Captive

Captive By

Peter O’Connor http://peteraoconnor.blogspot.com.au/ © Peter O’Connor 2015 All rights reserved.

May, 1579 - Southern Yucatan, Central America.

I awoke with the feeling that I could not breathe. Panic circled me and terror was not far away. I thought a thousand things at once, and I thought nothing. It was all meaningless in the dark almost as if my thoughts were being pulled away from me before I realised them. As sensation returned to my anxious mind, I discovered my wrists and my ankles were tied. My whole head was swathed in some coarse and itchy material so that I could not see and could only breathe small puffs of air through a small gap below my nose.

Worst of all my mouth was stuffed with what I took to be leaves. I had no sooner regained my full consciousness than I began to gag on their sickly sweet taste.

Red lights flashed behind my eyes as I choked on the dry matter. I gasped for air as the leaves slid to the back of my throat. Involuntarily my body tried to swallow but I fought this urge with every ounce of my will. My cheeks bulged. I could not swallow it; all intertwined as it was and of a texture like rope frayed from use. Nor could I spit it out. I rolled around on the hard rock floor and entered a void where all time and discernment of my actions ceased. It must have been some sort of

affliction brought on by my panic. I do not know how long it went on for. My only recollection is of struggle and pain like I have never experienced before.

The only thing I can liken it unto is wading through incessant waves of black nausea. Little wonder that my mind retreated.

Dread filled the waters of my mind like weeds snagging my ankles. It also told me that somehow consciousness had returned. I surfaced into a world of malignant darkness, aching pain throbbing through my body. My stomach was heavy and my throat on fire. Obviously I had ingested that which had filled my mouth. Had I swallowed glass it could not have been

worse. I tried to move and found that my hands were free. Thanking God, I began to remove the blindfold from my eyes. But then I stopped. The air in front of me was burdened and threatening. I felt that someone stood before me. I edged backwards until I felt an edge giving to a sharp drop.

Alert and ready to run or fight I took off the mask.

There was nobody there.

My prison was a pyramid-like structure. There were no doorways in the slanted walls and even if there were I could not get to them. I was on top of a square pillar raised in the centre of the structure. The pillar was surrounded by water so hot it gave off

steam and belched out noxious gases.

If, in my struggles, I had fallen in, I would have been boiled alive. The sides of the column I stood on were as smooth as marble. Above me where the sides of the pyramid became the ceiling was a square opening through which the dim light of dusk could be seen. Hanging from this opening was a rope or vine. It swung back and forth, carried by some wind I could not feel.

Thoughts of freedom froze in my mind when I saw for the first time the thing on the end of the rope; a severed head, grimacing as if the pain still continued for it, as if it would for all time. Its tongue lolled out between smashed teeth in a mouth that still

shrieked for mercy and yet made no sound. Its eyes were near to springing from the sockets as though perpetually haunted by visions of its final moments. I noticed with disgust that insects were busy eating away at the skin and laying their eggs wherever they could find purchase. Shuddering, I blessed myself and prayed to God to alleviate the suffering of the tormented soul. Then I paused. I stared hard at the face of the head. I recognised it then as the Head Friar, Diego de Landa. He it was who had led us in our attempted conversion of the Mayan people. He was an awesome man, a Goliath, with hands like shovels and a righteous self-belief that

brooked no disagreement.

I could not feel sorry for him. I caught myself in the act of trying to. It is what is expected. Then coldness crept into me and I looked at him with a frozen heart. In truth I despised the man and all that he stood for. De Landa had marched around like a giant grinding everything and everyone in his way into submission. The Maya had suffered greatly his zealous vindictiveness. He was bent not only on changing their religion but on destroying their culture, their statues and temples and burying forever all signs of this peoples’ past so that it may never be exhumed. He believed with a passion verging on madness

that the Lord had given him this mission and any word said against it was blasphemy.

De Landa had disappeared three weeks previous, a short time after a Mayan temple at Tikal had been torched at his command. Great ancient statues depicting the natives' god Quetzalcoatl had been smashed in the raid and some of the friars had hinted that de Landa's disappearance had supernatural grounds. It was while searching for him that I had been captured.

I looked away from him up to the hole in the ceiling and decided that if I got out of this I would try to right some of the wrongs this man had done

to the Mayan people, if it was not too late for that.

