Shepherd’s Awakening (Books 1-3)

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  Argbralius went back for the ball, although this time he got a scratch that left a red weal on his face. Délegas marked another point. Joermo kicked the ball. This time Argbralius showed his ability to maneuver the ball and lead his team like an army in battle. From their end, Argbralius’ teammates defended themselves against the approaching opponents. At the far end, Délegas was waiting for him with his face a mask of fury, but something unexpected happened. From the other end of the field, Kurlos ran, crossed the whole playing area, and threw himself at the big boy to prevent him from stopping Argbralius.

  The goal came, and Argbralius’ team won the game. Applause and shouts broke out among the audience, who were thrilled at such a well-fought match. But where there are winners, there are also losers.

  There came the sound of a brawl; it was Délegas hitting Kurlos, launching punch after punch at him. Blood and saliva flew through the air. Argbralius felt an animal rage coming up his throat. He hurled himself on the beast. He grabbed him by the neck and squeezed. Délegas’ face began to turn blue; his hands stiffened as he struggled vainly to free himself from the grip. The others around them did not dare to intervene; Argbralius scared them. Délegas stopped moving and collapsed.

  After a few seconds of silence, panic broke out.

  “He’s killed him!”

  “He’s dead!”

  “He’s a demon! He’s possessed!”

  The boys were yelling, running to get away from the horror, crying. Orolio appeared amid the crowd. He spoke to Argbralius, who did not hear him; he was still in a fury. With the help of Kurlos and Joermo, Orolio tended to Délegas, who soon afterward began to cough. He was alive. Other priests joined the group, and between them, they led the boy to the infirmary.

  Argbralius began to convulse violently. The boys were petrified at the sight of something they would remember forever.

  ***

  In the infirmary, Kurlos was stopping his nosebleed with a cotton wad. His left eye was beginning to turn purple, and his upper lip was swollen, although the worst thing was that Argbralius had to defend him and nearly killed Délegas.

  Brawls were not uncommon, but for one student to have been on the point of killing another was something else altogether. He had heard the healers say that Délegas was going to live, but that he might suffer some harm from the lack of air to his brain. Another group of healers was dealing with Argbralius. They wanted to study his behavior, find out why he had convulsed. They were analyzing his skin, his pupils, his ears, and his mouth. The young man remained expressionless with a smile which might have been one of satisfaction.

  When Damasio arrived, he was visibly upset. He exchanged a few words with Orolio and sent the curious spectators back to their rooms. It was almost seven in the evening. The boys protested, but in the end, obeyed and left, resigned to the fact that they would not find out anything else that evening.

  ***

  Argbralius woke up in the infirmary, alone and dizzy. His arms ached, as did his back and chest. His cassock was clean. Through the window, he saw a shadow approaching, and his heart beat faster. When he realized it was Orolio, he relaxed.

  “My dear pupil, what the hell happened to you today?”

  The man seemed neither sad nor troubled. Argbralius was shocked to see that there was fear on Orolio’s face. The boy bit his lip.

  “Argbralius, you’ve done something terrible. We had a shock, such a shock that we’re considering prohibiting soccer. If you’re going to fight like that, to the point of killing each other, it would be better to avoid it altogether. On the other hand, it’s the first time you’ve behaved like that. I had no idea you were capable of that kind of—”

  Argbralius was carried back to his past. Orolio’s gestures reminded him of his mother’s after he had dealt with Trumbar. The boy began to panic. Was he going mad? “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to—pardon me.” Argbralius lowered his gaze in humiliation.

  “All right, I accept your apology. But it’s not me you have to apologize to. You need to talk with Délegas.”

  The boy looked confused.

  “Because you know what you did, don’t you?”

  “Um… Well, I’m not really sure, Father.”

  “Then what the hell are you begging my pardon for if you don’t even remember what you did? Or would you rather not remember?” Orolio had dropped his understanding attitude and appeared unwilling to let himself be deceived. Argbralius had no choice but to ask.

  “Orolio, father, my mentor. Can you tell me what I did?”

  Orolio was disarmed. The boy sounded sincere.

