There were fewer corpses than in the Poor Sector, but some showed a brutal cruelty: bodies hanging from nooses, heads stuck on pikes. Manchego felt sick. He soon forgot about them as the moment he realized it was not longer just two soldiers running after him but a group of twenty. They would make mincemeat of him and the mare. A spear whistled by awfully close to his ear. He turned in the saddle to look back. There were the soldiers running to catch him. Manchego spurred the mare and Sureña broke into a frantic gallop.
They reached the Central Park. Manchego was agitated, in a cold sweat, overcome by terror. He had to hurry and go on to Ramancia’s shop, but what he saw before him rent his heart: the statue of the God of Light was headless and covered in excrement and blood. Beggars lay sleeping at its feet.
The boy felt he would burst with rage. He tightened his grip on the Teitú nut and in that instant a pulse surged from his body. Sureña felt the fire take hold in her heart, and hot breath issued from her nostrils. The warrior mare was ready. The soldiers threw another spear, which tore Manchego’s clothes. The mare, catching sight of the soldiers, charged against them, neighing furiously.
The soldiers formed a sort of phalanx: twelve spears aiming at the chest of the charging horse. Manchego wanted to make her swerve, but the mare, intoxicated by the passionate desire to bring down her enemies, went faster. Not more than five strides from crashing into the phalanx, the animal swerved unexpectedly and rose on her hind legs.
There was an explosion. The phalanx was swept up in flames amid the agonized cries of the soldiers. A group of villagers had appeared by surprise, determined to finish off the Mayor’s bullies. The fire did not stop a pair of those soldiers, who hurled themselves on the group, perhaps hoping their flames would catch on their attackers’ clothes.
Sureña was not content to remain a mere spectator. She went for one of the soldiers and thrust at him with her powerful chest, then crushed him on the ground with her hooves. The other was knocked down by the villagers, armed with spears: homemade, but with very sharp points.
The skirmish was soon over. The leader of the village group, a tall, dark man, with a badly-trimmed beard, came over to Manchego.
“It’s not advisable to be in the streets at this hour, my lord. Seeing we could, we helped with what we had. For days we’d been wanting to set a trap for these soldiers, so we had a bomb of fermented lard in store for them as a present. Maslon, Desmond, take the swords away from those bastards. The armor as well, we’ll use it to make arrows.”
The man turned, alerted by a moan. It was a soldier who was still in his death-agonies. He raised his sword and drove it into the man’s neck,
“Now we’re off, sir. I invite you to come to the Vengeful Arrow Fort, where a few of us have got together to organize the resistance. Out of the three groups we created, only ours is left. We’re short of food and water… I watched your skills as a rider and your horse’s spirit. You’d both bring a lot of courage to our group.”
“Captain!” cried a ragged man who was running toward them, breathless. “A group of soldiers on its way! They say there are a couple of hundred of them! We’ve never had to face that many! Something must’ve alerted them, and they’re on the move.”
“My lord,” the leader said to Manchego, “did you hear that? Maybe it’s the moment for you to join our side. Alone you will die. You must be desperate. Nobody leaves the warmth of safety after-hours! Death is all too common nowadays.”
Manchego swallowed hard. “I’m honored by your request, Captain, but… I have a mission to accomplish and I can’t delay it.”
“So that is why you are desperate. Where are you heading, my lord? Maybe we can escort you there? Have you lost a family member? Perhaps he or she is already dead. Maybe you should spare yourself the trouble. There are terrible things happening in this village.”
Manchego felt flattered that the man should address him as lord, but was also confused as he was not used to being addressed with so much respect. He was dressed in his cotton clothing, so it should be obvious to the Captain he was no lord. Manchego shook his head and said, “I’m on my way to the village’s witch, Ramancia.”
