Adam paused for a moment to consider the paintings. They were unique and by an unknown artist. He had an antique dealer appraise the paintings and the strange disk willed to him by his paternal grandmother after her death six years ago. Unfortunately, and much to his disappointment, they were unable to place the exact origin or allocate a suitable price. There was simply nothing on the market with which to compare them except that they eventually agreed on the Mayan heritage.

Adam had been fascinated by them and after months of determined research, he had discovered that each painting depicted a different Mayan landmark. One was a step pyramid in Palenque, another pyramid in Teotihuacan and the third was still unknown to him. Also present in each of the vibrant, sun-soaked pictures was the same man standing at the base of each of the buildings. Adam eventually concluded that his regal coloured garb and headpiece made him someone of importance, but who he was remained a mystery.

Adam shook off his early morning reflections and proceeded to rummage sightless around the top of his bedside table, knocking off an unwashed coffee cup and a Reader's Digest magazine before he located his semi-frameless glasses. He was short-sighted and would usually put his contact lenses on first thing in the morning, but it was still only 6 am and his eyes were grainy from the lack of sleep last night.

Tomorrow was the 27th of June 2009 and in his home town of Melbourne, Australia, it was the final school day for term two. He had been required to spend many late nights finishing the midyear reports for his grade six students and thankfully he had only one remaining. He had planned to complete that this morning.

Adam had been a teacher for twelve years and at the age of thirty-two, this was the first time he had taught anyone over the age of seven. In grade six, the average age was eleven and he found that he enjoyed the maturity that came with the older children. He no longer had to console crying kids, help them eat their lunches and combat temper tantrums. Even the fanatical parents who constantly invaded his office to criticise his teaching and ensure the wellbeing of their precious little ones had drastically reduced the frequency of their visits. It made for a pleasant change.

Although teaching afforded him a reasonable wage, it was barely enough to cover those unexpected bills that life threw his way and last week was the bearer of a beauty. He was thrown a huge curve ball when he was pulled over by the police and his vehicle declared unroadworthy. The local mechanic gave him a hefty account of three thousand dollars to repair the 1997 Toyota Corolla, leaving him gasping for breath and feeling like he needed to rob the local bank. Not that he was the sort of person to commit a crime, but he had no idea where to find the finances. Although that wasn't entirely true. He could approach his parents, but getting money from them was more painful than mowing the lawn.

Ever since they had learnt of his desire to become a primary school teacher, they had rubbished the thought and when his wishes became a reality, he was often belittled. His father had been a successful tennis player and his mother a golf pro. After their careers had finished, they both taught up-and-coming youngsters and referred to their work as 'an extension of their illustrious professions'. True to their characters, they both charged exorbitant rates for their 'exclusive' services and as such often jested at Adam's measly pay. Their ridicule at his expense hurt more than he cared to admit, but in the end he concluded that teaching children to read and write was far nobler than their endeavours. He simply learnt to avoid them where possible.

Therefore, when Adam concluded that he could not ask his parents to foot the three thousand dollar bill and he had to find the funds himself, one particular hexagonal shaped disk came to mind. He did not want to sell the paintings because of the enjoyment they provided, but the disk was of no significance to him and the obvious choice. He had pulled it from its box the previous evening and noted the finely crafted hieroglyphs, the gold and jade inner and outer trim and the precision with which it was created. It had to be worth at least three thousand dollars if not more. He proceed to list it on eBay for three thousand five hundred dollars as a 'buy now' price.

Reaching into his built-in cupboard, Adam grabbed a pair of black slacks, a creased but clean casual green shirt (he hated ironing), a brown jacket and his favourite RM Williams boots before quickly dressing. He hurried to the kitchen, stopping via the spare room to turn on the computer, and made himself a large mug of coffee and a slice of vegemite toast. He detested nothing more than the small cups he received at a restaurant, often finished before he had even begun to enjoy it.

The large hall mirror revealed that there some work required before he would look respectable enough to go to work this morning, but right at this moment he did not really care. He only wanted to know if someone had bought his disk, so he switched on the computer and waited until the familiar red, blue, yellow and green eBay symbol popped up in the top left-hand corner. Adam punched in his username and password, his eyes glued to the screen in expectation, in the hope that he was out of debt, but it was not to be. A big fat '0' shone depressingly in front of him. Not one person had placed a bid.

