Archangel’s Ascension

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  “I will. If you see Manchego, will you tell him what’s happened?”

  “Of course. I hope I see him soon. But it won’t be the same without you, Granny.”

  “I know, sweetheart, I know.”

  “Ma’am! Ah, my ma’am! We’ve never bin ’part an’ now—now… aah!”

  “I love you both very much, but you must leave right now. Everything’s ready.”

  “All right, Granny. I love you.”

  “And I love you, sweetheart.”

  ***

  “You’re crazy,” Karolina scolded him.

  “My love, I can’t see any other way,” Leandro said.

  “We parted once, and everything went wrong. Do you want to risk it all over again? Are you drunk or something? You’ll only get me out of here feet first. I’m staying with you, and that’s that.” She folded her arms. The candlelight cast sad shadows on her face.

  “Don’t be like that, my love,” said the general soothingly. “Our children will have a chance to live if we get them away from here. If not, they might end up in the jaws of evil. I’ve already told you what those demons do with their prisoners.”

  Karolina shivered with fear. “But if you die, what will I do?”

  “Well, you could marry again.”

  She hit him on the chest furiously. Then she put her hands to her mouth, unable to believe what she had just done. She hugged her husband. “Oh no. Oh no, I don’t want anybody else! I’d rather die alone than love someone else. I’m yours alone, now and forever.” She wiped the tears from her face. “All right then, we’ll leave, for our children’s sake, but promise me you’ll come back.”

  “You know what my creed is.”

  “Break it. Promise me, or I won’t go anywhere.”

  Leandro took a deep breath. “I promise, my love. I’ll come back.”

  “Mommy! Daddy!” the children cried. The gravity of the moment showed on their little faces. Rufus followed them, limping from the wound in his leg, which was healing little by little.

  “Come on then, say goodbye to your sons,” his wife said and broke into disconsolate tears.

  Leandro felt a knot in his throat, and he knew it would stay with him in the battle. He took his four-year-old twins, each in one arm. They were growing so fast, they were heavy now. Gabriel and Nickolathius were lively like their father, kind like their mother, and yet, at the same time, so different.

  “Gabriel, Nickolathius, be strong and defend your mama. She needs you. Be good pals, protect each other. You’re family, and that’s how it’ll be forever.”

  He kissed them both on their foreheads and hugged them tightly.

  “And you, Father?”

  “I’ll see you in the city of Háztatlon.”

  “But—”

  “Father has to stay here to keep you safe, you know? That’s what someone does when he loves someone else; he does everything he can to protect them. That’s what I want you to do with your mother and with each other. I don’t want to see you fighting.”

  Rufus barked, infected by all the sadness.

  “Are you going to take good care of them?”

  The dog whined.

  Leandro put the boys down; his arms were already aching. Karolina came to hug her husband, the boys in between them, crying too even though they did not fully understand what was going on.

  “Everything’s ready, my darling. You must leave as soon as you can. There’s no time to lose.”

  “All right.”

  The couple came together in a long kiss on the lips.

  ***

  From the top of the highest rock tower, Lulita and Leandro were sharing a moment alone and in silence. The wind rippled the flag of Kathanas with the emblem of the Roams; it was almost as though it wanted to tear it from the mast.

  They were watching the bumpy progress of a cart pulled by Sureña and Granola, escorted by a small group of soldiers.

  “The moment has come to face up to things, Leandro.”

  “I know.”

  The cart disappeared into the darkness of the sunset. Lulita and the general remained silent while night fell. A peace like this would not come again for months, or perhaps never.

  The wind grew stronger.

  Chapter XXII – Kathanas III

  The twittering of the birds could not be heard that early morning. Perhaps they, too, like the lions, bears, deer, wild boar, and all other wild animals, had fled to other lands free of invaders. The Némaldine army left nothing but destruction in its wake, lands laid to waste and consumed by their voracious revenge.

