There was a possibility that we might escape by the door had it not been continually guarded. We had rushed the log grille so many times that a whole company of guards accompanied the inspecting officer on his triple daily rounds, and most of us bore wounds from their spears.
None of my men had yet been taken above ground, but Hayonwatha’s command had been reduced more than three score.
Each day, at sunrise, high noon and sunset, a man was selected and taken away. We heard the crowd roar and knew that he had been sacrificed to the Sun, but how we did not know, for the natives shuddered with horror when asked, and we did not press the argument, for the one we questioned might be the next to die.
Once I asked Myrdhinn to save us by sorcery, but he sadly refused. Below ground, he was out of touch with the powers of the air. Being stripped stark, he had no tools of magic, except a small cross which our captors had left him, as they had allowed the rest of us to keep amulets and rings as personal ornaments of no value. Even black magic, he explained, depended upon certain materials, and here was absolutely nothing with which he could work.
So it seemed that we all must die, and we had become almost resigned to it, seeing comrades among the copper people taken away each day, the end seeming so inevitable that they scarcely resisted.
Above ground the year was waning. The light that seeped down to us was gray and sometimes there was snow on the furs of the inspector.
One night Myrdhinn called me to him, just after the food had been brought (food for my fifty and for ten of Hayonwatha’s men, and now we knew we had been underground a full month and wondered for what dreadful purpose we whites were being saved until the last).
“Ventidius, can you tell me the day of the year?”
I laughed. The idea was ridiculous.
“I can. I have kept account of the days during all our wanderings. Pass the word among the men to join us in solemn celebration of the birth of our Lord. Although I am a sinful person, I am the only one among you who can perform the Christ’s Mass. Therefore let us fast and spend the night in solemn thought, and let each man look into his heart and make himself ready for the greater Me, for I think we shall not spend another night in this prison.”
So we worshiped in the dark chamber, while our fellow prisoners looked on, trying to understand, and the guard beyond the grille commented scurrilously on our behavior, and during his remarks said something which Hayonwatha caught and remembered. So when we were finished, he hurried to me and said:
“Have you been preparing for death, Atoharo?”
“If it must be, my brother.”
“It must. There is no doubt. Tomorrow is the Feast of the Sun!”
“What is to take place?”
“During tonight every fire in Tlapallan will be extinguished. Tomorrow is the shortest day of the year, the day when the Sun is most apt to leave us and never return. To prevent this, the H’menes, the wise men, command a great sacrifice in order that the Sun may smell the blood and, delighting in it, may return to gladden the hearts of his worshipers.
“Tomorrow will be spent without fire on any hearth. In the morning there will be no sacrifices, nor at midday. Instead, the secret brotherhood of the Sh’tols will dance, beginning with an appeal to the Sun to remain for another year, and then appealing to Mixcoatl and Ciacoatl to influence their fellow god.
“Then they will dance the dance of battle, lasting most of the day. There will be games of skill and blood to inure the Mian youth to gore, and to inspire them to become leaders of Tlapallan.
“Shortly after, the sacrifices will begin. When the Sun touches the hills, the eldest H’mene will ignite with the Sastun, a magic crystal, a Same from which all others in the city will be relit. But we shall not see that!
“Today is our end!”
Myrdhinn said, “Never despair. We have another day.”
But he would not say anything more to encourage us, and knowing that he could have no more hope than we, there was no cheer among us and we spent the night in meditation, self-communing and prayer.
In the morning, Myrdhinn, to the best of his remembrance, repeated the Mass. Our Host was coarse teocentli cake, our precious Drink was muddy water from river seepage in a low hollow in our floor, but we felt spiritually encouraged and ready for our fate.
And our companions made ready to die, singing harsh tuneless chants, and combing and braiding one another’s hair as well as might be without oil or any comb but their fingers.
Thus we waited, receiving no food, seeing no inspectors, during most of the day. We heard distantly the many noises of an assembled multitude and a continual thudding of drums; for all the scattered peoples of the valley had congregated in one or another of the four cities, though more had come here than elsewhere, this being the capital city and the religious center of Tlapallan.
