Shepherd’s Awakening (Books 1-3)

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  The sailor and the witch turned to look at him. The witch was a single knot of fury. “They weren’t girls, you asshole! They were murderers! The Brotherhood of the Ravens!”

  Mérdmerén fell again. He got back on to his feet, still stunned. His armor was smeared with blood and, like Ságamas and Hexilda, he stank of charred corpses.

  “How could that be? I was going to one of the rooms with a couple of beauties.”

  He leaned against a rock. In this area, there were few trees, but that particular stretch of rocky relief was well-suited to finding places to hide.

  “They tricked you, boss. They were murderers, and you only just avoided becoming some demon’s snack. They were going to sacrifice you. It seems like the curse you’re carrying with you is worse than you think.”

  “And the money?” he asked, sweating.

  “You invited the whole damn bar, you moron! Don’t you remember that either?”

  “Oops, that’s right. But we did have a good time, didn’t we? Didn’t we?”

  Mérdmerén had his answer in the silence of his companions, who were now looking at the boy.

  “What happened, lad? Wait a moment. Why’s he here? Why’s he riding my horse?”

  Mérdmerén’s confusion increased when the boy burst into tears. Hexilda felt her patience running out, so she decided to move away instead of yielding to the temptation to turn the boss into a disgusting rat.

  “The party got out of hand,” Ságamas explained. “A group of the Brotherhood of the Ravens, a bunch of murderers from Némaldon, came for you at the hotel. They must have detected you by your curse. They tried with the wraith, too, and since it didn’t work, they sent that lot from the Brotherhood. They killed Jamie’s parents and sister. We found out in the morning when we woke up.

  “Then the soldiers came, and we got away. Jamie guided us to a cave where everything was ready for your sacrifice. Hexilda dealt with the five executioners. Now, unfortunately, the king’s soldiers are chasing after us on account of the deaths at the hotel.

  “Boss, I don’t know whether we’re going to get out of this alive. We have two fronts to escape from.”

  Mérdmerén began to understand. For his sake, several innocent people had died, and now his companions were in danger. I’ve doomed them to death. It’s unacceptable. What sort of shit was I thinking?

  “I’m a bloody awful leader. You’d better go on without me. I’m giving up my revenge.”

  “Hey! What are you saying, man!” Ságamas cried. “Listen, the money went to your head, that’s all. Take it as a lesson in humility. You can punish yourself as much as you want when we’re in Háztatlon, but for the moment, we’ve got to get away.”

  The Brotherhood of the Ravens. A group of murderers from Némaldon? I’ve really made a mess of things. We’ve turned into a group of bloody fugitives with a boy to take care of, for good measure, because it’s my fault he’s an orphan and homeless, Mérdmerén thought.

  Drumming on the ground shook him out of his musings. There were riders, very close.

  “They’re coming! Let’s be off!”

  His horse, Valens, was now being ridden by Jamie. He leaped onto its rump and spurred the animal so that it set out at the fastest gallop he could get out of it. Hexilda and Ságamas raced after him.

  ***

  Night fell without warning, implacable like a hammer on iron. The fugitives and their horses were panting after hours and hours of flight, dodging branches and trees, taking detours, and crossing narrow paths.

  They had avoided their pursuers, but the effort had been enormous. Now they had to look for somewhere to sleep and start thinking about how to solve the problem of their supplies, which were beginning to dwindle.

  Mérdmerén was rationing the cured meat and had picked some fruits along the way, but what worried him most was the lack of water. The forest was dense with rocks everywhere. He called a halt.

  The moon, a thin sickle, barely gave any light, but they could make out a wide plain that allowed them to see their pursuers if they came near. Mérdmerén dismounted and tethered the horse to a nearby tree. He knew his companions were exhausted.

  The witch looked spent as a result of using up too much energy in her spells, he could not get over his sadness, and the sailor was panting and having a hard time keeping upright on his horse. The rubbing together of splinters of wood brought Mérdmerén out of his reverie.

