Shepherd’s Awakening (Books 1-3)

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  The creature turned blue. Then purple, then pink. The change was fast and fluid. It flew up and down, from one side to the other; it stuck to his forehead. Ouch! That hurt!

  He paid attention to his clothes. His pants were in shreds, he could see his knees. He was wearing a vest made of some kind of leather he did not recognize. He touched the fibers and was overcome by a vivid emotion. Underneath, he was wearing a shirt which was also torn, burnt in several parts. There was a tingle in his back, from his neck downwards. He began to scratch with his hand and—what? What was that lump? Frightened, he felt himself with both hands. It was not one lump but two, on his shoulder-blades. He pinched the skin and felt pain.

  He made a great effort to move those limbs, but barely managed a weak contraction of the outgrowths. It was as if they did not yet belong to him. He turned his head in frustration but could not manage to see anything. He tried to calm down as he sat there, despite the countless mysteries he did not understand. The tiny light, very red, was flying more vigorously around him. Why? Why?

  Stop rejecting me! Accept me for what I am and for who I am! Remember, we’re one! Remember me!

  He bent at the waist and pressed his temples. Something had got into his head and was struggling to expand. It was pushing him, it was trying to corner him, but suppose he were to yield? When he allowed this presence to occupy its space, he began to feel at peace.

  At last! And you’re paying attention to me! My friend, you must relax. It’s me. Remember… Remember…

  His eyes filled with tears, he studied the luminous creature. It was evident that the voice in his head was coming from the seraph, which, although it was not making any sound, was certainly projecting those thoughts. Why was he weeping? Was he sad or happy? He could not have said. But what happened was that overwhelming tiredness came over him and, there, on the ground, the dreams took hold of him once again.

  Chapter XIV – A Numbed Heart

  Nárgana was shaking Innominatus, who was sleeping placidly. She had her tulle dress half-open, ready to make love to the Wild Man even if it had to be by force. In any case, most men did not reject a clear offer of sex. What the woman wished for most was to possess the man with golden skin, to have him thrust into her with his foreign flesh and carry her to ecstasy.

  Astride the foreigner, the woman moved her hips, anticipating the pleasure. Innominatus woke with a violent start. He took his axe from his belt and pushed aside the body on top of him. The blade stopped a hair’s breadth away from slicing Nárgana’s brains thanks to Mérdmerén, who had to use all his strength to hold back the Wild Man’s arm. The woman covered herself and ran back into the shadows.

  “I have no idea how you manage your love affairs in Devnóngaron, Innominatus,” Mérdmerén said, “but in this part of the Empire we don’t kill our women because they want some caresses and warmth. Here, the man accepts the offer or he might go through long periods of love drought.”

  Mérdmerén pondered about his own drought, which had lasted for too long. He remembered his wife Maria de Los Santos, who now belonged to another man a group of traitors had forced her to marry. Not only that, but they had also stolen his daughter, newly born at the time. Ajedrea of the Recesses, murmured the leader. Innominatus frowned and pushed him back.

  “I know you don’t like us, Wild Man, but you must understand that I want everyone who makes up this group to stay alive. We need each other. Though you may not believe it, those ugly women give the other ill-begotten some happy nights. Sometimes I think you understand me perfectly well, Innominatus. You’re a man of high intelligence. I notice it in those eyes of yours, in what they have to say.”

  Innominatus hung his axe from his belt again and went to lie down a few steps from the fire. Mérdmerén sat in front of the flames, hypnotized by their crazy dance and crackling. He had to bear the burden of great inner agitation. Perhaps that was why he always wore black. Perhaps he was in mourning.

  Chapter XV – Leongahr’s Saga

  “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all,” Nurimitzu said. His wife, Duchess Yuga de Loyola, was stroking his hairless head. She was heavily built, with wide hips, a large bosom, and thick legs, exactly as the duke liked them. The duchess’ hair, a wavy chestnut, was spread over the sheets in the fitting disorder that comes after an amorous assault. The duke’s skin, tensed by his powerful muscles, shone with perspiration.