Adam swallowed his coffee in one large gulp. If it did not go today, he would have to lower himself and pay his parents a visit. He could see it now. The subordinate tone of voice he would have to adopt, the righteous pitch of theirs. Having to confess he chose the wrong profession, hearing about how great theirs are. Pleading for the money, being told they were doing him a great favour.

The thought of it made him ill.

Tossing his cup in anger against the vinyl clad door, he watched it shatter as it bounced onto the brown hall tiles. 'Shit ... shit ... shit,' he cursed in frustration as he jumped up and went to the laundry to collect the old broom and shovel, all the while running each probable scenario on the outcome with his parents.

He did not like any option.

Deep in deliberation, Adam disposed of his mess before proceeding to the bathroom to put in his contact lenses. He had just finished wiping away the resultant tears when he was interrupted by a shuffle at the front door. It was a faint sound that could only be detected with excellent hearing, something which Adam could boast to having. He glanced at his Casio wristwatch, noting that it was still only 6.30 am, much too early for the mail carrier or any visitors. Perhaps it was an animal or the tabby cat from next door that annoyingly chased the native wildlife from his front garden.

Dismissing the sound as nothing of significance, Adam turned back to the mirror and gazed at his reflection. He had olive skin and a dark, thick mop of hair. Unlike his parents who were both sporty and well built, Adam was wiry and thin. His height of five foot eleven also made him smaller than his six foot two father who often jested that he was someone else's son although old family photos had him as a spitting image of his paternal grandfather.

As a child, Adam had always been called a nerd and he supposed that was the image he still projected. His face was slender and clean-shaven and his slightly hooded hazel eyes were wide set. He had small but well formed lips, a boyish grin and small scar across his cheek from a cricket bat. But despite what he considered to be reasonable charm, he still had trouble finding the perfect woman. Perhaps he was too picky. His thoughts were interrupted again by another noise outside his bedroom window.

Adam's senses were suddenly on full alert and he was bothered by the fact that his bedroom window only sported a small ledge. There were no trees or other climbing apparatus near it to allow a cat or any other four-legged creature like a possum or mouse access. The logical explanation would have been a large bird, like a crow or a magpie, but the bang had been too loud, so he decided that it was time to investigate.

By nature, Adam was not easily afraid, but he was cautious, so he decided it was best to see what he could discover by peering up under the thermal-lined fabric. Lowering himself onto the floor, Adam slid across until he was positioned to the right of the window with his head just beneath the overhang. It afforded him the perfect spot and initially everything appeared to be in order, but within a couple of seconds a hand came into view. It held a tool that he recognised as a glass cutter, leaving no doubt as to the intruder's intentions. They were going to break into his home.

Adam crawled out as silently as possible and raced for the phone. He had intended calling the police but was restrained by an unknown hand that had just clamped itself solidly over his mouth. His first reaction was to struggle, but fighting was not his strong point, so he allowed his body to slacken and accept its fate, all the while his heart pounding furiously against his chest. To say he was nervous was an understatement.

'Shoosh, Adam,' whispered his attacker, the sound of a calm voice catching him completely by surprise. 'I'm not here to hurt you, rather to get you out of here before they break into your home.' His comment coincided with the shatter of glass in his room. 'But first we must get that jade disk. It's what they've come for.'

Adam turned and found himself gazing into the imploring eyes of a member of the police force. The blond-haired, blue-eyed young man smiled, and the look of genuine kindness convinced Adam to trust him, not that he had much choice in the matter though. He pointed to the drawer in the television cabinet which, when opened, revealed itself to be the proverbial junk drawer. On the top was a shallow blue box the size of a small dinner plate and inside an exquisitely carved disk. Adam nervously scanned the room, grabbing a hessian shopping bag from the nearby couch and throwing the disk inside.

Adam raced after the police officer down the short hallway to the rear door located in the shoe-box size laundry. It was still slightly ajar with no evidence of having been forced. Adam frowned. He wondered how the officer had gotten inside so easily, his query answered when the officer flashed the hair clip he was still holding. When this was over, Adam decided that he would buy an alarm.

