The Majendie live in a crescent around a land of swampy forest in which live their enemy. The people who live in the heart of that forbidding land are a wild, savage lot, and will not allow any of us through their land, much less guide us. Even if we could avoid them, we would become lost within an hour, and never find our way out. The only way for us to reach the Palace of the Prophets, which lies beyond these savages, is to go around them, along the crescent of land belonging to the Majendie. Our destination lies between the cusps of the crescent belonging to the Majendie, and beyond the savages in the center.'
She glanced over, to make sure he was at least listening, before she went on. The Majendie are at constant war with the savages who live in that swampy forest. In order to be permitted through Majendie land, we must prove we are allied with them and their spirits, and not their enemy.
Those skulls we saw are the skulls of this enemy, who were sacrificed to the Majendie spirits. In order for us to be permitted to pass, we must help them in this sacrifice. The Majendie believe that men with the gift, like all men, carry the seed of life and soul, endowed by the spirits. More, they believe that one with the gift has a special, direct link with the spirits. A sacrifice made with the aid of a young man with the gift confers the sanctifying grace of their spirits upon all their people. They believe it breathes life, divine life, on their people.
The Majendie require this participation when we bring young boys through for the first time, believing it links their spirits to those of the Majendie. This ceremony also insures that the people with whom they are at war will hate wizards, because they help the Majendie, and will never cooperate with them. This, the Majendie believe, denies their enemy a divine channel to the spirit world.'
The men in the square all drew their short swords. Laying the swords on the ground with their points toward the woman in the center, they knelt with shiny heads bowed.
The woman who rang the bell, the one in the center, is the leader of these people. The Queen Mother. She is the one who is bound to the female spirits. She represents the spirits of fertility in this world. She is the embodiment of the receptacle of the divine seed from the spirit world.'
The dancing women in black formed into a line and started off the platform in the direction of Richard and the Sister.
The Queen Mother is sending her representatives to take you to the sacrificial offering.' Sister Verna glanced up at him, then fussed with the corner of her cloak. 'We are fortunate. This means they have one to be sacrificed. If we came here and they didn't, we would have to wait until one of their enemy was captured. Sometimes that can take weeks, even months.'
Richard said nothing.
She turned her back to the approaching women in black and faced him. 'You will be taken to a place where the prisoner is held. There you will be offered the chance to give your blessing. Not giving your blessing means you wish to precede the prisoner in sacrifice. If you don't give your blessing, it will only insure that you die, too.
'You give your blessing by kissing the sacred knife they will offer you. You don't have to kill the person with your own hand. You have only to kiss the knife to give your blessing, to give the spirits' blessings, and they will do the killing. But you must watch them do it, so the spirits will see the sacrifice through your eyes.' She glanced over her shoulder at the approaching women in black. 'The beliefs of these people are obscene.'
She sighed in resignation and turned to face him again. Richard folded his arms and glared at her.
'I know you don't like this, Richard, but it has kept peace for three thousand years between us and the Majendie. Though it sounds a paradox, it saves lives, more lives than it costs. The savages who are their enemy make war not only on them, but also on us. The palace, and the civilized people of the Old World, are sporadically subjected to their raids and fierce attacks.'
Small wonder, Richard thought, but he said nothing.
Sister Verna stepped aside to stand at his shoulder as the women in black formed into a dark knot before the two of them. All were older, perhaps the age of grandmothers. They were all portly, and their black outfits covered their hair and everything else except their wrinkled hands and faces.
With gnarled fingers, one drew the coarse black fabric tight at her chin. She bowed her head to Sister Verna. 'Welcome, wisewoman. Our sentries have told us of your approach for nearly a day now. We are pleased to have you among us, for it is the time of the planting sacrifice. Though we had not expected your presence, it will be a great homage to the spirits to have the blessing in the sacrifice.'
The old woman, who only came up to the height of his breastbone, looked Richard up and down, then she spoke again to Sister Verna.
'This is a magic man? He is not a boy.'
'We have never before brought one so old to the palace of the wisewomen,' Sister Verna said. 'But he is a magic man, the same as the others.'
The old woman in black looked into Richard's eyes as he watched her without expression. 'He is too old to give the blessing.'
Sister Verna tensed. 'He is still a magic man.'
The woman nodded to the Sister. 'But he is too old to have others perform the sacrifice for him. He must do it himself. He must give our sacrifice to the spirits by his own hand.' She gestured for a woman behind to come forward. 'Lead him to where the offering waits.'
