Casca 2: God of Death (11 page)

The stone brazier was four feet in diameter. A number of small three-legged urns were placed in a circle around it.
Totzin cast incense into the flames. Clouds of multicolored smoke rose – blue, then red. He breathed the fumes. His body in a trance like state, he chanted the words of the Scroll of the Jaguar.....

So, while the priest of Tlaloc and the
Quetza talked with Casca, Totzin talked with his god.

He was ready.

The god must be fed.

The girl was brought to him.

Her breasts were not yet full. They were now mere ripe buds of what they were to be. Her eyes were wide with fear and uncertainty. Naked, she was thrust by the novice priest into the presence of Totzin. She was made to kneel first, then lie down in front of Totzin.

Totzin's
teeth grinned eerily from behind the face of the skin he wore. His fingers ran, over her expertly, efficiently. He quickly made sure she was virgin. "Good. Good. You are a blessed child," he intoned. "The first lover – and the last – you will know will be the Jaguar. You will be his bride."

She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound issued forth. The novice's hands choked off any attempt at sound. He held her tightly, forcing the breast bones out, tightening the skin and thrusting her nubile breasts toward
Totzin. Totzin moved with catlike speed. Careful not to scar the breasts, he sliced deep and removed her heart. It was immediately offered to the gods by way of the flames, and his quick, experienced hands then removed all those things that made her a woman. Breasts and sexual organs were in their turn fed to the hungry flames. The sacrifice was over. Totzin cursed that he must perform his holy duties in private, in a place that people could not see. But when Tezmec denied him proper sacrifices, then he must make them where he could, even away from his own people. Two warriors entered on signal and hauled the carcass of the girl away. That night Totzin and a few privileged officers and priests would be permitted to feed on that which their god did not consume. The Jaguar was an eater of men; it followed therefore that his servants must also feed on the flesh of humans.

Meanwhile, in the cooler interior of Casca's new palace,
Tezmec and the king Cuz-mecli, having entered the doorway unnoticed by Casca, were watching, mystified, a scene strange to them. The stranger from the sea was leaping into the air and throwing his arms every which way, and then freezing into slow motion, his hands and body taking on awkward positions that nevertheless seemed quite natural when done by this strange man. They had unknowingly interrupted Casca just as he was finishing the set of open hand combat exercises taught to him by the great sage Shiu Lao Tze when he and Lao Tze were both slaves on their way to Rome, Shiu to teach at a great house of the Empire, Casca consigned to the arena as a gladiator. It was this art that Casca had used when he won his freedom, surprising the giant Nubian Jubala, and destroying Jubala with his hands and feet after dramatically throwing away his own helmet, shield, and sword and thus appearing helpless before the astonished crowd. Shiu had told Casca that the art of open hand fighting had come from Khitai, from across the great mountains, that it had been developed by a sect of priests who used it as an aid to their powers of concentration.

Casca now caught a glimpse of his two visitors and finished. He took a blanket and began to dry himself. The perspiration had given him an oily sheen. Wiping off the results of his
labors, he smiled his crooked grin and said:

"Welcome, young king. I wondered if I would ever get to see you. Old
Tezmec must have decided that I was safe enough."

Cuz-mecli
overcame his uncertainty. After all, he was the king. He advanced slowly toward Casca, his eyes wide in his face as he tried to count the scars on Casca's over-muscled hide. He lost count, tried again, finally gave up.

"Casca smiled as he saw what the boy was trying to do
. "Give up, little king," he said. "I have lost count of them myself. There are only a few that I can recall, only those with special meanings." The face of the Greek whore who had left him with the scar running from the corner of his mouth to his left eye passed quickly before him.
Never try to shortchange a whore or out-argue an Arab
, he thought briefly. Then he turned his attention back to Tezmec. "Welcome," he said. "Am I due more instruction today, or is this a social call?"

Grinning
his gap-toothed smile, Tezmec responded, "It is time for the king to meet you, to see the one who will be the greatest messenger since his father chose the road to heaven himself and saved the people from starving when the rains did not come."

Casca was all formal courtesy.

"Regardless of the reason, I am pleased to meet your majesty."

The young
Cuz-mecli's brown eyes sparkled. He could contain his curiosity no longer. "Tectli Quetza," he asked, "what was it that you were doing when we entered?"

Casca chuckled. "Little king," he said, "more years ago than you would believe – or even
Tezmec, for that matter – I was taught what you saw me doing by a man from Khitai, a very wise man from a very distant land. Here. I will show you how some of it is done." Casca was not above a little showing off. Besides, a demonstration might be to his advantage. Workmen had earlier left a pile of rocks in a corner of the room they were refurbishing, and now Casca went to these, selected a rock about twenty inches long and ten wide and three inches thick. He put this rock down on a pile of others, in effect forming a stone sawhorse.

Kneeling on one knee, he drew his breath in and let it out slowly between his teeth. He inhaled again, formed his fist, and then with an explosive exhalation sent his hand crashing down and through the rock, leaving it in two separate pieces.
Cuz-mecli stared in amazement, his mouth open.

Three guards rushed in, weapons at the ready, having heard the sound of Casca's exploding "
Kiyi!" breath burst out. Tezmec signaled for them to leave, but their leader cast a wary eye on Casca and then on the stone pieces. Finally, mumbling to himself under his breath, he left, shaking his head in confusion.

Cuz-mecli
quickly made a sign to ward off evil spirits.

