Authors: Lars Teeney
“Por favor, señor. Sólo necesitaba dinero
extra para mi familia. El poster que le ayuda con eso. (Please, sir. I just
needed extra money for my family. The cartel helped with that,) the man
trembled as he spoke.
“Esto no es una defensa de sus acciones.
Muy bien. Crucifixión será prescrito por este hombre. Que Dios se apiade de su
alma. (This is not a defense of your actions. Very well. Crucifixion will be
prescribed for this man. May God have mercy on your soul.)” Carafa waved his
hand in dismissal. The man pleaded in vain. Two armed men grabbed the condemned
man by each side and dragged him out of the cathedral. Consuela had mixed feelings
about the man’s sentence. She had come for justice against the cartel, because
of what they did to her brother, but Monsignor Carafa had just condemned a
man who got involved with the cartel for the same reason her brother did. She
wondered if she had pursued the right course of action.
Monsignor Carafa and the three Friars approached Consuela. They stood before her staring intently. Consuela felt knots in her stomach.
“Consuela Grajales. ¿Tiene intención de
unirse a las filas de la Orden? (Consuela Grajales. Do you intend to join the
ranks of the Order?)” Carafa asked her, his meaning was ambiguous.
“Supongo, (I guess,)” was all she could
manage.
“Muy bien. Prepare su para recibir las Heridas. (Very well. Prepare her for the wounds,)” Carafa ordered. With that, the Friars seized Consuela by the arms and dragged her from the pew. She struggled, and an image flashed in her head of her hanging from a cross by the town gate. The Friars brought her in front of the throne, under the pentagram banner. Friar Benedict removed her boots and socks over her protests. Friar Francis and Friar Pius tore off her shirt and left her bare-chested. Friar Pius and Friar Francis then held her arms outstretched. Monsignor Carafa pulled out a small dagger and grabbed Consuela’s right hand.
“Ahora recibirá las Heridas. (Now receive the Wounds,). Carafa exclaimed. Consuela shrieked with fear. He drove the blade into her palm, but only deep enough to pierce the skin and draw blood. She felt humiliated and fearful but went along with it. He did the same things to her other limbs. But, then he walked to the throne and picked a nondescript shaft. He pressed something on the shaft and white-hot plasma shot out from the top end. The sight of the plasma spear terrified her. She thought he would run her through with the spear. She couldn’t help but try to break free. It was in vain, as the Friars had her restrained securely. Monsignor Carafa brought the tip near the side of her ribcage. He held the tip of the plasma blade near the skin and it seared her flesh. Consuela let out a piercing scream of pain. When Carafa was satisfied that the scar would be permanent he pulled the spear away. The Friars released her and she collapsed to the cathedral floor: naked, bleeding and burned.
“Ahora tiene las cinco llagas de Cristo. Bienvenido a la Orden del Pentagrama, Friar Valentine. (You now have the five wounds of Christ. Welcome to the Order of the Pentagram, Friar Valentine,)” The Monsignor proclaimed, “Traiga su traje. (Bring her outfit.)” With that order the Friars disinfected her wounds, then bound them in bandages. Friar Francis brought an Order uniform for her. The Friars helped dress her in the Order garb. This morning didn’t quite go how Consuela thought it would go, especially not before breakfast.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
Blaze-Scorch tried to digest the story she
had just been told by Angel-Seraphim. She didn’t know what to say. It made Blaze’s own experience
leading up to being “born again” looked like a theme park ride compared to what
had transpired in Angel’s past.
“Holy hell, girl. You truly have been through the ringer,” she exclaimed, and laid a hand on Angel’s shoulder.
“Not done yet,” Angel said plainly. There
was so much she could tell. Angel and Blaze had finished sweeping the S.S. Cape
Jacob, so they headed for a rope ladder that had been lowered to a motorboat.
The two descended the rope ladder and took a seat. The boat would transport
them to the next ship to be searched. They sat in silence for a few
minutes, but the curiosity got the best of Blaze.
“Wait, so they gave you stigmata and stabbed you with a plasma spear?” Blaze asked.
“Si,” Angel confirmed.
“Would it be weird to ask if I can see
your hands?” Blaze was feeling bold.
“Si. You can.” Angel was wearing a pair of
cutoff gloves, she pulled one off, then the other. She held out her palms
in front of her for Blaze to see. The scars stood out.
