The door opened with a crash. Ferlohren came in half-naked, stinking of the bitter, rank sweat of a cheap client. She pulled her stiff hair aside from her face and sat down, exhausted, beside her son. Very rarely did she come close to him. The boy embraced her eagerly. For him, his mother was perfect. He kissed her wasted cheek.
“Ma, why don’t we get away from here and start anew?” he asked her, as he had so many times.
Ferlohren wept. “Oh, my pretty little boy. Life, my love, is a mystery. You shouldn’t be seeing such things. Come, give me your eyes.”
Distraught, the woman tried to gouge his eyes out. The boy moved back in time. “But I want to see the world, Ma. And if you gouge out my eyes, I won’t be able to see your face.”
Ferlohren burst into tears.
“Oh, my little son. I want you with me and only with me. I don’t want you to find out what life is like.”
The mother gave him a heartfelt kiss on the forehead. The boy smiled as if there was nothing better. They both embraced and remained like that for some time, looking outside. Trumbar’s snoring reached them from the living room.
“That pig,” muttered Ferlohren as if she were spitting poison. “How I hate him. All this is his fault! You know it’s all his fault, don’t you? I hate him. I ought to kill him. Oh, how I’ve dreamed about cutting his throat. If only I could. I’m too weak and exhausted to carry out the act.”
Argbralius did not know what to say. To tell the truth, his father was a shadow, a drunkard whom he avoided so as not to receive a kick or an insult. He had never seen him as his father and when he abused his ma, he felt like killing him. He wished he could.
They heard footsteps. Argbralius shivered with fear. Ferlohren became defensive. The door to the bedroom opened with a loud crash and in came bearlike Trumbar.
“Where’s my lunch?” he roared. “I’m hungry, you bitch!”
Argbralius looked at his father with hatred. Ferlohren started to yell back at him. “Imbecile! Get your own lunch! Find yourself somewhere you can die, you bloody rodent! Look what you’ve done to this family with your goddamn unhappiness! Damn you!”
Trumbar slapped her.
“Shut up and go cook! Otherwise, you know what’s coming to you.” He turned to the boy. “And you, you scum! You stinking bit of garbage! If you dare look back at me like that I’ll snap you in two.”
He grabbed Argbralius by the hair and dragged him to the closet, where he locked him in.
“And that’s where you’ll stay without eating and without knowing anything about the world until you learn to respect your father! You little piece of shit!”
Ferlohren howled at the sound of Argbralius kicking the closet door, desolate at being unable to do anything against Trumbar’s strength.
“The next time you look at me like that, I’ll break your backs,” he threatened them for the umpteenth time. “Go cook, you slut!” He kicked Ferlohren out of the room, and she submitted to the brute’s orders.
***
In the darkness of the closet, Argbralius was crying disconsolately, covering his ears. Even so, he could still hear the shouts and the never-ending abuse. No more… no more… no more… he repeated over and over again as he rocked back and forth.
He had to get out. He was afraid in the darkness, away from his mother. He imagined himself hitting Trumbar brutally, crippling him. He shut his eyes and hugged his knees to drive those thoughts away, to imagine he was somewhere else. He failed. He hugged himself tighter still until he lay down on the floor in exhaustion, sobbing desperately. He could not get the image of his mother out of his mind: thrown on to the floor, unconscious from the beating. He wanted to get out to hold her and save her from that savage.
He started to kick uncontrollably, to scream, to pull out his hair. Despair overcame sanity. He managed what he wanted, although not as he had planned. The closet door opened suddenly. Trumbar was before him, a bottle in one hand, gulping so that its contents dripped on to his shirt. In the other hand, he was holding a leather belt, thick and menacing. Argbralius, still dazzled by the burst of light, only glimpsed the man’s sardonic grin.
Out of his mind by now, he started screaming. “You clumsy brat, you’re going to stay locked up in here for two days so you learn. And that’s not all!”