  When he turned, he saw a tiny flame which caught on a few fragments of tinder, and Jamie smiling broadly as he threw on a handful of dry leaves. “Now there’s no need to feel cold or fear. We’ve got fire now!”

  Mérdmerén ran toward the boy. “Put that out! Put it out! Put it out!”

  An arrow whistled in the dark. Jamie lost his smile as he felt a lacerating pain in his stomach. A wave of nausea surged up his throat. His face twisted into a mask of panic, and he paled. He looked down and grasped the arrow that pierced his stomach. Blood fell on the earth, and Jamie collapsed. Everything was silent. There were no footsteps to be heard, no whispers, no arrows. Mérdmerén broke down. He collapsed in front of the fire and covered his face. He wept. Jamie was just a boy. Nothing was his fault.

  ***

  Despite the silence and the quiet, Ságamas and Hexilda went to reconnoiter and searched the area thoroughly. The enemy had vanished without a trace. The major question was why they had vanished like that. It was a question they had no answer to, and nobody cared much to solve the mystery. The danger was not close, and that was all that mattered.

  The old woman came back in the early morning. She went to stand beside Jamie, whose body was already as stiff as a wooden plank. She looked closely at the arrow. It was black with a fine tip and fletched with raven feathers.

  It was obvious whose it was. The Brotherhood of the Ravens were known to be relentless and ferocious; they practiced torture and fiendish punishments that nobody else would ever think of outside Némaldon.

  The witch felt a flash of anger go through her heart, an urgent feeling. The world is cruel, she thought, crouching beside Jamie’s body. This poor kid was an innocent soul who had the bad luck to cross our path and the curse these two shitheads carry on their shoulders. I don’t even know why I’m still with them.

  She did know the reason. She, too, was involved in the journey, and she felt like she had to help them carry out their mission. Those bastards of Némaldon must already have me on their blacklist, she said to herself as she stood up. She thought about what she had lost since she had left her son’s estate with tourism in mind. She wanted to see the Mires of Maúralgum and maybe go to Omen to learn more about the Conjuring Arts. But, perhaps this was her destiny: to protect the person who one day would play an important role in the fight against the evil of the South.

  Mérdmerén stood up. He was looking into the distance with eyes that feared nothing, not even death; they were the eyes of a man who is ready to give everything he has and throw himself fully into the battle without concern for the consequences. He knows one thing and knows it well: like a cornered wolf, he will fight till the last drop of blood leaves his body.

  “Let’s go!” he cried.

  “Don’t you think we ought to give the kid a proper burial?” Ságamas asked.

  Mérdmerén gave him a look that made the sailor cower. “The only thing we’ll do for him is to pray for his soul so that the Goddess of Night may judge him mercifully and send him to the Deep Azure of the Heavens. There are two groups after us: one trying to catch us and another that wants to murder us. There’s no time to waste. We’ll put up a stone tomb on the spot where he was murdered. I’ll bear the guilt of having to pay for the death of Jamie and his kin. It’ll be something I’ll never forget.”

  They gathered stones as fast as they could, skinning their hands and breaking their fingernails. In twenty minutes, they had buried Jamie. Ságamas looked hard at the boss’s face, once again wondering whether he might be following a man hastening toward suicide and lost in his
madness, or whether he was walking with a daring fighter who would do whatever it took to attain his goal.

  He finally allowed himself to be won over by the solemnity of the moment and Mérdmerén’s keenness to go on. The sun was emerging from behind the rocks by the time the group set out.

  Chapter XXIV - Rummbold Fagraz

  He could not sleep, nor did he want to. Argbralius waited until his roommates were already asleep before he took out the book about the Conjuring Arts that Orolio had given him a few months before. He could only read on those nights lit by the candlelight when one of his friends forgot to turn off the lamp or when the moonlight shone brightly. Tonight, his luck was that his friends had gone to sleep, leaving the lamp burning dimly.

