The Faces of Ixchel

By Lee Dorsett

Oxford academic Stephen Anderson’s cosy world is shattered when a research trip investigating Mayan inscriptions catapults him into a deadly confrontation with the shadowy Eye, a militant force working with scientists in Guatemala.

 

Uncovering an ancient trail of clues through the rainforest and into underwater temples br

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Dorsett
• Release date: Feb 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781916370609

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The Faces of Ixchel

The Faces of Ixchel

Lee Dorsett

Copyright © 2020 by Lee Dorsett

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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A Professor Anderson novel.

The Amazon Rainforest, Iquitos, Peru,

July 2019.

---

The jagged stone wings of the condor statue loomed over him, framed in the midst of a mass of living, breathing jungle. Each grey wing was at least three metres long, carved out of huge rocks which connected to ancient walls behind them, over-ridden with trees and plants. A clearing in the trees around the statue was full of plants growing in swampy, muddy ground. Only the gleam of the full moon lent any light to a figure who was digging furiously with a small trowel a metre in front of the condor.

Looking around in agitation every so often, the explorer dug as fast as he could. Five minutes later, his trowel hit something with a jarring twang, nearly snapping its handle off with the force of the blow. Feverishly, he adjusted his path, digging around the object in the earth. The man forced his trowel down the sides of the glinting object, every fibre in the muscles of his arms bursting. He had to be quick, otherwise…

Twisting it this way and that, suddenly the object’s base popped out of the ground a foot or so into the air for the explorer to catch.

‘Got you,’ the man said, his wide eyes drinking in the sight of the treasure.

In that moment, it was as if everything slowed down: his heartbeat, the sound of the howler monkeys shrieking. Nothing existed, not the danger of the people chasing him, not the plan to escape, nothing but this in his hand. He stared at it.

It was the sound of a man’s voice that snapped him out of his reverie. Head on a swivel, he turned and spotted them through the leaves, the barrels of their long, slender rifles glinting like pearls under moonlight: two silhouetted figures were high above him in the mass of trees.

Run, now, run! Without thinking, he flew into the nearest thicket and into the heart of the deep black rainforest beyond.

But the silhouettes were close behind. The explorer whizzed between the thin tree trunks as bullets ripped through the air. His heart almost stopped as he felt one pierce the side of his brown coat. Others ripped through ceiba trees, exploding splinters of bark into his path. Some of them went into his eyes. The jungle canopy was thicker here, and his eyes were finding it difficult to adjust to the low level of moonlight and the swinging gloom. He thrashed through it all as well as he could; meanwhile his pursuers were making a much easier job of it, pulverising everything in their path. The squawks of a macaw deafened the explorer, shooting upwards as he raced towards it.

If only he could keep them off for a little longer - the waterfall couldn’t be too far away now. After another few hundred yards, the trees thinned until the man reached a clearing. He could smell the water now. A minute later he had reached it. There was not a moment of hesitation as the explorer leapt into the water, gripping the statue in his pocket while attempting to move slowly down the pulsating rapids which hit him from both sides. The freezing water was numbing, but not enough to dim the gunshots, which grew louder. With a desperate glance over his shoulder he could make out his pursuers - slender, wearing brown uniforms and carrying black backpacks - stooped over the banks of the river. He hoped the rapids would carry him out of range, but the bullets were still zipping by.

A distant, sarcastic voice sounded in his head: Now, just the waterfall to worry about. A flash of agony rushed down through his left lower leg as his whole body was shot downstream, flying over the edge of the falls. The explorer flailed in the air, seeing the hard rocks coming towards him which he somehow missed to plunge downstream and into a churning tiny pool at the base of the falls. Underwater, he could barely feel his left leg as he struggled desperately to swim up and out of the freezing waters. Bursting through the waters he looked up and saw a huge grey outcrop of rock between him and the top of the waterfall. A series of shots with a machine gun hit the waters in front of him in the pool and created a series of ever-changing ripples in the dancing water. He held onto a submerged rock, staying as still as possible and waited.

Eventually, the bullets stopped. He stayed a little longer, and then released the rock, letting the stream carry his body further down the slopes, through some narrow eddies and into another mini-waterfall, beyond the sight of his attackers. He felt his leg and realised that he could still move it before lifting his hand to see the blood on it. Hands roving over his body, for a second he couldn’t locate the crystal. Relief flooded through him as he felt it in his pocket.

