FIERCE: A Heroic Fantasy Adventure (BRUTAL TRILOGY Book 2)

by James Alderdice

  The soldier led Gathelaus down a long ornate passageway. The adobe was whitewashed, and many curious relics and decorations were strewn along the walls and short tables that these people preferred.

  The hall was dimly lit and seemed large, though Gathelaus could not see where the walls ended. Far in the gloom, candles flickered giving weak cold light. A beautiful yet haughty looking woman, wearing hardly more than a silken girdle and golden armlets, gave a cold stare at Gathelaus as he approached. She spoke to an unseen presence and vanished just as Gathelaus reached the foyer and saw his host.

  A man sat on a raised dais, hunched over a scroll like a vulture dining on carrion. His hands were stained dark with ink and veins stood out from the tops like worms writhing under tight skin. Bathed in the gloom, the man’s eyes were even darker than the surrounding gloom. They looked like orbs of obsidian that ate the light itself. He wore the finest robe of jaguar skin Gathelaus had ever seen, a tall feathered headdress sat upon his crown and, a necklace of curious bones was about his neck. At his feet were a pair of peculiar creatures. They almost looked like large dogs but with longer narrow snouts and they had a dozen big flat spines protruding from their backs; the claws upon their feet were longer too and more like a cat’s. They grunted savagely as if wishing to be given the command to attack, but the priest hushed at them and their spines rattled softly as they lay once more at his feet.

  Gathelaus recalled he had seen one of these feeding and draining blood from the defeated sacrifices at the ceremony the other day. What were they called? Kokopelli? Curious, distasteful beasts.

  A stone altar, carved to look like a jaguar with freakish human characteristics, stood directly across from him in the middle of the room. And beyond that, a huge shimmering fresco painted upon a wide sheet of smooth beaten copper. An image of the very same altar and, just behind, a life-like jaguar creature seated upon a dais.

  “Gathelaus, champion of KuKulacan,” he rasped. “What am I to do with you?”

  Gathelaus stopped and put his thumbs in his belt. “I am not yours to do anything with.”

  “You are, you just don’t know it yet. I am Cuauhtémoc, the Nagual and high priest for the king. Act as surprised as you wish, but I know who you are and from where you fare. The gods sought to destroy you and yet you came here anyway.”

  “It was not my choice,” said Gathelaus, turning and wondering if he caught a glimpse of the jaguar creature’s movement upon the fresco, eerily in time with the high priest’s own subtle movements. “I would sail back to my home this instant if they would let me.”

  “Too bad that is not your fate then.”

  “I don’t believe in fate, but choice of action.”

  “You can argue fate, but you chose to sail from your homeland. You chose to leave your new kingdom with the north peoples and your sailing vessel came here. Call it what you will, but fate happened whether you agree with it or not. And then, unbidden, you came farther into our lands and even destroyed the gods of the mountains.”

  Gathelaus bristled. He had not chosen to be usurped nor to be sold into slavery and yet here he was. “Speak plainly, what do you want?”

  “You owe me. Those gods were mine to command. That hidden mountain fortress was but one of many retreats I own and you destroyed it. Why?”

  “Those gods, as you call them, were but great apes, hypnotized by your priests. They sought to slay me. I returned the favor.”

  Cuauhtémoc snorted, stood and rubbed his hands together. “You are an amazing man. No one man has ever slain one of the mountain gods before, but you didn’t stop there, you even killed one of the last of the Amon-Gahela. Eons ago those giants laid waste to our lands and nearly devoured all men. They were only held back from such because the Nine Blood Gods chose to strike them down. They interfered with the order of things. Now there are not likely more than a dozen left. You can understand what happens to those that cross the order of things, can’t you?”

  Gathelaus snorted in derision. “I’ve been through too much to quake at idle threats.”

  Cuauhtémoc cocked his head sadly as if he was about to scold a child. “But to do such a thing—and slay some of the Nine. I find it wonderous. Truly you are favored by some noble god, though I admit I do not know which one yet. But there will be a price for a move against the Nine.”

  “What do you want?” growled Gathelaus, impatient with the high priest’s meandering talk. “I came not for your flattery or to hear of your deceitful plans.”