I caught the swinging vine and immediately let it go again. It had stung me. I looked at my hands and saw spots of blood emerging from several small but deep gashes. When I inspected the rope more closely I saw that it was interwoven with hundreds and hundreds of tiny obsidian fragments, sharp as knives. The whole rope was like this I realised. Then the horror of the situation dawned on me.

This is what my captors had planned for me. If I climbed up the rope I would suffer terrible lacerations, I would have to support my entire body weight from hands with hundreds of glass-like

shards digging into them and climb thirty foot that way and if I chose not to do this I would die here.

I felt myself gulp in a great breath of air, conscious of the involuntary working of my body, conscious of the weakness of it and the pain I already was feeling. Can I stand more, I wondered? I knew I could. Some deep part of me, the part that drove me to join the White Friars has always craved suffering. Suffering, penance pain and sin. The insatiable appetite for sin constantly gnaws at me. It has always been there, eating at my very soul and only through pain can I have some surcease. I should have been delighted

at my predicament then. Instead I felt nothing. A static calm had descended on me and I felt that the festering waters of my heinous soul had risen up. A tenuous balance had been struck within me between the darkness and the light. Despite myself I felt comfortable with this peace, this stillness of the spirit. Perhaps a person needs a certain element of evil to attain this balance. Perhaps to truly know your enemy you must embrace his ways.

I began to free the head from the end of the rope. My thoughts were of casting it into the dark waters below. I might have even said a few words over

the deceased. What folly! De Landa’s head made a perfect foot hold. I was sure he would have approved. Apart from that, if I did not attempt to climb the spiked rope, starvation may have led me to eventually eat the Friar’s head.

So after kneeling to pray a decade of the rosary, I began my escape attempt. Firstly I bandaged my hands as best as I could with the material that had been used to blindfold me. I could not employ too much though lest I sacrifice mobility. Then I jumped up and down to loosen my muscles and warm my blood. Finally I looked down again to the waters below. If

only there had been another way. But there was not. What I was about to do was what I had to do. But I wondered.

How far have they taken me? If I do escape where will I be? Will I emerge in the centre of one of the Mayas’ ancient cities only to be struck down?

Finally, I realised, these questions only mattered if I actually made it out, and there was no guarantee that would happen.

I reached again for the new calmness that was within me and when I found it I began to climb. I made about twelve foot of progress very quickly. Then without warning my energy gave out. I had held my breath

for this burst. Now my body screamed for air. Also I had only used the strength of my arms and hands to climb so far. Now I was forced to use my legs to give me extra support and they were not protected against the obsidian shards save for the cotton breeches I wore. The flesh on the side of my knees was gashed so many times that in a very short time the pain below my waist became a dull fire compared to the pain in my arms.

I struggled on; gulping the air and it was at this point that the calmness within me was utterly obliterated. Now my mind was a battleground seen through the red mist of blood. There existed no longer darkness or light.

Only chaos survived. Smoke from the flames of insanity whispered through this night time of my soul threatening to suffocate all. My mind heaved as the two opposing forces clashed, leaving death and the promise of damnation in their wake. Where one force had gained, eruptions of fire remained like scar tissue that would never heal. Above this was the deafening roar of my thoughts trying to distract me from the agony I was suffering and the sound of my heart beating like a distant canon.

Through all of this I still climbed. I did not see how far I had come.

Neither did I ascertain how far I had to go. I dimly saw the rope through a

shower of sparks that rained over my vision. I vaguely recognised my hand as it passed close to my cheek with the swathe hanging uselessly like a broken sail from the mast of my wrist, and my flesh punctured and giving way like soft cheese come from a nightmare, leaking rivers of blood. How I slowed then, to the point where I felt I no longer moved at all.

I remember some detached part of me coming to a realisation, which was that as long as the battle raged within my mind I could keep going. For this reason I submerged myself totally till all that existed was the anger and rage. I began moving again. Air rushed in and out of me like the tide in a sea

cave. Seeping into the narrowest cracks, soothing, feeding, then slipping away with a hush, and with every breath the tide took with it something of me; shingles of my life; silt of my being. This was the price I paid. Here were the casualties of my inner struggle.

At some point I emerged. I left a bloody handprint on the ledge of the opening and clambered out. I rolled into a ball, fighting for the sustenance of air, shuddering against the pain that engulfed me and recoiling against the glimpse of my surroundings that told me I was not free. My mind rejected the soul smiting fact that all my struggles had been in vain. I dismissed

it all and once again I slept. ...

