Prologue

It is the glory of God to conceal a matter; to search out a matter is the glory of kings.

Proverbs 25:2

The solid gold diadem blazed brightly in the early morning sunlight. The intricately carved sunbeam details in the ceremonial headdress appeared to create their own light—the old priest's face radiated the internal light of worship and adoration. Gold dust covered his naked body making his skin shimmer with iridescence. Gold covered leather sandals made from tanned human skin slapped softly as he slowly ascended the great pyramid step by step.

The multitude of worshippers at the base of the pyramid dared not peak with heads bowed to the ground, the elderly who knew and understood pushed their faces forcefully into the dust until they could hardly breathe. Young children groveled behind their parents, hiding their faces in their parents' feet. Babies were tucked into their mother's bosoms, noses pinched to keep them from crying. Deathly silence had fallen like a blanket the moment the old priest's sandal had landed on the first step. Thousands upon thousands of rows of worshippers scarcely moved or breathed, even nature had gone mute. The jungle was silent.

A heavy gold amulet made of linked segments hung from the priest's neck covering almost his entire upper chest. The mighty feathered serpent, whose name shall not be spoken, undulated with each step, alive and on fire. The same image was tattooed on his forehead. With outstretched arms above his head, he chanted the ancient songs with quavering voice, careful not to make a misstep as he rose higher and higher toward the temple at the top of the sixty-foot high pyramid, bowing lower and lower as he neared the sacred edifice known as the womb.

Back bent, face near the ground, the old priest crawled the last few steps and dragged his body onto the platform. He wormed forward, face scraping against stone, struggling to maintain a reverent pace. Worship and adoration fought with fear and despair for control of his heart and mind. Morbid anticipation pushed him forward despite his quaking limbs. As his head neared the massive barred doors his nostrils flared—he smelled blood.

Good.

Perhaps this was the sacred day! Rising with eyes cast down, he broke the seal and raised the heavy golden bar from its clasps setting it to the side. Placing his hands firmly against the pendulous doors, he inhaled slowly, uttered the last incantation and pushed, stepping back and falling on his face.

He waited.

There was no sound from inside. He dared not move. In his mind's eye he envisioned what would come forth from within the womb. Fear immediately chastened his wandering mind and he waited. He forced his body to be still, he forced his mind into focused adoration and he waited. Despite his elaborate training and tremendous force of will, a hazy perception pushed its way into his mind. He could feel a pool of liquid forming around his right hand. With almost imperceptible movement, he rubbed the liquid between his thumb and forefinger—thick and viscous—the blood… warm and still running.

He waited. Heart sinking. He should have at least heard something by now. After just a little while more, he rose, careful to keep his eyes down. Slowly, he entered the sacred chamber. Light from the summer solstice sun blazed through the open doors illuminating the central altar upon which lay the vehicle. The old priest sucked in his breath. She was tied hand and foot, her abdomen torn violently open.

He had seen this before. Many years ago—but not to this extent—something had almost come through. He was disappointed, but excitement simmered below the surface. They would try again next year and the year after that. It was working.

He had been so hopeful this time.

No matter, he had other daughters.