"Sacrifices For the Fifth Sun"
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dochermes"Sacrifices For the Fifth Sun"
3/4/1876
I.
The two Englishmen were in mighty poor shape, Johnny admitted reluctantly. He was only a little better off himself because he was more used to hardship and because he was a tough wiry seventeen year old instead of a soft-bellied man well past fifty.
Early in the morning of their thirteenth day out, standing before the sheer granite cliffs that rose up on three sides, the Brimstone Kid took off his black Stetson and wiped his face with his red bandana. The thick red hair was soaked with sweat. Johnny Packard may have stood only five feet four, but he was all bone and lean muscle. He had already survived ordeals that might have killed much brawnier men.
In his worn-down boots, faded black Levis and red work shirt with an open denim vest, the Kid's nature was clearly marked by his gunbelt. Two holsters tied to his thighs held a matched pair of Colt Peacemakers with their butts held exactly where his hands reached when he dropped his arms down. There was nothing flamboyant about the well-worn two-gun rig. Something in the assured manner of Johnny Packard guaranteed he knew how to use those pistols.
Behind him, Professor Ian Thesiger and Dr Keith Cyril had plopped down to rest on rounded boulders. Their sole surviving mule waited with ill grace. Johnny knew the two men from London could not survive another day without water. They had been hiking through the Copper Canyons of Mexico for eleven days. Their canteens were dry. Two days earlier, Johnny had snapped off two shots that caught a pair of jackrabbits, so at least they had eaten.
Directly in front of him was a crevice running vertically in the cliff. Wide enough for a single man to pass through, it turned so he could not see where it opened... if indeed it did open. But it seemed like their only chance. Going back was sure death.
"What are your thoughts, Packard?" asked Dr Cyril. He was the heavier of the two Englishmen, with a bristly white mustache and a balding head he always kept covered with a hat.
"Truth be told, 'pears to me that we got unreasonably few options," the youth from Texas said. He turned around and dropped down on a rock facing the men who had hired him. "There might be water in there. We know for a fact that they ain't no water the way we came."
"Bit of an unpromising situation, I dare say," Cyril replied. "Do you have any thoughts you wish to share, Thesiger?"
The professor fanned himself with his straw floater. In contrast to his colleague, William Thesiger was a skinny scarecrow of a man with a long pointed nose and a mocking smile. "We have no business complaining, you and I. Not only were we determined to journey into this wilderness, we talked this fine young man into being our guide. I vote we follow his judgement."
Johnny smiled to himself at the funny way these fellows had of speaking. But the sun was rising. Soon, they would be facing a fatal long afternoon of merciless sunlight. "I reckon we better squeeze our carcasses through that opening, then. I expect the mule will fit but I can't guarantee he will accept the necessity of getting closed in thatway."
The few belongings they had not discarded during the trek were strapped to the animal. Johnny took the reins and tugged. Everyone was surprised how docile the infamous burro became when it was Johnny pulling. As the days went by, it became clear that the beast was for some reason becoming obedient to the Kid.
Only Johnny suspected the reason. It was the ancient coin he wore tucked inside his hatband. The old medicine man Machingtok had gifted him with it two years earlier; if he had it in contact when the sun set, the Darthan token transformed him into the real Brimstone Kid.
The nearness of that mysterious red metal disc affected the mule. Johnny remembered how his black horse Terror had started becoming a hellbeast at night because of the curse and he realized the same effect was changing this burro. When the Kid had reluctantly stabled Terror at the last city here in the Chihuaua area of Mexico, the stallion had not been distressed so much as annoyed at seeing his master leave.
When Johnny started squeezing into the crevice in the cliff, the mule followed as compliantly as a well-trained mare instead of the stubborn beast it normally was. The walls rose so high overhead that the sunlight did not reach inside the crack and the air was twenty degrees cooler.
Following, the two Englishmen sighed at the unexpected relief. "Oh, I say, this is a distinct joy," said Cyril. "We haven't enjoyed shade since I don't know when."
The rock walls had a greenish tint from the copper deposits that had given these canyons their name. For the next hour, the Brimstone Kid led the way. At times, the opening widened but usually it barely allowed the mule to pass.
A faint noise high overhead made Johnny freeze into position, his right hand dropping to his Colt automatically. Behind them, crashing down with a thud, a barrier of stout wooden bars hit the ground. There was not even room between the bars to insert a knife blade.
"Oh Heavens, that was a surprise," Thesiger gasped. "It appears our line of retreat has been blocked?"
With his Peacemaker in hand, the Kid glared upward but could see nothing. High overhead, only a slit of deep blue sky could be shown.
He kept his gun in hand as he resumed moving forward. "You fellers hired me to look fer Aztec ruins, as I recollect."
'Oh yes. Johnny, do you think that perhaps those ruins may not be completely deserted even now? Why, your Aztecs were subdued four hundred years ago by those Spanish brutes."
"So yer books say," the Brimstone Kid replied, his upward turned eyes still searching. "I s'pose they might be common bandits. These canyons is crawlin' with owlhoots and cutthroats, right enough."
Seeing no choice, they continued forward and soon saw sunshine ahead. The tall narrow opening was filled with light that made their eyes water after the long stumbling through gloom.
Johnny drew his other gun. He was not nearly as skilled with his left hand but there had been times when being able to shift a loaded weapon into his right had been lifesaving. The Kid said in a low tense voice, "You gents oughtta hang back a mite, if you will."
He stepped out into a wide valley surrounded by cliffs but all his attention was on the fifty nearly-naked men who encircled him with spears and clubs. They all grimaced as fiercely as pumas about to pounce. Johnny slowly holstered his guns to surrender.
II.
Standing still, his empty hands held out at shoulder level to show he was not holding a weapon, Johnny grimly realized he couldn't retreat. Behind him, a mule and two beefy men blocked the narrow crevice. Ahead of him and on either side, fifty ferocious warriors gripped their weapons and quivered with eagerness to attack. He might shoot three or four before dying with several spears sticking into him.
It was midday, too. At least six or seven hours before nightfall would bring the Brimstone Kid metamorphosis. Johnny forced himself to take deep breaths and try to calm his racing heartbeat.
Behind him, he felt the Englishmen pressing up against him. Suddenly, Professor Thesiger cried out in an unfamiliar language, >"We do not come as enemies! We are medicine men on a vision quest!"<
"You savvy their lingo?" whispered Johnny.
From the crowd, someone yelled back, >"Let us see you clearly! Stand in the sunlight!"<
"They want us to move forward," Thesiger said. "Better do as they suggest, my Yank chum, we are at a distinct disadvantage."
"What the hell kinda lingo is that?" demanded the Kid. "Sounds almost familiar."
"It's a dialect of Nahuatl," Thesiger said. "Not all that rare, don't you know. Both Cyril and I speak it. Come on, lad, don't let's irritate these ruffians."
With the two Englishmen beside him, the Brimstone Kid stood in the bright sun and stared at the strange warriors with as much interest as they were examining him.
These were a people of medium height, but very lean and sinewy with well-defined muscles. Their skin was deeply tanned with a definite red tinge and their coarse black hair was cropped straight across at shoulder level. Most of them wore a white cotton kilt and a heavy poncho with varied colorful designs. Most had decorative beaded bracelets at ankles and wrists. Several wore leather headdresses that resembled the heads of giant eagles or jaguars.
But it was the weapons that preoccupied Johny. Most of these men had a round wooden shield on the left arm, painted with geometric symbols. The spears were not unusual, wooden shafted tipped with stone blades. It was the clubs that seemed strange. They were flat wooden swords four feet long with a tapered handle, and from the outer edges protruded rows of black glass shards.
"What are them doodads they's holdin' anyway?" Johnny asked the Englishmen.
"Macahuitl," said Dr Cyril. "Quite formidable, what? Those blades are obsidian. Volcanic glass, sharp enough to shave with."
"Gotcha," the Kid replied.
One of the warriors stamped the end of his spear three times on the ground. >"Show proper respect!"< he shouted. >"The Blue Hummingird approaches!"<
As he announced this, the warriors lowered their weapons and bowed their heads to stare down at the ground. Marching through their midst was an older man, with the wrinkled crepe skin of advancing age. He was wearing much more resplendent clothing, a tunic and pants of bright blue cloth with a heavy yellow cloak fastened at his throat. Amazingly bright feathers decorated his garments. The old man had a helmet of leather with a plumed crest that ran from front to back.
"I swear, that's a punchable face I ever seen one," muttered the Brimstone Kid.
With its lantern jaw and prominent nose, the face of the man called Blue Hummingbird could have been impressive, even magisterial. But an expression of extreme self-satisfaction made that smug face infuriating to see. He leered at the three strangers the same way he might grin at a treasure he meant to steal or a young maiden he wanted to ravish.
>"Hear your servant Xululpotec, oh divine Rain of the Sky,"< said the man as he stared straight upward. >"Your children
thank you for these unique sacrifices. Their beating hearts shall give the Sun strength to rise in his courses! Long may the Xochul prosper."<
"What was that all about?" asked Johnny.
"I don't think you want to know," Cyril answered.
III.
Johnny and the two Englishmen were marched at spearpoint across the valley. Despite the efforts of Cyril and Thesiger to question their captors, unhelpful grunts were all they received. The mule was towed along despite its disinclination to show the slightest cooperation.
The Brimstone Kid collected his impressions as they walked.. This valley was huge. The far wall was miles away, so far in the distance that no details could be made out. They were led past cultivated fields of cotton, of beans and squash. A few herds of goats and pens of red chickens could be seen. There were several streams that evidently bubbled up from underground sources, enough to allow crops.
What struck Johnny was that the fields were tended by so few farmers. Only a few dispirited Aztecs in plain loincloths toiled over the fields. Clusters of small adobe huts with thatched roofs showed where these workers must live. But where was everyone?
Soon, they started passing sturdier buildings constructed of sun-dried bricks. There were spaced well apart. Johnny saw what seemed to be workshops for blacksmiths and leatherworkers, a merchant shop with clothing hanging on display, even an eating place from which hot spicy aromas wafted and made his stomach rumble.
As they reached a round stone well capped by a wooden roof, the warriors paused to drink from a carved wooden dipper on a chain. The Blue Hummingbird refreshed himself first, saying a prayer of thankfulness. After everyone was satisfied, the Aztecs began to move on.
