Archangel’s Ascension

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  ***

  Although the palace too had been affected by the destruction, much of the building was still standing. Manchego walked along the corridors admiring the sumptuousness of the fittings, the curtains, the paintings, the sculptures. The halls followed one after the other, furnished with large, comfortable armchairs. He had never been to the North, much less to Háztatlon.

  He reached the ruined area. Through the holes in the walls filtered the morning light and with it the air of progress, hope, cooperation, and hard work. Some took advantage of the chaos to help themselves to a silver candelabra or a gold ornament.

  “Missy, your prince is coming,” Nana Bromelia said to Luchy. “Mister Manchego, how nice to see you here.”

  She was looking after the twins for the general. The twins were playing. The fair, blue-eyed one, Nickolathius, was showing off his physical superiority, while Gabriel, brown-haired and green-eyed, preferred intellectual activities and verbal fights. Rufus was jumping between them.

  The dog stopped as soon as he scented the shepherd and threw himself on his old master, whining hysterically. The animal was old, but his enthusiasm was that of a puppy.

  “Hey there, my old friend,” the youth said, the emotions of his childhood coming back to him. How he loved that dog. He was amazed at the way his love and affection for him had not changed over time and the way the dog had never forgotten him. For a single moment, the young man felt like a boy waking up at the ranch, sensing his dog urging him to go to the observatory and watch the sunrise. Tears welled up in his eyes as he recalled those beautiful days. He missed the smell of the ranch, the taste of the food… He hugged the dog and was reassured.

  The dog barked again and again, vehemently, then began to lick him tirelessly. Manchego burst out laughing. Tears of melancholy became tears of joy.

  “Good boy, you’re a fantastic dog. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. I love you so much.”

  The Naevas Aedán also took part, rubbing against Alac’s beloved friend. Nickolathius and Gabriel joined in the laughter and the petting.

  “They say you’re Rufus’s dad,” Nicko said firmly.

  “He’s not his dad, he’s his brother,” Gabriel corrected him.

  “I’m Rufus’s best friend,” Manchego said.

  “That’s me!” Gabriel protested.

  “No, I am!” cried Nicko.

  The boys started fighting. Nicko sat on his brother and gave him several punches, although they were harmless ones.

  “Manchego!” came Luciella’s sweet voice. She was watching him from the banister of the second floor, her eyes full of love. “We’ll be late, you dimwit! You wouldn’t want to miss the new king’s coronation!”

  “Dimwit!” cried both Nikolathius and Gabriel, making fun of Manchego, who rolled his eyes and chuckled. He looked up at the banister to greet the love of his life.

  The young woman looked like a real princess, enfolded in that sky-blue tulle. The queen’s maids had arranged her hair in a high bun, which revealed her spectacular neck, like a swan’s. Her eyes looked greener thanks to the crystal and aquamarine earrings she was wearing. A pendant shaped like a tear rested on her full bosom. Manchego looked at the pendant, then at the young woman’s bosom. He felt a tickle in his groin and immediately blushed.

  Luchy blushed at once at the admiration she was receiving, but instead of flinching, she shot Manchego a seductive glance that melted the boy.

  “Oh! How hot it is in here,” Nana Bromelia said teasingly.

  “That’s enough!” said Tomasa, cutting her short. She was bringing a wicker tray with two crystal glasses of lemonade.

  “For me?” the demigod asked humbly.

  “Well, of course, my little Manchego. I’ve missed making you lemonade and pushing you around the fields to keep you working.”

  Manchego caught something of Tomasa’s nostalgia and drank eagerly. To honor those old times, he burped.

  “Pig!” Luchy shouted. She laughed gaily only to take on the air of a grumbling mother immediately. “Are you going to the coronation dressed like that? You look like a peasant,” she added teasingly.

  “That’s what I am. There’s nothing wrong with being a peasant, you know.”

  “You’re a gentleman.”

  “I’m the God of Light. I can wear whatever I want,” said the young man with a shrug and a beaming smile.

