Blood Red Road

eyes gleam, all wildlookin. Pinch speaks into the horn.
    Children of Light! he cries. Behold your King!
    His voice rings out through the valley.
    The slaves roar, punchin their fists into the air.
    Your King is all powerful! All wise! All merciful!
    With each thing he says, they roar in reply.
    He is the fountain of life! The source of plenty! The earth herself bows to his will!
    He’s crazy, says Epona.
    Crazy like a fox, says Ike.
    Children of Light! Pinch cries. Tonight! In this place! On this midsummer eve! Our mother sun, high in the sky, reaches the height of her powers. And tonight! The life force of the Winter-born Prince reaches its peak! The sun! The moon! Their power is your King’s power! Tonight that power shall be one! They will be joined by fire! And your King will be born again!
    He throws his arms out wide. The slaves go wild.
    Look! hisses Epona. Over at the Palace!
    I jam the looker to my eyes.
    A group of Tonton move down the steps an start down the path. They march along, two by two. The first four light the way with torches. The next four carry a man on their shoulders, laid out flat. The torchlight glints on a long gold plait.
    It’s Lugh.

    It’s him, I whisper. It’s Lugh. He’s alive.
    An suddenly the tears come. I bin holdin it in so long. I bin lookin fer him so long.
    Jack pulls me into his arms. Holds my face into his shoulder. My body shakes with silent sobs. Shhh, he says. Not now. This ain’t the time. Stop it, Saba.
    I lift my head. I was afeared he was dead, I says. I never said so, but—
    I know, Jack says, I know. But he’s alive an we’re gonna git him outta here right now. All right?
    I take in a couple of deep breaths. Push away from him. Wipe my eyes.
    Sorry, I says. Yeah. All right.
    Okay, everybody, says Jack, this is it. I’ll take the looker now. If me an Epona’s gonna create a diversion, we’ll need to git the timin jest right.
    As I hand it to him, he squeezes my hand. Good luck, everybody, he says. Make the most of any chance you git, but be careful. See you at the stables.
    Let’s git these bastards, says Ike.
    Jack an Epona peel away to the left.
    Me an Ike go right. We’re headed in the direction of the Palace. We duck along the rows of chaal bushes at top speed, keepin outta sight. We stop where the chaal fields end an the gardens of the Palace begin. We crouch down behind the bushes at the side of the path. They’re gonna hafta go right past us to git to the platform.
    The Tonton party carryin Lugh is skirtin around the fountain. They start to march along the path, through the middle of the gardens, two by two. Four torch bearers at the front. Four carryin Lugh. Six bringin up the rear. They march to the beat of the drums. An they chant as they march. The same chant as the crowd of slaves.
    The two Tonton at the very back of the group lag behind the rest a bit.
    Those’re our boys, says Ike.
    The Tonton’s in the orchard now. We watch as the torches bob along. They’ll be with us in a minute or so. Ready? I whisper.
    Ready, Ike says.
    We crouch down low. We each slide a length of nettlecord rope outta our pockets.
    The four torchbearers march past. Their boots shake the ground. Their chants fill the air. Strange words I ain’t never heard before. Their robes brush aginst the bushes. I can feel the warmth of their bodies. I can smell ’em.
    The next four march past. The ones carryin Lugh. I jest catch a glimpse of him. His eyes is closed. He moves his head from side to side, restless. My heart turns over. Looks like they drugged him.
    Here come the last six Tonton.
    We wait. I count ’em off in my head.
    Two, four.
    A pause.
    Then the last two Tonton come past.
    Me an Ike slip onto the path behind ’em. We move without a sound.
    My heart’s bangin so hard in my chest, it feels like it’s gonna smash right through my ribs. I finger the rope in my hands.
    Ike gives me the nod. We throw our ropes over the Tontons’ heads. Yank it tight around their throats an drag ’em offa the path into the bushes. They’re so surprised that they come without a fight.
    Ike lifts his bolt shooter high. One, two—he coshes ’em on the head with the butt. They’re out cold. The best place to git up to mischief, says Ike, is in a noisy crowd.
    We strip ’em. We truss ’em up, stuff a cloth into their mouths an leave ’em in the bushes, outta sight. We pull their black robes an breastplates over our own clothes. We check that our crossbows an quivers