  “Don’t worry,” she said as she played with her husband’s penis. “You know perfectly well that frontier missions are very dangerous. Your precious captain will soon be back.”

  “No, my dearest. This isn’t normal. Leongahr is an extremely punctual man.”

  The duke turned his wife over and put her on all fours. He entered her and she began to moan with pleasure.

  “Those sons of bitches will never stop looking for revenge,” he grunted amid his thrusts. “They’ve been quiet for four centuries, but they’ve been at work. The bastards have had time to concoct some sinister plans, and surely now, after so many centuries, they’re gathering to give us the coup de grâce.

  “We Mandrakians are a conceited lot. We’ve relaxed our defenses, sure of having defeated Némaldon. But the snake wasn’t beheaded. We had to go on when we neared Árath, but by the Gods, it was horrible. When we left that snake pit, we were doomed.”

  The wife went on moaning, utterly submissive under the act. The duke, on the other hand, was sunk deep in his thoughts, which he announced aloud.

  “The news that the God of Light is absent or dead isn’t good either. Something’s afoot.”

  Yuga de Loyola shrieked with pleasure and the duke set himself to end the act of love.

  ***

  The esquire left the duke’s room at top speed. The news was serious. He had found his lord dressed in his purple tulle with a long cloak over his back. Boots with long pointed toes could be seen beneath.

  “Yohan,” the duke had told his manservant, “prepare my armor. I’m off to the barracks right away. I want to see the brave men who’ve returned from the mission with my own eyes. I want to see their faces and hear the report in their own words.”

  “Very well, my lord,” the servant replied, and began to give orders to the other servants. Nurimitzu was not easily impressed. He had taken part in several assaults and frontier patrols, seen a lot, and survived great ambushes. He had fought battles against orcs and black wyverns, sáffurtan and wraiths, trolls and evil fauns. But what he had been told did not seem of this world.

  “—And the spell activated itself, an evil beast spread its wings. My lord, it didn’t fight with the wyverns, but against them. That beast was horrendous, terrifying, it croaked like a dragon. My lord, I swear it was that monster that wiped them all out … that killed Leongahr.”

  “What are you talking about? Explain yourself, man! None of this makes any sense,” the duke demanded of one of his soldiers who had come back unscathed.

  Fifteen soldiers had survived out of the hundred who had gone on the mission. He had spoken to every one of them, and their statements all agreed: a demon had come to dominate the other demons. But that could not be true. Had they all gone crazy? One of the officers did not appear affected; in fact, he was smiling. It was Trumbar Gémorgorg, a man he had never liked. Why was he smiling? Was he pleased about his comrades’ misfortune?

  “I swear, my lord, Leongahr went berserk. He was wallowing in the blood of the fallen, and then he leaned on his sword. It was a nightmare, my lord. Our captain was laughing, in a frenzy of insanity. And the rest were doing the same. Our comrades didn’t die at the hands of the demons, but in a sort of madness that spread like the plague.”

  The duke turned to look at Trumbar, who was still smiling.

  “Don’t leave, my lord! Don’t leave me alone! The blackness—!” The soldier grasped the lord’s hand.

  “Our healers will watch over all of you. You and your family, and every one of the brave ones who survived, will receive a present from the castle: a coffer
containing hundreds of crowns in gratitude for your service.”

  So, the news was not good. The Nemaldines had indeed scattered their spells once again. And this was only the beginning.

  “Trumbar!” the duke shouted. He went up to the man, who was already turning to leave.

  “My lord?”

  “You’re the only one out of the fifteen who’s telling a different story. Why’s that?”

  “My lord,” Trumbar began. “We were fighting with great courage, but Leongahr was the true hero who crushed the enemy. I feel honored at having fought at his side.”

  The duke was suspicious every time he looked at that square jaw and straight nose, but particularly those dark eyes, unfathomably deep.

  “They’re all in a state of shock except you. Do you enjoy shedding blood?”

