Mission To Mahjundar (29 page)

As he finally topped the fifth and last flight of steps, Mike reached a terrace in front of the temple, to find five bloodstained altars standing waist high in front of him. Breathing hard, Mike stared into the temple, hoping for a glimpse of Shalira. There was no sign of the princess, but one swift glance revealed a mural composed of grisly scenes of some monster committing atrocities on men, women and children.
 

Raised voices brought his attention back to the priests who were arguing again, stating opposing views vehemently. Fidgeting, the guards stood, with the collective air of men wishing themselves elsewhere without delay.
 

A small flicker of hope kindled as Mike watched the priests debate.
Whatever the dispute is, it might work to our advantage somehow. I wish I knew what the discussion was about
. He glanced over at Saium, who was standing next to him, breathing in hoarse whoops. Mike raised a quizzical eyebrow. Saium shook his head.
 

“No idea, Major, can’t speak the priests’ dialect,” he gasped out. “Sorry.”
 

Fishing a carved ebony-and-maroon box out of his voluminous robes, one Nathlemeru went to his knees. Opening the container, he chanted fast, with anxious sideways glances at the deepening shadows. The man drew a set of small objects from the box and cast them onto the bloodstained surface of the terrace. Just as quickly, he scooped them up and tried the ritual once more. Leaning over his shoulder, the other two priests muttered, studying the patterns in the split second before their colleague destroyed them. This happened five times.
 

Three Feathers gave a curt order to the guards. Grabbing Mike, two men detached his section of the neck chain from the next, dragging him by the elbows to the nearest of the oddly humped red altar stones. Positioning him directly in front of the block, the men kicked at his ankles to spread his legs as far apart as the shackling chain would allow. Then they forced him back two more steps, until he bumped into the end of the altar.
 

Shaking his head vehemently, the priest who’d been casting the omens protested, pointing a trembling finger at the most recent pattern.
 

The high priest took his subordinate by the elbow and hauled him to his feet, barely allowing time for the man to retrieve his forecasting tools. The older Nathlemeru dragged the younger priest across the terrace to a spot right in front of Mike. He gestured at the nearest guard, who fumbled with the closures of Mike’s uniform shirt, leaving his chest exposed. Gritting his teeth, Mike readied himself for whatever torture was to follow. Three Feathers produced a small black stone knife from his belt and drew it across Mike's skin above the heart with calculated, excruciating slowness, bringing the scarlet-stained weapon above his head for everyone to see. He bowed in the direction of the temple before shaking the drops of Mike's blood onto the other priest's cupped hands.
 

Imperiously the high priest uttered one word, pointing at the ground by Mike's feet.
 

Taking a deep breath, the lower-ranking priest surveyed Mike from head to toe. He squatted to throw the objects one last time, rolling them out of his red-stained hands so they clattered and bounced across the terrace directly at Mike's booted feet. He watched as the tiny bones of all shapes and sizes came to rest in a pattern surrounding him. Three of the smallest bones, those most freshly crimsoned with the drops of his blood, shifted yet again, as if they had been blown away from him. The bones settled in a new configuration, off to the side from the rest, like an arrow, pointing away from the altar.
 

Exclaiming in dismay, one guard dropped Mike's arm and stepped back, hand going to the knife at his belt.
 

As if waiting for the tiny bones to rearrange themselves into a pattern more to his liking, Three Feathers stared at the omens for a long time. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet Mike's. Refusing to give the enemy any satisfaction, Mike kept his face as blank as possible.
 

The priest moved so fast Mike wasn't prepared for the backhanded blow across his face that knocked him down, half-reeling across the surface of the stone altar.
 

Saium translated the next sarcastic words as Mike tried to regain his feet without any help from the guards.
 

“Tlazomiccuhtli is not pleased to accept you into his embrace this night, but wishes you to spend the hours until dawn contemplating the honor you await. I’ll bring the living heart forth from you and feed it to the god still beating and raw for his breakfast. Perhaps we’ll invite his newest bride to share the delicacy as well, hmm?”
 

Sneering, the Nahlemeru stepped effortlessly back as Mike lunged for him with a snarled curse.
 

The priest reverted to his own language to give curt orders to the guards. Mike had to wait a minute while the younger priest retrieved all his tools from the ground, but then he was pulled and tugged by the soldiers toward the steps leading into the temple foyer. Looking back over his shoulder as the gloom inside enclosed him, Mike watched the lesser priests making a hasty retreat down the pyramid's stairs. The one who’d been throwing the forecasting bones glanced back, and as their eyes met for a fraction of a second Mike read fear in the expression on the man's face.
Clearly the little ceremony with the bones didn’t go the way the priesthood expected, or wanted. I’ll take any good luck I can get tonight, if it bought a little more time for Johnny to attempt a rescue op.
 

Flickering torches in the small entry chamber, cast light on more of the ghastly wall carvings. Mike was given no chance to study the surroundings, but was hurried into a wide hall, set with more torches and lined by heavy doors.
 

Then the prisoners were herded to a large, roofless chamber, open to the night air.
 

Dominating the room was a fifteen-foot-tall representation of the Nathlemeru’s loathsome deity Tlazomiccuhtli. Mike was stunned by the sheer hideousness of the alien idol. He’d seen things repulsive to Outworlder eyes on a number of different worlds and been able to stay detached about them, but there was something so wrong and evil about this thing, he literally couldn't breathe for a minute. Horrified, he took in the clawed feet, each clutching a pair of writhing victims, distorted faces taking on a lifelike cast in the gloom. The multiple arms held more victims gathered to its chest. A necklace of real skulls, both large and small, ringed the thick neck. The flickering torchlight animated the face, made it appear alive and keenly avaricious, hungry. A crown of interlaced bleached human bones had been set on its head and scalps of all colors of hair dangled from the diadem. Hissing, snakes slithered in a cage on a small altar to the side of the statue.
 

