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.
'Quetzal'
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 carmelian 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…
THIRTEEN
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
