Archangel’s Ascension

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  “The second planet, my lord, seems to hold the life you yearn for. Here abides the god Thérometh, governor of dragons and other branches which descend from them. Here grow my siblings and others of their kind. It is a planet plagued with intense battles.”

  Mórgomiel was delighted to see this life created by the new gods of darkness. His brothers had the capacity which he did not, and this stirred his jealousy.

  Górgometh landed on the hot, red earth. Iridescent magma ran through the veins, cracks, and precipices of the planet in the process of creation. From the air, there landed a beautiful gray dragon that was the same size as Górgometh. When they saw each other, the beasts hissed like snakes. They took up a defensive position with their claws and teeth at the ready. The gray dragon was also carrying a rider.

  “I see you have conquered one of mine,” said Thérometh, the god of the hissing and powerful creatures: dragons, wyverns, snakes, and other reptiles.

  But Thérometh did not know that Górgometh, the dragon of dark matter, had been created by Mórgomiel. Górgometh replied with a threatening hiss; he would gut him with relish that very moment. How dare he be so insolent? Until that moment, a new god had not even thought of the possibility of defeating another.

  “I am Mórgomiel, God of Chaos, entropy, dark matter, and dark energy. Do you dare to defy me?”

  “I know who you are, Mórgomiel. I know we are brothers. I am not defying you, simply defending what is mine.”

  Mórgomiel felt like squashing this being who was presenting himself as his brother. He wished to strip from him what he had, but how? Could he extract his creative essence?

  “Could it be that you are inviting me to a duel? That look… Do not be naïve, Mórgomiel. Together we maintain balance, nothing else.”

  Thérometh’s pacifying speech did not match the attitude of the gray dragon he was riding, which left Mórgomiel uneasy. The beasts were looking eager to fight with their open mouths and their claws clutching the earth. Górgometh did not wait for his master to give the order. With a start, he leaped at his opponent and buried his claws in its flesh. The gray dragon let out a croak that reverberated for long seconds so that the earth shook, and then he tore the shadow skin off the black dragon.

  The riders took each other’s measure with a glance. Thérometh could not hide his concern. Mórgomiel produced a black sword of some dull metal.

  The dragons danced in a ritual duel to the death, spitting fire and shadows. Smoke billowed from the wounds of the black dragon; red blood spurted from the wounds of the gray.

  They attacked at the same time. The dragons swirled in an interweaving of claws and muscles, while the gods leaped from their saddles to fight.

  “Stop, Mórgomiel! You’re making a terrible mistake!”

  Thérometh sounded downcast; the strength deployed by Mórgomiel was consuming him. He was the God of Chaos and was taking his life with each stroke of that black sword which absorbed all light. The God of Dragons attacked with a morning star, dodging the lethal strokes with a gray shield. But Mórgomiel continued his attack, accumulating the surrounding energy and converting it into black matter.

  The fight seemed to be coming to an end when Mórgomiel trapped Thérometh with his left hand and aimed his sword at him.

  “The universe has changed course. I shall absorb your powers to create life at my will. The old gods were unfair and deprived me of the capacity I shall now rob you of.”

  “You do not know what you are doing, Mórgomiel! You are unleashing chaos, destroying the necessary balance!”

  “That is exactly what I am: the creator of darkness, chaos, disaster. Embrace your destiny, brother, for you shall be a part of everything and nothing once I have turned you to dust.”

  And he buried his black sword in Thérometh’s heart, piercing it through. From the wound, there arose a spiral of black energy. The God of Chaos felt the soul of the God of Dragons unite itself with his own. When the process of transfer was completed, Mórgomiel felt revitalized. From his hands flowed a spring of dark energy. Like a child with paper and watercolors, he began to create life then and there. His creatures emerged, filled to the brim with evil, and eager to cause destruction and disaster.

  Thus the Evil One was born. He was not the product of fate or destiny, but a conscious decision to possess and destroy.

