Blazing Centaurs, page 23
Four of the cultists stationed themselves at the entrances to the four paths, each joined by two attendants. Iyarra had been assigned to go with Mrs. Wildberry, who would be taking the southwest path through the maze. Mr. Fleet had asked Revka to stay behind and help him, “…as I need someone who can follow directions properly.” There was some more chanting, and Mr. Fleet threw a bag of something-or-other into the fire. At once, four glowing, blue lines spread out from the central flame to the entrances to the four paths. The four groups set off, each down its own trail. The blue lines followed them, glowing eerily in the deepening twilight.
Mr. Fleet rubbed his hands together. “Well, it’ll take them a few minutes to get to their proper places, so we can take a quick breather till then.”
“Pardon me asking,” said Revka, “how will we know when they’ve made it?”
The centaur just grinned. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. We’ll know, all right. Won’t be no doubt about it.”
* * * * *
Iyarra and another centaur she didn’t recognize followed after Mrs. Wildberry, torches in hand, marching along as they followed the path carefully laid out earlier. Mrs. Wildberry held her map at eye level, peering through her half-moon glasses. On more than one occasion, she had to call the other two over to help.
“No see, we already passed that part.” The other centaur, whose name was Zeke, pointed at the map. “Remember? We did that left and the left again and then that kinda curlicue thing. That’s the only place on the map that does that.”
“Hmmmm.” Mrs. Wildberry peered at it again. “So, we’re at this crossing, are we?” Her finger stabbed a four-way intersection.
“No, we went through that one,” Zeke replied. “Couple minutes ago? You were telling us about your grandkids, remember?”
“Oh. Right, yes. Er…so…?”
“I believe we’re right here.” Iyarra pointed at another intersection down the path a bit.
“Yup, that’s us,” said Zeke.
“OK, so we go…?”
“Left.”
“Left?”
“Right. I mean, yes. Yes, left.”
“Okay.” The group filed into the left-hand path and continued on their way. Iyarra looked back at the blue line snaking behind them. Apparently, (according to Mrs. Wildberry) it would stay blue as long as they were on the right track. They seemed to be doing all right so far, knock on wood.
Iyarra wondered how much of this they knew was going to happen. It seemed like they had done their homework, but on the other hand, they seemed more than a little coy about the actual details. Maybe they just didn’t trust the others? That seemed plausible. Still, she didn’t much like being kept in the dark. Hopefully, they could just get this over with and get away.
Iyarra stopped her reverie as she saw the others disappearing around the corner. She shook her head. It wouldn’t do to fall behind. She hurried after them, the blue line following in her wake.
* * * * *
They emerged at the end of the line. Once again, it was a small open space with one of the stone discs right in the middle. Mrs. Wildberry held up her hand. “Nobody step on the stone,” she said. “Just find a place around it.”
The three of them shuffled into position. Behind them, the blue trail closed the gap to the stone disc. It may have been Iyarra’s imagination, but the trail almost seemed to throb in the dim, evening light.
“Now then,” said Mrs. Wildberry, “I need you two to hold these and be ready.” She fished out a rolled bandage and a small pot of balm and handed them to Zeke and Iyarra, respectively. “We’ve got the line here, and now we need to seal it. That will open our portion of the lock.”
“An’ how do we do that, ma’am?” asked Zeke.
Mrs. Wildberry didn’t answer. She just fished in her saddlebag and drew out a dagger. For a moment she turned it this way and that, the torchlight catching the blade. Then, in one swift movement, she brought it fast along the tip of her index finger, opening up a thin slit from which bloomed a rivulet of dark blood.
The centaur woman held her hand over the stone disc, face down. Blood began to drip into the lines carved into the stone unknown ages before. As the three of them watched, the blood seemed to multiply, spreading itself and following the carven passages until it reached the spot where the glowing blue line touched the disc.
Instantly, the blue light washed over the disc, tracing over the crimson path to the center. A deep thrumming noise announced a change, and wisps of green-blue magic curled up from the disc like smoke.
