At that time, Ignatious, having arrived on the outskirts of Pangbourne and finding a suitable spot in which to rest the night, was just snuggling into his bed, covered only by a single, cotton sheet, the night being once more warm. In minutes, his mind and conscience totally clear, he was in a deep sleep.
Bit by bit, second by second, the pictures of his dream serial returned, with flashes of earlier events appearing as a trailer for a forthcoming movie. He turned, now restless, in his sleep.
As time wore on, Ignatious perfected his new powers, frequently testing them on the varied wildlife that abounded. He had also begun to notice that the attitude of the tribal women and the children had gradually altered towards him. They were now in some kind of awe. Children would stare at him and move out of his way as he moved around. Sometimes, they would fall to their knees when he spoke to them and would carry out his wishes immediately. Women, the more perceptible species, tended to stand for an inordinate length of time, looking into his eyes and his soul. It was puzzling and a little unnerving. This change in behaviour could be traced back to the time around when Ignatious had perfected his mind-skills. Even though it had been accepted that he was different from the other strangers on arrival, he now seemed to be regarded as something nearing the status of the Elder.
To the religious group, life here had taken on a feeling of near paradise. They wanted for nothing and life meandered on in a truly pleasant and friendly manner. The duty to which they were bound had taken a decidedly backward step as none wanted to break the spell of this charming life. Religious instruction had been suspended, not to be reawakened. These decisions had come about naturally, no one actually discussing and formulating a considered plan.
Then, due to the worst aspect of the age-old basic instinct of man, the pleasant life turned upon its head.
In the midst of the usual daily workings of the community, food gathering, construction work, cooking, washing, playing and chatting, a small cry was heard, coming from the denseness of the outlying jungle. It was rather faint and caused groups to pause in their activities, unsure as to whether or not they had actually heard something. After the slight pause, life continued as before.
From his position, at the top of a newly erected water tower, applying some finishing touches, Ignatious spotted his colleague, Father Ottomier, breaking from the jungle and into the village compound. As he moved forward, Ottomier cast a couple of furtive glances behind as though fearing something was to follow him, something unwanted. He then disappeared into the tribal dwellings and was lost from sight.
Dismissing the incident from his mind, Ignatious carried on. The project had been thought out by Karakta and Ignatious and discussed with the Elder, who had approved of the plan without hesitation.
The idea was to provide a constant water supply to the village, taken from the clear-water river nearby. A ditch, some two-feet wide and four-feet deep had been dug out close to the flowing river and extended to the beginning of the village, which lay several feet below the river’s water-line. It then led into the tower, which would act as a storage tank.
The water was to be lifted to this by means of a cleverly constructed Archimedes Screw turned by the pressure of the onrushing stream. The supply would then be directed towards the dwellings to be joined by several narrower and shallower grooves. These led into wide bamboo tubes sealed together at various points and directed into each home, culminating in a primitive kind of sink, or washbasin, raised to around three feet from the floor.
A simple tap had been fashioned at the back of the sink that could be turned left or right to allow a flow of water and also to stem it. The water received would be pure, as the ditch and the grooves had been lined with the same substance as that used on the outer side of the ‘God’s’ pyramids. After supplying each dwelling, the liquid would run to a central point from which led a single pipe directed back to the river and into it, thus maintaining a continuing flow.
Finishing his work, Ignatious signalled to the helpers below and one ran off to fetch the Elder. After descending the ladder, Ignatious met up with Karakta and they, with the remaining men, moved to the start of the project, next to the river. Here, the workers inserted a strong board into the riverbank, immediately adjacent to the excavated ditch. They then dug out the remaining earth, the board preventing the water from entering, and installed another clever device, activated on the pressure principle, so that, if the water in the tank reduced due to use in the village, a ‘shutter’ would rise to allow more from the river and close if the pressure built due to the tank being full. The tribes-people were to be admired for their cleverness and adaptability.
As the Elder arrived, accompanied by many of the villagers, the work was completed. The Elder inspected the device and the channels before speaking a few words of congratulations to all concerned and explaining the advantages of having such a system. Their customary, and religious practice of taking a sip of water as soon as awake would now be made that much easier. He then ceremoniously raised the separating board and the water began to run into the system. Some villagers ran; some walked fast, including Ignatious and Karakta, all heading for the dwellings to watch the miracle take place.
