Puramore

Chapter 1 - The Road to Oaxaca

Chapter 1 - The Road to Oaxaca

Ciudad de Oaxaca, Mexico, 21 June 1991

British Army Captain George Smythe dreamt about touring archaeological sites of the Americas as an amateur archaeologist for as long as he could remember. Although he never understood the reason for the fascination, he nevertheless sensed a spiritual attraction to pre-Columbian cultures of North and South America. He had the opportunity to first explore archaeological sites on a solo tour of central Mexico by during a two-week holiday.

After a week of visiting the important ruins located in and around Mexico City and San Lorenzo Tenochtitlán, he set out from Oaxaca City early in the morning to spend the day touring Zapotec-Mixtec archaeological sites situated within the Valley of Oaxaca. Night had fallen as he drove from Mitla, the last stop of his tour, to return to Oaxaca City. He had supper just before dusk at a humble roadside diner.

As he pulled his rental car onto the two-lane paved road afterward, his stomach began to complain about the spicy Oaxaca cuisine. He should have waited to dine at his hotel restaurant, he thought, as he ingested several stomach medication pills in response as his vehicle gained speed.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a large stag mule deer appeared straight ahead of him in the middle of the road and suddenly charged at his car. Its eyes as reflected back by the vehicle’s headlights became more and more demonic as he closed in on the animal. Before he could swerve to avoid the collision, the beast’s heavily antlered head crashed into the driver’s side of the windshield. An instant before the collision, Captain Smythe slammed on the brakes and instinctively raised his hands to shield his face. He immediately lost consciousness, as his head and forearms crashed into the steering wheel.

He regained consciousness gripped by excruciating pain when he opened his eyes to gaze outside the empty windshield frame at the starry clear night sky that magically loomed over the moonlit valley. The ill-fated car sat upright at the bottom of a dry and shallow arroyo that ran beneath the roadbed. Hearing the sound of a solitary vehicle approaching overhead at high speed, he attempted to unbuckle his seat belt to exit the car and call for help. He was severely punished for the effort, as the report of searing pain from his mangled arms reached his brain. Looking down, he saw the front of his shirt and trousers soaked with a nauseating crimson sheen; the salty seepage stung his eyes as it flowed from the crown of his head. Turning his head slightly to the right, he saw the silvery moonlight reflect off the granulated windshield glass strewn all over the front middle console and passenger seat.

A moment later the approaching vehicle passed him. He looked out the windshield frame again to catch the sight of its tail lights fading off into the horizon. He knew at that moment that death was upon him as he continued to gaze into the moonlit desert valley. Suddenly he saw a pulsing glow approaching. Seconds later, the object flew through the windshield and hovered for several seconds not more than six inches away from his nose. It appeared to him that the firefly examined him before zinging away toward the direction of the vehicle that passed him several minutes before. The effects of the loss of blood and the cold night air made him shiver.

The headlights of another fast-approaching vehicle ahead of him came into view. It eventually decelerated and stopped on the roadside above him.

He then heard the sound of a car door opening and closing. The passenger door of his sedan abruptly opened a few moments afterward, and the silhouette of a tall and thin man appeared outside. He opened the passenger door and knelt before it. He then placed a gas lantern on the passenger car seat and struck a match. The globe of the lantern came to life as the man lit the mantel and adjusted the gas flow to produce an optimal incandescence.

When the visage of his rescuer’s face became fully illuminated, Captain Smythe finally began to lose consciousness.

“Fight it, Captain Smythe. Don’t lose consciousness or you'll never return.”

He pulled out a pouch from the leather satchel that hung from his left shoulder. After untying the strap, he poured out white powdery contents into his open right palm.

“You must look into my eyes immediately and open your mouth!” the man commanded with a roar of a lion that caused Smythe to flinch.

He struggled with all his might to direct his ebbing consciousness to open his mouth and turn his head toward the rescuer. As their eyes met, the man reached over and popped the substance into Smythe’s mouth.

“Now, close your mouth and swallow!”

He brought a flat object he held in the palm of his hand into contact with Smythe’s forehead.

Captain Smythe felt a warm glow pulsate through his skin and into his skull. Soon he regained consciousness.

He removed the object.

“Good. You’re returning to the land of the living.”

