barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
Dras sneered at the cowled figures assembled around the strange, multi-tiered altar.
"If I ever start my own heathen religion, I'm choosing better uniforms."
Quinn only grunted as he drew his cutlass.
"Eight of them, four of us."
The interior of the chapel flickered with dank, guttering candle flames, shadows hiding the rough stonework and outlining the cowled figures Dras had found so contemptible. Each figure drew a hooked blade and stepped forward. Their dark robes swung above the marble slabs of the floor.
Dras wasted no further time on witticisms. She stepped to her right, beginning a quick circle around the nearest cultist, and flicked her rapier up to deflect the first attack.
Ana stepped back from the advancing figures.
"We just want the-"
The ringing of steel on steel announced mayhem. Dras laughed and plunged into the midst of her foes, spinning and twisting away from their attacks as her rapier flashed and stabbed and danced in all directions.
Black's pistols roared out, the flash of their muzzles blinding in the dark chapel. Bodies fell, tumbled back. Quinn's cutlass chopped down. Screams and splatter of blood on stone echoed from the walls.
Ana threw herself to the floor, crashing down and rolling behind the strange altar. She caught the reflection of candlelight on crystal and averted her eyes, terrified that if she looked upon the skull that sat grinning there she would lose her reason again.
Dras kicked the first cultist to fall, and lunged out to catch another in the side, halting his swing at Black as he clutched at the wound and collapsed. She grinned at Black, who caught her eye and shouted, "Behind you!"
Too late Dras turned as a strong arm wrapped around her throat and heaved her bodily into the air. She kicked and thrashed, but the man behind her refused to relax his choking grip. His other hand reached around to take hold of her, and to Dras' chagrin, grappled her right on the chest.
Evidently what he found there surprised the cultist, for he startled and dropped the slim young woman, who leapt up from where she landed, twisting and driving her blade up and under his ribs.
Quinn's cutlass shrieked as his opponent's blade slid along its edge, just missing the Irishman's right side. With a fierce roar Quinn thrust forward, slamming the copper hilt of his cutlass into the man's face. The terrible crunching noise thus produced brought a wicked smile to Quinn's mouth and he carried on forward, driving his opponent down to the stone flooring and delivering another terrific blow, this time with the edged part of his weapon.
Black, having discharged both his pistols in the early seconds of the fight, had drawn his own cutlass and was facing off against a knife-weilding cultist who, unlike his brothers, seemed to be considering the problem of using a knife to defeat a swordsman with some seriousness.
At last he decided on a feint high, followed by a half-hearted lunge for Black's midsection. The Englishman stepped back and whirled his cutlass up over his head and down, catching the cultist on the shoulder and not only delivering a terrible gaping wound but knocking the fellow sideways to the floor, where he was further subjected to the indignity of receiving Dras' boot in his face.
Only a few seconds had passed, and all the cultists lay on the floor dead or unable to continue fighting. The four companions studied each other for a second, establishing without speaking that they were all uninjured, and then turned to the altar.
Ana pointed.
"It's behind that upright. I saw it. Sort of."
Quinn stepped forward, holding open the canvas sack that carried the other two skulls.
"Put it in here. Carefully."
With a fallen knife, shielding her eyes from the terrible artifact, Ana levered it into the sack. The solid ring of its impact upon the other skulls sounded like no crystal Quinn had ever heard.
"That's three. I wonder how many there are."
*****
"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"
The entire town shook with the chanting. The thunderous roar echoed from the mountains and swamped the night air with endless reverberations. Ana, Black, Quinn and Dras made their way back towards the lights of Cap-Haitien, fearful of the massed vocalization but needing to pass through the town to get back to their ship. They emerged onto a narrow alley and, following Black's lead, crept up to the main street.
"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"
The street was thick with chanting humanity, surging and swaying in their delirium. The four pushed their way through the crowd, fighting to stay together as they made their way downhill.
"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"
The press of people suddenly parted and Black stumbled at the sudden receding of the human tide. His friends spilled out of the crowd behind him, but all four of them immediately backed away from the procession making its way up the hill towards the governor's mansion.
Four guards in Spanish colours came first, followed by two flagbearers, and then a small, wiry man in a resplendent uniform, gravely stroking his gleaming mustache.
Black turned to the others.
"That's got to be this new captain."
Quinn stared, gaping and slack.
Black frowned.