  Leandro Deathslayer kept watching the horizon. On his left, the massive soldier Lomans; on his right Gramal, the Brutal Fark-Amon, who had acquired another suit of armor that was very different from the one he was used to. The three were armed to the teeth, ready to enter the glorious fray.

  Lomans and Gramal provided brute force. The general, who was smaller physically, was reflecting on the plans, strategy, and information he would use in their favor against the enemy. He imagined that plain before him like a chessboard. Pawns and castles as war machines; bishops as beasts as big as elephants; the cavalry as the black wyverns flying in formation; and behind them, the king and queen. The queen was a well-endowed demon, perhaps a Grim Shepherd.

  How could we have missed that particular detail? the general wondered. Now we have to pay for our carelessness. Damn politics. That’s where those bastards were slipped into the system. That’s how Feliel managed to get what he was after, to make himself mayor of San San-Tera.

  The previous day, he had said farewell to his family once again, and he still had not recovered from the emotion of it. It comforted him to know that they were far away from a battle that would be the worst of all time. If he were to die today, it would be an honor to have served the Empire.

  The general sharpened his gaze. It was hard to make out any details from up there from that distance, but there was no doubt about one thing: the Némaldine hosts were moving forward, slowly but without interruption. At this rate, the battle would begin on the morrow, most likely in the early hours.

  “Come on,” he said. “We can’t stay here. We need to make sure our soldiers are ready. No matter how experienced they might be, we can’t weaken their morale.”

  “Yes, General,” Lomans and Gramal replied.

  “I have to admit that my hope is down at floor level,” the general said. “But that won’t stop me from fighting till the end.”

  ***

  “Explain yourself, Balthazar,” Lulita insisted. “What happened to you? I feel like you’re a traitor, you know? A bunch of soulless fiends devastates San San-Tera, and all you can do is disappear. Typical of you. Coward,” she spat.

  They were having their breakfast in the central tower’s common area, the one Lulita was in command of by order of Leandro Deathslayer.

  “I didn’t disappear, Lulita,” Balthazar replied calmly. He wore pants of wyvern hide that looked new, as if he had just brought down one of those animals or saved his outfit for the approaching event. His hair had turned all white, and his golden skin already showed the marks of age. The wrinkles around his eyes hinted at a wealth of stories.

  In the vast dining room, the soldiers came and went, trying to enjoy the last hours before they launched themselves into battle.

  “I was just playing my role,” the Wild Man went on. “Mother has forgiven me, and now I’m Her vassal, Hers alone. She’s given me the task of protecting this city. If Némaldon wins, Mother will notice the effects too, however far away the Devonic Range of Simrar might be.”

  “Are you going to tell me you’ve spent all this time doing the bidding of your beloved Mother?”

  The Wild Man gave her a challenging look. “Don’t insult me, and Her even less.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you, it was just curiosity.” The old woman had put on the llama furs her mother had inherited from the lands of Devnóngaron. At her belt hung her ax and quiver of arrows, and her
bow was slung over her back. She wore her long gray hair gathered up in the typical bun of the Wild Women who go into battle.

  “Well, if only Mother had sent an army of Wild Men with you,” Lulita said. “If only!”

  Balthazar was chewing a piece of roast boar. “She might. I’m not the one who gives orders to Mother.”

  “I’ll never be able to trust you, Balthazar; you’re too enigmatic,” Lulita said. She took a rack of suckling-pig ribs.

  The table was well provided with meat. You could tell they were in a city of warriors. A hungry soldier is as useless as a wounded one.

  “Have you heard the good news?” Lulita asked with a smile.

  “The God of Light has returned, I know that.” Balthazar sipped his rose juice. “And the God is Manchego.”

  Lulita was flabbergasted. “And you—how did you…?” Then the grandmother remembered that the Wild Man had already spoken about it on the edge of the Irontangle Mountains.

