No other light shone anywhere—or did it? There, in the murk of the water, was a hint of something that fought against the black. Like the sword of Acronus banishing the dragon.
He must have come from the water, like a primordial beast he must have swum and saved himself, even as he was disoriented and flung through the dominion of that unnamable one.
He remembered hammering at the foe as they fell. Must have slain the man in the fall, for he’d felt the weighty thud of the war club burying itself in the foe. Grateful that his lanyard had kept the weapon close, he suddenly panicked. Where was his obsidian sword? Kneeling in the waters, he felt around, not caring that the fire sputtered and needed tending.
Feeling into the gloom, he slid off a ledge. His foot touched hard wood instead of stone and he dove down into the inky waters. Feeling the familiar hilt, he gripped it tight as he came back up for air. The fire crackled and flared again for a moment. He dove back and, feeling his way over the slime covered stones, he followed what seemed to be the faintest of light sources.
A rock overhang had concealed his position from any who may have searched for him from above. Looking up at the cliff face of the pool, he was not daunted. He had climbed higher cliffs before and those without a deep pool of water to fall into.
Dawn’s light began to brighten the day, prompting him to hurry. Soon enough there would be untold numbers of Tultecacans coming to look at where the battle had happened. Securing his sword and war hammer, he looked for a spot to climb. A ledge near the east side looked promising. He got a good hand hold that promptly broke off in his hand just as he pulled himself up a foot. The weak limestone did it again and again.
Finding a crack that ran a good way up, he tried to wedge his fingers into it and scale the cliff that way. He got only a few feet up and could no longer grip anything of significance. Then he heard a young girl cry out.
A Tultecacan girl of six or seven pointed at him with a look of astonishment on her round face. She said something he could not completely understand. From what he had been taught, it sounded like she was calling him a god. A god of the underworld. Maybe this could help.
Using the best words he could remember, he asked for a rope or a line. He prayed he said it right. She seemed to understand and got a wide smile on her face before disappearing. What a blessing, he would be free of the black pit soon.
After a few minutes the girl returned. She smiled at him.
“Where is the rope?” he said.
She just smiled and looked, then many unsmiling men appeared behind her. They shouted, “Lo-Zen Zibalba.”
Something about the underworld, perhaps go back? This can’t be good. Again, he asked for a rope. The men shouted louder and picked up stones. A venerable old priest stood shaking a finger at him. The people stared in wonder. He tried again to ask for a rope, to climb out, he tried to say. Clearly, something was being lost in the translation. The priest started shouting, but the only word he could hear again and again was “Zibalba.”
“I’m sorry, just help me out.”
The priest kept shouting of Zibalba as they their rocks, others nocked arrows. Gathelaus dove into the pool’s depths and back to the hidden ledge. He got a breath of air and waited to look up again. As he did, they fired a dozen arrows and twice as many rocks. Back to the cave to wait. He sat in darkness a long time, until midday he guessed, before going out to look again. The people sat waiting, and threw rocks as they saw him. Back to the cave.
Funny how he had fooled the Tultecacans into thinking he was a god once before and now they sought to kill him for it. There was apparently a time and place for everything. Being a denizen of the devil’s realm crawling out of the chaos was not a good place to be today.
Climbing out hadn’t really been an option even before the people had spotted him. He had to find another way. He managed to start another fire by retrieving the arrows that floated on the water and goading the Tultecacans into shooting a few more at him. Once he had a good sized bundle, and a back up bundle, he started down the cave at the rear of the chamber.
The tunnel branched to the left but it did not go far at all. Retracing his steps, he found another passage that took a hard right under a ledge he had missed the first time. Interconnecting passages seemed to go on and on from there. But would they lead to the surface?
Several times, what seemed to be wide chambers would end in piles of collapsed stone that precluded his going any farther that way and he would have to backtrack through perilous tunnels. He explored for a good eight hours and his last torch started to sputter.
