longer. They started up the pyramid. At each level some of the escorting party would drop off and begin a different chanting. The remainder of the procession would advance to the next level, and again some would drop off and remain there chanting. This continued, level by level, until only the old priest, two guards, two lesser priests, and the victim were left to reach the top of the pyramid. At the moment when they attained the apex the setting sun was directly behind them, and its golden rays cast a radiant halo over the proceedings.
Incense burners were sending wisps of aromatic smoke to the skies as the old priest turned and faced the waiting masses below. His voice could be clearly heard. He talked to his people. There was no shrillness in his words, no feeling of the religious fanatic. Even without understanding those words, Casca knew the man was absolutely sincere in whatever be was saying, and the crowd apparently felt the same way. Oddly, considering the circumstances, at many points the old man's voice became very gentle… as if he were talking to children and reminding them of their duties.
Caught in the hypnotic power of the ritual, Casca gazed transfixed at the scene upon the top of the pyramid. Despite the distance between him and the pyramid top he could make out all but the smaller details, could see clearly what was going on.
Finishing his oration, the old priest made mystic signs to the four points of the heavens. The two lesser priests removed the robe and headdress from the sacrificial messenger. Then gently, almost with affection, they drew him back over the altar stone, his chest bare to the heavens. The old priest held up a knife of clear, gold- colored flint. He faced the victim; the messenger, and began to talk to him. Even without knowing the words, Casca had a flash of insight as to what the old priest had in mind. He's giving the man the prayers of the people to take to their gods. That's the meaning of this.
The priest stopped. He touched the man on the forehead with his open palm for a moment. Then swiftly the golden blade flashed in the dying sun. In his imagination, Casca knew what came next: redness… a pause… then a jerking of the blade and the old man held something in his hand, something red and quivering. It's his heart. He's cut out the man's heart! Casca grimaced. A shiver ran over him and he could see in his mind's eye the messenger's body trembling, twitching, and then lying still. The priest took the still-beating heart and cast it into the incense fire where it crackled and sizzled. Casca imagined that even at this distance he could catch a whiff of the cooking meat. The crowd stood and cheered… happy… rejoicing… as if it were a holiday. The victim's body was carried back down the steps and put on an altar at the base of the pyramid. People from the crowd began to file by this altar, dipping pieces of cloth into the open chest from which the heart had been cut. Even children timidly touched the dead man's extremities and then ran to their parents who would nod in approval at their children's act of devotion and faith. Damn! Casca thought…
Food was brought to Casca. The bearer was a girl. She carried a platter of those leathery flat pancakes of yellow meal together with spiced meat.
When she entered Casca's room she had bowed her head in obeisance, not looking up, careful to keep her eyes away from this stranger with the eyes of colored stones and the hair unlike that of any of her people or of any people she had ever heard of… one with light hair that held streaks of gold in it. She moved quietly, with small steps, and laid his food upon his sleeping bench and then knelt, as though waiting for either orders or permission to leave.
Watching the girl closely, Casca tried to make sense of what was going on and what the girl's functions were. Taking her by the chin, he raised her head in order to get a good look at her.
Pretty. Damned pretty. Her hair was long and gathered in the back to hang almost to the small of her back. Her eyes were wide and slightly oval in shape. Her mouth was full. The rich copper tone of her skin reminded him of some of the dancers he had seen from the lands past the Indus.
'Your name, girl. What's your name?' Holding her firmly by the chin so she could not look away, he forced her eyes to meet his.
'Name,' he repeated, thumping himself on the chest. 'I am Casca.' He touched her gently between the breasts. 'You. Your name?' Again he thumped himself in the chest and repeated, 'Casca.' What was it the old man said… Chicxa? That's it. Chicxa. Aloud he said, 'Chicxa?'
The gentleness with which he spoke seemed to reassure her. Timidly she touched his chest, but jerked her hand back rapidly as if burned. 'Quetza?'
'No,' Casca said, smiling, 'Casca. Casca. I am Casca.'
Shyly she nodded. 'Casca.' Then she touched her own breast. 'Metah. Ih mech Metah.'
'Good, we've started to talk.' Taking her hand, Casca led her to the window from which he had watched the sacrifice. He pointed to the pyramid, then up to the altar, and pantomimed the sacrifice, the killing of the native by the old priest. Then he pointed at his own scarred chest and indicated a knife cut. 'Me too,' he said.
Metah faced the pyramid, then Casca. She nodded her head up and down and looked into his eyes.
'When, woman? How long until they do me? Tonight? Tomorrow? When?'
She did not understand. Casca pointed to the sinking sun, then made a circle around his head and said, 'One day?' He circled his head twice. 'Two days?' He pointed back to the sun, then circled his head repeatedly, rapidly. 'How many days?'
Metah shook her head and took her own hand and circled above her head many times. Then with an eloquent shrug of her shoulders she made it clear that he was not to be sacrificed soon, but she didn't know how long he had.
The sun sank behind the wooded rim of the valley, and night closed in on them. The coming darkness brought a chill into the room, for these were the highlands and the nights were cold.
The girl stayed. She sat beside his sleeping bench and watched Casca's every move, her eyes luminous. Amused, Casca said, 'Good enough. If that's where you want to stay, okay, but I'm going to sleep.' Taking one of the blankets, he lay down facing the door, wondering what the next days would bring. He had forgotten the girl until he caught her slight movement out of the corner of his eye and realized she was shivering in the chill air.
'Oh, crap!' He raised the blanket with his arm and motioned for her to climb in bed with him. 'No sense you freezing out there, little girl. I won't hurt you. I'm too damned tired to do anything other than crap out, so get your ass in here and get warm.'
Metah pulled herself under the blanket, putting her back to this strange man. Her heart beat wildly. What would he do to her? She lay awake for many long hours needlessly, but finally the sound of Casca's snoring and the warmth of his body lulled her to sleep. Like a child she snuggled close to the source of the warmth. Had she been awake, she might have been awed by such intimacy, for the old priest Tezmec had said that this pale stranger was a gift from the gods, that he bore the name of the god Quetza, that he was Casca the Serpent…
For the next few days Metah was the only visitor that Casca had. During this time he made maximum use of her company to learn as much of the Teotec language as possible. By the end of the week he had picked up enough of the tongue to make himself understood for many basic matters. Using the pictograph paintings on the walls of the room, Metah had tried to explain to him the Teotec culture and religion. For obvious reasons the religion was of interest to him, and, when he was permitted to walk around the great square, accompanied by guards and Metah, he discovered something that made that interest in religion even greater.
When they came to the temple with the snake heads she said, pointing to them, 'Quetza. Casca.'
The old priest dropped by from time to time to see how Casca was getting on. He would sit in the sun on a reed mat in front of the doorway, looking like a kindly grandfather, His wizened face smiled, and he nodded his approval when Casca tried to speak the Teotec tongue. In his mind he thought: I was right in sending the woman to the stranger. She will teach him more in the time remaining than anyone else could have. It is good that it is so, for we must talk long with the stranger. There are questions that must be answered before he is sent back to the gods…
SEVEN
Long had Tezmec served the great gods of his people, for when he had been a youth his father had bound him over to the priests. There were two deities that held the interest of Tezmec. One was Tlaloc, for it was Tlaloc who gave the rains, and thus all prosperity from the land came from him, for without his blessings the land would wither and die and so would the people. Tlaloc was a god of life.