In every village, town, city and fort, wherever the borders of Tlapallan extended, similar ceremonies were taking place, and the “old, old red land” that night would be reddened in many ways!
12 Sacrifice—and Sorcery
We, deep in our dark pit, heard the accustomed tramp of sandaled feet and saw the grille black against the ruddy torchlight, like a barred entrance to Hell. The barrier was removed and we were beckoned forth singly. As we came out, each of us had his arms forced back and a clamp of wood hooked around each upper arm.
These clamps were made all of one size, so that upon a large man, skin might be nipped in fastening, but on a youth they were loose. Each clamp was connected to its mate by an adjustable hair rope, which was drawn so tight as nearly to dislocate our shoulders and make every little motion painful.
They held our Marcus not too tightly, for he was slight as a girl, and at this I was gladdened, for we all liked him, being youngest of us all, and in a sense our charge.
In this situation, filled with mingled satisfaction, pain and dread, we were hustled above, encouraged with kick and spear-butt, to stumble finally into daylight, where, blinking and bewildered, we were greeted with a thunderous roar of voices… We stood upon the top of the Egg!
All around us, people were thronged—on the ground below, packed thick along the palisades and rooftops, and thicker yet where the favored ones were closely pressing along the jaws and throat of the Snake. There fell a great silence.
In the center of the cleared top of the Egg was a pavilion without walls, so that we could look within and see a stone altar where were gathered certain high members of the nobility, their ruler the obese giant, Kukulcan, and the H’menes, or priests of the Sun.
From the H’menes, a horrid specter detached itself. It advanced, dancing, whirling in a flutter of feathers and strips of colored fur. Its body was painted black, with the bones of the skeleton outlined in red. It came closer still before we could be certain that it was true man and not some lich.
In his hands he shook rattles of human fingerbones strung upon cords, and about his waist he was cinctured with a belt from which hung and dangled the scalps of men, together with dried lumps of flesh that could be no less than human hearts.
He came at us—gobbling and yelping like an animal in pain.
We, held firmly by our armored guards, could do nothing; he passed by, yanking savagely at my clamps. I was forced to groan, and went down on my knees. The agony in my shoulders was intense.
He yelped and passed me by. I saw him pass from one to another, till he came to Marcus and, pulling mightily, tugged the clamps away.
He held them high and cast them down and all the people shouted.
“The gods want this one first!” he gobbled, and, seized by Ms guards, Marcus went forward at a stumbling run to the stinking altar, where red-robed butchers waited with their obsidian knives.
And there our Marcus was foully done to death by those red-handed sons of hell, slowly to satisfy better those evil gods of darkness!
First they tore the skin from back and s
houlders, and watching under bitter compulsion by our guards we saw Marcus faint and saw him wake again, bravely trying to keep quiet while they mutilated him to the glory of their gods.
We watched—heaven forgive us!—and felt our hearts leave us and lumps of iron take their place, and we heard him at last, with all strength gone from him —heard him cry and moan and scream for mercy pr death—and we watched! We watched and could do nothing!
It was after midday when they began. The sun had perceptibly lowered when they ripped out his quivering heart and held it to the sun as an offering. He had but just died, for upon his lips still lingered the smile he gave me, his only kinsman, when he caught my eye and foresaw the near sheltering wing of merciful death, racing fast to fling over him its peaceful shadow.
Myrdhinn was muttering, “Had I but my tools! Almighty Creator, why am I separated from my tools?”
The others cursed or prayed or wept, as the mood swept them.
I alone, dry-eyed, watched the sacrifice of my own nephew, and in my heart I knew that nothing could permit such a foul deed to go unavenged. I swore an oath that I would live, I would escape, and I would raise a power in this merciless land that would sweep this civilization, and all it stood for, from the face of the earth.
One might think that we could see no further indignity perpetrated on the dead, but they had not yet finished their cruel rites. With heavy stone choppers, the body was cut into tiny fragments and the lesser priests scattered the bits far and wide among the folk, who partook of these morsels as we might partake of a sacrament.
