The air in the city was close and heavy after the open river. Smells hung heavy in it-garbage, human and animal wastes, mud, wood smoke, a dozen others, most of them unpleasant. It wasn't quite as bad as the temple mound by the lake or the slave hold of the boat, but Blade found his nose wrinkling nonetheless as they marched him along.
Suddenly it struck him-one more smell, faint under all the others but unmistakable. He had smelled it too many times, in too many strange places after too many acts of violence. Decay-human decay. And the odor was growing stronger.
Ahead was a section of street where the people huddled close to the walls. In the middle of the street was a patch of white, and on the patch something black and sprawling. Blade knew what it was even before the procession took another step toward it.
How long the man had been dead, Blade couldn't be sure. In this damp climate only a little short of being tropical, decay would set in fast. Bloating and darkening were already well advanced. So was the smell. And there was something carved deep into the man's chest. While Pterin stopped the procession and chanted over the body, Blade had a good look at the blood-caked carving. Unmistakably, it was a stylized pair of bat wings.
A sacrifice to Ayocan? Lying here in the public streets, visible to everybody, rotting away in the middle of the capital city of Chiribu? Possibly. Quite possibly. Strange cults conducted strange sacrifices.
There were more bodies as they moved farther up through the streets of Tzakalan, farther away from the river. Some of the other bodies were comparatively fresh, and one must have been lying out only a few hours. It was the body of a young woman. A girl, actually, for she could hardly have been more than fifteen. She was naked, and the bat-wings had been carved into her bare stomach.
The girl's body was the worst sight for Blade, worse even than some of the other bodies that had been lying out for so long that the putrefying flesh had turned black and begun to fall off the bones. There were no insects around any of the bodies, Blade noticed. No doubt the white powder sprinkled about the bodies was to drive them away.
The procession continued on down the street, past markets, through areas where the paint was flaked and peeling from the buildings. Blade's bare feet were beginning to feel sore from walking on the hot pavement.
Eventually they came out on the far side of the city: It was not much of a surprise to Blade that the first thing he saw there was yet another temple mound of Ayocan. It was by far the largest that he had seen, nearly a quarter of a mile wide at the base and more than three hundred feet high. It was completely faced with blue and white stones, and two broad flights of stairs led up to the building at the top. The building itself gleamed a dazzling white in the sun. From its roof a column of familiar yellow-orange smoke rose into the windless air. Beside it stood an enormous square stone block with a tall, carved blue pole at each corner. The block was not only white, it had been polished until it was almost painful to look at.
«Ah, warrior,» said Pterin. «Raise your eyes to the Supreme House of Ayocan and consider your spirit rising from it, free to nourish mighty Ayocan. Tomorrow is the High Sacrifice. Tomorrow your spirit shall fly from your body and rise to Ayocan, who will be greatly pleased. And Ayocan shall be pleased.»
With a shrug, Blade did Pterin's bidding, looking carefully at the temple mound. But his reasons for doing that were entirely his own. He was fixing in his mind a mental picture of the temple mound and of the area around it. The better the picture, the better his chances of escape. And if there was no escape? Perhaps this huge obscenely swelling mound would be the place of his death. But in that case it would be the same for a good many of the priests and Holy Warriors of Ayocan.
Chapter 9
As Pterin had promised, the next morning they led Blade out to be sacrificed.
They had kept him for the night deep within the temple mound, in a richly furnished cell. And the condemned man certainly ate a hearty meal. In fact Blade could hardly do anything else, with the doctors watching him closely for any signs that his spirit was weakening. They also sent a girl in to him after the dinner, one of the drug-ridden puppets. Once more it was all Blade could manage to do what was very obviously his duty.
More than that. His life depended on his continuing to be a strong spirit as the doctor-priests of Ayocan defined it. Otherwise they would not lead him up on the top of the mound the next morning, where he might have room to run and surely would have room to fight. They would put him to death at once in this cell, dark and smelly for all its luxury. And he would not choose to die that way. He would not choose to die at all if possible, but certainly not that way. So he showed the strength of his spirit with the girl, and after that managed a full night of untroubled sleep.
He was fully awake and alert the next morning when they came for him, ready for whatever might promise a chance of escape. The priests offered him the usual massive breakfast, but he refused it. Too full a belly might slow him down. And there might easily be drugs in the food. He could not detect the distinctive smell of the narcotic, but there might be others.
Pterin must have been told of Blade's refusal at once. Within minutes he came storming down the corridor to the cell, four Holy Warriors behind him and fire in his eye. He faced Blade and glared at him.
«Warrior, do you wish your spirit to become weak, so that Ayocan will reject it when it comes before him? To merge with mighty Ayocan gives great joy for all time. But to be rejected by him gives eternal torment. Know you that?»
Blade shrugged. The casualness was assumed, for he knew that this clash of wills with Pterin could be as important as the clash of swords to come. His chances of escape might depend on his winning it. He fixed the priest with a steady stare of his own, and said coldly, «My spirit is so strong that your little bits of food can do nothing for it. And to eat now would in fact weaken that spirit. A warrior of my people must fast before entering a battle, and this moment I call a battle.» He wondered if he had let too much slip out. Pterin might find a hidden meaning in the mention of battles.
Apparently Pterin did not. But he had not fired his last shot. «Then if you will take no food, we shall at least give you the Waters of Strength. That you must take before the moment when-«
«I shall take nothing,» said Blade coldly. «All would be against the customs of my people. In fact I would prefer to die here and now, and abandon all hope of my spirit joining with Ayocan. I have no faith in your Ayocan so great that it shall make me abandon my own gods and what they ask of me.» Again Blade had a chill moment of wondering if he had pushed things too far. Pterin might throw up his hands in disgust and let Blade alone. Or he might throw up his hands in disgust and oblige Blade by killing him on the spot.
Some of the Holy Warriors and lesser priests cried out «Blasphemer!» at Blade. But Pterin said nothing. No doubt he had heard far worse blasphemies from other sacrificial victims. And then he shrugged and motioned to the Holy Warriors. Pterin might be afraid of the wrath of Ayocan if he denied the god such a strong spirit, however stubborn. And he would certainly be afraid of the wrath of the Supreme Brother of the cult, whose wrath could take tangible shape much faster than the wrath of the god.
With their usual vigor the Holy Warriors seized Blade, but this time they did not bind him. They led him out of the cell, through the corridors, and up the stairs to the surface. Sunlight after darkness for so long dazzled Blade's eyes for a moment. When his vision cleared, he saw the temple mound greatly changed from what it had been yesterday.