FOURTEEN
During the following days the Teotec captains consolidated their gains against the Olmec, taking hostages and having the successor to Teypetel swear allegiance and send tribute to pay for the damages the Olmec had done to the city. The Vikings buried their dead under massive stones in the hills, facing them out to the distant sea. The men's armor and weapons were not buried with them as was the normal custom. Steel was too precious a commodity to leave. Instead, the men were buried with weapons of the chiefs of the Teotec.
During this time Casca was not to be seen. He was sunk in black, deep grief and refused to be consoled by anyone. Only during Metah's funeral did he appear, to see that she was treated with the care of a queen. The entire city turned out in mourning for the occasion. The women wailed and slashed their faces with their nails. The men wore ashes on their bodies and somberly lined the funeral procession. She was taken to a hill outside where a tomb had been prepared filled with all the things she would need in the afterlife… pots and clothes, jewelry and toilet articles. At the burial, each article was in its turn broken so that its spirit could travel to the spirit world with her. Even the clothes were torn so that they could perform the same purpose. Twenty of the bravest of the Olmec warriors slain in the fight were laid in a semicircle at her feet, to be her slaves forever in the afterlife. A silver mask covered her face, and her hands were crossed over her bosom. Massive stones were laid about her, and their area swept clean. Trees were planted on the spot so no one could find it again.
Casca observed all this silently, rigid, without emotion for he had been drained of all feeling.
The night following the funeral he made a decision.
Going to the chambers of the king Cuz-mecli, he called for the wise men and priests to hear his words. They gathered in one of the larger vaulted rooms of the palace, a room painted with brilliant frescoes.
Standing before the ones he had assembled, Casca gathered his thoughts, slowly picking every word he would say.
'Your majesty, wise men of the Teotec nation, listen to my words and pay heed. It has come to me that my time with you is at an end. The circle is complete. As I came to you from the sea, so I must return again to the sea. It is my fate, and the will of the gods.'
Cuz-mecli started to protest.
'No, young king, it must be so. Now hear me. As I have said, everything is a great circle, and all that was shall be again. So it shall. One day I will return. Watch for me to come from the sea. I brought you messages from the gods. Obey them. There shall be no more human sacrifices on your altars. Remove from all the paintings and artwork of your city any sign of human sacrifice. It is not needed. Though you may be sorely tried and tempted to resort to the old ways when bad times come upon you, do not fall to that temptation if you fear the gods and my vengeance. The bad times will test to see if you obey.'
One old shaman was nodding, his head apparently filled with the sleep of age. Suddenly his eyes snapped wide open, and he straightened, his rheumatoid hands clenched in gnarled fists. In a thin, crackling voice he spoke:
'Tectli, I have seen that what you say is true. You will come again with others, but the ships will not be of the dragon. They will have many sails, and the men will appear different, with skins of shining light. Marvelous beasts will do their bidding and carry them into battle so that they will appear to be half men and half animal, able to run like the wind and travel far. They will spread fire and death among those who still sacrifice on the altars. The people of the valley will be destroyed, but they will not be our people. Our city will long since have been covered by the forests and deserts, but our city will die peacefully and will obey your law.
'You shall return to the valley of the Teotec, but we shall be gone. Yet you shall be remembered. We shall send out holy men to tell of you and your coming. As you have said, the circle will be complete, and those who have not honored your command will perish. As a people and as a nation they shall be as dust. New ones will inherit all that was in the valley. In one reed, Tectli. It is so, and shall be.'
The old man dropped into silence, his cheeks hollow, exhausted by his vision, breath rattling in his body chest. As Casca watched him, for just a blink of an eye a shadow seemed to settle over the Teotec shaman, and the features of Shiu Lao Tze seemed to smile out from him… then they vanished.
A weary Casca prepared to leave the chambers. But before he left he said, 'In the morning, then, we shall leave. Farewell, and rule well, young king. You have the soul of greatness about you.'
The Vikings cheered when Casca told them of their returning. Loud shouts of 'Ave!' and 'Hail, Casca!' rang out as they scurried to gather their possessions and loot.
The morning rose and the feel of the day was auspicious. The Vikings gathered as a company at the foot of the great pyramid that had known so much blood and pain. They waited, packs on their backs, weapons slung and scabbarded.
The great square was filled not only with the city people but also with those from the surrounding countryside. Shoulder to shoulder they waited, fathers holding their children on their shoulders so that they might see and remember this day for all their years.
Casca appeared on the pyramid in his feathered robe, Serpent headdress, and wearing the jade mask. He motioned with one hand. A line of two hundred porters advanced, each carrying a straw basket. These went before the Vikings, and several porters opened their loads to show the contents gold, silver, jewels, and precious stones filled each basket to capacity. Just one basket would have made each Viking richer than his wildest dreams, and here were two hundred of them.
Calling out in the Norse tongue, Casca said to the men below:
'There is your reward as I promised.'
The Vikings started to break and run for the precious baskets, but were quickly snapped back in ranks by a harsh word from Olaf.
The drums began to beat, a sharp, distinct pattern. With each stroke Casca took a step and began his descent from the pyramid. The bindings of the jade mask again felt as if they were cutting into his face. He peered out the eyeholes as if through a tunnel. The scar on his chest burned. He reached the bottom, and the people of the city bowed in homage to the god Quetza. One small child, about three, ran forward and took his hand, bright, fearless eyes looking up into those of Casca behind the mask. The boy's mother came forward to jerk the boy back, but was stopped by a sign from Casca. Bending over, he picked the boy up and put him on his shoulders, and the three-year-old Teotec squealed with pleasure. The sound of the child's laughter broke the tension, and all began to cheer and sing in happy voices. The day had changed from one of sorrow to one of promise.
Casca strode along, his steps picking up speed as if by the trust of the child he was being relieved of the pain that was Metah and the grief was put to rest. He went to the entrance of the great hall. Setting the boy down and taking the child's small hand in his larger paw, he walked inside past braziers burning incense to where the only decorations were the six masks hanging on the walls.
A bent figure stepped forward and bowed. It was Pletuc the carver. Now Casca remembered him as the one who had broken the Olmec captain's nose with the chamber pot full of night soil, and he smiled. Taking the mask from his face, he walked to the place prepared for it on the day of his sacrifice. Slowly, carefully, he set the mask with the others and stepped back, looking at his own face in motionless, timeless jade… true to the smallest detail. Even the hairline scar left on him by the Greek whore was perfect. He glanced at the old carver.
'I told you I would hang the mask in the hall with my own hands.'
The carver chuckled. 'So you did, Tectli. And it does look very good there hanging with the others.' The old man walked to the display with pride. As if he personally owned the masks here he pointed to each one and called it by name. His great-grandfather had carved the first two, his father the next three, and he had been honored with the duty of carving the likeness of Cuz-mecli's father, the king and the even greater honor of carving this last one, this likeness of the living god, the Quetza. He paused, and then spoke, his reedy voice piping:
'Something is missing.'
'What's that, old one?'
'These.' Pletuc showed two gray-blue ovals.
Taking the mask of Casca down, he worked with the jade for a moment and then put it back on its hanger. 'There. It is complete.' The jade mask seemed to have taken on life. The oid man had inserted two carved eyes of
