The characters and events described in this novel are fictitious. Any similarity to real people, living or dead, is a coincidence.
“Love has no cure, but it is the cure of all evil”
-Leonard Cohen-
Spain, 17th century
Francisco Requena was mixed with a deep panic and even deeper dread at the mere imagine of what could be expected at the hands of the Holy Inquisition. His driving force helped him escape the guard carrying him and run in the opposite direction.
He ran as fast as he could, however, he was arrested again very quickly. The bastards had a clear advantage with their horses.
He heard his brother’s screams moving away from what had been his family's home. His brother begged for mercy for them, for him. As always, Juan Carlos protected him.
There was nothing to do but resign themselves to what was waiting for them and ask God, —yes, the very one for whom those wretched ones worked—to please send death, although he supposed it would not happen.
According to his mother, and the old legend told to them since they were children, one of Rocio’s ancestors prepared a concoction allowing them to live longer - much longer - than a human should live. No one could confirm this absurd story, but in those times when witchcraft and magic were so feared, no one dared to believe anything except the legend was true. Apparently, after many years inhabiting the earth, her relative, Ximena, found death in her beloved’s arms. It seemed the potion was only effective until the bearer of eternal life found true love, or at least, that’s what his mother always assured them.
In any case, he never believed preparing a reliable potion to lengthen life indefinitely, was anything serious. The recipe couldn’t be shared or used lightly. Rocio and all the women before her, were the guardians of such a mighty potion.
He did not blame his mother for preparing it for them.
He just couldn’t.
The plague was selfish and swept away everything in its path. The first of their family to fall was his father. After his death, Rocío decided to save her children from the cursed tortuous disease. She prepared the brew in hopes that it would be their salvation. She was a mother first and foremost who sought to save and protect her children.
That's why he could not blame her, although she knew they would raise suspicion.
On her deathbed, she warned them to get away from there, and being idiots, they ignored her. Now they were in the hands of something far worse than the plague.
A tear slid down his cheek as the cell was closed in the back of the cart.
“Why are you crying now?” One of the guards asked ironically. “Didn’t the devil tell you about this when he made you his slave?”
Francisco glared at him with hatred as the man mockingly laughed at him.
They threw a dirty, stinking canvas over the bars containing him and started off.
***
The days they held him in jail were turning into a real hell.
Francisco was never a friend of seclusion. Small spaces overwhelmed him and even more if he was surrounded by people, as was the case. The people with him were accused of witchcraft and demon worship. They arrived in good health and within a few days, some fell ill due to the precarious conditions in which they were locked up. Others were taken for interrogation in which, sometimes, they did not return. On countless occasions after being returned after questioning, the people had hope in their eyes because they were not tortured. Perhaps the fact they were returned to the common cell gave them the opportunity to fight for their freedom. Poor people, they could not be more mistaken. Their fate ended up being six feet underground just like everyone else. Malnutrition, dehydration, infection, viral diseases and moisture were some of the most frequent causes of death among prisoners in that cell. At best, they died for one of those, at worst —as was the case with most— They were all brought together, making the road to death cruel and painful for all human beings.
After a couple of weeks, Francisco managed to get used to sleeping, eating and living on a ground full of shit and vomit. Also the poor condition of the food. They barely fed him and threw it around, forcing the prisoners to eat it as it was. On several occasions he had to suffer the agony of eating food full of excrement.
Of course, he didn’t get sick and it was beginning to catch the attention of the bigwigs in the filthy company called the Holy Inquisition. He had heard many things in connection with them while he was free. He never truly believed anything due to it sounding so cruel, so abominable. Francisco limited himself to telling people those atrocities were mere gossip so people would be afraid to act against the Church and the Kings.
It also helped that in his town, even in the city, no one had ever witnessed a prosecution for heresy. It seemed they inaugurated the hunting of innocents in the area. In addition, they were going to unveil the crematory cells for everyone in the city to see.
What was waiting for him?
Why were they not taking him out for interrogation?
