Wrath of the Gods (A James Acton Thriller, #18) (James Acton Thrillers) Read online

  7

  Pacific Coastal Region

  Maya Highlands, Maya Empire

  1092 AD

  Cheng Jun stood near the edge of the forest, his eyes peering into the darkness of the thick trees, seeing nothing but shadows, the creatures living within, loudly protesting their arrival. He glanced over his shoulder as orders were shouted, over one hundred now ashore, supplies of food, water, and weapons quickly accumulating on the beach. Admiral Khong had ordered a camp to be set up and scouting parties deployed to search for fresh food and water, and any sign of civilization. They had seen two people already, a young man and woman, though they had appeared primitive, like those they had found on several islands in the ocean, there little wealth among those so unsophisticated living surrounded by water.

  Yet this land appeared vast, stretching for as far as the eye could see, and they had sailed along its coast for days without any signs of manmade structures. There were no boats, no ports, no cities. But today, he had heard shouts from the others of wisps of smoke, perhaps campfires, the first sign of people.

  And where there were people, there could be treasure.

  A shiver ran up his spine at the thought. What gold and jewels could these people have? He feared little, what with the fact those he had seen had no jewelry to speak of, instead wearing barely anything.

  And such strange people.

  Their foreheads appeared broad and flat, unlike anything he had ever seen. In his travels, he had witnessed all manner of people, people of different skin colors, heights, weights, and mannerisms, tattooed, pierced, and bejeweled. He had even seen one man with massive earlobes, something he had apparently done to himself. But flat foreheads he had never before encountered.

  Perhaps they’re not human like us.

  He dismissed the thought as ridiculous. They were human, though clearly primitive. But a tiger was primitive yet deadly, and these people could be as well. He gripped the hilt of his sword a little tighter as something moved in the trees.

  “Somebody’s coming!” He stepped back several paces as he drew his sword, the others around him doing the same, creating a protective circle around Admiral Khong. A bead of sweat ran down his back, causing him to shiver, sounds of rage erupting from the forest in front of them as what seemed like an army of angry souls prepared to confront them.

  This isn’t going to end well.

  8

  Universidad Veracruzana Archaeological Site

  South of Tepich, Mexico

  Present Day

  James Acton followed Eduardo Morales down a spiraling staircase, perfectly preserved, lights running along the floor powered by solar panels outside. If it weren’t for the smell of an environment closed in for hundreds of years, he might think he were at any number of well-known archaeological sites in this hemisphere.

  While the world had been enamored by the Egyptian pyramids for centuries, the equally impressive structures of the Mesoamerican civilizations, built by the mighty empires of the Incan, Aztec and Mayan cultures, seemed an afterthought to those outside his field of study. These empires had existed for thousands of years, had rich histories of scientific advancement and cultural accomplishments, yet perhaps because there was little left beyond the structures themselves, they seemed forgotten.

  Their treasures and art were looted by the Spanish, much of it melted down for their gold and jewels, whereas the Egyptian treasures, while looted, were at least preserved, and many today returned to their rightful owners, the Egyptian people. Sadly, with much if not most of the ancient cultures of the Americas, there was nothing left to return.

  But as he rounded the final bend in the stairs, he gasped, all the wonder of a forgotten, ignored era, restored, a pristine, untouched treasure-trove of culture and art, laid out before them, had him frozen in place.

  “Oh my God, James, it’s…it’s beautiful!”

  Acton stood, slack-jawed at the sight before him. It was indeed a library, but much more. It appeared to be a museum, designed to preserve a culture that knew it was in danger of being destroyed. “How big is it?” he finally managed to ask Morales as his legs at last unlocked and he ventured deeper into the large chamber.

  “Four rooms like this, all filled like this.” Morales pointed at the far wall, stacked high with piles of bark paper coated with lime. “Each room contains hundreds of pages like this. We’ve examined only a few—they are very fragile. We’ll have to extract each one and properly scan them, but we’re already learning so much.” He paused, his voice cracking. “It’s the discovery of a lifetime.”

  Acton put an arm around his friend’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “You’ll go down in history for this one, my friend. Just as Carter is remembered for Tut, you’ll be remembered for returning the Mayan culture to the world.”

  Morales smiled and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Thank you, Jim, thank you.” He inhaled loudly through his nose and held it for a moment, regaining his composure. “Every time I step in here, I’m overwhelmed.” He pointed to an archway to their right. “But there’s something in there that is even more significant than all this.”

  Acton took Laura’s hand and followed Morales into another chamber, wondering what could possibly be more spectacular than what he had already seen. Morales strode to the middle of the room, blocking their view of some sort of table or altar. He turned, smiling. “Over one thousand years of history have been rewritten here today.” He stepped aside, and Acton’s eyes bulged as Laura gasped beside him.

  “But that’s impossible!”

  9

  Pacific Coastal Region

  Maya Highlands, Maya Empire

  1092 AD

  Balam Canek stopped near the edge of the forest, the sun low on the horizon, reaching only a few paces ahead of him. The others formed a haphazard line along the day’s edge, these new arrivals now numbering in the hundreds, their strange skin and heads casting long, terrifying shadows across the sand as the surf continued to crash rhythmically behind them as if urging them deeper ashore.

