Chapter Thirteen #2
“But how can I …” she started only to have his kiss shut her up.
His lips were hot and firm and just the diversion from her frustrations that she needed. She closed her eyes and let herself fall head over heels into the kiss, slipping her hands inside his open shirt, sliding her fingers down his damp chest.
When she teased his tongue with hers, he groaned and pulled back. “Damn it, woman. That was supposed to be one of those dominating romantic moves where I quash your ‘buts’ by kissing you senseless.”
“Nobody uses the word ‘quash’ in the midst of kissing, Parker. Now come back here.” She grabbed him by the shirt collar and yanked him closer.
This time, she dominated, coaxing his lips open, playfully nipping and tugging with her teeth. Her tongue explored and flirted while her fingers dipped lower, sliding around his sides. Her body was hungry for a refresh on how well they fit together. Maybe she just needed a good …
He pulled back again, dammit.
“You aren’t supposed to kiss me like that when I’m trying to be the hero in the story,” he whispered between quickened breaths.
“I can’t help it. You smell fresh and taste minty.”
“I just showered and brushed my teeth.”
“And you came in here practically naked and started flirting with me out of the gate.”
“I’m not practically naked. Just nearly, and I always flirt with you. You’re incredibly sexy when you blush.”
“Yeah, well you’re sexy, period, especially when you bite me in the midst of—”
He held up his hand for her to stop. “We are having a discussion about work, remember, Dr. García?”
“Hey, you kissed me first, Romeo.”
“Because you were a damsel in distress at the time.”
“And what am I now?”
He sat back and looked her up and down. “An overheated archaeologist who needs to quit undressing me with her eyes, or we’re probably going to get busted for enjoying a little slap and tickle in the communications tent.”
She smiled, fanning herself as she pictured the scene. He was right about the overheated part. “Can I do the slapping?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
His chin jutted. “If you’ll answer my original question first.”
“I can’t remember your question.” When he narrowed his eyes in disbelief, she added, “That’s the truth.
You discombobulated me with your kissing and your …
” She circled her hand in front of him. “Hunky aura. It’s probably part of your Good Demon charisma.
I’m under your Xtabay spell, only you’re not exactly a femme fatale. ”
“Well, I could shave my legs and chest for you, but it would get itchy when the hair grows back.” He pointed at the computer screen.
“Now, why would none of these glyphs on the conch shell be recognizable? And don’t waste your breath on the guarded answers that you would give your contemporaries, because I’m not going to judge you on some scholarly schmolarly basis.
This is just between you and your strong, manly hero. ”
She laughed. “Okay, my hairy hero, but I’m going to need more of those minty kisses later.”
“Will do.” He gave her a wink. “Along with tickling.”
She focused on the screen. “Maybe these are just combinations of glyphs that I haven’t seen before, which is possible. I haven’t memorized all 800-plus glyphs. Plus, if the scribe who created them had an artistic flair, they might not look the same as others.”
“Have you experienced that before?”
She nodded. “It’s like comparing the cursive and print versions of a word, but usually there is enough similarity to be able to interpret the glyph.”
“Okay, so this writing might be beyond your current knowledge base. Can you send it to INAH to check out? Maybe run it by someone who studies the glyphs as their main focus?”
“Sure. I was just hoping to keep things to myself a little longer and figure out the purpose behind this site before showing my ineptitude.”
He lightly bumped her knee with his. “You can’t know everything, boss lady.”
“If I want to hold onto my job, I need to know enough, though.”
She stared at the glyphs on the screen for several seconds, trying to think in spite of the heat. Why would she not recognize the glyphs? What if … Oh!
“I have another theory,” she said, fanning her T-shirt. “But I’m hesitant to say it out loud.”
“Lay it on me, woman. This is a safe space.”
“Please, Parker. You’re as dangerous as they come,” she teased, but he really was, especially to her heart.
“And you’re stalling. What’s your theory?”
“There is the possibility that this isn’t Mayan writing.”
His brow lined. “Who else’s writing could it be?”
“A civilization that pre-dated the Maya.”
“Like the Olmecs?”
“Or earlier. We’ve touched on this before. Things like weapons and language are often adopted by later cultures, blurring the edges between civilizations.”
