“Taking the rifle?”
Ryan considered it. “No. Won’t go far. Anything comes at you out of the deep forest is likely to be a target for close-range shooting.”
They walked out of the hut and across the deserted square. One of the priests, his hair matted with fresh blood, was standing by the gates to the village. “Go with open eyes,” he warned. “Everything is danger and death.”
“Sure.” Ryan half waved at the black-cloaked figure. “We’ll take care. Everyone still sleeping?”
The dark eyes narrowed as the man struggled to understand. “Ah, sleeping. Some women in fields, working. Most men sleeping. Sleeping is good.”
As they passed through the gates, Krysty touched Ryan on the arm. “There you are,” she said. “Story of woman’s lot throughout history.”
“I don’t know nothing about history, lover.”
“It’s anything , lover. Not nothing . You don’t know anything about history. I can’t argue with that. Mebbe you need more book learning than you already have.”
“That’ll be the day, pilgrim. That’ll be the day.”
THIS TIME THEY WALKED SOUTH from the village, along one of the network of wide trails and narrow pathways that mazed all around the area.
The sky was still virtually clear, and the column of smoke had vanished from the eastern horizon. There was a cluster of thunderheads building to the north, away toward the silver mine that used the native slaves. Ryan and Krysty passed a few of the local women, who giggled, smiled and hid their faces as they walked by. They were carrying reed baskets of fruit and vegetables.
Behind them, there came the distant, muted sound of a shrill trumpet from the village, marking a change of shift for the field-workers.
“If it wasn’t for being permanently at war and being threatened by the slavers, these people have a real good life,” Krysty said. “Everything they need at hand.”
“Including a swarm of red fire ants.” Ryan grinned. “But I know what you mean. Only thing I find hard to handle is their human sacrifices.”
“That’s true. Mebbe it isn’t paradise. Mebbe nowhere’s paradise.”
THEY CAME TO THE tilled fields, about a half mile from the heart of the village, surrounded by a stout fence against animal predators, with its own water supply in a small stream that ran through.
“Maize, beans and sweet potatoes,” Krysty said, looking along the neat rows.
The women had stopped at their arrival, looking uncomfortable in the presence of the white friends of their new god. One of them they knew already. Middle-aged with rings in her ears that had stretched the lobes to her shoulders, her name was Ibis, Atototl in their language.
She came toward them, smiling, her lips moving as she rehearsed her little speech.
“Welcome, Ryan and Krysty,” she said. “This is where we grow much of our food.”
“Isn’t there a risk that the Jaguar people might come and steal it?” Krysty asked.
Ibis looked shocked. “No! They are bad but not too bad to steal food. Only” She struggled for the word she wanted, finding it. “Witchcraft. That is baddest. Throw stones to death for witchcraft. But steal food is also badder.”
“But you are at war. You kill each other when you can,” Ryan said.
“That is blood for gods. Different.” She shook her head pityingly. “You from outside do not see well.”
“Guess we don’t,” Krysty admitted. “Are there other places where you work?”
“That way.” She pointed past the stream. “River where some women catching fish.”
“Mebbe we’ll go take a look,” Ryan said.
Ibis looked worried, again fighting for the words she wanted to express herself. “A girl says she had gone after deer with snapped leg. Before sun was past the top of the sky. Her only. Heard noise and hid in bush. Says she saw many men with whips and many Jaguar people. More than fingers. Much more.”
“Slavers raiding the Jaguar village?” Ryan asked. “Is she sure about that?”
“Say so. Says she is not seen so much of the slavers before.”
Ryan looked at Krysty. “Mebbe we ought to go check this out. If there’s a sudden increase in the number of the slaves that they need for their silver mine, they could easily come calling on our village. Let’s check it out.”