Showing his usual lack of intimidation under any circumstances, the Kid strode right up to the well and took a drink. Three spearpoints pressed against his back, but the warriors did not try to harm him and he was not deterred. Johnny drank a second bowlful and offered the dipper to his companions.
As they gratefully eased their thirst, Professor Thesiger sniffed his disdain. "I know we shouldn't expect proper manners from primitive cultures but really..! Our hosts are hardly thoughtful."
Blue Hummingbird growled >"You will not act again with being given permission. Let the High Father instruct you."<
>"Forgive thirsty men who have wandered in from the desert,"< answered Cyril.
By now, well-tended roads of flat stone led them between homes of increasing size and complexity. Ahead of them was a gigantic open plaza with enough space for thousands of people to assemble. Grotesque statues stood ten feet high on podiums, figures of men with jaguar faces and predatory flightless birds with gaping beaks.
Yet it was almost deserted. Less than a dozen Aztecs drew closer to watch the strange procession and to follow at a discreet distance. Johnny began to feel uneasy. Why was this city so empty? It must have taken generations of hard working men to construct these buildings and this plaza. Where was everyone? The emptiness was eerie, like an abandoned mining town where the wind blew through dusty streets.
Towering up one hundred feet above the plaza was a flat-topped pyramid of granite blocks faced with limestone. The outer surface was painted by murals in garish colors of war scenes. Narrow steps ran its width up to where a temple stood at its top. Johnny could make out curious faces peering down from inside that temple.
At the base of the pyramid, standing on a base of polished obsidian, stood a crude statue of a naked man with one fist raised to head level. The statue's face was nearly featureless and its general crudity and lack of detail did not match the fine craftsmanship that this lost city showed. Johnny could not say why the sight of this statue alarmed him, but he got an immediate sense of dread and unease when he saw it.
Under his hatband, the Darthan coin began to heat up until it stung against his forehead. When this happened in broad daylight, it meant supernatural danger was near. Johnny Packard's green eyes narrowed and he kept his hands near his guns.
At the group slowed to a halt in the center of the plaza, no more than two hundred denizens of this gathered. Both men and women wore the basic kilt and sandals, with a poncho draped over the shoulders. Some were evidently a step up in the class hierarchy, with tunics and pants of finer material as well as splendid golden jewelry and brilliant feathers fastened to their hems. The bright greens and blues and reds shone in the sun.
Johnny muttered, "I ain't seen but one youngun. Where's all the children?"
"I must conclude this is a dying society," said Dr Cyril in an equally low tone. "A city of this size could support several thousand inhabitants. Perhaps their numbers were decimated by the ravages of war? Or a drought that devastated their crops?"
Swinging about, Blue Hummingbird raised an imperious hand and announced, >"Good folk of Xochul, behold! The gods have gifted us with sacrifices of unusual quality when we are in most need. The pale ghost skins and fire-colored hair are signs. The White-Headed Eagle must approve a special rite before the usual time."<
"Oh, that is not what I wanted to hear at all," Cyril tsked. "You may as well know, Johnny, this bounder is considering offering us as human sacrifices."
"Yeah, I heard tell them Aztecs were famous for that sport," the Kid said.
As the High Priest turned to them, Professor Thesiger said in Nahuatl, >"Be not hasty, my friend! We have great power to offer you. Our medicine can raise you to the status you deserve, above the High Father himself."<
That surprised Blue Hummingbird. His long saturnine face could not hide excitement. >"Bold words, ghost-faced man. We will talk before you are brought before the White-Headed Eagle."<
Watching the expressions on the faces of both Thesiger and Blue Hummingbird, Johnny Packard felt a twinge of alarm. Maybe he couldn't follow their words, but his impression was that the two men were up to something. He looked over at Dr Cyril but that scholar was lost in examining the architecture and wardbrobes around him.
IV.
When they were led by a dozen of the warriors through narrow dank tunnels to a dungeon cell in a square omimous structure. This was made of stone blocks, windowless, with only a hole in the floor of one corner and a loose pile of dirty straw against a wall. The door was made of stout wooden bars tied close together.
The outsiders were handed white kilts and instructed in sign language to disrobe. The Brimstone Kid struggled against his impulse to start shooting. He thumbed on the safeties of his Colts and unbuckled his gun belt as slowly as he possibly could. He couldn't see how this would end well....
Both the scrawny Professor Thesiger and the flabby Dr Cyril were equally reluctant to remove their clothing. Between the murderous gaze of their captors and the way those razor-edged wooden swords were being heft, it was clear that they had no choice. They tied the knee-length kilts of white cotten around their middles and lowered the colorful ponchos to cover their torso with relief at regaining some modesty.
Johnny took the longest to finish. He was given a kilt but no poncho. The Brimstone Kid toyed for several minutes with his black Stetson, turning it over in his hands before finally tossing it angrily across the cell onto the pile of his clothing. Stripped down, Johnny had the taut build of a puma, wiry and hard. Even at this young age, several scars crossed his torso and the puckered scar of a healed-up bullet wound showed high on his back.
The warriors basically disregarded the Englishmen but kept a suspicious watch on the redheaded cowboy. They knew a born fighter when they saw one. The sullen glint of defiance in those deepset green eyes made them even more wary of him.
Standing on the other side of the cell, Blue Hummingbird ordered two of the warriors to remain guarding the outsider's strange garments. He beckoned the three intruders to come closer.
>"The High Father has summoned you to the throne,"< said the priest. >"Before we face the White-Headed Eagle, better that you speak to me. Let your words be true. What is it you seek in our city?"<
>"Only wisdom,"< answered Dr Cyril. >"Nothing more. We are on a vision quest of our people."<
>"You have come from the desert and the mountains. What of the bearded men in metal plates, who ride on the big deer?"<
>"What, do you mean by that the Spaniards?"< answered Cyril. >"The days of the Conquistadores are long past. The land is filled by their descendants and by the descendants of the Mexica, many of them mixed together. The world has changed greatly."<
>"I have thought it might be so,"< said Blue Hummingbird. >"These are my words. Be respectful of the White-Headed Eagle. Keep your voices humble and your eyes lowered. There is no hope for you with the High Father. Only I may find a way for you to live."<
The inhabitants had gathered at a stone platform fifteen feet high which stood before the steps leading up the pyramid. Seated on an elaborate wooden throne near that platform, surrounded by a dozen of the armed warriors and three older men leaning on staffs, sat the King of this city.
The High Father, White-Headed Eagle, was a surprisingly robust and impressive man in the prime of life. Wearing a brilliant cloak of quetzal feathers and beaten gold ornaments, the man was tall and well-built with a flat stomach and massive biceps. His glossy hair was pulled up into a topknot bound with rawhide.
As he watched the strangers approached, White-Headed Eagle showed no expression. Johnny could tell that here was a leader whose face only revealed what he chose for it. The Kid reflected wryly that this High Father ranny could have made a good living at the poker table.
Movement behind the High Father caught Johnny's eye. One of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen peeked out for an instant from behind the throne. She was tall as most men, slender and graceful, with her hair arranged in a swirling coiffure wrapped by scarlet cords. Johnny figured she must be even younger than he himself was, most likely in her late teens. The girl was only visible for a second before she ducked back out of sight.
Even in this tense situation where death seemed both inevitable and near, Johnny Packard grinned at seeing her. He was young, full of boiling hormones and the urge for life was indomitable. Even without his Colts and his clothing, clad in a mere loincloth, the Brimstone Kid thought he had a few surprises in store for these funny Injuns.
Dropping to one knee in front of the throne, pressing his forehead to the ground, the Blue Hummingbird waited to be addressed.
>"We give you leave to speak, wise one,"< said the High Father.
>"Behold, my Lord. The gods of the sky and the earth have sent us proper sacrifices. These strange men are meant to offer their hearts to strengthen the Fifth Sun. Generations have passed since the last outsiders found their way into our valley."< He rose after his final words but kept his face lowered.
Watching the proceeding, Johnny didn't think he needed to ask the Englishmen for translations. All his life, he had heard wild tales about the great cities these people had built, how they waged wars to gather sacrifices to their bloodthirsty gods, how they had finally fallen to the equally cruel and proud Spanish.
"We'vew fallen into the hands of the goddam Azetcs," the Kid said out loud.
>"No!"< yelled the High Father in sudden fury. >"Do not say so. We are not the Mexica! Our people were driven here when we would not be slaves of the three nations and would not pay tribute. We are the Xochuli, favorite children of the gods."<
Johnny turned a quizzical eye toward Dr Cyril, who explained, "They don't like that word, lad. You don't know much of the history of the so-called Aztec Empire, do you?"
"It appears I'm about to learn more than I care to," scoffed the Kid.
Stepping forward came the largest man in the crowd, six inches over six feet in height and heavily muscled from a lifetime of combat. He had thrown his poncho back over one should to intimidate these outsiders. The man had hands so large and a jaw so prognathous as to suggest disease. He took three quick steps forward and
raised his hand to swing a brutal backhanded slap at the redhead cowboy.
That blow never landed. Johnny hopped in under it. As the thick arm whooshed overhead, the Kid set his bare feet in a boxing stance and snapped a perfect right jab into the center of the giant's face. Taken by surprise, more confused than hurt, the big man staggered back and barely kept himself from falling. A horrified gasp ran through the crowd.
"Well, come on!" yelled Johnny with his fists raised. "There's plenty for you and yer whole damn family too."
Shocking everyone into silence, the High Father rose to his feet. He raised a single imperative hand in a gesture that made the crowd drop to their knees as if struck by lightning. The medicine man Blue Hummingbird fell prone as well, and after only the slightest hesitation, the two Englishmen lowered themselves flat.
Only Johnny Packard remained defiant. He shifted his weight, swung his fists in a figure eight and bellowed, "You Injuns oughtta come to my home town Brimstone, Texas! We got old grannies could lick the lot of you!"
As the giant warrior growled and started for the Kid again, he was stopped by a single word from the High Father. White-Headed Eagle pointed at the platform that loomed over them and then indicated both Johnny and the big brute.
>"Our great leader has decided that this flame-haired boy was born to die fighting and that he will allow this. The outsider and Falling Rain will wage the Flower War for the gods' delight."<
The Kid turned to the two Englishmen who were staring goggle-eyed at the whole situation. "Lemme take a guess. The chief there wants me and the bruiser to slug it out atop that there boxing ring, right?"
"Ummm, welll..." Cyril hesitated. "It's more serious than that. It will be a duel to the death."