At first Adam had expected that his rear yard would be inundated by intruders, but he was surprised to find it empty. The thieves had clearly made the decision to enter down the sideways, which allowed easy access to and from the busy road in which he lived. So many cars drove up and down his street that an extra one would not attract any attention even at 6.45 in the morning.

As he exited the house, Adam heard the squeak of the bedroom door and felt a moment of melancholy and regret. One part of him wished he had stayed to defend his humble abode, considering he knew they would ransack and break what little he owned.

'No need to worry. I've reported the intruders to the local station and they will be here shortly,' said the officer, grinning as he noted the distressed look on Adam's face.

Adam was very confused. The officer had reported the 'break and enter' before it had occurred. How could he have known that unless he was in with them?

Coming to a sudden halt, Adam was about to turn to the officer when a man garbed in a black ski mask jumped the fence, landing less than six feet from where they were standing.

Adam froze to the spot, his arms and legs stuck to him like glue. Even if he wanted to move, he didn't think he was capable; he was too scared. The man was pointing a gun directly at him, his demands to hand over the bag going unheard as Adam felt himself drift in and out of a trance-like state. He had never experienced anything like this in his life, and the sudden understanding of how fragile his life was scared the shit out of him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Adam cocked his head slightly to the left and noted that the police officer had managed to slip his hand unnoticed under his jacket. He realised in an instant that if he ducked, the officer would have a direct line of fire to the intruder. Adam dropped to the ground quicker than a lead weight, his actions stunning the intruder momentarily and allowing the officer to fire. The intruder died instantly.

'Hurry!' snapped the officer as they fled to the left side of the house and scaled the fence, dropping into the neighbours' yard as the further shots imbedded themselves into the wood only inches from where they were standing.

Adam raced after the police officer down a concrete path, through a garden bed and into a waiting white Holden VE Commodore before speeding off in excess of 94 miles per hour. He was left with no doubt that the officer was trying to assist him and was not part of the gang as per his initial thoughts.

The officer placed a siren on the roof of his unmarked car, the action distracting the pursuing black Chrysler, which dropped back quickly. It was one thing to chase an unknown person but to pursue the police would bring the full wrath of the force down onto the hunter, who could ill afford the attention.

Adam sank into the black fabric seats in relief as they sped past the beginnings of the early morning peak hour traffic and through the city. His mind was a blur and he felt as if he had been imbued by a full force hurricane. In the last half hour, he had been faced with his own mortality and then the death of another human being. He had seen a bullet penetrate a skull as easy as a knife cutting softened butter and the back of the head splatter like a watermelon all over his plants and garden seat. The final vision of his white iceberg roses and small garden table dripping in blood and brains had made him feel ill and even now his stomach still churned with the memory.

Adam lifted his head and gazed out of the window. They had travelled much further than he had first thought and he started to worry. The city was becoming a speck in the distance and it was very clear that they were not headed to the nearest police station. He started to wonder if his companion was a police officer at all. Perhaps he was another kidnapper after the disk that was quickly becoming a prized object. Adam gazed at the young man's face, wishing he could read his mind.

'Where are we going? I have students waiting for me today,' asked Adam, his words not sounding like his own. He found himself wishing he had given into his reservations and asked his parents for the money.

'Sorry, Adam. I have my instructions not to tell you anything until I get you to the safety of the headquarters,' and that was all he said until they pulled into the Point Cook Air Force Base ten minutes later.

The officer drove his car through the front gates and directly to the main command centre where they were met by a group of ten men in official uniforms. His companion exited the vehicle and hurriedly but confidently approached a daunting and hefty middle-aged man who stood at least six foot six. Adam was hesitant; the man looked imposing, but the quest for information overrode his desire to stay in the vehicle, so he climbed out and followed behind.

'Thank you Karl ... good job, and within the specified time too,' the formidable and evidently authoritative commander said to the police officer before turning his attention to Adam. Adam took a step back, feeling somewhat overwhelmed and inferior by contrast.

'Welcome Adam. My name is Air Chief Marshall Harris Barnes and I'm about to send you to America on board that plane,' and with that he gestured to a sleek F-111 only six hundred feet away.

