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 Casca, 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 Quetzal 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.
Much louder…
So Totzin, high priest of the Jaguar, served his god well to the very end. His god enjoyed him to the fullest. Then, licking the blood from its muzzle, it dragged the remainder of the carcass to its lair where its cubs waited to be fed.
