Turi and Cail ran to him. After them came Ekimidos and Perófias. The pegasus and the Catalgar were an awkward fit in the narrow corridors humans had built. They managed as best they could, but Perófias’ wings bumped into the doorframes and he found there was not enough space in a room. Ekimidos, like the centaurs, was built on too large a scale to fit easily into Kathanas. Ostherlan answered the call to see what was happening on the horizon.
“Look!” cried the Empire soldier.
“What on earth is that?” Turi asked in puzzlement.
“The mass has consumed it all,” said Ekimidos. “Everything.”
“How far is Kathanas?” asked Unna of Devnóngaron.
“No more than a hundred strides.”
Elgahar looked closely at the shadow. He had not been able to before, but now it seemed to have stopped. What was happening? The shadow filled all of his field of vision, apart from the sky. The black mass must have been leagues wide and deep, and perhaps half a league high. Its surface was smooth as if coated in pearl. There seemed to be smoke within it, for something in its depths was moving like worms. The monster’s tentacles protruded all over it, long thin extensions that, for the moment, were paralyzed in midair or on the ground. There were no more corpses now or anything else. Nothing but the shadow that had consumed everything.
“Why has it stopped?” Turi asked.
“I don’t know, but it seems to be trembling. Look. See the surface moving? What the hell’s going on in there? This thing should have swallowed us all already.”
“Well, I’m hungry,” Turi said. “And I’m going to find something to eat. If we die today, at least I’ll die on a full stomach.”
Cail, Ekimidos, Unna, Perófias, and another handful of soldiers followed him. His idea sounded marvelous. Death was certain and that was that. At least they would have something to eat, to feel comfortable before that thing continued to expand.
Elgahar could not take his eyes off the shadow. What was it made of? Kathanas was a relic of what it had once been. There were no war machines, catapults, or anything they could use as missiles. He knew that trying spells against it would be useless and would only drain him of his energy and weaken him further. He was feeling very weak already. If he did not use his strength well, he would end up like Sendar. Dead.
The mage sat down near the edge of the rock tower, a few strides away from the precipice. In a few minutes, other spectators came to sit with him. Turi was kind enough to bring him some food.
“Eat something,” he ordered.
“The mage did not take his eyes off the shadow. “Who cares?”
“Exactly, who cares?” Turi pressed the food into the mage’s hands. It was a dry piece of bread wrapped around a slice of cured meat.
Cail sat down beside his cousin at the edge of the rock tower. “What’s worrying you?”
“It’s the shadow,” Turi lied. He was more worried about Meromérila’s safety than about the shadow. Where on earth was the Queen of Gardak? He sighed and bit into the dry bread.
***
“This way, General.” Janikur said. “It’s the only private room we can offer you for now.” The leader of Kathanas was downcast, wounded in several places. He had taken a cut in one arm from a curved sword. The healers had sewn the wound, but it was still possible that it would get infected. He could not move his arm, it was so swollen.
“I’ll leave you to your leisure,” he said and went back into Kathanas to make sure all the guests were being looked after.
Leandro collapsed the moment he was alone. Riding for so many hours had burned the inside of his thighs. With his full armor on, his back and all his muscles hurt, particularly those of his neck. So much tension, so much effort, so many physical demands had weakened him. He was close to giving up.
“It’s over,” he said to the empty air. “There’s no way out of this one.” He thought about his wife and children. He hoped they were safe in Maggrath. Perhaps the shadow would not reach as far as that. Perhaps it would consume everything around it on the battlefield, then leave for another world. That was unlikely. If it kept growing at this rate, the whole world would end up within its tentacles.
He took off his helmet, breastplate, armlets, shoulder-pads, greaves, and boots. He was left with his gambeson that was covered in sweat, dirt, and the blood of others. He stretched his toes, knees, arms… Everything hurt. He knew he would have blisters on his aching groin. From a pocket in the chest of his gambeson, he brought out the artifact he had been carrying on him all this time: the Wand of Lis.