  “You nearly killed Délegas. Your teammates were horrified. I thought you were more innocent in these matters.”

  “I nearly killed him? Killed him?” he cried.

  Orolio nodded.

  “But I don’t understand.” Argbralius made an effort. “I think—yes, I think I can remember. He was beating Kurlos. Délegas was beating Kurlos, and I went to help him! But, you say I nearly killed him?”

  “Arg, you grabbed him by the neck, and you wouldn’t let go. They say you were like someone possessed. I know Délegas isn’t the best fellow student and that he doesn’t play fair, but for goodness’ sake, that’s not enough to kill him. You could see he was choking, and you kept on squeezing. Do you understand how serious this is?”

  Argbralius lowered his gaze, humiliated. He could not believe it. Had he really done that? Yet something inside him was pleased with what he had done. “I’m so very sorry, Orolio, honestly. I mean it from my heart.”

  “Well, my boy, it’s not me you have to apologize to. Besides, Damasio will have to ask you a couple of things. I guess you let yourself go in a moment of madness, but it was really serious. It’s the first time anything like that has ever happened. Do you know what it would mean if a boy were to die here? It would be a disaster. I don’t know what would become of us. The Perfect Pontiff isn’t going to like this at all, Argbralius. Stay here. Now you’ll have to face the consequences. Good luck.”

  Orolio left the room, then turned and came back in. “You had a seizure,” he whispered tenderly. “I know you suffer from some evil that not even you understand, and which I wish someday, we might be able to cure you of. Now, do you feel better?”

  “Yes. Yes, thank you, father.”

  The priest relaxed and left.

  Those seizures. Again. But this time while I’m awake. Argbralius began to feel alarmed.

  ***

  “Well, tell me what happened,” Damasio began.

  “I don’t know, pontiff.” Délegas was clearly affected. He could not look up. “I remember scratching Argbralius, but that comes with the game. Then…” Délegas’ voice trailed away as he remembered the moment Argbralius had grabbed him by the neck and had begun to choke him.

  “Do you think it had something to do with that beating you were giving Kurlos?” Damasio asked with an inquiring look in his eyes.

  “I guess Argbralius wanted to protect his friend.”

  “Of course. Have you seen what you did to Kurlos? Could Argbralius have thought you were going to kill his friend?”

  Délegas lowered his gaze. “But Argbralius… I felt a strength—a presence. Those hands, the darkness…”

  Damasio went on, ignoring the student’s terror. “Argbralius is a phenomenon in our community. He may be the best student we’ve ever had—extremely intelligent and capable. He’ll go far in his ecclesiastical career. He represents what the Perfect Pontiff would describe as the ideal pupil. You’d like him if you respected him and followed in his footsteps. You’re to blame, Délegas. We know you’ve been bothering him, torturing and insulting his friends, and that you even offended Father Orolio after the calling of the selected. I’m not surprised that one of your fellow students exploded after having to put up with you for so many months. To put it as clearly as possible, you brought it on yourself. From now on you’ll leave Argbralius in peace. Do you understand?”

  Délega
s bent his head.

  “All right,” Damasio went on. “Tomorrow, you’ll begin your training as sextons to become future sacristans. As you ruined the celebration dinner yesterday, it will take place today at eight o’clock. I expect you to attend in peace and with a spirit of goodwill.”

  At that moment, the door opened, and Orolio peered in. The two priests whispered; Orolio disappeared and, shortly afterward, came back with Argbralius. Délegas felt a pang of terror, rage, and misery run through his body. Argbralius was looking at him proudly. He offered him his hand.

  “I apologize. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please forgive me.”

  This tone of voice was one of anything but a sincere apology. There was a hint of something venomous in it, but Argbralius was very sly, no doubt of that. Délegas got to his feet. He felt an overwhelming desire to leave.

  “Stay away from me, phenomenon. I’m never going to shake your hand.” And he went out of the infirmary, almost at a run, and closed the door behind him.

  Orolio and Damasio exchanged glances. Argbralius was calm with a victorious smile on his face.