He wondered if it would even be possible to keep his right hand on the tunnel wall in the dark and eventually find a way out—not likely. It wasn’t even likely he could find his way back to where he had come from. To starve to death in the dark would be a worse fate than being stoned and arrowed in a black pool of sacrifice.
Votan if it is thy will for me to die here then so be it. But I believe you have much more for me. Guide and direct me on which way to go that I may escape both this doom and my enemies. That I may better serve you and be a sword of thy hand.
A peaceful feeling warmed his chest and the thought entered his mind that he should turn back the way he had come and go down another passage. One he had deemed before to be a dead end. Low to the ground was yet another shaft he had missed. Crawling on his hands and knees, barely squeezing through, it opened up into a wide, oddly shaped tunnel. He had not gone far when, on a short ledge he found a torch.
It was short and stocky as if made to be handled by a child. Someone had been here before and Gathelaus didn’t see their bones anywhere. A good sign, just when he needed it. He stopped, got down on his knees, and thanked the Lord for this small but timely bounty.
The new torch, once lit, gave off a brighter light than had his bundle of arrows and cloth. Someone had oiled it especially for use down there. There must be a way out and not too far, either. He found what looked to be the trail used by people before him. The tracks in the cave dust were small.
Children?
If children used and played in this cave, he must not be far from the exit. He followed the tracks on the dusty trail for some time still never coming to an opening to the outside world. He picked up his pace, sure that an opening to the surface would be around every twist and bend. Cautious still though, he did not want to run into another little girl who would call attention to him as this morning. He ran on and on and on through the bleak white limestone labyrinth.
Exhausted, he longed for a place to rest. He rounded a bend and whispered a quick prayer of thanks as he came to a halt in a hollow that looked like people used it for cooking. A nasty smelling wineskin lay on a shelf and a fire hardened clay jug of water as well. A pit for cook fires even contained a small amount of wood. A dirty blanket rested on a smooth stone ledge cut from the living rock. He could lay upon it if he dangled his legs off at the knees. He was so tired he didn’t care. He would not touch the wine but the water smelled alright and simply tasted stale. At least it wasn’t stagnant.
He dreamed strange dreams of being watched by countless little eyes and he heard the patter of little feet. He dreamt of Coco and Nicene and a half dozen others and how he could not remember their faces quite right. They spun and merged with a dozen others and none seemed right. He knew each in turn but as he looked, another face would always superimpose itself over hers. Gradually, it became only one face—and he didn’t know who she was. At least it wasn’t Tazcara.
He jolted awake. Listening intently, he heard nothing. Sitting for a long time, he waited to see if anything would happen, nothing did.
He didn’t know how long he had slept, but in the dark, tricks were the standard. He got up and relit the fire, this time in the pit. Wanting to wake up a little better before going on, he sat and warmed his hands over the gentle blaze. He was hungry but had nothing to eat but a little dried meat. Chewing thoughtfully, he finished the last bite and sat staring at the flames for a few
moments.
As he sat brooding over strange dreams, he thought he heard the shuffle of feet. Not a warrior, too small. A child? The soft footfalls approached slowly—small bare feet.
A face came into the dim glow of the firelight. A small man, perhaps three feet tall at the most. He had a very big head for his size and a creosote colored beard covering dusky skin like a Tultecacan’s. He wore only a simple breechclout, the same as most poor Tultecacans, and carried an obsidian spear.
“Hello, I am Gathelaus. Do you have anything to eat?” he said in his barbaric accented Tultecacan tongue.
“Yes.” The little man stepped closer, followed by a dozen more diminutive warriors. They all carried the tiny obsidian tipped spears and their tiny dark eyes glittered in the dim firelight. “Yes, yes we do.”
Gathelaus had grown so used to the isolation, only trusting on help from above. The visitors were a surprise he wouldn’t let show upon his face.
Sitting before the crackling fire he watched the little men, stone faced, as if they could not possibly be a threat. The closest one stood triumphant before his fellows, perhaps proud that he dared stand so near the giant.