  “You will dress up!” yelled Luchy.

  Manchego sighed and looked at Tomasa, who shrugged.

  “They’ve got you by the… you know,” Tomasa said coarsely.

  The boy turned as red as a tomato and laughed.

  “Tomasa!” Luchy was taken aback to see Tomasa express herself so grossly.

  “So, I have to go, except—my hump—”

  “He’s indeed got a good hump on him, the lad,” Nana Bromelia said. “Go to the healer, little master, before they tell you that you look like an old man.”

  “I was born like this,” he replied with a smile.

  ***

  Mérdmerén had not yet recovered from the duel with the demon. He remembered every detail of it and had nightmares every night. He was still convalescing from a fracture of the femur that only Innominatus had been able to heal. He was due for a chat with the Wild Man, who wanted to tell him something vitally important. But at the moment, he had to talk to the Baron who had summoned him to discuss recent events.

  He was waiting in a dark room in a hidden corner of the Dungeon of Thieves. The food set out in the middle of the table was delicious, and the bottles of sparkling wine left no doubt that the leader of the thieves wanted to celebrate. That was natural enough; after a meticulously executed plan, he had achieved his goal and was about to change the regime and ensure his position in the Empire’s future. He was not interested in power in the highest spheres but in the lower levels, not to mention living in peace and comfort. He meant to continue governing his world, respecting the political and social course of the imperial capital.

  A door opened, and several shadows entered. Mérdmerén strained his ears and guessed that the Baron had at least two guards with him. An anonymous thief came to sit at the table and stared at this gastronomic feast. Without a word—as usual—he helped himself to wine and drained the glass. He refilled it, chose a piece of aromatic bread, and tore a leg off the roast turkey. The Baron’s cook knew his trade well.

  “Greetings, Mérdmerén,” the Faceless Baron said. “Lion Fist, Ehréledán. The thieves and I congratulate you. Without your fortitude and the bravery you showed against Legionaer, we wouldn’t be here. The help the angel gave us isn’t something to be sniffed at, but we fought with great determination, and now the people are ready to admire you.”

  “We fought?” Mérdmerén said as he helped himself to meat and wine. “You speak as if you’d been there.”

  “We fought shoulder to shoulder, Mérdmerén. A good leader fights with his people to the death and I was among them. But you were the leader. I will always be there to support my cause.”

  Mérdmerén laughed. “You were there, huh?” he said mockingly. “And you didn’t have the balls to present yourself to your new king.”

  “My identity must remain—”

  “I know, for goodness’ sake, I know your game very well. But I’m pleased to know you saw everything I saw myself and that way, you didn’t miss a thing. It’s true about the angel; if he hadn’t appeared, we wouldn’t have won. They say he’s the God of Light.”

  “That is what they say. Perhaps he is the God of Light. Some have spied him walking with a cloak on, trying to hide from us. Whatever he is, his involvement in the war was decisive. We’ll be in his debt forever.”

  “Aye, I agree. And now the Empire is confident and happy, and her citizens accept me as their new leader.”

  “And without political opposition,” said the Baron, stressing the word opposition. “The dukes of the great cities won’t oppose your coronation. They don’t know who you are, but they do kn
ow that the city loves you. Not to mention the most important power of the realm, which is covering your back.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The Dungeon of Thieves.”

  “How?”

  “We have influence outside the city, Mérdmerén. Eyes that see without being seen, you understand? We’re everywhere. We almost failed because of those corrupt counselors, but now—”

  Mérdmerén interrupted the Baron. “You stay in place yourselves,” he challenged him.

  “You know we work for good.”

  “I know, my friend. I was just teasing you.”

  “Does it amuse you?”

  “Quite honestly, yes, it does.” Mérdmerén was a little affected by the wine by now. He put his hand inside the turkey to reach the delicious stuffing. Then he took two slices of bread. With his mouth full of food, he continued.