"It's not magic, little king," Casca explained. "You could learn it if you wished, but it would take many moons, many seasons."

Tezmec shook his head. "No, Tectli. You have not that long to remain with us. The day of your ascendance draws near." The brightly painted murals depicting the glory of the gods and the glory of the Teotec nation seemed to add to Tezmec's words from the walls of the palace.

"As you say, priest," Casca said drily.
"But enough of this. What can I do for the king?"

"Answer my questions,
Tectli Quetza. That is what I wish. Tell me where you came from. Are all of the people there gods? And do they all look as you do? And where did you find the serpent ship on which you came to us to fulfill the legends of our people?"

Raising his hand, Casca stopped the torrent of questions pouring from the mouth of the young king.

"One at a time, my lord. First, I come from across the great water. It is many, many days' sail to reach my land. It would take the same time as it takes for a field to be planted and to grow ripe. That is, if you were not to stop and tarry anywhere.

"And, no, all the people do not look as I do. There are people of many
colors – from almost gold to blackest black. There are even many who have the same ruddy complexion as your people.

"And, no, all are not gods – though many have thought that they were." Another quick flash went through Casca's mind, and Gaius Nero's face flickered before his brain.

But at that moment, looking at the young king's face flushed with excitement, out of the corner of his eye Casca caught Tezmec watching him thoughtfully.
Uh-oh
, he thought.
Better play the game
.

He let a slight tone of majesty begin to slip into his voice, as though he had something of importance to impart.

"As for the ship, it came from the great god Quetza, and it was he who guided me to this place. It was not until I learned the use of your tongue, though, that the meaning of my coming was made clear to me and the message the great god Quetza wished delivered made plain for me to speak.

"I am here to give your people a great message – as I have already told the priest
Tezmec."

Tezmec
raised his wrinkled hand to stop the conversation. He did not want the young king to be confused by Casca's contradictions of what he himself had taught the king.

"Enough talk,
Tectli Quetza," he interrupted firmly. "It is time for the king to attend his other duties. We will meet again another time." It was so obvious that he was thinking that they would not meet again until the afterlife that Casca smiled broadly, irritating the old priest as he hustled the young king out of the presence of this stranger with the possibly dangerous words. Tezmec looked back over his shoulder and said testily, "The day comes soon. Prepare yourself and your thoughts. And remember ... behave with dignity."

Metah
devoted the remaining weeks not only teaching Casca all she could of the Teotec culture, but also figuring out ways she could keep the other women away from him. He might be holy to them, but to her the time he had spent with her made him more of a man than a messenger of the gods.

Half a dozen times the
maskmaker came for fittings, to check on small details. The mask assumed an eerie quality as the features of Casca's face in the jade became more pronounced. The maskmaker was an artist who would have stood up against the best of the Roman Empire and of the Greeks. The mask was astonishingly Casca, right down to the hairline scar leading from the corner of his eye down to his mouth. It was his face in jade – deep, green jade – jade of almost gemstone quality. Only the empty eyes of the mask seemed lacking in order to give it a life of its own. It was a magnificent creation. Pletuc the carver was evidently proud of his work, and justly so. He said to Casca:

"
Tectli, when the day comes for the mask to hang in the hall, it will live. Already I have acquired the finest of turquoise. It is the same color as your eyes. It will match them perfectly. It is even now being prepared, and when the eyes of turquoise are set the mask will live. For all time, people will know of your coming, and of the honor you have done us."

Bowing his way out, the old carver left, leaving Casca to his thoughts.

Each day drew him nearer to the altar.

Metah
helped him keep from dwelling on his fate, but, in spite of the growing feelings he was developing for her, each day did in its turn end and bring another – and another....

He could learn nothing of his men and the long-ships. Even when he bluntly enquired as to them and how they were faring, he was politely but firmly refused information. The fact that none of them showed up in the capital of the
Teotecs made him believe that they might still be alive. But were they still waiting on the coast? Would they still be there when the coming grisly affair was finished? If he returned to the coast then, would they have waited for him? How long would they wait – that was the most important thing on his mind.

Except for one other.

In one week he would bare his chest on the altar.

When that time came, how could he keep from losing consciousness?

He must not pass out. The Jew's curse might keep him from dying in the case of wounds great enough to kill other men – but it did not protect him from pain. If the pain were great enough, he would pass out – and certainly the sacrifice pain would be that great. He usually passed out from great pain. How could he prevent it now?

Others went to the stone while he waited his turn.

He noticed something.

It might be a possibility.

Several of them had a glazed look to their eyes and moved with slow, deliberate steps, as though in a trance ... or drugged. One even stepped on a broken pot shard and laid his foot open to the bone and made no sign of having felt pain at all.

"Why?" Casca asked Metah.

She told him that sometimes the messengers were given a mixture of herbs and mushrooms. The mushrooms gave
them visions, but the leaf called coca was used to stop pain. Coca was frequently used by others. It gave strength to the runners who carried the king's edicts from village to village. The runners chewed the bitter leaf to stop exhaustion.

That may be my answer
, Casca decided.
If the leaf stops pain; I may be able to retain consciousness during the sacrifice.

"
Metah, can you get some of the leaves for me?"

She turned her dark brown eyes to him, a question in their depths. "I suppose so, my lord. How much do you need?"

"I don't know. How much do the runners take?"

"A small handful will last them for several days." "Then bring me five handfuls. I may have to do some testing."

Confused, she turned away. "As you wish, Tectli. The priests said you may have anything you wish."