5 April 1610
Madeleine could still hear the rush of footsteps and abrasive shouting muffled dully by the earthen wall. It had only been a few minutes since she was forced to seal herself Riku, Raul, and Willem inside of the labyrinth’s stifling bowels. The atmosphere was thick with the recent dust of the moving earth—she had just then learned how the mechanism worked for moving the wall away that she was investigating. It was right on time, however, since it was then that Willem and Riku had come down into the dig where Madeleine and Raul were working to inform them that the soldiers had turned against them.
“Most of the marines are dead,” Riku had reported sadly, “and I couldn’t find where José and Arturo went to before Willem and I were pushed back. We’re lucky to make it down here alive…”
“We managed,” and here, Willem winced as he spoke—his fingers were still nursing the gash he had on the right side of his torso. It was a wound that he received during the melee, “at least to ignite their ammunition store. Aside from the handguns they have, they shouldn’t have any powder or explosives to use against us or the dig.”
Raul held the torch high in the small chamber that they were now in. It was plain to see that Willem was struggling to keep himself up; his dirtied body was leaning against the wall for support and his one arm crossed over his stomach to hold in the blood on the opposite end although the red liquid stained his pant leg like melting wax from a morbid candle.
Madeleine looked on with some difficulty, but her mind was already assessing their situation. “Do you know why they turned on us?” she asked Riku hoping to not only take her eyes off of the wounded Dutchman, but also to spare him from expending any more energy talking. Raul was already attending to Willem’s wound as they spoke.
“Not at all,” Riku responded ponderously as he wiped some of the dust away from his eyes. “I just saw Willem jumping out of the rectory window and a general alarm went out. Willem fought most of them in the courtyard and some of the marines came to help but there were just too many. We couldn’t leave you and Raul down here behind so we came down instead and hoped we could at least lose them in the labyrinth. I also managed to get this before we rushed here.”
Riku handed over the map of the labyrinth to Madeleine. She immediately pocketed the item. “You both are lucky that I managed to figure out this chamber in time. It was actually the Colonel himself who gave me the idea.”
Indeed, it was just a few hours earlier that the Colonel had mentioned how akin the dim and narrow tunnels were to the veins and arteries of a man and that it was at this very heart of darkness that gave fear to any of his soldiers that dared to scout within. That was when Madeleine recalled her uncle’s paper.
She had remembered that unlike western alphabets, the Eastern languages utilized pictorial representations usually made up of smaller elements known to create a word that everyone could recognize the meaning of. In the case of her uncle’s original word that meant a marriage proposal, there were three elements. The first element was one that the Colonel had noted for her: “heart” which crowned the top of the character. It was not hard for her afterward to decipher the other two. The middle portion consisting of two opposite facing “flags” of sorts was the symbolism for a gate and the bottom portion was “friend.” Friendship was the gateway to the heart. It was her uncle’s way of showing Carmen how their friendship had brought him to love her—it was indeed a marriage proposal.
After deciphering the image, that was when her uncle’s words made sense: “within friends.” For it was when she compared the labyrinth’s map with the symbol did she find the same character among the maze! Her uncle had constructed walls that, if one looked from above, formed the very proposal word amongst the rest of the convoluted and winding passageways. Thus, it was by investigating the enclosed space of the “friends” symbol that she found the mechanism to open the wall and close it behind them.
The room itself would have been inconspicuous. The walls were the same within and without with the exception of the mechanism that opened and shut the doorway. Within, it was the same brown-dirt ground that was in the rest of the labyrinth with the exception of a single staircase spiraling downward at the center of the small chamber.
“The Timepiece must be below,” Raul said without turning away from dressing Willem’s wound.
“My uncle wouldn’t make it that easy,” Madeleine replied more out of anxiety than pride. She stole another glance at Willem’s bleeding side and contemplated the traps and maneuvers they must master below.
“We can’t go back outside…” Riku commented as he pressed his hand against the cold touch of the dimly lit enclosure. He could feel the vibrations of the searching men beyond them.
“You’re right,” Willem said with a grunt as he straightened himself up. “We have no choice but to continue down and retrieve the Timepiece first. Perhaps your uncle made provisions for an exit down there, knowing him…”
Madeleine nodded quietly while looking into Willem’s resolved gaze. She was the first to turn and walk towards the stairs. For now, she thought, she would be praying for a miracle.