Trumbar’s fury increased still further. A great brightness burst out behind him; his shadow grew six feet high. Two wings of smoke grew from his back. He began to whip the boy with the belt, with such strength that each blow opened up a bloody welt. And then again, and again. The sound of the lashes rose above the boy’s sobbing and pleading. Ferlohren came in alarm. She saw a winged demon of fire and smoke beating her son and knew it was Trumbar, revealed as what he truly was. She grabbed an empty bottle and went straight for the beast.
“Aaaanimal!” she yelled and broke the bottle on the back of his neck. “Leave my son alone!”
The demon let go of the child and turned to the woman. “You’re going to pay, you filthy whore.”
The door of the closet shut again. Once more, Argbralius was left in the dark with only a deep pain in body and soul. He could hear the beating the demon was giving his mother, her howling, then she stopped screaming and the beast left the room to fetch another bottle. Argbralius breathed in deeply. He tasted his blood, which reminded him of metal.
He hugged his knees against his chest and leaned against the wall. He opened his eyes as wide as he could and tried, in his mind, to get outside as if he had tentacles. The fingers of his thought probed the unknown environment.
Chapter XXV – The Curse Is Unleashed
When night fell, Innominatus went over to Yergal, who had been mortally wounded by Ofesto’s poisoned dagger. The Wild Man prepared an intensely bitter beverage with various ground herbs and made the woman swallow it. This mixture would not eliminate the dagger’s powerful poison but would soothe the horrible symptoms it caused before death ensued. He needed to find eucalyptus for a healing ritual.
He gathered some leaves, along with other ingredients, and readied himself to prepare it all while the others stared at him curiously. He covered his head with a hood of llama hide which, by the light of the campfire, left only his angular chin visible. His muscular chest with its tattoo shone in the brightness of the flames. He put the cage he had made out of greenwood in place; it would hold the coals and eucalyptus leaves. A twist of branches and leaves served as a pendulum.
With the gray aromatic smoke of the eucalyptus, the shaman began to move the leaves and fan the smoke. The bandits thought they saw shadows dancing and supernatural events. Then, the Wild Man started to mumble unintelligible words that began to fill the atmosphere.
Godforsaken began to mutter curses, staring grimly and clutching his dagger. Mérdmerén went to him and warned him not to do anything stupid, for killing a man without honor would bring him a horrifying doom. But that fool paid no attention and went on plotting to eliminate, once and for all, the man responsible for so much misfortune in his brigade. With little control over her body, Yergal began to repeat the mystical chant with passion. Her heart beat vigorously and she started to bend backward at her waist at an impossible angle. Soon, she began to feel all over her body with her hands.
In utter delirium, spellbound by a strange passion, she straightened deftly and ran to the Wild Man. The Wild Man felt the embrace, opened his eyes, and found the woman clinging to his back, her eyes filled with panic. He felt a weight behind and a warm liquid running down his back. He turned and saw Godforsaken wielding a dagger that was buried in the woman. Yergal had just saved the Wild Man’s life. She dropped to the ground limply with the dagger deep in her flank.
The whole band had witnessed the event and held opposing views. Godforsaken grunted and leaped back into the shadows in fear of retaliation from the Wild Man.
“Go on, run,” the woman said before she bled out. “This is no place for someone as noble as you.”
Innominatus glanced at those men he had sp
ent the last days with and understood that he would learn nothing more from them. Whatever he had learned, and for whatever reason he had stayed with them for so long, had vanished in an instant. There was nothing more for him here. Perhaps he was with this scum because he felt like scum. He saw himself as that Wild Man that betrayed Mother and, worthless, had found a band of brigands worthy of his self-worth.
Without a word, the Wildborn vanished like the wind. He left and took the nearest road he found. With neither sorrow nor joy, he left Mérdmerén and the others, not knowing that many years later, fate would reunite them again.
Chapter XXVI – The Great Event
Darkness, silence, and loneliness combined to engender a beast of hatred and rage. Meanwhile, his mind penetrated the fabric of space and time. First, he saw himself in front of the closet and was frightened to find himself out of his body. He looked down when he realized he had no physical body. The scare did not last long since, as a curious soul, he began to move and enjoyed that weightless fluidity in which the substance of walls and furniture was no obstacle.
