NO, no altar was there!
No fire basket! Just a plain wooden table all by itself!
The evil men ceased their chants and all eyes were on Hamar. Only the big drum continued booming, sounding like Doom itself as it came nearer, and then it cut dead.
In the cavern’s silence, majestically walking toward the table was the tall bald man in red now wearing the robe and headdress of a Priest, his tattooed face looking even more fierce than before!
Through tears Hamar fixed his eyes instead on the high ceiling with its far mosaic patterns the same as the garden dome, it now the only harmless sight left to him.
Then his eyes sped down the walls for the horned devil, – but mercifully it wasn’t there! What did they want of him? WHAT WERE THEY GOING TO DO TO HIM?
The red-robed Priest beckoned him over to the table. Only the table and the man in red mattered to Hamar now.
Adept pushed Hamar closer to the table, and the boy looked up to the Priest’s face, pleading to the man with his eyes. The man barely acknowledged him; instead with great importance he rotated his head upward as if to look through the roof.
Then the man shut his eyes.
After long minutes while everyone silently stared at the Priest, he shot his eyes open again, the whites of his eyes large and his pupils tiny, and he threw his arms up in surrender to something overhead. Next, horribly, he opened his mouth to wail an awful wail toward it! The booms of the drum went faster and faster!
All the men flung back their hoods and joined in the wail until the unearthly sound filled the room. It was a field of faces with their own small tattoos, their mouths all open like o’s. Hamar was so scared he stopped breathing and gripped tight onto the table edge!
The eerie chant rose higher until it hurt to hear it, and then, – it simply shut off. The drumbeat, too.
In the stunned silence Hamar was left looking into faces he’d have run from down an alley, – some men had eyes shining with more than reflected torchlight, a few men were too ugly and misshapen to even look at, – worst were the milder ones who were seemingly content to witness his torture. Hamar felt faint and his skinny brown fingers went white against the wood of the tabletop as he fixed his eyes only onto his two hands, – dotting them with hot tears.
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