David Golemon - Event

It was long after sunup when Father Corinth finally emerged from the small hut, and he carried the book with him.

"How is he, Father?" one of the soldiers asked. "Is there any news of our friends? Is Captain Padilla still alive?"

"The soldier is dead. His name was Ivan Torrez."

"Lieutenant Torrez? We know this man, he looked nothing like him," another soldier said as many of the escort gathered to hear the Father.

"The plague will change a man's features so you would not even recognize your own brother."

The men stepped away in fear. That one word was enough to weaken their knees and make the brave conquerors cringe.

Father Corinth brought the book to his chest and started to turn from the gathered soldiers.

"What of the expedition, Father, did he give a location of their whereabouts?"

He stopped and turned. "Captain Padilla and his men will stay where they are. Get your men ready to break camp, and bury Lieutenant Torrez deep. Honor him, he was a brave man," Corinth said as he bowed his head and crossed himself. The Padilla diary, which contained the unholy route the doomed expedition had charted, was clutched tightly to his chest.

He slowly moved away from the stunned men. The Father knew he would have to either destroy the diary and the map that would again take the greed of man to follow Padilla's directions, or bury them so deep no one could ever find them. The diary was the only proof of what wonders the captain had found under the falls of that lost lagoon, but because of men like Francisco Pizarro, the contents could never see the light of day. For only death could come to those that ventured into that dark lagoon and he would take it upon himself to make sure the pope sided with his decision.

A few months before the death of Francisco Pizarro, the general ordered one last expedition sent out to try and trace the route of Captain Padilla's ill-fated journey. The Spaniards found only helmets, rusted armor, rotted clothing, and broken swords on a path that stretched for thirty miles along the Amazon, which was clear evidence of a running battle with an enemy that had since disappeared into the jungle. The trail leading to the deep tributary that led to that dark and beautiful lagoon was never found. As for the men of Padilla's brave band, the Spaniards never found a trace of them or the gold they had sought. Pizarro, in what little time remained to him, would continue to lust for El Dorado. But in the end another generation of explorers and adventurers would have to do the searching.

Rumors of the lost expedition of Captain Padilla filtered down through the years, and even a few old artifacts turned up from time to time as the jungle begrudgingly gave up her digested secrets. Whatever lived in that forgotten lagoon would wait patiently for men to come into its realm once again.