Shepherd’s Awakening (Books 1-3)

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  When they came to Ramancia’s door, Manchego ordered Mowriz to open it. Mowriz dropped the sword from his right arm and reached for the doorknob.

  Manchego remembered the nightmare, the arrow which had ended his life, and moved away from the entrance. The bewitched boy tried to follow his order, but the door was firmly sealed.

  “Wait,” Manchego said. “There’s another entrance at the back. Follow me.”

  “Sun, little sun…” said Mowriz. The bewitched boy picked up the sword from the ground and marched on, following his master’s command.

  They reached the wooden wall, but there was no trace of the hole. It had to be there; he recalled it perfectly… He searched, and before his eyes, in one of the boards, a hole opened. It all seemed part of a plan, but who was pulling the strings?

  Once he was in the corridor, Manchego turned toward the secret door.

  ***

  He went to the corner and into a long room, with two armchairs covered with black blankets. It was there, he remembered, that he had seen Ramancia and the hooded figure, the one who had pointed a finger at him.

  On the left-hand wall hung a picture. It was a portrait of Ramancia in her youth, surrounded by a dense black cloud of mist. She was also holding a human skull in her hand and in the other a staff.

  “Keep close to me in case there’s any danger,” he ordered Mowriz. “If there is, don’t hang about, and deal with the problem. Without making any noise!”

  He still felt strange, having this power over the one responsible for the torment he had suffered for so many years, but now was not the time to question these things. He had to go on and get to the core of the mystery.

  “Sun, little sun…”

  In front of the armchairs was a circle six feet or so wide, drawn perhaps with a pumice stone. Inside that circle was another, and inside that an equilateral triangle with a cross in the middle and three circles crowning each of the corners of the triangle. Manchego did not know the meaning but sensed that those symbols were evil and that the Décamon would not approve of them. What could they be for?

  They went on, over the rune, and at the end of the room they came to a pair of black marble sculptures. The figures protected the access to a staircase which spiraled down. Manchego and his slave began to go down the steps, which seemed to be made of the same black marble as the statues. At each step, the sculptures gave out a strange noise, like an internal echo.

  The further down he went, the lighter Manchego felt. He seemed to be levitating over the marble. And then suddenly the stairs vanished. He was floating in a void with stars and other heavenly bodies around him. It was an awe-inspiring phenomenon, very like the dreams he had had since childhood. Fear struck him when he became aware that he was running out of air. But not far away a room became visible.

  He moved his arms and legs in that direction, as fast as he could, with Mowriz following his steps faithfully. He landed on a stone floor. He breathed in deeply, thankful to be able to fill his lungs once again. He looked back; the void was still there, together with the staircase of black steps.

  This reality was unusual, but by now he was no longer surprised; too many strange things had happened to him in a very short time. He was aware that when it was all over he would have to check the state of his soul, which would inevitably end up soiled.

  The new room was vast. Floor, walls and ceiling were built from large stones, perhaps a stride in length and width, their surface irregular and rough, with marks of erosion and scratches as from dragging furniture. A giant lamp, of rusted bronze, hung in the center of the room. Its multiple arms held candelabra at their ends. It looked like a spider. Mowriz did not move; nothing caught his attention.

  The walls were covered with the evil runes: circles which surrounded the triangles with spheres at each angle, cubes with six-pointed stars in the center, half-moons with inverted crosses also in the center. Manchego preferred not to dwell too much on these designs and their possible meaning.

  They went on toward the only visible door, which was open. It was the same grille of iron bars he had seen in his dreams.

  “Sun, little sun…” his enemy, his guard, his companion, kept repeating. The shepherd did not know what title to bestow on him. They went through the gate and came into a corridor with five doors on either side. Beside each door, long-armed candelabras that reached Manchego’s chest held lighted candles whose flames danced to the sound of a mystical music. At the end of the dimly lit corridor was another grille, closed.

