Archangel’s Ascension

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  You’re absolutely right. I apologize for my self-centeredness.

  Don’t apologize. It’s good that you’re stating your concerns. Well then, what now? Shall we go on?

  Sure! Follow me!

  They made themselves insubstantial and entered the green world of the Interim. Various lost spirits were wandering vaguely. Why were they here instead of in the dark corridors of the court of the Goddess of the Night? He would find out later.

  They went into Ramancia’s house, passing through the walls. The place was as ruined inside as it was outside. Manchego remembered the hole and the cavity where everything was darkness and silence, where he had hidden from Mowriz and his gang. Everything that had happened afterward took on new meaning now. The witch had always known that Legionaer would come back. And the angel—that was himself!

  Teitú guided him along corridors, down the stairs, and through the cellars. The witch had managed to gain access to Kanumorsus and the portals to other worlds. One of them would lead them to the Black Queen or not.

  All of a sudden Alac found himself on a stairway that seemed to be floating in the middle of space.

  We’re on the border of space and time. This isn’t the Interim, Alac! We’re crossing into another dimension! The witch hid the mirror from the reality of the Meridian. She was a genius! She must have planned it all before she died so that you, Alac Arc Ángelo, would find it on your return.

  Alac spread his wings and flew over the dark abyss of space and time. Three years ago, he had crossed the place on foot, knowing nothing about it. An infinity of specks shimmered in the distance. These were the suns and galaxies of the universe. He felt as if those cosmoses were winking at him to let him know he was on the right track. He noticed he did not need air to breathe. Such was the strangeness of being in the Interim.

  When he landed on the other side, he remembered the drawbridge and the riddles he had had to solve to reach the mirror and activate it. But this time, the gate rose as he passed as if it could detect his presence. He continued to the hall, the room where he had found a fire and the entrance to the portal that had taken him to the mirror of the Black Queen of the Morelia Abyss. The same tree stump was in the center and on top of it, a letter which seemed to have been written nervously and in haste. It was not on paper but cloth, and it was spotted with blood. The passage of time had left visible marks on the fabric.

  “My dear Manchego,” Alac read aloud. “If you are reading this, it is because you have become what you always were: the God of Light reincarnated! I am writing this before the utter destruction that awaits this village. I must go to defend our people and try to stop evil, although I suspect it’s too late.

  “There are several secrets you must know. Balthazar and I always worked in your favor. Yes, the Wild Man is a powerful shaman who is looking after you. Between the two of us, we planned your fall into Kanumorsus. Yes, that was us.

  “Although you suffered, it was necessary so that you could find yourself. Without that experience, you would be dead now. And besides, that way you met Teitú, a Naevas Aedán who will certainly bear you good company.

  “I hope you will succeed in halting the evil. I know that you come for the mirror. It is good at telling the past, but not the future, so do not trust it completely. To find it, be yourself and shine with all the light you have inside you.

  “Farewell, Alac. May your work bring hope to this world, to this universe which will soon suffer the misfortunes of the Times of Chaos all over again. And by the way, I was the black owl. Remember that strange owl that followed you around? That was me.

  “Ramancia.”

  Alac shed an insubstantial tear. He left the Interim gladly and found himself in the reality of the room, solitary and cold. He was sad about the witch and was left thinking about all those secrets. He had always suspected that Balthazar and the witch had been working together.

  He spread his wings. At an order from his mind, his armor spread to cover him. From his helmet and spear, there emerged a fan of flames. The room began to spin, just as it had years before. The ceiling opened, revealing a long corridor. Alac caught a flash. The mirror was at the end of the corridor. He beat his wings and reached it in a matter of seconds.

  He did not remember the details, nor its heavy metal frame. It was guarded by two statues of men with the heads of owls. He was impressed to see his reflection, his gaze, and his armor. It had been a long time since he had looked at himself closely; he barely recognized himself. It was as if he had forgotten who he had been. He was torn by nostalgia for a distant childhood he no longer remembered.

