Blood Red Road (41 page)

What? I says. What is it?

She shakes her head as she hands me the looker. Her eyes is wide.

Like she’s jest seen a ghost.

I train the looker on the Palace.

Vicar Pinch stands on the steps.

My heart slams to a stop. Then it starts racin. It cain’t be, I says. He’s dead!

What? says Jack. You don’t mean Pinch? The King’s alive?

Yeah, I says. But I seen him. He was dead. I swear he was dead.

The devil ain’t so easy to kill, says Ike.

Pinch is dressed all in gold. Short puffy britches, stockins an high heeled shoes. Over top of it all, he wears a splendrous golden robe trimmed with white fur. The robe sweeps down to the floor an trails behind him. It’s crusted with sparklin stones, bits of lookin glass an shimmer discs. He’s got white hair today. Long curls reach down past his shoulders. Tower high above his forehead.

His face is painted gold too. Some kinda paint with sparkles in it. He poses with his walkin stick at the top of the steps. The torchlight plays on him. He shines in the darkness, like the sun come down to earth. The Sun King.

Suddenly I notice that he’s favorin his left leg.

I crouch down, peer unner the landboat
.

Vicar Pinch lies on the ground. His right leg splays out at a strange angle
.

He’s hurt his leg, I says. Must of happened when the landboat flipped over on him.

Four boy slaves lift the ends of his robe. Then two of the biggest Tonton come an lift him carefully. They carry him down the steps an hand him into a sparklin golden car chariot that’s waitin there. The boys arrange his robes. Then six Tonton pick the chariot up by the handles an start down the torchlit path towards the chaal fields.

I track ’em with the looker as they head fer the open space where the platform is. Pinch’s chariot squeezes through the heavin crowd of slaves, still chantin an dancin. They reach up their hands, frantic to touch him. The Tonton carriers kick an shove people away. They carry the chariot up the stairs onto the platform an set it down in the middle.

Then they lift him out. His shimmerin robes billow in the night wind. They carry him up the steps to the smaller platform, an sit him on the golden chair. Then the Tonton take his chariot an leave.

I’m startin to git that feelin agin. The jumpy feelin, deep in my gut, that means somethin big’s about to happen. I don’t know ezzackly what it is, but I’m gonna be ready fer it. I used to git it before I went into the Cage.

It’s the red hot. It’s on the rise.

Let’s git down there, I says.

We keep low. Me an Jack an Ike an Epona run between the rows of chaal bushes. We duck unner the irrigation troughs. We reach the edge of the open space.

We crouch down behind the chaal bushes. They’re so thick with leaf that they give us good cover. The slaves seem to be in a frenzy. They leap over the firebuckets. They dance an chant an spin. The drums vibrate inside me. The stomp of feet shakes the ground. The flutes squeal. The sweet smell of burnin chaal leaf fills the air.

Vicar Pinch sits in his golden chair. DeMalo stands to one side of him. There’s another Tonton on his other side. Pinch is holdin somethin in his hand that looks like a big horn. He lifts it in front of his mouth. I see his lips movin, like he’s sayin somethin, but there’s too much noise with the drums an chantin.

DeMalo whips a shooter out from inside his robe. Shoots it into the air. Three times. The shots crack through the air with a little flash.

It’s such a shock that everythin stops. Jest like that. The drums, the dancin, the chantin.

That ain’t no bolt shooter! I whisper to Jack.

It’s a firestick, says Jack. Stay outta its way, whatever you do.

The slaves face the platform, pantin fer breath. Their faces an bodies shine with sweat by the firelight an their eyes gleam, all wildlookin. Pinch speaks into the horn.

Children of Light! he cries. Behold your King!

His voice rings out through the valley.

The slaves roar, punchin their fists into the air.

Your King is all powerful! All wise! All merciful!

With each thing he says, they roar in reply.

He is the fountain of life! The source of plenty! The earth herself bows to his will!

He’s crazy, says Epona.

Crazy like a fox, says Ike.

Children of Light! Pinch cries. Tonight! In this place! On this midsummer eve! Our mother sun, high in the sky, reaches the height of her powers. And tonight! The life force of the Winter-born Prince reaches its peak! The sun! The moon! Their power is your King’s power! Tonight that power shall be one! They will be joined by fire! And your King will be born again!

He throws his arms out wide. The slaves go wild.

Look! hisses Epona. Over at the Palace!

I jam the looker to my eyes.

A group of Tonton move down the steps an start down the path. They march along, two by two. The first four light the way with torches. The next four carry a man on their shoulders, laid out flat. The torchlight glints on a long gold plait.

It’s Lugh.

It’s him, I whisper. It’s Lugh. He’s alive.