---
Arturo peeked his head above the window just for a moment before rushing back below with his back against the straw and mud wall of the village house he and José were now stowed away in. Both he and José were at the village at the time that the huge explosion was heard even from the small center where they were exchanging goods with the villagers.
They had run back to the palisade only to watch marines being hewed by their hosts. Arturo had stepped forward to join in the fight, but José’s prudent hand pulled them back towards the village just in time to avoid a small group of the veterans patrolling around for them. They could still hear the huff of running soldiers outside of the hut they were in. The old man who was living in the house—a native of that land—had welcomed them silently. It only took a second in the confusion for both parties to understand what was happening. The old man had pointed to an empty room at the end of the house where the boys could hide. Perhaps it was months of abuse by the soldiers that the old man was willing to help them. Either way, both José and Arturo did not complain at the help.
That was, however, about to be over. “I don’t know who you are talking about,” they heard the old man say in his best Spanish.
“Don’t lie!” one of the soldiers shouted, “One of our men saw them come in here, we know you’re hiding them somewhere!”
There was the noise of a table crash. “Get out of my house!” the old man attempted to say once more. There was a soft thud and a tumble afterward which prompted Arturo to his feet. José stood up behind him as well but did not hold him back. Both moved forward to the doorway and pressed through the thatched separation that camouflaged itself as a wall.
“Leave him alone,” Arturo said turning the attention of the men to him. José rushed to the old man who had fallen to the floor. Already, the wrinkled and tanned face was haloed with a little blood. “Do none of you have honour that you would hit a man like this?” Arturo demanded unable to help spitting out his rage.
The students and veterans looked at him strangely and their eyes were shot with redness. There was contempt in their face marred by a latency of guilt. Arturo understood it immediately; they regarded the old man—a man of native blood—to be lesser than themselves. It was a disdain that their consciences deep within told them was incorrect but where cheeks did not blush at shame, eyes reddened as the anger attacked them inwardly. “Come with us, boy, and we won’t hurt you or anyone else in this village,” their leader grunted as he moved forward.
“We will come with you,” José half shouted through squinting and indignant eyes. It was a declaration of anger more than compliance. His face transformed softly as he turned back to the old man and helped him up. “Thank you, Señor,” José said to him. The old man merely nodded sullenly. “Neither God nor I will forget your courage,” was the last thing José said to him before being pulled away by the wanton soldiers.
The town was quiet except for the rustling of the men pressing Arturo and José along. The rest of the villagers were in their huts naturally afraid of the commotion going on. Overhead, unnatural clouds billowed in their direction as the ammunition storage at the encampment was still being dealt with. It shrouded the village intermittently.
Arturo and José chafed at the rough push of the soldiers—there were about eight men armed with their sabers. With the powder gone, they did not seem to carry any firearms. “Don’t get any ideas,” one of the men said with a slur in his speech as if detecting Arturo’s thoughts by the way the young seminarian spied the men’s weapons. “Even if we don’t have guns, we can still outrun you little runts so don’t even think about running off.”
Both young men grit their teeth as they marched down the center of the village where quiet and scared eyes watched them from the corners of square windows. Arturo followed their stares and each sight of a frightened mother or resigned father holding back a child inured to crying quickened his breath. “What have you all done here…” he growled lowly. “You Godless men have taken hope away from these people…”
“Quiet!” the men at arms yelled back.
Arturo turned at them and took all of them by surprise at first. Half draw their swords. “I cannot forgive you for what you’ve done here!” Arturo shouted as he withdrew the pack off of his back.
José watched the young man in astonishment and had nearly forgotten the pack. That was where they had been keeping that prize from the destroyed village. “Arturo,” José said while widening his eyes, “what are you—”
“Do none of you know?” Arturo now addressed the soldiers who were a bit perplexed by the boy’s sudden courage to know if it was safe to approach him. “I am descended from these people as well and it should be well known to you how they say that the spiritualists of old had the power to control men’s minds through magic. I have refrained from resorting to it till now, but I know what kind of soldiers you are. I have seen it before in the eyes of conquistadors and the low mercenary scum that come here to plunder this great land of its wealth.”
