Yes, she had seen misfortune, seen death, but she had never imagined she would be a witness to the murder of her entire family. She would never forget that moment. The sound of the metal boots, the wild screams, the swords rending air and flesh. The howls of her mother, her father’s helplessness, the crying of her siblings when the metal sank into their hearts. They had arrived without warning, from behind, and they began to kill. But she had managed to hide.
From her shelter she had had to see the atrocities those swine committed on her loved ones, without crying out, without weeping, and then react in time to leave there before the fire which engulfed the house swallowed her up with it. Now she was here, in a cluster of huts the people called a fort, a stronghold. But it was not strong. She knew by the murmurs of the wounded. There was little hope left.
The Captain was the only inspiration, the only man who still believed they could do something. As for the others, Luchy felt they had already been given their notice of eviction.
It was a couple of days since the girl had seen Manchego. Lulita had been inconsolable when she reached the village, screaming her grandson’s name. Then Luchy had understood that her friend had disappeared. She did not want to think of any other possibility, did not want to imagine him buried under other corpses.
She prayed to the goddess of night, D’Santhes Nathor, that she would look after her best friend’s soul and grant him access to the Deep Azure of the Heavens. A soul like Mancheguito’s would not have to pay for any sins, for it had been pure and filled with grace. The girl leaned back. Her physical and emotional weariness was so great that she fell asleep at once.
Hours later she was awakened by a noise of weapons and harangues; the war had not ended. She saw that Lulita was sleeping beside her, her face swollen with weeping. On her other side was Lombardo. The good-looking young man was absorbed on other matters, staring at the ceiling, his lips tightly closed and his fists clenched. There was nobody else. How many survivors were left? The Mayor’s soldiers were determined to finish them off. Why?
***
Lombardo, of the Zapotillo Ranch, was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling of the ramshackle house the Resistance had assigned to him. Savarb was a brusque man with little patience, used to giving orders without caring whether he gave offense. His long unkempt beard, his black eyes, deep and wounded, made it clear that the man had suffered unfathomable pain. The rancher could not explain to himself how they had reached this situation so quickly.
He knew about the socio-economic problems of the village, but he had never suspected that the crisis would degenerate into an indiscriminate mass killing. So many corpses, so many dead piled in heaps, so much bloodshed, viscera and decapitated heads. Who had come up with such an outrageous idea?
The young man had inherited the ranch from his parents, who had died of natural causes a decade before. He recalled the moment when the soldiers had come in by force, setting fire to everything, swords raised. He was glad his parents had not been there. He had grabbed a spade and a rake and killed some of the rabble. Had it not been for his formidable size, the rancher would have died. Thanks to Savarb and his reinforcements he had managed to escape. What he could not explain was how the Captain had known the ranches were in danger. He could not imagine it had all been due to a young man called Manchego.
He was deeply affected. He was no longer a peaceful rancher, living quietly; he was now a man who had killed several soldiers. And the worst thing was the certainty that the cycle of violence had hardly begun. He wanted to go on shedding blood, knowing that if he did not, the blood which was shed would be his own.
The complexity of the problem had been reduced to a simple conclusion: kill or die: There was no way back, and he had made the decision to kill. He would not give up, he would throw himself bravely into the battle. Beside him, Doña Lula of the Holy Comment Ranch had awakened and was weeping anew.
***
The lady was delirious. She could not accept that when she turned round her grandson would not be there beside her, that he might have died. Sometimes she thought about Balthazar. She had not found him when the ranch was set on fire, which might mean that he and Manchego were together. Perhaps…
But she felt it was not true. Balthazar was a furtive individual, he would leave without any explanation. He would have fled like a coward, just as he had before. The old woman could not get rid of her astonishment at the war’s voracious advance. She, who had fought in other battles, had never seen anything like it. It was not normal. The only possible explanation was that something or someone was controlling the soldiers, maybe they were possessed.
She did not want to open her eyes. She clutched axe, quiver and bow close to her body. They were her souvenirs, inherited from her mother, who had been a dominant alpha female of the Wild Lands. She had fled from Devnóngaron with her husband, a non-dominant male, in search of better opportunities. In this way they had come to the Empire and had indeed found rich opportunities.
Their daughter Lulita, who had been born with her mother’s gifts, had enrolled in the militia of the House of Thorén. Because of her worth, she had been transferred to the Imperial Army, where she had met General Leandro Deathslayer. It was a time filled with adventures, when she had been able to show her ability as a Wild Woman and her superiority in the battlefield. But when she retired she met Eromes, and after their wedding she locked the souvenirs of her time as a warrior in a chest and devoted herself to the Holy Comment ranch.
She had never thought she would ever open that chest and use her weapons again. The woman hugged the axe to her and felt her Wild Woman’s spirit emerge. She sat up, opened her eyes, looked at an indeterminate spot, visualizing the image she had in her mind. Her face wrinkled: every fiber of her being cried out for revenge.
***
“Captain!” Lula said, facing Savarb. “I used to belong to the army, I served with General Leandro Deathslayer more than twenty years ago, when the General was young and newly promoted. I’ve come to take my position in the battle!”
