by Watts, Mia
* * * *
The evening sky took hold, and the warriors broke camp. Under cover of darkness, they inched forward, warning Koda and Amaro to keep their silence. Was the caution to hide them from the people because they wished to thwart Manaba, or was the purpose to keep Macawi from becoming aware of a coup? If Manaba destroyed his challenger for high priest, Macawi would have no choice but to leave the people with a blood thirsty high priest, when he died.
One of the warriors grabbed Koda’s elbow and steered him up three sculpted terraces of the central mound. The mound of the high priest. Hope burned brightly in his chest. The runner had brought word that Macawi would see Flynn. It seemed unnecessary to bring Koda and Amaro to him until the full moon climbed the sky. Yet this was the mound of the high priest’s dwelling. Surely, it would go well for them to be brought here.
And yet they’d been tied, guarded by warriors who seemed disdainful of them. Once inside the building’s main room, Koda and Amaro were pushed to their knees, hands still bound behind their backs. Two warriors with spears guarded the only entrance of the building. Another roughly positioned them to the central roof support beam, and tied them to it.
Koda’s fingers fumbled against Amaro’s, out of sight. He clutched them for support. Amaro squeezed his fingers encouragingly.
“What is the meaning of this?” Amaro snarled.
“Manaba wishes to have words with you,” one warrior said.
Koda’s ears rang. It didn’t bode well that Manaba wished to speak with them, then ordered them delivered, bound. To have been found by the caves after setting out to follow Flynn, meant they knew their location and therefore, likely knew their purpose.
“Macawi will not be pleased when he learns of this,” Koda threatened.
“Macawi has no knowledge of your arrival, nor will he.”
“Our tribes will search for us, will send for runners from the empire when we aren’t returned,” Amaro added.
One of the warriors smiled ferally. “They won’t. Manaba will be notifying them of their new chiefs. I will rule your people,” he told Amaro.
“And I,” the other warrior said, “Will claim Koda tribe.”
Koda fought his ties, growling with anger.
Amaro grabbed his wrist, and Koda calmed. Amaro had always been more aggressive than he. If Amaro hadn’t been baited by the news, he had a plan in mind. Koda trusted him. They may have fought pointlessly over grain for the purpose of power, but when it came to the empire, they seemed to be of a like mind. Neither of them wanted Manaba.
Koda felt no little pride in being right.
The men left them, telling the guards to stand on the outside to keep others from coming in to petition Manaba for blessings, until he had dealt with Koda and Amaro.
* * * *
Flynn’s head throbbed mercilessly. His arms ached from being bound behind him for countless hours. The cold dirt floor had done nothing to ease the cramping of those muscles, or to discourage the shiver that tracked his spine. The only thing good he could say, was that for the first time in days, he had clothing on. Or, a loin cloth. At least his junk wasn’t exposed. He hadn’t minded in the cave where he’d had open access to two hunky men, but he minded when he was trussed up, hauled away, blindfolded, and none of his questions were getting answers.
He couldn’t even risk shifting. Beyond the lag time of shift and recovery, someone had tied his ankles. Both his wrists behind him, and his ankles, were affixed to a log. Shifting now would break every bone in his body and not allow them to reform. The pain would be excruciating.
The sound of leather moving, rustling against the more solid sound of wood, footsteps padded in, circling him, drawing his attention better than a shout.
“Why am I here?” he asked the unknown person.
“Why are any of us here?” the man answered in English.
Shock gripped Flynn. The words seemed so out of place. He’d grown used to speaking in the native tongue of his captors, accepting that he knew both languages and they didn’t. But to hear the words, spoken with a Midwestern accent, not only felt wrong, it felt like a fundamental violation of truth.
The man chuckled. “I was like you once. I came through the Portal of the Gods as a pissed off river otter. Torn from my timeline into this one, all because I was drawn to the portal. Like it fucking called to me.”
Flynn knew that call. Just days ago, he’d answered the same one, for the second time. He’d been drawn by the history to look for explanations without having a specific question in mind. As a child, he’d had an irresistible urge to go in, but at the last moment, he’d run from the creepy man.
