“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.