“Are you going to share something to eat with me or do you want a fight?” growled Gathelaus in his barbaric tongue.
The little man looked at him, more puzzled than ever. “You are no Tultecacan are you?”
“What gave that away?”
“Are you a Sorcerer?” asked the little man, his comrades leveling their spears from a multitude of directions.
“Nay, I slay the dogs.”
The little men murmured to one another, most seemed to agree on something while two others dissented and cast suspicious looks over their shoulders. One of them flashed a ward against evil at Gathelaus.
“Then you are our friend,” said the lead little man.
“If you, too, are enemies of Sorcerers, then yes, by Votan, I am your friend.”
The little men smiled. “Good, we are friends,” said the leader, extending a turkey leg to Gathelaus, which he tore into ravenously. “Have you had any water?”
“Yes, a little.”
“Here is more. I am Labna, a chief of the Alux.”
“I am Gathelaus, a Northman from the far countries. I come to this land by chance, but now that I am here and seek to leave, the Nagaul Cuauhtémoc kidnapped some women of ours. I believe they were taken to the city of the Sorcerer.”
“How came you here?”
“My men and I met in battle some Tultecacans near Mayapan. I fell into their pool of sacrifice and could not get out again. So I have wandered these caves, I know not how long,” said Gathelaus.
“We have heard of a battle between the king’s forces and the rebels led by you, Northman, that was a day and a half ago. We did not know why they were here, but we had heard of new sacrifices taken to Ixmal. It must be the women you spoke of. Your men were captured and taken there as well.”
“They were taken alive?”
“Yes, they will be sacrificed as well. It is custom in the Sorcerer’s city. Blood must be spilt in great quantities every full moon,” said Labna. “Without such, the Blood Gods’ power dims. Already we have seen their dominions weaken.”
Gathelaus shook his head. “Hold, by Ba’al’s devils, you said my companions were captured?”
“Yes, all were captured. You swear by Ba’al? You believe in him, yes?”
Gathelaus laughed long and loud. “No, I swear by he and the other gods to mock them. I cast no favor in idols of stone or blood. I serve but the one true God.”
“The one true God. Do you know of the Messiah who came some three hundred years ago?”
“Of course. Light is our savior. I am a priest and it is our priesthood duty to rescue our women, that is why I am here. I would not otherwise do these things,” said Gathelaus, finishing the turkey leg and casting the bone into the coals.
“You are a priest?” asked one behind Labna.
“You look to be a man of war, we had not thought you could be a priest. A man with priesthood has not been in these lands for generations.”
“Yea, well strange as it seems, I am,” said Gathelaus.
“We would have you bless us. We have not seen a man with priesthood in all of our lifetimes.”
“Why not?”
“They were all cast out or slain long ago when king Ixcoatl was a very young man. He despised the priests of this one true God. He loved his gold and riches, he loved the gods in the temples of scarlet finery. They were those that demanded blood and gold, the ones which were given over to debauchery and lust. My people have been in bondage ever since. It is deemed good luck for the rich among the Tultecacans to own my people as slaves. My brother is the slave scribe of Ixcoatl. The Tultecacans think our diminutive stature denotes good luck. But slavery is a curse for all men.”
Gathelaus nodded as he stood up. “Then it seems we have a common enemy. Maybe we can help each other. How many are you?”
“Of the Alux? There are several hundred of us, perhaps a thousand near here. We hide in these caverns so our children will not be taken from us and sold into slavery. We have been waiting for the right moment to throw off the shackles of our oppressors. We had but one request from the Lord God,” said Labna.
“What was that?”
“We were told to wait years ago by a great Northman disciple. That a man with priesthood would lead us. That he should bless us and help us to take back our lands from the Sorcerer King.”
“He is dead already.”
“Nay he is not, he has returned and within Ixmal now. It is he who will sacrifice your people. It is he who sells our children when he can capture them.”
“You are sure he is alive?”
“Yes, Paanchi has seen him only yesterday. He was carried in on a litter only a few days before, for his foot had been cut off by some great warrior.”
