Chapter 1.3

For the non-geologically minded, a cenote is basically a sinkhole, which is also in the process of becoming a sinkhole. The ancient Mayans regularly offered tribute and libations to the sacred cenote north of Chichen Itza's civic precinct. That's all well and dandy, I thought, as my inner monologue managed to catch up with my racing thoughts, but why was that so important?

The sacred cenote's system of caves and underground streams stretched throughout subterranean caverns underneath Chichen Itza proper, specifically under the main pyramid to Kukulkan. The reason why all this introspection was necessary was to currently explain why we were falling.

More specifically, why the whole pyramid's inner chamber seemed to be collapsing into pitch blackness. This was unusual in itself since I was fairly sure that while the cenote was under Chichen Itza, there should've been another, smaller, pyramid under this one.

The moron with the flamethrower stick shouted, and the flames finally cut off, I caught a glimmer of pale blue light off to the side, but my attention was elsewhere so I wasn't able to devote any of my attention to it. My fingers, slick with blood, both mine and others, slipped on the superheated stone. I screamed as my fingers gouged into superheated, semi-liquid, brick cement. All right, what was with this place and abusing my poor digits?

I slipped, falling in seemingly slow motion down into the darkness. My other hand finally caught around my climbing axe and in a frantic, near frenzied motion, I hurled it towards a solid looking pillar just under the collapsing floor. It was sheer coincidence that pillar was under my two overly trigger-happy assaulters.

The rope and stainless steel toothed climbing axe slammed into the pillar with the sound of metal on stone and for a moment it seemed to catch, swinging me down towards the far wall.

Dust rained from the ceiling over the pilar, and tile careened of my axe, slipping from the ceiling above.

Shite.

As I tried to pull myself up the fraying rope, I heard a sharp crack above, and a long jagged line snaked its way up the pilar to where it clung to the ceiling above. This was going to suck… I had a moment to act, I shifted my core, kicking with my legs and swinging towards the nearest wall while at the same time directing my free axe towards it. I just needed one, maybe two swings and then I'd be close enough that I could make the jump.

I swung back and at the apex of my swing away from the wall was where my Croft luck failed me, the pilar shattered, I could see from my vantage point where my thrown axe had lodged in an obvious fault point above, but that couldn't really save me now.

The pillar shattered into several chunks, cracks propagating over the ceiling, which was the floor for my two accosters above. I heard a startled shout, I didn't bother to verbalize what I was thinking about those two in either the real world or in my mental voice. Suffice to say, if I said something, it would definitely be rather less than perfectly polite.

I fell.

In the brief moment, before I impacted whatever bottom was on this thing, I lashed out with my climbing axe again, but it bounced off the slick, rapidly natural limestone walls. Another point in favour of this being a cenote, I suppose.

I hit the water below hard. I had hoped there would be water down here since it was a cenote and all but you never really knew with old tombs and ancient ruins. For all, I knew this…

My thoughts stilled as I suddenly registered that this was not water. The taste was too salty, almost like iron, and when I opened my eyes they stung.

I was in a sinkhole full of blood. Ignoring the faintest scratching of panic which threatened to claw at my mind, I focused. A moment later I blew out a bubble, feeling it escape down my chin. I followed it diving upwards, glad I hadn't just decided to swim up, which would actually have led me further down into the cenote.

I was as blind as a bat, with the blood forcing me to keep my eyes shut, but I was really tempted to open them when I brushed against something solid, floating in the water with me. The slimy sensation of short waterlogged hair met my probing fingers. What was this? I ignored it, pushing upwards, feeling my lungs begin to strain from the lack of oxygen. At least with all the blood there was unlikely to be anything living down here, I comforted myself with an idle thought.

Of course, my mind, being what it was, immediately shot down that thought. Well, if there was an animal in the water, that meant that there might be other things thrown in, and sacrifices as well, or other things that had fallen into it.

Sacrifices were more likely because this was the cenote below Chichen Itza, animals would really have a hard time reaching it. My arms, outstretched in front of me, met with another hairy thing, I pushed it aside, feeling another and another under my fingers. I really, really wasn't liking the idea of whatever this was. Thankfully, I didn't need to endure it for a moment longer as my head finally broke through the surface, allowing me to see where exactly I was.

Dust continued to fall from above, and occasionally rocks and other debris fell from the darkness above. There was a single solitary, and weakly-flickering, torch which illuminated a fading mosaic pressed into the only wall I could see.

That mural, which I really wanted to examine in more detail, utterly paled in comparison to the rancid stench surrounding me. I was reminded of the horrific pits and disposal chutes in Paititi and the cold room on Yamatai. This was the reek of rot and lots of it. I floated in the water, one hand grasping a corpse. One corpse of many.

