“And do you think I didn’t know?” the grandmother asked.
“What? Do you mean…?” the boy said, eyes wide.
“Oh, Sunshine. I’m a Wild Woman, I have the perception of a cat. Besides, Balthazar himself asked my permission to teach you, and he owes a lot to this family. It looks like a healthy exchange to me,” the woman said as she picked up the dishes. “Finally the coward had the guts to come back,” she muttered to herself. Luchy and Manchego turned to look. Lulita was different, so it was not strange that she should know about everything.
“Now the harvest will be plentiful. I’ve prayed ceaselessly to the God of Earth, and also to the Goddess of Water that she may water the fields with rain. Everything will come out well… let’s hope…”
Manchego wanted to ask how a Wild Woman came to believe in the Gods of the Empire. If she was a Wild Woman like Balthazar, she should believe in Mother, right? But then again Lulita had been born in the Empire, and therefore, was culturally a Mandrakian.
Chapter IX – Prodrome
Many avoided the shadow. Inside lived something shapeless and ruthless, not a person, nor a body either—if only it had been, because then it might be defeated. It was a black, filthy mass, perhaps of a gelatinous consistency, with an enormous mouth ready to devour. It might have been a spirit doomed for eternity, stalking pure souls.
Mothers walked fast, holding their children tight, heads bent under their scarves. The traders spoke little and in low voices. The shops of the Central Market closed early. All fled from the darkness. At the same time, life went on in accordance with Mayor Feliel’s campaign and his much-trumpeted Social Reform. Working for your future, the bulletins read. The alderman’s image was impeccable, although in his face there were hints of something devious.
Rumors spread; the bars grew heated with talk about the dishonor which ruled everything. Strange things happened, such as mysterious murders which were not investigated; it was said that human sacrifices were practiced in seedy, down-on-their-luck taverns. The desolate scream of a victim was never lacking during the night.
One evening a messenger was carrying a leather portfolio of business documents. The poor man had ventured out about six in the evening, when the sun was beginning to retreat before the dark. The messenger heard the fateful march of a six-soldier patrol, in lines of two by three, equipped with shields and long sharp spears; they were called the Death Squadron ever since the patrolling squads had been deployed to temper the violent deeds that had been happening in the village. It was the soldiers, however, who tormented the villagers the most, and would punish petty crimes with death. At times, soldiers would beat up and rape women; other times it would require as little as an odd stare for a man or a boy to be beat to a pulp. Death was common under the soldiers’ rule. These soldiers were not from the House of Thorén. They were from the village’s own militia, controlled by Feliel himself. What he was protecting himself from, no one knew.
Everybody slipped away at the sound of the soldiers’ tread on the cobbles, fearful of arousing their rage and of interrupting their “funeral march.” The messenger did no less. He flattened himself against the wall and, trembling with panic, started to pray to the God of Light. But the God was dead.
He glanced in the direction the patrol had taken. Five of the soldiers were surrounding a grocer, picking carrots and tomatoes and then throwing them on the ground and at the vendor’s face, amid great guffaws of laughter.
“Halt! In the name of Mayor Feliel!”
The messenger was paralyzed. The sixth guard was pressing the tip of his spear into his side.
“What’s that portfolio…?”
“It’s a business letter, nothing more than that, sir, I promise you!” the messenger said, confusedly, and wet himself.
His fear seemed to feed the rage of the soldier, who started to breathe heavily and whose eyes had become those of a rabid dog. “The sending of letters is suspect of espionage against the government of His Excellency Feliel!”
The messenger sank to his knees. “I swear it, sir, it’s a business letter, and it’s private! It’s nothing important.”
The guard slapped him with his gauntlet, leaving his lip broken and bleeding. “You’re a spy! You’re carrying incriminating information about the Mayor in this portfolio!”
He blew a whistle and the other soldiers came to join him, delighted to start another fight. They started to hit the messenger. “Spy! Rat!”
