Shepherd’s Awakening
(Fallen Gods Books 1-3)
Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla
Synopsis:
The enemy has infiltrated the empire and gained enough political and military influence to subvert it from within. The venom of darkness spills from the heart of the kingdom. Politicians and civilians alike have been tamed and subdued, rendered incapable of recognizing right from wrong, good from evil. Evil spreads like a terminal disease—unchallenged, unhindered, and unrestrained.
In a small village on the outskirts of the kingdom, an innocent young shepherd tends to his sheep and helps on the family farm. His family’s estate is hastening toward economic ruin due to the untimely death of his grandfather. It all falls on him to honor his family’s legacy.
When the young shepherd sets off on a seemingly dull journey to a nearby village, he encounters a terrible darkness. His quest will become an epic battle of survival, love, and ultimate sacrifice. As he accepts the call to arms, his innocence will be lost. He must save his country and awaken his people from slumber. Will he be in time to save them all?
© 2021 Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla . All rights reserved.
It is absolutely forbidden to reproduce this text without the explicit permission of the author.
All the characters in this work are products of the imagination.
Foreword
This work was born more than a decade and half ago, when I was just a schoolboy, thinking about the uplands of my native land: Guatemala. There, the beautiful landscapes, with their broken volcanic geography and picturesque skies, stirred me to create a colorful work. With my love for other works of fantasy-literature, both European and American, I quickly began a story that mixed all those ingredients together, and at last emerged the first book of the saga. The effort that I have devoted to it up to now is monumental.
So many years have passed that sometimes I find it hard to accept that I have been writing the series for nearly half of my life (I was born in 1984). Finally, and I say it in all seriousness, I have reached the end. The saga is finished in its original language: Spanish. Now, after another monumental effort, I can present you its version in English.
I have no intention of delaying your reading. I hope the work will please you. With all the sincerity I can find within me, I wish to thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading this work. I am an independent author, and without your support none of my books will ever see the light of success. Without further ado, welcome to the series: Fallen Gods.
Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla
Shepherd’s Awakening
(Fallen Gods Book 1)
Part I
Chapter I – An Epic Dawn
He woke up suffocating in anxiety and terror. His forehead was pearled with perspiration and his back was drenched in cold sweat.
The lanky boy sighed with relief as he found himself in the safety of his home. He relaxed as the noises of the animals of the farm assured him he was safe in his bedroom away from harm. He ran a hand through his hair, wicking away the beads of sweat from his forehead.
Once again he had dreamt about strange lights exploding in a desolate and miserable place. It was a… void… a strange place where there was nothing, not even sound. And yet, within the confines of this dream he observed chaotic explosions ripping through the fabric of whatever reality he was dreaming of. Why? Why did he dream so? Why the terror and the panic?
In those dreams he became anxious, feeling that his friends and brothers were dying at the hands of a merciless terror. The strange thing was that the boy had neither brothers nor friends. The truth was few people were fond of him.
He remained lying in bed, staring at nothing, thinking about the complicated life which he had been dealt. His dog woke up upon listening to his master sigh and whimpered at the sight of his master suffering. To frighten away his sorrow, the old white and grey herding dog climbed up onto the bed, put his forepaws on the boy’s chest, and began to lick his face.
“I’m coming, buddy! I’m coming! Okay…okay…That’s enough of your licking!” cried the boy as he hugged the dog. The dog jumped off the bed and began circling around, at times staring at the closed door of the bedroom.
The boy wiped his face with his sheep-pajama sleeve. The happiness infused by the dog faded into a silent sadness he was not even aware of. The boy sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment, considering how many enigmas there were complicating his life. He was barely thirteen winters old! He could not even imagine how complex things would get when he turned thirty winters.
Those dreams…Why did they repeat themselves? Ever since he could remember, he had dreamt of those strange lights he could find no explanation for. He felt uneasy, worried by the fact that perhaps they meant he was sick in his mind. At least that was what his grandmother Lulita had suggested when he had confided his worries to her, and for that reason, and to avoid being frowned on by others, he now kept them secret.
A beam of light came in through the window, falling on the thoughtful boy’s face. Suddenly all his worries evaporated; he cheered up and began to stretch his arms. “All days are beautiful, as long as we have the will to recognize the fact,” he said to himself as he got up, feeling under his feet the old wooden floor of the Ranch which had built by his ancestors several generations before.
“Work is the way to happiness,” he said, echoing his grandmother’s words. Rufus watched him curiously, tilting his head and moving his ears, as his master followed his daily ritual. After so many years, the dog knew the boy well. He whined, urging him to hurry; soon the liquid fire of sunrise would bathe the earth.
The young shepherd understood the message and dressed quickly, for it would be unacceptable to miss the sunrise. Besides, it would put him in a bad mood for the rest of the day. But first he had to go to the stable, to gather together the sheep which would be waiting for him so that they could go out to graze.
Rufus ran out after his master, barking and leaping with happiness, herding the four sheep to follow along the sacred path towards the Observatory. The young shepherd felt the morning cool envelop his light brown skin, the sweet dew suspended in the air. From the branches of the trees there fell great drops, the zephyr filtering through the leaves. The little birds tuned their throats, uttering joyful melodies.
