“So it’s true?” Manchego said, not understanding the reply. “You worked for my grandfather?”
“Your grandfather… he was a great person. Maybe the best I’ve ever known. Thanks to him I’m still alive. I was banished, nobody gave me shelter or hope… until I met him.” He bowed his head. The children looked at the man, his sculpted torso with its well-defined muscles, the tattoo across his chest like the scratch of a beast. He seemed someone broken by life, for all his physical strength.
Manchego broke the silence. “So… can you teach me?” He bit his tongue as if he had uttered words of fire.
“You should do it! To honor Eromes’ memory!” yelled Luchy from behind Manchego.
The Wild Man seemed to ponder this for a moment which to Manchego seemed eternal.
“Young girl, you are impudent… and you are also right. Of course I will,” he replied at last. “If I owe your grandfather anything, it’s to train his heir: you. That will be my task. That will be my promise. I’ve lost everything, I own nothing in this life, but now I’ve found a purpose. I’m at your service.”
“That’s wonderful!” cried the boy. The people around turned to look at him scornfully. Luchy kissed him on the cheek. Manchego blushed, still ignorant of the rigors that awaited him.
“But wait… did you know me when I came here? You recognized this vest,” said Manchego.
“I did, I do. I know who you are, boy. I was waiting for this day for so long, for the day you would grow enough to start asking things around to eventually bring you here, to me. Yes, I will be your teacher.”
“But why wait for so long? You could have spared him much pain by coming to him much earlier,” said Luchy with her hands of her hips.
“A man values what he feels he has earned, girl. If I would have approached Manchego and offered my services to him, what worth would that have been? Of little value I assure you. But instead, after much digging, this young man has decided to come and request my services. He has earned them. He will value my input much more like this I assure you,” said the wildborn.
“You have a strange way of being, wildborn,” said Luchy.
“Don’t be offensive! It’s a derogatory term when anybody but them says it,” said Manchego. “Call him by his name. Call him Balthazar.”
“Very well, my apologies, Balthazar.”
The Wild Man whipped out his axe like lightning and aimed its edge at Manchego. The lanky boy took a step back too late and tripped on Luchy and fell. He stood up quickly and faced the Wild Man. “You’ll suffer, you’ll sweat as you never have before, but you’ll grow and then you’ll be the best rancher of all times. To work!” yelled the wildborn.
Manchego paled. The edge of the axe was so close to his face that he could see himself reflected in the blade. “I’ll do my best to be the best pupil,” stammered Manchego.
“So be it. You, girl, you’re witness to the pact we’re going to seal with blood.”
The Wild Man cut the palm of his hand with the weapon. Drops of bright red fell heavily onto the floor. Then he handed the axe to the young man, who took it apprehensively. The weapon was so heavy he could barely hold it with both arms. He looked at Balthazar, who nodded his approval, and it was then that the boy understood that he too had to cut his hand to seal the pact.
He had never cut himself deliberately before, and to him it seemed a rather stupid thing to do. He put his right hand to the axe and made a tiny groove. “Ouch! It’s sharp!” cried the boy. He had barely touched the edge, and it had cut him. Hopefully Lulita would not find out.
The Wild Man offered him his own bloodied hand, and Manchego took it. The blood pact was sealed.
“It’s done. Mother and the girl are witnesses. From now on you’re my pupil. If you break this pact, the consequences will be paid with blood. What is signed with blood, can be broken only with blood,” said the Wild Man.
Manchego swallowed hard. What have I done? he thought to himself.
Chapter VIII – Natura Naturans
The hours went by. The days went by. The weeks. The months. Manchego was getting a training worthy of a son of the Mother of the Wild Lands, suffering the worst rigors he had ever imagined. Balthazar made a point of hammering into his skull the need to be trained like a wildborn, of how weak and lazy Empire citizens were in comparison to the natural born of Devnóngaron.
Manchego had once or twice in his life thought about how it would be interesting to experience what the wildborn did in the wild lands, but now he was convinced it was a very bad idea. If just training to work the land under the tutelage of a Wild Man was proving the most arduous task of his existence, training in anything other than working the land would be terrible! How Wild Men ended up as slaves or captives in the Empire was beyond Manchego’s comprehension. They seemed wiser, stronger… and yet were governed by the Empire’s Law. How? Why didn’t the Wild Men rule the world?
Lula did not know of the pact, nor was she aware of the training, as it was carried out in the furthest area of the Ranch, where the obstacles were great and the hours of labor intense. Lulita could NOT find out. The Gods forbid, she would go crazy over it. There were unresolved issues between Lulita and Balthazar, a problem Manchego intuitively figured out by how Balthazar was extremely strict about keeping the training a secrecy, and how the Wild Man did everything in his power to avoid Lulita.
Because of said training, Manchego and Luchy saw each other less and less; there were just not enough hours. But they made the effort to meet once a week, mostly at night, when the boy was exhausted by the day’s exercise.
“What is it you’re doing to end up this way, Sunshine?” Lula would ask. The friends kept silent, taking advantage of the fact that their mouths were full of dinner. Luchy was eating with them that night, one of the few times when they shared a meal.
