The deck of the skiff was only a squared section of board laid over the top of the outriggers. It did not grant much space but Tang Shook did not need much room. He put his iron brazier upon a tripod and added his pungent elixirs and charcoal. Soon a gaseous form emerged from the black iron bowl and despite the incredible speed of the skiff over the sea, the plume of smoky material maintained itself above the smoldering coals.
“Oh, Kensei, tell me what I wish to know of your enemies, the egregores known as the Blood Gods.”
A smoky face furrowed its lips at Tang Shook and Niels believed that it had a mustache and a rather long pointed nose. But it was hard to tell from his vantage point as the face in the smoke was imbedded within the murk like a cowl.
“I am repelled here,” said the smoky face. “Their dominion excludes me efforts.”
“Is there any sign of the nine nearby?”
“There were nine, but no longer. Their numbers are dwindling. Their entrance into these vortexes has become their undoing. In manifesting as flesh, they have succumbed to its weakness and have perished.”
“How many, so far? Do you know their undoing?”
The smoky voice continued, somewhat haphazardly, as if the link joining him to this realm was being disrupted. “It is the Northman. He who was blessed by Votan of old. He has slain the one of silence, the four of earth, and he yet seeks the others, and they do fear him despite their great powers. But to everything comes an end, as does my refraction here.” Then the smoke dissipated and rode away along with the gusty breeze.
“What did that all mean?” asked Niels.
“There were nine, and as best I can tell, five are dead. Once the other four are gone, I think the Invisible River itself will vanish and we shall have no problems sailing home again.”
“Does that mean the battle is more than half over? If he has already slain five of their number?”
Tang Shook pulled on his long mustache. “Those were the weaker members of the Nine. The other four are truly terrible.”
“And if they are not slain?”
“Then we shall likely be damned and trapped on this side of the current.”
Niels frowned. “Can’t this ship make it back across?”
“It is always easier to get in, than it is to get out.”
Kill the King
They passed through many small towns and fortresses along the way to Tultecacan. They went through Zempoaloa which was covered in hanging gardens and long trailing flowers. Such sights seemed to Gathelaus as if he were in a dream world. For as magnificent as Chalco had been it was nothing compared to these vibrant cities closer to the capitol.
More folk in canoes boated alongside them, cheering and eager to be recognized by the ball players who also marched behind Tezomoc’s palanquin and Gathelaus.
When the column reached the final fortress of Coyuacan, a detail of magnificently arrayed guardsmen stood at attention behind an ensign who said it was their duty to escort them the final mile into the city to see the king.
People of Tultecacan prostrated themselves before the column, kissed the ground and then quickly backed away at their approach. It was as if they were welcoming the ball players as heroic gods of yesteryear.
Passing through the final gate, Gathelaus took in the splendor of the city’s fine adobe workmanship and beautiful trellises and garden boxes sutured in front of all of the homes and business. It could have been the most beautiful city in the world but for the looming pyramids that belched smoke and flame. Black smoke wafted up from the peak of the nearest sacrificial temple straight up like a pillar of darkness.
Gathelaus could not be sure, but thought he heard a dull roar and the pinprick of shrill screams in the distance, but it was impossible to be sure with the crowds pressing in to shout their names.
The heralds led them on past the pyramid of the sun and toward the pyramid of the moon and the royal palace beside it. Buildings here had turquoise inlaid in alien geometric patterns and cracks were filled in with gold that caught the sunlight in brilliant and fascinating currents. Flowers fell like rain from scores of maidens high upon the walls and roofs.
A final staircase welcomed them and the ensign paused to usher them up the steps and into the royal throne room.
Gathelaus had been so in awe of his surroundings that he had actually fallen behind Tezomoc, Mixamaxtla and the others. They waited for him and he was made to follow directly behind Tezomoc who now exited his palanquin and strode up the steps with an arrogant smile across his face.