  ***

  At eight o’clock by the moonstone, the banquet started, served by the devout servants who had sacrificed their lives to dedicate them to the Décamon Mayutorum. Along the corridors came and went dozens of these servants amid gold and silver, gems, jewels, paintings by renowned artists like Chuly Xul and Paulus XI, and sculptures by Bodesh and Gomard.

  From the ceiling hung large chandeliers of fine crystal and precious stones, supported by gold chains that had come from Érliadon, as could not be otherwise. The beauty and wealth of the royal palace were such that even the most illiterate spirits were left speechless.

  The students came forward, awed by the unusual stone floor with its encrusted animal fossils. Yet, this wonder did not let them forget what had happened during the soccer match. The group of forty, which had just been promoted, was already divided into two.

  Argbralius had become the leader of one side, which included Joermo, Ánomnos, and Kurlos. They were supported by those who thought Argbralius had acted in good faith in defending his friend Kurlos.

  The other side was made up of those who feared and respected Délegas, and those who had lost in soccer games against Argbralius. They were driven by hatred and the yearning to avenge Délegas, the leader, who exerted his authority by shouting and bullying his followers.

  He would not admit it to anyone, but deep down, he knew that what tormented him was his wounded pride. He had succumbed before Argbralius, the favorite, and was not prepared to lose either fame or glory among those who respected him.

  In the presence of the others, he argued that the skinny boy had mastered him only because he was already tired from the beating he had given Kurlos. His followers, far from questioning his excuses, showered him with uncontrolled, unmeasured praise. The boys in both groups walked along the narrow corridor, brushing against one another. They looked at each other askance and threatened each other with their breath. Their instructors and superiors were already commenting that they had never had a group of young men so full of energy and rivalry.

  They were worried that the last fight would only be the beginning of a chain of events, each graver than the previous one. They spoke of precautions and measures to take to mitigate the growing hatred among the boys.

  With his chin held high, Argbralius walked with the gait of a king as if this were his palace, and the banquet was being celebrated solely in his honor. Kurlos, who was now his loyal follower, still bore the bruises of the beating by Délegas.

  “You looked like a warrior, Argbralius,” Joermo said admiringly. “You should’ve seen yourself. It was awesome.” And terrible, the young man thought, although he did not dare say so.

  “I had to defend Kurlos, Joermo. Otherwise, Délegas would’ve finished him, and I wasn’t going to allow that,” Argbralius replied without a trace of emotion.

  “Thank you,” Kurlos whispered meekly.

  On Ánomnos’ face was a wide smile and a strange pride, as if he had been the one who had defeated Délegas. “You taught that imbecile a good lesson. He deserved it.”

  When they went into the Holiest Dining Room, the boys felt small. This hall was so immense that the pupils, used to their small cells, could never have imagined anything like it. Floors and walls were the purest white and reflected the abundant light of the thousand candles and crystals.

  The elaborate arches rose to the ceiling like thick nerves and sustained a great dome. Under it was set a rectangular table which could sit eighty guests on either side. The great tablecloth, of fine thread delicately embroidered, was spread from end to end. On it, dozens of candelabras and copper jugs were set in every three places. One or two pupils dared to sniff, attracted by the exquisite aromas, and all waited eagerly in front of their ceramic plates. So magnificent were the place and the table setting that the boys soon forgot their rivalry.

  “Welcome to the Holiest Dining Room and the Celestial Banquet,” said Damasio in greeting. “There are only two opportunities to be invited here: when you are chosen to be future sacristans and when you graduate. So eat, enjoy, laugh, and have a good time. There is wine in the jugs, discreetly mixed with fruit juice. Help yourselves freely, but carefully; don’t get drunk.” Damasio smiled, knowing that his warning would fall on deaf ears. “Take a seat wherever you please.”

  The boys hurried to sit down. The youngsters who had hated each other an instant before were now chatting eagerly, sharing confidences. Spirits rose with the delicious dishes which were being set on the table: roast sweet and sour pork, beef stew with vegetables and small fruits, dishes both exotic and traditional.

