Argbralius fell on his knees and collapsed on to the ground. He began to convulse violently before the stupefied eyes of his friends. Something had taken possession of them and paralyzed them.
***
The Décamon Mayutorum was in chaos. The priests went from one place to another, preoccupied with tending to their pupils, questioning, and scolding the sacristans for no reason.
The pontiffs debated, unable to believe what had happened. Violence in the Décamon was very rare. Stories circulated about wyverns that attacked herds or bandits who assaulted carts on the less-traveled roads. Even so, events like these were purely anecdotal in the North thanks, mainly, to the strengthening of security in that part of the empire.
“And now who’s going to teach the boys how to grow the Emanating Rose?” Orolio was asking, sitting in Damasio’s rooms. In a long discussion with the pontiffs and the priests, it had been established that Regoleno was an expert on everything to do with the Emanating Rose. Passing on that knowledge was his main function, and now that he was dead, the void he left was more evident.
“Deserters. To hell with them. What were they doing here? It doesn’t make sense. Unless the Southerners are migrating for reasons we don’t yet know,” Damasio speculated as he smoothed his white beard.
“Strange things have happened in the South,” Orolio confirmed, his gaze lost in space.
“Such as?”
“We’ve been informed of black wyverns, an increase in violence, and a village devastated.”
“Do we know who’s responsible?”
“No.”
Both of them were silent, staring out through the window at the night.
“Who’s going to train the students to cultivate the Emanating Rose?” Orolio asked. “You know very well that it’s an important lesson.”
“We’ll have to see. We have substitutes for all the areas of study except that one. What a disaster.”
***
The room was dark, so dark that he could see absolutely nothing. He felt a presence close to him, but he could not make it out. He was sure that the presence was suffering, as he was himself. His nose itched, and he tried to scratch it, but he was unable to.
His hands were tied behind his back, and he could barely twist his wrists. The presence was breathing heavily. It was moving. Argbralius cleared his throat, determined to find out.
“Psst! Hello there. Where are we?”
He became aware that the presence was moving toward him.
“Where are we? Don’t you know?”
He heard a guttural sound like that of an animal coming closer and closer. A bony hand grabbed his leg with inhuman force, and a shudder ran through his body. Sharp teeth sank into his thigh and tore away a piece.
He howled. He screamed like a drunken idiot. The smell of blood and the screams excited the beast, which took another bite. When the watchmen opened the door, he saw it. It was—Trumbar’s corpse! And it was eating him!
Argbralius wailed and cried. It was not a couple of watchmen who had opened the door, but a dead man at the head of a group clustered in the entrance. They had come to eat him whole. Putrid teeth bit him everywhere, voraciously, eagerly.
***
It was the first time that Orolio and Damasio had seen Argbralius weep and convulse while he slept. They were in the infirmary, which was almost dark except for a couple of small candles which gave just enough light.
“Ma, don’t die! Trumbar! I hate you, you bastard! Ma, don’t leave me! No! Nooo! I won’t let anything happen to you, Ma!”
Argbralius woke up gasping, his face soaked with tears. He blinked several times and then looked around.
“Orolio, Damasio.” He tried to greet them reverently. “Masters, what are you doing here?” he asked, panting and almost fainting.
“Argbralius.” Damasio came up to him. “Are you all right?” It was obvious that he was nervous, as if the young boy frightened him. The truth was, he felt a primal fear towards the boy and could not explain why. What was it? Did his soul feel it, but his conscious mind was too blind?
“I had a dream. My masters, what’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed by the reaction he sensed in his superiors.
They must have witnessed those damned convulsions. Used to his image as the perfect student, they must have been upset by the impression. In the end, those nightmares would be the ruin of him.
“My pupil, something devastating has happened. A band assaulted the Regolen Gardens and murdered Father Regoleno, who was going to instruct you about the cultivation of the rose.”