A curtain, not made of fabric but of an amazing mantle of crimson feathers, hung against the final door. They passed through and an amazing oval rotunda awaited them. Stepping down a short flight of stairs, they merged with a score of other nobles as well as the surviving members of the winning ball team. There was a hushed murmur within as if all were afraid to speak too loud and be recognized. Once another troop of nobles were brought in, the herald bade that it time for the celebration and the honor garland to be given.
Gathelaus had taken in the scene as best he could. He expected worse, but there were few enough guards throughout the room and Tezomoc had been correct in his assessment that Gathelaus could mount the dais where the throne was and do the deed before anyone could stop him. Glancing about for bowmen or any other guards with ranged weapons, Gathelaus was again surprised to see only those with spears and these toward the back of the throne room and far enough away and crowded by onlookers that they would be unlikely foes for at least a half minute.
Where was Cuauhtémoc and Tazcara, should not they be here for such a ceremony? But before he could ponder any longer, Tezomoc squeezed his hand, gave him the garland and whispered, “Do this for the sake of my country and the woman. No harm will come to you, I swear it by the Nine.”
Gathelaus looked at him, the garland, and grimaced.
In a bizarre fashion, Gathelaus was relieved that as he approached the king, there were no other persons closer than ten paces away and that was not including the stairs. If he was as strong and swift as he believed himself to be, he could do this and still have time to turn and face his myriad enemies. But what about Tezomoc? He couldn’t trust the megalomaniac to keep his word, but what other choice did he have. Slay one evil man for another evil man all to save one good woman. By his own logic it was a simple choice, he just didn’t like not having a good three feet of steel in his hand when he did it. Instead he had a flowered garland with a stout cord hidden within, including a few bulging beads amongst the flowers to help break the wind pipe. It could do the job, but at what potential cost?
Enough pondering, he told himself, do it and face the consequences.
He strode slowly up the dais, holding the garland out before him as he had been instructed. His face a blank mask as he held all the anger and bile inside rather than reveal anything too soon. King Itzcoatl sat in an awkward fashion upon the throne. He sat upon his own twisted feet in what surely had to be uncomfortable, but even beyond that, the man lacked some of the regal dignity he had shown earlier at the ball game. This man seemed timid somehow, as if he was not sure of his power and influence. The hush sweeping over the crowd let Gathelaus’s footfalls echo within the chamber. Each step he took brought him closer to what he was sure would be the fight of his life.
He had been instructed to kneel upon the last step before the throne and yet his large frame would still allow him to reach and place the garland over the king’s neck. He knelt upon the last step and, already, the king bowed his head toward Gathelaus.
The garland went over the feathered crown and then slipped upon his shoulders.
Gathelaus sprang up and twisted the cord about the man’s neck, who gave a almost silent squawk as his eyes bulged out in hapless shock. He did not reach to fight back but instead clung to the arms of the throne in a vain attempt to pull away from the towering foreigner.
The oddity of the situation struck Gathelaus, this was taking too long, he should have just snapped the man�
�s neck with his bare hands. But no one in the court had yet moved, let alone spoke in protest. Why? What was their secret? Were these people so accustomed to their own inexorable fate that they stood by like dumb beasts at such a display of regicide?
Only Tezomoc broke the dying man’s silent death throes. “I am king now cousin! This assassin shall be dealt with, but forthwith I rule Tultecacan!”
The king was not yet dead but had passed out from asphyxiation. Gathelaus loosened his death grip and looked to Tezomoc. “Back you dogs, or you’ll get more of the same.”
Malintzin was the first to speak, drawing forward with a short spear to point at Gathelaus. “Take him, any way you can!” He gave an evil leer to Gathelaus as if he hoped the guards would slay him.
“Enough!” came a shout from the balcony above, where King Itzcoatl stood, with Tazcara and Cuahemtoc beside him. “I saw your plan cousin and have let you sign your own death warrant at this blatant treachery!”
Tezomoc’s eyes danced between Gathelaus, the unconscious doppelganger slumped upon the throne, and the king on the balcony overlooking the spectacle. “It is the foreign devil! He has gone mad with power! Kill him!” he urged.
