Empyrean

Our expedition had been deep within the Amazon for two weeks, camping in the jungle, keeping away predators and canoeing down rivers and streams. Take away the biting insects and heatstroke and the trip could have been almost idyllic; sun piercing through the canopy and regular rain showers pouring through and refreshing us during our long hikes. One morning, barely a third of the time into our planned trip, we encountered an unexpected and insurmountable obstacle; the Joveños tribe. We hadn't expected to find them and they certainly didn't wish to be found. It took no time for them to overwhelm us; our weapons were almost useless against an enemy that was able to blend into nature itself. We were captured using poisoned darts that didn't kill, but rather rendered their victims unconscious for several hours.

They took us to their village, deeper still within this patch of jungle, even further from our base camp and the relative safety that we could now only wish for. We were caged for what felt like days but what was probably only a short while, the sun being hard to discern through the thick canopy, thus making accurate timekeeping nearly impossible. Either way, it certainly wasn't long before they made up their minds about what to do with us. They took Phillips, stripped him, cleaned him and then slaughtered him like a head of cattle. There had been rumours that the long lost Joveños were cannibalistic, but there had never been anyone who had survived to corroborate the story. Our current predicament meant that the joyful taste of discovery turned to ash in our mouths.

I started to judge time based upon the sleeping patterns of the Joveños, since the perpetual shade of the village made every other attempt useless. Every few days another of our party was picked from the cages and taken before the leader of their tribe, who was seated on a high chair on a raised patch of earth in a clearing at the centre of the village. Every time, he would address the small crowd and the prisoner who was to be sacrificed for the tribe’s benefit. The crowd would give what seemed to be their assent before the leader cast his glance at a small, ornately decorated chair that always stood vacant next to him. He nodded to the chair and then announced something in the painfully mysterious language of the Joveños, which then led his followers to escort the prisoner to a large stone basin. The Joveños were reverent, cleaning the man thoroughly whilst reciting prayers and incantations in the tongue that none of us had ever heard before. Once sufficiently clean, the now red raw and naked victim was taken to a different darkly stained stone basin where he was forced to kneel. One of the Joveños would then use a crudely shaped yet razor sharp blade to open the man's neck over the basin. The man was held as the blood flowed into the basin and collected in small pots along the side. The Joveños wasted nothing, you see. They would drain the man and take the body to a small hut, after which it was not seen whole again.

Each and every man had to be restrained when he was taken as they all knew what followed release from the cages. Several of the men had attempted to make their escape once chosen. However, it was to no avail. The Joveños were adept at capturing and pacifying escapees with non-lethal methods, saving us for their very particular method of preparation and slaughter.

Days turned into weeks as our number dwindled, most of the men lost in a sort of silent acceptance of the fate that awaited us. The few that had one with them had turned to their Bibles. All other items had been taken from us, but the Joveños had left the books. They had no need for tales of our God. I'm sure that they had their own. The survivors who didn't have their own Bibles listened quietly to the ministrations of those who did. I had no desire to be a part of it, for if there had been a God looking down upon us, he surely would have delivered us from this evil before now.

This continued, week in and week out, until the original party of fifteen men was whittled down to two. Davis had been our party's botanist. Now he was nothing more than a dead man in a cage who simply hadn't yet stopped breathing. He asked me if we had done enough to try to free ourselves and whether we had even tried to save the others. I asked him whether or not it truly mattered anymore. Whatever our sins, we would soon be paying the greatest price for them. The next day, they came for Davis. I watched, alone now in my confinement, as they did to him what they had done so many times before. I could see the tears stream silently down his face as they scrubbed him with such incredible vigour. The blade was used once more with great proficiency and I was suddenly aware that it was just a matter of days before I would take my place in front of their leader, condemned to slaughter.

I awoke the next morning and began preparing myself mentally for how my life would end. I was torn between quiet dignity and furious action. I had seen both in practice amongst my men in the weeks leading up to this point. Some attacked their captors, but were pacified and butchered anyway. Others that resigned died in exactly the same way. The only consolation I could find was that the Joveños kept their blades sharp and the deaths were quick. I decided that all I had left was my pride and that I wouldn't lose it to these savages, not after being a prisoner here all of this time. The week leading up to my end I spent deep in thought; assembling a list of things I had been grateful for in my life, compiling goodbyes for loved ones that I'd never see again who would never know how I died and forgiving myself for the choices that I still held onto with regret.