  “You see? I told you they were demons!”

  The Chief nodded, his eyes wide with fear, something Balam had never seen in the old man before. It sent a chill through his entire body, and he gripped his spear tighter, his palms slick with sweat.

  “What are we going to do?”

  The Chief inhaled deeply and squared his shoulders, the courage Balam was accustomed to seeing, returning. “We will not suffer these demons without a fight.” The elderly priest arrived and peered through the trees. His eyes narrowed as he took in the sight before them. “What manner of creatures are these?” asked the Chief. “Have you seen their kind before?”

  “Only in my nightmares. They are indeed sent by the gods.”

  Some of the courage vacated the Chief’s face. “But are they gods?”

  The priest shook his head. “No, none that I recognize.”

  “But how would you know?” cried Balam. “Have you met the gods?”

  The priest glared at him.

  “Balam! Watch your tongue!”

  Balam bowed his head at the Chief’s rebuke. “I’m sorry, I’m just…”

  “You’re scared, I know, we all are, but this is no reason to lose control over one’s mouth.” The Chief turned to the priest. “Would you recognize a god that has our best interests at heart?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then if you don’t recognize these creatures, then either they are not gods, or they are gods we do not worship. Am I right?”

  “I believe you are.”

  “Then they must leave, or die.”

  Balam lifted his head slightly, staring up at the two elders. “But what if they have been sent by our gods? Would not attacking them displease them?”

  “The gods use their powers to control our fates and the elements that surround us. They provide us with sunlight, rain, and abundant crops when they are pleased, or cloud the skies, let our wells run dry, or plague our crops, when the
y are not. Never do they send demons to our shores to punish us. These creatures are not from our gods, of that, I can assure you, though they may be rivals to our gods.”

  The Chief’s eyebrows rose. “Rivals to our gods? That is an interesting proposition. Then fighting them would please our gods.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But it could come at a high price.” The Chief held out his hands, quelling the angry shouts challenging the newcomers, the scores of men now lining the forest’s edge, turning to their leader. “I will go speak to them and tell them they are not welcome. Do nothing unless I say so.” The Chief stepped forward and Balam grabbed his arm.

  “And should they kill you?”

  The Chief patted Balam’s hand. “Then you will become chief, my son, and the decision will be yours.”

  Balam gulped, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. It had been years since his father had acknowledged him as his son, and an equal number of years since he had stopped thinking of the man as such. Tradition dictated the chief was the father to all once he took his station. He lived with his new wife, the daughter of a neighboring chief, communing with the elders and their gods, though Balam knew his mother on occasion still visited his father in the night.

  He thought of Nelli, and how he would have to give her up should he become chief. The very idea filled him with sorrow.

  I could never give her up.

  And he was too young to be chief. He had yet to have any children, therefore had no heir. Could he refuse the position? He wasn’t certain. He had never heard of anyone doing so before. It had never been a desire of his to rule—he had figured in time he would come to embrace his destiny, yet not today, not in the next few minutes.

  He glanced down at the cloth bracelet Nelli had made him when they first declared their love for each other, and his chest ached.

  Maybe I can change the law. Maybe when I am chief, I can declare an end to the tradition of giving up your family.

  The Chief, his father, pulled his arm free, their eyes meeting, his love and fear evident.

  He knows he’s going to die.

  “I will come with you, father.”

  His father shook his head. “No, son. You must stay here in case something happens.” He turned and stepped onto the beach, striding confidently toward the large group of demons that had formed a line between them and what appeared to be their leader, a man adorned in black and gold, who to Balam had every appearance of a god. He watched his father, fear and pride welling within his heart.

  His father raised his spear over his head. “I am Votan, and by the authority handed to me by my ancestors, I alone am responsible for these shores. If you come in peace, then I welcome you, but should you come to punish us, then know this—we will resist. If you truly are sent by our gods, then know that we have banished those who had lost faith, and accept our punishment—the warning of drought has been received, and we thank you for your guidance and assistance in returning us to the correct path you have laid out for us. No further action on your part is necessary.”

  There was a pause, then the demons separated, leaving an opening. Their leader stepped through, saying something, his voice loud, strong, yet uttering words unlike any Balam had ever heard. And they sounded menacing. His father shook his spear at the creature.

  “You have heard my words! You are not of this realm, and I command you to leave us in peace! Leave us, or you shall feel the wrath of our gods as they exact their vengeance upon you should you harm their loyal subjects!”

  The demon shouted something in response. Clearly, there was no understanding of what his father was saying. He glanced at the priest, this development lending credence to what he had said. Surely anyone sent by their gods would understand their language? He prayed that he was correct, for should he be wrong, they might be about to start a war between the gods and the Mayan people.

  A war they had no possible hope of winning.

  10

  Universidad Veracruzana Archaeological Site

  South of Tepich, Mexico

  Present Day

  “But this is Chinese!”