"Heh. Won't be my first and I swan it's not likely to be my last." Ignoring the fascinated inhabitants who were just beginning to dare get on their feet again, Johnny leaped up to the top of the platform taking two steps at a time.
In the minute he had before the giant Falling Rain lumbered up to join him, the Kid surveyed the scene. They had a flat surface easily twenty feet on a side to fight on. What struck him as odd was that a sort of open rim ran around the outer surface, like a shallow dry moat. He couldn't imagine what that was for.
In each corner of the platform, a flower design had been inlaid with gold strips. The hulking warrior discarded his poncho and took his place on one of the designs. When he raised his clasped hands in a grand gesture, wild cheering broke from the crowd.
The medicine man stepped up next, smiling as if seeing this stranger about to be killed was the high point of his life. >"A great honor is offered you here,"< he told the Kid. >"It is normal to have weeks of ceremonies and preparation before a sacrifice is properly prepared for this Flower War."<
Not understanding a word, Johnny replied, "Go lay yore fool head down on a railroad track and take a nap, why don'tcha?"
Before leaving the platform, Blue Hummingbird offered one of the Macahuitl to the giant. Falling Rain hefted the wooden sword, thumbed some of the pointed obsidian barbs sticking out along its sides and seemed pleased.
In contrast, Johnny was handed a simple polished stick no thicker than his index finger. Tied to its sides instead of blades were plain turkey feathers. As he stepped down from the platform, the medicine man could not help looking back and cackling.
"I have to say I do not admire yore sense of a fair fight, you mangy dog," the Kid called after Blue Hummingbird. He twirled the useless stick between his fingers and met Falling Rain's furious glare without flinching. None of the doubt and anxiety showed on his surly face.
Before the two men could clash, there was one final unpleasant surprise. Some of the natives came up carryimg tightly-woven baskets which they emptied into the rim which surrounded the fighting platform. Looking down, Johnny felt fear touch him for the first time. Just below striking distance, a dozen rattlesnakes slithered and hissed.
V.
"Johnny! Johnny lad, I am so sorry for bring you to this sad fate," called up Dr Cyril from the watching crowd.
"Aw, don't worry none 'bout me," answered the Kid. "I killed a grizzly one time that was twice the size of this fool."
The medicine man called out in a sing-song tone and Professor Thesiger translated, "He says the execution will begin when the drums stop."
"Much obliged," Johnny muttered. High up on the steps of the pyramid behind them, two men picked up cloth wrapped sticks and began to beat on twin drums six feet across. On the drumheads were painted gruesome scenes of decapitated heads flying away from limp bodies.
The drummers began a slow rhythm BUM-bum-bum-BUM, and Falling Rain stamped his left foot with each sound.
Standing just beyond the giant's reach, Johnny heard the rhythm begin again, BUM-bum-bum-BUM and he acted while the drums were still pounding. The Brimstone Kid snapped the fragile stick in half, lunged upward and drove the sharp end directly into the giant's left eye. He moved so deftly and unexpectedly that Falling Rain was caught unprepared.
The huge warrior screamed, dropped his weapon and pawed at the stick protruding from his ruined eye socket. For the moment, he was preoccupied with the agony and with the thought that he was now blind in that eye.
Johnny Packard ignored the wooden sword that had fallen near him. He crouched, seized the wounded man's leg below the knee and heaved upward as hard as he could. With both hands up at his face, the brute was completely off balance. He toppled over, trying to protect his face, and thudded hard to the platform only inches from the rim.
The inhabitants of the city lost all composure at this turn of events. Some screamed in horror, some cheered the quick thinking of the outsider. As Falling Rain moane and tried to sit up, Johnny moved in closer and yanked that massive leg down over the rim within striking distance of the rattlesnakes.
The big man's howling echoed over the plaza. He stood up with one snake clinging to his leg and with three pairs of fang marks showing on his skin. Falling Rain forgot his wounded eye. He grabbed at his chest, struggling to breathe and reeled in a half-circle. His pounding heart drove the venom through his veins like fire.
Watching the giant, the Kid bent and picked up the Macahuitl by its handle. "You was a-plannin' on spankin' me with this paddle, huh?"
Before Falling Rain could die, Johnny spun completely around and smashed the weapon against that massive chest to drive the warrior completely over the edge of the platform.
For a long stupefied moment, silence fell over that crowd. The mighty carcass lay on the plaza stones where it had fallen and no one touched it. Johnny cast the wooden sword away and gave out a long rebel yell. "Yeah! That's the way we does it whar I come from."
Several of the warriors gripped their weapons began to ascend the steps of the platform with murder in their faces but theywere halted by a single word from the High Father.
>"Stay! The fire-haired youth has shown wit and bravery,"< announced the King. >"I would speak with him and his comrades before they are sacrificed. Let the feast tables be set immediately. We will dine and tell tales and praise the gods."<
Leaning over the edge of the platform, the Kid said to the Englishmen, "That went better than I expected and that's no lie."
VI.
While the feast was being prepared, the three outsiders were escorted back to their cell. By now, it seemed that everyone who lived in that city had turned out to gawk at these weird intruders. The medicine man Blue Hummingbird had loosened up enough that he had begun answering questions and asking some of his own.
Their cell had been washed, evidently by merely sloshing buckets of water over the floor and down the cesspit hole. At least clean straw had been fluffed up in two corners. Their belongings were gone.
"Ask 'em where our duds are," Johnny said, grabbing Dr Cryil by one arm.
The reply came from Blue Hummingbird, >"Our holy priests study them, to see if they can be sanctified. Incense is being burned over them now and prayers spoken."<
"Look here, we got to palaver with this guy," the Kid said. "Having my heart torn out of my chest ain't exactly my life's greatest ambition."
When the Englishmen started questioning why outsiders should be sacrified, Blue Hummingbird grew visibly enraged. >"Be not so selfish! The gods themselves at the dawn of time gave up their hearts' blood to create the world. Without our willing gifts of blood, the Fifth Sun would not have enough strength to cross the sky and every man and beast and plant would die."<
Speaking an aside to Johnny, Dr Cyril said, "Rather a dodgy concept, eh? I don't find myself drawn to their idea of religion."
"Eh," Johnny shrugged. "Our own faith says that God had to sacrifice his own Son to save everyone. I figure most religions involve killing in one or another."
Stepping over to where the priest was standing outside the cell door, Professor Thesiger rubbed his chin with a bony hand and suddenly blurted, >"I have an offer for you, oh wise man. Spare my life and I can gift you a power such as your people have never seen."
Such an obvious reaction of greedy interest flashed across Blue Hummingbird's homely face that Johnny and Cyril were alarmed.
"Hold on thar, hombre," the Kid said as he seized Professor Thesiger's thin upper arm in a painfully tight grasp. "What do you think yer about to pull here?"
The door was unlatched and swung outward, and three sharp spearpoints dug into Johnny's skin enough to draw blood. In the torchlit corridor beyond, a half dozen of the warriors swung their obsidian-edged swords. The Kid had no illusions about his ability to survive an attack from all them, especially in these close quarters.
And it was still hours until sunset.
The High Priest gestured for Johnny to release his grip and the Kid reluctantly obeyed. Dr Cyril had come over to stand beside the young redhead, saying, "You've always shown an unsavory aspect, Thesiger, especially when greed rears its head. What ARE you up to?"
Professor Thesiger placed a finger to his lips. "Shhh. Trust me for once." Then he continued to Blue Hummingbird in the native language, >"Take me to our clothing. Strong medicine is hidden there. With our secrets, a bold man might seized higher status for himself... mayhap even usurp the throne, if I dare say so."<
>"If any one is resolute enough to take the reins of authority, it is I,"< said Blue Hummingbird. >"Long have I chafed under the witless rule of the White-Headed Eagle. Very well. Show me what you will."<
The three outsiders were marched along narrow back corridors to avoid being seen. Johnny did not see the slightest opportunity to make a run for it. Close up, these Xochulis had ferocious grimaces on their dark faces. They did not look anything like the Lakota or Apaches or Utes he had met, nor any other tribes. If anything, with their pug noses and thick lips, these Xochuli reminded him of big cats. Pumas, maybe.
Blue Hummingbird and Professor Thesiger drew further ahead, lowering their voices, and this made Johnny even more uneasy. "Hey, doc, how well do you trust this Thesigar feller? Is he a straight shooter?"
"Sadly, I realize belately that we are hardly longtime acquaintances," Cyril said. "We met when we found we both wanted to organize an expedition to this wilderness. Do you share my misgivings?"
"Hell yeah," the Brimstone Kid replied. "I calculate he's fixin' to sell us both down the river to save his own dern neck." Wearing only the white kilt, without his usual heavy boots and tough Levis and flannel workshirt, he felt worse than naked. His hands kept dropping to where the badly missed butts of his Peacemakers could usually be found.
"I must say, this appears quite hopeless, lad," Dr Cyril muttered through his bristly mustache. "Personally, I've had a long rich life but I hate to see a young chap like you end up this way. Such a waste."
"Aw, keep yer chin up," Johnny said and his voice suddenly had a conspiratial tone, "See, I got me an ace up my sleeve in this poker game..."
Passing through massive door and along a passageway, the party ended up in a chamber lit by torches in wall sconces. The walls were painted with macabre murals showing severed body parts and bloody hearts held up by priests to giant faces peering down from the sky. In the center stood a stone table raised in the center and deeply stained with a black crust.
The room reeked of heavy flowery incense. As the group entered, three older men in cotton robes straightened up. They dropped immediately to one knee and pressed their foreheads to the floor.
>"Rise and attend us,>" said Blue Hummingbird to his acolytes. >"Jaguar Warriors, watch these outsiders closely. Keep the points of your spears against their throats.<" With that, he swung around to give Professor Thesiger a penetrating stare. >"What is it you wished to tell me, pale-skinned elder?"<
Leaning closer to the Priest, watching Johnny and Cyril warily, Thesiger whispered quickly. Nodding, Blue Hummingbird said, >"Only one item will be brought forward.<"
Going into the corner where a black wooden chest sat, the Priest rummaged around within and returned with one of the Colt 45 Peacemakers. He held it in a way that showed he was completely unfamiliar with the weapon.
Johnny's heart sank. This was what he had feared most when he had begun to suspect the Englishman. And he could not think of any ruse to stop this.
>"Let me show you how that thunder-club is used,"< began Thesiger but he was cut off as the Priest stayed out of reach.
