Black Sun Rising

Chapter Thirteen

Inside the connection tent, the fire pit was heaped with glowing coals. Cody crouched beside it, drizzling the hot stones with water and handfuls of herbs so that the air of the tent was heavily wreathed with scented steam. His face was concealed by a mask of bone and his golden hair was released from its ponytail so that it flowed down his back and over his shoulders. His pale shorts had been replaced by a white linen robe. For the first time since Sam had met him, Cody's tattoos no longer looked like the trappings of a poseur. In this context, they looked like they signified membership of some sort of tribe.

The drums and cymbals that Sam and Nina had heard were in the hands of the twin acolytes. The two people were indistinguishable, their faces concealed by white masks like Cody's and their bodies covered by loose ceremonial garments that revealed nothing of their shapes. They knelt together at the far end of the tent, where one caressed a cymbal with a menacing metal beater, filling the tent with a scratchy metallic undertone, and the other patted feverishly at a set of hand drums. Two large buffalo horns lay in front of them, presumably for use later in the ritual.

Sara Stromer stood in front of the twins, her arms flung wide in a gesture of abandon or perhaps communion. Her own robe was flaming red, shot through with strands of gold, and she wore a heavy cloak of black feathers that spilled across the reed floor behind her in a long train. Her mask was not a simple disguise, but part of an elaborate headdress. Its base looked like polished jet, perhaps obsidian. Sam could only imagine the weight of it. It was overlaid with a filigree of gold, the metal twisted into intricate, swirling patterns. It encased her head like a helmet, and the point where the shimmering stone gave way to her long dark hair was obscured by a cascade of golden strands.

Paige and Henley lay prostrate at Sara's feet, motionless as she chanted over them. Sam could not discern her words, or even the language in which she spoke, because she never raised her voice above a half-whisper. The thick material of the tent prevented the sounds of the ceremony from carrying to the rest of the campsite, but Sara was making certain.

She knelt and offered one hand to Paige and the other to Henley, helping them to their feet. As they rose, Sam could see that they wore brown shifts that put him in mind of the sackcloth worn by penitent sinners of the past. Sara kissed each woman on both cheeks, and then beckoned to Cody. He reached for a large brass pitcher that stood a little way from the fire and set it down beside an obsidian bowl. A pair of metal tongs hung from the apparatus that he had used for cooking earlier. Cody took hold of them and lifted six hot coals, one by one, into the bowl. From a leather pouch hung at his waist, he took a handful of herbs. As he poured water from the pitcher over the glowing stones, he scattered the herbs into the flow.

The bowl was carried with slow steps toward Sara, Paige, and Henley. By the time Cody had reached them and knelt before Sara in an attitude of supplication, holding the bowl above his bowed head, the scent of the aromatic herbs had reached Sam and Nina. They saw Paige and Henley being invited to inhale deep drafts of the fragrant steam. Sam did not know what plants had been used, but as the scent filled his lungs he was aware of a sensation of lightheadedness. The word "hallucinogenic" scarcely had time to cross his mind before he saw Sara dipping two small horn cups into the hot water. She offered one to each woman.

Paige wore no mask, but she hardly needed one. Her usual polite blankness did not waver as she sipped the contents of the cup. Henley made a valiant attempt to control her reaction as she tasted the liquid, but she could not help a slight wrinkling of her nose. Swallowing her desire to object, she closed her eyes and knocked the drink back like a shot, downing it in a single gulp. As she handed the cup to Cody, she staggered slightly before kneeling before Sara once again.

Sam's head was beginning to feel a little fuzzy. He looked away from the tent flap for a moment, hoping that he could shake his head clear in the cool midnight air. It did not work. By the time he looked back, Sara had produced two white bone masks and was fitting them over Paige and Henley's heads. She laid a hand on each of their heads and chanted over them, then stepped back with a smile and welcomed them into FireStorm. Their initiation complete, Paige and Henley took up places beside the acolytes, clearing the way for the ceremony to which theirs had been nothing but a warm-up.