The three centaurs watched in awe, mesmerized by the eldritch sight. It was only when Mrs. Wildberry gave a yelp and clutched her hand to herself that everyone was brought back to reality.
“Mercy sakes!” she muttered. “That really does smart! Miss Iyarra, put some of that balm over the cut, will you? And Zeke, be ready with that bandage.”
A couple of minutes later, they had her finger all wrapped up and as good as it was going to get. She flexed it a couple of times, only wincing a little. “Well, that hand ain’t gonna be good for much for a couple of days, that’s for sure.” She smiled a little. “Still, I reckon it’s a small price to pay.”
Zeke spoke up. “Now what do we do, ma’am?”
Mrs. Wildberry put the knife and other items away. “Now we head back. Just follow the line back to the center, should be no problem. One of you go ahead of me with a torch, though, will you? It’s starting to get on to dark and my eyes ain’t what they used to be.”
“Yes’m.” Zeke nodded and headed toward the exit. Mrs. Wildberry and Iyarra followed along behind. As she left, Iyarra cast one last glance at the stone disc. The magic was still streaming upward from the stone, disappearing into the night.
Iyarra shuddered and hurried after the others.
* * * * *
Back at the center of the maze, Revka watched a third stream of magic light up the sky. “One more to go,” she muttered to herself.
Mr. Fleet nodded. He rubbed his hands together, grinning like a child on Christmas. “I tell you what, if this ain’t the damnedest thing you ever saw! And we’re only just getting started.”
“Oh, I believe you, all right.” Revka eyed the scene warily. The closer they came, the less okay she was with the whole idea. It was slowly dawning on her that, holy Krep, they were actually going to do this thing. She could feel her stomach begin to knot up. She would definitely feel better when Iyarra got back. Maybe they could, well, excuse themselves, call of nature or something like that, and make a run for it. They could maybe talk their way past the guards at the entrance, find their way back to town, and sneak through before anyone called the cops. Lord knew it wouldn’t be the first time.
A little nagging thought tickled at the back of her brain. There was something she hadn’t thought about, something amiss. Well, they were getting to resurrect a giant primordial god, that was pretty darned amiss right there, but no, this was something different. A single note, just a slight bit off and so easy to miss in the symphony of terror playing its way nonstop through her mind, but…
A memory clicked. Revka looked around. There were a couple of other cultists milling around and a few more of the hired hands. It was what she did not see that really stuck out. Now that she knew what she was looking for, its absence was more than a little bit obvious.
She cleared her throat. “Er, Mr. Fleet?”
Mr. Fleet looked up from the fire. “Mm? What’s on your mind, Miss Revka?”
“Pardon me for asking, but I seem to recall that you mentioned there was going to be a sacrifice? As a way of getting the god’s attention?”
“That’s right, yes.”
“Only,” she waved an arm around vaguely. “I don’t see that we’ve brought anything. I thought you mentioned a thunga or similar? Is there, like, one outside or something?”
Mr. Fleet just smiled. “Tell me, you ever heard of the great prophet Djal?”
“Djal? Doesn’t ring a bell, no.”
“Well, I’ll tell you.” Mr. Fleet’s voice seamlessly slipped into oratory mode. “One time, the great prophet, Djal, went forth into the mountains, taking with him only his beloved son. ‘Where are we going?’ asked the son, ‘and why?’ And Djal said to him, ‘Behold: we are going to a spot that has been shown to me by our god. There we shall make sacrifice unto him.’ And they came to a place, far from the cities of man and centaur, and climbed atop a great bluff. There, Djal did direct his son to gather wood and get a fire going.
“By the time the sun was about to set, the fire was burning bright. Father and son knelt to make their prayers. When they finished, the son turned to his father and said, ‘The place for sacrifice is ready, yet there is no sacrifice, as we have brought no beast.’ And Djal said unto him, ‘Fear not, my son. For our god shall provide.’”
“Uh-huh,” said Revka. “Well, that’s, uhm, certainly a nice story there, but what happened? Did the god provide a sacrifice?”
