“I apologize for my appearance. Can I help you with anything?”
“Sir,” Nana Bromelia began. “This young lady wants to speak to you and your experts about—”
“How d’you do. My name is Leandro, General of the Imperial Army of King Aheron III. What’s your name?”
For the first time that day, Luchy felt comfortable in the presence of a man. The general had not referred to her beauty at all. But it was the general in person, and that impressed her. The leader noticed this.
“I like the life of a rancher. I’ve always been curious to know what it would feel like to work the land with my own hands. Ever since I was a little boy, I’ve been educated in matters of war and military life. Now that I’m a father and the king has destined me to this place, I can allow myself to do something different. There’s not much else to do here.”
Luchy relaxed, and Leandro smiled.
“What’s your name? I’d shake your hand, but I fear I’d get you muddy.”
Luchy, suddenly nervous, took a few hesitant steps. “Forgive this intrusion. My name’s Luchy. I’ve come from the QuepeK’Baj or what’s left of it.”
She had recovered her composure by now. She had not come to socialize, and it bothered her to see the general so relaxed, so easy in the face of the people’s despair as if the problem were no concern of his. He might have been on vacation.
“I need to speak to you urgently.”
The general came out of the garden and went toward his house. “Do come inside, Luchy. Nana, make this young lady comfortable and tell Karolina we have a visitor. I’m going to go get cleaned up.”
***
The general’s house had the well-tended look of a palace with several servants. There were two floors. Presumably, the family’s bedrooms were on the second floor. The first floor contained a sumptuous dining room with a long table for at least ten people. There was also a living room with several wooden chairs and a central table for purely decorative purposes. An exquisite aroma drifted into the room, and Luchy understood why most of the village hated Leandro and did not want to come near him. The general lived in another world, ignoring the misfortune which surrounded him.
How could anyone ignore sorrow like that? the girl wondered. How could the king have sent the general of the Imperial Army to do nothing? To live like a rancher? Sounds stupid, thought Luchy. Who’d ever think about living like a rancher when disaster’s swallowed up my village completely? The question left the young woman feeling uncomfortable.
From the floor above, she could hear the voices of Nana Bromelia and the children who were fighting over something. Their screams and complaints mingled with the scraping of metal and the sound of the fire in the kitchen. Luchy noticed that at every door of the house were two soldiers in armor bearing shields and swords. They looked like statues with those stony, impenetrable faces which would only react in the face of danger. The young woman told herself that not even tickling them with a feather would make them flinch.
Light footsteps drew her attention to the stairs. It was a woman, slim and tall. Luchy’s eyes widened in admiration. Before her was a beauty with light golden skin and chestnut hair and eyes. Her features were fine and well-defined, with thin lips and a small delicate nose. She was dressed informally.
“So pleased to meet you. I’m Karolina, Leandro’s wife, and the mother of Gabriel and Nikos. His full name is Nickolathius, but of course, we shorten it so it doesn’t sound so overwhelming.”
Luchy advanced toward her. “My name is Luciella Buvarzo-Portacasa,” she said, holding out her hand. She felt strange saying her full name; it had been a long time since she had. “But everybody calls me Luchy.”
The women greeted each other affably, and Karolina invited her to sit down. Two servants arrived with silver trays laden with water and snacks.
“Leandro and Nana say you’ve come for an audience, is that right?” The lady’s tone of voice reminded Luchy of transactions in the market in better times. She was left with no doubt that Karolina preferred to get down to business, although she did not lessen the sweetness of her gaze.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Karolina will be enough.”
Luchy gave a nervous smile. “All right. Thank you.”
With a gesture, Karolina invited her to explain.
“I need to know what your husband and his team have found out. We’ve gone through hell here, and we have a right to know. I want to—to do something for my people, you know?”
Something changed in Karolina. It was almost imperceptible, but the woman had just found out something different in this girl whom she had taken to be just another pretty young woman with no particular aspirations.