“Not Mayan, huh? That’s an exciting possibility.” When she frowned at him, his smile faded. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes, overall, I guess. It’s just not what I expected at this site.
” She grabbed her canteen. “So far nothing is as I’d expected.
Not the layout, not the artifacts found in the caches, and certainly not that damned wall.
If this place was a religious site, it’s not like anything I’ve heard of or read about before.
At least not for the Maya civilization.”
Quint sat forward and tapped a button to enlarge the image on the screen. “Here’s a thought—could the glyphs be some secret Mayan code language?”
She paused with her canteen midway to her lips. “A secret code language?”
“Yeah, let me explain before you laugh me out of the tent.”
“No laughing or judging here from the heroine in your story. I’m all ears.” She took a drink of water while she waited.
“We know Site 5 had either some sort of military function or defensive purpose due to the weapons caches we keep finding and the guard tower where the conch-shell trumpets had been stored.”
She still tended toward religion being part of the site’s purpose, but kept quiet out of curiosity. Quint often thought outside of the box, something her mother had been good at doing even in the face of her dad’s eye-rolling.
“During warfare,” he continued, “it’s not uncommon for a code language to be used so the enemy can’t listen in on plans. You’ve heard about the Navajo code talkers in World War II and how their secret code was used to share vital information and relay wartime communication, right?”
“Of course.”
“What if the glyphs written on that shell are code words created specifically for those who were stationed, if you will, at this site?”
She shifted the laptop her way, scrolling up and down along the groupings of glyphs. “That could explain why these look familiar, but I can’t make heads or tails of them.”
Quint scooted his stool closer to her, his thigh brushing hers as he stared at the screen. “There is another possibility that comes to mind,” he said.
“That these conch-shell trumpets were a gift from a foreign nation?” she asked.
“Make that two other possibilities.”
“What’s the one you’re thinking?”
“You know how you say that a lot of the stelae are basically billboards, touting the purpose for a temple or the history of the king that had it built?”
“Yeah.”
He turned to her. “Maybe this language is Mayan, but the reason you don’t recognize these glyphs is because they are describing something found only here at this site.
Something that has never needed to be recorded before or since.
Something unnatural to the Maya world as we know it—as they knew it. ”
That was an interesting twist. “Like what?”
“Like a Maya prison. Now, I know you said they didn’t have jails, let alone prisons, but every year archaeologists are learning new things about the Maya people.
Hell, decades ago, it was thought that the Maya were peaceful and focused mostly on farming.
Look at what has come out since then regarding the decades of fighting between Calakmul and Tikal alone. ”
“Okay, so another mark goes in the column for the possibility of a first find-of-its-kind Maya prison.”
Half of his face squinched. “Or it could be something worse.”
“What’s worse than a prison?”
He reached around behind the laptop and held up one of Dr. Fernel’s LIDAR map printouts of the site.
“A site created to not only keep prisoners for lengths of time, but also to sacrifice them to the gods. Basically, the Maya equivalent of a Nazi concentration camp where they experimented in even more horrifying ways.”
She winced at the images his idea put into her head. “Or maybe a concentration-like camp from a pre-Maya civilization.”
He dropped the LIDAR printout on the table. “Or maybe it was just a fun summer camp where the Maya kids made up their own secret code language to keep their parents in the dark.”
“But then there’s the dagger KuTu found today,” she said in a lower voice, knowing the Maya guard was on duty at the moment and could be wandering around within hearing distance outside of the tent.
“What about it?” Quint whispered back.
“He said it was used in a reincarnation ritual.”
Quint raised his hands, palms up. “And you’re whispering about this because?”
“I have limited exposure to shamanic glyphs about rituals outside of the basic sacrificial ones that typically show things like stingray spines being used or drops of blood dripping into a bowl or on a cloth.”
“And don’t forget hearts being cut out while the victim is still alive,” he said, grimacing.
“Right. Maybe you’re on to something with this code language idea. If this were a secret religious site steeped in ritual and sacrifice, the scribes could have been shaman who had their own unique glyphs for various rites and ceremonies.”
“Like the Shaolin monks in China with a secret Maya club twist.”
“Exactly.”
“So, you’re still thinking Site 5 was religious based rather than some kind of prison?”
“More of a blending of the two.”
“And the wall with the guard shacks?” he prodded.