“Oh, he did indeed.”
“So…what happened?”
Mr. Fleet smiled. “Tell you what, how about I just show you?”
* * * * *
Mrs. Wildberry returned to the central area, along with her two escorts. Mr. Fleet bowed. “All well, sister?”
“Smooth as a baby’s hinder,” she said. “Everything going all right, so far, Everett?”
“Going just fine, thank ya. We’ve had three beacons lit so far, and I’m expec—” He stopped as a fourth wisp of smoke emerged from the maze. “Ayup, there it is. Four for four, can’t get better than that.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Just about ready for the next stage. Oh, gentlemen?”
A couple of the hired hands looked up.
“Go ahead and attend to that thing I mentioned earlier.”
The men nodded and wandered around the fire over to where the new arrivals were standing. One leaned over to Zeke and whispered something in his ear. Iyarra tilted her head, trying to catch it, but was unable to make anything out. What were they—?
Suddenly, there was a knife at her throat. A voice in her ear hissed, “Hands behind your back. Now.” Too surprised to put up a fight, she put her hands back. In a moment, her wrists were tied together and her legs hobbled. The men worked quickly, too quickly for them not to have done this many times before. Before she knew it, she was rendered helpless.
Mr. Fleet walked over to her, still smiling. “Sorry about this, but as I was saying to your colleague, y’all are clever. Too clever, if I’m honest. If I brought you on, I’d be watching my back the whole time. And, as Miss Revka so conscientiously pointed out, we do need a sacrifice.” He nodded to a cultist, who moved aside. Behind them, Revka lay bound and gagged.
“We do, indeed, have some special work for you.” Mr. Fleet smiled at Revka. “It’s not the most pleasant task, but look at it this way: y’all are about to be the stars of the show.
“Now, you may be trying to come up with one of your clever little plans, but bear in mind there’s sacrifices and there’s sacrifices. We can make this happen quick an’ painless, or we can draw it out a good long time. In the olden days, they’d rip the beating heart right out of a body. Now, I don’t think we need to go to that extreme, but it is always an option.” He turned to the others. “Keep them separate, just in case.”
As Iyarra was dragged away and out of sight, Mr. Fleet moved back to the fire. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, and the rest of the cultists did likewise. A horrible silence spread out from the heart of the maze. Even the crackling of the fire seemed muted. Mr. Fleet spread his arms outward.
“Dearly beloved,” he intoned, “let us begin.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE LAST RAINBOW HUES of sunset slipped below the horizon as the ceremony began. Torches had been lit around the central area of the maze. In the middle, a struggling Revka was dragged to the fire between two of the hooded centaurs.
Mr. Fleet reached over with one hand and whipped the gag away. Revka glared at him and spat.
“Temper, temper,” he said, his voice as infuriatingly calm as always. He reached down to her chin, turning it so she was facing him. “I suggest you adjust your attitude,” he said quietly, “or you would not believe how bad a time you’re gonna have.” He raised his voice again, looking out at the others. “Sorry about that, brothers and sisters.” He grinned. “Some folks just don’t know how to behave in church!”
There was a scattered chuckle, the kind of laugh that comes when people are nervous and on edge and desperate to break the tension. As Revka looked around the group, it occurred to her that some of them were not entirely on board. Up until this point, it had probably been all dreams of glory and power, but now they were about to watch another sentient being get slaughtered. It was not sitting well with some of them.
Revka could just see Iyarra. She had turned her face away, but even from across the fire, Revka could see tears reflected in the firelight. Her hands, still bound tightly behind her back, clenched into fists. If they got out of this, Fleet and all of his bunch were going to pay for every tear.
Beside her, Mr. Fleet was droning out an invocation to the god that slept below, asking it to bless their work and smile upon this, their first sacrifice. Revka found it hard to concentrate. She found herself scanning the area, peering into the dark passages of the maze beyond. For Krep’s sake, where…
Mr. Fleet was going full tilt now, swooping and bellowing his words like an old-time country preacher. They stood on the threshold and were going to bring forth a great and glorious new era, and the world would tremble beneath their feet. This was no time for fear, this was no time for doubt, this was the moment that they, the very elect, would reach out and grab the future with both hands. The energy in the circle reached a fever pitch.
