Carnifex

16/8/468 AC, Runnistan, Pashtia

"Why were the young men using a sheep before?" Cano asked, as Rachman fitted him with padding and a helmet in preparation for his upcoming game of buzkashi. Rachman and the other players, standing nearby holding their horses, were already suited up.

"Oh, that was just practice. For serious games we use calf . . . soaked in cold water to toughen it up . . . and filled with sand."

"And the purpose of this is?" Cano asked.

"Show toughness and courage in front of soon-to-be wife," said one of the other players in Cano's team. Cano thought he was one of the two guards he'd met at the hieros, the one who'd said, "Better you than me."

"You must pay close attention, David," Rachman added, "to the young men on both sides who show real fighting heart. They're playing to impress you, after all. Well . . . that and to get rid of my sister."

Cano looked across the dusty playing field past the opposing team to where Alena sat, framed by a simple goal. She wore a long blue dress and, for the ceremony, she was veiled. Between them, in a small pit, was the corpse of the calf.

"We only play by these rules when it's part of a wedding," Rachman explained. "Otherwise, we fight to take the calf around a pole and bring it back within a circle we draw around the pit. For wedding, though, you must present calf, whatever's left of it . . . and of you . . . to new wife as trophy."

"How long do I have?" Cano asked.

Rachman shrugged, "Maybe couple days."

A couple of days? DAYS? "What if I lose?"

"Alena says you won't."

"And she has the sight, remember," added that same guard, pressing into Cano's hand a whip.

"What's this for?

"To hit people," Rachman explained, patiently. "Well, you're not the type to let someone hit you without hitting back, are you, brother-in-law to be?"

* * *

The morning sun was rising, the horse was limping, and had he been afoot Cano would have been staggering, when the two reached the rectangular goal beyond which sat his bride.

The rest of his team, and even the other team, and especially the crowd, all cheered themselves hoarse as Cano undraped from across his saddle the remains of the calf. The sand was long gone, an entire leg was missing, and the thing was more than half in shreds. He tossed the calf, what there was of it, through the goal and dismounted.

Rachman was there to catch him and keep him from falling over. He was also there to help him walk through the goals to claim his woman. This was as well since the various whips and fists and flailing hooves of rearing horses had fairly well shut Cano's eyes. He'd never have made it to the goal without Rachman to lead his horse.

You know, Cano thought, in a while, when it really starts to hurt, I'm going to regret this. But for now, before the serious pain begins, I've got to admit, that was fun.

Alena's father walked onto the field, approached his daughter, and lifted her to her feet by her hand.

"Does anyone object that this proven man take this woman to wife?" the father shouted.

"NNNOOO!" roared the crowd.

The father led Alena to where Rachman and Cano stood. He took Cano's hand, eliciting a small yelp as the hand had been broken. Into it he placed Alena's smaller one. There was more ceremony, a feast, and a short trip to the hieros to come, but from that moment they were married.

It was a pity Cano couldn't see well enough to note the light in Alena's eyes.

She had the sight.