  Manchego walked fearfully. He sensed that behind each door was a ghostly presence hanging on his every step. Mowriz followed him with an expression something between frustrated and happy. He did not seem troubled at having ended up with one arm less.

  In his right hand Mowriz held the heavy sword, ready to protect his master. They reached the grille. Through the bars, Manchego saw another spacious square room, similar to the first one. Something unusual was awaiting him there. In the center was a stump placed to serve as a seat, no more than half a stride in width.

  Manchego tried to open the gate with all his might, but it was useless. Mowriz stepped forward and tried in his turn. The gate did not yield.

  “Sun, little sun…”

  Manchego was about to complain about this endless chanting when the gate moved. It rose a few inches. Manchego understood the relationship and urged his slave:

  “Sing that song!”

  “Solemn sun, calming fires… Solace sun, innocent forges… Sun solacium, beardless and alluring… Sun solanum, carry me in your hand.”

  Those words were the key to the rusty cogwheels, which began to screech as the barrier rose. So the song is a spell, the boy thought. What can Ramancia have planned…?

  Manchego and Mowriz went into the chamber, which was cold and smelt of rust. Unlike the previous hall, this one showed no signs of wear on floor or walls; it seemed recently built. Nor were there any runes. He went to the stump. Waiting for him was a little box, a long rod of solid wood, and a note that read:

  Solemn sun, calming fires…

  Solace sun, innocent forges…

  Sun solacium, beardless and alluring…

  Sun solanum, carry me in your hand.

  What the hell am I supposed to do here? Surely it can’t be the end. Something’s still calling me, and I have to find it. The mirror… it must be a riddle. It’s another of Ramancia’s tricks, the boy thought as he studied his surroundings thoughtfully.

  When he picked up the box, Manchego felt a depression in the shape of a funnel.

  “Sun, little sun…” Mowriz intoned, in an echo of his master’s frustration.

  “How I hate riddles! Sun, little sun… What does it mean? It might mean the sun itself, or maybe someone’s making fun of my granny calling me Sunshine… but here there’s no sun, there are no windows and what’s more, it’s nighttime. It has to be something else… Hmmm… What do we do to find a “sun, little sun”? Mowriz, what do you think?”

  “Sun, little sun…”

  “Yes, yes, sun, little sun. I don’t even know why I bother asking… The solution has to be in this room. If not, we wouldn’t have been brought here, don’t you agree? You don’t say anything except “sun, little sun,” so you must know what it means.” Manchego scratched his head.

  “Sun, little sun…”

  “I don’t know why you go on repeating that. Make yourself useful and check the whole room. We’ve got to find some clues,” Manchego said, mostly because he wanted to be alone and think. What was more, being so near Mowriz, in this dying state, made him feel uncomfortable.

  The slave did as he was told. He sheathed his sword and began to sniff around like a bloodhound. Ideas thronged Manchego’s mind suddenly. Perhaps Mowriz had the key to the riddle. He thought of a plan: “Sing the song!” he cried to the living corpse.

  Mowriz got to his feet at once and recited the chant. Manchego mused over the words. Maybe it was a door or a path which would reveal itself graduall
y. But nothing happened. Mowriz stood his ground, awaiting orders.

  “Keep looking. ‘Sun, little sun?’ How so?” Manchego folded his arms. “It can’t mean the sun, because… because it just can’t! It doesn’t sound logical! It has to be something in this hall, or the next one. Something with properties similar to the sun… What are the sun’s properties? It shines. It gives warmth. It burns. Fire?”

  The wooden rod! Excitedly, Manchego picked up the dry stick and went to the candelabra lamp. He lit the rod, then with the stick alight he went back—slowly, so that the flame would not go out—to the stump. He looked once again at the dent on the surface of the felled stump and thought he understood what it was there for. He deposited the flame in it.

  At once the depression burnt as if it were soaked in fuel. The flame crackled, enlivened by a spell, and lit up the hall. This was the “sun, little sun”; now he had to keep going in order to unravel the riddle.