With a bob of her head, the woman came forward and indicated he was to follow. Sister Verna tugged on his shirtsleeve. Richard could feel the heat of magic radiating from her fingers, up his arms, terminating in an uncomfortable tingling sensation at his neck under the Rada'Han.
'Richard,' she whispered, 'don't you dare swing the axe this time. You know not what you will bring to ruin.'
Richard met her eyes before turning away without a word.
The round old woman led him off down a muddy street, past old men sitting in doorways, watching, and then turned them down a narrow alley. At the end she stooped through a low doorway. Richard had to bend nearly in half to follow.
Inside, carpets of intricate designs but dull colors covered the floor. There was no furniture except several low, leather-covered chests holding oil lamps. Four men with shaved heads squatted, rather than sat, on the rugs, two to each side of a passageway hung with a heavy tapestry instead of a door. Short spears with sharp, leaf-shaped iron heads rested across their knees. The unexpectedly high ceiling held a cloud of pipe smoke.
The men stood and bowed to the old woman. She bobbed her head to them and, as she did so, drew Richard forward.
'This is the magic man. Since he is the age of a man, the Queen Mother directs that the spirits take the sacrifice through his hands.'
They all nodded and gave grim agreement that it was a wise decision, and prayed she would tell the Queen Mother that it would be done as directed. The woman in black bid them fair fortune in the task. She closed the rough spruce door behind herself after stooping through the low opening.; When she was gone, the men broke into grins. They all slapped Richard on the back, as if taking him into their confidence. The back of one man's shaved neck wrinkled in rows of furrows as he turned to glance at the tapestry-covered passageway. He put an arm around Richard's shoulder, giving it a squeeze with powerful fingers.
'You are fortunate indeed, lad. You'll like what we have for you.' His sly smile revealed a missing, bottom tooth. 'Come with us. You'll like this, lad. We can promise you, you will.' He gave a hardy chuckle. Today you'll be a man, if you're not one yet.' The other three laughed with him.
The three pushed the tapestry aside, taking one of the lamps with them. The last man patted Richard's back, ushering him through. They all chuckled with anticipation.
The next room was much the same as the first, minus the pipe smoke. They led on through a sequence of rooms, each bare of decoration except for a few carpets scattered about. The men finally squatted beside a last covered passageway, planted the butts of their spears, and with a hand on them for support leaned toward him. They all shared the same cunning smiles.
'Careful now, lad. Don't be too anxious. Keep your head about yourself, and you'll have yourself a time with this savage.'
They chuckled again with the private joke as they pushed the hanging aside and went through. Inside, the small, square room had a bare dirt floor. The ceiling was at least three stories high. A window near the top of one wall cast the small room in dim light. The place smelled of the chamber pot off to the side.
Crouched to the far left was a naked woman. She tried to push herself farther into the corner when she saw the men. Arms around her knees, she pulled them tight to herself.
She was covered with dirty marks and smears, cuts and bruises. Her mass of long, tangled, black hair frizzed out, framing her filthy face. Her dark eyes narrowed with loathing as she watched the four men. By their leering smiles, she had cause to know them.
Around her neck was a thick iron collar connected by heavy chain to a massive pin in the wall.
The men spread out around the room, squatted, and leaned their backs against the walls. Their fists held their spears upright between their knees. Richard imitated them, squatting and leaning against the wall to the woman's right.
'I wish to speak with the spirits,' Richard said. The four men blinked at him. 'I must ask them how they wish it done.'
There is only one way to do it,' the man with the missing tooth said. 'You must cut off her head. Now that the iron collar is around her neck, it's the only way to get her out. Her head must be separated from her body.'
'Even so, it must be done in the manner the spirits wish. I must talk with them. I must know exactly how to do this... to please them.'
They all considered this. The man with the missing tooth pushed his cheek out with his tongue as he pondered. Finally he brightened. The Queen Mother and her women drink juka to speak with the spirits. I could bring you some juka, and then you, too, could speak with the spirits.'
Then bring me this juka, so I may speak with the spirits and do as they command. I would not want to make a mistake, and ruin your planting sacrifice.'
The men agreed that this was a wise request, considering that Richard was to make the sacrifice himself instead of simply blessing it. One of the men hurried off.
The other three waited in silence, again leering at the woman. She moved her feet closer together to cover herself as she squatted in the corner, and glowered back.
One man pulled a thin-stemmed pipe and a long splinter from a pocket. He lit the splinter in the flame of the lamp, and used it to light his pipe. He puffed as he watched the woman, eyeing her in an intimate way. Her chin held defiantly up, the woman glared back. The smoke drifted up into the dim air as his steady puffing quickened.