They held him on the ground, ready to take him away to prison, but they still had not had enough, had not quenched their blood-thirst. The tip of a blade pierced flesh, and soon thick red drops flowed. Their victim’s moans fed the yearnings of these barbarians. Another blade went in and out, and the messenger howled, begging for mercy. They did not grant it to him. Six spears riddled that defenseless body on the ground, until viscera spread over the cobbles, oozing stickiness. What had once been a man was soon merely a sack of burst organs.
One soldier picked up the portfolio and broke it into pieces. The message was not important. The only message that mattered was the one being conveyed to the people: The government of terror.
***
The animal-healer insisted, “The only solution is to leave the hen in peace. She’s incredibly old and going to die soon. I understand you can’t buy a younger hen, but if you go on giving the poor thing any more potions, you’ll soon have a monster and not a hen. It hasn’t happened very often, but I can assure you that sometimes these potions, when they’re administered continuously and without restraint, have very severe secondary effects.”
“Oh, for the Gods’ sake. Everything’s going to ruin. But I’m afraid that for the moment there’s not enough coin to buy another hen; another potion will have to do,” the woman said, her eyes on the bird, which only wanted to die in peace. The old bird was clearly worn out and kept alive by arcane mechanisms.
“Manchego! Manchego! Come here, Sunshine, we need a favor!”
In two seconds the boy’s face peered out between the stable doors. “Yes, Grandma? Did you call me?”
“I need you to do me a favor: Go to Ramancia’s and buy another potion for the hen. It needs to be double strength this time. Here’s a couple of crowns.” She handed him a small leather pouch. These were the last crowns she had left from her savings.
Manchego quickly stored the pouch in his trousers side-pocket. “Very well. May I…?”
“Yes, yes, you may. Tell Luchy to go with you. Tell Balthazar you have to go out.”
“Wait!” yelled the animal-healer.
Lulita and Manchego both were taken aback by the sudden outburst from the animal-healer.
“Yes, Ruan?” Lulita grimaced with anger.
Ruan swallowed. “Children like them should not go alone into the village. It’s been very violent as of late,” he said with a worried stare.
“I’m not a child anymore,” said Manchego. “I’m coming of age. I’m already thirteen winters old.”
“A child for the things going on in the village,” said Ruan.
“Speak your mind, man. What is going on there?” asked Lulita.
“The soldiers are running amok. They are wild and one too many beatings have been seen in the streets. Rapes… murders… I don’t think Manchego and Luchy should go at all. It’s not safe anymore!”
“Ruan, I have a sick hen who will soon die if I don’t intervene. Who will feed us, then? Crops aren’t good for consuming yet, we’ve barely got coin to buy the basics. Will you go with them?” asked Lulita.
“No, not a chance! I would not put a foot inside that village for anything. May the God of Light save those poor souls.”
“I’ve heard none of this nonsense,” said Lulita. “Go get Luchy. She must be back from school now. Off you go!”
Manchego smiled at Ruan and said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Ruan. All will be well. Besides, I’m riding Sureña. She’s trained as a war horse, you know?”
Lulita smiled back at Manchego and sai
d, “True enough. Now go before it’s too late. The Gods forbid the poor old hen dies before she lays another egg.”
Ruan said, “You should not dismiss the warning, please.”
Lulita stared at the man’s eyes. He was scared, that was for sure. But how bad could it be? Rapes and murders were commonplace anywhere in the Empire.
“I’d best be going, Lulita. I’ve warned you as I warn everybody else not used to visiting the village often enough to know what’s going on in there. Got other farms to attend to before night falls. You should be safe these days. Strange things are happening.”
“Strange things have always happened to me, Ruan. Nothing different now. Be gone. I will see you later,” said Lulita, dismissing the animal-healer and walking back into the house.
The animal-healer left the Holy Comment Ranch as fast as he could, heading to his next destination to avoid being out in the outskirts of the village after sundown.
