Kalik Read Online Free Page B

carried out tall jars. Women. Children. Men. Shouting, leaping in the swirling light, frenzied.
    A canoe wallowed in below, paddled by Salt Men. They knelt, slipping over, hauling themselves up under blows, paddling awkwardly. Their captors doubled over, laughing, pointing down into the canoes. Hands bound to ankles, the prisoners tossed ashore. Three of them tumbled and dragged through the gate and up to the Roundhouse where Lutha and Kalik danced and shrieked.
    Now the Maidens were working out the sealed stoppers. Tipping the jars into clay mugs. One thrust into my hands. In the ruddy torchlight, it looked like blood. All about me, people were jostling, drinking. Waving to have their mugs refilled.
    “Drink it, Ish!” A Maiden urged. She had used my name! She bent graceful, pouring for someone else, I stared. Tall, slim, she straightened, turned back, and smiled. Those great eyes … Raka! The Maiden who had been punished by Lutha.
    “Wine! Haven’t you drunk it before?” She took my mug, drank, and something dark trickled down her white chin. She laughed, didn’t wipe it. Held the mug to my mouth, and I tasted the aromatic gush. My head swam. Where had I smelled, tasted that rich earthy flavour before?
    Raka was laughing, filling more mugs. Turning back to me.Refilling mine. Drinking from it. Watching me over the rim. Smiling. Eyes that had flared with rage as she levelled her spear at my throat the day before.
    The Maidens were fetching more jars. Shouts, laughter grew. And floundering hamstrung, bleeding, the three Salt Men tormented by children and grown-ups. Casual blows and shouts. Kicks. I turned away.
    Behind the crowd, Raka found me again. She swayed tall between the drinkers, took my hand, led me into the dark.
    I was filled with delight by the wine. By who I was. Part of me said it was the effect of drunkenness. Another part enjoyed the sensation. The first voice, the one that always seemed to be warning me, quietened. In a hut, Raka drank from the mug. Laughed. “We must be quick!”
    It was long since I had slept with a girl. I found the same urgency in Raka. And when we were done, lying in each other’s arms, she wept.
    Suddenly I understood this was some revenge of Raka’s upon Lutha. I was even more confused. So much seemed impossible to understand. Then she was on her feet, saying we must be there for the ceremony. Hand in hand we ran uphill. Just before we lifted out of darkness into the band of torchlight, Raka kissed me and vanished.
    Kalik thrust through the crowd. Handed me a full mug. “Empty it!” I copied him. The roars, the torches, the faces spun. I stumbled. Kalik laughed, dragged me forward, and we were separated by a drunken old woman who waved a dripping mug. A procession of long-cloaked, hooded figures emerged from the Roundhouse. The crowd roared even louder. Beneath her hood, I was sure I could see Lutha. The hood fell forward, shadowed her face again. A tall figure behind must be Raka.
    Between us the prisoners knelt, wobbling on raw stumps. Several of the cloaked figures picked up the first between them, threw him on a split slab of timber in front of their leader. A single voice began a chant in a language I did not understand.One by one, other voices joined.
    The hooded figure moved to the top of the slab. Others knelt around it, restraining the Salt Man, pulling back his head so the throat curved upwards. And the figure standing above raised an arm. The sleeve fell back from a small brown hand I recognised.
    The torches went out. The chanting stopped. Silence. And the only light, a narrow ray struck the raised hand now holding a knife. Like the beak of some ancient bird it fell.
    The torches flared. The sacrifice jerked. I heard blood spurt. And as the chanting around me swelled, the priestess raised high a bowl, lowered it to her mouth, drank from its stained rim. Passed it across the corpse to Kalik who drank, too. Screamed joy! Mouth red.
    The priestess hacked, plunged in