He stopped for a moment beside Trumbar, sprawled on the armchair, snoring. His mother was cooking, in tears. He felt sorry but he had to go on. If this was a dream, then he needed to make use of it. But was it a dream? He took flight. During the small hours of the night, Ágamgor shone with the intermittent brightness of the torches spread throughout the city. In the distance, he glimpsed a black, arid land that seemed to ooze oblivion. This intrigued him, but there was something else that caught his attention.
He directed his gaze toward the infinite sky, packed full of those tiny scintillating lights in the canvas of darkness. What were those bright things? People called them angels, others demons. Whatever they were, he had never had the pleasure of watching them in quietude like this. Now, though, he enjoyed complete freedom to be awed by the glory of the ether. With a smile, he went on flying with such a speed that he broke the sound barrier without noticing. All he saw was that around him, everything was going past at a dizzying speed and that he was entering a gray zone. It looked like a river. Thus, he entered the River of Time—a phenomenon unknown to him. Yet, his intuition told him this river was something important. He allowed himself to be drawn on by the stream, sweet as a tide. The journey was a pleasure.
The river dropped him in a very different region, surrounded by black, beside a monumental sphere of intense red flare. He did not know that this was a dying star. Down below, not too far away, was a very dark world. Without thinking, he turned in that direction. Why was it black? The place had a very sad and desolate look.
Immediately, he identified himself with this atmosphere. He descended until he was close to the surface. It was not Earth but rather, made of a very dark matter that looked like volcanic rock. There was also a being of the same black matter riding a dragon of smoke. He felt terror and awe at the same time.
The beast and the rider emanated power and attraction. It was the first time he had seen a dragon; he did not even know what it was called. But he would never forget how fearsome it looked. He wished he had one as big as this to defeat Trumbar and take his mother away from home.
Argbralius could not suspect that this being was a very powerful god and that he was seeing an image of the past.
The black rider fixed his gaze on the child who advanced toward him, moved by curiosity. He thought that nothing was real—perhaps it was a dream—and he would not be harmed. What radiant energy! What power!
“Who are you?” the being asked in a language that was not spoken, but thought.
“I’m—I don’t know what I am. Oh, I know! I’m an abused child and I want to murder my father. I can’t stand being at home any longer. My ma suffers because da is a demon,” said the child in the common tongue.
“Interesting,” the being replied with a thought that echoed in the boy’s mind. “I might be able to help you. Here.”
Argbralius felt a finger drilling into his mind, then his soul. This being had introduced something into his being. “If you want that power, you’ll know how to use the seed of black energy I’ve planted in your soul. Depending on how you use it, it will germinate one way or another. You might devote it to the best; perhaps one day we might be friends or work together.”
Argbralius did not know that he was dealing with the God of Chaos, who was about to lose a war he had started himself against the other Gods to take over the power of the universe. He was weighing up his options, and at that moment, it occurred to him that the ghost visiting him might be useful in the future.
A noise. The door opened. Argbralius was having convulsions. Ferlohren embraced him and covered him with kisses. Her son slowly came back to his senses.
“Oh, my little son. You were writhing. Not surprising, locked up in here. And you haven’t eaten anything. But don’t you worry, my child, I brought you a piece of bread.”
“It was a dream, wasn’t it?” he said in confusion. “Thank you.” He took the bread and began to eat slowly.
“I have a plan, my love,” the woman said and made herself comfortable beside him. She closed the door and whispered to him. “We’re going to escape from this house. We’re going far, far away and we’ll never see your father again. He’s cursed. You’ll see, my pretty baby, we’ll find a new life.”
Ferlohren sighed, hopeful at the horizon of freedom and peace she could already begin to glimpse. Hugging the child, she fell asleep.
***
Trumbar went out into the street looking for his wife. He had beaten her good and hard, and now she had disappeared. “Ferlohren! Ferlohren! Come back to me! Love of my life!”
