“Say it, you cursed witch. Though you are confined in a mirror and another dimension, I can still torture you and give you eternal grief. Or do you want me to send Górgometh to play with you?”
The Oracle remained silent, knowing that saying what she was about to say would mean continuing to betray Manchego, that very special boy she had met so many years before. But she had no option. If there was one thing Mórgomiel could certainly do, it was to give her eternal grief through Górgometh, that vile being who could torture with his powerful mind.
“It’s a human. A young girl called Luciella Buvarzo-Portacasa is fighting for him. Manchego, alias Alac Arc Ángelo, left her a jewel.”
Human! thought Mórgomiel, bored with Argbralius. I hate humans.
You carry the soul of one within you, you vermin, Argbralius taunted.
The first thing I will do when I unleash the fury of my armies is to kill all the humans in this universe.
I’m glad, the young man thought. Make them suffer.
“A jewel? Can it really be a girl with a jewel who means to oppose me?”
“No. A powerful shaman is helping her. They’re on their way to Allündel. There are hidden forces that not even I know about that are helping her.”
“Helping her to do what?” Mórgomiel asked.
“To find Manchego. Alac…”
“Impossible! I saw him die!”
You should have absorbed his soul into Wrath! thought Argbralius.
“It’s true,” the Oracle said. “I can’t see him but that doesn’t mean he is dead.”
Mórgomiel was uneasy about what he had just heard. It was impossible that he was still alive.
“I need advice,” the God of Chaos said. He explained how complicated managing the conquered worlds was turning out to be.
“You need a general and a powerful sorcerer. The general will act for you, going from world to world establishing order and inspiring terror, while you can deal with your plans for your precious conquest. A powerful sorcerer could help you predict the movement of the forces of good which wish to oppose you and create spectacular spells using the Black Arts.”
You idiot, thought Argbralius. You couldn’t think this out for yourself? No wonder good and Light still prevail! The God of Chaos is a mere amateur!
“Tell me more,” said Mórgomiel, feeling intense hatred for the human soul within him.
“You will need to give each one an item of your armor with a piece of your soul in it so that they can use your powers. But I should warn you, it will weaken you.”
“Nobody has enough strength to oppose me.”
The Oracle was silent.
“Give the general the scabbard of Wrath the Godslayer so that he may be your powerful Chieftain. Give your armguards to the sorcerer, but make them into a rod so that he may manipulate the Black Arts.”
“Excellent,” Mórgomiel said. “And you will be my sorcerer’s heart, so that he may be infinitely wise.”
“How?” the Oracle asked in terror.
“What better counselor than a sorcerer with the abilities of the Oracle? You will help me predict the future and keep me alerted to the movements of those who seek good. If Alac is still alive, I want to know as soon as possible and I want to know where he is so that I can kill him all over again.”
“But—but you can’t do that! I can never serve in the soul of a demon! Please!”
“I have spoken.”
Mórgomiel left the sphere of energy. There was no time to be lost. There was a whole universe to conquer, and his new general would help him keep those hundred thousand worlds in line.
Still in the Interim, Mórgomiel decided to follow the Oracle’s advice. He decided, for the second time in his existence, to sacrifice pieces of his armor in which he had infused his soul to delegate his power. Relinquishing Wrath’s scabbard posed no problem. He had to create a new one and infuse it with part of his soul to grant it power. As for the armguards, he did not use them that much in any case.
He took off the newly-forged scabbard and threw it on the floor amid the greenish light of the Interim. Then, he took off his armguards and threw them down beside it. He concentrated his mind on the scabbard and began a powerful spell.
A dance of shadows began. The spell invited the most primitive demons to rise from the depths of the universe to come to his aid. Among the evil spirits, he found one that satisfied him. He had been the King of Madd’Ryorg, a powerful race of evil giants and allies of the shadows that were exterminated during the Times of Chaos.
“Rise forth from the shadows, Paladin,” he called the spirit, summoning him from his eternal grief. “Vengeance is yours and with your resurrection, you will gain part of my soul that you may go and help me keep my subjects subjugated. Rise forth!”
