It was already midday; a cool wind was blowing from the north, carrying with it heavy clouds that heralded an approaching storm. Hans carefully packed the contents of his satchel: nautical instruments, the codex, a few dust-covered books—and one of the mysterious discs, which he wrapped in banana leaves. Once he had finished, he thanked the old woman who had sheltered him and stepped out of the naajo'ob.
The cacique, surrounded by his people, awaited him outside to bid farewell with a solemn gesture. He handed Hans a small palm-woven pouch filled with seeds and a fragment of obsidian.
"Black robe, for the road," he said in Maya, translated by Magdalena. "Le kuxtal a wíinkilil—the life of man. You came to us as a prisoner and became our liberator. Unlike others, you did not come to impose, but to understand. You have a long and winding path ahead of you, many moons to learn and confront what troubles your heart… May the light of the gods guide your way."
Some of the men patted him gently on the arm; the women waved handkerchiefs and palm branches in farewell. Then several dancers began a ritual dance of departure, their rattles and flutes echoing through the street, and in the pauses, the sound of a conch shell.
An old woman approached and placed a braided amulet around his neck.
"To protect you from the ghosts and demons of the jungle," she murmured.
Then came an elder—the village H-men—carrying a clay incense burner shaped like a chalice, where copal burned, its smoke curling around the Jesuit's feet.
"K'àak' k'a'ajsik le béel. Tu'ux a binel, k'uchuk teech le k'óoben le pom," he intoned.
"The fire remembers the path. Wherever you go, may the smoke of this copal find you."
Hans knew he ought to maintain the skepticism of a man of faith, yet he chose silence over correction.
"Magdalena, I have a question for the shaman," he said.
"He is an H-men," Magdalena replied. "A priest and ritual healer."
The H-men, still holding the smoking chalice, regarded the Jesuit expectantly, as did the gathered villagers, who perhaps anticipated a theological debate.
"Ask him what those discs mean—the ones found inside the cenote."
Magdalena translated the question. The H-men raised an eyebrow and began to speak in Maya, which she then interpreted:
"The H-men says they are calendrical wheels that Itzamná, by command of the great Kukulkán, placed within the sacred cenote. Each contains a cycle, and they were once used by the ancient H-meno'ob to move the bones and muscles of the Mo' K'in."
"What is the Mo' K'in?"
Magdalena turned to the H-men, who bowed his head slightly.
"A divine bird," he said, "from whose beak issued a fire that traveled to the horizon, guiding the eye that looks toward the heavens and points to the dwelling of the ancient gods."
"But… could that bird be a description of some kind of… artifact?"
The H-men looked puzzled.
"Artifact?"
"A… machine, perhaps?" Hans clarified. The H-men glanced at the men around him; they shook their heads.
"It was a divine bird."
"Inside the temple," Hans continued, "I saw remains that looked like mechanisms."
The H-men smiled faintly.
"When a tomb was built for our kings and gods," he said, "the tools were buried with them."
The villagers nodded in unison. The H-men then turned toward the congregation, raised his hands, and began reciting a ritual formula. His gaze moved toward the cacique and the other elders; he bowed, and with a signal, the dancers resumed their rhythmic steps, the ankle bells jingling as a young boy blew once more into the conch shell.
Hans raised his hands slightly, asking for silence.
"I have another question," he said, prompting murmurs among the crowd. "You call the bird divine, yet from what I've seen, the discs bear a configuration similar to mechanisms I've encountered in automata—machines that move by themselves. Could this bird—"
"Mo' K'in," the H-men interjected.
"—be something like that? An automaton pointing to a real location…?"
The H-men smiled again and bowed slightly.
"All questions you may have about the Mo' K'in are described in the ancient codex."
"Would it be possible for me to… see this codex before I leave?"
The H-men shook his head.
"No," he said softly. "It is not possible."
"Why not? I only wish to see it for a moment."
The crowd held its breath. The H-men pressed his lips together.
"The Franciscans burned it," he said, "along with all the manuscripts our people had safeguarded for centuries."
Hans stood speechless. A distant rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, and the cool wind carried the scent of impending rain. The H-men gave a sign; the conch sounded again, and the dancers resumed their ceremony, their bodies swaying in farewell.
Hans was about to depart when he stopped and turned back toward the villagers. They fell silent once more.
"I have one more question," he said, rummaging in his satchel. "Inside the temple, in one of the chambers, I found this."
He showed them the image of a young woman with a sword, painted in a Baroque style. The H-men took it, frowning, as did the cacique and several of the elders.
"Do you know what it represents?" Hans asked.
"How did you come by this?" the H-men asked, striving to keep his composure.
"In the funerary chamber—inside the sarcophagus," Hans explained, as Magdalena translated. "I entered a chamber that opened when I presented…" He leaned closer and discreetly revealed the medallion hanging from his neck.
The H-men studied it, expressionless. Then he raised his eyes to Hans, and finally to Magdalena.
"Ixzel," he said, "do not translate what follows."
He turned and spoke in low tones to the men of the village.
"What's happening?" Hans asked.
"They're talking about… understanding your origin," Magdalena replied softly.
The H-men faced Hans again.
"It would be best if you left now," he said just as the first drops of rain began to fall.
Hans looked at them suspiciously; they returned his gaze with polite, guarded courtesy. He was about to speak again when they were interrupted.
"Hey, Father!" came a soldier's voice in the distance. "Captain Sepúlveda requests your presence at once!"
The H-men bowed; the cacique placed a hand on Hans's shoulder. The villagers lowered their heads in unison.
"We must hurry, Father!" the soldier urged as another peal of thunder rolled across the valley.
Hans thanked the priest and began walking toward the plaza, Magdalena at his side. The H-men, the cacique, and the villagers watched him depart.
"Make sure the maiden is not seen by anyone," the H-men said quietly.
The cacique nodded and gestured to a group of young men, who immediately slipped into the jungle.