by Q. Zayne
My former priest still held my hand, guiding me and the flashlight beam. His warmth seemed to radiate into me, taking away the chill of the ancient stones. All during the trek, I longed to be cooler. Here in the fathomless dark, I felt the chill of the grave. Curiosity and my hope of finding Lena kept me from retreating.
“Let’s sit.” Ignatius led us to the closest wall.
It was a relief to sit and take the weight off my ankle. It didn’t hurt to much, but gave off a steady throb of complaint from my walking on it. The feel of the stones seduced me into being entranced by their age. Had anyone else touched them since the workmen set them in place with such skill?
“There’s something Jace hasn’t told you.”
I knew it. “About Lena?”
“No. He married your mother. They eloped to Reno.”
“He what? He married Mom and didn’t tell me? She didn’t tell me? What the hell?” It hit me like a sandbag falling on a cartoon bank robber. Jace was my stepfather. He kissed me! That bastard!
“He didn’t know how to tell you. He knows you’re worried about Lena and that’s your main concern right now. Then we got the news.” He examined his hands. “I’m so sorry, I haven’t known how to tell you either.
My stomach sank. Deep shadows hid his expression, but his voice conveyed something terrible.
“What, what news?” My voice sounded shrill. I panted, breathing fast but unable to get enough air.
“Your mother’s dead. A car accident. She promised Jace she’d stop drinking, but she was drunk. It was fast. She didn’t suffer.”
“Mom’s dead. A car crash smashed the life out of her and you freaking tell me she didn’t suffer?” I beat at his chest with my fists, hot tears ran down my face. “Why tell me now?”
“Jace feels responsible for you. He wants to help you any way he can. He knew you needed to make this trip to find Lena. Like her, he has a passion for ancient mysticism, so he’s been eager to follow up on what you told him about her quest to find this temple.”
“Yes, I figured his helping wasn’t from altruism. What about Mom, though? How could he keep that from me? How could you?”
“Your mother wanted to be cremated. Jace decided to postpone the funeral until you return to the states. He didn’t want you to have to deal with this on top of Lena being missing. He was persuasive in his arguments for not telling you until after the expedition. I didn’t hear from you after your father died; it wasn’t my place to interfere.”
“I see.” I couldn’t argue. His voice held no reproach, but if I hadn’t left the Church, things would be different.
“It’s been a weight on me, keeping this from you. You’re a sensitive girl, you always have been. You know things that aren’t spoken. I thought it better to tell you the truth now instead of leaving you in an anxious state. What we imagine can be worse than the truth, although in the case, the truth is painful. Jace thought it would be best if I came along for this trip. I see now that was a mistake.”
“Hold me.” Ignatius held me in those muscular arms I couldn’t get used to but couldn’t get enough of. Nothing in the world made sense anymore, if it ever did.
We sat that way until I composed myself. Curiosity asserted itself, my defense against more grief. I picked up the flashlight and played the beam around the temple. Our find overwhelmed me. This had to be the temple Lena sought. Did it hold the secret to immortality and the key to the end of the world?
The beam created a flash of light at the base of the altar. Shaking, I got to my feet. I limped to the small, shining thing. I lifted it and cradled it in my palm. One of Lena’s geckos. Did she leave it for me to find, or lose it while exploring? I checked the area with the flashlight. No scrapes on the stones, no blood, no sign of a struggle. Odds seemed good that no one interfered with her, but I couldn’t know.
“Lena,” I whispered to Ignatius. “Lena! Lena! Lena!” My shouts died to silence.
“Do you still want to leave?”
I shook my head. I ran the light on the walls in every direction. There was no place to search. Barring a secret panel, which seemed impossible given the stone blocks surrounding us, there was no place she could be. I couldn’t walk away. She’d been here. Maybe she’d come back. She might have gone out for food and would come back to make rubbings and drawings, photograph everything, knowing better than to trust the site would remain in the condition she found it. Looting and destruction of ancient sites was a worldwide problem abetted by chains of dealers and buyers who rewarded people who damaged priceless repositories of history. Each artifact, each carving hacked from its place, robbed everyone of the understanding that came from studying remnants of the past in context.
