The Codex

58

After ten hours of hiking into the mountains, Tom and his brothers topped a bare, windswept ridge. A stupendous view of mountains greeted their eyes, a violent sea of peaks and valleys, layered toward the horizon in deepening shades of purple.

Borabay pointed. “Sukia Tara, the White City,” he said.

Tom squinted in the bright afternoon sun. About five miles away, across a chasm, rose two pinnacles of white rock. Nestled between them was a flat, isolated saddle of land, cut off on both sides by chasms and surrounded by jagged peaks. It was a lone patch of green, a lush piece of cloudforest that looked as if it had broken off from somewhere else to lodge between the two fangs of white rock, teetering on the brink of a precipice. Tom had imagined it would be a ruin with white towers and walls. Instead, he could see nothing but a thick, lumpy carpet of trees.

Vernon raised his binoculars, examined the White City, and passed them to Tom.

The green promontory leapt into magnification. Tom scanned it, slowly. The plateau was heavily covered in trees and what appeared to be impenetrable mats of vines and creepers. Whatever ruined city lay in that strange hanging valley was well covered by jungle. But as Tom scrutinized it, here and there, rising from the verdure, he could make out whitish outcrops that began to take on faint patterns: a corner, a broken stretch of wall, a dark square that looked like a window. And as he looked further at what he thought was a steep hill, he realized it was a ruined pyramid, heavily overgrown. One side of it had been gashed open, a white wound in the living green.

The mesa the city had been constructed on was, truly, an island in the sky. It hung between the two peaks, separated from the rest of the Sierra Azul by sheer cliffs. It looked cut off until he saw a thread of yellow curving across one of the chasms — a crude suspension bridge. As he examined it further he saw that the bridge was well guarded by soldiers who were using a ruined stone fortress evidently built by the original inhabitants to protect the White City. Hauser and his men had cut down a large swath of forest at the foot of the bridge to give themselves a clear field of fire.

On the opposite side of the White City, not far from the bridge, a small river ran down from the mountains and poured into the chasm, turning into a graceful filament of white and disappearing into the mists below. As Tom watched, mists billowed up from the chasm, obscuring the suspension bridge and then blocking their view of the White City itself. The mists cleared, then rose again, then cleared, in a never ending ballet of darkness and light.

Tom shivered. Their father, Maxwell Broadbent, had probably stood in the same place forty years ago. No doubt he had been able to pick out the faint outlines of the city amid the chaos of vegetation. Here was where he made his first discovery and began his life’s work; and this was where he had ended up, shut up alive in a dark tomb. The White City was the alpha and the omega of Maxwell Broadbent’s career.

He passed the binoculars to Sally. She examined the White City for a long time. Then she lowered the glasses and turned to Tom, her face flushed with excitement. “It’s Maya,” she said. “There’s a central ball court, a pyramid, and some multistoried pavilions. It’s High Classic. The people who built this city came from Copán, I’m sure of it — probably this is where the Maya retreated after the fall of Copán in A.D. 900. One great mystery solved.”

Her eyes were sparkling, the sun shimmering off her golden hair. He had never seen her so vital. It was surprising, he thought, considering how little sleep they had been getting.

She turned and her eyes connected with his, and it seemed to him that she understood what he was thinking. Her face flushed slightly, and she looked away, smiling to herself.

Philip took the binoculars next and scanned the city. Tom heard an intake of breath. “There are men down there,” he said. “Cutting trees at the base of the pyramid.”

There was a faint crump of dynamite, and a puff of dust rose up from the city like a small white flower.

Tom said, “We’re going to have to find Father’s tomb before they do. Or…” He left the sentence unfinished.