There came into my slumber the sensation that somebody breathed on me but when I awoke it was only the night-time wind. I got slowly up into a sitting position, my back against the cool stone wall, careful not to use my hands and wary of the hole beside me.

There were few sounds in the night to give me a clue as to my whereabouts.

Sinister sounding animal calls carried to me but they were distant.

Predominant was the hissing and the bubbling of the water down below.

I could not see anything except for

the four high walls that surrounded me and a portion of the sky. The same sky I had seen from down below which had meant freedom to me then but now only mocked me. I felt a lump harden in my throat and the corners of my mouth pulled down with sadness.

Tears welled in my eyes blurring the stars. All my fight was gone. I was trapped and all I could think of was that it was not fair. It was not just. I was not a really bad man. After all, I did my best to serve my God and my church. I certainly did not deserve this.

Especially me - because it hurt!

A great dramatic, childish sob escaped me and immediately I became self-conscious. Without thinking I

looked to the top of the wall to see if anyone had witnessed my dramatics, then realising what I had done I began laughing uncontrollably. Here I was in the middle of a secret pyramid in the wilderness, captured and tortured by savages and I was worrying that someone might hear me crying. What a disgrace that would be. Shame would be my name. Never more would I be able to hold my head high in the circles of the aristocratic jungle dwellers. I laughed so hard my sides ached in unison with the rest of my aches.

“Ha ha ha ha haaaaah,” I laughed.

“Oh oh oh oh oh ohhhhh,” I cried. And the laughing seemed tragic and the

crying hilarious. Distant shrieking monkeys competed with my outcries.

Birds flew from their dusky roosts in panic. Thus I continued until it pained me too much. Everywhere ached. My body was a symphony of suffering. But I cared not for it in that moment for I had brought up my last defence; my humour. I sat back against the smooth rock as little chuckles ebbed away from me. Beyond the walls that imprisoned me the nocturnal animals increased their wailing as if to blot out the competition that was my laughter. Oh, let them have the night, I thought tiredly and I lay back thinking.

The thought that this captivity might cause me to go mad crossed my

mind. That's another one of my preoccupations that I have entertained since a child; that I will go mad, I mean. But at that moment I did not think it likely. Suffering has a way of cleansing the mind - up to a point. It is in times of trial that we realise the triviality of commonplace considerations. We worry so much about so many things of so little importance. It is in these moments of hardship that our true nature is visible to us. We only have to look. So what was my true nature? I left the question unanswered but I think the answer was becoming unavoidable. I reached behind me to cool my ruined fingers on the cold stone. That is when I

discovered the gap. My right hand went back further than it should have and when I turned around I saw that at the base of the wall there was a gap twice as wide as my body, which went back some distance. If I wanted to crawl through it I would have to get down on my knees or perhaps even my belly. I was not sure that I wanted to do this in the darkness however. I was not sure that I wanted to be anywhere near that tunnel at all. Then the thought occurred to me that my captors might return in the morning. I had to do it. I had to go on.

Swallowing my fear of what might be lurking in the shadows just beyond my sight, I began to edge my way in.

The little light there had been outside was soon replaced by absolute darkness. The air I passed through was stagnant and gave me little hope. If there had been a breeze I would have felt it, even a zephyr, for my senses had become very keen. This was caused by my fear I think. I was aware of the smell and the texture of the rock and the weight of my own body.

After a little while the tunnel became thinner so I had to crawl on my stomach to move along. Also it began to slope downwards before me, the angle of the descent increasing until I had to use my hands to stop myself from sliding. My hands were little use for this in their present

painful state. I caught one of them on a sharp piece of rock and instinctively drew it back. My hold was released.

The slope took me.

I slid down the tunnel screaming into the rock. I could not turn and I certainly could not stop myself. I am going to be impaled on a spike, I thought, I am going to come to a tiny dead end where I won’t be able to move and I will have to stay there until starvation and insanity finally take me.

Please God let this end!

Whether or not God heard me I did not know but the tunnel did come to an end after turning me on my back and levelling out. I lay there looking up and I could see light spilling through a

crack just before me. Touching the two sides of the crack I discovered the top of the tunnel here was wooden. It was a way out, or another trap. I reasoned that I had done all I was supposed to do so far. I had taken the only option presented to me all along despite my fear and I was still alive. Perhaps I was invulnerable.