>"You have not earned my trust yet,<" the Blue Hummingbird said. >"You tell me what to do."<
>"Oh very well. You hold a powerful weapon of my people. It... it throws a killing stone so hard that the stone often passes completely through a man's body. Put your hand around the thickest part, yes, and point the long tube away from everyone. Now, place your first finger within that loop.<"
Seeing his six-gun held in the medicine man's grip like that frightened the Brimstone Kid more than anything had in years... because he realized the Indian did not know what he was toying with.
Stepping aside to be sure he was not in the line of fire, Professor Thesiger continued, "Oh Wise man, point the tube toward that torch on the wall as you would point an accusing finger. Now, gently, gently, close your index finger on the inside of the loop."<
The gunshot made everyone jump almost off their feet. The torch flew apart as the heavy slug crashed into it. If anyone spoke, it went unheard because the loudness of that shot in the enclosed room deafened everyone for a while.
The amazed expression on Blue Hummingbird's witchlike face shifted quickly into triumph. He grinned from ear to ear. As Johnny and Cyril watched, the medicine man swiveled around and shot Professor Thesiger through the head at point-blank range.
VII.
Without being instructed, the acolytes picked up the body and draped it across the stone sacrificial table. Thesiger's face had caved in like a rotten fruit and the back of his head was in tatters. Bowing over the corpse, the minor priests clapped their hands three times and then knelt at the head of the table.
Evidently the Blue Hummingbird waited for his ears to stop ringing before he motioned for his warriors to prod Johnny and Cyril through the door back out into the corridor. They retraced their steps in silence.
Observing that the Priest was holding the revolver carefully in both hands, Johnny Packard felt at least some relief that the man wasn't likely to go firing wildly in all directions.
"So it goes for old Thesiger," Cyril said a bit too loudly. "Ah me. As much I dislike seeing a fellow Brit meet such a fate, he did bring it upon himself. He was a bounder and no mistake."
"Yeah, I'd use a stronger word." Johnny looked up at the sun as they came outside and were escorted across the courtyard. Only a few of the Xochuli were in sight, carrying burdens or scrubbing the paving with buckets of water.
"It does give me the willies how purely empty this city is."
"My best guess is that when these people fled the Mexica, they had already been exposed to disease," Cyril said. "Smallpox, most likely, what? Those Spaniards carried diseases that the people of the New World had no defenses against."
"Seems I've heard somethin' about that," Johnny said. "It weren't deliberate but it sure made taking this continent easier. I was told that nine out of ten Injuns was wiped out afore the white men started settlin' the land."
Dr Cyril had picked up a white poncho somewhere as they had walked and he ignored his guards to slip it down over his head. "Some modesty at last," he muttered.
Still wearing only the white quilt, the Kid smiled at that. "Keep ya from gettin' sunburnt, too."
Approaching the gladiatorial platform where Johnny had killed Falling Rain, they saw that the corpse had been taken away. Seated on his outdoor throne, the High Father was brooding with his chin resting on the fist of his upraised arm. Two elderly advisors flanked him, waiting for him to speak.
When the White-Headed Eagle saw the High Priest's group approached, he sat up and placed his palms on his thighs. >"The feast will be served soon, wise one,"< he said. >"Wait. Where is the third ghost-faced man?<"
>"He sleeps with his fathers and their fathers before them,"< answered Blue Hummingbird. The medicine man indicated that his warriors should stand behind him and to keep the two prisoners well back. He brandished the Peacemaker so its steel glinted in the setting sun.
>"Behold, the thunderbolt of the gods!"< he intoned. >"The power of life and death has been given to me. Step down, White-Headed Eagle, I claim the throne for myself."<
Immediately the three guards rushed around to interpose themselves between the High Priest and the High Father.
>"This cannot be allowed,<" one cried out. >"Our High Father rules by right of succession, handed down unbroken from great Yellow Dog himself.<"
>"Learn wisdom with your final breath,"< retorted the medicine man. He extended his arm full length and fired three times. It was only the extreme proximity that enabled him to hit all three warriors, considering his lack of skill. Two were shot in the abdomen, one high on the chest, but they all fell from the shock of impact. Their spears clattered to the courtyard.
As Blue Hummingbird pointed the barrel at his King, White-Headed Eagle rose and stood in complete defiance. "You have damned your soul with this treachery, cowardly one."
At that moment, Johnny Packard calmly stepped forward directly in front of the Blue Hummingbird, getting between that muzzle and the King. When he saw the malicious smile on the High Priest, Johnny grinned himself. "You don't know nothin' about reloading, do yuh?"
Blue Hummingbird squeezed the trigger but only received a harmless click. His face dropped in dismay.
"I count five," Johnny said. "You're dry, mister." He lunged forward, snatched the gun from the High Priest's grasp and brought the barrel down on the man's head with brutal force. Blue Hummingbird fell to his hands and knees, not entirely stunned but less than enthusiastic about getting up again.
Happy about holding even an unloaded gun again, the Brimstone Kid said to Cyril, "Quick, tell the chief here that I just saved his life."
>"Oh great High Father,"< Cyril quickly explained, >"The redhaired youth protected you at risk of his own life. Is this a debt to be repaid?"<
>"My eyes have seen what my eyes have seen,"< answered White-Headed Eagle. >"Be assured that the Blue Hummingbird will atone for his treachery! The Flayed God hungers. You outsiders will feast at my table and we will come to understand everything that has happened on this strange day."<
>"Oh magnanimous Lord, might we be gifted with our own clothing again? Drab and poor as is it is next to your magnificent rainment, still our garments are the customary wear of our people."
>"So let it be done,"< the High Father said. He summoned other warriors who had run up during the altercation to draw closer. White-Headed Eagke ordered them to gather up the fallen guards and take their bodies for respectful preparation. Then he pointed at the dazed Blue Hummingbird and told his advisers, >"See that the Flayed God is appeased."<
VII.
As soon as their own clothing was returned to them, Johnny and Cyril wasted no time getting into it again. Unseen by anyone in the fading dusk, the Kid managed to get the Darthan coin from where it had been tied inside his kilt and tuck it back inside his hatband.
That had been his plan all along. When night fell, if he was in contact with the cursed token, he would become the demonic Brimstone Kid again. With that strength and ferocity, Johnny thought he would have a chance to escape this valley and likely slaughter many of its inhabitants during the process.
Now, as long as he kept the black Stetson in one hand and did not put it on his head, he would not transform. He could feel the lure of that ancient metal disc calling him but that was a temptation he had learned to resist.
The feast itself was remarkably forlorn. At long wooden tables set out under the open sky, the High Father and twenty members of his court seated themselves on benches to eat and gossip. Slaves moved about unobtrusively, bringing fresh entries and taking away what was done. Johnny noticed about two hundred of the commoners milling about at a respectful distance and that they seemed to be dining well on the same sort of food.
Meat courses consisted of steamed fish, roast pig and turkey. Large amounts of hot beans and wild rice were mixed in wooden bowls. Heavy use of diced red and green peppers made for a fiery cuisine. Everything was cut with copper knives and then eaten with the fingers or scooped up in curved-handled spoons. Copper or wooden goblets served a rather bitter beer or a choice of fruit juice mixed with cold water.
Moving about were singers and musicians who beat small drums or twanged five-stringed lyres. They sounded funereal. The general mood was gloomy to the extreme. Johnny wondered if this somber tone was because of the deaths of the popular giant Falling Rain and several warriors, or because of the treason of Blue Hummingbird. Maybe these people were just downbeat by nature, he figured.
Seated at the right side of the High Father, with the city's elders listening intently, Dr Cyril related everything that had happened in the outside world. Two generations had passed since the city had sent out scouts to spy on the nearest Mexican towns. White-Headed Eagle listened and nodded gravely and asked more questions.
Left largely to himself since he did not understand Nahuatl, Johnny was content to sample every item put in front of him and to watch the people. He decided finally that the inhabitants of Xochul knew deep down that their civilization was near its end. He saw only a few children and the average age seemed to be about forty. It was a society that had run out of enthusiasm.
While the High Father was busy for a few minutes conferring with the elders, Johnny asked Dr Cyril about this.
>"True, true,"< said the Englishman, then switched back to English. He had been speaking Nahuatl for hours. "These folk are burdened with a religion that demands sacrificing their own. Before they fled to this valley, they raided other cities and took numerous captives for the ritual but they cannot do so now. I gather they have cut down the number of sacrifices to a few at each new moon, and yet... Well, they are not producing offspring quickly enough to keep their numbers steady, let alone increase."
"That's not a happy prospect for 'em, then."
"Not at all. I envision a time when only a handful of old men will be left, tending a single field and trudging around an empty city," Cyril said. "Most melancholy image, that. It reminds one of that poem, 'Ozymandias.'"
"Hold on afore you start chinnin' with the big chief," the Kid said. "We need to establish that we intend to leave this dern place soon."
"Oh, didn't I mention that? Sorry, lad. The fact is that we will be forced to make our exit from this valley at dawn. Our mule has been well tended, and we will given gourds of spring water. But leave we must. The High Father feels we are ruining the air by breathing it."
"Well, that's no compliment." The Kid went back to shoveling hot beans, chopped peppers and mashed squash into his mouth. Unobtrusively, he had examined his guns and had reloaded the one which Blue Hummingbird had emptied. He still had little confidence in being able to shoot his way out of here if it came to that. He could only hope that the chief was a man of his word.
Two of the acolytes approached the table and spoke in hushed terms with the High Father. Johnny wondered what this was all about, particularly when they all turned to regard him with their funereal expressions. He had no trust in these people.
"Johnny my boy," said Dr Cyril at last, "These priests wish to show you something. I'd advise you to go with them."
The Brimstone Kid climbed up off the bench and hitched up his jeans. He was comforted by the familiar weight of his gunbelt. "Hell. At least I've got my irons if'n they try anything."
"Oh it's not like that," the Englishman assured him and went back to his conversation with White-Headed Eagle.
The Kid hung his Stetson down his back from its cord. If need be, he could yank it up onto his head and let the transformation take over. He followed the three older natives away from the feast, across the courtyard toward the dark mountainous shape of the pyramid.
Torches atop head-high poles flared at its base. The silent acolytes led Johnny to a horrifying sight. There stood the crude statue with upraised fist that he had seen that morning. Stretched over that statue like a garment was the skin of a human being. Even distorted as it was, the likeness of Blue Hummingbird was immediately recognizable.
