FOOD

Somewhere in South America

The moon was full and hung low to the earth. Shadows cast by the tall trees danced beneath the thick canopy, while multiple jaguars could be heard growling and moaning in the distance. In a vast clearing, set at the fringes of the jungle, an enormous stone temple, adorned with nightmarish creatures crafted from solid black marble, sprouted up from the ground. Constructed by an unknown race of ancient builders, the top of the temple rose above the clouds, making it impossible to view with human eyes. Ten figures of various heights, their outlines obscured by the flowing lines of their dark black robes, stood in a circle around a giant bonfire. The scent of charred wood and burnt flesh wafted over the figures as they mumbled their secret incantations. Blood-curdling screams rode the wind, informing the hungry jaguars to keep their distance, but the scent of cooked flesh was making it hard to keep them at bay. As the final human sacrifice was burning to their death, a tall, dark figure emerged from the main entrance of the temple. Plotting his course with precision, the shadow walked over to the circle of praying zealots, and placed his meaty right hand on the shoulder of the shortest member in the circle. The small initiate stopped his rant and removed the dark hood which concealed his horribly scarred face. “It is time,” whispered the tall, cloaked shadow.

The two men left the circle, while the other initiates continued their offerings, and headed towards the main entrance of the temple. The taller man led the way, taking his time with every step. The grounds were hallowed, which meant showing your respect was lesson number one. Last night, one of the initiates got caught urinating on the east wall of the temple. Tonight, his unfortunate un-enlightenment was being cleansed by the flames of the lily.

The tall man reached the temple entrance first. He placed his left hand on the marble door, then muttered foreign words the scared initiate had never heard before. After a moment of silence, a low rumble vibrated up from the dirt beneath their feet. Stones of all sizes began to shake and roll from their perches, while dark birds gawked and fled from their high branches. A nearby jaguar moaned in protest, patiently waiting for the right time to move in closer to the roasting bodies. Then the marble door slid open, disappearing into the temple wall.

The corridor was narrow and long, stretching far over five hundred feet. Four foot torches with solid gold hilts were mounted every twenty feet, illuminating the entrances to perpendicular passageways. At the fourth set of torches, the tall man turned left. He proceeded to lead the scarred initiate down a similar passageway, except this one was shorter and only had one torch. A thick, wooden door, riddled with ancient carvings and splinters, glowed at the end. As they approached, the tall man pulled an old key from a secret seam in his robe. Before he unlocked the door, the tall man turned to the initiate, “Are you ready to shed your blood?”

Thinking back on his pathetic thirty three years of life, the last ten of which he had spent pursuing the acceptance of the Fire Lily, the scarred initiate looked deep into the shadowed eyes of the tall man and firmly nodded his head in confirmation. The door was pushed open, but not without moaning in agony. The room was generous in size, stretching about twenty feet in each direction. The walls were black marble and were adorned with the same golden torches as the passageways. The ceiling also rose twenty feet, showcasing two triangular skylights, overflowing with moonlight. In the center of the room, a bald, old man in a blood-red robe was seated on the left of a raised, stone altar. A fold-up metal table, covered in surgical instrument trays sat beside the bald man. As the initiate approached the altar, he noticed that the trays held no surgical tools, but tattoo equipment. Tiny cups of red and black ink lined one of the trays, while needles and small hammering tools filled the others. The tall man led the initiate to the altar and pointed his meaty fingers at the slab, indicating that he must lay down on the stone.

Keeping stern and silent, the initiate did as he was told. Laying down on the cold stone, he gazed up at the full moon that was peeking through the skylights. The bald man clasped the initiates wrist, turning his hand over, palm up. For the next thirty minutes, using the archaic method of stick and poke, the bald man tattooed a lily and three flames into the initiates' palm. Having previous tattoos, the pain was nothing new. No words were spoken between the men the entire time. Once the bald man was finished, he lifted the initiates hand over a ceramic bowl to catch the dripping blood. Satisfied with the amount, he placed the bowl on the initiates chest, then lit a match and tossed it into the dark blood. The bowl erupted in flames, yet the initiate was unharmed and un-burnt. Copper smoke rose from the bowl and slithered its way upward, mingling with the moonlight. Then the initiates chest arched upward, violently.

As the body continued convulsing on the altar, chaotic screaming echoed down the main corridor of the temple. The bald man removed the bowl of blood from the initiates chest, then returned the tattoo equipment to their respective places. Turning back towards the altar, he inserted each of his fingers, excluding his thumbs, into drilled out holes in the side of the slab. With a heavy heave, and a dramatic puff of pressurized air, a steel drawer emerged from the stone. Three inch glass vials glistened in the moonlight. Half of them were empty, but the others were filled with a dark, crimson liquid. The bald man plucked one of the empty vials from the drawer, then brought it to the bowl of burning blood. Checking the temperature with his finger, he proceeded to pour the blood from the bowl into the vial. Instead of placing the blood-filled vial back into the drawer with the others, he stuffed it into his robes. The scarred-faced initiate had finally stopped convulsing, and saw the bald man place the vial of his blood into his robes.

