The Temples Of Ayocan

Chapter 5

Blade's captivity in the temple mound was something of an anticlimax. He was not promptly rushed out and sacrificed to Ayocan. He was not even carried farther down into the depths of the temple mound and sacrificed to the bat-god. After a while he even stopped worrying about the prospect of being sacrificed, since it was obviously fairly remote. In fact, he was being treated more like an honored guest than an intended sacrificial victim. The process reminded Blade so much of fattening an animal for slaughter, though, that he could not enjoy it very much.

He could not have been in the bare cell for more than an hour or two when the grill opened and no less than twelve priests filed in. They brought with them a folding bed with a straw-filled mattress and several blankets, pillows, rugs for the floor, gilded bronze buckets for water and wastes, and one of the largest meals Blade had ever eaten in his life. A huge bowl of steaming gruel, that tasted like well-salted oatmeal, with bits of vegetables lurking in it. An enormous slab of meat dripping with a thick pungent sauce, more like underdone pork than any other flavor. A crisp loaf of white bread large enough and nearly tough enough to use for a shield. Purple, green, and red fruits that tasted like nothing Blade had ever encountered or imagined, and three different kinds of cheese. He was able to wash this down with both beer and wine offered in jeweled bronze cups so large he had to use both hands to lift them comfortably.

He was hungry enough to welcome this meal, with only a fleeting worry that the method of sacrifice to Ayocan might be poisoning the victim during his «last meal.» Since he could not detect with either nose or tongue any trace of the drug in the food, he did full justice to the meal.

That was just as well. All twelve of the priests stood around him as he ate, staring intently at him each time he showed signs of stopping. They seemed to be almost willing him to eat more and more and still more. Blade wondered after a while if they would try to put food in his mouth if he stopped feeding himself. perhaps Ayocan was a god of gluttony, and men were sacrificed to him by being forced to eat themselves to death? It was a whimsical thought, soon past. But it was obvious to Blade that he was in no danger of starving as long as he was in the hands of the priests of Ayocan.

After the meal, two priests who were obviously doctors examined him carefully. They were as thorough as their primitive instruments and techniques permitted. Allowing for that difference, their examination was almost as complete as the one Blade received each time he returned to Home Dimension.

After the examination, they tied pads of cloth steeped in hot water over his more serious braises and scrapes. Hot water, and something else-Blade caught a faint scent that reminded him a little of the narcotic sap, but which was obviously not it.

Finally, one of the doctors said, «You will go to the bed, and you will not leave it or touch the healing cloths until we come to see you again. Do you understand?»

Blade nodded.

«That is good. You are a magnificent specimen of a man. The Brothers in charge of the Death Vowed have had their eyes on you since you came, and with reason. One such as you would send many spirits to Ayocan before he died, more than any other Death Vowed the Brothers have had, more than any that any Brothers in all the history of the Houses of Ayocan on earth have ever had. «But the Supreme Brother has given his orders, and he must be obeyed. And no doubt it is his wisdom that speaks. To deny such a strong spirit as yours to the hunger of Ayocan would be displeasing to him. And Ayocan shall not be displeased.» The doctor-priest intoned the last sentence like part of a ritual. Then he turned about and led his companion and the rest of the priests out of Blade's cell. Blade watched them go, and barely managed to hold back a yawn until they were gone. Suddenly he felt terribly sleepy. His one desire was to get into the bed, wrap himself in the blankets, and slide down into a long dreamless sleep. This was exactly what he did.

When Blade awoke, he realized that there must have been a sleeping drug in those cloth pads, one absorbed through the skin. He drank deeply from the bucket of water. Then he realized with a start that the bruises and scrapes covered by the pads no longer hurt. This he wanted to check, no matter what the doctors had said about not touching the dressings.

Carefully he undid the bindings and pulled off the pads. The skin underneath each pad was as clear and whole as if it had never been touched. How long had he been asleep? He felt his chin. Less than twelve hours. Of course he tended to heal quickly. But this quickly? It was impossible. Or rather, it would have been impossible without whatever had been in those pads. Whatever it was, it speeded up healing to an almost miraculous degree. There was something in this dimension worth bringing back. Frankly, Blade had begun to wonder about that.