3/15/2018
3/4/1876
I.
The two Englishmen were in mighty poor shape, Johnny admitted reluctantly. He was only a little better off himself because he was more used to hardship and because he was a tough wiry seventeen year old instead of a soft-bellied man well past fifty.
Early in the morning of their thirteenth day out, standing before the sheer granite cliffs that rose up on three sides, the Brimstone Kid took off his black Stetson and wiped his face with his red bandana. The thick red hair was soaked with sweat. Johnny Packard may have stood only five feet four, but he was all bone and lean muscle. He had already survived ordeals that might have killed much brawnier men.
In his worn-down boots, faded black Levis and red work shirt with an open denim vest, the Kid's nature was clearly marked by his gunbelt. Two holsters tied to his thighs held a matched pair of Colt Peacemakers with their butts held exactly where his hands reached when he dropped his arms down. There was nothing flamboyant about the well-worn two-gun rig. Something in the assured manner of Johnny Packard guaranteed he knew how to use those pistols.
Behind him, Professor Ian Thesiger and Dr Keith Cyril had plopped down to rest on rounded boulders. Their sole surviving mule waited with ill grace. Johnny knew the two men from London could not survive another day without water. They had been hiking through the Copper Canyons of Mexico for eleven days. Their canteens were dry. Two days earlier, Johnny had snapped off two shots that caught a pair of jackrabbits, so at least they had eaten.
Directly in front of him was a crevice running vertically in the cliff. Wide enough for a single man to pass through, it turned so he could not see where it opened... if indeed it did open. But it seemed like their only chance. Going back was sure death.
"What are your thoughts, Packard?" asked Dr Cyril. He was the heavier of the two Englishmen, with a bristly white mustache and a balding head he always kept covered with a hat.
"Truth be told, 'pears to me that we got unreasonably few options," the youth from Texas said. He turned around and dropped down on a rock facing the men who had hired him. "There might be water in there. We know for a fact that they ain't no water the way we came."
"Bit of an unpromising situation, I dare say," Cyril replied. "Do you have any thoughts you wish to share, Thesiger?"
The professor fanned himself with his straw floater. In contrast to his colleague, William Thesiger was a skinny scarecrow of a man with a long pointed nose and a mocking smile. "We have no business complaining, you and I. Not only were we determined to journey into this wilderness, we talked this fine young man into being our guide. I vote we follow his judgement."
Johnny smiled to himself at the funny way these fellows had of speaking. But the sun was rising. Soon, they would be facing a fatal long afternoon of merciless sunlight. "I reckon we better squeeze our carcasses through that opening, then. I expect the mule will fit but I can't guarantee he will accept the necessity of getting closed in thatway."
The few belongings they had not discarded during the trek were strapped to the animal. Johnny took the reins and tugged. Everyone was surprised how docile the infamous burro became when it was Johnny pulling. As the days went by, it became clear that the beast was for some reason becoming obedient to the Kid.
Only Johnny suspected the reason. It was the ancient coin he wore tucked inside his hatband. The old medicine man Machingtok had gifted him with it two years earlier; if he had it in contact when the sun set, the Darthan token transformed him into the real Brimstone Kid.
The nearness of that mysterious red metal disc affected the mule. Johnny remembered how his black horse Terror had started becoming a hellbeast at night because of the curse and he realized the same effect was changing this burro. When the Kid had reluctantly stabled Terror at the last city here in the Chihuaua area of Mexico, the stallion had not been distressed so much as annoyed at seeing his master leave.
When Johnny started squeezing into the crevice in the cliff, the mule followed as compliantly as a well-trained mare instead of the stubborn beast it normally was. The walls rose so high overhead that the sunlight did not reach inside the crack and the air was twenty degrees cooler.
Following, the two Englishmen sighed at the unexpected relief. "Oh, I say, this is a distinct joy," said Cyril. "We haven't enjoyed shade since I don't know when."
The rock walls had a greenish tint from the copper deposits that had given these canyons their name. For the next hour, the Brimstone Kid led the way. At times, the opening widened but usually it barely allowed the mule to pass.
A faint noise high overhead made Johnny freeze into position, his right hand dropping to his Colt automatically. Behind them, crashing down with a thud, a barrier of stout wooden bars hit the ground. There was not even room between the bars to insert a knife blade.
"Oh Heavens, that was a surprise," Thesiger gasped. "It appears our line of retreat has been blocked?"
With his Peacemaker in hand, the Kid glared upward but could see nothing. High overhead, only a slit of deep blue sky could be shown.
He kept his gun in hand as he resumed moving forward. "You fellers hired me to look fer Aztec ruins, as I recollect."
'Oh yes. Johnny, do you think that perhaps those ruins may not be completely deserted even now? Why, your Aztecs were subdued four hundred years ago by those Spanish brutes."
"So yer books say," the Brimstone Kid replied, his upward turned eyes still searching. "I s'pose they might be common bandits. These canyons is crawlin' with owlhoots and cutthroats, right enough."
Seeing no choice, they continued forward and soon saw sunshine ahead. The tall narrow opening was filled with light that made their eyes water after the long stumbling through gloom.
Johnny drew his other gun. He was not nearly as skilled with his left hand but there had been times when being able to shift a loaded weapon into his right had been lifesaving. The Kid said in a low tense voice, "You gents oughtta hang back a mite, if you will."
He stepped out into a wide valley surrounded by cliffs but all his attention was on the fifty nearly-naked men who encircled him with spears and clubs. They all grimaced as fiercely as pumas about to pounce. Johnny slowly holstered his guns to surrender.
II.
Standing still, his empty hands held out at shoulder level to show he was not holding a weapon, Johnny grimly realized he couldn't retreat. Behind him, a mule and two beefy men blocked the narrow crevice. Ahead of him and on either side, fifty ferocious warriors gripped their weapons and quivered with eagerness to attack. He might shoot three or four before dying with several spears sticking into him.
It was midday, too. At least six or seven hours before nightfall would bring the Brimstone Kid metamorphosis. Johnny forced himself to take deep breaths and try to calm his racing heartbeat.
Behind him, he felt the Englishmen pressing up against him. Suddenly, Professor Thesiger cried out in an unfamiliar language, >"We do not come as enemies! We are medicine men on a vision quest!"<
"You savvy their lingo?" whispered Johnny.
From the crowd, someone yelled back, >"Let us see you clearly! Stand in the sunlight!"<
"They want us to move forward," Thesiger said. "Better do as they suggest, my Yank chum, we are at a distinct disadvantage."
"What the hell kinda lingo is that?" demanded the Kid. "Sounds almost familiar."
"It's a dialect of Nahuatl," Thesiger said. "Not all that rare, don't you know. Both Cyril and I speak it. Come on, lad, don't let's irritate these ruffians."
With the two Englishmen beside him, the Brimstone Kid stood in the bright sun and stared at the strange warriors with as much interest as they were examining him.
These were a people of medium height, but very lean and sinewy with well-defined muscles. Their skin was deeply tanned with a definite red tinge and their coarse black hair was cropped straight across at shoulder level. Most of them wore a white cotton kilt and a heavy poncho with varied colorful designs. Most had decorative beaded bracelets at ankles and wrists. Several wore leather headdresses that resembled the heads of giant eagles or jaguars.
But it was the weapons that preoccupied Johny. Most of these men had a round wooden shield on the left arm, painted with geometric symbols. The spears were not unusual, wooden shafted tipped with stone blades. It was the clubs that seemed strange. They were flat wooden swords four feet long with a tapered handle, and from the outer edges protruded rows of black glass shards.
"What are them doodads they's holdin' anyway?" Johnny asked the Englishmen.
"Macahuitl," said Dr Cyril. "Quite formidable, what? Those blades are obsidian. Volcanic glass, sharp enough to shave with."
"Gotcha," the Kid replied.
One of the warriors stamped the end of his spear three times on the ground. >"Show proper respect!"< he shouted. >"The Blue Hummingird approaches!"<
As he announced this, the warriors lowered their weapons and bowed their heads to stare down at the ground. Marching through their midst was an older man, with the wrinkled crepe skin of advancing age. He was wearing much more resplendent clothing, a tunic and pants of bright blue cloth with a heavy yellow cloak fastened at his throat. Amazingly bright feathers decorated his garments. The old man had a helmet of leather with a plumed crest that ran from front to back.
"I swear, that's a punchable face I ever seen one," muttered the Brimstone Kid.
With its lantern jaw and prominent nose, the face of the man called Blue Hummingbird could have been impressive, even magisterial. But an expression of extreme self-satisfaction made that smug face infuriating to see. He leered at the three strangers the same way he might grin at a treasure he meant to steal or a young maiden he wanted to ravish.
>"Hear your servant Xululpotec, oh divine Rain of the Sky,"< said the man as he stared straight upward. >"Your children
thank you for these unique sacrifices. Their beating hearts shall give the Sun strength to rise in his courses! Long may the Xochul prosper."<
"What was that all about?" asked Johnny.
"I don't think you want to know," Cyril answered.
III.
Johnny and the two Englishmen were marched at spearpoint across the valley. Despite the efforts of Cyril and Thesiger to question their captors, unhelpful grunts were all they received. The mule was towed along despite its disinclination to show the slightest cooperation.
The Brimstone Kid collected his impressions as they walked.. This valley was huge. The far wall was miles away, so far in the distance that no details could be made out. They were led past cultivated fields of cotton, of beans and squash. A few herds of goats and pens of red chickens could be seen. There were several streams that evidently bubbled up from underground sources, enough to allow crops.
What struck Johnny was that the fields were tended by so few farmers. Only a few dispirited Aztecs in plain loincloths toiled over the fields. Clusters of small adobe huts with thatched roofs showed where these workers must live. But where was everyone?
Soon, they started passing sturdier buildings constructed of sun-dried bricks. There were spaced well apart. Johnny saw what seemed to be workshops for blacksmiths and leatherworkers, a merchant shop with clothing hanging on display, even an eating place from which hot spicy aromas wafted and made his stomach rumble.
As they reached a round stone well capped by a wooden roof, the warriors paused to drink from a carved wooden dipper on a chain. The Blue Hummingbird refreshed himself first, saying a prayer of thankfulness. After everyone was satisfied, the Aztecs began to move on.
Showing his usual lack of intimidation under any circumstances, the Kid strode right up to the well and took a drink. Three spearpoints pressed against his back, but the warriors did not try to harm him and he was not deterred. Johnny drank a second bowlful and offered the dipper to his companions.