Ignatius squeezed my hand, as though he divined my gloomy thoughts.
“What do you want to do?”
“Let’s remain here, Ignatius. The doorway is open. We’ll hear if the others call for us. At least here I feel close to Lena.” I touched the stone. Had she rested on the altar, perhaps given way to the temptation to stretch out on it in the dark, imaging its terrible history? Perhaps the girls felt honored to be chosen. Lena said that archaeologists used to theorize that the losers of the Mayan game played in the majestic ball courts became sacrifices. She inclined toward the more recent thought that the winners gave their lives to their gods; their prowess at the sacred game proved them worthy. Did girls grow up hoping to be chosen, as I once anticipated becoming a bride of Christ?
My fingers encountered unevenness along the altar’s edge. I crouched and trained the flashlight on it. Glyphs. They were as well-carved as the one’s on the relic. Disquiet nagged at me, but archaeological fever overcame it. I traced each sign with my fingers, recognizing a few from evenings of viewing them over Lena’s shoulder. I couldn’t read them, but I sounded them the way Lena taught me. Like Egyptian hieroglyphs, some of them stood for sounds and formed words. Without meaning to, I chanted the phrase at the head of the altar.
“Don’t!” Ignatius clapped his hand over my mouth.
The temple rumbled. We fell on the stones. I covered my head. Ignatius covered my body. I smelled his sweat, and I smelled dust.
“What happened?”
Ignatius groped for the flashlight. “Stay here!”
“But—”
He ran to the entrance. In a minute he returned, huffing.
“It’s closed.”
“Closed? No.” I refused it. That meant we were trapped. That was impossible. I was an archaeologist’s daughter. I knew better than to become trapped. I felt a the pit of my stomach sink. We left our gear with Ignatius’ clothes where he wrapped my ankle. We weren’t just trapped. We were screwed. We had no food and no water.
“It’s a cave-in.” Ignatius examined the temple in all directions with the flashlight, confirming what we both knew. There was no way out.
“We can move the debris, dig our way out.”
“No chance of that. This isn’t rubble and dirt, it’s the stone blocks of the structure. The entrance is completely blocked.”
I saw blood on his hands where he must have tried to pry at the stones. I couldn’t kid myself that adding my strength to his would budge solid rock. If we did move a stone, we’d end up crushed.
What had I done? It had to be a coincidence. Anything might cause part of an ancient structure to collapse. But Ignatius covered my mouth, as though he knew the danger.
“You knew, didn’t you? How did you know?”
“Let’s rest, Blair. You’ve been through a lot, and there’s nothing we can do right now. Maybe in the morning, we’ll find daylight to show to the outside..” His soothing voice took me back to the past, when things were simple and I could take a nap.
“Okay.” Questions could wait. Not much chance I’d like the answers. I didn’t believe there’d be daylight. Based on pictures I’d seen of Maya architecture, their pyramids didn’t have openings. This one, wrapped in jungle, wouldn’t see daylight if it had skylights. I liked him for his a
ttempt at optimism, though.
Without needing to discuss it, we went back to the wall and stretched out there, away from the altar. Ignatius put his arm over me, sharing his warmth. As impossible as it seemed, I slept.
I woke up in pure dark. No way to tell if it was past dawn. My stomach growled. I ignored it. I hadn’t seen or heard any bats or other creatures, and even if there were other inhabitants in the temple, I wouldn’t kill and eat them. I liked camping, but I brought food from stores. Dad used to rib me about my organic avocado sandwiches. I wasn’t cut out to be a survivalist.
I felt for Ignatius. He wasn’t there. My heart pounded.
“You’re awake. Good morning. I’ve been sparing the light.” He flicked it.
I felt relief, but the light looked dim. What would we do when it was gone? Silly. The light dying wasn’t much of a problem compared to the lack of water. I licked my lips. We’d manage without food for a few days, maybe long enough for Jace and Tico to find us, but how long without water?