  Manchego… What had become of Manchego? The little shepherd with the happy smile, of the many moments of silence and few words, but infinite happiness. He wanted to see himself leaping, running amid the tall grass of the Holy Comment Ranch, playing with his faithful dog.

  The God of Light collapsed, stripped of his armor. Uncontrollable weeping flooded his afflicted soul. The stream of tears released the accumulated tension of so many years. Those wounds would still take time to heal. Maybe they would never heal at all.

  He touched the mirror, the reflection of his face, as if he might reach the little boy of that distant time. But the little shepherd was far away.

  “Where are you?” called Alac to himself. “I miss you, your smile…”

  The surface of the glass shifted, started to go backward. Alac stood up with a start. The reflection followed him, but time did not stop; it continued to go further back until the boy Manchego appeared.

  Alac knew that his inner child had never left him. There he was, watching him. He came closer to the mirror, hoping for magic, hoping that the glass might take him to another time and space, to a distant past, and a probable future. The little boy smiled reassuringly.

  Serpentine darkness swallowed him. It was not evil; it was absolute darkness with intelligence.

  A voice spoke. “It’s a long time since I had visitors. More or less since Mórgomiel thought of putting me in this accursed mirror.”

  The darkness shifted to show a bloody battle. A feminine figure with several heads and arms was defending itself against a dragon of black smoke, but a sword stroke from the rider fell on his opponent’s body and weakened her. The Black Queen of the Morelia Abyss melted to preserve her soul and essence within the liquid metal that was left on the floor. Mórgomiel had defeated the oracle, but not forever; her soul, safe within the metal, was released and given a frame by the Goddess of Death, D’Santhes Nathor.

  “He always hated me. Mórgomiel, I mean.”

  A face became visible in the thick blackness. It had angular features, like some kind of arachnid, and yellow skin that appeared soft. The eyes had no iris. To Alac, that image was as terrifying as it was attractive.

  “I am the Black Queen of the Morelia Abyss.”

  “The Black Queen—”

  “I belong to the species of the temporalis who had access to the River of Time. That is why we could see the past without difficulty and could foretell the future. Mórgomiel came to me because those qualities were most developed in me. He wanted to know whether he would win during the Times of Chaos. I told him what he did not want to hear, and he attacked me to murder me.”

  The Black Queen was silent for a moment before she went on. “And now I am here. I did not trust anybody, except the witch Ramancia. It was she who found me in a market in Moragald’Burg. She was a young caster when she found me, and unfortunately, Álfaron put an end to her. Anyway, what matters now is that you are here, my dearest God of Light. You might not know it, but this is not the first time that you have come to me for answers. I remember you perfectly well as Manchego, the shepherd. How you cried when you found out that you were an orphan and that your mother had been brutally murdered by Legionaer’s minions. They wanted to kill you; they knew you were the reincarnation of the God of Light and they needed to keep you away so that they could bring their plan to fruition.”

  “Is Legionaer the one
I have to stop?”

  “No. I wish the problem were as easy to solve as that. Not only has Legionaer returned, but also his lord, Mórgomiel.”

  Alac felt a wave of horror, the fear that was running through the Black Queen.

  “Mórgomiel will do everything necessary to conquer the throne in the cosmos. Now he is seeking his armor to unite his power. The new Gods stopped him in his tracks, but they let him free. The sly one divided his soul and distributed it among the elements of his armor and sword. When he unites them all, he will unleash chaos afresh, and we will suffer his desire for power and revenge.”

  “Wait a moment. So Legionaer is just one of Mórgomiel’s minions?”

  “Exactly. Legionaer wants to regain his lands and his throne and, of course, to kill all the descendants of whoever made him suffer. But that is nothing compared to Mórgomiel’s plans: absolute destruction. We are talking about the god of anti-matter and black energy, Alac. He has murdered other gods; he has extracted their essence with his sword to obtain more and more power. His sword is Wrath the Godslayer.”