  “Because you’re a son of a bitch through and through, a genius who’s managed to ensure his continuity in the Empire. Now you’ll dictate your own rules, and I’ll be forever indebted to you for granting me the crown. So what about the Aherons and the other royal families?”

  “You mustn’t worry about them, or any of the old bureaucratic families,” said the Baron. “We’ve made sure all ties to the throne have been severed. So that we can start afresh.”

  “Dead?” asked Mérdmerén.

  “Taken care of,” the Baron corrected him.

  Lion Fist sighed and then took another swig of wine. After a short silence, the Baron continued.

  “The Dungeon of Thieves has no interest in politics, nor in ruling over the land. We have a system. We live in the shadows, under your stone floors and your grand buildings, off what you waste. We’re like the rats; we clean the scum that walks the streets, rapists and traffickers of children, and dirty politicians who’d favor their own benefit over another’s demise.”

  There was no doubt about it: Mérdmerén respected the Baron. He would be an enemy to be feared.

  “We’re interdependent societies, Mérdmerén. This pact of ours is born out of our common need, and I try to honor it on even the most trivial occasion.”

  The thief was too engrossed in the food to pay attention to the conversation.

  The Faceless Baron went on. “It’s possible that a group of Crows might still be holding out in the South. That’s why you must never forget to wear the pendant, ever. Remember that the Empire will always have an enemy and that this enemy will always be seeking revenge. Legionaer's death is a temporary measure. At some point, darkness will return.”

  “The last time, you spoke of a new regime,” Mérdmerén said. “Without a king or a king’s council.”

  “The Council of Kings was created to control the king, to prevent his power from being absolute. But it’s not necessary if the leader has clear principles and integrity. That leader will do good even though it might affect his interests. You’re that man. Some advice might be useful before a decision that hasn’t been thought through, but we have to be sure of the new counselors’ honesty.”

  “How’ll we manage that?”

  “We’ll make sure of the future senators’ integrity ourselves.”

  “Senators?”

  “It’s a term that comes from Flamonia. A senator is chosen for his qualifications to help the king make the best decisions. You’ll still have the Council of Kings, who will be known as council members for now. In the future, we’ll refer to them as senators.”

  “Hell, you never cease to surprise me, Baron. You know too much about everything.”

  “Be rest assured I will be part of your council, represented by one of my men.”

  “That would be very good,” the future king replied drily. “That way, we could have coffee from time to time.”

  “Well, let’s go with that. I hope to be able to help you guide the Empire toward more prosperous horizons. And now get a move on. You mustn’t be late for your coronation.”

  Mérdmerén stood up. “Wait,” he said. His leg hurt, and his grimace alerted the guards.

  “Easy,” the Baron said.

  “I want to thank you for everything. Thanks to you and your thieves, I got together with my family again, and I’ll soon be the most powerful man in these lands. I don’t know how to return the gesture.”

  “Here we see the philosopher king, thankful and humble. I guess now you understand why you’re the chosen one.”

  The door opened again, and the shadows fled. Mérdmerén was dismayed. He felt very close to the Baron, a friend of this most singular person, even though he found it hard to imagine him with a face and a body.

  He sat down again with some difficulty. His leg hurt. Soon, other thieves would arrive, cover his eyes, and take him back to the palace. He went on eating. The thief in front of him was snoring on the table, drunker than a barrel.

  ***

  The coronation would take place in the Square of the Kings, where the funeral for King Aheron III had also taken place. An elevated platform had been placed in the square of the same white stone as the palace. Perfect Pontiff and his pontiffs stood there, all dressed in white cassocks and purple hoods. The Perfect Pontiff stood out from the other prelates thanks to the hat he wore shaped like a bird’s beak. In the city, it was said that the Perfect Pontiff had come with his escort, the Slegna Flamon. Unfortunately, many of the pontiffs had died so that the Perfect Pontiff was short-staffed. Rumors had already reached his ears that a young man named Argbralius had been seen wielding a sword. It was said that he had been a brave warrior and had fought to defeat the shadows but had ultimately been consumed by the shadow itself. Argbralius was thought a hero of whom songs would never be sung. However, the Pontiff would never know the true meaning of what it meant for Argbralius to have been consumed by the shadows.