'Fuck, you've got to be joking, Mate!' exclaimed Adam in disbelief. 'What for?' was the only sensible question he could trust himself to ask.

'It seems that disk of yours can save the lives of a group of archaeologists trapped in Tikal in Guatemala. Don't ask me how, but the call came from my good friend Major General Dale Bright from the United States Air Force. Anything he says, I believe. So, when he asked for an unknown school teacher stupid enough to advertise his name and that disk on the Internet to be flown to the United States, I agreed.'

Adam was speechless. It was as he suspected. It was the disk they were after and a moment of complete insanity or better described as desperation to sell the disk that had caused him all this trouble. He should have known that the disk was special and on top of it all, he had used his real name without thinking. If only his parents could see him now. They would be revelling in his humiliation.

'What if I say no? I'm not good at flying,' his words belying his true feelings. In reality, Adam had never done anything more exciting than attending the few gatherings his parents had insisted he attend. He had never travelled any further than Melbourne, partied with friends (probably because he didn't have any) or experienced an event greater than the odd movie at the cinema complex not far from his home. The thought of flying in that plane thrilled him but also made him weak at the knees in fear.

'Sorry, Mate. You don't have any choice,' directed Harris Barnes. The utter conviction and determination in the already compelling tone of voice left Adam no option but to comply. In one sense though he was relieved; he could not think of a suitable argument anyway.

'I presume you have the disk with you,' questioned Harris Barnes.

'Yes, of course.'

'Good. Just don't want to go to the expense of flying you without the precious cargo,' the comment leaving Adam slightly displeased. It was the disk that was precious, not him.

'Well, we're ready,' said a man who was clearly the pilot. He carried with him a helmet and suit which Adam hastily put on before being helped into the navigator's seat of the F-111. Adam's mouth was agape. He was not an expert on planes, but he did know that this one was a supersonic, long-range strike aircraft. It was seventy-eight feet in length and just under twenty feet high with a seventy feet extended wingspan. It was not a new plane, having been first built in the 1960s, but it could travel at twice the speed of sound and with regular upgrades. It was still the fastest and longest ranging combat vehicle in the Asia Pacific. It sported a targeting system that could locate targets in bad weather or at night and sported a radar warning system and laser designation for laser-guided weapons.

Adam held his breath as the plane took off, the first lift almost causing him to spew in his own lap. He attempted to study the complicated dials as a distraction, but this soon gave way to further nausea and bile burning the back of his throat. He also knew that he must have turned a ghastly shade of green by the amused look of the pilot who gave him the thumbs up and a wide smile. This was going to be a long flight.

CHAPTER NINE.

Dale showed Gillian to a spare room reserved for the occasional guest to the base. It was comfortable but meagre, sporting a single bed, robe, chest of drawers, television and unsuited pair of leather chairs. Decked out in tones of muted cream, it was either very boring or relaxing depending on the opinion of the occupant. Gillian found it relaxing. She dearly wanted to read the journal they had found in the obsidian box but had held off until she had some peace and quiet, and this room provided the perfect surrounding.

She had slept for an hour in the helicopter but was forced awake by a bad dream that consisted of a dark, bottomless tunnel and suffocation. Gillian recognised it as being an imitation of what Fred, Richard and the others would suffer if they failed to make it back in time to save them. She was frightened for them, Fred in particular. It had taken such a long time for her to find someone she could share her life with and she did not know how she would cope if she lost him now. A small tear trickled from the corner of her eye as she lay back on the fluffy pillows and opened the vegetable fibre book.

Gillian's first impression was of a professionally bound but unadorned book that was reluctant to reveal its secrets. Her hands trembled in excitement as she flipped the first page and allowed her eyes to fall onto an ancient script that was not at all what she expected. It was written entirely in Medieval Latin with the number thirteen surrounded by a ring and highlighted in bold font at the top of the first page. She had no idea what the significance of the number was, but it was the font that had her excited. It was proof that this book was genuine and that Latin had permeated America before Christopher Columbus. It was an exciting find.

On initial observation, she noted that the script was refined and extremely elegant. It was also very small, almost as if the author was afraid that they would run out of paper before the story had been told. She eagerly began devouring the long forgotten narrative with an enthusiasm that took her by surprise.

