Rage Page 4

  The apes roared their fury. But that was all Gathelaus had time to hear, he rushed back up the gloomy tunnel until he reached the winding stair and raced upward. At the top, the hidden door remained ajar and as the cold wind slapped him in the face, he could see the torches of the fleeing slaves moving awkwardly down the mountain. He mused that if the ape men were not trapped or dead, they would be able to recapture their victims easily.

  Being raised in the mountains and having run down sheer slopes that others would barely be able to crawl up, he soon caught up with Coco and the others. But if his luck at defeating invincible gods of the mountain had meant anything, it was all cast off like dust in the wind at the realization they had run back down the slopes and back into the waiting arms of Tezomoc’s men. They stood nearby with arrows, atlatls and spears, ready to slay.

  Tezomoc barked something short and staccato and then laughed with dripping cruelty.

  “He says the gods must have released us because they knew what a great man he was. He says he will be emperor someday.”

  Gathelaus spat.

  Ropes were reattached but the collars had been destroyed. Gathelaus was relieved he could at least move his arms. And with the faint pink dawn rising in the east, the caravan of slaves continued down the mountain.

  The slaves proclaimed that he had slain the gods of the mountains, but neither Tezomoc nor the guardsmen believed that. The slaves had a new-found respect for the pale stranger.

  The Loss and Gain of Chalco

  The early morning start had the caravan treading into the city of Chalco by midday. As they were driven up over a hill by the guardsmen’s whips, Gathelaus could see not only Chalco but another massive city just beyond, greater than even Tolburn or Avaris. Great stone walls surrounded by a shining lake reached to the sky higher than any tower Gathelaus had ever seen. Huge sloping pyramids jutted up, threatening to steal clouds. The smoke from myriad fires hung heavy over the cities like the ghastly breath of demons. Roads converged from every direction all leading to the central city. Gathelaus was grateful they were only going to Chalco, best to be over with the charade and begin the truth.

  “That is the great city of Tultecacan, for whom this continent is named. It has stood since time immemorial upon the lake. Some say that it was a great stone that fell from the heavens into the waters and from it, men first emerged upon the world,” said Coco

  “Travelers from the stars?” asked Gathelaus dubiously.

  “That is what the old scribes say.”

  “In my land the educated fools say such things on where we come from and I have found no answer to be sure. An unknown can not be answered with another unknown.”

  “You’re quite the philosopher for a barbarian,” she said coyly.

  “I could teach you a few things,” he said, slapping her rump.

  She turned and struck him across the face. The half of the caravan near them halted in surprise. “Never touch me without permission again!” She stormed away from him.

  An old man, roped beside Gathelaus chuckled and spoke in the rapid sing song language of the Tultecacan’s to Gathelaus.

  “I don’t understand you,” he said. “But I think you understand what that was about well enough.”

  The old man still laughed and nodded, making kissing sounds in the direction of Coco. Then he brought his hands together at Gathelaus and motioned toward Coco and moved the hands together.

  “I think I catch your meaning,” grunted Gathelaus. “Women.” He shook his head.

  The guardsmen of Tezomoc forced merchants and other travelers out of their way, clearing the path for their master’s litter and his train of slaves. They whipped those who did not move swiftly enough and even brained an obstinate farmer who would not move his wares into the canal and out of the road. The dead man splashed into the green waters and beggars took his humble, wet bundles.

  Gathelaus marveled at the stone road. Flat stones were fixed into a geometric pattern that pleased the eye, all set with a regular smoothness easing travel toward the gaping entrance. The road widened and some people found purchase beside the road to sell their fruits and vegetables, others had turkeys and dogs and still more had cloth of every color imaginable. Men called, asking for passersby to sample their product or purchase a slave for the coming festival.

