Page 35 of Sun Warrior

“Stay here until I call for you to come to me,” Dead Eye whispered to his men.

Then he stepped from the concealment of the blind.

The boar’s reaction was instantaneous. He went stiff legged, the bristles on his back fanned and lifted so high they were like spikes along his spine. He began swinging his mighty head from side to side, spewing spittle in an arch around him as he ground his lower tusks against his smaller, knife-sharp upper teeth. His intelligent eyes gleamed with malice as he stared at Dead Eye.

Dead Eye knew the signs of a boar about to charge, and he readied himself. But instead of drawing his deadly three-tipped spear, he shook out the length of tightly braided hemp he carried over his shoulder, flicking the end so that the noose he’d fashioned there opened lazily.

With a deep, angry grunt, the boar charged.

Dead Eye had planned to stand his ground until the last moment and then snag the boar with the noose as he sped past, jerk him off his feet, and tie him in a Hunter’s bind so that he was immobilized.

But the sight of the charging beast caused the stag within Dead Eye to awaken.Battle! Defeat it! Death!The words echoed through Dead Eye’s mind, filling his body with the hot, fierce blood of a forest creature.

The stag within him answered the boar’s challenge with a deep bellow. Dead Eye lowered his head and ran at the boar, his feet tearing hunks of moss from the stream bank.

Everything happened so quickly that later Dead Eye was glad for the songs the People sang in remembrance of his clash with the boar so that he could relive the event, savoring it, over and over.

He acted solely on instinct, allowing the mighty stag to fill him with preternatural strength and speed. He and the boar met, and Dead Eye leaped up, twisting his body so that he hooked one arm around the boar’s huge neck as he landed in the middle of the raging beast’s back. Dead Eye dug his heels into the mossy ground while the boar squealed and grunted in rage, bucking and thrashing his head around, trying to sink his teeth into Dead Eye’s legs. But the strength of beast and man joined was greater than the strength of the boar. Dead Eye pulled the enormous creature’s head back and back and back, bowing his spine into a crescent and causing the boar to collapse in defeat on his side.

“Iron Fist! Come to me!”

Iron Fist obeyed unhesitatingly, but Dead Eye could see the fear in the gaze he kept focused on the straining boar, a fear that was mirrored in the eight men who crowded nervously behind him.

“Take the rope! Tie his front and back legs together. I’ll keep his neck pulled back so that he cannot gore you.”

Again, Iron Fist obeyed with a swiftness that Dead Eye appreciated, immobilizing the boar quickly.

“Now, each of you harvest three strips of skin from his belly. Long, thin strips. As quickly as you can,” Dead Eye instructed the group. Iron Fist was the first to follow his command. The newly made Reaper drew his own triple-tipped dagger and lowered it to the boar’s exposed belly, and Dead Eye shifted so that he could look directly into the beast’s eye.

Dead Eye expected the creature to scream and thrash in pain, as they all did. Not this boar. The only outward sign of pain that this beast gave was to pant and show the whites of his eyes. He didn’t flinch as the razor-tipped dagger sliced strip after strip of flesh from his living body as the nine Reapers took turns with him. The boar’s gaze remained locked with Dead Eye’s, even as his body grew weaker and weaker fromloss of blood. And in that dimming gaze Dead Eye was shown what he must do.

He’d allowed the stag to live after he’d infected him and sent him into the territory of the Tribe of the Trees. This time Dead Eye saw that he must be more merciful to this boar. The stag’s suffering had been necessary, and it had served its purpose of spreading poison to the Tribe. Dead Eye would always honor the stag’s sacrifice. But the poison had spread, and the Tribe—whether it understood it yet or not—was already falling victim to Dead Eye’s plot.

The boar was different.

“Enough, Reapers.” Dead Eye spoke formally to his men. “I will make the killing cut.”

Iron Fist and the others bowed and, carrying the bloody strips of boar skin, they backed several feet away. Dead Eye continued to stare into the boar’s eye as he used his free hand to take the triple-pointed dagger from his waist sheath. He pulled the boar’s neck back farther so that his throat was stretched completely out. Just before he slit the beast’s neck from ear to ear, Dead Eye spoke the words that lifted from deep within, so deep that he didn’t recognize his own voice, and for a moment it was as if Dead Eye’s body were separated from that which stirred within him and he had been relegated to the role of observer.

“Death has called you. I honor and accept your sacrifice, your strength, your spirit. Behold Death’s merciful blow!”

Dead Eye drew the dagger across the boar’s throat. He relaxed his grip on the creature so that his neck wasn’t stretched so awkwardly, but Dead Eye kept his gaze locked with the boar, watching his life drain away with the red river that poured from his neck.

When it was over, Dead Eye gently lowered the boar’s head to the moss and closed the creature’s sightless eyes. Dead Eye stood over the beast, head bowed in thanks as a maelstrom of emotions whirled within him. He felt triumphant and more powerful than he’d ever felt in his life. It was the boar’sdeaththat had so moved Dead Eye. It had been glorious.

Glorious? Why would slitting a boar’s throat be glorious?The vaguelyuncomfortable thought formed in Dead Eye’s mind, lifting briefly to his consciousness, but when he tried to hold the thought—tried to consider it, decipher it—his mind skittered away, returning instead to the glory of the boar’s death.Isn’t death just another part of life—perhaps the most important part?

“Champion, would you have us anoint you with the boar’s flesh?”

Iron Fist’s voice pulled Dead Eye from his reverie, and he turned to the Reaper and the men he stood before. Dead Eye’s original intent had been to go to the City in the Trees and catalogue the extent of their destruction so that he might decide the best path to follow for the People to claim their future, but Stalker’s rebellion and the boar’s sacrifice had changed everything. Dead Eye knew the City in the Trees would be his—that was inevitable. What was of the utmost importance now was preparing the People for their new life, their new Tribe, their new God.

“Your Champion will anoint each of you with the boar’s flesh, and then we are going to take the boar to the People so that we might feast in celebration.”

Iron Fist and the other men dropped to their knees in supplication before him, bowing their heads to the earth reverently. “Thank you, Champion. We gratefully accept your gift.”

Dead Eye went to his Reapers, taking the still-warm strips of bloody boar flesh from them, one at a time, trimming the strips, and then packing them into the terrible, puss-filled cracks that spidered across the creases in the men’s skin.

“Might I ask you a question, Champion?” Iron Fist asked.