Manuscript part one I am dedicating this journal to my dear friend Yok Chac, for without him I am nothing. He is my one true friend. The only one I can trust to carry out my final plan. To Yok Chac I pledge my dying gratitude and love.

My name is Kinix. I am the son of a priest and noblewoman from the neighbouring city of Uaxactun. They were both taken by Ah Pach (death god) before the memories of my first years came into being. There is little left for me to discover of my heritage as I am the last of my line. Unlike other families, I have no one left who can tell me of my parents' thoughts, dreams or desires. Other than the small paintings that remain on the walls of the home that has long since been occupied by another family, no memories remain. In an exhibition of their kindness, I was allowed to be shown through what was once my hut and gaze upon what had been lost to me.

It was evident that my father was not a strong man, his slight features and weakness of soul reflected in his desperate eyes. I did not like the look of him. My mother on the other hand was a beautiful woman, refined and elegant, strong but slender. She had a glorious abundance of glossy black hair atop her head and a haunting set of hazel eyes. Her cheeks were full and high and her lips were small but well formed. She looked proud, confident and radiated with life. I too had the same oval eyes, lips and cheeks and I fancied that I looked more like her than like my father. At first I was fascinated, but as the portraits advanced the pictures changed and a marked sadness became evident in my mother's face. She lost her sparkle, her zest for life, and eventually she no longer featured at all.

I know from the death records in the Amatl (book made from the processed tree bark of the fig) held by the priests that my father was taken by Ixtab (moon goddess of suicide) to the upper heavens when I was three, but my mother's body was never located. It was presumed she accompanied him.

I suppose there was some ratification that my father took his own life. It is a brave and honourable act to end your earthly existence on the middle plains of being and ascend into the upper realm of the gods. It was also written that he was no longer in favour with the king, 'Chak Tok Ich'aak11', more fondly known as Bahlum Paw Skull, but he regained acceptance by slitting his own throat and offering his blood.

Apparently the priests found me sitting alone in my father's blood. They took pity on me and accepted me into their fold instead of giving me to another family who would have treated me little better than a common slave. I was raised with a firm hand and schooled in the arts of medicine, writing and the Mayan history, but it was not until the eve of my eighth birthday that I received a summons that changed the direction of my life. A minor wife of Bahlum Paw Skull had begun to labour with her unborn child and was progressing poorly. She was in need of assistance and the head priest, Kin Kawil (named after the sun god and the 'god of rulers'), had selected me to assist him. I was both shocked and frightened. I was considered advanced for my age, but I did not have the experience required to help in the delivery of a new life. It was an honoured event that should only be attended to by the head priests and I did not qualify. Kin Kawil thought otherwise and I was ordered to accompany him.

We quickly gathered the required tools and figurine of Ixchel (goddess of childbirth) before hurrying to the far right wing of the palace. Bahlum Paw Skull had been careful to keep his minor wives far enough away from his chief woman 'Lady Hand' but close enough for his convenience. We were ushered into a small private room where each wall was elaborately adorned with vibrant paintings depicting the amazing birth of many children and dominated by the deity 'Ixchel'. The floor was covered by a large, thin grass mat, woven into an open design to resemble maize plants. It was simple and light, allowing for easy removal and cleaning. There were several pots and a pile of beautifully embroidered cotton sheets stacked in the corner along with a mass of chichicaxtle cloth. In the centre of the room was a carved wooden bed that was raised at one end and flattened on the other. It had been made specifically for a smooth delivery and trouble-free access for the attendants.

If not for the screaming woman in the middle of the room, I would have admired the decoration more closely. I suddenly found myself fearful and nervous. I had never seen a woman writhe and thrash about in a manner that was akin to a dying sacrificial victim. Lamatna had an incredible terror and pain etched across her face as waves of agony overtook her. An attendant attempted to hold her down but to no avail, necessitating the aid of two more women who had been waiting outside the door should disaster strike.

The voice of Kin Kawil snapped me out of my morbid fascination and ordered me to grind up a mix of datura, candida and cacao bean into a paste to assist with the pain. I hurried to do his bidding and returned quickly to hand the thick brown paste to one of the attendants. Together they forced Lamatna to swallow the remedy, which proved to be very effective. In a few moments she had calmed considerably, allowing Kin Kawil to lift her wraparound skirt and examine the progress of the birth.

