Shepherd’s Awakening (Books 1-3)

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  The battle was brutal. Innominatus moved like a cat, dealing well-aimed blows with his axe at throats and heads without his victims even having time to see their executioner’s face. Encouraged by the blood and noise, the rogues joined in the massacre willingly. The skirmish soon ended. They had killed thirteen men and three women.

  Innominatus knelt before one of the corpses, that of a man with a black beard and brown skin, and sank his fingers into the wound that had split his skull in two. He smeared his face and chest with blood. His gestures and his face seemed hieratic. Mérdmerén and his followers watched him in amazement; they did not understand that this was a ritual of war.

  “Look at him,” Godforsaken said. “He’s a bloody demon from the mountains. Can’t you see, mates, that he’s going to lead us to ruin? He’s accursed and his fate will be our own. If we get rid of him ourselves, we could go on in peace. Poor, maybe, but safe. We need to eliminate him. There’s no other way!”

  Mérdmerén aimed his bloodied sword at Godforsaken. “Nobody’s going to touch him. He’s my right hand, you rabble.”

  New screams interrupted them. They hurried to their source. There was Ofesto, his pants at his ankles and his member stiff, licking Yergal’s face. He was squeezing one of her breasts with one hand, and with the other, he was eagerly pushing up her skirts. The woman was howling in a muffled voice because an apple had been stuffed in her mouth.

  “Go away! She’s mine, you sons of bitches! Mine!”

  Grono the Slow picked up his mace. “Let her goooo, damn you or—or—I’ll kill you!”

  Garamashi ran to Ofesto, but the man, who was used to situations like this, already had a poisoned dagger ready. Before Garamashi could deal him the death blow with a knife, Ofesto cut her throat ruthlessly.

  The big woman fell to the ground, clutching her throat and trying in vain to stop the stream of blood that was gushing forth. She writhed like a worm in a bird’s beak. In her last seconds of life, she tried to kick Ofesto but failed to reach him. After this, she lay still on the ground, pale and in a puddle of blood and mud. At this point, Nárgana recovered from the shock and with her sword held firmly in both hands, began to launch thrusts at Ofesto. He grabbed her by one arm, turned her against his naked body, and sank the sword into her heart. He threw her on top of Garamashi’s body.

  Grono never made it. Ofesto threw a well-balanced dagger at his chest that dug itself deep into his heart. The half-wit fell face forward and lay motionless on the ground.

  Ofesto was fondling his crotch with a satisfied smile when Innominatus’ axe came down on his head. With no time to react, all he saw was the edge of the blade above him. It sank in deeply and his brains spattered the Wild Man’s face, which was a mask of contained fury. Ofesto collapsed, without honor, between Garamashi and Nárgana.

  Innominatus took the apple out of Yergal’s mouth and loosed her from her bonds. The terrified woman took shelter in the arms of her savior. The remaining men of the brigade, among them Mérdmerén, began to see him with different eyes. What had just happened gave them gooseflesh.

  “I warned you, you blind fool,” Godforsaken insisted to Mérdmerén. “Your great lump of a man has brought us a curse none of us will ever manage to shake off. We need to get rid of him forever. Otherwise, who knows where we’ll end up?”

  But Mérdmerén was not ready to release the Wild Man. He had gained too much thanks to him, but there was still much left to conquer. There was still his daughter and his wife. He considered leaving these bunch of losers and going away with Innominatus in search of better luck.

  “Let’s go,” he said at last. “We’ll stick to our plan. You can keep whatever you find, although I wouldn’t recommend it. This forest is accursed.”

  Yergal ran to the tree where her father was hanging, gray and rigid. She clutched his legs, shedding a thousand tears, and kissing his stiff feet. Innominatus went up to her, feeling compassion.

  “I want to take him down and bury him as he deserves,” she begged. “He might have died without honor, but I can’t let him journey to the caves of night without a respectful burial. Will you help me? The Goddess of Night must find him clean at the moment of his judging!”