He continued to gaze into Smythe’s eyes.

“My name is Juan Aguila. It’s exceptionally fortunate for you that I took more than a passing interest in you after I saw your magnificent orb before you left Oaxaca for Monte Albán this morning. I’ve never witnessed anything even close to the brilliant luminescence and perfection of your orb, Captain Smythe.

“At first sight, I thought the Dalai Lama was in town paying us a visit. In fact, I was so struck by its magnificence that I decided to tail you, mainly to study you further and act as a rescuer if necessary. A man of your spiritual stature shouldn’t be alone anywhere near where shape-shifters and other evil spirits abound, especially in this part of the Valley of Oaxaca at night.”

Juan knew from his experience with extreme trauma victims that Captain Smythe would later only vaguely recall his comments at the accident scene.

He looked out the windshield and noted no trace of the shape shifter encounter anywhere on the hood of the car. Deer blood, flesh, and bone fragments that previously covered the bonnet and the interior of the sedan had vanished.

Smythe felt no pain whatsoever as Juan proceeded to dress his head and upper extremity wounds with butterfly and gauze bandages.

Afterward, he set and splinted his forearms and wrists and installed a cervical collar around his neck.

“It’s also fortunate for you that I served as a US Army combat medic during the Vietnam War. In turn, the experience served me well, as I act as an unlicensed physician to local indigents in addition to my regular sorcery practice.”

He wiped coagulated mass of blood from Smythe’s face.

“But I digress. I must directly transport you to the Oaxaca General Hospital since you are in dire need of a blood transfusion and further treatment. This elixir should last until we arrive there.”

He put the open end of a leather bota to Smythe’s lips.

“Drink all of it, Captain.”

A warm and salubrious but tasteless radiance flowed into his mouth. As it travelled down his oesophagus to his stomach, the warmth radiated throughout his body. He soon fell into a deep and restful sleep.

The man lifted the lantern in front of Smythe’s face, held it there for several moments, and then passed the lantern down to his left shoulder. He held his breath and intensely stared at whatever it was that caught his attention. Squinting intensely, he inspected the object that caught his attention in microscopic detail: it was the size of a midge. Before it could disintegrate, he spun a crystalline cocoon around the carapace of the bantam Golden Dragonfly.

“There. I finally have another one to add to my collection. And a soldier at that.”

He reached into his satchel and brought out a glass syringe. With surgical precision he gingerly placed the end of the syringe over the cocooned husk; and, little by little, began to pull on the piston. As the cocoon lazily lofted into the glass barrel, he returned the syringe to the satchel.

Late in the afternoon the following day, Captain Smythe awakened from his slumber in the comfort of a hospital bed. His cast-encased arms dangled in front of him from ceiling wires.

A slender and attractive middle-aged nurse entered the hospital room.

“Gracias a Dios!”

She shot over to his bedside and studied the vital signs monitor.

“Señor, it’s a miracle that you are alive.”

She studied his eyes.

“Don’t try to talk.”

She lifted his head to fluff and straighten his pillow.

“We’ve never successfully treated a patient who sustained as much blood loss as you had by the time you were admitted to the emergency room early this morning. It’s also a miracle that your fractured arms and wrists were set and splinted with such skill and precision at the crash site. Otherwise, you might not have lived to enjoy full use of them again.

“The campesino who transported you here told the admission nurse that an American medico, who was touring the area by himself, attended to your wounds at the crash site. Unbelievable! What a stroke of luck for you.”

How, she thought, could anyone set a series of fractured bones so precisely and effectively from a roadside crash site? Not even our finest orthopaedists working with the best equipment in the world could perform such a miraculous procedure in a fully equipped, state-of the-art operation theatre.

“Anyway, the campesino asked the admission nurse to tell you that there was no need for you to attempt to show your appreciation for his part in saving your life. He also wanted you to know that he and his family will dine luxuriantly on venison for the next month as a result of your mishap, and that was ample reward enough for him.”

She picked up the phone near his bedside and dialed a number. Turning away from her patient, she spoke to someone at the other end of the line.

“Yes, Doctor. I’ll let the patient know that you will arrive presently to examine him,” she whispered into the receiver.

“Dr Gutierrez, our chief of orthopaedic surgery, will be with you shortly, Captain Smythe.

