20 men and their slave women, camped around a fire.
The fire was in a rectangular pit, 6 feet long and 3 across. Large rocks had been set along its sides and packed in place with dirt. Beside the fire, and high as a man's waist, was a large boulder with a flat surface.
Atop the boulder, crouched in a cage, was a slave girl.
A group of bare-chested men knelt around the fire. Over their faces were wooden masks of screaming monster heads. About their waists were undyed, cotton kilts, tied with black cords. Red and black hieroglyphs had been painted on to their chests. They were barefoot: by the edge of the firelight, the boots and sandals of 20 men were lined up.
One of the men in the circle, one wearing a black mask of an open, fanged, mouth, lead a prayer. The other masks repeated his words. Every few moments, Black Mask throw dust from a pouch, into the fire. With each handful, the fire flared up and hissed, like a living creature.
Fogrim sat on a rock, crushing herbs in a bowl with a pestle. He was dressed as the others, but for a necklace threaded with human teeth.
Kneeling naked in the dirt beside him, was Layla. As the other females were, she was completely naked; not even a collar at her throat or a rope tying her ankle to a rock. Black finger paint traced designs under her breasts, over her belly, and around her throat. She plucked dried petals from a bundle of black flowers and handed them to her master.
"Is she ready?" Asked a man sitting across from the fire, staring at the girl in the cage. She was a tall brunette. She turned to look at him, her green eyes were wide and worried.
"Yes," said another, without looking up from his work. He held a clay bowl full of crushed salt. A dark-haired Anatolian girl poured a pouch of brown dust into it. The smell of cinnamon filled the air. "She has been starved for two days, and only passes the water of cleansing."
Someone began a beat a skin drum. A slave began nodding her head to the beat.
Black Mask threw a final fistful of dust into the fire, and stood as the flames rose into the air. The other masks rose as one and began to stamp out the fire with their bare feet. None seemed to feel the heat. Smoke rose up, and embers splashed into the darkness. The logs in the center of the fire remained glowing.
All of the other men got up and went to the fire, kneeling and pulling out fistfuls of ash. Fogrim rubbed ash on his forehead and chest. He looked back at Layla, plucking petals on her knees, and watching him. He went to her and gripped her by her chin.
"Open."
She opened her mouth.
He fed her the ash.
She chewed and swallowed, and he wiped the residue over her lips. Then, he turned back to his grinding.
Once the clay bowl was full, he emptied it into a cone-shaped, bronze, incense burner. It had openings at its sides to draw air, and a thin hole on top to vent smoke. Meanwhile, the fire-worshipers chanted anointed fresh pieces of firewood and threw them on the fire.
The flames recovered and licked at the new fuel. The night grew brighter again: shadows flickered over the surrounding jungle trees.
"It is ready," said the man holding the bowl of salt and spices.
Black Mask took the bowl from him, and the other masks went to the caged brunette. She cried out as they closed around her, her head quickly looking about. She started screaming as they opened the cage and dragged her out, gripping her by her legs and arms. The cage was pushed aside, and she was laid on her back, in its place.
One of the masks poured olive oil over the slave's belly and breasts, making a little pool that spilled down her sides. The other masks rubbed it over her body, down her legs, arms, and even her face. She squirmed under their grip, but they kept her in place.
"Brother," Fogrim heard from his side, "will you help with the fruit?"
Beside him, men were cutting wild pairs with bone-handled blades, while others crushed dark grapes into a dripping mash.
"What would you have of me?" Asked Fogrim.
The speaker handed him a syringe, half as long as Fogrim's arm. It was made of stone and carved with hieroglyphics; they hurt Fogrim's eyes to look at. He pulled open the syringe, exposing an empty chamber.
"Hold it close, Brother," said the speaker, picking up a handful of prepared fruit. Fogrim held it in front of the men, and they stuffed the syringe with the mix. They filled the second syringe and put the rest into clay bowls.
Then, Black Mask stepped up to the boulder and held the bowl of salt and spice over the girl. The other masks took handfuls of the mix and rubbed them over the oiled slave. She grunted and tried to kick loose, to no end.
"It is done," said one to the black mask.
"Let us begin!" He replied.
Black Mask began chanting, raising his arms. All around, Fogrim and the other men chanted back, raising their arms in answer. Two quickly rushed up to the fire and rammed "Y" shaped metal prongs on both ends of it. Then, they carried a long, metal bar, with chains hanging along it, to the boulder.
The only sounds were chanting, the girl's moans, and chains being fastened around her ankles, belly, throat, and wrists. They laid the spit facing towards the fire. Black Mask drew a bone-handled dagger with an obsidian blade.
Seeing the blades, the girl began screaming and tugging frantically at her chains.
Fogrim picked up the incense burner and rushed over to her. He lit it and held it just below her face. A long, thin spire of blue-black smoke rose through the opening, and into her nose.
Almost immediately, she stopped screaming. Her eyes became glazed, and her body was still. She stared up at Fogrim, looking through and right past his eyes.
In an instant, the air became cold; Layla looked back as the sound of frost cracking came from the edge of the firelight.
The fire began to pulse and flutter, flaring up in time with the drumbeat. The kneeling slaves sat upon their heels and looked about, alarmed. A brunette beside Layla cried out and covered her mouth with her hands; the flames were changing color.
The men chanted louder. From beyond the trees, there came answering sounds. They were low pitched and sounded like jagged metal dragged over rocks. The stars winked in and out as objects passed between them, and the trees.
The brunette beside Layla clutched at her arm; the Bharaji shoved her off. The brunette jumped to her feet and ran to the edge of the firelight.
Layla looked back at her, and then up at Fogrim.
Fogrim shook his head.
Beyond the light, there was the sound of heavy flapping, and a thud was felt right along the ground. A tearing sound followed, and the cracking of bone.
Black Mask gripped the girl chained to the spit by her hip, and placed the tip of his blade on her sternum. A moment later, blood welled up from the cut and ran down the blade. The slave girl, staring into the fire, did not react. The blade sank down to the hilt, and slit its way straight to her pelvis.
The slave watched idly, as blood poured out and ran down the stone, pooling in the dirt.
The other masks reached into the cut and pulled out her organs, ripping them loose and tossing them into the fire. They sparked as they touched flame, disappearing with a popping sound; none hit the ground. On passed BlackMask the heart, still beating. He bit into it like a fruit. The slave stared blank as paper as he tossed it into the fire.
Other worshipers came forward, carrying the stone syringes and the clay bowls of mashed fruit. A mask took a syringe and inserted it into the slave's mouth, tilting her head back, for the nozzle to go down her throat. He held the syringe steady while he forced the plunger down. Another mask inserted the second syringe into her vagina and did the same. The cavity in her chest was held open, and the bowls emptied into her. With a bone needle threaded with iron wire, a mask sowed the cut shut.
The spit was placed over the fire. The masks turned its ends, roasting the woman. With each turn, her glazed eyes found Fogrim's. She stared at him until she no longer had eyes.