'Kinix, come here,' he ordered as I approached with trepidation. I had seen the birth of animals and studied the bodies of female sacrificial victims, but I had never experienced the beginning of a new human life. I was both anxious and excited.

I grabbed a plain piece of dampened chichicaxtle cloth and handed it Kin Kawil who peered between Lamatna's legs. I could see by the frown on his face that all was not progressing well and he soon snapped the words, 'Obsidian blade'. I quickly complied and watched with unmoving attention as Kin Kawil sliced Lamatna deeply between the birth tunnel and the anus. Lamatna screamed in agony, but the bindings that had just been placed over her arms and feet held her firmly to the bed. Blood ran thickly down the sloped base of the bed and onto the floor but Kin Kawil ignored the mess and plunged his hand deeply into the enlarged space and grabbed the child from within. On the next wave of pain Lamatna endured, Kin Kawil pulled the child from its mother. It was covered in blood, but it was alive.

Kin Kawil handed the child to me whom I held with trepidation. What an honour it was to be the first one to hold the King's son. I was so overwhelmed with delight that I almost dropped him as I passed him to an attendant. I then gave the revered priest a large vessel in which he placed the organ and still pulsing cord that connected the child to its mother. It would be prepared and presented to the gods as thanks for the safe delivery of the King's new son.

Upon the command of Kin Kawil, I passed a bone needle and thread of human hair to sew up the gaping wound which was smeared with the resin of the Balam shrub and dressed with the bark of the Bakalche tree. I knew from experience that these remedies would heal the wound within two to three weeks.

I had been initially overcome with apprehension, but I had handled the situation admirably for a child and to such an extent that I received praise from Kin Kawil and Bahlum Paw Skull himself.

The summons arrived the following day from the King's personal scribe and delivered to me by a trusted warrior. It was a beautiful, well-written document inviting me to the ceremony to celebrate the birth of the child and the subsequent sacrifice to the gods. My heart filled with pride even though this ceremony would be smaller than if the child was born of the principal wife 'Lady Hand' or announced as the royal heir.

It was some months later that the great holy King, a god to all men, invited me to his residence to attend the small injuries suffered by his family. My accomplishments and respectful manner soon made me a favourite and I quickly became a trusted physician. Even the King was pleased, his increased confidence in my ability leading him to request that I place myself in his company again tomorrow.

As I entered the glorious inner sanctum, Bahlum Paw Skull motioned for me to sit to on the mat of black jaguar pelt. I obeyed quickly and waited in trepidation until the King found it suitable to reveal his troubles to me. Even I admit that I was shocked by his unveiling. He wished to discuss the infertility of Lady Hand and I suddenly longed for Kin Kawil to be by my side.

As I understood, Lady Hand was twenty and they had been married for six years with no children. He was becoming increasingly concerned and found the topic of such a sensitive nature that it seemed I was the only one he could trust to keep his privacy. It was an immense honour for me and I had been pleased that I was able to rise to the occasion and recall my intense teaching on the subject. I believed it to be a disturbed flow of the ch'ulel (the life force that binds everything together) and this required healing before the body's physical ailments could be addressed.

With the guidance of my way (soul-animal companion) who took the form of an ocelot, I was able to suggest a combination of sweat baths to purify the body, abdominal massage and cacao to improve bodily functions. Initially my remedy worked and Lady Hand fell pregnant within six months only to lose the unborn child before it had taken on its human form. Despite the failure, I was treated like a friend and honoured guest as it was my doing that the pregnancy had actually occurred. I assured Bahlum Paw Skull that I would study the situation more thoroughly and come up with a suitable answer although I warned that there may be a malicious deity at work trying to separate Lady Hand's physical and spiritual body. I would need to pray on the matter and chose the most suitable plants to assist.

The following few months did not prove fruitful and I was beginning to doubt my skills as a healer until a group of travellers entered Tikal.

It was a very steamy afternoon and the entire population of Tikal had taken a break from their professions to escape the heat. The insects were buzzing around and there was little movement in the surrounding forest until a cry came up from the road the led to the city of our distant neighbours, Teotihuacan. Many people flocked to the street as a group of ten individuals struggled towards the large central marketplace. Their unfamiliar appearance drew wary looks and the cautious Mayans did not offer assistance even though it was clear the travellers were on the verge of collapse.