  The boys did justice to the food without paying too much attention to manners and soon began to smile weakly, an unmistakable sign that the alcohol was coursing through their veins. Meanwhile, Damasio and his fellow priests watched them over a goblet of wine. Argbralius, who had also tried the wine, was talking animatedly with one of his supposed rivals, although it seemed that he, too, was being respectful toward Argbralius.

  His name was Fergano. He was tall and thin, quick, and intelligent. “They named me Fergano because I was born the same month as the grain that made us rich. I was born in the Licaf and Atisbar estates, which belong to Don Trágalar Maximus. They’re famous for their coffee and their horses, the swiftest in the Empire. They compete with the lands of QuepeK’Baj. May the gods watch over those farmers. After what happened, I don’t see how they can recover.” Fergano spoke hurriedly, almost tripping over his own words.

  “Licaf and Atisbar, you said? I’ve never heard of them. But tell me, what happened in that village that was destroyed? You’re talking about San San-Tera, aren’t you?” asked Argbralius with a certain interest.

  Fergano nodded. “Nobody’s sure. There’s talk of an explosion, but it’s also well-known that under the village, there are geographic faults, tunnels, caverns, and labyrinths. The most reasonable thing is to think there might have been a big reserve of natural gas which exploded. But the fact is that there isn’t just one version.” He burped.

  “I’d love to know more,” Argbralius whispered. “Wouldn’t you? Don’t you find it fascinating? Don’t you think it’s strange that a whole village was reduced to ruins from one day to the next, and that still today, after so many years, we don’t have the slightest idea what happened? It must have been something huge.”

  “I admit it’s intriguing, Arg, but I’m not interested in villages. My destiny is in the great cities, in the modern way of life, full of possibilities. I’d like to go to Vásufeld or Bónufor, maybe Érliadon or Aldebarán. Or imagine going to Merromer, discover the beaches, and be able to sail the Early Sea. I’d meet people of other cultures there, like sailors from Moragald’Burg and Grizna for example. Or what about going to Ementhal Bloss? Although it’d be rather dangerous because of the everlasting conflict we have with the Divine Providence.

  “Then there’s Narkalagh, a
lthough for the moment it doesn’t interest me. Omen and Háztatlon are good choices too. The place I wouldn’t want to go to is Ágamgor. Although, it’d be interesting to meet Nurimitzu Loyola and go to the inns to hear the story of Leongahr, that ferocious warrior whose feats have inspired hundreds of songs.”

  Argbralius was swayed by Fergano’s broad view, his knowledge, and his desire to learn more. In the face of this display of culture, he felt sad and a little jealous. He had not had a particularly fortunate childhood himself.

  Meromento, from Argbralius’ group, joined in the conversation. “Guys, I don’t know about you, but I’d give anything for a little music and some girls here. What do you think?”

  Argbralius and Fergano looked at him in surprise. Up till then, they had not thought their fellow student might have such interests, but the fruited wine seemed to be freeing him from his inhibitions.

  “Don’t be crude, Meromento,” Fergano said. “As soon as you graduate as a sacristan, you’ll sign your vow of chastity. You’d do well to get used to the idea of doing without girls.”

  “I know, Fergano, that’s what I mean. This is our last chance. Let’s go get girls!”

  “You know there aren’t any girls here,” Fergano reminded him. “Maybe because of desperate students like you.”

  The boys giggled, except Argbralius, who remained thoughtful. Women? He had never thought about women. He took a long draught of the fruited wine and joined in his friends’ merriment.

  After a few hours, alcohol was wreaking havoc among the students whose movements had taken on a certain clumsiness and lassitude. After thirty years of service, Damasio knew the moment had come to bring the banquet to an end and send the boys to their rooms.

  Délegas and two other friends were competing to see who could drink the most. When the waiters came to take away the jugs, Délegas flew into a temper. “I’ll tear y’ heads off! Leave th’ drink here!” he yelled. Then he let out a monumental belch so that everybody turned toward him.

  There was a silence, then laughter broke out. And with this general goodwill, the hall gradually emptied.