Panting after the long walk, he reached the summit of the highest knoll in his grandmother’s land. This place he had baptized the Observatory many years ago.
The lanky boy stared at the horizon when he reached the summit. A timid smile crept its way out of his soul and sketched itself on his saddened face. Dawn was rising over the farm before his eyes, in a spectacle directed by the baton of a natural, invisible magic, thanks to the radiant energy of the sun. The four sheep scattered as soon as they arrived. The Observatory, that landscape which seemed surrounded by a spiritual aura, was his favorite place, the best one for watching sunrise and sunset. He could see a long stretch of the farm as the land sloped gently downhill.
A tree they called the Great Pine crowned the hill, standing proudly on the summit. The sun emerged in the distance, on the horizon of a vast plain which was taking on a radiance in the magical moment of dawn. The boy sat down with his back against the trunk of the great tree. A few moments later, enthralled by the picture, it seemed to him that the soul of the tree was swaying with the wind. He breathed in deeply, filling his chest, feeling in harmony with life, with the flow of nature which was awakening for another day.
“You’re the heir of the Ranch, there’s nobody else. If you don’t work…we’ll lose it all,” came the voice of his grandmother, as intrusive as always,
echoing in his head. But it was the truth. The property had fallen into decay since his grandfather’s tragic death thirteen years before. Unfortunately, he had never known his grandfather Eromes, the great rancher.
He only knew about him through his grandmother’s stories, which told of his connection with the landscape which surrounded them. It troubled the boy to feel those thoughts intrude upon his contemplation of the dawn. It was the only moment of the day when he could feel really free. Apart from the time when he was with Luchy.
He closed his eyes and let himself drift. He pushed away those dark feelings and the memories of his grandfather. It was never easy to cast away such images. At times it seemed thinking and feeling sad about his grandfather actually brought him closer to the boy. But he knew if he continued to feel this way, it would eventually erode his soul. He emptied his mind to the best of his abilities.
The wind caressed his soul, which swayed like an ear of wheat. Nothing made him fly like the dawn.
Ounces, the name one of the three rams had earned by eating non-stop, was chewing the grass frantically. The other rams were Bruno and Lump; Grandma had given them those names. The only ewe in the flock, Pancha, was very old and only wanted to be by herself and enjoy grazing without interruption. Once they had had a much bigger flock, but the decline of the Ranch had forced them to sell most of the stock.
The economic disaster of his land reminded him of the political chaos of the Empire. The village people gossiped about it every day. For the young shepherd, the equation was simple: Politicians would always be corrupt, and the corrupt would always be politicians.
A detonation startled the boy. The sky shot a luminous arrow, which the boy felt like the breaking of a wave on the beach. Dazzled by the grace of the sun, he raised his hand to cover his eyes. The sun’s radiance poured over his soul, which took off and flew through the sky for a while. He felt like he had neither body nor limits. And suddenly, it was over. He blinked, noticing how much time had passed him by. It must have been a handful of minutes in a trance. That trance-state he achieved only during dawn never lasted long enough. It was the most amazing sensation, and yet, like time, it would simply shy away, unable to be held for long enough. Annoyed at himself for being bothered by silly things like not having enough of dawn, he grabbed a small rock and threw it downhill.
As he sat there, the lanky boy found it hard to believe the rumors. He head was once again peppered by the mundane problems of the village. People were saying that Alac Arc Ángelo, God of Light, was dead. But how? The days were beautiful, he could not be dead. If he were dead, then how come he had just witnessed such an amazing dawn? How could the arrows of light have pierced his soul like they just did if the God of Light was dead?
One thing was for sure: Violence was worsening, and with it the political crisis. Perhaps those rumors were true. Perhaps Alac Arc Ángelo was dead…murdered. Perhaps the God of Light was gone.
The young shepherd lowered his head and sighed when the sun rose high enough to begin a new day, ordinary and like any other. Another day of work, another day without going to school, another day without seeing other kids of his own age.
“There’s only one way to success, and that’s hard work. There are no shortcuts, there are no secrets: It’s a matter of being persistent,” as his grandmother Lulita insisted.
“Manchego! Breakfast is ready!” he heard from afar, and at the same time the bell began to toll.
The lad took his staff and began to call the small flock together. Ruphus did not lose a beat and began barking at the sheep, herding them at his whim.
Bruno and Lump obeyed at once, Ounces soon took up his position at the head of the group, but Pancha did not move, subjugated by the vision of the dawn. It took a nip in the rump from the old dog for the ewe to follow along with the herd.
***
The smell of scrambled eggs invaded the room. Lulita shook the frying pan, scraping the metal bottom with the wooden spoon to get every last crumb. The boy sat down and picked up the wooden utensils, waiting for his breakfast with the hunger of a puppy.
When she had served him, Lulita too sat down. She bit into an apple and went back to the usual story:
“Hello, my beautiful Manchego. I love your name so much. Reminds me of that cheese we love but can’t afford. You know, you’re the heir of the Ranch… oh yes, Sunshine! It’s all up to you now! Better eat up and get to work or nothing will get done. I have my own errands to run and things to knit. This old woman can’t work as she did before. Look at me, I’m all bones!” said the granny with a twisted sense of humor. Her golden skin shone with the patters of sunlight piercing the window.
