***
From an ancient and heavy chest Savarb took out a blanket made of tanned leather. “This fort was not established by chance,” the Captain began to Lombardo. “It was my neighborhood; this was my house. When the violence was unleashed, I transformed this place, together with the neighbors, into a barricade to protect ourselves from the soldiers.
“Two more neighborhoods copied the idea, and soon the forts became shelters for anyone who needed refuge. If we’d been closer to the House of Thorén, we might have taken shelter in their castle with its stone walls.
“Besides, it was impossible to get out of the village, so we had to make do with what we had so as to defend ourselves. As you can see, wood is all we’ve got left, and wood, Lombardo, burns and cracks; it’s easy to conquer. Today we’ll fall, never doubt that. The question is how.”
Savarb unwrapped a scabbard which contained a long, heavy sword, full of rust. “It’s not polished, and as I warned you, it’s rusty too, but I can assure you it’ll do its work if you move it firmly and swiftly. Try it.”
Lombardo picked up the two-handed sword as if it were a broom. He began to swing it in arcs. “It’s a great gift, Savarb. Thank you very much. This blade will taste blood once again.”
“Can you hear that?”
“It sounds as though somebody’s knocking at the door,” Lombardo said.
“Exactly, only it’s not the door. It’s the thousands of boots marching. The moment has come.”
Lombardo felt his heart thumping against his ribs. He clenched his jaw, felt his muscles tense. Sweat ran down his face.
“Let ’em come and try my two-handed sword!” the rancher shouted.
Chapter XXVII – Echoes and Dust
Manchego! Manchego! Wake up!
He was floating on a black sea, where the only palpable thing was evil. He felt his mind numbed, his soul tempted by some deep and macabre poison.
Wake up! Manchego, wake up! The shadow tried to inject you with its poison!
A spark lit up the boy’s mind and startled him so that he leapt to his feet. He rubbed his eyes, breathed deeply as if he had just come out of the water, almost drowned. In one hand he was holding the broken sword, with the other he was clutching his chest.
“What the hell…?” the boy muttered, his eyes staring wide. He was in the village, surrounded by absolute darkness. Teitú’s light illuminated a wall of monumental size.
It’s the shadow and its evil spirit that was trying to possess you, Manchego. Don’t let it! Lighten your heart! Keep your wits about you!
The young man became aware of how serious the situation was, and feeling that he was more himself now, he remembered his mission: to stop Feliel, as soon as possible. The gigantic wall blocked his way, but it was no ordinary wall of brick and mortar but one of corpses. It rose many feet high, so that Teitú’s light barely reached the top. Manchego prayed to the God of Light five times in a row, then to the Goddess of Night—for the souls of the poor wretches who were now buried in a mountain. Anyone who had been capable of raising a wall of corpses had to have a shriveled soul.
He had no choice but to climb. Amid open mouths, eyes, ribs, hair, nails, swords, broken spears, the boy gathered all his courage in order to go on, fearing that all of a sudden a dead man might bite his hand or scratch his legs, angry at this interruption of what little peace he might have found in his transit to the other world.
The stench became unbearable. Teitú’s light bathed the mountain in red. Thousands upon thousands of bodies formed that mountain-range of outrage, whose enormous base filled several streets.
The wind turned icy and violent. It lashed at the boy, who was already high up. He held onto the bodies so as not to fall and end up adding his own body to Feliel’s great wall. When he reached the top, Manchego looked out at what could be seen. The shadow covered the village, but there were still cracks in it, through which he could see fires in the Mid Sector.
There were also people running away, probably escaping. He moved toward that area and began to climb down the giant pile of corpses, taking care not to lose his footing and stab himself with the broken sword. After what seemed hours, he landed on the cobbled ground of the Mid Sector and exhaled violently. A scent of eucalyptus filled his lungs. He had no time to wonder about this anomaly and went on. He saw the cloud rising in a spiral and covering the whole village from above.
It had to be the result of some evil spell. The cloud spun around an invisible axis and gave out a vague orange flash. An explosion raised a column of fire into the air. There was shouting from not far away. Manchego’s heart was troubled at the sound of such agony.