Around the scabbard, the shadows danced vigorously and began to ascend in a spiral. This began to take on a definite shape and in a matter of seconds, an enormous soldier, as tall as Mórgomiel himself, was formed. He was completely enveloped in silver armor and within it was the essence of the late King Paladin of the empire once known as Madd’Ryorg.
The armor which held the powerful spirit was magnificent. The helmet had not one slit but two holes where burning embers imitated the eyes of the ancient king. The helmet also bore imposing peaks that had once represented his crown. The whole body was covered in armor: a breastplate, shoulder-pads, armguards, thigh-guards, greaves, and a scabbard with a powerful sword that represented Mórgomiel’s soul.
“Paladin.”
“My Lord of the Shadows.”
“Go and keep order in my worlds, help increase the size of the armies, eliminate those who are insubordinate. Your assassins will be my vorwraiths, tortured souls ready to wreak havoc. Do not delay. Use Kanumorsus to move faster between the conquered worlds. Go!”
Paladin bowed his head and vanished to carry out the demands of his creator.
You’re incomplete, Argbralius thought. The Oracle has affected your power. You’re no longer invincible, you fool. I hope you know what you’re doing.
Mórgomiel made no answer. Although it was true enough that he was slightly weakened, there was no-one with enough power to oppose him.
He focused on his armguards and the dance of shadows swallowed the dungeon of energy where the Black Queen of the Morelia Abyss lay imprisoned.
“Malakai, come from the shadows,” Mórgomiel cried. “You will be my right hand.” A muffled scream filled the Interim. It was the howl of pain and sorrow of the Black Queen as she was consumed by the shadows and enclosed in the poisoned soul of Mórgomiel’s sorcerer.
The shadows came to an end in a spiral, leaving the fleshless skull of an orc with a black core that represented the energy where the Oracle lay.
“Lord of Chaos,” hissed the skeleton, its voice coming from the magic which animated it.
With a thought, he exited from the Interim to the tangible world, taking Malakai with him. The horrendous skull appeared with him in his palace and the soldiers who were there were startled to see that pile of bones animated with a black core of shadows. They knelt and bowed their heads, fearing they might be eliminated for no reason.
“Évulath,” Mórgomiel called. “Bring Malakai a black cloak, so that he can cover his body.”
“Milord,” the king replied. Malakai was duly covered with a black cloak so that he looked like a sáffurtan. The walking skeleton drew the hood over his head, concealing those horrible eyeless spaces which shone with the color of burning embers. With the cloak in place, there was nothing to be seen of him except his jaw, his dog-like teeth, and from time to time, his fleshless hands.
Through thought, Mórgomiel transferred the images of Luchy, Balthazar, and Lulita, the only humans who to his knowledge were related to the missing Alac Arc Ángelo.
“Malakai, keep me informed of all the movements of these humans.”
“At your command, Lord of the Shadows,” Malakai replied.
“Tell me once and for all. Is he alive
or not!?”
“He is alive, milord,” Malakai said.
“Damnation!” Mórgomiel howled and slew three soldiers with Wrath.
The matter is solved, Argbralius thought. It seems the Oracle was lying to you. Now we know your nemesis is still alive. Now what? How are you going to find him?
“Malakai, you must do all you can to find the whereabouts of the God of Light. It must be one of your priorities!”
“So be it, milord.”
Chapter XV — Oérosmeth
“He’s a man of few words and great silences,” Flóregund said as he walked behind the giant. Luchy was still half-asleep over Mojak’s right shoulder.
“Alaris, tell me how this giant manages to know where he is in an unknown world. This isn’t the way back to Allündel.”
I don’t know, Flóregund, Alaris said. But I’ve told you: Mojak knows exactly where to go.
After being transported to this world, Alaris had regained enough energy to transfer himself back to the real world. They could risk going back to the Interim to find the right way to Allündel, but the Interim in Kanumorsus would certainly be full of watch guards.