The second time, Flynn had called in vacation time at work and decided to quit obsessing about the extinct culture by going there and satisfying his curiosity.
“Well, the joke’s on the gods, isn’t it? They pulled me to the portal and they got me. Who knew I’d be a god?” At this the other man laughed. “Back home, no one thought I’d amount to anything. Now I’m a fucking god!”
“So you’re the mighty Manaba?” Flynn asked in English. His tongue felt thick and sleepy on the vowels. He took a guess that the arrogance of the man pacing around him wasn’t the kind Macawi that he’d heard about.
“You’ve heard of me.” It wasn’t a question, rather an amused statement of fact.
“How did we get here?” The pieces still weren’t fitting together for Flynn.
“Ah, well that’s a mystery, isn’t it? It doesn’t really matter if you know it or not. You’re going to die, anyway.”
Flynn’s throat went dry. “Why?” he croaked. “I don’t want to die.”
“Because I’m Macawi’s successor, not you.”
“Can’t you just send me back through the portal?” Flynn asked frantically. Maybe he could talk Koda and Amaro into joining him.
“The door opens only one way.”
“Then send me back to town and I’ll get a ride from the portal,“ Flynn insisted.
“You aren’t understanding me. The Portal of the Gods is a time rift. It’s a selective rift, which seems to know if someone is a shifter. Macawi thinks our DNA opens the portal and we get sent back in time. He was a scientist.”
Flynn wanted to shout that the man was crazy, but he’d sensed the differences so deeply that he knew Manaba spoke the truth. He swallowed hard, trying to quiet his thoughts long enough to pick one and ask a question.
“Do you know what I was?” Manaba asked, whispering close to Flynn’s ear.
Flynn shook his head.
Manaba’s cold fingers stroked the top of Flynn’s shoulder with slow intent. “The court called me a murderer without conscience. I was in a transport vehicle when I got away and reached the portal. I’d have come a lot sooner, had I known the freedom it would give me.”
Flynn could hear the icy smile in those words.
“Here, I’m a god offering sacrifices to other unseen gods. Amazing what a little bit of time away can do for your reputation. Don’t you think?”
His head swam. The portal had taken a murderer and sent him back in time to keep murdering? How the hell was there any justice in that? Whose brilliant idea had that been? A portal rift activated by something shifters carried? A brainless, mindless rift in time had taken a criminal and dropped him into an entire culture that not only made him a god, but gave him the right to keep killing?
Flynn fixed on Manaba. “The scientist is dying, and you are about to become the high priest.”
“Pretty much. Now I just have to take care of you, and my position will be secured.”
Manaba removed Flynn’s mask.
Flynn blinked to adjust his eyes, even in the limited light of the closed room. Horror chilled him to the bone as he laid eyes on Manaba. He’d seen this man before. Years ago when his father had taken him to the mounds. He’d never forget that greasy smile, and bony angularity beneath stringy muscle tissue.
Manaba smiled and his face stretched unnaturally, forming lon
g double slashes in the hollows of his cheeks. “You’re a handsome one. Maybe I’ll fuck you before I cut out your heart.”
This man had been at the portal that day too, had offered Flynn a candy which had sent him running off to find his father. That same pit of dread seemed to swallow Flynn’s voice now.
“I think I’ll do it in front of your lovers. I might even castrate them and force them to eat their balls, then kill you. I’ll probably let them live, though. They’d be outcast once the people know two of their warriors had switched teams to screw a defiled priest.”
Bile filled his throat.
“What’s that expression for? You’ve only been here a few days. You can’t possibly love them?”
But he did. The idea of anyone but them using his body, made his gut ache. The idea of anyone hurting them brought him shaking into rage. Flynn gritted his teeth to keep from yelling. He wasn’t in a position to belittle a mass murderer.
“Aw. You think you’re in love with them. Isn’t that sweet?” Manaba continued mocking.
“Fortunately for you, it will all be over soon. Your execution will be at noon today. When you see the gods, tell them I said thank you.” Manaba rose and left.