  Cuauhtémoc snapped. “You have no idea who I am. Most believe I serve Itzcoatl and I tell you that he is well aware of Tezomoc’s plans.” Gathelaus folded his arms but said nothing. “Itzcoatl wishes you to betray Tezomoc and win the ball game, it will ruin Tezomoc and evade the assassination plot that seeks to use you.”

  “The king has good spies,” said Gathelaus, looking behind. Was the fresco a mirror?

  “Heh,” cackled the priest. “No, I saw Tezomoc plot this thing and I alone told the king.” He produced a life-sized crystal skull from his robe and placed it upon the table before him. “I see many things with this.” He then tucked the skull back into his robes. “I know all secrets.”

  “And why should I do any of this for you? I know what happens to the winners.”

  “Heh, arrogant man, you still think you can outwit the gods and fight fate. What you were not told is that only the captains are sacrificed. Mixamaxtla is the captain, not you, he will be the only one to die from your team. Tezomoc will be ruined and you will be free of him, that is reward enough. So says my king, the obsidian serpent,” said Cuauhtémoc, as he drew a long needle-like spine from a ball of woven grass.

  “If I don’t swear to do as you say, I suppose you will threaten to kill me?”

  Cuauhtémoc took the spine and pierced himself through the ear lobes, letting blood drip down upon his shoulders, then he did the same for his elbows and finally his knees. He shuddered, muttering, “I have given that which is right. I have paid the required blood debt lord, provide for me as I have provided for you.” He swooned and a multi-colored darkness weaved through the night-licked chamber.

  The air before Gathelaus warped and the priest fell upon all fours like a man in a swoon. Gathelaus wondered if the priest was mad, but then saw his dark mahogany skin ripple and swell. His neck elongated, and fanged teeth grew like suddenly forming icicles. The prostrate priest howled and changed before his very eyes. Turning to look at the frescoed mirror, Gathelaus saw the priest down on all fours caught in the reflection but standing before him was a snarling half-man half-jaguar rising up on two legs. It stood taller than he and rippled in savage muscle, claw, and tooth. It stepped toward Gathelaus, hungry fire flaring in the depths of its obsidian eyes. Even the pair of savage creatures that had reclined at his feet, the kokopelli, fled in fear from this monstrous form.

  “I am a Nagual, a skin-walker. You see what power I have,” slurred the words from an inhuman mouth. He held his clawed hand forth and made a fist to compound his word. “You will obey the king’s wishes. I need not say more. You may depart.”

  Gathelaus backed away, never taking his eyes off the man-beast until he reached the threshold of the door.

  Just as he reached for the handle, the dark woman stood there. “I saw you in the arena. I have never beheld a man such as you before.” She caressed his shoulder.

  Gathelaus could not help but look beyond her to see if the Naugal was following.

  “Fear not.” The woman took his chin and made him look her in the eye. “He only wished to demonstrate his power. You are in no danger… yet.” Her cruel smile widened.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I am Tazcara. You shall meet me again, Northman.”

  Gathelaus grunted and pushed her aside to open the door and leave the vile place. Tazcara laughed behind him in the dark and he found her reckless allure to be as unsettling as the skin-walker’s transformation.

  Outside Coco, the eunuch, and the guards wait
ed nervously.

  “What did he say?” asked the eunuch. “You are even paler than usual!”

  “Nothing. He said nothing of importance,” said Gathelaus, shaking his head and trying to compose himself of the horror he had just witnessed.

  “Nonsense. Such a man does not call for no reason. You are obviously shaken. What did he say?”

  “He wished me well in the games, and said I must do the will of the gods,” answered Gathelaus, looking over his shoulder at the skin-walker’s villa as they went down the avenue.

  The eunuch responded, “That is all he said? So much the better. Many terrible rumors swirl about that man. I know of no one who does not fear his awful gaze.”

  “True enough,” answered Gathelaus, still glancing back at the nightmarish palace before taking a corner and having it vanish from sight.

  In the days to come, Gathelaus spoke of the event to no one, but on the day of the awaited ball-game he asked Coco, “Is there a way to slay a skin-walker?”