He was tired of asking the guards for his brother. He wanted to know his whereabouts.
Would he be in the same building?
“Juan Carlos! It’s Francisco, brother. Are you here?” He shouted as loudly as his voice would allow. Every day he did it and every day he received mocking glances from the guards, as well as, pitiful glances from his cellmates.
Sometimes he just wanted them to come in and take him before the jury to finish everything he was going through.
He didn’t know how to feel. He had so many mixed emotions. Every night, when everything was in a sepulchral silence, he placed his head on his knees and cried. He wept with fatigue and fear. He wanted to end this. He just wanted to know. What would they do with him?
***
Francisco lost all notion of time when he lost the desire to live in that miserable place. The prisoners came in and out of the cell, or they never came back and were never heard of again, but him, he always stayed there. No one spoke to him, no guards would tell him what they were going to do to him, nor would they allow him an audience with the Inquisitor General.
He was tired of eating bread with shit, drinking his own urine to disguise the fact he remained in good health because, as he expected, he could go without eating and drinking for who knew how long and not suffer any physical change.
One good day, two guards entered, each grabbing an arm to take him to a room where the moisture dripped from his bones just by entering. Several buckets full of water sat on the floor.
Francisco tried to resist the moment they began stripping him of his clothes, however, one of the guards beat him severely leaving him without the strength to continue fighting. They hung him from the ceiling and threw several of those buckets of ice water over him while another guard scraped his skin with a rudimentary brush which looked like soap. Or at least that was what it smelled like to Francisco.
Francisco’s skin began to get irritated. He thought about how good it would feel when they poured more ice water over him. That would calm the newly obtained scrapes, but that didn’t happen.
Buckets of boiling water were thrown on Francisco.
Those were the first cries of pain from his throat in the terrifying place. He endured the burning sensation as it reached every corner of his body. The tears streaming from his eyes, didn’t allow him to see anything clearly but he did not need to see to know he had burn blisters already.
The guards laughed at him.
It was the first time he heard a strange voice in his head delighted in telling him how he would kill them all if he could, although he didn’t like those thoughts at all. Never in his life had he dared kill anything, even the flies his mother hated so much. He found a little peace in those thoughts and that is where he dwelled.
In the depths of his soul, he longed to be able to kill them all.
***
Three days later, his burns healed completely.
He was transferred to a large cell with a stone floor, a window, a cot and a potty. When he woke up he did not quite understand what was happening.
“Ah, young man! I do not know how you recovered so soon but, this is not going to be good for you.
Francisco blinked a couple of times. Before him was a gray haired man in a robe which at some point had been white.
“Water...”
He nodded and the man handed him a glass of clean water.
Francisco thought he was dreaming when the transparent liquid touched his mouth.
“More...”
The doctor poured him another glass and Francisco sat up on the cot.
“Careful,” the doctor said. You suffered severe burns. You have been lying there for three days.
“Why do you work for them?”
The doctor avoided Francisco’s gaze.
“You have to earn some bread.” They pay well. Besides, son, they are God's helpers.
Francisco narrowed his eyes, staring at the doctor.
The man was pretending.
“You lie, and don’t call me 'son'. I’m not your son and I don’t believe in God either.
“Shhhh.” The doctor jumped up and covered Francisco’s mouth with his hand. “I have seen horrible things down here, do not talk about God like that because you have no idea of the future that awaits you. I do not believe in God either. These are fucking despicable.”
Francisco peered at the man with compassion as his voice began to tremble.
“My daughter was caught with her fiancé in the woods in positions ...” the doctor tried to say but Francisco did not need so many details. He could imagine what they had been caught doing, so he nodded indicating no further explanation was needed. “They put her on a horse and brought her here to do monstrous things to her.” His voice came out in a mixture of panic and hatred. “I arrived in time to see her being prostituted among all the guards. My poor little girl” —tears of anguish were falling from his eyes— “how afraid would my little girl be? So I made a proposal they couldn’t deny. I'm a doctor, boy, and here it doesn’t matter what social class you are as long as you sell yourself to them as accepting their disgusting ideas of torture are satisfying to you. I did that. I exchanged my freedom for that of my Mary. I have already lived my life, but she has not. I'm not with them, but for the sake of my family, I must be.”
