part of the time. Come along, Ms. Morgan, we’ll show you where we’re excavating.” Nick strode away, the boy following him like a small shadow. Dana brought up the rear, wondering why Daniel seemed so prickly and difficult. Maybe he was just trying to emulate Nick Petrie’s charming demeanor, she told herself ironically.
Almost immediately the jungle engulfed the three of them. Ferns and vine tendrils brushed Dana’s face. Orchids and other bright flowers she couldn’t identify clung to the trees. Patches of bamboo reeds impeded her progress, but she fought her way through. Already her cotton shirt had grown damp with perspiration in the tropical heat.
Nick held aside a tangle of stalks so she could pass. “Half the time I carry a machete with me. A lot of my work involves cutting back the jungle, as well as digging in the ground.”
There was an image: austere, forbidding Dr. Petrie wielding a machete. But those darn bugs were following Dana everywhere she went, pesky little dive-bombers that had identified her as their target. She pulled down the floppy brim of her canvas hat, realizing just how damp her skin had become. If she was this sweaty and buggy after only a few minutes, what would she be like at the end of the day?
Dana reminded herself that it was all part of her unpredictable new life. Adventures didn’t come with air-conditioning or other such comforts. Adventures were messy, difficult things. That was what made them so satisfying.
Nonetheless, Dana felt relieved when they came to a small clearing and at least she no longer had vines swatting her in the face. She saw an excavation laid out before her, alternate squares neatly chiseled from the dirt. The effect was rather that of a three-dimensional checkerboard.
Dana gazed at it in fascination. Her specialty had always been soil science, not archaeology itself, but she’d done enough research to know exactly what she was looking at. Archaeological sites required a great deal of care. All digging had to proceed slowly and cautiously, information collected in an orderly manner so that no detail was lost. Hence the grid pattern, with alternate test pits chosen for excavation. It allowed the archaeologist to cover a fair amount of ground, while still maintaining proper control of the entire project.
Dana turned to Nick. “It’s wonderful,” she said enthusiastically.
He raised his eyebrows just the slightest bit. “That’s what you keep telling me.”
The boy Daniel looked skeptical, too, as if to add emphasis to Nick’s words. Dana grimaced, realizing that she must sound like a gushing schoolgirl. But it was wonderful. With an effort, she refrained from further superlatives, taking in the rest of the site. Across from her, where the jungle strained to encroach on the clearing, two palm-thatched huts sprouted like mushrooms. A plump, white-nosed burro was tethered near the huts, munching on some hay. It was all remarkably picturesque, but just then a low moan disturbed the tranquillity.
“What was that?” Dana asked, glancing around.
Already Nick was striding away, skirting the edge of the excavation.