“Now, boy,” one of the veterans started with an annoying flare but Arturo stepped back and yelled once more at them.
“And here I have with me that very same charm that my ancestors used to turn brother against brother!” Arturo brought out the red stained stone from his pack. Throwing it like a cannon towards the men, they parted half and half to let the object fall harmlessly to the dirt. “And with it, I do the same to all of you!” Arturo lunged forward and grabbed José’s wrist before running into the nearby brush.
There was no sound of pursuit. There was no angry call for them to return. Instead, the men look at each other after they had gazed at the stone. Swords were drawn. Just as Arturo said, they all began their struggle not to capture the boys, but to be the last man standing. Metal splashed against metal and the fated stone that turned them against each other lay amidst the melee bathing itself with fresh blood which only seemed to amplify the spell it cast on the men.
---
The Colonel tightened the bandage on his right arm with a tug of his teeth as he walked into the center of the courtyard. Squinting at the inferno that continued to melt the ammunitions store to char, he waved for more men to transfer river water to the proper locations lest the other barracks fall under the same destruction. He turned away from the north-side blaze and faced eastward to where the chapel was swarming with his subordinates. Ever since they followed the Dutchman and Finn into the labyrinth, there had been parties going in and out hoping to find them, but, without the map that the young lady was working on, all they could do was search blindly in the passageways. He cursed openly.
“Colonel!” Jester was quick to approach him. The Viper made a fist—what could it be now?
“Yes, Lieutenant?” he replied with a groan.
“There’s a boat approaching,” Jester responded while still trying to catch his breath.
“Gehirn?”
Jester shook his head while heaving breaths. “Worse—it’s the new priest they’ve promised us a few months back. He’s coming up from the north side now.”
The Colonel cursed again. “Prepare the south side barracks… I’ll explain things to him there.”
---
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Father,” the Colonel said with a small bow as he ushered the aged guest into the best furnished barracks the little encampment possessed. As the sun began to set, the continually blazing sight from across the courtyard dominated the attention of the gentlemen.
“I saw the smoke clouds from almost two miles upriver, I hope everything is alright” was the comment from the brown habited man—he was wearing the garb of the
Societas Iesu. “Would your men please unload my materials from the boat?” he added pointing to the guards at ready attention.
The Colonel nodded violently as he shooed the soldiers away embarrassed at his lapse in courtesy. “You and your novice will be well attended to,” the Colonel said nodding to the heavily bearded man that had also come from the boat. The Colonel’s entreaties were accepted and the old man leaned quietly to his companion and dismissed him outside of the door.
“Kneel,” was the simple command and both knelt down on the hard floor. The sign of the cross was made on both although the Colonel, in his confusion, only did his after he watched the other man commence first.
“Is something the matt—”
“Before I can be accepted into this compound, Colonel, we must wash clean the soul of my host.”
The Colonel had heard months prior that the new priest they were getting was of the stricter sort. Father Hector who was the chaplain in the years before was merely a diocesan priest that was sent from Mexico City every now and again. Lax and generally unable to stand the jungle atmosphere, he tried to keep his visits as short as possible. The Archbishops at the capital thought it necessary to send someone more stringent after rumours of degradation in the spiritual life of the students reached the ears of those in the government. To that end, the Colonel was not surprised at the idealism of this priest. He was, after all, one of the Society of Jesus.
“I’m afraid, Father,” the Colonel said calculably, “that we cannot do this sacrament right now…”
“Why is that, Colonel?” the older man asked while both of his hands were resting inside of his sleeves and his head cast down to the wooden floor on which he knelt.
Perhaps it was the weakness brought on by the experiences of the past few days or perhaps it was the fear of anyone in Mexico City learning of what was going on that pressed him to lie during the sacrament. “Right now, we are in the middle of a problem,” the Colonel explained cautiously.
“My son,” and here the older man’s voice was calming and almost soothing. It was in direct opposition to the crackling callousness of the raging fire across the courtyard. The crack of the splintering wood seemed like a faded memory in contrast to the baptismal flow of this new voice. “No one is here in the room and you know that the seal of confession cannot be broken. Whatever you say here to me now, I cannot share anywhere else. Therefore… let your confession be ardent and sincere.”