  “My people’s shaman said there was a brew to prepare for protection, but to kill those Nagual demons? No, there is no way known to man. Why do you ask?”

  “I thought I heard a story once of someone who did.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “No, there is no such story. No one has ever slain a Nagual.”

  Summon the Thunder

  Coco was given a full pack of food and some minor valuables and escorted to the gates of Chalco where Gathelaus saw her off. They exchanged a brief kiss. They had long ago planned for her to wait for him between the black mountains of fire in a pre-determined spot, near where the now deceased gods of the mountains had dwelt.

  “How long dare I wait for you?”

  “If I’m not there in a day, you should return to your own lands as swiftly as possible. You cannot trust these jackals,” he said grimly.

  “And of my stone?” she asked, holding her hand out.

  “Sorry.”

  “I should have known better than to trust you,” she said with a pout.

  “Maybe you should have.”

  “They aren’t going to let you win and just walk away.”

  “I know.”

  “There is no way for you to kill a Nagual.”

  “So you told me.”

  “Look, we could flee now, down the causeway. We could outrun those guardsmen and make our way to the Canatucke lands right now,” she whispered urgently.

  He looked back at their escort. A dozen men with bows and atlatls. It wouldn’t be a good run anywhere. “I’m doing this for us both. At least you’re free now. Tezomoc kept his word.”

  She snorted at that. “It’s a long way home.”

  “Even longer for me, darlin’.”

  “I thought your lands a myth my whole life.”

  He nodded looking away to the black mountains. “Me too. You better get going. I’ll join you when I can.”

  She looked him deep in the eyes and shook her head. “Arrogant madness but I love you.”

  He clenched his jaw at that. Everyone he ever loved died. It felt like a curse. Saying the words now would feel like he was casting doom upon her, so he just held her tight a long moment and said nothing.

  “You’re not going to say it?” She pushed away. “Fine then. I’ll wait for you one day but not a moment longer.”

  He gave her a lop-sided grin. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  She sniffed, wiped away a tear, wheeled around and started down the causeway for the northern road.

  Once she disappeared into the moving crowd of folk, Gathelaus turned about and the gates shut. He was escorted back to the home of Tezomoc. There he was fitted with his custom made feathered serpent tunic and his gauntlets of iron, made by Huitzilin the smith. They were heavy and not of as fine a make as he supposed could have been had in Vjorn, but they looked more than capable of repelling an obsidian assault. The rest of his ball-game apparel was what he was used to from all the weeks of practice. Thick deer-hide panels and an ungainly helm that looked to him like a dragon’s face, the jaws open where he could look out from within. The old eunuch and the slave boy from the arena helped fit him.

  “It’s time,” spoke a slave of Tezomoc, followed by more guardsmen.

  The slave led them toward the ball-court and, as Gathelaus neared, the people’s voices rose to the heavens in great exultation. Outside the court and spectator seating, gamblers surrounded bookies and merchants held bet sheets. People even bet when the games would begin exactly, down to the minute.

  Gathelaus was among the last to arrive. Mixamaxtla glared at him and directed Gathelaus where to stand in honor of the king and nobles. A royal box with a shade over it sat in the center, allowing the best view. The king was obvious, for he wore a fine cloak made from the feathers of brightly colored birds and with regal golden headdress upon his brow. It, too, was ornamented with long bright feathers. Beside him sat a regal looking woman with a more feminine crown. Beautiful, with straight black hair and high cheekbones, she looked bored and hardly paid attention to the event at all.

  “All will bow their heads in fealty to mighty king Itzcoatl and his queen Tazcara!” shouted a priestly announcer. The throng suddenly bowed together like one body, save Gathelaus, who looked on defiant of such a spectacle.

  Mixamaxtla tugged on Gathelaus’s tunic. “Bow your head, or have Itzcoatl decide you don’t need a head.”

  Gathelaus grimaced and slightly lowered his gaze.

  It didn’t appear that king Itzcoatl had noticed at all, but the queen Tazcara did. She now paid much closer attention to the lighter skinned foreigner.

  “Forces of the day and night, order and chaos, light and dark. Are you ready?” asked the priestly announcer.