They heard the locks on the door.
The doctor jumped away from Francisco and lost his balance. He fell to the floor as the guards entered the room. These made the sign of the cross as the doctor began to tremble.
“I've fallen on my own, this man hasn’t done anything,” the guards lifted him off the floor as if he were a piece of paper and flung him against the wall. One of them wrapped their hand around his neck.
“Are you defending that miserable heretic, Peter? I saw when he made you fall,” the guard muttered with uncontainable hatred. “Do you want us to pay a courtesy visit to your beautiful daughter and wife?”
“No, no! Please! Don’t hurt them, it's my mistake. I’m not defending him either.” He looked at Francisco with pity. “I fell alone; I tripped as I stood up.”
The guard inspected him for a few seconds, realizing he was telling the truth, he let him go.
“You can go, old man,” the guard ordered, and the doctor rushed out of the cell. His hands were shaking. He was hyperventilating. His condition worsened when he heard the beatings Francisco began to receive from the guards.
***
Francisco Requena was taken to the Inquisitorial Court after the guards beat him several times. Wounded, he arrived before the Inquisitor General and just seeing him, he could already imagine what awaited him from there. The man glowered at him with disgust and morbid curiosity at the same time. The kind of look only sick-minded people had.
The guards let go of him and he stood. He was not going to be defeated this easily, although his whole body ached and breathing was a little difficult.
“Why has he been beaten?” The Inquisitor General asked the guards.
“He was blaspheming, sir.”
The man in charge nodded.
“Do you know why you're here, my son?” The inquisitor looked Francisco directly in the eye.
What a disgusting look! The accused thought at that moment.
“Satan has seized your soul and your conscience. You must be released. What did he offer you? Was he the one who gave you eternal life?”
Francisco remained silent.
The Inquisitor General glanced at the men sitting next to him. Francisco didn’t know who they were. They did not appear, from what he heard in the cells, during these procedures. The Inquisitor General was always present with a sheriff, a secondary inquisitor, the prosecutor and a qualifier. None of them were familiar. The guards were the only ones familiar to him.
“Where is my brother?”
The Inquisitor General smirked.
“Serving his sentence in hell with Satan.”
“Damn bastard!” Francisco shouted in anger. “I swear to you by that piece of shit God you praise so much as soon as I can, I'm going to get rid of these.” He pointed to the chains on his hands and feet, “and the first thing I'm going to do is kill you slowly. Bastard!”
It was the last thing he uttered before the bailiff nodded and the guards began beating Francisco with solid wooden sticks.
He fell to the ground in a ball, and began crying thinking someday he would return each blow to those bastards.
***
Months or years passed, Francisco didn’t know very well. He became a toy for the damn inquisitors. He was their experiment.
They tortured him whenever they wanted, or whenever someone created a new torture machine. The first time he was taken into the courtroom, when he dared to threaten the Inquisitor General, he wanted to die within minutes of being tortured.
His torture sessions began with 'drowning'. They laid him down on a wooden table and bound his hands and feet, inserted a piece of metal in his mouth so Francisco couldn’t close it and then covered his nostrils to drop more than five quarters of water into his mouth little by little and continuously. Francisco's sensation of suffocation was terrible. He thought of all the people who died like this and was sorry for them. He thought at some point in such a long session he would succumb to death. He didn’t believe his immortality could hold so much water.
He survived that and all the other tortures they planned for him.
Crushing his thumbs, the rack, the pulley and the bonfire, were some of the minor tortures Francisco had to endure. Yes, he reached a point of resignation. He felt it was the only thing he could do for himself. He began to classify the tortures he received.
Those were considered minor because nothing in the world could compare to the pain caused by the pear of anguish or the damn cradle of Judas. Those tortures were the cruelest, most savage and painful they could do to him. Not only did they violate his integrity as a human being, but also as a man. With each of those monstrous sessions, Francisco couldn’t do more than pray to the God who knew didn’t exist to end his life.