I pushed out the two sides of the opening and for a moment was blinded by a golden light that filled this place. I emerged squinting from a roughly hewn sarcophagus into a vast chamber lit all around with torches.

Great statues were carved into the circular walls, many of them depicting the Mayan god Quetzalcoatl, though I

glimpsed some of the lesser Mayan deities. All of them were lavishly adorned with a king’s ransom of gold and jewels. One of the statues of Quetzalcoatl had a sword of gold twelve foot long, its hilt encrusted with a rainbow of coloured gems. Below this statue was a throne upon which a figure sat watching me. Despite the fact that the chamber was brightly lit I could not make out the man’s features.

I strode forward, anger rising in me.

'Why do you play games with me?' I yelled. I wanted to batter his ears with my words. I wanted the force of my fury to pummel him. 'You stinking savage! Answer me! What is it that I

have done that has provoked you to torture me so?' I waved my ruined hands at him. He was not moving though; he did not react at all. I changed to speaking in Mayan and said, 'Do you not know that the Spanish army could wipe out totally all that remains of the Mayan culture? Is that not what this is about? Is that what you want? That is what you will achieve by attacking Franciscan monks who only came to spread the love of God.' I practically spat the words out in vehemence. I strode forward again. I had to see this man. I had to understand why he did not answer me.

I still felt unassailable but I also felt that I carried with me the power and

the righteousness of the Lord. It was only when I was six paces away from the throne that my eyes penetrated the shadows and I perceived for the first time the thing that sat on the throne.

I stopped as if all the breath had been sucked out of me, as if I had walked into an invisible wall and my jaw dropped open as I stared at the beast before me. It had a man’s body with a huge build. It was at least eight foot tall, that massive throne had only made it look small. Its skin was a greyish colour and was made up of scales like a snake’s skin. Its hands had great claws on the end of each finger and its head was that of a jaguar. As I

stared, it opened its powerful jaws and such a roar emanated from it that I thought my head would burst.

I was running then, all thoughts of invulnerability gone from my mind.

Every thought gone except that will to escape, and terror. I ran with all my might but I could not escape from the nightmare. It was as though I were running on sand. All the time I could hear the beast’s padded footfalls just behind me and the hiss of its fetid breath that seemed to suck all of the air out of the chamber. My heart beat like thunder in my chest and my breath rushed in and out of me in strangled gasps. Panic kept me going

where I would usually have collapsed with exhaustion. Still it was to no avail.

The creature’s claw caught my ankle and sent me spinning to the ground. I hit the dirt with immense force but in an instant I was getting to my feet. It was too late though; the monster pounced on top of me knocking me to the ground. I felt the dryness of its scaly skin and the heat of its breath on my face. I saw its fangs bearing down on me as it looked with yellow cat-like eyes at me. Then the beast began to shake with some convulsion that racked its body. Its maw pulled back with the force of the spasm then it forcefully seized my jaw and pressed its claws in until my mouth was forced

open. A dull groaning sound came from the beast as it mouth trembled. I tried to turn my head, having an insight into what it intended but I could not budge. The beast leaned over me so that our mouths were almost touching, then it opened its mouth and a vile black liquid began to fill mine. I screamed and violently tried to escape from this abomination but as soon as the first drop hit the back of my throat I was paralysed. I could not but swallow even as my body and mind revolted against this. When it was over the creature went to grab the rosary beads that hung around my neck but as soon as it touched the cross it recoiled. I closed my eyes as a

painful convulsion shook my body.

When at last I could look again the beast was nowhere to be seen.

Presently I got to my feet, not an easy task as I felt utterly defeated, my vision was fogged and my whole body trembled gently with some internal paroxysm. I was beyond solace, far beyond despair and so tired as to be unconcerned what horrid predicament fate would have me suffer next. I staggered away from where the beast had attacked me. The tunnel I now found myself in was roughly hewn from the bare rock; torches distantly spaced provided scant light but the way was straight and inclined

downwards. Though still delirious, at some point I became aware of a rhythmic pounding, which I took at first to be the beating of my heart, loud in my ears. I discovered later that it was the sound of drums. A short time later I emerged into a great cavernous chamber. All around me were chanting, angry-looking natives.

When they saw me their chanting, and the beating of drums stopped.