The stream eventually widened and he spotted some lights in the distance. Gingerly, he began to try and use his arms to drift to the left without testing out his left leg. Outstretched, he waggled his arms to drift in the current while the waters became ever deeper. The explorer stiffened as he realised with dread the predators these waters could be filled with. Head on a swivel the man made out a rock coming towards him and prepared to grab at it. With a lunge, his hands were on it. The smooth surface of the rock was freezing but solid enough to hold on to, and in the reduced light he tried to scan the banks. Now that the threat of the pursuers was diminishing, his senses were returning to him. He could hear rustling deep within the forests. A sudden wind perhaps? The answer came rapidly. The steady whomp of helicopter blades far above and behind him.

He had to move now.

The man looked around. There were a few rocks between him and the shore. He leant over and moved from one rocky handhold to another, struggling through the current. Getting into the shallows by the shore, he tested the injured leg on the riverbed. It was in one piece, in that it could take some of his weight. Not wanting to put too much pressure on it, he tried to move his left leg minimally while inching forwards flat down on the ground like an alligator making its way out of the water.

He carried on in this fashion towards the trees. The helicopter sounded much closer now, so the explorer grabbed at the trunk again, and lifted his body onto his right leg and spun around the other side of the tree.

The helicopter moved down and followed the course of the stream, as slowly as it could. He stopped and remained still. One long second passed. Then another. After what seemed like the length of a human life, the helicopter passed by and into the distance.

Light was beginning to return to the forest. He looked around at the trees, which seemed thinner now, and began his way down the mountain. It was a tough route through the vegetation, which grew way above his head, particularly hobbling along through viciously spiky fruits of the achiote plants. Red and yellow dye from the capsule-like fruits burst all over his clothes, while dancing mosquitos plunged for his face whenever he paused, locking onto him like a tracer bullet as he tried to dodge them. The man kept on for a little while, and then as he realised that the steady whomp of the helicopter had disappeared, he began to slow down slightly. He couldn’t hear the whirring blades, but that was no reason to stop looking out for it, or the other many dangers that were creeping around in the jungle all around him. It was like he had been dropped into an impassable maze, with as many dangers as he could possibly imagine all around him, but there had to be a way out.

Taking a moment, he glanced down at the crystal statuette once more. In the areas not covered in thick mud, it gleamed richly, and so did the eyes of the explorer. He knew it could be one of the greatest treasures in antiquity; one presumed lost forever. Now it was in his possession.

Perhaps he had made it after all.

As the dawn broke, the man began to feel slightly more confident. The nearest town couldn’t be far. He let out a sigh of relief, and aimed toward the village.

Institutio Tayloriana, Oxford University,

September 2019.

---

A mass of students were spread on chairs all over the lecture hall, as a man sat in front of them, while leaning back to indicate a table he’d projected onto the whiteboard behind him.

‘Which is followed by a verb in the imperfecto in a sentence. Could you give me an example of that in a sentence, Teresa?’ Professor Stephen Anderson asked.

‘Nosotros siempre tenia muchas tarea.’

"Good’, he glanced briefly at her. ‘I think that’s enough for today. See you tomorrow.’

Stephen began to put away his books, and closed the applications he had been using in class on the interactive whiteboard. That useless projector never seemed to turn off straight away. The class stood and drifted out of the theatre, all except a young woman who hung back and moved towards him quietly. She was wearing a small brown waterproof jacket, and was rustling in her bag for something. It was a student he couldn’t recall very well.

‘I was just wondering, Professor’ - she began, before using to fish around more deeply in her bag - ‘if you wouldn’t mind checking over a piece of writing I wrote?’

‘Of course.’

Relieved at its seeming briefness, he took the piece of paper from her, while checking the dots were slowly forming on the Smartboard which indicated that the projector should turn off sometime soon.

‘What’s it about?’ he asked.

The student pursed her lips and waved a dismissive hand through the air, then said, ‘It’s just something for a pen-pal in Guatemala’.

Stephen glanced at her. She was placidly staring back at him.

‘Have you been to Guatemala at all, Professor?’

‘Once or twice.’

