Rage, p.18
Rage, page 18
part #3 of Brutal Series
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, Votan,” said Labna.
“What was that?”
“We were told to wait years ago by a great Northman disciple. That a man with the gods blessing would lead us. That he should bless us and help us to take back our lands from the Sorcerer King.”
“And?”
“That is you. You must help us destroy the Sorcerer King. It is he who sacrifices our people. It is he who sells our children.”
“I can do that. Just get me some better weapons.”
Labna, smiled and signaled to a little man behind him. He swiftly returned with weapons of steel.
“This will do,” said Gathelaus, admiring the blade of ancients.
“We await your command, to destroy the evil one.”
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 slight blemish about midway down the blade. It would still do the job over the obsidian macahuitls. Sheathing the blade, Gathelaus said, “Show me where he is and by Kuhtuli’s ugly tentacled face I will rip him apart.”
They gasped. “Praise Votan.”
“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 from off 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 small 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.
No wonder the Tultecacans think they are good luck. They have been nothing but good luck to me so far.
“Do you need rest, friend Gathelaus?”
“Nay, rest brings death. I will rest when I’m dead. Let’s go on.”
By nightfall Labna had selected a safe spot where they slept for a few scant hours. Before dawn’s light they were up and moving again. Gathelaus tried to count the little bearded faces, there were either fifty-nine or sixty. It was a start at least. Over the course of the day a dozen more would join here or there every few hours. The tiny obsidian spears could kill as well as big ones, and Gathelaus did not doubt their courage. They entered a valley in between two thickly forested hills where a multitude of the little people dwelt. In their newfound joy, the tiny, deep-voiced men began to sing.
Today is the day, we will come out,
Yes, today is our day to shout,
To reclaim the day and hold the night.
This is our land, enemies take flight.
Come with us, oh giant of a man.
Take back with us our home and lan’.
Gathelaus could not match their tune to any he knew, but somehow it sounded familiar. Over a hundred more little Alux warriors soon joined them, some armed with weapons of copper or even iron. Those with iron seemed especially respected. Hours and many miles later they moved silent as ghosts again down trails Gathelaus could hardly see in the gathering gloom of dusk.
“We are very near, my friend. My men have slain whatever Sorcerer scouts were watching these outer perimeters. Please bless the rest of us now, that we may attack with the approval of the Lord God, Votan,” said Labna.
“I don’t think that will be very hard to get,” said Gathelaus. He led a blessing en masse upon the Alux. They repeated each line after he said it, their deep voices a near silent thrum in the night. When it was done, they crept through the last of the trees. A terrifying, thunderous dirge boomed in the distance.
A throb of drums and a deep chorus chanted an ominous black song. It burned like a deep fire of molten rock beating down the mountain. A cloud of amorphous proportions that wanted to eat away at their souls. A stench of death blew on the night wind. Gathelaus narrowed his eyes and thought, This must end now.
They stepped through the tumbled blocks of stone, wicked fire lights flickered against the shadows of the city. Every few moments the dark song climaxed and the fires leapt higher and higher. Gathelaus drew his sword, despite the dread that threatened to creep over him. He and the Alux moved inside the city’s walls.
Revolution Out of the Underworld
An ominous air hung over Ixmal, city of the Sorcerer. The humid thickness spread over everything as if attempting to choke the life out of man. Mixamaxtla stood expectant at his cell door. He and his men had run out of water hours ago and the thirst of the oppressive air parched them. He called a number of times for the jailor who never responded. He sat and then stood again and led the men, even Niels, in a prayer of deliverance.
When the jailor finally showed his face, Mixamaxtla said to him, “My men and I need water, and if you have served the others as poorly as us, then they shall need it too.”
The bald man sneered. “Oh you want more water do you? Well, I’ll get you all some more water right quick then, my lords. We don’t want your blood to be too slow and dry.” He laughed as he left and returned shortly with a pail of warm water. The men quenched their thirst.
“This is the night the Sorcerers mean to murder us. Be ready, I have prayed long and hard for the old gods to open a way for us, and I know that such a route will be opened. Everyone retain your strength and be ready to act. For all we know, it may be something as simple as a way to escape back into the jungles,” said Mixamaxtla.
They didn’t wait long. Hormahotec returned with a troop of men and their jailor. They were ordered out one at a time and tightly bound. The Sorcerer Captain would not look upon Mixamaxtla nor speak to him. He seemed as if he wished to be anywhere else, but was duty bound to perform here.
“Have you thought on what I told you, Hormahotec?” asked Mixamaxtla.
The warrior captain stared at him wide eyed and stammered, “I… I know who… who my master is. It is the Sorcerer alone. I f… fear you not.”
Mixamaxtla looked him up and down. “Lying does not suit you, you aren’t good enough at it.”
The captain raged at Mixamaxtla and struck him again and again until Mixamaxtla fell to the floor. Hormahotec kicked him again and then spit on him. “You’re the liar. You are the one who fears and will beg for mercy. Take them to the altar.” The Sorcerer warriors picked up Mixamaxtla and braced him against Xoloc and Ptemauc.
They led them out into the wide plaza before the dark pyramid. Great bonfires blazed with meteoric fury alongside the stairway all the way to the top of the black Necropolis. A low stage was set at the bottom with the prisoners off to the right in long trundled bindings. Many other prisoners were already there, including a score of women and girls. Mixamaxtla saw their faces for the first time. They were young for the most part but haggard and sad, frightened at the horrendous spectacle.
A toad-like demon of stone sat squatting with its belly up awaiting the blood of the innocent. A pair of harlots caressed and made lewd gestures about it. The crowd of Sorcerers and Tultecacans thronged about cheering and yelling drunkenly. More Tultecacans gathered every moment until the plaza filled with dusky bodies, the stench of smoke, sweat and wine intoxicated the air.
Some of the women finally noticed the other prisoners and seemed confused at seeing the Northmen Galen, Niels and Terah there, bound and gagged. As it grew darker, the full moon rose up above the trees and cast an eerie red glow. A blood moon wrought from the awful fire and smoke of the wicked hungry flames. Cuauhtémoc appeared, walking stiffly with an awkward gait.
“Gathelaus, where are you my brother?” Mixamaxtla said to no one in particular, not realizing anyone could hear him over the din and clamor.
“Did you say Gathelaus?” asked a woman of twenty or so.
“Yea, I did. He is my blood brother and he is out there somewhere. We lost him on the journey here. But I am sure he is out there and that he will bring the sword and fire to this place.”