“If you’re really up there, you made a huge fucking mistake!” Flynn shouted at the underside of the thatched roof. “He’s going to kill all your people. Is that what you want?”
Chapter Ten
The sun beat down on Amaro’s shoulders. He stumbled up the rear incline of the sacrificial mound, the cording around his wrists making the climb more difficult. Another push knocked him into the grassy side. He elbowed himself up, and continued the trudge to the platform overlooking the open plaza. Mounds lined either side and already the people had gathered to bear witness to Manaba’s latest gift to the gods. Their combined voices grew louder, the closer to the top they went.
Behind him, Koda tripped, clipping Amaro’s heels and sending him down again. A few more steps and they reached the top. A stone altar stood at an angle large enough to support a man and still be visible so the people in the plaza could see. Amaro and Koda were directed to the front, next to the altar.
“Manaba wishes to make an example of us,” Amaro said with finality.
Koda nudged his arm with his own. “It has been my honor to share this life with you, friend.”
“This life isn’t over,” Amaro countered.
Koda nodded toward the gathering crowd. “Do you have the ear of the gods? Have they provided another unseen portal?”
A guard nudged them with the tip of his spear. “Silence.”
The men were pushed to their knees. Rough hewn stone bit Amaro’s knees. He accepted it, telling himself that the sharp sensation was welcome as it would likely be one of his last.
“Why are we here? The Chaste Moon doesn’t rise until midnight?” Koda whispered. “It’s midday.”
“Silence,” the guard repeated, striking Koda back.
Koda grunted, falling hard on his shoulder. Amaro saw the bright crease of blood between his shoulder blades.
Amaro shot a glare at the guard. “There will be blood soon enough. Would you risk angering the gods by seeing to it that their sacrifice is weakened?”
The guard stepped back uncertainly. Koda gained his knees, leaning heavily on Amaro.
“My thanks,” Koda murmured.
“Not required.”
“Amaro,” Koda began.
Amaro looked at him solemnly. Koda’s soft brown eyes looked unsure and troubled. His face was so close. Close enough to kiss, the way Flynn had kissed him, and Amaro had yet to. He wanted to, but didn’t dare. His heart lurched to hold Koda, to see Flynn one last time before the sacrifice.
He didn’t know if Flynn had been captured, but it seemed reasonable to think so. He hoped he was wrong. Would Flynn run, or would he worry about them? Would he return to the empty cave, or would he flee his destiny? And if he fled, what hope did Cahokia people have, from the blood reign of Manaba?
Manaba appeared from the side of the mound. The crowd below roared to life. Behind him, Flynn was carried, a guard lifting him under each arm. Flynn saw Koda and Amaro and ceased struggling. His bright green eyes sharpened on them. He snarled something at Manaba in a language foreign to Amaro.
Manaba answered in a similarly foreign tongue. He drew near Flynn, wrapping a thick leather thong around his throat. Grabbing it from the back of Flynn’s neck, he forced Flynn to the edge of the platform overlooking the plaza.
“My people!” Manaba shouted above the din. He gripped the leather thong tightly. Amaro could see Flynn’s Adam’s apple working against it, yet hands still behind his back, he could do little but accept whatever Manaba planned for him.
The noise below dimmed. Amaro looked down into a sea of uplifted faces.
“Tonight is the peak of the Chaste Moon, the night Macawi will name his successor. The gods have smiled on Arancaya. They have provided a worthy sacrifice.”
The crowd cheered.
“Where is Macawi?” Koda asked Amaro in hushed tones.
“Unaware by choice or by purpose,” Amaro decided. “I can’t see our peaceful high priest allowing this. Look at the people. They are filled with bloodlust.”
“Look again, brother. That’s fear. If Manaba thinks he doesn’t have their support, he might choose one of them for the altar. Cheering the death of us and Flynn, sees to it that they are safe for a time.”