His mind tumbled back to the crystal crab lodged in hiding back in his house. Then he read the script, and it made him stop dead. He looked up at the young woman. She was gazing back curiously. This student hadn’t been in his class longer than a month. Who was she? He turned off the power of the Smartboard decisively, and saw the blue screen vanish away.

Quickly, he looked at his watch, and made a point of raising his eyebrows very stiffly. ‘I’m sorry. I’m late for an appointment already. Can I get this back to you during tomorrow’s seminar? I really must leave,’ he mumbled, and made to get away. The student continued to look at him as he tried to ignore a stabbing sensation in his left calf, her mouth opening slightly to say something. Shuffling away as quick as he could, Stephen didn’t give her the chance, turning left out of the room, and then right into a corridor that didn’t actually go anywhere close to his office.

He walked around for twenty minutes or so, drifting in among the passing crowds of book-bosomed students, until he was sure it was safe to return to his office.

Once there he ignored his colleagues, who tried to talk to him about lectures, theses, professorships, and going out to the Eagle and Child where many of the faculty took in a pint or two. He closed the door and locked it.

Catching his breath, Stephen took off his tweed jacket, laid it over his desk, and shakily switched on the kettle. When it was boiled, he poured the hot water into a mug of instant coffee, then took a look at the piece of paper that she had handed him. The mug trembled in his hand as he deciphered the colloquial Spanish.

We know where you are, it read. We know what you took. Return to us what is ours.

He felt sweaty in his cool office, wondering if someone would come and knock on the door and demand the statuette. How could anyone have figured out that he took it anyway? As far as he had known, the object was presumed to be a myth, one that he could reveal to the world, after he had thoroughly researched its history of course. Since his return from Peru, and the frightening chase through the rainforest, he had felt sure that he must have just stumbled upon some secret military base. I mean, who would possibly be that interested in these old objects from antiquity? Now it seemed like there were very powerful forces interested in the crystal crab he’d found. He loosened his tie slightly, wincing as he glanced at the clock. Only ten minutes had passed since the lesson.

Contemplating contacting his boss, to tell him all the details of the event, Stephen remembered that Peter had only just returned from a conference in Mexico City, and would probably be in tomorrow.

He paused, staring at nothing for a further ten minutes, frightening scenarios about his wife being kidnapped and held hostage passing through his thoughts. Best not to worry her just yet. This evening, he would have to tell her all the details about his trip to Iquitos. They would work something out.

With a jolt, Stephen remembered the management meeting at four o’clock. Just in time, he slid into a plastic chair by the door as Professor Abjudal began to address the meeting. Resplendent in a purple jacket with matching tie and dark blue trousers and shirt, Abjudal smiled.

‘Thank you for coming. We have just a few items on the agenda today.’

This had never previously stopped Abjudal stretching the meetings beyond all reasonable lengths of time.

‘After due consultation, the ULMT have decided to upgrade to the Blackboard Learning Management System. I trust that you have passed on details of this system to your students’.

Without waiting for a reply, Abjudal swept on to details of new exam procedures for the end of term, while encouraging lengthy interruptions from some of the longer serving members of staff. All in all, it was almost five by the time it was finished. Stephen pulled on his coat, and made his way home through the dense Oxford traffic.

Even while fiddling for his keys, he nervously wondered how to broach the topic of the danger he was suddenly in. It was when his key to the iron grill in front of his house didn’t seem to work that he began to feel still more uneasy. He checked his phone, which he had forgotten to take off flight mode after the meeting. Flicking flight mode off, a message suddenly appeared on the front of his screen.

It was from his wife. Two words.

You liar.

Uncomprehending, he tried his key again. It still didn’t work. He looked again at his phone. Numb. He didn’t scroll off the front page. Another message appeared.

Get out of my life.

He took a step back from the door.

I know everything. It seemed that the texts weren’t going to stop.

He replied, Can we talk about this?

Nothing to say. Goodbye.

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Half an hour, an hour passed. It was getting late. In the gathering gloom, he wondered what to do. Around the corner was a little Chinese. It had nowhere to sit and eat. Stephen began to trudge back to his little white van, mechanically wondering where to go. The sheer suddenness and shock of the messages from the young woman, and now his wife, was too much for him. Staring ahead from the driver’s seat, he racked his brains for what his wife thought he’d been lying about. If she’d heard anything about the threats he’d faced about taking the statuette, surely she’d have been supportive?