  Mérdmerén took his seat in the center of the platform, facing the dukes and nobles of the highest rank who had come from their privileged seats to attend the ceremony. In contrast to other coronations, the wounded city was not shining with its habitual splendor, but the ruins themselves made the perfect scene for the change of epoch which the new regime entailed.

  “And may the God of Light guide our king, inspire his soul, and lead this nation down the true path.” The Perfect Pontiff was reciting his speech without the slightest idea that behind the tumult, the God of Light himself was present at the event.

  Beside Manchego was Balthazar. The mysterious man had been near him to guide and protect him. He had also bewitched Mowriz so that he would be his eternal servant, as payment for the torments he had made him go through.

  “Will he ever be normal again?” Manchego asked.

  “No,” the Wild Man said. Mowriz would never be normal because it could not even be said that he was alive.

  Meanwhile, the bewitched boy was repeating his usual song, “Sun, little sun. Sun, little sun,” and following Manchego’s footsteps.

  But his soul is intact, Teitú said.

  “But his soul is intact,” Manchego said aloud, repeating the words of his warrior, who was keeping his light down to a faint glow so as not to draw attention.

  Balthazar indicated the translucent sphere. “Did he tell you?”

  “Yes, he’s a wonderful being. His name’s Teitú. He was born from a nut that had the same name. Ramancia gave it to me before she died.”

  “So you told me before. So if his soul’s intact, my dear God of Light,” Balthazar said with a mischievous grin, “maybe Mother will adopt him.”

  “What? What does that mean, adopt him?”

  “Mother can do anything, Manchego. Never underestimate Her strength, Her ability, Her wisdom. She is Everything. She is Nothing. She is the Osrenivu, from whence we all come and to which we shall all return.”

  “You never change, Balthazar,” Manchego said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Always with your oracles.”

  They smiled at each other.

  “I miss the estate,” the Wild Man said. “Perhaps someday we may be able to r
eturn.”

  “Of course we’ll return, my friend. But tell me, what do you plan to do with my esteemed Mowriz?”

  “Mother will decide that. I have to take him to Devnóngaron. She will choose his destiny.”

  “Sun, little sun?” the bewitched lad muttered as if he knew they were talking about him.

  “…May this crown of pure gold and precious gems remind you of the beginning of your rule: the joy of the emerald, the peace of the sapphire, the nobility of the amethyst, the wisdom of the onyx, and the responsibility of the aquamarine. Mérdmerén of Stern, kneel before me and swear.”

  The future king went down on one knee and lowered his head. The audience kept a solemn silence.

  “I, the future king of these holy lands founded by the Mandrake, which gave us shelter after the destruction of Flamonia, after the Times of the Köel, promise to protect them from the forces of evil which might try to take them from us.”

  Mérdmerén recited the words with perfect intonation and volume, without any hesitation.

  “I, Mérdmerén of Stern, sovereign of this nation, swear to protect the children of these lands. I, Lion Fist, will keep myself austere, faithful, and honest, and respect the limits of my power and the force of my ambitions, and watch over the good of the people. I swear to reinstate the Council of Kings, whose members will help me make the best decisions for the nation.”

  The Perfect Pontiff placed the crown on his head.

  “I, Perfect Pontiff, crown you King of Mandrake, Lion Fist. Long live the king!”

  The dukes, nobles, lords, ladies, and common people applauded and cheered the new king.

  Mérdmerén gave the panorama a sweeping glance. He had studied the gaze, the smile, the posture. Now he was king and must behave with the majesty expected of him. He glimpsed his daughter among the crowd, together with Karolina and the newly decorated General Leandro Deathslayer. He felt a pang of sadness at the thought of his absent wife, who would have been so proud to see him on the royal throne. With the death of Maria, a piece of his heart had died too.