Savarb, a man who seemed made of iron, softened at this show of courage.
“Ma’am… forgive me, but the people your age are helping to make arrows and shields, and nothing more than that. I’m sorry to have to say this, but…”
The slap she gave him made the captain’s head spin. “Of my age? I’m not senile, nor am I a useless old woman. I told you I’ve had a great deal of experience in the battlefield, and both my axe and my arrows are hungry. They say the Mayor is responsible for this mess, and if that’s the case, he’s the one responsible for the loss of my grandson Manchego.”
“Manchego…?” Savarb was surprised. Lula saw emotion in the leader’s face, but could not guess what it was. It left her with no doubt that this man knew Manchego, but how? Could he know where he was? With a look, the woman urged him to go on.
“Manchego… it’s because of him that I reached the ranches. He said he was going to find his grandmother,” Savarb said, recognizing in the old woman a relative of the boy’s. Lula burst into tears.
“So… you’ve seen him? Was he near here?”
“We met him in the village. He told me he had a very important mission, he set off to Ramancia’s house. Then, around six in the evening, he turned up here, by the fort, in a hurry. He said he had to go back to the ranch, that his grandmother would be waiting for him anxiously… ”
The woman grabbed the Captain’s jacket, but Lombardo – who was watching what was going on – stopped her.
“Easy, Lulita. Let Savarb explain himself.”
“How could you let a boy of thirteen go away alone, with so many dangers around! A responsible man would have stopped him and put him somewhere safe, not at the mercy of death! Where did he go!”
“We escorted him to the sewers…”
“And suppose he never came out of them? Suppose he’s still there amid the waste? Didn’t it ever occur to you that an innocent inexperienced boy, alone, might easily die? Are
you a complete idiot?
“Ma’am… you should’ve seen your grandson. Manchego was more than determined, he didn’t even look like a frail child to me. Nobody would have been able to hold him back.”
“And what the hell was Manchego doing in the village at that hour? I bet it’s all the fault of that accursed Balthazar…” Lulita wept again, unable to understand why Manchego had come into the village, in the thick of war and in darkness. Savarb had said he did not look frail… She wished it might be true and that he was still alive. She prayed to the god of light and the goddess of night. She had recovered some hope, but she would not be happy until she saw him again.
“I need someone to help me protect the front on its western flank,” Savarb said firmly. “I’ll take charge of the booth, at the east. Otto’s offered to watch the northern front. Lula, could you take the south?”
“All right, but I’m not done with you yet, Savarb. You made a big mistake, and I’m going to find it hard to forgive you.”
The lady turned and left, descending from the roof by the stairs.
“Greetings, Savarb. I’m Lombardo, of the Zapotillo ranch. I’m here to offer my services in this battle.”
“Thank you. All are welcome. This war is about to end, and it doesn’t look good for us…What weapon d’you use?” Savarb asked, studying the rancher and his cotton clothes.
“None. I’ve never seen myself in a situation like this. But I killed some soldiers with a spade and a rake.”
“We’ll have to work something out, then. Come here, only someone of your size would be able to use my father’s weapons. This is a two-handed sword made from Vásufeld iron itself, forged in the furnaces of that city. My father, Aronoff the Woodcutter, was part of the militia, and King Aheron II rewarded him with this sword. The blade’s rusty, but a sword this heavy doesn’t need an edge, just someone who can wield it easily. It’s yours. Come on, there’s no time to lose.”
***
Lula sat down on the bed where Luchy was still lying. She was whetting the blade of her axe with a smooth sharp stone. The noise made the girl nervous. The woman, ignoring her discomfort, continued with her sharpening while she imagined Manchego being ill–treated by some deranged soldier.
“I can’t believe Mancheguito isn’t here…” murmured Luchy. The grandmother had told her everything she knew, that Savarb had met Manchego and that he had let him leave in spite of the dangers.
“Stupid… that Savarb is a complete idiot…” Luchy said in an echo of the old woman’s thoughts.
“It hardly matters what we think of Savarb or of Manchego at this moment,” Lula replied. “Pray to the gods, that’ll have to do. If, as they say, the Mayor’s the one to blame for all this, he’ll pay a very high price for his cruelty. You’ll see. For the moment, we’ll just have to do our best to survive. It’s the only way of seeing Manchego again some day. If we die: well then, that’s it.”
“Don’t say that, Lulita,” Luchy said sadly, though she could not forget that her own family had been murdered, that death was an all-too-likely reality.
“It’s nearly midnight!” someone shouted outside. A breeze arose, dragging with it dust and bad thoughts, hatred and the smell of the dead.
“Get ready, Luchy,” Lulita said, and struck the stone against the axe.
“What for?”
“To live or die.”
Luchy was stunned at the coldness of Manchego’s grandmother. She knew the woman had served in the militia, but had not imagined her heart could have a dark side. She watched the old woman, those wrinkles of rage which crossed her face, her lips which were now two thin lines, her sky-blue eyes bright in spite of the darkness. She felt a tremor. It had only been her body.
