Necromancer’s Sorrow: (Series Finale)

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  During the Naissance period, which had occurred centuries earlier, Evanescent had been founded on the mountain of the same name, the highest and most sharply-pointed of all, with a single purpose in mind: worshipping the stars. With the discovery of astronomy, the centaurs found their love for the ether, unleashing a passion that would transform them into a highly advanced culture.

  In Evanescent, their capital and the cultural center of the centaurs from thence onwards, stargazing had become a particular pleasure since here, above the clouds, there was nothing between their eyes and the stars.

  After centuries of dedicated study and the creation of universities and several branches of the arts and sciences, the centaurs enjoyed a socio-political boom. Among one of the many days of cultural rebellion, there had been one particularly bloody time when the monarchy had been deposed and the Jubilatus, a governmental body elected by popular vote, created and it was then that the Republic of Gatasclán was created.

  Meanwhile, its enemies of yore, the giant bears of Gorsbath, had remained in what was the equivalent to the stone age with wars and the slaughter of clans and tribal groups, incapable of forming a centralized government and advancing their culture. Since then, they had been openly envious of the centaurs and yearned to progress as they had done.

  Wars among the bear clans had ceased, but there was always rancor between them. Their solution was to come to the centaurs for help and for fifty years, a peace accord had reigned between bears and centaurs which led to limited trade between the neighboring nations. Uncertainty and insecurity were still in the air and the centaurs still did not trust their ancient enemies; the giant bears were barbarians, slaves to their violent and bloodthirsty impulses.

  Besides, it was common knowledge that in Gorsbath, the bears had worshipped the God of Chaos and that for several centuries, they had left behind their diabolic rituals and turned instead to pray to the Goddess of Night. It was also known that in many of the clans that had been reestablished in the most remote corners of Gorsbath, some giant bears still worshipped the God of Chaos.

  Astherion, Erard of the Saalma’ha of Evanescent, was walking on his four legs along the temple’s undecorated corridors. There were few of these, all of them leading to the center of the temple, a great dome open to the stars through which they could clearly be seen. Here, there was never any fear of rain since the city was so high up that it was higher than all the clouds.

  Decades earlier, Aramoon, one of the most renowned astronomers and philosophers of Gatasclán, had invented the optoscope, a long hollow cylindrical device with a crystal at each end, each of a different convexity, that magnified the image of the stars. In each temple, there were three of these devices. Because of their design, they were as heavy as a centaur and had to be placed on a tall, wide platform. This allowed the centaurs to watch and study the stars comfortably while standing on all four legs.

  Astherion was restless. More than anything, it was because of the feeling that one of his prophecies was coming true at last and he was nervous about what this might involve. The events must be happening at this very moment and he had to get ready to act. He had to notify the Jubilatus and let them know that these events were approaching.

  Like all male centurions, Astherion had two long jet-black horns on his forehead along with short black hair and the fine down that covered his abdomen, his back, and his horse’s legs. His hooves were the same color, as were his eyes and eyebrows. His torso, hairless like that of all centaurs, was muscular with two human arms and hands with five fingers each. He wore a purple toga that identified him as the Erard of the Saalma’ha temple.

  Astherion, like every other centaur in Gatasclán, had gone to the training school and then to university, where he had devoted long years to the study of the stars and so had inadvertently become the Erard of a temple, no less a temple of Evanescent.

  He followed his training in combat and military discipline, a prerequisite for all the centaurs in case one day the peace signed with the giant bears fifty years earlier should come to an end.

  The centaur had been faithful to his religion but missed the small pleasures of life. He had very good friends, but most of them had dispersed throughout the Republic of Gatasclán to other, less populated cities, to live quiet rural lives where they could bring up a family in peace, far from the hustle and bustle of the capital.

  Astherion was young. At two hundred years of age, he was a young adult with two or three more centuries of life ahead of him.