  Innominatus cut the rope. He laid the body on the ground, gently. Together with Yergal, he gathered branches, which they arranged around Bárfalas’s body. It might not be a burial worthy of the men of the Empire, but at least it would be something.

  “Farewell, my father. Someday we’ll see each other again, in better times and far from all this misery in the Deep Azure of the Heavens. For now, go in peace, my dearest. Farewell!”

  Innominatus understood that the moment had come and, striking the tinder, he generated the sparks needed to start the fire which would incinerate the body.

  Chapter XX – Puerperium

  Forward and back, forward and back, forward and back, back and forth. A rocking! A scream. Two. Three screams. Coughing. Excrements. Something tears, something slithers, something new emerges into life. Blinding light and cries of joy. Ferlohren was wasted, exhausted by the effort, but alive and healthy. The witch had worked a miracle.

  She wiped the baby, who was already howling, and placed him at his mother’s breast. The little one grabbed the nipple voraciously. The crying stopped, except for that of Trumbar. He felt blessed by the grace of the Gods. It was a boy, his first son. He was awed to see his wife naked, the sheets bloodied. He would have to clean the room before the wooden floor went to ruin. The witch was gathering the afterbirth and the umbilical cord.

  “Strong and healthy. That’s good. He’s going to be big, this boy. He has—” The woman’s voice took on a somber tone. She shook her head and smiled again. “A great boy. Take good care of him. Five crowns for the service.” Trumbar was about to argue about the price, but he had no idea what was usual and besides, he was too happy to want to spoil the moment.

  “I’ll take the afterbirth—the placenta. It’s no use to you, it’ll only make the whole house stink. I thank you for hiring me for this service.” Without another word, Ramancia the Witch left the house with her payment.

  The soldier took his wife’s hand and shivered with happiness. The newborn opened his eyes and looked around at those parents who were admiring him, spellbound. Trumbar picked the baby up in his arms, rocked him, and kissed him. Then he saw something, a small detail that startled him. He had a strange foreboding.

  “We’ll name him Argbralius,” Ferlohren said with a smile. “My mother always wanted me to have a brother and she’d have wanted to call him that. What do you think?”

  “It sounds good. Argbralius,” Trumbar repeated the name with his feelings overflowing. He liked the name. He had never heard it before, but that was not strange, as the families of the Empire often resorted to wit and originality when it came to naming their children.

  Ferlohren did not take long to recover. Her belly shrank, she lost weight and her face regained its former features. Her love for her son and her husband grew day by day. That household had never shone so brightly. The day after the birth, Trumbar set off for work with a smile from ear to ear. Boargh and Loktos celebrated the good news, patted him on the back, and offered to help him with whatever he needed. But not even Trumbar himself suspected the difficulties he was soon going to come up against.

  ***

  The months went by in a sigh, and soon a year had passed. For the little boy’s first birthday, there was a party with Loktos, Boargh, and some friends of Ferlohren and her sister, particularly those who were mothers too. Some of her friends were still single.

  Loktos showed himself ready to fill the void that past loves had left. “What happiness! What utter happiness!” cried Eloria, Ferlohren’s sister, as she held the chubby toddler, who was sucking his thumb. “It’s—I just can’t believe it. My little sister finally a mother, and of such a beautiful baby! Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful! Isn’t it wonderful, Boargh? Boargh!”

  The soldier was whispering with Loktos and
Trumbar. He turned, and under the influence of the drink, bumped into the table and toppled the bottle of spirits all over its surface. “Sure, sure. It’s a blessing from the God of Light himself. Trumbar! It makes us very happy to see you a father! Man, how you’ve changed! You’ve got too much flesh and you’ve grown a paunch. You look pregnant yourself!” The redheaded, thick-bearded gorilla laughed heartily.

  The laughter filled the soldier’s home with good vibrations and positive energy. “I have a surprise,” announced Trumbar as he went towards his wife.

  He noticed that his son was staring at him with dull eyes. This irritated him, but he held back.

  “Trumbar’s surprises are never good ones,” Loktos joked with a smile and turned to Boargh. “Can you believe it? Trumbar so relaxed? A year ago, he was a completely different person. Now, it seems as if a miracle had saved him from misery. I need this man’s recipe; it might serve me before very long.”