  The name made Alac shiver. “How do I stop him?” he asked impatiently.

  “Watch.”

  The blackness shifted again and took him into the past, to Ágamgor, where a sad soul wandered. The Queen told him that the man’s name was Trumbar and that a demon lived inside him. Alac saw Trumbar beating a boy and locking him up in a closet. The boy managed to overcome his fear, connect himself with the flow of time and space. Here, Mórgomiel found a body in which to sow a black seed which would grow, little by little. Over time, Mórgomiel had found many weak and corrupted souls in which to plant black seeds of chaos; however, in this tortured and brutalized child, he had found the perfect nexus for his seed of chaos. Still unaware of his power, the boy confronted Trumbar in a kind of spiritual throe and murdered him.

  The image dissolved, and a sacristan appeared, preparing the mass. The man of faith was enveloped in blackness with an aggressive flower chasing after his shadow. After this, Alac saw this boy creating an animal of fire that devoured an entire band of bandits.

  “His name is Argbralius,” the Black Queen said. ”He was sent to San San-Tera. Look.”

  The oracle showed a brutal war in Kathanas.

  Alac recognized it. “The black sword.” A sting whipped across his chest as if an old wound were crying out in pain.

  “That is the blade. Wrath the Godslayer. The Roam family had kept it for generations, which was the cause of their incurable madness. This Argbralius is now the God of Chaos reincarnated! The seed of chaos has blossomed! And now he is searching for another object, which is also hidden in this world.”

  “So it’s not Legionaer I have to stop but Argbralius. That way, Mórgomiel won’t bring all the pieces of his soul together, and we’ll prevent the destruction.”

  “Exactly, my dear God of Light. Although, stopping Legionaer is also important in saving the Empire. When you confront Argbralius, be careful. He already has the sword, and that sword was created to eliminate gods like you.”

  “That won’t happen. It can’t happen,” Alac said with conviction.

  “For the good of the universe, let us hope it does not.”

  “I know what I must do. Now please tell me where I start.”

  “The war is moving to Háztatlon. Legionaer will unleash the fury of his army upon the capital of the Empire. Mórgomiel will be there, looking for the second object which is to be found in this world.”

  “What is it? Where is it?”

  “I do not know those answers, my dearest God of Light. As I have already told you, Mórgomiel was very cunning when he hid his soul.”

  “What will become of me?” Alac murmured.

  “Die or live, as simple as that. How much do you want to live?”

  The image of Luchy and Lulita encouraged him. There was nothing he wished for more in this world than to save his loved ones.

  “And what will become of you?”

  “I live in the mirror, but I am not its prisoner. Do not worry about me, my dear God of Light. It is time for you to leave and go on fighting for good. Go, quickly!”

  Alac tensed. He was going to settle accounts with Legionaer and stop Argbralius, the incarnation of Mórgomiel. He went back to the Interim, Teitú behind him, and came out determined to carry out his mission.

  Part V - The Battle for Háztatlon

  Chapter XXXII – The Death of the King

  Háztatlon was in mourning. In the streets, it was being said that King Aheron III had been murdered. That some criminal had poisoned his food. It was nothing new for a king to be murdered. His position and his power were coveted by many, but Aheron III had been a sovereign loved by his people so the speculations about the identity of the conspirators spread to every corner of the city.

  “It was the Council of the Kings.”

  “Or he simply choked.”

  “Yeah, a chicken bone got stuck in his throat.”

  “That’s it! A chicken killed him!”

  The body was paraded through the streets of the city in an open white coffin carried by a group of imperial soldiers. A band of minstrels sang during the procession, which moved forward with difficulty. The subjects crowded round to touch the coffin or kiss its wood, while the cavalrymen tried to push them back and keep order. The sobbing and prayers proclaimed a disconsolate sorrow, while the children threw bird feathers at the soldiers so that they would step on them and so help the King in his flight to the Deep Azure of the Heavens. On each side of the route, candles had been lit to offer the monarch enough light in the dark corridors of the goddess D’Santhes Nathor.