Entering the first available house, as most were filled with people, they joined a group of half a dozen people who were just in the act of turning on the tap. The clear water gushed out into the bowl and was scooped into excited hands to be gulped down, splashing chins and chests, falling to the ground. Ignatious took his turn and was delighted at the absolute purity of the liquid as it slaked his thirst.
That night, the tribe organised a large party, attended by every single person. The food was plentiful and delicious. Alcohol, fermented from a variety of plants and berries was in never-ending supply, as were the strange drugs, several of hallucinatory properties.
Although severely affected by the abuse, there was no arguing or fighting as there would surely have been in the so-called developed societies. In fact, the opposite was in evidence, lovemaking becoming the chief activity as the night wore on. Even Ignatious, though not inebriated in any way, forsook his self imposed celibacy and took a delightful nineteen year-old girl to his dwelling, after first seeking the usual permission from the white-bearded Elder, who was never seen with any company other than his own. On his way home with the girl, he spotted Ottomier escorting a young girl to his place and Christian openly engaged in a close embrace with one who would be around sixteen. Looking around for the Sister, he spotted Vasquez ambling towards her dwelling with one of either sex clutched in her arms. Ignatious began to wonder just how far the group had allowed themselves to fall. The feel and the aromatic scent of the girl holding his hand helped him to quickly vanquish the guilt.
The following morning, rough hands, grabbing him where he lay, tossing the girl to one side, and dragging him, naked, from his home, awakened Ignatious. Carted along by arms and hair, he looked through bleary eyes to see that four tribesmen had gripped him, bearing grim expressions on painted faces.
‘Painted faces?? Why are they painted?’ Ignatious wondered. He had never seen them that way before. “Wait. Stop! What’s going on?” he called out to his captors, but received no response. He was dragged along to the village square where he was pulled forcefully to his feet.
Before him stood four sturdy poles set firmly into the ground. Christian and Ottomier were lashed to two of these, also naked and looking equally bewildered and scared.
As Ignatious was being bound to one of the posts, a shrieking rent the air and Sister Vasquez was dragged into view, naked and struggling frantically. It was all to no avail, as she was unceremoniously pulled to her feet and thrust against the remaining pole where she, too, was secured into place.
The missionaries looked to the one nearest to them, seeking a reason for this worrying predicament. All, that is, apart from Ottomier, who looked straight ahead. The four were, understandibly, very frightened.
The sun was rising above the horizon and Ignatious judged the time to be around six-thirty, the sounds of the awakening jungle echoing around the village as the animals searched for their early morning meals.
All the tribe had gathered before them now, the men with white-painted faces, large circles being left around the eyes and mouth, presenting a chilling sight. They all held short spears, the ones immediately in front of the captives jabbing them menacingly towards various parts of their bodies, without quite touching. A weird hissing accompanied the gestures and this somehow increased the terror.
Then the Elder arrived. The throngs of people parted to allow passage to the shivering prisoners. He stood before them, his height and immaculate garb, together with his startling white beard and golden skin, impressing his authority upon the bewildered missionaries.
For minutes, he simply stood before them, not speaking, looking into their eyes, into their souls. None of the missionaries spoke although they were desperate to know why they were being treated in this way. Then, moving close, he confronted Christian who was on the first post in line.
He studied deeply for several seconds before moving onto the next in line, which was Vasquez. Studying her in the same manner, he ignored her questions, thrown at him in a high-pitched, near-hysterical voice.
Ignatious was next and the imposing figure looked into him as with the others. This time, however, he spoke. “You, my friend, are of a different species than your comrades,” he said in his mixed dialect. “You have powers they cannot understand and you are a good man.” His tone was flat and without emotion. “A terrible crime has been committed against our society and punishment will be dealt in the appropriate manner. As part of the group, you, too, must suffer the same fate no matter the good work you have so far performed.”