  The other soldiers listened expectantly. Loktos and Boargh knew that Trumbar was a quiet, elusive person, and they had noticed that he had come back as a new man, smiling and poised.

  “No, my lord,” replied the possessed soldier. “What I enjoy doing is defending our lands from the enemy.”

  Nurimitzu thought he detected a flash of malign energy. “Good. Keep up your good services. Ágamgor is grateful,” he said sarcastically and turned away, followed by his retinue.

  “What on earth did you do on the frontier, my friend?” Boargh asked. The gorilla was naked after taking his bath. Great thighs and arms like pincers were part of his impressive physique.

  “I don’t know, Boargh, but it’s been a catharsis,” Trumbar murmured.

  “Hey, now you’re managing to speak more than two words at a time. And you look us in the eye,” Loktos observed.

  “Home, my friends. See you at the lookout.”

  Without another word, Trumbar turned and headed home. Boargh and Loktos followed the soldier with their gaze. The other survivors paled when they saw him pass. Something strange had happened, and nobody knew exactly what that was.

  Nurimitzu could not determine why he loathed Trumbar so. As he was escorted back to the castle, it dawned on him he hated the soldier because he was a violent warmonger who nurtured destruction. Yes, that was it. He was unlike any other soldier in his barracks or any other man he had ever met, to be quite honest. True, Trumbar was an immigrant from Némaldon, and all sorts of bad things were said about said immigrants. But he had met people from Némaldon, and some were excellent men and women who wanted to leave behind the cursed land.

  There was something else about Trumbar he didn’t like. But why didn’t he simply kill the man on the spot? Order him cut open by his guard, assassinated, or simply tossed into a dungeon? Why not dispose of him like he had other unworthy men in his army?

  Nurimitzu entered the castle and walked through the gates. He was saluted by soldiers at their posts and by ladies walking by. He wasn’t in a mood to talk. Something strange had happened. The border was usually tranquil. Something was afoot. Had Némaldon awoken?

  Why can’t I get rid of Trumbar! he thought to himself. And then, he knew. It was because he needed aggressive and murderous men in his army. He needed the violence Trumbar could unleash. Some people are born aggressive and violent, and those people never flourish anywhere but in the army; it is where they shine. You take people like Trumbar out of the army, and they would surely become murderers and scoundrels.

  Part of Nurimitzu saw himself mirrored in Trumbar. It disgusted him to realize he sympathized with that wretched soul. Life had taught him there is nothing a man hates more than his mirror image. Humbled, Nurimitzu exhaled as understanding flooded him. When he was a young warrior, he used to be a killer himself and aggressive to the bone. After decades of military service, of spilling orc and demon blood, Nurimitzu had grown tired of the violence and had been softened by one of life’s greatest gifts: becoming a father.

  Indeed, he needed the violent, silent, resentful, and murderous men in his army. Who else would fight ghastly demons and hateful orcs at the border? Who else would have the desire to spill demon blood and lust for it? It had to be men like Trumbar. This is why he couldn’t kill the man. He was one of the best and feared soldiers. People didn’t like him, few mingled with the man. But no one joined the army to make friends. For all his strangeness, the man was a useful tool as a killer of demons and protector of the Mandrake Empire.

  Perhaps Trumbar can change? Perhaps the God of Light will grant him a brighter path, thought Nurimitzu. The conclusion was satisfying and gave the duke mental rest that perhaps he was being too harsh on Trumbar. Men can change. He had witnessed that change in himself when he had been gifted a family by the God of Light.

  ***

  Duchess Yuga de Loyola’s ladies-in-waiting had gathered in their lady’s chamber to gossip. “Oh yes, sweetie, if you could hear them talk about a certain Trumbar… They say he’s a first-class soldier and that he’s got a demon inside him.”

  The group of ladies giggled. They wore simple, white cotton uniforms. “If I were single, I’d like to come across that demon in some dark corner so he could brighten up my day.”