  The creak of a lock came from the corridor. Manchego’s heart froze. He spun round at once, nerves on edge, expecting the worst. There was only one open door, the first on the right.

  “Go into that room,” he ordered Mowriz, who went immediately.

  The shepherd followed. The jaws of the room opened like the mouth of a corpse and revealed a mirror in a frame which allowed it to move vertically. The mirror was not large, but it could not be said to be small either.

  “Bring that mirror here.”

  Manchego noticed he was clutching the sword in his hands. There was no danger. He must relax, so he let it fall to the floor where it clattered loudly.

  Could this be the Mirror of the Black Queen of the Morelia Abyss? No, it can’t be as easy as that… the boy thought as he watched his guard manipulate the artifact. He dragged the mirror to where Manchego indicated, near the fire. At once the glass began to shine, as if it were absorbing the light of the fire. The flame, in turn, began to project a beam toward the stone wall.

  A second door opened. Manchego spun round to look, with his imagination suffocated by fear. It was the first on the left. Again he ordered Mowriz to go there, and this time he went after him as well. Inside there was only a wooden chest in the center, barely visible in the light which came in from the corridor. “Open the chest and bring me whatever’s inside.”

  Mowriz went forward and bent over the object. He opened it and took out a piece of paper which he handed to Manchego. It read: Runes.

  Manchego folded the paper. “Runes? Great, more riddles!”

  “Sun, little sun…”

  “Wait a moment… maybe that’s it. Come on!”

  Manchego went to the other room and ran to the mirror. He examined it on all sides and found some white marks. It was the rune of the sun enfolded in a box. How strange.

  Everything was silent. Manchego was waiting for another door to open, but nothing happened. He felt overwhelmed by so many riddles. What was the next step? He went to check whether another door had opened without his hearing it, and as he passed in front of the flash from the mirror, the beam of light fell full on his face. A third door creaked. It was the last but one on the left.

  As on the previous occasions, he set off towards it with Mowriz in front of him. The hall was very dark, but he noticed that there was something on the floor. When his eyes had adjusted to the blackness, he made out a small cage but could not identify what was in it. They left the hall, Mowriz carrying the cage and the sword in the same hand. Back in the room with the fire, Manchego saw that it was a dead owl. There was also a note, folded in half. He took it out, careful not to touch the dead animal. He read the message aloud to himself quietly: “Incinerate.”

  “Put the cage in the fire,” he told Mowriz. As soon as the flames licked the cage the owl came back to life, screeching in pain, desperately beating its wings. The smell and the crackling of the charred flesh were a prelude to the death, all over again, of the bird. Manchego was deeply upset. He had not expected the owl to come back to life only to die again in that agony, but he could do nothing to save it. It was too late.

  Once the owl had been burnt, two doors opened in the corridor. It stank of fresh blood. In one of the chambers was a body on the floor, surrounded by a six-pointed star drawn on the floor with pumice stone. Each point was surrounded by an imperfect circle and crowned by a candle. The body had been beheaded, and judging by the stench must have been dead several days.

  The boy left the room with a hand over his mouth, holding back the urge to throw up. He went to the other chamber that had opened. Mowriz picked up a note marked with bloody fingerprints. It seemed to have been written in a hurry. It read: “The chimera of a dream come true.”

  Manchego had heard these words before, although he was not sure what they meant. The message referred to a dream, probably his own. Who could know his dreams? He felt a shiver run down his spine.

  Something or someone was manipulating him by means of powerful spells, which was why he now found himself in such a mysterious place, in a parallel world contained in Ramancia’s house. And why me? the boy wondered. Why do I have to be the subject of some sorcerer’s experiment? He felt he was being made use of, manipulated by superior and occult forces. Going on was the only way of finding a solution, the only way of being at peace.

  He forced himself to focus. He ran through it all again: He had burnt an owl and now he found himself in front of a decapitated body.

  “Bring the burning cage,” he told Mowriz, “and place it where the head ought to be on this corpse.”