  Nearer the entrance, boisterous fat men shouted before a table-like stone covered in chalk, and their lackeys exchanged cocoa beans, bright feathers and lumps of gold—even children were bartered. Though Gathelaus could understand none of their words, the scene was apparent enough, gamblers of some event just decided and all bets were called in. One man even seemed to be gloomily offering himself up as if he could not hope to pay the debt. A wooden collar was thrown about his neck and he was kicked to the side along with the other slaves.

  Golden adobe gates loomed overhead as Tezomoc’s caravan marched inside Chalco’s great walls. The thick walls stood the height of three tall men. Though they could be scaled easily enough, thought Gathelaus. Past wide courtyards and stepped pyramids, the guardsmen led the train of slaves down another avenue away from Tezomoc’s litter. Coco went with the hawk-nosed Lord and Gathelaus only caught a slight glance of her before being led away and thrown into a dank and dirty pen.

  He was not left there to rot, however. To his surprise an old eunuch came and removed the ropes about his and the other slaves’ necks. After attending to the business of all present, the old man signaled Gathelaus out of the twenty odd men and jabbed him in the stomach, but he spoke in kindly tones. Gathelaus didn’t respond to the old man’s soft words until he beckoned for him to follow. He was taken to a bath complex and scrubbed down thoroughly. Warm water poured in from ornate pipes and the old man used a strange root that lathered and soaped the dirt from Gathelaus’s skin. It was torture sure, but a very easy torture to Gathelaus’s mind, he had not had a bath in months. When the old man pointed to Gathelaus’s beard and hair he nodded hesitantly, not understanding what the old eunuch meant.

  The eunuch returned with a short obsidian dagger, hardly as long as Gathelaus’s shortest finger but sharp as the slander of Gathelaus’s kinsmen. The black blade loosed a patch from the Barbarian’s dark beard from his face and then, taking the dagger from the shocked eunuch, Gathelaus cut the hair from his own head as well with quick simplicity. Only a short length of tangled hair remained atop his scalp while the back and sides were shaved perilously short. The eunuch looked at his handiwork and said another unintelligible phrase that made Gathelaus laugh.

  “He says you look like a true barbarian now. A civilized man would have shaved the beard but kept the long hair for a ceremonial knot,” said Coco. She too had been cleansed from the journey and now wore a light red skirt and a girdle made from an ocelot’s skin. Some simple jewelry and makeup was also upon her face and breast.

  “Do you know what they will do to me on the morrow?” he asked, rinsing the locks of hair from his head and shoulders as if it was of no more concern than another bath.

  “Yes, I know. The house-women will not stop cackling about it.”

  “Well?”

  “You will be forced to face five champions in the arena. All of them better armed than you, and when you are slain they will take your skin and blood as an offering to Xipe-Totec. Because you are such a strong man they expect you to possibly defeat one, maybe two of your opponents. Much is being gambled on this. If you can make it three attacks, those last few gamblers will be very wealthy,” she said. “Tezomoc is betting on two himself. He thinks you are strong but unintelligent. He has no idea that you defeated one of the gods of the mountain.”

  “Why not?”

  “No one told him.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Why should I,” she challenged, putting her hands on her hips. “What difference would it have made. He would not have believed it. I saw and I don’t believe it.”

  “I saved your life,” he said with a grin.

  “I am grateful.”
She returned a smile.

  The old eunuch laughed, held up three fingers, and patted Gathelaus’s back and then rubbed his hand unnecessarily long across it, examining it for the skin’s sake.

  “Leave us,” she commanded the eunuch who then skittered away. “The priests will think you dishonor them with such a display. Cutting your hair, so foolish and barbaric.”

  “Good, because I plan on disappointing them.”

  She stepped closer, letting her new exotic perfumes intoxicate him. “And will you disappoint me?”

  “No.” He took her in his arms and pulled her into the bath.

  She struggled at first, but soon settled into the kiss. He pulled the ocelot skin from her shoulders, causing her to shudder. He tore the jade necklace from her neck. “No, I must have it back!” she cried as she stood knee-deep in the steaming bath.