“You will pay the ultimate price,” said Itzcoatl.
Tezomoc’s countenance warped and changed from one of glee, to fear and then malevolent loathing. “You think you can command me? I shall be your ruin, cousin! Rally to me!” His handful of men drew their weapons and pushed toward the open alcove. Strangely, Mixamaxtla and several others from the ball team knelt on one knee despite Tezomoc shouting at them to rally.
With a brutal chopping of macahuitls and obsidian spears, Tezomoc’s loyal men pressed their way from the coronation hall.
“Gathelaus! Come! We escape!” shouted Tezomoc before he vanished through the archway.
But Gathelaus wanted no more of Tezomoc’s treachery. He stood upon the dais, picked the slumped man up, and patted his reddened cheeks. The unconscious man coughed and began to awaken.
“He is nothing, just my double. I have been prepared for just such an occurrence,” said Itzcoatl.
Most of his royal guardsmen were occupied chasing down Tezomoc, but a handful stood close by with their weapons pointed at Gathelaus and the other members of the ball team who had remained.
“I won’t go down easy,” growled Gathelaus.
The king held a hand up, demanding that his guardsmen wait a moment. “You intrigue me Northman. You, I will let live. Slay these others. They have served my enemy and are not to be trusted.”
“They could have fought you but did not. They are less guilty than I,” said Gathelaus.
Itzcoatl seemed to consider that. “All right. Send them to the arena in chains. We will let fate decide their end.” Mixamaxtla and the others followed the guardsmen that led them away. They glared at Gathelaus but said nothing more.
“You were coerced, were you not?” asked Itzcoatl
“I was. But I made the choice.”
“And yet my servant lives.”
Gathelaus looked to the coughing double and then nodded to the king.
“I sense you are not a mindless assassin or even a simple ball playing brute, but a man that my cousin used to attempt his dark design,” said Itzcoatl.
“That is true, but now I know not what he may do to my woman.”
“Serve me and help root out this evil.”
Gathelaus dropped the garland, making the hacking doppelganger wince and stumble back. “I will if you can help ensure Coco’s safe return to me.”
“It is done,” interrupted Cuauhtémoc. “My spies say she is being held in the temple of Midnight.”
For the first time, Itzcoatl betrayed a worried look upon his face. “Does he seek refuge there in hopes of gaining strength from one of the Nine?”
Cuauhtémoc simply nodded low but did not look nearly so concerned as the king.
Itzcoatl wheeled and addressed Gathelaus. “You are a fighting man born in the mythic lands of the north, blood is your trade and your duty and now you owe it to me. Go to the Temple of Midnight and deliver to me this eventide, the head of my cousin, Tezomoc, and I swear to you that the debt is paid in full.”
Gathelaus gritted his teeth but nodded. “Just tell me where that is.”
***
Once the captain of the guard led Gathelaus away toward the Temple of Midnight, Cuauhtémoc spoke to King Itzcoatl. “A new development has come from my inquires Lord.”
“What is that?”
“The Smoking Mirror has demanded that this northern barbarian, Gathelaus, be slain.”
“Why not speak when we had him surrounded herein?” asked Itzcoatl.
“I thought that sending him after Tezomoc would slay both of our foes rather than letting them band together,” said the sorcerer without a bit of guile.
Itzcoatl rubbed his chin. “Such may be the case, but when have the gods ever been concerned with but a single man?”
Tazcara interrupted, “It is true. I have heard the spirits speak of his trespass here and the doom it means to our lands. They say it may mean the undoing of our traditions and the great barrier in the sea.”
“Impossible,” scoffed Itzcoatl.
“The Smoking Mirror spoke truly,” said Cuauhtémoc. “The Nine wish for his blood to be spilt.”
Itzcoatl pondered their words. “I told him the debt would be paid if he destroyed the traitor.”
“Between you and he, yes,” said Tazcara, “but what of the gods? He owes them a life!”
“It would feel dishonorable once I have given my word,” said Itzcoatl.