“And now,” he crowed, pulling out a long thin dagger, “Oh ye what sleeps below, awake! Awake! And look well upon our sacrifice!”
Revka took a deep breath. She braced herself. Any second now…
“Er…hold up. Sorry, can we hold up just a second?”
Mr. Fleet turned and looked at the interruption. “Hm? Oh, now what? Who said that? You done wrecked my momentum.”
A hooded figure raised a tentative hand. “See here now, Everett. Just what exactly you plannin’ on doing?”
Mr. Fleet rolled his eyes. “I’m bakin’ a cake, Brother Tarran. What the hell does it look like?”
“Only, I just…well, I didn’t think you were actually gonna… I mean, that’s a human. It ain’t like an animal or something. I mean, you’re not…you’re not, are you?”
“What Brother Tarran is trying to say,” said Mrs. Wildberry, “is that I think we were under the impression that if there was going to be a sacrifice, it would be more of a, well, symbolic act.”
“Symbolic.”
“Yes, exactly!” Brother Tarran’s hood nodded vigorously. “I mean, Everett, we’ve all studied the same texts. Surely, it’s the intent behind the sacrifice, not the actual sacrifice itself…that…” he trailed off, withering under Fleet’s glare.
“Intent? Really?” Mr. Fleet shook his head. “I do not believe what I am hearing here. We are here, we’ve done the invocations, we’ve got everything in place, and you pick now to get cold hooves.”
“Well for pity’s sake,” said Mrs. Wildberry. “We didn’t sign on for no cold-blooded murder. I know I certainly didn’t.”
Fleet looked around the circle. “Well, now. I’m sorry if invoking the powers of an almighty god may involve some slightly unsavory deeds. I suppose some of you thought this was all gonna be just fun an’ games and nobody getting hurt. Well, this is serious business. Every one of y’all is in this up to your necks. Don’t even kid yourself about backing out now.
“But, you know, fair’s fair. Maybe you can’t bear to be a party to this. Well, it’s real simple. Anybody wanna take these girls’ places as our sacrifice, just raise your hands now. Anyone? Anyone at all? That’s what I thought. Now, if I may be allowed to continue…”
Mr. Fleet raised the dagger, pointing it right down at Revka’s throat. She felt herself tense up, bracing for the plunge of the blade.
A chance movement caught her eye. Nothing definite, a suggestion of darkness moving against the blackness of the maze. It looked like…
It looked like a lanky upright coyote wearing an old top hat. In the darkness, only his eyes were visible. They flickered momentarily, reflecting the flames, and in her head, she heard a whisper, Get ready…
A large rock came sailing out of the darkness and hit Mr. Fleet’s hand, causing him to drop the dagger and lose his grip on Revka. The woman dropped to the ground and rolled away as fast as she could. Members of the Tex Arcana charged out of the maze and began to attack.
There was a rapid series of thumps as a half dozen crossbow bolts crisscrossed through the air and into the enemy. Most hit shoulders or chests, though one went straight into the darkened crimson hood of one unlucky cultist, who screamed and collapsed where they stood. The Arcana, clad in their black robes, closed with the other cultists and started swinging.
Mr. Fleet was livid. He whirled around, his face going purple with rage. “Stop them!” he cried. “Use your daggers, you idiots! Cut their throats!”
“But sir,” said one, “the Code of the—”
“Screw the gods’ damned code!”
There was a moment of shocked silence on both sides. Fortunately, the Arcana were the first to recover, and several took the initiative to land an extra punch or kick. They had the advantage in numbers, but as the fight progressed, it became clear that most involved didn’t have a lot of experience in hand-to-hand combat. Only Mr. Fleet’s hired hands showed any real prowess. While they were only a few, there were enough that they could turn the tables, all things being equal.
