Xibalba

EPILOGUE

The rural folk lived simply, as they had for countless generations, ever since the Shadow scourge brought the great empire of their ancestors to its knees. The Spaniards had come with their steel and their new God, but the people never forgot the old ways. From time to time, they would gather in the shadow of the ancient cave, the doorway to the Underworld, and remember anew. Over the centuries, the story had grown and changed with each telling, but none doubted that something both terrible and wonderful slumbered in the depths of the earth beneath them.

So, when the ground shook and a cloud of bats rose from the smoking jungle, the people of the land knew the ancient beast was stirring.

They had all had heard the noise of the great helicopter arriving earlier, and the sound of battle, and knew that the outsiders had done something to anger the spirits of the Underworld. They quickly gathered offerings of food and trinkets, and hurried up the road to assemble in the shadow of the living cave where they lit fires and danced around them, chanting prayers to the old gods and playing flutes to lull the ancient beast back to sleep.

And then, at almost exactly the same moment that the sun descended into the Underworld, their prayers were answered.

A low murmur rose across the cavern as the word spread, and all eyes turned to the forbidden balcony at the rear of the cave — the threshold of the passage into the depths.

A figure stood there, a woman so streaked with mud that she resembled one of the gods’ failed experiments from the dawn of creation.

The murmur became a jumbled cacophony of awe and confusion. Was this one of the outsiders who had blasphemed the sacred paths into the Underworld? Or was it perhaps one of the Lords of Death, come to unleash the ancient Shadow scourge, the promised cleansing at the end of days?

One old man dared to approach, bowing his head reverently, just in case the latter proved to be true.

“Have you come from the Underworld?” He spoke in the old tongue, testing her.

She stared back at him for a moment, her dark eyes full of pain and confusion, then spoke a single word. “Yes.”

The old man let out a wail of dismay and dropped to his knees, terrified. The woman was no outsider. She had understood him. She knew their language.

A hush fell over the crowd.

The woman gazed out at them for a moment, then took a deep breath and spoke again, louder so that her voice filled the cavern. Her speech was different than theirs, but it was similar enough for them to understand her words.

“Yes,” she said. “I am the Priestess of the Serpent. Listen, and I will tell you of the heroes who journeyed into the Underworld to defeat the Lords of Xibalba.”