Shepherd’s Awakening (Books 1-3)

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  Chapter XIX – Ofesto’s Misfortune

  Mérdmerén found Innominatus on the hill, watching the sunrise on the horizon. “If you learn the language of the Empire someday and wish to become part of it, you’ll get a taste of its dark side. The Empire offers all kinds of opportunities, and that, unfortunately, includes committing crimes, particularly when you’re not happy with what you have.

  “The Empire was founded as a land that promised freedom and great opportunities, but now it’s more like a pool of disappointments.” The leader sighed. “The Mandrakian dream, they called it. Waves of immigrants came from all over the world, hopeful about the future and the prospect of leaving a bad life behind.

  “But there’s something the men of this empire still haven’t understood, and I fear never will understand: Freedom comes at a cost. Part of this cost is the responsibility to know what to do with freedom because you’ll see that we men of the Empire are victims of our customs. Being free also means having a will. But many people would rather delegate their thoughts to the authorities in exchange for that thing itself: freedom.”

  Mérdmerén patted the strong man’s shoulder. “Well, we’d better go, Innominatus. With you beside me, I expect to attack the most luxurious carriages and find treasure, which is something we deserve. It’s time that fortune came to stand beside us, Wild Man, and you’ve been the blessing the heavens have sent me.”

  ***

  They packed up camp in the blink of an eye. They could not afford to waste time; the way would be long, and they could not foresee when they would come across a good opportunity. Shortly before noon, an elegant carriage, pulled by beautiful coursers and preceded by another which held the guards, came along the path the band had chosen as the site for their crimes. The men hesitated given the number of watchmen who were traveling in the first cart.

  Finally, Mérdmerén came to a decision and gave the order. From both sides of the road, the bandits came out with bows and arrows and war cries. Both carriages stopped.

  Mérdmerén went to pay his respects in front of the horses and launched into a good dose of insolence. “Halt! This is an assault on your belongings. Hand over everything you have right now and you’ll keep your lives. If you decide not to obey the demands of Mérdmerén the Deserter, we’ll kill you in a matter of seconds and use your hides to make rugs which we’ll enjoy stepping on. I have spoken!”

  Out of the carriage came a lady whose luxurious attire failed to hide the voluptuousness of her body. Beside her, there appeared an elderly man, dressed with the same degree of luxury. “Guards!” he cried. “Make mincemeat of these ruffians!”

  Five guards appeared with swords in their hands, and three more with bows and arrows ready to shoot. They seemed confident in the face of that wretched band of brigands with their rusty weapons. Then Innominatus stepped forward and took his place at the front, axe in hand, and his face smeared with the blood of an animal he had just killed. His muscles were taut.

  His tattoos were vividly revealed, giving him the appearance of a sorcerer. Everything about him indicated that this man was ready for war. The guards trembled and lowered their bows.

  “There are too many of them!” said one of the watchmen. “We’d end up losing. We need to be better prepared for our next trip.”

  The lord of the carriage began to insult and curse the guards, then turned to the bandits. “What do you want, you scum? And say it quick, you miserable rabble, because I have to go. There are more important things than a band of half-witted, ill-begotten brigands. Speak!”

  Mérdmerén did not get upset, since he was used to negotiating in such terms with most of the victims of his attacks who, when they felt themselves physically outnumbered, tried to retaliate with words. “We’ll keep your trunk and your valuables. Your lives, you may take with you. We don’t need those.”

  Mérdmerén’s disdain enraged the nobleman but he yielded. He gave orders and soon the guards handed them the loot. They got into the carriage again and left at great speed. From afar, the lord put his head out of the window and shouted.

  “Sons of bitches! Some day you’ll rot like rats!”

  Mérdmerén replied by showing him his middle finger. The rogues laughed joyfully. It was the first time they had dared to attack such a wealthy carriage, and of course, it had never been as easy as this before. Not a single drop of blood had been shed. They touched the trunk as if it were some delicate object which might break with a mere sigh. They smiled with tear-filled eyes, unable to believe that good luck had finally caught up with them.