They tore his guts and made him bleed, thinking he would not survive any longer, but unfortunately, for Francisco, he never bleed out completely and sooner or later he was resurrected.
What did he do in life to deserve this? Why didn’t death take pity on him and take him away one damn time?
How much pain could he endure? He couldn’t and didn’t want to do it anymore.
In spite of being the worst torture, The Iron Lady was a miracle to him.
The day they locked him in the metal sarcophagus with immense spikes buried in his body causing him excruciating pain, was the worst punishment they could give him. The mere fact of being locked in a metal box shaped like a human was frightening and traumatic. He thought he would die in there.
But no.
His terror was even greater with the sensation he received after having lost his blood once more.
They pulled him out and took him to his cell.
Pedro, the good doctor, always helped him recover, without raising any suspicion and speaking only when necessary.
“You said you'd give them the recipe.”
Francisco nodded.
In fact, he did. After the wretched inquisitors realized he wouldn’t die, they subjected him to all that torture, in which he would never forget for one single reason: they wanted the immortality potion recipe. Francisco owed it to his mother to protect the family secret.
Fortunately or unfortunately, Francisco still didn’t know which, as soon as he regained consciousness within the Iron Lady, he began to scream hysterically that he would give them the formula, and he would.
He had formed a plan a long time ago and was only waiting for the right time. He knew he could endure any pain possible, but he was also aware one day he would have a moment of weakness and talk.
Everything was thought out. He had planned well and things were going according to plan. He had to be patient, stay calm, and more importantly, win the trust of the damn disgusting Inquisitor General.
This time, it seemed death was on its own side, and as expected, it would not bring him to it.
***
Francisco was taken to a clean parlor; in the center was a rather large rectangular dining table. The solid wood was covered by an immaculate white tablecloth with fine elegant gold embroideries.
There was enough food on this table to feed all the prisoners in the cells like he was in.
His stomach rumbled at the sight of the delicious freshly made food. The room was flooded with the aromas of those delicacies. He inhaled deep and his stomach roared once again.
He wanted to jump on the table and eat like a savage. He inhaled profoundly once again concentrating on all the self-control he possessed. He didn’t know exactly why he was there but knew very well those bastards didn’t give anything for free.
The guards pushed him onward toward the table. With each step Francisco sensed himself losing his willpower. He began to salivate as he approached the delicacies.
“Francisco! Boy!” Exclaimed the Inquisitor General as he approached him upon entering the room. He held out the hand in which he wore the ring making him a representative of the Holy Church and looked at Francisco with irony.
Francisco gave the same lop-sided ironic smile as he bent down to kiss his damn hand. When his lips came into contact with the ring’s cold metal worn on his fat finger, he felt an uncontainable urge to bite his finger off. Once more he concentrated on restraining himself so he would appear reasonable and civilized. His goal went beyond ripping off filthy fingers.
He peered at the Inquisitor again, and smiled mockingly.
“I see you want the mercy of the lord, my son.”
Francisco thought about how much the swine would scream when he began to torture him because he would.
“The Lord blessed me with...” Francisco stopped, noticing the guards and then the Inquisitor’s eyes.
“Go on boy, these are my most trusted men.”
“This is something serious, sir.”
“We know,” the Inquisitor raised a suspicious eyebrow at Francisco, “they will always remain at my side.”
Francisco nodded. He had no choice but to speak in front of these men as well. He would have preferred to be alone with the pig in front of him to earn his trust quickly.
The inquisitor beckoned him to sit next to him at the table. A couple of women appeared to serve the food. Francisco was released from his chains to eat more comfortably.
As soon as the Inquisitor finished blessing the food, Francisco couldn’t wait any longer. He began to eat.
What a treat!
The food was hot, clean, and succulent.