“What?” the boy cried as if he knew nothing about it. Yet, he was beginning to remember every detail. How his soul had split in two and revealed the black seed, how he had chosen to manipulate the elements just like when he had murdered Trumbar. But he pretended to know nothing.
“Do you remember? Anything?”
“Nothing at all, my masters,” he lied.
“Only one person seems to remember, though I’m sure the clues he gave us will show that magic had something to do with it.”
“What’s that?” Argbralius asked, repressing a smile. Perhaps his master thought he had manipulated some power or other, and that was exactly what he wanted.
Damasio and Orolio met one another’s gaze, filled with terror. “The assailants were turned to dust.”
“What?”
“Just as you heard, Argbralius. The strange thing is that the witness states that they simply evaporated. What do you think, yourself?” Damasio asked.
Argbralius was suspicious. Something in his masters’ tone of voice implied a veiled accusation and a trap to draw information out of him. His superiors had found out something, but they still did not know everything. Did they want to make him responsible? A scapegoat?
“Argbralius,” Orolio said, after glancing at Damasio and both of them nodding. “Your fellow students don’t feel comfortable with you. Once again, something strange is happening, and you’re involved. First, the fight with Délegas, and now the assault and its mysterious conclusion. They say they don’t exactly know what happened, but we can tell they’re not comfortable. As if they feared you. They fear you. Very much so, actually.”
“Who?” Argbralius replied in a masterful voice.
“We’re not going to tell you their names,” Damasio put in. “Whatever the case, you’re one of the best students we’ve ever had, and so as not to waste your brilliant progress to date, we’ve decided to accelerate your studies before you end up expelled.”
“Expelled?”
Damasio and Orolio exchanged looks and confirmed it. “The Perfect Pontiff is not happy about what’s happened,” Damasio went on. “So much violence in the Décamon is something new for us. That’s why our leader believes that the best thing to do is to break up your group.”
“Because of me,” the boy murmured, his gaze on the floor.
“The fact is that you’re outstanding both in good and evil, my dear boy. We suggested something he couldn’t refuse: to accelerate your studies. You won’t have a graduation ceremony. You’ll leave here straight for your post as sacristan.”
“Get your things ready and say goodbye to your friends,” Orolio suggested. “You might see them again someday, but it won’t be soon. Remember: don’t fail us. Damasio is risking a lot for your sake.”
***
Back in his room, a pair of strong arms stopped Argbralius. “Follow me; we have to talk.”
It was Délegas, who—strangely enough—seemed friendly. He led Argbralius along a secret path hidden behind a screen of bushes. At the end was a tunnel and a small cave lit by candles.
There were a sword and several books. Fungi and other plants had grown across walls, floors, and ceiling. The smell of damp was penetrating.
“Relax, man. I didn’t bring you here to murder you. I want us to talk. Welcome to my hideout,” Délegas said with a smile. “I usually come here to get away from all my obligations. It’s the only place in this hell whe
re I can feel at ease.”
“Why do you go through with the training if the last thing you want is to be a sacristan?” Argbralius was studying the place carefully. He sat down in front of the other boy, still alert in case he had to defend himself. And yet his greatest rival seemed completely relaxed and harmless.
“It’s a long story. I guess everybody has realized my total lack of interest in all this. I’m here thanks to a favor. My father’s a member of the Council of Kings.”
Délegas opened a bottle of religious wine and drank. “My dad wants one of his seven sons to devote himself to religion. He’s a first-class murderer; I can’t pretend otherwise. Quite honestly, I loathe him, but I understand him. For the family to go on progressing, we have to have a finger in every pie.”
With a gesture, Argbralius asked him to pass the bottle of wine and took a long draught. “Tell your dad you don’t want to be a sacristan. You’ve got other options. You come from a wealthy family. I’ve got nothing, nobody. You can’t complain.”