Amaro nodded, seeing what Koda saw. His people, the people he loved and lived to serve, were afraid. That’s what Manaba had created in Arancaya. How had Amaro ever believed he could take Koda’s tribe and win favor? How could he have ever believed that such a thing was honorable and the reward worth the loss?
He looked into Koda’s precious eyes. He saw the soul of a warrior, a friend, a lover, and felt shame.
“Forgive me, brother,” Amaro pled. “I was a fool to seek Manaba’s regard.”
Koda smiled. “We have no time for regrets. Be at peace. You couldn’t have known the extent of his treachery.”
“A warrior must be prepared for all possibilities.”
“A man must learn when he is at fault, and when fault is no longer his to claim. You wanted esteem. You never expected the death of anyone.”
“I’ll see you in the afterlife among the stars,” Amaro said, his voice rasping with emotion.
“Brother,” Koda began. His eyes appeared moist. He blinked and took a deep breath. Uncertainty marred his smooth brow. “I have loved you all my life. Death will not change my heart.”
If he could touch Koda now, offer him some comfort, he would have done so. The emotion he’d been holding at bay, filled his chest, and spilled out of him in a sobbed gasp before he caught himself.
“I will greet you there with open arms, and willing heart,” Amaro said, struggling to regain his composure.
Manaba held up his staff, silencing the crowd. “The gods have sent me a test. They have sent this man who claims to be a shifter. He conspired with honored warriors, Amaro and Koda, leaders of two of our brother tribes.
“But our warriors have failed us. They were tricked, and for that, their deaths will be swift. Not until their blood is spilled on the altar of the gods, will those tribes be cleansed of their foolishness.”
The crowd remained silent.
“Our warriors would have this imposter tested. He’ll be tested and condemn himself in the process. Let the people and the gods bear witness to hoax. Let the truth be known, and in discovering it, the final sacrifices take place on the full rise of the Chaste Moon. My gift to the gods and my thanks to Macawi for my exalted position among the people.”
Manaba brandished a stone cutting instrument. With quick flicks of his wrist, Flynn’s loin cloth was cut away, and his body exposed for the onlookers.
“Enough!”
All heads turned to see the aged Macawi carried toward them on a pallet. Four warriors held him aloft. Clearly, Macawi was too weak to make the climb on his own
. Even now, the great shout caused him to fall into a fit of coughing.
Amaro bowed his head in deference to their high priest, as all around him did.
When he finally raised his head, Amaro saw Manaba lift from a bow. Hostility radiated from him, his face whitened with rage. “My priest, you’d ask Arancaya to trust the word of two warriors who have betrayed their class?”
Amaro caught sight of his runner. The man nodded. Amaro exchanged a significant look with him, and a glimmer of hope lit Amaro’s heart. Macawi had been told.
“I’d insist that the newcomer be given the same chance you were. Let the testing begin,” he called.
Flynn couldn’t see the man who spoke behind him. His voice shook with age, and he sensed the man fought for him using wisdom of the culture in a way Manaba hadn’t seemed to anticipate.
At the command from the elder, Manaba jerked on the leather choker, pulling Flynn to the altar. His hands were untied from each other and tied, instead, to the altar. Cold stone lined his back. His hands were tied off to the side by his waist.
He waited for what seemed like hours, baking in the sun as it descended from noon day high. Flynn arched his neck, trying to hold eye contact with Amaro and Koda. They kneeled stoically. Their knees had to be aching from the length of time they’d been forced to the stone platform, but neither man flinched.
Koda, the sensitive lover, looked on Flynn with concern and tenderness. Amaro, Flynn’s fearless warrior, reluctant lover, had a darting gaze. Constantly assessing, was the impression he gave Flynn. Always looking for a way out, a plan, yet even after this much time, his gaze echoed with defeat.
“Don’t give up on me, guys,” he whispered to them.
A tent was erected beside the altar, drawing Flynn’s attention to the opposite side from where his lovers kneeled. An old man on a pallet was brought forward and placed beneath the leather awning. The man had kind blue eyes and his smile sparkled from dark cocoa colored skin. He looked encouragingly at Flynn.