An ominous murmur went through the hordes. Then with a great scream one of the savages charged out of the crowd. He raised his spear, about to launch it at me but another stepped out and blocked his way. There was an

angry confrontation between the two which ended when the blocker, a chief by the looks of him, drew his sword and in a swift movement cut the other’s throat. After that the natives parted allowing me to pass. All of them glared at me in angry silence.

Ahead of me was the blinding light of the outside world. When I emerged into the sunlight I expected at any moment to be seized but the natives just watched me go. It was only when I got to the bottom of the steps to the buildings that a young brave launched a spear at me. Thankfully his aim was off and it clattered to the ground beside me. But it was enough to

reawaken my survival instinct. At the bottom of the steps to the ancient building was a path leading into the rainforest. I plunged into it. ...

I ran for a long time without knowing where I was going. I only wanted to get as far away as possible from the place of my imprisonment.

No other thought entered my mind.

My run became at last a stagger and soon I could go no further. I felt like there was no blood in my body or that I had died as I ran and left my body somewhere behind me. I collapsed trembling and sobbing and lay staring up above at the heavens. The rising

sun had reached its zenith sending great shafts of light where it pierced the dense foliage of the treetops. All around me birds were finding their voices and somewhere close was the sound of running water.

The grass beneath me was still damp with the mornings dew but the habit I still wore was irritating me.

There was really very little left of it so with what felt like the last of my energy I slipped out of it and lay on the grass naked but for the tattered remnants of my breeches. I lay there for a long time enjoying the feeling and before long I had dosed off.

My eyes opened to see the face of a young Mayan woman close to mine,

looking at me with an expression somewhere between concern and fear.

I lifted my head a little but feeling both drowsy and relaxed let it fall again. The girl could have been no older than fifteen years but she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She had long brown platted hair that hung down to her breasts, which were also beautiful, rounded but not yet fully grown. I frowned at some thought that floated into the back of my mind. I could not get grasp it though so I let it go.

The girl knelt beside me. “You sick.

I heal,� she whispered in halting Spanish. She wore a headband of white flowers of type unfamiliar to me

and she was whispering words that I could not understand. Whisperingand I was captivated even with the movements of her dark full lips. She plucked a petal off one of the flowers from her headband and began rubbing it into the skin of my chest. Its touch was at first like ice on my flesh but then that feeling was replaced by a strange glow that spread out through my chest. It was a feeling of vitality but it was also relaxing. I sighed and let her continue. Then she repeated the procedure with the petal moving lower on my body.

I contented myself with lying back and looking up at the leafy canopy high above. The girl’s caresses were

making me quite exhilarated. It was like a dream.

As I looked up at the trees, something caught my eye. Something was hanging from one of the branches.

I could see it but could not discern what it was, as though my mind would not let me know. It bothered me though because it detracted from my mood. I squinted but that did no good so I pointed at it but could only vent my annoyance with a small moan.

Now the girl looked to see what caused my angst. When she spotted the offending item she leaped up off me and ran and seized it. Immediately as her hand grabbed it a shriek of horror escaped her and she let go of it.

She turned to face me, tears welling in her young dark eyes and showed me her hand. The centre of her palm was bleeding from a crucifix shaped wound.

The sight of this wound brought me back to my senses. I was quickly on my feet and looking around. The garments I had been wearing were nowhere to be seen. The girl stepped closer to me as if expecting me to comfort her but I backed away, her nakedness and my own frightening me.

Powerful feelings were surging through my entire being. A shiver coursed my spine and my right leg involuntarily began to take a step forward, but I stopped myself in time and stood still

once more. I was conscious of my breath, a powerful thing coming shakily in and out of me and I swallowed hard for my mouth was watering. It was a terrible state to be in. I felt trapped by my own desires and all I could do was stare at the woman. Damnation! She was little more than a child.

Still she looked at me with a plea in her eyes, her wounded hand out before her bleeding much more than it should have been from such a small wound. Here entire hand was covered in blood now, four streams of it trickling from the ends of her fingertips.

'Heal me,' she said in Mayan. But I

did not react. It was as though I was transfixed with her. I had obviously been drugged somehow but even in my dulled state I knew exactly what it would take to heal her, and quite against my vows.

'If I die it will be your doing, Euphames,' she said. Why she called me this name I did not know but it seemed familiar, yet distant.

'Can you not heal yourself?' I said, though my voice cracked and I was unsure whether she had understood.

'Only you,' she replied. Now there was blood right down her arm, her stomach was drenched in it and it was running down her legs.