For the first time in my twelve years, I felt ashamed of my people. I suppose this came from being a healer and learning tolerance of all Hunab Ku's creatures. I appealed to three of the King's warriors whose respect for me surpassed their prejudice of the unknown and they quickly moved to assist, offering their arms in support.

By this time, Bahlum Paw Skull had learnt of the arrivals and had stepped from his palace. He looked like the god he was, glittering in his pure white robe and golden headpiece. I resisted the urge to fall to my knees in respect, fully aware that each Mayan would follow my lead and further endanger the lives of the strangers who required urgent medical treatment. I could only pray I would be forgiven for my indiscretion.

True to his greatness, Bahlum Paw Skull did not even mention my error, insisting that the strangers be taken to the guest wing of his palace. My respect for him had increased beyond what I thought possible. I humbly bowed as I passed through the corbelled arch and into the chamber adorned with friezes, murals of Tikal at war and red and orange swag curtains. In the corner stood a large vase full of quetzal feathers and on the bed lay three jaguar pelts to provide extra comfort. It was truly a magnificent room usually reserved for the lords of the neighbouring provinces.

Two women, three men and a skinny boy about my age sat cross-legged on the floor mats while the remaining four men sat on the bed. My first belief was that they were traders from Yucatan Peninsula selling amber, turquoise, salt or shells, but they lacked the typical Mayan clothing and showed no evidence of the usual ear piercing or adorned teeth favoured by the Mayan women. They also spoke with a strange accent that I was unable to place with any certainty.

My thoughts were interrupted as Bahlum Paw Skull entered the room and acknowledged one of the men with a raise of his royal hand. It was a rare practice for the King to lower himself from his god-like status to the level of a stranger, but the return smile from the visitor confirmed that they knew each other.

'His name is Suya Chan. He is the prince of the "City of Gods"(Teotihuacan), a direct relative of Spearthrower Owl (a king of Teotihuacan who reigned between 4.5.3749.6.439 AD) from whom I'm also descended. He needs to be treated as you would care for me,' ordered Bahlum Paw Skull. I nodded in reply, lowering my eyes in respect and immediately began unrolling my bandages and preparing my medicines.

The men and women had bruises, broken bones and were lacking water. I ordered a drink of mixed herbs and cacao to help with weight gain and a meal of easily digestible boiled maize and cassava. Kin Kawil manipulated the bones whilst I went to the boy. He was desperately underweight for his height and at first I thought he suffered from the same afflictions as the rest of the group but, his malnutrition was far more advanced than I had anticipated. It was evident from the protruding bones, taut skin and hollowed eye sockets that he had been without nutrition for many months. He was gravely ill and when prompted, he was unable to talk with any clarity.

'We found him wandering the road without aim. We do not know who he is or where he came from although the jaguar tattoo on the upper right arm suggests he is of royal blood,' offered Suya Chan.

'I can care for him at home,' I suggested as the King nodded his approval and the guards carried him for me. The following two days went quickly as I gave him a mix of cacao and deer milk every three hours until his dark eyes and his irregular skin had started to clear. The swollen, bleeding lips and mouth ulcers that were impeding his speech had begun to absolve and I learnt that his name was Yok Chac. He was short for his age, with an honest round face and solid limbs. He had a wide pointed nose, small ears and heavy eyebrows and was the son of the Zapotec king of Monte Alba n. He told me that his family had been murdered by a rival town and many of the craftsmen and lesser nobles fled to Teotihuacan for protection. Yok Chac had been kept hostage and was scheduled to be sacrificed to the gods when he had devised an escape. Unfortunately his weakened state meant that he had made it only as far as the trade route and collapsed due to extreme exhaustion where he had been found by Suya Chan. It became evident that the wounds suffered by the visitors were the result of their fight with the pursuing Zapotecs intent on recapturing Yok Chac.