An suddenly the tears come. I bin holdin it in so long. I bin lookin fer him so long.

Jack pulls me into his arms. Holds my face into his shoulder. My body shakes with silent sobs. Shhh, he says. Not now. This ain’t the time. Stop it, Saba.

I lift my head. I was afeared he was dead, I says. I never said so, but—

I know, Jack says, I know. But he’s alive an we’re gonna git him outta here right now. All right?

I take in a couple of deep breaths. Push away from him. Wipe my eyes.

Sorry, I says. Yeah. All right.

Okay, everybody, says Jack, this is it. I’ll take the looker now. If me an Epona’s gonna create a diversion, we’ll need to git the timin jest right.

As I hand it to him, he squeezes my hand. Good luck, everybody, he says. Make the most of any chance you git, but be careful. See you at the stables.

Let’s git these bastards, says Ike.

Jack an Epona peel away to the left.

Me an Ike go right. We’re headed in the direction of the Palace. We duck along the rows of chaal bushes at top speed,
keepin outta sight. We stop where the chaal fields end an the gardens of the Palace begin. We crouch down behind the bushes at the side of the path. They’re gonna hafta go right past us to git to the platform.

The Tonton party carryin Lugh is skirtin around the fountain. They start to march along the path, through the middle of the gardens, two by two. Four torch bearers at the front. Four carryin Lugh. Six bringin up the rear. They march to the beat of the drums. An they chant as they march. The same chant as the crowd of slaves.

The two Tonton at the very back of the group lag behind the rest a bit.

Those’re our boys, says Ike.

The Tonton’s in the orchard now. We watch as the torches bob along. They’ll be with us in a minute or so. Ready? I whisper.

Ready, Ike says.

We crouch down low. We each slide a length of nettlecord rope outta our pockets.

The four torchbearers march past. Their boots shake the ground. Their chants fill the air. Strange words I ain’t never heard before. Their robes brush aginst the bushes. I can feel the warmth of their bodies. I can smell ’em.

The next four march past. The ones carryin Lugh. I jest catch a glimpse of him. His eyes is closed. He moves his head from side to side, restless. My heart turns over. Looks like they drugged him.

Here come the last six Tonton.

We wait. I count ’em off in my head.

Two, four.

A pause.

Then the last two Tonton come past.

Me an Ike slip onto the path behind ’em. We move without a sound.

My heart’s bangin so hard in my chest, it feels like it’s gonna smash right through my ribs. I finger the rope in my hands.

Ike gives me the nod. We throw our ropes over the Tontons’ heads. Yank it tight around their throats an drag ’em offa the path into the bushes. They’re so surprised that they come without a fight.

Ike lifts his bolt shooter high. One, two—he coshes ’em on the head with the butt. They’re out cold. The best place to git up to mischief, says Ike, is in a noisy crowd.

We strip ’em. We truss ’em up, stuff a cloth into their mouths an leave ’em in the bushes, outta sight. We pull their black robes an breastplates over our own clothes. We check that our crossbows an quivers cain’t be seen. My robe’s way too long.

Allow me, says Ike. He grabs hold an hitches it up through my belt.

I pull my knife from my boot sheath. Tuck it outta sight in my belt. Ike does the same with his shooter. Then we run to catch up with Lugh’s escort.

Ike turns to me and grins. His teeth flash white in the torchlight. His eyes spark with excitement. He looks dangerous.

So far, so good. It’s all gone accordin to plan. Me an Ike managed to join the Tonton.

But this is where the plan ends. From now on, we gotta wing it. Jest like Jack said.

We march along the path, through the chaal fields towards the platform.

We reach the edge of the open space. It’s jam packed an heavin with the hot sweaty bodies of the dancin slaves. The drums beat faster an faster. The slaves stamp their feet an chant. The noise is deafenin.

The four Tonton torchbearers push their way into the middle of the crowd, shoutin an shovin the dancin slaves aside, clearin the way to bring Lugh through. Then we close ranks an ram our way through the crowd as one unit, with me an Ike bringin up the rear. Close up, the sour smell of unwashed bodies fills my nostrils. Makes me gag.

We reach the stairs to the platform. We’re goin up the stairs. We’re on the platform. Ike an me shrink down inside our hoods. I throw a quick glance at Vicar Pinch. At the King. He sits on
his golden chair in his golden robes, starin out at the heavin, chantin crowd. No expression on his sparklin gold face.

The four Tonton carryin Lugh march over to the sandpit. As they set him down, his knees give an his head lolls back. They quickly catch him an stand him with his back aginst the pole. They tie him to it, hand an foot. Then they start to lay dry kindlin at his feet.