  The centaur wandered restlessly through the temple, admiring the females and wishing he had followed another path in life so that he could enjoy an Íoros like today’s, simply watching and admiring the stars with someone special by his side. For Astherion, his special people had remained in Riór, his native town, where his parents and siblings were farmers.

  Astherion looked away when one of the females returned his gaze, unable to decide on one woman when his profession might lead him down hidden and unsuspected paths.

  A person of faith was not forbidden to marry. In fact, it was celebrated and for centaur women, it meant a whole new social status if they married an Erard. Astherion did not lack feminine attention, he knew he was attractive and had even tested his luck and his yearning for love. Although, now and then he had worn his heart on his sleeve and become enamored too easily. But he was a centaur devoted to his profession, and studying the stars, for the moment, was his priority.

  Visitors to the temple came and went and he was undecided. He ought to go to the Jubilatus as soon as possible. Any centaur could go to the Philosophical Temple where the elders of the Jubilatus spent their working hours attending to the many matters that needed attention in the Republic of Gatasclán.

  The temple never closed and during the festive season of Íoros, working hours were flexible. The centaur turned to look at the stars again, confirming his vision for the umpteenth time. He felt pressure on him now that his prediction had come true, and finally, he made his decision. He left at a light canter toward the Philosophical Temple.

  The streets and public ways were designed for galloping. The centaurs could move fast at their top speed, but a number of them opted for a light canter when haste impelled them to move quickly.

  Evanescent was particularly beautiful at this Íoros, Astherion thought. Thanks to the three moons in alignment and the two suns hiding behind the planet’s shadow, the resulting light radiated on the world Terigión was purple and cyan, a combination that seduced centaurs. It was like night, but with a poetic veil over the city resulting from the limited brightness that starlight offered.

  The buildings and leisure centers of the city were all made of the same dark grey material, a mixture of gravel and water that hardened like the most solid stone. The centaurs excelled at many things, one of them being architecture. As a result, the city was solid as stone and made beautiful by its architecture.

  “Astherion!” another centaur called when the Erard stopped to make way for those who were heading to the city’s great central park. “A good Íoros to you, by the Archangel!” The body that ruled the centaurs was strict and heavily fined those who broke the rules of transit. Stopping when other citizens crossed the streets was a must.

  Astherion greeted his old friend. “Joluus! I thought you’d be back in Riór with your parents or in Megaldín finding a job for your brilliant mind.” They hugged and clashed horns.

  “Your parents send you greetings,” Joluus said. “They miss you, but they know you’re working for the progress of Gatasclán. You know parents get sad when their children aren’t there for Íoros. It’s a very special time and it only comes once every century. Watching our satellites in alignment is quite a sight.”

  Joluus was seduced by the sight of the stars. The traffic had moved on, but nobody would criticize another centaur for stopping in the middle of the street to look up at the stars. It was accepted behavior. More than that, it was blessed by the Jubilatus. It was said that traffic and haste sh
ould never be valued above the privilege of staring up at the stars.

  Joluus pointed up at the three moons. “Efipta, Yulapta, and Kijgrak.”

  Astherion was in a hurry. Yet, although he knew he ought to go to the Jubilatus at once, he could not help but be spellbound by the stars.

  Efipta, the moon closest to the planet, shone purple, split in half by the shadow of the planet. Beyond her was Yulapta, the yellow moon. Finally Kijgrak, the black moon. The two suns that Terigión orbited, Vax and Xulx, were hidden in the planet’s shadow. Beyond the three moons, an infinity of lights could be seen twinkling like castaways.

  Astherion recognized the constellations of the Archangel, Midas, Gorrábor, and Nubilex. Nimbex was over there and once again, he saw the sign he had been studying for decades. His prediction was about to come true.

  “Listen, Joluus, I hope you have a good time during Íoros, the seven gods grant you great enthusiasm, and you get to your destination safely. Can you send my greetings to my family? It’s been years since I’ve seen them, but—”

  Joluus began to show an interest in why his friend was in such a hurry. “I know, my friend. It’s all right. We all know that as Erard of Saalma’ha, you have an important role to play. Where are you off to?”