  Mórgomiel felt such pleasure imagining his plans that he swore to conquer all the gods of darkness, those descended from Ashamsham’Krönus. He raised his sword of black metal, long and elegant, slim but deadly, with its infallible blade, and said, “I shall name you Wrath the Godslayer.”

  He turned and went to help Górgometh, who was still fighting against the gray dragon. He closed in on the enemy’s neck and with a clean stroke slashed its head from its body. Górgometh celebrated the victory of darkness with a powerful croak that made the foundations of the universe shake.

  For the first time, the cosmos knew an instance of hate and experienced the battle of good and evil which from now on would ensue for all eternity. Mórgomiel had distorted the balance towards darkness, sending an expansive wave of terror destined to grow in size.

  “Let us go, Górgometh. We shall hunt the other gods who sprung from the darkness. We shall conquer their souls and then murder the gods of light. The universe will rest in our hands.”

  Unknowingly Mórgomiel, the God of Chaos, began what would later be known as the Times of Chaos: the sacred battle between the Gods.

  Argbralius was awakened by Lomans shaking him urgently.

  “Wake up, man! We have to flee before the Vásufeld patrols catch us. They don’t stop for anything or anybody. Let’s go!”

  Argbralius got up. The sun was high, although a thick cloud issuing from the Marsemayo Volcano covered much of the sky. Once again, he was dressed in his tunic just like the others. Now, they were all armed to the teeth. The sacristan recognized the weapons to be those of the bandits.

  When he looked closer he noticed more changes. Gramal had lost all his hair and looked very strange. Four soldiers were left, one of them with terrible blisters on his back. He heard them talking about the fire with uncontrolled flames they could still not explain. Argbralius only wanted to go back to his dreams, the ones in which he saw Mórgomiel.

  “Now that we have horses, the Irontangle Mountains aren’t more than a two days’ march away,” the captain said as he finished adjusting his belt. “Let’s be off!”

  The wound in his arm was healing, although slowly. He had applied ointments using a mixture of plants that he had learned to make during his military service. It hurt, but he would never complain. He mounted his horse.

  “What’s happened here?” the sacristan asked.

  The whole field was burnt, covered with charred corpses. Then he remembered. He smiled to himself and joined the group.

  So it was happening. His deepest desire, that of becoming a hero, was being fulfilled. Maybe those dreams about the God of Chaos were inspiring him. He could already see the statue they would erect with his image so that the entire Empire could adore him.

  “Never you mind! Let’s go!” Lomans shouted. All he was worried about was that another group of unfortunates might hunt them down if they did not leave at once.

  ***

  Leandro woke up in the middle of the night. It was because of a nightmare in which a dead man had attacked his family and was biting his beloved wife’s legs. He grasped the sword hard; ever since the battle in the village, he had been sleeping without letting go of his weapons.

  A cold sweat bathed his skin. He sat up in the bed, trying to calm himself, when he heard footsteps, heavy and clumsy, coming up the stairs and nearing his bedroom where the mage slept too. The general guessed it must be either Rena or Tomasa, judging by the heaviness of those footsteps, but there was something amiss: He could feel it. All the hair on his body was standing on end like soldiers ready for war.

  The blows began. Whoever was outside was not making a quiet entrance.
Leandro jumped to his feet and fearlessly opened the door. He froze at the sight of Savarb’s face: dead, possessed, with red eyes oozing malice and seeking violence. His mouth was bloodied with pieces of skin. He was moving his jaw furiously, eager to bite fresh flesh. He lunged at Leandro’s jugular.

  “Argh!” Leandro screamed, overcome by panic.

  The general’s reflexes were sharp enough to allow him to leap back and grab the dead man by the neck. He dropped the sword in the frenzy. Savarb was narrowing the gap between his mouth and Deathslayer’s throat. Who was manipulating this puppet? How did their enemies know that the general was spending the night there?

  On the floor downstairs, a light went on. He heard Tino.

  Lulita came out of her room, ax in hand, and ran to the source of the shouting. She was joined by Tomasa.