Gathelaus smirked. The one called Paanchi stepped forward and nodded, he put his fingers in front of his mouth to indicate the Sorcerer Grand Master’s awful teeth.
“Yea, I know.” Gathelaus grimaced and drew his sword. He looked at the s slight blemish about midway down the blade where he had cut off the Sorcerer’s foot. Sheathing the blade, Gathelaus said, “Show me where he is and by Kuhtuli’s ugly tentacled face I will rip him apart. I am the man that took his foot with this sword.”
They gasped. “It must be a holy weapon.”
“To some. It was my great grandfather’s sword, Teancum.”
“They say another magician is attaching a new foot to the Sorcerer King. Magic abounds in the land these days,” said Labna.
“Then let us go, so that I may finish the job I started.”
They started down the passage and walked for some time, taking twists and turns that Gathelaus was sure he would have missed on his own. Here and there, a few of the little men broke off and went down new trails.
“They go to spread word of our uprising. I have told them to tell all of our available men to come. We shall meet in our underground city of Shiloah,” said Labna. After a few hours they came to small passage where Gathelaus had to get down on his hands and knees to fit through. Inside, the Alux guards stared in amazement at the giant their chief had brought to their sanctum.
“Why have you done this? Is it not written that no non Alux may enter until the day of the priesthood’s return?”
Labna only smiled.
The guards knelt, blushing in embarrassment. “Forgive us priest.”
Gathelaus squirmed at their display.
“I am not generally considered a great holy man. Others who were with me are better men that have higher callings than I,” Gathelaus said trying to take the awe off of the little men’s faces.
“Are you a giant?” asked a young boy.
“No, I’m not that big.” Gathelaus looked about the great chamber and could see that it was literally honeycombed with rooms and passages. Small cook fires rose to the ceiling and drifted out a few sma
ll holes that let a minimal amount of sunlight in. Most of the light inside came from torches or oil lamps of curious design. These people lived simply. A well central to the inner city gave them water, and Gathelaus guessed they could stay there a very long time but for the need of food that must be grown outside.
A small, bandy legged woman brought a bowl of stew to Gathelaus, he thanked her and then she kissed Labna upon the cheek.
“My wife, Ashketon,” said Labna. He then called to all of the people in the deep city, “The time has come for our liberation!”
The people cheered and prepared to move out into the surface world. “We call these the caves of flowers because of how much they spread in beautiful designs in every direction. We are half a day’s walk from Labna, the city for which I am named, and we have a bit farther to go to get to Ixmal. But we will go now, others will join us on the way.”
They marched through the hills and trees for hours until darkness neared. “We will camp here for the night and get some rest,” announced Labna.
“Are we not pressed for time?” asked Gathelaus.
“We have two days to the full moon. Two days to get to Ixmal, and two days for you to bless us to battle these Sorcerer dogs as you call them. We have time.”
They sat around a small fire and Gathelaus blessed them, each one, until his eyes grew heavy with exhaustion. Even as he laid down he found it hard to sleep. Worry and nightmares filled his mind whenever he thought of Mixamaxtla and the others. How had they been captured and what horrible things would they be going through at the hands of the Sorcerers? And… the fate of the women? His stomach churned at the thought.
***
“Awake, my giant friend Gathelaus. We must depart. The sun is rising and my men will be converging upon Ixmal soon,” said Labna.
It was a grueling hike through the forests in the sweltering humidity of the day. Gathelaus had actually liked being in the caverns in comparison. The sun beat down upon him and he found that if he did not drink more water than he was used to, his head would ache. Blisters sprouted on his sturdy feet, and still they marched on. He never would have believed the little men could shame him with their endurance. Though his stride was more than twice theirs, they never tired nor complained. Their absolute silence while walking would put to shame anyone he knew, except perhaps Xoloc.
FIERCE: A Heroic Fantasy Adventure (BRUTAL TRILOGY Book 2) Page 27