He went on, together with Teitú, but that scent of eucalyptus was intensifying. Manchego stopped to search for the source. As he turned his attention to his surroundings he heard a voice singing in a whisper, which then came closer and closer and insinuated itself into his head. Without his being aware of it, a spell had bewitched him.
A man appeared, his face hidden behind a cloak. The singing of the sorcerer became clearer: “Sun, little sun… calming fires…” The boy clutched the handle of his broken sword, but… he could not move! Teitú, suddenly afraid, shone red. It tried to communicate with Manchego, but its master was completely enraptured by the spell.
Only the sorcerer’s jaw was visible as it moved in time with the chant. A nearby fire lent a glow to his face, and for a moment his eyes shone. They were sky-blue. Manchego also saw his naked torso, where he bore a tattoo which seemed to hold some powerful meaning. The sorcerer did not stop singing:
Solemn sun, calming fires…
Solace sun, innocent forges…
Sun solacium, beardless and alluring…
Sun solanum, carry me in your hand.
The healer stopped singing and said in a clear, quiet voice: “They’re awaiting you eagerly at the Town Hall moat. Those who tried to end your life thirteen years ago wish to eliminate you. Don’t let yourself be defeated by the forces which intend to bring you down. Feliel is the author of this misfortune. He’s the one who awaits you.”
The sorcerer went on without another word. The scent of eucalyptus faded like a ghost, leaving no trace. Manchego recovered his poise. He recognized those verses; they were the same ones Mowriz had chanted. Perhaps Mowriz and the sorcerer shared mysteries, but for now he found it impossible to say what linked them. He felt as if he knew the person under the cloak, but as he could only see his jaw he could not recognize him. When he came out of the spell he tried to spot him but saw only rubble and ruins on all sides. The sorcerer had vanished as swiftly as he had come.
Teitú, what was that? the boy thought.
I don’t know and I don’t think it matters. The essential thing is to put an end to the shadow. Feliel is waiting for you: Well then, let’s go to meet him. But prudently, it might be a trap. Whichever way, we must stop the creator of these shadows.
Right!
The boy clasped the sword and broke into a run towards the Town Hall.
Two blasts shook the ground. Not far away there burnt a colossal fire which advanced and swallowed everything in its way: houses, corpses, living people. The screaming was unbearable. Manchego thought about heading toward the Vengeful Arrow Fort, where he was sure to find Captain Savarb. He would ask him for an escort, a small brigade, to assault and besiege the Town Hall. But as he approached the fort, he had to accept the evidence that this place was the epicenter of the catastrophe. A crackle of burnt wood echoed in the atmosphere.
The desolation of finding the Fort in ruins brought him to a halt. The secret entrance was sealed by hundreds of the Mayor’s soldiers, piled in layers of minced and crushed meat.
Of the Fort nothing was left but rubble. What had once been the trench of the Resistance was now nothing more than a graveyard. His heart sank, but Teitú helped him. He sent him courage, and the boy wielded the sword firmly once again. He wanted to make Feliel pay for his crimes. Manchego walked amid the destruction in search
of any sign of life.
He dodged rubble, inert bodies, ownerless weapons, dead horses. He tripped over the body of a girl. Luchy? No, he sighed in relief. He bent over her and saw that she was hugging something small. It was a baby pierced by a spear.
Sadness overwhelmed him. An explosion in the sky brought him out of his self-absorption. The cries of pain, the noise of a clash, told him he was close to the survivors of the destruction. Manchego and Teitú looked at one another and understood. Not more than a block away, a fire was advancing. Several organized soldiers were marching against the defense mounted by a few villagers, not more than twenty, who were fleeing at the same time as they were raising barricades.
Involuntarily Manchego set forth a beam of white, divine light, and a rider on a white horse took courage. When he looked more closely at them he could not believe his eyes: It was Sureña… and Lulita! The grandmother was brandishing an axe which she caused to dance in the air, hacking here and there, moving shrewdly. The boy also recognized the big body of a woman, perhaps Tomasa, armed with a pick which she was using to smash skulls with apparent ease.
