Chapter 19: Oaths of Vengeance

Puma sat in the lee of a rock, letting the rain run over her without paying it much heed. Shuria appeared as a dim shadow and squatted next to her. "Tomorrow, eh?" he told her.

"Yes," she replied economically.

"You've been quiet most of the trip."

"I've been doing a lot of thinking."

He grinned a bit. "I've been doing a lot of anticipating the trip back to Xipototec when it's just the two of us."

"I've been thinking about that, too."

A lightning bolt cut a jagged path from sky to ground, thunder pealed in the distance.

"Just over the ridge," he told her, "I can see a wagon in the middle of the desert, as promised."

"I saw it earlier, too," Puma told him.

"Are you having second thoughts about us?"

"I've been having second thoughts about practically everything. About how much it is worth to be 'Lady Puma.'"

"It's not something we do, amongst ourselves," he told her. "We do honor those who do brave things, or who help their villages in times of need."

"It is seductive," Puma said carefully. "Like the words of a man who wants you to walk with him."

"I am not one who flatters and uses sugar. We've worked together; we've fought together. We know each other."

Puma smiled slightly. "You understand that women howl with laughter at men who think that the biggest gift they give their woman is themselves."

"Well, I can fetch flowers if that's what you'd like."

He was laughing. Puma met his dark eyes. The rain stopped and she stood up. He did as well, facing her. "Will you walk with me, Puma?"

She'd been sitting with her poncho pulled tight around her, keeping some of the water off. Now, she let it open, pointing her shotgun squarely at his midsection.

"Keep your hands away from your body, Shuria. Go to your knees, your hands behind your head."

"Puma, what is this?"

"Your death if you don't do as you're told."

"I can't believe you're a traitor!" Still, he sank to his knees.

"Put your hands behind your neck." He did as bid and she moved behind him, placing the shotgun against his spine. She carefully pulled away his knife and then his shotgun. It was unlikely in the extreme she could get all his weapons unless she stripped him nude and there was no time for that.

She looped a piece of rope around one of his wrists, the rope already tied. A second later, his second hand was secure as well. Then a few more loops to be sure that she would have at least a finger-width head start.

"Up!" she commanded and he obediently stood up. "Start walking downhill. If you're smart, you will go to the woman and deliver her to your friends. It would not be wise ever to be seen in the lands of the High King again."

"I'm not the traitor here."

"And of anyone, you should know the truth of that! I could not understand why my no-blood sister wanted to send me away on such a useless errand. Things were going well with my soldiers, with my duty to her. At first I thought it was her way to throw us together again, as she once put Tazi and her lover together. Then I thought about all the broad hints she'd whispered about Lady Inisa and where she got her orders.

"It took me a while to put it together. But now I have."

"You're being foolish, Puma! I care about you!"

"Maybe. It's true enough I cared about you. Now, I'm not sure what I think. But if you come after me, then I'll know, won't I?"

"You're demented! Bad cactus juice!"

She laughed. "Take the woman. Think long and hard if you want to trust to my no-blood sister's mercy. It was her son Inisa threatened. If you had any part in that, she'll kill you if you return."

"I have fought for the High King, I have bled for the High King. You and I have stood together to fight his enemies!"

"Words, Shuria. All words. Walk to the bottom of the ridge. I'll have you in my sights the entire time."

He shrugged and started walking. She moved several hundred feet, watching him closely, and then she ducked behind some rocks. Sure enough, he'd stopped and was looking uphill. Her bullet didn't seem to faze him, as it spalled rocks forty feet away from him. He started moving again, going carefully, showing no signs of trying to untie his hands. When he was close to the bottom of the ridge, she slithered a few feet and was on the other side of the ridge.

She started running then, full tilt, as fast as she'd ever run.

She smiled thinly to herself as she loped along the ridge. Shuria, like most Ruthani, rarely had cared for a horse. She'd picketed the four horses they had with them in a grassy little swale, just as it had started to rain. The beasts were both hungry and thirsty. And too stupid to know when to stop eating or drinking. If he went to them, he'd find them bloated, filled with gas and barely able to walk, much less run.

These mountains ran nearly fifty miles to the southeast. He'd had the early morning watch last night, so he'd been awake now for eighteen hours. It wasn't much of an advantage, but if he spent any time going back to check on Inisa and to pick up a rifle she'd have even more of an advantage. She'd very carefully fiddled with his rifle and the first time he fired it, it would break.

Could she actually stay ahead of him in an extended chase? It would come down to a battle of wills and skills. She came to an easy downhill slope and she lengthened her stride even further.