“This is a place of power, and the Maya believed in entrances to the underworld located in our physical world. Maybe there’s a different exit.”
“You aren’t serious?” The dark shadows on his face masked his expression. His eyes glittered. Was it a kind of mania? Or was he like Jace, eager to believe in a mystical answer to his human limits, the surge of middle age toward death?
He lit the altar and offered me his hand. I got to my feet, teetered on my sore ankle. We walked to the center of the temple.
“We have to see how this was used.This is a powerful remnant of the profane culture that flourished here. This is where their priests prepared the virgins for sacrifice to their bloodthirsty gods.”
“How horrible.” My voice shook. Such things fascinated and thrilled me in an impure way.
“Pure girls were presented on this altar to give themselves in the ultimate way. Don’t you want to sense the stories this altar holds?” His eyes knew me. The shadows elongated his face, made it a demon’s. “You know you do.” He set the flashlight on the altar, its beam aimed at my breasts. They strained at my blouse, rising and falling in rapid swells.
I nodded. I couldn’t speak.
His hands shook as he unbuttoned my blouse. I didn’t protest. It was as though the entire scary, dangerous trek through the jungle was for this purpose, so Father Ignatius would undress me in an ancient Mayan temple at an intersection of sacred and profane I could not have imagined nor made up before that moment.
Some small part of my mind protested. We shouldn’t be doing this. This was forbidden. This was dangerous. I never wanted to take off my clothes with a man before, certainly not with guys my age who either didn’t look at me at all or stared at me like I was a centerfold. I sighed. What did it matter now? We weren’t getting out of here. I didn’t want to believe in the apocalypse. I quailed at the thought that I might be like Pandora, that I committed the one act that changed everything. That wasn’t possible. But I spelled the end for us. Spelled. Was the chant a spell, a closing of the way, a deliberate sealing out of the outside world? Or was it just an accident? I touched the altar. I wished I hadn’t noticed the carvings, hadn’t read them. I’d never thought of myself as superstitious, but some secrets weren’t meant to be disturbed.
This was a place where horrible things happened. This was a place filled with screams and blood. I sensed the terror of the girls who died on the altar before me.
He unclasped my bra, his arms strong around me, making me feel protected and afraid at the same time. His khaki shirt and slacks grazed my skin, made goosebumps rise on my arms. His eyes glittered in the near dark. He drew my bra down, exposing my breasts with reverence, his eyes intent on them. He unfastened my jeans and skinned them down until he crouched at my feet. Holding my hand to steady me as I stepped out of them, he smiled up at me with the face of a much younger man. Long ago, perhaps when he was younger than me, he took his vow of celibacy. My breathing sped up, thinking about what he must be feeling, how overpowering his lust must be to be doing this with me. I couldn’t stop my growing excitement.
I stepped to the altar and touched the rough stone. Hundred of years ago girls like me came here and gave more than their virginity. They gave their lives. I shuddered, picturing the bloody rites. Vertigo spun me back in time. The ancient priest held a heart aloft, ripped from between a virgin’s breasts, blood dripping down his arm.
As in a dream, he lifted me and laid me on the altar. I shook on the cool stone. He peeled off my panties, exposing me, and pulled my legs wide apart. He fastened my ankles and my wrists with ancient shackles.
What was he going to do? What if he couldn’t get the shackles off of me?
I trembled, but it was too late for regrets. Ignatius stroked my hair out of my face, his touch and expression so tender, only for me. All the rest of the world fell away, leaving us alone in this strange silence. The temple smelled damp and old, older than the oldest bones ever found, older than wonder.
Ignatius’ s sweat wafted at me with a bestial tang, strange and arousing. My nipples tightened, my breasts rose high and firm on my chest with my wrists shackled overhead.
With my legs spread so wide, muscles in my inner thighs jumped and I smelled my heat.
In the distance, I heard a waterfall and the cry of one of the jungle’s bright birds. Impossible though all this stone. Were those sounds from the ancient past, somehow present in this sacred place? I heard his heart thudding fast.
We were alone. More alone than I’d ever been.