The Captain eyed him curiously. He came closer. “My lord,” he whispered, “are you sure you want to go there? Nobody wants to set foot near that house…”
As the boy did not flinch, the Captain went on explaining: “Let’s see how I can put it… you see… they say that place is haunted; there are walking corpses and a fort full of soldiers that makes it impossible to go on. I don’t know what your mission might be, sir, but if you want to go on, I can only offer you my escort as far as Fifth Avenue and Sixth Street; after that you’re on your own. For a boy as young as you, you should desist from this mission and come with us immediately to safety.”
Manchego said, “I can’t go with you. I must get there at six by the sundial!”
The Captain took off his helmet, revealing lank hair plastered to his head by sweat. “You are committed. I respect that. If you go alone, you will die. Please allow us to escort you as promised. My name is Savarb. When the chaos broke out I was a woodcutter, and before that I was a member of the militia. What’s your name, sir?”
“Manchego, son of…” The boy interrupted himself, he did not know who his parents were. “From the Holy Comment Ranch, grandson of Eromes the Perpetuator and of Lulita.”
Savarb’s eyes lit up. “What an honor to meet the grandson of the great Eromes. But there’s no time for compliments, my lord. This war is merciless, and just like us, you run the risk of losing your life. There’s only time for fleeing and fighting.”
Savarb began to give orders. “I need an escort to defend the young lord Manchego, fine warrior of the lineage of Eromes the Perpetuator! Any volunteers?”
Two men stepped forward. One of them came to Manchego’s side. “I was a client of your grandfather’s. Together we planted the fields and took care of the ranches. I’ll fight beside you, Lord Manchego.”
The other volunteer was a boy of no more than fifteen. “I know Doña Lulita of the Holy Comment Ranch. My name is Maslon. I’m at your service.”
One by one eleven men joined them, with dirty faces and badly trimmed beards. Except for one, hidden beneath a cloak that covered him from head to toe. “The rest of you, go back to the fort and spread the word that I’ll be back soon!” Savarb came closer to Manchego. “Are you sure you want to go with just a machete for a weapon?”
“I lost my sword when the fermented lard bomb went off,” Manchego lied.
“Take this sword.” The man offered him the weapon, then un-slung the bow he carried on his shoulder and prepared his arrows. “We’ll climb up to the roofs, then we’ll attack the soldiers from there. A hand-to-hand battle would be suicide. “
“So why give me the sword,” asked the boy, holding the weapon as if it were demonized. He had no idea how to wield it. It was so heavy!
“You may need it if it comes to fighting by hand. If you can avoid fighting altogether, then do so. May the Gods go with you! We’ll pray to the God of Light to protect you from the darkness.”
The captain divided his men into two groups of six and ordered them to start climbing onto the roofs on either side of the street. The volunteers mounted their horses, except for the one hiding under the cloak. The Captain scolded him: “What d’you think you’re doing? You can’t go on foot, it’s very dangerous!”
The mysterious man did not move.
“Fool, you will die,” the Captain said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you…”
The man was mumbling something, like a song. “Sun, little sun…”
Manchego started Sureña, who promptly broke into a canter. The strange man ran after him, without missing a breath. From afar came whistles and the clamor of boots on the cobbles. A spear flew near his head.
Night was falling, but that did not stop the Army. A group of soldiers had formed in front of him to stop his way. Their spears were ready, aimed at the horse’s c
hest. A fury of flames and an explosion engulfed the soldiers. Manchego passed over the bodies, amid cries of pain and defeat. The mare stopped in the center of the battle; she was trampling skulls and ribs. Manchego brandished his sword, but it was very heavy for him and he could not even lift it.
The one who wielded his sword with absolute ease was the mysterious man. With movements both precise and elegant, he sliced off arms and legs, helmets and breasts, severed heads. He showed no signs of tiredness. The bell tolled three times. He was late already!
“My lord!” cried Savarb from a roof-terrace. “You get away and don’t hold back! Another horde of soldiers is already on its way! Go on, and good luck!”
Manchego urged Sureña on and soon left behind all the noise of the battle, which came to him in ever-more-distant echoes.