'NO!' I screamed. 'It is a trick! A

deception! You try to weaken me.

What for I do not know, but it will not work. What sort of a creature are you luring me with your brazen ways? I walk in the light of the Lord and he shall protect me. Now begone demon!

Why do you laugh at me?' I was furious now because the longer I looked at the woman the more affect she was having on me and perversely, the sight of the blood between her legs was stirring me even more. It was all I could do to restrain myself from grabbing her and smearing the blood all over her body, having it smeared all over my own.

This is what angered me, my own lust, but the more I yelled the more amusing the girl seemed to find it.

A change had come about her also.

She no longer pleaded with me. She stood with her hands on her hips and a defiant look in her eye. When she stopped laughing she stared at me and her gaze burned me. There was no humour in it whatsoever.

'Oh, so you would not stoop to save a poor peasant girl?' she hissed.

'You would rather she died in a pool of her own blood, even though by her suffering she is trying to help you. You do not deserve help! You have sealed your fate but not only this, you have sealed the fates of thousands who will suffer because of what is inside you, and so I have failed.'

It was as if frenzy overtook her

then. She began clawing at the skin of her throat. Her hand moved with a strange elegance. For a moment all I could think of was how they reminded me of butterfly wings fluttering gracefully, then the first jet of blood flew and I sprang forward trying to seize the girl. I reached for her hands but she was too fast, too slippery.

More and more blood gushed from the rupture she had created and through it all was the sound of her gurgling laughter, fading as her strength ebbed.

I prayed then to the lord, asking for help but the girl spat a mouthful of blood at me. I reached again for her arms and this time I succeeded but she sank to the ground and in her last

moment she looked at me, and what I saw in her eyes utterly terrified me.

Pity; that is what I saw, pity for me, and what lay before me. Then she was dead.

I looked up at the sun. The canopy was cramming up the sky, like ivy, choking it. But I could still see it, dancing in the sky, scattering its grains of light like a woman throwing food to hens. Hens are like fire. When they spread their wings it is like a small explosion of colour. I got the picture in my mind, a hen picking at the seeds of light - then as if I were watching the fire hit me and I feel my arms pinwheeling. A great precipice to the ground below and my legs have

become tree trunks gnarled, huge bowls the bottom of which I cannot see. Eager leaves are spreading out, reaching up, and seeking light. The sight of their movement sends me over the edge. Now I am falling like a grain of light to a valley floor where hundreds of insectile hens await. I float gently down like a feather landing softly but I cannot find my feet. Then the hens come circling me plucking at my tiny form and I think that all this was inevitable. I hear my own voice shouting, 'I walk in the lake of the light of the flame - again and again and again and again.' Then I wave a genial finger at the hen that has seized me.

Nevertheless it tosses me into the air

and I come down in its mouth.

Darkness smothers, then my world explodes in a flame that ends everything. Heaven and hell are gone, vanished into the billowing orange heat which rises and intensifies orange to yellow to white to nothing. ...

'Shh now, it was a dream methinks, a dream it were.'

Dirty Face.

'Are you wakin'? 'Course y' do.

Sleep follows waking, pain follows blood, what I do now, it’s for your own good.'

Pain exploded behind my eyes.

The dirty face looked down at his

fist, amazed at what it had done.

Could this be used to inflict pain, his expression said. Dirty face licked his lips. Then he hit me again. I felt a crunching in my nose and I saw a white flash before me - just in front of my face was a wall of pain. I could not see any more but I tried to crawl around the wall. I felt warmth running down my face and neck. It did not occur to me that this was my blood however, so numbed were my senses. Dimly I realised that I was awake, that this was actually happening. Horrible reality was following horrible dream. I did not trust myself and so strong was this feeling that I felt like saying it aloud.

No need to shout, just explain that

sorry for the bother but I just cannot trust myself.

Somewhere behind the pain in my nose was a far deeper wound. I could feel it, in my chest - a gash going down to my gut. A wave of nausea filled me as I realised this and there was the fear - the gargantuan fear that my innards might spill out beneath me.

I opened my eyes and saw a shape in the dark. Dirty face looking excitedly insane. I shuffled away snatching puffs of precious air. Prisoner again I was.

Some sort of cell but not Mayan.