***
Luchy and Manchego could not stop laughing as Sureña, the mare, carried them to the village. They felt happy to be together on a day that promised nothing less than an exquisite adventure. But they had no idea of the surprise that awaited them. Perhaps Ruan was not wrong in his warning. Not listening to him was foolish, realized Manchego. Something was definitely off. But it was too late now to run away. They were already at the gate!
The guards were not at their posts like obedient soldiers; they were behaving like feral dogs. Manchego and Luchy stared in disgust. Soldiers fondled the women and took the traders’ goods for themselves.
“Turn around! We must go!” urged Luchy.
Manchego was about to turn around but found himself surrounded by drunken guards. Sureña was on edge. Manchego looked around him anxiously. Too many guards with a nasty look on their face were either regarding him as morsel or looking at Luchy with an unpleasant gaze. Luchy had the urge to cover herself up, even though she was fully dressed in cotton clothing.
A drunken soldier walked up to the mare and spoke first. Manchego guessed it had to be the leader or high-ranking officer of the guards keeping the gate.
“And what does such a remarkable gentleman like you intend to do in these parts,” started the soldier, “if you’d be so good as to let me know, young master? How did you come by such a fine mount and such a beautiful little whore who must fuck deliciously? She ought to belong to me or to one of these finest of soldiers, not to an underfed guttersnipe like you, my lord, oh my very fine master.”
Manchego thought about Lulita, of how angry and scared she would be right now if she knew what Luchy and he were going through. But there was no way to alerting her, of letting her know that they were in harm’s way. He cursed himself for not listening to Ruan’s warning. He knew things were bad in the village, but not like this! And where was Balthazar when he needed him! He could’ve used the Wild Man’s axe! Tears of frustration and anger welled up in Manchego’s eyes.
The group of soldiers burst out laughing scornfully and passed around a bottle of spirits. The high-ranking soldier, with arrogant disdain, came closer to the mare and said with ever growing insolence: “My pretty little horse, you might have been a great white stallion and look how well I’d treat you, but you’re just a mare, so we’re going to cut you up to feed the barracks. And as for your rider, we’ll tie him to a post and skin him with a whip. And meanwhile, as for your pretty lady, we’ll give her a good shake, me and my friends, so she can know the true definition of a man and his glorious rod. Come to Papa, ‘cause Papa’s going to give you what’s coming to you.”
Manchego could only fathom what the soldier meant by “glorious rod.” He was sure it wasn’t good at all. Would they rape a little girl? At that moment Manchego was sure they would do almost anything. Never had he felt so helpless and afraid for his life.
Thoughtlessly, the soldier pouted his lips to kiss Luchy, reaching ever closer.
The mare exploded in a surge of rage. Sureña rose to her hind legs, lifted her forelegs, and with a well-aimed kick struck the soldier’s chest. The soldier went down with an audible groan. Something cracked, and Manchego was sure it had been a good number of ribs.
The soldiers surrounding the mare went into a frenzy upon seeing their leader down. Drunken archers were slow at nocking an arrow, while the other soldiers at the gate were too drunk to make a stand against the offender. Sureña gave them no time to react. The mare bit into a face and tore it off, then she charged the majority and trampled them. She proceeded to stamp on the fallen bodies which, under her hooves, broke like eggshells. Manchego and Luchy almost lost their seats as the mare kicked and bit into the soldiers. Manchego held onto the saddle as best as he could, while Luchy clung to Manchego’s waist. Both adolescents were in terrible fear and confusion.
Some of the soldiers managed to run and went to fetch spears and swords. An arrow struck the soil, inches away from the mare. Too late: Sureña was already entering the village, massive and white, like an avalanche riding away from harm’s way. Manchego cursed under his breath. If only the mare had charged in the other direction! Too late now. The soldiers were already giving chase.
In the Poor Sector, Manchego and Luchy witnessed a heart-rending landscape: naked children eating worms, feral dogs rounding on a beggar who would soon become their dinner, women being raped, children being kidnapped, corpses on the benches with the crows pecking at them. Manchego and Luchy were not prepared for this horror. What Ruan described was nothing in comparison to what Manchego was seeing.