“You don’t understand, Arg. Opposing my father would mean becoming his enemy,” Délegas said, passing a finger across his neck. There was a deep silence between them. “You’re a first-class liar, Arg. You told Orolio and Damasio you didn’t have anything to do with what happened at the Regolen Gardens.”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about, Délegas.” Argbralius turned pale. He looked up at the ceiling, searching for excuses.
“Don’t be a coward. I won’t say anything to anybody, man. But I know what I saw, and I know you were conscious. I’m sure you remember everything, isn’t that right? You got rid of those wretches with a touch of gusto. I saw your smile. You’re a bloody phenomenon! I’m fascinated! Someday I’ll learn to do things like that. I wish I could be a Brutal Fark-Amon. That would be incredible. I could set loose the bloody rage inside me and kill, kill my enemies, and slash their guts. It’s a bloody disgrace that my father wants me locked up in here, but that’s how things are. Sometimes I think of escaping. I can’t stand it here. I want to be a soldier.” Délegas took another sip of wine and drew a puff from the ceramic pipe he had just lit.
Argbralius did not know whether to play for time or make a quick getaway. What was clear was that Délegas knew the truth and that it would be ridiculous to deny it.
“Please don’t tell anybody. My—”
“Yes, yes. Your bloody religious future, whatever. I don’t give a damn, Arg. I know you’ll be a great sacristan, and I’m sure you could use whatever it is you’ve got inside you to do good. I know you’ll be someone important, we all know that. But I had to tell you about this, because… um…”
Argbralius was beginning to get nervous, unable to guess what his fellow student was going to say. “What I want—hell—is to thank you. To thank you for saving my life with the deserters. Kurlos would’ve died too if it hadn’t been for you.”
Argbralius nodded. He did not know what to say.
“I heard you won’t be with us from tomorrow on. It’ll be strange not to have you in class. You’re our idol,” he added with a smile.
There was no need for more words. “I’ll miss you all too, Délegas.”
The light dimmed; the candles were beginning to gutter. “We’d better go back, Délegas. Are you coming?”
“Don’t worry about me, Arg. I’m staying here. It’s where I sleep and where I feel at peace. I just wanted to say goodbye to you, my friend, and to tell you that I know the truth about what happened there at the Regolen Gardens. You’re a bloody phenomenon. Great!”
“Stop saying those things. I’m not a phenomenon; I’m a fucking miracle!” Argbralius said, spreading his arms wide and smiling broadly.
They both burst out laughing, affected by the pipeweed and the wine. Soon the time had come to say goodbye forever.
Chapter XXV – Reminiscence
The world was cruelly empty. Death had made it her own without limits, and there was nobody left. The ground was a gray soil, arid and sterile. In the sky, a gray blanket of dust and misery floated like a shroud. All around was nothing but desolation. Not too far away, Alac glimpsed the precipice that split the planet in two from end to end. He and Teitú kept a silence of mourning.
Teitú, what could have happened here? How did this come about?
Something supernatural must have caused it, replied Teitú, who was shining a pale sky blue. It must have been thousands of years ago because there’s no sign of life.
Do you think it was during the Times of Chaos?
It’s hard to be precise, but there’s likely a connection, Alac. What’s terrible is that these two halves are separating and will go on doing so until they’re lost in the infinite.
Let’s go. This world is about to collapse. I can already feel the vibrations, Alac warned.
In a mountain of stone, a crack opened along with an eddy of energy. They had to leave. When this world exploded, the portal, too, would disappear. The demigod set off toward it, overwhelmed by all that evil is capable of.
***
He appeared back in Kanumorsus, in the Interim dimension—the dimension of the green light. Teitú was still shining with that washed out blue, the color of sadness.
Teitú, do you think the inhabitants of that world suffered?
They’re sure to have. That world was still screaming, Alac. It distilled sorrow like a mother for a son who has died. That world was brutally destroyed, and you could see those two halves coming apart like a corpse slowly rotting away.