As they gratefully eased their thirst, Professor Thesiger sniffed his disdain. "I know we shouldn't expect proper manners from primitive cultures but really..! Our hosts are hardly thoughtful."
Blue Hummingbird growled >"You will not act again with being given permission. Let the High Father instruct you."<
>"Forgive thirsty men who have wandered in from the desert,"< answered Cyril.
By now, well-tended roads of flat stone led them between homes of increasing size and complexity. Ahead of them was a gigantic open plaza with enough space for thousands of people to assemble. Grotesque statues stood ten feet high on podiums, figures of men with jaguar faces and predatory flightless birds with gaping beaks.
Yet it was almost deserted. Less than a dozen Aztecs drew closer to watch the strange procession and to follow at a discreet distance. Johnny began to feel uneasy. Why was this city so empty? It must have taken generations of hard working men to construct these buildings and this plaza. Where was everyone? The emptiness was eerie, like an abandoned mining town where the wind blew through dusty streets.
Towering up one hundred feet above the plaza was a flat-topped pyramid of granite blocks faced with limestone. The outer surface was painted by murals in garish colors of war scenes. Narrow steps ran its width up to where a temple stood at its top. Johnny could make out curious faces peering down from inside that temple.
At the base of the pyramid, standing on a base of polished obsidian, stood a crude statue of a naked man with one fist raised to head level. The statue's face was nearly featureless and its general crudity and lack of detail did not match the fine craftsmanship that this lost city showed. Johnny could not say why the sight of this statue alarmed him, but he got an immediate sense of dread and unease when he saw it.
Under his hatband, the Darthan coin began to heat up until it stung against his forehead. When this happened in broad daylight, it meant supernatural danger was near. Johnny Packard's green eyes narrowed and he kept his hands near his guns.
At the group slowed to a halt in the center of the plaza, no more than two hundred denizens of this gathered. Both men and women wore the basic kilt and sandals, with a poncho draped over the shoulders. Some were evidently a step up in the class hierarchy, with tunics and pants of finer material as well as splendid golden jewelry and brilliant feathers fastened to their hems. The bright greens and blues and reds shone in the sun.
Johnny muttered, "I ain't seen but one youngun. Where's all the children?"
"I must conclude this is a dying society," said Dr Cyril in an equally low tone. "A city of this size could support several thousand inhabitants. Perhaps their numbers were decimated by the ravages of war? Or a drought that devastated their crops?"
Swinging about, Blue Hummingbird raised an imperious hand and announced, >"Good folk of Xochul, behold! The gods have gifted us with sacrifices of unusual quality when we are in most need. The pale ghost skins and fire-colored hair are signs. The White-Headed Eagle must approve a special rite before the usual time."<
"Oh, that is not what I wanted to hear at all," Cyril tsked. "You may as well know, Johnny, this bounder is considering offering us as human sacrifices."
"Yeah, I heard tell them Aztecs were famous for that sport," the Kid said.
As the High Priest turned to them, Professor Thesiger said in Nahuatl, >"Be not hasty, my friend! We have great power to offer you. Our medicine can raise you to the status you deserve, above the High Father himself."<
That surprised Blue Hummingbird. His long saturnine face could not hide excitement. >"Bold words, ghost-faced man. We will talk before you are brought before the White-Headed Eagle."<
Watching the expressions on the faces of both Thesiger and Blue Hummingbird, Johnny Packard felt a twinge of alarm. Maybe he couldn't follow their words, but his impression was that the two men were up to something. He looked over at Dr Cyril but that scholar was lost in examining the architecture and wardbrobes around him.
IV.
When they were led by a dozen of the warriors through narrow dank tunnels to a dungeon cell in a square omimous structure. This was made of stone blocks, windowless, with only a hole in the floor of one corner and a loose pile of dirty straw against a wall. The door was made of stout wooden bars tied close together.
The outsiders were handed white kilts and instructed in sign language to disrobe. The Brimstone Kid struggled against his impulse to start shooting. He thumbed on the safeties of his Colts and unbuckled his gun belt as slowly as he possibly could. He couldn't see how this would end well....
Both the scrawny Professor Thesiger and the flabby Dr Cyril were equally reluctant to remove their clothing. Between the murderous gaze of their captors and the way those razor-edged wooden swords were being heft, it was clear that they had no choice. They tied the knee-length kilts of white cotten around their middles and lowered the colorful ponchos to cover their torso with relief at regaining some modesty.
Johnny took the longest to finish. He was given a kilt but no poncho. The Brimstone Kid toyed for several minutes with his black Stetson, turning it over in his hands before finally tossing it angrily across the cell onto the pile of his clothing. Stripped down, Johnny had the taut build of a puma, wiry and hard. Even at this young age, several scars crossed his torso and the puckered scar of a healed-up bullet wound showed high on his back.
The warriors basically disregarded the Englishmen but kept a suspicious watch on the redheaded cowboy. They knew a born fighter when they saw one. The sullen glint of defiance in those deepset green eyes made them even more wary of him.
Standing on the other side of the cell, Blue Hummingbird ordered two of the warriors to remain guarding the outsider's strange garments. He beckoned the three intruders to come closer.
>"The High Father has summoned you to the throne,"< said the priest. >"Before we face the White-Headed Eagle, better that you speak to me. Let your words be true. What is it you seek in our city?"<
>"Only wisdom,"< answered Dr Cyril. >"Nothing more. We are on a vision quest of our people."<
>"You have come from the desert and the mountains. What of the bearded men in metal plates, who ride on the big deer?"<
>"What, do you mean by that the Spaniards?"< answered Cyril. >"The days of the Conquistadores are long past. The land is filled by their descendants and by the descendants of the Mexica, many of them mixed together. The world has changed greatly."<
>"I have thought it might be so,"< said Blue Hummingbird. >"These are my words. Be respectful of the White-Headed Eagle. Keep your voices humble and your eyes lowered. There is no hope for you with the High Father. Only I may find a way for you to live."<
The inhabitants had gathered at a stone platform fifteen feet high which stood before the steps leading up the pyramid. Seated on an elaborate wooden throne near that platform, surrounded by a dozen of the armed warriors and three older men leaning on staffs, sat the King of this city.
The High Father, White-Headed Eagle, was a surprisingly robust and impressive man in the prime of life. Wearing a brilliant cloak of quetzal feathers and beaten gold ornaments, the man was tall and well-built with a flat stomach and massive biceps. His glossy hair was pulled up into a topknot bound with rawhide.
As he watched the strangers approached, White-Headed Eagle showed no expression. Johnny could tell that here was a leader whose face only revealed what he chose for it. The Kid reflected wryly that this High Father ranny could have made a good living at the poker table.
Movement behind the High Father caught Johnny's eye. One of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen peeked out for an instant from behind the throne. She was tall as most men, slender and graceful, with her hair arranged in a swirling coiffure wrapped by scarlet cords. Johnny figured she must be even younger than he himself was, most likely in her late teens. The girl was only visible for a second before she ducked back out of sight.
Even in this tense situation where death seemed both inevitable and near, Johnny Packard grinned at seeing her. He was young, full of boiling hormones and the urge for life was indomitable. Even without his Colts and his clothing, clad in a mere loincloth, the Brimstone Kid thought he had a few surprises in store for these funny Injuns.
Dropping to one knee in front of the throne, pressing his forehead to the ground, the Blue Hummingbird waited to be addressed.
>"We give you leave to speak, wise one,"< said the High Father.
>"Behold, my Lord. The gods of the sky and the earth have sent us proper sacrifices. These strange men are meant to offer their hearts to strengthen the Fifth Sun. Generations have passed since the last outsiders found their way into our valley."< He rose after his final words but kept his face lowered.
Watching the proceeding, Johnny didn't think he needed to ask the Englishmen for translations. All his life, he had heard wild tales about the great cities these people had built, how they waged wars to gather sacrifices to their bloodthirsty gods, how they had finally fallen to the equally cruel and proud Spanish.
"We'vew fallen into the hands of the goddam Azetcs," the Kid said out loud.
>"No!"< yelled the High Father in sudden fury. >"Do not say so. We are not the Mexica! Our people were driven here when we would not be slaves of the three nations and would not pay tribute. We are the Xochuli, favorite children of the gods."<
Johnny turned a quizzical eye toward Dr Cyril, who explained, "They don't like that word, lad. You don't know much of the history of the so-called Aztec Empire, do you?"
"It appears I'm about to learn more than I care to," scoffed the Kid.
Stepping forward came the largest man in the crowd, six inches over six feet in height and heavily muscled from a lifetime of combat. He had thrown his poncho back over one should to intimidate these outsiders. The man had hands so large and a jaw so prognathous as to suggest disease. He took three quick steps forward and
raised his hand to swing a brutal backhanded slap at the redhead cowboy.
That blow never landed. Johnny hopped in under it. As the thick arm whooshed overhead, the Kid set his bare feet in a boxing stance and snapped a perfect right jab into the center of the giant's face. Taken by surprise, more confused than hurt, the big man staggered back and barely kept himself from falling. A horrified gasp ran through the crowd.
"Well, come on!" yelled Johnny with his fists raised. "There's plenty for you and yer whole damn family too."
Shocking everyone into silence, the High Father rose to his feet. He raised a single imperative hand in a gesture that made the crowd drop to their knees as if struck by lightning. The medicine man Blue Hummingbird fell prone as well, and after only the slightest hesitation, the two Englishmen lowered themselves flat.
Only Johnny Packard remained defiant. He shifted his weight, swung his fists in a figure eight and bellowed, "You Injuns oughtta come to my home town Brimstone, Texas! We got old grannies could lick the lot of you!"
As the giant warrior growled and started for the Kid again, he was stopped by a single word from the High Father. White-Headed Eagle pointed at the platform that loomed over them and then indicated both Johnny and the big brute.
>"Our great leader has decided that this flame-haired boy was born to die fighting and that he will allow this. The outsider and Falling Rain will wage the Flower War for the gods' delight."<
The Kid turned to the two Englishmen who were staring goggle-eyed at the whole situation. "Lemme take a guess. The chief there wants me and the bruiser to slug it out atop that there boxing ring, right?"
"Ummm, welll..." Cyril hesitated. "It's more serious than that. It will be a duel to the death."
