“I am no impostor to a man I have never heard of. I am Gathelaus and I will not stay bound too long!” he spouted in a frothy anger.
“I know,” she said softly, before being shoved back by the men so they might all be able to crowd and strike him with open palm slaps. It was a small relief these people did not use fists.
Lost in a barrage of battering limbs, he remembered her lithe form clutching the jade amulet. A dozen thoughts raced through his mind. Who were these people? How could he escape? Why didn’t they kill him? Why were they unsure of who he was when he first approached? How did the woman speak his language? Was she a witch? A queen? A prisoner?
The villagers carried him a few hundred yards into the trees and before a rocky escarpment. There they threw him into a pit with a shout of unknown jeers, and blocked the opening with a great rolling stone, encasing him in the darkness of earth.
And the dark heathen gods smiled at his doom, sure this time that he was out of the game.
Two for the Price of One
While he slept heavy and sure as time, they released him of his bindings, but still he was trapped in the manmade pit. Corn, eggs, and water in small gourds was left for him once a day in a carved slot in the stone. For days they kept Gathelaus in the dank prison.
After what he perceived had been a week, the stone rolled back and the woman who spoke his language told him to come out. The light nearly blinded him and he struggled to see in the brightness.
Gathelaus wondered if he could run to the beach, steal a canoe and escape, but four men with spears stood beside the woman, and his legs shook from the cramped pit. He didn’t know if he could run.
“What do you want of me?” asked Gathelaus.
“It is what the village chieftain Culhua wants. He seeks to sell you to the lord Tezomoc. He thinks you would be a good ball player for the sacrificial games,” she said, without looking him in the eye.
Gathelaus was puzzled, she spoke flawless Vjornish but the guards obviously understood every word she said. Did everyone here speak Vjornish? No, she was the only one, but how?
“What is your name? How do you speak my tongue?” he asked as a guardsman bound his hands once again with a stout rope.
The guard nearest him struck him with the butt end of his spear, knocking Gathelaus to the ground. He barked at the girl in the same curious tongue, while the others leveled their spears at their prisoner.
The sudden attack left Gathelaus stunned, his head flared red pain and rage but he could not charge the spears, not yet. The girl let her jade necklace drop from her grasp and she shouted at the one who struck Gathelaus. The guard backed away and muttered. She clasped the jade in her fist again. “He is about to be sold! Am I to tell Culhua you are damaging his property?”
The guard murmured and she glared at him.
“I am no one’s property,” Gathelaus snarled.
“I had to say something to keep them from striking you again,” she said.
Another guard helped Gathelaus stand and brushed dirt from his knees, speaking jovially—not that Gathelaus could understand a word of it.
“Thanks. What is your name?” he asked her.
The brutal guard shouted something in reproach but then retreated a few steps away.
She stared daggers at the attacking guardsman and said, “Here, I am called Xilitiaxacoco. I have the gift of the gods to speak the tongues of all men.” She looked directly at Gathelaus and smiled. “Even your heathen tongue.”
“I can’t say that name. I’ll call you Coco,” said Gathelaus, as he wiped away the hint of blood from his mouth where the guard had hit him.
“That’s fine, it’s not my real name anyway.”
The antagonistic guardsman shoved her and snarled something decidedly unpleasant.
She spun about like a coiling viper ready to strike. “I am no witch!”
The guard stopped, fear in his eyes for just a moment before he regained his composure. Coco still glared at him, but it was apparent to Gathelaus that was as far as she would take it. She was a slave too. He finally noticed the tattoo on her hand, the same mark upon some of the slaves he had seen on the island of cannibals. Peoples captured by the flesh-eaters must have been taken north to be sold on the coasts, all had the blue rope-like tattoos designating binding submission.
She held her head erect at whatever the guard cursed at her. When she didn’t respond, he laughed in a mirthless mocking sound of cruelty. She spat at him. Gathelaus could respect her spirit—even if it brought her a strike like his own.