“That sounds wonderful, Luchy. So far, people have only come asking for food or medicines. We try to help, but we’re not here out of charity. We’ve come on a mission from the king. It’s been three years now that we have shared this land with you, but nobody’s ever asked us about our duties. Quite the opposite. On many occasions, we’ve tried to communicate with you all, but it seems impossible. Are you the leader of some group?”
“I’m not the leader of anything, Karolina. I’m just a woman searching for answers and who wants to add her grain of sand to the pile.”
“Why has it taken you so long to come?”
Luchy shrugged. “I’ve lost everything, Karolina. And I’m not the only one. Here, we’ve all been brutally separated from our loved ones, our memories, and the land. You don’t know what it means to lose everything.”
Karolina was looking at the girl with definite interest. “I’m glad you’ve come to us.”
“There’s no one else I could go to.” There were Crisondo and Savarb too, or whatever other men of faith there might be. Luchy had not considered them, but now she began to think it might not be a bad idea to go and see Crisondo.
“I’ll be right back,” Karolina said, springing to her feet. She ran upstairs.
Luchy heard heavy steps coming down those same stairs. It was the general, though he was now groomed and dressed in the imperial military uniform: black breeches, patent-leather shoes, and a purple shirt with several layers. In the center was a badge that identified him as a general.
“Welcome,” Leandro said before he sat down. He offered his hand to Luchy, who shook it. At the same time, Karolina joined them. The girl realized that the couple was behaving as though they were studying her, as though asking themselves whether the time they were about to spend with her was worth their while.
After decades of war, the general had learned to trust his hunches, and he now felt that Luchy was honest and clear. What was more, he could see in her the strength that was necessary to motivate others. Maybe the girl might rescue the village from its apathy. After three years, he was certainly not their leader himself.
“We thought you’d come for money or food.”
“No. I’m looking for information.”
“To be honest, I must admit that we haven’t made much progress in our investigations. We’ve come up with several theories, but your fellow countrymen refuse to answer our questions. They all keep away from us and avoid the subject. Would you help us by telling us what happened? What did you see? What it was like?”
The general leaned toward her, as did Karolina. The soldier noticed the girl’s pain.
“We need the testimony of a witness; we have none. You’re looking for the same answers as we are. You must try. Think about it.”
Three voices sounded from outside: a cavernous one which seemed to be holding forth, an older voice, and a younger one. The front door of the house opened with a crash. The guards did not attempt to hide their distaste. A large, fat man with a long white beard appeared, dressed in a gray cloak. In one hand, he carried a simple wooden stick and, in the other, a thick book. He looked about sixty winters, but his eyes shone with youthfulness and intelligence. After him came a gaunt gentleman with weathered skin, a white beard, and deep blue eyes, who was dressed in a
blue toga and a pointed hat. The third was a young man of about twenty or so with a shy smile and intelligent eyes; he was wearing a brown robe. From the smile on his face, the visit appeared to interest him.
The fat man in gray advanced toward the little group. “My dear general, to what do we owe this young lady’s visit?”
Luchy regarded the elders closely. They each had a powerful gaze like Lulita’s, that of a person who has lived a long life and has earned the token of wisdom.
“Ah, Gáramond, I believe we’ve come at the right moment,” said the old man in the blue toga. He turned to the younger man. “Elgahar, go and prepare today’s lesson in the Conjuring Arts. There’s still a lot to do, and we haven’t much time.”
“Right away, Master Strangelus.”
Gáramond waited until the young man had left, then whispered to Strangelus, “The pupil shows promise. He’s skillful and quick-thinking. You have a gift for choosing your pupils; mine always fail me.” He tut-tutted. “I guess philosophy isn’t for everybody.” He laughed without emotion.
“It’s true, Elgahar’s a prodigy at the Conjuring Arts,” Strangelus said, smoothing his bushy beard parsimoniously. “Let’s hope he doesn’t go astray.”