He leaned against the wall and slipped down to the floor. Sitting down was painful. When he was propped against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him, he pressed the Wand of Lis and closed his eyes.
Hello there, Baron. Did you see what happened? We were so close to winning. I swear I saw the God of Light smash Mórgomiel’s face and then his dragon being torn to pieces. But what happened afterward? I don’t think we’re going to win this time. That shadow’s going to exterminate us all.
So, we’ve lost all our allies, came the Baron’s thought. At least Mórgomiel was defeated by Alac. At least that’s how the battle in the sky ended.
Did you watch it?
Nobody could have missed a show like that. It was monumental.
Where from? Where were you?
I can’t tell you. And if I did, it would mean I’d wish you dead, General. Thanks for everything.
Do you believe Alac died when he crashed against the shadow?
I don’t know. The fact is, it’s impossible to say what happened. But one thing’s certain: the shadow isn’t moving. It’s as if it had been paralyzed.
If we die, I want to thank you for everything. Thanks, Baron. We fought with everything we had.
So we did. Farewell, then.
Leandro remained in the room alone for several minutes, contemplating the silence. Action and adrenaline drained from his mind. At the same time, memories of the soldiers he had seen fall began to take shape. Memories of the atrocities he had witnessed, the value of all those different species united in a single goal. He wept, allowing himself to release all the stress of a battle that had not even lasted for two days, and which had caused more death and more destruction than any other in the history of the Meridian.
Kathanas fell silent when the soldiers lay down to sleep wherever they could find a spot. Two days and a night of constant fighting had exhausted them. Silence reigned except for the frequent snoring of a soldier and the moaning of the wounded being tended by the healers.
***
Uroquiel sat down beside his master. “Master, are you sure we can’t do anything?”
“I’ve sent the fingers of my mind to take the measure of that mass and try to get inside it to understand it, but it’s too powerful and complex. I can’t even begin to guess how to unravel the spell that created that nightmare. But it’s stopped for some reason, and I suspect there’s a storm rising inside. Maybe it’s not all lost, Uroquiel. Perhaps the battle between good and evil is still going on.”
“In there?” Ítalshin asked. Her golden skin shone in the torchlight. It was late at night and a couple of stars had come out to greet them.
“That’s what I suspect, my dear pupils. All we can do is wait.”
Chapter LXI — Unbeatable
He went through a tunnel that was almost invisible because of the dazzling light that radiated from the walls. Although he was going at maximum speed, he felt that it took him several moments to travel through the tunnel. His intention had been to crash against that core of malice and bring about its destruction.
A centrifugal force spat him out violently into a grey world he had never visited or even thought could exist. He fell forward on to an arid wasteland that was black as coal.
When he took a clear look at his surroundings, he became aware that he was under a giant dome. The sky was a vortex of black and grey energy that sucked at everything within reach of its foul tentacl
es. He could barely see outside through the dome, but apparently the shadow had not sustained serious harm even though he had collided with it like a fist of the Gods. Where the hell was he? How come neither he nor the shadow had died after the collision? It was an anomaly and totally unexpected.
Thousand of bodies were being sucked in by the cyclone, and appeared in the strange dimension when they were seized by the tentacles. The sucked-up bodies neither screamed nor suffered. They looked like gravel sucked through a drain when a flood drags it away in its current. When a body was swallowed by the vortex, it would fall to the ground and roll until it lay inert or launch into the horizon, black and hostile, where an eternal storm seemed to rage.
While the shadow fed itself, the dome, the little world he now found himself in, was growing larger. Each soul devoured by the vortex, he saw in puzzlement, released a flash of green light, perhaps a sign that its energy was being incorporated into the spell that gave life to the shadow. Was he inside the amorphous mass? Was he in another world or dimension? Was all this part of the shadow or something else entirely? He began to feel uneasy because he could not understand where he was or why he had appeared here, but the vortex, dome, tentacles, and bodies piling up as the shadow consumed them made him sure that he was actually inside the shadow. This little world, or alternate dimension, seemed to exist within it!
