The agonized cry of horror was choked off and the dying man tottered backward, hitting the fence and sliding down, leaving a slick, snaillike trail of blood, sable black in the unforgiving moonlight.
As he fell, the extruded eye dangled on the painted cheek, swinging back and forth like a young child’s toy, connected to the skull by a narrow strand of nerves and muscle.
Ryan looked down, holding the smoking automatic. His left hand reached up and unconsciously touched the patch over his own missing left eye.
“You get used to it,” he said softly.
THE SCREAM AND THE SHOT roused the entire village.
Within a handful of seconds, Ryan had Jak, J.B. and Krysty at his side, all carrying drawn blasters.
“Attack?” the Armorer asked. “Saw dead man under the hut there as I came to Dark night!” He’d spotted the monocular corpse lying crumpled by the tall fence. The eye was still swinging gently from side to side. The necklace of claws and teeth glinted white.
Krysty touched Ryan by the arm. “You’re shaking, lover.” She lifted her face to kiss him on the lips, her eyes showing hurt when he pulled away from her.
“Tell you later,” he said.
The warriors of the village poured from their huts, carrying a rich variety of weapons, muttering to one another when they saw what the tall outlander had done to one of their most bitter enemies, the manner of the Jaguar man’s passing.
ITZCOATL arrived at the hut, where Ryan was sitting with the others, telling them what had happened.
“There were four of them,” the chief said. “Come from the lakeside on logs that What is word?”
“Drifted?” Doc suggested.
“Yes. Drifting logs. We think one guard slept. But his wife’s sister’s youngest son was taken by the Jaguar people two moons ago. Perhaps he was leaned on to help.”
“You catch them all?”
The chief shook his head, the necklace of small feathers around his neck rustling softly. “You wasted one. We took two alive, but wounded. One escaped into the woods. Perhaps they will learn we have a god and his friends now fighting with us and not come again.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Perhaps.”
“How many dead you got?” J.B. asked. “Saw the one under the hut.”
Itzcoatl brightened. “This is good news of good news and bad news. Two of my people have gone to help the rains fall and the winds blow and the wheat rise and become gold. They lost more than we lost.”
Ryan nodded. “Right glad to hear it. Yeah, triple happy for you. Now I’d like to get back to sleep.”
The native nodded and walked out of the hut. J.B., Doc, Mildred and Jak stood and followed him, leaving Ryan alone with Krysty and Dean.
“What?”
“How did you pull that stupe’s eye out?”
“Go to sleep, son,” Ryan said. “Just go to sleep.”
Chapter Thirteen
There was one further disturbing footnote to the night’s battle.
As they all went blinking into the early-morning sunlight, Smoking Crest, the elder of the council, began to explain to them about the funeral arrangements they were making for the two dead warriors.
“It is always our way that we go back into earth in place of homes.”
“You mean that it is your practice to inter your fallen comrades inside the village?” Doc asked.
“Yes. No.”
“Which?” Ryan asked.
“In village, but more. In house where living. One you saw, you sleep in his hut. Moved out for you. Now must be buried there. Under floor.”
“Under the floor of the hut we’re sleeping in?” Dean asked with a mix of disgust and fascination. “He’ll rot and stink us all out!”
The native shook his head, smiling at the boy, showing his filed teeth, the inlaid jade glittering in the sun. “No stink. No way stink. You see. We have way of doing this. Be done this morning after eating.”
“Not sure I feel all that hungry,” Mildred said. “Glad it’s not my hut.”
One of the village’s drums began to pound, and the shrill blast of the trumpet sliced through the air. Ryan had already realized that the instruments, including the delicate fluting of sets of panpipes, were used as a way of measuring out the day, marking time to eat or time to wake or sleep.