  Meanwhile, Savarb’s eyes were losing their reddish gleam. His body went limp and he collapsed on top of Leandro, who was at the point of fainting.

  Lulita and Tomasa, who were already beside him and ready to decapitate the dead man, stopped when they saw Strangelus with his staff in hand, murmuring incomprehensible words. When he had finished, he addressed them all and sipped a potion that he quickly hid.

  “Our pursuers want to finish off the general, and they’ve sent one of our people to do the job. Curse them.”

  “He ate the girls! That possessed man ate the girls!” Rena was yelling. Now the general understood why Savarb was covered in fresh blood. He had feasted on the dying girls.

  “How far away can necromancers act to control a dead person?” Lulita asked.

  The mage took a moment before answering. “Up to a league, if it’s an experienced necromancer. Besides, he needs to know whether the person he’s going to manipulate is on the point of death.”

  Lulita took a deep breath. “My question is: Do we have to get the hell out of here?”

  Luchy arrived at that moment and was shocked to see Savarb’s dead body.

  “The bastards!” Strangelus exploded. “They’re going to push us to the limits of our strength.”

  The sound of the mage swearing took them all by surprise. He put on his blue hat and picked up his staff.

  “We’re leaving now,” Leandro said.

  Lulita and Luchy exchanged worried glances. At least they had slept for a couple of hours in a comfortable bed, but the reality was that if they did not make their move now, the enemy would catch up with them, and there was no telling what the consequences would be.

  ***

  Before they left, they set fire to Savarb’s body to eliminate all possibility of his waking up, under the control of the necromancer who was at their heels. The remains of the girls were also buried.

  Leandro was honest with the bartender. “Tino, a war is about to be unleashed, and it’s going to reach even the remote corner of the Empire. I know you feel safe off the map here, but I want you to know that if you need it, you’ll find shelter in Kathanas. That’s where we’re going ourselves.”

  “You were never simple travelers, eh?”

  “No. I’m General Leandro Deathslayer,” he admitted with a smile.

  The bartender nodded, admiring his armor with the badge of the Imperial Army. Rena was as amazed as her husband.

  “Thank you, it’s an honor,” Tino managed to say. “It’s been a pleasure having you among us, General. I appreciate the offer, but for now, we’ll stay here. I’m sorry we’ve met under these circumstances. If I’d known who you were, I’d have offered you—”

  Leandro interrupted him with an airy gesture. “I’m happy that without knowing I was employed by the government, you treated me with due courtesy. I’m also sorry to have to say goodbye so hurriedly and with the threat at our heels. It won’t be long before the Némaldon army pass by here; I only hope they don’t pay attention to this little village. Good luck, Tino. See you again.”

  “Where’s the babe?” said Lulita.

  The large woman came out with Saluem latched on to her breasts. “Ma’am, my name is Lessa. This boy, he’s too weak to travel. He’s fed on my teat this whole time. I fear if you take him, he’ll die. I’m offering to keep him with us. He’ll be safe. I promise you I’ll nurture him like a real mother.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Lessa!” yelled Tino. “You already have four children!”

  Four children! thought Luchy. The girl looked no older than seventeen. This made Luchy think about her age and fertility status. She had no children of her own, nor was she even thinking about it. She had always wondered how women so young had so many children. She thought about Manchego, his wings, and his demigod status. Did this mean she could bear his children? Or did it mean they were incompatible? She thought about him naked with his gallant wings spread wide like the masts of valiant ships and blushed.

  Rena whispered in Tino’s ear. The bartender’s face softened.

  “It’s up to the child’s grandmother,” he said. “I agree the child would die with you lot. There’s none of you could feed him properly.”

  Lulita’s eyes were full of tears. She was torn between the options given to her. She knew the babe would die with her. The girls were dead, Savarb was gone. They were now five riders with five horses. If she took the babe, it would slow her down, and she would see him die. For sure.

  “You may keep Saluem. He is a survivor of our massacred village. San San-Tera was our village’s name.”

  “Oh, the great farmers of yonder,” said Tino with admiration.

