Page 105 of Moon Chosen

Dimly, Nik realized that the rain of spears was no longer all around them, but instead was falling short. They’d been caught in the current, and it was pulling them swiftly out of reach. But Nik kept paddling. Even as his vision began to tunnel, growing dim and gray around the edges, Nik paddled.

“Nik, help me turn us! We’re too close to the run-off!”

He was vaguely aware that Sheena was shouting at him—vaguely aware that the small boat had begun heaving and spinning. Blinking his eyes and trying to clear his vision, he was briefly able to focus on Sheena. She was turning to look back at him and her eyes were huge in her pale, tear-streaked face.

“I’m sorry,” Nik tried to tell her, but he’d lost command of his words.

“We’re going to capsize!” Sheena shouted over the roar of the rapids. “Try to hold on to the boat. We might make it if we stay with the boat.”

The current spun them around again, causing the bow to tilt sickeningly to the side. Before he went into the water Nik looked up to see that they were being sucked down into a narrow passage between the barely submerged metal arch of what once was the underbelly of the ruined bridge.

He lost sight of Sheena and Captain and the kayak immediately. The current propelled him violently forward, so that his body smashed against the metal truss. He screamed in agony as the tail of the spear snapped off, leaving the head still embedded in his back. The whirlpool captured him then, sucking him down.

He tried to hold his breath. He tried to fight the current, but an almost sweet lethargy began filling his body with the cold, black water. As blessed darkness finally claimed him, Nik’s last thought wasn’t of his mother—or of his father—or of his too brief life. His last thought was of the pup—his pup.I’m sorry I let you down. I’m sorry I didn’t find you. But I’m glad, so glad, that you won’t die with me today.

30

“Light the firepots! Gather the People! Our Champion brings sacrifice!” Iron Fist bellowed as the surviving Harvesters and Hunters entered the Temple courtyard.

From the ledge of the Reaper’s balcony, Dead Eye saw Dove. She was standing there, just as she had been when he and the People had left to ambush the Others. He could see her taut, listening expression and it gave him a rush of pleasure to realize that she had been waiting, was still waiting, to hear his voice and to know he was safe.

“Dove! I bring sacrifice!” he called.

Her face—her beautiful, smooth, eyeless face—lit up with a smile that blazed as hot and fierce as the firepots of the God. “Our Champion returns! Gather in the courtyard so that the God may witness the sacrifice!”

He saw the hands of the women—young girls, actually—Dove had recruited to be her Attendants reach for and guide her from the ledge of the balcony. Eager to be near her again, Dead Eye hefted the Other more securely across his back and hurried forward.

“Erect the sacrificial scaffold!” Dead Eye commanded.

The Hunters and Harvesters returning from the ambush with him instantly began to obey, dragging the stained wooden platform from just inside the Temple to the soot-marked place in the center of the courtyard where not long ago he had built the pyre that had purified the Temple. Dead Eye nodded in pleasure as he examined the scaffold. Dove and her Attendants had done just as she’d said they would do. While he and the men were setting the ambush and battling the Others, they had scrubbed the old platform with water and then beeswax so that its wood gleamed with a rich rusted color that spoke of generations of bloodletting, and the iron circles glistened silver as the light of the brightly burning firepots.

When all had been made ready Dead Eye waited patiently, only moving forward to place the still unconscious Other on the scaffold when Dove finally appeared. She stood beneath the Reaper’s balcony, looking serene and godlike, surrounded by a perfect dozen young women. They were all bare breasted, dressed only in long skirts decorated with the human hair of Others who had been sacrificed to the People throughout the ages. Dead Eye appreciated the picture they made, especially as a girl with no eyes had created it.

“Shackle him and then lift the scaffold!” Dead Eye ordered. As the People scrambled to do his bidding, Dead Eye went to Dove. Unlike within the Chamber she had not left for the sixteen winters of her life, Dove did not move with the independent confidence here that she did above. But when he offered her his arm, saying, “Oracle, may I lead you to the sacrifice?” she did not hesitate. She placed her soft, white hand on his thickly muscled forearm, allowing him to guide her forward to the steps of the scaffold. Together they climbed the four steps, stopping before the man who now hung, spread-eagle, from the T-shaped structure.

“Who has his canine?” Dead Eye asked the People.

“Here! He is here!” The People parted, allowing Iron Fist to make his way to the platform. He was holding the little black Terrier, who was bound and muzzled.

Dead Eye noted the intelligence in the animal’s eyes, and that he did not struggle or whine. He simply stared at the unconscious man bound to the platform.

“Wake him!” Dead Eye commanded.

Two of the Harvesters came forward carrying rusted buckets filled with water, which they dumped on the man. Instantly, he sputtered and began to struggle, trying to break free of the iron circles that held his wrists and ankles.

“You will only damage yourself if you continue to struggle,” Dead Eye told him.

The man stopped moving. He blinked hard several times, obviously clearing his vision. He glanced at Dead Eye, but his gaze didn’t remain on him. It rested on Iron Fist and the canine in his arms.

“Do anything you want with me, but let Odysseus go.” He growled the words from between clenched teeth.

“You are in no position to bargain,” Dead Eye said.

“Of course I am, you mutant bastard. I know that you think living flesh has some kind of magickal property that will save you from your disgusting life, so you want me to stay alive as long as possible. I give you my oath that I will fight death, even as you flay the flesh from my body, but only after you let my Terrier go.”

“If not you will what?” Dead Eye asked, honestly curious about what the angry man would say.

“Simple. I give up. I focus on the pain and the blood, and I will myself to die so that I can join Odysseus in the next world. Sooner rather than later.” He finished, then he spat a glob of phlegm at Dead Eye’s feet.