  For the first time, Gathelaus understood her without the amulet, because he clasped the jade tight in his own fist. His grin betrayed twofold satisfaction.

  Coco struck Gathelaus across the chest. “It is of no use to you. They will kill you tomorrow. They will strip you of everything but your loincloth and weapons, they will take the amulet away and then it will do neither of us any good. If I don’t have it they will kill me, I will no longer be a useful slave,” she pleaded. “Please, let me keep it.”

  “I need it if only for a few days. I will understand their plans and find a way to defeat my enemies and then escape,” said Gathelaus, keeping the amulet out of her grasp. “I’ll take you with me.”

  “You big fool! Their plans are to kill you, skin you and serve your blood to the gods, that is all.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “You don’t even know how to use it,” she pressed. “They’ll strip it from you as soon as they see it.”

  “I have an idea on how to keep it.” He unfastened the gem from the necklace. The tiny piece of jade was surrounded by his hand. She continued begging and then hurling curses at him, and he understood all of it. Opening his hand, her words were suddenly incomprehensible. She reached for the stone and he closed his hand and understood her curses again. Popping it into his mouth, he swallowed the stone with a wretched gulp and Coco collapsed to her knees.

  “I have become favored of Tezomoc, the pig, and now you have just destroyed my use, my favor in his sight. You will die tomorrow for Xipe-Totec and I will follow soon thereafter. You are such an arrogant, greedy fool,” lamented Coco. “I hardly understand their tongue without it, any better than you do.”

  “This is for the greater good,” he said.

  “Yours, not mine,” she said scornfully.

  “If I can understand what they speak for even a few moments it will be enough to surprise them and find a way to escape. You must trust me. I’ll not abandon you. I will find a way.” He picked her up from the warm pool.

  “Words, all words.”

  “Mine has never been broken.”

  “I pray that be true, but you have stolen from me and for that I fear you are nothing but a lying thief.”

  “Stay with me,” he said.

  She shook her head and stepped from the bath. “I might have enjoyed the moment before, but you ruined it.”

  Female voices called out and she looked at Gathelaus for their meaning now lost to her alien-born ears.

  “They are calling for you. Perhaps you can feign an illness? Stay with me,” he suggested, with a grin.

  She pulled away from his grasp despite the invitation and enticing waters. “Perhaps your lack of honor will allow you to sleep tonight.” She ran, dripping, toward the calling voices.

  Feast of the Flayed God

  The red dawn splashed the cobblestones and arches with bloody light, bringing exultation and cheering in the streets that Gathelaus could hear from his cell. He now understood the chants and praises, at least the words made sense even if the motivation did not. Even those about to be sacrificed showed eagerness to give their lives to the blood god. It was considered an honor these people had known and expected all their lives. These alien thoughts struck a bitter chord in Gathelaus’s stomach. He had always believed in dying for something that mattered but not something as grotesque as this. Skinned and worn by priests as a sign of rebirth? Let my own Messiah be the only one to bear such grim burdens, he thought.

  Within a couple hours, the old eunuch, as well as several guardsmen belonging to Tezomoc, led Gathelaus and a dozen more men out a rear exit of the villa and back toward the great central courtyard they had passed by the day before. Collared and roped together, there was no opportunity of escape. Gathelaus would win the ceremony or die, it was the only answer left.

  Inside a darkened alcove, the slaves were whitewashed with chalk—except for Gathelaus—and all but he were painted with a dark pigment about their lips and bright feathers were placed in their hair. The eunuchs were sacred priests of the blood god, Xipe-Totec, and dismayed at Gathelaus’s lack of hair with which to place feathers.

  He said nothing, but paid attention to all that was said. The sacrifices would be gladiatorial and he was to be the final presentation for the gods. Tezomoc hoped Gathelaus would be a grand surprise for the people of his city and that is why there was no chalk placed upon him.

  All of the slaves were given draughts from a carved clay pot that smelled of strong alcohol. The pot looked like a dwarf extending his hands to become the lip of the vessel.

