Beautiful Sacrifice

might be following them. A fast check of the side mirrors revealed that they were the only limestone dust cloud on the road. Not that he could see all that far with the jungle crouched around like a huge green cat.
    “Without the cenotes,” Lina said, handing back the water, “the very ancient Maya would have died out long before the Spanish arrived. That and the fact that freshwater floats on top of salt.”
    “Fire, water, earth, and air,” Hunter said. “All the rest is decoration. No matter where you are in the world, that doesn’t change.”
    “The lowlands of the Yucatan peninsula could use more of the decoration called fertilizer,” she said wryly. “In the ceiba and copal jungle, the ground beneath our wheels is thin, crumbly, and poor. Survival is hard. Take the strangler fig tree. It lives by being supported by a host tree, using the host as a ladder to climb up to light. Eventually the fig vines harden, extend roots, and strangle the host. Despite its lush look, the jungle plants survive more by force of will than the generosity of nature.”
    “Like the people. Still here. Still surviving, come hell, high water, and the Spanish. But then, we’re all survivors descended from survivors. The rest of them are buried in the dust of time.”
    “Sometimes,” she said, “the weight of all that history is…crushing. And sometimes it’s so exciting to be a part of it thatI want to dance.”
    His fingertips trailed gently down her cheek. “I’ll dance with you.”
    Dark eyes flashed gold when she looked at him and smiled. Then the rough road claimed her attention again. The dual tire tracks zigzagged around clumps of rock as the jungle slowly melted away into a different, sparser growth.
    “We’re almost there,” Lina said. “I’ll park off in the scrub.”
    “No problem with the locals and a rental car?”
    “Not if it’s seen at the Reyes Balam estate first,” she said.
    Hunter nodded. “You’ve got more guards than the ones in the compound.”
    “We take care of the villages. They watch out for us.”
    They got out of the Bronco, and she reached into the back and took out a wide leather belt. A machete dangled from a clip on one side of the belt.
    “I’m stronger than you are,” he pointed out mildly.
    “The path shouldn’t be too bad. It’s only been about eighteen months since I’ve used this route. But if I get tired, the big knife is all yours.”
    “Knife?” He looked at the forearm-long blade that had been invented by natives for the sole purpose of whacking through jungles. “More like a sword.”
    He followed her as she set out for a section of scrubby jungle—or jungly scrub—that looked no different from any other piece of the landscape. Trees struggled on the harsh land, lifting vine-burdened arms to the relentless sun. Bushes fought for their place in the light.
    Lina slid sideways between several closely spaced, barely ten-foot-tall trees. Vines dangled only to be cut away by efficient strokes of the machete. She moved down the path like she wielded the machete, with an unconscious ease that cameonly from long experience. No hurry, no hesitation, just steady walking and random swings of the machete at whatever blocked the trail.
    Hunter settled back to enjoy the walk. There weren’t as many bloodsucking clouds of insects as he’d expected. The rainy season had been light enough to deny mosquitoes the stagnant puddles they used to breed, and then breed again, repeating the cycle of life and death until the standing water dried up. The wind helped keep the insects down, too. At least when it blew enough to push insects under cover.
    The path had only a thin layer of dirt, with limestone knobs shoving through like blunt teeth. Tree roots humped up. They were smaller and thinner than those deeper in the jungle, but enough to trip unwary feet. Plant growth waxed and waned according to a complex balance of light, water, and slope of the land. Birds and monkeys called in the distance, but a moving pool of silence spread around Lina and Hunter.
    When predators walked, the jungle held its breath.
    After ten minutes the amount of light gradually increased. Somewhere ahead there was a hole in the canopy.
    Lina went still.
    Instantly Hunter faded into the foliage close to her.
    Muted voices came on the wind. The words Hunter could make out were in the local dialect. He watched Lina.
    After a few moments the voices faded and she moved forward again, then stopped,