"They're here!"
"Our gods have descended!"
A violent commotion broke out on the high cliff. People surged forward, scrambling to look up at the dark clouds gathering rapidly overhead and down at the towering waves rolling below.
The Zhou army cried out in alarm, struggling to control their boats. Shamans had already begun beating war drums and throwing fragrant wood, pigs, and sheep into the water. Wherever the blood spread, the raging waves began to subside-the old shamaness of the Tiger Fang Tribe had tears of blood streaming down her face. Her eyes, forced wide open, brimmed with madness. "Not enough! It's still not enough! Our gods need more power, more offerings!!!"
A rasping sound came from her throat as she turned to search the crowd. Her withered hand suddenly shot out and pulled a three- or four-year-old child from among them.
She reversed the stone knife that had cut several wounds into her face and drew it across the child's neck. A jet of blood immediately shot skyward. "Greater Director of Fate! Lesser Director of Fate! This is my grandson, the noblest blood of the Tiger Fang Tribe-please accept our offering! Please swallow our enemies! Please leave us our divine metal!"
The child's little body went limp, dripping blood as it traced a helpless arc and plunged over the cliff.
The old woman tore open her clothing and savagely carved several wounds into her chest, each half an inch deep and a foot long, until the stone knife snapped with a crack. "O gods! Please accept our offering-please accept me!!!"
She raised both arms, ran forward, and leaped off the cliff. Below, the rushing Han River suddenly heaved up a wave, swallowing her in a mass of murky foam.
"Please accept our offerings!"
That leap seemed to flip a