“A word to a dog is naught but sound. It has no meaning. It is for the master to tell and the beasts to obey, there is no contract between them,” she said.
The king turned and looked to his Nagual advisor.
Cuauhtémoc said, “She speaks true, Lord. And if the gods make a demand, who are we to refuse them? They have given us life and all and we must obey as they are as far beyond us as we are beyond the beasts.”
“Very well. Take him—if he should survive the ordeal beyond the doors of the temple, but I find that wholly unlikely.”
“It shall be done, my king,” said Cuauhtémoc. He signaled to more of the royal guardsmen and they strode out of the palace with blood upon their minds.
The Door to Midnight
A score of the royal guardsmen led Gathelaus from the palace and toward the tallest pyramid in the city. Initially, Gathelaus supposed the blood-stained pyramid to be the destination, but the vile truth became apparent as they rounded a corner and looked upon a tall, rectangular building made of black basalt. The Temple of Midnight was a literal moniker. Made from the same cyclopean stone construction he had seen in so many other examples of Tultecacan architecture, but with stone so dark it devoured most any light that touched it. For a moment, he thought it obsidian, but soon saw it to be i polished basalt that still bore the dark pock marks of its volcanic origin. In any case, the edifice inspired cold terror and loathing within the Northern mind. It felt to Gathelaus as a hive of sorcerous wasps buzzing.
Here the guardsmen stopped. “We will see to it that no one escapes.”
Gathelaus shot them an accusing glance. “Escapes? Come with me, we’ll take the dogs together.
The lead guardsman shook his head. “We may not enter into the temple.”
“Why not? At least a dozen traitors must have made it inside with Tezomoc.”
The captain of the guards said, “Perhaps they did and perhaps they did not. The gods inside may have devoured them, but we dare not go in, for fear of being mistaken for offerings.”
“And what of me?”
“Are you not Kukulacan?” asked another.
“Surely they would recognize you as one of their own and spare you whilst you retrieve the traitor,” said another.
Gathelaus snorted in disgust. The alien mindset of these people venerating blood thirsty gods and culling entire populations and yet assuming him
to be one of these beings was maddening.
“Give me a spear and your war club,” he said. The guardsmen obliged handing him one of their obsidian spears and another flint-lined paddle. “Open it,” he commanded.
Men took hold of the blackened doors on each side and heaved them open. A great creaking sounded as the hinges groaned. It wasn’t until light from inside the temple shone through the aperture that Gathelaus noticed the blood trail leading inside. He suddenly realized the similarity between this temple and the one on the silent island and the significance of these mysterious Nine that everyone kept mentioning. These blood gods were beings that could cross worlds and dominated here through their worship. Tezomoc was a fool to seek sanctuary here, unless he knew something the others did not.
Gathelaus pondered it a long moment. He knew these gods could be slain when made flesh in this word, but that didn’t make it any easier, and the weapons he now held in his hands were as nothing to such abominations. What could work? Fire?
He put the handle of the flint-lined paddle into his belt and said, “Give me a torch.”
A guardsman nervously said, “It appears well lit inside.”
“Give me a torch, damn you!”
Another guardsman found a torch and passed it along to Gathelaus.
“Earn your keep dogs and see that if I can send Tezomoc out, you capture him and we end this charade.”
They murmured their affirmation. “We must shut the door once you are inside, though,” said the captain.
“Do what you must,” grumbled Gathelaus. He turned and strode warily inside. The slamming of the doors was a sound he could have done without.
A weird greenish light cascaded between the pillars inside, and though the construction reminded him of the temple on the silent isle, it was also different. Whereas the other had a large open foyer, this was an endless maze of pillars through which lights along the walls only casually trespassed and ventured into the wider hall within. The hallway between the pillars curved gently, almost imperceptible, to the right. His footfalls fell silent as death, but the slamming of the doors must have alerted his quarry and he suspected men hid behind each pillar, waiting to rain death down upon him.
FIERCE: A Heroic Fantasy Adventure (BRUTAL TRILOGY Book 2) Page 19
