“Machado, are you ready for the sacraments?”
Asked another priest, pulling back the flap of animal skin that kept the high
priests home separated from the rest of the city.
Machado
tugged at his white leather vest, looking himself over to make certain
everything was in its appropriate place. His dagger was in a sheathe, the
obsidian blade as sharp as Machado’s growing temper. This would be the first
sacrifice that he led, the first that he would do in the name of the Feathered
Serpent, and of the Sun. He hoped he could please them with his actions, so
that they would remain content with the harvests of the city.
Picking
up a bowl, Machado poured from a clay decanter a glug of Octli, downing it
before it had a chance to settle. The milky alcohol definitely took the edge
off of any worries Machado had, hissing to himself as he pulled on his
feathered headdress, the brilliant colors of the tropical birds woven into a
tumbling shower down his back.
Looking
back to his doorway, he wondered how nervous Ixtli was. This was his first
service as a priest to the Feathered Serpent after all. The young man had risen
through the warrior ranks, claiming divine power, until he had been introduced
to the priesthood. There he had devoured the texts they had on the God’s and
what they required to be made happy. The man was in charge of acquiring the
sacrifice for today, something the warriors had done with general ease no
doubt.
Hopefully
the family understood what an honor it was to amongst those chosen to be
sacrificed.
Hopefully.
Throwing
back the animal pelt covering his dwelling, Machado stepped out into the
morning light, squinting as he greeted the Sun with a bow. Ixtli was waiting
for him, the muscular youth dressed in a similar cloak of feathers as Machado’s
own headdress. Turning to begin marching up the side of the great temple, they
walked in silence. In the distance drums beat rhythmically and the grumble and
rabble of a crowd was heard coming from the steps at the bottom of the great
temple.
“Are
you ready, Ixtli?” Machado asked conversationally, waiting for the third priest
to meet them on their way up.
“I am
prepared for my role in the sacrifice High Priest, so long as you are.” Ixtli
said haughtily, stressing Machado’s title. Machado nodded and ignored the jab
at his own knowledge of the rites and rituals to take place this morning.
Emerging
from a side chamber built into the pyramid, resplendent in white leather
greaves, tunic and bracers was Zuma, the thin Priest of the Sun God. He was a
reedy fellow with protuberant eyes and a small voice. He fell into lockstep
next to Machado, visibly ignoring Ixtli as they continued on up the pyramid.
“Good
morning High Priest,” he said, looking down and picking a bit of straw from his
bracers.
“And
good morning to you as well Priest Zuma. Did you rest well?” Machado asked,
looking up at the apex of the pyramid which they were slowly approaching. He
could hear the cries of the sacrifice already. Apparently this would be a
resistant sacrifice… how unpleasant.
“I
rested well, though I was plagued by visions I know not of which they can
possibly mean.” Zuma said regally.
Ixtli
snorted. “You probably got drunk last night off of the new batch of Octli and
had nightmares you old fool.”
Machado
silenced the both of them with a glare. “No fighting. Not when we are this
close to the Gods.”
The
two nodded solemnly, knowing Machado to be right. They were at the apex now,
where four acolytes stood with Machado’s ceremonial staff and robes, along with
a blade for both Zuma and Ixtli. The two of them quickly gathered their
weapons, one out of eager anticipation, and the other out of measured practice.
Machado merely turned to look down the slope of the towering pyramid at the
crowds gathered below. Allowing the acolytes to dress him in the robes, he took
hold of the staff, the long piece of weathered wood with a human skull topping
it, and held it high, silencing the crowd below.
“Brothers
and sisters! We are gathered here to offer our prayers and reverence to the
Gods. To the Feathered One for granting our warriors swiftness in battle, and
to the Sun for our crops. We face troubled times ahead of us, as our vassal
state to the south is choosing to rebel against us. Twelve squads have been
dispatched to the city, where the Feathered One will guide them into an
overwhelming victory. To aid us in our time of need, this sacrifice comes from
that city, the daughter of a merchant. For the next seven days, we will sacrifice
a member of the merchants family, ending with the merchant himself. The Gods
have chosen us to be the rulers of the world, and as such we will not allow
such acts of rebellion to go unpunished.”