Spanish. They had found me. They had shot me! I remembered. Why? More remembrance came. The face of Fray Diego de Landa was a strong image in

the swirling pool of my mind. So he was alive. No, I could not be sure. I could not trust my mind.

The girl, they had seen me over the dead body of her. They must have thought...

Dirty face seized my foot and disrupted my thoughts. Shock and blood loss had reduced me to the brink of unconsciousness. I swear it was only my will that carried me on.

But all at once I felt a surge of hope.

My body was weak but my will was strong and my faith was strong and my mind and my soul.

I turned to regard my dirty-faced cellmate.

'I will not be beaten,' I said in a

matter of fact way. 'If I have sinned then let my suffering be my penance.' I pulled my foot but he would not let go. 'I shall not lay down and die.' I pulled again. 'I am strong in the faith of the Lord.' Saying the words made me feel better but I did not really know whom I was trying to convince.

Still I strove to escape my foe but he held on with a vengeance. Then from somewhere he produced an obsidian dagger. He waved it menacingly in the air. Upon seeing it I redoubled my efforts. But it would not work and the mad man plunged the knife through the base of my foot, out through the other side and into the mud. I passed out.

I awoke with the heat of the sun on my face, on my body and on my mind, which sought, on its return to lucidity, to scurry away into some dark recess like some nocturnal creature disturbed from its lair, only timidly poking its nose into Sol's glare to discern the cause of its danger. What a confused state I had been brought to I can only attempt to describe. Thoughts came to me or rather they advanced on me from some dark place within, a great many thoughts and ideas, marching up behind me so that it occurred to me that I might suddenly be a genius. I might have been were it not for the fact that every time I turned to regard me surreptitious notions they would

stand still and I would be unable to judge their purpose.

The outside shapes consolidated themselves into a courtyard, buildings, gallows and a great many number of Franciscans who I recognised. I swallowed to wet my mouth but my throat was also dry. Sweat and the smell of it adorned my body, covered in rags and stained with blood.

Wherefore did they bring me out into the burning heat? Wherefore did they leave me lying on the dust where my wounds might fester and cause me to be ill? Ill; that is what they thought of me.

All around me were the pious ones, their mouths poised in contrition. A

stray thought; has the struggle been for this? What end? I grabbed a nearby robe and felt that I had not the full complement of digits on my right hand. The pious face scowled down at me and, 'Stop shouting,' said. But I wasn't and I remember clearly knowing that my mouth was firm shut and yet, 'This will go badly for you if you do not desist your ranting!' I spun around to be sure there was no other person to whom he may be referring but none stood behind. None, so I brought my lacking hand to my face and felt the muscles of my jaw. Thereupon my shock was broken and I heard myself scream, 'It's me who is saying this, which I

utter with the workings of my jaw. The lord works in mischievous ways. I can feel it. I can sense it. I had not been able to but I can hear it.'

I let out a great bellow of laughter as I was struck over the head and I laughed still as I felt a new dampness at my abdomen. I laughed and laughed. I had not heard or known that I had spoken. I laughed until my sides split. I felt it happen and I laughed as my mind was rent and then they dragged me up to the gallows and then they stuck my head through the noose and then they took up all the slack. It was in the midst of these events that my laughter died and once more I became sober and my wits

returned.

The courtyard had taken on an expectant silence. I could see the other prisoners now and I saw that among them a young Mayan woman stood.

She looked at me - some strange look trust in me, her delicate mouth whispered and her eyes pleaded. I gave her a slight nod for what it was worth. A monk beside me saw the exchange and angrily pulled a lever. I smiled at him as the door beneath failed to fall away. Then there was the sound of gunfire and arrows were filling the air. The Mayans are here, I thought. An unruly procession. A progression from calm to riot. The Mayans advanced like vengeful furies

and the Spanish could not hope to withstand the onslaught. They simply could not reload their weapons quickly enough.

Then before me a spear-wielding native appeared. His face contorted into a grimace of pure hatred and he charged at me. The next thing I knew I was falling. The trap door had opened.

How many thoughts can pass through a man’s mind in a single instance? How many memories? I do not like to overstate things or exaggerate but I am sure that every memory that I ever had passed through my mind in that moment of falling and waiting for death, not in an ordered way, random but all

encompassing. Nor was it simply memories of actions. Sensations that I had felt as a child were remembered, urges I felt as a young man, anger that I held back as a novice, and below every memory like some low background noise barely heard but always there was sadness. It was always there.

