Heart of a Dragon

Chapter Seventeen

Night had fallen over the Barrio. Flickering lights dotted the junkyard, marking the trail in from the outside world, and outlining the inner courtyard where Anya Cabrera and her followers waited. It was nearly time to begin the ceremony. Everything was in place, and the only participants missing were Los Escorpiones themselves.

The inner circle was complete except for a small opening by the front entrance to the room Kim had stocked earlier. There Anya Cabrera sat, flanked by two of her tall, ebon-skinned guardians. There was an equally narrow break in the circle across from her where the passageway opened onto the labyrinthine trail leading back out to the street. Torches flickered and trailed off into that shadowy tunnel.

There was a small cage near the fire pit. It was divided in two by a screen. On either side of that screen, a rooster strutted. One was white, dappled with black spots. The other was dark red with a brown mask. They scratched at the rough earth and circled their tiny prisons, heads bobbing and darting and eyes fierce. On either side of the cage daggers were imbedded in the earth. Only the hilts showed, one white, and the other black. Both bore small symbols etched into their frames.

Then something changed. A shadowy, obscure shape slipped through into the circle, followed by two more. They stood for just a moment, and then slid around the central fire pit. It was difficult to bring them into focus and impossible to make out any features. The three shadows rounded the circle and stood, two to the left and one to the right of Anya's entrance. She stepped up and joined them. As she did, Kim, glided out behind her and carefully joined the broken halves of the circle.

More of Los Escorpiones entered. When all was said and done, there were fifteen present. There were the three wraith-like figures shimmering beside Anya, falling in and out of focus, and there were thirteen others. Kim rounded the circle and closed it at the far entrance. Two of Anya's followers stepped in front of the tunnel, facing back down its length, and crossed their arms in front of their chests.

Kim began a mincing, prancing dance around the inner clearing. As she moved, she sang out in a language native to a place and time far distant. She held a torch, lit from one of the lanterns. At each of the braziers surrounding the circle, she danced in place and held the flame to the incense powder until thick smoke billowed up and out like fog. Each time she lit another brazier, the air thickened in that outer ring. Within the circle, where Anya advanced on the central brazier, the air was clear and clean.

Anya pulled out a long wooden match from a deep fold of her many layered robes. She struck it casually on the circle of stones with their white-washed symbol decorations. She held it first to one side, then to the other of the charcoal in the brazier. The coals had been pre-soaked with pungent oil, and flames immediately began licking at the edges, sliding in and around each small briquette.

"Welcome!" Anya cried. Her voice rang out, strong and powerful. She was a small woman, slender and dark. Her form and features were cloaked in many layers of gauze and silk and lace, festooned with charms, bones, silver trinkets and gold chains. As the central fire rose, she glittered and shimmered; each motion of her arms sent trails of light following after it and drawing half-lit symbols in the air.

"It is a glorious night," she said. "The spirits will rise and walk among us. Gods will visit, and we will become stronger. They will share with us, and we with them, and when we are done, none shall stand before us."

Kim had completed her circuit of the circle, and the band of scented smoke divided them from the world. Anyone standing outside the circle would see little or nothing — perhaps a back-lit shadow in the mist, or a will-o-the-wisp of light. The guards just inside the door were obscured, as well, though they could see well enough, staring out the passage leading in among the dead and forgotten automobiles and the flickering torches.

Anya stepped forward and circled the fire. As she moved, she traced her fingers over the white symbols. She spoke as she walked, and her feet began a shuffling, skipping dance.

"They are here," she cried. "They walk among us. They touch us and breathe through us and flow in and out and through our veins. They are dark, and light; they are weak, and strong. They live in the shadows, and are bound by daylight."

She whirled away from the fire, and as she did so she cast off the first layer of her garments. They were scarves, and as she passed the men who circled her fire, she stepped in closer, danced between them, wrapped the soft material around them and let it go, moving to the next. Once more around the fire, and she danced in little more than wisps of silk. Her skin was smooth, oiled and glittering in the firelight. As her garments disappeared, she was revealed, the muscled perfection of her legs and the haughty thrust of her breasts. One moment she stalked them, and the next she wound around and through their ranks seductively.