He passed on to Ottomier, imprisoned next to Ignatious. The Elder stood, looking into the priest’s eyes for many moments. Reaching out, he placed a hand flat against the trembling Ottomier’s forehead, again for many moments, not a word escaping. Stepping back a pace, he then spoke: “You are the guilty one.”
“But…but…no…no…I haven’t done anything!” he whined, unconvincingly.
Ignoring the comments, the Elder, Kaba, spoke to all, looking directly at Ignatious. “Your companion has sinned against this tribe in the worst manner possible. By this, he has put you all in peril. You will die as a result of his actions and, by the time you do, you will be happy to go to the next level. Tribal customs, centuries old, are still practiced here and I cannot interfere. The two concessions I will make, are that Gawain,” he used the current name, “will be last to die with less punishment until that time, and Vasquez, the female will die instantly and without pain.”
Ignatious turned angrily within his bonds, to Ottomier. “What have you done, Gerard?” he asked. “What is it that has put us in this predicament?”
“Nothing. He’s got it wrong!”
Casting his mind back to the previous day, Ignatious recalled seeing Ottomier behaving suspiciously as he emerged from the jungle. “I saw you, Gerard,” he said softly. “Coming from the jungle. You had done something hadn’t you?”
Ottomier’s silence spoke volumes. “Come on, Gerard. You are a man of the cloth. Confess to all here of your sin. Save us!”
Kaba intervened. “He cannot save you Gawain. The punishment has to be for all.” Ignatious looked at him in horror. The man was educated — two hundred years old for the good Christ’s sake! He was just, fair and wise. He had the ultimate power here.
In his sleep, body covered in sweat, Ignatious tossed and turned, gibbering nonsensical stuff to the confines of his motor home bedroom. The dream continued…
“What has he done, Kaba?” he asked. “And why must we all suffer?”
The Elder, again looking directly at Ignatious, through clear, young-looking eyes, explained: “Early today, one of our tribe took a journey into the jungle seeking food. When in there, he came across the body of a female of the village, Ka-Lauma. Ka-Lauma was fourteen years of age and had no experience of a sexual nature, never having desired it. She was missed during yesterday but thought to have gone with friends and, at night, during the celebrations, was thought to be here. When she did not return home after the celebration, she was thought to be staying at a friend’s dwelling. You see, we do not have problems with missing persons in our society, unlike your decadent one, so there was no fear for her safety.
She was found, as I have said, and it was discovered that she had been forced into a sexual encounter and then put to death. By the time we got to her, it was too late to save her and she will be sent to the next plane later today.
It is clear that your brother, Father Ottomier, took Ka-Lauma away and carried out an attack on her, ending in unlawful killing. The punishment for such a crime is torture and death.”
The missionaries paled under their deeply burned tans, horror chilling their minds and bodies. The warming sun went unfelt on the captive’s skins. Death had become accepted to some degree but torture? Torture? This could not be! Things like this do not happen any more. These thoughts flashed through the partly numbed minds of the fated four, ignoring the fact of the tortures carried out every day in some part of the world, where war and political intrigue was prevalent.
“But, Kaba!” cried Ignatious. “Stop! Please!”
The elegant Elder turned to Ignatious, studied him for a moment and went to stand in front of him.
“What is it, Gawain? Please, do not plead for your lives. The decision is made; tradition has to be fulfilled.”
Ignatious was sweating more heavily now, desperation showing in his eyes. He spoke softly, however, covering his fear. “Kaba,” he began. “You are clearly different from the others. I can see that you are of an utterly different race — different to us all, in fact. You are of a higher intelligence; an intelligence that is above all of this. Why do you allow it?
Kaba’s expression did not change, he merely inhaled deeply.
“Gawain, my friend. Your perception is correct. I and my comrades are of a different race. You will find it astonishing but we are from a different satellite than yours. We belong to the same galaxy but many millions of miles from here. I tell you this because of your circumstances. You will not survive but you are deserving of some explanation.”
Ignatious looked at this mysterious man, a man so gentle and perfect of appearance, calmly telling him that he and his group are from another planet! How could such an intelligence allow what threatened to be a nasty death.