  “I must get to the Jubilatus as soon as I can, to the Philosophical Temple. My prediction—it’s happening!”

  “By Aramoon! I’m coming with you!” Astherion was not very pleased to have his friend going with him to the Philosophical Temple, but he was in such a hurry that there was not much he could do about it.

  When they reached the center of the city, the change in the architectural organization was unmistakable. Here, the buildings were gigantic since they were meant to intimidate and evoke respect. There might not be a monarchy, but the building that housed the Jubilatus had been created to overawe those who gazed at it. The structure was notable, raised on a platform several strides tall and reached by a flight of steps. The structure itself was formed of large columns, as thick and tall as massive trees. The roof too was thick and bore depictions of each of the seven gods in different positions. There was no god they admired more than any other since they were all important. But many centaurs worshipped the Dulstar, the God of Dust more than any other because for them, creation had arisen from the chaotic dust and it was said that the same dust would return once eternity ended. As far as the centaurs were concerned, Saalma was the creator, the highest union of all essences and the creator of order, entropy, and chaos.

  Astherion went up the steps of the building as fast as he could. These steps, made for the centaurs, were great ledges adapted to their four-legged gait and their strong limbs.

  When they arrived, they were welcomed by the building, which was open to all. It closed at what was considered mid-afternoon, but during Íoros, it was hard to say when the afternoon began and when it was early morning. Hence, it was kept open for just a small part of the day. Luckily Astherion arrived just in time. Closing the Philosophical Temple did not mean closing the doors. It simply meant that the representatives of the Jubilatus went to their homes to be with their families until the following day.

  A line of five centaurs was waiting before Justus, the centaur in charge of guaranteeing order at the Jubilatus and allowing the centaurs into the council one by one without any disorder. Entry was not denied to anybody.

  “The line is short,” Joluus said. “I guess most people are spending the day at home enjoying Íoros or gazing up at the stars while they woo the one they’re with.”

  Astherion did not answer, not out of rudeness, but because his mind was busy thinking about what to say before the Jubilatus. He must sound certain, but at the same time, he must not alarm them. The news is alarming, whichever way we look at it, he thought. The end of the universe is nigh and nobody has noticed. All because they’re busy contemplating the stars and not paying attention to the clear signs. The perpetual darkness…

  The Erard’s gaze was lost in vacancy as he imagined what would become of them once the darkness advanced. But no, there was hope. Hope had arrived and they must go to treat them as the heroes of all times. They ought to be treated with respect and directed toward—

  “Next!” Justus shouted. The centaur controlling the visitors’ entrance to the Jubilatus was huge. He was nearly three hundred years old, as was shown by the way his horns looked like great vertical curls spiraling upwards. The hair on his head and the rest of his body was grey except for his torso and his beardless face. In his large hands, he carried a metal rod and his chest was covered by a thin steel breastplate.

  “My apologies, I’m coming,” Astherion said. He walked down the corridor that would lead him to his audience with the Jubilatus.

  Justus stopped Joluus with his rod. “Only one may enter,” he said aggressively. “You wait out here.”

  “Of course, sir,” Joluus said, watching his friend being swallowed by the immense structure.

  Astherion was admiring the paintings and other frescoes that decorated the walls of the corridors that soon led him to the Jubilatus. For the centaurs, the building was a treasure, created with effort and the product of the union of minds.

  He heard his hooves echoing in the large hall where the Jubilatus was waiting for him. The seats were raised two strides on a dais so that during interviews, the leaders of the Republic always looked down and the citizens always looked up. If the intention was to make the visitors feel small, it certainly fulfilled its purpose. The jubilates were sitting on their hind legs. The seats, because of the shape of their bodies, were small daises where they could repose. They had no backs, as the centaurs’ bodies did not need any. As they sat on their hind legs, their front legs remained stretched out.

