She kept down the path and the boys, even Rynan after he'd stopped whimpering, followed. The path snaked through the trees at the beat of drums, hisses, hoots, and hollars of the tribes men.
Watching them from the edge of the path, every now and then jabbing a spear at them as they grew closer to log building.
"Hukala!" yelled a tribesman standing over a glowing pot. Six feet tall, she guessed. He churned the brew with a body-lengthed spoon. "Be warned," his teeth black and gapped, face glowing blood red, "those who enter shall not return."
He whipped his hand and the pot sparked white and blue blinding light.
Leslie laughed, "at least we know if the food is soiled, the place knows how to jolt the heart."
The boys gulped and their eyes grew widened large as plates.
Leslie passed through two double doors large as a castle gate then down a hall black as doom. One of the boys griped about not being able to see, but she pressed forward, moving towards a pulsing orange and red glow. Orange. Red. Orange. Red. It pulsed.
"I just saw something." Rynan swore and she heard. A word she wouldn't repeat nor knew where he learned it from. "There in the walls."
"Those are not walls," Barrot eyes were much better than her own in the dark. "Those are bars-"
A snarl started the lot. A beastly roar that shook the halls just on their right. Leslie reached for her pistol. Another snarl on her left; she turned and withdrew her gun. Instinct. Not fear, she told herself, unconvinced.
"They can't get through them bars," Barrot said, hardly visible in the dark.
"What are they?"
"No idea...big, whatever they are."
Two pairs of feet sounded off in the distance and Leslie looked up, eyes on two shilouettes, one large and thick while the other was skinny and short, both standing by the orangish-red glow.
"You coming cause we're leaving," Rynan said, his voice booming from the larger silhouette.
The beasts roared.
Leslie clutched the deputies sweaty palm, fingers tangling; Barrot hesitated but she pulled, yanking him towards the pair of silhouettes. Leslie chuckled and gave a soft snort.
"This is a hoot," she said.
Together the four of them passed through the glow, finding themselves in a large room.
"Would you look at that?" Barrot said, staring at the long wooden tables, four of them, that stretched all the length of elongated room. "Never seen nothing like it," he said, peering at a grand stage, with a blazing stoned fireplace at the back, flames dancing angrily while huge logs hissed in the heat. In the center of the stage a long rope dangled knotted around blood dripping meat. Barrot grimaced at the silver, thick long bars, from ceiling to floor, barricading off the stage and the fireplace. "It's a..."
"Cage," Boone squeaked.
Leslie was in awe herself. She shook her head and the sound of chatter, clinks from glasses, and raucous laughter blared all around them. Men and women, all shapes and sizes, drunk and working to get drunk, sat and stood at the tables.
"Maybe we should leave-"
"What a place!" Boone high-fived the giant boy.
Rynan chucked, wiggling his ears, "let's find a seat," he told them, this time leading the way.
Leslie had no time to argue, she walked after them taking two steps for every one of her brothers. As they passed between tables her head swiveled, looking right and then left, trying not to miss anything. There were mounted and statued beasts from all across Civiland: furry beasts, fanged beasts; beasts with sharp talons, snarling snouts, and long tusks; all their heads mounted on the walls.
"Them black feathered-folk sure know how to hunt," Rynan chuckled.
Leslie kept her eyes moving while stepping over a puddle of spilt beer, stopping to avoid a wild drunks arm, then ducked to dodge a chared chicken wing that somehow took flight.
"What would you call that?" Boone said, his eyes glowing red as the flesh pig that glimmered on the table, covered with a glaze that smelled of honey pepper. "I want a taste of that."
Leslien put her hand to her chest. The guests were like barbarians all ripping at the meat, savage as animals. Too hungry and too drunk to care that their buttons shirts, summer gowns, ten gallon hats, and bonnets were sticky from sauce.
One of the barbarians overheard the boy. He was a gangly fellow, likely an outlaw, with clubbed fingernails on both hands.
"That there is an alchemy sauce," he whistled as he talked. The barbarian ripped off a piece of meat and jerked it towards the boy. "Makes your belly feel empty so you can keep eating and drinking-that and heightens the buzz." He chuckled taking a swing of a golden, white foaming drink.
"Well I'll be damned," Boone reached for the meat and found Leslie's hand.
"Why don't we try something else on the menu-" Leslie jerked upright, feeling like she'd been bitten by a bug or prodded on her tush.
"My apologies," the barbarian man said with a hiccup, "it also tends to arouse a man." As he smiled pork escaped his cheeks.
Barrot hand whipped, grabbing the man by the throat. "Best you keep your hands to your pockets, less you want them in chains." His young face looked like it'd age to full adult; wrinkled with justified anger.
"Sure thing," the man coughed. "Didn't know the pair of you were an item...She's all woman, and you're just...well, a boy." The man chuckled till his eyes found Rynan and Boone. Brows furrowed, ready to do their own choking.
Leslie never understood how for every one man that disrespected her, three to five of her own had her back. Always defending her on her behalf. To break a man's wrist if need be...And though a blessing, she felt it a bother in her chest.
"Leave him be, boys," she smirked. "The only thing that'll get him off is that half-eaten pork."