“Our work here is ongoing,” continued Kaba. “By your time scale it is slow, but we can sit for hundreds of years in order to carry our experiments through. Some of the benefits you will already have noticed; the way the tribespeople can control the wild beasts by the strength of their minds, for example.”
Ignatious was unable to control the trembling of his body. “But what is your purpose?” he asked.
The Elder explained calmly. “I have neither the time nor the inclination to go fully into our business but I will tell you something that you will not be able to accept. You are a religious man and will follow your faith.”
He paused before speaking again. “My ancestors came to this planet billions of years ago. They watched this ball of gas cool and develop. They were experts in the construction of life — DNA, which you have now discovered, being a large factor in that.”
“What do you mean?” asked a pensive Ignatious.
“I mean that we, not your God, produced all life on this Earth. We made mistakes along the way, the dinosaurs being one of them. What useless, ugly, ungainly creatures they were. They provided nothing of value to the planet. They destroyed rather than enhanced life. So we got rid of them.”
“No. they were wiped out as a result of a giant meteorite hitting Earth.”
Kaba almost smiled. “No, Gawain, they didn’t. Do you not think that all other life would have died had that been so? The birds lived. Many, many other creatures survived, even some of the dinosaurs. Although they died relatively soon after.”
“But how?” stammered Ignatious.
“Germs. Microbes. Organisms. We merely infected them. Anyway, it is enough for you to know that we created Man at a later stage. Based on apes, an experiment gone wrong, my ancestors manufactured Man. He appeared in a less than satisfactory form — genetic engineering is ruled by very fine lines you must understand. However, we got it mostly right in the end. Unfortunately, we had to leave before correcting one of our major errors.”
“And what would that be?”
“Violence, my friend, violence. The brain had too strong a strand and it retains the sometimes necessary aggression for too long a period. Our brains have just the correct amount. We never have wars between what you would call nations, nor do we encounter aggression from other planets. Only Earth is so violent. In four or five hundred years from now, you will have improved to a near perfect standard. Your Earth will survive, and it will improve.”
Ignatious was aghast. “But what is happening to my colleagues and myself is violent!”
The Elder shook his head slowly. “We cannot interfere too much here. Tradition is important and we must allow it to continue.”
The wretched captives had all heard what the impressive man had said. None believed him. God was the Creator and that was fact.
A last glance at the unfortunate group by the Elder, accompanied by the words: “May you find peace and contentment on the next level,” and he was gone. Immediately the villagers erupted into a barrage of noise; cheering, shrieking and roaring, their feet stamping heavily on the ground, spears jabbing the air.
Ignatious watched the activity fearfully. The tribe was working itself into a trance-like frenzy. Then, from the melee strode a man holding one of the strange, wooden syringes that were sometimes used to cure some of the more severe illnesses. Without pause, he walked up to the crying and jabbering Sister Vasquez and placed the syringe against her arm. A slight delay as he searched for the correct spot and then the plunger was pressed. A short crack and the young woman died instantly, apparently feeling no pain. Her head slumped forward and she hung naked and beautifully serene in death.
Vasquez was immediately released from her bonds and carried in the arms of four men to the crematorium, where she was gently placed into the pod, a bunch of humming bird feathers being placed against her left thigh. This time, however, the lid was left off as a tribesman carried out the lighting process. The baying crowd now fell silent and their ranks parted so that the prisoners were allowed a clear view of the events.
The furnace roared and hummed, the outer covering glowing quickly to a white heat. A thin plume of flame appeared around Dolorita, orange and yellow in colour, highlighting her peaceful frame for a few seconds and then she began to burn and shrivel. The sight of the twisting, blackening body turned the stomachs of her heartbroken ex-colleagues. The lid had been deliberately left off to allow the body to burn rather than be incinerated and to let the others view the spectacle. Suddenly, a thick sheet of flame shot through the burning mass and the Sister disappeared, becoming part of the fuel for the fire. The lid was hoisted into place and left for it to complete the operation as normal.
A low murmuring came from the gathered crowd and this increased in volume and intensity until it was back to the blood curdling shrieking and roaring of before. The villagers surged forward to the captives, stopping a couple of feet from them, the noise continuing unabated. The stamping of feet began again, striking even more terror into the shivering trio. The noise and threat was awful.