One of the hired goons pulled a knife from a sheath on his belt and crept toward one of the Arcana members, who was busy exchanging blows with a rival cultist. The goon maneuvered his way closer until he was right behind them. He raised his knife, taking aim at the upper back. The goon cried out as a ton of centaur crashed into him. He dropped the knife and hit the dirt hard, howling with pain.
Mr. Fleet rubbed his hands together. “Well, it’ll take them a few minutes to get to their proper places, so we can take a quick breather till then.”
“Pardon me asking,” said Revka, “how will we know when they’ve made it?”
The centaur just grinned. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. We’ll know, all right. Won’t be no doubt about it.”
* * * * *
Iyarra and another centaur she didn’t recognize followed after Mrs. Wildberry, torches in hand, marching along as they followed the path carefully laid out earlier. Mrs. Wildberry held her map at eye level, peering through her half-moon glasses. On more than one occasion, she had to call the other two over to help.
“No see, we already passed that part.” The other centaur, whose name was Zeke, pointed at the map. “Remember? We did that left and the left again and then that kinda curlicue thing. That’s the only place on the map that does that.”
“Hmmmm.” Mrs. Wildberry peered at it again. “So, we’re at this crossing, are we?” Her finger stabbed a four-way intersection.
“No, we went through that one,” Zeke replied. “Couple minutes ago? You were telling us about your grandkids, remember?”
“Oh. Right, yes. Er…so…?”
“I believe we’re right here.” Iyarra pointed at another intersection down the path a bit.
“Yup, that’s us,” said Zeke.
“OK, so we go…?”
“Left.”
“Left?”
“Right. I mean, yes. Yes, left.”
“Okay.” The group filed into the left-hand path and continued on their way. Iyarra looked back at the blue line snaking behind them. Apparently, (according to Mrs. Wildberry) it would stay blue as long as they were on the right track. They seemed to be doing all right so far, knock on wood.
Iyarra wondered how much of this they knew was going to happen. It seemed like they had done their homework, but on the other hand, they seemed more than a little coy about the actual details. Maybe they just didn’t trust the others? That seemed plausible. Still, she didn’t much like being kept in the dark. Hopefully, they could just get this over with and get away.
Iyarra stopped her reverie as she saw the others disappearing around the corner. She shook her head. It wouldn’t do to fall behind. She hurried after them, the blue line following in her wake.
* * * * *
They emerged at the end of the line. Once again, it was a small open space with one of the stone discs right in the middle. Mrs. Wildberry held up her hand. “Nobody step on the stone,” she said. “Just find a place around it.”
The three of them shuffled into position. Behind them, the blue trail closed the gap to the stone disc. It may have been Iyarra’s imagination, but the trail almost seemed to throb in the dim, evening light.
“Now then,” said Mrs. Wildberry, “I need you two to hold these and be ready.” She fished out a rolled bandage and a small pot of balm and handed them to Zeke and Iyarra, respectively. “We’ve got the line here, and now we need to seal it. That will open our portion of the lock.”
“An’ how do we do that, ma’am?” asked Zeke.
Mrs. Wildberry didn’t answer. She just fished in her saddlebag and drew out a dagger. For a moment she turned it this way and that, the torchlight catching the blade. Then, in one swift movement, she brought it fast along the tip of her index finger, opening up a thin slit from which bloomed a rivulet of dark blood.
The centaur woman held her hand over the stone disc, face down. Blood began to drip into the lines carved into the stone unknown ages before. As the three of them watched, the blood seemed to multiply, spreading itself and following the carven passages until it reached the spot where the glowing blue line touched the disc.
Instantly, the blue light washed over the disc, tracing over the crimson path to the center. A deep thrumming noise announced a change, and wisps of green-blue magic curled up from the disc like smoke.
The three centaurs watched in awe, mesmerized by the eldritch sight. It was only when Mrs. Wildberry gave a yelp and clutched her hand to herself that everyone was brought back to reality.
“Mercy sakes!” she muttered. “That really does smart! Miss Iyarra, put some of that balm over the cut, will you? And Zeke, be ready with that bandage.”