  “You may keep Saluem. Please show him happiness! Show him love!”

  “Oh, ma’am, I’m devoted to children. With these big breasts, I was made to be a mother.”

  “The God of Light bless you, now and forever,” said Lulita with a smile, as she knew her grandson was actually the God of Light.

  “Tino, if you ever decide to migrate north, ask for me by name. You’ve been attentive and kind without knowing my true position. I’m the general of the Imperial Army, and I’ll repay this debt to you. If you reach Háztatlon, say you’re Tino and I’ll make sure you are taken care of. You and your family.”

  Rena smiled. Tino replied, “I’m honored, General. I’m sorry to say we won’t be going anywhere. This is our home.”

  “You may change your mind. Darkness is spreading. Remember the promise.”

  Lulita dismounted from Sureña and ran to Saluem. She kissed him on the forehead and said, “You’ll be loved, young one. You’ll be loved.”

  The child cried when he was separated from the teat. As soon as Lulita left, Lessa latched the child back to her gigantic breast.

  “Mowriz, you can ride with me,” said Lulita.

  “Sun, little sun,” said the strange boy. He did not move, which Lulita took for a no. Oh well, he prefers to run. Whatever spell has him in its power, he’s changed for good. Hope he can keep up.

  The riders took up their journey to the North once again, feeling the pressure on them increasing every day. Leandro also had to deal with this extra emotion, somewhere between restlessness and hope. Would he finally manage to rejoin his wife and children?

  They spent three days at a brisk gallop, pausing every two or three hours to let the horses rest and graze. They slept as best they could. Lulita and Luchy hunted, Tomasa cooked. Luchy, in particular, made great efforts to learn from her grandmother in case she had the misfortune to become separated from the group.

  On the evening of the fourth day—after eight days of traveling—a new landscape revealed itself to them. Massive, unwelcoming boulders, some of them jagged, crossed the land. The scarce vegetation indicated the inhospitable nature of the place. They soon encountered their first irontangle, with knotted roots that wove in and out of the ground. The branches, bare but strong as steel, twisted proudly in the desolate, barren atmosphere of the cold mountains.

  The hooves of the horses echoed against the rock. The land began to steepen. It was turning slippery.

  “Welcome to the Irontangle Mountains,” Leandro said as he d
ismounted from Marlo. The horse seemed relieved to be rid of the weight.

  The others dismounted too and stretched their legs. There was less than half the journey left to Kathanas. The good mood of the last few hours froze with the cold of those heights. Icy air rolled around them insinuatingly. Luchy shivered in her thin clothes.

  Lulita motioned them to silence. She took her bow out, nocked an arrow, and tensed the string. The general unsheathed his sword. The mage prepared his staff.

  Luckily, the fog had not come down, not yet. But as the evening wore on, the clouds would condense and settle on the mountains, hindering their progress. They would not have any shelter in those mountains if they were attacked. On one side, Lulita found the remains of a camp. The embers of a fire were still warm, a pot laying on its side. The liquid in it had stained the rocks and was still steaming.

  Deserters, was her first thought. There was no other possibility. She noticed that a pair of eyes were watching her from behind a tree. Then another pair. They were two little boys, covered in mud.

  When she was about to approach them, she realized what had happened. “Lower your weapons!”

  A fat man got up from the ground, limping and his flesh shaking with every step. His face was filthy and aggressive, his beard thick with dirt and dust. He was carrying a sharp spear.

  From either side, more people appeared. A young woman with a sword was keeping them under control. Her eyes were wide open, and she was panting. Her fear was palpable, together with her determination; if she was going to die, she would kill in the process. There was also a hooded man with a heavy ax, square-jawed, and his eyes deep blue.

  “Balthazar?” the grandmother asked incredulously.

  “Father?” the children cried.

  They were Leandro’s twins. They ran to him, armed with little daggers that nevertheless seemed sharp enough. A dog was with them. It was limping. The woman dropped the sword and ran to the general too. The family met again in a powerful embrace to the stupefaction of everybody else.