  “Let the next citizen appear before the Jubilatus to present his concerns,” said Uinoé, who was at the head. There were seven seats: three on each side and one at the head. The one who spoke was not considered more powerful but had more authority among the other counselors because of the confidence he showed and his strong voice.

  Astherion had been before the Jubilatus on other occasions. Jubilates rarely changed, as they were all elected by popular vote. If the people were happy with them, there was no reason to change their leaders. It was easy to remove a jubilate and the public servant himself would even leave his seat of his own accord if he thought he was not doing his job well. A jubilate’s pay was not good. Respect and social status were the most sought-after prize.

  “Respected Jubilatus, I’m the Erard of Saalma’ha of Evanescent.”

  “That’s obvious from your clothes, Erard,” Uiala said. She was quite an attractive female, elderly judging by the color of her hair. Female centaurs had no horns, another detail that distinguished the sexes. “It pleases us to see you again before us.”

  “You look afflicted, Astherion,” said Doibée, a fleshy male with a large belly. “Your attitude worries me.” It was not usual to see overweight centaurs since they depended on their four legs to carry them.

  “There is a good reason for that, Jubilates. My prediction of the future has come to pass. The stars move uncertainly, and several constellations have changed shape. The Archangel is no longer the same; its morphology suggests that the God of Light has been… is absent.”

  There were several sighs.

  “The constellations of the other Gods, and Dulstar, God of Dust, have dispersed.”

  “That’s impossible!”

  “This is an insult to the centaurian religion!”

  “Never before has the death of a god been spoken of!”

  “That is not true,” Astherion corrected them. “We know that the God of Light, our Archangel, has disappeared and even died on several occasions. He has been reborn, true, but he has indeed disappeared. The centaurs must never forget. Never. Because we sit comfortably, safe in the great republic we’ve created, we’ve given way to idleness. When the nation was being attacked by the Gurtha of Gorsbath, our beliefs were firm and solid, and we d
id not doubt that the darkness could easily overcome the light. Don’t forget that those giant bears worship Mórgomiel, the God of Chaos.”

  At the mention of the accursed, evil oppressor, the atmosphere froze. The jubilates were not pleased. They liked to deal with easy matters, not with omens.

  “What has Saalma told you?” asked Loiluu, a female centaur of much more fertile age.

  “Saalma, the creator of everything, all, and the eternal. The creator of the Gods, emotions, and dreams. I fear that Saalma is suffering because the spread of darkness has been overwhelming and rapid since the disappearance of the Archangel. By overwhelming, I mean that Mórgomiel’s reach has moved at enormous speed and I do not doubt that he will soon reach us.”

  “Are you dooming us with no hope?” Uinoé said. He sounded troubled. “Have you come to torment us? Or are you saving something good for the end?”

  “My apologies, Jubilatus. The news is bad. The spread of darkness is undeniable. The signs are precise. But although it’s slight, there is hope. Hope has just reached us. At this very moment. Today, in this Íoros. I don’t believe it’s any coincidence.”

  The jubilates began to whisper furiously among themselves.

  “And what is this slight hope?” Uinoé asked sarcastically. “You haven’t prepared us for this visit. Surely you speak of the human Balthazar, the shaman who crosses worlds and came to ask us to listen to an Interworld Committee and choose whether to take part in the battle to decide all battles.”

  “I remember Balthazar,” Astherion replied. “Did you not take his proposal seriously? The shaman was genuine. Saalma checked his identity.”

  “Centaurs have never taken part in wars other than ours. We don’t send our people to die for others. This isn’t the time to be telling the population that other worlds know about us. It would be a disaster! I still find it hard to believe that an individual named Balthazar has come to us asking for help in the first place! And he was a human, a creature that has our features from torso to head, but instead of four legs walks on only two! Blasphemy!”