Inside the small tipi, four women painted his body with lavish colors: yellow, orange, red, green, blue. The design they made that went from head to toe was intricate, but not overly complicated. More than a dozen times, they’d painted it, the only thing that changed was who they painted it on.

The man being painted sat still, making an occasional grab at nothing in the air, while the Blood Priest Tonkin, stood over and watched the ceremonial work be done. The man seemed out of it, unaware of what was happening. Or perhaps he was all too aware.

When the four women finished painting the man, his body was covered, Tonkin letting the paint dry and settle before taking the man by the arm, and revealing him to those who waited outside.

Fire poles outside the tipi, and the tribespeople between them, made a solid straight pathway that led to an old table, where behind it, Wez Barleycorn stood waiting. He was adorned in colored robes, and had his face painted white with red circles around his eyes. He was almost as bright as the painted man, in his robes, who stood there with Tonkin outside the tipi.

With a motion of his hand, Wez signaled for Tonkin to bring the man forward. A great howl followed, from Tonkin, that filled the air and sent a chill down some of the tribespeople’s backs. He howled again, before starting into an almost meditative chant, and led the painted man down to the table and Wez.

Everyone’s eyes were on the painted man, and Tonkin, as he was led down. He had a smile on his face, and his eyes seemed to pay attention to nothing in particular, looking at everything and everyone. Some looked away in fear, mostly children, at the man’s wild eyes.

Midway down, Tonkin let out another howl, continuing the meditative chanting. He held the painted man’s arm with a solid grip, but it was unnecessary, considering the brew he had concocted and given to the painted man.

Once at the table, the chanting from Tonkin stopped, and two men from beside Wez helped lay the drugged man on the table. He was still smiling as Wez and Tonkin looked down at him, unaware of what was about to happen to him.

“This man!” Wez exclaimed, throwing up his arms and looking to the early morning sky, “has come to us, and attempted to bring Bad Voodoo to our people!” A gasp from the crowd rose, although it wasn’t unknown that the man had been trouble. “We shall send his heart to the Gods, and his body back to the wasteland, for the Life Givers to take and make anew.”

A resounding cheer erupted from the crowd, as Wez revealed from his robes, an obsidian-bladed knife.

“YEEEAH!” The drugged man shouted, following the crowd’s cheerful example.

“Go to the Gods, and the Life Givers!” Wez cried, and brought the knife down into the man’s chest. An even louder cheer, came from the crowd as Wez cut the still beating heart from the painted man, who was now covered partially in how own blood, and held it up for all to see. The blood ran down Wez’s arm, before he handed it to Tonkin, who revealed a small wooden box to put the heart in.

The box, along with the heart, would be burned and the smoke would rise to the Gods. The painted man’s body would be taken by Tonkin, and carried out into the wasteland far from the people.

And they did just that, the two men who’d assisted Tonkin, starting a fire for all to see as the Blood Priest raised the box and tossed it into the fire. The crowd was overjoyed at the sight of it all, watching the box with the heart in it, burn to ash. When that was finished, they watched as Tonkin lifted the lifeless carcass over his shoulder, starting into another chant.

Wez stood at the table, his dagger dripping with blood, as he and the others watched the Blood Priest walk towards the vast empty wasteland, to give the body over to the Life Givers. And that was the end of the sacrificial ceremony, intended to please the Gods and Life Givers into making the year a good one for the tribe.

The crowd began to disperse back to their tipis, and work that needed to be done. Wez by himself, returned to the Great Tipi, where two of his concubines sat and talked with one another, laughing and giggling. When Wez stepped in, the two of them looked and immediately helped him with the bloodied robes.

“How was the sacrifice?” Winnie, the youngest of the two, asked.

“Was it one the Gods and Life Givers would be proud of?” Rabbit asked.

“Yes,” Wez said, taking a seat. “The man’s life has been sent to the Gods, it is in their hands to do with him, what they will now. The Bad Voodoo he tried to spread, will have a great punishment from them. And the Life Givers will do with the body, as they wish.”

Winnie and Rabbit smiled, pouring him a cup of tea in an old world cup, and with it, some jerky and fruit.

“Perhaps, if the Gods find it favorable, they will grant you an heir?” Rabbit said.

“Or two,” Winnie added.

Wez had no words for that, not now at least. It was important to the tribe, than an heir be there, but so far no bad voodoo had come upon Wez. He was after all, a demigod in the eyes of the tribe, and descendent of the Life Givers, so he wondered how it was the Gods could be willing, to not allow him an heir.

“Perhaps they will,” he said, taking a sip of tea, then filling his mouth with mutfruit.