“You are a man
of small vision, Mr. Allen,” Balam shouted down to me from upslope. Flashes of
lightning lit him up, framed against the red, angry clouds in the sky.
I was still
hundreds of yards away in the trees, but still he saw me. I pulled out my nine
mil, but quickly put it down. There was no way I could make that shot on a
clear, wind-free day, much less in the middle of a storm.
I holstered
the gun and resumed my climb, hoping to reach him before the world ended.
Unfortunately, he felt the need to lecture me as I made my way up.
“Who
decides who rules? Conquerors. Whether men, demons, or gods, the conquerors are
the ones who rule. Those who take and hold onto power, triumph. It is upon them
to build civilization. Your own Revolutionary War ultimately was about power to
the conquerors. They overcame the British. Caesar and Alexander the Great and
Ivan the Terrible. Their names ring out through history, and I shall add my
name to that list.”
“You talk
too much,” I muttered.
I had
closed the distance to a hundred yards, and if I got level with him, I could
take the shot and save Malcolm. I crested a small rise, halfway to him, and
then heard the chanting on the wind. Dozens of voices sang out to the sky,
performing the ritual that would empower Balam.
Red
lightning stabbed down from the sky, striking Balam.
He laughed.
“You are
too late. With the lightning, I now have the immortality of Chaac. I am the
rain god reborn. When the storm ends, I will have the full power of the rains
and lightning. I will be unstoppable.
I could really use that miracle about now,
Lord.