Then, of all people, Ignatious saw his friend, Karakta, step forward and begin to jab his spear into the unprotected body of Christian. Jab, jab, jab, jab; chest, abdomen, thighs, arms; jab, jab, jab; feet, knees, testicles. The screaming brought tears to Ignatious’s eyes and he wept unashamedly.
Ottomier, to his left, was uttering a strange, guttural sound, his eyes wide and rolling wildly, saliva sliding from the corners of his jaw.
A girl of around twelve stepped forward and stuck some pointed object into Ottomier’s midriff bringing a loud cry from him. Looking into his face, giggling, she stuck him again and again, targeting his arms and legs, the crowd urging her on. This was the signal for several other youngsters to step forward and begin stabbing and cutting the helpless victims. The only one not included was, of course, Ignatious.
Christian was brought more into the horrendous display of violence, adults and children alike using him to vent their anger and clearly deriving sadistic pleasure from it. Ignatious was powerless to shut out the terrible screams of his companions.
The suffering went on and on, flaming torches and smouldering twigs being used in addition to the stabbing and cutting. The blood lust was plain to see in the eager faces of the tormentors, whether they be young or old. The genital area of Ottomier came in for prolonged treatment, his cries and screams serving only to encourage. Even if a miracle should occur and he be freed, he would never again be able to use that part of his body for pleasure.
The hot sun rose to its zenith, painfully burning the naked bodies of the missionaries, there being no shade to protect them. As if at a given signal, the torture ceased and the tribespeople moved away to their homes, presumably for the mid-day meal.
Turning to his friend, Christian, Ignatious was shocked to see his condition. He hung limply as far as his bonds would allow, pieces of flesh hanging from him, his body blackened where he had been burned, open wounds seeping blood. From head to toe, he was a damaged mess. Mercifully, he had lost consciousness at some period in the torture, but the trembling, incoherent babbling continued. Parts of his scalp were raw and bleeding where the hair had been torn from him, flies already settling on the seeping wounds.
Ignatious looked to the heavens, forlornly beseeching his Creator to free he and his companions from this hell. Receiving no immediate salvation, he swivelled his head to look at Ottomier. The man, the sinner who had brought this horror upon the religious group, was in a similar condition to Christian, with the added pain of having the eye nearest to Ignatious, reduced to an open, bleeding socket and an ear torn away. One of his feet was still smouldering, a thin plume of smoke curling lazily upwards, where the foot had previously been set alight. The blubbering and salivating was a constant accompaniment to the groans of Father Christian, further along the line.
The torture was resumed in the early evening when both injured men had recovered to some extent. The agony was made worse by the injuries providing fertile targets for the cruel treatment. Although Ignatious was left completely alone in all this, the torture he suffered was of a mental kind, creating scars that, if he managed to live, would remain with him for ever.
The sun had begun to set before the agonies finally ended for that day, the victims being expertly kept alive. The only relief, of a sort, reached by Ignatious was to use the power of his brain to lift him to a higher plane and also to keep away the incessant attacks from the winged insects that plagued the blood-soaked humans. However, this wasn’t something he could maintain indefinitely and he was forced to endure periods of suffering until his mind was strong enough to temporarily free him once more.
Shortly after sunrise, it all began again, the tribe seemingly tireless in their mission. The only break came when the cremation of the murdered girl, Ka-Lauma took place but the event had the effect of heightening the desire of the tribe to hurt the perpetrators. How Christian and Ottomier stayed alive seemed a sick miracle in itself but this was due to the expertise of the persecutors, following centuries of experience.
It was on the fourth day that a change occurred. The villagers came from their dwellings as usual at sunrise, painted as before but carrying no weapons of any kind. An unnerving quietness descended on the villagers and they sat in a huge semi-circle before the almost mindless prisoners. Four chosen men then stepped forward, two of whom were carrying small wooden boxes, measuring approximately ten inches by eight and around five inches deep. They stood in twos before the miserable prisoners; one with a box and one without. What good eyes the priests possessed stared transfixed at the boxes before them, sensing something evil and dangerous. The lids were lifted to reveal a scurrying mass of small insects, which the priests easily identified as the poisonous Fire Ants. An involuntary shudder coursed through their bodies, and this included Ignatious.