  He had leafed through it a couple of times and had skimmed over the drawings, formulas, and equations only to drop it again and continue with the task he had been engrossed in at the time.

  But now was the perfect moment to learn everything about that secret magic. With his fingertips, he stroked the thick cover where runes he did not understand were engraved. He opened the tome and read Rummbold Fagraz.

  On the next page, it read Introduction to the essential work for the understanding of the Conjuring Arts. There followed an explanatory prologue:

  The Conjuring Arts are not something mysterious, contrary to what many who call themselves wizards, sorcerers, and mages have tried to imply. There is mystery when something is hidden, but nowadays, we must dispel ignorance. There are different uses of the Conjuring Arts but the basic principles—such as those on the properties of matter—are the same.

  An adequate grounding in the Conjuring Arts must be articulated around the mastery of these principles. This is the most difficult part of the Conjuring Arts. It is not about feeling something, but of understanding everything. Knowing the intrinsic properties of matter entails decades of study. That is why elders are the most powerful.

  As we said above, there are different uses of this science, as in any other area of knowledge. If the purpose is religion, then a basic understanding of the Conjuring Arts is sufficient. A military application, on the other hand, will require a greater effort, as the handling of the forces of destruction is very complex. If the practitioner wishes to become a mage, he will have to study the forces of creation, destruction, and transformation of matter.

  Hence, this manual has been written for the neophyte so that he might have access to the fundamentals of the Conjuring Arts. In the case of specialization, the study should be carried out together with other books and masters.

  Welcome,

  Rummbold Fagraz

  ***

  He opened his eyes. Something had brushed his shoulder. He gave a small start on the bed; he had fallen asleep with the book open on his chest. He peered into the dark corners, but there did not seem to be anyone. A few paces away were the bunks of Ánomnos and Joermo, and Kurlos was above him. They were all asleep.

  He sighed, trying to relax when he felt it again. It had passed very close. It was like a thread, a thin strand, something snaking along his body. The surprising thing was that he was not frightened; rather, he wanted more. That something enveloped him and invited him to go out of the room through the window. Argbralius did not hesitate.

  Outside was a full moon rocking amid spongy clouds that were heading westward. The wind was icy, and the atmosphere was damp. The thread guided him to the sports ground. There, it stopped, and Argbralius knew he had to lie down on the grass. He didn’t know why he knew, but that was not important. The important thing was to act and obey. There was something of significance here. Above him, there appeared a purple filament. It was the stream of time. Argbralius’ body began to rise. Everything turned black.

  Lights appeared everywhere. A thousand bright dots moved before him in a parade. He saw spirals rotating on an invisible axis. He saw galaxies even though he had no idea those spirals were galaxies at all. An infinite cosmos. In that depth, he recognized a thought, a returning memory. He moved faster through the river of time and reached a system of different planets, one of which was red.

  This planet was suffering, and its surface was covered in glowing coals. He glimpsed a being traveling on the back of a black dragon. His gorgeous armor was both beautiful and dark, and he carried a sword, equally beautiful, of the same material. His eyes were gray. Evil seeped through every pore.

  “Time changes us. We were. We used to be. We will be. We are one. We were, we will be, let us be. Times change but meet one another, are superimposed on one another, and fate becomes clear. Maybe you have a function for me, little warrior. Remember the black seed I sowed in your soul? Show me you know how to use it.”

  Everything went black.

  When he opened his eyes, he was still lying on the grass. The sun was beginning to shine. He did not remember how he had got there, nor what had happened during the night, nor what he had dreamed, but he felt that it had been something significant and that it was not the first time.

  I’m a very strange boy, he said to himself as he got to his feet, still puzzled. Could it be that my dreams and nightmares are because of a black seed in my soul? He breathed deeply and tried to find calm in himself.

  He shook his head, sure that these thoughts must be the product of a bad dream. Besides, he wanted to become a sacristan, and he must act like one. That is what he would do. He ran to the showers. He did not want to be late for class. His friends questioned him, wondering about his absence in the morning. He did not answer, and they pressed him no more.