And what would happen if we transported ourselves to a world that has already reached the final stage in that process of decomposition?
I don’t know, Alac. It’s hard for me to imagine, but I believe the portal would cease to exist.
And what would happen if—if they destroyed the Meridian? A shiver ran down his back as he imagined his family, his home, suffering that same fate. Legionaer, he concluded. He’s the author of all this misery.
No, Alac. Legionaer seeks his revenge and to regain what he believes is his. In other words, the lands of Mandrake. I doubt whether he would want to destroy what he yearns for so much. Whoever destroyed a world in that way also has the ability to use the portals.
Really?
I can’t be sure, but I feel Legionaer is no more than a pawn.
A pawn? Then there’s a superior being, stronger and more powerful, who is pulling the strings. Is that it?
Silence. There was no point going on making guesses about facts he could barely manage to understand. He had to go on traveling, solving the mystery of his existence and, in that way, get his body back and stop being a ghost. He set off toward the next portal and dove into its vortex.
***
Teitú appeared behind him. This world was red and hot, with hundreds of volcanoes everywhere, all belching dense black clouds and lava. The sky, too, was red, or so it seemed to be. A harsh wind stirred the smoke and the sparks of fire so that they danced as in a duel to the death.
Alac spread his wings and leaped up, ascending with great speed. From above, he could make out a deep blue, stormy sea. Further away was a huge volcano in the process of eruption.
We’re witnessing the birth of a new world. Alac was awed. He stayed up there, admiring the beauty of wild nature that was beginning to burst forth. How could anyone destroy something like this?
***
Back to the Meridian. In the caverns called Kanumorsus, and, to be exact, the dimension called the Interim, Alac felt curious about the portal next to the one he had just come out of. It was the last of three in a row, perhaps so that the traveler would follow a specific sequence.
Stop, Alac. Are you sure you want to go into that portal?
No, but it’s what I must do. I need to find myself, and that involves overcoming my reservations.
Alac took a step forward and dove into the last portal with Teitú behind him.
It was dark. The pressure, the temperature, and the atmosphere reminded him a lot of the Mer
idian. Had he gone astray in crossing the portal? He looked up. There were two moons and two suns; two kinds of light caressed the surface of this planet.
It’s a planet very far from the Meridian. It’s a world that hasn’t yet been touched by evil, but it seems to have its own problems.
It’s intriguing, Alac replied.
How lovely to arrive on a planet that hasn’t been destroyed or even touched by evil. What a pleasure to visit another planet. Another planet! We’re traveling through space in thousandths of a moment! Can you believe it?
The boy who still lived within the God of Light was awed, wondering at his surroundings.
He started walking aimlessly with no other purpose than to get to know the world he found himself in. He soared with a leap and dove into the current of the cold winds. The wind turned out to be good training. He noticed that he was beginning to relax, watching everything that happened around him, and that he was not concentrating so hard on keeping his balance, his posture, or keeping his wings properly spread.
Then he heard something, as did Teitú. It was a delightful sound that was growing in intensity, the whisper of some mysterious quality of sound that carried loves and passions with it.
What beauty, I’ve never heard anything like it. It reminds me of the taste of the caramel I used to eat at Luchy’s. What a melody, by all the Gods! Divine! By the Gods? I’ve mentioned myself! The boy smiled at himself.
It’s the voice of an angel. Its tone is unequaled. It sings and sings with such passion. It’s like listening to the running of water accompanied by the breeze among the branches of a tree. It’s truly relaxing.
Alac and Teitú went on flying, carried away by the music without realizing that they were heading toward its source like a moth toward a lamp. In the distance, they saw a sinuous river with rocks like elephants, on whose surface the sparkle of the two moons was reflected. Someone was sitting there, a white dot on the gray rock. It was the singer.
Alac began his descent, mastering the skill of braking in mid-air. It was a woman dressed in immaculate white, brilliant as marble, and ethereal as seafoam.
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