Archangel’s Ascension

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  “Before I tell you anything more,” the Baron said, “I need to know whether you’re on our side. Whether you’ll be our main bulwark. Our Fist.”

  “You want to set me up in the next government. A totalitarian government that will ensure your way of life and your privileges. You hand me the power to have me in your pocket. I see now how you work.”

  “Stop insulting me!” The Baron’s cry was violent. Even the air seemed to freeze. Mérdmerén turned pale.

  “It’s not a question of substituting one corrupt government for another, Mérdmerén. It’s about putting the right person in place. At first, you’ll have to be the monarch, but then, step by step, we’ll form the government. It will be a government which will rule the country with logic, and where every individual will have a voice and a vote.”

  Mérdmerén burst out laughing. “There’s no such thing, Baron. People can barely think for themselves! You expect someone who can’t even be honest with himself, or herself, to choose a rightful leader? That’s ridiculous.”

  “Outside the Dungeon of Thieves, it is ridiculous,” the Baron said impatiently. “In the Dungeon, it’s a philosophy we’ve been developing for two centuries and which we want to implement in the Empire. It’s called the leadership of the philosopher-king. You’ll be that king, but not as it’s understood at present; you’ll be an upright king, one who teaches. I don’t expect the Empire in its current state to choose. I expect to implement the right reforms in education and politics that will eventually lead the average man to be the single most valuable coin in the Empire.”

  “That sounds great,” Mérdmerén said sadly, “but it won’t work. It assumes that all the individuals who are governed possess logic and will. That doesn’t exist in a country that’s been ruled by totalitarian governments for four centuries. A government that intervenes as much as ours cripples its people, and it makes dependents out of citizens. It’s a pathological relationship—the government wants its citizens weak so that it can rule, but it’ll remain weak because its citizens are idiots.”

  “Or rather, they’re not used to it. Every human being is endowed with the capacity for reason and acting freely; he only has to acknowledge these possibilities and fight for them. I’m not saying that this can be brought about from one day to the next. I’m saying you’ll be the first to try. But hey, it’s possible. And the greater the destruction of the Empire, the more so. It’s easier to rebuild from the rubble. Chaos is not evil. Chaos represents opportunity. From the ashes rise the taller plants. As we speak, Némaldon advances. In a few days, it will devastate Kathanas, and in a matter of weeks, it’ll reach Háztatlon. We have to act. There’s not much time left. That’s why I’m going to ask you again: Are you with us? Will you be our next ruler?”

  Mérdmerén swallowed hard. “What’s going to happen to my daughter?”

  “Ajedrea of the Recesses and Maria de Los Santos are in custody. They’re safe and in our Dungeon.”

  Mérdmerén gave a start. “What?” he howled. He felt his legs shaking like a famished dog in front of food.

  “We knew you’d ask about them. I’m telling you, they’re safe. You have to trust me. If we’re going to work together, trust is fundamental.”

  Mérdmerén relaxed. The news about his family had at least partly cleared away his tipsiness. He spent a moment meditating in silence. “I’ll play my role as Ehréledán. If everything goes as planned, I’ll be the next ruler.” He could not believe he had just uttered those words. His heart was galloping furiously in his chest, and all the hair on his body was prickling.

  The Baron sighed in relief. “Welcome to the plan of total reform. You stressed a very important point: Cantus and his minions have taken away the king’s capacity to decide. Aheron III can’t do anything about the threat which is on its way. Unless…”

  Mérdmerén tensed. “Unless something should change?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But how?” He could not see the leader of the thieves, but he sensed his smile.

  “Are you familiar with the concept of martial law?”

  Mérdmerén shook his head.

  “Martial law is imposed when there’s a vacancy of power, such as when the king is murdered.”

  “Murder the king!” Mérdmerén cried.

  “Let me finish before you go out of your mind. We’re not going to murder the king. At least, not literally. But we’ll make them believe the king’s been killed, then the government will react and martial law will be declared.”

  “And what would that involve?”