  James Acton rushed forward, reaching out but resisting the urge to touch the imperial armor that sat behind the table, mounted to a stone sculpture of a man, the regalia impressive and perfectly preserved.

  “It’s tenth or eleventh century, I believe, Song Dynasty?”

  Acton nodded, agreeing with Laura’s assessment. “It’s beautiful. Clearly the armor of a leader.” He turned to Morales. “But how? How could this be here? Shipwreck?” He thought of Lord Richard Baxter, a prominent member of the Triarii, whose body had been found by his team in Peru, dating back to the thirteenth century.

  America had been discovered long before Columbus, the Vikings the most prominent, having settled Iceland then Greenland and Newfoundland during the centuries-long Medieval Warm Period. They farmed the now barren soils of Greenland for centuries, growing corn and barley, before the natural global warming gave way to the Little Ice Age that lasted almost five hundred years, during which the Thames River in London would completely freeze, and revelers celebrating the Frost Fair would skate its length.

  There was even some evidence to suggest the Chinese may have arrived here centuries ago, before Columbus, though there had never been any concrete evidence like this. A full suit of perfectly preserved Chinese imperial armor.

  Laura gasped beside him, and he turned to see what she was staring at. His eyes followed hers then he gasped as well. “Oh my God, is that what I think it is?”

  Morales smiled. “I don’t want to sound the fool, so why don’t you tell me what you think it is?”

  Acton stepped forward and carefully picked up the small, green ornament, turning it gently in his hands, the block of jade heavy, intricately carved with a detailed coiled dragon on the top, several Chinese symbols on the bottom, and an inscription surrounding the base. He held it out for Laura, his eyes wide, his heart pounding, her own mouth agape in awe.

  “It can’t be!”

  “I know, right!”

  “What the bloody hell is it?”

  Acton glanced over at the forgotten Reading. “It’s the Heirloom Seal of the Realm, the Chinese imperial seal, lost one thousand years ago during the Song Dynasty.”

  “Okay, so it’s some old Chinese thing. What’s its significance?”

  Acton returned his stare to the priceless artifact. “It’s sort of like the Crown Jewels of your monarchy. It’s essentially the proof that you are the emperor, or acting on his behalf. When power would be handed down to the next emperor, his possession of this seal left his entitlement to the crown unquestioned.”

  “So are you saying some Chinese emperor came here?” Reading motioned toward the armor. “And was wearing this when he met his maker?”

  Acton shook his head. “Unlikely. More likely it was given by the emperor to prove they were here under his authority.” Acton turned to Morales. “I assume you agree this is the Heirloom Seal of the Realm?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any theories on how it got here?”

  Morales shook his head. “I don’t need theories.” He pointed to several pieces of parchment lying on the platform where the seal had sat, undisturbed for centuries. “These tell us the entire story.”

  Acton inhaled quickly, Laura darting forward. She glanced at Morales. “What do they say?”

  Morales grinned at her excitement. “It would appear that a thousand years ago, the Mayans fought a war against the Chinese.”

  11

  Pacific Coastal Region

  Maya Highlands, Maya Empire

  1092 AD

  Cheng Jun stared, wide-eyed at the old, mostly naked man yelling at them, shaking his spear. He was no threat, though the jungle was clearly thick with others, some now venturing onto the edge of the beach, leaving the protection and anonymity of the trees. Yet all wore simple garments covering little, all carrying rudimentary, primitive weapons.


  They would be no match should this escalate, yet despite knowing these simple people could be easily defeated, he found his heart pounding and his hands shaking as something his father said echoed in his head.

  “A single man can defeat an entire army if his heart is pure.”

  He was here to conquer, and this man, these men, were here to protect their land.

  Whose heart is more pure?

  He feared he was on the wrong side of right today. Though Admiral Khong seemed to have little doubt, simply staring at the man as if amused.

  “They obviously don’t want us here,” muttered someone.

  “That is not their choice,” replied the Admiral, the soldier who had made the observation stunned he had been heard, shrinking back through the ranks. Admiral Khong beckoned his aide, and the case containing the seal was brought forward. “The holy Emperor has commanded we be here, and none have greater authority in the realm of man except the gods.” Admiral Khong sneered at the old man. “And I don’t see any here today.”

  His men chuckled, even a nervous laugh escaping Cheng’s lips. Khong opened the case and removed the seal, its brilliant green shining in the fading sunlight. Cheng’s eyes widened as he dropped to a knee with the others, never before having seen it, never before having seen anything so beautiful—and priceless.

  Khong turned toward the old man who had fallen silent, staring at the seal still held over the Admiral’s head. “You will bow before your new masters. This seal proves my authority is granted by the great Emperor Zhezong himself. And should you not heed my words, you shall die.”

  The old man tore his eyes away from the seal and instead shook his spear at it, resuming his shouting. As Cheng stared at him, he realized there was no anger here, only fear. This man feared them for some reason, though they had done nothing but land on their shores. He could see how that could be interpreted as a hostile act.