The Sorrow and Rapture of Father Benedetti

Chiapas, Mexico May 2009

Father Benedetti sat writing in his journal in a small humble study in the back of the mission of San Gabriel De Los Cruxes. The early morning sun streamed in through the deep casements of the small window illuminating the small computer and monitor that sat on the desk next to him. He hadn't turned it on; instead he took comfort in the ink flowing from his pen, forming his thoughts on the blank page. He desperately needed comfort as he sought to journal the events that had recently transpired.

May 16, 2009

It has been almost a month now since Brother Ignacio betrayed our most sacred and secret trust and broke into the Vault of the Ages to steal the accursed Blade of the Gods. I blame myself. I didn't listen with my heart to his words when he told me the pagan god Quetzalquoatl had come to him in a vision warning him of a great evil that would come to claim the blade. He begged me to contact Rome and have the Templar come and move the blade to safety. Our mission had been built to contain and guard the blade's evil, and our brotherhood had stood against many creatures who had tried to wrest it from our vigil. The holy wards and the faith and strength of our brotherhood had guarded the blade since shortly after the fall of the Aztec Empire. So why would our faith and power fail us now? Forgive me Heavenly Father for it was my pride and arrogance that destroyed my brethren and my order.

Father Benedetti sat back as the tears of remorse gathered in his dark eyes again.

"Brother Ignacio," he lifted his eyes to a statuette of the Virgin Mary setting in a small niche in the wall, "I pray you are safe where ever you are! May the Saints, Angels, and the Blessed Virgin protect you while you carry that accursed blade."

There was a polite knock on the door and then the door to the study opened. A young novitiate entered, cleared his throat, and politely waited for Father Benedetti to acknowledge him.

"Yes Augustine?"

"Bishop Dominic and the Templars are ready to see you now Father."

The morning sun warmed the office of the Bishop of Chiapas through the arched windows that faced into the small but beautiful flower garden of the Church. The bright Mexican tile on the floor seemed almost surreal after the horror Father Benedetti had witnessed the night before last. Bishop Dominic rose from behind his desk and two men in conservative business suits stood up as Father Benedetti entered the Bishop's office.

"Father Benedetti," the Bishop said kindly, "you are rested I trust?"

"As much as I can be your Emminence."

"I'd like to introduce you to Ernesto Navarre, Knight Immaculate of the First Order, and his partner Michael Edmunds Knight of the Rose."

"Holy Knights," Father Benedetti turned to the two men with a small humble bow.

"They have just arrived from Rome," the Bishop continued, "and wished to speak to you immediately."

"Father Benedetti," Ernesto Navarre, an older man with iron gray hair said gravely, "the story you told Bishop Dominic displays a serious breach of responsibility on your part. This has led to the tragic loss of your brethren and the release of a dangerous artifact of the ancient world into modern society."

"All of my brothers except hopefully Brother Ignacio are all dead or worse," Father Benedetti accepted the condemnation with his head bowed. "I expect no leniency Sir Knight."

"It is not for me to judge you," Navarre said sternly but not unkindly. "Michael and I have been charged by the Holy See in Rome to track down the artifact in question and assess the level of threat of the entity that destroyed your mission. I need you to tell us what happened in as much detail as possible."

"I will endeavor to remember any and all details that I can to aid you in your quest."

"Please sit Father," the Bishop gestured to a chair in front of his desk.

"You are too kind your Eminence," Father Benedetti nodded as he took the seat. "It started three days ago on the night of the thirteenth. A terrible storm struck the mission and the surrounding area. The wind was so strong it woke me up ringing the bells in the mission's bell tower. Perhaps if I had been native to the area, I would have taken it as a sign, but as you may know I had been sent five years earlier to the mission from Florence."

"Yes we read your file," Edmunds commented. "Your grasp of the paranormal and ancient history was what prompted the Arch Bishop of Florence to recommend you for the job."

"Perhaps if I had had more field experience?" Father Benedetti wrung his hands in self recrimination. "I look back now and see other signs of the impending destruction that came upon us all. The next morning Brother Timon stopped speaking and just sat in his cell staring, and that same morning Marguerite Pesca, a woman from the village that was rumored to be a bruja, a witch, fell down on the street in a fit and was brought to us for help. All that we could do for her was to restrain her until Brother Timon came in silently and took her hand. She quieted instantly and then they both sat quietly staring ahead and refusing to speak."