Gathelaus tried to gauge how he could take a spear and gut the man before the others did him in kind. It didn’t seem that there was a way with his hands bound as they were.
“There is the chief Culhua and the Lord Tezomoc, if you are wise you will respond kindly to all questions presented you,” said Coco, as she matted her own hair in a futile attempt to look less presentable. She let the blood from her own mouth flow freely while wiping away Gathelaus’s. “Tell me no lies,” she said, looking him deep in the eye.
Gathelaus had to wonder if her being struck in the mouth was another way for beautiful Coco to look less desirable to this Tezomoc.
Culhua stood with his feathered adornments and copper baubles in pale shadow compared to the dusky lord Tezomoc who wore a lustrous cloak of scarlet feathers held by a golden chain. Turquoise and jet adorned his fingers and wrists, deep jade on silver chains hung about his neck accented by gleaming pearls. He held a short staff with hair on the end for fly swatting in his hand. Not even his face was free of wealth, lip plugs of jade hung there as did a golden ring in his long nose. It only accentuated the feature making him resemble a gaudy bird of prey. Dark eyes looked Gathelaus over and he snorted in disgust before speaking to Culhua.
The chieftain gently challenged the remarks and asked the guardsman to verify his claims. He mimicked the gestures of Gathelaus swatting with a club and extended his hands broadly and laughed. He finished by rubbing his hands together quickly and exclaiming something before pointing to the east and then gave a half-hearted laugh in hopes to induce the same from Tezomoc.
But the frowning lord remained silent. He circled Gathelaus and eyed him up and down, prodding him once in the small of his back with his fly swatter. He then spoke to Gathelaus, who could only look at him.
Culhua snapped at Coco, who then repeated, “The great Lord Tezomoc wishes to know how a foreign barbarian with skin like a dead worm could hope to compete in the ball games against true men.”
Gathelaus said nothing but stared straight ahead. Tezomoc glowered and asked another question. He then cast a scathing glare at Coco.
“The great Lord Tezomoc doubts your vitality but wishes to know where you are from. Please answer,” said Coco, emphasizing the last.
“You know where I am from. Tell him yourself.”
“He is from across the sea, a land of worms known as Vjorn. He will fight for you in the games,” she said.
“I did not say that,” growled Gathelaus.
She ignored the remark.
Tezomoc swept his eyes over Gathelaus yet again, spoke to Culhua and briefly gestured toward Coco.
Culhua readily agreed to the first point but seemed to take issue with the next. He motioned for Coco and seemed to say disparaging things about her, though not a single word sounded familiar to Gathelaus.
Tezomoc raised his voice ever so slightly and Culhua relented and lowered his head in submission.
Culhua barked at his men and they in turn pushed Gathelaus to get him moving to a tent beside the negotiations. There were a dozen other people of all ages bound with their hands behind their backs and wooden collars about their necks.
Gathelaus had sat most of the time during his imprisonment and did not want to sit now, but the men forced him to the ground. The wooden collar placed upon him made breathing a little more difficult because it was small for his corded neck. The slaves already there looked at his skin, pale in comparison to their own
, but beyond that seemed indifferent and resigned to their lot. A moment later Coco sat beside him, she, too, bound with a thick rope about her wrists and wooden collar around her slender neck.
“What happened?”
“Culhua wished to sell you as a ball player, because they pay the most as slaves. Tezomoc didn’t believe him or didn’t care. Instead you will be used in the ceremony of Xipe Totec.”
“What about you? Why are you with me now?” asked Gathelaus.
“It’s not about you. Tezomoc was intrigued by my ability with tongues, he wants me, as I would be incredibly useful as a translator. There are many peoples under the rule of the Tultecacans and not all of them speak their tongue. I am from the Canatucke Isles and we speak a vastly differing tongue.”
Gathelaus grimaced, wondering how large these lost lands were and where they would be taking him. Presumably inland. He had to find out more. “Could the chief have not refused?”
