by Lars Teeney
“En el último año sólo he estudiado el Antiguo Testamento y deseada justicia del Señor. Quiero ser un instrumento de justicia. (In the last year I have only studied the Old Testament and desired the justice of the Lord. I want to be an instrument of justice,)” she said, waiting to find out how the woman would react.
“Está bien, niña. Yo creo que podemos tener un uso para ti. (Okay, girl. I think we may have a use for you,)” the woman said, casually. She began to walk away.
“Espere. Quién es usted? (Hold On. Who are you?)” Consuela asked hastily, trying to get the woman’s attention.
“Soy el Friar Francis de la Orden del Pentagrama. Yo soy la herida del pie izquierdo de Cristo. (I am Friar Francis of the Order of the Pentagram. I am the Wound of the Left Foot of Christ,)” Friar Francis exclaimed, she unsheathed her sword and pointed the tip at the pentagram banner above the cathedral door.
Consuela didn’t know what to make of this statement. The Left Foot of Christ? It sounded official. They must possess a certain degree of authority to make that proclamation, “Hola Pie Izquierdo. Mi nombre es Consuela. (Hello Left Foot. My name is Consuela,)” she introduced herself and put out a hand for a shake.
“¡Oh, no. Por favor, llámeme Friar Francis! (Oh, no. Please call me Friar Francis,)” Friar Francis corrected her. She left the hand unmet, “Por favor, ven conmigo. (Please come with me.)” She instructed.
Friar Francis led her through the entrance to the cathedral. They walked up the central aisle. The altar was gone in this cathedral. In place of that was a throne-like chair. Above it was another sloppy pentagram banner hanging. There was a man sitting in the chair. He wore a matching hooded cloak to Friar Francis. There were people standing before him. Consuela surmised that the man was acting as a judge for some sort of legal proceeding. Friar Francis instructed her to take a seat on a wooden pew in the back. Friar Francis approached the Man in the chair. She whispered something in his ear. The Man gazed back at Consuela and stood up.
“Ciudadanos nobles, Posponemos la justicia del Señor para otro día. Por favor, vuelve mañana a la primera luz. (Noble citizens, We postpone the righteousness of the Lord for another day. Please come back tomorrow at first light,)” the Man made the announcement. The people murmured but no one protested: they seem to have known better. The townspeople filed out of the cathedral. Soon it was only Consuela, Friar Francis, and the hooded Man in the chair. He gestured for Consuela to approach him. She slowly moved toward the throne.
“Bienvenidos a la Corte del Señor. Se nos conoce como la Societatum Pentagram. O en español: de la Orden del Pentagrama. (Welcome to the Court of the Lord. We are known as the Societatum Pentagram. Or in Spanish: the Order of the Pentagram,)” the man stated. Consuela was trying to keep track of it all.
“Mi nombre es Monseñor Pietro Carafa. Baraer de la Lanza del Destino. La Herida de la Lanza de Cristo. Quién es usted? (My name is Monsignor Pietro Carafa, Barer of the Spear of Destiny, The Spear Wound of Christ. Who are you?)” Monsignor Carafa had exclaimed, and he sat back down once finished.
“Mi nombre es Consuela, y me buscan justicia. (My name is Consuela, and I seek justice,)” Consuela had told the Monsignor of her story, and that of her family and of her brother. She told him about her burning passion for retribution upon the El Paradiso cartel. She had also gone into detail about her study of Scripture, but most of all her weapons training. These details about her piqued Monsignor Carafa’s interest. She was desperate for a way to not feel powerless.
Monsignor Carafa told her about the Order’s ongoing Holy War against the cartels. In addition to the Five Wounds of Christ, he also employed a private army. Monsignor Carafa explained to her about a recent battle that had taken place. Friar Innocent, The Left Hand, had been killed in a skirmish. Carafa had told her that he needed to ordain a new Left Hand, otherwise they would not be the Five Wounds of Christ: only four.
After a lengthy conversation, he had Consuela give a demonstration of her combat ability. She showed him her marksmanship and her bayonet ability. He interrogated her in depth about her knowledge of scripture. Consuela seemed to have passed Carafa’s tests. Carafa had offered her food and shelter for the night, so she agreed to stay in Rama.
That night the Friars had given Consuela the cathedral tower to bed down in. She had hauled her gear to the room below the bell in the tower. She had settled in and was studying the Bible when she heard it: across the town were the echoes of anguished cries and the sounds of hammering. She surmised that it was the sounds of the condemned being nailed to crucifixes. Consuela felt uneasy and cringed when she heard the cries and thought about iron nails piercing flesh. Here she was, studying the Old Testament and plotting revenge and yet she could not handle the distant noise of crucifixions? She tried to harden her heart, but she was too human. She resorted to putting in earplugs she had for shooting, then she put out her lantern. She laid there, thinking about the surreal journey thus far. Consuela wondered what tomorrow would hold. She decided that she couldn’t wait and soon she was asleep.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
Morning came quickly. Consuela was awoken by sun rays beaming through a stain glass window that cast a red hue directly onto her face. She put on her clothes and shouldered her rifle. She exited the room and descended a set of spiral stairs leading to the ground floor. She stepped through a wooden door to the worship hall. As she entered she could see a legal proceeding in progress. Monsignor Carafa was sitting on the throne, and a man stood before him, in chains. Consuela took a seat on a pew and watched intently.
“Enrique Salamanca. Se le acusa de conspiración para corromper a los seguidores de Cristo mediante la promoción de vicio. Lo que usted dice en su defensa? (Enrique Salamanca. He stands accused of conspiracy to corrupt followers of Christ by promoting vice. What do you say in your defense?) Monsignor Carafa asked the man, with a smirk adorning his face.
“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 othe
r 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.