  “Omen, the military city of the Empire, would step in and take control of the government while the king’s successor takes the crown.”

  Mérdmerén saw it clearly. “And that government would summon the army.”

  “Exactly! Hakama, the duke of Omen and captain of the Brutal Fark-Amon, would take power provisionally, but there won’t be a successor, Mérdmerén. When Hakama takes over, he’ll bring the Imperial Army with him! There’ll be war and destruction. The news of the king’s murder will set other events in motion.” The Baron’s voice was grave. “Every one of the corrupt counselors must be eliminated. Loredo, Cantus, Slither, Promegaia… They have to be killed.”

  “Is that necessary?” Mérdmerén asked in horror.

  “It’s the best alibi. That way, the King’s murder will seem like a plan by his enemies. It’s widely known that a lot of counselors want the throne for themselves. The people will blame them for the conspiracy.”

  “It’s a fantastic plan,” Mérdmerén said, his gaze distant.

  The meat was cold by now. The hooded men picked up the dishes but left the bottle on the table.

  “The Empire has to be rid of the bastards who’ve dedicated themselves to corrupting the laws. By eliminating the counselors with martial law, without a king, the throne will be left vacant for you. But it won’t be that easy. To represent the Empire, you’ll have to prove your worth before everybody.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  “You’ll become a war hero, fighting against the invasion. You’ll be the Lion Fist.”

  “I could die in the attempt—”

  “And so could all of us, Mérdmerén. Nothing’s going to be easy from now on. Tomorrow we’ll murder the king and ten of the counselors. Omen will react immediately. The Imperial Escort will put the palace under lock and key, hide the queen and princess in a safe place, and the Imperial Army will surround the city. And so we’ll be prepared for battle. We’ll need to keep an eye on the possible claimants to the crown. Aheron has no male children, but there are cousins and uncles aplenty all over the Empire who won’t hesitate to claim their rights.”

  Mérdmerén sighed. All of a sudden he felt exhausted. “And how do you know Hakama won’t keep hold of the throne?”

  “That’s an excellent question, but it won’t happen. Hakama is deeply attached to Omen; he won’t sacrifice his position there. That is, if he doesn’t die in the war.”

  The guest sagged, feeling himself the prisoner of a destiny that might be the end of him.

  “I know it’s a lot of information, Mérdmerén, but we haven’t the time. Read this.”

  A guard handed him a note.

  “Leandro Deathslayer is in Kathanas,” the Baron went on. “He brings warning of the war, of the advance of the Némaldine army’s right arm. The left arm is on its way to Háztatlon. You see why we need to make haste?”

  Mérdmerén turned his gaze to the shadows, the source of the Baron’s voice. “I understand. What’ll become of the king?”

  “We’ve offered him political asylum, lands, and riches in exchange for the favor he’s going to grant us.”

  “Favor?”

  “The king is on our side. We’ll give him poison, a potion made with Brugmansia. Our healers will bring him back to life with an antidote. We already have a body we’re going to pass off as the king’s corpse.”

  “Whose?”

  “A child-rapist, Mérd
merén. We’ve taken his life with a double purpose: to clean up the streets of Háztatlon and to have a substitute for the king’s body when it’s due to be cremated. We’ll bring the king to the Dungeon; then, when Némaldon comes close, it’ll be your turn, Ehréledán. The enemy needs to see that you’re conducting part of the orchestra. It’ll fill them with terror.”

  “Just one more condition,” Mérdmerén pleaded.

  “Tell me.”

  “Let me be the one who murders Cantus de Aligar.”

  “Not possible. The next king shouldn’t have a past that’s soiled by revenge. Unless—unless it’s a matter of self-defense.”

  “All right. In that case, I’d like to face Cantus and defend myself.” Mérdmerén began to regret what he had asked for. He had spent a long time in the dungeons; his body was still badly injured. Would he be able to defeat a trained swordsman like Cantus?

  “Done.”

  “And in the meantime, what do I have to do?” Mérdmerén asked wearily.

  “Enjoy your daughter and the life your wife still has left to her.”

