Then he counterattacked, driving his spirit into the snake like a spear. Instantly images began to form. A childhood spent in isolation and fear, bullied, beaten, mocked. Sold by his parents to a group of beggars, who used his deformity to earn coin. They scratched his skin and smeared it with animal excrement, causing terrible sores that made the hunchbacked child ever more grotesque and therefore more valuable.
The snake tried to draw back, but Talaban had him now.
He saw the hunchback’s childhood, his adolescence, and his training by Cas-Coatl. Crystal-fed, he had developed amazing talents to read the minds of others. Suddenly the hunchback had power and he used it mercilessly for more than 300 years.
Talaban saw it all, and through the hunchback’s thoughts relived the magical flight from their own doomed world, saw the magic used to achieve it.
Almeia, the glorious goddess, the Crystal Queen.
And, in one sudden, brilliant flash, he saw why Almeia needed so many deaths.
The snake was struggling now, desperate to pull clear.
‘Your life has been sad,’ Talaban told him. ‘Your youth saw you abused and hurt, your manhood saw you abuse and hurt others. I pity you.”
The snake ceased its struggle. ‘/ am what men made me,’ said the hunchback.
‘May your next life be a happy one,’ Talaban told him.
Moving into the Fourth Ritual Talaban severed the head of the snake.
The hunchback fell dead to the ground. Talaban swayed but remained upright on his knees.
Cas-Coatl knelt beside his fallen servant. ‘How did you kill him?’ he asked, conversationally.
Talaban looked up. ‘In the same way you would have, Cas-Coatl,’ he said.
‘Ah, I see. You Avatars are truly similar to my people. Unfortunately for you this means I must resort to torture.’ He swung to the two guards. ‘Lock him away and send for Lan-Roas. Tell him to bring all his … tools.’
The guards took Talaban by his arms and lifted him. ‘Torture will gain you nothing, Almec,’ said the Avatar.
‘I suspect you are right,’ agreed Cas-Coatl. ‘Sadly we will have to find out. Lan-Roas is very skilled. He will begin by burning out your right eye, then cutting the fingers from your right hand. Then the hand itself. And that, my friend, will be merely the beginning. You will be amazed at what levels of pain he can inspire in his victims.’
Talaban said nothing as he was taken away and then thrown to the ground inside the grain store. The door slammed shut, leaving him once more in total darkness. With an effort he rolled to his knees, then began to work at the binding on his wrists, tugging and twisting. The leather thongs did not give. Pushing himself to his feet he began to walk carefully until he reached a wall. Turning his back to it he inched his way along it, feeling for any rough edges against which he could saw through the bindings. There was nothing.
How long did he have before the torturer arrived to maim him?
Put such thoughts from your mind, he told himself sternly.
Moving along the wall he reached the doorway. The timbers had been set back into the stone, and once more he found no straight edges with which to work. Lastly he began to move across the floor, slowly sweeping his foot, seeking any piece of stone that might be lying close by. Again there was nothing. Despair touched him with an icy finger. Setting off once more he moved with even more care. His foot scraped against a small object. Sitting down he reached out, the tips of his fingers brushing the dirt floor. At first he could not locate the object, but then his fingers touched something hard. It was flat and irregular in shape, no more than an inch across. Lifting it carefully he ran his thumb across it. It was a piece of broken pottery.
The edge was sharp.
With great care he lifted it back towards the thongs, and began to saw at the bindings. After some minutes he managed to get his finger.against the leather. He had made almost no impression upon it. This could take hours, he knew.