Casca 2: God of Death (17 page)

Wiping his hands on his cuirass, Casca
grimaced distaste of the clinging pieces of bone and brain tissue. The Vikings had stopped following the retreating enemy and were now involved in looting the bodies of the fallen. Thinking nothing of such activity – since it was standard battle practice – Casca decided he had better find Metah and see how she had made out. He had lost all thought of her when word of the advancing Olmecs had reached him. Stepping over the bodies of both Olmec and Teotec soldiers he started to make his way back down the thoroughfare. Periodically he would bend over the body of a fallen Viking, imprint the man's name and face in his memory, close his eyes for a moment, then move on. They had died the way they would have wished. It was fortunate that no more had fallen than had. Entering the great square, Casca automatically looked up the pyramid where only a few months before he had felt the golden flint knife cut into him. Involuntarily he shivered, and turned to go to his own palace.

"
Quetza!"

The booming voice of
Tezmec froze Casca in his tracks. Taking off his plumed helmet, he shaded his eyes and looked to the source of the calling.

On the temple at the top of the pyramid
Tezmec stood in full priestly dress, his robes whipping around him from the breeze, his body painted coal black, bright carnelian red circles drawn around his eyes.

"
Quetza!" The old man's voice boomed stronger than Casca had ever heard. "You have brought this upon us." The old man waved to the masses of dead below. "You have brought this tragedy to my people. You are a false god. I told you we must have messengers to go to the heavens and deliver our prayers, but you would not have it so. Instead my people lie dead in our streets. This is your doing. You are no god. You cannot even protect your own woman. Totzin has taken her." Tezmec indicated the road leading to the high mountains. "False god, you will stop me from doing my duty no longer.

“The gods will have a messenger, and perhaps then our curse will be lifted."

Tezmec held above his head the same shining blade that he had used on Casca.

The Roman noticed for the first time that the altar fires were lit and smoke was rising from the flames.

"I shall do my duty," the old man repeated.

In less than a heartbeat's time the ancient priest slashed his own chest open, exposing the cavity. Casca felt a pain in his own chest. He knew exactly what the old priest was feeling. The old man raised his face to the heavens and cried, his voice breaking in agony for his people: "O gods of my fathers,
Quetza, Tlaloc, hear my prayers and forgive your children for they know not what they do. Accept me in payment for their sins." The old man threw his body onto the flames of the altar. His open chest, right over the center of the fire, sizzled and crackled. Tezmec screamed not once, for he was dead before the fire touched him. There was only silence as the flames consumed the insides of his body and turned his old heart into a shriveled cinder.

Silence lay over the city. All had stopped. Casca was stunned. What had the old man said about forgiveness and sins? Where had he heard that before?

Metah! Did he say that little runt Totzin had Metah? Not stopping, Casca began running in the direction Tezmec had pointed, out past the city's edge, out through the spiny maguey fields. He ran one step after another, eyes straining to see ahead.

That poisonous little shit had
Metah....

Metah's hands were bound behind her with a strip of rawhide. A leash of the same was around her throat, cutting off her breath every time she stumbled or faltered. Totzin jerked and cursed as he dragged her along, relentlessly trying to reach the hidden sanctuary in the distant mountains, the sanctuary only he knew of. There he would be safe and gather to himself the loyal survivors of his cult. From there he would build his own city and grow in strength until he could return and take vengeance. Everything had gone wrong. How could the Olmecs have lost?

Metah
stumbled and lay still. Viciously jerking her leash, he commanded her to rise and walk. The cord twisted itself and cut a thin red line in her brown flesh.

Struggling to her knees, she looked the Jaguar priest straight in the face. "No. I will go no further, eater of filth, traitor."

Totzin struck her with the back of his hand. "Silence, you she-slut. You will obey."

Metah's
tongue touched the cut in her mouth, tasting salty blood.

"No further. I will go no further. Casca will come for me."

Instinctively Totzin looked back down from the ridge they were on. His body was old, but he had the eyes and vision of youth. A movement in the corner of his eyes caused him to focus on something in the distance. At first he thought it might have been a deer, but light sparkling off the body told him it was Casca. The strange armor was what was shining.
The bitch is right. The devil comes. How did he know which way we had gone?

Smiling a
snaggle-toothed grin, he said, "Well, enough. I will give him what he wants and slow him up enough that I may escape."

Pulling
Metah to him by the sheer force of his jerking on the leather leash, he dragged her across sharp stones and cactus spines. Taking her by the back of her long black hair, he forced her head up and faced her toward where Casca was coming.

"You're right, bitch. He comes, and I shall see that he is not disappointed, for surely he wants you more than I do. There will be plenty for me to satisfy myself with when I am away. Therefore I leave you to him."