"Heh. Won't be my first and I swan it's not likely to be my last." Ignoring the fascinated inhabitants who were just beginning to dare get on their feet again, Johnny leaped up to the top of the platform taking two steps at a time.
In the minute he had before the giant Falling Rain lumbered up to join him, the Kid surveyed the scene. They had a flat surface easily twenty feet on a side to fight on. What struck him as odd was that a sort of open rim ran around the outer surface, like a shallow dry moat. He couldn't imagine what that was for.
In each corner of the platform, a flower design had been inlaid with gold strips. The hulking warrior discarded his poncho and took his place on one of the designs. When he raised his clasped hands in a grand gesture, wild cheering broke from the crowd.
The medicine man stepped up next, smiling as if seeing this stranger about to be killed was the high point of his life. >"A great honor is offered you here,"< he told the Kid. >"It is normal to have weeks of ceremonies and preparation before a sacrifice is properly prepared for this Flower War."<
Not understanding a word, Johnny replied, "Go lay yore fool head down on a railroad track and take a nap, why don'tcha?"
Before leaving the platform, Blue Hummingbird offered one of the Macahuitl to the giant. Falling Rain hefted the wooden sword, thumbed some of the pointed obsidian barbs sticking out along its sides and seemed pleased.
In contrast, Johnny was handed a simple polished stick no thicker than his index finger. Tied to its sides instead of blades were plain turkey feathers. As he stepped down from the platform, the medicine man could not help looking back and cackling.
"I have to say I do not admire yore sense of a fair fight, you mangy dog," the Kid called after Blue Hummingbird. He twirled the useless stick between his fingers and met Falling Rain's furious glare without flinching. None of the doubt and anxiety showed on his surly face.
Before the two men could clash, there was one final unpleasant surprise. Some of the natives came up carryimg tightly-woven baskets which they emptied into the rim which surrounded the fighting platform. Looking down, Johnny felt fear touch him for the first time. Just below striking distance, a dozen rattlesnakes slithered and hissed.
V.
"Johnny! Johnny lad, I am so sorry for bring you to this sad fate," called up Dr Cyril from the watching crowd.
"Aw, don't worry none 'bout me," answered the Kid. "I killed a grizzly one time that was twice the size of this fool."
The medicine man called out in a sing-song tone and Professor Thesiger translated, "He says the execution will begin when the drums stop."
"Much obliged," Johnny muttered. High up on the steps of the pyramid behind them, two men picked up cloth wrapped sticks and began to beat on twin drums six feet across. On the drumheads were painted gruesome scenes of decapitated heads flying away from limp bodies.
The drummers began a slow rhythm BUM-bum-bum-BUM, and Falling Rain stamped his left foot with each sound.
Standing just beyond the giant's reach, Johnny heard the rhythm begin again, BUM-bum-bum-BUM and he acted while the drums were still pounding. The Brimstone Kid snapped the fragile stick in half, lunged upward and drove the sharp end directly into the giant's left eye. He moved so deftly and unexpectedly that Falling Rain was caught unprepared.
The huge warrior screamed, dropped his weapon and pawed at the stick protruding from his ruined eye socket. For the moment, he was preoccupied with the agony and with the thought that he was now blind in that eye.
Johnny Packard ignored the wooden sword that had fallen near him. He crouched, seized the wounded man's leg below the knee and heaved upward as hard as he could. With both hands up at his face, the brute was completely off balance. He toppled over, trying to protect his face, and thudded hard to the platform only inches from the rim.
The inhabitants of the city lost all composure at this turn of events. Some screamed in horror, some cheered the quick thinking of the outsider. As Falling Rain moane and tried to sit up, Johnny moved in closer and yanked that massive leg down over the rim within striking distance of the rattlesnakes.
The big man's howling echoed over the plaza. He stood up with one snake clinging to his leg and with three pairs of fang marks showing on his skin. Falling Rain forgot his wounded eye. He grabbed at his chest, struggling to breathe and reeled in a half-circle. His pounding heart drove the venom through his veins like fire.
Watching the giant, the Kid bent and picked up the Macahuitl by its handle. "You was a-plannin' on spankin' me with this paddle, huh?"
Before Falling Rain could die, Johnny spun completely around and smashed the weapon against that massive chest to drive the warrior completely over the edge of the platform.
For a long stupefied moment, silence fell over that crowd. The mighty carcass lay on the plaza stones where it had fallen and no one touched it. Johnny cast the wooden sword away and gave out a long rebel yell. "Yeah! That's the way we does it whar I come from."
Several of the warriors gripped their weapons began to ascend the steps of the platform with murder in their faces but theywere halted by a single word from the High Father.
>"Stay! The fire-haired youth has shown wit and bravery,"< announced the King. >"I would speak with him and his comrades before they are sacrificed. Let the feast tables be set immediately. We will dine and tell tales and praise the gods."<
Leaning over the edge of the platform, the Kid said to the Englishmen, "That went better than I expected and that's no lie."
VI.
While the feast was being prepared, the three outsiders were escorted back to their cell. By now, it seemed that everyone who lived in that city had turned out to gawk at these weird intruders. The medicine man Blue Hummingbird had loosened up enough that he had begun answering questions and asking some of his own.
Their cell had been washed, evidently by merely sloshing buckets of water over the floor and down the cesspit hole. At least clean straw had been fluffed up in two corners. Their belongings were gone.
"Ask 'em where our duds are," Johnny said, grabbing Dr Cryil by one arm.
The reply came from Blue Hummingbird, >"Our holy priests study them, to see if they can be sanctified. Incense is being burned over them now and prayers spoken."<
"Look here, we got to palaver with this guy," the Kid said. "Having my heart torn out of my chest ain't exactly my life's greatest ambition."
When the Englishmen started questioning why outsiders should be sacrified, Blue Hummingbird grew visibly enraged. >"Be not so selfish! The gods themselves at the dawn of time gave up their hearts' blood to create the world. Without our willing gifts of blood, the Fifth Sun would not have enough strength to cross the sky and every man and beast and plant would die."<
Speaking an aside to Johnny, Dr Cyril said, "Rather a dodgy concept, eh? I don't find myself drawn to their idea of religion."
"Eh," Johnny shrugged. "Our own faith says that God had to sacrifice his own Son to save everyone. I figure most religions involve killing in one or another."
Stepping over to where the priest was standing outside the cell door, Professor Thesiger rubbed his chin with a bony hand and suddenly blurted, >"I have an offer for you, oh wise man. Spare my life and I can gift you a power such as your people have never seen."
Such an obvious reaction of greedy interest flashed across Blue Hummingbird's homely face that Johnny and Cyril were alarmed.
"Hold on thar, hombre," the Kid said as he seized Professor Thesiger's thin upper arm in a painfully tight grasp. "What do you think yer about to pull here?"
The door was unlatched and swung outward, and three sharp spearpoints dug into Johnny's skin enough to draw blood. In the torchlit corridor beyond, a half dozen of the warriors swung their obsidian-edged swords. The Kid had no illusions about his ability to survive an attack from all them, especially in these close quarters.
And it was still hours until sunset.
The High Priest gestured for Johnny to release his grip and the Kid reluctantly obeyed. Dr Cyril had come over to stand beside the young redhead, saying, "You've always shown an unsavory aspect, Thesiger, especially when greed rears its head. What ARE you up to?"
Professor Thesiger placed a finger to his lips. "Shhh. Trust me for once." Then he continued to Blue Hummingbird in the native language, >"Take me to our clothing. Strong medicine is hidden there. With our secrets, a bold man might seized higher status for himself... mayhap even usurp the throne, if I dare say so."<
>"If any one is resolute enough to take the reins of authority, it is I,"< said Blue Hummingbird. >"Long have I chafed under the witless rule of the White-Headed Eagle. Very well. Show me what you will."<
The three outsiders were marched along narrow back corridors to avoid being seen. Johnny did not see the slightest opportunity to make a run for it. Close up, these Xochulis had ferocious grimaces on their dark faces. They did not look anything like the Lakota or Apaches or Utes he had met, nor any other tribes. If anything, with their pug noses and thick lips, these Xochuli reminded him of big cats. Pumas, maybe.
Blue Hummingbird and Professor Thesiger drew further ahead, lowering their voices, and this made Johnny even more uneasy. "Hey, doc, how well do you trust this Thesigar feller? Is he a straight shooter?"
"Sadly, I realize belately that we are hardly longtime acquaintances," Cyril said. "We met when we found we both wanted to organize an expedition to this wilderness. Do you share my misgivings?"
"Hell yeah," the Brimstone Kid replied. "I calculate he's fixin' to sell us both down the river to save his own dern neck." Wearing only the white kilt, without his usual heavy boots and tough Levis and flannel workshirt, he felt worse than naked. His hands kept dropping to where the badly missed butts of his Peacemakers could usually be found.
"I must say, this appears quite hopeless, lad," Dr Cyril muttered through his bristly mustache. "Personally, I've had a long rich life but I hate to see a young chap like you end up this way. Such a waste."
"Aw, keep yer chin up," Johnny said and his voice suddenly had a conspiratial tone, "See, I got me an ace up my sleeve in this poker game..."
Passing through massive door and along a passageway, the party ended up in a chamber lit by torches in wall sconces. The walls were painted with macabre murals showing severed body parts and bloody hearts held up by priests to giant faces peering down from the sky. In the center stood a stone table raised in the center and deeply stained with a black crust.
The room reeked of heavy flowery incense. As the group entered, three older men in cotton robes straightened up. They dropped immediately to one knee and pressed their foreheads to the floor.
>"Rise and attend us,>" said Blue Hummingbird to his acolytes. >"Jaguar Warriors, watch these outsiders closely. Keep the points of your spears against their throats.<" With that, he swung around to give Professor Thesiger a penetrating stare. >"What is it you wished to tell me, pale-skinned elder?"<
Leaning closer to the Priest, watching Johnny and Cyril warily, Thesiger whispered quickly. Nodding, Blue Hummingbird said, >"Only one item will be brought forward.<"
Going into the corner where a black wooden chest sat, the Priest rummaged around within and returned with one of the Colt 45 Peacemakers. He held it in a way that showed he was completely unfamiliar with the weapon.
Johnny's heart sank. This was what he had feared most when he had begun to suspect the Englishman. And he could not think of any ruse to stop this.
>"Let me show you how that thunder-club is used,"< began Thesiger but he was cut off as the Priest stayed out of reach.