I hit the ground with enough force to send my senses reeling again. It was some time before I even realised that I had avoided death twice in that instant. The spear had missed me and had cut the rope before the noose could tighten. I performed a mental examination of my body. I tried to

count the places that did not cause me pain, believing it would be quicker than the other way.

After a short time I decided that to focus my consciousness on my pain was to increase it. Seeking to distract myself, I observed my surroundings.

As I looked up I saw that the young Mayan prisoner girl stood before me. I looked at her warily, not willing to trust anyone. She merely stood there regarding me and her expression betrayed little. At least there was no anger in her face and she did not seem about to try and seduce me into sins of the flesh. Still my patience was very thin at this time and I asked her what she wanted of me. In perfect Spanish

she spoke and said: 'I have been sent to take you away from the suffering.' She tilted her head and the vaguest hint of a smile touched her lips as if she found her own words amusing. Then the humour was gone as she looked hard at me and asked, 'Will you trust me?' she said. I told her I would.

She led me to a river. I did not know it. It did not look at all familiar.

Banks of lush green vegetation ran along its edges but the trees whose drooping branches trailed in the water were of a kind unknown to me. Also it seemed that as we drew closer to it the ever-present humidity in the air

vanished to be replaced by air so fresh it made my flesh tingle. When we reached the bank the girl stopped and turned to look at me.

'Now is the time for talking,' she said.

'What would you have me speak of?' I asked 'Not you speaking priest. I speaking.’ She waited for some kind of acknowledgement from me. I gave a small not. She continued. ‘All is not as it seems. You must think that you were taken prisoner because my people were angry at your being here. This is only partly true but for me to explain you must be prepared to accept things that you

may think strange...'

I had seen enough strange things in the last couple of days to make me accept anything as being possible.

'Continue,' I said.

'Firstly you must understand that the Mayan culture is dying. Even before the Spanish came it was in decline. This is because of a change in the order of things. The old gods are in decline. Soon they will be gone but they will not go easily. So we appease them to make the passing an easy one.

The Spanish come and all of that changes. They smash the statues and burn the temples and now the old gods are enraged. The elders became fearful of the gods’ anger and so

announced that a sacrifice had to be made to the beast, a creature of evil trapped for long ages in the pyramid at Tikal. You were to be the sacrifice.'

'It was all a mistake though. Never had one not of the Maya been sacrificed so none knew what would happen. The beast used you to escape.

It is inside you now.'

I shook my head at the lunacy of the girls’ words but the look in her eyes defied disbelief. 'Who are you?' I asked.

She smiled as she said, 'I am Zechyl Tzachin.'

As the girl spoke her name it was as if a hidden intensity within her was revealed for me to see and suddenly

before me was something human but more so. In that instant I knew that the being I faced could destroy me on a whim, I knew that what I beheld was akin to an angel.

I fell to my knees in rapture as a feeling of sublime wonderment washed over me for even though I knew that Zechyl Tzachin was no angel of the Lord I worshipped, it was apparent to me that she was a powerful force of good.

She placed a hand on my shoulder and bid me rise and when I did she spoke once more.

'Because of your differing faith the Beast was able to use you as a host and my people could not act. The girl

in the forest, sent at my bidding, tried to make you act against your faith and thus lure the beast into her body. She failed in that but by giving her life in this way she ensures that in death the beast will be transferred to her spirit so that when she is reborn she may battle it.'

I looked at the ground. 'I thought her evil,' was all I could say.

'You were not to know. Simply understand her bravery. She gave her life for you. But who knows, you may have a chance to repay her in your next life.'

'But this is not my faith. I do not believe in reincarnation.'

'You rejected your faith when you

accepted me. You may very well be reborn. But enough talk. Now it is time for you to leave this place.

'Yes I must return to my brother monks. I must explain.'

The woman looked at me gravely.

'Have you understood nothing? There is no going back. Your life as a priest is over. You did not survive the hanging.

And so it was that I found out. How strange it was. I did not even reject the idea. After all I was talking to an angel.

Zechyl Tzachin made it very easy for me. I know now that she was using her powers to subdue the fear that would have risen in me otherwise. She took me by the hand and led me into the

river, out into the centre where the current was strongest. But she held me and embraced me and in her arms at last I knew peace and an end to pain, and I asked myself, what do I believe in now, and the answer I came up with was the river. I believe in the river, and after a while the river took me.