  “Mother told me,” Balthazar lied. He had always known that Manchego was special, which was why he had helped him to discover his true nature. These thoughts flooded his memories and emotions with pain and happiness. How could he forget the boy smiling under the sun, trying hard to be a rancher as skilled as his grandfather? Eromes. That man had saved him from his sorrows, had given him a second chance. And he had been able to enjoy peaceful days in a quiet village, honest dealings, delicious food, and coffee. What days those had been! He wished he could go back to the past, to the Holy Comment Ranch’s flourishing estate, which was now covered in ashes.

  “Balthazar?”

  “The estate…” whispered the Wild Man.

  “The Holy Comment,” Lulita finished for him, letting a tear escape her eyes. “My Eromes, my Manchego, my Luchy, my Tomasa, my Rufus… Thank the Gods that all of them, except my husband, are still alive, safe, and sound. And those bastards that are on their way are going to pay for destroying my dear one’s lands. Oh, they’ll pay!”

  “I feel your pain; I feel it in my veins. We’ll give all we have to the struggle. Mother is on our side, and I’m Her vassal.”

  “If only you could see my Manchego. He’s so strange now. He’s altogether a god?” The grandmother could not help feeling odd as she said these words. It sounded like a trick, a joke; she could not take in her grandson’s new condition. It would take her time to get used to it, and for that, she would have to see him many times and ask him a thousand questions.

  “I’ll see him when the time comes,” Balthazar said, and went on eating.

  A maid walked by with a stone tray filled with roast suckling-pig ribs, chickens, and pigeons. Balthazar took a knife and stuck it into a chicken to transfer it to his plate. The maid started, but then when she saw the man’s looks, she glanced coquettishly at him. The Wild Man paid no attention to her winsome gaze and concentrated on sinking his teeth into the meat.

  “There was always more to you than met the eye, wasn’t there?” Lulita taunted him. She felt full.

  “Maybe.”

  “Damn you. You’re full of mysteries, and you’ll always be like that.” Lulita laughed under her breath and was grateful for having shared that moment with her old friend, for having shared those memories of those peaceful days. If she died in battle, at least she would do so with a smile. She was only sorry that Manchego was not by her side. She hoped he would soon complete his mission so that he could come back to them.

  ***

  Argbralius felt very comfortable in his black toga, although the feeling could not mask the rancor he felt towards Balthazar and the general. They did not trust him; he could tell by their scornful looks as if he were a mere leech compared with them. But he was a priest of the Décamon. He was beginning to believe in his disguise.

  He was in the duke’s rooms, behind the leader’s chair. The duke was drinking a mug of fresh-brewed beer with Zarathás’ sword across his thighs, while he gazed out through the great window at the plain. Darcy, the pig-faced assistant, was also in the room but making the bed and tending to the duke’s wives.

  The sacristan, like the duke, was spellbound by the sight of the human array, a beauty it was impossible for him to tear his gaze from. On the border, they could see the huge blot of the evil Némaldine armies, marching towards them, coming closer and closer. They would end up destroying the green of the fields, the grassland, and the yellow flowers.

  The afternoon flamed. It seemed symbolic that the sky should be tinted red before rivers of blood began to flow through that land.

  “Father.”

  The sacristan managed to control his voice. “Yes, milord?”

  The duke got to his feet. “Bless me again. Here, take this while you do it.”

  He handed him the sword as if it were an everyday object.

  Argbralius’s eyes opened wide. He took the sword by the pommel with both hands, expecting a supernatural weight. But to his surprise, the weapon was much lighter than any other.

  “Gha!” the sacristan howled.

  His eyes turned blank. He collapsed onto the floor and white foam began to issue from his mouth.

  He was transported.

  Mórgomiel was flying on Górgometh’s back over the River of Time. The beast left a wake of dark smoke behind it. A spectator floated near, but in another time and space. The God of Chaos reached out to touch him. The spectator noticed that Mórgomiel was seriously wounded in the side. The Times of Chaos were over, and he was not the one who had won. But he would win the war, someday.

  “Górgometh, let’s be on our way. Destiny compels us to wait. I’ll come back,” he said to the spectator. “Look for me!”