A couple of minutes later, they had her finger all wrapped up and as good as it was going to get. She flexed it a couple of times, only wincing a little. “Well, that hand ain’t gonna be good for much for a couple of days, that’s for sure.” She smiled a little. “Still, I reckon it’s a small price to pay.”
Zeke spoke up. “Now what do we do, ma’am?”
Mrs. Wildberry put the knife and other items away. “Now we head back. Just follow the line back to the center, should be no problem. One of you go ahead of me with a torch, though, will you? It’s starting to get on to dark and my eyes ain’t what they used to be.”
“Yes’m.” Zeke nodded and headed toward the exit. Mrs. Wildberry and Iyarra followed along behind. As she left, Iyarra cast one last glance at the stone disc. The magic was still streaming upward from the stone, disappearing into the night.
Iyarra shuddered and hurried after the others.
* * * * *
Back at the center of the maze, Revka watched a third stream of magic light up the sky. “One more to go,” she muttered to herself.
Mr. Fleet nodded. He rubbed his hands together, grinning like a child on Christmas. “I tell you what, if this ain’t the damnedest thing you ever saw! And we’re only just getting started.”
“Oh, I believe you, all right.” Revka eyed the scene warily. The closer they came, the less okay she was with the whole idea. It was slowly dawning on her that, holy Krep, they were actually going to do this thing. She could feel her stomach begin to knot up. She would definitely feel better when Iyarra got back. Maybe they could, well, excuse themselves, call of nature or something like that, and make a run for it. They could maybe talk their way past the guards at the entrance, find their way back to town, and sneak through before anyone called the cops. Lord knew it wouldn’t be the first time.
A little nagging thought tickled at the back of her brain. There was something she hadn’t thought about, something amiss. Well, they were getting to resurrect a giant primordial god, that was pretty darned amiss right there, but no, this was something different. A single note, just a slight bit off and so easy to miss in the symphony of terror playing its way nonstop through her mind, but…
A memory clicked. Revka looked around. There were a couple of other cultists milling around and a few more of the hired hands. It was what she did not see that really stuck out. Now that she knew what she was looking for, its absence was more than a little bit obvious.
She cleared her throat. “Er, Mr. Fleet?”
Mr. Fleet looked up from the fire. “Mm? What’s on your mind, Miss Revka?”
“Pardon me for asking, but I seem to recall that you mentioned there was going to be a sacrifice? As a way of getting the god’s attention?”
“That’s right, yes.”
“Only,” she waved an arm around vaguely. “I don’t see that we’ve brought anything. I thought you mentioned a thunga or similar? Is there, like, one outside or something?”
Mr. Fleet just smiled. “Tell me, you ever heard of the great prophet Djal?”
“Djal? Doesn’t ring a bell, no.”
“Well, I’ll tell you.” Mr. Fleet’s voice seamlessly slipped into oratory mode. “One time, the great prophet, Djal, went forth into the mountains, taking with him only his beloved son. ‘Where are we going?’ asked the son, ‘and why?’ And Djal said to him, ‘Behold: we are going to a spot that has been shown to me by our god. There we shall make sacrifice unto him.’ And they came to a place, far from the cities of man and centaur, and climbed atop a great bluff. There, Djal did direct his son to gather wood and get a fire going.
“By the time the sun was about to set, the fire was burning bright. Father and son knelt to make their prayers. When they finished, the son turned to his father and said, ‘The place for sacrifice is ready, yet there is no sacrifice, as we have brought no beast.’ And Djal said unto him, ‘Fear not, my son. For our god shall provide.’”
“Uh-huh,” said Revka. “Well, that’s, uhm, certainly a nice story there, but what happened? Did the god provide a sacrifice?”
“Oh, he did indeed.”
“So…what happened?”
Mr. Fleet smiled. “Tell you what, how about I just show you?”
* * * * *
Mrs. Wildberry returned to the central area, along with her two escorts. Mr. Fleet bowed. “All well, sister?”