A lump rose in his throat but he swallowed it with the next bite. He couldn’t flinch at this moment. From now on, he had to behave as one of them to gain their trust and to get out of here according to his plan which he replayed in his head a thousand times.
“Son,” said the Inquisitor as the women began to serve the second round of food, “please tell me what you wanted to tell me when I arrived, and why you did not trust my men?”
“The Lord blessed me with everlasting life,” Francisco finished with the sign of the cross.
The Inquisitor sipped his wine.
“I thought you said it was your mother who prepared the potion.”
“That's right, but I would like to think it was the Lord who blessed me, not my mother, the damn witch who did this to me. She forced us” Francisco suddenly felt an extreme ache in his soul for blaming his late mother for something he knew she was not. However, he couldn’t withstand the gravity of his confession and erupted into tears. Inside, he cried for his mother's condemnation and for forgiveness of his cruel behavior and the disrespectful manner he spoke of her.
The Inquisitor laid a hand on his shoulder while Francisco wept in dismay.
“Don’t worry, my son, you will be acquitted of all your sins and those of your mother for becoming the devil's whore, could have bound you with. The women are nothing more than that.” He glared with disgust at those present at the moment, “devil’s whores.”
Both women lowered their heads low as they could and closed their eyes. Francisco could see the younger one began to tremble.
“I'm going to be left alone in the world and I don’t want to be.” He knelt beside the inquisitor who told his guards to stay where they were, when they came to his aid upon seeing Francisco's sudden movement.
He feigned fear of the guard’s approach.
“I do not want to be alone, sir.” He kissed the inquisitor's hands. “I have no one left; my brother was also my mother’s victim. I have not seen him since, so I suppose my mother's magical tortures had no effect on him.”
The inquisitor remained expressionless. Francisco expected some revelation of Juan Carlos’ whereabouts but didn’t get any.
He kissed his hands in despair, and the inquisitor clutched his.
“Show me the way to righteousness, sir, and please, release me from this curse.”
The Inquisitor came close to him and whispered in his ear:
“There is no curse, my son, I absolve you of all your sins until this moment and purify your soul but, you must give me your mother's magic recipe. You said you knew it.”
Francisco nodded as he returned to his seat.
“I know it, by heart.”
“You'll let these two know what you need, and when you have it, prepare it for me.”
“Sir, why would you want to possess such a terrible curse?”
The Inquisitor smirked.
“It's a curse for an ordinary person, son. For you it has been a blessing because it will allow you to join us, thus releasing you from the loneliness that terrifies you so. For us, it will be a blessing because we can fight against Satan’s temptations on earth for eternity. Do you know how many lives we will save?”
Surely not yours, bastard, Francisco thought as he observed the unscrupulous man’s greedy expression before him.
He fell to his knees again and kissed the inquisitor's hands once more. At this rate, he would have to tear off his mouth in disgust for every time he made the gesture.
He stared into his eyes, feigning concern.
“What I need is to sow it and harvest it myself, in an atmosphere of peace, free from so much filth.” He glanced to where the women were. “We cannot trust anyone for this, sir.”
He glimpsed a moment of doubt in the accursed man’s gaze, but his greed surpassed it.
“We will arrange everything, my son. You will be taken to a place where, for the good of humanity, you will purge your sins by granting us the secret weapon to overcome the evil one.”
Francisco kissed his hands again.
Yes, he would need to tear off his mouth because he was already beginning to feel rotten.
***
Francisco didn’t know exactly where they took him. Geographically, he didn’t recognize the place although he realized he was in the country in a cabin that seemed to be isolated.
Two and a half years had passed since the Inquisitor had taken him to the desolate site. He had no way to escape. The house was guarded by three guards and in addition, his feet were still tired.
Yes, they kept him shackled so he could not escape in any fashion. It took time to get used to walking long distances without the guard’s help due to the chains connecting his ankles. It did not allow him to separate his legs to walk easier.
He got used to it.
Just as he became accustomed to behaving like a bastard.
