You have heard of la Llorona no doubt, but have you heard of The Sigua?
Similar to la Llorona, The Sigua is a similar tale told in Central America, within the Salvadoran, Honduran, and Guatemalan countries. Instead of this being a tale told to kids to behave, the Sigua is told to young men to behave and to respect women.
The Sigua is said to have alluring beauty, effervescent skin, long flowing black hair, complimenting curves, and worst of all, a horse face!
She’s the Medusa of Central America. Her looks can drive men mad, the legally insane type of mad.
We will be releasing the full short story in three parts. If you enjoy it and want to support the author, check it out here.
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La Siguanaba by Willy Martinez Part 3
The large caverns were adorned with art from the locals, dozens, and dozens of paintings in red, ochre, green, yellow, and white. The motifs are composed of humans and symbols. The human and animal motifs appeared in a variety of poses while some of the figures appeared to be wearing plumed feather headdresses that they wore into battle.
Once all the men descended, the medicine man led the way into the cave system.
As it turns out, we were not alone. We soon heard chanting in the native tongue echoing through the system. It seems we were heading towards it. As we turned the curve, we could see a flickering torchlight in the distance. We made our way towards it, and a malodorous scent struck our nostrils. Even the day after a battlefield slaughter smelled better than this. The smell of copan mixed with decay, and God knows what else was extremely vigorous without the wind able to neutralize certain particle odorants in the air.
They must have sensed our presence because they quickly ended their chanting, and the lights were extinguished as they were alerted to our closing in on them. Covering our noses with one hand and swords or torches in the other, we turn into the hollow within the cave, eager to pounce on whoever gets in our way.
If you enjoy “The Sigua,” visit our blog at The Ritual for related flash fiction.
The first one of my men runs in and is immediately struck with arrows and he drops the torch. In the flickering light, I make out our assailants were four female savages. Our men fought off their weak attack easily with us only losing two men, the first and the smallest of our remaining crew.
Leaving one woman alive, she was immediately tied down to the offering table in the room. With her arms and legs bound, she was helpless. We placed torches around the room, illuminating what looked to be an offering of what I thought were deer hearts. Ernesto being the experienced monster in the room, quickly recognized the hearts as human hearts.
Padre, what I saw next was more horrendous than a massacre of heathens. A heap of hearts lay in the corner while a boiling pan of cut-up heart pieces was cooking next to it.
As I investigate the room, the men are having their way with the beautiful native woman. During her struggle against the men she says in perfect Spanish, “ayúdame” – “Help me.”
But I couldn’t. Being in a room with a heap of hearts, and five fresh dead bodies did not sit well with my stomach; I stepped out to vomit vehemently.
Into the dry heaves, I heard a whimpering female noise. Reentering the cavern, I find Ernesto violating the woman violently on the bloodied rock table as the other two men hold her down. She quivers and struggles to get loose, but she is overwhelmed by their strength.
It is at that moment that she turns her head and gives me her full attention. The most horrendous sound pours out of her mouth rhythmically. Although I could not understand the words, I could feel it deep in my blood, that it was a sad song. I just knew that it was a song that had been sung to her as a child, perhaps to bring her comfort during times of duress. A song to pacify herself, to take her back to when she was innocent. A song of surrender.
Even now, as she lay there against her will, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever engaged eyes with.
It was then that I realized that we are the actual savages in these lands, padre.
I swear, I wanted to say something, but then remembered what I had promised the men. Although, I could have saved her from such wicked debauchery.
If you enjoy “The Sigua,” visit our blog at The Ritual for related flash fiction.
Without skipping a beat, I grab a torch to continue my adventure in search of the fingerprints of the gods. I turn to look for him, to my left, to my right, and then behind me. He’s gone. That fucking medicine man has left us in the cave system to find our own way. Never trust a pinche Indian, padre.
I make my way further into the tunnel system, barely seeing more than what the torch can illuminate in front of me. Rats litter the cave tunnels until I come to a large opening. At the center lay a large monolithic structure adorned with small wooden carved figurines and offerings made to the structure. The stalactites above me hang high, guarded by small bats with wings wrapping their bodies.
I must cross a small watering hole with the water being about chest high. Once to the base of the structure, I find that it is indeed a megalithic structure, a few megatons in size. At the roof of the structure hang larger sleeping bats. Hoping that the miserable noise of surrender echoing down the cave doesn’t wake them, I come closer to the structure and place my hand on it.
Such a grand calmness ran over me in this place that I began to whistle. It was an unknown tune, only reminiscent of the medicine man’s hymns as we cleared paths through the jungle.
Understanding that this may only be one of the many chambers to the underworld, I focus my attention back on the cave and continue searching for another tunnel, or another descent into the cave, to find Xibalba.