Next, Myrdhinn was hustled forward and bound to a post of the pavilion, and Nicanor, Tiburcus and Agrestis (would I could write their names in gold!) were unbound, given bows and arrows and commanded by Kukulcan to display their skill with these weapons.
Myrdhinn closed his eyes and his lips moved as though in prayer. I saw the Three confer briefly, tighten strings, fit arrows and raise then- bows. Then I looked away.
Strings thrummed, there was a frightful screech and I saw that gross beast, Kukulcan, staggering with an arrow in his belly, saw him tug and quiver and fall; heard arrows whistle into the group around the altar, beheld the H’menes scatter and ran, and drop; saw the chief butcher who had selected Marcus, bounding about, cackling, an arrow in his eye; heard my own voice and that of my comrades raising a good Roman cheer; and watched the Three fall, pierced through and through with fifty lances.
Thus ended the ceremonies of execution.
Myrdhinn was unbound and returned to us, and because dark clouds were gathering, as if the elements were angry at the enormities done upon that wicked altar, the surviving H’menes hurried to relight their sacred fire, before the clouds covered the face of their deity and made this impossible.
So, after all, against Hayonwatha’s prediction, we did see the Sastun, a perfect crystal, used in focusing the sun’s rays upon tinder, and saw the flame rise beneath the shelter of that pavilion, where attendants watched always, protecting the sacred fire.
We saw, as we were being clubbed ruthlessly back into the pits, a fortune in pearls being cast into the blaze to atone for our sacrilege, and remembered with a shock that Myrdhinn had seemed confident that we were not to die this day. Again I wondered, as often before, just how much he could foretell the future, and wondered why sometimes he appeared to know so much, and other times apparently no more than the rest of us.
Later, as we squatted, naked and cold, on the damp floor of our prison, with night come over the lands above us and the sure promise of a mighty sacrifice of us all, beginning with sunrise, Myrdhinn bemoaned again the lack of his tools, of magic, saying:
“Bereft of everything, what can I do? Had I but a leaf of oak, of ash and of thorn, I could free us all and with weapons we might make such an account of ourselves that these folk would not forget us!”
“Say you so, indeed?” eagerly cried Kulhwch, brother of that Kinial’ch who had died at sea. “I have on me, in this amulet, at this very moment, not only a leaf each of oak, ash and thorn, but also a leaf of ver-vain and three berries of oak mistletoe. These barbarians left me my amulet, thinking it worthless! Tell us, Myrdhinn, how can it help us?‘
“First,” said Myrdhinn, “we must have light.” Almost with the words his face began to shine with a glow worm’s light—a most uncanny sight in that dreadful, oppressing dark.
After, he held his palms upon his cheeks, and as he stroked them, his hands likewise began glowing, while we stared in utter fascination at the head and hands shining bodiless in the black.
“Tell me,” said Myrdhinn, inspecting the amulet, picking out the stitches with his thumbnail, “how do you come by this charm? If dishonestly, it will not avail!”
“Honestly, O Seer,” proudly proclaimed Kulhwch. “I was told by my father that I had faery blood in my veins and when I was born in the mystical city of Emrys, elfin horns blew for three days everywhere in Tirnan-Og. Twas sent me by my godmother (reputedly a faery), who dwells in the Four-horned Castle at Caer Sidi. Kinial’ch had also one, but it did him little good, nor is like to do me more.”
“You are mistaken there,” said Myrdhinn, “for this charm, given to you to insure foresight and good judgment, gives me the ingredients we need for escape. Yet—” He hesitated. “It means a plunge into black magic. I have shunned that for fifty years. There are dangers for the soul.”
“There is a sure and certain danger here for the bodies of us all, Myrdhinn!” I cried impatiently. “By all the gods, if you can get us out of here, do so. We are rats in a trap! Get us out and let us fight for our lives. Remember Marcus!”