Silence overtook the soldier and he gripped at his own pant leg with a pent up anxiety. With eyes downcast, he could not help but let out the sad story of that camp. His voice kneaded out the acts—everything from the mistreatment of the villagers to the medicinal abuse all the way to treacherously attempting to exploit the Peninsular visitors. Tears melted the soot from his face and when he looked up he found his senior looking at him gravely. He expected as much, though, considering the length of his actions. The man in front of him reached out a hand and placed it on the Colonel’s shoulder firmly.
“Will my sins be forgiven, Father?” the Colonel asked with a kind of sardonic sincerity.
“Yes, but there is a problem,” was the reply.
“Are they too grievous to be absolved?” the soldier asked looking down at the floor. It was then that he saw the end of a pistol already pressing against his chest.
“No,” Renault de Fronsac replied, “It’s because I’m not a real priest.”
The Colonel looked up just in time to have the side of his head hit by the only other thing Renault kept on his robes: a large wooden cross. He signaled the “novice” back into the room as the limp body of the Colonel fell to the ground.
“The guards are still unloading the boat,” the younger man said to Renault.
“I’m sorry to have to trouble you to borrow your habit a bit longer, Father Valerio, but I must try to get to my niece. I suggest you make an excuse to take the boat and escape from here.”
“I knew what I was getting into when we saw the smoke and decided to come here, Viceroy. Our Holy Father Blessed Ignatius was a soldier before he became a monk. I’m with you.”
Renault smiled and handed the priest a pistol. “Hide this in your clothing. We’ll fight our way to the chapel if we have to.”
Tom sat quietly in the hospital chapel. Like most Jesuit hospitals, the grand facilities also maintained a small chapel for its patients and staff continuing on the legacy of their founder who wished to found missionary and hospital work in Jerusalem. Tom did not kneel, however. The fineries of the crucifix and golden tabernacle meant nothing for him. To him, it was just a symbolic representation. Even worse; the beauty of the gold and ivory work that housed the Blessed Sacrament ruffled him as an affront to his simpler sensibilities. Just another example of Church corruption, he forced himself to think.
Although he wanted to find peace in the chapel, he decided to leave. Turning his back on the tabernacle, he wandered down the hall once more. The sound of the television set passed him like the howling of a passing train.
“Noticias Zorro has uncovered documents that indicate that the Reverend will be moving into a new 10,340 square foot, four bedroom home in suburban Chicago paid for by the Trinity United Church,” the television blurred in and out. Tom did not hear how the retirement home cost about a million Peseta. Nonetheless, it was an interesting note for Tom: it was one of the first times the Spanish government had ever allowed churches aside from the Catholic Church to buy property. However, ever since Vatican II sought a more ecumenical approach to inter-religious relations, there had been many instances of Protestants buying land thanks to the new freedoms.
Tom stopped halfway in the hallway and leaned up against the wall once more. He let himself ponder the wary imaginations of what could be. Perhaps this was why he had written all of his essays and works; he was too tired to continue rehashing them in his head over and over again. He thought that perhaps if he wrote them down on paper they would be exorcised from his mind and he would no longer have to sigh in bed wishing for a world different than the one he lived in now.
Of course that was when the Timepiece entered the vision of his mind’s eye. He did not even know what it looked like, but he had coined the phrase himself. It was only after Rodrigo had told him what it truly meant that he, at first, sensed a great danger from this shocking coincidence. Now, however, he welled up with a sense of hope. What if the horrors he had seen would not need to happen. What if… he could change the world? If Rodrigo is right, then he must be the one to make the choice: the ultimate choice; to cast out the world they know. And it rested in one young man.
Tom looked down both sides of the hallway before taking out his cell phone. He had nearly forgotten he had it with him, but ever since they gave him his regular clothes back, the force of habit brought the barely charged machine into his pocket and now into his hand. He had not thought about using it since roaming charges in Japan would have been exorbitant, but it did not seem to matter now. He scrolled down to where Marcus Councilman’s name was on the screen and pressed the call button. His choice was clear: he must see the Timepiece himself.
Chapter XCVI: A Clear Choice (coming soon)