What the hell?

His concern was cut short with a loud bang from across the room. Straining his eyes to peer through the darkness, the initiate was able to make out the Tall man close and lock the only door to the room. As his concern deepened, the pain from the tattoo started to make its presence known. His left palm began to blaze, but there were no flames to put out. He ran to the nearest wall and scanned its surface with his hand, searching for the cold section of marble. Towards the back of the room he found what he was looking for, an ice cold chunk of protruding stone at the base of the floor. Enjoying the soothing sensation, he worriedly scanned the room for his two companions. He needed to make sure he hadn’t shown any disrespect by jumping from the altar. The tall man was standing by the door, both hands placed on the wood, as if preparing to brace it with force. Panning back towards the altar, a bone-chilling realization swept over him. The bald man was gone.

Trying to process the impossible disappearance of the cloaked torturer, the only door to the tiny room exploded open; sending the tall man crashing to the floor. Low, four-legged shadows tactically entered the confined space. Two flanked left while the other two flanked right. Their golden fur glowed when struck by the beams of moonlight, and their red eyes floated in the darkness. The devils had come for dinner.

The tall man regained his legs and stood his ground. He untied the black sash, and dropped his robe. Standing strong with nothing but a wool body-suit, he unsheathed a large, curved sabre, and stared down the jaguars. The tall man matched the encroaching beasts, step for step. The largest of the beasts lunged first, hoping to catch the man off guard. The jaguar met nothing but cold steel. His lunge was too high, the tall man was able to duck and bring his blade across its belly, spilling blood and intestines over the marble floor. The tall man shifted right and regained his balance. The fattest jaguar lunged next. Unfortunately, his weight made his attack slow. The tall man shifted left, brought the sabre high over his head, then swung down hard on the jaguar's neck. The beast’s head was cut clean from its body, and bounced across the floor. The final two jaguars bellowed out their hate and frustration towards the tall man who had just killed two of their pack. They barred their bloody teeth and rapped their claws against the marble, letting the man know how sharp they were.

Ignoring the terrified initiate in the corner of the room, the remaining two jaguars encircled the tall man with the sword. Forcing him to step closer to the altar, both beasts lunged simultaneously. The tall man stepped for the final time, tripping over the bottom lip of the large slab. He fell back, hard, but kept his sabre pointed up as one of the jaguars fell on top of him. Twisting his head out of the way at the last second, he was able to avoid the beast’s jaws. Warm blood poured over his hands as the jaguar’s body went limp. With all of his strength, he rolled the animal off of him and yanked the sword from its heart. As he stood to face the final jaguar, he saw the last thing he would ever see on this earth. Two, large, yellow eyes were staring face-to-face with him. Before he could raise his sword, the jaguar swiped his paw and exposed the man’s throat. A second swipe tore flesh from his face, revealing the bones of his cheek and chin. As the man’s legs began to buckle from the loss of blood, the jaguar opened its jaws and bit down hard on his throat. The beast pounced from the altar, taking the dead man with him, and left the room.

The initiate was standing in the corner, shivering in sheer terror. He had just witnessed an old man disappear and his beloved mentor get mauled by a jaguar. Shock and confusion overwhelmed the young man and he fell to the floor. His head hit the protruding piece of stone he was using to cool off his tattoo, when multiple shadows of human shapes danced across the marble walls. Disembodied voices could be heard mumbling to each other, but no sense could be made of it. The initiate turned his head and forced his eyes wide, trying to get a good look at these newcomers. Had they killed the final jaguar? Had they come to save him? His mind was racing too fast for him to make connections, so he just tried to focus on the faces. Teetering in and out of consciousness, a familiar sound of sharp claws on marble approached his position. The jaguar was back. Struggling to stay awake, a large figure stepped over him. He was avoiding the beams of moonlight, keeping his face a secret. But there was something else that terrified him. This shadow was petting the jaguar.

What the fuck is going on?

As the initiates' eyes closed for the final time, the shadow-figure stepped into the moonlight. A blood-stained mask made from bones, protected the identity of the muscular man. He bent down on one knee and placed a bloody hand over the initiates heart. With a deep grunt of satisfaction, he stood back up and barked out a foreign word that he had heard spoken many times since being in South America. Mainly in local tribes, where cannibalism was still a major way of life.

Food.