A half moon later she faced her no-blood sister who was blunt. "Did he follow you?"

"No. Twice I hid in places where I could have seen him miles away. I never saw him."

"I'm sorry, Lady Puma."

She lifted her chin. "I am Ruthani! We do not war on women and children! We do not betray each other!"

"Well, I have sent a message about this to Manistewa. I would not want to be in Shuria's boots were those two to meet. You were friends and comrades; to me he was a trusted scout. To Manistewa, he was like a brother. His only complaint is that I didn't go to him with my suspicions."

"Do you trust me?" Puma asked.

Tanda Havra shrugged. "To be honest, I trust no one, except my son -- not even my husband. We brought someone from your village here, someone who was on record as thinking you are an obnoxious woman, with no sense of her place. Yes, he said, you are Puma, Lion's daughter."

Tanda stopped, obviously close to tears. She looked at Puma. "In my life, my mother died when I was born. My father turned me out early. Old Man of Mogdai took me in and treated me fairly, even if most did not. Tazi of Mogdai came to me for advice and companionship, knowing that if war came her father would be one of the first to die.

"No one, none except those, cared about me, until I met Tuck. He cared; I could see it almost at once. Judy and her friends, and Elspeth, they were wary around me. But they treated me with respect, even so."

"And Manistewa?"

She snorted. "Manistewa's interest in me was because I was living in a village far to the south, where he had few contacts. Mogdai raised fine cattle, fine corn! It was worth much in trade to my uncle! So was I. Manistewa wanted me, so he could put more coins in his pocket! Tuck wanted me because he thought he would be a better person for it.

"Trust? I've never learned to trust people. If you can't work with someone who will be forever watching your every move, go home."

Puma lifted her chin. "I am Puma, Lion's daughter! I am home!"

"Then, sister, you and I, we will take the fight to our enemies. We will cause their women to fill the air with death chants for their men! We will tear down their cities and towns; we will visit upon them, what they've visited upon us! It will be bloody, brutal, and no one can afford to trust anyone."

"I will follow you, sister. You are no blood of mine, but I've come to see what my father saw in you. You may not have his blood flowing in you, but you have the same heart!"

"Good. Return to your duties. There's a lot of rumbling in the city. People are upset, they want to strike out at an enemy, they want to do something to even the balance. Except just now, we don't know who to strike or where to strike. Take the pulse of the city; listen to people. Speak mildly soothing words of caution, but don't sound as if you want to hold back."

"I surely don't."

"Good!

"For the time being, we've limited our public contact as much as possible. You won't be able to, so it will be dangerous."

"Sister, please! Talk to me of danger the day you've cautioned yourself!"

Tanda smiled. "Sister, heed my words! Tuck and I are limiting our public contact. We do that, so that what nearly happened to Queen Elspeth doesn't happen to us."

Puma bowed her head. "I'm sorry, sister."

"It's enough I'm your sister. Now, get to it!"

Heurtic sat on the top step of the central pyramid of Tenosh. Once upon a time, less than a year ago, had he done this, he'd have died instantly for the sacrilege.

Bodies dotted the sides of the pyramid; in truth in some places many had died, enough to stack the bodies high. But they hadn't been sacrificed to the gods, at least not as tradition dictated.

He stared blindly over the Valley of Mexico. In days gone by a few plumes of smoke would have been expected. Today the air was nearly opaque, but even in the limited visibility there were hundreds, perhaps a thousand, pillars of smoke rising into the air.

One of those pillars had consumed his three fine sons, his two lovely daughters, all dead of the plague. Another had consumed his wife, who'd thrown herself from the top floor of their apartment building, in despair over her dead children.

He should have died like that, he knew. But unlike his wife, he'd been sick. He hadn't the strength to lever himself to his feet, much less to climb several ladders.

Now he was strong enough to climb the pyramid. True, it had taken three days and if he hadn't had enough food for a moon-quarter on his shoulders, he'd have died like so many of these others.

He wiped tears from his eyes. For his children, for his wife, for himself, for his people.

He had been one of those wildly enthusiastic about King Xyl and the end of the sacrifices. He knew full well that as soon as his daughters were old enough, at least one, and perhaps both of them, would have climbed the pyramid. He grimaced. Too many men had seen their daughters taken by the priests and hadn't seen them climb the pyramid.

The anger about that was sullen and silent. Yet, all men knew how the others felt. You couldn't live as they did and not know everything about all the others who lived close by. You knew whose daughters were taken, you knew whether or not they were painted and climbed the pyramid. The number of girls who never reached the sacrifice had gone from an occasional mutter, to a scandal and, in the end, became a fuse to a keg of fireseed.