When they reached their destination, Sureña stopped abruptly. The atmosphere was dim. It was the shadow. Manchego dismounted and tried to hold the mare, but the animal had made another decision. With a sharp twist, she galloped back the way they had come. Manchego, powerless, could only watch his mare abandoning him as fast as she could.
What! Why did she vanish like that!? Did she come here merely to deliver him? Manchego was drowning in terror.
He felt a pain deep down in his chest: Why had he had to leave the Ranch on this foolish adventure? He heard a noise behind him.
The young shepherd turned swiftly with the sword in his hands. He could barely wield it. If it came to fight to the death, he was surely going to die. He didn’t even have a scabbard for the weapon.
“Solemn sun, calming fires… Solace sun, innocent forges… Sol solacium, beardless and alluring… Sun solanum, carry me in your hand.”
The mysterious man pushed back his cloak and revealed his face. It was Mowriz, unmistakably, but he did not look as he usually did: He was paler, and his eyes looked like those of a dead man. He knelt before Manchego. He repeated his words, again and again, like one possessed.
Manchego took a step back in terror. Mowriz was surely coming to take revenge… or not?
“What do you want? Have you come to give me a beating?”
“Sun, little sun…”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Sun, little sun…”
Manchego grew impatient. “Were you in my bedroom last night?”
“Sun, little sun…”
The boy tightened his grip on the sword, his impatience growing toward the edge of violence. He was trying to make out any sign of a teasing smile, some gesture that would give away his intentions. “Stop it! It’s not funny, Mowriz.”
“Sun, little sun…”
It was strange to talk like this to someone who had bullied him for so long. “I said stop it!” Manchego cried.
Mowriz stood up immediately. The young shepherd stepped back, with the sword at the level of his face, expecting the worst. But nothing happened. His eternal enemy remained standing, his eyes piercing the ground.
Manchego became calmer. “What’s the matter with you? Do you really think I’m going to believe you’re on my side?” He heard his own voice echo. He thought it would probably be best to remain silent, but he could not restrain himself from questioning Mowriz. His tormentor was right there and behaving very strangely!
“Sun, little sun…” he replied in a dead voice.
Manchego grew angry. “That’s enough! What’s up with you?”
“Sun, little sun…”
“What do you want from me?”
“Sun, little sun…”
“Shut up!”
Mowriz obeyed.
“Speak, you bastard! What do you want of me?”
“Sun, little sun…”
“Tell me!”
“Sun, little sun…”
“That’s quite enough of that! Tell me!”
“Sun, little sun…”
Manchego lost his patience and pushed Mowriz with all his might. He fell to the ground without any show of emotion, got to his feet as if nothing had happened and repeated his chant:
“Sun, little sun…”
“Who are you looking for?”
“Sun, little sun…”
Manchego felt something strange growing inside him. “I’ll give you a good beating if you go on like this, Mowriz! This isn’t funny anymore!”
Mowriz took his own sword and offered it to Manchego.
“Sun, little sun…”
“I don’t want your sword, you reptile! Tell me!”
Mowriz put it away and said again: “Sun, little sun…”
Manchego was on the verge of exploding. “Shut up, you swine!”
He was treating Mowriz as the other boy had previously treated him at school. He felt bad when he realized that he was the violent one now. But he was unable to stop. He was blinded by fury, by the longing to taste sweet revenge against the swine who had made his life impossible at school.
“Sun, little sun…”
“I told you to shut up, you filthy rat!” Manchego punched him in the nose. Black blood dripped down his dead lips.
“Sun, little sun…”
“Shut up, damn you!” He kicked him in the stomach. Mowriz did not flinch. He was hard as stone. Stiff like a corpse.
“Sun, little sun…”
“Go to hell!”
Manchego gave up. He had never felt such despair, such a wish to cause pain. Maybe the war, his mission, were changing him… for good or ill.