“Sun, little sun!” he heard behind him. He turned to look, suddenly fearful. Behind him, smiling broadly, was Mowriz. He bent one knee to the ground: “Sun, little sun!” the bewitched lad repeated, lowering his head. He looked like a knight paying his honor to his king, giving himself over completely to him and to his will.
The young shepherd found himself in a serious dilemma. He had to choose between defending those people who were fighting in retreat, among them his grandmother, or go on with his mission of reaching the Town Hall and killing Feliel.
With pain in his heart, he knew his duty was to carry out the mission which fate or the Gods had put in his way; it was the only way to stop that chaos.
“Mowriz! Stay here and help these people. You see that white mare and her rider? Defend them at any cost, them and all those who are part of the Resistance. Do you understand? Kill the soldiers.”
“Sun, little sun!” Mowriz picked up a sword from the floor with his one arm and threw himself into the battle, as if driven by demons. In a matter of seconds, Manchego’s worst enemy—by the grace of an order of his own—joined the defending forces, which were barely managing to contain the attack.
There was no time to be lost. Manchego ran towards the Town Hall.
Chapter XXVIII – Executioner
Panting, he reached the Central Park, followed by a wake of terror. His heart sank again before the decapitated statue of Alac Arc Ángelo; at its feet, the face was covered in excrement. Teitú’s light bathed the white statue in blood-red, surely an ill omen.
The Central Park was empty and silent; the trees had twisted, perhaps defeated in the face of so much suffering. Manchego looked up. There was the epicenter of the spiral cloud, which spun slowly over the Town Hall. He set off quickly, trying to make little noise. He clutched the broken sword firmly, ready to defend himself.
The rocky structure of the Town Hall was surrounded by a deadly silence, but Manchego was not going to cower now. He walked to the entrance of the building, went up a large step and found himself in front of a double wooden door with a rustic brass knocker. The doors were ajar. Manchego took this as a clear invitation to enter.
He hesitated. He could turn round and forget all that tangle. He should have worried about Grandmother and Luchy; now they might be part of the wall of corpses. No, no… he could not afford to feel sorry for himself. He would look for them afterwards, when he had done what he was bound to do.
He pushed the doors. The hinges screeched, and the noise echoed. When it faded away, it left behind it a penetrating silence that bit off every second. He looked back once, then went on along a long passage, with the broken sword firmly held in his hands, defending his flanks, afraid to fall into some trap or other. But nothing happened.
The passage, faintly illuminated by several candles, had rooms on both sides. In there, too, terror reigned: bodies on the floor, of villagers and guards who had not been careful enough to keep watch on the doors, toppled shelves, broken armchairs, glass and ornaments, bloody lengths of fabric…
There reigned such abandon that the resulting feeling was of peace, of eternity waiting to be consumed by the passage of time. Manchego went on warily, on the defensive, his eyes fixed on the light from Teitú, whose sensitivity would detect danger. Feliel might be in any of those rooms, waiting to unleash an ambush. How could he guess his hiding place? The mysterious sorcerer had been very clear: They were waiting for him there… although it could be a trap. Perhaps Feliel was the sorcerer himself.
Manchego began to feel a presence he could not see and went on in that direction. Intuition guided him to a long passage with a closed door at the end of it. The door was wooden, of simple make, with a metal knob which was in need of a good polish. The boy knew that what he was looking for was behind that door. The certainty came as a spontaneous revelation which he never doubted. Teitú shone more intensely.
He pushed the door and went in. He was enveloped by such darkness that it even blinded Teitú’s light. At some incalculable distance, a bright ring was visible. He went up to it, guessing that the ring was protected by a spell, like the invisible door in Ramancia’s house, which would probably only let certain people through: among them, certainly, Manchego.
A few steps from the ring, the boy realized it was really a dome of white light. Underneath, an altar covered by a red cloak embroidered with gold, a bench, several books with black covers and… a man on his knees. On the red cloak lay an open book with thick yellowed pages and long paragraphs of close handwriting. A knife served as a bookmark.