Richard crouched, leaning against the wall, with his arms folded across his lap so as to partially hide his right hand draped nonchalantly near the hilt of his sword. The fourth man finally came back, carrying a round clay pot in both hands. The pot had a small opening in the top and white symbols painted around the sides.
The Queen Mother and her women agreed, and sent this juka so you may call the spirits. When you drink this, the spirits will visit you.' He set the pot in front of Richard and then, pulling a knife from his belt, held the green malachite handle out to him. It was carved with figures in obscene poses. This is the sacred knife, to be used in the sacrifice.' When Richard took the knife and slid the stout blade behind his belt, the man joined his fellows squatting against the walls.
The man closest to the woman, on the other side, seemed pleased that the Queen Mother had sent the juka. He gave Richard a knowing wink. Then he lifted his spearpoint to the woman's face.
The magic man has come to offer you to the spirits.' He smiled encouragement past her, to Richard. 'But first, he would like to give you the spirits' gift of his seed.' She didn't move. His smile transformed into a sneer as he thumped the butt of his spear to the dirt. 'Do not insult the spirits! You will take their offering!' His voice lowered to a growl. 'Now.'
Her eyes never leaving him, she uncoiled herself and obediently lay down on the dirt, on her back. She opened her legs and cast Richard a defiant glance. She obviously knew the consequence of denying these men what they wished.
The man sprang forward and stabbed his spear into her thigh muscle. She screamed out and flinched back.
'You know better than that! You will not insult us! We are not stupid!' He feigned another jab. 'Do it properly!'
Richard's fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, but otherwise he did not move. The woman made no effort to tend the bleeding gash on her leg, but instead obediently turned over onto her elbows and knees, sticking her bottom up in the air.
The men chuckled to Richard.
'You would not like to lie with this one face-to-face,' the man with the missing tooth said. 'She bites.' The others nodded their certain knowledge of that. 'Mount her this way, and hold her by her hair. She will not be able to bite you this way, and you can have all you wish.'
The men waited. Neither Richard nor the woman moved.
'Can you fools not see?' the woman said. 'He does not wish to mount me like a dog in front of you!' Her face lying against the dirt, she gave Richard a mocking smile. 'He is shy. He does not wish you to see how little his magic stick is.'
Every eye was on him. Richard's knuckles were white around the hilt. He strained to put an emotionless face over the rage of the magic searing through him from the sword. He struggled to maintain reason.
Letting the magic loose in here would accomplish nothing.
One of the men gave a playful elbow to another and laughed. 'Perhaps she is right. He is a young one. Maybe he is not used to others watching his pleasure.'
The seams around his control were strained near to bursting. Richard concentrated on keeping his free hand steady and making it move gracefully. He lifted the clay pot with the juka, showing it to them. He labored mightily to keep his voice even. 'The spirits wish to speak to me of important matters.'
The smiles all withered. They knew him as a magic man, but not a young one as they were used to seeing. They didn't have any idea of his power, but were obviously worried about it, worried about his smoldering, too quiet smoothness.
'We must leave him to his duty,' one of the men said. 'We should leave him to be with the spirits, and to take his pleasure from the savage if he wishes before he gives the spirits this offering.' He bowed his shiny head to Richard. 'We will leave you to your peace. We will wait in the room where you saw us first.'
Solemn-faced, the four hurried off. After they were gone, and she could be sure they were a good distance away, the woman spat at him.
She arched her back like a cat in heat, sticking her behind higher in the air. 'You may mount me now, like the dog you are. Come, magic man, prove you can mount a woman when she is held for you by a chain. You can do no worse to me than the other dogs.' She spat at him again. 'You are all dogs.'
Richard extended his leg and shoved a foot against her hip, tipping her over. 'I'm not like those men.'
She rolled onto her back. She threw her arms and legs open and gave him a contemptuous glare. 'So. You wish to have me like this, to prove you are better than they?'
Richard gritted his teeth. 'Stop it. I'm not here for that.'
She sat up. She lifted her chin, but her eyes filled with sudden terror. 'So, you will sacrifice me now?'
Richard realized his hand was still gripping the hilt. He had forgotten to maintain a calm expression. He took his hand away, letting the magic recede and his rage cool. As she watched, he poured the juka on the dirt floor.
'I'm going to get you out of this. My name is Richard. What's yours?'
Her eyes narrowed. 'Why do you wish to know?'