  “There are good and bad rumors,” someone said behind them. The ladies turned around with a start. It was the duchess, who was entering the room followed by one of her daughters.

  “They say Leongahr died because of that Trumbar. Others swear Trumbar saved the battalion. What are we supposed to believe?” The duchess waved her hand and the ladies ran out of the chamber.

  The city of Ágamgor was in a state of commotion and under alert. The gossip that ran from door to door had spread via distorted versions. Believers and non-believers prayed to the lost God of Light for the salvation of the martyr who had given his life defending the frontier.

  For Nurimitzu, the days went by in a mixture of despair and aggressiveness which he could not shake off. Gathered together with the nobles who occupied most of the council that helped him make decisions, he had concluded that the events at the frontier were a clear sign that Némaldón was preparing for an offensive.

  As a precautionary measure, he decreed a state of martial law. He gave orders to strengthen the army with new equipment, weapons, and plenty of food. He sent messages to Omen, Haztatlón, and Démanon. The cities and towns nearby were warned about the danger of an imminent attack. After four hundred years of relative peace, the south had awakened.

  ***

  Trumbar was going over his interview with the duke at the barracks. He had lied to him deliberately since nobody must find out that his possessed soul had flourished. He had to think about what had happened on the battlefield, whether he would be able to call up the rapture that had transformed him into a demon with great wings. It was something he longed for.

  What would he do if he managed to control this force? He was not sure which side he would play for, but he wanted to teach Nurimitzu a lesson for always having treated him with such scorn.

  When he arrived home, Ferlohren welcomed him willingly, inflamed by the fame her husband had acquired in the mouths of the women.

  “You look crestfallen, soldier.” She kissed him passionately, touched his whole body, and did not let him say a word. She undressed the soldier, who was surprised and pleased that love had come back to his home. The woman took off her clothes, and when they were naked they entangled themselves in a passionate evening which culminated in extreme pleasure.

  ***

  Fourteen of the fifteen soldiers who came back from the frontier committed suicide after three months. Nurimitzu did not know how to take the news, and it was worse when he realized that his order for martial law had been an exaggerated one.

  The king himself had roared with laughter at the duke of the frontier lands for having acted hastily. He would not have laughed had he been aware that, in the city which was defending the frontier, there was a demon. With the passing weeks, Trumbar noticed that Ferlohren was putting on weight, particularly in her belly. They went to the midwife, who confirmed what they suspected: Ferlohren was pregnant.

  Trumba
r was deeply moved; he embraced his wife, delighted at having made up for those years of sadness when she had not conceived. Finally, the time was right for them. They celebrated in style, though not as much as they would have liked for lack of money. Now, they had to save. Despite this, Trumbar could not have been happier. His life was taking a turn for the better and he was following the path he had always dreamed of, ever since he had fled from Némaldon and sought his fortune in the Empire.

  The months went by. Every day brought a new feeling at the sight of that growing belly. The man was already imagining his baby’s voice and the games they would share. With those positive thoughts, he caressed his wife, whose love had grown young again and burst forth. Meanwhile, his fame went on spreading, and neighborhoods and taverns told the legend of the only soldier who had survived the shadows of the frontier.

  One night, shortly before the baby’s birth when Ferlohren was already complaining of back pain, Trumbar was on watch duty at the sentry box, thinking about changing his job to be able to spend more time with his family. The night was warm and encouraged the guards to chat.

  “Hey, my friend, how does it feel to be on the brink of becoming a father?” Loktos was smiling. For the first time, he was seeing Trumbar at peace. He was a new person.

  “I’m a simple man with little to say,” he answered without looking him in the eye. “But I tell you this: I’m happier than ever before.”

  Loktos smiled back. He put a hand on his shoulder. “I’d like to have a family one day too, Trumbar. I’d like that very much. But there’s a lot to do before, many pending conquests,” he said mischievously, “and very little time to make those conquests. I fear that if I’m too fast or hasty, I’ll miss some great opportunities. Conquests are necessary, Trumbar. So many girls need to be spurred!”