The machete swung quickly slicing the green foliage, sweat drenching clothing. The caravan led by Francis, the world famous explorer and adventurer. Months of planning, research, and toil went into the expedition. Obtaining financing for the journey was in itself a feat itself, yet Francis triumphed through it all, politics, nepotism, and even the royal court.
"Come on, we're getting closer, I can feel it!" He shouted over his shoulder to the hired men lugging the gear. Locals who worked tirelessly for days to be paid with a mere metal fork or spoon, savages. The path being carved had been going uphill for hours. The canopy of trees in the late afternoon sun held the air still, thick and moist. Cutting and slashing through the thick foliage; suddenly a bright shaft of sunlight burst through blinding him temporarily. Then the discovery began to come into focus becoming clear.
The low fire gave its heat generously, warming his feet. Closing the book letting it rest upon his lap. He looked into the hot coals of the fire. His mind was reeling at the new a ground he was discovering. His thoughts wandered to the shine of a steel blade, visualizing the ominous power. The sheer edge of life and death, right and wrong, good and bad. Sliding the book in the drawer of the cabinet, the lock clicked before the key withdrew. He headed to the bedroom with new ground and a razor blade on his mind.
Francis stood at the base of the huge stone structure, looking up at the steep line of expertly carves steps that led to the top. His eyes squinted to make out additional structures at the top, more to discover he thought to himself. The boot hit the first step leading to the top of the pyramid.
Standing at the foot of the bed with his hands in the pockets of the robe. Hidden, he carefully held the razor that seemed to be feeding him power, making the blood flow to his member. The low lamp light accentuated her naked flesh as she lay on her stomach, the bedding stripped away leaving her unprotected.
"Honey, do you trust me?" He whispered in a low tone.
"Yes, of course I do." She answered as she looked back at him over her bare shoulder with that alluring smile.
"Honey..." He paused momentarily admiring the lovely naked curves of his wife of years, plump, full. Then he spoke softly. "I want to cut you, I want to see your blood."
Silence cut the moment, all was still.
"Why?" She asked in a slow measured voice.
He could give no immediate answer, only thoughts of the book in the locked drawer came to his mind.
Francis had achieved the climb up the ancient
pyramid that he had researched for months on end, listening to the tails of drunken sailors, legends, myths.
"Why?' That was the question that was asked so many times from so many people. Why spend so much money, time, and effort? Why risk the lives, why?
A cool breeze blew through the heavy beard as he stood
atop the massive stone structure, feeling refreshed after hours of hacking
through the jungle. He breathed deeply as he looked upon the bare stone altar, this was a special place, how he knew was not clear, it simply was. Stepping forward to examine the altar he felt a surge of excitement. Why? Francis thought to himself, there was nothing here, no gold or jewels nothing. He pulled the heavy gauntlet off his hand as his eyes gazed down upon the smooth stone. Pausing momentarily as he spread his fingers wide letting the air cool them, then he applied the palm of his hand to the smooth cool stone, he dropped to his knees as the adrenaline surged into his body and the vision of the old world came into being.
A large muscular man adorning a massive headdress of feathers, his arms cross as he stood over the bloody altar. Blood dripped off the curved knife he held in one hand. Cries could be heard from ones brought up to an unknown fate, attendants carried off remains of those sacrificed to the unknown deity. A river of blood flowed from the altar to the steps and down.
Francis pulled his hand away, shaking gasping for breath. Now, now he knew...
Head buried, she weeped into the pillows, she on her knees, her round bottom was thrust upward to him. The blood trickled down the back of her thighs from the delicate horizontal cuts he had applied to each side of her derriere. He was mindful not to slice to deep, yet the blood had to flow. He kneeled behind her; his fully engorged member quivered, bloody palms lay on her hips. He pulled her to him with a quick sudden thrust into her, and both cried out in agony. Now, now he knew...