He got to his feet. Alarmed, he realized that he was no longer wearing his armor and that Teitú was no longer with him. He searched everywhere to see if he could find the seraph’s little body. Nothing. He looked around to see if his armor, shield, or spear were there. Nothing. He was alone and helpless with nobody to turn to.
He tried to summon his weapons with a thought, only to realize he could no longer manage to do it. Alac’s presence and strength were suppressed because of some kind of spell. And his wings? He tried to move them, but they were no longer there. What on earth could have happened when he crashed into the shadow?
He realized that he had no weapon apart from his hands and feet. He was wearing his cotton shirt, farmer’s boots, and woolen trousers. Wait a moment. He was back to being Manchego! The simple shepherd boy without the presence of Alac! Had Alac died when he hit the shadow? Or was this a dream that was only just beginning to torture him? One thing was certain: if he just stood there, he wouldn’t find out anything. He could think whatever he wanted but in the end, unless he did something and searched for answers, he would find nothing but silence. After silence would come madness.
With a shrug, he accepted that he was Manchego the Shepherd once again. In the absence of Teitú, he walked across that strange wasteland. As he walked, he noticed that all manner of junk lay scattered everywhere in addition to what appeared to be endless corpses piled or strewn in impossible positions. The junk was floating in streams that had no recognizable pattern. There were other pieces of furniture, carriages, and a handful of corpses that simply hung suspended there without apparent movement. What was this place? Had it been created when that monster ate Mórgomiel’s corpse and sword?
As he stepped forward, he noticed that the path was turning into a stretch bordered by a steep precipice on both sides as if he were walking on a bridge with no safety rail and on either side, the jaws of perdition awaited him. He managed to look down only to find that there was nothing in that precipice. It was like looking down at the infinite.
Manchego felt cold and insecure. Where was Teitú? What could have happened to him during his entrance into this strange world? He had no idea, but he knew that if he was going to find any kind of answer, he had to keep searching for an explanation.
He felt anguish and terror at the realization that he was now a prisoner of this strange world, fated to witness that malice devouring everything for all eternity. Perhaps that was precisely it. Perhaps evil had won the contest and now he, Manchego, was its prisoner and was to be tortured for an infinite time.
He walked quickly, noticing that the ground was volcanic gravel that would certainly cut his skin were he to rub hard against it.
More objects were floating. He saw the decapitated body of the metallic dragon floating in the abyss, bumping against other objects and drifting eternally. He felt great sorrow at the realization that Nordost had been killed. He wished he could have said a proper farewell, but his haste to act kept him on his way, with his gaze alert to any danger. What could have brought down a being as powerful as Nordost? How? Mórgomiel was dead.
As he walked, he thought he heard sobs. He felt sympathy for whoever was suffering and ran to the source of the weeping. To his surprise he found a child running from a shadow with black wings. It did not fly but was simply taking heavy lethargic steps, trying to devour the child as it went.
The little boy was howling, running to a wardrobe as he did so. The shadow was a tall, muscular man who was being transformed into a demon. The boy reached the wardrobe and hid inside it. At the same time, the demon, losing the boy’s scent, turned his attention to Manchego. He came forward ruthlessly with his large teeth and hooves seeking to tear his flesh.
“Come in here! With me!” the boy called urgently.
Manchego dodged the beast as best he could and crawled between its horrible legs to dive into the wardrobe. It had no doors, but it was spacious. Inside, the demon could not perceive them.
“It’s my hiding place,” the boy said sadly. “We’re safe here. Mommy doesn’t like me to be here all day, but my daddy likes to beat me. If I don’t hide in here, I’m afraid that he’s going to kill me. Sometimes he says that he wants to kill me and I believe him! He’s a bad man!” The boy put his head between his knees and began to cry bitterly.