“I have to be the best, Grandma, and I’ll only manage that by working hard,” Manchego said. “I’m the heir to this Ranch, and I won’t rest until I’m as good as my grandfather.”
Luchy smiled silently, her mischievous gaze unable to hide the fact that they were hiding the truth about Manchego’s training from the grandmother.
The old woman smiled, although inwardly she was worried about the boy. At the tender age of thirteen, the lad already showed the marks of a whole life burdened with suffering.
***
In this way three months went by, which seemed an eternity to Manchego. He got up at dawn, watched the sunrise, then devoted the rest of the day to tilling the land. He barely had time for lunch. He barely managed to greet Luchy when she came to meet him.
At dinner-time he went over Balthazar’s teachings, in silence, worn out by the effort, and when he had finished his meal he went straight to sleep.
Soon the boy showed a great physical change, especially in his arms and chest, which were beginning to take on shape under the cotton shirts. He himself noticed the difference when he undressed and also in the looks he got from other people, not only his grandmother and his master. One day, when the sweat was annoying him and he changed his shirt, Luchy was caught spellbound, admiring his muscles.
In this new routine, though, what did not change were his dreams. He saw himself dragged by giant spirals with thousands of dots, sometimes huge red orbs which gave out a radiant energy. Sometimes he witnessed the punishment a shadowy being inflicted upon an angel; at other times, five dragons rose at the call of an all-powerful being.
One evening, at dusk, the master decided to intervene. For some time he had noticed that the boy looked dazed. “Is there anything wrong, my dear pupil?” After so much time together Balthazar had grown fond of him.
“It’s this thing I can’t manage to pin down,” the boy said in a dark voice. “No… I don’t know! And it’s so frustrating, not knowing!” he roared. “It’s as if I want to run away and forget everything, or go to the House of Thorén and become a soldier.”
The boy rammed the spade into the earth. His face was a mask of contained fury, as if
a dam were holding him back.
Balthazar recognized what Manchego was going through, because it had happened to him too when the Mother was training him to become the future alpha male of the clan. “Don’t give up, Manchego, be patient. We’re on the brink of getting our first harvest. You’ll soon see the fruits of your labours.”
Manchego remained thoughtful. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but… I just don’t know what’s wrong with me!”
Balthazar put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Easy, easy. Ask your essence what’s going on.”
Manchego took a few moments to meditate, and knew what was happening to him.
“It’s just… just that I feel lonely,” he said, and sighed in frustration. “I’ve never felt so abandoned. I’ve barely begun to train to be a great rancher and already I feel so isolated, so remote from the world. I think I’m no longer the boy I was, that I’m going through my adolescence without noticing, busy with so much work. The others, Findus or Dario, they don’t seem to suffer this way. Why did this have to happen to me?”
“Stay calm,” his master said. “Let me tell you something.”
The apricot light of the evening fell on the chest and square face of the Wild Man, who was observing Manchego with his sky-blue eyes. “You aren’t the first who’s had to sacrifice himself for his craft, or his duty. When you work, you learn that everything has a price, and that sometimes that price is not to be paid in money. In exchange for becoming a rancher, you have to pay the price of spending less time with your friends and family. Life teaches you that you can’t do everything, that at times you have to choose, and that’s why you must stay alert. You’ll learn from your mistakes and your virtues when you have to make decisions, and in time you’ll find out whether they were right or not. Life is like that, my dear pupil.”
The Wild Man went back in time to his past, when he made the decision to betray Mother. I chose my way, and now I learn from my mistakes.
“It’s important that you should learn to let go of everything that is outside you,” Balthazar went on.
Manchego was confused. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean everything which is not you: your grandmother, the Ranch, Rufus, Ounces, Luchy. One day you might find yourself in complete solitude. Then you must remember who you are, not identify yourself with other beings or other things which are outside you. You must search for the strength within you.”
Manchego remained thoughtful for a moment. “So do I have to let go of everything external, even if it makes me happy?”
“That’s so.”
“With the aim of being independent…” Manchego understood. “So that if one day I find myself alone, I won’t be dependent on anybody but myself.”
“Exactly,” Balthazar said. “Only in solitude can you come to find yourself. In solitude you learn to let go of all that is not you, so that you may be your own companion, someone who will never abandon you. To sum up: You must become the best friend you ever wished for.”
Manchego felt a tremendous chill at imagining himself alone. An icy wind blew. The moon rose, and with her the entourage of stars which scintillated in their eternal disintegration.
***
That night he dreamt again, but not about lights and battles. Strangely, Balthazar was in his dream, watching him with a calculating gaze. The master snapped his fingers, and at once they were transported to a range of high mountains, Balthazar atop the tip of one rock, Manchego sitting on another.
The wind whipped at them, threatening to hurl them into the abyss of rocks sharp as swords. Manchego did not want to stand up; he felt he would lose his balance. He looked out at the abyss. The bottom was invisible, hidden beneath a thick mist. Balthazar on the other hand remained unruffled, motionless on his rocky summit, which was the width of his shoes. “Try to stand up. Look me in the eye as you try.”