Chapter XV – The Haunted House
He follows my orders to the letter… Has my tormentor become my servant? the shepherd thought in astonishment. He had told his worst enemy to go to hell and now here he was walking toward the shadow that surely engulfed Ramancia’s house. Was that the shadow that had swallowed her? Was that the same shadow that had visited his home? He was unsure. But the terror to remain alone urged him to stay close to Mowriz, however strange he was behaving.
Was Mowriz was acting as his personal escort? How? Why? Manchego looked around, paranoid. Something lurked in that gelatinous shadow. Suddenly remembering his dream, he felt as if he was living this scene once again. He became paranoid and clung to Mowriz. The odd bully—now an escort—simply walked onwards into the thick of the shadow, fearless.
A terrible foreboding ran along Manchego’s spine. The shadow was nearly opaque; he could see nothing more than a few yards ahead. The houses by the sides faded. What had they gotten into? Manchego was now sure this was the same shadow which had occupied Ramancia’s house and then his own. It had that same dreadful feeling.
Something moved, perhaps alerted by the presence of the two boys.
Mowriz lifted his sword, ready for combat, and went on fearlessly, without taking a single step back. An object flew through the air, almost hitting Manchego on the head. It fell at his feet after bouncing on a wall. The boy stifled a cry: it was a decapitated head.
Like a ghost, limping but rapid, there appeared a monster with several arms, legs, and heads, as if the beast were made up of several different mutilated men.
Manchego reacted and involuntarily emitted a pulse of energy which goaded Mowriz to a bellicose frenzy so that he hurled himself at the monster. Manchego had noticed the trend. He knew something was going on when he felt threatened. He had seen Sureña react this way, Luchy as well, and not Mowriz. Why? Did he say or think something that made them act differently? He was unsure. And in this moment nothing mattered more than staying alive.
Mowriz’s sword dealt accurate blows, while the beast attacked with its numerous limbs and tried to bite him with its many gaping and agonizing mouths.
The beast took Mowriz by the arm and began to shake him, like a dog with its prey. It ripped off Mowriz’s left arm!
The monster proceeded to incorporate the torn arm into its body. To Manchego’s surprise, Mowriz’s arm moved with aggression. The thing had added a body part to its core just like that.
Mowriz fell onto the cobblestones. His joint socket was torn and empty, black blood
oozing from the wound.
Manchego knew that his time had come, and in spite of his fear, he managed to raise the sword and level it at his hip. Seeing the monster flinging its many arms about, getting dangerously close, he realized there was no way he could defeat that thing!
He stared at it in awe. How was a thing like that even possible? How was a monster made of many dead bodies even able to walk? He had no idea. This sort of terror had never occurred to him. Was it magic that powered it? But magic was not able to do things like these! Was it?
Manchego reached into his pocket and gripped the Teitú nut. He had noticed that every time his allies had defended him, it was related to him being under threat. However, on each occasion he had been gripping the totem Ramancia gave him.
The young shepherd gripped the nut with all his might and screamed bloody hell in his mind. He did not feel it, but in that moment another pulse energy flashed toward Mowriz. The flash had more effects.
Manchego noticed the beast slow down, its many mouths yawning and growling in defiance. He gripped the nut again and tried to repeat whatever had happened that slowed the monster down but noticed no difference. Perhaps it didn’t work voluntarily. Perhaps he had to be in real danger to activate whatever it was that motivated his allies.
The response was immediate. Mowriz recovered his strength in a blink of an eye. The unholy escort thrust his sword into the stunned monster’s core and slashed and diced up the bodies which composed the strange and hellish monster. Even with only one arm, Mowriz was incredibly strong.
The beast howled and collapsed, fragmented into several separate corpses. As soon as the monster collapsed, the bodies that had been part of it remained still. Mowriz, indefatigable, set off again towards Ramancia’s house with Manchego behind him, alert to every movement, every whisper.
Manchego took a good look at his slave. His left shoulder was no longer bleeding where his arm had been torn off, and the wound appeared dark and dead. And Mowriz wasn’t in pain or even upset to have lost his arm.
Shepherd’s Awakening (Books 1-3) Page 11