“Holy shit. Those guys are crazy,” Blaze
remarked. She was fairly shocked to learn about what was happening south of the
border. Dealing with the Church of New Megiddo was one thing, but then to learn
that there was another fundamentalist threat to the south was something else
she wasn’t prepared for. What if they defeated the Church of New Megiddo only for
another set of zealots to seize power? She didn’t want to think about it.
“Yes, at time I didn’t know how much,”
Angel replied, putting her gloves back on her hands.
The outboard motorboat was ferrying them
to an oil tanker. The two woman looked up at the massive hulk of a ship, then
turned to look at each other.
“They want us to sweep this thing?
It’s going to take forever,” Blaze snorted in disbelief.
“Well, it will give plenty time to tell
story,” Angel joked.
The pair ascended the metal ladder on the side of the hull to the weather deck and began their sweep.
“By all means, please continue,” Blaze
requested with a smile on her face.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
Friar Valentine hiked the hood of her cloak over her head to ward off the warm rain. She was trotting her gelding at a steady pace, along with the other Friars. The column of the Order had left Rama. In their wake, they left twelve crucified bodies at the gate. They were sending a message to the people, and to the cartels: Societatum Pentagram law was the only law to heed.
Riding a horse was nothing new to Friar Valentine, as she had done it for years back on the homestead. Dressing the way she did on horseback made her feel self-conscientious. Did she look ridiculous or did she look like a knight of old? It mattered little, though, as long as it inspired fear in the hearts of the cartel members. And, from reports it looked like it was working. She rode ahead of a marching column of soldiers. She could see that they were just peasants working for the Order out of fear or devotion to God; most served for the money. A few did it because they were psychopaths.
The Order was traveling west on Route
Seven, the way she originally came. She considered it ironic to be returning to
her home region at the head of a private army. The Order was heading to a town
called Santo Tomás, which was located on a major highway junction in the
region. The Order was intent on having a showdown there with cartel forces. The
strategy was to drive west to the Pacific and cut the cartel smuggling routes
completely in two. The Order really had no idea how strong the cartel presence
was in this town, but then they really didn’t seem to care, because they
considered the Lord to be on their side.
Friar Valentine wondered if they would
pass through her town of Nueva Grenada. She didn’t know how her family would
react to seeing her as she was dressed. Would they be proud or think her crazy?
Surely they would be proud if they knew that she was taking a stand against the
Cartel? She would attempt to get the column to pass through her town, or at
least she would visit herself. Friar Valentine had thoughts of returning to
liberate her town, and being celebrated as a hero.
Friar Valentine had found the Order strange: for one thing, they were steeped in traditional Church dogma and ancient methods of punishment. But, then in other ways they were extremely progressive. The Monsignor made no exceptions between genders. They had only one title for members: Friar. The Order also stripped initiates of their given names, replacing them with those of old Catholic monikers. She had no choice in the matter. She wondered if the Monsignor gave them out arbitrarily or had a method to his madness. Friar Francis willed her gelding up alongside Friar Valentine’s mount.
“Friar Valentine, ¿Cómo estás manejando el paseo? (Friar Valentine, How are you handling the ride?) she asked, gauging if she was going to be a weak link.
“Hola. Usted no tiene que preocuparse por
mí. Crecí con los caballos. (Hi. You don’t have to worry about me. I grew up
with horses,)” Friar Valentine reassured.
“Escuchar. Cuando se espera que la lucha
comienza a estar al frente. (Listen. When the fight begins expect to be at the
forefront,)” Friar Francis instructed, ducking her head under an oncoming
branch.
“Creo que entiendo. (I think I
understand,)” Friar Valentine acknowledged.
“Nuestro ejército son campesinos realmente asustados. Huyen sin liderazgo. (Our army are really frightened peasants. They flee without leadership,)” Friar Francis added. She made the danger plenty apparent. She would begin her first battle riding on horseback into a hail of gunfire. It didn’t seem like the greatest plan in the world. She hoped that they had some more sophisticated stratagem at hand. Friar Francis nodded her head and peeled away from Friar Valentine. She had not seen Friar Benedict and his signature supply wagon for a few days. Valentine had wondered why he was not present hauling supplies and provisioning the men, especially since he was a Friar of the Order.
Monsignor Carafa came galloping up to
Friar Valentine’s horse from further back in the column.
“Saludos, Friar Valentine. Confío en que
el viaje es algo que usted está acostumbrado a, ya que han crecido en esta
región?” (Greetings, Friar Valentine. I trust that the journey is something
that you are accustomed to, since you have grown up in this region?) Monsignor
Carafa had asked. He had sensed a toughness in Valentine. She figured that was the reason he had given her a place in
the Order so rapidly.