“Grandma, why Sunshine? Can’t you call me something like… I don’t know, Tough Guy or Bull or anything but Sunshine! People make fun of me for it!” said Manchego with his mouth full of bread and egg yolk. A few crumbs went flying from his mouth, which annoyed his grandmother because of his lack of manners.
“Oh, you shouldn’t worry about what people say, Sunshine. Don’t you understand? You’re my only grandson. You are MY SUNSHINE. Without you… there is the opposite,” said Lulita, suddenly very grim. The pendulum of her mood swung wildly. She was suddenly mourning, again.
Manchego felt guilty for bringing up the subject, again. But he had to find a way to stop her from calling him Sunshine. Or maybe it wasn’t that bad? Remembering how the bullies at school would make fun of him brought him bitter images to his mind, and once again he was convinced he had to get rid of the nickname. It was too girly!
Lulita’s mood got better after a few moments and a swig of her freshly ground coffee. She shrugged and went on chewing the piece of fruit while she watched her grandson gulp down his breakfast. Manchego had the fierce appetite of a boy with a bottomless stomach.
“The harvest is coming, Sunshine,” his grandmother went on, full of hope. “That’ll let us make a few coins, and with luck they’ll last us a few more months. Manchego, you know you must pay attention to what Tomasa has to teach you. I know it’s not easy to work under her tutelage, because that woman is as hard as iron. But your grandfather did well when he hired her. She’s a Wild Woman, strong as an ox, smart as a fox. I tell you: Tomasa is someone to admire.”
The sunlight reflected on his grandmother’s skin. It was golden, like Tomasa’s. Lulita was a Wild Woman too and as tall as the men and women of that land: harsh in character, with caramel-colored eyes. She was set apart from the other natives by her accent, perhaps because she had been born in the Empire and not in the Wild Lands. Manchego lowered his gaze to his own hands, which were tan, not golden. He looked at his arms and found light brown skin. Either his father or his mother, or both, must have been dark-skinned, but he could not know, as he had never met them.
Lulita took a sip out of the clay mug of coffee before she went on. “The village is out of control; violence is rampant. In my days, you could go out shopping without any qualms, you know? But nowadays if you’re not careful they’ll take anything you’re carrying with you. And all these rapes and crimes…and the kidnappings. It didn’t use to be like that. It’s all the Mayor’s fault. Ever since he took power, almost four years ago, peace vanished from the village…” Lulita trailed off, as if losing herself in a distant memory.
Manchego crossed his wooden implements on the empty plate. He finished the coffee in his clay mug, as old as the Ranch.
“Anything else, Sunshine?”
“No thank you, Grandma,” the boy said with a sad smile.
“Don’t come complaining that you’re hungry later.”
Lulita stared into her grandson’s eyes. That deep gaze in a lad was something very unusual. Besides, there was that sad smile. Could it be because of those strange dreams he had?
The young shepherd left the room, followed by Rufus barking happily. The grandmother followed them with her gaze, sad at the memory of her dead husband and of what that had meant in her life.
“Oh… my little Sunshine,” she muttered as
the memory faded.
Chapter II – Working the Land
Tomasa wielded the shovel as a knight wields his sword. From behind, anybody would have thought this was a powerfully built man, with that wide back and the folds of fat which hung to either side. Her golden skin, that of a native of the Wild Lands of Devnóngaron, shone in the sun. As soon as she had started working at the Ranch she had earned her nickname: the Bear. She was one of the few people who had known Eromes, the famous rancher. Had it not been for that, she would certainly have stopped working at the Ranch by now.
When Manchego arrived to begin his chores in the fields, the woman welcomed him by telling him off at length, the words underlined by the heavy Devnóngaron accent.
“And why is it you’re so late, eh? For goodness’ sake, lad! You don’t seem to see that discipline’s what this world needs! For goodness sake! To work, because the afternoon’s on its feet already and you’re not, lad!”
Manchego was paralyzed.
“To work, then!” Tomasa shouted again, her round face filled with rage, her golden skin reddening. Manchego never felt like working in the fields as this meant giving up school. He hated it, because he did not see Luchy as often as before. Besides, he never made many friends, so the mere fact of attending school made him feel he was part of something. But now, far from the other boys of his own age, he felt isolated and forgotten.
By noon they had covered quite a lot of land, mostly thanks to Tomasa. The servant worked fast at the expense of quality. It was not hard to see that the land lacked the hand of an experienced farmer. The shepherd snorted as he raised his eyes and realized how much they still had left to do.
“Keep working!” Tomasa shouted.
The boy wished he was fifteen and could enlist as a soldier in the small village militia. The drawback was that he wouldn’t see Luchy, Lulita, and Rufus anymore. That made him sad. But he had to get used to the idea, because that moment would come, and he would have to enroll to fight against deserters and other bands of bandits and scoundrels.
Shepherd’s Awakening (Books 1-3) Page 1