Necromancer’s Sorrow: (Series Finale)

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  At last, the cliff showed signs of turning less steep. She could finally stop using the branches and roots around her as a hand-hold so as not to fall on her face, until at last, she reached solid, almost level, ground.

  It was nighttime. The sun was vanishing in the distance, leaving behind a wake of colors which slowly vanished into a shadowy mist, which in turn gave way to darkness.

  When she took a closer look at her surroundings, she saw that they were facing a gigantic cavern of formidable height. Around the whole entrance to the cavern were peaks emerging and descending from the ceiling. This must be the Devil’s Mouth. This was the meeting point.

  The powerful breath of the cavern came out like a scent of memories and secrets. There was a strange presence in this place. The rocks themselves emanated malice as if radiant energy oozed through the pores of every particle of the place.

  Mojak remained imperturbable all the time, standing on his two huge, short legs with his long, massive arms alongside his body and the mace in one hand. His small eyes searched the area. Those deep pupils that opened into the forge of his soul perceived further than a mere cloak of shadow. He could see into the depths of the cavern and sense what was going on. He knew it was no benign place, that it was an artificial fault forged thousands of years ago by the skilled hands of evil powers.

  A light, beautiful and brilliant, began to illuminate the interior of the cavern. To Luchy’s eyes, which were unable to take in more than the gigantic blackness of the massive cave, it was like seeing a speck of light in an infinite ocean of darkness. That light, rosy and unchanging, created a ring around a biped figure who seemed to be walking unconcernedly.

  Suddenly, her heart began to beat faster. That light. That light reminded her of Teitú. Could it be him? And if it was Teitú, then was it Manchego? Had he come to her aid? But surely she was the one who was coming to help him?

  The galloping of her emotions died away, dwindling to a sadness that made her turn to the jewel in her ring. The precious stone was winking gently and steadily. It could not be Manchego. If it had been, the jewel would have been vibrating with the same emotion she had felt herself.

  Her curiosity remained alert as she watched the figure fly in circles, a sphere of light around this person who walked as if he were in a rose garden. Was he smiling? Singing? A graceful melody reached her senses. Now she was sure it was not Manchego as the lad, although a wonderful person, did not have that sonorous and delightful voice. The mere presence of that singing gladdened her heart; even her eyes seemed to smile under the influence of the broad smile on a hairless face with blue eyes, clear as the purest sea.

  The youth, now only a few strides away from Mojak and Luchy, was dressed in strange green garments which seemed a mixture of armor made from the leaves of trees and soft yet elegant, cloth. Despite their apparent simplicity, they adorned his strongly-built body. His long silky hair was golden, falling like a cascade of jewels down his back. Hanging from a belt at his waist was a sword in a scabbard of what looked like silver. Behind his back hung a cape of dark green. He looked young and his features were attractive: fine nose, thin lips, square jaw, and skin as pale as milk. His gaze seemed to shine.

  “Luchy of the House of the Holy Comment, sent to us by the master of nature and daring shaman Balthazar, alias Mother’s vassal. With you, the messenger Mojak, rescued from the deep trenches of Árath, where he was enslaved and tortured from childhood and is now free thanks to the actions of the men of the Empire after the defeat of Némaldon during the Battle of Háztatlon.

  “My name is Flóregund of the House of Nina, the Princess of Yonder. I am an elf. My good little friend here, Alaris, is a Naevas Aedán. I believe you’ve already met one called Teitú. I know a great deal about you only because my mentors know a lot about you. They know Balthazar, and other great figures dedicated to fighting against the evil that is looming.”

  Luchy was petrified. An elf? An elf! Her heart beat rapidly. Elves were legends and nothing more than that. But then she remembered that her betrothed was the God of Light and if that was not strange, nothing else could be. So without more ado, she accepted that in front of her was an elf.

  Seeing that Mojak was at ease and that his energy was still relaxed, she stayed calm herself. She also noticed that the elf’s mouth moved in one way, but the words she understood did not match that movement. It was a very strange dissociation and she did not understand how it worked.