  “The heavenly forces of day, order, and light are ready,” shouted the king’s captain.

  “The heavenly forces of night, chaos, and dark are ready,” shouted Mixamaxtla.

  “Then let the ball-game of the heavens begin,” responded the priest, dropping the ball into the center of the court. The bodies of the teams surged forward at incredible speed, each to try and take an early advantage. The ball was sent back up again and again in such quick succession Gathelaus was not even sure which team had control. Then it came near him.

  A day player who looked like the god Tlaloc, leapt for the ball to put himself between it and Gathelaus, but the back swing of Gathelaus’s club was already moving. It struck Tlaloc’s exposed shoulder blade. Despite the thick padding, Gathelaus felt the crunch of the bones shattering beneath. Tlaloc fell to the dust, howling in pain. Another day player moved in to slap the ball and Gathelaus stepped on Tlaloc, crushing him into the ground as he pushed the other away and knocked the heavy ball up with his thigh.

  Mixamaxtla grinned at Gathelaus’s savage play. He took the ball and sent it against a side panel. A flag was erected upon the night side to designate a point. A moment later a flag went up for the day side and then another.

  Pressing forward, Gathelaus swung an attack at the opposing day captain, but he was deflected by the other paddle-wielding day player. Forgetting about the ball, all three bashed at one another. Gathelaus’s gauntlets and dragon helm saved him from a braining and forearm strike. The day players were better than he had anticipated. The dark ball flew and struck the co-captain in the head, the day captain was forced to shed his attack in order to keep the ball in the air.

  Gathelaus took advantage and struck the co-captain, ending his involvement in the game. The crowd roared its bloody approval.

  Mixamaxtla launched another volley of strikes against panels and now the night was ahead of the day by one flag. The ball crossed the court with regular rhythm and once the days almost sent it through the hoop, but Gathelaus deflected it with a high strike.

  The god Huitzilopochtli of the days rammed into Gathelaus’s side and tore at his helm then kicked him in the face. The ball came near and he again hit Gathelaus, pushing him into the ramped side-wall, ignoring the ball.


  The ball touched the ground and bounced lightly before coming to a standstill. Gathelaus was dazed, he had been kicked in the face. The audience shrieked with awful rage. Wondering initially if it was directed at him, he took off his helm to hear better.

  The ball lay still, no player yet dared touch it.

  The priest beside Tezomoc and the king proclaimed, “What should be his fate?” He pointed toward Gathelaus and Huitzilopochtli.

  Queen Tazcara stood with a haughty expression upon her face. Her eyes bore into Gathelaus.

  He wondered if she was anxious for him to be punished for his lack of subservience.

  The crowd responded to the shouted question with a resounding hiss and hurling of insults. Gathelaus could not tell what was even being shouted anymore for so loud was the clamor and screeching of the crowd. Whether they cheered or jeered him, he could not tell.

  The king yawned and then gave a slicing motion with his hand.

  “For gross failure and lack of discipline, the king sentences Huitzilopochtli to the rack!” shouted the priest.

  Gathelaus breathed a sigh of relief that it was not directed at him. The game was halted as the priest came down the worn steps and retrieved the ball. He carried it back up to the massive brazier and cast it into a ceremonial fire just outside the royal pavilion. The god Huitzilopochtli was also escorted just outside the ball-court.

  “You are lucky, that was nearly you.” Mixamaxtla sounded disappointed.

  Gathelaus put his helm back on and sniffed. “I have the luck of the gods, then.”

  Mixamaxtla sneered.

  The player dressed as the god Huitzilopochtli was led to an altar where he knelt. A large man bearing an obsidian club came and stood beside him. The priest again addressed the crowd. “Here is the man who does not respect the pact with the gods! See him and know that only oblivion awaits him!” The club rose and fell and, with a vicious thwack, the head of a former god was loosed from his body into a waiting basket. That the player had been perfectly resigned to his fate was a mystery to Gathelaus, he couldn’t imagine being at peace with the fatal dynamic of the game, but he supposed that indoctrination to the customs of these games and the will of their gods superseded all else here. The head was picked up from the basket and displayed with some vigor, then it was placed alongside so many other fallen deities on the wall of skulls.