My senses became more keen. I heard the colors of the bird, the intense green and red. My heart beat as though running track, reaching my limit. Had the virgin’s heart continued to beat in the priest’s hand?
My priest’s hand stroked me from my injured ankle up my inner thigh. Shivers shook me. He place his palm on my most private place. Muscles jumped in my lower belly. Forbidden. What we were doing was forbidden.
His pants tented. He resembled a statue of the phallic Egyptian god Min, but with his erection covered.
“Think about it Blair, think about finding the doorway between worlds.”
He gave me a crooked grin and disrobed. He pulled off his undershirt and briefs. Simple white underwear. Who did a priest’s laundry? Nuns? Or did he do his own, or send it to a service? Someone folded those garments before he put them on, before he got dressed, not knowing he’d wear them to take them off in front of a virgin shackled to a pagan altar. Pagan probably wasn’t the word. This was their land, and their beliefs were valid here, as worthy of respect as ours.
I’d changed. During the trek through the jungle I changed as much as a human being could change. Maybe I found, in my way, Tico’s peace. Acceptance. Yet still, I felt squashed by guilt.
As I stared at my former priest’s erection, I didn’t want to think about my beliefs. Everything I’d been taught made me cringe from the feelings overtaking me as I lay exposed, bound and helpless, threatened by his cock. He stepped closer. I felt the heat from his body.
Was he going to—was Father Ignatius going to—take my virginity?
He stared into my face like a man possessed. Drool ran over his lower lip and down my cheek.
I had no way to get away from him.
“I’ll absolve you. I’ll absolve us both. Say you want me, say it.”
“I want you.” I did. I had never seen anything as shocking and amazing as my former priest’s out-of-proportion erection rearing from its public nest. If I hadn’t already been spread-eagled, I would have opened my legs for him.
Desire met terror and desire won. I’d never been so wet and hot in my life. I felt disloyal to Lena, but I couldn’t do anything for her in the moment. She’d understand. If she saw what I saw, if she’d felt his hands, if she felt the things I felt for him, the awe, respect, wonder and love, she’d understand. I swallowed, my heart too full to bear. He held himself over me, between my thighs, his arms shaking. His dark eyes shone, fevered. He licked his li
ps..
“Tell me, tell me, my—girl.”
“I want you, Father.” You know why you want a man as old as your father. Jace’s words lanced me as I glimpsed my priest’s lined face in the flashlight’s small glow. Yes, I knew. “Please, Father, please.”
A sound tore from deep inside of him and he lunged, speared me. I screamed.
His erection rending me, he drove without mercy, deep into me. I strained at the cuffs but the chains held me. He demolished my hymen. I was his, as much a sacrifice as the local virgins.
He plunged, again and again, grunting, working me. His big body crushed my breasts and butterflied my legs as he ground into me to the root. I clenched my eyes shut, panting, stretched wide open. I couldn’t tell if blood ran down me or our combined juices.
My welcoming this rutting man into my virgin body filled me with horror.
I did welcome him. If I hadn’t been tied down I’d clasp him with my arms and legs, pet his devil-dark hair, kiss his cruel mouth.
“Bless me, Father,” I whispered, sobbing, “For I have sinned.” Virgin no more, part of me gloried in surrendering to the inflamed former priest, even as I fought the horror of it and the shock between my legs.
He strove harder, cutting off my confession, making me moan from deep in my belly. He stabbed deeper and harder than I thought possible.
I gasped as he hit bottom, much too big for me, his erection as obscene as the relic he’d put in my hand. Maybe he knew he’d be the one to violate me for my first time.
I was no longer a virgin. I stared down at my belly tented by Ignatius’s cock. I looked pregnant. Oh, Lena, I hope you forgive me. I hope you’re alive, and I get to tell you what it’s like, having a man take over my body and push his erection so deep it makes my tummy stick out!
“So tight, my pretty girl, my virgin offering. Such a sacrifice, deflowered! Thank you, thank you!” His voice shook with gratitude. “Feel me. Feel me to your depths! Picture a gateway, feel it open the way I’m opening you. Make it open.”