“Smooth as a baby’s hinder,” she said. “Everything going all right, so far, Everett?”
“Going just fine, thank ya. We’ve had three beacons lit so far, and I’m expec—” He stopped as a fourth wisp of smoke emerged from the maze. “Ayup, there it is. Four for four, can’t get better than that.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Just about ready for the next stage. Oh, gentlemen?”
A couple of the hired hands looked up.
“Go ahead and attend to that thing I mentioned earlier.”
The men nodded and wandered around the fire over to where the new arrivals were standing. One leaned over to Zeke and whispered something in his ear. Iyarra tilted her head, trying to catch it, but was unable to make anything out. What were they—?
Suddenly, there was a knife at her throat. A voice in her ear hissed, “Hands behind your back. Now.” Too surprised to put up a fight, she put her hands back. In a moment, her wrists were tied together and her legs hobbled. The men worked quickly, too quickly for them not to have done this many times before. Before she knew it, she was rendered helpless.
Mr. Fleet walked over to her, still smiling. “Sorry about this, but as I was saying to your colleague, y’all are clever. Too clever, if I’m honest. If I brought you on, I’d be watching my back the whole time. And, as Miss Revka so conscientiously pointed out, we do need a sacrifice.” He nodded to a cultist, who moved aside. Behind them, Revka lay bound and gagged.
“We do, indeed, have some special work for you.” Mr. Fleet smiled at Revka. “It’s not the most pleasant task, but look at it this way: y’all are about to be the stars of the show.
“Now, you may be trying to come up with one of your clever little plans, but bear in mind there’s sacrifices and there’s sacrifices. We can make this happen quick an’ painless, or we can draw it out a good long time. In the olden days, they’d rip the beating heart right out of a body. Now, I don’t think we need to go to that extreme, but it is always an option.” He turned to the others. “Keep them separate, just in case.”
As Iyarra was dragged away and out of sight, Mr. Fleet moved back to the fire. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, and the rest of the cultists did likewise. A horrible silence spread out from the heart of the maze. Even the crackling of the fire seemed muted. Mr. Fleet spread his arms outward.
“Dearly beloved,” he intoned, “let us begin.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE LAST RAINBOW HUES of sunset slipped below the horizon as the ceremony began. Torches had been lit around the central area of the maze. In the middle, a struggling Revka was dragged to the fire between two of the hooded centaurs.
Mr. Fleet reached over with one hand and whipped the gag away. Revka glared at him and spat.
“Temper, temper,” he said, his voice as infuriatingly calm as always. He reached down to her chin, turning it so she was facing him. “I suggest you adjust your attitude,” he said quietly, “or you would not believe how bad a time you’re gonna have.” He raised his voice again, looking out at the others. “Sorry about that, brothers and sisters.” He grinned. “Some folks just don’t know how to behave in church!”
There was a scattered chuckle, the kind of laugh that comes when people are nervous and on edge and desperate to break the tension. As Revka looked around the group, it occurred to her that some of them were not entirely on board. Up until this point, it had probably been all dreams of glory and power, but now they were about to watch another sentient being get slaughtered. It was not sitting well with some of them.
Revka could just see Iyarra. She had turned her face away, but even from across the fire, Revka could see tears reflected in the firelight. Her hands, still bound tightly behind her back, clenched into fists. If they got out of this, Fleet and all of his bunch were going to pay for every tear.
Beside her, Mr. Fleet was droning out an invocation to the god that slept below, asking it to bless their work and smile upon this, their first sacrifice. Revka found it hard to concentrate. She found herself scanning the area, peering into the dark passages of the maze beyond. For Krep’s sake, where…
Mr. Fleet was going full tilt now, swooping and bellowing his words like an old-time country preacher. They stood on the threshold and were going to bring forth a great and glorious new era, and the world would tremble beneath their feet. This was no time for fear, this was no time for doubt, this was the moment that they, the very elect, would reach out and grab the future with both hands. The energy in the circle reached a fever pitch.
“And now,” he crowed, pulling out a long thin dagger, “Oh ye what sleeps below, awake! Awake! And look well upon our sacrifice!”