Jefferson's robes were gold. His cloak was gold. His arms were circled with gold bands. In the firelight he looked like he was ablaze. The only thing that was not of gold was the bone mask that covered his face. He approached Sara in a slow glide, as the drumming began again, and then gracefully got down on his knees. She took his face in her hands and held it while she addressed him in the unknown language. To judge by her tone, she seemed to be questioning him, even imploring him. Jefferson's reply was as confident as it could be, but it was clear that his grasp on the language was slight. Nevertheless, his answer satisfied Sara, and she placed a kiss in the center of his masked forehead.

More chanting followed, and more smudging with the bundle of burning herbs. At intervals Sara would call out, her voice rising to the volume of normal speech, and wait for the others to chant the appropriate response. The rhythm of their speech grew more rapid, their tone more fervent, and the drumming more intense.

Cody reached for the obsidian bowl once again, but instead of giving Jefferson the horn cup to drink from, he passed him the bowl and helped him to hold it as he drank deeply from it, swallowing great gulps of seasoned water until he had emptied the bowl. As he did so, the acolytes picked up the buffalo horns and blew softly into them, filling the tent with a soft moaning sound. When he released the bowl, Sara ripped off the bone mask and threw it aside, leaving Jefferson's face bare. His skin was pink with heat and streaked with sweat, as he sweltered in the steamy heat.

Sam was not even aware that Cody had moved, but suddenly he saw him appear at Sara's side to place a long, glistening knife in her hand. The blade looked wickedly sharp, even clouded with condensation. As the chanting rose to a frenzy, Sara offered the blade to Jefferson. His fingers closed around it as he raised his free hand, his left hand. He dragged the tip of the knife across it. Blood welled up in the line of slit flesh. The acolytes hissed and gasped in approbation.

The knife changed hands, passing back to Sara, who applied it to her own palm before throwing it aside. She brought her hand around in a swift gesture, as if to strike Jefferson, but instead her palm slapped against his and they clasped hand to hand, blood to blood.

When Sara released him, Jefferson held out his arm, his palm upward, his hand open. Cody was at his side, the tongs in his hand, with a coal fresh from the fire gripped in its sharp teeth. Jefferson stood perfectly still as Cody lowered the sizzling stone onto his bloody palm, though Sam could see the effort it cost him not to flinch. His face was contorted in agony, but he did not cry out. The stone was removed. Sara trailed the fingers of her own cut hand down Jefferson's cheek while Cody fetched a fresh bowl of water.

As Jefferson plunged his hand into the cool liquid, he hissed gently. The buffalo horns reached a crescendo. It was only a tiny part of the volume of which they were capable, but its effect was chilling. Jefferson's legs were beginning to shake, collapsing under the immense pain he was experiencing. Creams and bandages had been laid out in readiness, and Sara reached for them now, smoothing ointment onto Jefferson's freshly cauterized skin and wrapping it carefully as the music and chanting began to wane.

By the time the sounds had died away to nothing, Sara was holding Jefferson close. She signaled the others to approach and join together in a strangely choreographed group hug, while she returned to speaking English and uttered a series of confirmations. Jefferson had supplicated himself to them in order to become an official rather than simply an initiate. He had worn and cast aside the mask of his initiation. He had joined blood to blood with the embodiment of FireStorm and had accepted fire into his blood as it sealed his wound.

Apparently from nowhere, she produced a gold mask that would mark Jefferson as an official at future ceremonies. She placed it on him, and then declared the ritual to be at an end. She stood back from the little group and admired the new official and his recently initiated wife and daughter. They were, she said, the perfect picture of the perfect family, and it would be FireStorm's pleasure to work toward their well-being and prosperity.

Sam realized that his head was still woozy from the scent of the smoke, but Nina was tapping his shoulder in a manner that suggested that she was keen to leave. She hissed at him that she was sure they were being watched and that they weren't meant to be here, observing this apparently secret ritual. He wanted to turn around, to creep back to their tent and process the things he had just seen. Perhaps he would be able to ask Jefferson about it in the morning, or perhaps in a couple of days, once he had thought about it. But he found himself barely in control of his feet, unable to stand as his spine chose not to obey him, and his vision was thrown off-kilter by the constant rippling of everything in his peripheral vision.

He turned, trying to follow here, and his legs made it clear that they had no intention of carrying him to where he needed to be. He felt the soft whump of his body collapsing on the sand; he felt his tongue flopping thick and useless in his mouth. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was a familiar, but dreaded, voice saying "Well… this is a surprise. And what might you two be up to at this time of night?"