“Relax. You’re going to be up and about in a month or so. The device in your right hand is for pain management. Simply depress the button on the end to receive a mild morphine dosage when you feel the need. I’ll visit you again in a few hours,” she said as she left the hospital room.

A few minutes later a tall, thin and handsome young man with long jet-black hair pulled into a ponytail entered the room.

At first, Smythe didn’t recognise him as his rescuer; he instead assumed that he was his attending physician.

“I’m sorry, Doctor, but I don’t recall your name.”

The man, who wore a shortly cropped mustache and a goatee, stooped down so that his face was level with Captain Smythe's. His piercing black eyes stared directly into his. No wonder Quetzalcoatl targeted you for extermination at your current age, he thought.

At once he understood the spiritual providence of his encounter with Smythe; he is indeed a candidate as the Deliverer his Nagual master foretold he would discover in this dimension during this era. There’s no doubt about this Omen to that effect. He’s also far superior to the others in every respect. I must guard him with all my spirit powers, he resolved, until his Assumption. Not even the Great Spirit will be able to help humanity if the man before him doesn’t wield Puramore as the Deliverer for the last time. From this day forth, he vowed, you and I are going to develop a fast and permanent friendship.

He continued his gaze into Smythe’s eyes for a few moments.

“My name is Juan Aguila. Don’t you remember me, Captain Smythe?”

Captain Smythe felt a smooth metal object come into contact with his forehead. A warm pulsation travelled through his skin and into his skull before its removal. All at once, the image of the man who saved his life the previous evening came to his beclouded mind.

“Juan? Is that you?”

He began to recall the man’s efforts to rescue his life.

“Yes, it’s me.”

He groped for words to fully convey the depth of his gratitude to his saviour.

Finally, he said, “How can I ever repay you for saving my life?”

“I have only two requests in that regard, my friend.”

“I shall do anything in my power to express my appreciation for all that you have done for me, Juan. I shall do anything at all.”

“Firstly, never mention my role in saving your life to anyone.”

“I shall not. Not ever. I promise that to you as a blood oath.”

“Secondly, ever since I was a small boy I’ve always dreamed of attending an Ivy League medical school to become a licensed physician.”

“But, Juan, how can I possibly assist you in fulfilling the dream? I’m only a soldier with hardly any means at present.”

“Trust me. Time is not an issue for me. And in no time you’ll possess the capability to provide me with that assistance.”

“Really? How can you be so certain of that?”

“Because it’s your destiny. One day you are going to be a very, very rich and powerful man.”

“I don’t believe it. Career army officers never attain immense wealth. It’s impossible.”

“Well, you will be the exception to that rule. Just put that in the back of your mind for now.”

He turned away from him and started for the door.

“From this day forth, you are on another path as a warrior, Captain Smythe. I am your spirit guide and guardian until you fulfil your destiny.”

“But I don’t understand any of that, Juan! Where are you going?”

“I’ll be in touch soon” were the last words Juan spoke before he exited the room.

An elderly man dressed in a white coat entered the room several minutes later.

After examining Captain Smythe, he said, “I am Dr Gutierrez, Captain Smythe.”

He paused to await his patient’s response.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr Gutierrez. Will I be able to return to Britain fairly soon?”

“Yes. A British Army medivac team has already arrived to transport you to England this evening.”

“I wish to thank you and your hospital for treating my injuries last night. The nurse seems to think I will fully recover.”

“Your prognosis for a complete recuperation from the injuries you sustained is excellent.

“It’s truly amazing that you’re already well on the way to recovery given what you have been through. I’ve never seen anything like it in all my fifty years as a physician. It’s really nothing short of a miracle.”

“Dr Gutierrez.”

“Yes, Captain Smythe?”

“Who was that man who left my room several minutes before you arrived?”

“No man has entered your room except me for the past eight hours. Only your shift nurse has been here during the last fifteen minutes. I am certain of that as I've been in conference with a fellow physician in the hallway just outside your room for the past half hour. Other than Nurse Ortega and a field mouse, you had no visitors.”

“Are you familiar with a man who goes by the name of Juan Aguila?”

“No, señor, I am not. The surname, however, is definitely typical of local campesinos.”