Black Spice (Book 3) by James R. Sanford

midsummer.
    “The
legacy of the Onakai,” he crowed as he tossed the bones.  “They are no more.  I
have eaten the soul of their king!”
    He
gave his war shout, the cry of a nameless creature, and the crowd thrashed with
fervor, a visible wave moving over them as his voice echoed off the side of a
nearby cliff.
    Lerica
had been watching with a narrow squint, and now she suddenly pulled back.
    “Gods,”
she said, swallowing.  “The fringes on their clothes — they’re human fingers.”
    “Elistar’s
breath,” Aiyan whispered.  “Where did Cauldin find him?”
    Kyric
estimated the range to be a hundred and fifty paces, closer than the final
target had been at the Games of Aeva.  “Let me take the shot,” he said to
Aiyan.
    “It
won’t work.  Remember what Mahai said about the power of his skin.”
    “It
will work if I nail him right in his eye.  I did it once before.”
    Aiyan
shook his head.  “You were only a few steps away from Vaust when you did that. 
Besides, he would feel your aim upon him.  It would give us away.  In fact,
don’t even look at him for too long.”
    “Would
he feel it coming if I didn’t aim?”
    Lerica
rolled her eyes.  “Now you’re being stupid.”
    Soth
Garo had run out of bones, and his lieutenants now stood at one end of the
platform where a wide column of smoke rose from the ground below.  Kyric
strained to see the fire, but the crowd of hunters blocked his view.  All of
them wore some kind of headdress, most of them being a wide leather headband
with a set of tusks fixed to it, making it look like curved horns grew from
their foreheads.
    “What’s
with the headpieces?” he asked Mahai.
    “Everyone
on the island has one for ceremonial days.  The tusks are for Hariji hunters;
others wear the tail.  All the Hariji have purple stripes on their faces.  The
ones with the big seashells are Silasese.”  His face darkened.  “You see those three
men on the other side, with shark’s teeth on their headbands?  They are
Onakai.”
    Soth
Garo turned full circle to the crowd.  “Now comes the wedding of the two
nations.  The Silasese to the Hariji.”
    The
drumming stopped.  Someone blew a single long note from a conch shell.  Kyric
watched a procession come out of an opening in the woods to their left, the
north side of the clearing.  The crowd parted for them.
    A
young couple dressed in long white gowns walked in front with measured steps. 
The girl wore a headband with the Hariji tail.  The boy’s headdress featured a
large seashell above each ear.  They stared solemnly ahead.  About twenty of Soth
Garo’s death-head soldiers followed them like attendant priests.  When they
reached the platform, the white warrior held out one hand and let them up the
steps.  At the other end of the platform, the smoke grew thick.
    Soth
Garo had them face each other, a lieutenant behind each one, and had them take
each other’s hands.  The lieutenants untied the gowns and removed them with a
quick yank.  The boy and girl were naked underneath.
    “God
and Goddess,” Lerica said.  “They’re just teenagers.”
    “I
recognize the boy,” Mahai said.  “He’s one of the Silasese whale singers.”  He
shook his head.  “Only virgins may be whale singers.”
    Lerica’s
mouth fell open.  “You don’t mean that they’re going to make them — why do they
seem so easy with it?  Are they drugged?”
    Mahai
shook his head.  “The black spice doesn’t do this.”
    “They’ve
taken his blood,” Aiyan said through clinched teeth.  “Like everyone else in
that field.”
    Soth
Garo raised one hand.  “By the authority of my divine and immortal father, as
the son of a god, I pronounce you wed.”
    He
lay the girl on her back and signaled to the boy to mount her.  The crowd of
hunters began to rap their spears against their boar-hide shields.  The rhythm
grew quicker, the tapping louder.  It didn’t take long, and as soon as the
couple lay still,