"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.
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."