The pupil tried to get to his feet several times. As soon as he saw the precipice and anticipated the fall, he sat down again.
“What’s the problem?” Balthazar asked him serenely.
“I can’t! I lose my balance!”
“Who can’t?”
“Me!” Manchego cried, filled with terror.
“Who loses his balance?”
“I do! I can’t control myself!”
“Who can’t control himself?”
“Me! I can’t manage to control myself!”
“Isn’t it obvious, what you have to do?”
“No! I don’t know what I have to do!”
“To gain freedom means freeing yourself from your own self.”
Manchego was left stunned, as if he had been turned into a wooden doll. He did not think, did not feel, was not aware of himself. He only flowed, and without being aware of it got to his feet, looked into Balthazar’s eyes.
“That’s my pupil. Awareness of the self is an obstacle when it comes to taking action. Eliminate the self from your mind and you will attain complete enlightenment. Oneself is the greatest limitation to one’s self. Never forget that. You are your greatest friend. You are your greatest enemy.”
Balthazar raised his eyes to the sky, spread his arms like wings, and let himself fall backwards. In a blink of an eye, he disappeared in the mist. Manchego understood that he must follow him. He looked up at the sky, spread his arms, then when he was about to let himself fall, something held him back. “Don’t do it,” his mind told him. “You’ll hurt yourself.” He had to free himself from his own self, the master had told him. He quieted his mind and let himself fall.
He appeared on a beach where the sea broke against a cliff. Balthazar was gazing at the horizon with his hands behind his back, silently contemplating the explosion of water, salt, and wind. “The seas flow harmoniously. The winds over the seas also flow, but with a different rhythm. The clouds, rocked by the wind, flow above the sea. They all have something in common: They flow, because they are made of the same substance. In nature all is dynamic and nothing is static. What is static soon perishes, so any static thought will also perish.
“Man in solitude finds himself in a serious conflict. We realize that our minds do not flow like the rest of the natural world. You must long to flow in that way, and then everything will unify itself harmoniously. This is the most valuable lesson of our Mother, our creator, the Goddess of the Wild Men. Mother is everything. And you must make yourself into a part of everything in order to be nothing… to be everything… eternity.”
The young shepherd understood. He no longer felt fear, nor was he threatened by the violence of the waves. He admired the landscape of gray clouds which blotched the sky.
“Come. There is something I must show you,” Balthazar said.
The master turned round. In one hand he now held a brush made from a horse’s tail. He looked at the horizon and began to paint a new landscape. Hundreds of colors burst out like lava from a volcano.
When the painting was done, master and pupil took a few steps back to get a better view. It was a scene whose light was the color of wheat; the field of spikes swayed in the wind.
“Art is the highest form of expression of the soul, which offers its produce. Never forget this: An artist’s expression is his soul made manifest, confronting both his learning and his self. In each brushstroke, each stanza, each note, each bodily movement, the music of the soul is made tangible to the world.”
***
Hours later, Manchego woke up with a prolonged yawn. Outside the window everything was dark; there was still at least an hour left till dawn. He stayed in bed, with his hands beneath the back of his neck, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, thinking. After fifteen minutes he got up, dressed and went out toward the Observatory, where he knew someone was calling him. Rufus followed him.
Balthazar was sitting against the Great Pine, contemplating the horizon. It was not often that he had seen his master smile so freely.
“You’re early, pupil.”
“I know. I had
a really strange dream. You were in it… you were telling me about the importance of sharing with our own essence…” The boy scratched his head.
“Art is the highest expression of the soul. The knot of life is more complex than you think, and it’s easier than you’d be prepared to bet. Let your soul unravel.”
Manchego wondered whether Balthazar was playing with him or teasing him. He said nothing and considered that the universe was both more complex and simpler than it seemed. He concentrated on the horizon.
One, two, three beams of light appeared between the mountains. Manchego smiled and let himself be borne by that radiance. He closed his eyes. A pleasant thought invaded his mind: The meaning of being is to be. How can one be without being oneself? You must fight to integrate yourself with your essence. You must manifest it in each heartbeat, in each breath, in each word, in each glance.
“Who are you?” Manchego asked that presence which was growing within him.
I am that which nestles in your heart and will guide you to the eternal.
“Who are you?” he insisted.
I am. You are. We are.
“Who are you?”
I am Manchego.
***
One afternoon Manchego and Luchy were sitting at the Observatory. The boy was absently playing with the Teitú nut. He threw it in the air and caught it, over and over again. The object had become a part of himself, just like Balthazar. He would not let another night pass without telling his grandmother about the agreement they had reached a few months back. Luchy had promised to go with him to give him support. She was hugging her friend, leaning against his body, her head on his shoulder.
“I’ve missed you,” Luchy murmured, so low that Manchego almost failed to hear her.
“Me too… I’ve been so busy…”
“You needn’t explain, I know.”
The bell rang. Lulita’s voice followed the peal; dinner was ready. The two friends set off back, Manchego with the firm idea of coming clean to his grandmother. “That’s why I’ve advanced so much,” he explained when he had finished telling everything to Lula, except the story of how they had met.
Shepherd’s Awakening (Books 1-3) Page 6