Mayan December Read Online Free PDF Page B

paused. Then he let the air out slowly, blowing the sticky dreams into the world. After he was empty, he walked slowly, steadily, into the ocean, focusing on the warm water lapping his calves, on the sand under his toes.
    Cauac reached water up to his chest, and turned to look back at the busy grounds of Zama. The bright red, white, and blue stone buildings and surrounding walls stood out against a soft blue sky. It sat so close to the shore that even from a few hundred feet out in the water, he could easily make out the figures of priests, serving women, and local farmers as they moved about the grounds, some certainly already busy with preparations for Ah Bahlam and the others to leave in two days.
    The simplicity of Zama fit his heart, his very self. He had grown up in Chichén, been prepared to join the worshipers of K’uk’ulkan there, and perhaps to eventually wear the Feathered Serpent as his Way.
    This was better.
    He walked farther out, and then swam slowly, the warm water cradling him. When he had swum far enough, Cauac turned onto his back. His broad chest, his face, and the tips of his toes bobbed above the water. He closed his eyes, forgetting the upcoming journey, the dangers waiting on the road, and those in Chichén Itzá. He focused on the very center of his being, drawing all of his energy to a single point, and emptying that point into the warm waters all around him.
    A simple call, energy to energy, life to life.
    It flowed from him through the waters, licked the surface of the reefs, touched the sea fans and sponges, rippled through schools of bright silver fish.
    He waited.
    The sea filled his ears, and the sun beat on his closed eyelids. Shallow waves bobbed him up and down, and he swished a foot here, a hand there, counterbalancing the water’s desire to move him toward shore.
    Something bumped his right leg, just behind the knee, and he smiled up at the sky before turning and reaching for his totem animal. The great sea turtle had come alone this time, the one he called Great Old, nearly as long as he was tall. Great Old swam slow circles around him. Cauac watched, bobbing in place, admiring the fine patterns on the turtle’s head and flippers, gazing into his brown eyes. As the turtle circled, Cauac smelled his salty, thick shell, heard his soft slight breath. He offered his own breath, slowly kicking circles in place, the sky wheeling above him. Turtle, sea, sky, turtle, sea, sky, and them he saw himself, turtle, sea, sky, waves, himself, turtle, sea, sky, the beach at Zama, the waves slapping the shore in play, his tiny brown body, Great Old the same size, except round. Cauac became large, larger even the turtle, than Zama, than the sea.
    Large as the stars.
    Great Old nudged his right hand. Cauac curled his old, leathery fingers gently around the turtle’s mottled brown and sea foam carapace, carefully shifting his weight so both of his hands gripped the slippery back.
    Great Old swam with him, carrying him gently, staying at the surface. Salty seawater rose up around Cauac’s face, sluiced across his back, and bathed his thighs, alternating waves of sun and water. He took a deep breath, tapped his head against Great Old’s house, and the turtle took him down. He opened his eyes to see the beginnings of the great reef below him. A school of groupers flashed away from them, and a bright blue parrotfish backed slowly into a crevice between two rocks. Blood-red sea fans and sun-colored tube sponges grew up from the sea floor. Cauac reveled in it all, holding his breath as long as possible, slitting his eyes for the best view. With great reluctance, he loosened his hands and floated up for air.
    Great Old surfaced beside him, and Cauac smiled to feel the turtle’s steady watchful energy. Two old beings, he thought, spending the afternoon together. Old friends.
    He knew, without questioning how he knew, that he would never see the turtle again. Maybe it was his dreams of strange pale people or