  “I see your attention is on the movements of my mouth, Princess of the Holy Comment. You understand me because Alaris the Naevas Aedán has infiltrated your mind to communicate with you and translate what I am saying. The same thing will happen when you speak yourself. In that way, there’ll be no need to learn a new language. I believe this isn’t anything new for you.”

  “Greetings. I’m Luchy. I’m no princess. And you’re right, this isn’t anything new to me, for a seraph to put words into my head.”

  “You’re no Princess, did you say? Alaris, did you hear that?”

  It’s very strange that she doesn’t consider herself a princess when she’s the bride of the God of Light himself, Alac Arc Ángelo. You’re a princess, Luciella, whether you accept it or not.

  “Was that you, Alaris?” Luchy asked.

  It was indeed. Although I do not have unlimited access to your memories, I can communicate with you without interruptions and a common language. I put a thought in your mind and you turn that thought into words.

  “I regret interrupting this graceful moment of exchange of cultural intimacies, my friends, but I’m afraid that the Council of Elves is very eager to see Princess Luchy in Uyca. A matter of great importance must be broached at once.

  “Follow me, Luchy and Mojak. We must leave as soon as possible, for we‘re treading evil terrain. This place is known as the Devil’s Mouth by the Wild Men and they aren’t too wide of the truth, for out of these jaws, Mórgomiel’s malice emanates. Today you’ll be exposed to many enigmas, mysteries, and new realities which will leave you speechless and with too many questions. For the moment, follow me or Mojak closely, since we’re going to be exposed to many dangers.”

  Without another word, Flóregund turned and unsheathed his sword. Alaris took on a crimson hue and almost at once, something deeply strange happened. A bubble surrounded the travelers, and suddenly reality overlapped, slid, and changed color. Until then, it had been submerged in a darkness lit only by Alaris’ light; now they were in another dimension filled with greenish light and they were not alone.

  “We’re in the Interim,” Flóregund said, sounding alarmed. “A dimension which generally is forbidden to living creatures. Some of them might find a way in but for the moment, there’s no time to explain anything. Damnation! I knew it.”

  Alaris gave out a pulse of red light. Around them was a ring of winged demons with hungry, fine-toothed jaws and pale claws. They were gargoyles, some of the many enemies that guarded Kanumorsus for the master of shadows.

  The gargoyles began to croak. These demons were surrounded by a spiral of shadows, and between their eyes there seemed to burn the energy of many embers.

  “Luchy! Luchy!” The girl was petrified. Her mind, new to such horrors, had had no time to adapt. She was paralyzed.

  Mojak grabbed her by the waist and slung her over his right shoulder like a sack of hay. He reached out with his left hand where the enigmatic tattoo, which until then had appeared to have no purpose, began to shine sky blue.

  The demons advanced. The elf shivered with fear only to realize that Luchy’s guardian was not like any other Wild Man.

  Mojak moved at an impressive speed, his left hand seizing the head of every demon that dared approach the group of travelers. When he squeezed, the blue energy of his tattoo burst out, blasting the beasts into slivers of black flesh.

  More than ten gargoyles had fallen before Flóregund could breathe again. The other beasts were not stupid and fled before Mojak could trap them in the tattooed hand that gave him
the power of destruction.

  As Mojak turned to look at Flóregund, a tremor shook the earth from side to side, raising dust and gravel in the air. The elf’s eyes stared. And for the first time, Mojak thought through Alaris.

  “Flee!”

  The group ran in terror toward the inner caverns, trying to reach the crossing where several tunnels separated before that powerful presence could find them. It would have been easy to reappear in the tangible world and avoid the demons of this dimension, but because of the expenditure of energy, Alaris, who had elaborated the spell that had allowed them entry to the Interim, might die from exhaustion and to transfer three beings at once to another dimension was an expensive process.

  Mojak ran beside Flóregund, urging him to put away his iron sword. Although it was made of elemín, a material valued by the elves, the demons of this dimension were too powerful to be beaten by mere earthly elements.