“Alaris,” Flóregund asked. “What’s the name of this world?”
Its name is Oérosmeth, Alaris thought within Flóregund’s mind. A planet with a single purpose, Flóregund. It houses one of the temples of Nimyaya who was created by the Princess of Yonder thousands of years ago. Your ancestors were here.
“Did you hear that, big guy? Did you know that? Did you predict it? Maybe you went into this portal because you knew exactly where you were going? Did the cat catch your tongue? No respect! He doesn’t answer…”
He knows, Alaris said in the elf’s mind. I told you, Mojak is no simple Wild Man. He knows where he’s going and what he aims to do.
“But how, Alaris?”
Nothing else was said because, at that point, a gigantic structure appeared before them. The low vegetation suddenly came to an end. Bushes and tall, lush trees completely enveloped one of the temples of Nimyaya. It was impressive. Flóregund, whose lineage was that of those same elves of the house of the Princess of Yonder, had never laid eyes on this beautiful creation. He had heard talk about it, dreamed about it, but had never been inside one of the temples. This was not the route Azuri had suggested. But Mojak seemed to have taken another path to reach one of the deeply-valued, hidden temples that the elves had abandoned after the genocide of their race during the Times of Chaos.
Flóregund was speechless. His blue eyes stared at the enormous structure. It was not an enclosed temple, like those of men, but rather a series of pillars in a specific order that rose from the earth like giant roots reaching toward the sky. Once the roots reached a certain height, they unfolded a mass of leafy stems that hung down so that they covered the site. For this reason, the temple had neither walls, separate rooms, oratories, nor enclosed spaces. Rather, it was a garden where, from time to time, the elves gathered to worship Ÿ as the creator of everything and everyone.
“I don’t understand how one of the temples of my ancestors is going to help us get back to Allündel,” Flóregund said wearily.
Mojak knows, Alaris said. Don’t taunt him. He’s a peaceful man, but he can wreak havoc if you push him too far.
“But he won’t even speak to me!” the elf protested. “And I don’t think he has any idea where he’s going.” He was a young and immature but also adventurous elf. He had been chosen precisely because of this since, without that attitude, he would never have left the safety of Allündel. The youngest elves, who had no memory of the Times of Chaos, did not suffer from eternal nightmares, nor did they know about the perils of the universe. But in this case, Flóregund was going too far with Mojak.
Could you possibly be jealous? Alaris asked.
“Don’t be daft. Well… maybe a little. Azuri put the mission into my hands. I wanted to be the one who led Luchy.”
You led me straight to Luchy and Mojak. You helped a lot by doing that. But Mojak seems to know more than you do and he’s taken us to somewhere safe. Aren’t you thrilled to see a sacred temple that was once used by your ancestors?
The elf looked down at the ground, the wind blowing his golden hair around his face. The smell of the world once occupied by his ancestors was strange, like the smell of something forgotten. But nature seemed to have conquered everything. There were no elves, but there was life and there were living creatures occupying the site. Flóregund allowed himself to admire it, shaking off the negative emotions that had come over him.
“It’s true. Mojak saved my life, that’s true enough. But now I won’t be able to impress Azuri and the other elves. It was my chance, you know?”
The elf was silent as Mojak lowered Luchy from his shoulder and laid her on the ground. Feeling comfortable on the delightful lawn, she stretched her arms and yawned. Suddenly, her eyes opened and searched around her fearfully only to realize that she was safe.
“What on earth are we doing in a forest? It’s beautiful. They’re columns, but made of…?”
She allowed herself to be moved by the wonder of the moment, and getting to her feet she walked over to one of the pillars. It was gigantic, so wide that she could barely put her arms around its girth. Her gaze followed it up to the sky, noticing how it became a creeper.
“Alaris says those pillars are roots,” Flóregund explained with his hands on his hips and an expression of boredom on his face. “The place looks quite nice. He says it belonged to my ancestors. Nina, the Princess of Yonder and whose house I belong to, used this temple to worship Ÿ.”
“Ÿ?” Luchy cried.
