"This is where she likes to be," she said quietly. "Except for the pyramid, it's the most sacred place in Baalum."
The doorway was a stone arch about five feet high and pointed at the top like a tiny Gothic cathedral.
"What . . . is this?" I felt as though I was about to enter something from the Temple of Doom.
"It was once the royal bath," she explained. "In ancient times heated rocks were brought in, with spring water from a sacred cenote."
We walked through the portal and entered a room whose roof was a stone latticework that let the gray daylight just filter through. The space was vast, with carved and colored glyphs all around the walls, while the air was filled with clouds of incense from pots along the floor. It felt like a smoky pagan church.
At the far end was a large stone platform, and in the dappled, hazy light I could see it was embossed along its sides with carved and painted classical scenes and glyphs, glistening little red and green and blue pictures of faces and figures.
My eyes finally started adjusting to the shadows, and I realized the platform had been fitted with a covering across the top, a jaguar skin over bundled straw, and a tiny form was lying on it, wearing a white shift. . . .
Dear God.
"Morgy, I've been so hoping you'd come," Sarah said, rising up and holding out her hands. Then she slid her feet around onto the rough stone floor and managed to steady herself. Her shift was wrinkled now, but she still was wearing the brown slippers and the braided leather waist-cinch. She appeared sleepy, though her eyes were sparkling and she seemed to have more strength than she'd had when I first saw her out in the square. I looked at her and weighed the chances she could walk. Possibly. But I'd carry her if I had to.
"Sar, honey, we're going home now," I said, finally finding my voice.