“Escucha, hay tácticas específicas que utilizamos en nuestras batallas. Además de ser dado los títulos de las Llagas de Cristo recibió, también corresponden a la disposición del campo de batalla. A medida que la Mano Izquierda, se le mandará el flanco izquierdo de la batalla. Por mucho que la derecha manda derecha. Los Pies vienen en segundo olas. Yo soy la lanza que dirige el impulso central. Antes de que nos involucramos en realidad al enemigo, he dispuesto que una sorpresa: una distracción.” (Listen, there are specific tactics that we use in our battles. On top of being given the titles for the wounds Christ received, they also correspond to the battlefield layout. As the Left Hand, you will command the left flank of battle. Much as the Right Hand commands the right. The Feet come in as second waves. I am the Spear that heads up the central thrust. Before we actually engage the enemy, I have arranged for a surprise: a diversion,) Monsignor Carafa explained. Valentine felt relieved that he had more of a battle plan than charging headlong into gunfire. So, she was to head up an entire flank and lead men into battle. Her stomach was tightly wound by this revelation.
“Está bien, monseñor. Entiendo que el plan
de batalla. Usted puede contar conmigo. (Okay, Monsignor. I understand the
battle plan. You can count on me,)” she confirmed.
“Bueno. Que el Señor esté con ustedes en
la próxima batalla. (Good. May the Lord be with you in the coming battle.)”
With that he galloped off to the head of the column, barking orders to soldiers
as he rode by. The man was a genius, but he was clearly mad, she could see that
much. But then, it took a mad man to inspire an entire holy army to follow him.
It looked as the road ahead was leading to a clearing and a large flat valley.
She discerned that beyond the valley was Lago Nicaragua, and across that was
her home: Nuevo Granada. Her dream of revenge was closer at hand than she
previously thought.
She could see near the clearing that the column began to disperse in two directions. Valentine assumed that they were forming up into battle array. She thought to gallop to forefront of the left flank since that was where she would command. She kicked her heels into the sides of her gelding and the horse broke into a gallop. She rode past the dispersing column and up to the front of the men forming up on the left flank. It turned out the clearing ahead of them was a massive cane field. The height of the plants masked troop movements from the town, so the Order maintained the element of surprise. Friar Valentine pulled back on the reins of her horse and waited there for further orders. She looked across the front line of troops. Many of them were old, weathered men with dark faces and straw hats. Some were young farm hands, fresh from the fields, and a few were women. The vast majority were middle-aged men who bore the scars of self-mortification due to religious zeal.
At the far end of the battle array was Friar Pius, looking noble atop his horse. In the middle was the Monsignor looking anxious, and anticipating action. He had reared his horse back, which seemed to match his anxiety. The men were checking their arms. She took the opportunity to double check the condition of her Mosin-Nagant, bolt action rifle. She shouldered her rifle. Valentine had estimated that she had roughly one hundred men on her flank. They were spread out a bit, and looked ragtag. They held their position for nearly half an hour, and she began to wonder what the hold up was about. Around the center of the battle line near Monsignor Carafa, a wagon approached from the road leading out of town. Driving the wagon was Friar Benedict, and he was not dressed in his Order garb. He pulled back on the reins to stop his pack team. Monsignor Carafa rode up to him and they had exchanged words, then he embraced the Friar. Friar Benedict then willed the wagon ahead and he drove it to the rear of the lines. A few minutes passed then it happened: massive explosions in town—at least five. Balls of fire and smoke rose to the heavens. The men in the battle line flinched and then cheered with excitement.
“Friars! Dé la orden de antemano! (Friars! Give the order for the advance!)” Monsignor shouted. Then he ordered his own men forward. The men stood up and were swallowed by the cane field. They left swaying plants in their wakes as they moved through at a steady march. Friar Valentine gave the order for the men to advance, and she willed her gelding forward through the field. She brought her rifle down to bear and scanned the cane field for any sign of opposition. She detected a wrestling in the grass: a man emerged with an ashen face, holding an assault rifle, but he looked disorientated, like the explosion had jarred his senses. Frir Valentine hesitated to fire, but then he noticed her presence and she made the judgment to take the shot. She placed the round square between the pectoral muscles of the man, and he dropped backward. First blood didn’t seem as glorious as it should have to her.