He had time to retie the dressings in place before the doctors reappeared. He hadn't retied them very well, but the two priests either didn't notice or didn't care. They spent most of their time examining Blade's injuries in detail, and the rest in feeling his muscles, testing their tone and condition.

«You heal well, as you should,» said the older of the two priests. «The tree of life gives strength. This is pleasing to Ayocan. And Ayocan shall be pleased.» The two priests conferred in low voices, and then the older one turned back to Blade.

«You are a warrior of your people, are you not?»

«I am.» Blade saw no point in denying the obvious.

«That is good. A warrior's spirit is especially strong. But it is stronger if his body is also strong. You will exercise your body from the time the pail is emptied to the time the first meal is brought in. If you do not do so, your spirit will become surrounded by weak flesh. Ayocan will be displeased at that.» And the two priests intoned together, «And Ayocan shall not be displeased.»

Blade could not keep a grin off his face. The priests took that as indicating acceptance. «Your spirit is already dreaming of the day when it will be free of the flesh, free to nourish mighty Ayocan. That is good. You will be the greatest sacrifice the Supreme Brother has yet offered. He will be pleased, as well as Ayocan.» Then the two doctors left Blade alone.

Blade's existence settled down to a routine that made it fairly easy to keep track of time. The «day» began with the arrival of a priest to take out the bucket. Blade then set about exercising for the prescribed time, which turned out to be about an hour. He found it amusing that he was being ordered to do the exercises he would have done anyway, even at some risk. He wanted to be in good condition when-and if-the time came for him to escape.

After the exercises came the first meal. It was invariably fruit, cheese, bread, and alternately hot gruel or cold spiced porridge with milk. A long, dreary day, and then dinner. That was always generous, if not quite as monstrous as his first meal in the temple mound. Then a physical examination by the priests, not as thorough as the first one, but careful enough. And then sleep.

On the third «day» they added something new. They sent him a woman, one of the flawlessly clean, blank-eyed creatures he had seen on the way through the corridors. If there had been any life or spirit in her, Blade would have found her highly desirable, for she was a graceful, clean-limbed little blonde. But there was neither life nor spirit in her. Even the erotic motions she went through seemed mechanical and programmed. It was like making love to a robot. If the priest who brought the girl in hadn't hinted that failure would show a weak spirit displeasing to Ayocan, Blade would have failed. He would not have minded demonstrating the strength of his spirit with one normal woman-or two, or half a dozen. But this poor drugged creature could hardly be called a woman. He was glad that no more were brought to his cell.

The «days» passed slowly one by one. Blade used the spoon they gave him with his meals to scratch a mark for each one on the floor under his bed. There were ten marks there on the «morning» the door opened and nine priests filed in. Eight carried another litter. Blade recognized the ninth as the chief priest from the battle by the lake.

The priests put the litter down and picked up the rope, motioning to Blade to lie down so that they could bind him for travel. Blade hesitated for a second. Was this a reasonable chance to escape? He decided against it and lay down on the litter. Even if he wiped out all nine of these priests-and he would dearly love to do something to the chief priest-that wouldn't mean escape. There would be too many Holy Warriors on the surface, and they might even turn loose some of those drugged berserkers in the bat-masks that he had seen.

The priests bore him quickly to the surface and down the mound to the landing on the river. There was a tenth canoe drawn up on the shore now. It was longer than the other nine, with outriggers on each side and a high prow crowned with a blue enameled bat's head. It was painted a brilliant white, and the warriors sitting in it wore nothing but white cloth and leather.

Blade was loaded aboard carefully but quickly, and then the chief priest climbed aboard after him. A Holy Warrior in the bow hauled the anchor aboard, and another in the stern shouted orders. The Holy Warriors along the sides sprang to their places, paddles dug into the water, and the canoe backed off the beach and out into the river.

In midstream it turned downriver, which Blade judged to be approximately to the south. He watched the mound slip out of sight, then tried to make himself as comfortable as the narrow canoe and his bound hands and feet permitted. He suspected that his worst discomfort on this voyage downriver was going to be sheer boredom. But he would just have to resign himself to that.