Her words, which had been clear and simple, dropped slowly into a chant that matched her dance. Los Escorpiones trembled slightly, but stood their ground as she leaned in and whispered words in their ears that they would never understand, brushing the palms of her hands over their flesh. She leaned suddenly to the cage in front of the fire, and with a sudden yank of her wrist, she removed the screen that separated the strutting cocks inside.

She laughed, spat on the ground before the cage, picked up the dirt where her spittle had landed and ground it between the palms of her hand. She leaned in to the fire and dropped the contents of her hands into the flames. The blaze roared and licked up into the sky.

The birds dove at one another as if possessed. They circled and struck, sharp spurs and beaks slashing like lightning. Anya laughed, and the sound of that laughter blended with the whipping, snapping voice of the fire. The birds screamed, and Anya leaned close to the fire once again. She grabbed the first of the bottles, lifted it, and smashed the top against the stone rimming the fire. Some of the contents sloshed into the pit, where they caused bursts of brighter flame and a loud hiss.

Anya stood before the cage, squatted, and watched. She continued to sing and chant. She swayed to the motion of the battle raging in that small cage. She held the bottle out before her and waved it hypnotically.

"Join us!" she screamed. "Come to us. We welcome you with mind, body and spirit. We claim the right!"

At that moment, the dark bird struck. It dipped it's head as if going for the lighter colored rooster's breast. When its opponent reacted, the red rooster dropped to the side and lashed out with the spur on one leg. It caught the white bird directly across the throat. Blood spurted, and Anya yanked open the cage. Before the fallen bird struck the ground she plucked it out. She bore it aloft, the bottle held tightly in her other hand.

The dead rooster flopped in her grip. She spun away, and began a third circle of the ring. This time she reached out as she passed each of Los Escorpiones, marking them once on each cheek, and once on the forehead with the bloody feathered neck of the fallen bird. A few tried to pull back, or to spin away, but she was fast — far too fast — and her words held them, her dance mesmerized them. As she moved to the second in line she held out the bottle to the first. He hesitated only a second, and then he drank.

As she moved, the bottle trailed after her. By the time she reached the end of the line — the spot where the blurred, wispy forms wavered, the bottle was empty. She tossed the remnant of the bird onto the pyre and it burst suddenly into brilliant red flame. It faded back to the glow of the coals, but there was no sign of the sacrifice.

Anya grabbed another bottle then. She laughed, broke the top and threw it toward the men in line. One staggered forward, as if too drunk to remain upright, but at the last second he snagged the bottle out of the air easily. He bowed to Anya, and winked, then upended the bottle and chugged half of it in a single swallow.

"Welcome!" Anya cried.

She continued, opening and tossing the bottles, watching them caught, some almost daintily, one in a sudden and very unexpected flip, a young man flying through the air, bringing the sharp, broken tip of the bottle's neck to his lips in mid-air and landing lightly on his feet, still drinking.

As they drank, they danced. Anya led them in a circle around the fire. Somewhere along the way, the last of her clothing disappeared. She stroked herself over strong young bodies as they danced. Some grabbed her and held her close, others kissed her and then spun her away, laughing uproariously. As they moved, music rose. There were no musicians in site, but the wild chords of deep, resonant guitars, the syncopated patter of hands on bongos, and the soft lilting voices of recorders, or flutes, permeated the air.

Within moments what had seemed an organized, ritualistic experience degenerated into wild abandon. Los Escorpiones, the thirteen, danced and drank. Some smoked thick, green cigars that had been tucked in a case by the bottles. The dancers reeked of strong, dark rum and mescal. Voices rose in tongues that none present understood, and the flames danced merrily. Beyond the misting incense smoke, Kim watched, her eyes dark. She paced like a caged cat, just beyond the magical barrier.

It had begun.