“Aye, Marcus. I am not forgetting Marcus. There will be vengeance. But this thing—Varro, you little know what you ask!
“Yet I will do it, for I see no other way. I will do it, let come what may. Our Lord be my judge, it is a good cause. Be silent all, nor speak a single word, whatever you may see.”
Under his breath, I heard him patter a mumbling prayer; heard mention of Hen Ddihenydd, the “Ancient and Unoriginated One”; heard the name of Keridwen and her hideous son Avaggdu—and then no more, the whisper was so faint.
His head fell backward as though he had fainted; he lay upon the floor, seemingly without life. The shin-ing hands raised as though they belonged to another than Myrdhinn; they lifted the contents of the amulet, a mingled powder of crumbled leaves, and dropped a pinch upon each closed eyelid and the bearded lips. The light faded from the hands. I saw a shining mist, the breath of life, leave Myrd-hinn’s nostrils.
The light faded from the face. The shining mist thickened and grew smaller than a man’s fist. It fell to the floor. The light faded from the mist. I heard the sucking and clatter of little, pulpy, clawed feet running over the floor. They reached the grille and went on. The very sound was gone.
I cannot say how long we waited, though it seemed very long. Footsteps sounded in the corridor and torchlight gleamed in upon us. A guard entered. His eyes were wild and staring. He looked straight before him and spoke no word.
He walked directly to Myrdhinn and swept the crumbled bits of leaf from his face. Myrdhinn sat up. “It is done,” he said to us; then to the guard, “lead us from this place, and to our arms.”
The guard turned, still wildly staring without a motion of eyeball or eyelids, and with no reply he stalked stiffly out the door. We followed.
Halfway down the corridor, we saw a guard standing stiffly, holding a torch, and we shrank into the shadows, but Myrdhinn, laughing grimly, said:
“Come, fainthearts, and follow. No man lives below ground in this heathen temple. Quickly! Quickly!”
So we followed the walking dead man to the chamber near the entrance, where in a storeroom was piled our property and much tin.
I reached for my lorica, donned it, and heard a thud near me. The guard had fallen and his torch filled the chamber with wild light.
“Quickly!” urged Myr
dhinn, thrusting it into a wall cresset. “The man is dead, and will be rottenness and corruption in a few moments. His soul has descended to Annwn, the lowest abyss of Cythraul, and his flesh cannot long abide the separation. Soon he and the other sentries here will be bare bones. I cannot repeat this, or my soul is also lost! Haste, lest we be discovered!”
Before him fell naked Hayonwatha, beating his breast, abasing himself, kissing Myrdhinn’s hand, and crowding around came the other ten Chichamecs.
“Great Tarenyawagon!” moaned the stately Hayonwatha. “Sender of dreams! Master of Death! Forgive us that we did not know you!”
“Rise, friend. Let us be away.”
And he helped the red man to rise, who looked at him with the eyes of a worshiper.
We got into our armor, shouldered our articles of greatest value, made packs of everything in Myrdhinn’s chest, that he in future might lack for nothing, and eyed wistfully the clamps and gears for the tonnenta and arrow engines, but could not carry them.
So, armed and willing to kill, we came above ground.
At the pavilion, watching the sacred fire near the unhallowed altar, sat three H’mene neophytes.
We wrinkled our noses, for the altar stank dreadfully. Then, with a horrid shock, it came to us that it was not the altar we smelled! The neophytes were dead, bloated, and burst open!
Truly, Myrdhinn had said aright that the body could not abide the separation of the soul!
We passed down the side of the Egg. Houses on each side were blank and dark. No torches flared at the outworks, but we could see a sentinel leaning against the gateway, barring our path.
Myrdhinn led on. We followed, to find that the man was not whole. His bones were dry and rattled when he fell.
And so we left that accursed city.
Now behind us, before we were far, began a shouting, but we were already nearing the wooded land beyond the tilled fields, and as we reached them, at Myrdhinn’s signal, a little flittermouse came flapping, eyed us evilly and went squeaking toward the city.
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