  “Don’t be a fool. Trumbar’s worked hard to get where he is now. Remember, he won the duke’s favor when he came back from Aegrimonia unscathed.”

  Trumbar cleared his throat to get his guests’ attention. He downed his drink of boiled rose. “As you can see, I’ve gained some weight but for a good reason.” He turned to look at Ferlohren, who took her son in her arms. The little one went on looking at him in that unfathomable manner he disliked. All the same, he nodded. He did not want to spoil the surprise. “After a year of negotiation, and of serving my land as the faithful follower I am, Nurimitzu has granted me the job I so longed for: I’m going to be the administrator of one of his possessions. Gentlemen, I’m retiring as a soldier to devote myself to family life.”

  Silence. Eloria elbowed Boargh, who was a father too and had never wished to change jobs. Ferlohren opened her mouth, struck dumb. At last, they were going to find their way out of poverty. Life was going in the right direction.

  “This is my gift to you, my dear family,” Trumbar concluded and kissed his wife’s forehead and the baby’s cheek.

  Instantly, he felt dislike. The child started to cry. Trumbar managed to hold back his emotions. Something was not right. Must be my imagination, the ex-soldier thought with a smile as he embraced his family.

  “Let’s sing!” cried Eloria. The guests gathered around the family and began to sing the New Vespers.

  Warm mornings that come with a caress,

  evenings your parents made to bless,

  cakes and pies they’ve made for you

  brought down from the sky so blue,

  by the ones who brought you from the sky,

  to sing happy birthday and give you pie.

  Little Argbralius set his gaze on Trumbar’s and for a moment, a terrible clash of forces seemed to break out. The boy remained calm, sucking his thumb and chanting goo goo goo in a sing-song which made his mother melt.

  Ferlohren came up to her husband and gave him a tender kiss. Trumbar accepted it enthusiastically and lovingly. He felt that Argbralius was watching him. When he turned, he realized he had only imagined it. Or not?

  Chapter XXI – Interiorization

  He opened his eyes all of a sudden. There was the same grayish sky that had accompanied him ever since he could remember. There was no more overwhelming constant than the color of the horizon. But now, for the first time, he felt oppressed by that persistent gray. Were there no other shades? Were there no other colors? He began to question himself about this world which surrounded him, and in doing this, he felt sorrow settling on his shoulders.

  He felt the weight of emotions.

  He felt the slap of reality.

  I need to get out of here, he told himself. Nothing else mattered. He felt a pressure on his chest as if hooves were crushing his heart. He rubbed himself but found no relief. A thought came into his mind. It must be the price of having a heart and being filled with emotions. I feel because I exist. I exist because I feel.

  Exist.

  The word forced him to reflect.

  Exist.

  He remembered something. He visualized a young shepherd on top of a beautiful green hill ruled over by a huge pine. The boy was looking into the distance as if seeking answers to profound questions.

  He could appreciate the details of his back, his black hair moving with the breeze. The young shepherd turned to his right, revealing his profile, and then looked ahead once again. The horizon seemed to suck at the young man. A spark crossed his mind and lit up a memory.

  “Who are you?”

  I am the one who nestles in your heart and will guide you to what is eternal.

  “Who are you?” I am. You are. We are.

  “Who are you?”

  The voices ringing in his head replied as one, “I’m Manchego.”

  It was as if his heart had stopped and his whole body had gone numb. The orb of light was flying around him: blue, deep, and serene. After a pause, he understood. Understanding flooded his heart with sorrow. He felt the weight of a broken heart pull him down.

  “How long have we been here, Teitú?”

  You’ve recognized me! Manchego, you’re back! I thought I’d lost you; I swore I would never speak to you again. I hope our journey into the past helped you. I took you back to your childhood, I wanted to expose you to those days. I know it caused you great pain, but it was the only way to bring you back to yourself. Otherwise, you’d still be lost in this horrible gray world, and that mustn’t be. We’re needed.

