The Orientation

Chapter Three

The wind passes through the heated rock of the peninsula, overlooking burnt forest land and abandoned farmland.

The Mayan God of death stood upon a high up perch, clutching the branch of a nearby tree within his crooked feet.

Ah-Puch was perplexed.

At first, the lack of activity in the Mayan camps didn't cause alarm amongst the gods. Figuring perhaps Ah-Puch himself was the cause, causing the Mayans to hide away and mourn a recent passing.

But Itzamna knew this was something different than a simple funeral service.

Each Mayan, from the newborn babe that needed to drink from their mothers' breast, to the elderly that walked with a cane, were gone. Stone tools and clusters of rotting food were what remained of the civilization.

Ah-Puch reaches up, removing the rotting owl head from his own skeletal face, breathing in deeply.

His face contorts, skin pulling back and stretching, like leather pulled taut until it's breaking point, eyes as dull as the dead, sunken in deep into his skull. Rotted teeth reeking of putrid decay set in his mouth.

The god jumped down from his perched point and slowly made his way towards the gathering where the other Gods were conversing and by extension; panicking.

Gods adorned in jewelry made of gold and silver, bone and leather, all cursing each other, looking for someone to blame.

Wonder who they would point a finger to first?

One of the Gods' pointed one of his clearly pudgy limbs at Ah-Puch the moment he came within speaking distance.

"There's the culprit, right there."

The God of death sighs, rolling his creaking shoulders slightly.

"Chaac, please...",He rasped.

"You've blamed me for this mess at the start of our peoples' disappearance..don't you think I wish to find them?"

The portly God known as Chaac, was the one who controlled the storms, armed with his axe of polished stone and bound petrified wood, he would strike the heavens to call forth the lightning and rain. His figure could be considered a health hazard, but he did impose a powerful prescience, despite his dwarfed height.

"You reek of death!"

"Thank you, I bathed in rotting buzzard blood this morning, so nice of you to notice."

"You know very well what I mean!" Chaac argued, his squished up face turning an impressive shade of red.

"Enough, both of you."

Itzamna, ah yes, the golden boy. Or golden aged boy by this standard. Their oh so ever exhalted leader. Wrinkled skin that clung to his skin, similar to Ah-Puchs, save for it being healthy and not ready to peel off at a moments' notice. An impressive headdress made of pressed bronze and gold leaf, quills, bark root and various vegetation curved and twisted along to shape the impressive almost crown like structure. Itzamna rarely ever left his throne upon the clouds and always observed what happened below, but even this event escaped his watchful eye.

"Look at all of you...ready to point your finger at a fellow God. Yes, he is crafty, smells like a Pigs' intestines, is a horrid sight to behold, but he is not to blame."

Why that was the closest Ah-Puch ever got as a compliment from the old geezer.

"Well what are we supposed to do?! Our people have been missing! Without them, we...we're nothing!" One of the goddesses began to fret, wringing her hands upon her pleated gown.