He was very sorry for all of his actions, especially what he did to women who passed through his hands. He only did it to survive. With each act, he did nothing more than apologize to his mother for what he did to the girl crying disconsolately beneath him while sexual obscenities flowed from his mouth.
He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do to overcome all those terrible memories, but he hoped to find some peace as soon as he got rid of those bastards.
He wanted to kill them all, and he would do it this day.
When he was transferred there, he told the Inquisitor in order for the immortality potion to work; he should plant and harvest the herbs. Also the herbs should be outdoors for at least 24 lunar cycles.
It was time to collect the seed and start the preparations.
He was waiting for the Inquisitor's visit at any moment. He had already prepared the dried herbs in a bowl. Just add boiling water and voilà.
The last time the Inquisitor visited him, he demanded Francisco make the potion because he felt he was aging more and more. Aging took away his strength to fight against evil.
Francisco looked around, remembering that day.
The bastard arrived with two girls and lots of food for everyone present. Yes, the feast of food and sex was also enjoyed by the guards who later, ended up drunk, naked and exposed on their cots. The poor girls glared at him with hatred while he tried to feed and clean them the next morning of the sadistic act.
Many spat on him and cursed him.
He observed them with compassion and with every glimpse at them, he asked for their mercy and forgiveness.
He was not clear whom he was asking, he believed in anyone. The God for whom he swore to a thousand times before the Inquisitor and thanked for the salvation of his sins, didn’t exist.
There couldn’t be a deity who did not lend a hand to those who needed him most, as was the case with those women who would end up at the stake sooner or later.
What a disgrace in the world!
Many nights, Francisco, drowned his pillow with tears. He became more and more miserable and guilt was eating him alive.
He still couldn’t understand what real sins were to those bastards. Did stealing a woman's integrity and hurting her in a thousand ways possible not a sin? They said sex for pleasure was a sin but they were absolved from all guilt because they were Satan’s whores. Witches.
His stomach churned with every disgusting memory filtering through his mind.
He heard the chariot approaching the cabin just as he finished setting the table to welcome the Inquisitor General. He prayed with his entire soul to whoever was listening, the accursed one would be completely alone.
A supreme relief washed over him when he saw the inquisitor exit the chariot alone. He didn’t even bring the two men who usually accompanied him on this trip. Francisco only saw them when they picked him up a couple of days later.
This meant they were not entirely isolated from the nearest city, in which the torture zone had been removed a few years earlier.
Which was a plus for his plan he had reviewed very well in the last days.
“My son,” said the Inquisitor entering the cabin and extending his hand.
Francisco ran to kiss the ring. He could not fail in any of the steps so no one would suspect him at the last moment.
He helped him sit on his chair in the space. The Inquisitor General, who seemed to have gained a lot of weight in recent months, scrambled into his seat, smiling at him with satisfaction and lacing his fingers over his huge belly.
“Do you have it?”
Francisco smiled and nodded.
“Let's not wait any longer,” the inquisitor extended his hands to Francisco.
“Don’t be impatient, my lord,” Francisco replied, placing the dried plant leaves in a cauldron of boiling water. “We'll wait for them to distill. In the meantime, please allow me to serve you something to eat.”
The inquisitor nodded.
Francisco, with a lively song that reminded him of his sweet mother, served the food to the unfortunate man he wanted to get rid of.
Don’t make any mistakes today, he repeated over and over again to calm his nerves. The time was near to see if the magic potion would end the Inquisitor’s life the first damn time.
He smiled maliciously at his jailer’s back as he watched the steaming cauldron expelling the herbal scents the Inquisitor believed would grant him eternal life. Actually it would lead to his death.
The cauldron only distilled the potion, if at all, would relieve a stomachache while providing a good rest to those whom drank it. However, at the bottom of the Inquisitor’s glass, lay a soft paste of Belladonna berries.
It was a real miracle to find Belladonna on the grounds of the hut. In his initial plan, this phase was always incomplete because he had not yet figured out how in the heck to ask for belladonna or any other plant to poison him. After much thought, he considered closing the matter by assuring the brew needed a little Belladonna so it could produce the desired effect. It would be like resurrecting from death as the Christ they worshiped and in the name they were doing all this filth, did.