Metah gasped as a burning pain set her abdomen on fire. Consciousness mercifully left her....

Totzin
wiped the blade of his obsidian dagger across his tongue, tasting the sweet salty richness of her blood. He had an extraordinary knowledge of anatomy due to the thousands he had sent to his Jaguar god. He had stabbed her low, just above the pubic hair. It would take long for her to die, perhaps even days. The foreign devil, her lover, would surely stop to care for her, and he would make good his escape to his sanctuary. Leaving the injured Metah behind, he gave one more look to where Casca was easily visible now, leaping over bushes and rocks in his path, closer than Totzin would have thought. The priest ran, losing himself in the scrub trees and brush, trying to get away from the devil from the sea. He ran as fast as his thin legs could take him away from that butchering madman.

Casca almost stepped on the huddled mass that was
Metah. His heart stopped for a moment, and with a cry of anguish he dropped beside her body and gently turned her over. A small coughing like that of a hurt child brought a rush of relief to him. She lives... Cutting her bonds, he cradled her in his arms and began to walk down the hills. No thought of Totzin or vengeance was in his mind, only Metah and her pain. Quickly, swiftly, careful not to jar her as he walked, he brought her home. The sun had gone behind the rim of mountains surrounding the valley when he brought her to his palace. None spoke. One look at his face was enough to stop all questioning.

That night while he sat watching her, cooling her face with a damp rag, he suffered again the pains of losing someone he loved. His silent care and thoughts were interrupted by a presence. A young shaman of the Coyote clan stood in the doorway. Silently he walked across the tiled floor to the bed. Gently he took the rag from Casca's hand, and bending over he looked at the wound. He inspected the point of entrance. Gently his fingers touched and probed around the area of the wound. Only once did
Metah moan when he touched her. His wrist was quickly locked in a steel vise as Casca grabbed and held him. The young priest gently and determinedly took Casca's hand from his wrist.

"
Tectli Quetza, she dies."

The young priest's voice was soft but certain.

"The cut is deep inside. For years I have watched and studied. It has come to me that when one has lost too much of his blood, he dies. I have seen many like her. When the blood leaves the body or fills the abdomen, they weaken; the heart beats faster, but weaker. They go into a deep sleep as she has now and do not wake. She will die before the dawn."

Casca groaned at the young man's words.

"Is there no hope? No way to save her?"

The young priest nodded. "One perhaps,
Tectli. But before I explain it to you, let me say that I do not agree with the priest Tezmec. The Olmecs would have come sooner or later. Under torture the Jaguar priest Totzin's men have confessed their treachery."

Casca nodded. "Well, that's something at least. Perhaps then all the blame is not mine. But still this is. She is my woman, and what has happened to her is my responsibility. That I do know. If you can do anything to save her, young priest, then do it now, and do it before she leaves me."

"As you command, Tectli. My name is Sactle. All my life I have wondered what is death and what is the cause of death. There are many things that cause it, but one, as I told you, is when too much of the body's blood is lost. I believe that the blood is the life force of all. I have experimented with many animals – including monkeys, whose bodies are amazingly like man's in their construction. I once let the blood out of one and put back in the blood of another when the beast was close to death as is your lady Metah now. The blood of the second monkey kept the first from dying. The secret of life, Tectli, I believe is in the blood."

Casca thought for a moment.

In the blood.... Perhaps he is right. It was the blood of the Jew that caused my condition, my being condemned to live and never age. Perhaps if I gave Metah some of my blood the life force that sustains me would save her also....
Hope rose in him.
She might even become as me! At last I would have someone to walk through the ages with me until the Jew sets me free! Not to be alone anymore... to be able to stay with one person and not to have to look for signs of fear in their faces when their hair turns to gray and wrinkles show the passage of time and I remain the same.... Yes, it must be the blood.

Aloud he said: "Do it, priest. Do it now before she is too weak to help. And use my blood to fill her with life."

The Coyote priest bowed. "As you wish, Tectli. But know that I can promise nothing. Never have I tried this on humans. It may not succeed. But she will die if nothing is done. That I swear to."

"Then be about it, man." Casca's voice rose. “Make haste while we still have time. You said she would die before dawn. That leaves us less than an hour if we do nothing."

Sactle took from his pouch a long thin flexible strip of material.

"What the Hades is that?" Casca demanded in irritation.

Sactle answered, "It is made from the sap of a tree that grows to the south. We also make a ball from it that we play with in the courtyards. I take the sap and smear it over a small reed. It is hardened in the fire, in the heat from the smoke. When it is ready, it is pulled back and rolled off the reed leaving a flexible tube. It is through this that your blood will pass from you to your lady."

He reached again into his pouch and took out two golden needles, showing them to Casca.