I learnt a lot about Yok Chac through those successive days. He had been raised with all of the privileges of the elite, but his father had been cruel and manipulative, imposing firm rules that he expected his family to follow without question. Any misdemeanour was punished by whipping or forced solitude and Yok Chac had a network of interconnecting scars across his back, buttocks and manhood. The pain he had endured at the hand of his father provided a survival instinct that allowed him to remain calm and determined during the chaos, and whilst his family had their hearts torn from their chests, he had escaped through the hole he had fashioned during the times of solitude. I was amazed at his resilience and told him this, receiving a smile of thanks in return.

When I reflect on it, this was the one defining moment of our friendship, the beginning of it all. I had shown Yok Chac respect and he had acknowledged my kindness.

Three days later, Tikal was host to a magnificent celebration honouring its illustrious guests. They were entertained by skilled musicians, choreographed dances by people in jaguar, deer and monkey costumes, a number of richly clothed dwarfs telling humorous tales and a complete re-enactment of a distant victorious war. Three criminals were sacrificed to the gods and the almighty Bahlum Paw Skull ordered a feast to the likes that I had never seen before. There were platters of deer, rabbits, wasp larvae, manioc, pumpkin filled tortillas, maize bread, plump avocado, breadnuts, honey flavoured atole, more fruit than I had ever seen in one place and luxuriously shaped chocolate pieces. It was a ceremony to remember.

The following four years flew by very quickly with little changing in our illustrious city. A previously agreed trade arrangement between Tikal and the 'City of Gods' that involved swapping salt for obsidian had been a success, but the needs of our neighbour had outstripped supply. There were stories of increasing famine and displeasure at their leader's ability to provide food for his people, which led to a growth in sacrifice. In a bid to beg for assistance from the gods, a greater number of people gave up their lives for the good of their community, but little had been forthcoming.

In our own city, the continuing infertility of Lady Hand was a subject of much displeasure for the King. The child I had helped bring into this world had died two years previously from a spider bite, leaving Bahlum Paw Skull without any trace of his blood to leave on our earthly planet. It was with a heavy heart that the King had decided to find a new principal wife. I knew that this decision did not come easily to him as he loved his wife and unlike his forefathers, he did not hold a steady group of minor wives for his pleasure. In my time with him there had only been two lesser wives, both of whom had died.

As part of our continuing agreement to assist the 'City of Gods', Bahlum Paw Skull had reluctantly agreed to marry one of their two royal princesses. Whilst this did not improve trade it would improve the 'City of Gods' standing and help promote their good name. I felt it was a good decision although I admit to being shocked when the king chose me to collect her as a representative of Tikal. What an honour although I did admit to suffering from a small amount of trepidation at being separated from Yok Chac for the first time in seven years.

When Yok Chac had first arrived in Tikal, Kin Kawil had housed him in a room next door to my own. At the time I was both glad and irritated. I had become so used to my solitude that I did not know how to cope with the constant intrusion of another person my age. I underwent moments of anger at being followed continuously from the study room to the kitchen and out into my favourite garden, but I quickly adapted and gradually learnt to enjoy the company of another who could relate to me on the same level. My tolerance of him grew as did my understanding that he was in a place that he was unaccustomed to. He had lost his home, family and friends and although he was not treated with kindness in his own homeland, it was nonetheless familiar to him.

Increasingly my pity transformed to an acceptance and eventually an agreeable friendship. I soon found myself asking him for his opinion on certain topics and valued his often intelligent and insightful responses. Yok Chac also had a sense of humour originally quashed but allowed to flourish in Tikal and much to my dismay, we found ourselves scalded by Kin Kawil for misbehaviour. Still, we had developed a strong bond that I had come to depend on and enjoy. He had become my best, and only, friend.

Gillian climbed off the bed to pour a glass of water. She had been so enthralled by the story of Kinix that she barely realised five hours had passed since she had first opened the journal. She quickly swallowed two paracetamol tablets to ward off any adverse reactions to sleep deprivation and was about to recommence her fascinating story when her father walked into the room without knocking.

'Just had some news from the personnel I sent to Tikal. The room containing your friends is actually an ancient variation of a modern lift and whilst we are unable to get inside, our GPR system (Ground Penetrating Radar) was able to detect some interesting sub-surface images. It appears that the lift is free-hanging on a very old length of twine.'

'Fifteen hundred years at least,' concluded Gillian quietly.