When my final morning came, I stood up straight and smoothed out my ragged clothes. Mustering all of the courage that I had left, I let them lead me from my cage to the clear spot in the centre of the village, surrounded by elated and terrifying faces. I looked around and for the first time since I was thrown into my cage, I saw them for what they actually were; people, children, families. They weren't simply mindless, bloodthirsty savages. They were people who were desperate to survive. My men had died to help them do just that and, although I could never forgive them for their barbarism, at the very least I could now understand it.

My eyes found their way up to where the leader was seated. His gaze was bright blue and piercing, touching a nerve within my very soul as he stared into my eyes. He had an almost otherworldly presence and I could understand why he was the one in charge of this place.

We followed the same routine that I'd seen precisely fifteen times before and I played my part well; the people roared, the leader looked to the empty chair and I was marched to the large basin. As they stripped off my filthy garments, I closed my eyes and readied myself for the aggressive scrubbing and execution that awaited me. After a few moments of my eyes being tightly shut, the only sounds I could hear were the creatures in the jungle and the thudding of my terrified heart. The sudden sound of their leader shouting caused my eyelids to snap open. His words meant nothing to me, but their tone was that of impatience as I hadn't yet been sent to meet my God in order to please theirs. The leader was on his feet, shouting at us and gesticulating wildly. Looking around, I could see that my two guards and would-be executioners were slack-jawed and staring at my chest. I found it hard to feel self-conscious given the situation, but the large birthmark that had been on my chest forever had always been my least favourite feature. Now though, it seemed to be delaying the inevitable and it was infuriating; I'd already made my peace and was eager to be done with it all. What use was there in putting it off any longer?

My confusion rose when the two guards dragged me back toward the centre of the clearing. Had they forgotten that we'd already been through this part? They thrust me closer towards the throne's small platform and promptly dropped to their knees. I stumbled forward and the leader's bright eyes were upon me again, only this time they did not meet my own; they were firmly fixed on my chest and the large dark mark upon it. He left his seat and proceeded toward me, his expression equal parts reverence and menace. He stopped in front of me and nodded his head, his eyes eventually lifting from the mark to meet mine. He extended his hand and I was surprised not to see a blade within it. He waited, the look in his eyes expectant. I hesitated and made no movement. He nodded toward his open and outstretched hand, seemingly encouraging me to take it.

I couldn't handle the suspense and uncertainty any longer, so I took his hand and he immediately began leading me to where the two ornate chairs stood. His grip was careful, delicate even. The unexpected gentleness almost brought me to tears. I resisted, fighting against the burning in the corners of my eyes. I still knew not what laid in store for me and I'd be damned if I was going to meet my fate with tears running down my cheeks. I approached the seats, conscious of the fact that the whole village had now gathered closer to see what was happening, their undecipherable chatter slowly rising in volume. He stopped me next to the beautifully designed chair that had always stood empty and gestured to its seat.

It was hard for me to process what I was seeing. A scene was woven into the seat of the chair, facing up toward the heavens. A pale-skinned man stood in a clearing with the sun in the sky, a golden sword in his hand and, most importantly, a dark mark covering a large area of his chest. The woven man's mark matched mine, not exactly, but close enough to lead this tribe down a path of belief that might, so it seemed, cause them to spare my life. The leader gestured for me to take a seat, there upon my uncanny likeness in thread and as I hesitated it seemed as if the entirety of the tribe was holding its collective breath. I hadn’t seen the chair this closely before. It was simple, but obviously sturdy and well made. It had no arms, a high back and a wide seat. All of the edges were tinged with pieces of gold. The stitched scene in the seat looked pristine. Perhaps no-one had ever been seated upon it before. Gently, I lowered myself onto the seat and, as I did so, the hush grew even deeper. For a few seconds there was nothing at all. The jungle itself had ceased all noise. Suddenly the crowd erupted in a cheer that caused me to jump noticeably in my seat.

The leader called out to someone and, from among the jubilation in the crowd, two young women approached me carrying a platter of fresh fruits. Now I understood. The empty seat was reserved for their God or King or whatever and now they thought that was me. All because of a birthmark that had done nothing but sit there, staining my skin, for my whole life. Now I was royalty. Now I was divine. I'd brought a cohort of men out here to their deaths and they might have been spared if only I had volunteered myself first. If they had seen my mark, maybe they all would have been spared. Perhaps if I survive long enough to learn their language I will find out. Maybe I never want to know. Either way, the guilt is mine for eternity. Mine alone, eternally, in my new heavenly kingdom. One from which there can surely be no escape.