Waterlogged and rotting near humanoid creatures, as far as the torch illuminated floated belly down in water the color of blood. Pale yellowish fluid leaked from their mouths, which were set with a rictus of agony. Or their faces had what I assumed was a rictus of agony on their bat-like faces. I swallowed back bile, looking at empty black eyes, distended rotting bellies, and disturbing visages.

I pushed forward, kicking with my legs, shoving the bodies out of the way slowly as I made my way towards the mural, which I could see had a little solid pathway next to it. Bloody water flowed through two rough stone troughs under a heavy stone door. There was no way I would be able to slip through under the door. I looked around, gaze flickering over the dead… vampires… as far as I could see in the gloom. This was not good.

I pulled myself up onto a slightly more floatable and somehow cohesive raft of bodies. Bodies really shouldn't be this cohesive, they should be kind of floppy and making a raft out of them should be like trying to make a raft out of bars of solid soap, or something like that. I shook my hands trying to get some of the blood from them and stop the stinging.

I really wanted to avoid getting some kind of bloodborne infection from all my adventures. I vaguely recalled the very awkward questioning after Yamatai when I set up an appointment to be tested for bloodborne pathogens after my return from Yamatai. The paparazzi somehow got wind of that and machinated a completely different reason why I needed to get tested. Of course, some of the speculation was on point, since it wasn't like either Sam or I had spoken about the blood pool.

With burnt and bloody fingers, I carefully balanced myself on my floating raft and eased open my satchel. The raft wobbled a little and I froze, concentrating on keeping my balance. I really didn't want all my stuff to end up in the water. Cenotes were well known for being practically bottomless.

I plucked a single red berry from my stash, paused just a moment to try and wipe some of the grime that my fingers gave it on my sash, but it was really a lost cause, I shrugged shallowly and ate it, the sour taste mixing with the irony taste of the blood already in my mouth. It tasted kind of like blood and vomit mixed together. Not a pleasant combination by all means. I grimaced, forcing it down. I was going to have to take a whole battery of wellness guaranteeing tests when I got back to my manor if I ever did.

My head snapped around, as I heard a splash and I hastily re-secured my satchel. Being in such a tomb, and it really was a tomb, was nagging at my nerves. Leaving me in the constant high-strung state which I had needed to survive my adventures.

Oh, it was Mr. Witcher and his friend, Texan Gandalf, who still looked unconscious. Witcher was floating on the surface, clutching at the now bloody grey cloak of his friend. He looked exhausted, and he wasn't even swimming right.

Against my better instincts, I decided to try being courteous again. I unhooked my climbing axe from my belt, which is where I returned them to near instinctively at this point, and after making sure it was tied to a length of rope tossed it into the gloom towards my probable enemies.

"Grab the rope!" I called loudly, causing the man to start awkwardly and start coughing violently as he inhaled some of the bloody water. Nevertheless, his free hand grasped the rope strongly, right before his eyes panned over to where I was before he twitched violently.

I snorted a little on my breath in amusement, thinking to myself, I suppose I must look rather dreadful. Tattered Queen of the Damned garb, absolutely soaked with blood and this pale yellow slime. Also, I was currently standing on top of a rather dubious raft of dead bodies, even if they didn't look quite like human bodies. The pain in my hands was already abating as a result of the berry I consumed.

"Don't be an idiot!" I elaborated, for the man's benefit, "Why would I throw you a rope if I wanted to kill you?"

He actually seemed to pause and think about that for a moment, and then seemed to mentally shrug and tighten his grip on the rope. That was where I ran into the first flaw in my brilliant plan. If I pulled on the rope on top of a floating platform neither of us would really go anywhere.

I cast my gaze around the room again, looking for better and closer solid ground then beside the door. A moment later I paused and re-panned my gaze. What was that?

A giant ornate throne sat upon a pedestal half-submerged in the middle of the cenote. It looked like it was carved from a solid chunk of ruby, which made no sense that I missed it before. What was even more disturbing was the withered husk that rested atop it, clad in red silk and golden ornaments, it looked practically mummified, which should've been impossible surrounded by this much humidity.

The throne by far was more striking, hummingbirds and jaguars and what looked maybe like an iguana were carved in flowing shapes upon it. The animals stood rampant and below, on the base, which was partially obscured, there were effigies of shriveled humans, weeping and misshapen. Rivulets of bloody water flowed up the throne and merged seamlessly with the arms of the throne. Great bloody cracks wept blood all along the seat of the throne, and back, which was curled over like two great dragon wings.

Of all the horrors I had seen… this was one of the first times where I was at a loss to properly put to words what exactly this was.