  Luchy was still unconscious, bouncing on the Wild Man’s shoulder as he ran with his right hand holding her tight against it.

  When they reached the crossing, three tunnels became visible. From one of them came a muddy smell. From the other, a thread of smoke. The third was a cauldron of flames that crept up the walls. Mojak, following his keenly-honed senses, led the group through the muddy-smelling tunnel. The greenish light allowed him to follow various hidden paths to gain the advantage, although the trembling of the earth was becoming more and more intense.

  They turned again. Flóregund slipped on dust as arcane as the creation of the world itself then got to his feet as quickly as possible and went on running. The allies were illuminated as they went by the sphere of light created by the Naevas Aedán.

  A loud crash raised more dust in a cloud that blotted out everything visible. Mojak could not turn into the left-hand tunnel, which would have given him access to one of the portals he needed to take to escape. Their passage was blocked by a trailing wake of shadows.

  “Who dares to disturb the sacred halls of the magnanimous Lord of the Shadows, Mórgomiel, God of Chaos!” echoed a terrifying voice.

  From out of the wake of shadows, a giant demon manifested itself. It had the body of a lion, the tail of a scorpion, and three dragon-heads like that of Górgometh, the Dragon of Chaos.

  With a swift movement, Mojak advanced on the demon and placed his left palm on its face. The demon and its three heads attacked in unison, but too late. Even with Luchy on his other shoulder, the big Wild Man was able to release a blue discharge which detonated the beast into a rain of innards.

  Mojak, still unflinching, was unscathed. The flesh of the demon vanished after its death, proving that its origin had been a powerful spell.

  Flóregund’s hair was electrified by all this. He turned to the Naevas Aedán to try to understand what on earth had happened and how on earth a Wild Man had attained powers like that. Although he ought not to be surprised, since he knew Balthazar. Perhaps he might have been the one who had provided Mojak with such a weapon, his bewitched tattoo.

  “We’re leaving this very moment,” Mojak thought through Alaris.

  “But this isn’t the way back to Allündel!” protested the elf. His plan of escape had proved faulty. He had never imagined he would find so much resistance in Kanumorsus, particularly in the Interim. When he had entered the dimension to transport himself to the Meridian, thanks to Alaris’ strength, there had been no sign of anything. This meant one thing: the enemy knew more than he thought. He must tell his mentors. Alarmed, he had no choice but to follow Mojak. He wished he knew where on earth he was going or else they would never get back to Allündel, and his mission would be a failure.

  Chapter XIV — The Black Queen of the Morelia Abyss

  Governing a hundred thousand worlds was turning out to be far more difficult than he had expected. Mórgomiel was bogged down, unable to act freely. Between growing the army and keeping his worlds subjected, his masterplan was now stagnant. If he gave too much attention to one world, the great army stopped training. If he devoted time to the army, some world would rise against him and end up rebelling or destroying itself.

  With the passing of the months, the process of generating the vorwraiths was bearing fruit. The assassins turned into demons and had left Eorta behind, entering the Interim and moving through Kanumorsus to the world Mórgomiel had pointed out to each of them. They were only a hundred assassins while he had more than a hundred thousand worlds. It was not enough to help him rule, but at least it would help to some extent. He had neither the time nor a sufficient number of trustful evil ones to generate more vorwraiths.

  A hundred thousand worlds have turned out to be a lot more difficult to control, the God of Chaos thought.

  Did you ever think it would be easy, you halfwit?

  Argbralius?

  Who else? Are you going to conquer the universe or are you going to let the hundred thousand worlds you’ve already conquered go back to controlling their destinies? The moment is ripe. You need to act swiftly. You have to take me to the high throne I deserve.

  Do you really think you deserve anything? Mórgomiel retorted.

  You took over my body, then my soul. You are who you are thanks to me, you insolent ingrate. Insolent and incompetent!