They laughed together as the man grimaced and threw the pork on the table, his appetite likely taken. And it must've been their lucky day because they found an open seat on the bench near the front.
Leslie sat down on the animal hide that covered the seat, feeling her trousers dampen from beer she assumed. Something caught her eyes, two gates on both sides of the cage. The bars extended the length of the wall, from the stage to the back of the building, shorter than the bars around the main stage by half, with a second door at the back-a trap door-which extended into the dark room they'd entered from.
Across from them four leather-skinned tribesmen sat. Their faces not painted white, but covered in furs, with a bear skull resting above their heads; cyoakian she believed. Their hair black and braided with furry paws and beads. They spoke to one another, their whispers hushed, and eyes looking around suspiciously.
"What'll it be, Dear?"
Leslie turned chin over shoulder, gazing upon a woman with an almond tone to her oiled skin. Black braided hair down past her hips, gowned in thick furs and beads.
"You want to pick from the table pork or order separately-"
"Separately," Leslie didn't allow the others their vote. The barmaid raised a thin eyebrow, surprised. Leslie bit her lip. "We arrived a bit late and all that's left are scraps." She prodded a finger at the bones mangled on a platter in the center of the table.
"Here we do what's called the bottomless belly, meaning you can eat and drink all night. A new pig is thrown on the table every thirty minutes-between brawls."
"What kind of brawls?"
"First time?" The barmaid didn't allow her to answer. She slid to her right, dodging a mug that smacked the bars then lifted two fingers to a pair of tribeman guards. They approached the clubbed-fingered man.
"She's taken too long to fill me mug-"
There was a swing of a club; the man's jaw cracked and his body fell limp, the room went silent. Leslie wanted to react, by lawful instinct, but her tush still throbbed from the mans pinch; instead she watched. The tribesmen lifted the man around their shoulders and escorted him out.
"Good riddens," Barrot chuckled.
"He'll be fine, Sheriff." The barmaid said. Leslie forgot she still wore her badge. The Barmaid spoke as if the commotion hadn't occurred. "It's a beast brawl, that's all I'm able to say."
Leslie nodded, "we'll just pull from the table pork."
"And to drink? We've got Grizzly Beer and Fox Piss for the boys...or there's water."
"Fox piss?" The boys laughed gleefully.
"Sounds delightful," Leslie said, suddenly feeling a bit more in the adventurous spirit. "Hell, and once our glasses are empty keep the drinks coming."
Barrot gave the boys each a thumbs up.
The next table pork came ten minutes later and the boys became as barbaric as the rest of the folk; Rynan being the most feral. Leslie laughed. You couldn't hold that boy back from a meal even if he were shackled down to the ground with weights. He lifted the pork over head, throwing aside anybody who tried to challenge him. Giving Leslie her portion first than Barrot, then Boone, and himself last, taking a better half of the meat. He left measly morsels for the rest of the table who seemed bothered but unspoken about it.
Leslie's mouth tingled from the honey pepper, her taste buds dancing while the Grizzly Beer kicked like a mule; harsh and thick and delightful, bubbling down her throat.
"More!" the boys slammed down their Fox Piss that had them hopping around like toads.
"It's like drinking sweet nectar with cinnamon and cane sugar." Boone explained to her.
Leslie took a swig from the boys cup but the honey pepper and Grizzly Beer lingered on her tongue, giving her a kick, tingle, and a sweet flavor that swirled inside her mouth. She smiled in delight.
"Not bad."
Boone nodded, snatching up his cup. "Best thing I've ever tasted-" his words were lost, replaced by gurles and slurps.
Leslie took another bite of the tender pork, feeling warm juices seep between her teeth. Bite and seep, bite and seep. Her fingers sticky as honey, colored like red chili pepper powder.
"Got an idea who them folk may be?" Barrot asked, sounding as if he were whispering, but his voice barely fought through the raucous.
"Cyoakians," Leslie said, again looking at the tribesmen. They were not taking part in the festivities. Their arms crossed and eyes wicked. "Keep an eye on them-them folk are looking for trouble."
"Already am," Barrot said, taking a drink of the Grizzly Bear. He coughed and spat. Didn't seem to sit well on his beak. "Good stuff," he laughed, raising his mug.
Since she knew him, Barrot never took kindly to drink nor the pipe for that matter. He told her he preferred a sharp head and strong lungs. Only partaking seldomly; most men drank out of desperation yet he always drank in celebration, if he were to drink at all.
"My friends!" Boomed a voice, loud as a bear that brought order to the room.
Leslie looked towards the entrance, she hadn't noticed the two stumpy staircases that led up around the door to a balcony where a bar with more people drank and spectated.
Leaning against the wooden railing was a man, large as a grizzly. Skin dark as night with oval eyes and a brilliant grin. He was covered in a variety of furs and feathers; reds, blacks, grays, golds, and whites. All sewn together into a robe, extending to the floor, and rolled out like a King's cape.
"We have gathered here to witness a brawl between beasts. Ferocious monsters, fighting to the death." The people rose their mugs and cheered so loudly the place shook. "May the fight begin!"