With ceremonial aplomb, the men with the free hands dipped in and grabbed a handful each. They held the busy insects under the noses of their captives for several seconds, allowing the fear to increase as their minds imagined what was about to happen. The hands moved nearer and then sprinkled the insects onto the shoulders of the quaking men.
Like greyhounds released from the trap, the ants sped over the bruised and torn flesh, exploring the open wounds, biting as they went, scurrying into the warm holes of the ears and nostrils, doing their damage there, also. Ottomier endured the added horror of having the dreadful creatures invading his open eye socket. To the men, it was like having razors slid across their injuries and the screeching began again. In seconds that seemed like hours, the bodies jerked and shuddered in agony as the poisons hit their systems. The mouths that opened to cry out became immediately filled with nasty, biting ants, some speeding down their throats.
One of the tribesmen then brushed away all that could be seen, using a large frond from the abundant ferns that covered the area. They then sat with the rest to watch and enjoy the suffering of Christian and Ottomier.
The bound pair cried and screamed in their unconsciousness, the pain being so severe as to register through the insensible state, the life slowly being drained from them.
As death seemed imminent, and soon, one of the four rose and went to the twitching victims, pressing the compressed-air syringe against their arms. The figures stopped the pained movements and became instantly relaxed, remaining in an unconscious state, the poisons quickly surrendering to the potent antidote.
During that day, Christian and Ottomier were subjected to various injections, administered by use of the reed needles. The effect of these was varied in reaction and intensity, as the drugs that were applied caused muscle spasms and, at other times, frightening hallucinations.
Following the regular pattern, the villagers returned home for their mid-day meals before resuming the entertainment an hour or so later. In between the action, Ignatious was given pure, clear water to slake his intense thirst — an unexpected act of mercy.
On returning for the afternoon session, the villagers sat, as before, in a large semi-circle, while one of their number administered the mind-bending drugs to Christian and Ottomier. As the day dragged towards evening, with both tortured priests nearing the end, their bodies in a sickening mess, their minds in a fury of terror, Ignatious’s friend, Karakta, stood before what was left of Father Christian, holding a timber box, similar in size to the ones before, which he set on the ground. Bending to the box, he lifted the lid, reached in and brought out a large ant, one much bigger than the Fire Ants. This was recognised by Ignatious as a Giant Amazon Ant — a deadly species. He held the wriggling creature in his hand, holding it aloft to the cheers of the onlookers. After allowing time for all to see and applaud, he proceeded to place it at the base of Christian’s neck, letting its legs beat a fast rhythm on the bare flesh where it created several nasty little scratch marks. Karakta then let go of the ant. Immediately it was free, the dreadful insect bit into Christian’s neck before speeding away around his head, biting whenever it felt the urge. It completed its exploration by rushing down the torn side of the tortured priest before losing itself in the surrounding foliage.
Christian gave out a long groan as the muscles of his body spasmed causing his legs and arms to strain against the bonds and his head jerk upwards and back again, side to side and up again. His face took on an expression of moving through a speed barrier as the cheeks flapped and billowed, exposing a mouthful of broken and bloodied teeth, his muscles beginning to paralyse as Ignatious watched. He died in that position.
Before releasing the corpse, two other tribesmen ensured that Ottomier was awake and aware of what was going on, forcing him to look toward his dead companion. Karakta released the body and dragged it ignominiously to the crematorium, while the villagers once more allowed a pathway for the remaining prisoners to see. Karakta single-handedly lifted Christian onto the pod and laid him out, notably omitting the placing of the feathers against the thigh. He then stepped back and lit the fire. As with sister Vasquez, the transparent flame began the spectacle, followed by the sudden sheet of flame that turned the carcass into fuel.
As Ottomier was approached, he began to shake even more violently, dreading the oncoming attack from the Giant Amazon. He gasped with relief as he felt his bonds being unfastened. Could it be that he was to be set free? Had he suffered enough? He prayed to God, as he had not done for so many long months in this paradise gone wrong. Muttering unheeded thanks and falling to his lacerated knees as he was moved from the post to which he had been attached over the last four days, he begged the forgiveness of the tribe. “I have learned my lesson, now,” he croaked. “It will never happen again. Please, forgive me the error of my ways. The good Lord above will punish me as I deserve.”