The kneeling man stood up. He was in his fifties, dressed in a black cassock. He gazed up at the hole in the roof through which the white light filtered. His arms were outspread, as though he were receiving the grace of some divine force. His hands were stained red. At his feet lay a goat with its throat slit, in a puddle of its own blood, within a five-pointed star, each of its points crowned by a candle.
On the altar, beside the book, was a gold goblet, and a scarlet drop slid, thickly and slowly, from its rim. The man’s lips too were stained. He was muttering something. He closed his eyes tightly and his face became filled with hatred; his hands tensed. A hoarse sound came from his throat and the floor began to shake.
He turned abruptly, as if he had only then noticed he had a visitor. His eyes opened wide. He did not hide his surprise at seeing a skinny young man, dressed in rags and with a gaze of extraordinary power. When he saw Teitú, he started to hunch himself like a snake preparing to strike.
Manchego noticed the dome, the altar, the book, the dead goat on the floor, the bedeviled look of the man, dressed like a priest of the Décamon. Behind those eyes was an evil both natural and undeniable. Teitú burst into a rainbow of reds which spread all around.
“Feliel!” cried Manchego in a voice torn from the depths of his being, from fear, pain, hunger and the unappeasable desire for revenge.
The cry traveled through the entire dome, which was now lit up in red. The man shivered; he had never suspected he would have to face such a young boy. At the same time, the presence of the Naevas Aedán told him this was no ordinary child but someone very special.
“You’re very reckless, little intruder. I’m impressed by the energy your soul gives out,” he said calmly. “Feliel… Do you know that I always hated that name? You must know, you little vermin, that they call me by other names too. In my country they adore me as the Dark Shepherd, one of many we have in that nest of evil.”
Manchego could not stop thinking of the massacre of thousands of people, with their parents and children, their dreams and plans. His own grandmother might be dead, buried under rock and ashes, and this Mayor would not care.
The Dark Shepherd went on speaking calmly. “Tell me, you disgusting vermin, how can I help you?” His face twisted into a perverse expression as he fondled the handle of a dagger he wore at his belt
.
“I’ve come to stop you,” the boy replied firmly in a metallic voice which did not even sound like his own. “Your madness has wreaked havoc, devastated fields, murdered innocents. Nothing could make up for sorrow like that, but you’re going to pay dearly for it, I can assure you.” And as he fixed his eyes on those of the Dark Shepherd he was no longer a teenager full of doubts, easy to intimidate.
“You’re a really extraordinary young man,” Feliel said. “It’s a pity that you’re not fit for the Black Arts, you might have gone far in Necromancy. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to introduce you to my master, Legionaer, who no doubt would be very pleased to count you among his faithful followers. You’d be…”
“Shut up!” howled Manchego, with Teitú by his side giving out flashes. “I’ve learnt about the cruel forces that have tried to defeat me, among them the ones you’ve invoked to destroy the village.”
He took a step forward. Feliel shrank and stepped back. He might have been a demon intimidated by the brightness of an invisible light.
“How do you know I did it?” Feliel asked.
“A servant of yours told me.”
“I should have slit that witch’s throat before… I never imagined you’d find her, I locked her up somewhere very secluded… Who are you? Really, you’re rather extraordinary…”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve come to stop you.” Manchego took another step.
Feliel leaned back, terror making him shake. “The drop of blood has been shed and the sky is ready: The cloud is spinning, the earth is shaking. What do you think you’re going to stop?”
“You.” Manchego hesitated as he heard a noise, as if something had been set in motion, and he realized Feliel had noticed his doubt.
The Dark Shepherd took advantage of this to make his mark: “Maybe I’m the one who should stop you. The master spoke of a creature I had to eliminate. I’ve offered you the chance to join us, but you’re too stupid. You’re a bunch of incompetents, all of you who populate the Mandrake Empire. Nearly four years ago I was appointed Mayor of this pigsty. You never suspected my land of origin, Némaldon, nor the fact that I never abandoned its rituals. I made and unmade at my pleasure.
Shepherd’s Awakening (Books 1-3) Page 18