Revka took a deep breath. She braced herself. Any second now…
“Er…hold up. Sorry, can we hold up just a second?”
Mr. Fleet turned and looked at the interruption. “Hm? Oh, now what? Who said that? You done wrecked my momentum.”
A hooded figure raised a tentative hand. “See here now, Everett. Just what exactly you plannin’ on doing?”
Mr. Fleet rolled his eyes. “I’m bakin’ a cake, Brother Tarran. What the hell does it look like?”
“Only, I just…well, I didn’t think you were actually gonna… I mean, that’s a human. It ain’t like an animal or something. I mean, you’re not…you’re not, are you?”
“What Brother Tarran is trying to say,” said Mrs. Wildberry, “is that I think we were under the impression that if there was going to be a sacrifice, it would be more of a, well, symbolic act.”
“Symbolic.”
“Yes, exactly!” Brother Tarran’s hood nodded vigorously. “I mean, Everett, we’ve all studied the same texts. Surely, it’s the intent behind the sacrifice, not the actual sacrifice itself…that…” he trailed off, withering under Fleet’s glare.
“Intent? Really?” Mr. Fleet shook his head. “I do not believe what I am hearing here. We are here, we’ve done the invocations, we’ve got everything in place, and you pick now to get cold hooves.”
“Well for pity’s sake,” said Mrs. Wildberry. “We didn’t sign on for no cold-blooded murder. I know I certainly didn’t.”
Fleet looked around the circle. “Well, now. I’m sorry if invoking the powers of an almighty god may involve some slightly unsavory deeds. I suppose some of you thought this was all gonna be just fun an’ games and nobody getting hurt. Well, this is serious business. Every one of y’all is in this up to your necks. Don’t even kid yourself about backing out now.
“But, you know, fair’s fair. Maybe you can’t bear to be a party to this. Well, it’s real simple. Anybody wanna take these girls’ places as our sacrifice, just raise your hands now. Anyone? Anyone at all? That’s what I thought. Now, if I may be allowed to continue…”
Mr. Fleet raised the dagger, pointing it right down at Revka’s throat. She felt herself tense up, bracing for the plunge of the blade.
A chance movement caught her eye. Nothing definite, a suggestion of darkness moving against the blackness of the maze. It looked like…
It looked like a lanky upright coyote wearing an old top hat. In the darkness, only his eyes were visible. They flickered momentarily, reflecting the flames, and in her head, she heard a whisper, Get ready…
A large rock came sailing out of the darkness and hit Mr. Fleet’s hand, causing him to drop the dagger and lose his grip on Revka. The woman dropped to the ground and rolled away as fast as she could. Members of the Tex Arcana charged out of the maze and began to attack.
There was a rapid series of thumps as a half dozen crossbow bolts crisscrossed through the air and into the enemy. Most hit shoulders or chests, though one went straight into the darkened crimson hood of one unlucky cultist, who screamed and collapsed where they stood. The Arcana, clad in their black robes, closed with the other cultists and started swinging.
Mr. Fleet was livid. He whirled around, his face going purple with rage. “Stop them!” he cried. “Use your daggers, you idiots! Cut their throats!”
“But sir,” said one, “the Code of the—”
“Screw the gods’ damned code!”
There was a moment of shocked silence on both sides. Fortunately, the Arcana were the first to recover, and several took the initiative to land an extra punch or kick. They had the advantage in numbers, but as the fight progressed, it became clear that most involved didn’t have a lot of experience in hand-to-hand combat. Only Mr. Fleet’s hired hands showed any real prowess. While they were only a few, there were enough that they could turn the tables, all things being equal.
One of the hired goons pulled a knife from a sheath on his belt and crept toward one of the Arcana members, who was busy exchanging blows with a rival cultist. The goon maneuvered his way closer until he was right behind them. He raised his knife, taking aim at the upper back. The goon cried out as a ton of centaur crashed into him. He dropped the knife and hit the dirt hard, howling with pain.
