The Sorrow and Rapture of Father Benedetti

Chiapas, Mexico May 2009

Father Benedetti sat writing in his journal in a small humble study in the back of the mission of San Gabriel De Los Cruxes. The early morning sun streamed in through the deep casements of the small window illuminating the small computer and monitor that sat on the desk next to him. He hadn't turned it on; instead he took comfort in the ink flowing from his pen, forming his thoughts on the blank page. He desperately needed comfort as he sought to journal the events that had recently transpired.

May 16, 2009

It has been almost a month now since Brother Ignacio betrayed our most sacred and secret trust and broke into the Vault of the Ages to steal the accursed Blade of the Gods. I blame myself. I didn't listen with my heart to his words when he told me the pagan god Quetzalquoatl had come to him in a vision warning him of a great evil that would come to claim the blade. He begged me to contact Rome and have the Templar come and move the blade to safety. Our mission had been built to contain and guard the blade's evil, and our brotherhood had stood against many creatures who had tried to wrest it from our vigil. The holy wards and the faith and strength of our brotherhood had guarded the blade since shortly after the fall of the Aztec Empire. So why would our faith and power fail us now? Forgive me Heavenly Father for it was my pride and arrogance that destroyed my brethren and my order.

Father Benedetti sat back as the tears of remorse gathered in his dark eyes again.

"Brother Ignacio," he lifted his eyes to a statuette of the Virgin Mary setting in a small niche in the wall, "I pray you are safe where ever you are! May the Saints, Angels, and the Blessed Virgin protect you while you carry that accursed blade."

There was a polite knock on the door and then the door to the study opened. A young novitiate entered, cleared his throat, and politely waited for Father Benedetti to acknowledge him.

"Yes Augustine?"

"Bishop Dominic and the Templars are ready to see you now Father."

The morning sun warmed the office of the Bishop of Chiapas through the arched windows that faced into the small but beautiful flower garden of the Church. The bright Mexican tile on the floor seemed almost surreal after the horror Father Benedetti had witnessed the night before last. Bishop Dominic rose from behind his desk and two men in conservative business suits stood up as Father Benedetti entered the Bishop's office.

"Father Benedetti," the Bishop said kindly, "you are rested I trust?"

"As much as I can be your Emminence."

"I'd like to introduce you to Ernesto Navarre, Knight Immaculate of the First Order, and his partner Michael Edmunds Knight of the Rose."

"Holy Knights," Father Benedetti turned to the two men with a small humble bow.

"They have just arrived from Rome," the Bishop continued, "and wished to speak to you immediately."

"Father Benedetti," Ernesto Navarre, an older man with iron gray hair said gravely, "the story you told Bishop Dominic displays a serious breach of responsibility on your part. This has led to the tragic loss of your brethren and the release of a dangerous artifact of the ancient world into modern society."

"All of my brothers except hopefully Brother Ignacio are all dead or worse," Father Benedetti accepted the condemnation with his head bowed. "I expect no leniency Sir Knight."

"It is not for me to judge you," Navarre said sternly but not unkindly. "Michael and I have been charged by the Holy See in Rome to track down the artifact in question and assess the level of threat of the entity that destroyed your mission. I need you to tell us what happened in as much detail as possible."

"I will endeavor to remember any and all details that I can to aid you in your quest."

"Please sit Father," the Bishop gestured to a chair in front of his desk.

"You are too kind your Eminence," Father Benedetti nodded as he took the seat. "It started three days ago on the night of the thirteenth. A terrible storm struck the mission and the surrounding area. The wind was so strong it woke me up ringing the bells in the mission's bell tower. Perhaps if I had been native to the area, I would have taken it as a sign, but as you may know I had been sent five years earlier to the mission from Florence."

"Yes we read your file," Edmunds commented. "Your grasp of the paranormal and ancient history was what prompted the Arch Bishop of Florence to recommend you for the job."

"Perhaps if I had had more field experience?" Father Benedetti wrung his hands in self recrimination. "I look back now and see other signs of the impending destruction that came upon us all. The next morning Brother Timon stopped speaking and just sat in his cell staring, and that same morning Marguerite Pesca, a woman from the village that was rumored to be a bruja, a witch, fell down on the street in a fit and was brought to us for help. All that we could do for her was to restrain her until Brother Timon came in silently and took her hand. She quieted instantly and then they both sat quietly staring ahead and refusing to speak."

"And this didn't raise your suspicions that something was wrong?" Edmunds asked.

"As a matter of fact it did," Father Benedetti continued. "Brother Miguel one of the older members of our mission voiced his concerns on the...