  “I told you: the Wild Man’s our salvation. Those guards didn’t touch a hair of our heads thanks to him, make no mistake about that. We’ve moved on to a better life, ladies and gentlemen. Share out the goods!”

  Like hungry wolves, they fell on the prize. They opened the trunk easily with a blow from a sword to the lock. The smell of soap and herbs wafted from inside, transporting them back to better days.

  Innominatus rejected everything they offered him. He moved away from them and contented himself with watching.

  “Hey! Why doesn’t he take anything?” Godforsaken asked.

  Grono, a tall, burly man, let rip and regaled them all with one of his usual outbursts which were almost unintelligible since his tongue was too big for his mouth.

  “Grono, crazy, much hazy ... Grono! Grono! Wild Man not like pretty. Pretty! ITTY! Ha ha ha!”

  Godforsaken gave him clout with his one hand. “Shut up, you fat slob. That Wild Man’s giving us a pitying look. Gives me the creeps.”

  Ofesto joined in the argument as he put the loot away in a sack. “Don’t worry about him. We have to make use of him while he’s with us because soon, someone’ll kill him.” He threw a pair of tulle pantaloons at Godforsaken, which fell on his head.

  The cripple cleared his throat and went on searching through the trunk without losing sight of Innominatus’s every gesture and movement.

  I can’t take anything of that, it doesn’t belong to me, Innominatus was thinking. Robbed goods lay a curse on the robber because he possesses the owner’s belongings. Those men take what isn’t theirs just like rats with crumbs. They’re truly accursed.

  That afternoon, the band paid close attention to the wandering peddlers who passed that way so they could trade, particularly in the clothes and other personal items which were no use to them but were usually appreciated by traders. In that region, many travelling traders went from village to village making a business out of their dealings with the bandits. Even in the foulest smelling corners of the world, there was always a market.

  Mérdmerén already knew nearly all the peddlers, among them were the Uchuk brothers, the Noris family, and bearded Bárfalas, who always traveled with his daughter, Yergal.

  When the group went on southwards, it was not long before they came across the bearded man. A woman with bulging eyes, long in both face and body, greeted them distrustfully.

  She wore a badly sewn silk dress and her hair was tied in a ponytail. A hair-raising smile crossed her face when she saw the leader of the band, and she went into the tent where the peddler organized his merchandise.

  “What do those sons of a no-good mother want now?” Bárfalas protested. “That bloody pirate Mérdmerén never has anything that’s any good. He must have come to borrow, or try to trick me with his trinkets. But today we won’t give in, Yergal.”

  “Yes, daddy.”

  The woman was unhappy. She was of an age to give her father grandchildren, but she could not find anybody who would take the slightest interest in her.

  Looking grumpy, the man came out of the tent and soon forgot his bad mood. He saw the Wild Man, who was at least a head taller than Mérdmerén and whose face was painted with blood. His legs shook.

  “Oldbeard! We meet again. What a son of a bitch you are! Worse than the buzzards. You still have your paunch, eh?” Mérdmerén felt particularly cheerful. “Today, I’ve got some luxuries so that you can shit all the way fr
om here to Háztatlon and back, you fucking peddler. They’re from a carriage we raided on the road to Érliadon. They’ve come from some pretty wealthy people. I’m not lying to you, Oldbeard. Feel this, it’s pure velvet.” He held up a purple dress. “The gold and silver are good quality,” he added and bit into some jewels.

  Yergal smiled with her worm’s mouth. She reached out to touch the purple dress, but her father slapped her hand. “Don’t touch, girl. Those things might have a curse on them.”

  Bárfalas knew that they had gotten those treasures thanks to the Wild Man. That warrior, following Mérdmerén’s orders, would bring no good fortune.

  “By the Gods, a Wild Man?” was the only thing he managed to say. Mérdmerén grinned maliciously. His breath smelled of rotten onions.

  “He’s my right hand, you bastard. We fought, he gave himself up, and we pardoned him and let him into the group.”

