The Unholy Relic

[Guest guest]

This is another story that I had published. This one is in an historical setting and is based on legends and strange stories that are related to the period and area.

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The Unholy Relic

Storke

Copyright 2000

A troop of Conquistadores milled about in the shade, swatting mosquitoes and stinging flies, beneath a sweltering tropical sun. Leaning against their pikes and matchlocks, they sweated under their steel breastplates and heavy morions, watching a knot of bickering mean, their leaders and a few natives. Like so many others, these Conquistadores, veterans of the innumerable European wars, had come to the New World in search of gold and fame. So far all they had found were steamy jungles, vicious insects, and malaria. Unfortunately, they had signed on with a fanatical priest bent on converting the natives, not hunting gold. If they didn't find gold soon, they would seek it on their own.

Don kept a watchful eye on his men. This was not all he had hoped for either. Rumblings of mutiny reached his ears and he was not entirely unsympathetic with his men. A minor noble from Seville, Don came to the New World seeking enough gold to buy back his family lands and restore its honor; and if he also improved his standing, so much the better. Glaring at the priest, he wished the man would simply let his men kill these vile creatures instead of wasting time trying to convert them. Surely gold waited for them inside the temple, as it had in temples found by others, and that was all he and his men wanted: souls of these savages be damned.

Father Salvadore felt a mixture of pity and revulsion for the savages standing before him. After several days of negotiation and failed attempts at conversion, the native priests had finally agreed to show them their underground temple. Now that they were all here, those devil worshippers refused to go in. They stood outside the entry to the temple, carved lintels surrounding the cave entrance, in their ceremonial finery; feathered cloaks, puma skins, glittering with gold. Father Salvadore pitied them and hoped to convert them all. All save the head priest, who towered over him staring through the eyeholes of the human skin suit he wore, signifying his high office. God forgive him, but he hated that heathen animal. Exasperated, Father Salvadore gave up and turned away from the grotesque priest.

Don was pleased the savages chose to stay behind: he didn't trust them, their very presence so revolted him he wanted to cut them down. The men collected themselves, eager for any kind of action. Indeed, they were so tired of the heat and stinging insects that not a one objected to going into the shrine to evil gods. Torch in hand, Father Salvadore led the way through the opening, followed closely by Don and his men.

The first chamber was of modest size with low ceilings and stone floor. Flickering torchlight revealed walls sculpted with images of the rites that took place there. Lines of sacrificial victims were seen marching through the chamber escorted by priests and warriors and forced through the next doorway. Carvings of monsters and demons, animated by the flickering torchlight, hungrily eyes this processions, and the new intruders, lusting for their blood Father Salvadore led his fearful men into the next chamber, following a trough worn into the floor by untold victims before them.

The second chamber was smaller than the first, with a higher, vaulted ceiling and a massive stone slab on the floor. Its inlaid carvings showed victims being thrown through the hole the slab sealed and into the waiting maws of the gods below. Don ordered his strongest men to remove the cover; they refused. Before the Don could curse them, Father Salvadore assured them that nothing was down there. Such creatures existed only only in the minds of the heathens who built this temple, he told them, and even if they did, the power of God would drive them into Hell where they belonged. With this assurance, the men did as they were commanded.

Struggling with the massive weight, they eventually pried it loose, releasing a wind reeking of ancient death. Gagging, the men pushed the great stone lid aside, revealing a worn and blackened stairway descending into darkness. Father Salvadore stood at the top of the steps, defiantly staring down into the blackness, standing firm against the foul wind and assured the men that all they would find would be the remains of the unfortunate victims shown on the walls. He then made his way down, followed reluctantly by all but a small rear guard that looked on, relieved that they had to go no deeper into this evil place.

A third chamber awaited them at the bottom of the staircase. It was impossible to judge its size because of countless centuries of human bones piled high along the walls. Some bones crumbled at the touch while moldering scraps of flesh still clung to others. In one wall waited an opening leading into a long corridor, from which the cold, fetid wind blew. The Conquistadores found this, too, was crowded with bones and with another narrow, well-worn and blood-blackened path down the middle. The walls of this corridor, like the walls above were covered with carvings, though these demented images could not possibly have come from the minds of men, even men like the skinwearing priests. Unperturbed, Father Salvadore led the way, while Don urged his men forward with promises of great riches.