>"You have not earned my trust yet,<" the Blue Hummingbird said. >"You tell me what to do."<
>"Oh very well. You hold a powerful weapon of my people. It... it throws a killing stone so hard that the stone often passes completely through a man's body. Put your hand around the thickest part, yes, and point the long tube away from everyone. Now, place your first finger within that loop.<"
Seeing his six-gun held in the medicine man's grip like that frightened the Brimstone Kid more than anything had in years... because he realized the Indian did not know what he was toying with.
Stepping aside to be sure he was not in the line of fire, Professor Thesiger continued, "Oh Wise man, point the tube toward that torch on the wall as you would point an accusing finger. Now, gently, gently, close your index finger on the inside of the loop."<
The gunshot made everyone jump almost off their feet. The torch flew apart as the heavy slug crashed into it. If anyone spoke, it went unheard because the loudness of that shot in the enclosed room deafened everyone for a while.
The amazed expression on Blue Hummingbird's witchlike face shifted quickly into triumph. He grinned from ear to ear. As Johnny and Cyril watched, the medicine man swiveled around and shot Professor Thesiger through the head at point-blank range.
VII.
Without being instructed, the acolytes picked up the body and draped it across the stone sacrificial table. Thesiger's face had caved in like a rotten fruit and the back of his head was in tatters. Bowing over the corpse, the minor priests clapped their hands three times and then knelt at the head of the table.
Evidently the Blue Hummingbird waited for his ears to stop ringing before he motioned for his warriors to prod Johnny and Cyril through the door back out into the corridor. They retraced their steps in silence.
Observing that the Priest was holding the revolver carefully in both hands, Johnny Packard felt at least some relief that the man wasn't likely to go firing wildly in all directions.
"So it goes for old Thesiger," Cyril said a bit too loudly. "Ah me. As much I dislike seeing a fellow Brit meet such a fate, he did bring it upon himself. He was a bounder and no mistake."
"Yeah, I'd use a stronger word." Johnny looked up at the sun as they came outside and were escorted across the courtyard. Only a few of the Xochuli were in sight, carrying burdens or scrubbing the paving with buckets of water.
"It does give me the willies how purely empty this city is."
"My best guess is that when these people fled the Mexica, they had already been exposed to disease," Cyril said. "Smallpox, most likely, what? Those Spaniards carried diseases that the people of the New World had no defenses against."
"Seems I've heard somethin' about that," Johnny said. "It weren't deliberate but it sure made taking this continent easier. I was told that nine out of ten Injuns was wiped out afore the white men started settlin' the land."
Dr Cyril had picked up a white poncho somewhere as they had walked and he ignored his guards to slip it down over his head. "Some modesty at last," he muttered.
Still wearing only the white quilt, the Kid smiled at that. "Keep ya from gettin' sunburnt, too."
Approaching the gladiatorial platform where Johnny had killed Falling Rain, they saw that the corpse had been taken away. Seated on his outdoor throne, the High Father was brooding with his chin resting on the fist of his upraised arm. Two elderly advisors flanked him, waiting for him to speak.
When the White-Headed Eagle saw the High Priest's group approached, he sat up and placed his palms on his thighs. >"The feast will be served soon, wise one,"< he said. >"Wait. Where is the third ghost-faced man?<"
>"He sleeps with his fathers and their fathers before them,"< answered Blue Hummingbird. The medicine man indicated that his warriors should stand behind him and to keep the two prisoners well back. He brandished the Peacemaker so its steel glinted in the setting sun.
>"Behold, the thunderbolt of the gods!"< he intoned. >"The power of life and death has been given to me. Step down, White-Headed Eagle, I claim the throne for myself."<
Immediately the three guards rushed around to interpose themselves between the High Priest and the High Father.
>"This cannot be allowed,<" one cried out. >"Our High Father rules by right of succession, handed down unbroken from great Yellow Dog himself.<"
>"Learn wisdom with your final breath,"< retorted the medicine man. He extended his arm full length and fired three times. It was only the extreme proximity that enabled him to hit all three warriors, considering his lack of skill. Two were shot in the abdomen, one high on the chest, but they all fell from the shock of impact. Their spears clattered to the courtyard.
As Blue Hummingbird pointed the barrel at his King, White-Headed Eagle rose and stood in complete defiance. "You have damned your soul with this treachery, cowardly one."
At that moment, Johnny Packard calmly stepped forward directly in front of the Blue Hummingbird, getting between that muzzle and the King. When he saw the malicious smile on the High Priest, Johnny grinned himself. "You don't know nothin' about reloading, do yuh?"
Blue Hummingbird squeezed the trigger but only received a harmless click. His face dropped in dismay.
"I count five," Johnny said. "You're dry, mister." He lunged forward, snatched the gun from the High Priest's grasp and brought the barrel down on the man's head with brutal force. Blue Hummingbird fell to his hands and knees, not entirely stunned but less than enthusiastic about getting up again.
Happy about holding even an unloaded gun again, the Brimstone Kid said to Cyril, "Quick, tell the chief here that I just saved his life."
>"Oh great High Father,"< Cyril quickly explained, >"The redhaired youth protected you at risk of his own life. Is this a debt to be repaid?"<
>"My eyes have seen what my eyes have seen,"< answered White-Headed Eagle. >"Be assured that the Blue Hummingbird will atone for his treachery! The Flayed God hungers. You outsiders will feast at my table and we will come to understand everything that has happened on this strange day."<
>"Oh magnanimous Lord, might we be gifted with our own clothing again? Drab and poor as is it is next to your magnificent rainment, still our garments are the customary wear of our people."
>"So let it be done,"< the High Father said. He summoned other warriors who had run up during the altercation to draw closer. White-Headed Eagke ordered them to gather up the fallen guards and take their bodies for respectful preparation. Then he pointed at the dazed Blue Hummingbird and told his advisers, >"See that the Flayed God is appeased."<
VII.
As soon as their own clothing was returned to them, Johnny and Cyril wasted no time getting into it again. Unseen by anyone in the fading dusk, the Kid managed to get the Darthan coin from where it had been tied inside his kilt and tuck it back inside his hatband.
That had been his plan all along. When night fell, if he was in contact with the cursed token, he would become the demonic Brimstone Kid again. With that strength and ferocity, Johnny thought he would have a chance to escape this valley and likely slaughter many of its inhabitants during the process.
Now, as long as he kept the black Stetson in one hand and did not put it on his head, he would not transform. He could feel the lure of that ancient metal disc calling him but that was a temptation he had learned to resist.
The feast itself was remarkably forlorn. At long wooden tables set out under the open sky, the High Father and twenty members of his court seated themselves on benches to eat and gossip. Slaves moved about unobtrusively, bringing fresh entries and taking away what was done. Johnny noticed about two hundred of the commoners milling about at a respectful distance and that they seemed to be dining well on the same sort of food.
Meat courses consisted of steamed fish, roast pig and turkey. Large amounts of hot beans and wild rice were mixed in wooden bowls. Heavy use of diced red and green peppers made for a fiery cuisine. Everything was cut with copper knives and then eaten with the fingers or scooped up in curved-handled spoons. Copper or wooden goblets served a rather bitter beer or a choice of fruit juice mixed with cold water.
Moving about were singers and musicians who beat small drums or twanged five-stringed lyres. They sounded funereal. The general mood was gloomy to the extreme. Johnny wondered if this somber tone was because of the deaths of the popular giant Falling Rain and several warriors, or because of the treason of Blue Hummingbird. Maybe these people were just downbeat by nature, he figured.
Seated at the right side of the High Father, with the city's elders listening intently, Dr Cyril related everything that had happened in the outside world. Two generations had passed since the city had sent out scouts to spy on the nearest Mexican towns. White-Headed Eagle listened and nodded gravely and asked more questions.
Left largely to himself since he did not understand Nahuatl, Johnny was content to sample every item put in front of him and to watch the people. He decided finally that the inhabitants of Xochul knew deep down that their civilization was near its end. He saw only a few children and the average age seemed to be about forty. It was a society that had run out of enthusiasm.
While the High Father was busy for a few minutes conferring with the elders, Johnny asked Dr Cyril about this.
>"True, true,"< said the Englishman, then switched back to English. He had been speaking Nahuatl for hours. "These folk are burdened with a religion that demands sacrificing their own. Before they fled to this valley, they raided other cities and took numerous captives for the ritual but they cannot do so now. I gather they have cut down the number of sacrifices to a few at each new moon, and yet... Well, they are not producing offspring quickly enough to keep their numbers steady, let alone increase."
"That's not a happy prospect for 'em, then."
"Not at all. I envision a time when only a handful of old men will be left, tending a single field and trudging around an empty city," Cyril said. "Most melancholy image, that. It reminds one of that poem, 'Ozymandias.'"
"Hold on afore you start chinnin' with the big chief," the Kid said. "We need to establish that we intend to leave this dern place soon."
"Oh, didn't I mention that? Sorry, lad. The fact is that we will be forced to make our exit from this valley at dawn. Our mule has been well tended, and we will given gourds of spring water. But leave we must. The High Father feels we are ruining the air by breathing it."
"Well, that's no compliment." The Kid went back to shoveling hot beans, chopped peppers and mashed squash into his mouth. Unobtrusively, he had examined his guns and had reloaded the one which Blue Hummingbird had emptied. He still had little confidence in being able to shoot his way out of here if it came to that. He could only hope that the chief was a man of his word.
Two of the acolytes approached the table and spoke in hushed terms with the High Father. Johnny wondered what this was all about, particularly when they all turned to regard him with their funereal expressions. He had no trust in these people.
"Johnny my boy," said Dr Cyril at last, "These priests wish to show you something. I'd advise you to go with them."
The Brimstone Kid climbed up off the bench and hitched up his jeans. He was comforted by the familiar weight of his gunbelt. "Hell. At least I've got my irons if'n they try anything."
"Oh it's not like that," the Englishman assured him and went back to his conversation with White-Headed Eagle.
The Kid hung his Stetson down his back from its cord. If need be, he could yank it up onto his head and let the transformation take over. He followed the three older natives away from the feast, across the courtyard toward the dark mountainous shape of the pyramid.
Torches atop head-high poles flared at its base. The silent acolytes led Johnny to a horrifying sight. There stood the crude statue with upraised fist that he had seen that morning. Stretched over that statue like a garment was the skin of a human being. Even distorted as it was, the likeness of Blue Hummingbird was immediately recognizable.
3/15/2018