Manchego felt sadness and tenderness at the sight of the boy’s suffering. He comforted him with a hug. The kid was black-haired and pale-skinned with jet-black eyes. He looked undernourished and ill-treated. Who was this child?
“Here in the shadow, this is where I find peace,” the boy explained, sniffing. “You know? This is where I’m going to find some way of saving my mommy from my evil daddy. I know there’s salvation somewhere around here.” The child’s gaze hardened and his eyes seemed to take on a strange depth. “That loathsome swine has to die. He must die. He must die,” the little boy repeated, stony-eyed.
Horrified, Manchego watched as the boy’s completely blank eyes rolled and he used his hands to summon something. There came the sound of thunder. The boy’s gaze turned malevolent. Another peal of thunder sounded and the space around the boy began to be distorted. Horrified, Manchego saw that the boy was able to open the fibers of time and space with his hands to produce an evil thread that he embraced. This thread shone with arcane power and emanated the kind of pure evil that could only come from the God of Chaos. The thread entered the boy through his nose, then it drilled into his body like a worm. His gaze turned black and evil, and from within him, malice began to ooze.
“Watch what I’m going to do,” the boy said in a voice like the hissing of snakes. “This’ll look like an impressive trick to you.”
He walked out of the safety of the wardrobe and confronted the demon. “Now you’re going to die,” he said firmly and eliminated the demon with a thought. Manchego thought he heard the name Trumbar as he saw the beast succumb, bathed in tears of fire.
The little boy who had just used the power of Chaos now ran off as if he were scared or impressed by what he had just done. Manchego went after him at once, feeling he had to go with him and look after him to do something to stop him from giving himself up to evil.
When he managed to catch up with him after leaping over and dodging scattered debris, he found the boy holding on to one of the corpses stretched out on the arid ground. The passage of time had worn it to shreds.
“I’ll save you, mommy. I’ve killed Trumbar. Mommy? Mommy!” The boy shook the corpse. Wherever he touched it, it turned to ashes. Terrible darkness was growing in his eyes, taking over his soul and his mind. Spite, hatred, rejection, despair; these emotions flooded out of
the boy’s eyes in torrents of evil that contaminated the ground. From one moment to the next, he ran to the precipice and leaped into the abyss.
“No!” Manchego cried, but he could not stop him. No… No… No… No… It was the echo of his voice. It resonated as though he were in some distorted reality.
In terror, he ran to the edge of the path and looked down at the infinite where he saw absolutely nothing. The boy had been swallowed up.
“Where the hell am I? What the hell is going on?” he asked himself in horror. Without answers, all he could do was continue to investigate.
He progressed toward where he could glimpse a gigantic structure that rose several strides above the ground. The building was ruined and roofless. Inside, two figures were moving as though they were in the real world.
Warily, Manchego went closer and saw the same boy, except now he was a youth of at least fifteen. On his face was the same hatred, spite, and disdain. Who was he? Manchego recognized him, though his name did not immediately spring to mind.
He recognized the structure as he looked more closely at its columns with their representations of the gods. He was in front of a Décamon, and the people he saw inside it were a priest and a sacristan. In the boy’s eyes shone an eagerness to prove himself before the world. Those eyes also shone with eager defiance.
The other figure was a corpse in the process of decay. It was animated and seemed to be talking, although its movements were clumsy and lethargic as if it were being manipulated like a puppet. The boy, on the other hand, seemed to be deliberating within himself, waving his hands and going through the motions of accepting some object.
From one moment to the next, the boy turned, focused his gaze on Manchego, and stared at him. Once again, the shepherd was aware of that gaze that oozed pure evil and he was terrified. All he wanted to do was get away from the possessed boy. This was the child he had seen opening the fibers of spacetime to take out a strand of malice, the one he had put into himself so that it could possess his soul!
Necromancer’s Sorrow: (Series Finale) Page 60
