The Lost City by Jr. Joseph E. Badger (good summer reads TXT) 📕

life was

now menaced. And as the Sun Children stood before him, in

readiness to comply with the commands issued by those in high

authority, the Red Heron broke bonds.

 

“Say but one word, Daughter of Quetzal’, and all this shall never

come to pass! Give me but permission to—”

 

“What wouldst thou do, good Aztotl?”

 

“Surround the Sun Children with their loyal bodyguard and defend

them, while one brave might strike blow, or hold shield in front

of their sacred charge,” slowly yet fiercely declared the

captain, eyes telling how dearly he longed to receive that

permission.

 

But Victo shook her head in slow negation. She was still cool of

brain enough to realise how fatal such course would be in the

end. If one deadly blow should be dealt, the end could be but

one,—annihilation to both defended and defenders.

 

Then, too, she recalled the wondrous tidings brought the evening

before by Ixtli and his comrade. Friends were seeking to rescue

them, and if only time might be won—it must be played for, then!

 

And so, his petition finally denied, with no other course left

open to take, the Red Heron summoned his picked band and, with

the Sun Children in their midst, left the temple, crossed the

plain, and slowly marched into the War God’s teocalli.

 

In awed silence a vast number of Aztecs followed that little

procession, silent as they, yet clearly anticipating events of

far more than ordinary importance. And thus the foredoomed women

were taken before the great stone of sacrifice, whereupon lay a

snow-white lamb, bound past the possibility of struggling.

 

Close beside the prepared sacrifice stood the head priest,

Tlacopa, robed for the awesome ceremony, sacrificial knife in

hand, temples crowned as customs dictated, eyes blazing as

vividly as they might if backed by living fire.

 

Not far distant stood Huatzin, head bandaged and face none the

better looking for his floundering fall when his sash gave way

the evening before. And as he caught the passing gaze of the

woman whom he had so basely persecuted, a repulsive smile showed

itself, the grin of a veritable fiend in human guise.

 

Sternly cold, and outwardly unmoved, the captain of guards

performed his sworn duty, then in grim silence awaited the end.

And in like manner each man of that carefully selected band

rested upon his arms.

 

A brief pause, during which the utter silence grew actually

oppressive, then the head priest lifted a hand as though

commanding full attention before he should speak.

 

Then, in tones which were by no means loud, yet which were

modulated so as to fill that expanse most perfectly, Tlacopa

recited the grave accusations brought against the false children

of the mighty Sun God.

 

To their evil influence he attributed the comparative failure of

crops which had now cursed their fair people throughout the past

years. Unto them, he claimed, belonged the evil credit of many

untimely deaths which had covered so many proud heads with the

ashes of mourning and of despair. To their door might be traced

all of misfortune with which the favourite children of the mighty

gods had been so sorely afflicted.

 

In proud silence Victo listened to this deliberate arraignment,

not deigning to interpose denial, or offer plea in self-defence,

until the paba was clearly at an end. And even then she gazed

upon Tlacopa with eyes of scorn, and lips which curled with

contempt.

 

A low murmur from the eager crowd told how anxious they were to

hear more, and, taking her cue from that, Victo made a graceful

motion with her white hand, following it by words that sounded

rarely sweet in their deep mellowness, after the harsh, dry notes

of the paba.

 

“Who dares to bring such base charges against the Daughters of

Quetzal’? Who are our accusers, head priest?”

 

Did Tlacopa shrink from that queenly presence? If so, ‘twas but

another cunning device intended to pave the way to complete

success; to catch the fickle fancy of his audience by rendering

his retort all the more effective.

 

“Who dares accuse us of wrong-doing?” again demanded the

Amazonian mother, speaking for her child as well, around whose

waist her left arm was clinging as a needed support.

 

“The Mother of all the gods!” forcibly replied the priest, now

casting aside all presence of timidity, and gazing into that

proud face with eyes which were filled with fire of hatred and

jealousy. “The all-powerful Centeotl hath made known the awful

truth through the lips of the infallible oracle, my children!

She hath declared that no smiles shall be turned towards the

children of Anahuac so long as false prophets disgrace this great

city! She hath demanded the sacrifice—”

 

“Who can bear witness to any such demand?” sternly interposed the

captain of the bodyguard, unable to listen longer in silence.

 

Tlacopa flashed an evil look his way, but from the audience

issued another murmur, rising louder until it took upon itself

the shape of words, demanding indubitable proof that the oracle

had indeed spoken thus. And, no longer daring to rely upon his

own authority, Tlacopa turned to the sacrificial stone whereupon

lay the helpless lamb, bowing knee and lifting face as he volubly

repeated the customary invocation; just then it appeared far more

nearly an incantation.

 

Having thus complied with all the requirements of his office, the

paba first kissed his blade of sacrifice, then seized the lamb

and turned it upon its back, one hand holding it helpless while

with the other he ripped the poor beast wide from throat to tail,

then, making a swift cross-slash, laid bare the cavity and

exposed the quivering heart.

 

Dropping his knife, Tlacopa grasped this vital organ, fiercely

tearing it away, drawing back where all might see as be lifted

the heart on high for inspection.