  When he woke up, Argbralius saw the duke and two women with generous breasts who were rubbing themselves against him.

  “Stronger, till he wakes up,” the mad duke exhorted them. He turned to another of his wives. “You,” he ordered her. “Undress this minute.”

  The woman took off her tulle robe, revealing a generously curved body. The duke pulled down his pants and mounted his wife on the spot, hastily and violently like two street dogs.

  The man of faith had not yet fully recovered from his delirium, but he was aware of what was going on around him. The orgy awoke the black flower in his soul, and it was as if he was splitting in two. He took off his cassock, revealing his manhood without a trace of bashfulness. He seized another of the duke’s wives and entered her. Inwardly he was howling with pleasure; he wanted only to possess, he wanted more and more and more and more. The black flower writhed in ecstasy.

  Chapter XXIII – Kathanas IV

  The general and his group were posted in the highest tower of Kathanas known as the Lookout. From there, they were able to witness the unstoppable march of Némaldon who were close enough by now for the arms and legs of the soldiers, the claws and fangs of the beasts, and the complex mechanisms of the war machines to be visible. In the rear was a beast like a colossal rhinoceros, ridden by someone who appeared tiny in comparison. It must be the Grim Shepherd in command of that legion. The Master, Legionaer, would be with the left arm of his army in the direction of Háztatlon.

  On the Lookout rose a fairly new catapult that could launch a missile the size of a cedar trunk. Twenty soldiers were already in charge of arming the mechanism.

  Strangelus and Elgahar were going over spells for attack and defense. Lulita and Balthazar were keeping one another company in silence like two old people who simultaneously love and hate each other. Dartos and Lomans were making an effort to understand each other and trying to stay calm in the face of the enemy’s advance. Lombardo and Gáramond had placed themselves close to the general.

  “Has anybody seen Argbralius?” Deathslayer asked.

  “The last time I saw him, he was in the duke’s rooms,” Balthazar said. His lack of trust was perceptible in his voice.

  “Ah,” said the general, nodding. “That young man has problems in his head.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Gáramond interrupted, poi
nting to the enemy. “Focus on what’s important. Judging the poor man of faith is useless when we don’t even have proof of anything.”

  “We’re not straying from the issue, master philosopher,” Strangelus put in. “It’s just something that stands out. Yesterday, the boy was giving off very strange energy. He gives me the creeps.”

  “I felt it too,” Elgahar said. I’ve witnessed him turning into something vicious, thought the pupil in magic. But he’s saved my life twice! He would not give Argbralius away because he felt a bond between battle brothers.

  “We must try to understand the sacristan,” Lombardo said. “He’s been through the same horrors we have, and we’re not all equally strong in spirit. Besides, we don’t know anything about his past.”

  “The young man saved our skin twice,” added Lomans. “He’s a good fighter, better than a lot of veterans. I’d keep him by my side during the war. A psychopath, likely, but a warmonger like no other.”

  “Enough,” the general cut in. “Gáramond’s right. Not another word about this young man, unless it’s about the fact that he’s fighting with us.”

  Gáramond smiled and glanced at the mage as if he had won a feud as old as they were themselves.

  “Is the javelin ready?”

  “Yes, General,” Dartos answered. He was giving orders to the soldiers.

  “Fuel?”

  “Here, my lord.”

  A soldier hurried to bring a bucket full of fermented fat. It would burn like wildfire. The general soaked the javelin in the fat.

  “Sticks?” he asked.

  Dartos handed them to him. The general rubbed them until they lit, then put the flame to some pieces of tinder, which did not take long to catch fire.

  “Get ready to fire,” the general said as he applied the tinder to the javelin. “Death and glory!”

  They launched the catapult. The metal cords groaned fiercely. The javelin took off, leaving a wake of smoke and flames, like an angel of fire riding the air. It fell a hundred strides or so in front of the vanguard of the legion. In the tower, they celebrated the invitation to battle.