  Mowriz took hold of the incandescent bars without any show of pain or bother at all. When he put the cage where Manchego had indicated, the six-pointed star shone furiously. A red light swallowed up everything, like an explosion, and after what seemed like a blizzard everything went dark.

  In the blackness, the boy was aware of movement. Something was crawling. Two doors opened. Bare footsteps coming toward the hall with the stump.

  He felt a presence behind him. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He heard a murmur: “Sun, little sun.” Was it Mowriz who was chanting? He could not be sure, and in addition he did not have the sword. It was coming from the room with the stump. Manchego narrowed his eyes. The gleam was faint, but slowly increasing. The boy came closer to the room.

  He saw three beings around the flames which came from the stump. They were moving their arms in circles over and over again. He swallowed. Those three beings were putrefying corpses, they stank and… they all had the heads of owls.

  The three of them turned to look. Their intense, yellow eyes penetrated his soul. The boy was terrified; cold sweat soaked his clothes. He hid behind Mowriz, who remained impassive, like a statue of cold stone. He stared at the corpses. He realized they formed a square, but a fourth member was missing to complete it.

  Manchego felt the call; he understood that he was the missing one. He breathed deeply, determined to face his destiny. He joined those beings in their formation. When the heat and the fascination of the ritual enveloped him, he began to move his arms like them, in circles, raising his palms to the ceiling, at first shyly, then more smoothly, allowing himself to be carried away by the liturgy. The temperature rose drastically; the flames gathered vigor.

  From the heart of that fire there emerged a perfect sphere which began to float towards the ceiling. Manchego, given over to this act of witchcraft, made efforts to give his movements precision. The sphere left the flames and touched the stone ceiling. A bell rang and the sphere moved to reveal a vertical passage. At the end of the passage was a reflection.

  The hall began to rotate, and Manchego slipped toward the wall, which now became the floor. But the three corpses and Mowriz were still in the same place, which before had been the floor and was now the wall. He was completely confused; this was not a dream, it was happening in reality. He had no time to philosophize.

  He walked along the passage the sphere had opened, towards the reflection. As he came nearer he could see it was a mirror held in a fra
me of black iron. Could it be the one belonging to the Black Queen of the Abyss of Morelia?

  When he stood in front of the glass, Manchego saw it showed no special feature. He looked at his reflection. His face was covered in mud and blood, his clothes were mud-stained and torn. If grandmother saw him like that, she would take him by the ears and shake him. He looked further. His expression was sad… why? His gaze, his dark eyes, the black pupils… His reflection began to blink; it was not long before he burst into tears. His image walked into the mirror and the shadows swallowed him up.

  Chapter XVI – Tears

  The torch burned vigorously, lighting up the worried face of its bearer, whose eyes went frantically, restlessly, from shadow to shadow, searching for the path he had to follow. In his other hand he carried a sharp-edged metal sword on which the light of the torch glittered.

  Around him erupted a hissing of weak voices, words of violence and terror which ate at his soul. Something very bad was happening and he knew it, which was why he was there, because of that and because an innocent person was in trouble. He put out the torch by stamping on it, trying not to get the wick wet, knowing he might need light again… if he came out of there alive.

  He went on warily, guiding himself by the green and hellish brightness which came from the stones. He held the sword tightly, ready to attack. He could make out four figures in a cave, then hid and watched the scene.

  There were two men who looked like mercenaries. They wore tanned leather protective clothing, and a number of weapons hung from their belts. They were big, with massive arms and the eyes of experience. They were talking to a strange being. He noticed his armor, which fitted his body smoothly to perfection. He seemed too pale to be human, and what was more… he did not have hands, but claws. On the floor, in a puddle of blood, lay the body of a woman. Her legs were spread, and her stomach was blotched with red.

  “You may retire, my friends,” the clawed being said in a crystalline voice and a firm, seductive tone. “You’ve done what you were required to. Go in peace. Soon messengers will deliver a substantial reward to you.”