"He not an admiral or anything, Quinn. No cause to be so impressed."
Quinn made no response. He just kept staring.
"Damnit, man, stop staring at him."
Dras grabbed Black's sleeve.
"I don't think he's staring at the captain, Captain."
"What?"
"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"
Black turned back to the procession. Behind the Spanish captain strode a woman. An Indian woman, tall and with a strong jawline, her proud stance haughty as she stalked up the street, smirking to either side. She gleamed in the torchlight of the street, her skin polished mahogany, plenty of it on display in her bare-shouldered gown. She was beautiful and noble and Black stared for a second just as Quinn was doing.
Dras scowled.
"I guess that's Zipakna. Now what?"
The Indian woman turned and smiled directly at Quinn. Their eyes locked and he took half a step forward.
Black's hand dropped onto Quinn's shoulder and he steered his friend into the crowd.
"This way. That's just trouble."
"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"
*****
"Hey, Quinn, are you okay? Been too long at sea or what?"
Dras shook her friend's arm. Quinn had been behaving strangely ever since their encounter with that Zipakna woman.
Or rather, Dras corrected herself, that Zipakna slut. Or even possibly, she thought, remembering Ana's words, that Zipakna demon.
Whatever she was, she'd certainly croggled Quinn with her beauty and her sinister smile. Dras sighed inwardly and hoped Ana wouldn't be too upset.
Quinn just shrugged and continued on through the night market, following Black as their captain led them through the much quieter crowds down here nearer the wharfs. Dras was about to ask her friend again when a hooked finger tugged at her sleeve.
"Child. Bearer of chains. Come with me now."
"What?"
Dras turned to find the elderly mambo, the woman who'd spouted blasphemy about Xibalba and Papa Agwe.
"You? Aren't you. One of them?"
"They cannot ride me for long, child. I am beloved of Legba and no djab of the mainland can take hold of me for long."
Dras' friends gathered around.
"What's this about, Dras? Do you know this lady?"
The old woman creaked her head around to smile, toothless and squinting, at Black.
"We show you. Much to show you, yes. Come. We show."
"A show? Damn me if that doesn't sound like a good idea. We could use some entertainment."
"Uh, Black?"
"Yes?"
"Never mind."
"If I ever start my own heathen religion, I'm choosing better uniforms."
Quinn only grunted as he drew his cutlass.
"Eight of them, four of us."
The interior of the chapel flickered with dank, guttering candle flames, shadows hiding the rough stonework and outlining the cowled figures Dras had found so contemptible. Each figure drew a hooked blade and stepped forward. Their dark robes swung above the marble slabs of the floor.
Dras wasted no further time on witticisms. She stepped to her right, beginning a quick circle around the nearest cultist, and flicked her rapier up to deflect the first attack.
Ana stepped back from the advancing figures.
"We just want the-"
The ringing of steel on steel announced mayhem. Dras laughed and plunged into the midst of her foes, spinning and twisting away from their attacks as her rapier flashed and stabbed and danced in all directions.
Black's pistols roared out, the flash of their muzzles blinding in the dark chapel. Bodies fell, tumbled back. Quinn's cutlass chopped down. Screams and splatter of blood on stone echoed from the walls.
Ana threw herself to the floor, crashing down and rolling behind the strange altar. She caught the reflection of candlelight on crystal and averted her eyes, terrified that if she looked upon the skull that sat grinning there she would lose her reason again.
Dras kicked the first cultist to fall, and lunged out to catch another in the side, halting his swing at Black as he clutched at the wound and collapsed. She grinned at Black, who caught her eye and shouted, "Behind you!"
Too late Dras turned as a strong arm wrapped around her throat and heaved her bodily into the air. She kicked and thrashed, but the man behind her refused to relax his choking grip. His other hand reached around to take hold of her, and to Dras' chagrin, grappled her right on the chest.
Evidently what he found there surprised the cultist, for he startled and dropped the slim young woman, who leapt up from where she landed, twisting and driving her blade up and under his ribs.
Quinn's cutlass shrieked as his opponent's blade slid along its edge, just missing the Irishman's right side. With a fierce roar Quinn thrust forward, slamming the copper hilt of his cutlass into the man's face. The terrible crunching noise thus produced brought a wicked smile to Quinn's mouth and he carried on forward, driving his opponent down to the stone flooring and delivering another terrific blow, this time with the edged part of his weapon.