Starting the Renault at last, he drove without any destination in mind. There was a cafe quite close by, but he had never felt less hungry. Still, he went inside and ordered a small tea, moving to sit on a red plastic seat away from the window. He had at least time to consider his options, and tried to call his wife again. Unrecognised number. Wow. Suddenly he felt a ricocheting ache from the back of his mouth up the left side of his face. That tooth that was occasionally gave him trouble, but was usually fine.

Next, Stephen flicked at his phone with a series of swirly crosses and circular finger movements; he found nothing in his emails that indicated a problem. Facebook - whoah. He had a hundred-plus notifications. Following what had been written on his wall on Facebook, the phrase ‘Lying piece of scum!’ hit him like a brick. She had plastered his page with obscene messages incorporating all kinds of swear words, and accusations which would make a nun seem like a sinner. Some of his ex-colleagues had got in and commented, which had extended the comments. And the likes. Some people seemed to have taken a real glee in the post. As fast as he could, he went to deactivate his Facebook account. It didn’t end there. Littered through his prized Twitter account, all down his YouTube channel, everywhere in his cyberspace-accounts as far as he could see, in fact - were the most incredible accusations.

Finally sliding shut his phone, he went out of the cafe and into the most appalling rainstorm. Water was bouncing off the pavements, turning them shiny, as his prized Celios were soaked beyond repair.

Glad of his overcoat, Stephen dived into a nearby newsagent. At the counter, a short Asian lady with huge glasses and a bob focused on him suspiciously as he wandered down the aisle, trying to look like he needed something. Picking up a ludicrously overpriced can of Power Horse, he decided to head back to the restaurant, and have some dessert while the rain crashed powerfully onto the pavement outside. Eventually, the rain seemed to ease slightly, and he rushed into his van as a powerful flash of lightning struck right across the sky in front of his windscreen. What on earth was he going to do? A message appeared on his phone.

OK?

Unbelievable. An old University friend from around a decade ago, April Teel, who had ended up taking a PhD in Ancient Meso-American dialects, as far as he could recall. She must have noticed something was amiss. It was amazing how people could stay in touch on social media these days.

Had better days. How are you?, he texted back.

Oh GREAT :) Found an amazing codex u might like…

A picture came through on his phone of a tattered old book. It was decorated with obscure pictography from, at a guess, the lower fourth dynasty of the Mayan Snake Kings.

A text from his wife shot in, OF ALL THE GOOD FOR NOTHING PIECES OF…

Stephen decided to switch off his phone. He was tired and needed to sleep. He started his Renault and drove aimlessly, eventually finding a quiet spot to park in, and got into the back of his van. At least it was dry. The metallic floor could get incredibly cold at the best of times. He found a place to put his bag down to rest his head on, and fell asleep almost immediately - in spite of the hard, aluminium floor.

---

Waking up and getting into the University to charge his phone and grab a sneaky shower in the University Fitness Centre was the least of his concerns. On turning on his phone, Stephen mentally discarded 95% of the contents of his ex-wife’s messages to discern that apparently half of his belongings had been thrown into his back garden and the locks had been changed. He also found a concerned email from his bank, warning him of repeated attempts to break into his personal accounts. It took half an hour to convince his bank manager that he was who he said he was, and another twenty minutes to change all of the passwords on his accounts. By three o’clock Stephen had arranged interviews for several rooms in shared flats within a twenty-minute drive of the University. If only his back teeth would stop killing him.

Later, none of the students in his afternoon classes seemed to notice his slightly dishevelled appearance, or so he thought. The student who had given Stephen that message definitely seemed to be staring at him. He tried to dive out right at the end of his final lesson, but resolved in the corridor to return and ask her what she had meant by the note he’d received the previous day. She was waiting for him by the lectern.

‘Did you get a chance to look at my writing at all?’ asked the student.

‘I-I’m sorry… It completely slipped my mind. I’ve got it somewhere in here if you’ve got a minute, though.’

Stephen began rifling through his bag.

She looked at him, then suddenly her phone buzzed.

‘Just a second, please.’

Stephen nodded absently as she went into the corridor to answer the call. Then he noticed another note she had left on the lectern. It was slightly crumpled, and had a few Spanish words on it. It didn’t take a Professor of Languages to follow them.

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