  ***

  “As I told you, today we’re going to practice the spell of the Emanating Rose. Beforehand, you need to learn a few things about this flower that you’ll be cultivating someday,” Orolio said as he collected the test papers on the reading he had given them the day before.

  Argbralius, despite his strange night, had answered everything correctly. It was not so in the case of others, such as Délegas, who was beginning to suffer from the demands of the training.

  “These are the seeds. The Emanating Rose is the result of crossing different types of roses until one with a long, thick stem is obtained that is as green as moss with large thorns, showy red petals, and large leaves.

  “In Démanon, they were looking for a special rose that was very different from the others. The flowers you find in the markets have a shorter stem, smaller thorns, and more aromatic but less regular petals. The Emanating Rose is unique and recognizable.

  “Nobody is allowed to cut it except a sacristan. Many people steal them to sell them on the black market or even export them. That’s why we take good care of our flowers. We plant them near the Décamon and protect them with fences.

  “Cultivating them is a challenge; as it’s a hybrid, it demands certain nutrients from the soil, quite a lot of water, and lots of sunlight. Also, it’s very sensitive to sounds, smells, smoke, and human filth. For that reason, we cultivate it away from the villages.”

  Father Orolio went toward the door.

  “Let’s go out. We’re going on an excursion outside the Décamon Mayutorum and the city limits to visit our small orchard of Emanating Roses. We’ll have a guide with us: Father Regoleno, who looks after our flowers in the Regolen Garden.

  “Follow me, then. Look lively! There’s no time to lose. There’s still a lot left to do.”

  ***

  The boys got into a cart, all forty of them huddled like cattle on the way to market. Luckily, the cart was clean and not covered in animal filth. As they left the Décamon Mayutorum, the Regolen Garden was clearly visible.

  “Some adventure. What a pigsty,” Délegas protested. “It stinks of manure!”

  “So why are you still here?” Ánomnos found the courage to ask. Since the day Argbralius had nearly strangled him, the big boy had been losing his supporters and his reputation as a bully.

  “Because I like it, you bloody big-nose. What the hell does it matter to you what I do?”

  “I’m just saying that it’
s strange how even though you hate all this and fail all your tests, you’re still here like a little whore who wants more.”

  Argbralius and the others tensed. Délegas would be quick enough to punch him in the face.

  But the conversation changed course to other, less serious matters. The cool wind that came down from the mountains settled into the souls of the youngsters.

  Fergano asked, “How often do you come across bandits in this area? My father’s always warned me about them, particularly deserters who hide where you least expect them.”

  The question shocked his fellow students.

  “Don’t speak of things like that!” said Joermo. His voice was unsteady. “You’ll bring bad luck.”

  “It’s true. The number of deserters has gone up in the last few years,” Ánomnos added.

  A whistling sound crossed the field and came to a halt in the driver’s head. An arrow had pierced his forehead.

  Ten bandits came out of the bushes. Father Regoleno was getting ready to pray to the Goddess of Night when a sword slashed his stomach open. Red guts bathed the road as the religious man collapsed.

  Délegas was the first to react. He grabbed a shovel and confronted the band by himself, which made the villains burst out laughing. The boys in the cart broke down and began to weep.

  Two of the attackers had stolen the horses that were pulling the cart and were now beating the boys. Another three were struggling with Délegas, who was finding it harder and harder to fight back.

  Kurlos leaped to go to his aid.

  “Listen, you religious bastards!” cried the leader. “We want your—”

  He never finished the sentence. Time seemed to have frozen. Argbralius was on his feet and surrounded by an aura of evil shadows. During the fray, he had focused within himself. He had perceived his soul opening, and inside, he saw the black seed someone had put there. It gave out a black radiance. The boy chose, as he had chosen years earlier when he had killed Trumbar, to use that energy for his benefit.

  The black seed came to life. His eyes shone. He was smiling. He raised a hand and pointed his finger at each bandit in turn. Instantly, they were reduced to ashes.