“Culhua did not want to sell me as I was the most valuable slave he’s ever had. But Tezomoc insisted, and he could not refuse even the poor price he offered for both of us,” she lamented.
“Poor price? I thought I was sold as a valuable ball player and you a priceless interpreter.”
She shook her head as best she could with the mammoth collar. “Tezomoc is a lord, cousin to the king Itzcoatl. Culhua could not refuse him. Damn the gods, I was almost ready to escape and return to the land of Canatucke. I would be free there. A trader was supposed to be coming back for me in another moon or two.” She put her head down until the collar was between her knees, and she sobbed. “There is no hope now, I will be deep inland, in their damned cities of stone and blood.”
“There is always a way. Doesn’t this Tezomoc still want me to play his ball game? You saw what I did to the men of the village and I was half-dead,” said Gathelaus with a grin. “My strength will be back soon enough.”
“You are an arrogant brute and you can fight as well as any man I have ever seen. But it won’t mean a thing in the courts, they may not let you fight at all. It may be a struggle for them to find a priest to fit you,” she said trying to compose herself.
“Fit me? You admit I can fight and you’re worried about how a priest will dress me? Does this Tezomoc like his prisoners in skirts?” laughed Gathelaus. “Male prisoners?”
“No, he has other plans for you. You will be the highlight of the Xipe-Totec festival,” she grimaced uncontrollably trying to keep from weeping as she spoke. “I am sorry.”
Gathelaus laughed. “That’s not so bad is it? People will want to look at such a strange alien in their midst? They will say, ‘look at the wild hairy man who has come amongst us.’”
“You don’t understand,” she said.
“I know people. I will be a novelty and somehow I will find a way for both of us to escape. The spectacle will give us ample opportunity to find a way.”
“No, it won’t. You don’t understand the festival of Xipe-Totec,” she spat the name. “The priests run the festival, they wear the skins, they offer the blood to the gods.”
“I don’t care what gruesome festivities they do, we can still find a way. I have been in dungeons and slave trains before. A man can always find a way out.” Gathelaus said this with confidence, despite the stifling wooden collar.
“Not this time,” she said, with a sad shake of her head. “Xipe-Totec is the festival of the Flayed God. Your pale skin will clothe the priest that portrays the flayed god this next killing moon.”
***
Though everything was ready for the, Tezomoc had his entourage wait two more days before setting off on the journey to his home city of Chalco. Coco explained to Gathelaus that it was custom to wait for a lucky day to begin a journey, and the day of One Monkey was a lucky day. The same would hold for their entry into the city—they may have to camp outside the city’s boundaries until it was an auspicious day as well.
The bindings upon the slaves’ feet were loose but they were still bound by the great collars and also to each other. So if one slave decided to run he would be pulled upon by all the others. Gathelaus considered the idea of gnawing through the rope in front of him, but it seemed the guardsmen of Tezomoc considered the possibility the strange man would do such a thing and he was placed in the center of the slave train so that at his back would be no less than six slaves. Behind them, a large pack of dogs followed, guided by two or three of the older slaves. These dogs were kept for the sake of fresh meat on a daily basis. One was sacrificed nightly—Tezomoc had his choice of the best cuts and the rest went to whomever he deigned to share with. The rest of the people had corn or dried fish. But Gathelaus noticed that the big litter slaves and guardsmen also ate from a gourd full of tiny black and brown seeds.
“What are those?” he asked Coco.
“It is the Amaranth and Chia, it grants much energy.”
“Can you get me some?”
“No, it is forbidden to all but the warriors. Tezomoc should not even be giving it to his bearers, but he is cousin to the king and none but the high priest would dare correct him,” said Coco.
“If something happens, will you give me some?”
“If something happens—but it won’t.”
Coco did not have to wear the collar or rope any longer but was forced to follow behind Tezomoc’s litter and speak to him if he wished. A dozen shaven-headed slaves carried the lord’s litter, they performed this silent as fish. To her horror, Coco discovered on the journey their tongues had been cut out. She became cautious in what she said to Tezomoc.