Mojak sat down on the grass, looking up to examine the temple. The pillars, the roots, were so numerous that they formed a glorious roof. Among the creepers, small birds twittered freely.
“That’s what we call the creator of everything. Mojak calls her Mother.”
“I see. Are we in another world? And what happened to the green world full of demons?” Luchy stared at her surroundings, looking for clues to the greenish world. She had been desperately frightened when they had entered the Interim and seen so many demons.
“Alaris? Can you tell Luchy the name of this world?”
Oérosmeth, the seraph replied.
“Golly! I’m in another world! Am I in another world?” Luchy covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m in another world… I’m not in the Meridian any longer.” The girl took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and sat down again. She put her hands on the ground to verify that she was there and not in a dream. When she opened her eyes, she looked around at her surroundings and a tear slid down her cheek. “I’m in another world. So that means we’ve started on this great adventure. And the Interim—that strange green world full of demons?”
Flóregund lowered his hands to his sides and sat down beside her. “The Interim isn’t another world,” he said. The elf had never thought that the human could be so lovely. Now that he was near her, he was able to look at her in detail and realize that her beauty rivaled that of the elves. He swallowed hard and licked his lips. Could he be nervous?
“The Interim is all around us at every moment. It’s another dimension, one of the strange aspects of the universe we live in. Alaris is a Naevas Aedán and they’re able to enter the Interim and take us with them. But entering the Interim costs energy.”
Luchy was astonished. Hearing all this about other worlds was tormenting her young mind, utterly new to strange things like being transported to other worlds and entering other dimensions.
“A spell?”
“Magic,” Flóregund said. “You’ve seen magic, haven’t you?”
“Yes, of course. The Mages of Háztatlon created great spells to fight evil.”
“Exactly. Alaris has to do something like that to enter the Interim. When Alaris works a spell, just as with any other being who manipulates the elements, he loses energy. As he had to transfer three other people besides himself, he had to use enough energy to ca
st the spell. That’s why we couldn’t simply leave the Interim to avoid the demons. How easy that would have been! But we’re safe now.”
“This is a beautiful place. It seems to me that it gives out very special energy.”
“It’s a temple of Nimyaya. Nimyaya was one of our goddesses who died during the Times of Chaos when she was brutally murdered by Mórgomiel. Or so the wise people in Allündel say.”
“A temple? What a beautiful thing it is! Allündel? That’s the name of your home?”
“You’ll see it. But, yes, its name is Allündel.”
The three remained sitting on the grass for a good while without speaking. Alaris meanwhile floated around them quietly, illuminated by rosy light.
The girl stood up and began to explore the temple of giant roots, admiring its architecture.
“You’re the first elf I’ve ever met,” Luchy said as she studied the roots. “I never thought you were real. I’d heard talk about elves in tales of magicians and fairies that my mom used to tell me at night. Sometimes there was a mention of elves in some of the legends and epics.” The girl felt sad, thinking about her dead mother and the rest of her family who had died in San San-Tera.
The elf felt insulted, but he was aware that elves were reclusive and unsociable beings who took care in avoiding getting involved in the affairs of other species. On the other hand, they knew of the existence of almost every species in the universe. As supreme naturalists, they liked to keep a register of those that were known.
Luchy continued to explore the site. Mojak seemed remote, so she took advantage of the fact that the giant was recovering from their escape. The girl explored with pleasure, feeling very much at ease in the temple.
It had no rooms and as she went on further, she noticed that because of the way the vertical roots were organized, some parts of the temple remained hidden. It gave the impression that as she advanced further, in some way, new parts were exposed to view while others remained hidden by the roots.
She turned to look back and realized that she was alone. The place seemed to be sacred and around her, the rays of the sun filtered through the cracks of nature, even though there seemed to be no space to let them through. She took a deep breath and wondered at how comfortable she felt despite being in the middle of such an incredible experience. Perhaps the site had given her positive energy or perhaps the soul of the temple was helping her to recover.
Necromancer’s Sorrow: (Series Finale) Page 12