Black, having discharged both his pistols in the early seconds of the fight, had drawn his own cutlass and was facing off against a knife-weilding cultist who, unlike his brothers, seemed to be considering the problem of using a knife to defeat a swordsman with some seriousness.
At last he decided on a feint high, followed by a half-hearted lunge for Black's midsection. The Englishman stepped back and whirled his cutlass up over his head and down, catching the cultist on the shoulder and not only delivering a terrible gaping wound but knocking the fellow sideways to the floor, where he was further subjected to the indignity of receiving Dras' boot in his face.
Only a few seconds had passed, and all the cultists lay on the floor dead or unable to continue fighting. The four companions studied each other for a second, establishing without speaking that they were all uninjured, and then turned to the altar.
Ana pointed.
"It's behind that upright. I saw it. Sort of."
Quinn stepped forward, holding open the canvas sack that carried the other two skulls.
"Put it in here. Carefully."
With a fallen knife, shielding her eyes from the terrible artifact, Ana levered it into the sack. The solid ring of its impact upon the other skulls sounded like no crystal Quinn had ever heard.
"That's three. I wonder how many there are."
*****
"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"
The entire town shook with the chanting. The thunderous roar echoed from the mountains and swamped the night air with endless reverberations. Ana, Black, Quinn and Dras made their way back towards the lights of Cap-Haitien, fearful of the massed vocalization but needing to pass through the town to get back to their ship. They emerged onto a narrow alley and, following Black's lead, crept up to the main street.
"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"
The street was thick with chanting humanity, surging and swaying in their delirium. The four pushed their way through the crowd, fighting to stay together as they made their way downhill.
"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"
The press of people suddenly parted and Black stumbled at the sudden receding of the human tide. His friends spilled out of the crowd behind him, but all four of them immediately backed away from the procession making its way up the hill towards the governor's mansion.
Four guards in Spanish colours came first, followed by two flagbearers, and then a small, wiry man in a resplendent uniform, gravely stroking his gleaming mustache.
Black turned to the others.
"That's got to be this new captain."
Quinn stared, gaping and slack.
Black frowned.
"He not an admiral or anything, Quinn. No cause to be so impressed."
Quinn made no response. He just kept staring.
"Damnit, man, stop staring at him."
Dras grabbed Black's sleeve.
"I don't think he's staring at the captain, Captain."
"What?"
"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"
Black turned back to the procession. Behind the Spanish captain strode a woman. An Indian woman, tall and with a strong jawline, her proud stance haughty as she stalked up the street, smirking to either side. She gleamed in the torchlight of the street, her skin polished mahogany, plenty of it on display in her bare-shouldered gown. She was beautiful and noble and Black stared for a second just as Quinn was doing.
Dras scowled.
"I guess that's Zipakna. Now what?"
The Indian woman turned and smiled directly at Quinn. Their eyes locked and he took half a step forward.
Black's hand dropped onto Quinn's shoulder and he steered his friend into the crowd.
"This way. That's just trouble."
"ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA! ZIPAKNA!"
*****
"Hey, Quinn, are you okay? Been too long at sea or what?"
Dras shook her friend's arm. Quinn had been behaving strangely ever since their encounter with that Zipakna woman.
Or rather, Dras corrected herself, that Zipakna slut. Or even possibly, she thought, remembering Ana's words, that Zipakna demon.
Whatever she was, she'd certainly croggled Quinn with her beauty and her sinister smile. Dras sighed inwardly and hoped Ana wouldn't be too upset.
Quinn just shrugged and continued on through the night market, following Black as their captain led them through the much quieter crowds down here nearer the wharfs. Dras was about to ask her friend again when a hooked finger tugged at her sleeve.
"Child. Bearer of chains. Come with me now."
"What?"
Dras turned to find the elderly mambo, the woman who'd spouted blasphemy about Xibalba and Papa Agwe.
"You? Aren't you. One of them?"
"They cannot ride me for long, child. I am beloved of Legba and no djab of the mainland can take hold of me for long."
Dras' friends gathered around.
"What's this about, Dras? Do you know this lady?"
The old woman creaked her head around to smile, toothless and squinting, at Black.
"We show you. Much to show you, yes. Come. We show."
"A show? Damn me if that doesn't sound like a good idea. We could use some entertainment."
"Uh, Black?"
"Yes?"
"Never mind."