“We can hear boots coming towards here! It sounds like thousands of them!” came a cry from outside the house. The great moment had arrived. The great battle of the besieged would take place at midnight, under the spell of the Black Arts.
***
From an ancient and heavy chest Savarb took out a blanket made of tanned leather. “This fort was not established by chance,” the Captain began to Lombardo. “It was my neighborhood, this was my house. When the violence was unleashed, I transformed this place, together with the neighbors, into a barricade to protect ourselves from the soldiers.
“Two more neighborhoods copied the idea, and soon the forts became shelters for anyone who needed refuge. If we’d been closer to the House of Thorén, we might have taken shelter in their castle with its stone walls.
“Besides, it was impossible to get out of the village, so we had to make do with what we had so as to defend ourselves. As you can see, wood is all we’ve got left, and wood, Lombardo, burns and cracks, it’s easy to conquer. Today we’ll fall, never doubt that. The question is how.”
Savarb unwrapped a scabbard which contained a long, heavy sword, full of rust. “It’s not polished, and as I warned you, it’s rusty too, but I can assure you it’ll do its work if you move it firmly and swiftly. Try it.”
Lombardo picked up the two-handed sword as if it were a broom. He began to swing it in arcs. “It’s a great gift, Savarb. Thank you very much. This blade will taste blood once again.”
“Can you hear that?”
“It sounds as though somebody’s knocking at the door,” Lombardo said.
“Exactly, only it’s not the door. It’s the thousands of boots marching. The moment has come.”
Lombardo felt his heart thumping against his ribs. He clenched his jaw, felt his muscles tense. Sweat ran down his face.
“Let ’em come and try my two-handed sword!” the rancher shouted.
Chapter XXIX – The resurrection of the dead
Teitú! What’s happening?
I don’t know…but it looks as if…
The whole structure of the Town Hall was swaying, the walls were like sheets of paper at the mercy of the earthquake. First the stones of the roof fell. The avalanche of rock crashed on to the floor, raising dust. Manchego leapt back with a start, just in time to save himself from being buried under the building, which was beginning to crumble like a sandcastle. The rubble and waste piped up, damaging the floor with their impact. The earth trembled. Everything ended with an implosion that left no trace of the ancient Town Hall’s majesty.
A crack began to run along the ground. It parted the earth in two, continued beneath the ruins of the Town Hall and in a few seconds swallowed up the building. There followed a great cloud of suffocating dust. Manchego covered his eyes, but he had time to glimpse something he was not expecting: a hellish green light, the same one he and his grandfather had seen in the tunnels of the shadow. Beside him, Teitú became aware of the danger and gave out a furious red flash which bathed everything around.
The shadow revealed itself in its pure state. A green light flared from the fault and rose until it touched the eye of the spiral which hovered above the village. Red beams of light like veins crisscrossed the accursed cloud, which never stopped swirling, slowly but steadily.
Manchego shivered. He felt a terrible foreboding creeping up his spine and finally embedding itself in his terrified heart.
Footsteps.
The hairs at the back of his neck stood up like thorns. He turned round with horrible slowness, with his muscles paralyzed by fear. He sharpened his senses. The footsteps were multiple, they seemed to be dragging, lethargic. They were coming toward him.
They sounded of dried, stiff flesh, of broken bones, of clashing metal. Terrified, he watched the horror unfolding in front of his eyes. The corpses which had previously been lying in piles had come to life and were now moving, clumsily, like puppets controlled by a drunken puppeteer, and they were all heading toward the same place: the Town Hall, now buried in an abyss. There were soldiers, villagers, men and women, children and old people. The eyes of the dead were unfocused.
Horrified, the boy took a few steps back, tripped and fell. He had stumbled against the arm of a corpse, which was awakening at
that very moment. The dead man got to his feet with great difficulty. A column of smoke and fire rose from the village and lit up the horizon.
Manchego could dimly see that from it tens of thousands of corpses were moving towards the crack into which the Town Hall had sunk, in a sepulchral silence, broken only by the dragging footsteps of the dead. A cold wind struck his face and he reacted.
He got to his feet and noticed that the monsters did not flinch at his presence. He had an idea: join them and find out where the puppets were headed. When he reached the edge of the crack, he hid behind a lump of rubble and peered out far enough not to miss any detail of what was happening. In the bottom, where the green light was flowing from, was a substance he could not identify, like thousands of snakes coiling over one another.
The depths gave out a fetid vapor. He moved away a little and heard the sound of the dead approaching. One after another tumbled into the green well. The liquid began to bubble, perhaps satisfied at receiving that human torrent which powerful acids consumed in a matter of seconds.
Manchego! What’s going on! Why are they throwing themselves into the abyss, which is obviously infernal? Teitú cried in the boy’s mind.
I don’t know, he replied the same way, it’s probably part of the spell Feliel was conjuring when we burst in on him.
The wind changed direction, and amid the river of corpses a tumult walked with an enviable grace, like swans. Manchego recognized four divine beings, dressed in black, with faces that were both fair and evil; they brought to his mind the image of the dethis he had seen in the mirror.
The Sacrifice (The War of the Gods Book 1) Page 17