CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE—SACRIFICE
“Shiro!” Razul hissed. How are we supposed to move about this place without being seen?”
They stood in a field of tall river grass, their feet soaking as they waited in a lowland area that was flooding from a tributary. Before them the vista of the city sprawling under the pyramid stretched out across the horizon and the jungles beyond.
Shiro estimated that there must be ten thousand people living here at least—most of them human, but there were all manner of the Yamu demi-humans walking about, their bodies bedecked in fine linens, silks and jewels.
Sighing heavily, Debaku said, “We cannot pretend to be their slaves. These people are not Mar’a Thulian.”
“Your black skin will stand out as surely as a diamond glinting in the sun,” Razul agreed.
“And you will not do much better, Abassir.”
Shaking his head, Shiro had no need to say anything of his own peculiarities. “These people—their slaves. They are unlike any of us.”
“We have no choice but to move in and scout the city before dawn,” Debaku said.
Razul shook his head. “How will we find our men in this morass?”
Even now there were slaves about with some of their masters wandering. Or was it that the Yamu were active at night?
They could wait to find out, but if Shiro’s suspicion was incorrect, they would have to wait out the day until nightfall once again.
That is too long.
Jessamine, he conveyed. He waited. Jessamine!
There was no response.
Suddenly she appeared behind them, her feet splashing into the water. “Troubles?” she asked.
They all turned to her and Debaku gave a small bow of veneration.
“We may be caught,” Shiro said.
“Then it is a risk you must take. For the men.”
They glanced at one another, then nodded. “All right,” Shiro said. “Let’s go scout the city. But I think we should stay together.”
“A good idea,” Jessamine said with a smile.
Shiro found himself concerned about her—about her temperament. It was a whirlwind tonight. Was she truly so emotional and unpredictable?
Part of him thought so.
She walked passed them through the reeds that almost seemed to part of their own accord to make way for her in supplication to her majesty. “Well then? Come along.” She sauntered further into the reeds toward the city.
Shiro followed her onto the road as she glanced about, but there was no sign of the slaves or their masters about on this darkened road.
Still, further into the city, Shiro could hear a raucous event. It sounded like drums and cheering.
The structure before them consisted of baked clay that climbed into the sky above the trees. Shiro jumped, landed on an outcropping of roof and glanced down at the others.
They wasted no time in following Shiro.
Jessamine often levitated about Shiro, but as far as he knew, she could not fly. Instead she whirled into a blue apparition of smoke and disappeared, then reappeared in another luminescent plume next to him.
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Looking at her, he saw that her brief moment of levity in the watery field had gone. She simply looked at him and transported again, now leading the way to a higher roof on the clay and straw structure.
Once they were higher, the sounds of the cheering crowds became stronger. “I think something is happening,” Razul said. He turned toward the inner city and beckoned Shiro and Debaku over.
Jessamine did not move. She only stood still, her arms crossed as they peered over a wall that was still under construction. In the courtyard below, a large gathering was present.
There were dancers whirling and flipping about flaming obstacles, slaves and men in wild dress that Shiro thought might be some form of shaman. Along the edges of the northern side of the courtyard were idols receiving offerings, though from up here Shiro could not say what was being offered.
“Are those…?” Razul began, but trailed off.
“Like on the hilltop,” Debaku said.
The sensual acts were numerous, but what drew Shiro’s eye the most was the Yamu figure in a massive headdress, his nails curling and in his grasp was a scepter. There was a man standing next to him, his head bowed. He was garbed in black pantaloons and a jacket.
“That is one of our men!” Razul exclaimed, and he glanced toward them, then back.
“What are they going to do?” Shiro asked.
“What do you think?” Jessamine said. “Can you not tell?”
“They are going to kill him,” Debaku said. “Sacrifice him to their dark gods.”
“We cannot let that happen,” Shiro said and then he gritted his teeth in frustration.
“Ha!” Razul scoffed as he made eye contact with the isekai. “You can go down there if you want, but I am not going to die tonight.”
Though he said nothing, Debaku raised a skeptical eyebrow at the man.
“And what if it was you down there?” Shiro asked.
Then the Yamu man atop the steps, flanked by the massive sandstone portico started chanting and yelling words in a language Shiro didn’t understand.
The onlookers yelled back and chanted along with him.
The Scorpion glanced about—clearly unsure of what was happening. Shiro noticed that he was beaten and battered.
“If we go down there,” Shiro said. “Things will get bloody.”
“I also sense magic,” Debaku said. “It may be bloody for all involved.”
Shiro nodded.
Kami-sama! What am I supposed to do—leave them?
“Let me assist,” Jessamine said, and they all looked at her. “If you cannot make up your minds, I will force a decision.”
“What?!” Shiro hissed, his heart skipping a beat.
“Venerable jinni,” Debaku said. “I do not—“
She whirled, her body disappearing into a violent vortex.
“Wait!” Shiro gritted his teeth.
He didn’t need to wonder what she was doing. He knew exactly what she was going to do, and so he lurched over to where Razul and Debaku were sitting on their haunches and glanced toward the shaman atop the steps.
The braziers were lit, the flames licking about as the shaman’s men held the Scorpion Guard. Struggling, they held him in place as the shaman chanted, waving his arms about wildly as the supplicants before him bowed in worship.
The shaman took pause suddenly and all went quiet as the worshipers froze like statues. The shaman removed the dagger from his sheath at his side and raised the blade into the air as he cried something.
The drumbeats began anew, the rhythm fast and increasing in tempo as the worshipers thrust their bodies forward and bellowed a low form, wordless catechism.
The shaman approached the panicked Scorpion Guard. The man snarled and gnashed his teeth toward his restrainers to no avail.
The shaman moved as if not a danger in the world posed him a threat, his grey tail swishing through the air like knife slashes.
“Where is she?” Razul asked, his voice tense.
Debaku said nothing, only watched enraptured at the event.
Shiro wanted to scream, to lash out with his blade, and just as the urge came to him, Jessamine appeared behind the shaman in a plume of blue smoke and luminescent vapor.
The crowd cried in surprise and the Yamu shaman turned around, surprise in his stance as Jessamine’s sword flicked through the air and passed through his neck.
The Yamu’s red blood sprayed across the tiles and someone cried out. Before the Scorpion Guard’s restrainers could react, she cut them down with quick sword thrusts to their necks.
The crowd of worshipers cried and roiled as they all got up and shouted, running in different directions.
From behind inside the portico, men with machetes appeared, half a dozen at least. Jessamine turned about, almost lackadaisically.
“We must help her!” Debaku cried.
Nodding, Shiro said. “Let’s go!”
Just as he moved over the wall, he noticed the obelisk next to the structure they had climbed where it abutted.
Jessamine whirled about, her blade striking two of her surrounding attackers. As she moved, her nearly sheer dress accentuating her curves. She dashed into a plume of smoke and then repeated, cutting two more down in thick sprays of blood.
With every movement her breasts and ample cleavage drew attention to themselves. “On second thought!” Razul said, raising a finger, “perhaps she does not need our help at all? Gods—just look at her—she is perfect!”
“Move!” Shiro shouted, and jumped to the next level where a straw laden roof caught his fall.
As he recovered from his sudden rough landing, a dozen more men appeared, wielding bows and machetes.