Seven Tides

13 The Sacrifice

 Silva raises his hand. "Those drums aren't coming from the village. They're coming from behind the pyramid!"

"Run!" Yanca shouts, pointing to the closest building. We duck into the building just as the thundering rhythm enters the corridor and echoes across the enclosure. Piala and Muala have to drag the trudging girl along with both hands, barely slipping inside before the first of the Ganayac warriors enters the plaza.

Hordes of men carrying spears stream through the narrow entrance and shuffle across the courtyard, taking up rank and file in the center. They grunt in time and strike their spears against the ground as they shuffle into position. Each man wears a grayish-white paste smeared from head to toe with a single blackish-red streak painted across the eyes.

The spectacle builds to a frenzied crescendo that ends with their spears slamming down in unison when a shrill, wailing scream cuts through the air. After a moment, the grinding rhythm starts again. Stamping feet and pounding spears match the grunting rhythm. Two men carry a large candelabra into the courtyard from the shadows of the gateway and place it in the center. The columns and arms are human bones, and three black, smoking skulls adorn the top. A single warrior approaches and touches the top with a torch. Brilliant green flames burst out of the skulls, sending us further back into the recesses.

The darkness in the corridor grows into a thick soup and throbs with the rhythm of the grinding chant. A single disembodied hand pokes out from within the black pulsing space. The hand claws at the light, reaching further, lengthening into a long slim arm. Another hand appears, and together they form a high arc with cascading fingers that beckon any and all to come join them in the darkness. The fingers twirl and twine, promising hidden, unspoken pleasures. I feel the hair on my arms rise, as during a thunderstorm, just before lightning strikes. I feel the magnetic draw of those hands; an urge that threatens to drain all of my strength.

Muala jerks me away from the scene, "Remember your word, Ibrahim," she whispers gruffly. Behind me, Dante moves toward the green glow of the courtyard, his eyes glazed over and black. Silva cuffs him back and slaps him to his senses.

The Ganayac men have no one to pull them back or remind them of their word. Stiff legged and in a stupor, one warrior drops his spear and staggers toward the darkness. The hands excitedly caress and claw as he enters the pulsing blackness. The rhythmic chanting stops. A low gurgling snarl, unlike any animal I have ever heard, comes from within the darkness. There is no scream, just the sound of crunching bones and ripping flesh.

The blackness curls back, and a slender, dark-skinned woman glides into the plaza. Piles of silken charcoal hair sweep around and across her face. It drifts down over her shoulders and across her breasts. The long flowing locks drop past her hips, falling to around her feet. She slowly circles the men, striding to the center of the plaza, where she pauses with shoulders arched back, and bends to let her full mane pour over her body and spread out across the ground. She rolls back, running her hands through the raven black strands, sweeping them away. They scatter and cascade behind her back, revealing her full nakedness.

The grunting begins again. She slips across the plaza, drawing near to a row of Ganayac men. Her hips gyrate beneath the velvet cascade, brushing against the loins of the men she passes. Her hands slide over each and every one, feeling for some secret pulse of energy. She stops, raises one hand in the air and lets it float down onto the chest of a visibly excited warrior. The heaping tresses lift by themselves, twisting and wrapping around his arms and legs, trapping him there. She backs into him, pushes against him, hips rolling beneath the charcoal silken mass. The man trembles and whimpers. She pulls away. He drops to his knees, still whimpering. She floats back, crouches by his side, licks his ear, tasting it.