A beard as long as that left Luchy feeling disgusted. She imagined it must get soiled easily, particularly when eating. How long must he spend on keeping it so clean and white? The girl found it amusing to see these two eccentric old gentlemen. The funniest thing was the man in blue’s useless and ridiculous pointed hat. She had seen old men in strange clothes once or twice, but that had been many years ago in other and better times. The general stood up, and Luchy followed his example, unsure of how she ought to behave. She had never been trained in proper social etiquette.
Leandro introduced her. “This is Luchy. She’s come to the village to ask after our investigations.”
The fat man looked at her with considerable curiosity. His smile was unusually wide and tender.
“Welcome, Luchy,” he said, coming forward with a gentle smile. “My name is Gáramond Sophis. I’m the general’s counselor and the philosopher who pesters him daily with questions. You’ll see that I’m also rather over-familiar. I apologize in advance if I give offense, but I assure you there’s no malice involved. It’s just the curiosity of an impolite old man. I speak my mind, which is one of the benefits of being old, you see. When you are young, you worry about this and that, what people will think of you, and if you’re being proper or not. Old age suits me very well, young lady. Old people can say whatever they want whenever they want. So let me start by saying this, I apologize now and forever in advance for my imprudence.”
“That’s not how it works,” intervened the skinny old man. He kept his beard neat. “You need to watch that tongue of yours lest it should be the whip that chastises you. You see, young girl, the tongue is indeed the best of all whips.”
Gáramond stroked his wiry white beard as he studied the girl. “So you have questions for us, eh?” He spoke in a cavernous voice that filled the hall. “That’s how the great thinker begins, with questions. Although the important thing isn’t asking a lot of questions but asking the right one. Do you have the right question, Luchy? Or are you one of those pretty girls who expect others to ask the right questions for them? You are beautiful, Luchy, which makes me wonder whether your looks used all of your brains. No one is fortunate enough to have been born with both brain and brawn. Look at me, ugly as a cow crossed with a donkey, but smart as none other.”
“You imprudent swine,” corrected Strangelus with a smirk.
The philosopher brought his face close to Luchy’s and the girl gave a start.
“Hm, I think so. I think there’s a good chance I may have found the first intelligent beauty!”
Karolina cleared her throat and said, “Gáramond, must I shut you up with a smart retort?”
“Oh, pardon me. You, too, are very smart, milady,” said Gáramond with a smirk.
Karolina exhaled impatiently but said no more.
The old man in the blue toga was growing impatient. It looked as though Gáramond was speaking out of place. “I am Strangelus Üdessa. I am the highest-ranking mage in Omen and a master of the Conjuring Arts. I protect the Empire from occult forces. I think we might be able to—”
Gáramond interrupted him. “There’s nothing thought is incapable of defeating. We don’t need bad-tempered mages.”
Strangelus was obviously irritated by this. “Don’t start again, Gáramond. I’m tired of your verbosity, and I’ve had three years of it. I don’t know whether I’ll be able to stand another one.”
“Stop it!” cried Leandro. There was immediate silence. Karolina shivered for a second. It almost seemed as though Leandro were far taller.
“My apologies, Luchy. Gáramond and Strangelus have a habit of getting into these absurd arguments. But they’re essential if we’re to be clear about the facts. Each of them has his own theory about what happened, but we can’t compare them without direct testimony—like yours, for instance. Come back tomorrow if you agree to help us. Your contribution will be very valuable, and remember, there’s no time to lose. Three years without answers is too long.”
Gáramond was about to speak, but Leandro cut him off with a gesture of irritation. Luchy felt warm hands on her shoulders. She turned. It was Karolina, comforting her with her sweet gaze.
“Come on, I’ll go with you to the door. Thank you for coming, Luchy, you’re a fine person.” Karolina had abandoned that cold, distant tone of voice and now spoke to her like a mother, a friend, a sister.