"These, too, are hollow. They will fit into the ends of the sap tubing. I will insert one of the needles into your arm, into one of the channels through which your life's blood flows, and the other into that of the Lady Metah. Your body being the stronger, your blood force should push its way into her weakened system. Now, Tectli, lie down beside your lady."

Casca did as the priest
said, putting his thick-muscled body next to the slight frame of the woman he loved. She looked even tinier ... as though she were fading away. There were hollows under the eyes he remembered as having sparkled with life. Her cheeks had a starved look.

"Get on with it, priest."

"Patience, Tectli. It will take but a moment." Taking another strip of the flexible sap tubing, Sactle wrapped it around Casca's arm and tied a knot in it above Casca's elbow. "It will stop the flow of your blood to your arm until the needle is in your blood channel. Then the tube tie will be released, and the blood will flow again." He worked swiftly. Deftly he entered the needle into Casca's vein. Turning to Metah, he searched for a while, probing gently with the needle until he finally had it inserted in her:

"Now,
Tectli, we release the tie."

Casca nodded. Watching
Metah's face, he never noticed the priest letting the tie around his upper arm loose. It wasn't until he felt the tingling that meant the blood flow was returning that he noticed it. The priest held the open end of the tubing away from Metah. It had not been attached to the golden needle in her arm. Drops of Casca's blood began to drip out of the end of the tube. Then a small steady stream.

"You fool!" Casca cursed the priest. "Why haven't you attached the needle?"

The priest merely looked quietly at Casca. "Because, Tectli, I have found that I must wait until the blood fills the tube before transferring it. Otherwise a quantity of air will be transmitted in front of the blood. For some reason I do not know this is a fatal thing to have happen. Now!" He attached the open end of the flexible tube to the needle in Metah's arm.

Casca watched her face intently, concentrating on willing her to live. He saw the progress of the blood, watching the flow increase the weak pulse in her throat. Seconds passed.
Metah stirred. Slowly the pulse in her throat quickened.

"It's working,
Sactle! It's working!"

Metah
stirred more strongly.

Her eyes snapped open.

She screamed.

She screamed over and over, ever louder and louder, then weaker.

A dark flush ran up her face, turning her once-beautiful features into a contorted mask. She screamed once more, one final cry that faded into nothingness as her face turned black and she died, mouth open, eyes unseeing.

"No!" Casca cried. "What's wrong? What's happened? Why did she die?"

Sactle backed away from Casco, fear written in his face.

He made a sign to ward off the evil eye. His voice quivered:

"Your blood ... it's poison. Deadly poison. I have seen the same thing happen when one has been bitten by a poisonous snake. You are the Quetza! Your blood is poison – for you are a god!"

The priest prostrated himself.

"Forgive me, Tectli, for I had doubted your divinity. Now no one can deny it. Forgive me....”

Unnoticed, he crawled out of Casca's presence.

Casca wept, tears running down his face. He cried as a child would, uncontrollably, as if trying to purge himself of grief and pain in one tremendous outpouring of anguish.

"I have killed you,
Metah! My blood has killed you! If another had given it to you, you would have lived. I gave you mine seeking to give you eternal life, but I gave you hell. Forgive me, Metah!"

Totzin
climbed higher and higher. He was in the pine forests of the mountains. The thick trees let the light of the moon break through, casting beams of silver on the forest floor. He made his way toward safety. Dawn was almost upon him. By noon he would be safe. He paused by a pine to catch his breath ... and a familiar sound came to him.

The coughing roar of a hunting jaguar.

But not as men might imitate it. This was the full, vital, deadly cry of the jungle master, the killer.

Totzin
froze, eyes wide. He searched the bushes around him. The jaguar was close. Silence. No sounds reached Totzin except that of his own labored breathing rasping in his ears. Then there was the soft whisper of brush cracking.

He saw it.

In the shadows, a spotted hide mottled black against the bushes.

The Jaguar.

The huge cat's eyes gleamed in the moonlight as it lowered its body to the ground, the tail whipping slowly back and forth. Nose black and shiny, the cat gathered itself, the great muscles bunching. It looked Totzin in the eye. Totzin could not move. His mouth opened.

"
Mcht tl ley cotzli, Teypetel ..." he whispered.

The cat cocked one ear, listening.

Again, louder, Totzin began the ancient chant of the cat god: "Mcht tl ley cotzli, Teypetel." Repeating the chant, Totzin lost his fear. After all, this was his god, and he its servant. He stepped forward, chanting louder, the beast seemingly, understanding the ancient words. Totzin was elated. The god heard and understood....

The thought that the god with the spotted hide listened was still in his mind when the great cat sprung, but the words on his lips seemed far away; the sound of his bones being cracked between the cat's teeth was much louder.