"And this didn't raise your suspicions that something was wrong?" Edmunds asked.

"As a matter of fact it did," Father Benedetti continued. "Brother Miguel one of the older members of our mission voiced his concerns on the matter. We prayed and I sent many of our brethren into the village and the surrounding countryside on quiet routine tasks so that they might better observe. Later that day, they brought reports to me that the herd animals had become restless and that the people of the village seemed to be agitated and irritable. I myself had sharp words for my brothers that day and I didn't know why. That night we prayed and reinforced the holy wards even though the Blade of the Gods was gone.

"The next morning we woke to see smoke in the sky to the east. I sent Brother Miguel and two of my other brothers to the village to see what was happening and if we could be of assistance. A short while later Brother Pedro came back to tell me that many of the farmers and people that lived in the jungle were seen to be fleeing. Many of those people are of the original indigenous Mayan people and are very much at home in the jungles, but Pedro told me they claimed the jungle had come alive in the night. Many had injuries or said they had lost loved ones. These people banded together with their neighbors, gathered what belongings they could carry with them, and left in a large group heading west to Chuncolos. Brother Pedro said they whispered of a great beast in the jungle. So the local police armed themselves and Brother Miguel and Brother Timothy accompanied the police to investigate the smoke. A couple of hours passed before my brethren and the police returned carrying a young man by the name of Martin Cuxtal who was badly clawed and barely alive. Martin and his family had a small farm in the outlying area like many of the people who had left earlier that morning. The police and Brother Miguel said the farm house had been burnt to the ground and the whole area was the site of a terrible massacre. A blood soaked altar, like something from the days of the Aztec empire, had been hastily constructed and the bodies, some in pieces, of many of the outlying people had been found around it. All of the bodies had had their hearts torn out, and many of them had been savaged and partially eaten. Only Miguel came back unshaken by the gruesome and terrible site of that massacre."

"Did you find any evidence of the great beast that the villagers had talked about at the site of the massacre?" Navarre asked.

"Miguel said they had found jaguar prints in the area," Father Benedetti replied, "but whatever attacked Martin and killed the other people had claws and teeth that were much larger than any normal jaguar. We knew whatever attacked the villagers was not a jaguar."

"How did you know this?"

"Miguel was born here," Father Benedetti explained, "and had a great knowledge of the creatures and plants of the jungle. He examined as many of the corpses as he could before they found Martin. Once they had returned with Martin to the mission, Miguel told me that we were dealing with something paranormal. He knew because jaguars rarely attack humans. He went on to explain to me that the jaguar of all the great cats has a unique attack. Because of the great strength of its jaws, jaguars often bite the head of their quarry and can puncture the skulls of its victims delivering a fatal wound to the brain. None of the corpses had such a wound, and whereas the jaguar does like to feast first on the heart and lungs of its quarry, it likes to do so in private. Usually the big cats will kill then drag its meal into the underbrush. All the corpses were missing a heart but their lungs were still intact in most of the bodies."

"But there was an altar you said," Edmunds interjected. "How did he know this wasn't the work of some crazed person? You said he knew it was paranormal. How did he know this?"

"The hearts of the people were torn from their bodies," Father Benedetti said, his voice low with emotion. "No knife or instrument was used as far as Miguel could tell, and of course as I've said before the size of the claw and bite marks were unnatural."

"What do you think," Edmunds asked turning to Navarre, "some form of lycanthrope maybe?"

"The use of an altar speaks of intelligence and premeditation," Navarre said thoughtfully.

"Gentlemen please," Bishop Dominic said, "let Father Benedetti finish. All will be made clear."

The Bishop nodded to Father Benedetti to continue.

"The police and I declared a state of emergency for the village and surrounding areas. We organized several groups of young men and armed them with what was available to scour the area as quickly as possible to warn people in the outlying areas and look for anyone else that may have been injured. They were all told to return before night fall. Meanwhile, at the mission we did everything in our power to save young Martin's life, and to prepare our small hospital for any influx of casualties. We were an order of fighting Jesuits as you know, so we also cleaned and readied our personal weapons figuring that whatever was in the jungle would soon come against us. Little did we know that we stood no chance against the enemy that destroyed my brethren."

Father Benedetti broke down and leaned forward onto the Bishop's desk, his face in his hands, overcome with his grief. The two knights and the Bishop looked on in compassion and waited patiently. Finally, Navarre gently placed his hand on the priest's shoulder.