  Mórgomiel’s expression twisted. This presence troubled him and also frustrated him because there was nothing, literally nothing, that he could do about it. All the power in the universe, the conquest of the Summons, the defeat of Alac Arc Ángelo and his disgusting dragon Róganok, and here he was being pestered by the residue of a mere human’s soul.

  How could this be? It seemed contradictory and impossible, but the fact was that he had never considered the consequences of conquering a human who had never managed to attain his destiny or to make peace with his loved ones while he was alive. And now, Argbralius’ soul was getting his own back.

  You deserve what you have, human: nothing. You bastard, you son of a heretic and a prostitute. You ought to be grateful that I possessed your mind and then your body and then got you out of your misery. You are the ingrate.

  Mórgomiel did not know why he was arguing with this other mind. Did it matter? It was not as if Argbralius could control anything or affect the unfolding of the Times of Chaos.

  He decided to ignore him.

  Don’t ignore me. I can make your existence miserable, oh powerful Lord of the Shadows. You might gain the throne of the universe, subjugate every living creature, but you’ll be forever haunted by me, the parasite that can make your life impossible. So stop trying to subdue me and pay attention to me.

  Mórgomiel slapped his head hard, as if trying to silence Argbralius and hurt him or what remained of his soul.

  That’s it, I like that. Hit yourself again, you bloody psychopath. That way, your generals will think you’re demented. That way, your followers will believe that the powerful God of Chaos has lost his wits. What would Górgometh think if he saw you acting so strangely? Come on, do it again. I like to see you suffer.

  Mórgomiel gave up, shivering at the thought of what Górgometh might think if he knew his master was suffering for such a pathetic reason. It looked as though the only way he would manage to conquer in harmony would be to negotiate with Argbralius.

  Some day I will learn how to expel him from here, he thought.

  You stupid fool, I can hear your thoughts. You’ll never expel me. You’ll gain me the conquest of the universe, you’ll make me the king of all shadows. Do it.

  I do not work for you, human, Mórgomiel thought, I work for myself. They’re my wishes. I and I alone will conquer the universe.

  With my body and soul, Argbralius countered. Are you so stupid that you refuse to listen to a suggestion when it’s a useful one?

  What are you suggesting?

  You’re losing control. You can’t manipulate a hundred thousand on your own. Consult the Oracle. She always finds good solutions.

  Mórgomiel had to admit that the human was right. If anybody could help him it would
be the Oracle.

  ***

  To reach the Oracle, he had to transport himself to the Interim.

  When he entered the Interim, the atmosphere turned green. Mórgomiel faced the floating structure he had built, an artifact of maximum security that nobody could enter or escape from except himself. It was a huge bubble and within it was a cage. The prison of black energy was in the same Palace of the Kings where his throne was, only in another dimension, so that nobody in the tangible world could see it.

  He entered the floating dungeon through the bubble of black energy. Once he had been engulfed, he found himself in front of a cage whose bars were of black matter. Inside was the Mirror of the Black Queen of the Morelia Abyss. He looked into it and contacted the Oracle.

  “Lord of the Shadows,” the Oracle said sadly. She was beaten. Betraying Alac had been a mistake that had haunted her since the day she had made it. She would never forgive herself and she knew it. She had done it out of cowardice, out of fear, because Mórgomiel had tried to destroy her eons earlier and his plan of conquering the universe sounded very convincing. She was still convinced that he could and would conquer it. Someone like Mórgomiel would succeed, there was no doubt about it. It was only a matter of time before he conquered everything and before his millions of soldiers marched. Then, the universe would collapse and eternal darkness would rule. Only then she would find peace. Destruction, death, loneliness would be the only solution for her.

  “I need you to assure me that I will win this battle, witch,” Mórgomiel said.

  “You will win. It will be a victory like no other. You have no opposition, Mórgomiel. Except—”

  “What? Who opposes me?”

  “The beings who love the boy who became the God of Light, of course,” replied the mirror.

  “The God of Light is dead. Stop talking nonsense. I killed him myself, I saw him freeze within the void when I destroyed his beast Róganok.”

  “I have seen…”