A pounding in Mike's ears sounded like drums at first and then again like the low-toned growl of a hungry animal. He thought he heard several heartbeats in the room. The statue’s exaggerated, empty eye sockets locked on his own in an hypnotic illusion.
 

Enjoying his prisoners' reaction, the priest laughed.

Mike tore his attention away from Tlazomiccuhtli. He shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness.
Maybe the torches are burning some hallucinogen. Not like me to imagine things.
As the guards poked him in the back with their spears he willingly kept walking. A shiver worked its way down his spine, and his nerve endings tingled.
Wish I could stop thinking those empty eyes are watching.
 

Four guards who were laden with the prisoners' belongings stopped at an ordinary door in the next hallway and waited while Three Feathers unlocked it with a complex, heavy key.
 

Despite the agony in his rib cage, Mike paid close attention.
I need to remember the location of this storeroom, just in case
.
 

After the drama of the main chamber, it was a relief to Mike to be herded into a room with plain stone walls, save for one small frieze beside the door depicting Tlazomiccuhtli's horrific image for contemplation by his future victims. The guards motioned for them to sit against the far wall. Then the city dwellers fastened each man's manacles to chains hanging there. The neck chain and collars were removed and carried away. Favoring the prisoners with one last satisfied smirk, the Nathlemeru leader departed, taking the rest of the guards with him.
 

A single torch burned in a wall sconce.

Through the one small, barred window across from him, Mike could see the first stars coming out.
 

“I suppose we can forget about dinner.” Everett’s tone was conversational.
 

Resting his aching head against the rough stone wall, Mike wondered if Everett’s attempt at a joke was a good sign of mental stability or an indicator of how far he’d come unmoored from reality during his captivity. “Probably a safe assumption.”
 

“We're lucky we weren't Tlazomiccuhtli’s evening meal,” Saium said wearily, once Mike translated the remark. “Although I'm not sure what the ultimate difference will be. You heard the priest—first thing in the morning, you for certain, Major, and possibly all of us—goes to an awful death.”
 

Mike's hands were beginning to regain some sensation since the manacles weren’t as tight on his wrists as the ropes had been. Flexing his fingers, he tried to ignore the pain of returning circulation. He pulled against the circles of metal, but his hands couldn't even begin to squeeze through, no matter how hard he tried. Scrunching against the wall a little more comfortably, staring out the tiny window at the few stars, he refused to think about what was coming in the morning. As the night wore on, he replayed in his mind’s eye all the moments he and Shalira had shared since crossing the Suaga. Sending a fervent prayer to the Lords of Space, he asked for her to be spared, rescued by Johnny perhaps and for them both to escape from this hellish place.
 

No matter what happens to me, I don’t regret coming to Mahjundar and finding her. I just wish we could have had more time together.

After a terrifying ride in the chair, apparently straight up the side of a mountain, Shalira was relieved when they came to a halt and the conveyance was gently set down. She heard rustling sounds as the men who’d carried the chair left whatever chamber they’d come to.

“Lord Ishtananga will be here shortly to attend to you, Oracle,” said the priest, standing off to the right, speaking the trade tongue.

Not waiting for permission, Shalira extricated herself from the chair and stood next to it, pivoting toward the man. “What have you done with my warriors?”

After an ominous pause, he said, “The omens weren’t in harmony for a sacrifice tonight.” He sounded troubled.
 

Thank the goddess.
Releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, she said, “But?”

“I believe Lord Ishtananga will offer the hearts of your warriors to the god at first sunlight. Normally we’d save them for the spring festivals, but he strongly believes their deaths are needed now.”

“I want to speak to them tonight, with no further delay,” she said. Remembering how the villagers had refused her request, she insisted. “The goddess will be highly displeased if my request is denied.”

New footsteps on the stone floor, accompanied by the unmistakable odor she’d smelled when the high priest inspected her on the plateau below, let her know Ishtananga must have arrived. She heard the underpriest say something to his superior in their own language before leaving her alone with the high priest.

Determined to seize the initiative, she spoke. “I want—”

“Lovely one, what you want is of no importance to me. You need to forget the men you traveled with and focus on the future we’re going to have.” It sounded as if he was rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “After tomorrow morning their hearts will have been devoured by the god, and you’ll become the bride of Tlazomiccuhtli, which makes you my consort here in Chamacoyopa. You’ll be by my side as I rule.”

“No!” She bit her lip. Angering the man wasn’t going to help her outwit him tonight.

He came closer, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the chamber. She stood tall, waiting.
I don’t care what he does, I’m going to find a way to save myself and Michael and the others. Johnny must be dead, so it’s up to me.

A small sizzling noise caught her attention right before she felt heat on her face. She shrank back against the chair, nearly falling as the wooden structure shifted sideways under her weight. “What are you doing?”

“Merely testing. You genuinely are completely blind, a true messenger of the gods.” He pulled her hand down, tugging her forward. “You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even know I hold a candle, did you?”

Michael was right—blindness is my defense, up to a point.
“I’d be wary of testing messengers sent by the gods,” she said, drawing herself up.

He laughed. “You have spirit, which I appreciate. Come, we should dine. I’m sure you must be hungry. The villagers have only the most rudimentary fare to offer one such as you.”

Taking her hand, the priest drew Shalira away from the chair. Their combined footsteps echoed from stone walls. “You and I will be married at the end of the ceremony tomorrow morning,” he said. “It’s my great fortune the villagers brought you directly to me, now, not at the time of the annual indrawing and festivals. I have rivals among the high priests, some of whom would have fought me over possession of an oracle such as you.”