  Godforsaken began to laugh hoarsely. Nobody would ever believe a lie as bare-faced as that, but Mérdmerén needed to disguise the truth to take credit for it. Bárfalas eyed him mockingly.

  “Oh, come on, now. And which of your useless warriors tamed this man, you damn beggar? Perhaps it was you, stump-leg?” He pointed to Godforsaken, then turned to Garamashi. “Or maybe it was you, you sad cow? You’re lying.” Bárfalas passed his judgment with a self-satisfied smile. “Not even the Wild Men themselves could bring down a man like that.”

  Mérdmerén understood that the bearded man would never swallow the lie. “We all defeated him. It wasn’t as hard as it sounds, but I haven’t come to discuss trivialities, Oldbeard. I’ve come to trade the proceeds, you lump of slag. We need food, and I mean good food. We need a drink to burn our throats and swords that are well-burnished and sharpened to a razor’s edge. I need you to arm my men to the teeth. Get on with it, then, Oldbeard, ’cause I know who you serve: money.”

  Mérdmerén tossed him a gold necklace and a bracelet of precious stones. The peddler was breathless, muttering as he imagined himself getting out of poverty thanks to the business he would do today with this deserter. The man took his daughter by the arm and they went in search of what they had been asked for.

  “Together, we’ll do great things,” whispered Mérdmerén to Innominatus. “You’ll make me richer than I was when fortune herself smiled at me, and when I regain my place in the government, I’ll reward you with all kinds of privileges.”

  Greed shone in Mérdmerén’s eyes as never before. Innominatus noticed this and understood the message. But he remained silent, watching the rogues who were exultant with delight at their new belongings.

  The one who most impressed him was Garamashi, who put on the clothes which had belonged to the maiden traveling in the carriage. A corset squeezed her ribs so that the flesh spilled out above and below. Her breasts had risen almost to her chin; she looked like a toad in season.

  The material and the luxurious cut of the dress had infused her with a massive dose of self-esteem and the urge to show off. The response this aroused in the men was something else altogether. A few paces away, Ofesto was already planning how to insult the woman. Bárfalas came back in a hurry, sweating like a pig and panting like a beaten dog. He was dragging his daughter, who did not seem to be in much of a hurry.

  “This is all I’ve found, Mérdmerén. It’ll have to do.” His tone had changed noticeably since the deserter had shown him the gold and silver.

  The leader of the band ordered the others to check the merchandise, and they all started to drool at what was there: long curved swords, ancient scabbards of rotting leather, and quivers decorated with strange hides. Only Innominatus remained motionless.

  Yergal had fallen for the Wild Man. Her father gave her a corrective slap. “You can bed whoever you please, except Wild Men. They’re sorcerers, and who knows what kind of rubbish he’d put into your head. I don’t even want to think of the possibility of you getting pregnant. A child by the likes of him would doom us for the rest of our lives.” Turning to the bandits, smiling and greedy, he cried, “Off with you, men of poor fortune. I don’t want to see you around here till you bring me something better. And take this Wild Man a long way away from me. It seems to me that his mere presence brings a curse along with it.”

  Mérdmerén eyed the merchant suspiciously. “A pleasure doing business with you, Oldbeard. Watch your back. With so many jewels, there are plenty in search of easy prey who’ll be interested in you now.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left.

  ***

  The weeks went by and the band of incompetents became enthusiastic about their attacks on the southeast road. As they accumulated treasure, the change in Mérdmerén became more palpable; his face was taking on the expression of a malevolent snake. He was not the only one to become drunk with their continuing success on the roads.

  Ofesto insulted everything that moved. Godforsaken, in the clutch of a panic that tormented him during the night, spoke less. Nárgana gave herself over to unhinged orgies. Garamashi went on wearing the corset and the dress, sometimes layering her neck with pearl and gold necklaces to look like a princess.