This turned out to be a good idea. Blade spent five interminable days in the canoe as it glided endlessly, monotonously southward. The cushions in the bottom of the canoe protected his remaining bruises, but nothing could protect his mind from the sheer tedium of lying trussed like a Christmas turkey, unable to even watch the passing scenery very well. As they had done at the temple mound, the priests in the canoe fed him generously, bathed him carefully, and examined him thoroughly every day. But they made camp only well after dark, and they were on the move again well before dawn. Blade had no way of knowing where he was, where he had been, or where he was going. The only clue he had was an occasional reference by one or another of the priests to the «High Sacrifice in Tzakalan.»

On the morning of the sixth day, though, he saw tall green trees by the river, swaying in a warm, damp wind. By noon he could hear a distant roar ahead. It grew slowly louder. And an hour after noon the canoe suddenly swerved toward the bank and ran itself solidly aground.

As the warriors lifted Blade from the canoe, he saw why they had stopped. Barely a hundred yards farther on, the river suddenly vanished. Instead of the slowly flowing clear blue water, there was a belt of tumbling, foaming brown. Then nothing-nothing except a solid wall of mist and spray as the river plunged out of sight.

On the bank above where the canoes had grounded was another temple mound, only a quarter the size of the one by the lake. But the warriors who lifted Blade out of the canoe did not turn up the path toward the temple mound. Instead they turned toward the west, and settled down to a steady loping pace. For several hours they jogged briskly along the edge of the cliff. Blade had occasional glimpses out into space, down toward a misty greenness that seemed very far below indeed.

Toward evening they reached a cluster of white-painted wooden buildings perched between the edge of the trees and the edge of the cliff. At the very edge stood an enormous windlass, more than twenty feet long and six or more feet in diameter. Wound around its drum was an equally enormous mass of heavy yellow-orange rope. Beside it stood something that looked like two large wicker baskets set at opposite ends of a light wooden framework.

Blade's mouth opened to ask a question. Then it stayed open as the answer hit him. They were going to lower him down the face of the cliff? In those baskets?

Yes. They lifted him from the litter and lowered him into one of the baskets. The chief priest climbed into the other. One of the Holy Warriors looked at the chief priest and said, «Is it safe, this late in the day?»

«The oranki have never come forth in this much light, as you should well know. Sakula will be displeased if he-«jerking a thumb at Blade «-is not present for the High Sacrifice in Tzakalan. He would not be happy at having to make do with any lesser spirit.»

«Will a day more or less make any difference, Pterin?»

«To Sakula it will. You should know that. Ayocan will also be displeased at such evidence of sloth in his servants. And Ayocan shall not be displeased.» That phrase silenced the warrior. He shrugged and turned away, to start shouting orders.

As priests and Holy Warriors ran to take positions on the handles of the windlass, Blade ventured a question. «Oh, warrior, what are oranki?»

The warrior turned back to him and raised an eyebrow. «You are indeed from a far land, that you have never heard of oranki. They are-«a glare from the chief priest Pterin made him hesitate. «Let me say-if you ever see one you will not live long enough to have to worry about what they are.» Then he bent over, and with the dagger from his belt cut the bindings on Blade's hands and feet.

Blade stared at him. So did Pterin. «A strong spirit he is, Pterin. I respect strong spirits, as does Ayocan whom I serve.»

«You blaspheme, comparing yourself to Ayocan!» Pterin's voice was shrill.

«Perhaps. But what will happen if you are wrong about the oranki, and they take this strong spirit on his way down to the Lower River? Ayocan shall not be displeased.» From the expression on his face, Pterin did not at all like having the ritual phrase of the cult used against him. But he kept silent as the Holy Warrior turned hard about and shouted to the men at the windlass:

«Ready to lower away.»

Several of the warriors ran forward, picked up the frame with the two baskets, and carried it to the edge of the cliff. Blade managed for the moment to avoid looking down. Then they took the double ends of the main rope and securely tied them to large hooks on the frame. They lowered the main rope into a padded trough. Then, even more carefully, they picked up the basket frame and lowered it over the edge of the cliff. The frame creaked and swung sickeningly for a moment, the rope creaked and tightened. Still Blake managed to avoid looking down.

Then Pterin nodded. And the warrior turned back to the windlass crew and shouted.

«Lower away!»