CINCO (Five) [On Indefinite Hiatus]

Chapter 1: Dons, Damsels, and Disappearing Acts

“CINCO”

Chapter 1: Dons, Damsels, and Disappearing Acts

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November 1895

One was lucky if both their parents were still alive by the time they reached adolescence.

Dolores was 12 when her father died. The Cardones family was indeed wealthy, with many land titles under their name. She had seen the glimmering eyes of Padre de Castro pay close attention to her family every time they would attend Sunday mass. She knew the friar was plotting, plotting. They were always like that, the friars. They attributed their plots to the will of God.

Her father, with his hands figuratively tied behind is back, was forced to donate their largest piece of land to the church when Padre de Castro personally gave them a visit. He had two armed Guardia Civiles with him, and he claimed that they were faithful men of God. He assured that the guards would carry out God’s will should Don Cardones refuse to give up his property “for the sake of having sacred lands grow.”

But when Padre de Castro returned the second time to “ask” for a second plot of land, Don Cardones had kindly refused, saying that this time, even a small fee should be paid for their troubles. They had been paying taxes punctually and faithfully, reasoned the Don, eyes brimming with anxiety. A small fee wouldn’t hurt, he had said. He would continue to donate to the church by some monetary means, but the land held a sentimental value as well. The Cardones’ ancestors owned the land for more than a hundred years.

Dolores watched, one night, her father being arrested by the guard, and her father made little resistance. “Don’t hurt my family,” he pleaded, and with a smirk, Lieutenant Almario of the civil guard insisted that they take a few carabaos in assurance of Don Cardones’ family’s safety. Dolores' blood ran cold when the teniente of the civil guard glanced at her for a moment, his eyes gleaming like broken glass shards, before he and his men made off with her father.

The next morning, Dolores witnessed her mother in a fit of hysterics when she heard the news that her husband had been executed. It was all too sudden, and some were saying that it was an accident; some were saying that Don Cardones had been in the death row list for so long and it was only carried out that night.

Either way, Dolores cared little of the stories. What burned in her blood was that her father was killed. At twelve years old, and with three younger brothers and a sister, she no longer had a father. Her mother was now a widow. The household would never be the same again.

So five years later, as she descended the steps of the church, leaving her mother and siblings still within the confines of the large stone parish, she approached the small patrol of Guardia Civiles which were doing their morning marching routines, surveying the town with bored but stony eyes. At the head of the patrol was Lieutenant Almario, no longer teniente, but promoted to Capitan; the tall Castilian did not notice her approach.

“Señor,” called Dolores in her sweet voice, and the Capitan turned; almost immediately the man eyed her from feet to face, and he smiled, the familiar greedy gleam in his eyes dotting his aquiline features. “What can I do for you, Señorita—“

“—Cardones,” offered Dolores quickly, still sweetly, her fair face blooming with a smile. And then, without warning, and to the guards’ and especially to Capitan Almario’s utter shock, Dolores’ slender arm shot out, reached into the captain’s holster, and pulled out his own revolver.

The captain swore loudly in vulgar Spanish, and was about to issue an order in his ringing voice when Dolores, eyes unblinking, pointed the gun at Capitan Almario’s head.