He walked in the middle of the street, among the horses which, by a miracle, did not trample him. On his way, he met some soldiers, old colleagues, who looked at him with scorn as if at the vilest vermin of the military city. The man was drunk. It did not occur to him to think that his wife might be home and in the closet with her son, hiding from his fury.
He fell to his knees and broke into inconsolable weeping. They spat at him, threw all kinds of things at him which hit his flesh without his noticing.
“Why don’t you ask the God of Light for forgiveness, old man?” a blind woman asked him. Her eyes were white as milk.
Trumbar felt the old woman’s hands on his face. “I think you’re right, ma’am. Father Vurgomm will absolve me.”
***
Trumbar went to the Décamon and stopped in front of the statues of the warriors of Flamonia, the Slegna Flamon. Awed, he wanted to embrace them. He wished he were like one of those warriors from the times of Flamonia, the ancestors of the Mandrake Empire.
When Vurgomm heard someone coming into the Décamon, he went to meet whoever it might be. He was not expecting a fat man who was battered and dressed in rags smeared with vomit and dried blood. He helped him reach the oratory. Trumbar knelt at a pew. He wept and snuffled. Vurgomm started to speak, overcoming the extreme disgust this piece of human refuse aroused in him. He could barely believe this was Ferlohren’s husband, who had not had better luck.
“Before the will of the Gods here present, today and at all times, in addition to the witnesses Aryan Vetala and Eryund des Guillioth, do you promise to confess the truth and only the truth in the presence of this sacred oratory?”
“Yes, father. I promise to tell the truth. I’ll tell you everything. I’ve been a horrible man, a beast who’s beaten his wife day after day. I hate my son. I believe I’m doomed to live without love. Goddess of the Night, take me once and for all and judge me! I can’t bear this misery any longer! And now my wife has left me. She’ll be happy without me,” he lamented. Vurgomm was concerned at hearing that Ferlohren was missing.
“The Gods will heed your prayers, my son.” He cleared his throat. “Are you sure your wife has left?” the priest wanted to know, breaking the protocol of the religious confession in his interest.
“Of course. She’s not at home,” the unfortunate man answered, sniffling.
&
nbsp; “Did you look everywhere? Did you check every corner to make sure she’s not waiting for you?”
The drunkard stopped moaning and flew into a rage.
“In another part of the house? That bitch is hiding from me? How dare she!” He turned to the priest. “Father, you’re more than meets the eye!”
“Easy, easy. Love, my friend, is the fruit of the verb to love. Loving is an act, just like running and walking.”
Trumbar opened his eyes, blankly. “It’s true. I never loved that wretch of a woman.”
Trumbar realized something else. There was something in Vurgomm’s face. Those dark eyes, that hair, that nose… He recognized something in him. “You’ve been a great help in solving this riddle, father. I promise I’ll come back, you bastard.”
Trumbar got to his feet with his whole body tense. The former soldier and the priest measured each other with their gaze. Yes, it is the same gaze, Trumbar told himself.
“You and Ferlohren,” said Trumbar, his lower lip trembling. His fists were white, his whole body tense with rage. The priest, very slowly, backed away. The priest of the Décamon turned pale. “Say it!” roared Trumbar. He slapped the priest so hard the man fell on his knees with bloody snot coming from his nose.
“Utter the words! Or I shall break your spine!” roared Trumbar. The air turned cool and a shadow seemed to grow from Trumbar’s back.
Vurgomm was in utter fear and vomited the words. “It was her! She gave herself to me! I swear! She’s to blame!”
“I knew it. That little bastard is yours. He was never mine. That look on your face. You worm. You always knew it! You always knew the child was yours and you let me believe he was mine. Oh, I will come later to collect your head. But first, she must pay. And then the child will die!” said Trumbar.
Trumbar rushed out of the Décamon, leaving father Vurgomm bleeding and in desperation. A demon. That man was possessed. He immediately started praying to the God of Light. He should go to the authorities, but how? Who would believe him?
Shepherd’s Awakening (Books 1-3) Page 31