What luck he had while searching through the plants already planted! He did so with absolute discretion. The inquisitor nor the guards ever told him who the house belonged to. They only said he could find what he needed to start the process. Francisco knew the herbs well because his mother taught him about the properties of each and above all to differentiate the poisonous from the good ones. Among those Francisco discovered many good herbs, but they served only as a cover for the other. He recognized them immediately and took care of them the whole time.
It seemed reasonable to him the cabin belonged to what was considered a witch.
They used those types of plants in a lot of their spells.
In any case, whoever planted them there allowing them to be used, he was eternally grateful. That was the key to his freedom.
First, he would take care of the Inquisitor and then the guards.
“As I have already explained, this brew will leave you unconscious for a couple of days.”
“My men know. I told them we would be doing an experiment and they should not disturb us until they saw me come out the door again.”
Francisco nodded.
He stood up and poured some of the concoction. He picked up bread and cheese and took it to the guards outside. They would stay there per the Inquisitor’s orders.
On the way back, he picked up another glass and poured the same brew his jailer would be drinking.
“Do you want to become more immortal, boy?”
Francisco smiled amusingly, opening a jar and taking out a small cloth bag.
He put everything in place, then took the two glasses and sat down in front of the Inquisitor.
He placed the cup he had prepared with the belladonna.
“Sir, the drink is made of medicinal plants. This is what makes it special and you can only consume it,” he said, showing him the bag.
He got up and reached for a wooden spoon to stir the drink.
The Inquisitor was sweating. Nervous. Anxious. Anyone could look at his face and see how much he longed to become immortal. To have all the power a human being could obtain.
He didn’t know what he would do next. The man only said he would fight against evil with more force. Francisco doubted this would happen. Rather he believed the man would be the very embodiment of evil for all eternity.
A chill crept through his body just thinking of the perpetual and caliber of evil.
It was abominable.
“My mother always explained this ingredient very carefully due to it being the secret ingredient. It is what makes the formula effective. She checked with us. She did not know if it would work when she gave the potion to my brother and me. It was just an experiment that ended with a positive result for her.”
“It was for you, too,” replied the Inquisitor.
“After you pardoned me, sir. It used to be impure.”
“Do not think about it anymore, boy, tell me this ingredient’s importance. I have great plans for us once I awaken from this life. If this is the secret ingredient I think we'll need more of it.”
He planned to make an army of immortals.
Francisco’s soul plummeted to his feet at such a monstrous idea.
He took one of the Inquisitor's hands, turning it around to leave his palm exposed.
He took a pinch of what he kept so zealously inside the bag and poured it over the man's hands.
“Holly Powder.”
The inquisitor observed his hand as if it had been dusted with gold.
Damn.
Francisco put the wooden spoon in the bag. He filled it almost completely and emptied it into the Inquisitor’s drink. He stirred, then nodded, meeting his eyes.
He caught a glimpse of the man's gaze in front of him.
Without saying a word, he took the glass to his lips and took the first sip.
He wrinkled his face at the drink.
“Gross.”
Francisco smirked at him.
“Nothing that does the body good tastes good, sir.”
He was pleased to see the Inquisitor drank the rest of the contents at once.
Nothing could save this man from imminent death. He combined two of the most potent poisons he knew, and within a short span of time the results would begin to appear.
The holly was not poisonous but he couldn’t tell the Inquisitor it was Devil's Gingerbread Dust. Due to his misfortune, most of the names contained 'devil' or 'witches' were poisonous and recognized by their names in the Holy Inquisition.
The guards knocked on the door twice to indicate to Francisco the utensils they used were left there. He had to pick them up and clean them.
“Get that, boy, it's your job.”
The inquisitor said. He was sweating more than usual now. Francisco blinked a couple of times and did as he was told. He left the dirty wood that served as a kitchen counter and poured three cups of the potion for the guards.