  Manchego remained unperturbed. Melancholy invaded him as he remembered all he had left behind.

  “It’s the price for having a heart,” he replied. “It hurts.”

  Manchego spoke aloud again, forgetting that he could communicate with the orb mentally. “Teitú, I asked you, how long have we been here?”

  He was not troubled. There was not even any emotion underlying the question. He just wanted to know. Despite this, Teitú sensed the dark well of melancholy. The boy was desperate and for a reason. He was probably getting some inkling of the deep sadness of what was to come, a long way from those days in the fields with his grandmother, Luchy, and Balthazar.

  We’ve been here hours, days, centuries perhaps, the orb replied. Who knows? It’s impossible to be exact about the passing of time in this place. We’re trapped in a dimension it seems we can’t escape from. Everything is gray and depressing.

  He turned to see Teitú with his eyes wide open, unable to believe what he was hearing.

  “My name is Manchego,” he said with that heaviness that was beginning to be a sign of his character. “I’m the young shepherd of my memories. Those words… it was me who spoke. That’s why I dreamed dreams I knew didn’t belong to me, but they do belong to me because it is me, it was me. I was in this dimension, connected to myself on another plane, but how? What dimension is this? It must be one where time has no meaning. Once someone told me my name wasn’t the real one, that one day I’d find my true name or the name would find me. I think I know that name already, but I can’t remember it. Teitú, I need to go back to the past, to a particular moment. I think I’ll be able to remember everything there, including why I forgot.”

  Teitú turned dark purple. You’re right, Manchego. I’ll take you where you ask me to, but I want you to know that the journey might cause you great pain. You’ll see people you once loved and those people don’t exist anymore where we are now. You’ll feel the urge to talk to them, but you must control yourself, as it will only bring you more suffering.

  The boy was no longer that bright happy child he had once been. He had seen too much. He had lived a great deal. He was aware of his suffering and that of others.

  “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  Teitú responded, with a deeper purple. Let’s go.

  Chapter XXII – Argbralius

  Trumbar’s family rose in the society of Ágamgor. As an administrator, he carried out his duties at the castle in a plain room furnished with a desk, a chair, and nothing else. But this post offered him many privileges, such a
s eating for free in the castle halls, though never side by side with the nobility; that mattered little to him.

  Trumbar enjoyed these delicacies, particularly the sweets, so that the man soon put on more weight than he was already carrying. Generous helpings of food and hours of inactivity joined in an equation which controlled his daily life. But as well as inches around his waist, he also gained coins of polished metal.

  Loktos, on the other hand, was jealous that his friend now had a settled, happy family, and at the same time was making a notable fortune. So was Boargh, who had never thought of a similar plan. Trumbar had changed a lot for good or bad, depending on who was judging. The evasive man no longer lowered his gaze and never seemed sad or bowed down by bad luck.

  The beast that had once awoken in him on contact with blood and war had withdrawn, asleep in some dark corner, and there it seemed it would remain forever. At home, Trumbar behaved like the perfect husband. Sometimes he pretended more than he felt and sometimes it was forced more than out of genuine love.

  In the social environment the Gémorgorg family now belonged to—which is to say in the park, bakeries, cafés, and restaurants—Trumbar and his family moved like any other of their level. With so many crowns saved, more opportunities offered themselves to him. He made new friends and glimpsed new horizons. The doors of fortune opened up for him wherever he went.

  He met the Tornlances, who were grain exporters; the Érermor, who were coffee exporters; and other nobles who wished to do business with him. Trumbar and his wife were invited to weddings, ceremonies at the Décamon, and the duke’s castle for dance performances.

  He met great landowners like Eromes the Perpetuator, a very wise man of San San-Tera. His farm, the Holy Comment, was prospering in such a way that he had gained fame across the whole Empire. Leisure deflated his muscles and his strength, and fat and flaccidity appeared. He had to change all his clothes—although, with his new salary, this was not a problem. Anyone who had not known him before would never have imagined that this self-satisfied man had ever been a notable soldier, least of all that he had turned himself into a warlike beast in the bedeviled land of Aegrimonia.