Soon, the Conquistadores entered a fourth chamber. This chamber was vast, its extents lying beyond the light of their torches, filled with a maze of huge, gray pillars adorned with more insane images. Shadows hid the ceiling as well, heightening the oppression of the place. Leaving three men, one with a torch, at the entrance to the corridor so they could find their way out, the main party warily pressed forward into the gloom, muttering prayers to ward off evil. Some of the men reported seeing manlike figures moving in the shadows, stalking them, but Father Salvadore chastised them; nothing was there, they were seeing things. It was then that they heard screams from the men they had left behind.

Rushing back to the corridor, they found only one men, Felix the torchbearer, still there. He stood stammering with his back to wall, bloodied sword in hand. The men formed up defensively around him, looking over their shoulders to gape at the deep furrows scarring his steel breastplate. Don demanded to know what had happened. Barely able to speak, Felix managed to tell them. The others had heard a noise and went to investigate. No sooner had they entered the shadows than they were attacked. He then hurried to help them; it was too late. The creatures fled from the light; one tried lashing out at him before it ran. His armor bore the proof of the monster's strength, and on the ground lay proof of the value of Toledo steel. At his feet lay the monster's arm: thick and muscular, covered with matted black fur, ending in sausage-thick fingers tipped with long, sharp claws.

Men fearfully crossed themselves at the sight, huddling together, eyes piercing the darkness. The clicking shuffle of clawed feet and alien chatter, a soft, breathy whisper that gnawed at the edges of their sanity, seized their attention. The soldiers tightened their formation, packing close together for safety. The noise grew louder and huge shapes with flashing eyes could be seen lurking just beyond the torchlight, their numbers growing.

"Demons, be gone!" shouted Father Salvadore, who had moved just outside the shield wall. "I cast you out in the the name of our Saviour Jesus Christ!"

The chatter changed to a hiss: the beasts laughed at him. Again and again Father Salvadore tried to dispel them; their numbers grew. Don , fearing his men would break soon, came up beside the wild-eyed priest.

"Father, we must leave here now before it is too late," the Don said.

"I will not leave now and let these Demons win!" Father Salvadore screamed. "I must exorcise them! We must kill them all!"

"No, Father! It is more important that you tell what we have seen here," Don said. "You must tell the governor andRome as well! No one would believe me if I told them about this place, but you, a priest, they would! And if this is one gateway to Hell, for what else can this be, exists, there must be others. You need to sound the alarm!"

The glaze disappeared from Father Salvadore's eyes and he agreed. Quickly the soldiers scrambled down the corridor and up the stairs, pursued by a presence more felt than seen, whispering dreams of pain and torment. Muscles strengthened by terror, the men frantically heaved the carved stone lid into place, sealing the pit. No sooner had it boomed into place, than did the men hear those fearful claws scraping against the other side.

When the Conquistadores again ventured into the warm sunlight, they noticed the priests were still there waiting, along with many warriors. The natives looked shocked that the Spaniards had actually returned. The warriors, at their priests frantic orders, attacked the Conquistadores; their bravery was no match for Spanish steel and shot. Don 's men made quick work of the warriors and captured the fleeing priests. With a little persuasion, the natives admitted they had hoped their demons would kill the Conquistadores and that this group's disappearance would dissuade others from coming. They had thought wrong. Blades again flashed in the tropical sun, putting an end to the demon priests.

Don ordered his men to hide the bodies, after which they moved on the village, rounding up all the people they could find. These captives were then herded to the tample, where they were made to fill the upper chambers full of earth and stone. The work lasted well into the night, the Conquistadores allowing no rest. When the temple was completely choked with rubble, the natives then covered the entrance with more earth and transplanted trees and undergrowth. Don and Father Salvadore, pleased with their efforts, doubted if this temple would ever be found again, which left only one more task to complete.

The Conquistadores marched expeditiously back to the sea, even though they bore heavy burdens of gold. Looking back at the thick smoke rising from the village, black from building and corpse alike, Don hope Father Salvadore would allow him to go home: the Don feared the newly mad Father would order him, and his men, to follow him into more of those Gates of Hell. He did not have all the wealth he wanted, but he was alive to spend it and had no intention of ever going into a place like that again. Father Salvadore's eyes burned with a new fury: no longer would he seek to convert these people, now he would seek out more Demon temples and destroy them, along with those who worshipped in them. In his arms he carried a simple wooden box. Within it was the key to his crusade, the severed arm of the beast.

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