  Mérdmerén’s eyes opened wide. “Really? I can be with them?” A tear rolled down his cheek.

  “Your daughter and your wife are waiting for you in a safe, private room. Remember, you must remain in hiding. As long as you’re wearing that pendant, you’ll be invisible to the enemy’s sorcery.”

  Mérdmerén felt that something had changed in the atmosphere, the energy, and the presence. A hand touched his shoulder. It was one of the hooded guards.

  “The Baron has withdrawn. You must leave.”

  “I wasn’t able to say goodbye and thank you to the Faceless Baron.”

  “The Baron holds you in great respect and does not need your courtesies to know that you value him equally. Now let’s be on our way.”

  The guards took Mérdmerén back to the sewers, where darkness annihilated everything.

  Chapter XIX – Total Reform

  He was not prepared to give himself over completely to a plan which might cost him his life. He had gone from being a very lucky man to being a Deserter, from being a wrongdoer to believing in ideals he would never have dreamed of. And now, intending to save the Empire that had banished him, he was about to murder the man who had caused his ruin.

  Mérdmerén moved silently along the sewers’ dark, cramped corridors, behind his guide, in total abstraction. Seeing his daughter and wife after all this time would be the most strange and moving thing that had ever happened to him. More than fifteen harsh winters had gone by since the last time. Ajedrea had been newly-born. And his wife—their relationship had always been on the verge of breaking down. He had spent his time drinking and passing his time with other women, although it had been for money. He did not know whether his wife had been faithful, but he was sure she would hold a grudge against him. For that, he would have to apologize before she died.

  “It’s here, Ehréledán. It’s been an honor to show you to your rooms. Take the time to rest. Tomorrow will be a long day, I warn you. We’ll be leaving very early. Breakfast’ll be at the Market. Good night.”

  His guide left him, and Mérdmerén found himself alone, in front of the door to a room where his wife and daughter were waiting for him. He broke down. He felt like a coward. Part of him wanted to run away at once. The physical torture had hurt him, but still worse was the prospect of facing his family. At the same time, he thought that life was like that, that sometimes it uses suffering as a medium of exchange.

  Nothing comes free, he told himself, and so he convinced himself that he was ready for the misfortunes and blessings fate might have in store for him.

  He knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” came a youthful voice.

  He knew it was her, his daughter. He felt ashamed that she was going to meet her father dressed in rags. He shrugged; there was no better moment than this one. Someone coughed, and it was like a death rattle. He felt fear.

  He opened the door. The gentle light of candles welcomed him.

  “Father!” Ajedrea cried with a sudden rush of joy.

  Mérdmerén paled, his chest tightened, his legs buckled beneath him. But his daughter, beautiful as she was, embraced him just in time before he fell to the floor and smothered him with kisses. She had seen him in the dungeon! How had she recognized him? Had she known all along?

  Mérdmerén gave free rein to his emotions and gave way to the joy of being a father, something he had been unable to do for so many years. He broke down, and the welling tears drenched his face. He took her face in his hands, brought it close to his own, and with brimming eyes admired his beloved child’s features. Her hair was black as night, like his own, her face pale, her eyes deep. She was tall and slim. Surely men had already begun to notice her.

  “My precious little girl, my beauty of the universe, how I’ve missed you! You have no idea, you can’t begin to imagine. I love you, my precious daughter! How I’ve missed you! I’ve thought of you all the godforsaken days since I had to go away. I’m a terrible father, terrible… Oh, my darling daughter, forgive me, forgive me for being an absent father, my little girl!”

  “I’m here, Father. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Turi, Ságamas, and the Baron told me everything, although Mother always knew, Father. She always knew. And Loredo Melda was never a good father. But you—you're here! Father, my father, I love you so much!” Ajedrea cried, throwing herself on her father so that she could go on smothering him with kisses. They were both weeping and unable to hold back their tears.

  A hoarse cough brought them out of their reverie.

  “My love!” Mérdmerén cried.