Nothing, no relics of time immemorial, no fingerprints of the Gods, no treasures, nothing! I roll over large stones, searching for clues, becoming madly obsessed with finding another entrance. I retrace my steps, violently crushing the rats in the tunnels as I trudge through.
Coming around the bend of the tunnel, I come back to reality from my mad trance. Irritated and distracted, I started thinking about how beautiful the native girl was, with her long dark braided hair, and her dark skin.
It’s that song again.
The sorrowful song decrescendos.
The woman bursts into a loud obnoxious laugh echoing through the rock formations. “What the fuck?” The cackling quickly morphs into a loud neighing-like manic and the conquistadors are yelling in disgust.
I could hear their words reverberating down the tunnels towards me. “Es una bruja- She’s a witch” the men howl.
I run to the cave where they were, to find this beautiful native now standing on the altar, pointing down to the youngest man, laughing at him as he sobs.
“I was… inside… a horse,” he ugly cries in excruciating angst, like that of a small child who just lost his parents.
The second man, standing there naked, covers his ears, shaking his head violently as if to shrug off the song that had been sung. Not quite being able to scratch the itch of the devil, he picks up a sword from the ground to quickly slit his throat. He was in such a hurry to end his torment that he missed the jugular the first time and lay on the floor bleeding out, gurgling blood bubbles for words, attempting to yell for mercy.
If you enjoy “The Sigua,” visit our blog at The Ritual for related flash fiction.
Ernesto, the ever so merciful, sees the man’s agony and finishes the decapitation with one swift and precise schwing. With blood spouting from the man’s body into a dark maroon puddle, Ernesto turned his attention to her.
She stood on the altar with the blood of our men draped over her dark smooth skin. Yet, she’s different now. Her long black hair droops over her face, covering her beauty with mystery. She stands firm, flickering in the light as only a phantasm does.
Ernesto doesn’t budge, that haughty creature of destruction. With his gaze locked up at her from the ground where he stands, he nods to her, as if he had signed his life away at that very moment.
The Ernesto that I had fought alongside in Haiti, Cuba, the first attack on the Pipil natives, is no longer the savage I command.
With one man sobbing to himself, rocking idly, and Ernesto fixated on her, I slowly stepped backward to exit this hideous scene that will forever be burned into my eyes and ears.
Ernesto turned to me with eyes as dark as the plague. I understand now what happened. She had turned him on me.
I grabbed the torch as I exited the cavern and retraced my steps toward the cave entrance. I ran. I ran as fast as I could. With Ernesto now chasing me back to the entrance, I still only saw her beauty in the darkness, and I realized that I was now drenched with just one feeling – I was not scared, I was sad.
Although powerful and reliable, Ernesto was never too fast on his feet. I easily outrun the large conqueror with armor.
In my confused state of sorrow, I make it to the entrance. The rope was still hanging from the top of the cliffs. I mustered what little strength I had left. I pray to our God, the God of the savages, and I thought about the heart ceremony I would hold in honor of said God if I were allowed to escape the thrones of Xibalba. Anything to be free and alive.
I made it, and with the feelings of torment weighing me down, I barely pulled myself out. I made it to the base of the volcanic cliff. I turned to immediately cut the rope, preventing whatever spirit inhabited Ernesto, from escaping the cave.
I’m safe… but I am not alone. Several torches encircled me at the cliff entrance.
I looked up at the clouds that billowed over the volcano and mountains. The morning sun fought its way through the thick clouds, winning minor victories with minor pockets of sunray permeating through. Morning already? I thought to myself.
The macaw squawked nearby.
*****
“Although an entertaining tale, Senor Alvarado, there are many holes, or dare I say, lies in this story.”
“What do you mean? It’s the truth, I swear to God” replies Alvarado.
“Do not dare use God’s name in vain, you devil! Your so-called friend and alumenado, Juan De La Cruz, was never here. The guards tell me that you were alone in the infirmary, and delirious during your recovery. Matter of fact, I’m not sure you ever fully recovered from the injury. What drugs did you acquire from the local medicine man?”
“I’m not a madman, padre. What I share with you is real, I swear it.”
Inquisitively, the father asks, “On what Gods do you swear, Alvarado?”
“What?” says Alvarado.
With the room now empty, and it just being Alvarado and the priest in the room, the priest slowly walks forward into the lighting, revealing his face now to Alvarado.
“No… no, no, no, no, it can’t be!” shrieks Alvarado.
Beginning to doubt himself now, Alvarado wonders how the medicine man was able to enter the home of the Spanish God.
Leaning forward with a slight grin on his face, the medicine man asks Alvarado, “And, did you find this Xibalba?”
Copyright © 2023 By Mind on Fire Books
All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission in writing of the publisher or authors, not be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this coordination being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
La Siguanaba is a short story written by Willy Martinez.
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