 

One brief look appeared to satisfy his needs, for he gave a

fierce shout as he hurled the bleeding heart towards the accused,

then cried:

 

“An omen! An omen! The Mother of the Gods claims her victims!”

 

CHAPTER XXIX.

BENEATH THE SACRIFICIAL STONE.

 

Contrary to the expectations of Ixtli escape by way of the War

God’s temple was barred throughout the remainder of that eventful

night. Tlacopa, the head priest, together with a number of his

acolytes, varying as to force, yet ever too powerful for any two

men to force a passage contrary to the will of their leader,

remained on duty each and every hour. And hence it came to pass

that those early hours found our fugitives still beneath the

temple, worn through loss of sleep and stress of anxiety, yet

firmly resolved not to permit that intended outrage without at

least striking one fair blow for the Children of the Sun.

 

Slowly enough the time passed, yet it could hardly be called

monotonous. Whenever wearied of their darksome waiting, the

young men would steal again into the hollow image of Huitzil’,

there to utilise the cunningly arranged peepholes, now looking

out upon the priests, or listening to catch such words as fell

from the lips of those nearest the stone of sacrifice.

 

In this manner Ixtli contrived to pick up quite a little fund of

information, mainly through the confidences reposed in a certain

favoured few of the brotherhood by the chief paba. And this, in

turn, filtered through his lips after the chums once again

retreated to the lower regions for both safety and comfort.

 

And then Bruno learned how the adventurous young Aztec, far less

superstitious than the vast majority of his people, thanks to the

kindly teaching of Victo, Child of Quetzal’, had in his

explorations discovered so many secrets of the temple and

priesthood, secrets which he now had no scruple in communicating

to another of a different race.

 

Ixtli told how, on various occasions, he had lurked behind the

scenes while the miraculous “oracle” was delivering fiat or

prophecy, and then he told his white brother how Tlacopa meant to

completely confound the Children of the Sun when once brought

before the gods.

 

“He tell slave what say. Slave come dis way. Hide in War God.

Wait for time, den tell Tlacopa’s words!”

 

A most infernal scheme, yet the danger of which Bruno could

readily recognise, together with the serious difficulty of

refuting any such supernatural evidence.

 

“Surely your people will not suffer a few dirty curs to do such

horrible wrong to ladies like—Why, Ixtli, even the gods you

fellows bow the knee to in worship, ought to rise up in their

defence!”

 

But Ixtli merely sighed, then spoke in sad tones, explaining how

he alone had been taken wholly into the confidence of the Sun

Children. Even the captain of their guards knew Victo and Glady

as but descendants of the great Fair God whom the audacious

trickery of a rival sent far away from the land of his favoured

people, to find an abiding-place in the sun itself.

 

“He good brave. He die for dem,—easy! But he not know all. He

think drop from sun, to lead people back to light. If think not

so, dat make face turn black; dat make mad come—great big!”

 

As was ever the case when his feeling seemed deeply stirred,

Ixtli found it difficult to fully or fairly explain his

sentiments; but Bruno caught sufficient of his meaning to give a

fair guess at the rest.

 

He found a ray of hope in the belief that Aztotl at least would

defend the Children of the Sun, and Ixtli predicted with apparent

confidence that the members of the bodyguard would stand firm

under the Red Heron’s leadership.

 

Keeping thus upon the alert throughout the remainder of that

night, the young men were able to take prompt action when the

crisis drew nigh.

 

Ixtli caught the first inkling of what was coming, and hastily

sent Bruno away from the peepholes, dropping a word in his ear as

they both prepared for clean work.

 

Through a secret entrance, shaped amidst the drapery which

surrounded the pedestal of the mighty Huitzil’, a slave of the

temple crept to play the part of echo to Tlacopa’s evil will; and

scarcely had he secured what was to be a place of waiting and

watching than the attack was made from out the darkness.

 

Ixtli flung his tunic over the slave’s head, twisting both ends

tightly about his throat, effectually smothering all attempt at

crying aloud for aid, while Bruno clasped arms about his middle,

holding hands powerless to strike or to draw weapon.

 

A brief struggle, which produced scarcely any noise, certainly

not sufficient to reach the ears of priest or helper, then the

trembling, unnerved slave was bundled down that narrow passage,

to be dumped in a remote corner, and there effectually bound and

gagged by the young men.

 

All this was performed without hitch or mishap, and then, nerved

to fighting pitch, Ixtli and Bruno went back beneath the stone of

sacrifice, resolved to play their part to the end in manful

fashion.

 

There was no further fear of intrusion, for, of course, Tlacopa

would never think of endangering his own evil scheme by risking

an exposure such as would follow discovery of his slave-oracle.

As Ixtli truly said, such discovery would end in the paba’s being

slain by his befooled people.

 

Their patience was sorely tried, even then, though a goodly

portion of the blame belonged to their fears for the Sun

Children, rather than to the actual length of waiting. But then,

amidst the solemn invocations led by the high priest, the

bodyguard marched into the Hall of Sacrifice, and Bruno caught

his breath sharply as he beheld—Gladys! Not her mother, just

then. For