  A rotten tomato burst against the coffin, provoking cries of indignation and some applause. One of the cavalrymen left the procession and used his spear to push a man into a dark corner.

  Nobody noticed that the bearded body, fat and pallid, was not that of King Aheron but a sad unfortunate who had been sacrificed to take on the role. The king was hiding, safe in the Dungeon of Thieves, with his wife and daughter, waiting for things to settle.

  ***

  Mérdmerén watched the parade from the height of one of the many towers of the Imperial Palace, in what had been Cantus de Aligar’s office. His enemy’s corpse was rotting together with those of the others who had died during the spontaneous revolution after the announcement of the king’s death. Meanwhile, Hakama was on his way with the Imperial Army and was due to arrive presently to seize the capital and declare martial law. Afterward, the war would break out.

  His daughter, her eyes filled with tears, embraced her father. “We’re safe now, Mérdmerén.”

  “You can call me Papa,” Mérdmerén said. “You were very little when I had to leave you.”

  The girl bent her head. She found it strange to call him Papa and was unsure whether she would ever get used to it. Even as a child, she had always felt that her relationship with Loredo Melda was not quite natural, and now she understood why just as she understood the faces her mother would make whenever Loredo was near.

  “You know, I’m sorry for not having loved your mother the way I should have,” he said with a nostalgic gleam in his eyes. “I was a man of vices and tricks. I only wanted to make an easy living and have fun.”

  “But now we’re together, Mérd—Papa.”

  “That’s true right enough,” he said and kissed her forehead in gratitude. “And you’re so pretty. You’re a full-grown woman.”

  “Thank you, Papa. We should go back to Mama. She hasn’t got much time left.”

  “Yes, let’s be off.”

  A cloud of dust was approaching the city at great speed. Shortly afterward, they caught sight of a silver flag, then another, and another. The Imperial Army was already on its way, beating its drums. The city was officially under martial law.

  Mérdmerén smiled. “Damn you, Faceless Baron,” he muttered under his breath. “You did it. You managed to do what you set out to do. Now the city’s ready to be turned upsid
e down and set on the right road.”

  The reality was that despite all the hope, the troubles had only just begun: an evil army was marching against them under orders to destroy everything in its way. They needed to prepare for absolute chaos. Meanwhile, he needed to say a proper farewell to his wife.

  ***

  Hakama led the column of soldiers in their iron armor. He wore a bright green breastplate with Omen's emblem in the center: a furious dragon ready for battle. On the sides of his oval helmet were two small golden wings. His advanced age and glutton’s paunch hindered him from cutting an impressive figure on his horse, which was no obstacle to leading the legion gallantly.

  The cavalry, more than a thousand men, marched in the head with their spears pointing to the sky. Behind them came the infantry, on foot and in pairs, marching at a military pace. After them, a group of two hundred or so Brutal Fark-Amon. These warriors were taller than the average man of the Empire, at least by a full head, and were broader at the shoulders and more muscular. They were protected by all-white armor with enormous breastplates, and each one carried a claymore.

  The legion from Omen had not brought war machines with them, for their plans were not to fight, but instead, to occupy the city.

  ***

  In a corner of the complex labyrinth of the Dungeon of Thieves, a reunited family was trying to overcome a tragedy which had, in reality, been nothing of the sort. Queen Eulalia, dressed in green tulle, assorted jewels, and a tiara which clung to her chestnut hair, was looking in puzzlement at the man in front of her whom she no longer recognized. She had always thought of him as her prince and then as her king, powerful and magnanimous. But now, everything had changed. Her eyes lingered on him, well-shaven with a face of utter happiness and wholeness. He wore a cotton shirt and leather pants. At his belt hung a sheathed dagger. He was holding his beloved daughter on his knee and playing with her like a loving father.