'Well, if I'm going to take you out of here, I need to know what to call you. I can't call you "woman."'
She surveyed him silently for a moment. 'I am Du Chaillu.'
'Do I call you Du? Or Chaillu? Or Du Chaillu?'
Puzzlement wrinkled her brow. 'Du Chaillu. That is my name.'
Richard gave her a smile of reassurance. 'All right, then. Du Chaillu. Who are your people? What are they called?'
'We are Baka Ban Mana.'
'And what does that mean, Baka Ban Mana?'
Her chin came up again. 'Those without masters.'
Richard smiled to himself. 'I think you are worthy of your people. You don't look to be a woman to be mastered.'
Chin still held up, she studied his eyes. 'You say these words, but you intend to mount me as the others.'
Richard shook his head. 'No. I told you I wouldn't do that. I'm going to try to get you out of here, and back to your people.'
'None of my people captured by the Majendie ever returns.'
Richard leaned toward her. Then you shall be the first.'
Richard drew his sword. Du Chaillu scooted back against the wall, drawing her knees up to her chest, hiding her face. He realized that she had misinterpreted his action and expected the worst.
'It's all right, Du Chaillu. I'm not going to hurt you. I simply need to get that collar off you.'
She shrank from him; then, thinking better of her shameful retreat, she lifted her head and spat at him. 'Yes, by taking off my head. You do not speak the truth. You wish to kill me now, and just want me to meekly offer you my neck.'
With his sleeve, Richard wiped the spittle off the side of his forehead. He reached out and put a comforting hand to her shoulder. 'No. I'm not going to hurt you. I simply need to use this sword to get the collar off. How else can I get you out of here? You will be safe, you'll see. Let me get it off you?'
'Swords cannot cut iron!'
Richard lifted an eyebrow. 'Magic can.'
She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath as he gently put an arm around her shoulder and rolled her facedown in his lap. He laid the sword's point to the side of her neck. He had seen the Sword of Truth cut through iron before, and he knew the sword's magic could do the job. She lay dead still as he slid the sword under the heavy iron band.
And then she lunged at him. In a blink, she had a fierce grip on his left arm. Her teeth clamped around his forearm, pinching the nerves.
Richard froze. He knew that if he were to try to yank his arm back, her teeth would probably tear the muscle from the bone. He still had his right hand on the sword. The rage of the magic pounded through him. He used the anger to help Slim block the pain and remain still.
With the sword under the collar as it was, it would be a simple matter to give it a twist and a push. It would cut her throat, if not decapitate her, and he would be free of her teeth. The pain from her locking bite was agonizing.
'Du Chaillu,' he managed through gritted teeth. 'Let go. I'm not going to hurt you. If it were my intention to hurt you, I could cut you right now with the sword to make you let go.'
After a long moment, silent of everything but his labored.breathing, she relaxed the pressure of her teeth, but didn't release his arm from her grip.
She tilted her head a bit. 'Why?' Her eyes peered up at him. 'Why do you wish to help me?'
Richard stared down into her dark eyes. He took a chance and removed his hand from the sword. He brought the hand up, and touched his fingers to the cold metal collar around his neck.
'I, too, am a prisoner. I, too, know what it is to be held by a collar. I don't like collars. Though I can't free myself in this way, I can try to free you.'
Her ferocious grip on his arm relaxed. She cocked her head to the side as she frowned up at him.
'But you are a magic man.'
That's why I was taken prisoner. The woman I'm with is taking me to a place called the Palace of the Prophets. She says the magic will kill me if I don't go to this place.'
'You are with one of the witches? From the big stone witch house?'
'She is not a witch, but one with magic, too. She put this collar on me to make me go with her.'
Du Chaillu's eyes flicked over the collar around his neck.
'If you let me go, the Majendie will not allow you to go through their land to the big stone house.'
Richard gave her a little smile. 'I was hoping that if I helped you get back to your people, you would permit us to pass through your land, and maybe that you would guide us, so that we might reach the palace.'
A sly smile spread on her lips. 'We could kill the witch.'
Richard shook his head. 'I don't kill people unless I'm forced to. It would not help anyway. I must go to the palace to get my collar off. If I don't go there, I will die.'
Du Chaillu looked away from his gaze. Richard waited while she glanced around her prison.
'I do not know if you speak the truth, or if you mean to cut my throat.' She gently rubbed his arm where she had bitten him. 'But if you kill me, I was to be killed anyway, and had no chance, and at least I will not be mounted any more by those dogs. If you tell the truth, then I will be free, but we must still escape. We are still in the land of the Majendie.'