  “What is this?” Gathelaus asked a priest he had never seen before.

  He looked at Gathelaus in surprise. “I was told you could not speak.”

  “I can, What is this?”

  “It is Pulque, the sacred beverage of the gods. But it is given to slaves only on this special occasion because they will soon be one with the gods,” said the old man.

  “Is it poisonous?”

  “No.” The priest took a quick swallow of it.

  Gathelaus sniffed it and pulled a draught and swallowed hard. “That is heady stuff,” he exclaimed, and took another.

  “You are ready for your union with the gods?” asked the priest.

  “I am ready for this to be over with.” Gathelaus slapped the priest on the shoulder. The priest raised an eyebrow at him then shrugged.

  One by one the other slaves exited through a door into a sun-filled arena. Each time the crowd’s roar would fill the air and then die down again. One by one the lesser priests went out as well, coming back with their hands and feet covered in blood. If someone was wearing the skins, it wasn’t these particular priests.

  When Gathelaus was the third to last man standing, he asked the priest if he could watch from the doorway. Still collared and bound, the priest agreed to allow Gathelaus this mercy.

  The next slave was taken out to a blood spattered stone block, about five feet square and two feet high. It had three steps on the side leading up to its short height. A great ring of iron was fastened in the center of the block. The priest attached a rope from the ring to a manacle about the slave’s left foot. He was then given a small buckler and a wooden paddle, like the type the warriors and guardsmen carried but instead of the flint lined edge this had only feathers.

  The slave looked resigned to his fate and once the first warrior approached he laid down his club and proclaimed in a loud voice, “For this ritual,” pointing at the warrior, “he is as my father, and for him I shall be given to Taloc, the rain god.”

  The warrior facing him across the arena was dressed like a human eagle but with functional armor, his face peered out from the open beak and the obsidian lined club left no doubt to its purpose. “And he is as my beloved son, so I shall not eat of his flesh!” He then charged the prisoner, who knelt, allowing the death-blow to be struck without any resistance.

  Blood gurgled from a clean gash upon his neck, and the slave died. Priests brought a curious beast the size of a small hound out on a leash toward the body. It was shaggy and with long spines coming off its back. Its muzzle was slightly longer than a dog’s and concealed its m
ost horrific aspect. Just as it reached the fallen man, the thing opened its mouth wide and a long tube stretched out and sucked the blood from the corpse.

  “It is like a hound mated with a mosquito,” muttered Gathelaus. “What is that thing?”

  “A kokopelli,” answered the priest. “They are a favored pet of the noble houses of Tultecacan.”

  Once the body was drained, the kokopelli was led off and other priests assisted in skinning the dead slave and salvaging the little blood left into a jade bowl from which the killer drank and also shared with the imposing stone gods surrounding the arena. After the priests skinned the slave, they helped the warrior into his second skin. The front was left as intact as possible while the back had numerous knots where it was stretched and fastened together.

  The sight was worse than Gathelaus had imagined. He swore to himself to end the abominable practice if he had the chance.

  The slayer finished sharing the victim’s blood with the last of the stone gods using a long straw, and then the second-to-last slave was brought out. He was not resigned, and struggled against the priests and guardsmen. This last victim was given another draught of Pulque, which he freely drank as his ankle was affixed to the stone block. His weapons were handed him and he swung, narrowly missing the priests. He spat at the crowd and had no words for the opposing warrior who emerged from the far side. This warrior was dressed like a jaguar or ocelot, his face was seen through the wide open mouth of the jungle cat’s mask. The fitted suit of the spotted cat covered him entirely but for the sneering face.

  Gathelaus mused that the jaguar man was angry over not having a respectful opponent.

  He circled the victim before launching a series of blows which the slave valiantly deflected. The slave even struck the jaguar man once in the brow good enough to make him relent, giving himself time to pick up a small wooden ball left at his feet by the priests. As the slayer came on again, the slave smacked the ball into the face of the jaguar man, knocking him senseless.