CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE—DARK GODS AND SAVAGE WORSHIPERS
Shiro stepped between the trees and through the plants as Debaku and Razul broke through the forest toward the clearing.
Debaku pulled back a large leaf, giving them a clear view of what lay beyond.
Shiro’s eyes widened.
In the distance a massive structure loomed over them, one of monumental proportions. It wasn’t situated in the clearing, but lay beyond it, further into the jungle. It was a three-sided structure that tapered, the top capped with a golden cone with flat sides.
“I have heard of these structures,” Razul said in wonderment. “But I have never seen one until now.”
“And best that you do not,” Jessamine said as she stepped up beside them.
They all turned their heads and looked at her. Shiro was surprised she had chosen to appear once again within their presence. These sorts of tasks always seemed beneath her.
She said as much, though not often. That would injur her dignity, surely from her viewpoint that was so.
“Why not?” Shiro asked.
“These structures—pyramids they are called—are ancient temples devoted to dark gods.”
“What—” Razul began, and swallowed visibly. “What kind of dark gods?”
Jessamine looked at them stoically, a sort of slowness in her movement, as if she too was in awe of what they were seeing. The very idea of that being true filled Shiro with a sort of dread he had never experienced before.
The figures and their drums amidst the fires in the clearing could easily be seen. They danced and pounded their instruments with a ferocity that Shiro found to be invigorating in a primal way. His body wanted to move, almost of its own accord as the savages—the tribals—in their loincloths circled and danced about the fires, their faces covered with masks that had jutting fronds of plumage, bristly at their ends as they were cut at flat angles.
They seemed to be drinking something.
All along the ground they bowed in supplication to the fires, to idles. To one another? Some of them lay on the ground, moving about with undulating rhythms as their bodies came together in.
“Yes,” Jessamine finally said. “These pyramids were built to honor dark gods of obscenity and death.”
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“How do you know this?” Shiro asked.
“I do not even know this,” Debaku added.
Jessamine narrowed her eyes and shook her head slowly as she refused to take her eyes off of what was happening in the clearing. The pyramid was like a god unto itself, a distant massive effigy being worshipped from this very hilltop.
“I do not know if these peoples were the original builders—the slaves. But…”
“But what?” Razul asked, his eyes wide.
Like Ali, he carried many superstitions, often endearing in a way, but sometimes stubbornly ignorant and provincial—a way that Shiro did not often think of, concerning such peoples.
From his own homeland, many rituals and beliefs concerning nature and the ways of the world—and the universe, were commonly believed—even by himself.
“These people,” Jessamine said. “They worship like the slaves of old. They may be their descendants, or a new civilization caught in the mire of these dark powers.”
“We need to find the rest of the Scorpions,” Shiro said. “We need to find Captain Ushtan. He commands all the Scorpion Guards. We cannot afford to lose him for our coming fight against the Florencians.”
She exhaled then, a long shuttering breath.
Is she afraid?
Glancing at Shiro, she looked back to the clearing and backed away from them into the dark. “It will be bloody. A massacre.”
She disappeared.
“What?!” Razul hissed. “What in the name of the gods and goddesses and all the hells is she talking about, Shiro? Why did she leave?”
He shook his head. “I do not know,” he said.
“We will not be massacred,” Debaku said. “If any is to feel the bite of blades—it is them. They will die in pools of blood, for taking our people.”
“Actually,” Razul said, sounding his usual chipper—and overly talkative self—“we are actually in their territory. Which would mean they have every right to—“
“No,” Debaku cut in. “They could have approached us like any civilized nation and asked us to depart. But they did not.”
Razul shrugged as if to imply that Debaku had just made a good point. “Though,” he said, “I am surprised to hear these words, coming from a…”
He trailed off as Debaku, who stood a full head taller than Razul—even with his magnificent hair—regarded him.
“Yes, well…” Razul said. “You are right, of course, my infidel friend.”
“You sound like Ali.”
“I am his older brother.”
“Now what do we do?” Shiro asked.
“Why are you asking us? Are you not the leader for this expedition, Shiro?”
“I do take council from time to time.”
Razul chuckled nervously.
“If these savages do indeed worship dark gods and wish to eat or sacrifice our people to some ritual of lust and blood, I think they will be”—he pointed at the pyramid—“there.”
Shiro wanted to grind his teeth.
He nodded. “We should not take the rest of the men,” he said. “I fear we will be caught before we even reach that place.”
“I think you are right,” Debaku said.
“Why keep sneaking around, then?” Razul asked. “We should break out of these trees and kill them all. Look at them—savages if ever I’ve seen them.”
Unlike Debkau, the skin of these natives was not an onyx black, but rather a coppery brown—different even from Abassir men.
“We will try not be caught,” Shiro said.
He turned, sensing a presence behind them and froze when he saw the long line of wooden masks, the deep hollowed out eyes and the naked bodies holding spears and machetes hidden in the darkness of the trees.
“Kami-sama…” Shiro breathed as Razul and Debaku turned around to meet their stalkers.
Razul cleared his throat. “Do you think they will respond to reason?”