The
crowd below cheered, the mindless sheep. Ixtli, to Machado’s right, waved down
to them, while speaking out of the side of his mouth. “Who will this sacrifice
go to?”
Ignoring
him, Machado continued on with his speech. “The daughter has been
ritualistically bathed and cleansed, as well as fed and allowed to rest with
the Gods in the highest room the temple has to offer. Now, her heart will
belong to the Gods, split down the middle and burned to please The Feathered
One and the Sun. That is the will of the High Priest, thus it is the will of
the Gods.”
Machado
turns, leaving Ixtli to look murderously after him as he moves to get ready for
the sacrifice. Both Priests move and light a fire beneath brass skillets, one
shaped like a feathered serpent, the other a round disk with flames sprouting
from it. The girl, no older than fourteen years, is brought up by two warriors
from the other side of the pyramid and thrown onto the altar, where they grab
her legs and hands, and begin to bind them so she can’t get away.
Machado
sets aside his staff, passing it to an acolyte before drawing his obsidian
knife. The girl was screaming plaintively for her father, while Zuma moved to
stand at her feet and Ixtli stood at her head. Zuma stood stoically, his hands
behind his back, while Ixtli laughed at the girls cries.
“This
is because you’re people don’t know their place child,” he said, laughing as
she screamed for help. “Nobody can save you from this child, so just lie back
and enjoy.”
“Ixtli!”
Machado chided, giving him a look of annoyance. Ixtli stood his ground, raising
his chin in defiance. After a moment, Machado move up to the child, moving one
hand to her head, wiping away her tears.
“Hush
child… these are the same Gods you and your family worship, are they not?”
“Y-yes…”
she muttered, averting her eyes from Machado’s.
“Then
you will join them in Heaven, where you will bask in their glory for all
eternity. This sacrifice will bring you closer to them.”
She
fell silent, her sobs wracking her body as if it pained her to cry. “Will it
hurt?” She asked after a moment.
“For
but a moment,” Machado lied. He knew from experience as the former Priest of
the Feathered One that it took a minute or so to cut into the chest and remove
the heart, which would then be split and cooked at the God’s respective altars,
the fumes rising up into the heavens above for the Gods to enjoy.
“Priests,”
Machado intoned, causing the girl to look at him. “Grab her and hold her in
place.”
“What?”
She said, looking as Ixtli and Zuma took firm holds of her arms and legs,
pressing them into the stone of the altar.
“To
The Feathered One, I offer you this child’s bravery! To the Sun, I offer her
youth!” Machado called out before plunging his dagger into her chest, stabbing
directly into the sternum. Her shrieks became blood curdling as she twisted and
fought to be free. Machado pulled his blade free and, raising it overhead,
brought it down again into her chest, shattering her sternum. Grabbing her
side, he began to saw at the broken sternum, blood welling up and dribbling
from the cuts as he slowly cut away the protective bone casing around the
heart.
The
girl went into shock, her head lolling to the side as Machado dug his hands
into her chest, finding the warmth to be surprisingly relaxing. He gripped the
heart and pulled, sliding it out of the wound where he held it aloft, calling
out to the Gods for their blessing before slicing it in half and handing each
half to the respective Priest, who hurriedly took it and threw it onto the
searing pan.
Looking
down at her body, Machado could feel his hands shaking, his digits growing cold
from the dripping wet gore covering them. His heart beat heavily within his
throat and his eyes were wide with excitement.
What
he’d been dreading had turned out to be one of the best things to happen to him
in his entire life. Sacrifices were amazing, allowing him to connect with the
very essence of life and rip it away, granting him the power of the Gods…
Machado
licked his lips, watching as the warriors took the body away.
He
wanted more.
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