The atmosphere had changed too much since the last time they had been to the village. Some houses were sealed, with wooden boards nailed across windows and doors. Others had been plundered. Others were obviously abandoned. Above a broken lamp post a black owl with intense yellow eyes uttered a lonely screech which spread among the carrion, the death, and the solitude. Without being aware of it, Manchego put his hand in his pants pocket and held the Teitú nut tight with all his might.
Like a flash of lightning, the war mare crossed streets without stopping until, like an arrow, she came to a stop in front of Ramancia’s house.
***
On the door there hung a publicity poster of Feliel’s. They opened the door with a bang and went in. Everything was just as it had been months back, except for the thick layer of dust which covered the shelves like a shroud. The cobwebs were thick in the corners of the ceiling; the spiders, large, with red eyes, awaited patiently for a victim to fall into their trap. A dark shadow loomed in the hall, and the noise from outside was dulled. It was as if they had been put inside a bubble of water. The shadow vanished. Luchy scrutinized the place with half-closed eyes.
“Where can Ramancia be?” the girl asked in fear. “Manchego… we need to get out of the village! Mom and Dad! I want to be with them! This is horrible!”
Manchego was about to answer but stopped, surprised by the sound of voices, barely whispers. A dark, cavernous voice was giving unintelligible orders. This voice was familiar to Manchego, but he could not manage to place it. Another voice, broken and fearful, was answering obediently. There was no doubt that it was the witch. Something was going on, and it was not good.
The voices fell silent and the door behind the counter opened. A human figure became visible. It was a woman far gone in years, doomed to oblivion. The witch, powerful and fearless before, now had eyes swollen from prolonged weeping. A deep sadness emanated from her.
Manchego and Ramancia looked at each other, and in that exchange it was as though they shared their thoughts. The silence broke when a terrible weight tore the ceiling, with a noise as of the underworld. Ramancia began to tremble, and her eyes moved frantically in search of the demon which was threatening them from above. The two young people were breathless, frozen by fear. The witch reacted.
“They’re watching us. There are… things happening that you wouldn’t understand right now, things you might understand when it’s too late,” the witch said.
The cracks in the ceiling were
becoming more pronounced. The witch hugged herself, placed a hand on her chest. “I’m very… I can’t say anything, but you must know we’re being watched. There are spies everywhere. Even in places you’d never imagine. They’re coming!”
Suddenly the witch’s whole manner changed. “Tell me, Manchego, how can I help you?” she said with a feigned normality.
Manchego knew she was pretending and followed her lead. “Well… uh… I need another potion for my hen, uh… a little stronger,” the boy managed to say with his voice shaking, unable to hide his nervousness.
Luchy was clinging to his arm, glancing around fearfully.
From the shelf Ramancia took an orange potion in a goose-neck flask. “That’ll be five crowns, little one. Apply this potion the same way as the other one. You’ll soon find everything’s all right.”
But Ramancia’s eyes said that nothing would be all right, and they focused on the pupils of Manchego’s eyes. The boy felt a finger penetrating his mind. He heard Ramancia’s voice in his head, clear and unmistakable, despite the fact that the witch’s lips did not move. It was a riddle:
Those who sow with tears
the seeds which in black fire lie,
through blackened sunset creeping
on the alum, the darkening sky;
a sea with darkness weeping
summons Thórlimás from the land.
From the land of Tutonticám,
lost, lovely, remote Teitú,
there walks firmly over the veil
over ships of white bamboo,
which on a purple sky sail,
a warrior of the Naevas Aedán.
Times spent in Chaos will pass by him
over the war of a sadness
between its mighty supports,
where his dwelling shone in gladness
days passed in a peace of sorts,
a place that remains destroyed.
The old Lyric of the Wind sings that he
who bears the sack of seed with care,
heavy and somber, bent double,
Shepherd’s Awakening (Books 1-3) Page 7