He then felt himself being dragged painfully to his feet and urged along toward the funeral box. Bewildered, he shuffled forward without resistance until he felt himself again being bound, this time at the wrists with his damaged arms behind him, and then at the ankles. Before he had time to take in the new turn of events, he was lifted into the pod, which was now empty of its hot ash and once more covered with earth and bracken.
Desperate to escape from his prison, Ottomier began to wriggle furiously, ignoring the extremes of pain that the struggle caused him. He screamed for clemency and pleaded for his miserable life but forgiveness was not forthcoming. He heard the dreaded roar of the crematorium fire as it shot into life. The comfortable bed on which he lay began to get warm, the fuel smouldering at its base. Ottomier wriggled and cried, still calling for mercy. The heat became stronger and began to burn and peel the skin from him. The fire was building slowly now, unlike the usual burial, designed to inflict the maximum pain.
The priest, a child rapist and murderer, smelled his own flesh burning, the pain more intense than anything suffered so far. His good eye roamed downwards and he observed blisters appearing wherever skin remained on his body, the now aptly named Fire Ants, streaming out through the open wounds, to be incinerated in a flash. In a final moment, Ottomier saw a bright light somewhere in his subconscious, followed by the serene face of his Lord God. A mighty sheet of flame shot through the cooking body and he was no more.
By this time, the light was beginning to fade and the crowd, excited by the brutality, adrenalin buzzing, returned to the lone captive.
‘This is it,’ thought Ignatious. ‘My Maker will receive me.’ A strange calm overtook him; he was prepared.
Suddenly, the Elder appeared through the gathering and confronted the doomed priest. “You have suffered punishment by witnessing the torture and death of your companions,” he began. “You are to die but not this day. As the sun will rise tomorrow, you will be put to death by injection of a poison unknown to you and your world. In deference to the good work you have done here, you will leave without pain and quickly. Your body will then be burned in accordance with our customs and you, unlike your friends, will be accorded the assistance to your destination of the Colibri — the humming bird feathers.” He then signalled to Karakta to bring food, drink and oils, instructing him to clean up the condemned man and give him nourishment.
“Farewell, young man,” he said to Ignatious, “and may you sit in peace with your God.” With that, he left.
The crowd began to disperse, leaving behind Karakta and two others. Ignoring Ignatious, Karakta went about his duties, bringing forward a rough, timber table upon which the others placed one of the compressed-air hypodermics and a liquid solution. This was the poison that was to be used on Ignatious and it was contained in a flask made from hardened animal skin. Ignatious absently noted that there would be far too much in the flask for the one dosage but, he reasoned, it was probably the entire stock carried. The tribes-people were able to produce the poison in any quantity from the local vegetation, so there would be no lack of supply.
Finally, having completed his task, Karakta turned to his one time friend. “Gawain, my friend. I am truly sorry about this; it is beyond my control. I am not allowed to even speak with you and my heart hurts at your present situation. I take a great risk in speaking with you now and I must leave quickly. I want to tell you before I go, that our friendship was of great value to me and it will remain with me until I die. I wish you good fortune in your next life.” A tear trickled down the face of the troubled Incuda, as he took one last, lingering look at Ignatious, before moving swiftly away to his dwelling.
Left alone, bound to the pole, Ignatious also shed a tear as the evening turned into night, stars beginning to twinkle in the clear skies. The ever-present sounds of jungle animals diminished to the odd roar or growl, with an occasional shriek from some unknown breed of monkey or bird. The night was warm and Ignatious settled to his prayer, dozing as far as his position would allow, his spirit now calm and prepared for the coming audience with his Creator.
Ignatious came from his sleep, his brain befuddled with the events of the dream. Slowly, order settled and he sat up. Putting his hands to his face, he wiped away the wetness covering his cheeks, emanating from the tears that had flowed freely in the night. He looked at the clock on the wall at the foot of his bed. It showed 7am.