Richard winked. 'I have a plan. At least we can try.'
She frowned at him. 'You could do this thing to me, and they would be happy, and you could go to the palace. You would be safe. Are you not afraid they will kill you?'
Richard nodded. 'But I am.more afraid to live the rest of my life seeing in my mind your pretty eyes and wishing I had helped you.'
She gave him a sidelong glance. 'Maybe you are a magic man, but you are not a smart man. A smart man would want to be safe.'
'I am the Seeker.'
'What is this, the Seeker?'
'It's a long story. But I guess it means I do my best to see the truth prevail, to see right done. This sword has magic, and it helps me in my quest. It's called the Sword of Truth.'
She let out a long breath, and finally laid her head back in his lap. Try then, or kill me. I was dead anyway.'
Richard gave her filthy, bare back a pat of reassurance. 'Hold still.'
He reached under her neck and wrapped his fingers around the collar, holding it tight. With his other hand, the hand on the hilt, the hand through which the magic was coursing into him, he gave a mighty heave. With a loud crack, the iron shattered. Hot shards of metal ricocheted off the walls. One large piece spun like a top in the dirt, finally wobbling and falling over. Silence settled over them. He held his breath, hoping none of the metal fragments had cut her throat.
Du Chaillu sat up. Her eyes wide, she felt her neck. Finding no injury, she broke into a wide grin.
'It is off! You got the collar off and my head is still attached!'
Richard feigned a touch of indignation. 'I told you I would. Now we must get away from here. Come on.'
He led her back through the rooms the way he had come in. When he reached the next to last room from where the men waited, he held a finger to his lips and told her to be quiet and wait for him to come back for her.
She folded her arms under her bare breasts. 'Why? I will go with you. You said you would not leave me here.'
Richard let out an exasperated breath. 'I'm going to get you some clothes. We can't leave with you...' With a gesture, he indicated her bare condition.
She unfolded her arms and looked down at herself. 'Why? What is wrong with me? I am not a bad shape to look upon. Many men have told me...'
'What is it with you people!' he whispered heatedly. 'I have seen more naked people since I left my homeland last autumn than in the whole of my life! And not a one of you seems the least little bit...'
She grinned. 'Your face is red.'
Richard growled through gritted teeth. 'Wait here!'
Smirking, she folded her arms again. 'I will wait.'
In the outer room the four men jumped to their feet when Richard came through the carpet-covered opening. He didn't give them any time to ask questions.
'Where are the woman's clothes?'
Confused, they glanced at one another. 'Her clothes? Why do you want...'
Richard took an aggressive stride toward the man. 'Who are you to question the spirits! Do as they say! Get me her clothes!'
All four flinched back. They stared at him briefly and then went to the low chests. They set the lamps aside and opened the lids, rummaging through the chests, tossing clothes aside.
'Here! I found them!' one of them said. He held up a garment that looked to be finely woven flax. Different-colored strips hung in rows from the light brown fabric. 'This is hers.' He held up a buckskin belt. 'And this, too.'
Richard snatched them from the man's fist. 'You will wait here.' He grabbed up a scrap of cloth the men had thrown on the floor as they had searched for the dress.
He went back through the opening before there was time for any questions. Du Chaillu waited, her arms still folded. When she saw what he held in his hands, she gasped. She clutched the dress to her breast. Tears filled her dark eyes.
'My prayer dress!'
She threw her arms around his neck and, raising up on her tiptoes, started kissing him all over his face. Richard mashed her mass of black hair flat against the sides of her head as he pushed her away.
'All right, all right, put it on. Hurry.'
Grinning at him, she pulled the dress over her head, poking her arms through the long sleeves. Up the outside of each arm and across the shoulders was a row of little strips of different-colored cloth. Each was knotted on through a small hole beneath a corded band. The dress came to just below her knees. As she tied the belt at her waist, Richard noticed the blood still running down to her foot from where the men had stabbed her in the thigh.
He dropped to one knee before her and motioned with his hands. 'Lift it up. Lift up your dress.'
Du Chaillu looked down at him. She lifted an eyebrow. 'I have just covered myself, and now you wish me to uncover?'
Richard pursed his lips. He waved the strip of cloth at her. 'You are bleeding. I need to put this around the wound.'
Giggling, she raised her skirt and held her leg out, rotating it from side to side, displaying it in a teasing manner. Richard quickly wrapped the cloth around her thigh, over the gash, and jerked the knot tight. She yelped with pain. He thought it served her right, but apologized anyway.
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