"Please Father," Navarre said gently, "tell us the rest. What happened last night?"

"It was quiet last night," Father Benedetti sat back clearing his throat as he wiped his tears from his cheeks. "We were on alert. It was late and I couldn't sleep, so as is my custom, I sat in my study journaling my thoughts. I had been writing for some time when I looked out the window to see Brother Timon and Marguerite Pesca walking hand in hand down the road toward the village. I ran down the stairs to the main hall to find the doors open. Fearing for Brother Timon and Marguerite, I ran out into the night. It was a stupid thing to do, but it probably saved my life. They were already a half a mile down the road before I caught up to them. They were walking in an unhurried fashion both staring ahead as they had been for the last few days.

"'Timon! Marguerite!' I yelled at them as I took them by their arms and swung them around. 'What are you doing? Don't you know it is unsafe to be out here?'"

"Timon looked at me calmly and said, 'it's too late Father.' And then Marguerite said, 'He comes. He who walks unseen as the wind in the night is upon us.'"

"At that moment the bell in the mission's tower began to ring in alarm. As I turned back to look, the bell began ringing erratically and faster than I thought possible, and then part of the bell tower exploded outward as the bell was silenced and screams began to echo from the mission.

"I turned and ran back to the mission. I was out of breath as I came through the open doors. The scene that awaited me will forever be engraved upon my mind. The hall was in a shambles. Many of the pews were destroyed. My brothers lay here and there like broken dolls; the coppery smell of blood, terror and death was thick in the air. Toward the front of the chapel in the light from the candles still burning in the sacristy and on the altar, I saw the boy Martin holding Miguel with one hand against one of the stone pillars by his neck. In his other hand, in front of Miguel's upturned face, he held aloft a black shining disk that smoked as if it were searing hot. Some of the smoke from this black mirror was pouring into Miguel's eyes, mouth and nostrils like some thick gray writhing liquid. The cloud of smoke itself was strange. Rather than a thick opaque cloud, wherever the smoke was thickest, it was like a hole in the air in the natural world which I could see through to someplace else, someplace dark. And what I could glimpse through that unnatural aperture was large and black and terrifying. Martin released his grip on Miguel as the last wisps of smoke disappeared into my lost brother and turned to me as Miguel slumped to the ground. I didn't know if Miguel was alive or dead, but Martin appeared to be fully healed from his wounds. The bandages hung from his bare chest in tatters. I stood there stunned and rooted to the spot as he looked up at me. Sir Knights I have never seen such a look of pure calculating menace and evil on a human face! The whole lower part of his face had been painted black and a strip of yellow pigment went across his eyes from ear to ear. He was covered in blood and gore. His hair hung down into his face in long blood soaked strands. Then he spoke and his young voice was overlaid and vibrated with some other power.

"'Nice of you to return Father,' Martin said to me, 'Miguel and I were just discussing how to open the Vault of the Ages.'

"I knew that I was about to die and that sobering thought jolted me out of my paralysis. As Martin took a step forward I started backing up toward the open doorway. I had just got outside the mission when I saw Miguel slowly get to his feet. I was about to call out to him when he turned toward me and I saw his eyes were glowing with a grey unholy light. At that same instant, Martin moved as a blur and something slammed into me that knocked the breath from me and left me senseless for a moment. As my vision cleared, I realized Martin had me by the throat in a grip like steel. I tore at his arm, even punched and kicked him trying to get loose. He shook me with one hand by the throat as if I were a doll or a small child and pulled my face close to his. I realized I was on my knees as he spoke."

"'Tell me how to reach the Blade of the Gods!'"

"'It is no longer here,' I admitted before I could stop myself."

"'Where is it!?' He demanded of me as his eyes bored into my soul."

"'I do not know,' I had whispered back."

"'Then your usefulness to me is almost at an end,' his eyes narrowed as he raised that black smoking disc.

"But then he seemed to spasm as if in pain. He let go of me and grabbed his head as he dropped to his knees in front of me. He screamed in agony and dropped that smoking disc which I could then see was made of obsidian. He collapsed onto his back and his body arched upward in some form of convulsion. For a minute I knelt there not knowing what to think or do, then I grabbed hold of the young man trying to help him. Martin's eyes snapped open and he looked up at me as tears flooded out of the corners of his large black eyes."

"'No Father!' He groaned, his voice that of a scared boy. "Run! Run now! Get away from me Father please!'"