They journeyed for several days and stopped in a minor city for a day only to wait for a more auspicious time to travel. Tezomoc had Coco buy a large blanket to cover Gathelaus. Not because of the cold, but because he did not want his odd-skinned slave to sunburn any more than he already had. The bright red and peeling skin worried the lord, and he feared he had purchased a diseased slave until Coco reminded him of the pale man’s homeland in the frozen north.
Coco cut the cloth and helped shape a tunic for Gathelaus. It was the only time the wooden collar was removed from him. A guard stood ready with a spear and another had a drawn bow. She took the light blue tunic and put it over his burned shoulders and wrapped his wide leather belt over the top to secure it.
She was as close as she had ever been and he liked the scent of her, he nuzzled her neck and she drew back surprised, saying something unintelligible. He laughed and she took hold of her jade surreptitiously so that none other should notice.
“You cannot touch me slave,” she snarled. But he laughed. “Why do you laugh?”
“You have to laugh at something when life seems this grim.”
Coco shook her head. “If only you knew the horrors that await you, then you would not laugh.”
“Come a little closer and I’ll laugh again.”
She smiled but replaced the wooden collar. “All laughter fades as dreams die.” She hurried away and Gathelaus watched her with a man’s appreciation.
The tunic provided some semblance of warmth at night, though he could never properly rest his head because of the collar. It was the second luxury Tezomoc had afforded the barbarian. Gathelaus had also been given back his thick ox-hide boots. The lord did not want any of Gathelaus’s skin being ruined, even the soles of his feet. Small comfort it gave Gathelaus. The boots and breeches were the last things of his own he still had. Calhua now wore his ragged dragon tunic. An oddity for the simple chieftain who had never seen such a fabric before. The woolen cloak had been examined and poked at by the elderly shaman of the village and then sold to Tezomoc as well.
A day outside the city of Chalco, they encamped again between a pair of smoking black mountains to wait for a lucky day.
“Tomorrow is One Serpent, I am sure we will enter Chalco then,” said Coco.
“Isn’t that just getting closer to my skinning?” Gathelaus chided.
She looked away. “I want to think of a plan of escape but once in the city the
re is no way I can see.” She walked away into the deep night.
He didn’t want her to leave like that. Gathelaus pondered if all he had been through in life was leading up to the butchery at the hands of these men. He had survived years of being a sellsword fighting wars across the face of the world, defeating a dark goddess, claiming his own kingdom, destroying a demonic temple, a marooning, a shipwreck, but most importantly the usurper revolt that slew his bride and stole his hard-earned crown. He couldn’t believe he had made it through all of those near death experiences to die here and now, the skin cut from his flesh to be worn by a bloody-handed priest. He was Gathelaus, slayer of countless named men and monsters, master of the deadly north, survivor of innumerable disasters. Shaking the despair from his mind, he pondered avenues of escape.
“I got this for you, at least it’s not more corn,” said Coco, handing him a bit of honeycomb covered in amaranth grains. “It will give you strength.”
“Thank you,” he said, before wolfing down a bite.
“Why did you come to this land?” she asked. Her large eyes ready to take in his tale.
“I sailed across the sea against my will. I was king in my own land, but it was stolen from me by one named Vikarskeid.”
“Vike-Ar-Skide?” she questioned.
“Aye. I should have slain him. But I let mercy rob justice and decided not to slay all the nobility of Vjorn. Perhaps I should have. I was captured by his men and some wanted me to suffer rather than simply be slain. So I was sold into slavery that I might never touch land again. But as you can see, I am a survivor. I will return and crush my enemies.”
She was silent a long moment, then said, “There comes a time when you can’t fight your way out anymore and all your plans are as dust.”
“You speak as if there is no hope. There is always a way,” said Gathelaus. He grinned at her and tried to caress her cheek.
FIERCE: A Heroic Fantasy Adventure (BRUTAL TRILOGY Book 2) Page 11