  “My dear,” came a broken voice. “My dear Mérdmerén.” Maria de Los Santos smiled. She was reclining on a bed, tended by Wanda. The sick woman’s lips were as pale as marble, her eyes deeply sunken. The nurse kept on with her chores, which did not bother him; he was now reunited with his family, and that was good. He went over to his wife and kissed her on the lips. She gave a faint, feeble sigh. Mérdmerén took her hand. Her eyes were already dry from so much pain.

  “My love,” Mérdmerén repeated in his wife’s ear. “I missed you so much, so much, so much.”

  He hated himself for not having loved her devotedly when he had had the chance. He had sworn to the gods that he would love her forever, unconditionally, and so he had, but he was aware that he had not been faithful. He would have to pay the price for that.

  “They’ve told us it’s an incurable disease. Her lungs are as dry as a leaf in winter. Father… Mother’s going to die. You have to be strong.”

  Mérdmerén was surprised at hearing his daughter speak to him in that way. But she was no longer a baby but a full-grown woman, solid as a stone wall. He looked into those eyes that were the color of sweet spring hazelnuts, those eyes which revealed a strength of conviction that was unbreakable.

  The messenger stroked his wife’s hand and settled down to contemplate her, to drink up her image. Her blue eyes were as pale as her lips. Life was already leaving them.

  “I always loved you,” Mérdmerén said, his voice hoarse.

  “And I, you, my dear. I missed you. I never loved Loredo, never!” she said with her broken throat and began to cough like a street dog.

  The pain Mérdmerén felt was unbearable. After so long, after so many misfortunes, his wife was saying these words to him as though she knew exactly what he wished to hear. He realized where his daughter’s strength came from. He kissed his wife’s lips again, and she responded this time, despite her weakness and the cough.

  “Ajedrea,” Mérdmerén whispered gravely.

  “Yes, Father?”

  “Could you leave us a moment? Your mother and I have unfinished business,” he said. At the same time, he was putting a hand under the sheets, between Maria’s thighs.

  Ajedrea opened her eyes wide and left the room as fast as she could, not knowing whether to feel repulsion or joy. Wanda followed the young woman.r />
  “For all I owe you, my beloved, I give you my soul. I’m not the man I was. I died many times. The first one, when those bastards banished me, and I lost you and our beloved daughter. The other times I died as a Deserter. I’ll tell you how many times I suffered, the vagabond life I led, like a hungry dog with nowhere to go. But now, I’m here with you. I pour my soul unto you.”

  Maria de Los Santos smiled and said, “I’d like to hear it all. I want the truth. Give me the truth, and I’ll die in peace. I want to know who you were, and who you’ve become. Oh, my love. Our daughter has met a righteous man as a father! How lucky she is now! You were a scoundrel before. Go on, now. Tell me everything…”

  Mérdmerén told her everything.

  ***

  Greyson had climbed to the top of a boulder. Below were the thieves who had been chosen to carry out the total reform, many of them already infiltrated into the palace. Greyson was going to divide them into groups and give them instructions for the murder of the counselors. They would need support for the alarmed reaction that was certain to follow.

  Mérdmerén was devastated as if he had been drained of all his energy. His humiliating treatment in the dungeons had aged him, and he would never recover from it. Around him, the thieves were alive with the fullness of youth and good physical shape. He, on the other hand, was not even sure he could wield a sword, hold a shield, or ride a horse. His joints were stiffer than a rusty lock, and his muscles feebler than those of a corpse. And yet revenge burnt inside him or, as the Faceless Baron had suggested calling it, his act of “personal defense.” Seeing his wife’s weakness had awakened an intense hatred in him. He had imagined the horrible reality of Melda mistreating her, but he could not forget that all this misfortune had its origin in Cantus de Aligar’s plan, and he was going to kill the bastard. Somebody else would deal with Loredo; hopefully, Greyson or Cail. It had not taken him long to learn to trust them.

  “You all know the plan by now. The price will be high. Many of you will die. This mission is the most important one in recent years. History will speak of us when we’re no longer here. Our enemies have been working for a long time, but we’re going to stop them.”