“Thank you for your time, Karolina. There’s someone I’d like to say hello to before I leave.”
Karolina did not understand.
“The dog—what do you call him?”
“Oh! I don’t know. Little doggy, sweetie… whatever. He never wanted to answer to any of the names we tried giving him. Why do you ask?” Karolina noticed that Luchy was deeply moved and that she immediately became sad.
“His name is Rufus,” she replied, her eyes bright and her voice on the point of breaking. “He was my best friend’s dog, but he—my friend—died. How did Rufus come to you?”
“It was Felix, the sheriff of this village, and the one who told us about the massacre. He brought the dog in his arms, and we adopted it.”
Luchy wiped away a stray tear. “Rufus is a wonderful dog. Before I came in, I noticed that he takes good care of your sons. I think they remind him of Manchego, my friend. He died in the Massacre of San San-Tera. Oh, Gods, how hard it is to talk about those days. The estate, the sunrises… Rufus was always by Manchego’s side.” Luchy shook her head to rid herself of the memories. “I’d like to be with him alone for a moment. May I?”
“If the dog is yours, take him with you.”
“No, no. If Rufus had wanted to go back to the ranch, he’d have done it already. I think he misses Manchego and that it’s painful for him to be there without him.”
Karolina followed the girl’s gaze as she watched the dog and the children playing outside with Nana keeping an eye on them.
“Rufus,” Luchy called as she came out of the general’s house. She crouched down and beckoned the animal to her. The faithful friend came, whining with enthusiasm and sadness. For a long time, they exchanged caresses and shows of affection.
“I miss him too, Rufus, you know? I’m so glad you’re alive. They’ve taken Manchego away, but that doesn’t mean you can’t come and see us every once in a while. Or would you like to come back with me?”
The dog moved away from Luchy, his head down and his tail motionless. He stopped in front of Leandro’s door, and there he lay down, his head between his front paws as if he were waiting—as if he were waiting for Manchego.
***
Before she left the village, Luchy went over to where the town hall had stood. In the old central park, there was only rubble, putrefied remains, and a cursed pit filled with thousands of skulls. Empty-eyed skulls, void of
memories, that waited in silence, like survivors, to say farewell.
A gust of wind brought Luchy out of her reverie. She separated the strands of chestnut-colored hair that blew like scarves in the air and arranged her hair, but the loathing she felt standing beside that pit was not as easy to remove as the hair she teased aside from her face. The time had come to take the reins. It was time to stand up once again.
Chapter II – The Cursed Pit
With her eyes on the pit of corpses, Luchy wondered how it could be possible for everybody in the village to have let so much time go by without doing anything. They were letting the days pass and allowing a sheen of normality to cover the horrible tragedy.
At her feet was that enormous hole that was filled with so much destruction that she could not see the bottom. She remembered the demon which had risen above the ground and the fight with Manchego; his wings, his golden armor. A trickle of fear ran up her spine and settled in her soul.
“Sun, little sun,” she heard behind her.
With a start, she turned, eyes staring wide. It was Mowriz standing too close. How long had he been beside her? His gaze was distant. He was sitting on a pile of rubble, as still as one of the broken pieces themselves. He looked like a puppet. Since the end of the massacre, the boy had been wandering around the pit, not making contact with anyone. He had lost his reason. Some said that a spear had hit him on the head and that this had disabled him; others said that he had been reduced to stupidity by a beating. Whatever the case, the boy was not in his right mind, and no concoction could bring him back to his senses. He had been wandering for three years, gazing at nothing and repeating the same words over and over: Sun, little sun. Sun, little sun? What did that mean?
More than that, his appearance was disturbing. His skin was the color of the dead, and his left arm was missing.
“Oh, Mowriz. May the Gods take pity on you. You’re paying for all the evil you did to Manchego. You tried to kill him; I’m not going to forget that. We pay for everything in this life. Everything.”
Archangel’s Ascension Page 2