“I’ll give them this every night; it’s good for sleep, sir.”
The inquisitor, who looked worse and worse, nodded.
Francisco opened the door and gave the guards the drinks as he did every night. Gaining the bastard’s confidence was his mission and at last he had. The men did not think twice before swallowing the concoction in one gulp without knowing, that today, they were drinking their own death. All those glasses were filled with belladonna and devil's gingerbread dust. He left them previously prepared just as he had the Inquisitor's.
Francisco returned inside the house, pleased. He had a victorious smile painted on his face that spread when he saw the inquisitor bathed in sweat, his head resting on the table and panting like a dog.
“You're panting like a dog. Like what you are,” he whispered in his ear as he tugged his head back. The Inquisitor looked at him with horror in his eyes and tried to alarm the guards. His voice barely passed his throat as he lost control over his body.
“You thought I had become like you, damn bastard?” He smiled with sincere malice. He was filled with anger and a thirst for revenge.
They knocked on the door twice.
The guards were entering the same trance.
He would leave them. After a while they won’t be able to move.
They struck again.
And again.
Francisco had an unfamiliar sensation come over him. He took the kitchen knife and approached the Inquisitor again.
“As soon as you die, I'm going to revive you to kill you again. So hold on till I’m done with your bastards.”
With short, accelerated steps he advanced to the door. The chains still on his ankles gave him no more freedom.
He opened the door and found a guard leaning on the threshold about to faint.
He shoved him, knocking him to the ground. Luckily, it was the guard with the keys to his chains. Without thinking, he took them freeing his legs from oppression. He felt like crying with joy but now was not the time to get sentimental.
He was about to get rid of those wretched bastards and carelessness could lead him to the same place he didn’t want to return.
So in a quick move, and without stopping to think much, he plunged the knife into the guard’s throat slitting his neck from side to side.
He repeated the same movement with the other two who were trying to reach him, crawling across the field.
Once he put an end to the swine’s lives, he looked inside the house. The image before him could not have been better.
The inquisitor still had not died. He would have a little time to teach him about torture in his own right.
***
A frightening scream left the cottage as a result of Francisco torturing the Inquisitor General after having given him a potion that, with his luck, did not end his wretched life immediately.
He tortured him with agility and speed in every way he could in such a short time. He didn’t stop being angry with the man. No. He made him scream in pain before the damn man released his last breath.
With that he was satisfied. The miscreant had died cruelly by his hands.
He lifted one shoulder, dismissing the matter as he wiped his hands.
“He deserved it.”
When he turned and saw the carnage, he couldn’t suppress the urge to vomit, so he did.
His stomach was emptied instantly. The nauseating scent of blood everywhere was making him dizzy. It was then he realized what he had done.
He became a monster like those he hated so much. Yes, he knew his actions could be justified considering it depended on his freedom. However, it didn’t make him less cruel and ruthless.
For a moment, he began to panic.
He walked like a caged lion from one side to the other. Trying to calm down and release the pressure that settled in his chest.
His throat tightened and he began to tremble.
“I have to get out of here,” he said with his hands on his head as he paced the room. The cloth functioning as a make shift curtain moved a little revealing part of the field in front of the house.
Francisco's lower lip began to tremble uncontrollably.
He dissolved into tears remembering being blinded by anger and how satisfying his revenge felt while killing four men. Four.
He was a murderer. In addition to all the cruel things he had done to the women to gain the trust of those pigs, he let himself be overcome by anger and wiped them out in such a grotesque way. He was thirsty for blood and morbidity when the deep need to see the asshole’s face while he was killing and torturing them.
“What have I become?” He asked with disgust.
Between tears and sobs, he stripped the Inquisitor of the solid gold ring he wore, the bag tied to the belt of his cassock, where he always kept some coins and a gold crucifix that hung around the bastard’s neck.
He took his sparse belongings and left to prepare for his escape. He draped the makeshift bag over his shoulder, stepped out of the cabin, and mounted one of the guard’s horses. Galloping away fast without looking back, his face bathed in tears.