When the plague struck, like everyone else, he'd not known what to do. For two days he'd hesitated, unsure. Two days that cost him his children. To have a child die in your arms was a terrible thing. To have them die as the victims of the plague died was beyond terrible. And parents who cared for their children sickened and died as well. It had been terrible beyond words and he'd told his wife he'd do what had to be done. So he sickened and she did not.

He raised his fist to the sky, shaking it, heedless of risk, giving in once again to the rage he felt.

As before, he couldn't sustain the rage. He lived. That he lived was a miracle, there was no other rational explanation.

His wife had left him; all the survivors of the apartments had fled. He had been dying and no one cared any longer for those who were sick. Two soldiers had found him incoherent, dying in the street, a few feet from the broken body of his wife.

They had an old man with them, a priest of some heathen god from the North, he'd been told. An old man, one that Heurtic knew had to be susceptible in the extreme to the plague. The soldiers and the priest nursed him, explaining to him about the salt he drank was restoring the salt of his body. All men knew sweat was salty! It had made sense!

And, there, at the end, at his last gasp of strength, the old man had given him his own flask, and Heurtic drank, knowing as he did, he was killing the old man. And sure enough, the heathen priest of a foreign god took sick before his eyes and died in two palm-widths.

He'd expected the two soldiers with the old man would kill him. Instead, they talked to him as the priest had about the treatment of the plague, and above all, how soldiers should live and fight. When he'd been able to walk, he helped them treat the half dozen they'd found still alive. Most died, but not him, nor did the two soldiers.

Then they saw a signal light, far away and they told Heurtic that King Xyl had taken refuge in the north and they were going to him, to assist. Both of the soldiers now wore the same sort of blue robes as the old heathen priest. Heurtic had wished them luck, but even as much as he owed the priest, he assumed the man hadn't saved him to throw his life away like that.

So, despairing, he'd climbed the pyramid.

He'd believed, in spite of the evidence of whispered terror in the night, that the catastrophe had been local, that it was only his family and friends and the others from the apartments that had died. Now, atop the pyramid, it was made clear in a way that left no doubt about what had happened to his people. Their gods had clearly forsaken them. Gods were powerful beings, no doubt, but King Xyl had tried to contain them. And they had struck back. Not at the king, but at his people.

Heurtic spat, careful to do it downwind, as the wind on top of the pyramid was quite brisk.

He'd been wrong, hadn't he? He'd lived when so many others had died. That priest had died for him. Dralm had been the name of the priest's god. Heurtic swore fulsomely. He'd been a blind fool. A high priest of Dralm had died to save Heurtic, a common man who labored in the fields of the God-King. More, that priest had taught soldiers how to fight the plague, and they'd fought it and thus Heurtic lived when so many others died.

Heurtic rose. First, he would come down from this pyramid. He leaned down and picked up one of the paving stones. The stories of the northern towns had been told in hushed tones, carefully, where none of the spies could overhear. There the people had torn down their pyramids, stone by stone.

King Xyl had left the pyramids, as monuments to their gods, but had killed the priests of those gods and ended the sacrifices to them.

He reached down and pried another stone loose and carried it in his other hand as he descended the pyramid. A day and a half later he tossed them into the lake at the pyramid's foot. Then he resolutely turned his face northwards. If the king was there, the king who'd stopped the sacrifices, why, he'd go to him. He didn't know what he could do to help, but there had never been a time in his experience that the lords and nobles of the Mexicotal couldn't have used yet one more set of hands at some task.

Gryllos stood up in his stirrups and looked east. The files of Olmechan infantry continued south. Their pace was that of treacle in the dead of winter, as so many of them had been sorely weakened by the plague. If the plight of those half million soldiers was terrible, the land they marched through would make stones weep.

The plague had visited death terribly upon the unprotected. Then had come the fighting, the hopelessness and despair that made men and women despair so much that they cared not at all if they lived or died.

They'd tried to succor such at first, but the cost had been too high. The cost in blood, the cost in peace of mind. Even if you could capture one of the despairing ones, you had to watch them every heartbeat. If you didn't they'd fling themselves beneath horse's hooves, wagon wheels, or, if none of those were handy, into the nearest clump of armed men, heedless of their own life or death.

He's spent eighteen men learning that lesson. He grated terribly to shoot men and women who were so helpless... but there was no other way. It wasn't a particular blessing that they never saw children that despaired as did their parents. That was because there were no children. None. The land had been scourged clean of all of them.