  Meanwhile, Innominatus stayed serene, quiet, but doubting the suitability of belonging to such a miserable band. Being Mérdmerén’s right hand brought certain advantages, such as delicious food and the love of some women who sold themselves for a few crowns which the great leader Mérdmerén gave them.

  Soon, their fame spread from band to band. All the same, despite the fortune Innominatus had brought them, those incompetent rogues hated him more every day. The fact that this “innocent” never claimed any of the loot irritated them; they did not understand. Several of them had talked of murdering him during the night. They bet on who would sell his golden native hide for the best price.

  The months went by. Innominatus remained silent. He understood more of the language of the Empire, but he thought it would be better not to start talking among these men. His refined senses would let him know the right moment.

  One leaden day, when Mérdmerén and his associates were drinking at a low-life tavern, there came a rumor that the peddler called Bárfalas and his daughter Yergal had been killed in a robbery. The Deserter cursed under his breath, since he had cursed them, and perhaps that curse had been fulfilled.

  “Listen to me, you vermin!” Mérdmerén cried, breaking the cloud of silence and mourning that darkened the atmosphere. “You’ve heard the terrible news: they got Oldbeard and his daughter. They’re sending us a message. Our rivals want to get us out of the way. But this is just a sign that our business is going very well.

  “Anyway, we need to respond to these threats, because anyone who sheds blood needs to pay with the same amount of blood. If we don’t respond with proper force, they’ll know that Mérdmerén and his men are soft and then they’ll attack us again. No, gentlemen, this has to be settled this very day. To arms, my lords! Let’s go after those bastards!”

  “It’s not a good idea,” Godforsaken said. “I’m just saying that this doesn’t smell right. All those jewels and precious ornaments will lead us to perdition forever. Just saying...”

  Mérdmerén turned such a glare on him that the cripple shut up at once.

  “Anybody else got an opinion on the subject?” he challenged them.

  Innominatus could have said something, but he felt that this ill-fated group was already heading for misfortune. He could not stop the inevitable.

  ***

  Hunting down the band that had murdered Bárfalas and his daughter was not difficult. They had torn down the peddler’s tent. Mérdmerén found the bearded man’s body hanging from a branch of a tree. The corpse had no eyes; the crows must have eaten them already.

  They did not see Yergal anywhere. Where could the woman be? Surely she would be mourning for her daddy? They heard moaning in the distance. Could it be her?

  They crouched and drew their weapons. Mérdmerén and his men were ready to attack. “We’ll catch them by surprise an
d kill them.”

  “Aren’t we going to skin them slowly?” Ofesto asked. He was keen to prolong any suffering.

  “Yes, we’ll skin them with agonizing slowness,” said the leader, seeking to convince himself. The Wild Man looked at him with concern. He suspected it might be an ambush. With a wave of his hand, he requested silence. Godforsaken and Ofesto exchanged questioning looks.

  “Innominatus is in charge,” Mérdmerén said.

  Although the bandits distrusted the Wild Man, they did not doubt his skill in battle, so they followed him. He led them along a path in the opposite direction to the woman’s moaning. They came to a thick copse and circled the place where the moaning was coming from. It was now clear that it was coming from a woman in great pain. Innominatus gestured them to stop and keep silent. A long time went by. Nobody moved so much as a hair.

  “I saw them, I swear it, I can even say I heard their voices,” someone whined in the distance.

  Innominatus smiled. His plan had worked.

  “Don’t be stupid,” said another voice. “You’re imagining things. Mérdmerén’s an imbecile. The moment he arrives, we’ll know. His band makes a lot of noise.”

  Mérdmerén felt enraged, feeling his pride insulted. Ofesto managed to keep him from exploding. Innominatus took the bow and arrow from one of the rogues, aimed at nothing, and released.

  At once there came the sound of a body falling. Cries of alarm. The Wild Man nocked another arrow. He moved with poise and fluidly. Another body fell. Soon the cries of three women erupted into the false calm and a rain of arrows was unleashed. They flew past, far away from the brigade. The Wild Man dropped the bow, seized his axe, and launched into a crazy run which was impossible to beat.